Robbery, wholesale and sacrilegious, was now the order of the day at Rome.
Throughout the city convents were closed and sequestrated, libraries were
confiscated, and often dilapidated in transferring them from one place to
another. Religious men and religious women were driven from their homes
and brutally searched on their thresholds lest they should carry away with
them anything that belonged to them. These religious people obtained,
every month, as indemnification, twenty-five centimes each daily, and the
aged forty centimes; but they were paid only when the treasury was in a
condition to pay them, and this was not the case every month. The poor and
the infirm, no longer sustained by Catholic charity, encumbered the
hospitals or were associated with the knights of industry, who swarmed
from the prisons of Italy. It was in vain that the police were doubled.
Robberies increased in the same proportion. The people in such
circumstances could not but ask themselves what sacrifices were laid upon
himself by the usurping king, who was now the master of the domains of six
Italian princes who had never allowed their subjects to go without bread.
Before the end of the year 1873, the number of religious houses that were
taken, in whole or in part, from their legitimate proprietors, was over
one hundred. The intervention of diplomacy saved for a time the Roman
College, which was essentially international and not Roman, as formerly no
clerks of the city of Rome could attend it, and as it was endowed solely
by foreign kings and benefactors. The Italian government consented, not,
indeed, to renounce, but only to stay this new spoliation. It claimed all
the more credit for its pretended moderation, as it secretly caused the
newspapers in its interest to instigate it to listen to no terms. By means
of its gensd’armes and its police force, it was master of the secret
societies, and allowed them to raise a cry without allowing them to act,
whilst it chose its own time for the execution of its wicked purposes.
Pius IX. was deeply grieved when beholding so many evil deeds which he
could not prevent. His sorrow found expression in one of his allocutions,
that of 1st January, 1873:
“You are come,” said he, to parties who had come to compliment him on New
Years day, “from divers distant lands in order to offer me your
congratulations and wish me a happy new year. The past year, alas! is far
from having been a happy one. Society is astray in evil courses. There are
people who think that peace prevails at Rome, and that matters are not so
bad there as is said. Some strangers, on arriving in the city, even ask
for cards of admission to religious ceremonies. I am persuaded that this
year also the same request will be made as regards the celebrations of
holy week. So long as the present state of things continues, alas! there
can be no such celebrations. The Church is in mourning. Rome has lost its
character of capital of the Christian world—so many horrible deeds are
done, so many blasphemies uttered. Let us beseech the Lord to put an end
to such a painful state of things.”
Victor Emmanuel, notwithstanding his extraordinary proceedings, appears to
have thought that there might be a reconciliation with the Pope. The
Emperor of Brazil, a man of science and a celebrated traveller, then at
Rome, accepted the office of mediator. One morning, in the year 1872, the
Brazilian monarch repaired to the Vatican. The hour of his visit was
inopportune, as its object also proved to be. It was seven o’clock in the
morning. The Holy Father had not yet finished his Mass when the Emperor
was announced. As soon as was possible his Holiness proceeded to receive
him. Whether fearing some design, or from dislike only to meet a prince
who came from the hostile usurper’s court, Pius IX., with an unusual
coldness of manner, addressed the Emperor: “What does your Majesty
desire?” “I beg your Holiness will not call me Majesty. Here, I am only
the Count of Alcantara.” The Holy Father then, without showing the least
emotion, said to him: “My dear Count, what do you desire?” “I am come,
your Holiness, in order to ask that you will allow me to introduce to you
the King of Italy.” At these words the Pontiff rose from his seat, and,
looking indignantly at the Emperor, said to him with much firmness: “It is
quite useless to hold such language. Let the King of Piedmont abjure his
misdeeds and restore to me my States. I will then consent to receive him.
But not till then.”
CREATION OF CARDINALS—AUDIENCES AND ALLOCUTIONS—THE POPE REALLY A
PRISONER—THE PRINCE OF WALES—ENGLAND—IRELAND.
A creation of cardinals was necessary. There were twenty-nine vacant hats.
Towards the close of 1873 Pius IX. resolved on twelve new creations. One
of these became the occasion of protesting anew against the Italian
government. The Society of Jesuits had always been a special object of its
hatred. They were the first whom it expelled from Rome, as has been the
case in more than one persecution. And now they were robbed,
notwithstanding the hopes that the European ambassadors were led to
entertain of the Roman College which was their property. The Holy Father
met this new brigandage by raising a member of the society to the dignity
of cardinal. Tarquini, professor of canon law at the Sapienza (Roman
College), was the favored member. Thus did the despoiled Pontiff condemn
the ignorance and rebuke the robbery of the new rulers of Rome. “I am
aware,” said Pius IX. on this occasion, “that the Jesuits do not willingly
accept ecclesiastical dignities. I had not, therefore, thought, until now,
of conferring the purple on any of their members. But the unjust acts from
which your society is suffering at this moment have determined me. It
appeared to me to be necessary that I should make known in this way what I
think of the ignorant calumnies of which you are the victims, and at the
same time give proof to yourself and your brethren of my esteem and
friendship.”
If, ever since the violent seizure of Rome, it was customary to speak of
the Pope as “the prisoner of the Vatican,” his enemies, on the other hand,
ceased not to insist that he was perfectly free, whilst he obstinately
persisted in remaining within the walls of his palace. It has been noticed
already that every approach to Rome and the Vatican was strictly guarded
by the soldiers of the usurping king. A circumstance which occurred on the
evening of the 20th June, 1874, further showed how close the imprisonment
was. It was the twenty-eighth anniversary of the coronation of Pius IX.
_Te Deum_ was celebrated in the Vatican Basilica, and, what rarely
happens, the spacious edifice was completely filled. More than one hundred
thousand people, as nearly as could be estimated, or two-thirds of all the
Romans who were able to leave their houses, were massed as well within the
church as on the places St. Peter and Risticucci. When _Te Deum_ was over,
all eyes instinctively turned towards a window of the second story of the
palace. It was the window of the Pope’s apartment. Suddenly a white figure
appeared at this window, and immediately a cry arose from below. It was
the voice of the Roman citizens; a voice so grand that it might be said to
express the mind of a whole people, as they saluted their king, who was a
prisoner. It continued for some time, and, although the window was at once
closed, the prolonged acclamation of the faithful Romans rose louder and
louder, until the Piedmontese troops came on the ground and swept away the
crowd. The people departed without making any resistance. The police,
nevertheless, arrested some twelve persons, of whom six were ladies of the
best society of Rome. These ladies were at once set at liberty. But four
young men of the number of those arrested were detained and afterwards
condemned, one of them to two years, and the rest to several months’
imprisonment, for having cried, “Long live the Pontiff-King.” This crime
they pretended not to deny. Could it be doubted any longer that the Pope
was a prisoner? It was not only on moral grounds that he could not leave
the Vatican. There were also bayonets and fire-arms between him and the
nearest streets of Rome. It was only in the beginning of the year 1875
that Pius IX. could no longer refrain from visiting the Basilica of St.
Peter. He had not been within it for four years and a half. Every
necessary precaution was observed on occasion of his visit. The gates of
the temple were kept shut, and none were present but members of the
chapter and some other persons required for the service of the Church. The
Holy Father entered by the stair which forms direct communication between
his palace and the holy place. As may well be understood, he prayed for
some time with his accustomed earnestness, that it would please God to put
an end to the evils by which the Church was so sorely afflicted.
Pius IX. was indefatigable in giving audiences and receiving deputations
from every country where there were members of the Catholic Church. On
such occasions he never failed to speak words of edification and
encouragement. It was even said that he spoke too much. They were not,
however, of the number of his friends who call him _il Papa verboso_. He
was endowed with a wonderful gift of speech, and he always used it
effectively. His discourses were invariably to the purpose, the subject of
them being suggested by the most recent events, by the nationality of his
visitors, or by the expressed pious intentions which brought them to his
presence. He made allusion very often to the Gospel of the preceding
Sunday, or to the festival of the day, and concluded by imparting his
benediction, which his hearers always received kneeling, and seldom
without tears. The addresses of Pius IX. delivered at the Vatican have
been preserved by the stenographic art, and fill many volumes. His ideas
sometimes found expression in conversations with distinguished visitors.
Such was the case on occasion of the visit, in 1872, of the Prince of
Wales, the heir apparent of the British Crown. His Royal Highness showed
his good taste by declining the use of Victor Emmanuel’s equipages in
coming to the Vatican. The Princess also made manifest her respect for the
well-known sentiments of Pius IX. in regard to showy toilettes by
appearing in a plain dress. There was a striking contrast between the
placid old man, so near the close of his career, and the handsome young
couple, in the flower of their age. The Prince and the Pope appeared
delighted at meeting; and the eyes of the Princess, who looked alternately
at the animated figure of her husband and the benevolent countenance of
the venerable Pontiff, were suffused with tears. The Pope began the
conversation by expressing his great admiration for the character, both
public and private, of the Queen of Great Britain; and smiling
expressively, and not without a slight degree of Italian irony, he thanked
the British ministers who, more than once, had offered him, in the name of
the Queen, an asylum on British territory. “You see, Prince, I have not
left Rome quite as soon as some of your statesmen supposed I would.” The
Holy Father then alluded to the existing state of things, adding: “In my
present condition I am assuredly more happy than those who consider
themselves more the masters of Rome than myself. I have no fear for my
dynasty. It is powerfully protected. God Himself is its guardian. He also
looks to my succession and my family. You are not unaware that these are
no other than the Church. I can speak without offence to the Prince of
Wales of the instability of Royal Houses, that which he represents being
firmly anchored in the affections of a wise people.” “I am delighted,”
replied the Prince, smiling expressively, “to find that your Holiness has
so good an opinion of our people.” “Yes, indeed, I respect the English
people,” continued the Holy Father, “because they are more truly
religious, both as regards feeling and conduct, than many who call
themselves Catholics. When, one day, they shall return to the fold, with
what joy will we not welcome that flock which is astray, but not lost!”
The Prince and Princess, being rather incredulous, received this
benevolent aspiration with a good-natured smile. “Oh! my children,”
resumed the Pontiff, “the future has in store for mankind the most strange
surprises. Who could have imagined, two years ago, that we should see a
Prussian army in France? I hesitate not to say that your ablest statesmen
expected sooner to see the Pope at Malta than Napoleon III. in England. As
regards myself, you will observe I am, indeed, robbed of my States, but
God, who, at any moment, withdraws the possessions of this world, can also
restore them a hundred-fold. Is the dynasty of the Head of the Church, on
this account, less secure? I may, for a time, be driven from Rome. But
when your children and grandchildren shall come to visit the holy city,
they will see, as you see to-day—let the temporal power be more or less
considerable—an old man, clothed in white, pointing the way to heaven for
the good of hundreds of millions of human consciences. To compensate for
the absence of subjects immediately around him, he will have devoted
adherents at all times and everywhere.” The conversation turning on
Ireland, the Holy Father spoke in the warmest terms of the fidelity of the
Catholics of that country. “You know, Prince, the results of persecution.
It does not make us any more Catholics. Your Royal Mother follows a policy
quite different from that of her predecessors, in regard to Ireland, and
you are, like her, aware that good Catholics are always good subjects.”
That country, the Pope continued to observe, had need of the vigilant and
energetic superintendence of its devoted prelates, whom he praised in the
highest terms. “For,” said he, “the wolf—I do not mean Protestantism—but
the wolf of anarchy and infidelity is abroad, I fear, in the regions of
the West.” He referred to the organization called “the International,” and
expressed his astonishment that “any princes should be still so blind as
to take pleasure in making war on the Church, at a period when the
foundations of civil society were threatened on every side.”
The chief cause of the Holy Father’s grief and poignant sorrow, under his
calamities, was the loss of souls. “Ah!” said he, in a conversation with
Mgr. Langenieux, Archbishop of Rheims, “I could bear my misfortunes
courageously, and God would give me strength to withstand the evils which
afflict the Church. But there is one thing I cannot forgive those who
persecute us. They eradicate the faith of my people—they kill the souls of
the children of unfortunate Italy.” The Pontiff, as he uttered these
words, moved his hand towards his breast, and as his fingers ruffled his
white robe, he exclaimed, in a tone that was truly heartrending: “They
tear away my heart!”
“It was sublime,” adds the archbishop, “the great soul of the Pope subdued
us, and, at the same time, inspired us with light and fortitude.”