The Cardinal shrugged his shoulders, and neither said yes nor no. I was silent also.
"Well, I say, what do you think of it? The present engraving was executed more than two hundred years ago, and was retouched about one hundred years since. It is now high time to have a new one, for it seems to have lost its efficacy."
"I know very well," said Cardinal Velzi, "that these things pass current among the people, as matters of pious belief; but the fact is, there are too many of them in Southern Italy. I proscribed many similar observances within my own jurisdiction, when I was master of the sacred palace; besides, these miracles are not sufficiently attested."
"Your Eminence will doubtless recollect," added I, "how both of us, two years ago, prohibited the image of the Madonna of the Augustines of Viterbo, which was surrounded with a legion of devils, crying out, 'To hell with Viterbo.' This story is said to have originated at the beginning of the fifteenth century, when one day a letter issued forth from the sacred image, commanding the devils to quit the precincts of the city, and to follow the said letter as far as it should go. Off went the letter, and away went the devils; the letter fell to the ground about a mile distant, and the devils all sank into the earth on the very same spot; in perpetual memory of which event, even to this day bubbles up a well of boiling sulphureous water, in the identical place, which is said to take its rise from hell.[48] This Madonna has ever since enjoyed the title of Liberatrix, or Deliverer. I had frequent disputes with the Prior of the Augustines on this head, and threatened to seize all his pictures, if he made a trade of selling them. The only defence he could make was, that the engraving was ancient, of the same epoch as that of the Madonna della Quercia; and I recollect answering that I did not approve of the image della Quercia either, and that, for my part, I should do everything I could to prevent the circulation of that also: what then do you think I should do if I saw the image della Quercia, with all its pretended miracles around it, restored? Oh! do not entertain any such idea, my dear Father Pastori. I shall be obliged to oppose it, and I am glad to see that our friend the cardinal is of the same opinion with myself. And now, since we are upon this topic, let me, as a son of the monastery, give you another piece of advice. This church of ours has latterly become so filthy and disgusting, with its wooden and papier maché statues, its exhibition of heads, arms, legs, and every other part of the body, presented as votive offerings for all kinds of pretended cures, that, what with them, and the miserably painted tablets, broken blunderbusses, rusty daggers, and other objects, which disfigure the walls from top to bottom, any person of good sense would be ready to rush out of the place at the mere sight of them. I should propose, therefore, to take down all these things, whitewash the walls, which is very much wanted, and put all these votive offerings, or monuments of brigandism and superstition, into two or three large rooms adjoining the Church, so as to form a kind of museum of curiosities, for such as may feel inclined to inspect it."
The good old man could here no longer contain himself; but broke out into violent indignation, exclaiming that I was an innovator, a man whose opinions were of the most dangerous description, &c. The Cardinal, however, interposed between us, and so the matter ended.
By this time the change in my manner of thinking began to be publicly talked about. I was represented as not being one of those bigoted Frati who give credence to every religious lie, under the cloak of "holy faith;" that I was no great votary of saints and relics, and disbelieved all their miracles. Many other circumstances occurred to establish this opinion of me, one or two of which I will briefly relate.
I was requested to write the religious life of Santa Rosa, the patron saint of Viterbo.[49] This, however, I declined, on the plea that Santa Rosa would not be over-well pleased with my work; upon which the task was separately undertaken by my friend Dr. Selli and my uncle Dr. Mencarini. The former produced a small treatise of little or no importance, and I allowed it to circulate; the latter set to work in good earnest, and forwarded a large volume to the "censor." Now, this uncle of mine had been a second father to me, and was a man whom, of all others, I loved and respected. He was versed in many sciences, a man of refined learning, and a professor of natural philosophy; he was, moreover, a man who shone in society, a sincere friend, a benefactor to his country, and was universally esteemed and beloved.
I was surprised to see so large a volume on so trivial a subject as the life of a poor baker's daughter; though she certainly showed a great deal of talent in the part she took in the political disputes between the Guelfs and Ghibellines, which occurred in her time; and as she was on the pope's side, that is, for the liberty of the "commune," (for popes were liberals in those days,) she joined in the cry against the Emperor Frederic II., she was consequently persecuted by the imperialists, and ran through all the country, declaiming against them. She died at the early age of eighteen; poor but honoured, and highly eulogized by her fellow-citizens. The ignorance of the times attributed to her the power of working miracles, and superstition "dubbed" her a saint. There is no doubt she was a very excellent young woman, and as such, and on no other account, do I honour her memory. I dare say my uncle thought much as I did on the matter; but he got so bewildered with the mass of materials which various earlier biographers had collected together, that he did little more than copy what he found in their works, without giving himself the trouble of investigating their authenticity.
There are not in the whole world such bonâ fide liars as the writers of the lives of saints; for "the glory of God"[50] they allow themselves every species of invention and exaggeration. Can a lie ever tend to promote the glory of God? It is a principle I have never acted upon in any case. My uncle was deceived by a parcel of old impostors, and it was for me to undeceive him.
"Now," said I to him one day, "do you believe all you have written?"