"How! a bishop, for doing his duty, would be sent to the Inquisition?"
"Unquestionably. The first duty of a bishop is to preach a 'sound doctrine;' and that would be sufficient to condemn him at once. The doctrine at present taught by the bishops is no longer that of the evangelists or the apostles, but that of decretals and canons. Do you imagine, my dear monsignore, that I could be brought to tamper with my conscience, so far as to preach differently to what I thought? Do you recollect what I said to you, when Monsignore Acton and yourself used to come to me in an evening to study theology: that the foundation of this science could be found in no other place than in the Holy Scriptures? We ought, therefore, as soon as ever we perceive that any doctrine which may be offered to us is in opposition to the Scriptures, immediately to reject it. This you admitted as a principle. We had none of us at that time made application of it, but we were quite resolved to do so, when necessity might require it. Well, this necessity presented itself to me the moment I became aware that certain doctrines in the Romish Church are opposed to Holy Scripture. You, too, may arrive at the same conclusion, if you will take the trouble to examine these matters for yourself."
"Oh! that is not very likely to happen. My practice is, to rely entirely on the authority of the Church of Rome, and so I am spared the trouble of any investigation."
This maxim of Monsignore Ubaldini's, I am sorry to say, is generally adopted by men of mere worldly wisdom in the Romish Church. They allege that they are themselves not competent to judge in questions between the Church and the Bible, which of the two has reason on its side, and that it is consequently better to avoid discussion, lest their conscience should be disturbed thereby. "We have no business," say they, "to call the Church to account for any of her acts; we are bound, on the contrary, to give an account if we have not obeyed her." This is their argument, which is full of sophistry and deceit.
Two opposite feelings at that time influenced my mind with respect to my leaving Rome. I was convinced of the necessity of separating myself from a class of persons whom I held in such aversion; I longed to escape altogether from the city that I considered was polluted by their presence; and I must frankly confess that I could not help condemning to the utmost the whole race of priests, and invoking the vengeance of Heaven upon the Vatican, hoping that I should myself one day see the people, blessed with the light of truth, and aware of their own rights, rise up against their oppressors. All this made me desirous to hasten my departure from Rome. On the other hand, I was about to quit the land of my affection: a Roman by birth,[71] I loved my native country, as I love it now, and as I ever shall love it, while life remains. How then could I tear myself away without grief of heart? In the midst of my desire to depart, I was overwhelmed with affliction; at one time I expressed my satisfaction, at another my grief, at the thought of going.
In walking through the streets, I met on every side, lordly priests, who seemed to be the masters of Rome; cardinals in their gilded coaches, whose looks denoted their desire to be saluted by the passers-by. But I turned aside from their path, and looked on the people; that beloved people, who are not made to be the slaves of priests; an intelligent people, full of genius and good sense, exceedingly amiable in conversation, uniting wit and elegance of diction with judgment and discernment in their mode of thinking; a people proud of their traditionary history, with a natural superiority about them which the priests have never been able to overrule.
How frequently have I heard one of the laity disputing with a priest, and very often having the best of the argument! How frequently have I stopped to admire their various costumes, especially on festivals; and to take pleasure in witnessing their gaiety!
One day, passing along the Lungara, in the Trastevere, I observed a number of persons, chiefly women, collected together around one of those mendicant friars who go about relating visions and miracles to the people, to induce them to bestow more liberal gifts and offerings on their saints and their Madonnas. He had a box in his hand, like those in which church money is generally collected, and was just then begging baiocchi for one of his saints. I had the curiosity to stop to hear what was going on between him and the people, who were joking and laughing around him.