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."[171]
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[172]—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 Central Italy 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 his 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 invoked 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. Affirming 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."[173]
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 had 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 laws 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 their 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 everywhere—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.