Prisoner of the Vatican (26 page)

As pope, Pecci would show the clear signs of his aristocratic upbringing, holding himself at some distance from the faithful. An American observer, the wife of a French statesman who was able to observe both Leo and his predecessor closely, noted the differences between the two men: Pius, she wrote, "had a kind, gentle face (a twinkle, too, in his eyes), and was always so fond of children and young people. The contrast between him and his successor is most striking. Leo XIII is tall, slight, hardly anything earthly about him—the type of the intellectual, ascetic priest—all his will and energy shining out of his eyes, which are extraordinarily bright and keen for a man of his age." Leo's ascetic image was underscored by his modest diet, which contrasted with Pius's love of a hearty meal and his taste for a good cigar. It was only with great reluctance that as Pius aged, at his doctors' urging, he had given up his beloved fried foods.
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A firm supporter of papal infallibility at the Vatican Council, Leo instinctively felt most comfortable with top-down rule. As George Weigel, an American Catholic theologian, put it, "He had no theoretical quarrel with democracy and was quite open to its merits. However, he could not be a democrat because his life was formed by a different vision. Leo showed love for the people, but he did not trust them. For him the people must be taken care of, but they are too immature and too undisciplined to rule." Weigel added, "He definitely wanted government for the people, but it is doubtful if he wanted government by the people." Or, as a French observer noted at the time, "Leo XIII is more concerned about gaining the friendship of the powerful than the enthusiasm of the masses." Although in some ways Pecci was a man of modern times, it is telling that among his heroes was Innocent III, the thirteenth-century avatar of medieval theocracy.
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Finding himself in the difficult position of replacing a man who had become an object of adulation in large sectors of the Catholic world, Leo suffered from the comparisons that inevitably greeted him during his first years as pope. Henri des Houx, an intransigent French journalist, put it this way in his memoirs: "Pius IX seemed to speak to the affection, zeal, devotion, enthusiasm of the Catholic people ... For Leo XIII, diplomacy is the master science, the supreme art, and, if the ambassadors are happy, he thinks the Church is saved." For all that Pius was spontaneous, apt to say what he thought, Leo was closed, spoke with great care, and avoided leaving any direct written evidence of his private thoughts.
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Since the beginning of the conclave, the Italian authorities had stationed an army squadron in St. Peter's Square. Carabinieri on horseback and a squad of cavalry patrolled the external walls of the Vatican, with orders to prevent any demonstrations. Large numbers of the curious milled around on the nineteenth, only to be disappointed to watch the black smoke rising from the chimney of the Sistine Chapel. The smoke came from the burning of the ballots, which, in the case of those that failed to produce a majority, were mixed with damp straw to blacken the wisp of smoke that was visible. But following the vote on the twentieth, as white smoke rose from the chimney, the bells of St. Peter's rang out to let all of Rome know that a new pope had been elected. Church bells throughout the city soon joined them.

Hearing the chimes, an enormous crowd rushed to St. Peter's Square, hoping to receive a blessing from the new pontiff, following a tradition whereby the new pope appeared at a balcony overlooking the square to give his first benediction to the people. No one was sure what the new pope would do. Pius IX, proclaiming himself a prisoner, had refused to make such public appearances. For Leo XIII it was a crucial decision, with little time for the kind of careful deliberation he preferred. Not to follow the tradition would mean embracing the claim that he was a prisoner. It would not only send out a powerful message to the world's Catholics and governments but would also disappoint the many thousands of Romans who had gathered. But could he so abruptly repudiate the stance that Pius had so tenaciously clung to?

Giuseppe Manfroni, the Italian police official in charge of Vatican surveillance, recounted that the new pope waited until the last minute to decide. The intransigents warned him against appearing, while the moderates urged him to observe tradition and not, in his first act as pope, proclaim himself a prisoner. According to Manfroni's sources—which remain unconfirmed—the pope decided that if the Italian government ordered the customary firing of the cannons of the nearby Sant'Angelo Castle to celebrate his election, he would reciprocate by appearing on the balcony. But the cannons remained silent, and after hours of waiting, the pope proceeded into St. Peter's basilica, where he blessed those gathered inside.
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Rome's diplomatic corps hurriedly sent word home of the conclave's selection, along with their first impressions. The new pontiff, wrote France's ambassador to Italy, was known for "his strength of character, love of order, and understanding of world affairs." Pecci had demonstrated his efficiency in the work he had done as chamberlain. "His orders are precise and he insists that they be carried out without delay. It is said that he loves all of the Church's pomp and its major ceremonies." Even Léon Gambetta, a towering figure of the French republican left and not fond of the Church's power, held out hopes: "This Italian, more a diplomat than a priest ... seems to me to be a very good omen ... If he doesn't die too early, we can hope to see a marriage of reason with the Church ... He is a holy opportunist." Those who caught sight of him for the first time as he gave his blessing inside St. Peter's, wrote one observer, "saw a tall old man, surprisingly thin, with a waxen pallor, but having a vast and prominent forehead, thin lips, and extremely lively eyes."
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If those in the Vatican were offended that the Italian government was not doing more to pay homage to the new pope—the government's official bulletin refused even to mention his election—the anticlerical press was blasting Crispi for what it viewed as the excessive deference being shown the Holy See. The police had torn down public notices of planned demonstrations against the law of guarantees, and all anticlerical demonstrations were banned, as were all public gatherings deemed likely to offend Vatican sensibilities.
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But throughout the country the anticlerical forces were aroused. On February 24, before Leo's coronation, Rome's anticlerics succeeded in having a public meeting in a theater. Billed as a gathering of those opposed to the law of guarantees, it was justified to the police on the grounds that it was not a public but a private, invitation-only affair. Yet invitations were not hard to come by: tickets were given out freely in sympathetic bars and cafés.
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The meeting was called to order at noon. Among the dignitaries on the dais sat Giovanni Bovio, a champion of the extreme left in parliament. The first three speakers aimed their attacks at the law of guarantees and the government that enforced it. But the fourth speaker went further. "I spit on this putrefied cadaver that is the papacy," he thundered. Some applauded enthusiastically, but others seemed a bit uneasy. "Those who made the law of guarantees are enemies of the fatherland. We protest against the Vatican, but we protest as well against those who have made themselves their accomplices in wanting to maintain a state within a state in Italy." The orator concluded with a seditious call: "The monarchy and the papacy are in cahoots. We must kill off one to kill off the other!"

Next to speak was Bovio, who began by denouncing the Italian government for keeping parliament closed during the conclave to avoid risking any remarks being made that might offend the Vatican. "What servility!" he cried. "But the Vatican has one thing right, for it has posed the choice very clearly: either everything or nothing ... Conciliation of Church and State is impossible, because it is impossible to reconcile faith with intelligence." Today, concluded Bovio, was a historic day, because it was the day that everyone in Europe would be put on notice that "the people of Rome, gathered at the Corea amphitheater, demanded the separation of Church and State, proclaimed the principle of freedom of conscience, and protested against the government's servility toward the enemies of the fatherland." The gathering ended with a vote in favor of ending the law of guarantees. Although some hotheads called for blowing up the Vatican, the meeting ended peacefully.
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Meanwhile, final arrangements were being made at the Vatican for the pope's coronation. Leo had initially given orders to prepare St. Peter's basilica for the ceremonies, and scores of workers labored hurriedly to set up the special platform and stands. An emissary was sent to speak with Manfroni about how Italian soldiers might protect those inside the basilica. It was a delicate topic for the Vatican, and the monsignor charged with the negotiations insisted that the Vatican's request be kept secret. But on March 2, just two days before the coronation, Manfroni learned—to his consternation—that the workers in St. Peter's had been ordered to dismantle everything they had just built. Someone—Manfroni speculated that it was one of the intransigents of the Curia—had leaked news to the press of the Vatican's request for Italian soldiers in St. Peter's, and the new pope, embarrassed, had immediately canceled plans to hold the ceremonies there. The rites would instead be held in the Sistine Chapel, with only the diplomatic corps, Church dignitaries, Roman noblemen, and a few other invitees attending.

If the coronation itself was not to be held in public in St. Peter's, Manfroni hoped that the pope would at least come to an internal balcony of the basilica immediately after the ceremonies in order to bless the crowd inside. Although the pope planned to do just that, and thirty thousand people crowded inside to receive his blessing, at the last minute he changed his mind. Immediately after the coronation ceremonies, Leo sent an observer to the basilica to size up the crowd and learned that the situation was too dangerous. But what the pope had not realized, Manfroni later complained, was that Italian police were scattered throughout the massive church and had the situation well in hand. "At the side of every fanatic, for or against, were police agents, ready to stop any intemperances, whether red or black."
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Rome's streets that night reverberated with anticlerical shouts. A crowd of thousands gathered outside the home of one of the city's foremost Catholic aristocrats, angered by the lights and decorations he had placed on the palace façade to celebrate the pope's inauguration. Perhaps a hundred, shouting "Long live Italy!" and "Down with the priests!" and "Down with the guarantees!," began to throw rocks at the palace's windows and lanterns. The police finally succeeded in dispersing them, arresting six young men.
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Such was Leo XIII's first night as pope.

O
N TAKING ST. PETER'S THRONE
, Leo XIII was something of an enigma, both to the public at large and within the Church itself. Fears that he might try to make a deal with the Italian state coursed through many an intransigent's veins. At the same time, Europe's diplomatic community held its breath, hoping that the new pope might depart from his predecessor's path and find a way to reconcile the Church with modern times and make peace with Italy.

Five days after the conclave ended, the French ambassador to the Holy See advised his government that Leo XIII was a man who combined "prudence and firmness."
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The question, he said, was where this prudence would lead. Would the new pope be afraid to alienate the conservatives in the Curia, or would he see the need to be bold? The pontiff's first allocution, pronounced to a gathering of cardinals within a month of his coronation, gave liberals some hope. In contrast to his predecessor, he had devoted but a single sentence to protesting the loss of temporal power. "That Leo XIII could explicitly renounce temporal power, and immediately, and without even any sign of protest, no one could expect," wrote the Italian police inspector, Manfroni. But "milder, more bland than this, his protest couldn't be."
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If this was a trial balloon for the pope, it was soon punctured, for so loud was the indignation of the Church intransigents at the thought that he would change course that he quickly decided to take a step back.
L'Osservatore Romano
put out a series of articles insisting that the pope was committed to regaining temporal power. To demonstrate Leo's long-standing devotion to this principle, the Vatican daily republished a pastoral letter that he had sent to his diocese in Perugia in 1860. The letter concluded: "To take away the pope's temporal power is to wish to make his exercise of spiritual power impossible." The French envoy to the Holy See, in reporting these developments to Paris, noted that it had been the secretary of state who had, on orders from the pope himself, instructed the Vatican newspaper to reprint his earlier remarks.
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Although the Jesuits of
Civiltà Cattolica
harbored deep doubts of their own about the new pope, they quickly joined in the chorus of Vatican protestations: "Hardly had the new Pontiff Leo XIII sat on Peter's throne than the liberal press began to spread confusion with its tales of a new direction," the Jesuit journal reported in late April 1878. "It kept repeating that the new pope, given his great intelligence, breeding, his knowledge of world conditions, and especially his moderate and pacific temperament, would reconcile himself to the century, would infuse new life into Catholicism and recognize the justice of the conquests of the modern State." But all these foolish speculations, the journal continued, had been shown to be groundless: "The fact is that the liberals—Jews and non-Jews—would like the pope to stop these protests, to be able to say that finally the Holy See relinquishes any right to temporal power ... But it is one thing to act like an ass, and another the ass's driver." A few months later, still exercised about accounts in the press of the new pope's interest in reconciliation, the journal reported: "Despite the solemn denials they have received, not only from
L'Osservatore Romano
but also and principally from the pope's Encyclical, his allocutions, and by His Holiness's own actions, they persist in spreading fables to bolster their mendacious deception that, were he free to do what he liked, free from the pressure of
the intransigents,
he would easily and happily come to an agreement with the government."
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