In November, Napoleon III proposed that the European Powers should meet in a Congress, to decide upon some solution of the Roman question. After this proposal had failed, his Minister, M. Rouher, pronounced, in the Assembly, his celebrated "Never!"—the French would never permit Rome to be occupied by the Italians. This exclamation is often printed by the "good Press" in the largest capitals.
A fortnight after the day of Mentana the activity of the Commissions was resumed, and invitations were sent out to the theologians already selected in different countries, to come to Rome and enter on their labours. The Nuncio at Munich had not recommended any one from the renowned faculty of that city, but had sought his men at Würzburg. England was represented by Monsignor Weathers, and the United States by Monsignor Corcoran. On October 2, Cardinal Caterini wrote to Bishop Ullathorne of Birmingham, instructing him, in the Pope's name, to invite "the priest John Newman." Three weeks later the bishop replied, enclosing Dr. Newman's answer, which, however, is not printed. According to the bishop, Dr. Newman said that a journey to Rome would be perilous to his life, and though deeply touched with the kindness of the Holy Father, he believed that the latter would not desire him to come at the risk of his life, especially as nothing would be advanced by his presence in an august solemnity of such moment, unskilled as he was in matters of the sort.[100]
The language of Dr. Newman, as reported in this correspondence, shows that he had but faint light on the part which mere divines were to play in the Council. Probably he was misled by history into supposing that their part would be public and considerable. His place, had he gone, would have been upon an unseen commission; his share probably anything but an important one; and, as likely as not, his opinion might have been asked only in writing, and upon a question of Oriental affairs, instead of upon theology, as was that of his famous fellow oratorian Theiner. Of the very few German scholars invited to Rome who were not of the Jesuit school, one was Haneberg, who, according to Michelis, was so little consulted that he was soon back in Munich, to avoid idling away his time.
In March the Pope intimated his intention of issuing in June the Bull of Convocation; and then the purpled had to consider who should be summoned. The most serious doubt arose as to those useful fictions called bishops in partibus. They have much of what goes to make a bishop—the orders, robes, title, and consequence, everything but the office. Their want of this is delicately expressed by Cecconi—they have no determinate flock; which in lay language means no flock at all. The number of these Court followers have been so increased that Sepp illustrates the case by that of a government creating a batch of peers to carry some measure.
But such peers do not depend for their living on the men who want their votes. Even the Cardinals had not the courage to assert that creatures like these had a right to sit in the Council. They did raise the question of right, and left it formally unanswered; but their next question was, Is it expedient to invite them? They boldly affirmed that it was expedient.
In May 1868, it was decided that the only proceeding to be observed with respect to Catholic princes was that of communicating a copy of the Bull of Convocation to each Court. But should the princes be invited to attend? This question "was much debated among the purpled consulters, and was negatived."[101]
The decision thus taken was logical, for no one is a Catholic prince "as such" who does not place the law of his land under canon law; or, in proper language, who does not maintain "harmonious laws," recognizing politics as lying in the domain of morals, and therefore as being under the spiritual authority. When the controversy on the Syllabus began, the Civiltá had enjoyed a triumphant laugh at M. Langlais, a distinguished French advocate. M. Langlais had argued that the Encyclical would not have transgressed its proper boundary had it treated only of faith and morals, but that having touched the foundations of political institutions, it had transgressed that boundary. The Civiltá cried—
There exist then, according to M. Langlais, foundations of political institutions outside of the circle of morals! outside, consequently, of the circle of manners; or maybe, outside of the circle of human actions.... His argument assumes that the political order cannot be at the same time moral, or at least founded in the moral order, and assumes further that it must be separate from it, else he could not say that the Pope, simply by entering upon the political order, had gone out of the moral order (VI. i. 652-53).
It is not said that Antonelli in particular took alarm. But it is said that fears arose lest the "novelty" resolved upon should prove perilous; therefore the subject had to be reconsidered in the presence of the Secretary of State. The danger that might follow the brusque exclusion of princes was so felt that the former decision was on the point of being reversed. This shows Antonelli's ascendant. But his colleagues had a resource. Only six days before the date fixed for publishing the Bull, a special summons, not from Giannelli, but from Antonelli himself, called together the Commission at a quarter past eight o'clock in the evening, to a meeting to be held "in presence of the Most Holy" (coram sanctissimo)—i.e. before the Pope.[102]