Prisoner of the Vatican

by David I. Kertzer

  "You know, Monsignor," said the baron, "that the Holy Father's cause is very dear to us. I can add that we were unhappy about the celebrations in Rome for Giordano Bruno." At this point, the nuncio no doubt had a good idea of what was to follow: "However we cannot do anything practical in favor of the Holy See. If the Bavarian government issued a protest against what was going on in Rome, the Italian government—which is very sensitive and possessive on this point—would create difficulties for us."

  The nuncio pointed out that as a Protestant, the baron might not fully appreciate the enormity of the offense done to the dignity of the holy pontiff. But he got nowhere. Maddeningly, the foreign minister told him to look on the bright side. "After all," he said, "public order was not disturbed. You have to admit this represents progress compared to what happened the night when the body of His Holiness Pius IX was taken to San Lorenzo."19

  Galimberti, in Vienna, feared that Rampolla would exploit the Catholics' anger over the ceremonies to build support for his plan to return the pope to power in Rome by destroying the Italian state. He wrote directly to the pope, again going around the secretary of state with the help of the pope's personal secretary. Written on the very day of the Bruno celebration, it told the pope that he faced a crucial choice. "There are two systems, or two programs. One of these takes as its supposition the need for the dissolution or dismemberment of what is now Italy. The other prefers the existence of a sensible, moderate Italy, which, in its own self-interest, recognizes the rights of the Holy See." The first school, Galimberti explained, "holds that Italian unity is incompatible with the real independence of the Holy See." The second, which, he pointed out, the German government supported, "believes the coexistence of the one with the other is possible." Using a somewhat ambiguous passive voice to avoid a direct attack on Rampolla, Galimberti added: "It is supposed that the influence that is currently dominant in the Vatican favors the first hypothesis." 20

  Rampolla's telegram of June 8 found a far more enthusiastic reception in Paris, where the papal nuncio immediately called in the archbishops of Paris, Lyon, and Bordeaux to tell them that it would be a great consolation to the Holy Father if they would send him a message of protest in their own names and in that of their archdioceses. This they did by telegram on the tenth. On the morning of the ninth, while the ceremonies for Bruno were still under way in Rome, the Paris nuncio met with the three main conservative leaders in France, a duke, a baron, and a count. Before he could speak, they told him that they had received "personal instructions" from Rampolla on the matter and had already sent telegrams of protest to the Vatican.

  The nuncio called in all of the bishops then in Paris to urge them to organize protests in their dioceses, but he was worried that he was missing those outside the capital. He wrote to the secretary of state, proposing that to remedy this problem he send a circular letter to all of France's bishops.

  Rampolla took this proposal to Leo, but the pontiff rejected it. The nuncios were to help prompt mass protests among Europe's Catholics, but it was important that they be viewed as spontaneous expressions of popular outrage, not as part of a campaign orchestrated by the Vatican.21

  Meanwhile, from Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and elsewhere, reports of Catholic protests poured in to the Vatican. A lone discordant note came from The Hague; the nuncio to the Netherlands wrote, sheepishly, that although he and his assistant had worked for over two hours, they had been unable to decipher Rampolla's coded telegram of June 8.22

  Finally, on the last day of the month, in an allocution to an assembly of cardinals, Leo spoke out publicly. His situation, he told them, had become intolerable; the hatred aimed at the Vicar of Christ was growing ever more dangerous. The Church's enemies, now in control in Rome, had sought to replace the pope with the champion of what they called the principle of freedom of thought, "but which is nothing other than the negation of God, of his Christ, of the morality embodied in the Gospels, and of all those religious principles on which civil society is based." The whole Catholic world, the pope lamented, was now forced to witness "the most profound humiliation of its Spiritual Head, and of its See, reinforced by the monument glorifying apostasy and impiety." Indeed, he warned, "Our own person is in danger." 23

  The Jesuits of Civiltà Cattolica saw the signs of God's wrath everywhere, publishing a long list of natural disasters that had swept Italy since the plans for Bruno's glorification had begun. "Has Bruno, beyond being what he was, become an evil omen, what in Naples they would call someone who gives the evil eye? One thing is indisputable: from the day that they began work on his monument, disasters of every kind—including floods, avalanches, hurricanes and the like—have brought desolation to the lands of many provinces."24

  It was time for the pope to reconsider his decision to stay in Rome. Perhaps the moment had come when, like Noah, he should sail away, only to return when God's enemies were vanquished.

  20. The Pope's Secret Plan

  FROM PRACTICALLY HIS FIRST DAYS on St. Peter's throne, Leo XIII turned time and again to the cardinals of the Curia to advise him on whether he should flee Rome, just as, year after year, he had his secretary of state put out feelers to various European governments to see which ones would agree to host him. Not surprisingly, the failure of his halting reconciliation efforts in the spring of 1887, and a series of events over the next two years culminating in the unveiling of the Bruno monument, led to yet another round of frenetic planning. But this time, many believed, the pope's threat to leave Rome was all too real.

  By late 1888, continued tensions in Europe had led to widespread expectations of war, including fears by Germany and Austria of a French-Russian attack on their borders. The continuing agitation in France, linked to the possibility of a monarchist revolt led by Boulanger against the republican government, further fueled fears that war was near. On December 6, Galimberti expressed his own worries: "The international situation grows ever more serious and threatening. It would take only a puff of air to blow open the gates of the temple of Mars, which have only recently been closed."1

  In response to the war fever, that same month Leo summoned two different groups of cardinals—including many of the major figures in the Church—to examine the question of leaving Rome once more. Again, they recommended against immediate flight but advised that if Italy were drawn into a European war—a prospect they viewed as both likely and imminent—he should leave at once. Yet they continued to worry that Italy's clergy might abandon him if he were to go. 2

  The cardinals warned that foreign governments could not be trusted. Should he flee, Leo risked finding himself even worse off. As one put it, "One could argue with certainty that the Holy Father, having taken refuge in a foreign state, far from finding that he had support for reclaiming his various rights there, would not even have the ability to communicate, nor still less that freedom of speech that is left to him in Rome."3

  Despite these dire predictions, the pope's fears of an imminent war and his sense of being under attack in Italy led him to make more detailed preparations for leaving Rome than he ever had before. Letters were prepared for all the cardinals who served as prefects of the Sacred Congregations that formed the central structure of the Holy See, telling them how to get ready for the pope's flight. Secrecy was tight. "It is the Holy Father's wish," Rampolla's cover letter informed them, "that while you will carefully follow those measures that are specified there and take them at the opportune time, you will guard these sheets with the greatest care so that they do not end up in any other hands and you will observe the greatest secrecy about them, for they are not to be communicated to anyone without prior pontifical authorization, under pain of major excommunication." It was not every day that a pope threatened the cardinals of the Curia with excommunication.

  Should the pope leave Rome, the cardinals were told, each of them was to join the pontiff "as soon as the place of the new pontifical residence is known, and without any need for further invitation." They were to bring only those offi
cials and aides whose presence was deemed indispensable for the proper functioning of their department.4

  Leo had another worry. "In case the Holy Father comes to be prevented by force from any communication with the Church, or is shut up in prison, or even deported," the papal instructions specified, "a special Congregation is to be established composed of no fewer than five cardinals." This body would act on the pope's behalf until he was again free. "Should the Holy Father be taken elsewhere by violence," Rampolla told them, "the cardinals resident in the Curia will decide ... whether it is better to follow the Holy Pontiff to the place of his deportation, or remain in Rome, or rather go to another country which is safer and freer. In any case, they will take care to always remain together and, so far as possible, close to the Holy Father."5

  If Leo was afflicted by anxieties about leaving Rome, Crispi was afflicted by an obsession of his own, seeing signs everywhere of a French-Vatican plot aimed at Italy. Crispi's wild accusations contributed mightily to the crisis atmosphere, unsettling not only Rome and Italy but the European powers as well. At one point in 1888, the Italian prime minister urged the British government to send a naval fleet to the Mediterranean to foil what he claimed was a plan by the French navy to launch an attack on Genoa. When the British sent their ships, at great expense, only to find that the report was based on nothing more than an unconfirmed rumor from a Vatican informant, they were not pleased. Although they appreciated Crispi's pro-British bent, they had long viewed him as a hothead, and now they secretly hoped he would be replaced before more damage was done. Nor does it appear that the leaders of Germany or Austria had much respect for him, although they were certainly pleased by his strong support of the Triple Alliance and his antipathy toward France. The previous fall Galimberti, in one of the letters he sent directly to the pope, reported: "Crispi is held in low esteem as both a politician and a diplomat. They laugh constantly at him in Berlin and Vienna."6

  Papal flight, in Crispi's estimation, was a crucial part of the larger French designs for war secretly backed by the Vatican. In June 1889, just a few days after the Bruno dedication, Crispi wrote himself a note about the suspicious activities of France's ambassador to the Vatican, Béhaine. After a flurry of meetings with Cardinal Rampolla and two additional meetings with the pope, the French ambassador, Crispi wrote, had hastened off to Paris. Something big was afoot. He was sure of it.

  A few days later, he sent an urgent telegram to his ambassador in the French capital. "In Paris," Crispi told him, "they are now in the midst of negotiating a pact between the Holy See and the Government of the [French] Republic in which, under certain conditions, France promises to bring back temporal power."7

  On June 15, with Béhaine still in Paris, his chargé d'affaires, Monbel, had the honor of a private audience with the pope. Monbel's report to Paris reveals how misplaced were Crispi's fears. "The pope has no illusion about the help that can come to him from foreign governments," Monbel wrote. "Austria is tied to Germany and to Italy. Spain is absorbed by domestic matters. For its part, France, threatened by two enemies at the same time, can do no more than make token protests on behalf of the Holy See. The pope is therefore isolated, but he is nonetheless resolved to resist and to do everything he can."

  Their conversation then turned to the question of the pope's abandonment of Rome. It was Monbel who brought the subject up, referring to news accounts about the archbishop of Barcelona's recent offer of refuge for the pontiff. "The Holy Father," the French envoy wrote, "assures me that it is not his intention to leave Rome at the present, and that he learned of the offer of a residence in Barcelona only from the newspapers."

  "But, if the necessity of departure arises," Leo hastened to add, "I believe I will have an embarrassment of choices. Spain would certainly receive me with enthusiasm. Austria, for its part, has offered me hospitality, as have Switzerland and Belgium. And who knows?" he said. "Perhaps France, in the midst of all this solicitude, would not think it beneath itself to give me shelter there."

  Revealingly, in reporting this pointed question, Monbel recalled: "I was unable to respond positively."8

  Throughout the summer, rumors of the pope's imminent departure spread rapidly, with the Catholic press using the threat to push its own intransigent message. Civiltà Cattolica went so far as to attribute the recent uncertainty in Rome's stock exchange to "the fear that the Holy Father has already decided, in the extraordinary meeting of the cardinals in the Vatican, to leave Rome." These suspicions were heightened by the outpouring of new offers by various cities and archbishops to welcome the pope: from Malta to Barcelona, Grenada, Seville, and Majorca in Spain to Auch in southwest France.9

  Monbel's reports to Paris in early July reveal that the French too were increasingly worried that the pope was about to leave. "I have been convinced," Monbel wrote on July 6, "by the conversations that I have had in recent days with various people of the real importance that must be attributed to the rumors of the pope's departure." He explained: "The likelihood of a European war—which is viewed at St. Peter's as very great and would pit the French against the Italians—along with the recent language of the Italian prime minister, who is doing his best to portray the Vatican as continually conspiring with France against Italy, has led to extreme anxiety." In order to prepare for such an eventuality, Monbel wrote, the Holy See was working feverishly to find the pope a place of refuge. "I have every reason to believe," he added, "that the Sovereign Pontiff's preferences are directed toward Spain." 10

  Monbel followed this brief message with a much longer letter the following day, marked "Confidential. On the Pope's departure." It heralded a new stage in the discussion of the pope's plans.

  When he had first heard of the pope's secret meeting with the cardinals the previous week, Monbel wrote, he thought that the threats of leaving had been made simply "to give more weight to the Holy Father's complaints, and to excite the interest of the Catholic world in the papacy's situation." This had been the previous pattern. So often had the Vatican brandished such threats that people had become inured to them. But, Monbel reported, things had taken an unexpected turn. "The language that Cardinal Rampolla has used with me, in two consecutive audiences, allows no doubt that this issue of the departure from Rome—so often dropped and then taken up again—has today assumed great seriousness."

  "The pope has been forced into the most painful of situations," Rampolla had told him. "After the Giordano Bruno demonstrations, the most slanderous and hurtful words possible for the Holy Father have suddenly been coming from as high up as the Senate gallery, portraying the pope as a personal enemy of Italy, conspiring against it with France. They are duplicitously interpreting each of his acts in a way designed to excite the Italians' hatred."

  "The cardinal," Monbel recounted, "finished, in a bout of melancholy, by leaving me to understand that, in his opinion, the struggle between the monarchy and the papacy was uneven, and that the papacy would, over time, lose what prestige remained to it if it agreed to continue to suffer the humiliations that it had come to be subjected to." From Rampolla's perspective, Monbel concluded, "departure had been imposed on them for more than one reason, including the good of the Church, the most important consideration after that of the personal security of Leo XIII himself."

  The French envoy had himself now become convinced that it would be best for the pope to flee. "Necessity," he wrote, "does not allow the pope any other choice than what his secretary of state has in mind. Under the current circumstances, Spain alone can offer the head of Catholicism a safe shelter, for it is assumed that Spain will remain neutral in the European conflict and that its climate, better than others, is most agreeable given the Holy Father's age and health."

  Monbel's efforts to determine how far the Vatican's discussions with Spain had gone led him to the Spanish chargé d'affaires, who claimed to know nothing of any negotiations. But he did not allay the French envoy's suspicions, for he found out that the Spanish ambassador to the Holy See had recently
been recalled to Madrid for confidential discussions with his government. And, in response to Monbel's queries, the chargé d'affaires admitted that Cardinal Rampolla had, not long before, asked him which of the Spanish crown's palaces would be most suitable for a papal residence.11

  Alarmed, but also excited, Monbel sought out friendly cardinals to help him piece together what was going on. He first spoke to Cardinal Placido Schiaffino, a fifty-nine-year-old Benedictine monk who, although Monbel did not know it, had served with one of the pope's secret groups of advisers on the question of leaving Rome. Schiaffino, Monbel wrote, saw things the same way Rampolla did. The situation was unstable. The pope's life was in danger, and members of the Sacred College could not walk down Rome's streets without being insulted and threatened. "His Eminence," Monbel reported, "gave me the impression that he believed that war would break out soon, at the latest by October." Little time was left for the pope to make his escape.

  Of the cardinals Monbel spoke to, none was more influential than Lucido Parocchi. Cardinal vicar of Rome since 1884—a post he would hold for fifteen years—Parocchi was trusted by Leo, who had also appointed him to the prestigious position that he himself had occupied before becoming pontiff: chamberlain of the Sacred College of Cardinals.

  Cardinal Parocchi, it turned out, was not only urging the pope to depart but was also making clear his displeasure that the pope had so often threatened to leave without ever following through.

  "There are things that one does and of which one does not speak," the cardinal vicar told the French envoy. "The pope has, besides, many reasons for leaving Rome." Cast as Italy's enemy, in league with a hostile foreign power, Leo was already a prisoner. True, the pope's departure would, at least in the short run, be disastrous for Italy. But, Parocchi insisted, the Church's cause must come first: