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Chapter XVI. Revolutions in Southern Europe.

The successor of Pius VIII was Gregory XVI, who became pope in 1831. His election was not calculated to pacify the people or lessen the general excitement. On the contrary, he fully committed his pontificate to the policy of retrogression, and this was so well understood that he had to prepare at once to grapple with the revolution, so near the Vatican that he could witness the surgings of the enraged populations. The Italian people assumed the attitude of defiance; and if they had been hitherto disposed to submit passively to the oppressions of the papacy, it then became evident that they, too, after centuries of obedience to the pope as an absolute temporal monarch, were resolved to try the experiment of self-government under a written constitution. They had endured absolutism until they could do so no longer.

The revolution broke out almost simultaneously at Bologna, Parma, and Modena, and very soon after at Rome. The pope was able to hold the insurgents in check in the latter city only by military force; but in the provinces the popular tumult increased. It is said, in behalf of Gregory XVI, that the insurrection was occasioned without any personal enmity to him; that “it arose against the rule, not against the ruler; against the throne, not against its actual
possessor. . . . It aimed at the final overthrow of the reigning power, . . . the substitution of a republic for the existing and recognized rule.”’ Accepting this as true—and there is no reason for doubting it—it establishes the proposition clearly that the Roman Catholic populations of the papal States entered upon the revolution for the purpose only of stripping the pope of his temporal power, leaving his spiritual power undisturbed. What followed is best interpreted in the light of this acknowledged fact.

A modern author thus depicts the condition of affairs from which the people of Italy revolted: “Absolutism, administered by priests, was the system which prevailed in the States of the Church during the pontificate of Gregory XVI, and in no part of the Peninsula, not even at Naples, were the people so oppressed or so ill governed.”

The same author further says: “In Sardinia, even more than in almost any other portion of the Peninsula, the Church enjoyed the exceptional privileges which she had acquired during the Middle Ages. The civil power had, in fact, no legal jurisdiction over the clergy. All offenses committed by ecclesiastics were tried by clerical tribunals, acting upon the Canon law, and irresponsible to the State. Moreover, these courts claimed, and to some extent exercised, jurisdiction over laymen accused of heresy, blasphemy, sacrilege, and other offenses against the Church.”

As soon as the revolution was fairly inaugurated in all the cities of the legation, an insurrectionary army was marched towards Rome, avowing the purpose not to concede anything to the papacy, but to have the Government reformed. The pope soon saw that he was powerless to resist so formidable a force, and that his crown would be lost to him unless he could obtain assistance from some of the allied sovereigns; that is, unless he could subdue his own Roman Catholic subjects by the help of a foreign army! Notwithstanding he boastingly considered himself as armed with divine authority, he did not feel it safe, in the face of the stubborn facts before him, to rely alone upon assistance from that source. He had more confidence in military than in spiritual power, in dealing with a population he knew to be incensed with the outrages committed by the Government he was defending. He accordingly called upon Louis Philippe of France to send an army to Italy to punish his own Roman Catholic subjects, because they desired only to take the crown of temporal sovereignty from his head, leaving all his spiritual rights unassailed. He relied upon the pledge which the “Holy Alliance” had exacted from the sovereigns that they would intervene forcibly, when necessary, to protect monarchism wheresoever popular and constitutional government was set up against it, and, of course, in making this appeal to the King of France, must have supposed that he occupied firm ground. But France, by this time, had learned to look upon the doctrines of the “Holy Alliance” with disfavor, and when she expelled Charles X, the last of her Bourbon kings, established the principle of non-intervention in the affairs of other Governments, and tied the hands of Louis Philippe so tightly that he was compelled to decline the request of the pope, and leave the revolution in Italy to take its course. De Montor says, what is true, that the revolution in France had “encouraged the rebellion” in Italy “— which only proves that the Roman Catholics of Italy were apt imitators of their French brethren, dreading revolution as little, and as resolutely determined to avenge their own wrongs. Manifestly, they saw nothing in the faith of the primitive Church in support of the temporal power. Gregory XVI was undoubtedly discomfited by the refusal of Louis Philippe, which he had not probably anticipated; and it left him but a single method of escaping the wrath of his own people—but one way of dispelling the clouds thickening about him and threatening a tempest. That was to cling to the doctrines of the “Holy Alliance,” and solicit the military intervention of some power so wedded to absolute monarchy as to be willing to march its armies against any people who were patriotic enough to assail the doctrine of the divine right of kings in order to build up a government of their own.

There was then but one sovereign in Europe who held himself in readiness to respond willingly to such a call as this—who kept a large standing army in preparation to overrun and desolate any country whose people were trying to establish their own national freedom. This single sovereign was the Emperor of Austria, at whose imperial court the Jesuits were always welcome and favored guests, and every pulsation of whose heart beat in unison with their doctrines. He readily accepted the invitation of the pope, and sent a large army to protect him and to desolate all Italy if his crown could not be saved in any other way. What a spectacle! A great nation not assailed, not even offended, sending an immense army of conscripts—made mere machines by the relentless system of European military discipline—to hold in perpetual bondage populations whose only offense was the desire to establish their own constitutional government! The conflict was between the papacy and the Roman Catholic people of Italy—not between them and the Church. They had no fault to find with the Church, but desired only to separate the Church from the State by transferring the crown of temporal sovereignty to a king who would wear it under the restraints of a written constitution, and not leave it on the head of the pope, who claimed that it conferred absolute authority upon him by virtue of the divine law. They accepted in good faith all the teachings of the Church; but rejected the doctrine of the papacy and the Jesuits that it was a necessary part of the faith that the pope should be an absolute king over them and their children forever. And it was for this—nothing more—that Gregory XVI, near the middle of the nineteenth century, invoked the aid of a Roman Catholic army to make war upon Roman Catholic populations and punish them as heretics, by desolating their country, for desiring to be free!

Gregory XVI found none of that joy which a sense of security brings until the Austrians occupied with their formidable army. Then he realized that he could keep his feet planted firmly upon the necks of the Italian people without fear and trembling, because he was backed by a power they were unable to resist. It was the first ray of light and hope that had shone upon bis pontificate; and as the revolutionary insurgents seemed to melt away before this vast military host, he was encouraged to believe they were entirely suppressed. Then he doubtless indulged in the exhilarating belief that his temporal crown would remain safe upon his head. It may well be imagined that the arches of the Vatican echoed and re-echoed with the strains of sacred music inyoked to attest the pontifical rejoicing. But besides these scenes of joy, there were others existing in many of the provincial homes of Italy, where silence was broken by the sighs of multitudes of sincere Roman Catholic Christians, whose hearts were depressed with sadness at the thought that the pope, whose sacred office they venerated, had employed the spiritual power intrusted to him by the Church to perpetuate their civil bondage by means of an alien and merciless military force too powerful for successful resistance.

Under these flattering circumstances Gregory XVI felt himself justified in announcing the principles of his pontifical policy. This he did in an encyclical letter addressed to all the hierarchy throughout the world, who, when they read it, were required to believe that St. Peter was speaking through him. This celebrated document, issued at a date so recent that many now living may remember it, sets forth in plain and expressive terms the dogmas of faith upon which Gregory XVI rested his claim to temporal dominion. It was issued ex cathedra, and, being addressed to the whole Church, was intended as an infallible announcement of the true faith. It deserves, on that account, to be carefully scrutinized, whereby it may be plainly seen how far the papacy departs from the doctrines of the primitive Church in order to enable the pope to wear a temporal crown. It requires assent to a system of religious faith which no man, living under the protection of free popular institutions, can entertain consistently with his obligation to maintain those institutions.

He erects his system of faith upon this premise: That neither the pope nor the Church can be made “subject to the civil authority” of any country; that is, that he may disobey all human laws which place any restraint upon his authority as he shall define it, at his own pleasure. A ffirming that all who do not assent to the faith as announced by the pope “will perish eternally without any doubt,” he condemned all other professions of religious faith as the “most fruitful cause” of evil. The diversity of religious professions he considered the “poisoned source” of “that false and absurd, or rather extravagant maxim, that liberty of conscience should be established and guaranteed to each man.” He characterized this liberty of conscience as “a most contagious error, to which leads that absolute and unbridled liberty of opinion, which, for the ruin of Church and State, spreads over the world, and which some men, by unbridled impudence, fear not to represent as advantageous to the Church.” Having thus denounced liberty of conscience as sinful, and its advocates as guilty of “unbridled impudence,” he, as a necessary consequence, blended with it “ the liberty of the press,” which he called “the most fatal liberty, an execrable liberty, for which there never can be sufficient horror.” These two great liberties, universally understood to constitute the basis of popular government, caused him, as he declared, “to shudder,” because he considered them “monstrous doctrines, or rather prodigies of error.” He charged the people of Italy, who were demanding a constitution, “ with the blackest machinations of revolt and sedition” in their “endeavor to destroy the fidelity due to princes, and to hurl them from their thrones.” In the further inculcation of the duty “of constant submission to princes,” he declared that this submission has its “source in the holiest precepts of the Christian religion;” wherefore he insisted that “the Vaudois, Beguards, Wickliffites, and other like children of Belial, the shame and opprobrium of the human race,” were “justly anathematized by the Apostolic See.” And he condemned the separation of Church and State by characterizing it as “the rupture of concord between the priesthood and the empire,” which he desired to preserve, because, said he, “it is an established fact that all the votaries of the most unbridled liberty fear more than all else this concord, which has always been so salutary and so happy for Church and State.”

Gregory XVI claimed infallibility; that is, that he spoke by the inspiration and the authority of God, and therefore could not err, and, by virtue thereof, commanded absolute obedience to all these doctrines as necessary parts of the Christian faith, under the severest penalties for disobedience. Consequently, when the Roman Catholic populations of the Italian States, who bad inaugurated the revolution, were informed of the doctrines thus announced by the pope, it was manifest to them that his purpose was to condemn as sinful and heretical everything they sought after. If they had doubted before, they were then forced to realize that if the revolution should be suppressed, and the absolute temporal authority of the pope be continued, the Church and the State would remain united; the liberty of conscience, of speech, and of the press would be perpetually denied to them; the Jaws would be made at the pope’s dictation, and not by themselves; the sovereigns of the “Holy Alliance” and the Jesuits would win a complete and, probably, a final triumph over liberalism; and that the Italian people would be required, by compulsion if necessary, to assent to and maintain a form of religious faith which inculcated the doctrine that . “constant submission to princes” was commanded by “ the holiest precepts” of the Gospels. The pope had spoken plainly, and it was impossible not to understand how clearly and sharply he had made the issue between submission and revolution. What were they, under these circumstances, to do? They had already chosen revolution,—should they abandon it from fear of Austrian bayonets? The import and seriousness of this question are easily comprehended. It involved, if they should bring the revolution to a successful end, a constitutional form of government, or, by its abandonment, their own consent to the perpetuity of their civil bondage. Independently of the fact that they considered a constitution worth struggling for, they had gone so far they could not retreat without abandoning a cause which might never be revived, if they should permit the pope, in return for Austria’s help, to tighten the cords already binding them too tightly for longer endurance. Several provisional governments had been formed in the revolting States, and, although their functions were suspended, they were not abandoned. In view, therefore, of the importance of the issue, and of all the consequences involved, both present and future, they courageously and patriotically determined that the conflict should be continued to the end. The revolutionary spirit had been too thoroughly aroused to be suppressed by the pope, with the Austrian armies at his back. He held it in check—nothing more. . Events now moved slowly from necessity, requiring circumspect and cautious management. The Provisional Governments were kept in abeyance at Bologna, Parma, Modena, and elsewhere, to await developments. A period of difficulty and doubt ensued, during which new combinations were formed—all, however, pointing to a constitution as the grand object to be achieved. The circle of revolutionary influences gradually enlarged, almost reaching the muzzles of the Austrian guns. The pope was forced to realize, evidently to his surprise, that the populations would not accept the doctrines of his encyclical as part of their religious faith, and that, if maintained at all, it could be done only by military force. He, therefore, induced the Austrian army to invade the States where provisional Governments had been formed. This was an actual military invasion of Italy by an alien army, in obedience to the requirements of the pope— an offense for which no apology has been or can be discovered, It was successful, of course, and a military garrison was established in Ferrara, whereupon Gregory XVI re-established his own arbitrary pontifical authority under Austrian protection.

Papal edicts were accordingly issued, denouncing the revolution as irreligious and condemning the insurgents as heretics. The crisis grew more serious every day. Pacification seemed out of the question. Nothing but absolute and passive submission would satisfy the pope. The public mind was in a state of extreme agitation. Terror seized upon some, but the multitude remained courageously resolved not to stop short of a constitution. Old men found themselves infused with new life, and vigorous and enthusiastic young men were stimulated by the idea of a new Italy—free, independent, and united. Under the watchword of “Young Italy” the revolutionists soon obtained footing in Lombardy, Genoa, Tuscany, and even in the States of the Church. Resolute and immediate action was demanded by those who were burning with fervid patriotism, but prudential considerations dictated extreme caution. The questions when and where to strike involved too much to be decided hastily. The presence of the Austrians alone prevented a popular uprising. They stood guard over the dispersed bands of Italian patriots, whilst Gregory XVI was allowed to gather materials for the:r annihilation. Such a scene has not often been witnessed, and men of all nations turned their eyes toward it with anxiety. Thoughtful and intelligent people every where—especially in the United States, among Roman Catholics as well as Protestants—sent words of encouragement and cheer to these patriotic and struggling masses, congratulating them upon having manfully resolved not to receive either their form of government or their religion from the points of Austrian bayonets. They were inspirited, not alone by general sympathy, but by the examples of their religious brethren in other parts of Europe. Besides the revolution in France and Belgium, which they had imitated from the beginning, the events transpiring in Portugal and Spain proved to them that their cause would become hopeless only by ignominious surrender.

In Portugal, revolution had ended in civil war and the complete subjugation of the retrogressive papal party, the suppression of the Jesuits, and the confiscation of their property. Gregory XVI, in the supposed plenitude of his spiritual power, had attempted to interfere, and threatened the authors of this revolution with excommunication and other forms of pontifical malediction. But his curses only intensified the determination to put an end to retrogression, so that Portugal could take her place among the progressive nations. In Spain events of the same character were also transpiring. The Jesuits were again suppressed, because they were the reputed authors of all public calamities, and even the nuncio of the pope was expelled from the country. Such examples as these, occurring among kindred populations of the same religion, could not fail to incite fresh hopes in the minds of those Italians who were not becoming timid and in renewing the courage of those who were. Nevertheless, the presence of the Austrians compelled them still longer to await the coming of future events, some of which were then beginning “to cast their shadows before.”

We now reach a period when the scenes began to shift, and new actors appeared—of whom thousands yet living have formed favorable or unfavorable opinions, according to the standpoint from which they have considered them. Gregory XVI died in 1846, leaving the revolution unsuppressed—the storm still raging. He had been enabled, by the presence of the Austrian army, to prevent any formidable outbreak in the disaffected provinces, but could accomplish nothing more than to leave to his successor, Pius IX, the inheritance of temporal power, not merely threatened, but seriously imperiled. The condition of things existing at the time of the latter’s election can not be more aptly described than in the language of a distinguished author who has written the life of Pius IX. He says:

“Gregory the Sixteenth was maintained on his throne, during his reign of fifteen years and a quarter, solely by the force of Austrian bayonets. The reports sent by the cardinals and prelates intrusted with the government of the various provinces to headquarters at Rome abundantly prove the truth of this assertion. To cite these here would occupy more space than could be allowed to the subject, and would but be a manifold reiteration of the statement, that the entire population was irreconcilably hostile to the Apostolic Government. The revolt had indeed been crushed by the enormously superior force of the Austrian troops. But disaffection was in no degree extinguished. Conspiracy was chronic in all the cities of the pontifical dominions. Discovery, repression, and punishment were the principal occupations of the papal Government and its agents during the whole of Gregory’s reign, which may be said to have been one long struggle with conspiracy and revolution, The number of condemnations . . . are alone sufficient to show that the countries subjected to the government of the Apostolic Court were in a condition which could not have endured but for the overpowering pressure of an external force.”

Pius IX had a generous heart, was kindly disposed, and possessed many excellent personal qualities. After his election a general disposition was exhibited among all classes, except the extreme revolutionists, to await his course of action before pronouncing judgment upon his pontificate. It was understood that among the conclave of cardinals, assembled to elect a successor to Gregory XVI, he had united with several others in a petition which favored reforms and improvement in the papal Government. There were no strictly religious questions to settle, as all were agreed with reference to these; and hence, as all the matters involved concerned temporal affairs alone, growing out of the revolution, a strong desire existed to give him the fullest opportunity to decide upon the means and measures of redress demanded by existing grievances. Even the extreme revolutionists were drawn to this policy by the general disposition to accept Pius IX as in some sense a reformer, and to give him full time to mature such measures of reform as he deemed expedient. Considering the condition of things then existing, he came into power under circumstances which might easily have led to pacification, but for the adverse influences which he found himself, in the end, without the power, if he had the desire, to counteract. He should not be judged too harshly; for there are very few who have not, some time or other, been confronted by conditions which, instead of their being able to control, controlled them. The questions pending were not such as the European sovereigns would allow to be considered Italian questions alone; if they had been, he might have found it in his power to gratify his natural desire for peace and quiet throughout all the Italian provinces. But from the date of the “Holy Alliance” the supporters of monarchism had assumed that all such questions possessed an international character, which entitled the sovereigns to interfere in the temporal and domestic affairs of any European State, so as to suppress by military force any popular effort to establish constitutional governments. Gregory XVI, besides his general acquiescence, had given his express pontifical sanction to this principle; first, by invoking the aid of the King of France, and then by inviting the Austrian army to Italy; and whatsoever may have been the inclination. of Pius IX, he had to encounter, at the beginning of his pontificate, difficulties of no ordinary magnitude.

Even the Conclave of Cardinals which elected him contained two parties—the Absolutists and the Liberals. The lines separating them were distinctly marked, and each party had its candidate. The Absolutists, wedded to the retrogressive policy of Gregory XVI, favored Cardinal Lambruschini, because as Secretary of State under Gregory, he was strongly in favor of, and had given direction to, that policy. The diplomatic representatives of all the Governments, except France, took the same side, because it promised pontifical aid to monarchism and opposition to liberalism and progress. Pius IX, as Cardinal Mastai, has never been charged with having endeavored to promote his own election, but having been supported by the Liberal cardinals and the French ambassador, he acquired the reputation of favoring reform in the existing order of affairs, and doubtless deserved it. His election, consequently, was considered a triumph of Liberalism over Absolutism.

By that time the policy of Gregory XVI had “studded the country with gibbets, crowded the galleys with prisoners, and filled Europe with exiles, and almost every other home in the papal States with mourning.”’ Among the “middle classes” there were few families not grieving at the absence of some of their members, either imprisoned or sent into exile, only for desiring reform in the civil government. It is fair to suppose that Pius IX, influenced by a kindly nature, sympathized with all these. Whether he did or not, however, he entered upon the second month of his pontificate by issuing a decree of amnesty which opened the prison doors, and bought back the exiles upon whom the heavy hand of his immediate predecessor had fallen. This was an amnesty for political offenses, and, viewed in that light, is entitled to be regarded as an act creditable to its author. In order to decide, however, what was its precise character and effect, and how subsequent events were molded by it, its terms and conditions must be observed. Its general purport was sufficiently comprehensive to embrace all classes of political prisoners and offenders, except ecclesiasties; but it required that, in consideration of the clemency granted them, they should ““ make in writing a solemn declaration, on their honor, that they will not in any manner or at any time abuse this grace, and will for the future fulfill the duties of good and faithful subjects.” A written deeJaration was required, which was intended to be explanatory, but was somewhat broader in its terms. It required that Pius IX should be recognized as the “lawful sovereign,” and that the disturbances made by the revolution should be condemned for having “attacked the lawfully-constituted authority in his temporal dominions.”

This meant, of course, the recognition of the old order of things, except in so far as Pius IX, whose temporal authority as king was preserved, should think proper of his own accord to introduce reforms. It was not understood to mean a continuance of the entire retrogressive policy of Gregory XVI, because, underlying the fact of amnesty, the personality of Pius IX and his supposed tendency to liberalism had to be considered in interpreting it. That being the view taken of it, and this latter consideration having furnished the ground of hope in the future, the amnesty was generally accepted, and shoutings, rejoicings, and Te Dewms were heard in all directions, in the provinces as well as at Rome. The only visible exception among the Italians were the extreme revolutionists, who would be reconciled to nothing but the absolute destruction of the temporal power of the pope, by the separation of Church and State and the formation of a constitutional government. They were not sufficiently numerous, however, to give direction to the general sentiment, and matters progressed with a seeming quietude which had not existed for a long time. They bore the appearance of there having been a reconciliation between the pope and the great body of the Italian people. This, however, soon proved to be merely in appearance. It only lulled the storm, and put the winds at rest for a time. The amnesty left the temporal power of the pope existing; and, although apparently acquiesced in by many who desired a constitution, it is manifest that they were persuaded to this by the belief, founded upon the liberal tendency of the pope’s mind, that he would introduce such reforms as would remove the existing abuses in the civil Government. With these abuses removed, they possibly hoped to become reconciled to the temporal power, at least during the life of Pius IX. The acceptance of the amnesty, therefore, should be considered as the result of personal trust in him—of the hope, if not the conviction, that he would introduce such reforms as were required by the public welfare. The popularity of Pius IX was somewhat phenomenal, owing probably to the fact that he had been elected and was accepted as a Liberal, and because, moreover, he contrasted most favorably with the harsh, cruel, and despotic Gregory XVI. The people evidently considered a good king—as they expected Pius IX to be—preferable to war, bloodshed, and desolation. It was a choice of evils.

Pius IX, although thus recognized as absolute sovereign in Italy, was not the arbiter of his own fortunes. It was an omen of evil for both Christianity and the Church when the ambition of the popes led them to unite with political sovereigns and make common cause with them in support of absolute monarchism. “The combination necessary to their success became unavoidably such as to require of the pope, not merely the recognition of the avowed policy of the sovereigns—which was purely temporal—but that this policy should be ingrafted upon the faith of the Church, and obedience to it be exacted by compulsion when not yielded willingly. This was the avowed object of the “Holy Alliance,” as understood and explained by Metternich, its great leader and dictator; and when Gregory XVI found it impossible to maintain his temporal power without the military aid of Austria, he committed his pontificate, and endeavored to commit the Church, by making the temporal policy of the sovereigns part of its faith. Pius IX was compelled to accept the pontificate in the face of these existing facts, and had consequently to contend with two opposing forces; that is, the revolutionary element at home, and the sovereigns throughout Europe who demanded that he should continue the retrogressive policy of Gregory XVI. It is, therefore, but simple iustice to his memory to say that while his liberalism made him popular with the masses, he was so hampered, restrained, and tied down by the relations between Gregory XVI and Austria—representing the “Holy Alliance”—that much of what he afterwards did might possibly have been avoided if he had been permitted to have his own way.

Those who see nothing to disapprove in all the conduct of Pius IX, speak of his course at the beginning of his pontificate as “noble.” He was, in some sense, entitled to this praise in so far as he professed a desire for reform, although his reformatory measures: were not such as reached the root of the existing evils. But the fact that he was accepted as a reformer in any sense by the people, was in itself the cause of serious embarrassment to him—proving how difficult it was to escape the scorching fires which surrounded him. His tendency to reform excited the “alarm” of Austria, whose emperor saw in it a possible departure from the retrogressive policy of Gregory XVI and the “Holy Alliance.” Maguire—an earnest defender of the pope—says that this alarm of Austria was occasioned by the knowledge that “ the spirit emanating from the Vatican was kindling a new and dangerous fire in the breast of a downtrodden people;” that is, was kindling afresh the fires of revolution. The plain and obvious meaning of this friendly explanation is that the people of Italy had been, and still were, oppressed by the policy of the papacy, enforced, as it then was, by the arms of Austria, and that Austria considered that of Pius IX threatening to the cause of monarchism, because it tended to remove this oppression and excite in the minds of the people an increased desire for constitutional government. He gives as the reason for this the fact that Austria was “the most formidable enemy of reforms, which she had every reason to dread.” Why? Manifestly because reform indicated the possible loss of the temporal power by the pope, which would inevitably prove a serious blow to monarchical power, and the possible establishment of popular institutions in Italy. He also says that Naples “viewed with jealousy” the conduct of the pope; and that some smaller monarchical powers also regarded it “with dismay;” and, in addition, that ““ many of the cardinals” participated in this alarm of the sovereigns.”” Lambruschini, whose election was defeated by the choice of Pius IX, was undoubtedly at the head of this faction of cardinals, all of whom, says Trollope, were the “bitter, rancorous, and irreconcilable enemies of everything that changed, or showed a tendency to change, anything that had existed under the late pope.”

Pius IX was severely tried, and it is not to his discredit that he was perplexed. He stood between two imminent and threatening dangers—with Austria supported by other sovereign powers, a faction of retrogressive cardinals, and the Jesuits, upon one side, and the revolutionists upon the other. The circumstances would have put to a severe test the courage and firmness of a more experienced statesman. In the face of these surroundings he entered upon a series of reforms, the necessity for which proves how extensive and oppressive had been the misgovernment of his predecessor, and how little liberty the people were permitted to enjoy ° under him. These had reference to measures of administration, and were designed to improve the public service in the hospitals, prisons, and religious institutions. Provision was made for the punishment of fraud and extortion. Useful works were encouraged and industry stimulated. Some oppressive taxes were remitted. Companies were authorized to build railroads and to introduce gas. Laymen were allowed to hold some inferior offices. Partial freedom of the press was provided for; but it was only partial, inasmuch as papal censorship was preserved. Infant, Sunday, and evening schools were established. And in a public circular he announced that he proposed to assemble a Board of Councilors to advise with in reference to the administration of public affairs. The names of these were to be proposed by the governors of the provinces, and he was to select the Board from the number proposed.”

If all these reforms were necessary—and that they must have been is indicated by the fact that they @ere granted— public affairs were undoubtedly in a most deplorable condition during the pontificate of Gregory XVI. But whether they were or not, a glance at them will show that none of them reached the questions which brought on the revolution. They were, in an essential degree, necessary measures of domestic policy, and whatsoever valuable results may have been produced by them, they still left the entire temporal power in the hands of the pope, so that the people would in the future have nothing to do with making the laws, but would be bound to obey such as the pope alone should dictate. And in order to make any advance towards constitutional government impossible, the proposed Board of Councilors were to be practically selected by the pope. This Board was considered by the papal party as a great concession to the people, but it was only relatively so; that is, it was one step in advance of the old system previously existing. The publie were disposed to accept it from the pope, if not the belief that it would produce beneficial results; and consequently its first meeting was hailed with anxiety. Its probable action was discussed with more freedom than Rome had been accustomed to, as even the limited freedom of the press had caused a considerable increase in the number of newspapers, and a corresponding desire to discuss public questions. The inevitable effect of such a discussion was to invite public attention to the fact, which soon became apparent, that, instead of the Board of Councilors being such a reform as the people had hoped for and expected, its actual meaning was to perpetuate the temporal power of the pope, and to prevent, so long as that existed, the possibility of constitutional government. Whilst matters were in this unsettled condition, Pius IX—unfortunately for himself—was prompted, either at his own or the suggestion of others, to remove all doubt from the subject by informing the Board of Councilors, in a speech, that he had “not the slightest intention of lessening the power of the potifical sovereignty,” and that the Councilors had nothing to do “beyond giving an opinion when asked to do so.” At a subsequent time, in a proclamation issued by his cardinal secretary of state, he announced that the only progress he proposed to authorize was “ within those limits determined by the conditions essential to the sovereignty and the temporal government of the head of the Church.”

The old issue was thus revived by the pope himself, in such form and with so much directness that everybody understood it. Discussions of it immediately became common in the public assemblages of Rome. If the extreme revolutionists were able to excite the people by their eloquent and stirring appeals, it was unquestionably owing to the unwise and injudicious avowal of his purposes by the pope. If he had permitted his administrative reforms to work out their legitimate results, they might have strengthened his cause and that of the papacy. But he failed to do this, and thereby increased, rather than diminished, his own embarrassment. He soon realized the necessity of adopting precautionary measures to suppress a popular tumult in the event that the people could be held in check in no other way. For this purpose he created a “civic guard,” which was understood to mean, and in fact was, a military force, to be moved against the people whensoever he deemed it expedient. It was in reality a papal army, “ to consist of every male inhabitant throughout the States of the Church, between twenty-one and sixty, who possessed property, or kept a shop, or was at the head of an industrial establishment.” This measure could not be viewed in any other light than as immediate preparation for an aggressive military movement against all who did not submit to the papal policy—in other words, as a contemplated act of war. Looking at it as such, the pope’s cardinal secretary of state, who did not favor it, resigned his office, withdrew from the papal service, and left the pope to the counsel of others. This conspicuous secession from his cause necessarily produced the most serious results, and was mainly influential in exciting all the discontented. Those who had been induced to acquiesce in the measures of the pope, with the hope that they would lead to pacification, were then brought to realize that there was no longer any real ground for this hope. On the other hand, they could see nothing in them but what indicated the purpose of the pope to maintain his temporal power by means of civil war, if he should find that necessary. The issue, consequently, became too distinct and direct to be longer evaded or misunderstood; and from that time the unification of Italy and the abolition of the temporal power became the watchwords of all who desired a constitution, as they soon after became also their battle-cry. At a public assemblage to celebrate the birthday of Pius IX, processions of people, marching through the streets of Rome, prepared tablets with these mottoes, among others, upon them: ““ Liberty of the press!” ” Banishment of the Jesuits!” ” Abolition of arbitrary action on the part of the police!” “Codes of useful and impartial laws!” “Publication of the acts of the Consulta!” “Faith in the people!” As a shower of rain prevented the public exhibition of these tablets, they were sent to the cardinal secretary of state, so that the pope should be enabled to interpret the mottoes upon them and understand their meaning and significance. In every direction the signs of popular discontent increased.

It has been said of Pius IX that he was “vainglorious,” which is unquestionably true. This quality is not inconsistent with integrity of purpose, but often unfits its possessor for efficacious action in a great crisis. It causes one to rely too much upon personal influence and popularity, as was the case with him. When he met assemblages of the people, he addressed and bestowed benedictions upon them with apparent self-satisfaction, supposing that their shouts were intended to express unbounded veneration for him, whereas they were the result of respect for his sacred office, which restrained many who desired to see the temporal power abolished from openly and publicly avowing it. Those who appealed to and played upon his vanity misled him. Who these were it is not difficult to tell. They were the allied sovereigns, who, in obedience to the policy of the “Holy Alliance,” had dictated the measures of Gregory XVI, and maintained them by the arms of Austria, the retrogressive cardinals, and the Jesuits—the latter, as always, thrusting themselves forward, ready to strike, whensoever a blow was needed, at the cause of constitutional government. This powerful combination was enabled to dictate to the kindhearted pope, by appeals so artfully made that he became as pliable as wax in their hands. Under their controlling influence he composed his Council of Ministers to aid in administering public affairs, exclusively of ecclesiastics; thereby teaching the people that they could have no part whatsoever in those matters which immediately concerned their temporal welfare. To such an extent was this method of procedure carried that it soon became evident that Italy was, in fact, governed by foreign and alien influences, to which the pope had allowed himself to become entirely subjected. As Austria stood at the head of these influences, the Italian people regarded her with both suspicion and dread. And when the Austrian army was moved into Modena, thereby inducing the belief that the military occupation of the States of the Church was intended, the popular indignation became so great that the people demanded of Pius IX that he should declare war against Austria, notwithstanding her immense military strength. The circle of influences surrounding him was now growing more and more complicated, evidently adding to his embarrassment. He knew that he was under the suspicion of Austria because of his former tendency towards liberalism at the beginning of his pontificate, but could not venture to break his alliance with her, being assured, if he did, that it would lead to movements elsewhere in the Italian States that would shake the papacy to its center, and inevitably cost him the loss of his temporal power, which he dreaded more than all else.

These complications created others, which added to the uncertainties of the future. Under the existing emergencies a skillful statesman would have found a broad field for the display of ability in escaping the pitfalls before him. But Pius IX was not a statesman in any sense, and knew but little of public affairs as they existed in the Italian provinces, except what centered in the papacy, and nothing of international relations, except that as pope he was tied to the car of the reigning sovereigns, and was compelled, nolens volens, to share their fortunes. If he had possessed broad and comprehensive views—sufficient to have enabled him to see beyond the narrow circle in which he was moving—he might have realized that, whilst the people of Italy were willing and anxious to award him full credit for such reforms as he had introduced, they fell far short of the popular desire, because they did not reach the evils complained of, which had existed so long as to have become festering sores. He might also have seen that it was not a mere fitful fever of excitement which led to the demand for the expulsion of the Austrians, but the fixed and resolute purpose of an incensed population that they would no longer submit to the degradation of being held in subjugation by foreign bayonets. A skillful pilot would have pointed out to him the method of avoiding shipwreck; but he could find no such pilot among the ecclesiastics who were trained in the same school as himself, and he would have no other. To them he submitted everything, as his only advisers; and yet, at the same time, he seemed to suppose that, in his own personality, he possessed the power to suppress the most violent popular tumult. He frequently addressed assembled multitudes in Rome, and never failed to elicit “evvivas” and other tokens of personal respect, but neglected to observe the significant fact that, underlying all these, the sentiment most deeply imbedded in the popular mind was expressed by such cries as these: “Viva Pio Nono, solo!’ “Hurrah for Pio Nono, without his advisers!” ” Hurrah for Italian independence!” and others of like meaning. At one time he quieted the people by assuring them that he was on good terms with the King of Sardinia and the Grand Duke of Tuscany, and that he would soon replace his ecclesiastical advisers by laymen. At another time he endeavored to impress their minds with the idea that the security of the papacy was not seriously threatened, because there were “two hundred millions of brothers of all languages and all nations” upon whose assistance he could safely rely! What degree of sincerity accompanied this avowal, it is not necessary to inquire. It would seem, however, to have been suggested by a heated imagination as the best means of rounding off an eloquent period, for which Pius IX acquired deserved celebrity. One would scarcely think that a statesman with a practical mind could have expected to satisfy the supporters of his policy that all the Roman Catholics in the world would come to their defense against the patriotic Italians who were demanding to be relieved from foreign aggression, and the abolition of the temporal power, with a view to their own national independence. Nor is it probable that any other man but Pius IX would have risked such an avowal in the face of the facts that the Roman Catholic populations of the three great nations, France, Spain, and Portugal, and other smaller States, had secured their own independence by the very methods he was condemning. Preposterous as the suggestion was, it may have quieted the apprehensions of some whose unenlightened minds and passive indifference to results were the fruits of the retrogressive policy of the papacy. But there were numerous others whose intelligence enabled them to see through the thin disguise and gauzy eloquence of the pope, and to comprehend the leading thought which burdened his mind. And especially may it be supposed that this result was produced when Pius 1X immediately followed his boastful promise of assistance from the whole “two hundred millions” of Roman Catholics throughout the world, by saying that Rome was safe “as long as this Apostolic See shall remain in the midst of her !” Thoughtful people, understanding when he spoke of the Apostolic See in this connection that he meant only the temporal power and kingship of the pope, rightfully interpreted this declaration as opposed to Italian independence and as a denial of their right to a constitutional form of government. And such, in fact, it was, as became more apparent every day. Even the most illiterate soon came to comprehend it, and to understand the actual condition of affairs. At an immense assemblage in the Quirinal a few days after, the people again shouted “evviva” for Pius IX, and immediately after cried out, “Italy, freed from the Austrians !” ” A Constitution!” “Down with the priests!” Being stirred by these popular shouts, and being doubtless led to believe that his personal popularity was unbounded, he exclaimed, with the utmost energy and emphasis: “Be faithful to the pontiff. Do not ask what is contrary to the Church and to religion! Certain voices, and certain cries reach my ears, proceeding not from the many, but from the few, which I neither will nor can admit!”

Events which might have moved somewhat tardily before, were, after this explicit declaration of the pope in favor of the Austrians and against a constitution, hastened into great activity. Everything demonstrated that the people were acting under the influence of a settled conviction that all their best and dearest interests required that they should establish an independent constitutional government at whatsoever cost. And the resoluteness with which the purpose to accomplish this end was formed and maintained by the Italian people will fully appear in the sequel of their history, which furnishes a conspicuous instance of the manner in which the example of the people of the United States reacted upon the modern populations of the European States.