A new joy awaited the Holy Father. The year 1867 will be ever memorable in
sacred annals, as the year of the great centennial celebration of the
glorious martrydom of SS. Peter and Paul. “Peter went to Rome,” St. Jerome
writes, “in the second year of the Emperor Claudius, and occupied there
the priestly chair for twenty-five years.” On the same venerable authority
it is known that Peter suffered two years after the death of the great
Roman philosopher, Seneca, who was executed by order of Nero in the
sixty-fifth year of the Christian era. In the same work (_de viris
illustribus_), St. Jerome says that SS. Peter and Paul were put to death
in the fourteenth year of Nero’s reign, which corresponds with the
sixty-seventh year of our era, when reckoned from the first of January,
and not from the 13th October, the date of Nero’s accession.
The French troops had scarcely been withdrawn from Rome in fulfilment of
the September agreement, when Pius IX. invited all the clergy and people
of the Catholic world to visit the city in order to participate in the
celebration of the centenary, and witness the canonization of several holy
persons long since deceased. Their names were Josaphat, the martyr
Archbishop of Solotsk; Pedro de Arbues, an Augustinian friar; the martyrs
of Gorcum; Paul of the Cross, founder of the Passionists; Leonardo di
Porto Maurizio; Maria Francesca, a Neapolitan of the third order of St.
Peter of Alcantara, and Germaine Cousin, of the diocese of Toulouse.
Shortly before, in the preceding December, the Holy Father enjoyed the
great happiness of celebrating, with even more than ordinary solemnity,
the beatification of the Franciscan Monk, Benedict of Urbino, who died in
odor of sanctity, at Fossombrone, in 1625, within a few miles of
Sinigaglia, the birthplace of the Pope, leaving the whole country
bordering on the Adriatic and the province of Umbria in a manner embalmed
by a life of sanctity and extraordinary self-denial. Pius IX., from early
youth, was familiar with the history of this saint, whose noble birth and
distinguished abilities opened to him the way to worldly fame and
prosperity, but who, nevertheless, chose the cross, becoming a Capuchin,
and having no other ambition in the seclusion of the cloister than to be a
worthy disciple of his crucified Saviour.
It was by no means to indulge his own pious feelings, or to gratify the
clergy and Catholic people, that the venerable Pontiff invited so many
from Italy and all parts of the Christian world to take part with him in
celebrating these canonizations, and, at the same time, the eighteen
hundredth anniversary of the martyrdom of the blessed Apostles, the
founders of the Church. His object was to edify, to place in contrast
with, and in opposition to, the worldly and unbelieving spirit of the time
the teachings and the solemn offices of religion, together with the power
of holiness, so admirably shown forth in the lives and glory of the
saints. The revolution aimed at nothing less than the destruction of
everything spiritual. It was good for it to be taught that true
spirituality is beyond its reach.
It would hardly be fair to contrast as purely worldly the grand exposition
at Paris, the World’s Fair, with the religious celebrations at Rome. The
rich and varied display of the objects of art and industry, in the
beautiful capital of France, was the result of an advanced Christian
civilization. It was recognized as such by the greatest statesmen, the
ablest men of science, and the wisest rulers of the age. No doubt it
savored more of the world and of things worldly than the festivals at
Rome. But the holy city bore it no grudge. It was other powers and other
arts than those which furnished out so grandly the Parisian exposition
against which Rome waged perpetual war. A Roman, let it not be forgotten,
and not the least pious among the Romans, the illustrious scientist,
Father Secchi, whose recent decease the world laments, took the highest
honors at the great industrial and artistic fair.
Paris, indeed, was in contrast with Rome, but more by its materialist
philosophy than by its magnificent exhibition of material improvements.
This philosophy availed itself of the exposition in order to show to what
extent it prevailed; and Paris extolled mere worldly power, luxury,
comfort and voluptuousness, whilst Rome had no praise but for humility,
poverty, self-denial, chastity. Paris applauded Alexander II., who
massacred the Poles; Rome, on the other hand, did honor to a Polish
bishop, Joseph Kunicievicz, who was cruelly murdered by Russian
fanaticism. Paris celebrated the apotheosis of free-thinking and religious
indifference; Rome, on the contrary, heaped honors on an Inquisitor, Peter
d’Arbues, who suffered martyrdom. Paris was loud in her acclamations to
the potentates and conquerors of the day, whilst Rome exalted an humble
shepherdess, Germaine Cousin, and some poor and obscure monks who were
hanged by heretics three hundred years ago, in a small town of Holland.
Yet was not Paris distinguished only by material glories, nor was Rome
altogether free from the taint of modern worldliness. There were those in
the latter city who, in the midst of an atmosphere of pious thought,
plotted deeds of diabolic wickedness, whilst Paris, which honored the
arts, was not without sympathy at Rome, and her prelates, the bishops of
France, were far from being the least among those five hundred high
dignitaries, twenty thousand priests of God’s Church, and more than one
hundred and fifty thousand Christian people from all quarters of the known
world, who took part in celebrating the glorious centenary and the no less
glorious victory of more than two hundred martyrs. The display of art,
industry and modern improvements of very kind presented, indeed, in the
midst of the beautiful French capital, a magnificent and cheering sight.
It was nothing, however, to the moral spectacle afforded by the presence
of ten or twelve mighty sovereigns around the now Imperial author of the
_coup d’etat_. It was supremely worldly. Who would then have said that
William of Prussia, and Napoleon III., the Czar of Russia, and the
successor of the caliphs, who, at the exhibition _fetes_, joined hands in
apparent friendship, were so soon to be engaged in deadly strife? and that
that capital, where so many great potentates came to honor Napoleon,
should, in a year or two, know him no more, and even struggle with all the
energy of desperation to obliterate every vestige of the improvements with
which he had so enriched and beautified the city? This was the world; for
the world is insincere. This was the world; for the figure thereof passeth
quickly away.
In Rome it was not so. There art and religion walked hand in hand.
Religion fostered art. Art was dutiful, and repaid the boon. It became the
handmaid of religion. Everywhere within the walls of her temples were seen
the products of art’s filial labor, in sculpture, painting, poetry and
music, her inexhaustible treasury of thought and history ever presenting
new sources of artistic power to the hand of genius. Those temples
themselves being, indeed, the finest monuments of architecture, bear
glorious witness to the excellent union of art and religion. Worldliness,
on the other hand, when at the height of its passion against religion,
seeks to destroy all the creations of art and genius. It aims at nothing
less than to reduce mankind to the condition of the savage, and is not
ashamed to acknowledge that such is its aim.
Let us hear the testimony of the Roman artists. This body, on the one
hand, rejoiced in the coming celebration of the centenary; on the other,
they were filled with sad forebodings as to the approaching downfall of
the Papal sovereignty by the threats of Garibaldi and the predictions of
Mazzini. They resolved, therefore, whilst yet the Pope, who, like his
predecessors, had shown them much kindness, and munificently rewarded
their labors, reigned at Rome, to present to him a dutiful and
affectionate address, which should remain, in time to come, as a testimony
of their gratitude to that beneficent sovereignty which they had but too
much reason to fear would soon come to an end. This address is so
important and tells so much truth, that it is deserving of a place in all
histories. It is as follows: “Most Holy Father, religion, policy and mere
human wisdom have protested in favor of the temporal power of the Papacy.
The arts come, in their turn, to lay their homage at the feet of your
Holiness, and to proclaim to the world that this power is to them
indispensable. Their voice must be heard and listened to. For when the
tide of generations recedes, the arts remain as the irrefutable witnesses
of the power and splendor of the civilization amid which these generations
lived. The sovereigns who encourage and develop them acquire immortal
renown; those who neglect or oppress them meet only with the contempt of
posterity. What royal dynasty has in this respect deserved so well of
civilization and humanity as that of the Sovereign Pontiffs? They have
been the watchful guardians of the master-pieces bequeathed to us by
antiquity. They have given these a home in their own palaces to show that
religion adopts and ennobles all that is truly beautiful. It is the
Sovereign Pontiffs who, by opening new avenues for modern art, have
brought it to the point of perfection, embodied in the master-pieces of
Raphael and Michael Angelo. They alone support in Rome that unique
assemblage of all that is beautiful in every order, that splendid
intellectual galaxy in whose light the artists of every land are formed.
Holy Father, the little spot of earth which the revolution has not yet
taken from you is the only place in which the arts find the inspiration
that is for them the breath of life, and the quiet without which that life
cannot expand. The soul of the true artist is filled with unspeakable
apprehension by the possibility of seeing these master-pieces destroyed or
scattered abroad, these treasures plundered, all this wealth annihilated;
and especially by the danger of seeing the ungraceful and meagre forms of
modern utilitarianism usurp the place held by the manners, the habits, the
face of all things in this privileged land of beauty, all consecrated by
the admiration of ages. Alas! Holy Father, what is happening in the rest
of Italy affords but too firm a ground for such apprehensions. The genius
of destruction is abroad there, and proceeds to sweep away pitilessly what
was the glory of ancient Italy. The spoliation and suppression of the
religious orders are one of the most deadly blows ever aimed at the
existence of the fine arts. Saddened by those forebodings, fearful of what
the future may bring forth, the artists resident in Rome come to the feet
of your Holiness to give utterance to their deep conviction that the
splendor, the greatness, the very existence of the fine arts in Europe are
inseparably connected with the maintenance of the beneficent power of the
Sovereign Pontiffs. Were it not that the rival passions which divide
Europe are of themselves fatally blind to consequences, the reign of your
Holiness would suffice to render this truth evident to all. For while
elsewhere national wealth is wasted in frivolous undertakings, or in
preparing instruments of destruction, the modest revenues inherited by
your Holiness are ever employed in continuing gloriously the noble labor
of your predecessors. On the one hand, you have drawn from obscurity the
beginnings of Christian art, thereby affording it new and precious data;
on the other, you have adorned Rome and the Vatican with works which
furnish a new and brilliant page to the grand history of art embodied in
the Vatican itself. While elsewhere reigned trouble and agitation, here
artists were able, beneath the blessed sway of your Holiness, to enjoy a
kindly welcome, an unrestrained liberty, and the peaceful contemplation of
those venerable structures and sites preserved so happily by the
Pontifical government from the sad alterations blindly wrought in other
cities by the troublous life of modern communities. May the Almighty One
hear our prayer, and persuade both sovereigns and nations that their honor
and glory will be measured, in coming ages, on the degree of protection
they shall have afforded to the temporal power of the Papacy, which has
ever been the unwearied promoter of the development of all the noblest
faculties in man, and which alone can continue to be the custodian of the
works of art originated by itself, and by it so faithfully treasured for
the benefit of all peoples!” This eloquent address will ever remain
carefully guarded by history, a noble monument of gratitude, and not only
this, but also as a testimony, all the more valuable as it is the
spontaneous utterance of men of the most cultivated intellect, in favor of
that sovereignty the destruction of which was sought, and has been
accomplished, by a party in whose ranks could be counted only rude
soldiers, bands of filibusters and politicians, if such they could be
called, whose counsels were inspired, not by the wisdom which
distinguishes statesmen, but by blind passion, and the most unworthy of
all passions, the passion of hatred—hatred of everything connected with
the Christian faith.
The great centennial celebration proceeded. Who would have dared to say,
whilst Nero reigned at Rome, and Christians were as pariahs, tolerated
only in order to afford the spectacle of their tortures to a heathen
multitude, that eighteen hundred years from Nero’s time, Christianity
would flourish and celebrate in that city, which was the scene of its
greatest trials, as well as all over the world, its victory and the
glorious martyrdom of its apostolic founders! The month of June, 1867,
will ever be memorable in the annals of the church. Never had so many
bishops assembled in the holy city. Nor were there ever there, at one
time, so many priests and pilgrims of all ranks and classes. The duties of
the time were commenced early in the month. On the 11th and 12th of June,
consistories were held in presence of the bishops, in order to make
preparation for the canonization of two hundred and five Japanese
Christians—priests, catechists, laymen, women and children—put to death in
hatred of the Christian faith, from 1617 to 1632. On the 26th of February,
1867, the decree of canonization had already been solemnly read in
presence of Pius IX., who, on the occasion, went in state to the Roman
College. On the 22nd February of the same year, the Holy Father signed
decrees bearing on the beatification of several holy persons, among whom
was Clement Maria Hofbauer, a Redemptorist. In an age of unbelief, it was
only to be expected that the enquiry should be made why the Pope made so
many saints?
In February, 1867, his Holiness replied, on occasion of a visit to the
Convent of the Capuchin Friars: “I have been shown,” said he, “a pamphlet,
entitled ‘Why so many Saints?’ Had we ever so much need of intercessors in
heaven and patterns in this world?” A little later he also said, alluding
to the festivals at Paris: “Man has not been placed on the earth solely in
order to amass wealth; still less in order to lead a life of pleasure. The
world is ignorant of this. It forgets mind, and devotes itself to matter.
Neither you nor I are this world of which I speak. You are come here in
the good disposition to seek the edification of your souls. I hope,
therefore, that you will bear away with you a salutary impression. Never
forget, my children, that you have a soul, a soul created in the image of
God, and which God will judge. Bestow on it more thought and care than on
industrial speculations, railways, and all those lesser objects which
constitute the good things of this world. I forbid you not to interest
yourselves in such transient matters. Do so reasonably and moderately. But
let me once more beg of you to remember that you have a soul.”
None of the ten or twelve potentates who visited Paris came to Rome. But
their absence was amply made up for by the immense concourse of clergy and
people from every quarter of the civilized world. The reverence shown to
Pius IX. by so many prelates was truly admirable. A Chinese bishop, Mgr.
Languillat, Vicar-apostolic of Nankin, coming for the first time into the
presence of the Supreme Pastor, fell prostrate on the threshold, and with
his arms extended towards the Pontiff, began to exclaim: “_Tu es Petrus!_”
(“Thou art Peter!”)
“Come to me, my brother,” said the Holy Father. “_Tu es Petrus!_” replied
the Chinese bishop, “_Tu es Petrus!_” Needless to say that when he
approached the venerable Pontiff affectionately embraced him, whilst both
gave vent to their feelings in tears. The laity of all ranks and classes
were no less devoted. A very moving scene which was witnessed this same
year (1867) is beautifully described by the Protestant correspondent of
the London _Morning Post_: “It is truly delightful to meet Pius IX. in the
country on foot, walking faster than one would suppose his age could
allow, his majestic person arrayed in a white soutane, and protected by a
large broad-brimmed purple hat. The other day, when I was at Aricia, he
was proceeding towards Genzano, followed by his guards and his carriage.
The ex-Queen of Naples and the Infanta, lately Regent, were walking in the
opposite direction, followed by their equipages and domestics. At a turn
of the road, exactly below the Villa Chigi, the two groups met. In a
moment their Royal Majesties were on their knees. His Holiness quickened
his pace in order to raise them up. The peasants of the neighborhood, who
were returning from their vineyards and orchards, together with their
wives and daughters, were struck with admiration. They also advanced and
knelt on each side of the central group formed by the illustrious
personages, calling out with all their might: ‘_Santo Padre, la
benedizione_.’ ‘Holy Father, your benediction!’ It was a splendid
tableau.”
On occasion of the centennial, substantial proofs of devotedness abounded.
The numerous pilgrims not only gave the homage of their faith, but also
brought magnificent offerings, as Peter’s pence, and presented addresses
with millions of signatures. One day fifteen hundred Italians were
received at an audience of the Holy Father, and made the offering of a
monumental album, together with one hundred purses filled with gold, as
the homage of one hundred Italian cities. Cardinal Manning laid at the
feet of Pius IX. £30,000—a generous testimony of English piety. The
Cardinal Archbishop of Mechlin brought to the centenary celebration
£16,000, the Archbishop of Posen £20,000, and the Mexican archbishop
£12,000, whilst Cuba offered 100,000 douros. “We are reversing the order
of nature,” smilingly observed the Holy Father; “here are the children
supporting the Father.” Nor was it too much for the wants of such a
Father. He received with one hand and generously dispensed with the other.
He took charge himself to lodge and entertain eighty-five of the poorer
bishops from Italy, the East, and remote missions. None of these were
allowed to depart without receiving abundant aid for their diocesan good
works.
Festival followed festival at Rome, from the 20th June till the 7th of
July. On the former day was celebrated the grand solemnity of Corpus
Christi. The Pope himself bore the holy sacrament, kneeling and surrounded
by the greater half of the whole Christian episcopate. It was remarked
that he was as calm and collected in the midst of such a great and
imposing multitude as if he had been in his private oratory. The vast
assemblage was also rapt in silent contemplation. Not a sound was heard
save the murmur of the fountains. An eye-witness has observed that if one
closed his eyes he could imagine himself in a desert. Next day was
celebrated the 21st anniversary of the coronation of Pius IX. He had
already said, in reply to an address read by Cardinal Patrizi, when all
the visitors to Rome were assembled on occasion of the commemoration of
his election—10th June—“Modern society is ardent in the pursuit of two
things, progress, and unity. It fails to reach either, because its motive
principles are selfishness and pride. Pride is the worst enemy of
progress, and selfishness by destroying charity, the bond of souls,
thereby rendering union impossible. Now God Himself has established the
Sovereign Pontiff in order to direct and enlighten society, to point out
evil and indicate the proper remedy. This induced me, some years ago, to
publish the ‘Syllabus.’ I now confirm that solemn act in your presence. It
is to be, henceforth, the rule of your teaching. We have to contend,
unceasingly, with the enemies who beset us. Placed on the mountain-top
like Moses, I lift up my hands to God in prayer for the triumph of the
church. I ask of you, my brother bishops, to support my arms, for they
grow weary. Take courage! The church must triumph. I leave this hope in
your hearts, not as a hope merely, but as a prophecy.”
On the 23rd was consecrated the Church of St. Mary of the Angels, an
admirable architectural monument, built originally according to the plans
of Michael Angelo, and rebuilt by Pius IX. The 24th, on leaving the
Basilica of St. John Lateran, the Pope was the object of a more splendid
ovation than any, perhaps, that he had as yet received. Kneeling on the
vast place, and completely filling it, the multitude which had not been
able to enter the Basilica waited for the Pontifical benediction. After
the Holy Father had raised his hand and pronounced the words of blessing,
the whole people rose, and, by a simultaneous movement and with one voice,
replied: “Live Pius IX.! Live the Pope-King!” Arms and handkerchiefs waved
amidst a rain of beautiful flowers. The Pope’s carriage was detained a
considerable time, and he himself, accustomed as he was to the
demonstrations of a devoted people, was moved to tears. His hood was
almost taken to pieces, thread by thread, by French ecclesiastics who were
close behind his Holiness, and who deposited the fragments, as precious
relics, in their breviaries. The crowd thronged around the Holy Father and
continued their acclamations as far as the Vatican, a distance of three
miles. Every new day gave proof of a like enthusiasm.
Pius IX. was anxious to address words of encouragement to the twenty
thousand priests of the church who had come to Rome. The greatness of
their number was a serious hindrance to this laudable purpose. The
spacious consistorial hall was by far too small to contain so many. On the
25th of June, however, they came to the hall, crowding its approaches, the
passages, the great staircase and the outer court. The Holy Father,
desiring to show his respect and affection for so many pilgrims of the
sacred order of the priesthood, came to the assembly in more than usual
state. The throne was raised a few steps, in order to afford an
opportunity of seeing and hearing the Supreme Pastor. The Pontiff was
preceded by the noble guard and the household prelates. As he entered the
hall, loud and joyous acclamations burst from the assembled priesthood,
for whom it was impossible to restrain their feelings of love and
veneration. The Holy Father himself was deeply moved, and, gathering
enthusiasm from the unusual scene around him, spoke so as to be heard even
in the remotest corridors, whilst those at a still greater distance were
visibly moved by the thrilling tones of his sonorous voice. There are no
readers who will not be interested in the words which fell from the lips
of the Sovereign Pontiff on this unique and solemn occasion. He began by
thanking the assembled clergy for their attendance in such imposing
numbers. They were the tribe in Israel, he continued, whose special
inheritance was the Lord. They stood between him and his people evermore,
offering with prayer and supplication the spotless victim of the new law.
Let them look well to the ministry entrusted to them, shining in the
presence of all men by the dignity of their bearing, the innocence of
their life, by integrity and charity, and the golden ornaments of every
virtue. “You,” he said, “who are the interpreters of the word of God, you
must preach it unweariedly to the wise and the unwise. Preach to them
Christ and Him crucified, not in loftiness of speech, but in the knowledge
of the spirit, never ceasing to call into the right road all who stray,
and confirm them in sound doctrine. Dispensers of the divine mysteries and
of the manifold grace of God, deal it out to the faithful people, to the
sick especially, in order that no help may fail them in their last
struggle with the evil one. Do not refuse to the little ones of the flock
the milk which they need. Let it be your dearest care to teach them, to
train them, to form them. Be the faithful and devoted helpmates of your
respective bishops; obeying them in all things, zealous to heal in your
parishes whatever is ailing, to bind up what is broken, to raise up what
is fallen, to seek what is lost, in order that in all things God may be
honored through our Lord Jesus Christ. Lift up your souls and contemplate
the immeasurable height of glory prepared by him for all true and faithful
laborers.”
On the 26th a great public consistory was held. The five hundred bishops
then at Rome were invited to attend. So great a number had never before
assembled in Italy or any part of Western Christendom. Nor indeed was
there ever, or could there ever have been, so great an occasion for their
assembling. There was question of celebrating the eighteen hundredth
anniversary of the glorious martyrdom of Rome’s first great bishop, so
many prelates had come together, also in order to venerate Peter in the
person of his venerable successor, who had now so long and so gloriously
borne witness to the Truth—the Truth in its plenitude, as first committed
to Peter and his fellow-apostles. The world was no longer heathen, and no
Nero reigned, but the spirit of unbelief was abroad, and its champions
were even then seeking to drive the Sovereign Pontiff from the holy city,
and were waging war with as determined wickedness as that of the early
persecutors against whom the apostles had so successfully contended.
The number of pilgrims from all parts of the Christian world, who had come
to Rome on occasion of the centennial celebration, is said by some writers
to have been not less than half a million. The presence of so great a
number of devoted Christian people on such an occasion was the noblest
protest that could be imagined against the vain boasts and prophecies of
the enemies of the Church which Peter founded. That church was not yet
forsaken, or destined soon to perish, which, in the nineteenth century of
her uninterrupted existence, could speak through so many witnesses—the
representatives of every civilized nation of the world.
The great consistorial hall in the Vatican Palace being too small to
contain so great a crowd of dignified listeners, the assembly was held in
the more spacious room which is situated above the vestibule of St.
Peter’s Church. At the opening of the consistory the cardinal’s hat was
conferred on the Archbishop of Seville, Luis de la Lastray Cuesta. A
formal petition for the beatification of Marie Rivier, the foundress of
the presentation Nuns of France, was then presented. After this ceremony,
the Holy Father, as was expected, delivered an allocution to the bishops.
He was full of admiration for their zeal in coming in such numbers on his
invitation, and he could not do less than express to them his gratitude.
Their presence was a striking proof of the unity of the Catholic Church.
“Yes, everything here proclaims that admirable unity by which, as through
a mysterious channel, all the gifts and graces of the Holy Spirit flow
into the mystic body of Christ, calling forth in every one of its members
those acts of faith and charity which excite the wonder of all mankind.
What has brought you here? Are you not come to decree the honors of
sanctity to those heroes of the church, the greater number of whom bore
away the palm of victory in their glorious witness for Christ? Of these
some died in defending the primacy of this apostolic see, which is the
centre of truth and unity; others gave their lives in defence of the unity
and integrity of the faith; others again shed their blood in the endeavor
to bring back schismatics to the one fold. Is it not providential that
such heroism should be commemorated and honored at the very moment when
the Catholic faith and the authority of the Holy See are the objects of
such furious and implacable conspiracies? We are also here to celebrate
with solemn rites the memory of that auspicious day, eighteen hundred
years ago, when Peter and Paul consecrated by their heroic witnessing and
their precious blood this impregnable stronghold of Catholic unity. What
can be more reasonable than that our joyous commemoration of this
triumphant death of the prince of the apostles should be graced by your
presence? For he belongs to the entire Catholic world. It is also most
important that the enemies of religion should conclude from what they
witness here how mighty is the energy, how unfailing the life, of that
Catholic Church which they so bitterly hate; how little wisdom they
display in matching their strength and their temporary triumphs over her
against that incomparable union of living forces which the creative power
of Christ has bound around this central rock. More than ever is it needful
in our age, that all men should see and understand that the only strong
and lasting tie between men’s souls depends on the reign over all of the
same Spirit of God. Besides, what can make a more abiding impression on
Catholic nations; what can draw them more powerfully and bind them more
closely in obedience to this apostolic chair and to us, than to see how
much their pastors cherish the rights and duties of Catholic unity, than
to behold them journeying from the farthest lands, notwithstanding every
inconvenience and impediment, in order to visit Rome and the apostolic
chair, as well as to revere in our humble person the successor of Peter
and the Vicar of Christ? We have been always convinced, from the moment we
beheld you approaching Peter in the person of his successor, or even
entering this city, which is impregnated with his blood, that from thence
to each one of you should go forth a special virtue. Yes, from this tomb,
where Peter’s ashes repose amid the veneration of the Christian world, a
hidden power, a salutary energy, emanates which instils into the souls of
the Chief Pastors the desire of great undertakings and of vast designs,
inspiring that fearlessness and magnanimity which enable them to put down
the impudent boldness of their assailants. There cannot be offered to the
eyes of men and angels a more magnificent spectacle than what one beholds
in such a concourse of pilgrims as this. You who come from the ends of the
earth to this home of your Father remind us not only of that pilgrimage
which leads us all to the eternal home, you also call to mind the journey
of the chosen people from Ægypt to the promised land, the twelve tribes
marching together, each under its chief, bearing its own name, having its
own appropriate place in the camp. Every family there was obedient to its
parents, every company of warriors hearkened to the voice of its captain,
and the entire multitude to the divinely-appointed leader. All these
tribes, nevertheless, were but one people, adoring the same God,
worshipping at the same altar, obeying the same laws, having one Pontiff,
Aaron, and one leader, Moses—one people, enjoying common rights in the
perils and labors of warfare as well as in the results of victory,
dwelling in the same tents, and fed by the same miraculous bread, whilst
all yearned for the same end of their pilgrimage. Nothing is to us the
subject of such ardent longing as to see both ourselves and the whole
church deriving from this precious union the most salutary blessings. It
has long been a serious matter of thought for us, and which, indeed, we
communicated to several of the episcopal body, to hold an Œcumenical
Council, in which, with the Divine assistance, our united counsels and
solicitude should devise such efficient remedies as are necessary for the
evils that afflict the church.”
Pius IX. had for a long time entertained the idea of holding an Œcumenical
Council. And no doubt his mind found relief when he communicated his
purpose to the assembled bishops. Two years later, as is well known, the
proposed council was convened at the Vatican, and from this circumstance
is known in history as the Vatican Council. Bishops, priests and laity
heard the intimation with delight. Their fervor and enthusiasm increased
as the day of the grand centennial celebration approached. The vigil, 28th
June, was enlivened by illuminations. By early dawn on the 29th, the feast
of SS. Peter and Paul, people poured into Rome from the surrounding
territory. They were welcome visitors. The Romans, far from being jealous
of so great a concourse of strangers, hailed them as brothers, engaged, as
they also were, in the great object of doing honor to the memory of Rome’s
apostles. The first grand public ceremony of the day was the solemn
canonization, of which no description need be given in this place, as
everything was conducted in the same way as in 1852 and 1863. The Holy
Father himself then celebrated High Mass, and, what is still more
noteworthy, delivered the sermon of the day. Until the time of Pius IX.,
no Pope had preached in public since the epoch of the Crusades and the
Pontificate of Gregory VII. The Holy Father set an example to all who
preach on great and solemn public occasions. His sermon was short, but
replete with instruction, and marked by that earnestness which commands
attention and moves the soul. The music, as was fitting at so great a
celebration, was given by three choirs, in all four hundred voices, which
completely filled the immense Basilica, conveying, by the exquisite music
which they gave forth, an idea of that more than earthly harmony which
ever ascends to the throne of heaven from the angelic choirs. There was
also a solemn service in the afternoon, which was alike highly interesting
and calculated to inspire devotion. The general illumination which took
place at night rivalled the splendor of the bright Italian day. On June
30th was celebrated the special feast of St. Paul in the fine church
dedicated to this great apostle, and with scarcely less magnificence than
that of St. Peter had been honored.
The bishops now desired, before leaving Rome, to present an address to the
Holy Father, as well in reply to his allocution of 26th June as to express
their gratitude for the great kindness which he had shown them. The 1st
July was the day chosen for the presentation of this address. It is a
model of elegant Latinity, and completely refutes the modern assertion
that churchmen are unacquainted with the Latin of the classics. The reply
of the assembled bishops to the fatherly allocution of Pius IX. affords,
moreover, an admirable proof of the sympathy of the united episcopate with
the Supreme Bishop. It shows the excellent union of the bishops with one
another, and their no less perfect union with their Head. What more could
there have been in the brightest days of the church’s history?
(M106) The French garrison had departed before the commencement of the
memorable celebrations that have been just described. Although the
population of Rome was literally doubled by the presence of pious
strangers, not the slightest breach of order was ever observed. The
exercise of filial duty required not to be watched over by any outside
power. It was now seven months since Napoleon III. had withdrawn his
troops.
On the 6th December, 1866, Pius IX. had taken leave of them in the
following words:
“Your flag, which left France eighteen years ago with commission to defend
the rights of the Holy See, was at that time attended by the prayers and
acclamations of all Christendom. To-day it returns to France. I desire, my
dear children, that it may be welcomed by the same acclamations. But I
doubt it. It is only too manifest, indeed, that because it will appear to
have ceased to protect me my enemies will not on that account cease to
attack me. Quite the contrary. We must not delude ourselves. The
revolution will come here. It has declared and still declares that it
will. An Italian personage in high position lately said that Italy is made
but not completed. Italy would be undone if there were here one spot of
earth where order, justice and tranquillity prevail! Formerly, six years
ago, I conversed with a representative of France. He asked me if there
were anything I wished to transmit to the Emperor. I replied: St.
Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, which is now a French city, beholding the
barbarians at the gates of the town, prayed the Lord that he might die
before they entered, because his mind was horror-struck by the thought of
the evils which they would cause. I added: Say this to the Emperor: he
will understand it. The ambassador made answer: Most Holy Father, have
confidence; the barbarians will not enter. The ambassador was no prophet.
Depart, my children, depart with my blessing and my love. If you see the
Emperor, tell him that I pray for him every day. It is said that his
health is not very good; I pray that he may have health. It is said that
his mind is not at ease. I pray for his soul. The French nation is
Christian; its Chief ought also to be Christian. Let there be prayer with
confidence and perseverance, and this great and powerful nation may obtain
what it desires. Depart, my children; I impart to you my benediction, and
with it my wish that it may attend you throughout the journey of life.
Think not that you leave me here alone and deprived of all resource. God
remains with me; in Him I place my trust!”
Pius IX., in a more private communication, said: “Yes, God sustains His
vicar and aids his weakness. He may permit him to be driven away, but only
in order to show, once more, that he can bring him back. I have been
exiled; I returned from exile. If banished anew, I will again return. And
if I die—well! if I die, Peter will rise again!”
Thus did Pius IX. clearly foresee the danger but was not on that account
less confident. Nor did his confidence lessen his foresight. What, indeed,
he said publicly, “The revolution will come here,” everyone capable of
reasoning said in secret. The September convention left the small
Pontifical sovereignty surrounded on all sides by its enemies, just as the
government of Napoleon III. would have been if isolated in Paris and the
two neighboring departments, all the rest of the French territory being in
the power of a republic, or a Bourbon Monarchy. In vain did M. Rouher
endeavor to demonstrate to the Chambers that a stable equilibrium was
established, and which was of such a character as to remain by itself for
an indefinite period. Nobody was convinced by his reasoning. But the
Imperial majorities, recruited as they were by the system of official
candidatures, asked not of the complaisant minister reasons which he had
not to give. They sought only pretexts which should allow them to vote,
with a show of decency, according to the wishes of the master.
The Holy Father was destined to enjoy a period of success before his
prophecy came to be fulfilled. Immediately after the disastrous but
glorious events of 1860, the courageous Belgian, Mgr. de Merode, as
Minister of War, and afterwards General Kanzler, in this same capacity,
greatly renewed the small Pontifical army. As their labors deserved, they
were attended with success. Lamoriciere died towards the end of 1865; but
on the new alarm of danger, many of his veterans of Castelfidardo and
Ancona, returned to Rome in 1866. The flower of the French, Dutch,
Belgian, English, Swiss and Roman youth made it a point of honor to swell
the ranks of the Papal Zouaves. The high tone, the illustrious names of
several of these new crusaders, and the admirable discipline which
prevailed among them all, soon won for them the respect even of the few
revolutionists who were at Rome. These brave and self-sacrificing youths,
many of whom served at their own cost, were addressed as “Signor Soldato”
(Signor Soldier) by the passers-by, whilst the venal scribes of the
outside revolutionary press did their best to stigmatize them as “the
mercenaries of the Pope.” Whilst some of these warriors devoted their
life, others bestowed their gold. It is honorable to the Catholic people
that, in the circumstances, they added the good work of supporting the
Pontifical army to their collections of Peter’s pence. In order to furnish
the sum of 500 francs (£20 sterling) yearly, which was required for each
soldier, artisans and even domestic servants freely subscribed. In 1867,
the Catholics of the diocese of Cambrai, sent two hundred Zouaves; those
of Rodez and Arras, one hundred for each diocese; whilst Cologne, Nantes,
Rennes and Toulouse did almost as much.
Meanwhile, having its eyes somewhat opened by the light from Sadowa, the
French government appeared to have abandoned, as regarded the protection
of the Holy See, its secret maxim of 1860: “Neither do anything nor allow
anything to be done.” In withdrawing from Rome, it had authorized the
creation, under a chief whom it was pleased itself to designate, a body of
volunteers, selected chiefly from the French army, whose duty it should be
to guard the Pope. This corps was called the Legion of Antibes, from the
name of the city where it was formed. Pius IX., besides, could rely on the
fidelity of the Roman army, properly so called. Thus was he more than
sufficiently provided against any possible internal disturbance. It was
not to be expected that he should be prepared to meet a formidable foreign
invasion of his state.
The notorious Garibaldi had already made preparations for invading the
Roman territory. Whilst he neglected not to strengthen the _International_
at the Geneva Congress of Demagogues, the indefatigable brigand availed
himself of the crowding of pilgrims to Rome in order to deceive the
Pontifical police, and to introduce into the city bands of cutthroats,
munitions of war, and arms of every kind, not excepting Orsini bombs.
After the departure of the bishops, he opened publicly, in Italy,
subscription lists, and enrolled soldiers. The Piedmontese government
stores were at his service as they were in 1860, in order to aid him in
clothing and arming his volunteers. These were joined by numerous
functionaries and officers of the regular army, who took no pains to
conceal their Piedmontese arms and uniforms. Municipalities, at public
deliberative meetings, voted subsidies to the Garibaldians, and railway
managers provided them with special trains. Whilst so many things that
clearly showed the complicity of Piedmont were done, Victor Emmanuel sent
protestation after protestation to Paris. He did not, by any means,
intend, he said, to disembarrass himself of the obligations which were
imposed on him by the first article of the convention of the 15th
September, 1865. It might be relied upon, besides, that he would check the
agitators and repress by force, even, if necessary, all violation of the
Pontifical frontier. Nor did the wily monarch confine himself to words. He
acted as he could act so well. Garibaldi was sent to his island, Caprera;
but only in order to escape from it at the opportune moment, through the
seven vessels by which he was guarded. An order for his arrest was then
issued. Active search was made for him at Genoa, at Turin, everywhere
except at Florence, where he harangued the people in the most public
places, even under the windows of the King’s palace. Later, when it was
undertaken to arrest him at Florence, it so happened that he had started
by a special train for the Roman frontier, together with a complete staff.
(M107) The telegraph was put in requisition in order to turn back the
train. But, possibly through the fault of a disobedient employee, the
telegraph failed to accomplish its purpose. The Italian government
neglected not to hold an investigation in regard to this matter, and swore
that the guilty party, if found out, would be punished. What more could be
desired? Was not France satisfied with much less than this in 1860? Whilst
diplomacy was thus playing its _role_, Garibaldi and his myrmidons were
penetrating on all sides at once the Pontifical territory. Twenty-seven
gensd’armes, who guarded the small town of Aquapendente, were surprised by
two hundred and fifty Garibaldians, who, on being re-inforced by another
band, marched thence on Ischia, Valentano and Canino, pillaging the public
chests, sacking the convents and churches, prudently retiring as often as
they met Pontifical forces in any considerable numbers. Eighty-five
Zouaves, or soldiers of the line, having rashly pursued them at Bagnorea,
and attacked them with the bayonet, were repulsed with loss. It could not
well have been otherwise, considering the great disparity of numbers.
Garibaldi shouted victory, in his usual emphatic style: “Hail to the
victors of Aquapendente and Bagnorea! The foreign mercenaries have fled
before the valiant champions of Italian liberty. Those braggarts who
thirsted for blood have experienced the noble generosity of their brave
conquerors. As to you, priests, who know so well how to burn, torture and
imprison; you who drink, with hyena-like delight, in the cup of your
deceit, the blood of the liberators; we pardon you, and, together with
you, that butcher soldiery, the pestilent scum of a faithless faction.”
The conquerors, however, were driven from their easy conquests before they
received this proclamation which spoke of mercy in terms that expressed it
so poorly. Events which were a cruel satire on Garibaldi’s words, and
which he had not foreseen, caused his bands to fall into the power of the
Pontifical troops, so that it was they who sued for pardon and obtained
it. It can even be said that on this occasion the generosity of the
soldiers of the Pope was excessive, for the vanquished enemy had been
guilty of many other crimes besides that of rising in arms against the
legitimate government. They had pillaged the Cathedral of Bagnorea, broken
the tabernacle, stolen the sacred vessels, defiled the image of the
Madonna, pierced the crucifix with their bayonets, decapitated the statues
of the saints, and enacting an infernal parody, shot an inoffensive man,
in order that human blood might be shed on the altar of sacrifice.
At Subiaco, the governor, who was a priest, fell, together with the town,
into the hands of the banditti. They were preparing to sack the place and
put the governor to death, when a Pontifical troop appeared. The struggle
was short. The Garibaldian chief was slain, and the rest fled. They who
guarded the prisoner threw themselves at his knees, imploring mercy. “Have
pity on us, my Lord; do not give us up to the Zouaves; they would kill
us.” The governor made them go into his oratory and closed the door.
Meanwhile the commandant of the Zouaves arrived, gave him the details of
the battle, and spoke of the prisoners he had taken. “Everybody makes
prisoners,” said the governor, smiling. “I have some also, although not,
like you, a man of the sword.” “Where are they?” “Ah! they are mine and
not yours. Promise that you will respect my absolute right of conqueror;
if not, I will not show them.” The commandant made the desired promise,
and the governor opened the door of his oratory and made the Garibaldians
come out. These prisoners were greatly amazed. Having asked and obtained
the governor’s priestly blessing, they freely recrossed the Italian
frontier.
The action at Monte-Libretti, which took place on the 14th October, was of
a more serious character. Eighty Zouaves contended from half-past five in
the evening till eight o’clock against twelve hundred Garibaldians. Arthur
Guillemin, their captain, and Urbain de Quelen, their second lieutenant,
fell gloriously. When night came, the Zouaves being unable to fight any
longer, and not venturing to establish themselves in the first houses
which they had taken, whilst all the rest of the town still swarmed with
the enemy, retired in good order, bearing away their dead, and also twelve
prisoners. They returned next morning, in order to renew the attack, but
found the place evacuated.
The violation of the Pontifical territory was now too flagrant to be
denied any longer, and the more so, as the Cabinet of the Tuileries was
not ignorant of anything that was taking place. It was, by a fortunate
accident, represented at Rome by a diplomatist of a different school from
that of Thouvenel and Lavalette. The ambassador, M. de Sartiges, was
absent on leave, and was replaced by his first secretary, M. Arman. The
latter understood his duty, and, at the risk of being importunate, ceased
not to make known, every day, to France, the events which were so rapidly
occurring. Thus did a comparatively humble secretary save the honor of his
country. Compelled by the terms of the September convention to stay the
invasion, the Government of Florence stationed a corps of forty thousand
men, under the command of Cialdini, around the Pontifical frontier, and
intimated to the Tuileries that it was for its protection. It soon became
evident that it was in order to fall upon it, in the wake of Garibaldi, as
they had fallen upon the Kingdom of Naples in 1860. Meanwhile, the
invaders passed without any difficulty between the different posts, and
when beaten and pursued by the Pontifical troops, they retired and
reformed behind the ranks of the Piedmontese.
(M108) Hence the small body of Pontifical soldiers was easily overwhelmed,
and the Garibaldian hordes, although beaten, were always advancing. Rome
was filled with consternation. The cutthroats of the revolution spoke of
applying gunpowder to public edifices. And indeed they set about
fulfilling their threat by blowing up the Serratori barracks, which they
had undermined, and which buried, one evening, in their ruins, the music
band of the Zouaves, whilst they were engaged at a rehearsal. Fortunately
the bandsmen were the only victims. The rest of the corps which remained
to guard the city was at the moment patrolling at a distance from the
barracks. The Garibaldians expected the explosion. They rushed into the
streets and endeavored to avail themselves of the terror and confusion
which generally prevailed in order to seize the military posts. They
managed to assassinate, in the dark, a few soldiers and some gensd’armes;
but they succeeded not even in ringing the alarm-bell at the Capitol,
which was intended to be their signal. Their principal leader, a Milanese,
whose name was Cairoli, was killed with arms in his hands, together with
some twenty of his followers, in a vineyard near the city; and so failed
the enterprise.
The French Cabinet ceased, at length, to persist in the face of the
clearest evidence and against the unanimous voice of the national
conscience. A small body of soldiers had been sent to the French port of
Toulon. It received orders to embark for Civita Vecchia. Catholics were
relieved from their anxiety. Meanwhile came new assurances from Florence.
A counter-order was given, and the embarkation suspended. Victor Emmanuel
and his minister, Ratazzi, thought they understood the secret meaning of
this counter-order. They remembered the past, and the troops of Cialdini
boldly crossed the Pontifical frontier.
(M109) French historians relate that, on receiving this news, all who had
any concern for the honor of France believed that it had come to an end,
and made up their minds, in sullen silence, to swallow the new disgrace.
They who were indifferent, even, became indignant. People who met on the
boulevards of Paris asked one another to what extremes those Italian
mountebanks (farceurs) would bring them. The enemies of the Pope, who were
equally hostile to the Emperor, rejoiced, but secretly. The deputies
either protested together with the Catholics, or dared not show
themselves; the ministers were silent. Finally, the army took its
departure from Toulon. It was time that it should; and this appeared to be
well understood. There was great irresolution in coming to a decision. It
was no less promptly carried into effect. The French army disembarked at
Civita Vecchia on the 29th October, under the command of General de
Failly.
Three days earlier, 26th October, the small town of Monte Rotondo, five
leagues from Rome, was attacked by Garibaldi in person, attended by a band
of five thousand four hundred fighting men. Its garrison consisted of five
hundred men of the legion of Antibes. These few brave soldiers held their
ground for two days and repelled five attacks. They were compelled at last
to yield, having exhausted all their munitions of war. They retired, but
left Garibaldi so much weakened and disorganized by his inglorious victory
that he was unable for several days to advance. Thus, for the moment, did
the legion of Antibes save Rome.
(M110) Monte Rotondo, it is almost superfluous to relate, experienced the
fate of Bagnorea. Nothing comparable in point of atrocity had occurred
since the invasion of Italy by the barbarians. In justice to Garibaldi, it
must be said that he rebuked publicly by an order of the day, dated 28th
October, the “shameful excess” of his fellow-adventurers, and proceeded to
expurgate their ranks. But he could not hinder them from being what they
were, a mob of miscreants that the secret societies of the whole world had
discharged on the Pontifical State. He was not less astonished to meet
with so poor a welcome on the part of the people whom it was supposed he
came to deliver. His chief lieutenant, Bertani, bears witness to this
state of things, in the _Riforma_ of 18th November, 1867: “It must be
admitted,” said this writer, “that the people of the Roman States have no
idea of an Italy one and free. We have not been greeted or encouraged by a
single cry of rejoicing; nor have we obtained either any spontaneous
assistance, or even a word of consolation, from these brutified people.”
General Kanzler, the pro-Minister of War, well understood that it was
impossible to defend for any length of time the frontier against bands
that were constantly recruited. Accordingly, he ordered all the isolated
garrisons to concentrate at Rome. It was more important than anything else
to preserve the Papal city from being surprised by the invaders.
Garibaldi, when re-inforced, marched in advance of Monte Rotondo. Cialdini
followed him at some distance, but without daring as yet openly to join
the banditti. The French, however, were _en route_. Kanzler took his
departure from Rome on 3rd November, at two o’clock in the morning,
followed by 3,000 Pontifical troops and 2,000 French soldiers. “Come,”
said he, to M. Emilius Keller, Dr. O’Zannam, and some others who had just
arrived from Paris, in order to organize the ambulance service of the
Pontifical army, “come, and you will see a fine battle.” The small army
met the enemy at one o’clock in the afternoon, at a short distance from
the town of Mentana, the ancient Nomentum from which the Nomentan way
(_via Nomentana_) took its name. Garibaldi’s command was from 10,000 to
12,000 strong. He placed his men in ambuscade, partly on small hills that
were covered with wood, and partly scattered them, as fusileers, along the
hedges. His left wing was commanded by Pianciani, who, some time later,
was Mayor of Rome. Kanzler’s force commenced firing. But what could it
avail against an enemy that was invisible and in superior numbers? A
veteran of Castelfidardo, Lieutenant-Colonel de Charette, the same who was
destined afterwards to immortalize himself at Patay and at Mans,
understood that nothing was to be gained by a fusillade. “Forward,” he
cried, “my Zouaves! charge with the bayonet; and, remember, the French
army is looking on.” The Zouaves reply: “Live Pius IX!” and spring forward
with their leader. The Garibaldians are dislodged from the first hill—from
the other hills, and would have been utterly routed but for the formidable
intrenchments presented by the Santucci vineyard, which was laid out in
gardens rising in storeys, one above the other, and intersected by walls.
Garibaldi was posted on the summit, in a villa, whence he directed his
fire without being exposed to personal danger. His position was, indeed,
strong. Charette’s troop was observed to waver. “Forward, Zouaves!” cried
their leader, “or I shall die without you!” As he spoke, his horse was
struck by a ball and fell dead. Meanwhile, the Zouaves scaled the walls
and the ravines, without heeding those who fell. Garibaldi was
disconcerted by this living tornado. He fell back from his villa to the
houses, and thence to the Castle of Mentana. The Zouaves followed in the
face of a murderous fire, discharged from the walls of the castle; but
they always advanced, and finally, repelled, by a bayonet charge, a
renewed and general attack of the enemy. Such efforts, however, could not
have been sustained for any length of time unaided, and bravery must, in
the end, have given way to numbers. General de Courten, who directed this
attack, sent to ask assistance from General Polhes, who commanded the army
of France. The French soldiers had been, hitherto, inactive, although by
no means unheeding spectators of the combat. “Bravo! Zouaves, bravo!”
cried they, eagerly desiring to share in the fight. At a sign from their
chief, they sprang forward in their turn. At their head was Colonel
Saussier, of the 20th regiment of the line, who was afterwards general and
member of the National Assembly at Versailles. The sudden and hitherto
unknown fire of the chassepots carried death and terror within the
precincts of the castle. Meanwhile, a detachment of Zouaves managed to
place themselves between Mentana and Monte Rotondo, and so intercepted the
reinforcements which were hastening from the latter place to join the
Garibaldians. At sight of this achievement, the bands, already much
demoralized, were thrown into confusion. Night came, and, favoring their
flight, changed it to a rout. Garibaldi himself, who had so often shouted,
“_Rome or death_”—stole away, under cover of the darkness, like the
meanest of the fugitives. His sons did in like manner. It was expected
that they would renew the battle next day, as Monte Rotondo, which they
still held, presented a convenient position for rallying. They did nothing
of the kind. On the very night which followed the engagement Garibaldi and
his sons recrossed the Italian frontier. “He always runs away” (_si salva
sempre_), said his followers, in the bitterness of their disappointment,
when so shamefully betrayed and abandoned. The French soldiers, on the
other hand, always inclined to raillery and punning, baptized the action
of the preceding day, calling it the battle of _Montre ton dos_. The
Garibaldians, who held the castle, as well as the rest of the banditti who
could not get away in time, surrendered, unconditionally, to General
Polhes. There was but little bloodshed on the side of the victors, thanks
to the rapidity with which the victory was won. The losses of the French
troops were not more than two killed, two officers and thirty-six privates
wounded. Of the Pontifical force there were twenty killed and one hundred
and twenty-three wounded. Several of these died of their wounds.
(M111) Among those noble victims who claim the gratitude of the Catholic
world, were names already dear to the church—such as Bernard de
Quatre-barbe, a nephew of the defender of Ancona; Rodolph de Maistre,
grandson of the immortal author of “The Pope;” and John de Muller, son of
the celebrated German controversialist. As if nothing that is glorious
should be wanting to the field of Mentana, it had also its martyrs of
charity. The Sisters of St. Vincent de Paul went and came among the
wounded and the dying, giving their aid alike to all, no matter what their
uniform. There was need of water. A Pontifical Zouave, Julius Watts
Russell, ran to find some for a Garibaldian who was at the point of death.
As he was gently raising the head of the moribund, in order that he might
drink, he was himself struck with a ball and fell dead on the body of him
whom he had endeavored to succour. On his person was found a small note,
in which he thus exhorted himself: “My soul, O, my soul! love God and
pursue thy way.” What Christian would not be envious of a like death—a
death which nobly crowned such a life as these few words necessarily
suppose?
(M112) The vanquished had been fanaticised by the secret societies as well
as by Garibaldi himself, that infuriated enthusiast, who could not write
four lines nor utter four words without enshrining therein the treasons of
the black race, that prurient sore of Italy; or the _venom_ of the
Vatican, that nest of vipers; or the lies of Pius IX., that pest, that
monster, twice accursed, as priest and as king. So when these people were
made prisoners, they expected nothing better than the hardest treatment
and the most terrible vengeance. How surprised must they not then have
been to find that their wounded were attended to on the field of battle,
and the same care and attention extended to them as to the wounded of the
Pontifical force, whilst those who were sound met with no other punishment
than to be well guarded at first, and afterwards released by degrees, as
it became certain that Garibaldi would be in no hurry to renew his game.
Finally, a complete amnesty was granted. This extreme clemency of a
legitimate government towards an invading banditti presented a noble and
happy contrast with the implacable revenge of the usurping King of
Piedmont. Victor Emmanuel, in fact, had no hesitation in putting to death
the Spanish general Borges and his Neapolitan comrades, who were arrested
whilst bearing arms in an endeavor to deliver the kingdom of Naples, and
restore its former king, Francis II.
(M113) Two men only were excepted from the Pontifical amnesty. These were
the authors of that atrocious act, the blowing up of the Sorristori
barracks. Their crime, indeed, could not be considered as anything
connected with the war, but simply as cowardly assassination. Those two
wretches, Monti and Tognetti, underwent a regular trial, which lasted more
than a year, and at which all the forms required by law were strictly
observed. They were convicted, and ended by acknowledging everything. They
suffered capital punishment, and, at their execution, begged pardon of God
and men. The day after this execution—coming generations will scarcely
believe so strange a fact—the Chamber of Deputies at Florence solemnly
protested against it, as did also Victor Emmanuel. The secret societies
opened a subscription list for the widows of the executed criminals.
Victor Emmanuel took part in it. And thus did a king honor parties who
commit murder by gunpowder plots. True, this king was the same prince who,
in pursuance of a decree issued by Garibaldi, at Naples, in 1861,
pensioned the widow of the regicide, Agesilas Milano.
(M114) Pius IX. entertained quite a different idea of the duties of
royalty. He was persuaded that an example should be made of the foul crime
of Monti and Tognetti, and so could not be moved. “A king,” said he, “owes
justice to all alike, certainly not excepting honest people: and hence
assassins must not be allowed to count on impunity.” He went kindly to
visit the wounded Garibaldians, “those unfortunate people, a great many of
whom were only misled, and who, nevertheless, were his children.” Two
hundred of them had been conveyed to a lower room in the Castle of St.
Angelo. He visited them quite alone, and thus addressed them: “Here I am,
my friends; you see before you him whom your general calls the Vampire of
Italy; you all took up arms against me, and you see that I am only a poor
old man! You are in need of shoes, clothes and linen. Well, the Pope on
whom you made war will cause you to be supplied with all these things. He
will then send you back to your families; only before your departure, you
will, from love to me, make a spiritual retreat.” The unfortunate rebels
could not believe their eyes or their ears. Some turned away from him in
sullen wrath, like demons who will not give up hating. Others, in greater
numbers, seized hold of the paternal hand which was raised over them to
bless them, and bathed it with their tears. The good Pope, marvelled at
the designs of God, who brings good out of evil. “_O felix culpa_” (“O
happy fault!”), said he, alluding to the prayers of Holy Saturday, “if
these children had not borne arms against me, they would not, perhaps,
have died so piously.”
It was some time before the details of Mentana were known in France. The
government, it would appear, feared to acknowledge that the French
soldiers took part in the engagement. When, however, the general’s report
put an end to all doubt on the subject, there were no bounds to the rage
of the revolutionary party. The revolution, hitherto, had used Louis
Napoleon as a facile and valuable instrument. It could not pardon him
Mentana. But France was not all revolutionary. The mass of the nation,
honest and loyal, shared not the ideas of the secret societies. Far from
regretting what had taken place, the French people dreaded lest there
should not have been enough done.
Cialdini, indeed, had been able to withdraw his troops, not with honor but
without molestation, within the Italian frontier, whilst no account was
required of his violation of the September convention. The ministers
continued to discuss Italian unity as freely as they had been in the habit
of doing for eight years, and the officious demagogue papers which were
devoted to Prince Napoleon began to demand the speedy return of the French
troops from Rome, and that by virtue of the famous convention which,
according to these politicians, was binding on France, but not on Italy.
The legislative body was moved. Not only the deputies who were declared
Catholics, and who always divided against the government on the Roman
question, but a great number of those also who had never until that time
shown any indocility at the moment of voting, resolved to force the
government to make a clear and public declaration of its intentions. The
debate was opened by M. Thiers in an eloquent speech at the sitting of 4th
December. He proved, and the proof was not difficult, that no reliance
could be placed on the word of Victor Emmanual or Italian promises. “The
House of Savoy,” said he, “goes to a falcon hunt with Garibaldi. If the
latter fails he is taken to Caprera. If he succeeds, and takes a kingdom,
they say to him, you are the revolution: your prey does not belong to you;
it is ours, who are order and legality.” Jules Favre, a barrister,
shamelessly spoke in a contrary sense, and endeavored to justify Italy.
His sophistry met with no response.
The minister, M. Rouher, could not retreat. He made a long speech, in
which he defended the policy of Napoleon III. against the two former
speakers, and involved himself once more in the inconceivable idea of
neither sacrificing Italian unity to the Pope’s temporal sovereignty nor
that sovereignty to Italian unity. (On the one hand, M. Jules Favre
objected that Italy, and chiefly amongst others, Menabrea, the actual head
of the Florence Cabinet, whose wisdom and moderation had just been praised
by the French minister, ceased not to declare that the possession of Rome
was indispensable.) On the other hand, there were loud murmurs which
protested against the iniquitous equality which was sought to be
established between the victim and his executioner. M. Rouher perceived
that the majority which the Imperial government had commanded for sixteen
years, was on the point of slipping from him; so, turning to Jules Favre,
he declared “that he was not agreed with him on any point—that he
absolutely rejected his policy.” Then, addressing the Conservatives, he
affirmed that they would defend Rome so long as the desired reconciliation
did not take place—that France would never, never abandon Rome. He
concluded by conjuring the deputies to cling to the government which gave
the battle of Mentana as a pledge of its sincerity. This declaration was
greeted with prolonged applause, and it could no longer be doubted that
the vote would be almost unanimous. The deputies, however, determined that
the head of their church should not be imperfectly protected, required of
the minister a distinct explanation of what he meant by defending Rome.
They were resolved that the government should not have the power to give
up to Italy the territory around the city which the Pope still possessed,
and leave to him only the walls of Rome. This position was maintained by
the veteran orator of French parliaments, M. Berryer. A great number of
deputies came to his support, so necessary was it understood to be to
guard against all subterfuge in transacting with Napoleon III. M. Rouher
was constrained to reascend the tribune. He did so, he said, more fully to
express his idea, and declared, whilst the Chamber loudly applauded, that
the Emperor guaranteed not only the city of Rome, but also the territory
actually possessed by the Holy See, in all its integrity. Such was the
memorable sitting of 4th December, 1867, at which the will of France was
forced on its despotic ruler. But both for him and the country, French
writers assure us, it was too late. If the representatives of the nation,
they say, had shown from the beginning the same decision; if the empire
had always spoken as on the 4th December, 1867; if, above all, it had
acted conformably to its words, it would either not have fallen or fallen
with honor. But never would we have seen either Italian unity or German
unity, and the black flag of Prussia would not wave to-day over Metz,
Malhouse and Strasbourg.
Piedmont having withdrawn its threatening force on the approach of the
French troops, the Holy See had nothing to dread, for some time at least,
from foreign invasion. It remained only to provide against the attacks of
banditti such as had been just defeated at Mentana. In this important
matter the Holy Father was not left to his own resources. The whole
Christian world was in sympathy with him, and anxious for his safety.
Volunteers from all Catholic countries hastened to Rome. Even remote
Canada, so early as 1868, had sent her three hundred. And these
mercenaries, as the enemy called them, served at their own expense. The
Bishops of Hungary furnished three squadrons of Hussars, who were all
mounted, equipped, and in every way supplied by Hungarian subscriptions.
The bishops and nobility of Galicia sent lancers. France, Belgium and
Catholic Germany, emulated one another in their efforts to maintain the
Pontifical force.
There was nothing warlike in thus providing against possible danger. So
long as France held Piedmont bound to treaty stipulations, any army in the
service of the Pope could only be employed as a police force in
maintaining internal peace, or in repelling such attempts as had recently
been made by the irregular bands of Garibaldi against the Pontifical
States.
Meanwhile, the arts of peace were not neglected. The Holy Father, as might
be supposed, when freed from the fear of invasion and expulsion from his
state, applied with renewed zeal to the duties of his sublime office. Nor
to these alone did he confine the exercise of his well-directed charity.
The agricultural school for children remains a lasting and solid proof of
his enlightened benevolence. This establishment is called, in honor of its
august founder, the Pio Vigneard (Pia Vigna). It is provided with all the
most improved implements, and is confided to the care of the Belgian
Brothers of Mercy. It is wholly maintained by the private funds of Pius
IX. It may be seen on an eminence to the left of the railway as you
approach the city of Rome.