When from the lips of the Pontiff speaking as Vicar of Jesus Christ fall the words "It is of faith," it is hard to see how the body which has now bound itself to take the faith from his lips can help accepting them as a prophecy which that body is bound to see fulfilled. And it is no insignificant proof of the portentous contents of that one dogma called Papal infallibility that so soon after it had been adopted, the creature invested by his fellow-creatures with such control over them should, in the name of the meek Prince of Peace, commit what they consider their faith to a temporal throne for a minister of the gospel.
On the very day on which the nobles received the above prophecy, the same lips told the youths of the Catholic Association that the faithful, now passing through the deep, would soon reach the further shore of the Red Sea, and would cry with Moses, "We will sing unto the Lord, for He hath triumphed gloriously: the horse and his rider hath He thrown into the sea." So were the Italians to fall, for as the Civiltá expresses it, "Which is of more account, the greatness of one human kingdom, or the independence and the liberty of the kingdom of God?" (X. ii. 143).
When the Pope said, The resurrection is to take place, he reflected language used in an address presented to him a few days previously, on the sad anniversary of the commencement of the "captivity," as it is called, the second time it came round. The Piana Federation said—
Similar in your passion to the God-man of whom You are the Vicar on earth, the second day of Your mystic burial is fulfilled, amid the confusion of society and of Your impious guards, destined, in spite of themselves, and in the day which God shall appoint, to bear testimony to Your resurrection. In the august sepulchre wherein those whom You had laden with benefits have confined You, wrapped in the sweet spices of the lamentation and the love of Your sons, You also descend into the abyss of society as now existing, and there does Your voice resound, casting down the demons of sect, and consoling those who anxious and trembling await the blessed hour when with You they are to rise again. And the third day is already commencing; but, as it was not completed for the Divine Saviour, so have we confidence that no more will it be completed for You, O Holy Father: the prayers of the blessed Virgin whom You have so greatly honoured, the prayers of the Saints, Patrons of the Church and of Rome, with those of so many souls who suffer and who weep to obtain Your liberation, your triumph, will shorten this day of utmost anguish, and God, God whom your enemies do with Satanic impiety unceasingly defy, will not permit the day to close without having witnessed the fulfilment of the devout desires of Your sons.[492]
Notwithstanding these promises, not only did the third "day" run its course but the sixth has set, with the Satanic guards still standing around the august sepulchre. For six years Italy has held Rome as her capital, and Pius IX has confined himself to the Vatican, making speeches. But at this moment the hope of a general complication, and of a restoration as the effect of it, is very likely. The present obscuration of the Papacy is treated as if it were passing and light as the shadow of an April cloud on the Alban Hills. The shadow will pass and the hills will abide. Rome, for a moment the mere capital of a kingdom, is to be the capital of the world. Let but the temporal power be once restored, and then the steps to the universal theocratic monarchy can be taken both with deeper secrecy and with greater force.
Even those who most despise the political influence of the priests must own that for disturbance their power is great. Taking the sixty years which have elapsed since the peace of 1815, let us, for a moment, look at the Roman Catholic countries of Christendom, and at the non-Catholic ones, in respect of the one blessing of public repose. In those sixty years the three great Protestant powers—England, Prussia, and America—have not drawn the sword one against the other. The smaller Protestant powers have not fought among themselves. No Protestant capital has undergone a foreign occupation. With the exception of America, no Protestant State has been desolated by civil war. No Protestant army has been given to military insurrection, or has, in the day of trial, proved untrue. No Protestant sovereign has been expelled by his own people. No Protestant President of a Republic has been executed, or exiled, or condemned as a traitor. No Protestant monarchy has been changed by violence into a republic; no Protestant republic into a monarchy. If we set off as one against the other, the war of German unity which partly occurred in the one group of States, and that of Italian unity which occurred in the other group, the only case of war between Protestant States, in the two generations, has been that of Prussia and Denmark, and the only case of war between two great powers non-Catholic has been that of Russia and England, in the Crimea. But how has it been on the Papal side of the line?
No leading Catholic power can be named which has not within the sixty years made war on other Catholic powers as well as on non-Catholic ones. France has fought with Spain, with the Italians, with Austria, as well as with Russia, with Prussia, with Holland, and has even gone away to Mexico to seek a war of which the Vatican spoke as if it were a campaign of the Church. Austria has fought with Italy and with France, as well as with Prussia and with Denmark. As to the wars of Catholic States in America with one another, they have been numerous. Rome has undergone twenty years of foreign occupation; France has undergone two; and Austria has had recourse to foreign intervention. Civil war in Portugal, civil wars in Spain, civil war in Austria, civil war repeatedly in Italy apart from the great war of unity, civil war chronically in the American Catholic States, have made that plague familiar in Roman Catholic countries. The foremost, and the least priest-ridden of them, France, has had her three days of July, her three days of February, her four darker days of June, her bloody days of December, her awful weeks of the Commune. Military insurrections properly so-called have not occurred in the great Catholic nations that refused to submit to the disciplinary decrees of the Council of Trent. But in Spain, Portugal, and the nations of America, military insurrection, that worst of anarchies, seems to have acquired a sort of prescriptive place in the Constitution. In Italy, till 1860, the armies of the princes faithful to the Papacy were largely foreign. As to conspiracies and risings, it is strange that where they have occurred out of Roman Catholic States they have often been among the Roman Catholic portion of the population; and in Roman Catholic States they have been much more frequent within the circle of countries where the decrees of Trent had been fully accepted, than in those which, by Gallican liberties, Josephine laws, or in some other form, uphold national supremacy. As to thrones in Roman Catholic countries, the difficulty is to name those which during the sixty years have not been emptied by violence; Austria and Sardinia, perhaps, exhaust the list, in both of which, however, an abdication, compelled by misfortune, has taken place. Twice has a limited monarchy, once an empire, and once a republic, been overthrown in France by revolution. As to Spain and South America, it were weary work to count up catastrophes. The discrowned princes who, like ghosts, haunt Europe, and the ex-presidents under ban who prowl in America, are nearly all Roman Catholics.
Perhaps the entire course of history does not afford an example of any contemporaneous development of four great Powers, bringing with it in the aggregate such an increase of territory, population, and strength, as that which within the sixty years since the peace of Vienna has occurred in the case of the four non-Catholic Powers, Russia, Prussia, America, and England. No corresponding development has taken place in Roman Catholic or in Moslem nations. Italy, indeed, has risen up, but only by breaking the yoke of the Papacy, and by swimming against a sulphurous stream of anathemas.
It would be a curious and not altogether an idle speculation did some clear-headed and calm economist carefully work out the question, What would be the effect in the course of three hundred years, upon the peace of Europe, on the bulk of standing armies, on the stability of thrones, on the development of arts, sciences, laws, and morals, on the security of life and property, and on the general spread of charity, brotherhood, and virtue among men, supposing that by some unseen power the hundreds of thousands of priests, now working to bring about the dominion of the Pope over our species, could be instantly changed into simple ministers of the gospel, without a political head or a political aim, but each one seeking only to bring the wicked to repentance and to lead the godly onward, adding virtue unto virtue and grace to grace? Would the change bring France more wars and more revolutions? Would the change make the new career opened to Italy more obscure or thorny? Would the change make Austria feebler, or make Spain less united and prosperous? Would it bring a blight upon Mexico? and in South America would it make the rulers less tranquil, the people less obedient to law, and less attached to order? Would the south and west of Ireland less strongly attract capital and residence? Would Croatia be less refined? Would the island of Sardinia be less highly civilized? Would Sicily be less secure? Would the dominion of Canada be more difficult to govern? Would the city of New York and other cities of the United States in which the political power of priests is now formidable be worse ordered and more corrupt? In Hayti and St. Domingo, would public affairs be more unstable, would family life be more blameworthy?