I reflected much on the lamentable condition of a people destined by nature to be virtuous rather than vicious; and I was moved at the consideration of the real cause of their misery. The immorality of the people is entirely owing to its government; that is to say, to its unjust laws and its corrupt magistrates. The police protects every description of iniquity, and leagues itself with malefactors. Money, the source of all evil, changes the face of everything. Both witness and judge are notoriously sold to the highest bidder; it is money, therefore, and not right, which decides a cause. For money, the police is either alert or otherwise; it either invents crimes, or conceals them. For money, the king grants pardons, and out of the sums so applied a large portion finds its way into the pockets of the confessor, and the servants about court. What wonder can there be then that the example of the ministers of religion, whose office it is to govern and to instruct, should be so generally followed? Money is, in reality, the god that is worshipped in Italy. Naples is the kingdom of the Church; Rome is the state. It is in Naples that the papistry of Rome is in the fullest vigour, and the poor Neapolitans furnish abundant proof of the iniquity of the system: they are the rowers of the pope's grand bark, and the king is at their head. The priests rule in every direction; they insinuate themselves in a thousand ways into every body's concerns, and, directly or indirectly, possess an influence over all. Through confession they obtain dominion over the very minds of men, and discover their most secret thoughts and intentions. Whoever would ascertain what priestcraft really is, and the mischief it occasions in Italy, let him go to Naples.
It was during Lent, in the year 1835, that I went to Capua, and was the guest of Cardinal Serra Cassano. He was an exceedingly polite man, but to myself his attention was more than ordinary. His attendants remarked to me that they had never known him so much at home with any one before, and that he addressed me as his dearest friend.
Every day I preached, both morning and evening; and I had also other duties assigned to me by the Cardinal: to draw up rules for monastic bodies, to lay down a plan of study for the seminary, to suggest measures of reform with respect to the clergy, &c. were what I had to attend to; besides which, he was in the habit of consulting me on other matters. Our conversation was unrestrained: and I frequently had the satisfaction of declaring the truth to one whose ears had hitherto been accustomed only to the voice of adulation, as he was exceedingly wealthy, and held a sort of court, in which his will was absolute. Did it happen that any one contradicted or offended him, even in a single instance, he was sure to visit the culprit with his indignation; and if he were in his service, he ran the risk of being immediately discharged. All his dependents, therefore, trembled before him, and watched with anxiety the expression of his eye. However much he might be in the wrong, his servile followers were obliged to say: "Your Eminence is in the right." He was like one of the feudal barons of the middle ages, with respect to the state and tyranny of his conduct. I was greatly amused at his extravagances; and as I did not fear him, I sacrificed nothing of my own independence in my demeanour towards him. No argument of any consequence took place between us, although I often endeavoured to lead the conversation to serious topics: in fact, he had not much head for subjects of high importance. All that I could do was, to present a few words of truth to him, in the simplest form, since he was incompetent to enter into any grave discussion. He disliked to talk of religion, but delighted to expatiate on the Church; on the dignity of bishops and cardinals; of the privileges of the clergy, of their immunities, &c. He was frequently at issue, nevertheless, with his clergy, and had many important lawsuits with the heads of the cathedral and the collegiate church. Consequently, he was generally disliked: it may, indeed, be averred that he was beloved by no one at Naples, not even by his own relations.
I relate these circumstances, which are well known to all his acquaintance, in order that the true character of these sons of the Church of Rome, in her last days, may be known. The Cardinal, who was a man of very slender ability, had already occupied the post of Apostolic Nuncio, at the Court of Bavaria, and had performed good service in that capacity for the Holy See; having obtained, as he himself told me, from that country large sums of money, by the sale of indulgences and papal dispensations. He had, moreover, executed many important commissions on the part of the Propaganda and the Inquisition; and even, on one occasion, had successfully resisted the power of the king, in his attempt to interfere in some ecclesiastical matters. "Your Majesty must recollect," said he, "that you are the subject of the Church." These few words, the Cardinal observed, were sufficient to stop the proceedings of his majesty.
In these matters he was adroit enough. His altercations with the King of Naples were perfectly amusing, and no one was more frank than he was in expressing his sentiments. But the worst of it was, that all his courageous efforts were directed either to matters of no importance whatever, or to support things decidedly wrong and bad. Never, in a single instance, that ever came to my knowledge at least, was there any subject discussed between the king and him, of a noble or useful nature; though he was continually perplexing his brains with government affairs, and censuring the ministers, or giving them his advice.
He took great delight in all private gossip, and Neapolitan jokes, which are often none of the most decent; and encouraged all dealers in satire, provided it was directed against classes he deemed fitting subjects for it; more especially against the monks, for whom he professed very little regard. With the pope or the cardinals, however, it was different: no one was permitted to censure them in his presence. Nevertheless, I often took the liberty of doing so myself, on which occasions I never failed to receive a gentle reproof.
"Ah! you are no friend to cardinals," said he to me one day.
"On the contrary," I replied, "I am so much their friend, that nothing would give me more pleasure than to introduce a real reform among them, and give them an opportunity of becoming estimable characters. The good Bishop Bartholomew de Martiribus, the primate of Hungary, was of the same opinion when he exclaimed before the Council of Trent: Illustrissimi et Reverendissimi Cardinales indigent illustrissima et reverendissima reformatione.[75] Three ages have elapsed since this exclamation was made, but nothing as yet has resulted from it. Who, indeed, can ever reform them, so long as they alone possess the privilege of doing so?"
"The pope, who is their superior, may reform them."
"And the pope himself, who is to reform him?"