It was in February, 1869, that the fears and hopes which had long been more or less distinctly directed to a given point, were both quickened by fresh light. The Civiltá Cattolica, in the letter of its French correspondent, published suggestions that the Council should sit for but a short time, that it should proclaim the doctrines of the Syllabus, and that the infallibility of the Pope should be adopted by acclamation. It was at once alleged that the finger of Pius himself gave this sign. The suggestions thus made explain what the Cardinals consulted in the first instance meant when they hoped that the Council would not last so long as some might think. They had in 1854 induced the bishops to acclaim a new dogma, and in 1867 to accept the Syllabus without demur, and surely they could get any portions of that document which it was necessary, for greater clearness, to formulate into decrees, passed in the same delightful way; and this would be still more desirable for the dogma of infallibility. Archbishop Manning treated the idea of an intended acclamation as a pleasantry; but he charged the ventilation of it on a wrong time and on a wrong publication. "Janus first announced the discovery of the plot."[140] It may have been Janus who first clearly indicated a certain English prelate as the man chosen by the party of acclamation to give the signal. But he was long behind the first to announce the plot. The laity generally were offended and alarmed, at least those north of the Alps, and many bishops who were ready to vote for the Curia did not feel flattered at having the whole world informed that they were not wanted in Rome as judges of the faith, but as adornments of a grand pageant. The translation or assumption of the body of the Virgin was also suggested in the same article, as a doctrine which it was desirable to make into a dogma.
As time wore on, the excitement became more intense. In France, the action of the government, as in most things under the Second Empire, was ambiguous. It seemed to dread the impending innovations, and every now and then what appeared to the world as a menace was half uttered. Yet it was plain that the Curia was not disturbed. Nothing can be more tranquil than the letters in the Civiltá from its French correspondent. There is an apparent sense of solid support, such as no gusts of the popular winds will seriously shake. M. de Banneville, the acceptable representative of France in Rome, continued in his post. When the question of the presence of princes in the Council was to be faced, Cardinal Antonelli had the comfort of treating it with this trusty friend. It was comparatively easy to convey to him the intimation which, in a few words, represented, as M. Veuillot had showed, a radical revolution in Church and State. There were no more Catholic States. The term "Catholic arms" continued to be applied, by official writers, to those of France and the other countries which had reconquered the lost States of the Pope. But arms are perhaps, like gold and silver to the Brahmans, substances which never contract pollution. The monarchs were outside the door. Even France, whose flag at Civitá Vecchia was the only protection of the temporal power, was told that she was no longer a Catholic State—she, the eldest daughter of the Church; she whom the Pope, in parting with General Failly, had for love of her chassepots—the "prodigious chassepots," as they were called—blessed as the "most Christian nation!" The Curia knew that the hold of the Pope on the priests and schools was stronger than that of the Bonapartes on army and nation; and they were rearing up their champions, while the Empire was wearing out its own.
The same number of the Civiltá which records the death of Antonelli states the case in the following terms. The Pontiff could not invite powers "of which one, like Italy, was in open hostility to the Church; of which another had, like Austria, of her own motion, torn up the Concordat; and another had, like France, a turncoat and a perfidious traitor to the Holy See upon the throne."
The Ultramontane priests enjoyed this disfranchisement of kings; but they were not yet all prepared to find that the Order of Priests was also to be disfranchised. Not a man of them was to be allowed to plead in presence of the Council. The Cardinals, in their close and still Commissions, were preparing to put, not only laymen, but priests and bishops too, more on the footing of a marching army than ever before.
On April 9, 1869, Prince Hohenlohe addressed a circular to the European Cabinets in the name of Bavaria. It was not to be believed, he said, that the Council would confine itself to purely theological questions, of which, in fact, none were pressing for solution. The only dogmatic point that Rome wished the Council to decide was that of Papal infallibility, for which the Jesuits in Germany and elsewhere were agitating. "This question," added the Prince, "reaches far beyond the domain of religion, and is in its nature highly political; for the power of the Pope in temporal things over all princes and nations, even such as are in separation from Rome, would be defined, and elevated into an article of faith."
The smooth reply of the German Jesuit organ was that something of the kind had been said before in the Augsburg Gazette. But the circle of Church authority would remain the same, whether the organ of that authority should be the Pope singly, or the Pope in conjunction with the bishops; just as the powers of a national government would be the same in extent, whether in the hands of a monarch or of a republican executive.
This is characteristic. The discussion was not about any proposal to enlarge or contract the theoretic circle of Church power, but about a proposal to declare that the Pope alone, without the bishops, was the depositary of that power. If the theory of Rome was correct, no extension of the circle of power was possible, but the depositary of power was now to be changed.
If, among ourselves, it was proposed to give the power of life and death to the Crown, without judge or jury, we might be told that the power of life and death was the same whether exercised by royal warrant or through the traditionary courts. The circle of power would not be extended.
The Bavarian note did not elicit a practical response from other Cabinets. The reply of Austria was, perhaps, influenced by the fact that Count Beust, then Prime Minister, was a Protestant. His despatch bears marks either of non-appreciation of the import of terms and acts, proceeding from the Vatican, such as would be natural in one not trained to watch them, or of a desire to evade the gravity of the question. He thought it best to wait and to be on his guard.[141] On behalf of Prussia, Bismarck also took up an attitude of observation, but with more insight into the reasons for the suggestion of Prince Hohenlohe. The Italian Government had expressed itself in favour of common action, but practically let things take their course. England naturally declined to interfere. As to France, she thought herself protected by the Concordat against all eventualities—another proof that her statesmen handled affairs without mastering ideas. Perhaps not one of them had read what Rome had lately been teaching as the true doctrine of Concordats.
The Unitá Cattolica (June 23), however, put this tranquil attitude of France in a different light—