THE MIRACLE OF ST. FRANCIS.
FROM THE SPANISH OF FERNAN CABALLERO.
We are not telling a romance, but relating an occurrence exactly as its details proceeded from the mouth of the responsible narrator, who is an ox-driver. He who takes offence at the source, the stream, and the receptacle, that is to say, at the ox-driver, his story, and the recipient who is going to set it down in black and white, had better pass this by; for the thought that we were going to be read with prejudice would change the nimble pen we hold in our hand into an immovable petrifaction.
In a town of Andalusia that lifts its white walls under the sky that God created solely to canopy Spain, from the heights of Despeñaperros to the city that Guzman el Bueno defended, upon an elevation at the end of a long, solitary street, stands a convent, abandoned, as they all are, thanks to the progress of ruin. This convent is now, more properly than ever before, the last house of the place. Its massive portal faces the town, and its grounds reach back into the country. In these grounds there were formerly many palm-trees—the old people remember them—but only two remain, united like brothers. In this convent there were formerly many religious; now but one remains. The palms lean upon each other; the religious is supported by the charity of the faithful. He comes every Tuesday to say mass in the magnificent deserted church, which no longer possesses a bell to call worshippers.
No words can express the sentiments that are awakened by the sight of the venerable man, in this vast temple, offering the august sacrifice in silence and solitude. One cannot help fancying that the sacred precinct is filled with celestial spirits, in the midst of whom the celebrant only is visible. The church is of an immense height, and so peacefully cheerful that it would seem to have been built solely to resound to the sublime hymn of the Te Deum, and the no less sublime canticle of the Gloria.
The high altar, exquisitely carved in the most elaborate and lavish style of adornment, astonishes the sight with the multitude of flowers, fruits, garlands, and gilded heads of angels it displays with a profusion and lustre which prove that in its execution neither time nor labor were taken into account. What use is made of gold in our day? Or of time? Are they better employed? He who can show us that they are, will console us for the suppression of the convents. Until it is proved, we shall continue to mourn that noble choir, those sumptuous chapels, that splendid tabernacle, cold and empty as the incredulous heart.
Incredulity! Grand triumph of the material over the spiritual, of earth over heaven; of the apostate angel over the angel of light!
The small square that separates the convent from the street which leads to it is overgrown with grass, and in it, in their hours of rest, the drivers let their oxen loose.
Within the inclosure, in place of stairs, a slight terraced ascent, sustained at the sides by benches of stone mason-work, leads to the door of the church. On the right is the chapel of the third order; the path to the left conducts to the principal entrance to the convent.
Reader, if you love the things of our ancient Spain, come hither. Here the church still stands; here still flourish, without care, the two palms; here is still a Franciscan friar who says mass in the unoccupied temple. Here are still found ox-drivers who tell tales, in which things humorous and pious are mingled with the good faith and wholesomeness of heart of the child that plays with the venerated gray hairs of its parent without a thought that in doing so it is wanting in filial respect. But hasten! for all these things will soon disappear, and we shall have to mourn over ruins—ruins to which the past, in reparation, will lend all its magic.
The third day of the week shone pure and gay, ignorant, doubtless, of the unlucky quality which men attribute to it, and very far from suspecting that its enemy—a foolish saying—would fain deprive it of the happiness of witnessing weddings and embarkations.[304]
On a Tuesday, then, that was as innocent of any hostile disposition as if it had been a Sunday, the lady who told us that which we are going to repeat, walked up the long street of San Francisco to the vacant convent to hear the weekly mass in which God himself would fill the abandoned temple with his most worthy presence. She arrived before the priest, and finding the church closed, sat down to wait upon one of the benches that sustain the terrace. The morning was cool enough to make the sunshine agreeable. In sight rose the two palms, like a pair of noble brothers, bearing together persecution and slight, without yielding or humiliating themselves. The oxen lying down within the inclosure ruminated measuredly, but with so little motion that the small birds passing poised themselves upon their horns. The efts, gazing at all with their intelligent eyes, glided along the walls in a garden of gilly-flowers and rose-colored caper-blooms. Light clouds, like smoke from a spotless sacrifice in honor of the Most High, floated across the enamel of the sky—if it is permitted to compare that with enamel with which no enamel that was ever made can compare. It was a morning to sweeten life, so entirely did it make one forget the narrow circles in which we fret our lives away, and in which living is a weariness.
Two drivers seated themselves upon the same bench with the lady.
Your Andalusian is never bashful. The sun may be eclipsed; but, in the lifetime of God, not the serenity of an Andalusian. Sultan Haroun Al-raschid might have spared himself the trouble of the disguises he employed when he mingled among his people without causing them the least diffidence, if he had ruled in Andalusia. Not that the people despise or cannot appreciate superiority; but they know how to lift the hat without dropping the head.
Therefore it happened that, although the lady was one of the principal persons of the place, and although there were other benches to sit on, that one appearing to them the pleasantest, on that one they sat down, without thought or care as to whether their talk would be overheard. In the northern provinces, where the people are entirely good, and as stupid as they are good, they think little and speak less; but in Andalusia thought flies, and words follow in chase. These people can go two days without eating or sleeping, and be little the worse for it; but remain two minutes silent, they cannot. If they have no one to talk with, they sing.
"Man," said one to the other, "I can never see that chapel without thinking of my father, who was a brother of the third order, and used to bring me here with him to say the rosary, which the brothers recited every night at the Angelus."
"Christian! and what sort of man must your father have been? There are no stones out of that quarry nowadays."
"And how should there be? My father—heaven rest him!—used to say that the guillotine war of the French upset the cart. Men nowadays are a pack of idlers, with no more devotion than that of San Korro, the patron of drunkards. But to come back to what I was telling you—a thing his worship once told me, that happened in this very convent.
"All the people of the barrier used to send to the friars for assistance to enable them to die in a Christian fashion. In these times the majority go to the other world like dogs or Jews. Every night, therefore, one of the fathers remained up, so as to be ready in case his services should be wanted. Each kept watch in his turn. One night, when it was the turn of a priest named Father Mateo, who was well known and liked in the town, three men knocked and asked for a religious to succor a person who was at the point of death. The porter informed Father Mateo, who came down immediately. Hardly was the door of the convent closed after him, when they told him that, whether it pleased him or not, they were going to bandage his eyes. It pleased him as much as it would have pleased him to have his teeth pulled. There was nothing for it, however, but to drop his ears; for although he was young, and as tall as a foremast, with a good pair of fists to defend himself with, the others were men of brass, all armed. Besides, neither could his reverence neglect his ministry; and only God knew the intentions of those who had come for him.
"So he said to himself, 'Rome will have this matter to look after;' and let them blindfold him.
"No one can know what streets they made him walk; into this and out of that, till they came to a miserable den, and led him up a flight of stairs, pushed him into a room, and locked the door.
"He took off the bandage; it was as dark as a wolfs mouth, but in the direction of one corner of the room he heard a moan.
"'Who is in distress?' asked Father Mateo.
"'I am, sir,' answered the doleful voice of a woman; 'these wicked men are going to kill me as soon as my peace is made with God.'
"'This is an iniquity!'
"'Father, by the love of the Blessed Mother, by the dear blood of Christ, by the breasts that fed you, save me!'
"'How can I save thee, daughter? What can I do against three men that are armed?'
"'Untie me, in the first place,' said the unhappy woman.
"Father Mateo begun to feel about, and, as God vouchsafed him deftness, to undo the knots of the cords that bound the poor creature's hands and feet; but they were hard, he could not see, and time flew as if a bull had been after it.
"The men were knocking at the door. 'Haven't you got through, father?' asked one of them.
"'Ea! don't be in a hurry!' said the father, who, though his will was good enough, could hit upon no means of saving the woman, who was trembling like a drop of quicksilver, and weeping like a fountain.
"'What are we to do?' said the poor, perplexed man.
"A woman will think of an artifice if she has one foot in the grave, and it entered into this one's head to hide herself under Father Mateo's cloak. I have told you that the father was a man who couldn't stand in that door. 'I would prefer another means,' said his reverence; 'but, as there is no other, we must take this, and let the sun rise in Antequera.'[305]
"He stationed himself at the door with the woman under his cloak.
"'Have you ended, father?' asked the villains.
"'I have ended,' answered Father Mateo, with as calm a voice as he could command.
"'Do not forsake me, sir,' moaned the poor woman, more dead than alive.
"'Hush! Commend yourself to our Lord of the forsaken ones, and his will be done.'
"'Come,' said the men, 'be quick; we must blindfold you again.' And they tied on the bandage, locked the door, and all three descended into the street with the father in custody, for fear that he might take off the blind and know the place.
"They turned and turned again, as before, till they came to the street of San Francisco; then the rascals took to their heels, and disappeared so quickly that you would have thought they had been spirited away.
"The minute they were out of sight, Father Mateo said to the woman, 'Now, daughter, scatter dust, and find a hiding-place. No; don't thank me, but God, who has saved you; and don't stop; for when those brigands find the bird flown, they will come back and perhaps overtake me.'
"The woman ran, and the father in three strides planted himself inside of his convent.
"He went right away to the cell of the father guardian and told him all that had happened, adding that the men would surely come to the convent in search of him.
"The words were hardly out of his mouth when they heard a knocking at the door. The guardian went down and presented himself. 'Can I serve you in any thing, gentlemen?' he asked.
"'We have come,' answered one, 'for Father Mateo, who was out just now confessing a woman.'
"'That cannot be, for Father Mateo has confessed no woman this night.'
"'How! he has not, when we have proof that he brought her here?'
"'What do you mean, you blackguards? brought a woman into the convent! So this is the way you take to injure Father Mateo's reputation, and cast scandal upon our order!'
"'No, sir, we did not say it with that intention; but—'
"'But what?' asked the guardian, very indignant. 'What honorable motive could he have had in bringing a woman here at night?'
"The men looked at each other.
"'Didn't I tell you,' grumbled one, 'that the thing wasn't natural, but miraculous?'
"'Yes, yes,' said another; 'this is the doing of God or the devil—and not of the devil, for he wouldn't interfere to hinder his own work.'
"'In God's name go, evil tongues!' thundered the guardian; 'and take heed how you approach convents with bad designs, and lay snares, and invent calumnies against their peaceful dwellers, who, like Father Mateo, sleep tranquilly in their cells; for our holy patron watches over us.'
"'You can't doubt now,' said the most timid of the three, 'that it was the very St. Francis himself who went with us to save that woman by a miracle.'
"'Father Mateo,' said the guardian when they had gone, 'they are terribly frightened, and have taken you for St. Francis. It is better so; for they are wicked men, and they are furious.'
"'They honor me too much,' answered the good man; 'but give me leave, your fathership, to depart at daybreak for a seaport, and from thence to America, before they have time to think better of it, and hang upon me this miracle of St. Francis.'"
THE FIRST ŒCUMENICAL COUNCIL OF THE VATICAN.
NUMBER EIGHT.
The proceedings of the Vatican Council have reached a stage that allows us to witness again its external splendor and imposing presence. Grand and most august as it certainly is, still every thing that strikes the eye fades away as one thinks of its sublime office, of its important, unlimited influence and effect. The nature of the subject it has just treated will necessarily make that influence overshadow all ages to come, and that effect cease to be felt only with the last shock of a world passing away.
The question that for more than a year has agitated all circles of society, that for the past three months has been a subject of exciting debate among the fathers of the council, could not have been of greater weight. It is one of those truths essential to the existence of the church, and had it not been practically acknowledged among the faithful throughout the world, Christianity, unless otherwise sustained by its Author, would have been an impossibility. The vital point examined was the essence of the union of the church, of the union of faith, to determine dogmatically in what it consists, who or what is the person or body that can so hold and teach the faith as to leave no doubt of any kind whatsoever regarding its absolute divine certainty.
Up to the present day the infallibility of an œcumenical council, or of the whole church dispersed throughout the world, has been recognized as the ultimate rule by all who lay claim to orthodoxy; but with that council, or with that church dispersed throughout the world, as a requisite—sine qua non—was the communion and consent of the sovereign pontiff. Where he was with the bishops, there was the faith; no matter how many bishops might meet together and decree, if Peter was not with them, there was no certainty of belief, no infallible guidance. Nay, their decrees were received only in so far as approved by him. Ubi Petrus, ibi ecclesia, was the formula recognized by tradition. In a word, where Peter was, there was to be found infallible teaching; where Peter was not, there neither was the teaching infallible. None in the church ever thought of gainsaying this. But there came a time when the element all agreed hitherto to look on as essential began to be a subject of doubt and of discussion. Writers went so far as to say that the pope could be judged by the other body of teachers, the bishops; and this followed naturally from a mistrust in the unfailing orthodoxy of the sovereign pontiff. The greater phases of this movement are well known. The Council of Constance had hardly closed when the Council of Basle put in practice the principles broached by its predecessor, and deposed the reigning head of the church, putting in his stead Amadeus of Savoy with the title of Felix V. In the midst of this confusion, Eugenius IV. held the Council of Florence, in which the remarkable decree was published that declared the pope the vicar of Christ, the ruler of the flock, and the doctor of the universal church. Those of the French clergy who clung with tenacity to the principles of Basle, refused to receive this decree, under pretence of the unœcumenical character of the Council of Florence. The Jansenists availed themselves of the advantage this pretext gave them. Although eighty-five French bishops wrote in the year 1652 to Innocent X., according, they say, to the custom of the church, in order to obtain the condemnation of these heretics, the latter still held their ground, and were able to accuse the French assembly of 1682 of inconsistency, in attempting to force on them a decision of the pope, whom the assembly itself declared fallible. The celebrated Arnould taught that the refusal of its approbation to a papal decision on the part of one individual church was enough to make the truth of such a decision doubtful.
We shall try to give some idea of the importance of the question of papal infallibility by a parallel development of two opposite teachings, in a rapid sketch.
The cardinal principle of Gallicanism is the denial of the inerrancy of the sovereign pontiff in his solemn ruling in matters of faith and morals when teaching the whole church. Any one who attentively looks at the question must see the close connection of the primacy with the claim to unerring certainty in teaching. The domain of the church is in faith, in spirituals; temporals being secondary, and the subject of legislation only in so far as necessarily bound up with the former. The only reason why a teacher can lay claim to obedience is because he teaches the truth, and this is especially the case where faith and conscience are concerned. If the sovereign pontiff have not this faculty of teaching the truth without danger of error, then he cannot demand implicit submission. The church dispersed throughout the world, being infallible, cannot be taught by one who is capable of falling into error. The ordinances therefore and decrees of the pontiff, being intimately connected with faith, and issued on account of it, must follow the nature of the submission to his teaching. But as this latter, in the Gallican view, is not obligatory unless recognized as just by the whole church, so neither are the ordinances and decrees to be looked on as binding except under a like reservation. It follows from this, clearly and logically, that the supremacy of the pope can be called supreme only by an abuse of terms; consequently, 1st, the texts of canon law and of the fathers that teach a perfect supremacy are erroneous or false, and have no foundation in tradition, which is the truth always, everywhere, and by every one held in the same way; 2d, the texts of Scripture that refer to Peter are to be restricted to him personally, or, when seeming to regard his successors, are to be interpreted in a sense not favorable to the idea of a perfect supremacy. The pope thus becomes amenable to the church; he is a divinely constituted centre, nothing more; the official representative of the bishops of the whole church dispersed throughout the world, which alone is the ultimate criterion of truth. He can, therefore, be judged by the bishops, be corrected by them, deposed by them, and his asserted right to reserve powers to himself to the prejudice of ordinaries, or to legislate for dioceses other than his own, is to be set aside. A species of radicalism is thus introduced into the church. The bishops themselves are not to be looked on as infallible judges of the faith of their flocks even, and the faithful themselves, or the people, become the ultimate judges of what is to be held as of faith. Instead of being taught, they teach; instead of being a locus theologicus, they become the ecclesia docens; and the teachers and rulers become the ruled and taught. As the people themselves are liable to be swayed by the influence and teaching of artful men, we have in consequence a weak and uncertain rule to go by; weak, because of the moral impossibility of knowing the sense of the whole church, for even the members of an œcumenical council might not exactly represent the faith of their individual churches; uncertain, because of the facility with which in past time the people of many individual churches have been led astray.
As we write, it seems as if we heard some indignant protest against what we have just said. We reply that we do not refer to individual opinions; many Gallicans refused to go the length of their principles; a sense of danger alarmed their piety and put them on their guard. For our part, we treat of the principles themselves, and deem perfectly consequent what we have asserted. It would be an easy matter to illustrate it with facts of the present as of the past; but it would be beyond our scope just now. Any student of history will have no difficulty in recalling the manner in which defections from the church have been brought about, and the errors of those who once seemed columns of the temple. The inadequacy of the Gallican rule is still further shown by its practical inconvenience. It is fortunate that in the early church it had no place whatsoever. Peter being then recognized as the head and teacher of the church, all controversies were referred to him, and by him they were settled. Petrus per os Leonis, per os Agathonis locutus est; so spoke the fathers of Chalcedon and of the Sixth Council. Suppose for a moment it had been otherwise; suppose, when the Pelagian heresy arose, it had been necessary to hear the voice of the whole church scattered over the earth—this being the rule—the whole church, not any one part, was to give the doctrine from which it was not lawful to depart. Zosimus was but one bishop; so, too, was Innocent I.; Augustin was only one learned man, and Prosper of Aquitaine, a Christian poet and polished scholar, but only one other father after all. Those who wrote with them bore witness each for his own particular church. What had become of the churches of Scythia, of Lybia, of Ethiopia, of Arabia? Who had penetrated into the Indies, or set sail for the islands of the sea, or reached the far-off coasts of the Sinenses? Who was to explain with accuracy to those distant Christians the cunning dealing of Celestius and Pelagius, that had deceived the vigilance of the eastern fathers, and lay bare the hypocritical professions that had misled even Zosimus? Who was to bring back the opinion or belief of these isolated churches without danger of misunderstanding or misinterpretation? Those were not days when communication was easy. Weeks and months amid all kinds of dangers and uncertainty were required to reach even those places that lay near the shores of the Mediterranean. It was physically impossible to ascertain with unerring sureness the belief or condemnation of those far-off Christians; and as long as their assent was not given there was no adequate rule of faith. Consequently, there was no prompt or efficacious means of correcting error; the means at hand were of probable worth, therefore not sufficient to use against heresy, that could always appeal to the universal church dispersed throughout the world, and when condemned by those near, fly to the probable protection of those at a distance, without the least possibility of ever knowing the belief of those to whom they appealed. In the meanwhile, heresy crept into the flock, established itself there; for there was none to cast it forth; and the fold became tainted. Thus from age to age Christianity would have been a mass of error, the truth being obscured or suffocated by the weight of falsity from the want of a prompt practical means by which heresy could be detected and crushed at its birth. Happily no such state of things existed; the chair of Peter was the abode of truth; it was set up against error, and the quick ear and intuitive eye of Christ's vicar heard and saw the evil, and met it at the outset.
The doctrine which teaches the opposite of what we have been describing, and which is now of faith, clears up all difficulties, and comes to us in all the beauty and consistency that adorns truth. Jesus Christ has made Peter and his successors the foundation of the church. He has given to him, and to each of those who succeed him, of his own firmness, and strengthened his faith that it fail not, that he may confirm his brethren. In this office of confirming his brethren, Peter holds the place of Christ, and acts in his name. The gift he possesses, however, is not one of inspiration; but he is assisted and kept from erring in his judgment of what is contained in the revelation made by Christ to man. To arrive at a knowledge of what that revelation is, he seeks in his own church, and, according to the need, in the churches every where that he may know their traditions. The judgment he makes is infallible, and in promulgating it he lays down the tenets of faith for the whole church. Hence he becomes the immovable rock upon which the faithful are builded, he is the centre around which they revolve, the orb from which they receive the light of faith. Hence he has subject to him the minds of all, and the character of his primacy becomes more clear and fully evident. It is no longer a mere point of visible communion, but an active power placed by God to rule, with unfailing guidance in faith, and with a consequent spiritual intuitiveness, that makes him discern what is for the good of the church at large throughout the world. Hence all are bound to obey him in what regards the faith and teachings of Christ; who is with him, is with Christ; whosoever is against him, is against his Master. Hence, too, by a direct consequence, there can be no power set up against his; all the bishops of the church depend on him, receive their jurisdiction from him, and can exercise it only at his word. What a sublime picture of unity, of order, and of strength! As an army in array the church advances to do battle against the foes of Christ, never more successful, never more glorious, than when her children, recognizing their dependence, and harkening to her voice, with one mind and with one heart follow the leadership of Peter. No wonder this spectacle struck the unbelieving mind with astonishment, or made the gifted writer of England burst forth into the glowing description so familiar to all!
The difference of opinion that existed among the bishops on the subject of the infallibility is known throughout the four quarters of the globe. What was the cause of it? If any one imagines that all who joined in opposing a definition from the outset were actuated by the same motives, he would certainly be wide of the mark. While the main point of the controversy was held by the ultramontanes without exception, and there was but the one question as to the formula to be used, the opposition, as they were generally called, taken all together, had no fixed principle of accord, save an agreement to disagree with the defining the doctrine as of faith. To analyze the constituent parts of this body we shall class them according to ideas.
First in conviction, in determination, and in influence were the Gallicans, properly so called, who held and taught the very opposite of the proposed dogma. They were mostly men who had been bred in this teaching, and who deeply reverenced the memories of those who held and taught it in past times. This class was not very numerous, though it grew larger in the course of the council by the accession of those whose examination of the question convinced them of the claim of Gallicanism to their adherence.
The second class comprised those who, believing the doctrine themselves, or at least, favoring it speculatively, did not think it capable of definition, not deeming the tradition of the church clear enough on this point.
A third class, the most numerous, regarded the definition as possible, but practically fraught with peril to the church, as impeding conversions, as exasperating to governments. For the sake of peace, and for the good of souls, they would not see it proclaimed as of faith.
All of these dissident prelates, we are bound to say, acted with conscientious conviction of the justice of the cause they defended. They were bound in conscience to declare their opinions, and to make them prevail by all lawful influence. If on one side or the other of this most important and vital question any went beyond the limits of moderation, or used means not dictated by prudence or charity, it is nothing more than might have been expected in so large a number of persons, of such varied character and education. Instead of being shocked at the little occurrences of this nature, we should rather be struck with admiration at the self-restraint and affability which were shown, despite the intensity of feeling and strength of conviction. In a word, that the Council of the Vatican did not break up months ago in disorder and irreconcilable enmity, is because it was God's work, and not man's; it was because charity ruled in it, in spite of defects, and not the passions that govern the political debates of men. The earnest desire all had of a mutual good understanding was evinced on occasion of the speech of a well-known cardinal, which, though not approved of by all, gave evidence of a sincere desire for conciliation and agreement. The effect was remarkable; a thrill of pleasure went through the assembly, for the moment each one seemed to breathe freely, and to hail his words as harbingers of peace in the midst of excitement and anxiety.
It was shortly after this incident that the closure of the general discussion on the four chapters of the present constitution took place. The regulations provide for this contingency, making it lawful for ten prelates to petition for the closing of a discussion, the proposal being then put to the vote of all the fathers, and the majority deciding. In this case, a desire not to interfere with remarks which bishops, for conscientious reasons, proposed to make, kept this regulation in abeyance, and it was only after fifty-five speeches had been listened to, that one hundred and fifty bishops sent in a petition for closing, believing there would be ample time and opportunity for every one to speak and present amendments when the schema would be examined in detail. An overwhelming majority voted the closure. It seems difficult to understand how this could be found fault with. Had there been no further chance to speak, there would have been reason undoubtedly to claim hearing, or complain of not being heard. But, as has been seen since, there have been discussions on each part of the schema; and on the last chapter, regarding the doctrine of infallibility, one hundred and nine names were inscribed for speaking, of which number sixty-five spoke, the remainder by mutual consent abstaining from speaking; thus of their own accord putting a stop to a discussion in which it was morally impossible to say any thing new. It seems surely to be a strange assertion to say there has been any real infringement of the liberty of speech in the council, when there appears to have been so much of it that the members themselves grew weary of it.
While we are on this subject, we wish to speak a little more fully, as the freedom of the council has been publicly impugned in two works, published in Paris, against which the presidents and the fathers have thought proper formally to protest.
The grounds of the accusation are chiefly three:
1st. The appointment of the congregation, the members of which were named by the sovereign pontiff, and who received or rejected the postulata, or propositions, to be presented to the council for discussion.
2d. The dogmatic deputation having been composed of those in favor of the definition, and the members having been put on it by management; moreover, this deputation exercised a controlling influence in the council.
3d. The interruption of those who were giving expression to their opinions, in the exercise of their right to speak.
We preface our brief reply to these objections by two quotations. One is from the letter of an apostate priest, A. Pichler, at present director of the imperial library at St. Petersburg, which was written by him in Rome last winter, and was published in the Presse of Vienna. In it he says, "It seems to us no council has ever been freer or more independent." The second quotation is from one of the two works referred to above—Ce qui se passe au Concile. At page 131 we read:
"In truth, if the pope alone is infallible, it is not only his right, but a duty, and a strict duty, to guide the bishops, united in council, or dispersed throughout the world, to encourage them if they be in the right way, to reprove them if they go out of it, to take an active part in the work of the assembly, to inspire its deliberations, and dictate its decrees."
Apart from the spirit that animates the writer of the above, there is much in what he says, and we take him at his word. The Œcumenical Council of the Vatican has pronounced its irrevocable and infallible decree, declaring infallibility to be and to have been a prerogative of the sovereign pontiff, and that his decisions ex cathedra are irreformable of themselves, and not by virtue of the consent of the episcopacy. We therefore draw our deduction, and justify the sovereign pontiff, by these very words, in nominating the members of the congregation, and in conferring on it the ample powers it has. Secondly, we give him the praise of moderation, because he did not make a full use of the rights accorded him by the author of the citation we have given. Were we to follow this writer, we should have to accuse the pope of having in part neglected a grave duty toward the council, for he did not dictate its decrees. In the very beginning, he told the bishops he gave them the schemata, unapproved by him, to be studied, altered, or amended as they saw fit; and, in fact, when the decrees prepared previously by theologians were proposed by the congregation, they were recast and amended time and again, and were finally decided by a vote of the fathers, and approved by the pontiff without alteration. This is surely not dictation; dictation does not admit of reply or refusal, it takes away all liberty whatsoever. The sovereign pontiff then did not dictate the decrees.
Let us return to our triple objection. First, with regard to the congregation. In the early numbers of The Catholic World for the current year, an account of the composition of this body is given, as well as the reasons for its appointment. We refer our readers to the March number, in which it may be seen that, although possessed of sovereign powers over the church, defined as belonging to him, by the Council of Florence among others, there was no disposition to exercise coercion on the part of the pope, who, in controlling the action of the council in this way, was only making use of a right the whole church acknowledged. Moreover, the composition of this body was itself a guarantee of justice and zeal for the general welfare. That there were not named for it those who were known to be hostile to what has just been declared of faith, was nothing more than natural. Moreover, when these high ecclesiastics had admitted postulata, their work was over; the propositions passed into the control of the fathers, and were decided by vote.
The answer to the second objection is easier even. This deputation was elected by the fathers themselves; and as the large majority favored the teachings of Rome, they elected none who was opposed to them. As for the accusation of management, we must say that persons who understood well the tendencies of the prominent men of all parties, naturally, as happens in all such large bodies, directed the choice of candidates, and the final vote of the fathers settled the matter. It is hard to see how the rights of any were violated. This deputation, from the merit of those that composed it, could not be without great weight in the council; and when we consider that it was the choice of the large majority, and was in harmony with the views of the majority, it is not wonderful that it controlled to a great extent the votes of those composing the council.
The third objection is one that must be treated with great delicacy, for two reasons—because of the impossibility of knowing all the circumstances, and because those who are accused are in a position that prevents them from justifying themselves. The presidents were named to act for the sovereign pontiff, to preserve due order, to see that the discussion was limited to the matter in hand, and to prevent any thing that might tend to disturb good order, or diminish respect for the authority and person of him they represented. If, in the discharge of their duty, they displeased those they addressed, this was to have been expected; if also they in any way did not observe the due mean, so hard to reach in every thing human, one should excuse, if needful, the defect, when especially the great merits, the distinguished services, the known virtue, and high position of these cardinals are taken into consideration.
And while we are on this subject of objections made against the council we may notice two others that especially regard the decree of the infallibility; they are, 1st. This decision destroys the constitution of the church, doing away with the apostolic college of bishops, and changing the order established by Christ; 2d. this decree is a theological conclusion; but theological conclusions are not of faith, and cannot be so declared.
These objections are formidable only in appearance. No one contends that each bishop when consecrated succeeds to all the privileges and powers of one of the apostles. The bishops, then, not having them in the beginning when consecrated by the apostles, were distinct from the apostles, the apostolic college remaining. When one apostle died, his death did not affect the powers of the church, which remained the same, the other apostles sufficing; so when two, three, or more died, still one remained. He had the same full powers given to each, with subordination to Peter as head of the church. Thus with one apostle and the episcopate the essence of ecclesiastical rule is preserved. When St. Peter died, he left a successor, being the only one of the twelve who did; for he was the only one who had a see. His successor received all his rights, the power of binding and loosing, of teaching and legislating. He was thus the one apostle living still in the world, and each successive pontiff has the same character—the sollicitudo omnium ecclesiarum is his—as it was Paul's, John's, and Peter's. The essence of the hierarchy is in this way preserved; the apostolic and episcopal elements are there, and the phraseology of Christianity keeps ever before us this idea; for the see of Peter is always known as the Sedes Apostolica. St. Peter Chrysologus speaks of St. Peter living and ruling in his successor—Beatus Petrus qui in successore suo et vivet et præsidet et præstat inquirentibus eam fidem. So far, then, from this definition destroying the character of the hierarchy, it asserts and vindicates it by declaring that the one apostle in the church has never lost his apostolic privilege of inerrancy, and that he is truly possessed of the full powers without diminution that belonged to the prince of the apostles.
To the second objection, regarding the nature of the definition, as being a theological conclusion, we reply, firstly, that what the Scripture, according to the received and now authentic interpretation of the church, taught, and what the practical acknowledgment of the faithful in all ages implied, cannot be called a theological conclusion; but must be regarded as being what it is—a directly revealed truth; secondly, a theological conclusion, though not of faith in itself, as being the deduction of reason, by the superadded authoritative decision of the church can become of faith, as often as the denial of such conclusion affects the truth of that dogma from which it has been deduced. Such questions are fairly within the range of the church's arbitration; and when there is a doubt concerning the character of a conclusion, it is her province to decide whether it be or be not hurtful or beneficial to the truth of which she alone is the divinely constituted guardian. Examples in the past history of the councils of the church are not wanting; for our purpose, take the Sixth Council. The question of the two wills was a theological conclusion; no one ever spoke of the two wills before that epoch; the phrase does not occur in all previous theology or ecclesiastical history. We first hear of it in the east, where metaphysical studies flourished, and where intellectual pride had already brought about the Arian, Nestorian, and Eutychian heresies.
We have mentioned the fact of the closure of the discussion on the fourth chapter, by mutual consent of those whose names were inscribed to speak. This was immediately followed by voting. The first three chapters were soon gotten over; the fourth is the one that contains the doctrine on the infallibility, and it met with more opposition.
On Saturday, July 11th, was held the general congregation in which the details of this portion of the schema were up for approval or rejection. On this occasion the voting was by rising simply, and against the definition there were forty-seven votes.
On the 13th, another general congregation was called to vote, according to the regulations, on the whole schema, by name, with placet, or placet juxta modum, or non placet. The register, it appears, stands as follows: 451 placets, 62 placets juxta modum, and 88 non placets.
Some of these placets juxta modum recommended the insertion of words that would make the decree clearer and stronger. The schema was accordingly altered, and the amendments were retained in the general congregation held Saturday, July 16th.
On Sunday morning was distributed a monitum, by which the fathers were notified that the fourth public session would be held on Monday, July 18th, at nine o'clock.
The 18th of July will henceforth be a memorable day in the history of the church. It did not dawn, however, with the brilliancy usual at this season, or almost habitual with the grand fêtes of Pius IX. It rained much during the preceding night, and up to the time of the meeting of the session wayfarers were liable any time to be caught by fitful showers. The thought that, although a great and most beneficial act was to be done, still there were not a few of the fathers who thought otherwise than the majority in a matter about to be made binding on the conscience of all, was not calculated to heighten the external manifestation of cheerfulness, whatever feelings of thankfulness to Providence for the event was in the heart. As the interest was intense, there were not many, who deemed they could come, who were not present. At nine o'clock precisely, his eminence Cardinal Barili began a low mass, without chant. At the end of it, the small throne for the gospels was placed on the altar, and upon it the copy of the sacred Scriptures. In a few moments the sovereign pontiff entered, preceded by the senate and by the officers of his court, and, after kneeling a few moments at the prie-dieu, went to his throne in the apsis of the aula. The customary prayers were recited by him; the litany of the saints was chanted, and the "Veni Creator Spiritus" intoned, the people present taking part; after which the Bishop of Fabriano ascended the pulpit and read the schema to be voted on, and finished with asking the fathers whether it pleased them. Monsignor Jacobini next, from the pulpit, called the name of each prelate assisting at the council. Five hundred and thirty-four answered placet, two replied non placet, and one hundred and six were absent, some because sick, the far greater number not wishing to vote favorably. As soon as the result was made known officially to Pius IX., who awaited it in silence, but with calmness, he arose and in a clear, distinct, and firm voice announced the fact of all, with the exception of two, having given a favorable vote, wherefore, he continued, by virtue of our apostolic authority, with the approval of the sacred council, we define, confirm, and approve the decrees and canons just read. Immediately there arose murmurs of approbation inside and outside the hall, the doors of which were surrounded by a large crowd, and, increasing from the impossibility those present experienced of repressing their feeling, it swelled into a burst of congratulation, and a Viva Pio Nono Papa infallibile. We shall not say any thing regarding the propriety of such proceedings in a church; but there are times when feeling is so powerful as to break through all ideas of conventionality. As soon as all were quiet, with unfaltering voice and excellent intonation the pope began the Te Deum. It was taken up alternately by the Sistine choir and those present. By an accident, at the Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus, the people got out, and took up the part of the Sistine choir, and kept it to the end, alternately with the bishops, and with a volume of sound that completely drowned the delicate notes of the papal singers, and which, if not as musical as their chant, was far more impressive. The session ended with the apostolic benediction from the holy father, accompanied by an indulgence for all assisting, in accordance with the custom of the church. Thus passed one of the most momentous and remarkable occasions the world has ever witnessed, a day henceforth memorable in the annals of the church and of mankind, the results of which the human mind is scarce capable of grasping.