FOREIGN OCCUPATION.
The Pope is loved and revered in all Catholic countries--except his
own.
It is, therefore, perfectly just and natural that one hundred and
thirty-nine millions of devoted and respectful men should render him
assistance against three millions of discontented ones. It is not
enough to have given him a temporal kingdom, or to have restored that
kingdom to him when he had the misfortune to lose it; one must lend
him a permanent support, unless the expense of a fresh restoration is
to be incurred every year.
This is the principle of the foreign occupation. We are one hundred
and thirty-nine millions of Catholics, who have violently delegated to
three millions of Italians the honour of boarding and lodging our
spiritual chief. If we were not to leave a respectable army in Italy
to watch over the execution of our commands, we should be doing our
work by halves.
In strict logic, the security of the Pope should be guaranteed at the
common expense of the Catholic Powers. It seems quite natural that
each nation interested in the oppression of the Romans should furnish
its contingent of soldiers. Such a system, however, would have the
effect of turning the castle of St. Angelo into another Tower of
Babel. Besides, the affairs of this world are not all regulated
according to the principles of logic.
The only three Powers which contributed to the re-establishment of
Pius IX. were France, Austria, and Spain. The French besieged Rome;
the Austrians seized the places of the Adriatic; the Spaniards did
very little, not from the want either of goodwill or courage, but
because their allies left them nothing to do.
If a private individual may be permitted to probe the motives upon
which princes act, I would venture to suggest that the Queen of Spain
had nothing in view but the interests of the Church. Her soldiers came
to restore the Pope to his throne; they went as soon as he was
reseated on it. This was a chivalrous policy.
Napoleon III. also considered the restoration of the Pope to a
temporal throne necessary to the good of the Church. Perhaps he thinks
so still--though I couldn't swear to it. But his motives of action
were complicated. Simple President of the French Republic, heir to a
name which summoned him to the throne, resolved to exchange his
temporary magistracy for an imperial crown, he had the greatest
possible interest in proving to Europe how republics are put down. He
had already conceived the idea of playing that great part of champion
of order, which has since caused him to be received by all Sovereigns
first as a brother, and afterwards as an arbitrator. Lastly, he knew
that the restoration of the Pope would secure him a million of
Catholic votes towards his election to the imperial crown. But to
these motives of personal interest were added some others, if
possible, of a loftier character. The heir of Napoleon and of the
liberal Revolution of '89, the man who read his own name on the first
page of the civil code, the author of so many works breathing the
spirit of new ideas and the passionate love of progress, the silent
dreamer whose busy brain already teemed with the germs of all the
prosperity we have enjoyed for the last ten years, was incapable of
handing over three millions of Italians to reaction, lawlessness, and
misery. If he had firmly resolved to put down the Republic at Rome, he
was not less firm in his resolution to suppress the abuses, the
injustice, and all the traditional oppressions which drove the
Italians to revolt. In the opinion of the head of the French Republic,
the way to be again victorious over anarchy, was to deprive it of all
pretext and all cause for its existence.
He knew Rome; he had lived there. He knew, from personal experience,
in what the Papal government differed from good governments. His
natural sense of justice urged him to give the subjects of the Holy
Father, in exchange for the political autonomy of which he robbed
them, all the civil liberties and all the inoffensive rights enjoyed
in civilized States.
On the 18th of August, 1849, he addressed to M. Edgar Ney a letter,
which was, in point of fact, a _memorandum_ addressed to the Pope.
_AMNESTY, SECULARIZATION, THE CODE NAPOLEON, A LIBERAL GOVERNMENT_:
these were the gifts he promised to the Romans in exchange for the
Republic, and demanded of the Pope in return for a crown. This
programme contained, in half-a-dozen words, a great lesson to the
sovereign, and a great consolation to the people.
But it is easier to introduce a Breguet spring into a watch made when
Henri IV. was king, than a single reform into the old pontifical
machine. The letter of the 18th of August was received by the friends
of the Pope as an "insult to his rights, good sense, justice, and
majesty!"[13] Pius IX. took offence at it; the Cardinals made a joke
of it. This determination, this prudence, this justice, on the part of
a man who held them all in his hand, appeared to them immeasurably
comical. They still laugh at it. Don't name M. Edgar Ney before them,
or you'll make them laugh till their sides ache.
The Emperor of Austria never committed the indiscretion of writing
such a letter as that of the 18th of August. The fact is, the Austrian
policy in Italy differs materially from ours.
France is a body very solid, very compact, very firm, very united,
which has no fear of being encroached upon, and no desire to encroach
on others. Her political frontiers are nearly her natural limits; she
has little or nothing to conquer from her neighbours. She can,
therefore, interfere in the events of Europe for purely moral
interests, without views of conquest being attributed to her. One or
two of her leaders have suffered themselves to be carried somewhat too
far by the spirit of adventure; the nation has never had, what may be
called, geographical ambition. France does not disdain to conquer the
world by the dispersion of her ideas, but she desires nothing more.
That which constitutes the beauty of our history, to those who take an
elevated view of it, is the twofold object, pursued simultaneously by
the Sovereign and the nation, of concentrating France, and spreading
French ideas.
The old Austrian diplomacy has been, for the last six hundred years,
incessantly occupied in stitching together bits of material, without
ever having been able to make a coat. It does not consider either the
colour or the quality of the cloth, but always keeps the needle going.
The thread it uses is often white, and it not infrequently
breaks--when away goes the new patch! Then another has to be found.
A province is detached--two more are laid hold of. The piece gets rent
down the middle--a rag is caught up, then another, and whatever comes
to hand is sewn together in breathless haste. The effect of this
stitching monomania has been, to keep constantly changing the map of
Europe, to bring together, as chance willed it, races and religions of
every pattern, and to trouble the existence of twenty peoples, without
making the unity of a nation. Certain Machiavellic old gentlemen
sitting round a green cloth at Vienna, direct this work, measure the
material, rub their hands complacently when it stretches, snatch off
their wigs in despair when a piece is torn, and look on all sides for
another wherewith to replace it. In the Middle Ages, the sons of the
house used to be sent to visit foreign princesses: they made love to
their royal and serene highnesses in German, and always brought back
with them some shred of territory. But now that princesses receive
their dowers in hard cash, recourse is had to violent measures in
order to procure pieces of material; they are seized by soldiers; and
there are some large stains of blood upon this harlequin's cloak!
Almost all the states of Italy, the kingdom of Naples, Sardinia,
Sicily, Modena, Parma, Placentia, and Guastalla, have been in turn
stitched to the same piece as Bohemia, Transylvania, and Croatia. Rome
would have shared the same fate, if papal excommunications had not
broken the thread. In 1859 it is Venice and Milan that pay for
everybody, till it comes to the turn of Tuscany, Modena, and Massa, to
be patched on in virtue of certain reversionary rights.
What must have been the satisfaction of Austrian diplomatists when
they were enabled to throw their troops into the kingdom of the Pope,
without remonstrances from anybody! Beyond all doubt, the interests of
the Church were those which least occupied them. And as for taking any
interest in the unfortunate subjects of Pius IX., or demanding for
them any rights, or any liberties, Austria never thought of it for a
moment. The old Danaïde only saw an opportunity for pouring another
people into her ill-made and unretentive cask.
While the French army cautiously cannonaded the capital of the arts,
spared public monuments, and took Rome, so to speak, with gloved
hands, the Austrian soldiers carried the beautiful cities of the
Adriatic--_à la Croate_! As victors, we treated gently those we had
conquered, from motives of humanity; Austria, those she had conquered,
brutally, from motives of conquest. She regarded the fair country of
the Legations and the Marches as another Lombardy, which she would be
well disposed to keep.
We occupied Rome, and the port of Civita Vecchia; the Austrians took
for themselves all the country towards the Adriatic. We established
our quarters in the barracks assigned to us by the municipality; the
Austrians built complete fortresses, as is their practice, with the
money of the people they were oppressing. For six or seven years their
army lived at the expense of the country. They sent their regiments
naked, and when poor Italy had clothed them, others came to replace
them.
Their army was looked upon with no very favourable eye; neither indeed
was ours: the radical party was opposed both to their presence and
ours. Some stray soldiers of both armies were killed. The French army
defended itself courteously, the Austrian army revenged itself. In
three years, from the first of January, 1850, to the 1st of January,
1853, we shot three murderers. Austria has a heavier hand: she has
executed not only criminals, but thoughtless, and even innocent
people. I have already given some terrible figures, and will spare you
their repetition.
From the day when the Pope condescended to return home, the French
army withdrew into the background; it hastened to restore to the
pontifical government all its powers. Austria has only restored what
it could not keep. She even still undertakes to repress political
crimes. She feels personally wronged if a cracker is let off, if a
musket is concealed: in short, she fancies herself in Lombardy.
At Rome, the French place themselves at the disposal of the Pope for
the maintenance of order and public security. Our soldiers have too
much honesty to let a murderer or a thief who is within their reach
escape. The Austrians pretend that they are not gendarmes, to arrest
malefactors; each individual soldier considers himself the agent of
the old diplomatists, charged with none but political functions:
police matters are not within his province. What is the consequence?
The Austrian army, after carefully disarming the citizens, delivers
them over to malefactors, without the means of protection.
At Bologna, a merchant of the name of Vincenzio Bedini was pointed out
to me, who had been robbed in his warehouse at six o'clock in the
evening. An Austrian sentinel was on guard at his door.
Austria has good reasons for encouraging disorders in the provinces
she occupies: the greater the frequency of crime, and the difficulty
of governing the people, the greater is the necessity for the presence
of an Austrian army. Every murder, every theft, every burglary, every
assault, tends to strike the roots of these old diplomatists more deep
into the kingdom of the Pope.
France would rejoice to be able to recall her troops. She feels that
their presence at Rome is not a normal state of things: she is herself
more shocked than anybody else at this irregularity. She has reduced,
as much as possible, the effective force of her occupying army; she
would embark her remaining regiments, were she not aware that to do so
would be to deliver the Pope over to the executioner. Mark the extent
to which she carries her disinterestedness in the affairs of Italy. In
order to place the Holy Father in a condition to defend himself alone,
she is trying to create for him a national army. The Pope possesses at
the present time four regiments of French manufacture; if they are not
very good, or rather, not to be relied upon, it is not the fault of
the French. The priestly government has itself alone to blame. Our
generals have done all in their power, not only to drill the Pope's
soldiers, but to inspire them with that military spirit which the
Cardinals carefully endeavour to stifle. Is it likely that we shall
find the Austrian army seeking to render its presence needless, and
spontaneously returning home?
And yet I must admit, with a certain shame, that the conduct of the
Austrians is more logical than ours. They entered the Pope's
dominions, meaning to stay there; they spare no pains to assure their
conquest in them. They decimate the population, in order that they may
be feared. They perpetuate disorder, in order that their permanent
presence may be required. Disorder and terror are Austria's best arms.
As for us, let us see what we have done. In the interest of France,
nothing; and I am glad of it. In the interest of the Pope, very
little. In the interest of the Italian nation, still less.
The Pope promised us the reform of some abuses, in his _Motu Proprio_
of Portici. It was not quite what we demanded of him; still his
promises afforded us some gratification. He returned to his capital,
to elude their fulfilment at his ease. Our soldiers awaited him with
arms in their hands. They fell at his feet as he passed them.
During nine consecutive years, the pontifical government has been
retreating step by step,--France, all the while, politely entreating
it to move on a little. Why should it follow our advice? What
necessity was there for yielding to our arguments? Our soldiers
continued to mount guard, to present arms, to fall down on one knee,
and patrol regularly round all the old abuses.
In the end, the pertinacity with which we urged our good counsels
became disagreeable to his Holiness. His retrograde court has a horror
of us; it prefers the Austrians, who crush the people, but who never
talk of liberty. The Cardinals say, sometimes in a whisper, sometimes
even aloud, that they don't want our army, that we are very much in
their way, and that they could protect themselves--with the assistance
of a few Austrian regiments.
The nation, that is the middle class, says, our good-will, of which it
has no doubt, is of little use to it; and declares it would undertake
to obtain all its rights, to secularize the government, to proclaim
the amnesty, to introduce the Code Napoléon, and to establish liberal
institutions, if we would but withdraw our soldiers. This is what it
says at Rome. At Bologna, Ferrara, and Ancona, it believes that, in
spite of everything, the Romans are glad to have us, because, although
we let evil be done, we never do it ourselves. In this we are admitted
to be better than the Austrians.
Our soldiers say nothing. Troops don't argue under arms. Let me speak
for them.
"We are not here to support the injustice and dishonesty of
a petty government that would not be tolerated for
twenty-four hours with us. If we were, we must change the
eagle on our flags for a crow. The Emperor cannot desire the
misery of a people, and the shame of his soldiers. He has
his own notions. But if, in the meantime, these poor devils
of Romans were to rise in insurrection, in the hope of
obtaining the Secularization, the Amnesty, the Code, and the
Liberal Government, which we have taught them to expect, we
should inevitably be obliged to shoot them down."