But the sensation of the day, perhaps brought about at this moment to divert attention from the painful inroad just made upon episcopal rights, was a Bull determining the course to be taken should the death of the Pontiff occur during the Council. This edict determined that the bishops must not, in that case, elect a successor or transact any business, but that the Council must be held as suspended till another Pope should be duly elected by the Cardinals alone, and till it should be again called together by him. Pius IX ordained that this law should endure for ever, as the rule in all similar cases. This measure made the Council an appendage to the person of the Pope, not capable of sustaining its existence without him, and consequently having no imaginable power over him. It also made it inferior to the College of Cardinals—an abnormal body, composed of "creatures" of the crown, without any pretence to a constitutional place in the Christian Church—"Princes," and some of them, like Antonelli, not even priests. "Pivots," as their name imports, true "pivots"[215] of the Court, which has turned a religion into a school of costume, policy, and arms, they have, we repeat, as Cardinals, neither name nor place, neither order nor office, in the known constitution of the Catholic Church. When men who held that bishops were successors of the Apostles allowed the right of all the bishops in the world to choose their own head to be confiscated by an edict in favour of these Court officers, they were not likely afterwards to be strong supports of any true authority, only of that arbitrary will which finds all the sanction of its acts in itself. The Cardinals may well denounce nationalism, since to uphold their pretensions the mitres of all nations must bow to the hat of a prince in the suite of one little king. It would be unreasonable to think less of a man for wearing a scarlet hat and scarlet stockings, if his position in life calls him to it; almost as unreasonable as to think more of him for it. But to put a prince into that grotesque Court dress, and then turn him, by virtue of his Court position, into a titular bishop, or archbishop, and to expect his irregular office to be recommended by his incongruous attire, is a proof of the unlimited faith of the Curia in costume.
The experience of the day taught two lessons. First, the hall proved to be utterly unfit for deliberation, as every architect or public speaker must have known that it would prove, though about twenty-four thousand pounds had been spent in adapting a space within the Cathedral. But the second lesson of the day's experience was of a different kind. It had become plain that Fallibilists and Infallibilists were to be parted off from one another by a hard official line, and that no distinction would be made between Fallibilists and Inopportunists. The Curia, instead of showing any fear of the minority, was evidently resolved on letting it be known that Rome was not the place to form an opposition. The Rules had in fact already disposed of the minority.
We have intimated that possibly theologians came up to the Council with no more knowledge of what awaited them than the bishops. This was at least the case with Friedrich. On the Monday after the opening ceremony, accompanied by Kagarer, theologian to his Grace of Munich, he waited on the Secretary of the Council. I knew, says the Professor, that at Trent every theologian was not entitled only, but bound, to take part in the labours of the Council, by preparing papers and publicly discussing questions. But, he adds, "we were undeceived with a witness." The Secretary told them that the duty of theologians in connexion with the Council was "nothing." They were only to give information or advice to their respective bishops, as it might be asked for.
The decision thus announced to the doctors had been taken eleven months previously. The Nine, at their meetings of January 24 and 31, (Cecconi, p. 205) had determined that there should be no congregation of inferior theologians, as the doctors were called, in opposition to the bishops, the superior theologians. The open discussions which had given light to the people on the one side and to the prelates on the other were thus quenched. The people were no more to have any means of ascertaining what was being done with their creed, nor even, when something had been done, were they to have means of ascertaining what were the processes by which the new dogmas had been established. All that they were now to learn was to be the fait accompli, henceforth to become the standard of faith for all and in all. The order of priests was to be shorn of its last vestige of representation in the Councils of the Church. The bishops, on the other hand, were not to be allowed to know what could be said for or against a proposed dogma, before they were called upon to close it up for ever. This one turn of the screw wrung even from Cecconi a mild but distinct expression of doubt. He feels (p. 205) that "the Fathers generally lost a mighty assistance in the discharge of their high office." He ventures to quote Pallavicino, the Jesuit historian of Trent, whose language shows that the old Jesuits had broad views compared with those now ruling. Pallavicino's words remind us of the cry of poor Monsignor Liverani: "We might be allowed to be Liberals up to the mark of Bellarmine"—
Many of the bishops were learned in the science of theology, but the most eminent, as is the case in all sciences, were the private theologians, since they had not been diverted by public cares from regular study, without which eminent prudence is often acquired, but not eminent erudition.
But Pius IX had no intention of allowing bishops to satisfy their consciences by hearing all that could be said on both sides before they gave a judgment.
It would be hard to find a neater specimen of the terms in which the abolition of a venerable franchise may be couched than in the words of Cecconi. He lets us know that on the 4th of July, 1869, the Nine resolved to "confer on the theologians of bishops the right of being eligible to be called to serve the committees of the Council." It would be only in keeping with a system of quotation regularly practised if this statement of Cecconi should be, hereafter, used to prove that the theologians at the Vatican Council did not suffer any curtailment of their rights, but received an increase of them. But exclusion from the right of pleading before "my lords" was not all the degradation awaiting the unfortunate doctors. Bishop Fessler told them that they were free to give information or advice each to his own bishop, but, adds Friedrich, only to him. We wonder what man was not free to give private advice if asked for it. They were not to be allowed to attend meetings of the bishops; not even to meet among themselves to consult in common upon questions affecting the Council.[216] Friedrich was not the most to be pitied of the theologians. Father Ambrose, a Carmelite, had been brought up from Germany by his general, a Spaniard. At the first interview the general told him that the all-important question was that of Papal infallibility. Father Ambrose declared himself a Fallibilist, and produced a work which he had prepared on the subject. He at once lost his post; and the general wished to send him off to Malta. Cardinal Hohenlohe pleaded for his restoration, but in vain. The general feared that the order would be utterly put to shame if in addition to the scandal of the Cracow nun, and that of Father Hyacinthe's defection, a theologian of the Order brought up to the Council should be known as a Fallibilist. The poor man had even to go to Cardinal Hohenlohe, and to beg of him to give him back a copy of his little work which he had presented to his Eminence. This the Cardinal refused to do, saying that even if the general had ordered it, he had nothing to say to a Cardinal. Ambrose was permitted to return to Würzburg, and before he started a prelate said to him, "I should rejoice if any one recalled me or sent me home. We bishops have been ordered here to the Council without being told what we were to deliberate upon, and now that I know it, I could gladly turn my back upon the Council and Rome."
Another minute touch of Friedrich at this moment shows how he heard a devoted Roman adherent of the Papacy say that an officer had sent him twenty scudi (about four pounds) as an offering to Peter's Pence; but he had returned the money, telling his friend he would do better to spend it on his family. "His conscience had dictated this course," for he knew how Peter's Pence were spent.
The correspondent of the Stimmen must have been under the triumphal influence of the opening, when he informed his German readers that wonderful unanimity reigned, and that what might be called the Opposition was daily shrinking up into nothing, and would soon reward only microscopical research.[217] The Unitá Cattolica of January 1 alleged that the Français, in using the expression, "A fraction of malcontents," might possibly be right, if it meant an almost impalpable fraction; but if it meant anything more, it was false. The alleged discontent, it went on to say, was spoken of as if it related to the Commission of Proposals appointed by the Pope. Some were said to wish that the Council itself should have had the selection of a committee. It was false; no one complained. It could not be disputed that the Pontiff, having the right to convoke, rule, and guide the Council, had also the right to determine what questions should be submitted to it. Pius IX had, indeed, himself confirmed this in the Bull by which he settled the Rules of Procedure. This is not conscious but unconscious irony. It reflects the course of the Papacy, displaying its administrative force and its logical infirmity in one word. A right is first desired, then secretly assumed, next insinuated in indirect forms, and finally embodied in an act assuming it as already ascertained; after which, this very act is taken as proof that it was previously established. When the Nine met, they confessed that it was questionable if the right existed to lay down rules for a General Council of the Catholic Church by a sub-committee of the Cardinals. But they assumed the right as unchallenged, embodied the assumption in an edict, and now turned to that edict as proof of the pre-existing right. A few days later, the correspondent of the Stimmen again said that, while the intelligence furnished to the ordinary journals was absurd, one thing might be relied upon, namely, that what was called an Opposition was daily diminishing.[218]
Another Jesuit, writing after the Council, did not confirm these statements of the inspired organs, but followed the profane journals, whose intelligence was at the time decried—