In such personal simplicity and self-denial the sovereign pontiff himself gives the example in the Vatican. The palace is large—very large; but the libraries, the archives, the various museums, and the galleries and halls of paintings, of statuary, and of art, occupy no small portion of it. Other portions of it are devoted to the vast workshops of the unrivalled Roman mosaics, others still to the mint. The offices of the secretary of state, and the bureaus of other departments are there. The Sixtine, and Pauline, and other chapels are found in it; and the various officers and attendants of the court have many of them their special apartments. The pontiff has his suite of rooms, as well those of state as those that are private. You enter a large, well-proportioned hall, rich with gilding and arabesque and fresco paintings. A company of soldiers might manœuvre on its marble floor. It is large enough to receive the fullest suite of a sovereign who would visit the pope. Just now, eight or ten soldiers in a rich military uniform are lounging here, as it were, for form's sake. In the next room—a smaller and less ornamented one, yet in something of the same style, and with a few benches for furniture—a servant will take your hat and cloak. In a third room, you find some ecclesiastical attendants. You pass through a fourth room of considerable size. It is now empty. At times a consistory or meeting of the cardinals for business is held here; at other times, an ascetic Capuchin father, with his tonsured head, his long beard, his coarse brown woollen cassock fastened around the waist by a cord, and with sandalled feet, preaches to the cardinals and bishops and officials of the court, and to the pope himself. With the freedom and bravery of a man who, to follow Christ, has given up the world, and hopes for nothing from man, and fears nothing save to fail in his duty, he reminds those whom men honor of their duties and obligations, and in plain, ofttimes unvarnished language, will not shrink from speaking the sternest, strongest home truths of religion. You pass through the silent hall in reverence. A fourth hall, with a better carpeting, (for it is winter,) and tolerably warmed, is the ante-chamber proper, where those are waiting who are to be admitted to an audience of the pope. In another smaller room, opening from this one, those are waiting whose turn it will be to enter next; or perhaps a group is assembled, if the pope will come out hither to receive them, as he sometimes does, when the audience is simply one not of business, but simply for the honor of being presented to him and of receiving his blessing. All these which we have enumerated are the state or ceremonial apartments. From the last one, you pass to the private office or sitting-room of the sovereign pontiff. It is a plain room, about fifteen feet by twenty, not lofty, lighted by a single window, and without a fire-place. Two or three devotional paintings hang against the walls; a stand supports a small and exquisitely chiselled statue of the Blessed Virgin. At one side of the room, on a slight platform, is the pope's arm-chair, in which he is seated, clothed in his white woollen soutane. Before him is his large writing-table, with well-filled drawers and pigeon-holes. On it you see pens, ink, sand, and paper, his breviary, perhaps, and one or two volumes, and an ivory crucifix. A small case in the corner of the room contains some other books, some objects of vertu, medals, and such articles as he designs to give as mementoes. There is a thin carpet on the floor, and a couple of plain wooden chairs are near the table. Here Pius IX. ordinarily spends many hours each day, as hard worked as any bank clerk. He is exceedingly regular in his habits. He rises before five in summer, at half-past five in winter. In half an hour he passes to his private chapel and gives an hour and a half to his devotions, and to the celebration of two masses; the first by himself, the second by one of his chaplains. A cup of chocolate and a small roll of bread suffices for his breakfast. He at once passes to his office, and works for one hour alone and undisturbed. Then commence the business audiences of the heads or secretaries of the various departments, civil and ecclesiastical; a long and tedious work, in which he gives a conscientious attention to every detail. By half-past eleven A.M., he commences to receive bishops and ecclesiastics or strangers from abroad. This usually ends by one P.M., when he retires for his midday devotions, and for his dinner, and repose. This may be followed by more work, alone in his office. At half-past three in winter, at half-past four in summer, if the weather allows it, he gives an hour and a half to a drive and a walk. Returning home, he takes a slight repast, and again the audiences for business or for strangers commence, and last until after eight. At nine punctually he retires, to commence again the same routine the next day. Such are his regular days. At other times he must be in church, or must visit one institution or establishment or another in the city, spend an hour or two in ceremony or business, and hurry home. Near this sitting-room is a smaller room where he takes his meals alone; for the pope neither gives nor accepts entertainments. His table does not cost more than thirty cents a day. Not far off is his sleeping chamber, small as the other, with a narrow bed and hard couch. Truly, his is no life of ease and pampered indulgence. There is a stern meaning in his title, Servant of the Servants of God.
The same simplicity and austereness marks the private life of the cardinals. There is now, indeed, an outward show, for they rank as princes of the blood royal. There are the richly-ornamented carriages drawn by brilliantly-harnessed horses, and attended by servants in livery. There are the decorated state ante-chambers and halls. All these things are for the public, and are prescribed by rule. If a cardinal has not himself the means to support them, he would be entitled to a state salary for the purpose of keeping them up. But back of all these may be found a plain, almost unfurnished room, in which he studies and writes, and a bed-chamber—we have seen some not ten feet by twelve, carpetless and fireless. Oftentimes, too, the cardinal lives in the religious house of some community, and then much of the state can be dispensed with. But for the red calotte which he wears on his head, you often could not distinguish him from the other clergymen in the establishment.
The same spirit seems to characterize the bishops who are now gathered together in Rome. All their splendor is in the church and for religion. In their private life they certainly do not belong to that class of strangers from whose lavish expenditures in fashionable life the Romans will reap a rich harvest. They live together in groups, mostly in religious houses or colleges, or in apartments, which several club together to take at moderate rates. Thus the Chaldean patriarch, a venerable, white-bearded prelate, near eighty years of age, with the other bishops of his rite, and their attendant priests, all live together in one monastery, not far from St. Peter's. Whatever the weather, they go on foot in their oriental dress to the council, and when the meeting is over, return on foot. Their stately, oriental walk, their calm, thoughtful countenances, the colored turbans on their heads, the mixture of purple and black and green and red, in their flowing robes, set off by the gold of their massive episcopal chains, and their rich crosses sparkling with diamonds, never fail to attract attention. But one should see them in their home, which they have made as Eastern as they could. The orientals are exceedingly temperate in their meals, and as regards wine, are almost "teetotalers." But they do love to smoke. As the visitor is ushered into a room, where the only piece of furniture is a broad cushioned seat running round along the walls, on which are seated a dozen or more of long-bearded men, their feet gathered up under them in oriental fashion, and each one smoking a pipe a yard long, and filling the atmosphere with the clouds of Latakia, he almost thinks himself in Mossoul. The pipes are gravely withdrawn on his entrance, that the right hand may go to the forehead, and the heads may bow. The welcome, schalom, "peace," is gravely spoken, with perhaps a smile. He takes a seat on the divan and is asked to take a pipe, if so minded. From time to time, the silence is interrupted by some remark in a full, sedate voice, and intensely guttural words of Chaldee or Arabic, whether on the last debate of the council or on some new phase of the Eastern question, it is probable the visitor will never learn. But he has caught a glimpse of quiet Chaldean life. Fourteen or fifteen of the Armenian prelates, with their patriarch, live in a not very dissimilar manner. But the Armenians are much more akin to Europeans in their education and character of thought. They are good linguists. All of them speak Italian fluently, many of them French, and some a little English. Their society is agreeable and instructive, and is much sought.
In like manner eighteen of the American bishops are domiciled in the American College. Some others are with the Lazarists at their mother house, others again are at St. Bridget's or St. Bartholomew's, or with the Dominicans. Those that have taken apartments have contrived with a very few exceptions to live together in groups. The English, the Irish, in fact, nearly all the bishops, have followed the same plan. Some laughingly say that their college days have come back to them, with their regularity and their accommodations. But these are not quite as agreeable at fifty or sixty as they were at the age of twenty. Yet all feel, and none more thoroughly than the bishops themselves, that this life of comparative retirement, of quiet and study, and of continued and closest intercourse with each other, must tend to prepare them, and to qualify them for the great work on which they are engaged.
Another special feature of Rome in this season, dependent on the council, is the frequency of sermons in various languages, and of various religious services in the churches. Rome as the centre of Catholicity is never without a certain number of clergymen from every nation of Europe. Each winter, too, sees thousands of visitors, Catholics, Protestants, and unbelievers, crowding her streets, drawn hither by motives of religion, of science, of curiosity, or of fashion. It was natural that visitors should be enabled to listen to the truths of our holy religion preached in their own languages. This year it could be done much more fully, and the opportunity has not been allowed to pass by unregarded. For example, "The Pious Society for Missions," an excellent community of priests, established in this city over thirty years ago by the saintly Abbate Pallotta, has the custom of celebrating the festival and octave of Epiphany each year by appropriate religious exercises, and introducing sermons in several languages. This year they selected the larger and noble church of San Andrea della Valle, and continued their exercises for eleven days. The following was the programme which they followed: At 5.30 A.M., mass; at 6 A.M., Italian sermon and benediction; at 9 A.M., high mass of the Latin rite; at 10 A.M., high mass in an oriental rite, (Armenian, Greek, Copt, Chaldean, Roumenian, Melchite, Bulgarian, Maronite, Armenian again, Syrian, Ambrosian;) at 11 A.M., a sermon in some foreign language—that is, Polish once, German twice, Spanish twice, English six times, (Archbishop Spalding, Father Hecker, and Bishop McGill, Bishop Moriarty of Kerry, Bishop Ullathorne, and Archbishop Manning were the English preachers.) At 1.30 P.M. each day, a French sermon by a bishop; at 3.30 P.M., an Italian sermon and benediction; at 6 P.M., another sermon in Italian with benediction. The sermons were all, of course, of a high order of merit. The church was crowded morning, forenoon, afternoon, and evening.
French sermons have been continued ever since, mostly by the eloquent Bishop Mermillod, of Geneva, and English sermons on Sundays and Wednesdays by F. Burke, an eloquent Dominican of St. Clement's, and by Monsignor Capel. During Lent there will be an additional series of English sermons, to be delivered by the American bishops.
On the 20th of January, the American episcopate and the American College received from the Holy Father a very signal and agreeable mark of his good will. It was meant, one might almost think, as a return visit on his part, in the only way which court etiquette allows. He chose the church of the college as the place where he would pronounce a decree in the cause of the venerable servant of God, John Juvenal Ancina, Bishop of Saluzzo, in Northern Italy. In that church he would, of course, be surrounded by the American prelates, priests, and students, and from the church would pass to the college.
John Juvenal Ancina was born in Fossano, in Piedmont, in 1545. Having finished his course of collegiate studies, he graduated in medicine, and for years practised that profession with great ability, and greater charity toward the poor, to whom he devoted himself. In course of time he lost every near relation except one brother. Both determined with common accord to enter the sanctuary, and came to Rome for that purpose, and there joined the Oratorians under St. Philip Neri. John spent years in the priesthood, honored for his learning, and still more for his piety and sweetness, and zeal in the ministry, which he exercised in Rome, in Naples, and in Turin. Much against his will, and only after repeated injunctions from the pope, he was forced to accept the charge of the diocese of Saluzzo. He had been the intimate and dear friend of St. Francis de Sales for years of his priesthood, and their friendship continued until the close of his short and fruitful episcopacy. He died in 1604, and St. Francis preached his funeral eulogy. He is the one with whom the saint had the oft-cited exchange of puns complimentary, "Tu vere Sal es." "Immo, tu Sal et Lux." The reputation of the virtues of such a man could not die with him. Not long after his death, the episcopal authority of Saluzzo allowed and directed that full testimony should be taken under oath, from those who lived with him and knew him well, as to the truth of his holy life. This was fully and searchingly done throughout the diocess of Saluzzo. Similar investigations were instituted, under similar authority, in Rome, in Naples, and in Turin, where at different times he had lived, and wherever such testimony could be found. The original depositions—and they are a large mass, and are still extant—were sent to Rome. The pontiff directed that they should be laid before the proper tribunal—the Congregation of Rites. They were found to fulfil the requirements of the canons, and to present such a primâ facie case as would authorize that congregation to proceed. This meant that, after a certain lapse of time, during which affection and human feelings might die out, and any hidden truth might work its way to the light, the congregation should go over the ground a second time, taking through other persons a second and independent mass of testimony. This was done, and its results were compared with those of the first mass of testimony. There was no contradiction; but on the contrary, full and ample confirmation. Still, the opinion and belief of the witnesses was not yet deemed of itself sufficient. Taking the facts of his life, his words and writings, and acts and habits, as they were thus proved, they were all studied out and carefully weighed in the scales of the sanctuary. There was no hurry—there never is at Rome, as this council fully shows—and the decision of the congregation was not given until the year 1767. Then came many political vicissitudes; first of northern Italy, as it passed from the domination of one power to that of another, and later, the convulsions of all Europe consequent on the French revolution. The whole matter slumbered until 1855, when it was again taken up. The examination of the life and acts was gone over again as before. Step by step matters advanced until last November, at a general meeting of the Congregation of Rites, held in the presence of his holiness, it was decided That the servant of God, John Juvenal Ancina, had in his lifetime practised the theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity, toward God and his neighbor, and the cardinal virtues of prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance, and their accessory virtues, in an heroic degree. It was to announce this decision, in a formal decree, that the pontiff came on the 29th January, the festival of St. Francis de Sales, to the church of the American College. He arrived at ten A.M., and was received at the portal of the college by the rector of the college, and all the American bishops now at Rome, and by a dozen others, Irish, English, Scotch, and Italian. He proceeded at once to the church, which, though small, is one of the handsomest in Rome for its beautiful marbles and fine statuary. The pontiff knelt, while one of his chaplains celebrated mass. The bishops, all the American priests in the city, the students of the college, and many Catholics from the United States, and some other strangers, filled the little church. After the mass, the pontiff ascended to the throne prepared for him. Cardinal Patrizi, prefect of the Congregation of Rites Cardinal Capalti, who had special charge of this case, and Cardinal Barnabò, protector of the college, stood next to him. The formal decree was read, proclaiming the decision in virtue of which we shall henceforth say, "the Venerable John Juvenal Ancina."[20] The superior general of the Oratorians, to which community, as we have said, he belonged, returned thanks in an eloquent and brief discourse in Latin. The pope then, taking his theme from the life of the VENERABLE bishop, addressed to the prelates present a short and feeling discourse, in Italian, on the character and virtues which should adorn a bishop. Though he did not mention the council, it was evident that the thought of it filled his heart. He spoke of the servant of God whom he had just declared venerable as imitating the apostles. They, from being fishermen, were called to be fishers of men; and he too, from being a physician of the body, was called to be a physician of souls. This holy man he showed to be a model of bishops, and enlarged on the text of St. Gregory the Great, that a bishop should be "in thought, pure; in deeds, eminent; in silence, discreet; in word, useful; in the contemplation of heavenly things, elevated." "Who will ascend to the mountain of the Lord? Let him be of pure hands and clean heart." Let him be single-minded, doing every thing for the glory of God, without any admixture of human motives. Let him be first in all good works, so as to be a pattern to his flock. He did not speak of that silence which means cowardice, or indifference to whatever evil goes on in the world. There is a time to speak, as well as a time to be silent. The bishop must be useful in words, speaking out boldly whenever it is for the advantage of the Christian people. He must be a man of prayer. What is the origin of the evils which we see in the world? The prophet answers, "Because there is no one who thinketh in his heart." The pontiff dwelt for a few moments on all these points, and in conclusion quoted St. Gregory again, who said, "I have given you a beautiful picture of a bishop, though the painter be bad." "What the saint says out of humility, I must say," he added, "of myself in truth. But pray for me that God may give me strength to bear the heavy weight he has laid upon me. Let us pray for each other. Do you pray for me; and I call on the Almighty to bless you, and your dioceses, and your people."
The words of the pontiff were simple, because full of devotion and truth; and the delivery was exquisitely perfect, in the earnest, heart-felt, subdued tones of his voice, and the chaste dignity of his gesture. All felt that the pontiff spoke from his paternal heart.
The Bishop of Saluzzo, the successor in this century of the VENERABLE Ancina, returned thanks; and all proceeded from the church to the grand hall of the college. The cloister of the court-yard and the broad stairways and corridors were adorned with drapery, tapestry, and evergreens. A splendid life-size portrait of his holiness, just painted by the American artist, Healy, for the exhibition about to be opened, had been sent to the college for the occasion, and was placed in a prominent position. In the hall, the pontiff again spoke a few kind and paternal words, and Archbishop Spalding, in the name of the American church, clergy and laity, made an address to the pope in Latin. The discourse was excellent in language and happy in thought. His grace referred to the fact that Pius VI. had given us our first bishop, (Dr. Carroll, of Baltimore;) Pius VII. had multiplied dioceses, and given us our first archiepiscopal see; and he, Pius IX., had established six other archiepiscopal sees. So that in a country where sixty years ago there was but one bishop, there are now sixty, three fourths of whom are here in Rome to attend the general council. Toward the end of his discourse, the good archbishop brought in a few touches of true American wit. This is what Italians would scarcely venture on, on such an occasion, and it was to them unexpected. Even the pope looked for a moment puzzled, as if he could not conjecture what was coming; but as he caught the point, a smile spread over his countenance, and the smile developed into a hearty laugh. As for the Italian prelates, at first they wondered—as who would not, at an American joke in the language of Cicero?—but at last not all their stately dignity could resist its force, and they laugh yet, as they repeat it.