We are personally acquainted with several country curés whose governmental stipend is from four to six hundred francs a year, and it is only the more important parishes of the curés doyens or curés de canton to which is attached the ampler revenue of nine hundred francs, or thirty-six pounds sterling. A large proportion of the curés de commune do not receive more from the state than four hundred francs per annum. And this stipend is termed, as if in mockery, an “indemnity.” It only deserves that title if we read the word by the light of a wholesale spoliation of church property and revenues, parochial, monastic, collegiate, and eleemosynary, effected by the revolution, and later on ratified, or at least condoned, by the state. If, indeed, as all history proves, the Catholic Church has been the saviour and preserver of the state, the state has often shown itself the Judas of the church, and this “indemnity” is its kiss of peace.
There are now in France more than twenty thousand priests who are the recipients of this exorbitant civil list. They neither complain nor recriminate, but patiently and bravely act for the best in the interest of all. With a calmness derived from faith, they allow to sweep by them, as if heeding it not, the flood of stupid and malignant calumnies with which they and their sacred office are daily assailed. They go on receiving the poor, visiting the sick, consoling the sorrowful, sympathizing with all, assisting, even beyond their power, the distressed out of their own pittance, and thus further lessening the scanty means doled out to them for the sublime service of every hour—services basely misrepresented as to their motive, their spirit, and even their result.
It is not our present intention to dwell on the high social part filled by the second order of the clergy in France, and almost invariably with the most praiseworthy self-abnegation. But, at a time when honor, justice, and moral sense are by so many in France completely forgotten, or treated as an effervescence of obsolete and Quixotic sentimentalism; when it is the order of the day for each to get as much as possible for himself, and thrust himself into any office at hand, irrespective of worth, fitness, or merit; and when legions of “enlightened” and “advanced” “republicans” (especially those who elect to be married like heathens and buried like dogs) are gnashing their teeth at the clergy of France, so excellent, so devoted, and in the truest sense so liberal, it would be well if these men who insult them without stint and against reason were made aware that the more opulent among the men they revile are receiving, for all personal and household requirements, and the satisfaction of the hospitable instincts of their sacerdotal hearts, the munificent revenue of forty-four sous a day.
THE CORONATION OF POPE LEO XIII.
(FROM OUR SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT.)
Rome, March 20, 1878.
There is a passage in the circular of the cardinals addressed to the diplomatic corps accredited to the Holy See on the eve of the conclave which deserves to be noted in connection with the issue of the conclave and the secular policy of the new Pontiff. The circular, after renewing all the protests and reservations of the deceased Pontiff, and declaring the intention of the cardinals to hold the conclave in Rome, because the first duty of the Sacred College is to provide the widowed church with a pastor as quickly as possible, says: “And this resolution was taken with the greater tranquillity, inasmuch as, pledging the future in no wise, it left the future Pontiff at liberty to adopt those measures which the good of souls and the general interests of the church will suggest to him in the difficult and painful condition of the Holy See at present.” The future for the new Pontiff is a free and open field which he can traverse in the manner he shall judge best for the weal of the church. The protests and reservations of the deceased Pontiff touching the temporalities of the Holy See constitute a realm of principle. Surrounding this is a free border-land for the new Pope.
People here in Rome and elsewhere who speculate much on the present condition of the Holy See, and especially on the so-called antagonism existing between itself and the Italian government, hoped that Leo XIII. would assume a less inflexible attitude before the people. Of the liberals, the conservatives, who are the acknowledged exponents of the sentiments of the crown, hoped for a formal conciliation. The Catholics expected that the new Pope would at least appear occasionally in public to bless them; while the curious tourists of all countries had visions of the solemn and imposing ceremonies in St. Peter’s which were the characteristic feature of Rome in other days. The expectations of all have been falsified so far. Since the 3d of March, the day of Leo XIII.’s coronation, the most sanguine liberals have desisted from their conciliatory speculations, and the rest have settled down into quiet resignation, yet hoping that a propitious occasion may again bring the Pontiff in public before his people.
A more fitting occasion than the day of his coronation could not be desired. Nay, the Pontiff himself had resolved to make his appearance, and be crowned before the people, in the upper vestibule of St. Peter’s. The Mass and other functions, prefatory of the coronation, were to have been performed in the Sistine Chapel. In fact, on the 1st of March the members of the Sacred College each received an intimation from the acting Secretary of State that the ceremonies preceding the coronation would be performed in the Sistine Chapel of the Vatican Palace. In the vicinity of the inner balcony of St. Peter’s temporary balconies were erected for the diplomatic corps, the Roman nobles, and persons of distinction, native and foreign. The confession of St. Peter and the papal altar under the dome were surrounded with a strong railing to prevent accidents, while the central balcony itself was enlarged by extending it farther out into the basilica and back into the vestibule. It had been the intention of His Holiness to be crowned here, and afterwards to bestow the apostolic benediction upon the people below. But on Friday afternoon, March 1, the workmen received orders not only to discontinue but to undo the preparations. It is unnecessary to speculate on the cause of this order in the presence of explanatory facts. A demonstration of enthusiastic devotion on the part of the multitude of Catholics who would be assembled there was naturally expected, and in this there was nothing deterrent whatever. But the information had eked abroad, and was duly reported to His Holiness, that a party of Conciliators had resolved to seize the occasion of the solemn benediction, and create a demonstration in favor of a conciliation with the existing order of things. Flags, Papal and Italian, were to have been produced just at the moment of benediction, and an interesting tableau of alliance to have succeeded. But this was not all. A counter-demonstration of the radicals was also mooted. This is no trivial hearsay, as the events of the same evening sufficiently attest. I pass over the allusions to the explosion of Orsini shells in the church. In the face of such expectations ordinary prudence would have suggested to the Sovereign Pontiff the inexpediency of a public ceremony. Yet if he were disposed to hesitate before giving credence to what was related to him by reliable authority, the attitude suddenly assumed by the government left no doubt in his mind as to what was expedient in the matter. Crispi, the garrulous Minister of the Interior, had given out that the government would not consider itself responsible for the maintenance of order in St. Peter’s on the 3d of March. He had previously addressed a circular to the prefects and syndics of the realm, interdicting any participation of theirs in the public rejoicings for the election of Pope Leo XIII., because, forsooth, he had not been officially informed of the election! He seems to have overlooked the inconsistency of this act with the efficient service rendered by the troops in St. Peter’s during the funeral ceremonies of Pius IX., albeit the government had not been officially informed of his demise. The church, however, has long since learned that it is vain to look for consistency in men who are strangers to truth and fair dealing. Moreover, she has, within the past few years, had bitter experiences in the doctrine of provocation, as inculcated by the Italian government. Leo XIII. was crowned in his own chapel, in the presence only of the cardinals, the prelates, and dignitaries, ecclesiastical, civil, and military, of the Vatican, the diplomatic corps, the Roman nobility, and a few guests.
At half-past nine o’clock on Sunday morning, the 3d of March, Pope Leo XIII., preceded by the papal cross, and surrounded by the attendants of his court, by the Swiss and Noble Guards, descended from his apartments to the vestry hall. The two seniors of the cardinal deacons, the penitentiaries of St. Peter’s, and the archbishops and bishops awaited him there. When he had been vested in full pontificals, with golden mitre, a procession was formed, moving towards the ducal hall. A Greek deacon and subdeacon, in gorgeous robes, attended upon the deacon and subdeacon of honor. The cardinals were assembled in the ducal hall, where an altar was erected. His Holiness knelt for a moment in prayer, and then mounted a throne which stood on the gospel side of the altar. There he received what is termed the first obeisance of the cardinals, who approached, one by one, and kissed his hand. The archbishops and bishops kissed his foot. Having imparted the apostolic benediction, the Pope intoned Tierce of the Little Hours. Another procession was formed, preceded by the first cardinal, who bore the sacred ferule in his hand and chanted the Procedamus in pace. The Pope was carried in the gestatorial chair under a white canopy borne by eight clerics. The Blessed Sacrament had previously been exposed in the Pauline Chapel. Thither the procession moved. At the door of the chapel the Pope descended from his chair, entered the chapel bare-headed, and knelt for a time in silent prayer. It is to be supposed that in those moments he prayed for humility of self, as well as peace and benediction upon his reign. It is the fitting prelude to the significant ceremony which followed. Just as the procession was about to move from the chapel-door towards the Sistine Chapel a master of ceremonies, bearing in his hand a gilded reed, to the end of which a lock of dry flax was attached, approached the throne, and, going down upon one knee, gave fire to the flax. As it burned quickly to nothing he said: Pater Sancte, sic transit gloria mundi—“Holy Father, thus passeth away the glory of the world.” He repeated the same ceremony at the entrance to the Sistine Chapel, and again just as the Pope was approaching the altar—a sage reminder, for the Sistine Chapel at that moment presented a spectacle of glory and magnificence which has no parallel.
Sixty-two cardinals, in flowing robes of the richest scarlet, the magnificence of which was enhanced beneath tunics of the finest lace, and as many attendant train-bearers in purple cassocks and capes of ermine; archbishops and bishops vested in white pontificals; clerics of the apostolic palace in robes of violet; Roman princes, gentlemen of the pontifical throne, in their gorgeous costumes; officers and guards in splendid uniforms; diplomatic personages ablaze with decorations; Knights of the Order of Jerusalem in their historic vesture; ladies in black habits and veils, gracefully arranged, and gentlemen in the full dress of the present day. Despite all this splendor, the most trivial worldling could not but be impressed with the sacred solemnity, the awful genius of the occasion. A Pope was to be crowned—“the Great Priest, Supreme Pontiff; Prince of Bishops, heir of the apostles; in primacy, Abel; in government, Noe; in patriarchate, Abraham; in order, Melchisedech; in dignity, Aaron; in authority, Moses; in judicature, Samuel; in power, Peter; in unction, Christ.”[[71]]