The Social Classes in Italy

ANCIENT Roman society — like the ancient Vedic and Brahminical — was founded on four great castes which still survive: the sacerdotal, warrior, merchant, and working class,—constituted by the clergy, aristocracy, middle class, and democracy. Historical events have, however, greatly modified that primitive Roman Constitution. Nothing, perhaps, was uniform on Italian soil before the foundation of Rome; nothing could be so any longer after the fall of the Roman Empire, which, without actually destroying any especial thing, had bent everything to its own law and fashion. It thus becomes necessary when speaking of the Italian aristocracy to make some wide distinctions, for its origins have been various, and the respective value of the different aristocracies deserves consideration.

If, happening to meet, assembled in the same drawing-room, a Sicilian duke, a Neapolitan baron, a Roman prince, a Venetian or Genoese patrician, a Piedmontese count or marquis, a Lombard noble, some superficial observer should imagine himself to be in the midst of a single world, of that world called in France le grand monde, and in England and America high life (because the mundane element of the five o’clock tea is everywhere to be found, and everywhere seems to represent the same narrow, monotonous round of existence), that observer would risk quite mistaking the real life of Italian aristocratic families. The historical origins of these families were in different epochs, provinces, regions, and cities; hence even in the midst of Italian aristocratic society have arisen many noble castes far removed one from another, and differing considerably in their habits, customs, interests, tendencies, capacities, and character.

To begin, exempli gratia, with Rome, one might make a wide distinction between the great families which in the Middle Age gave and created popes, and those families which the nepotist popes after the Renaissance enriched and ennobled.

Amongst all these, the Colonna, Orsini, Caetani, — who still exist, — hold the first rank; the first two still enjoy the privilege of assisting — like guardian angels — about the Papal throne in all the great ceremonies of the Vatican.

A progress of ideas is, however, to be noted in these Papal families. For instance, the Prince Prospero Colonna, once a brilliant cavalry officer in the Italian army, has been for some years at the head of the municipality of Rome, in his quality of liberal and ideal lord mayor of the Eternal City. The old Duke Michelangelo Caetani di Sermoneta, the eminent student of Dante, as president of a Roman deputation, presented to Victor Emanuel in 1870 the plebiscito of Rome for her union to the kingdom of Italy. The daughter of this same duke, Countess Ersilia Lovatelli, the distinguished member of the Lincei and Crusca Academies, opens her elegant suite of drawing-rooms to all that Rome contains of most intellectual and intelligent. Her son Onorato was Minister of Foreign Affairs for King Humbert; her nephew Livio has distinguished himself in Italian diplomacy.

Long contact with the Papal court and the influence of Catholic Spain in the affairs of the Holy See had hitherto transformed these old Roman princes into pompous and often absurd Spanish grandees of haughty aspect, whose grandeur was mere vain display, and whose power was measured by their splendor and the number of their lighted and empty halls, thrown open on days of great receptions, and also by the number of gentlemen of lower rank, but connected with them, — monsignori, country merchants, agents, clerks, officers, and valets, — attached to their princely house and little court. But the force of things must gradually and inevitably drag all the ancient Papal families into the vortex of the liberal movement of modern Italy.

The aristocracy of Naples and Sicily can generally boast an illustrious and ancient origin, dating from the Normans, the houses of Anjou and Aragon, and the great Spanish monarchy; it. possesses great titles, great feudal lands, and displays great pomp on great occasions. Just as the Neapolitans and Sicilians love gaudy color and lavish it in the decoration of their churches and processions, so the southern aristocracy is attached to all that is ornamental, and regrets to be no longer able to appear at court decked out in the antique velvet state robes embroidered in gold and silver, wearing at the side a sword of Toledo, and on the breast the Order of the Golden Fleece or the Cross of Malta. The Bourbons had maintained the greatest respect for all this out-of-date heraldic splendor, and in their opinion the House of Savoy, notwithstanding its ten centuries of glory, presented the aspect of a degenerate race as it became democratic and marched with the age, its look fixed upwards on its star, — the star of Italy.

In vain have the Torrearsa, the Trabia, Scalea, Rudinì, San Giuliano, Castromediano, Casanova, Filangieri, Dragonetti, and other illustrious families of the ancient southern aristocracy given the example, cordially taking active part in the resurrection of Italy, — the greater number of feudal noble families still lag centuries behind. Ignorant and superstitious, they live during most of the year on their estates in their old castles, like the small tyrants of the Middle Age, affecting a fine disdain for everything which is new or modern. They keep their women in a state of ignorance, and consider them inferior beings, whose will must be subjected to that of man. They lodge and nourish their servants and peasants very badly, and live themselves — save on certain high feasts and festivals — like barbarians. They still consider their dependents in the light of slaves; and they saunter idly about their vast lands like Don Rodrigo, whom Manzoni portrayed in the Promessi Sposi, making vain show of his petty power and grandeur in the insolent pursuit of pretty peasant girls.

The existence of the custom of the jus primae noctis in the Middle Age was contested some years ago by a German scholar, who, doubtless, was in error. The most evident proof that such infamous usage existed is that in certain parts of southern Italy and Sicily it is still in vigor! We may, indeed, wonder that Italian law does not intervene to punish and repress such strange customs, which survive, notwithstanding the abolition of feudal systems. But as long as the inhabitants of the latifundia, too docile to their lord’s dominion, do not rise and protest, such abuses will naturally continue. It is also owing to the duration of feudalism that vast tracts in southern Italy are still deprived of schools because the lord neither cares to have them built, nor wishes that his peasants should be instructed. The want of education and the hostility of the nobles to popular instruction are no doubt among the principal reasons why, notwithstanding the wonderful progress of modern Italy, there still exists in certain provinces of the South and in Sicily an average of eighty in a hundred of utterly illiterate persons. In the southern cities and small country towns, in obedience to the law which enforces obligatory instruction, many elementary schools have been founded. But in the country many dispersed peasants are still destitute of all means of education. This is why the mass of the poor people, half idiotic in appearance, who arrive every year in America from Basilicata and Calabria, not only are illiterate, but can speak only their native patois, never having learned the national tongue!

An aristocracy which possesses no history has no future before it. The sole hereditary transmission of a title does not suffice to form a real tradition of nobility. Thus we may note that in Tuscany many very ancient and noble families for a long time never boasted a title, nor did certain ducal families in Venice and Genoa; while others — and these too numerous — received titles of nobility just at the time when by their deeds they had ceased to be important or illustrious. So the decline of the real noblesse forced such families to adorn themselves with false glitter, as their golden splendor was on the wane. Dante, who justly felt that he had personally added by his own glory something to the nobility of his great ancestor, Cacciaguida, declared that nobleness of blood diminished when its possessor did not, from day to day, do something toward upholding the lustre of his forefathers. But would Dante have been more to us had his ancestor Cacciaguida been a count or a marquis ? Thus titles of nobility are effectively of small importance, and serve but little toward the constitution of true noblesse. The Doria and the Spinola, the Bentivoglio and the Malvezzi, the Dandolo, Morosini, Visconti, Borromeo, were once very great lords and true princes, long before they were created counts and marquises. The Beccaria, once seigneurs of Pavia, in the eighteenth century received the title of marquis. But the author of the famous book against capital punishment, is he not far more illustrious as Cesare Beccaria than as Marquis Beccaria? It is well known that the Manzoni, petty feudal lords and tyrants of Valsassina, might have rightly retained their title of count; but Alexander Manzoni, grandson of Beccaria, did he not create for himself an immortal parchment of nobility by writing the Promessi Sposi ?

In the old Piedmontese families, possessors of vast feudal fiefs, it often happened that the eldest son came into all the various titles pertaining to the land. Sometimes, however, the noble paterfamilias would distribute his land and titles equally among his sons. So, for instance, Albert, eldest of the La Marmora family, had the title of Prince di Masserano, whilst his junior brother, the general Alfonso, took that of marquis. In the Cavour family, which possessed two titles, that of marquis was borne by the elder brother Gustavo; that of count by the celebrated Camillo.

As a general rule, the eldest son and heir lived on his feudal domain, occasionally exerting himself to serve his king in diplomacy, where titles were still held in great consideration. Younger brothers (for noble families were once patriarchal, and often boasted a numerous progeny) entered the army or the Church, and if one of them showed any especial talent he studied law and became a judge or a member of the civil service.

The old-fashioned Piedmontese gentleman could permit himself the magnificence of a large family, for he found no trouble in settling his children in life. And young noblemen, fresh from college, if they were distinguished in manner, might easily find a place as page or chamberlain at court. But it frequently happened that in some too numerous families one of the members was neglected, and instead of being educated in town was kept secluded on the country estate like a gentilhomme campagnard. Taught to read and write by the parish priest or the chaplain, this poor he-Cinderella had to content himself with such humble learning, though occasionally he took his revenge by studying actively in his own behalf. Thus abandoned to his own wits and lot, this unfortunate would sometimes by his own efforts attain a degree of culture which rendered him remarkable. From his obscure corner, he observed the world in which he lived; listening and meditating on what he saw, he sometimes grew up to be a wit or a philosopher, and nearly always knew how to make himself useful or amusing. His advice was sometimes sought, and though it did not carry great weight, it was often that of an experienced man of the world. And if he did not dine every day at the table of his illustrious elder brother, he was often invited in haste to fill up a gap, if the guests happened to be thirteen in number, if a dancer was missing in the quadrille, or because his witty chat served to enliven the tedious hours. This curious member of society was denominated in Piedmont el cavajer (like the chevalier in France of the eighteenth century); and though in appearance an elegant parasite, in his quality of honorary bailiff in the country seat or town palace, he would watch over like a guardian angel the fortune and property of his absent brother and nephews, already on the road to ruin.

This antiquated person, typical of the useful junior of the fairy tale, at first an idiot and afterwards the hero of marvelous exploits, is now only a relic of the past. For the mode of living of Piedmontese nobles is greatly changed; very few still own land or live on it; though, maybe, in some remote corner such rare specimen of the country lord might be discovered.

The French Revolution, and the subsequent French occupation of Piedmont, ruined the greater number of noble families that remained faithful to the House of Savoy. When peace was restored they returned to their native Piedmont with their king, whom they encouraged to liberal reform. The ministers of the first Piedmontese revolt of 1821, such as Ferdinando del Pozzo, Santorre Santarosa, Collegno, Moffa di Lisio, Giovanbattista de Gubernatis, were nobles. The Italian Risorgimento of 1848 had been prepared in Piedmont by her nobility; and the names of Cesare Balbo, Cesare Alfieri, Cesare and Alessandro Saluzzo, Alfonso La Marmora, Federigo Sclopis, Pietro Santarosa, and Camillo Cavour will remain forever glorious. It is here to be noted that the Piedmontese nobles alone gained no profit from the Revolution which they had themselves promoted; applicable to them is the famous Virgilian sentence: Sic vos non vobis mellificatis apes. For they had worked to construct the beehive, but others had sucked the honeycomb! Thus having suddenly lost all their ancient heraldic privileges, almost every career has been closed to them. As the revenue of their land, burdened with taxes, no longer suffices to maintain them decently, their property has passed into the hands of newcomers, of la gente nuova.

But the Piedmontese nobility fell, like Caesar, nobly, and is probably still destined to play a part in history; and though submitting to chains forged by others, it will doubtless not renounce its future mission of civilization and the honor yet reserved to it of rallying round it all the energies of the Italian aristocracy, to continue — as a sole force and directing power — the great work of unity initiated by Cavour.

If, as already observed, taken as a mass, Italian aristocracy (including the Piedmontese), shorn of its ancient prestige, now no longer counts for much, it would still be easy to select from that mass a certain number of gentlemen of high birth eager to help toward an aristocratic resurrection, in the best sense of the word. In all the chief towns of Italy exist clubs, societies, and casinos, where the Italian noblemen assemble, though, unhappily, only to play cards, kill time, and exchange social gossip. For the scions of nobility no longer organize anything, save some meeting for sport. Their daily existence, conventional and formal, is a round of frivolous routine. Nearly all of them live on their capital, aloof from the active life of to-day, and seem to disdain and ignore what happens about them.

Many nobles, however, suddenly awakened to a keen sense of this sad situation, no longer even frequent the clubs to which they gave their names. It is thus to be hoped that soon they may quite arouse from their lethargy, and set their best energies to the salutary task of progress and reform. Italian nobility, like every other nobility in the world, is full of coxcombs, vain of what no longer belongs to them, of the splendid trappings of their ancestors; but, on the other hand, there is no lack of intelligent men of birth, who, proud of the virtues of their great forefathers, are ready to imitate them. Isolated, however, they can do but little; for life round them has changed, and the former scene of action on which their ancestors fought having disappeared, it would be necessary to create a new one in harmony with the present age.

The divine privilege of a possible and perpetual Italian renaissance ceases to be a miracle if we consider the vitality and vivacity of the peoples dispersed over the Peninsula, whose spirit and mode of thought varies not only from the north to the centre and south of the continent, but even from one district to another, from town to town, from village to village.

The wealth of local historical proverbs, which expressed the satirical criticisms of neighbors exchanging compliments one with the other, may well serve to qualify and stamp the spirit of individualism which distinguishes the Italian people, and its various modes of speaking, dressing, living, loving and hating, suffering, and even dying. In fact, this proverbial lore shows us the population of Italy under various lights, but always original, revealing its instinctively ardent nature. So little Italian villages gradually became large, flourishing cities; and though it is the fashion to name only a hundred illustrious historical towns, it would be easy to number twice as many whose rivalry was propitious to civilization, and which still preserve an original stamp owing to the vigor of the race that founded them. Since this vigor is not yet exhausted, it is probable that the future of Italy still conceals many other mysteries and surprises. And if one considers all the marvels that Italy produced in the days of her greatest servitude, ignorance, and misery, it is natural to look forward to the happy day, when the whole mass of the population, educated and emancipated and well employed in useful labor, shall be entirely compos sui, master of itself and of its own genius.

Italy is now a monarchical state, and for the present moment no other better form of government can be desired for her. This monarchy, which unites and defends her, is constitutional with democratical tendencies, and ought thus not only to guard the rights of the nation, but also to protect those of the free towns. In the Middle Age the free towns passed, turn by turn, from under the protection of the Emperor to that of the Pope, according as they declared themselves Guelf or Ghibelline. Guelfs and Ghibellines now no longer exist, and the communes are no longer in warfare against one another, though their mutual jealousy still continues. Royal protection is thus rendered easier than was once that of the Emperor or Pope. However, it is now more necessary to impress on the public mind that the Commune is the most historical and natural form of Italian popular life; and this conviction, grounded in the conscience of the people, should also penetrate the spirit of national government, too apt to centralize! As a general rule, the southern provinces wrest from the central government every kind of service and benefit; whilst the northern provinces, on the other hand, are often left to their own resources.

The initiating spirit, varying from one province to another, is very strong in the north and in the greater part of Central Italy, but scarcely exists in the south, where, as already observed, government is supposed to provide everything, — street lighting, schools, hospitals, — and to construct roads and seaports. And why not ? Did not the Roman Empire, in its time, provide the citizens with panem et circenses ?

Industrious cities such as Milan, which exact hardly anything from the central government, and seem even to disdain its help, and found their own high commercial school (Università Commerciale Bocconi), are still in Italy an exception. But this exceptional independence of the Milanese municipality is derived more or less from its historical tradition, and might serve as an example to other Italian towns which seem to have forgotten their glorious past. Milan, on the contrary, still remembers with pride how she once held front against the German hordes of Frederick Barbarossa. Captured, burnt down and razed to the ground, a few years later, this heroic city sprung from her ashes on the same spot, and placing herself at the head of the formidable Lombard League, accompanied by her glorious Carroccio, emblem of communal liberty, marched, armed with vengeance, on Barbarossa at Legnano, and provoking him to battle, finally overthrew him completely. Once again, this same city, at the distance of nearly seven centuries (March, 1848), rose up alone to oppose her tyrannical keeper, and by her hastily constructed and marvelous barricades, during five days of heroic strife, shook off the yoke of Austrian rule. Thus Milan, even in the present age, has shown by her example in Italy the force and power of our communal institutions.

No country is richer in cities than Italy, but not one of her cities, since the fall of the Roman Empire, has ever been able in its population to exceed half a million souls. See now what happens at the present day in Milan: the population of the town, having been considerably augmented owing to the artisans’ suburbs (called corpi santi), it comes to pass that these suburbs have already affirmed their own individuality, and have emancipated themselves from the town itself, becoming, in their turn, independent communes.

This spirit of independence and individuality is yet so strong in Italy that not only around great cities spring up separate municipalities, but, almost daily, petitions are addressed to Parliament by small portions of towns and villages which desire to be freed from the authority of the chef-lieu, to constitute themselves independent commonwealths, headed by a mayor and council, to watch over the private interests of that section which loudly demands its autonomy. No other country in the world can boast a communal legislation vaster than that of Italy. The statutes of the Italian municipalities form a corpus juris original and unique. Municipalities in the Middle Age had simply ruled, moderated, and corrected the already received customs of each individual commonwealth. This law had a solid basis and was adapted to the population for which it had been promulgated; being clear and evident to all, it could be faithfully accepted and obeyed.

A certain number of rustic usages still remained, however, outside the pale of legislation, and they still persist in many country places in Italy by that law of tradition which often possesses greater force than written law. For long custom creates laws which appear the more inviolable because so well known to all. The Paterfamilias, or Capoccio, of a village family and the elders of the village often exert more authority over the peasants than the king does himself.

The above thoughts and reflections might, perhaps, serve to trace a true and sure way by which the Italian aristocracy should regain a beneficial influence in modern society. If Italian noblemen would only call to mind the saying of Caesar, who preferred to be the first citizen in a village rather than the second in Rome, they would not so easily abandon their estates to live an obscure existence in cities, where, lost in the crowd, they can exert no influence whatever. In his village, on his estate, the lord may easily play the beneficent part of moderator, mediator, and inspirer. A feudal tyranny has ceased to exist almost everywhere; the provincial noble of a democratic turn of mind no longer excites suspicion amongst the populace. Better bred and educated, gentler and more genially modest in his manner than those around him, he can, by his position or office, which brings him in contact with the local authorities and representatives of national life, guide and govern the village folk, if he does not disdain them; and this sort of government, familiar, personal, and foreseeing, founded on the true experience and knowledge of men and things, is best of all. As to the nobles who can no longer reside in the country, but live in towns, they can still make themselves useful, and emerge above the common people by mixing more freely with them.

It is well known that the strong castles of the nobility, for twenty miles round Florence on the territory of the Republic, were once razed to the ground, and all noblemen whose names were not inscribed in the books of the arts corporations were excluded from the municipal administration. But it is also well to remember that the presence of all such democratic nobles in those various corporations, and the part by them taken — urged thereto by the people — in the affairs of the government, contributed greatly toward making the Republic prosperous and glorious. Thus the nobles brought their ideas of beauty and refinement, and the artistic workingclass put those ideas into ideal shape and form.

This population of artists still exists in Italy, and needs only to be guided and directed. As democracy is the only form of life adapted to a free people, it is necessary, to prevent the blind mass from stumbling in the dark, that intelligent torch-bearers should watch over it from above with sympathetic foresight; and who better than the nobles, worthy of that appellation, can be or become such enlighteners ? But let both the nobles and the people be on guard against becoming simply burghers, thus merging their individual characteristics into that hybrid class, described by Dante in one immortal verse: —

Far from being a pessimistic judge of my own country, I perceive everywhere, on the contrary, its precious latent energies; and I have the greatest confidence in its possible resurrection and infinite resources. But, on the other hand, I condemn all these levelers, centralizers, scoffers at ideality, who fear all that is superior to the common run, all that emerges from mediocrity, and does not follow the vulgar beaten track. And as far as the word bourgeois signifies narrowness, want of ideality, conventionality, and vulgarity, I despise the class; for this fat bourgeoisie threatens to devour not only the public exchequer, but the very soul of true Italy. Thus it is with real alarm that I observe a great, unsightly, misshapen mass, a hideous monster with countless limbs, advancing slowly like some infernal machine, to crush and devour human lives. For what is merely enormous easily assumes to my eyes the appearance of a monster.

This troubling tendency to fashion men all alike, to range them on the same level, to make them all march to the same tune, and bend them to one uniform equality, is contrary to life, to nature, and to the national traditions. For to crush the individual in Italy signifies to crush the whole Italian people. And to such a flat, pale, insipid tenor of life — which gradually would annihilate the spirit of the nation — is almost to be preferred a half-savage existence, or one perpetually feverish and volcanic. That which is deprived of physiognomy is not Italian. And this is the reason why I cannot admit our bourgeoisie — such as dominates to-day — to be a faithful representation of the Italian nation. The history of Italy was carved out of events by her aristocracy and her people. The middle class has no history; it was formed far later on in the small towns, and sprang up between the feudal castle and the village; thus, to attain some grandeur, it must return to one or other of these its native elements.

Men are all equal before God. But it is sometimes necessary for man to feel the presence of God to be able to elevate his soul toward Him. If a man live a purely material life, keeping selfishly aloof from all that is high and spiritual; if he refuse the ideal bread of angels, he may doubtless enrich himself and fatten; but to grow too stout is often the beginning of decay.

Thus I would not like to see the utilitarian bourgeois gradually deteriorating and vulgarizing our glorious country, turning it into a land of prose, whereas God created it to be an Earthly Paradise for the Italian born in the midst of its natural beauties to live in loving and singing, and creating immortal works of art. The vulgarity of the middle class may some day be fatal to these very same bourgeois, who now systematically decry all generous enthusiasm, and every effort made to raise to an ideal standard the new generations springing up around us.

To sum up what I said above on the subject of aristocracy, I want to declare that I give this word the only acceptation possible, that of Aristos, which signifies the optimates, the best of all. Each one of us, of whatever class he may be, can better himself by sheer force of will; and this will is not an exclusive privilege, for every person is capable of such an effort. It is, however, necessary that each and all should be animated by the desire to emerge individually from mediocrity, and to see his country rise high above the common standard.

It was by the force of light of the Logos, of the divine wisdom, that worlds were formed and began to move in their orbits. What conceals itself from the light, wrapping itself in obscurity, prepares its own decay and ruin. And it is to be feared that the Papacy, voluntary captive in the Vatican, stranger to the new Italian life, is working secretly in the shade at its own dissolution.

I was speaking of this one day, about thirty years ago, with the then most illustrious man in Rome, the old Duke of Sermoneta; and this is the upshot of what that mentally far-seeing, though physically blind and aged duke said to me: —

“Yes, Rome is eternal, and will never perish. But she crushes, in the long run, all that falls under her power and all that she herself has created. Kings, consuls, and emperors exercised over her their sway; popes, in their turn, appeared and shone in her history; she will finish by engulfing the Papacy before the end of the twentieth century. See what now is taking place in Rome: the Eternal City offers hospitality at present to the three most important personages of our time,— Pius IX, Victor Emanuel, and Garibaldi. The world, from afar, interests itself in what these three great men say and do; the reporters of the foreign press follow their footsteps. Rome alone does not seem to care. In fact, if you ask a Roman what the Pope, the King, or the hero of Caprera is doing, he will answer with apathy that he knows nothing about them. Rome takes but slight interest in what does not directly concern her. Pius the Ninth shut up in the Vatican, Victor Emanuel residing at the Quirinal, Garibaldi as deputy sitting in Parliament, live quite apart from the people.

“ When formerly Pio Nono appeared outside the Vatican to bless the population, the Romans could see him occasionally, kneel to his benediction, and they might be able to refer not to an abstraction but to a person, the news, important or not, of the Pope ; just as once on a time they paid homage to their emperors, when bread was distributed to the populace, or invitations to the public games.

“ But now since the Pope has shut himself up, he is no longer seen, and naturally is forgotten. I cannot say,” added the duke, “whether Pio Nono will have a successor; perhaps, but this also will only be a fleeting shadow.

“Of course so ancient an institution as the Papacy cannot die and disappear in a clap of thunder; it must perish of gradual decline, like the Roman Empire. When Romulus Augustulus, the last Roman Emperor, expired in his Villa of Tiberius, his decease passed unnoticed; it is not even quite known how he died, and no one cared to investigate the cause of his death. This obscure fact was forgotten, because the Empire had so long been languishing of mortal decline that its tedious agony had wearied several generations. Thus, at the last moment, no attention was paid to the flickering of that flame which no longer served to illumine the old world, groping blindly about in the first darkness of the Middle Age.

“I foresee the day when in Rome the palace of the last Pope will excite the same popular curiosity as the mysterious abode of the Great Master of the Order of Malta, — once so powerful and glorious,— now simply a phantom! If the popes continue to live secluded, notwithstanding all the actual splendor of their voluntary prison in the Vatican, in the space of three or four generations, they will no longer, even in Rome, occupy or interest public attention. The Italians like to see and worship their idols at a near range, for we believe only in that which our senses perceive. The great Lama of Thibet, ever invisible, may still be believed in and adored from afar as a mystery; but when near — being concealed — he is often replaced, and may be an old man or a child, or may even not exist at all; and no one cares to inquire what he is or what has become of him!”

As we may see, a great truth is hidden in all this splendid ducal paradox. The decadence of the Papacy began from the moment in which it surrounded itself by a mundane court of cardinals. St. Bernard, St. Peter Damianus, St. Francis, Dante, Petrarch, St. Catherine of Siena, and Savonarola had, long before the Reformation, sounded an alarm to awaken the Church which thus sacrificed Christ’s religion to temporal dominion. St. Francis, more especially, in bringing back religion to its evangelical sources, saved Christianity in Italy.

The religion of St. Francis, born in Italy, fortified in the East, is the purest and most ingenuous expression of true Catholicism. In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries there was current a proverb which quaintly said, “Everywhere are to be found Florentines, sparrows, and Franciscan friars.” Ancient Florentine merchants and bankers have ceased to wander about the world, but the chattering sparrows still continue to chirp and multiply, and the missionaries of St. Francis still open their charitable embrace to sad and suffering souls in all corners of the world, everywhere showing the same spirit of gentleness, mercy, and fraternity, united to a real love of Italy.

I have met these good friars more or less everywhere during my long travels in the Holy Land, at the foot of the Himalayas, beyond the range of the Cordillera. All of them spoke the simple language of St. Francis, and the mention of dear, far-off Italy always filled their eyes with tears of regret, or brightened them with passionate desire. The Franciscan Order keeps aloof from politics, its sole mission being to serve Christ and, in his name, to love man and relieve all human misery.

The Franciscan friar is so familiar a feature of Italian soil, and so dear to my countrymen, that an Italian landscape without the silhouette of a brown-clad, sandaled Brother of St. Francis in it seems almost incomplete. And here I might add, that should the Papacy some day come to an end, Catholicism would still live on in Italy as long as it was represented by the Order of St. Francis.

Unhappily the same thing cannot be said in favor of the Spanish Order of the Jesuits, for, in spite of the name — Society of Jesus — conferred on it by its ardent founder Loyola, this order has always been far more political than religious. The sublime motto, Christus imperat, has only served the Jesuits as a banner, a means, to realize their Utopian dream of universal dominion.

Owing to their enormous riches, the Jesuits’ material force is immense, and it is just this wealth which, notwithstanding the fall of temporal power, still sustains the Vatican’s mundane court and semblance of state, but which, at the same time, creates a gilded cage for the Pope and keeps him prisoner in the hands of the Jesuits.

It would be a great mistake if, abroad, the work of the Jesuits — secretly conspiring under the shadow of the Vatican — were to be judged from what they really are and really accomplish in Asia or in America. I had occasion once, at Bombay, to have a long talk with a Jesuit bishop. His ideas about dogma were so advanced that I was quite surprised to find myself, on certain points, more orthodox than he. I have visited the Catholic Universities of Beirut in Syria, of Georgetown in the United States, and I found there enlightened professors who edified and charmed me. But the Jesuit residing in Rome is far less liberal, and his narrowness gives greater weight to religious half-terms than to the essence itself of religion, and becomes almost ferocious when a religious pretext is involved in a political cause.

Taken one by one, Jesuits in Rome and elsewhere seem inoffensive. Generally well-bred, well-educated men, they are often also virtuous, and live simple, pious lives. Among them, saints may sometimes be found. But they all obey one single rule and one discipline. In the Company of Jesus the individual counts for nothing; the Order is everything, and its political principles are far deeper grounded than its religious ones. Domination being its great aim and object, the chief thing it cares for is to dispose of large fortunes and numerous subjects, so as to exercise authority and be obeyed, to be rich and powerful.

Springing up about the same time as the Reformation, and seeing that ruin menaced the old edifice of the Church, the Society of Jesus turned all its efforts toward upholding the Papacy, —affirming its political prestige and the pomp of the Papal court, which the Spanish monarchy was well adapted to maintain.

To the Jesuits, the principal obstacle against Cardinal Sarto’s election — which was decided by some of the most enlightened members of the Sacred College, and amongst these by Cardinal Gibbons — was the great simplicity and humility of the Patriarch of Venice. It was feared that, as a humble peasant’s son, he would, by his simple way of living, diminish in part the magnificence of the Head of the Church. Thus the Jesuits assumed the task of watching over the pontifical education, and immediately placed near the Pope, as Secretary of State and Master of Ceremonies, a newly created Spanish cardinal. The modest country parish priest, raised to the throne of St. Peter, might very well in private life keep his rustic habits and tastes, as long as these were hidden from the public gaze under the regal robes of pontifical grandeur!

All this display of worldly luxury seems in flat contradiction to the legend of evangelical simplicity still diffused more easily afar off than near. But without the aid of this exterior decoration, how could pilgrims visiting Italy, and Rome, be persuaded that the Papacy still exists ?

What benefit does the population of Italy receive from the presence of the Head of the Church, if the Pope is compelled — even before his election — to renounce the joy of being the pastor of his flock, and to play before the world the part of a poor victim kept prisoner in the Vatican by a usurping power? In an eloquent article recently published by Mr. W. R. Thayer, a great friend of Italy, in the World’s Work — in which he notes the great progress which free Italy has made in these last thirty years — may be read a noble apology of the conduct of the Italian Government toward the Holy See.

This apology of an impartial and enlightened American relieves me of the trouble of insisting on the prudence and patience of which the first three kings of Italy and their ministers have given proof, in their attitude toward the implacable enemy to whom they not only conceded a legendary, and perhaps merited, prison, but the privilege of an inviolable fortress.

But if Italy as a political state can well do without the approbation, favor, and benediction of the Vatican, having clearly shown that she possesses sufficient vital strength to stand alone (in spite of this disturbing element within her), there is, beyond all others, a religious and moral question which ought to preoccupy and afflict us.

Though it was in Rome, in Italy, that Christianity was born for the Western world, yet Italy is perhaps the country, nowadays, that takes the least interest in religious questions; and the fault lies essentially with the Papacy and the clergy. For, notwithstanding the personal virtues of the last popes and many cardinals, the Vatican, which ought to be the first sublime inspirer and educator, exercises no direct or salutary influence on the Italian people. The Vatican no longer cares to govern human consciences, to reawake ardor of faith or religious enthusiasm. In consequence, the bishops and priests, obedient to instructions received from the Holy See, very rarely touch on spiritual matters, and are therefore inadequate to guide the souls of their flocks. And yet the lower clergy, no less than the more enlightened bishops, would be so eager for such spiritual manna!

The prestige of the Pope would still be very great, would he only confine his authority to holy things and to the gospel, and make his age march with God and in God’s name.

We saw recently the interest with which the Italian clergy of sincere faith took up the question of Christian Socialism, when the priests thought that Pope Leo XIII, backed by some of his cardinals, encouraged them in their new track. But this movement, under cover of a religious campaign, only hid once again a political game; and when a part, of the clergy, already engaged in this work of propagation, perceived this, they gradually cooled and fell off, losing interest in what might turn out to be more dangerous than useful. Just in the same way there would be, scattered over Italy, a great number of earnest - minded priests, able to render good service to the people, and ready to take a cordial part in public national life. If the Vatican would allow these priests, not only to vote, but to invoke the Holy Spirit’s inspiration on all good works, it would soon be seen that the lower clergy, always in contact with the masses, might still, by means of the parish priests, become a valuable spiritual guiding force.

Alas, the Vatican by its doctrine of Non expedit separates the pastors from their folds, fearing, perhaps, that the contact of the clergy with the democratic party might, in future elections, decoy the more enlightened members of the clergy from the Holy See and its anti-patriotic designs! Strange to say, the most virtuous and saintly bishops are not the most honored by the Papal court, which often condemns them to isolation.

Happily in our day, as in that of St. Francis, the religious spirit is not altogether confined to the narrow circle which radiates about the Holy See. The liberal and useful work of the priest Rosmini, the friend of Manzoni, though blamed by the Jesuits, and scarcely approved by the Vatican, was a holy work, and still perseveres in its luminous mission. Still another mission of useful goodness disdained by the Jesuits, but secretly encouraged and blessed by liberalminded Pius X, is that which at present inflames the patriotic zeal of two illustrious prelates, — Monsignori Bonomelli and Scalabrini, Bishops of Cremona and Piacenza, who have set themselves the noble task of educating and bettering — by their intelligent choice of ardent missionaries — the unhappy lot of the great wandering mass of Italian emigrants, seeking work in foreign lands. These worthy bishops have thus taken to heart the evangelical sense of the great prayer of Christianity, give us this day our daily bread, and,giving it a practical application, have distributed to those expatriated sons of Italy the bread of life, — the divine manna, which never satiates, but ever multiplies when divided, and serves to illuminate the sombre existence of the poor, exiled workman, opening to his wearied, homesick sight a consolatory vision of a future of heavenly rest and peace.