ANTONELLI.
He was born in a den of thieves. His native place, Sonnino, is more
celebrated in the history of crime than all Arcadia in the annals of
virtue. This nest of vultures was hidden in the southern mountains,
towards the Neapolitan frontier. Roads, impracticable to mounted
dragoons, winding through brakes and thickets; forests, impenetrable
to the stranger; deep ravines and gloomy caverns,--all combined to
form a most desirable landscape, for the convenience of crime. The
houses of Sonnino, old, ill-built, flung pell-mell one, upon the
other, and almost uninhabitable by human beings, were, in point of
fact, little else than depots of pillage and magazines of rapine. The
population, alert and vigorous, had for many centuries practised armed
robbery and depredation, and gained its livelihood at the point of the
carbine. New-born infants inhaled contempt of the law with the
mountain air, and drew in the love of others' goods with their
mothers' milk. Almost as soon as they could walk, they assumed the
_cioccie_, or mocassins of untanned leather, with which they learned
to run fearlessly along the edge of the giddiest mountain precipices.
When they had acquired the art of pursuing and escaping, of taking
without being taken, the knowledge of the value of the different
coins, the arithmetic of the distribution of booty, and the principles
of the rights of nations as they are practised among the Apaches or
the Comanches, their education was deemed complete. They required no
teaching to learn how to apply the spoil, and to satisfy their
passions in the hour of victory.
In the year of grace 1806, this sensual, brutal, impious,
superstitious, ignorant, and cunning race endowed Italy with a little
mountaineer, known as Giacomo Antonelli.
Hawks do not hatch doves. This is an axiom in natural history which
has no need of demonstration. Had Giacomo Antonelli been gifted at his
birth with the simple virtues of an Arcadian shepherd, his village
would have instantly disowned him. But the influence of certain events
modified his conduct, although they failed to modify his nature. His
infancy and his childhood were subjected to two opposing influences.
If he received his earliest lessons from successful brigandage, his
next teachers were the gendarmerie. When he was hardly four years old,
the discharge of a high moral lesson shook his ears: it was the French
troops who were shooting brigands in the outskirts of Sonnino. After
the return of Pius VII. he witnessed the decapitation of a few
neighbouring relatives who had often dandled him on their knees. Under
Leo XII. it was still worse. Those wholesome correctives, the wooden
horse and the supple-jack, were permanently established in the village
square. About once a fortnight the authorities rased the house of some
brigand, after sending his family to the galleys, and paying a reward
to the informer who had denounced him. St. Peter's Gate, which adjoins
the house of the Antonellis, was ornamented with a garland of human
heads, which eloquent relics grinned dogmatically enough in their iron
cages. If the stage be a school of life, surely such a stage as this
is a rare teacher. Young Giacomo was enabled to reflect upon the
inconveniences of brigandage, even before he had tasted its sweets.
About him some men of progress had already engaged in industrial
pursuits of a less hazardous nature than robbery. His own father, who,
it was whispered, had in him the stuff of a Grasparone or a Passatore,
instead of exposing himself upon the highways, took to keeping
bullocks, he then became an Intendant, and subsequently was made a
Municipal Receiver; by which occupations he acquired more money at
considerably less risk.
The young Antonelli hesitated for some time as to the choice of a
calling. His natural vocation was that of the inhabitants of Sonnino
in general, to live in plenty, to enjoy every sort of pleasure, to
make himself at home everywhere, to be dependent upon nobody, to rule
others, and to frighten them, if necessary, but, above all, to violate
the laws with impunity. With the view of attaining so lofty an end
without exposing his life, for which he ever had a most particular
regard, he entered the great seminary of Rome.
In our land of scepticism, a young man enters the seminary with the
hope of being ordained a priest: Antonelli entered it with the
opposite intention. But in the capital of the Catholic Church, young
Levites of ordinary intelligence become magistrates, prefects,
councillors of state, and ministers, while the "dry fruit[6] is
thought good enough for making priests."
Antonelli so distinguished himself, that (with Heaven's help) he
escaped the sacrament of Ordination. He has never said mass: he has
never confessed a penitent; I won't swear he has even confessed
himself. He gained what was of more value than all the Christian
virtues--the friendship of Gregory XVI. He became a prelate, a
magistrate, a prefect, Secretary General of the Interior, and Minister
of Finance. No one can say he has not chosen the right path. A finance
minister, if he knows anything of his business, can lay by more money
in six months than all the brigands of Sonnino in twenty years.
Under Gregory XVI. he had been a reactionist, to please his sovereign.
On the accession of Pius IX., for the same reason, he professed
liberal ideas. A red hat and a ministerial portfolio were the
recompense of his new convictions, and proved to the inhabitants of
Sonnino that liberalism itself is more lucrative than brigandage. What
a practical lesson for those mountaineers! One of themselves clothed
in purple and fine linen, actually riding in his gilt coach, passed
the barracks, and their old friends the dragoons presenting arms,
instead of firing long shots at him!
He obtained the same influence over the new Pope that he had over the
old one, thus proving that people may be got hold of without stopping
them on the highway. Pius IX., who had no secrets from him, confided
to him his wish to correct abuses, without concealing his fear of
succeeding too well. He served the Holy Father, even in his
irresolutions. As President of the Supreme Council of State, he
proposed reforms, and as Minister he postponed their adoption. Nobody
was more active than he, whether in settling or in violating the
constitution of 1848. He sent Durando to fight the Austrians, and
disavowed him after the battle.
He quitted the ministry as soon as he found there were dangers to be
encountered, but assisted the Pope in his secret opposition to his
ministers. The murder of Count Rossi gave him serious cause for
reflection. A man don't take the trouble to be born at Sonnino, in
order to let himself be assassinated: quite the contrary. He placed
the Pope--and himself--in safety, and then went to Gaeta to play the
part of Secretary of State _in partibus_.
From this exile dates his omnipotence over the will of the Holy
Father, his reinstatement in the esteem of the Austrians, and the
consistency in his whole conduct. Since then no more contradictions in
his political life. They who formally accused him of hesitating
between the welfare of the nation and his own personal interest are
reduced to silence. He wishes to restore the absolute power of the
Pope, in order that he may dispose of it at his ease. He prevents all
reconciliation between Pius IX. and his subjects; he summons the
cannon of Catholicism to effect the conquest of Rome. He ill-uses the
French, who are willing to die for him; he turns a deaf ear to the
liberal counsels of Napoleon III.; he designedly prolongs the exile of
his master; he draws up the promises of the _Motu Proprio_, while
devising means to elude them. At length, he returns to Rome, and for
ten years continues to reign over a timid old man and an enslaved
people, opposing a passive resistance to all the counsels of diplomacy
and all the demands of Europe. Clinging tenaciously to power, reckless
as to the future, misusing present opportunities, and day by day
increasing his fortune--after the manner of Sonnino.
In this year of grace 1859, he is fifty-three years of age. He
presents the appearance of a well-preserved man. His frame is slight
and robust, and his constitution is that of a mountaineer. The breadth
of his forehead, the brilliancy of his eyes, his beak-like nose, and
all the upper part of his face inspire a certain awe. His countenance,
of almost Moorish hue, is at times lit up by flashes of intellect. But
his heavy jaw, his long fang-like teeth, and his thick lips express
the grossest appetites. He gives you the idea of a minister grafted on
a savage. When he assists the Pope in the ceremonies of the Holy Week
he is magnificently disdainful and impertinent. He turns from time to
time in the direction of the diplomatic tribune, and looks without a
smile at the poor ambassadors, whom he cajoles from morning to night.
You admire the actor who bullies his public. But when at an evening
party he engages in close conversation with a handsome woman, the play
of his countenance shows the direction of his thoughts, and those of
the imaginative observer are imperceptibly carried to a roadside in a
lonely forest, in which the principal objects are prostrate
postilions, an overturned carriage, trembling females, and a select
party of the inhabitants of Sonnino!
He lives in the Vatican, immediately over the Pope. The Romans ask
punningly which is the uppermost, the Pope or Antonelli?
All classes of society hate him equally. Concini himself was not more
cordially detested. He is the only living man concerning whom an
entire people is agreed.
A Roman prince furnished me with some information respecting the
relative fortunes of the nobility. When he gave me the list he said,
"You will remark the names of two individuals, the amount of
whose property is described as unlimited. They are Torlonia
and Antonelli. They have both made large fortunes in a few
years,--the first by speculation, the second by power."
The Cardinals Altieri and Antonelli were one day disputing upon some
point in the Pope's presence. They flatly contradicted one another;
and the Pope inclined to the opinion of his Minister. "Since your
Holiness," said the noble Altieri, "accords belief to a _ciociari_[7]
rather than to a Roman prince, I have nothing to do but to withdraw."
The Apostles themselves appear to entertain no very amicable feelings
towards the Secretary of State. The last time the Pope made a solemn
entry into his capital (I think it was after his journey to Bologna),
the Porta del Popolo and the Corso were according to custom hung with
draperies, behind which the old statues of St. Peter and St. Paul were
completely hidden. Accordingly the people were entertained by finding
the following dialogue appended to the corner of the street:--
_Peter to Paul_. "It seems to me, old fellow, that we are somewhat
forsaken here."
_Paul to Peter_. "What would you have? We are no longer anything.
There is but James in the world now."
I am aware that hatred proves nothing--even the hatred of Apostles.
The French nation, which claims to be thought just, insulted the
funeral procession of Louis XIV. It also occasionally detested Henri
IV. for his economy, and Napoleon for his victories. No statesman
should be judged upon the testimony of his enemies. The only evidence
we should admit either for or against him, is his public acts. The
only witnesses to which any weight should be attributed are the
greatness and the prosperity of the country he governs.
Such an inquiry would, I fear, be ruinous to Antonelli. The nation
reproaches him with all the evils it has suffered for the last ten
years. The public wretchedness and ignorance, the decline of the arts,
the entire suppression of liberty, the ever-present curse of foreign
occupation,--all fall upon his head, because he alone is responsible
for everything.
It may be alleged that he has at least served the reactionary party. I
much doubt it. What internal factions has he suppressed? Secret
societies have swarmed in Rome during his reign. What remonstrances
from without has he silenced? Europe continues to complain
unanimously, and day by day lifts up its voice a tone or two higher.
He has failed to reconcile one single party or one single power to the
Holy father. During his ten years' dictatorship, he has neither gained
the esteem of one foreigner nor the confidence of one Roman. All he
has gained is time. His pretended capacity is but slyness. To the
trickery of the present he adds the cunning of the red Indian; but he
has not that largeness of view without which it is impossible to
establish firmly the slavery of the people. No one possesses in a
greater degree than he the art of dragging on an affair, and
manoeuvring with and tiring out diplomatists; but it is not by
pleasantries of this sort that a tottering tyranny can be propped up.
Although he employs every subterfuge known to dishonest policy, I am
not quite sure that he has even the craft of a politician.
The attainment of his own end does not in fact require it. For after
all, what is his end? In what hope, with what aim, did he come down
from the mountains of Sonnino?
Do you really believe he thought of becoming the benefactor of the
nation?--or the saviour of the Papacy?--or the Don Quixote of the
Church? Not such a fool! He thought, first, of himself; secondly, of
his family.
His family is flourishing. His four brothers, Filippo, Luigi,
Gregorio, and--save the mark!--Angelo, all wore the _cioccie_ in their
younger days; they now, one and all, wear the count's coronet. One is
governor of the bank, a capital post, and since poor Campana's
condemnation he has got the Monte di Pietà. Another is Conservator of
Rome, under a Senator especially selected for his incapacity. Another
follows openly the trape of a monopolist, with immense facilities for
either preventing or authorizing exportation, according as his own
warehouses happen to be full or empty. The youngest is the commercial
traveller, the diplomatist, the messenger of the family, _Angelus
Domini_. A cousin of the family, Count Dandini, reigns over the
police. This little group is perpetually at work adding to a fortune
which is invisible, impalpable, and incalculable. The house of
Antonelli is not pitied at Sonnino.
As for the Secretary of State, all who know him intimately, both men
and women, agree that he leads a pleasant life. If it were not for the
bore of making head against the diplomatists, and giving audience
every morning, he would be the happiest of mountaineers. His tastes
are simple; a scarlet silk robe, unlimited power, an enormous fortune,
a European reputation, and all the pleasures within man's reach--this
trifle satisfies the simple tastes of the Cardinal Minister. Add, by
the bye, a splendid collection of minerals, perfectly classified which
he is constantly enriching with the passion of an amateur and the
tenderness of a father.
I was saying just now that he has always escaped the sacrament of Holy
Orders. He is Cardinal Deacon. The good souls who will have it that
all goes well at Rome, dwell with fervour on the advantage he
possesses in not being a priest. If he is accused of possessing
inordinate wealth, these indulgent Christians reply, that he is not a
priest! If you charge him with having read Machiavelli to good
purpose; admitted--what then?--he is no priest! If the tongue of
scandal is over-free with his private life; still the ready reply,
that he is not a priest! If Deacons are thus privileged, what latitude
may we not claim who have not even assumed the tonsure?
This highly-blest mortal has one weakness--truly a very natural one.
He fears death. A certain fair lady, who had been honoured by his
Eminence's particular attentions, thus illustrated the fact,
"Upon meeting me at our rendezvous, he seized me like a
madman, and with trembling eagerness examined my pockets. It
was only when he had assured himself that I had no concealed
weapon about me that he seemed to remember our friendship."
One man alone has dared to threaten a life so precious to itself, and
he was an idiot. Instigated by some of the secret societies, this poor
crazed wretch concealed himself beneath the staircase of the Vatican,
and awaited the coming of the Cardinal. When the intended victim
appeared, the idiot with much difficulty drew from beneath his
waistcoat--a table-fork! Antonelli saw the terrible weapon, and
bounded backwards with a spring which an Alpine chamois-hunter might
have envied. The miserable assassin was instantly seized, bound, and
delivered over to justice. The Roman tribunals, so often lenient
towards the really guilty, had no mercy for this real innocent. He was
beheaded. The Cardinal, full of pity, fell--officially--at the Pope's
feet, and asked for a pardon which he well knew would be refused. He
pays the widow a pension: is not this the act of a clever man?
Since the day when that formidable fork glittered before his eyes, he
has taken excessive precautions. His horses are broken to gallop
furiously through the streets, at considerable public risk.
Occasionally, his carriage knocks down and runs over a little boy or
girl. With characteristic magnanimity, he sends the parents fifty
crowns.
Antonelli has been compared to Mazarin. They have, in common, the fear
of death, inordinate love of money, a strong family feeling, utter
indifference to the people's welfare, contempt for mankind, and some
other accidental points of resemblance. They were born in the same
mountains, or nearly so. One obtained the influence over a woman's
heart which the other possesses over the mind of an old man. Both
governed unscrupulously, and both have merited and obtained the hatred
of their contemporaries. They have talked French comically, without
being insensible to any of the delicate niceties of the language.
Still there would be manifest injustice in placing them in the same
rank. The selfish Mazarin dictated to Europe the treaties of
Westphalia, and the Peace of the Pyrenees: he founded by diplomacy the
greatness of Louis XIV., and managed the affairs of the French
monarchy, without in any way neglecting his own.
Antonelli has made his fortune at the expense of the nation, the Pope,
and the Church. Mazarin may be compared to a skilful but rascally
tailor, who dresses his customers well, while he contrives to cabbage
sundry yards of their cloth; Antonelli, to those Jews of the Middle
Ages, who demolished the Coliseum for the sake of the old iron in the
walls.