Chapter IX

Interruption of Preparations for Fourteen Months, through the consequences of Sadowa--The French evacuate Rome--Alleged Double Dealing of Napoleon III--_Civiltá_ on St. Bartholomew's--Change of Plan--Instead of a Council a Great Display--Serious Complaints of Liberal Catholics.

It was on May 24, 1866, that the Directing Congregation held its third meeting, Monsignor Nina acting as secretary in the absence of Giannelli, who was indisposed. But, soon afterwards, dark clouds enveloped the Vatican, and ere the Congregation could again meet fourteen months had passed away.

On July 3, 1866, a shell burst at Sadowa which struck in three different directions, and in each case the blow was heavy. Austria fell from the primacy of Germany, and from her place among Italian States. Italy, acquiring Venice, entered into full possession of herself, Rome alone excepted. The disjointed members of Germany moved to union under Prussia, like bone coming to its bone.

These were deplorable reversals of Papal policy, unfriendly both to the temporal dominion at home and to the spiritual dominion abroad. By the instrumentality of France and Austria it had been possible, for ages, to keep Italy and Germany parcelled into small States, easily played off against one another, inimical to great national organizations or high national sentiment, and glad of an alliance with a small State possessing an organization by which it could interfere almost everywhere, and in almost everything. The long-continued success of the policy directed to this end seemed to stamp it as almost miraculous. Had Germany united under the Hapsburgs, ready to keep Italy disunited, it would have mattered less to Rome. But her uniting under the Hohenzollerns, and aiding Italy to become one, was doubly dangerous. Reconstruction as going on in Italy and Germany must be met by reconstruction on a universal scale.

On November 4, 1866, the people of Venetia carried their suffrages to the feet of King Victor Emmanuel, while Austria and France sullenly acquiesced. The king said, "Italy is made if not completed"--a hint which the Vatican both understood and resented. Five weeks later, at four o'clock on the morning of December 11, Mr. Gladstone, whose name had already left a beneficent mark on the history of Italy, was watching by the gaslight from a window in Rome as the French troops wound round the corner of a street, and he felt that the seed of great events lay in that evacuation![56] That day the flag of red, white, and blue which for seventeen years had cast a light on the Vatican and a shadow on the Tiber, was lowered at St. Angelo. The Pope felt that it would soon be succeeded by the red, white, and green. So that as if by a historical parody on the old furor of the circus, the rage of parties in Rome was once more lashed up by the blue and the green respectively.

"Do not deceive yourselves," said the Pope to General Montebello, when he presented himself to take leave; "the revolution will come hither: it has proclaimed it: you have heard it, you have understood it and seen it."

The _Civiltá Cattolica_, alluding to the "soporifics" administered at this irritating moment by French journalists and diplomatists, asked whether France would hold the same language to Italy, now menacing the Pope, as she had held to Austria and Spain when preparing to assist him, namely, that "any departure from the principle of non-intervention would involve a war with France." She had not so spoken to Italy, and would not do so, for had not Billault said, "It is not possible to turn French bayonets against Italy." This being the case, France might hold her peace and not tease the respectable public with soporifics.[57]

When Napoleon III, in the discourse from the throne, alluding to the fear of Rome being taken from the Pope, said that Europe would not permit an event which would throw confusion into the Catholic world, the _Civiltá_ bitterly exposed his double dealing. Some would take this language as a pledge to uphold the temporal power, but others would see that it was only a shuffling of the responsibility off the shoulders of France on to those of Europe. Had he said France will not stand it? No, but that Europe will not allow it.

It would be about this time that Viscount Poli and Arthur Guillemin, a lieutenant of zouaves and a zealous crusader, sitting over a cup of coffee, saw five gentlemen enter the coffeehouse who were not Romans, but superintendents of a railway then being constructed. One of them laid on the table a nosegay, so arranged that the colours formed "the cockade of a king hostile to the Pontiff"--doubtless red and white camellias, forming, with their green leaves, the colours of Italy. Guillemin, who was in uniform, heard remarks which showed that the gentlemen knew what the flowers signified. He rose, seized the nosegay, dashed it to the ground, and trampled it to pieces. Then, as the others grumbled, he drew out his revolver, laid it by his side, and went on sipping his coffee, and chatting with the Viscount.[58]

The _Civiltá_ was at this time publishing a series of articles on the massacre of St. Bartholomew's, sometimes calling it "the slaughter" and sometimes "the executions of Paris"; and calculating that there might have been some two thousand Protestants put to death in the capital, and, say, eight thousand in all France!

Among his other crimes, Bismarck stayed the preparations for the Council by the campaign of Sadowa. The most reverend Court historian evidently has no sense of any need for giving the world other reasons for the total interruption of those preparations than the political troubles. Yet one who learned Christianity at the feet of Christ would not readily see why the studies of holy men in the mysteries of divine revelation should depend upon a battle in Bohemia, or on the flitting of a French garrison. Surely, divines might go on searching into naturalism, rationalism, pantheism, somnambulism, and freemasonry, whether Germany was uniting or splitting up again. Nevertheless, studies in regalism and Caesarism in the regular subordination of the natural order to the supernatural, and in the best measures for replacing the political system of Europe on the _divine basis_, or, as we should say, for subordinating civil and restoring ecclesiastical jurisdiction, were liable to be influenced by the flights of the eagles. And the augurs who were tracing the lines for the foundations of the reconstruction, found in the movements of the eagles of Prussia and France omens that counselled delay.

According to the original design, the Council was to be opened on the day observed as the eighteenth centennial anniversary of St. Peter's martyrdom. But, owing to these sad interruptions, when 1867 approached the secret preparations were not sufficiently advanced. Such, at least, is the only reason given by Cecconi why the Council was postponed.

The Pope, however, was resolved to cover St. Peter's day with glory. So his own thrice sacred anniversary, that of "the Immaculate," and of the Syllabus, was once more signalized by the issue of letters to the bishops of the whole world, citing them to Rome for the 29th of the ensuing June. They were not only to celebrate the centenary of Peter's martyrdom, but to take part in the canonization of some twenty additional saints, and also to attend certain consistories. The second name upon the list of the "new patrons in the presence of God" about to be created was that of PETER DE ARBUES, "Spanish inquisitor and martyr,"[59] of whose canonization we shall hear again. This invitation was dated three days before the French evacuated Rome. As trusty bayonets were failing, additional celestial powers were to be called into the firmament.

All this time the Liberal Catholics were becoming increasingly uneasy at the prospect of the dangers on which the Church was drifting. They had hoped to see her first embrace and then dominate modern culture and liberties. This was a dream of O'Connell, of Lammenais, and of Gioberti. At this aimed the erudite and steadfast German Catholics. But every new utterance of the Court, whether in official document or inspired organ, showed that it was determined upon dragging the Church in an opposite direction. According to the policy to which it had fully committed itself, the Church was to conquer, not by adopting the modern age, but by restoring the middle ages. The dominion of the Pontiff over the whole earth as spiritual despot and temporal suzerain was the ideal to which everything must give way. Montalembert, who had been flattered by the opening career of Pius IX, as sailors say they are flattered by what they call foxy weather, expresses himself as follows: "I began as early as 1852 to wrestle against the detestable political and religious aberrations summed up in contemporary Ultramontanism." He showed that when in 1847 he defended the Jesuits of the Sonderbund against Thiers, as he did with equal eloquence and want of foresight, he did not utter one word of the modern doctrines, and that for a good reason, because, he says, "No one had thought of setting them up when I entered on public life." Indeed, he affirms that, in 1847, Gallicanism was dead, but that it had been revived through the encouragement given to extreme pretensions during the pontificate of Pius IX. He then quotes an important letter addressed to himself, in 1863, by Sibour, at that time Archbishop of Paris--

The new Ultramontane school is conducting us to a twofold
idolatry--idolatry of the temporal power and idolatry of the
spiritual power. When you, like myself, made a splendid profession
of Ultramontanism, you did not understand things in this fashion.
We defended the independence of the spiritual power against
the usurpations and pretensions of the temporal power; but we
respected the constitution of the State and the constitution of the
Church. We did not sweep away every intermediate power, or every
gradation of order, nor yet every legitimate resistance, nor all
individuality and spontaneity. The Pope and the Emperor were not
then--the former the whole Church, the latter the whole State.

Montalembert goes on to say that the old Ultramontanes had recognized the right of the Pope, in a great crisis, to rise above all rules; but they did not confound the exception with the rule. These cares and apprehensions were for the time concealed, and were only brought to light by the anguish of that moment when the final leap downward was about to place a gulf that could never be re-crossed between Rome and all things free and equal. But when the expression did come, it bore with it the record of previous irritations.

"The Ultramontane bishops," said Montalembert,[60] "have pushed
everything to the extreme, and have argued to the utmost against
all liberties, those of the State as well as those of the Church."

"If such a system was not of a nature to compromise the gravest
interests of religion, in the present, but much more in the future,
we might content ourselves with despising it; but when one has the
presentiment of the ills which are being prepared for us, it is
difficult to be silent and resigned."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 56: _Quarterly Review_, No. 275, p. 293.]

[Footnote 57: _Civiltá_, Serie VI, vol. ix, p. 126.]

[Footnote 58: _Civiltá_, Serie VII. iv. 418.]

[Footnote 59: _Cecconi_, p. 133.]

[Footnote 60: Letter quoted in the _Unitá Cattolica_, March 10, 1870. _Friedberg_, pp. 118-121.]