In 1814 Napoleon was overthrown and exiled to Elba, the Pope returned to Rome, Catholic kings returned to Paris and Madrid and Naples and Turin, exiled bishops or priests poured back into their homelands. For a hundred days of 1815 Napoleon returned to France and the French king fled again from Paris and the Pope fled again, this time to Genoa.
The Decline of Catholic Political Power
In the air was the feeling of Restoration, of a return to a due order and right which existed before the Revolution. But the Catholic Church of 1815 could not resemble the Catholic Church of twenty years before.
Napoleon was overthrown by the armies of Prussia, Russia, Austria, and Britain. Of these victor powers only one was Catholic.
The first change in the place of the Catholic Church was the failure to make good the political losses of the revolutionary years. The balance of power shifted.
Before the Revolution the great powers of Europe were Britain, France, Austria, and Spain with its vast overseas empire in the Americas: three Catholic powers and one Protestant. In addition Poland was a Catholic country, the southern Netherlands (Belgium) was ruled by Catholic Austria, much of the Rhineland was ruled by Catholic archbishops, and Portugal had another vast overseas empire.
Now the great powers were Britain, Austria, Prussia, and Russia; one Catholic power to three non-Catholic. France lay defeated and weak; Spain lost its empire and was a power no longer; Prussia, already formidable in the eighteenth century, gained vastly by its new lands in west Germany; Russia, already formidable in the eighteenth century, entered Europe; Britain won a new empire. Poland ceased to exist, and a majority of Poles lived under non-Catholic rulers; the southern Netherlands (Belgium) was placed under the Protestant king of Holland; the Rhineland archbishops lost their secular princedoms and were nothing but archbishops. And across the ocean a new power, the United States, Protestant in feeling and in its leaders, ceased to be negligible.
Nobody won the wars of religion in the seventeenth century. Those wars left Europe divided, about equally, between Protestant forces and Catholic forces, each too strong to be destroyed by the other. Without meaning to end the Counter-Reformation, Napoleon overthrew the settlement inherited from the wars of religion and left a new Europe in which Protestants were politically far stronger than Catholics. Popes were less weighty to the cabinets because decisions taken in Berlin or Moscow now did more among the nations than decisions taken in Madrid.
The statesmen and kings who handled religious restoration most intelligently were Catholics with a touch of that detached scepticism or criticism learnt in the Catholic Enlightenment of the eighteenth century—Metternich, Cardinal Consalvi, King Louis XVIII of France who did all he could to restrain ultras. Where a political leader believed passionately in the union of throne and altar, and threw himself into religion as a political as well as a religious act, it was a sure recipe for calamity. King Ferdinand VII of Spain was one, King Charles X who (1824) succeeded Louis XVIII on the throne of France, was another. When Charles was crowned at Rheims cathedral, post-revolutionary France was astonished and not edified to hear that all the medieval rites were revived, anointings, prostrations like an ordinand. It looked like, and was, an anachronism, a conscious return to the age of St. Louis, a medievalism which only raised contempt among the French bourgeois.
Europe turned the Austrian chancellor Metternich into a symbol of that age. He was not one of those dangerous romantics who fancied that they could conjure a vanished past. He was impresario at Vienna when the successful peace of 1814-15 was drafted; then helped to design the Holy Alliance (Austria, Russia, Prussia) which agreed on an international authority to suppress revolution and prevent anarchy, but which both Britain and the Pope refused to join formally; presided over the maintenance of the Vienna settlement in divided Italy, helping to suppress revolutions in Naples and the Papal States.
The kings reconstructed Europe to assure peace and prevent more revolutionary war. Catholic leaders wanted to use the occasion to seek to construct, rather than reconstruct, a more Christian society.
Inevitably their idea of a Christian society took nearly all its content from the political right. They reacted against revolution, therefore against every Catholic who co-operated with revolution. New bishops (so few bishops survived that most bishops were new) were chosen from men who resisted revolution. This principle excluded most middle-aged clergymen. A bishop must be either so old that he had been driven out by revolution, or so young that he had not had to face compromise with revolution. Only old men or young men could be elected. To be against democracy was almost compulsory, to be against constitutional government was fashionable. That Pope Pius VII himself, when Cardinal Chiaramonti, preached harmony between Christianity and liberty, was concealed. The central idea of reconstruction was that of order; a just society, made just by a Catholic ruler with power, advised by popes and bishops whose advice needed to be taken because their privileges within the State were restored. Nothing was worse than social disorder.
Metternich was a rational upper-class Catholic of the eighteenth century. He went to mass regularly, especially later in life, fulfilled his religious duties precisely, read his Bible in Luther's translation, and for a man of his calling was well read in theology. But he had no enthusiasm, despised devout Catholics in the religious revival as obscurantist, shared none of that spirit which later came to be known as political romanticism, regretted new high-flown theorists of papal power, disliked Catholics who wished to marry their faith to liberalism but hated political-Catholic extremists, regarded all mystics as fanatics, and shared not at all in the theory Of the Necessity of a Theological Foundation for the Idea of the State. This last was the title of a book of 1820 by the Austrian philosopher Adam Müller, who was a leading theorist of 'political romanticism' and taught that the external unity of society rested upon the inner unity of faith.
Nevertheless Metternich also believed the Catholic Church to be the cement of society. Protestantism he identified with anarchy, Catholicism with order. Though he distrusted Jesuits, he ruefully admired their founder and his organization as the key to stability; order, discipline, obedience. Slowly Metternich came to take a religious view of his vocation, to be protector of order in Europe, an 'apostle' to conserve the better traditions of the past, at times even an instrument of God for these purposes. Society was a pyramid from Emperor to peasant, the Church was a pyramid from Pope to simple worshipper. Catholic religion was the surest defence of a state against anarchy.
In his outlook was a contradiction which he never quite succeeded in reconciling. As a man of the eighteenth century he inherited the Josephist tradition. The general seminaries had disappeared, but government still maintained controls over Church affairs and communications with Rome.
Metternich was no man to abandon these controls which he thought to be necessary to good government. Yet he lived and ruled in a Catholic age where more men resented these controls, and associated them with Jansenism, and suspected Jansenism of contributing to the weakness of the Church in the Revolution. Metternich wanted Catholicism as the bond of the State, and much of the Catholicism round him was no longer Josephist in its ideas. From about 1830 he slowly turned away from the Josephist tradition. But he never abandoned it, and all his life the contradiction remained.
This political calculator wished to avoid extremism of every sort. Therefore he needed despots who behaved more moderately than the despots in Naples or Madrid were capable of behaving. He wanted the cardinals to elect moderate Popes—not liberal Popes, which he fancied an impossibility, but Popes who exercised supreme power with discretion. The veto at papal elections still existed and was used. But like his predecessors Metternich hated to use it, and therefore could not stop Popes being elected who had more zeal than he liked.
He was at last a dilettante, who saw his only duty as the need to protect the past, and had nothing creative in his soul. He had much common sense, but no passion, little energy, and no imagination. The Roman Catholic world after the Revolution was full of passion, which he could not understand. He was complacent, and never realized how he outlived both the Europe of his past and the Church which he needed.
The Age of the Concordats
The word Restoration bore only a very partial truth in the Roman Catholic Church.
First, no Holy Roman Empire remembered the heritage of Catholic Christendom. No Holy Roman Empire protected prince-bishops and abbeys in Germany. The secularization of 1803 was never undone. Physically and politically the Catholic Church of Germany was far weaker. Germany could now be seen to be in majority a powerful Protestant country. Pope Pius VII and other Catholic leaders wanted the prince-bishops to live again, but had no eagerness in this desire, and saw that to remake them was impossible.
Secondly, the old privileges which the Church possessed and which Josephists and Jansenists tried to whittle away, were now gone. Few tried to revive the rights of sanctuary. Exemptions where they remained were much less important. Church lands and property retained or recovered charitable status, but were liable to large levies for national purposes.
Jansenism was dead, or looked as though it was dead. But Josephism was not. In Austria the State continued to exercise the controls on which Joseph II had insisted. And the Revolution had made it easier for other states to acquire further control. By stopping the work of the Roman Curia governments stepped into its place. When the Roman Curia was revived, it found itself negotiating with every Catholic government in the effort to get back a minimum of its old rights. The first decades after 1815 saw not the reversal of the State controls sought by the eighteenth century but their expansion.
It was called the Age of Concordats; agreements between Rome and a government, including the redesigning of dioceses, the admission that the Church had endowments and freedom, the contrary admission that the State had controls; Concordat with Austria attempted but failing, Concordat with France attempted and agreed but at last failing, Concordat with Bavaria 1817, Concordat with Naples 1818, Concordat with Hanover attempted but failing, Concordat (though not so called) with Prussia in 1821. Though this is called the Age of the Concordats, few Concordats were actually agreed; the reorganization mostly went on by piecemeal agreements.
Whether the agreements were enshrined in a general Concordat or a series of smaller measures, they marked a general increase of State control.
Let us take the 1818 Concordat with Naples.
All the immunities were abolished—sanctuary, benefit of clergy, clergymen were not even exempted from conscription. Divorce and Church offences were left under Church courts but heresy(!), polygamy, sacrilege came into secular courts. Bishops' prisons were abolished but bishops might still send delinquent clergy to monasteries. The Church recognized that land alienated during the Revolution was alienated for ever, and that ex-monks who drew pensions and had no desire to return to monasteries should be left in peace with their pensions.
The State agreed to restore all property that had not been alienated and entrusted the resulting fund to a commission part ecclesiastical and part State. It was agreed (conservatively but foolishly) that every diocese should have a seminary. The laws on mortmain were abolished—the State hardly needed them since far less land belonged to the Church. Anyone who had a certificate from his provincial government might be ordained—the State hardly needed to control numbers of ordinations because they were now fewer. Article 28 allowed the crown to nominate all bishops. The chapters (where restored) were appointed by Pope or bishop but on the recommendation or sanction of government. Bishops appointed parish priests. 1
Steadily the states' rights to choose bishops was further recognized. In 1829 Pope Pius VIII, considering the Duke of Modena's work to improve endowments, allowed him henceforth to choose bishops and canons. 2 The plea was precisely the same as in proprietary churches of the early Middle Ages. Endowments vanished in the Revolution. In return for getting some of them back, governments asked for the right of appointment.
They did more than ask to appoint bishops. They kept insisting. Austria acquired the old prince-bishopric of Salzburg. The Emperor insisted that he choose the archbishop, and the bishop in the Tyrol. Rome argued for two years but gave way. The Emperor insisted that he appoint the bishops to the Austrian possessions in north Italy. Rome argued longer and louder, but ended by giving way. In consequence nearly all the bishops of north Italy now had German as their native tongue.
The Bavarian Concordat makes another example. This was quickly (24 October 1817) agreed with Rome. It conceded to Rome many important rights, the freedom of bishops to communicate with Rome, the security of endowments, the reopening and re-endowment of certain monasteries, a seminary in each diocese, wide rights in education, and strong rights for bishops in censoring books. Protestant Germany regarded this Concordat as a calamity, a return to 'medieval' privileges for the Church. Catholic enthusiasts saw it as a triumph. Certainly it was a sign of friendlier attitudes towards Rome during the age of Restoration.
But the government of Bavaria gained compensations. It won from Rome an archbishopric at the capital Munich, to which the historic see of Freising was transferred; the right to nominate to bishoprics and prebends —a weighty compensation because this royal right had no justification from the past; and the recognition that the lands alienated in the secularization were alienated for ever.
Rome silently accepted the toleration accorded to the now large Protestant population in Bavaria. Rome under Pius VII and Cardinal Consalvi was right to concede. It was a paradox. State power in religion was suspect if not disreputable; for it was thought to be part of that structure of ancien régime which led towards revolution. Catholic clergymen, or many of them, distrusted State power more in 1816 than in 1789. Yet the age of Restoration saw State power in continuous growth.
The reason was simple. A revived Pope saw all about him a devastated Church—empty sees, obsolete dioceses, closed monasteries, lost endowments, maimed chapters, few seminaries. The Church could only be rebuilt with the aid and consent of friendly governments. These governments, however friendly, exacted large payments for their services.
Whether the government was Catholic or Protestant hardly mattered. Many cardinals doubted whether a Concordat with a Protestant sovereign could ever be right. In return for his services the Protestant Prussian king claimed to choose Catholic bishops. Rome refused, and then (1821) allowed him a veto on the choice by chapters. Unpalatable necessity forced him if the devastated churches were to recover. Protestant king or no, two-fifths of his subjects, Poles and Rhinelanders, were now Catholics.
Suddenly the Prussian ambassador in Rome was weightier. From 1815 he was the historian Niebuhr, a learned, fair-minded, and tolerant Protestant, who fancied the papacy to be dying but respected Pius VII; and who (1819) was allowed to hold regular Protestant worship at the Prussian embassy—the first Protestant service to be permitted within the Papal States, unthinkable thirty years earlier. Catholics growing more hostile to State interference in the Church, states gaining of necessity more rights to interfere—this contrast was a seed of the ultramontane movement of the nineteenth century.
Spain and the Reaction
Girondins and Jacobins in Paris, and later the Directory, gave the world the conviction that revolution went hand in hand with irreligion and so religion was part of a right social order.
Experience of revolution made for extremism. The children of revolution were not by temperament moderates.
To see Catholic reaction in an extreme form it is necessary to look to Spain.
King Ferdinand VII was a worthless man with no idea how to rule. He returned to head the most undiscriminating political reaction in all Europe. His agents hunted down not only Spanish allies of the French invader, which was to be expected after such savage fighting, but Spaniards who had stood at the core of resistance to the French, and whose crime consisted in their service to the liberal majority in the Cortes of Cadiz during the war. In Majorca's rejoicings at the Restoration, festivities which lasted for months, Father Ferrer went through the streets in a cart on which he mounted a brazier and a dustbin, and at the head of a mob raided the book-shelves in the houses of liberals. 3 The mood was like that of liberated France in 1944, as it murdered or shaved the heads of those accused of co-operating with Germans.
The new-found hopes of Catholic leaders rested upon sentiments deeper than a temporary reaction of politics. The Revolution showed that the Church was too strong to be overthrown because it had the backing of the masses. The memory of the Sanfedists was alive, and remained potent all the nineteenth century. This feeling slowly altered the links between churchmen and society. Under the ancien régime the work of Pope and cardinals consisted in getting comfortable with the crowned heads of Europe. That work continued unceasingly. But now it had a new outlook; which came from the doubt whether getting on with the mass of the faithful was more important than negotiating with princes, and whether the princes were now so necessary to fruitful work by the Church. Already we see the first signs that a Pope might think it possible to appeal to the people against their masters; which was an attitude not to be reconciled in the long run with the doctrines of altar-and-throne. In the short run it encouraged Catholic leaders to be more reactionary because their peasants resented not only the devastations but the middle-class governments of the revolutionary years, and longed for king and Church. 'Black Spain' triumphed as a political reaction in 1814-15 on a popular wave of emotion which Italy would have called Sanfedism. King Ferdinand VII, though less attractive and less competent and more vindictive than Cardinal Ruffo the Sanfedist generalissimo, resembled Ruffo in being seen by peasants as a commander for the army of the true faith.
A majority of churchmen—how large a majority is not certain—supported Ferdinand, who believed that he needed and used the Church to keep his people in proper subjection. Rafael de Vélez, guardian-general of the Capuchins in Andalusia, was made Bishop of Ceuta, and published at Madrid (1818) The Apology for Altar and Throne. This book made vocal all the perfervid mood of Catholic politics on the right wing, and stands close to the origins of that reactionary tradition of Spanish politics which was powerful for the next century and a half.
Ferdinand revived the Inquisition. The liberal Cortes of Cadiz abolished the Inquisition, its deeds were null, the court must be restored. Moreover the Spanish people, contrary to a common opinion, had in majority liked to have an Inquisition as the protector of their faith and safety. During the last years before the Revolution its power grew almost nominal. Therefore, just as Rome restored Jesuits not because it needed Jesuits for practical purposes but for the sake of undoing the past, Ferdinand restored the Inquisition to symbolize the repudiation of the immediate past, especially of the Cortes of Cadiz. So far as the revival had a conscious purpose, it was less doctrinal and more political than the old court. The menace now was believed to be the political radical, not the Jansenist, though an author like Vélez used the word Jansenist as though it meant revolutionary.
The concursus in the diocese of Toledo, held in the archbishop's palace in the autumn of 1825, shows a change. The outer appearance was much the same as thirty years before, the form of examination, the kind of examiner, the sort of question set. The parishes to be filled were more numerous. The number of applicants was fewer, about half the number which appeared at a big concursus of the same archdiocese in the middle of the eighteenth century. But the most interesting feature of the records lies in the references. These are like the past in containing recommendations about the work in the previous parish, or praise of excellent character, or occasionally a warning that the applicant's life had been scandalous. What was added, in most cases, was the political record, 'a warm defender of Altar and Throne', or 'passionate for the sovereignty of His Majesty'. Sometimes it stood on the record that they helped refugees to escape. Others had an opposite past association in some way with the liberal government, even to serving in its militia. The documents of this concursus show that the Church of Spain was less unanimous than historians fancied. Nearly two-thirds of the clergy were regarded as reliable, about one-third were associated at least a little with the opposition to the king's government. When Altar and Throne were said to be united, that did not mean that all who ministered at the altar were likely to prop up the throne. Yet the concursus also shows, by the nature of the references of the candidates, that a clergyman was much more likely to be preferred if his politics were reliable. 4
The Secret Articles of Verona (1822)
In 1820 an army coup drove out Ferdinand's ministry, forced a constitution, abolished the Inquisition. The powers of the Holy Alliance met in the Congress of Verona (1822) and decided that French armies should overthrow the army commanders with their constitution and put Ferdinand back in absolute power. This Congress is usually taken to mark the high point of political reaction after the fall of Napoleon.
To the public agreement made at Verona, secret articles were alleged to be added. According to this allegation, the four Powers (Russia, Prussia, Austria, France) bound themselves to suppress representative governments in Europe, and liberty of the press as its instrument. Then the third secret article ran:
Convinced that the principles of religion contribute most powerfully to maintain nations in that state of passive obedience which they owe to their princes, they declare they intend to sustain such measures as the clergy may adopt for the strengthening of their interests, intimately associated as they are with the authority of princes. They offer their common thanks to the Pope for all that he has already done for them, and solicit his continual co-operation with their views for keeping the nations in due obedience.
No one who has followed this history so far will find these secret articles credible.
They were later alleged to be taken from a document of the French government found during or after the French revolution of 1848. They appeared in books of documents edited by American and other historians, even in a standard volume published in 1973, and were held to account for American determination that Europe should never re-establish Spanish or Portuguese empires in the new republics of South and Central America. Chateaubriand, who was supposed to have signed the secret articles on behalf of the French Government, was asked about them during the 1840s and said that they were a clumsy parody. 5 Historians or politicians who wanted to believe the articles genuine could assume that it was Chateaubriand's interest to deny.
The secret articles were a fabrication, probably by an English observer of Spain. English liberals watched with horror as French armies moved to suppress the Spanish constitution during the spring of 1823. On 11 June 1823 an anonymous correspondent communicated to the Morning Chronicle the text of secret articles signed at Verona. At first officials refused to take it seriously.
Nevertheless the forged articles of Verona show the extraordinary change in atmosphere caused by revolution and then reaction. Pope Pius VII was still on his throne, Cardinal Consalvi his secretary of state. The Pope was a gentle pragmatist, no reactionary; the secretary of state very conservative, but sensible.
That these secret articles should be forged in the service of Spanish liberals was important. Spain did more than any other country to associate Catholic leadership with the extreme right. In Spain the clergy and monks stood dominantly for the king and his absolute rule. To the Spanish king Rome committed itself more openly than to any other sovereign.
The forger wished to have his forgery accepted, and not as a skit. Yet he was rash. He dared to make a Protestant King of Prussia and an Orthodox Tsar of Russia thank the Pope for his services in keeping people in order; and to put into the draft of four hard-headed representatives the sentence, 'the principles of religion contribute most powerfully to maintain nations in that state of passive obedience which they owe to their princes.' Nevertheless, he partly succeeded in having his forgery accepted. Men will believe in documents if the documents conform to their later expectation of what happened at the time.
The forger had his unlooked for success persuading Protestant historians who assumed that Pope, Holy Alliance, Metternich, even Chateaubriand, were all identified with extreme reaction. But he also persuaded some historians in Catholic countries that the secret articles of Verona were genuine and credible. For they were not so far away from the theorists of a new and more extreme Catholicism derived from the mentality of émigrés who fled the revolution. Bonald reflected soon after the battle of Waterloo: 'Formerly we thought religion something a man needs. Now the time has come to see it as something society needs.' 6
A contrast between Spain and Italy will help an understanding of the predicament of Catholicism in the earlier nineteenth century.
French occupation flooded Italy and Spain, two deeply Catholic countries, with the ideals of equality, toleration, freedom of religion, representative government. When the French were ejected, they left behind a country divided between those who identified these ideals with justice and modernity, and those who associated them with illegality or foreign conquest—and with every shade of opinion between. But in Italy the ideals began to be associated with national freedom against Austrians, an association which made the power in the Italian Risorgimento. Most Italian Catholics stood against Austria. Therefore the Italian Risorgimento, despite the anti-Catholicism of its most articulate mouthpiece Mazzini and of its most brilliant condottiere Garibaldi, was never in itself anti-Catholic. Italy divided over the Pope's temporal sovereignty, not over the Pope's religion.
No Austrian threat united the Spanish. Their ideals were associated with national freedom against the French who taught them those ideals. But after 1815 no outside force united Spain as Metternich brought together so many Italians. The country was poorer and simpler. Therefore liberals who wanted new laws must be more violent in the face of peasant conservatism, and conservatives were more violent in representing liberals. The country divided, as never in Italy, with the Church more than half identified with the side of absolute government and resistance to liberal modernity.
Then, by a calamity of Spanish history, the king's succession was disputed and a civil war (1833) ensued. The civil war was nothing to do with Catholic faith, it had to happen, given the constitutional circumstances. But because the chief social gulf in the Spanish people lay between conservative peasants and liberal middle class, the civil war adopted the social and religious outlooks as rival slogans, and further stamped into the Spanish mind the identity of religion with political conservatism. And since the Carlists lost the civil war, the Church was identified by many liberals, not only with conservatism but with disloyalty to a lawful liberal regime.
Revolution in Spanish America
Meanwhile King Ferdinand had revolution on his hands in the empire overseas.
The Spanish American republics were in revolt. But by the end of 1815 it looked as though the rebellions failed; all countries submitted except La Plata (Argentina), which negotiated for peace. The Pope and his secretary of state Cardinal Consalvi believed that these American revolutions were an appendix to the European Revolution, and that their collapse must follow the fall of Napoleon. At the request of the Spanish ambassador in Rome Vargas, Cardinal Consalvi quickly drafted the brief, Etsilongissimo, which called upon the American bishops to exhort their subjects to submit to the most pious and Catholic King Ferdinand VII of Spain, and encouraged them as the Pope wrote, 'to eradicate the damnable weeds of sedition'. 7
The atmosphere of the age of Restoration thus led the Pope and Consalvi to act with unwise haste. By misjudgement they backed the losing side in war. Nothing in doctrine or the political traditions of the Roman see insisted that the Pope should always support a Catholic king against his peoples when they rebelled. This very Pope abandoned the 'legitimate' successors of Louis XVI of France to crown Napoleon. Catholic doctrine declared that men must obey their rulers; that for tyranny rulers ceased to claim allegiance and might be overthrown; that a revolutionary government which became acceptable to the people also became a government which the Church recognized. All these conditions were fulfilled in time with the Spanish American republics and the papacy soon accepted what had happened. As early as five years after this encyclical Pius VII and Consalvi quietly amended their attitude in the face of reality. But in January 1816, only three months after Napoleon was dumped upon the island of St. Helena a prisoner for life, Consalvi was deceived, not seeing the weakness of Spain devastated by war and civil strife, nor the interest of the United States in democratic republics further south, nor the interests of the British in South American trade. Etsi longissimo was not the summit of papal reaction in the age of Metternich. It was a misjudgement about the facts by an intelligent secretary of state.
Pope Leo XII came to the tiara just when Ferdinand VII was restored by the French in 1823, and was by instinct more uncompromising than his predecessor Pius VII and his secretary of state. Cardinal Consalvi left him the opinion that they had given Spain long enough to re-establish control of the former Spanish colonies, and that Madrid must soon recognize independence and allow Rome to make friendly links with the rebels.
Pope Leo seems to have thought absolute government the true Christian theory of the State, and had a horror (excusable after earlier experiences in France and Germany) of popular revolutionary governments. Yet he started by a friendly letter to Bishop Lasso of Mérida, who supported the rebel regime; and in the cathedral at Bogota this letter was read and celebrated with peals of bells. General Bolívar told Lasso (letter of 10 November 1824) that the Pope's letter showed the spirit of St. Peter and of Jesus Christ. Two months before Bolívar so praised the Pope, Leo sent out an encyclical (24 September 1824) to the American bishops which was also for a time alleged to be forged. It condemned the acts of rebel governments against the Church, warned against secret societies, and asked them to praise the piety of Ferdinand VII and to put forward to their flocks the example of the Spaniards in Europe. This encyclical had the same ill effects as the bull of 1816.
By the end of that year 1824 Bolívar finally destroyed all chance of Spanish restoration in South America. Henceforth Rome steadily moved towards recognition. In 1827 Leo began the process of filling South American bishoprics, beginning with the archbishopric of Bogotá, and cheerfully endured the discontent of Madrid. Events were too strong; or the needs of Catholic people always in the end took precedence of the principle of legitimism, even at a moment when legitimism was thought to be of moral obligation for a Catholic; or, as in the eighteenth century, the threat of grave schism was enough to force Rome to weaken its principle—for Bolívar at one time worked under the influence of a Jansenist Monsignor de Pradt, who wanted to take no notice whatever of the authority of Rome and go forward into an independent Church with a local patriarch.
Reaction in Italy
The whole Church suffered from a grievous shock to its assurance. In the years of terror in France and Belgium it endured persecution as never since the England of the sixteenth century or the Japan of the early seventeenth century, but worse in psychology because the persecuting power was the government of a Catholic people, and because the consequences were European.
To recreate government—papal rule—diocesan order—secure parishes —disciplined clergy—monks again—nuns again—brotherhoods again—seminaries revived—was a task which could hardly be undertaken in a mood of quiet planning. Men had been guillotined and shot, two Popes kidnapped, religion polluted in peasant war. Memories were not serene. They felt passionately. Emotion entered the idea of reconstruction and affected its course.
This emotion transformed what would otherwise have been a yearning for the good old days. Marvellous architecture built by rich monks half a century before now stood empty or ruined. Those stones were a sermon. The old world, which they remembered as normality, invited revolution.
The old world left survivals, stranded, absurd as they seemed to the new. In Taranto sat the most charming archbishop of the Christian centuries, Giuseppe Capecelatro (1744-1836), antiquarian, patrician, numismatist, an amiable, entertaining, learned, handsome, and idle prelate. In opinion a Jansenist but too dilettante to be strong in opinion, he disliked monks, private revelations, the Inquisition, emotional lower-class religion, private masses. He wanted to reduce saints' days and to strengthen parish churches. In all Roman Catholicism he was the only archbishop to prefer a married to a celibate clergy. He believed nevertheless that no one could be saved who was not baptized, and that the foetus of a mother dying in pregnancy should be extracted for baptism. He thought that the Pope should be primate in honour but govern as the president of a council of bishops, that all religions should be tolerated, and that enclosed nunneries should be abolished. All his later years, which were many, he spent in a charming house at Naples among a collection of works of art, and presided over a salon of European celebrity where visitors felt at their ease. Everyone admired him and was enchanted by his conversation and visited his elegant apartments to see a monument of the past. Through revolution and counter-revolution and two Bonapartist kingdoms and Bourbon restoration in south Italy he survived, preaching loyalty to whatever government was in power, wearing tricolour cockade or Bourbon cockade, willing to preside at a Te Deum, but not escaping without a year's comfortable imprisonment in Naples, and finally (1817) preferring resignation to a return to his diocese. He was now the ex-Archbishop of Taranto but so famous that no one could remember that he had a successor. He observed men, and liked them, and had small wish to change them, and in extreme old age cheerfully submitted by request to Rome, and died at the age of ninety-two with a smile on his lips. 8
This was nothing like what was intended by the notion of a return to the Catholic past.
Reactionaries in an extreme sense were not plentiful. But the mood of the age brought some of them into posts of authority. There they believed that religion supported authority, authority's interest lay in using religion.
The Napoleonic Code of Laws included an excellent system of courts of justice. The rejection of the code by several states because it was Napoleon's did nothing to improve society, and affected the Church adversely. Tuscany quietly abolished the (very modest) laws giving women a measure of equality with men in rights of property. Rome put the Jews back into the ghetto (but they had hardly left their old home) and Pope Leo XII (20 November 1826) enforced that law which the French abolished, even preventing them from owning real property. Divorce made the thorniest of all these legal questions. The Church could not tolerate a law of divorce in any state which it regarded as Catholic.
The State needed the Church, this was the axiom of that day. The Church knew that it was needed by the State, and said loudly that it was needed by the State. Of course it had always known that it was needed by the State but never before said it so loudly. Therefore in the age of Restoration the balance of power between Church and State shifted somewhat towards the side of the Church, even where determined governments maintained or revived Josephist laws, and even though Popes must go on conceding more and more rights in appointments to states. Piedmont was not the only state to revive laws which a later generation criticised as 'pure clericalism' because they gave back privileges and prescribed severe penalties for offences against the Church.
At first sight men might be forgiven for supposing that all was as it was before. In Genoa friars were everywhere in the streets again, mendicants could beg, Loreto had its crowd of pilgrims with their satchels. When Goethe visited the Rhineland, just freed from the French, and saw the Catholic people of Bingen celebrating the festival of St. Rochus, he marvelled that revolutionary rule had left the religious instinct in all its old force. A procession in Milan for Corpus Christi (1820) was as magnificent to the eye as any in the past, viceroy, regiments, archbishop and all clergy, flags of Austrian empire and St. Ambrose and St Charles Borromeo, passing amid streets just as crammed with spectators; and in the cathedral a crowd of labouring men and women packed tight and manifestly devout. In the streets the spectators were not all so devout, they were as likely to jeer as to genuflect, and one observer wondered whether these jeers were a heritage of revolution and a sign of some deep change in the outlook of the people. 9 But it was hardly different from Roman urchins mocking at the flagellants as a hundred years before they passed so sombrely. Forms were easy to revive.
But something indefinable and yet of vast import had certainly happened. The Revolution showed how frail is faith; or, if true faith has roots too deep to shake, then how insecure is the social structure of a Church in a divided country; and how much that passes for religion is conformity. That was an experience unforgettable in the consciousness of Europe, Protestant or Catholic. It made the ultimate differences between the work of Churches in the old world and the work of the Churches in modern times.
Capece Minutolo, Prince of Canosa, was near to being atheist as a young man. Under the impact of revolution he swung over (1794) into Catholicism, partly as a faith but more as a necessity for social stability. The Catholicism which he needed for society was the mainstay of monarchy and the feudal privileges of aristocracy, and included an infallible Pope as the organ of Christian authority. In the Parthenopean republic he was condemned to death for royalist conspiracy but rescued by the arrival in Naples of Cardinal Ruffo's bands. The royalists then imprisoned him for defending the rights of aristocrats against the king. When Joseph Bonaparte became King of Naples, Canosa engaged in a conspiracy for which friends were executed and a price was put on his head. At the Restoration he was sent as ambassador from Palermo to Madrid and there watched with joy the reaction of King Ferdinand VII and the restoration of the Jesuits and the Inquisition. In 1816, in the full tide of political reaction, he became minister of police at Naples and secretly enlisted right-wing bands of conspirators to slay conspirators of the left or anyone suspect of sympathy with revolution. He was exiled to Tuscany where under an assumed name he published an apologia for his proceedings as minister of police, that in a revolutionary age we need 'a vigorous and extremely active despotism', and a Church which is indispensable to keeping the people obedient. 'If you will not believe the Pope or in Jesus Christ for the sake of winning salvation in the world to come, then believe him, as we believe him, for the sake of winning salvation in this world.' The Naples revolution of 1820 seemed to justify him, and he was recalled again to be minister of police; and for four months (April to July 1821) he directed illegal repression, arrests without charge, flogging of suspects, reenlistment of a private army. The ambassadors of the powers, who were all-powerful, forced him again into exile. In 1825 he finished a book which he had started long before, On the utility of the Roman Catholic Christian religion for the tranquillity of peoples and the security of thrones. The revolution of 1831 again seemed to justify him, and allowed him to raise a private army in the Romagna (1834-6) until the Austrians forced its disbandment. He died in miserable poverty two years later, and left his name as a symbol for Italian nationalists of everything which they hated in the link between the Church and the political right. 10
These attitudes were not confined to laymen.
Bonaventura Gazzola was Bishop of Cervia when Bonaparte invaded north Italy and wrote one of those too effusive pastoral letters of welcome. But he greeted the returning Austrians even more enthusiastically, and was known as an opponent of the Italian Concordat. At the Restoration Pope Pius VII translated him to be Bishop of Montefiascone and Pope Leo XII made him cardinal. His letters after the Restoration show another man of the right whose attitudes were stamped by experiences of revolution in north Italy. Once he had an open mind. Now he saw masonic conspiracy everywhere, even in influence on the secretary of state Cardinal Consalvi, thought that Pius VII was weak and unfit to govern, had a horror at the least hint of compromise, and disliked planning or administrative change, with the attitude 'God will provide.' The words (he said) which he wanted to hear from Pope Pius VII were these: 'All things will return to what they were in 1796.' 11
Laymen and clerics who identified the Catholic cause with absolute monarchy are very hard to find before the revolution. They were not nearly so common in the Restoration as is sometimes supposed, but when they appeared they were influential even if controversial, because they fitted a dominant mood of the age.
Archbishop Fortunato Pinto of Salerno suggested in every provincial capital a professorship, On the truth of the Apostolic Roman religion as the one true faith, and wanted young men, who aimed at an academic career, compelled to attend the lectures provided and to pass an examination. 12 The bishops grew further away from the middle class, further from some of their own priests. Governments controlled their choice more universally than before the Revolution, and saw to it that safe and high conservatives were chosen. Bishops became even less representative of their clergy.
The Restored Pope
The Curia began again to act. The Congregations reassembled, the Roman Inquisition began to hear cases (but only from the Papal States), the Index began again to supervise books, the Congregation of the Council to administer dioceses and parishes. It was not quite the same. The Congregation of Avignon, for example, never reappeared because Avignon was no longer the Pope's territory. And two constitutional changes affected the working of the Curia, so that the machine was more centralized in 1820 than in 1789.
First, the secretary of state Cardinal Consalvi reorganized his dicastery, making it much more like the bureaucracy of any civil power and using more experts. The new secretariat was more efficient and therefore more powerful. By this reform the papacy took another step in the decline of the historic consistories of cardinals. The process did not make Consalvi popular among cardinals. But he only moved further on the way which seventy years before Pope Benedict XIV planned.
Secondly, Pope Pius VII created (1801) a new Congregation, by its intention and title a body to advise in emergency (the emergency being the French Revolution) the Congregation for Extraordinary Affairs of the Church. Until the revolution Popes met emergencies by summoning, and afterwards discharging, special committees. This emergency was so grave that, even under Pius VI during the nineties, the special committee on the affairs of France became a standing committee, never discharged. Pius VII recognized the need and in 1814 reactivated the Congregation with wider powers. It had eight cardinals, a secretary with vote, and five consultors.
The emergency of the Reformation created the Congregation of the Council to supervise the enforcement of the reforms of Trent. The emergency of the Revolution created the Congregation of Extraordinary Affairs to supervise reconstruction after the demolitions of Napoleon's wars. Since these functions overlapped, the Congregation of the Council lost a measure of authority, and never again wielded such power as in the eighteenth century.
To the Congregation of Extraordinary Affairs the Pope entrusted advice upon the relations between the see of Rome and the civil powers; the drafting of the agreements (Concordats) 'to cancel the effects of revolution'; ordinary affairs in Latin America, in the former Portuguese empire in the east, in Russia and all countries with which Rome had no formal relations. Therefore it left no room for the old consistory of cardinals. This Congregation of eight cardinals began to act like a cabinet, and so continued until the reordering of the Curia in 1908.
In the Curia the intellectual world changed. Canon Settele wrote a book on the movement of the earth. Someone complained to the Inquisition, which (1820) sent the book out to three referees for their opinion. One of these referees was the Dominican Filippo Anfossi, master of the Sacred Palace for Pius VII. Anfossi was celebrated as a writer against Jansenists and Gallicans, and especially for more than one book arguing the rigid opinion that any Catholic who acquired church property alienated during the Revolution committed sacrilege and was morally bound to make restitution. In his old age he was easily shocked. Canon Settele's book disturbed him.
I am surprised [he wrote in his opinion] to see that he makes the interpretation of Scripture depend not on the help of the Holy Spirit but the system of philosophers and astronomers, and on the ideas of Newton and Kepler. . . . [The Copernican system] is a very grave error, pernicious doctrine . . . formally heretical or at least erroneous in faith. . . . The Holy See is that happy land which always says the same and never changes its view of the true understanding of scripture and the Fathers. 13
Here spoke, not the old world which was more open-minded, but the conservative mind closed by experience of revolutionary years. The other two referees gave approval to the book, which passed the census against the will of the master of the Sacred Palace. Henceforth Galileo and Copernicus were freely taught throughout the Roman Catholic Church.
Even in the Collegio Romano of 1822 the ordinands were being taught to study Locke and Condillac.
The Pope's reputation in 1815 stood far higher than in 1789. He was among the 'victors' of long wars. He was a confessor for the faith.
Pius VII, once as a cardinal the preacher of the Christmas sermon of 1797 and then the Pope who accepted Napoleon by crowning him Emperor, did not die until 1823, aged eighty-one. He left a Church weaker by far in every external respect than the Church of 1789. But when he came to the tiara men talked of the end of the papacy, the last Pope. At his death no one could talk in such terms. Though weaker externally, the institution was seen to be rooted in the popular mind of southern Europe and Poland and Belgium and Ireland, even among many of the people of France. The Pope of 1789 was indispensable to kings because he was the instrument by which they got control over Churches. The Pope of 1823 was seen to be indispensable to kings who wished to stay on their thrones because religion was believed to be the bond of society.
For the last six years of his life, from his restoration until his death, he lived in a quiet and prayerful retreat, and left government to his secretary of state, Cardinal Consalvi, who was hardly an ecclesiastic except in name, conservative, skilled in diplomacy, prudent and no ultra, a hard-working minister who ruled the Church almost as though he was Pope. Against every onslaught Pius VII defended and trusted him, and the trust was not misplaced. Consalvi failed because the problems were insoluble, not because he lacked wisdom.
The Papal States
The fatal inheritance was the northern part of the Papal States.
Because Pope Pius VII was restored in two stages, once by a falling Napoleon and again by the Congress of Vienna, he received his dominions in two stages: in 1814 Rome and the country round and Umbria, and in 1815 the Marches and the Legations. While Cardinal Consalvi walked the corridors in Vienna, Cardinal Pacca and Monsignor Rivarola established the old laws and customs in Rome. Some of these old laws and customs looked quaint when they possessed a prescription of historical continuity, but when restored after the French abolished them, they offended the public opinion of Europe.
In 1814-16 Rome and Latium and Umbria had the most retarded government in Europe; consciously retarded, because its makers supposed that they could rebuild the interesting but rickety structure which stood more or less erect before it was tumbled by the armies of the Revolution.
To gain the Marches and Legations, Consalvi promised modern government. These weightier provinces returned to the Pope with the Napoleonic laws still in force 'so far as they were not contrary to canon law', and under an efficient bureaucratically French type of civil service. The Pope, given his domains in two slices, found himself with two different forms of government.
He also found himself faced with two attitudes among the people. For nearly twenty years the Legations in the north, for eight years the Marches on the Adriatic coast, had lay republican governments with French laws. There the attitude of the people was more truculent than in Rome, where hardly anyone thought French rule better than papal rule. 'The young people', wrote Cardinal Consalvi to Cardinal Pacca (12 June 1815), 'have never known the Pope's government and have a very low opinion of what it is like. They resent being ruled by priests. The old may think differently but do not count. Most of the people's minds are not on our side.' 14
Afterwards, men blamed Cardinal Consalvi who as secretary of state was responsible for the government and who, according to the point of view, was too radical or conservative. He received two incompatible governments. Being in origin a man of the Enlightenment, and by nature endowed with prudence, he would have liked to amalgamate the ancient and the modern with emphasis on the modern. His fiercest opponents accused him of being a Jacobin, and Cardinal Mattei had his henchmen tear up his edicts. Consalvi talked of conserving the best in historic traditions while they adapted government to the needs of the age. But the opponents were so fierce and so entrenched, that he could only get part of his way. The ancient shouldered its way into the modern, and the system, though less complicated as machinery than the system of the eighteenth century, still looked at times like muddle.
A single government for all the Papal States was established by a motu proprio of 6 July 1816. At base it was far more like the French system than the old Roman system; a delegate for each of seventeen delegations with many of the functions of the French prefect, advised by local consultative bodies of which the members were selected by the secretary of state. The ancient world pushed its way into the structure by insisting that all the delegates be clergymen (in the Legations, as of old, cardinals). Much of the rest of the civil service was opened to laymen but, though not ordained, these laymen wore cassocks. This ban on laymen in the highest posts does not seem to have accorded with Consalvi's wishes. Probably it did not easily agree with the spirit of the assurances which he offered to the statesmen in Vienna. But it was realistic. For he received the bitterer criticism from those who thought it improper that lower ranks of the civil service should be opened to laymen.
Thus Consalvi's model was neither the ancien régime nor Rousseau but Napoleon.
A French type of bureaucracy headed by clergymen was a different kind of government from the clerical government of the old Papal States. In the ancien régime local rights were strong; feudal privileges, baronial exemptions, municipal customs. Government was weak because it could not ride roughshod over rights centuries old. The French swept away all these diversities while they ruled Italy, not before time. Despite the wishes of Cardinal Pacca and Monsignor Rivarola, they could not be revived. Therefore the modern version of the government was either weaker or stronger according to the circumstances. It could do more: organize taxes more justly, shorten delays in courts of justice, arrange tolls and customs so that they did not destroy trade, mend the roads, and improve the water supply. Being centralized, it had the possibility of becoming a police state at a time of crisis. But this last possibility was to show the danger. In bad times the citizens of the old Papal States blamed the squire, or the municipality, or the hand of God. In bad times the citizens of the new Papal States saw a government which they could blame. To make the government modern, Consalvi also created the possibility that in famine or tumult government would find itself face to face with the people.
The clergymen who now governed were more offensive than the clergymen who used to govern; first because they governed with more effectiveness and therefore more intrusively, and secondly because their assistants could now be laymen. As the prince-bishopric of Italy looked odder because the prince-bishoprics of Germany and Austria were secularized, so clerical government looked odder because it was exclusively clerical only at the top.
Meanwhile the children of Napoleon's Cisalpine republic, and the children of Napoleon's kingdom of Italy, and the heirs of Murat in Naples, aimed to make it look both odd and offensive. Pope Pius VII said anxiously to Artaud, 'Nowadays governing the people is difficult.' 15
This attempt to marry old with new failed because the old was too strong.
The cardinals never forgot their historic past in the government of the Church and saw Consalvi's type of monarchy as unconstitutional. The European post-war slump made all government difficult. This prudent secretary of state made himself more unpopular with his colleagues than any Pope's minister since Cardinal Coscia a century before, for he was more powerful than any minister since Coscia; and Coscia was corrupt, while Consalvi was honourable.
His inability to get all that he wanted was illustrated dramatically by his words to a south-German visitor. Wessenberg (1817) visited the church of the Anima in Rome and was almost overpowered by the stink of decomposing bodies buried under the floor. He later saw the secretary of state (Consalvi) and expressed surprise that so many corpses should now be buried in churches though the French government had forbidden the practice. 'I wanted', said Consalvi 'to leave it as it was. But all the monasteries and congregations were against me, it means so much to them in burial fees, and I had to give way.' 16
Metternich was obsessed about the dangers of secret societies.
The first masonic lodge was founded in 1717 at a London tavern. It drew upon old customs and rituals of earlier masons' guilds, and being founded in the time when deism flourished among English Protestants, had a deist slant, with a picture of God as builder or architect of the universe, but was not irreligious or even anti-Christian. Masons usually came from the upper class. English merchants or diplomats or connoisseurs helped to create masonic societies in all the capitals of the west. In Naples or Madrid or Lisbon or Brussels the groups began to take on an anticlerical air. They were meetings of educated and aristocratic laymen who so discussed the issues of the day, that rumours about their freedom of speech reached authority. Moreover, as early as 1738 (In eminenti) Pope Clement XII (or rather his advisers, for by that date he was incapable) condemned free-masonry and refused to allow Catholics to be members on pain of ex-communication. This condemnation, repeated by Benedict XIV, made freemasons in Catholic countries more secret, and disreputable, but at first no less aristocratic. In Holland and Germany, Vienna and Belgium, we find priests as members, in Germany even the future Archbishop Dalberg of Mainz. They had little spirit of rebellion.
But with the coming of revolution this began to change. At the Strongoli palace in Naples an initiation ceremony of a new group had speeches that Jacobin revolution was the culmination of freemasonry, and the orator urged members to throw off tyranny in Naples. They lit two candles in front of a portrait of Voltaire on the mantlepiece, with a red cap and tricolour attached, and sang the Marseillaise in chorus.
In the kingdom of Naples from 1802 was found the name Carbonari (charcoal-burners). These were a secret society, or several secret societies, influenced by freemasonry, but less upper-class, not only with bourgeois but with artisans and even peasants among the members, initiated with a pseudo-religious ceremony, and with tough political overtones and an anticlerical aim. At the initiation Jesus was declared to be 'the great Carbonaro'. In the age of reaction, where the failure of revolution made many in upper-class and middle-class Europe believe that despotism was a necessity for law and order, the Carbonari (or other groups like them) grew to be bands of conspirators, hunted by government, bound by secret oaths, plotting the overthrow of kings and dukes. Some of them adopted the quasi-religious heritage of masonry, others were only clubs to conspire. 'The Sublime Masters of Perfection' had (1819-20) a 'church' at Parma and meetings in Bologna, Cesena, and Reggio. There were Adelfi, Guelfi, Latinisti, White Pilgrims, Seven Sleepers, Faithful Hermits. But also there were groups with secular names which preached tyrannicide, Disciples of Brutus, True Patriots, French Reformers, Disciples of Scaevola. One group forged a papal bull to prove that the Pope approved. Pius VII renewed the condemnation of his predecessors. No Catholic could belong.
But Catholics belonged. In the futile little plots and coups which kept breaking out all over Italy, and less frequently but more ominously in Spain, policemen found themselves hunting priests among the leaders. On the one side Church authorities, especially in the higher ranks, accepted the axiom of that age that public order and civilization were very frail and secured by the strongest government; and therefore south-Italian bishops made reports to police authorities about the state of opinion in their dioceses, and one priest at least informed about a looming plot of which he was believed to have learned in pastoral confidence. On the other side tribunals repressing conspirators seldom failed to find an ecclesiastic among the culprits. General Richard Church, British soldier of fortune who governed the territory of Otranto for the King of Naples, sent a report to government (13 November 1818) that the priests of the province 'are the most dangerous enemies of the sovereign and State'. 17 The secret report of a sub-inspector at Vallo in southern Italy (1828) estimated that they had twenty priests for a population of 3,000 and that of these twenty, fifteen were Carbonari. In Naples the conspirators sometimes met in a café but sometimes in a canon's house or the sacristy of a church. A misguided band of conspirators on the Cilento collected a posse of only 130 men, with whom they hoped to raise rebellion in all the kingdom of Naples, and began (1828) by seizing a fort and then going into church to sing a solemn Te Deum. Though the bull of Pope Pius VII achieved something, because numbers of priests appeared asking for absolution for their former membership of secret societies, other priests took more notice of the cry for justice (as they heard it) than of the Pope. In the new diocese of Nicosia (1820), 107 ecclesiastics were Carbonari, in the old diocese of Patti in Sicily twenty-four ecclesiastics, in the diocese of Syracuse a majority, in the diocese of Catania 124 ecclesiastics, including a Dominican who went round the monasteries collecting money to help war against Austria, in Messina the Carbonari had their headquarters in a convent. In Modena the only person executed after the conspiracy of 1820 was a young priest Giuseppe Andreoli, because he caused several undergraduates to join. It was alleged that the duke simultaneously reprieved a condemned parricide to show that no crime was worse than that of a priest conspiring against his country. 18
In Campagna three of the canons were among the leaders of the Carbonari (1819) and held weekly meetings by night in the sacristy of the cathedral. Such incautious regularity, and such lights at night, could not go unobserved. The police told them that they should meet somewhere else, so they chose the refectory of the suppressed convent of Observant Franciscans. 19
In the revolution of 1830, Father Luigi Menichini rode into Naples, armour over cassock, covered in Carbonari symbols, at the head of 7,000 untidy carbonari, some clergy and friars among the regiments, which applauded themselves shouting 'Long live the Carbonari!' In the San Martino museum in Naples is a picture of this triumphal entry. This priest, who suddenly found himself head of an army and a political leader, easily lost his head. They sent him to Sicily, partly to be rid of him and partly to guide the Sicilian revolution. But he guided so badly that they had to recall him; and then the Austrians marched in, Menichini fled to Spain, then to England, and last to America where, 'little loved and less esteemed', he became a Protestant, wrote a history of the Naples revolution, and died teaching Italian in Philadelphia.
In certain areas bishops' and police reports show a statistical relationship between priests enrolled in the Carbonari and priests under suspicion or charge for other forms of clerical misconduct. 20 But this was certainly not the reason why most Carbonari priests joined the movement.
The motives which led priests to join secret societies were as various as the motives of other mortals. An unclear account of motives has survived from a Verona friar, a Franciscan Recollect, superior of a house soon to be suppressed by the Revolution. Italy, he said (it was 1807), can never find peace until it is strong and united. It cannot become strong by federating, we must have a centre of government. 'I hate every sort of revolution because of the unforeseeable ills which it begets. In this sect I see only a way of spreading the benefits and wisdom of Christianity.'
A Carbonari oath from north Italy was taken kneeling, right hand above head, left hand with fist clenched on the heart, and ran thus:
I, free citizen of Ausonia [Italy] . . . in the presence of God the grand master of the universe and of my elected superior and good cousin, swear so to use all my life that the principles of liberty, equality, and hatred of tyranny may conquer; for these are the souls of all private and public acts of good Carbonari. I promise to spread a love of equality in all hearts whom I might be able to influence. I promise that if we fail to establish the kingdom of free men, I shall nevertheless fight on until death. . . .
This was followed by a fearful oath that if he were a traitor he might be crucified like Christ.
Their origins, and political notions, were therefore as closely linked to the Revolution as their ritual was linked to freemasonry. One leading north-Italian group which articulated its plan for united 'Ausonia' had an idea of the Church which followed the pattern of the French constitutional Church, with provincial assemblies electing bishops and rectors of seminaries, clergy paid by the State, Church buildings maintained by the State, Christianity declared to be 'the religion of the majority' but a Christianity remodelled after a primitive pattern, a 'patriarch' elected by a council of bishops. The present Pope will be invited to accept this office and will receive for his life-time a compensation in money for the loss of his lands to the republic of Ausonia. If at his death the cardinals tried to elect a new Pope he and they would be expelled from Ausonia. No friar was to take final vows before the age of forty-five, nor nuns (except childless widows) before the age of forty.
Outside Italy [wrote an observer in Rome (12 July 1819)] scepticism and love of liberty sometimes go together. On the contrary, the Carbonari show a sincere faith in the religion of Jesus as we find it in the gospels, and stripped of the foreign elements which have been mixed in by theologians during eighteen centuries. Thus they are reformers of religion as well as the State. Among their numbers are many of the lower clergy . . . and even a few dignitaries. 21
In the kingdom of Naples and elsewhere in Italy authority met a new problem. Determined to maintain the sacred privileges of priesthood, they were also resolute to execute revolutionary priests. Therefore a priest convicted as a revolutionary must be unfrocked. Government never failed to find a bishop who would unfrock, but could not always persuade the right bishop. When Andreoli was to be executed at Modena, the Bishop of Reggio pleaded for pardon, the Bishop of Carpi went to the condemned cell to unfrock. When Canon de Luca for whom police beat the woods in vain, came out of his hiding-place and gave himself up to save the town of Celle from being burnt to the ground, three bishops in succession refused to unfrock, until at last the Archbishop of Salerno consented 'as a duty to the king', and so the canon or ex-canon, and his nephew, also a priest or ex-priest, died together in the square at Salerno. The Patriarch of Venice Pyrker related in his autobiography how he had the duty of unfrocking a Carbonaro priest. He described not only the unpleasant ritual but his feelings of emotion and repugnance. He did not doubt that to unfrock the man was right. 22
These difficulties are another sign of a new world. Formerly a priest might have escaped the death penalty even for murder, partly by reason of benefit of clergy because men scrupled to kill the Lord's anointed, and if he was to be executed, bishops hardly hesitated to unfrock. Governments of the Restoration, following in the steps of Josephists and Jansenists and (though they must not say so) the French, were resolute to be rid of benefit of clergy except as ritual form; and felt too insecure to treat rebel priests with any vestiges of respect for their office. Bishops scrupled whether a priest whose sincere political opinions led him to join some secret group of revolutionaries, could rightly be made equal to murderer or traitor.
In Soriano (southern Italy) a Dominican novice told (1826) a strange story. Two friars forced him to accept the rules of St. Theobald, the hermit of the eleventh century who was patron of charcoal-burners and therefore of Carbonari. They said St. Theobald's rules were the very laws of God. The novice went to his prior who ordered him to obey, and said that he must appear before all the community to swear, on crucifix and dagger, allegiance to the Carbonari. By night the novice fled to the bishop—who told him to obey his prior and sent him back to the monastery. At last he got the news to the police who thought him mad. 23
The stories of this novice were such as could only arise where liberal or revolutionary ideas were expected to infect priests and monks.
In the hills of the kingdom of Naples, in the Abruzzi range and across unpatrollable mountain frontiers into the Papal States was the happiest home of the brigands. Revolution left behind outlaws, refugees, young men who fled from conscription. Between 1799 and 1866 the mountains were never empty of brigands. In January 1821 a band kidnapped all the professors and students of the Terracina seminary for high ransom. The people of the countryside helped the brigands; who in their eyes stood for 'justice' against tax-collectors, feudal lords, policemen, government. A lot of them were still Sanfedist in mentality—that is, even though they murdered, they wore scapulas of the Madonna round their necks, fasted on Wednesdays, and met in the evenings to pray their rosaries.
One south-Italian band (1817) had forty-three brigands of whom only two were priests. The composition of the band is known because they held up the mail-coach on the Auletta road and found 2,000 ducats aboard. Brigands who killed royalists or Austrians were not easy to distinguish in religion from brigands who killed liberals and democrats. This applied in both Spain and Italy.
In these incongruities brigands hardly differed from more educated men. One observer in Naples found it strange to see Prince Canosa in his home plotting deeds of iniquity, beneath the images of the Saviour and the saints, while his rooms were filled not only with informers and assassins but with confessors and friars noted for their sanctity. 24
The most famous of religious Carbonari shed a brilliant light upon the inward intellectual tensions of that age.
Silvio Pellico (1789-1854), of a modest and devout Piedmont family, won fame at Milan in the year of the battle of Waterloo with a poetic tragedy Francesca da Rimini. As a young leader in the revival of Italian literature he was caught up in the nationalist movement in Lombardy and finally, now a sceptic in religion, enlisted in the Carbonari. He learnt religion to be a gag for the common people, and believed in tyrannicide. These Lombard Carbonari differed from the conspirators further south, in being more educated, more aristocratic, and more idealistic. Their organ, which Pellico helped to edit, was the Conciliatore, a liberal newspaper which (1819) the Austrians suppressed.
Then during 1820 revolutions in Spain and Naples made conspiracy look easy. Pellico worked naìvely and imprudently to enlist others in the Carbonari. He was arrested, tried at Venice, and sentenced to imprisonment of fifteen years at Spielberg, a gloomy fortress in Moravia to which the Austrians consigned all the leading Carbonari who failed to flee abroad. After ten years he was released under amnesty, sick in body, left leg dragging from years of a fetter, and returned to his family near Turin.
In prison, he refound the faith of his childhood. His mother and parish priest encouraged him to write down his experience. The result (1832) was Le mie prigione (My Years in Prison) which at once became a book of European importance.
It was a religious book; an account of the way a man under suffering stumbled his way back to faith; enchantingly written, with an apparent simplicity, full of charitable interest in the gaolers or their children; the meditations of a man who truly and not ritually forgave his oppressors; devoid of bitterness; plainly not aimed at hurting Austria; a book of prayer and resignation, of the dungeon as a hermit's cell; and unlike most books of devotion in gripping the ordinary reader, by the drama of the situation, the brooding sense of a dark fortress, the secret messages between prisoners, the deaths or illnesses of convicts, humour and kindness lightening the darkness.
Only in appearance is it simple. The book is a work of art, by a sophisticated author, who used his sophistication to create the air of simplicity. It could not have been written by an insincere man. But how it was artistry appeared when, after its success in all the countries of Europe, other French or Italian ex-prisoners from the fortress tried their hand at reminiscence. The only interest possessed by these other books lay in contrast with Pellico's Le mie prigione.
The book was extraordinary because its author idealized his world. The repulsive character in the castle at Spielberg was the confessor Stephan Pavlowich, a Dalmatian with secret instructions to use his priestly office to gain information about other conspirators. All the prisoners regarded him as a spy or a Judas, and were relieved when (1828) he was rewarded with the see of Cattaro. Not a word of blame for Pavlowich is found in Pellico's book. Le mie prigione made the gaolers more humane, the conditions of life less intolerable, the Austrian government more reasonable, his resignation easier, his faith more instantly comforting, his judges less fierce, the gaoler's daughters sweeter, than the reality.
The reasons of this idealizing were practical and religious. Several friends were still in Spielberg. Onslaught upon the Austrians could only injure men still wearing chains. Even more strongly, religion made him wish to eschew the petty revenge which was all that he could take with his pen.
The reception of this noble book illustrates the predicament of the Catholic world after the Revolution. Angry liberals attacked it as a good book for friars and bigots. Strong Catholics attacked it as a pestilential book to be kept away from the young, with its poisonous idea of a marriage between Catholicism and liberalism.
The book was aimed not to assail the Austrians. It therefore hurt the Austrian government, and helped the cause of the Risorgimento in Italy, more than any book which was bitter against Austria. No idealization could conceal the martyrdom of political prisoners. Metternich said there was not a word of truth in the story. Pellico failed even to mention that the prisoners committed a crime; showed no sign of penitence for what he had done; represented himself and all his fellow-conspirators as martyrs. Metternich badgered King Charles Albert in Turin to suppress the book; but Charles Albert liked it, and issued the order only to content Metternich, and let the publisher go on selling. Metternich pressed the Congregation of the Index to suppress the book. But the Congregation reported that the book had nothing to condemn, and refused. Metternich talked glumly of the book to Veuillot (1850), saying that Pellico had converted a book of prayer into a book of calumny. And Veuillot replied that the book had done its work, and the result was more terrible for Austria than the loss of a battle.
Pellico's book pointed to the Catholic predicament which had not existed in this form before the revolution. Was marriage between Catholicism and liberalism possible? A devoutly Catholic book discredited a Catholic government which was the mainstay of the order established in Italy after the Revolution. To expel the Austrians must mean change in Italy, change hardly to be distinguished from revolution. Such a change was certain to transform the politics of the papal monarchy and therefore the international base of the Catholic Church. And all this was fostered by a book of devotion, written by a Catholic convert, which the Congregation of the Index could not and would not condemn.
Pope Leo XII
In 1823 Annibale della Genga (aged sixty-three) was elected Pope and took the name Leo XII, after a Conclave of only twenty-six days.
The 'alternating' system of Roman Conclaves began. The nineteenth century saw no exception to the rule that if the Pope befriended liberals his successor was a man of the right, and vice versa: except in the one case of Pius IX (1846) where a Pope elected to befriend liberals was turned by experience into a man of the right. Pius VII and Consalvi had reconciling minds; Leo XII was ultra-conservative; Pius VIII was a friend of Consalvi; Gregory XVI (1831) was an ultra; Pius IX (1846) was hailed as a liberal Pope and then lost his liberalism; Leo XIII (1878) was elected as a reconciler.
This alternating sequence was a mark of a change in Conclaves, connected with the consequences of the Revolution. It showed that the elective system followed its own internal laws; in other words, that the governments of Catholic powers interfered far less than in the eighteenth century, and were able to interfere far less, in selecting a Pope whom they preferred. The French government after its recent experiences was less confident about dealing with Popes. The Austrians were still confident till 1848, but Metternich was too Catholic and too subtle to be heavy-handed about intruding in Rome. The Spanish government was too concerned with its own troubles, and was hardly any longer one of the powers. For the first time for more than a century, cardinals elected with a measure of freedom.
This had three main consequences. First, conclaves began to be shorter, since the number of people who needed to agree the choice was reduced as ambassadors or crown cardinals acted less interferingly. When Pius IX was elected after two days in 1846 and Leo XIII after only three ballots in 1878, it was thought almost miraculous. But it was a sign not of non-intervention by governments (for governments intervened) but of less, or weaker, intervention, and of confidence among cardinals. Secondly, a majority of cardinals were for several decades zelanti, pious men who wanted the good of the Church and were determined to exclude governments. During all the eighteenth century these zelanti were not able to elect their first choice because one government or another refused to allow the election. These refusals had the bad effect of excluding many good men from the office of Pope. But they had a good effect, by exercising a moderating influence upon the cardinals, and preventing the election of extremists or fanatics. The intervention of governments was the traditional way in which Catholic laity had a say in the choice of Pope. As this intervention declined, the election became more clerical. Its motives became purer. But the choice carried with it the danger that an extremist might more easily be elected.
Until 1939 it was an axiom that the secretary of state could not be elected Pope, for he was too identified with the policy of the dead Pope which now needed changing. In 1823 this axiom was as true as possible.
Cardinal Consalvi was responsible for an attempt to baptize the Napoleonic system; was accused of sacrificing the pre-revolutionary rights of noblemen and cardinals; of being a dictator who kept other cardinals away from his government, and ruled solitary. If the conclave of 1823 had an agreement, it was the unpopularity of Consalvi. Several governments would have liked him elected, because they could expect a flexible policy to continue. But no candidate was more unpopular among the electors.
In law, the veto still existed. The governments of Austria, France, and Spain still asserted the right to veto a candidate—and sometimes exercised that right. In their eyes the worst fault of a candidate was rigidity. They worked systems of Church government under agreements or concordats which demanded compromise on the part of the Curia.
In the eighteenth century the enclosure of the Conclave was never kept securely. Secret messages passed in and out illicitly. In 1823 the Austrian Crown Cardinal Albani certainly passed out messages to the Austrian ambassador Apponyi. The man whom he wanted to exclude was Cardinal Severoli, the first choice of the zelanti. It looked very like the conditions of the eighteenth century. But it was not. Italian cardinals, who might be expected to be moderates, were too 'Italian' (and therefore suspicious of Austrian dominance) to support anything that Metternich wanted. The French government of Louis XVIII disliked cardinals who had befriended Napoleon, and therefore preferred zelanti. Provided that they did not get a Pope who would be a marionette on Austrian strings, the French were content. The atmosphere is shown by a letter of Chateaubriand, now French foreign minister: 'We want a man of the Italian party [i.e. anti-Austrian] who is a zelante but moderate. All we ask is that whoever is chosen does not make trouble in our Church affairs. We need nothing out of him in politics.' 25 'We need nothing out of him in politics'—an impossible utterance for the eighteenth century and a sign of a different world. But not so very different, for Chateaubriand could not keep to his own principles.
Failing all else, the Austrians via Cardinal Albani vetoed (21 September 1823) the zelanti's candidate Cardinal Severoli. It was a shocking moment, with fierce words passing. And it did not stop the zelanti. A week later they elected their second choice, Cardinal Annibale della Genga. The veto, though it still existed, grew weaker.
The cardinals, still resentful of Consalvi's monarchy, forced the new Pope at once to appoint a congregation of Cardinals to govern. As soon as he was fully on the saddle, he rid himself of this Congregation. The days of the old cardinals' system were past, never to return.
Leo XII made an extreme contrast with Consalvi. He was priestly where Consalvi seemed a layman dressed like a clergyman; he was anxious and fussy where Consalvi was strong-willed and dedicated; perhaps Leo had the sharper intelligence, but in a less energetic body, so weak as at times to be languid; Leo knew something of mystical prayer which Consalvi could not understand. Leo was elected to swing against everything for which Consalvi stood. His difficulty was to prevent the swing happening as some of his advisers hoped and intended. He was expected to have little time. At the Holy House of Loreto has been found a prayer to give Pope Leo 'at least a year of life' so that he can see his ideas to relieve his subjects put into practice. 26
Leo XII was the Pope of the Restoration; that is, elected in the high age of the Holy Alliance, when governments of Europe were determined against revolution. In foreign affairs, especially with France, he was intelligent. In Rome he had little idea how to rule. He had small previous experience of government, and in power had small perception of what was possible.
As Vicar of Rome shortly before his election, he issued an edict of imprisonment (ten days for minors, month for adults) for anyone playing games in the streets on Sundays or feast days; ordered 300 Jews to hear sermons every Saturday, no proxies allowed; condemned elaborate dresses of nuns, even at their profession. As Pope he forbade encores and ovations in theatres. In 1824 he issued the decree which made him hated among the Romans. All alcoholic drinks were not to be sold in bars but at grilles. This rule, though it found parallels in various democracies of the twentieth century, caused drunkenness in the streets and made the people glad when he died.
He banned laymen from wearing priests' hat, habit, or collar notwithstanding any custom to the contrary; prohibited close-fitting dresses for women— in the decree Cardinal Zurla asserted that the immodesty of women has been one of the chief causes of so many of the ills which have fallen upon Christianity. The Jews were ordered back into the ghetto, of which the size was extended to prevent overcrowding. The law which forbade them to own real property was revived. One measure for which all the books blamed Leo XII has been proved to be no matter for blame. It was said that he condemned vaccination. That was not what happened. The government of Cardinal Consalvi had issued (June 1822) stringent orders to ensure that the people were vaccinated. Any application for poor relief must be accompanied by a certificate of vaccination. Except in Ferrara and Ancona the people were almost unanimous in failing to come forward. The priests at Forlì and Rimini refused to give out notices from the altar, or sound the church bells to summon to the clinic. Curates started refusing to report births. The medical profession doubted these compulsions. Consalvi persisted; a commission discussed whether to refuse admission to hospitals or orphanages or seminaries without a certificate of vaccination. By the time that Leo XII was elected Pope, government had obviously failed. What the new Pope did was to bow to necessity and make vaccination optional. 27
The Pope was also accused of abolishing street lighting so that passengers might be lit only by the lamps before the shrines of saints. This also is legend.
Though he was unspoilt by power or ceremony, ascetic, uncompromising, and more remote from the world than suited a Pope of the Restoration, no one supposed that he was foolish. When he concerned himself with Church affairs, he conducted them excellently. He had been nuncio in Germany and understood the wider Church. Towards the governments of Germany or France, Spain or Austria, he pursued a steady and prudent policy, not always successful but hardly less moderate than the policy of Consalvi. In care for the pageants of liturgy in Rome, for the restoration of churches, for the celebrations in 1825 of the Jubilee year, for the growth of the religious orders, and for all Catholic interests as they were religious interests, he proved himself an eminent Pope. But the Pope was also king; and as king he died one of the two hated Pope-kings of the nineteenth century.
Eighteenth-century modes of keeping order were applied incongruously to nineteenth-century disorder. Cardinal Rivarola, tall, dry, red-faced, squinting, and intelligent, who achieved excellent results against brigands round Rome, was sent to the north with exceptional powers. At Ravenna he closed inns, banned cards and games of chance, forced all citizens walking after dark to be accompanied by a lantern, put on the stairs of the bishop's palace a chest into which informers might drop their papers, imprisoned without trial or only tried in long months, made it illegal to speak against the regime in cafés. In Faenza he arranged twelve marriages between the two murdering factions (in Faenza the people called the Carbonari dogs and the Sanfedists cats) and to this end gave dowries. In Holy Year 1825 companies of friars toured the cities and towns of the Romagna preaching penitence and denouncing sectaries in the piazzas. The mission of the eighteenth century had now a political aim as well as a religious. Someone fired at Cardinal Rivarola in his carriage but hit the chaplain who sat beside. Rivarola behaved imperturbably. A writer 28 sympathetic to Pope Leo XII has said of Cardinal Rivarola's regime that it was not tyranny but the grotesque caricature of tyranny: 'a governor governing with the methods of Rossini's Don Bartolo.' Rivarola was sure that the high rate of rape which the people of Ravenna accepted as inevitable, was due to the French occupation.
The predicament of the Papal States was shown by a report of October 1824 from Cardinal Sanseverino on Forlì. This cardinal was no exaggerator. The secretary-general of the Legation, he said, openly favours liberals. His (the cardinal's) first secretary has a mistress and is bribable but cannot be got rid of because he is indispensable. The archivist belongs to a secret society and is fanatical for the Constitution. His assistant is a carbonaro under suspicion. The head of police is incompetent and without energy. Two loyal officers have been shot at. Two civil magistrates are excellent, seven others are Carbonari or at least liberals. The postmaster-general is an old Jacobin and follower of Murat who pries into confidential letters and has sons who are the scandal of the country.
But the cardinal who shattered these attempts at the impossible was Pallotta against the brigands in the south. He issued a decree (15 May 1824) abolishing the courts in favour of his absolute discretion, ordering the shooting of captured brigands within twenty-four hours, and heavy fines on villages where brigands were found. The edict was so shocking that a month later the Pope accepted Pallotta's resignation.
On Christmas Eve that year the brigands paid money to have a solemn mass sung in the church at Sonnino.
The Congress of Vienna restored the Papal States, partly because it could see nothing else to do with Italy, partly because Russia and Britain wanted to limit the power of Austria. Only ten years later it was found that they had burdened the Pope with lands and peoples which he could no longer govern. After six more years of turmoil the Papal States again became the home of foreign garrisons, because only foreign garrisons could secure the continued existence of the Papal States. This fateful predicament—the vocation to rule historic lands inalienable; the inability to rule effectively; the presence of Austrian or French soldiers and all that that implied for political independence—conditioned the papacy of the nineteenth century. The Congress of Vienna saddled the Popes and therefore the Roman Catholic Church with a state of life which must affect its attitudes towards democratic or even constitutional governments.
Thus the Revolution and its aftermath developed even the office of the Pope.
It made his government centralized like other governments, though weaker than other governments. At first sight this only applied to the monarchy in the Papal States and not to the international government of the Church. For instead of lessening the power of states over their Churches, it increased their control over choice of men, use of endowments, absence of immunities. At first sight the Pope was less international now than thirty years before because the French went their way with their Church, the Austrians went their way with their Church, and even Protestant Prussians went their way with their Catholic Churches. In legal terms this lessening of the Pope's power was not an illusion.
But underneath the legal forms, a new spirit can already here and there be detected. Just because states took more power, clergy and people began to look to a court of appeal outside the State. The Revolution ended feudalism, and so ended most local rights and exemptions. Like every other group, the Churches were face to face, not with complicated governments of an ancien régime, where power lay among various estates of which the clergy was one, but with centralizing governments which inherited the mantle of Napoleon. Instead of looking for help to an archaic constitution, like that of the Holy Roman Empire, or an archaic office like the Archbishop-Elector of Mainz, or a mass of archaic exemptions embodied in canon law, they began to look over the mountains or seas to a distant Pope as the supreme spiritual court in the Catholic Church. Loss of State power by the Pope began to be compensated not by law but by feeling. To the constitution and feeling of the Italian churches the Pope had always been central. To the Churches of the dispersion under Protestant or Orthodox or Turkish rulers the Pope had always been central —Irish, Poles, Uniats of the East. But now Catholic governments at times felt to their Catholic subjects less unlike the governments of Britain or Prussia or Russia, and Catholics not of the dispersion began to find some of the feelings evident in the breasts of Poles or Irish. In addition many more Catholics were now ruled by non-Catholic governments, in the Rhineland, Poland, Belgium. Whether or not that made the Catholic Church weaker, it must make the Pope stronger as a resort of appeal from subjects who had no other resort.
These events gave Popes the sensation, hardly felt since the Counter-Reformation, that they led a mighty revival of religion. They were not mistaken. All over Europe men restored churches, rebuilt chapels, reopened monasteries, organized schools. The Roman Catholic Church came out of the Napoleonic age feeling that it passed from darkness to light. Persecution was past, reconstruction prospered. With this new prosperity the Pope's reputation rose. Though he might be hated among Popes, the repute of his office was higher. As never in the eighteenth century, Catholics associated the idea of religious revival with the Pope's guidance and leadership.
Sometimes the leadership came from behind; that is, the Pope was faced with the unpalatable need to accept what the revolution did and stamp the change with his approval; either because it was irreversible, or because it was sensible.
For example: we saw the French Viceroy of north Italy high-handedly ordering that the cathedral in Venice be changed, so that San Marco became the cathedral. When the first patriarch of the Restoration secured from Rome his confirmation, Rome characteristically said in the bull that the cathedral was San Pietro in Castello and took no notice of San Marco. The new patriarch Milesi prudently took ceremonious possession of both cathedrals. Five years later a solemn bull 29 ordered the transfer to San Marco. Rome pretended not to know that San Marco had already served as a cathedral for fifteen years. It weighed the considerations judiciously and imperturbably, noticed that the old cathedral close of San Pietro was in 'other hands', and so on various good grounds pastoral and historical decided that the cathedral ought to be transferred to San Marco.
Thus a Pope, in this case Pius VII, accepted what the Revolution did. But he would not accept it because the revolution did it and then no one complained. It had to be shown even now to be sensible. Rome decided to do without blushing what someone else did fifteen years before.
The Shadow of the Jansenists
Jansenism died, or seemed to die. Rightly or wrongly it was associated with liberal reform, and that was dead. Some had recanted, some disreputable, none in powerful positions.
Great names from a Jansenist past lived on as shadows. The Synod of Pistoia was condemned by Pius VI in the bull Auctorem fidei of 1794, the last of the great anti-Jansenist bulls in the tradition of Unigenitus. Scipione de' Ricci submitted to Pope Pius VII in Florence (1805), was resented by his old colleagues, and lived a sad and solitary life writing his Memoirs which vainly endeavoured to retract more than half the retractation. He fancied himself a confessor for the faith in exile, a survivor of Port-Royal. At Pavia Tamburini, though he remained near-Jacobin in his opinions, was restored to be professor of law at the university of Pavia and even after his retirement lived on as director till his death (1827) at the age of ninety; but in the faculty of law he no longer influenced the Churches. In Genoa Degola resented Ricci's recantation, and remained faithful to Port-Royal as a goal of pilgrimage, and privately encouraged the reading of books by the Jansenist fathers. He spent all his last years till his death (1826) in a studious retreat, respected but no longer a public influence. In France Grégoire started again to publish liberal books and in 1819 dared to be elected a deputy to the National Assembly but was forced to retire by an explosion of opinion and lived on in retirement, refusing invitations and pressure to retract. Occasionally were found once-promising priests now on a shelf; like the rector of the diocesan seminary at Treviso who was put out because he co-operated with the French and eleven years after the battle of Waterloo was still, for all his ability, assistant curate in a little parish of 688 souls. 30
Santa Maria Zobenigo in Venice (1821) had eighteen priests on its staff and two of them interest. Father Fracasso abandoned the ecclesiastical state 'during the time of troubles'. But he was back now, not only an assistant in a parish but valued for his learning and a consultant theologian to the Bishop of Vicenza. The other was Giuseppe Maria Pujati, once the colleague of Scipione de' Ricci and Tamburini, and the leader of Jansenism in Venice; now, though getting towards his ninetieth year, still able to minister in services, 31 no longer representing anything or anyone that counted in this new world, a ghost from a vanished Jansenist past which yet subtly, and underneath, and unseen, worked among the pastoral ideals of Churchmen in the present.
The only place where Jansenism seemed to be alive was in the books of those who confuted its ideas. Vélez's The Apology for Altar and Throne (1818) contains a violent passage against Ricci's Synod of Pistoia, which had had no influence in Europe for two decades. Controversialists lived in the mental world of their youths and trampled upon imaginary serpents of the past while they might have been looking out for the real serpents round the next corner.
But, underneath, the pastoral and devotional ideals of Jansenism were not dead. They were no longer seen in public. But children learnt from their mothers who had learnt from Jansenist pastors. Among the leaders of the nineteenth century may be found several with a Jansenist or half-Jansenist upbringing. The great novelist Manzoni, in whose attitudes the Jansenist strand is evident, owed an indirect debt to Degola. Mazzini, reacting against Christianity into deism, learnt from a Jansenist mother the stern sense of vocation which made him one of the two most religious leaders of the Italian Risorgimento. The other was the Tuscan Ricasoli, the 'iron baron' who succeeded Cavour as prime minister of a united Italy. The iron quality derived from a strictness and austerity learnt in the Jansenist environment of his youth. Raffaele Lambruschini, nephew of two powerful cardinals of the Curia during the Napoleonic wars, was the secret vicar-general of the Orvieto diocese while his uncle the bishop was exiled; he was then discovered and taken to Corsica. After the Restoration he began to work in the Curia. Soon he found that the new Curia was no place for one of Jansenizing opinions and left for his Tuscan retreat. There he founded schools, orphanages, journals, pioneered a periodical for Italian education, encouraged better farming; still a priest, at first doubtful whether the Pope was necessary to the Church, always against the Pope's monarchy in the Papal States, but convinced in the end that a Papacy was part of God's vocation for the Church; a priest of the old Enlightenment, wealthy enough to resist the pressures of the conservative world, adapting his principles to a new society and in old age a political leader of the Risorgimento; convinced to the last that liberty rested upon religious foundations.
Other bishops or priests who sided with revolution, or at least co-operated, were sometimes shelved and sometimes continued in post, though an embarrassment both to Rome and their people.
The Bishop of Faenza was bishop under the kingdom of Italy and continued as a bishop, though not well regarded by Rome, till his death in 1826. But he was ancient, and Faenza was a town of bitter liberals, and Rome was not pleased. Not all such bishops were left. Bishop Bratti of
Forlì was nominated by Napoleon and collided with Pope Pius VII. Under Leo XII he was 'invited' to leave the diocese, and went into a Tuscan exile. On the staff of the seminary at Treviso was a liberal priest, Father Giuseppe Gobbato, tolerated as an eccentric; but his eccentricity had an Italian quality, for many years later he was chosen by local leaders of the Risorgimento to preach the sermon in the cathedral to commemorate their martyrs, and so became the canon with a public occasion to praise the name of Garibaldi.
Father Scipione Bonifacio 32 published various works in favour of the revolutionary government of 1797. These were not mere excitement of the moment, or climbing upon the chariot of passing prosperity. They contained a coherent vision of a free Christian society, with the rights of man in harmony with Christian ideals, and with a critique of Mirabeau and Rousseau. Then, when Venetian democracy failed (or was betrayed by Bonaparte at the Peace of Campo Formio) he recanted his previous writings, and under the Austrians showed how impossible to make the Catholic Church democratic. Nor was this the change of a Vicar of Bray. A democrat may lose his faith in democracy when he finds its cause betrayed by its leaders.
How the tension between the old world and the new could affect a bishop was shown by the career of Nicola Caputo. When revolution broke out in Naples (1799) he was a lawyer aged twenty-five, his mother a disciple of Alfonso Liguori. He supported the Revolution, which caused in him a spiritual crisis and decision to seek holy orders. Priest in 1800 and canon of Naples cathedral in 1805, he became a celebrated preacher. In 1818, despite the political record, he was made Bishop of Lecce; and when the Revolution broke out in Naples two years later he preached a glorious sermon at the Lecce Te Deum, joined the demonstration in the piazza and was made a member of the committee to choose members of Parliament. He was in the minority. Most leading ecclesiastics of southern Italy stood against the new constitution, as is proved in a report of the Naples ministry of justice (November 1820).
Then the Revolution fell, reaction came. King Ferdinand reported to Rome (10 July 1821) that 'only nine bishops' favoured revolution, among them Bishop Caputo of Lecce. Nevertheless he was not ejected. He probably gave a promise never again to engage in politics. He did what he could to prevent clergy being troubled by the police, and the seminary from being attacked for including 'liberal' books in its courses. He had a crisis on his hands over the cathedral chapter, which had lost many endowments during the revolutionary years, and could only fill eight out of twenty-seven canonries; and another crisis in the seminary, because of the low quality of both staff and pupils. He slowly raised the number of ordinands with training in theology. He held a diocesan synod but despite argument of twelve years and appeals to Rome, could not get leave from government to publish its decrees. He could not tax parishes to help cathedral or seminary because the parishes could not afford to be taxed. When revolution came in 1848, he was silent, and took no part; that year the liberals thought him weak and incapable; the Naples nuncio enquired of the Roman Inquisition (1855-6) for documents about Bishop Caputo and was told that none could be found; and he died aged eighty-eight two years after the unification of Italy in 1860. 33
In revolutionary years men must choose their side. And then, the world where even a future Pope was liberal, died; and liberal clergymen were not respectable, certainly not to be preferred; and they could only continue their work, softly and unobtrusively, out of favour with the leaders of Church and State.
The End of the Campaign Against Celibacy
Thirty-five years before, men argued about clerical celibacy in Austria, Bavaria, the Rhineland, even in Tuscany, as though sensible men could hope that in the not distant future the rule might be abrogated.
The Revolution changed all this. Following the rights of man the French reformers soon allowed clerical marriage and the possibility that a man might become again a layman if he wished despite his vow of priesthood. As the republicans grew in hate to the Churches, they began demanding clerical marriage, threatening unmarried priests, exempting married priests from deportation. Some of the French constitutional priests who married certainly married in order to avoid deportation or even for the higher motive of staying with their people. Some 3,500 priests in all married during those revolutionary years.
Henceforth the marriage of clergy was associated in many good Catholic minds with the vilest acts of tyrannical government. In 1786 an Austrian could claim with confidence that his plea did not prevent him from being a faithful and loyal Catholic. That confidence was harder after 1800. His critics were more likely to regard him as an apostate.
Napoleon's Concordat provided for the end of married clergy in France and the laicizing of priests, by grace of the Pope, with valid marriage and legitimate children. Ex-Bishop Talleyrand was treated uniquely. He received laicization on condition of giving alms to the poor of his old diocese of Autun.
With the Restoration the argument revived, but only in south Germany. Benedikt Werkmeister was powerful for a time among the new regimes in south Germany. Since Catholic opinion generally had swung decisively against any idea of abrogating the law of celibacy the only chance lay in persuading states to act despite Rome and despite most of their people.
But the difference in the world was shown by the new arguments which were brought. We are short of priests, we cannot get the people looked after properly so long as we exclude married men from the priesthood. This was the first time when this plea, so characteristic of the twentieth century, was heard. It contrasted marvellously with the argument of some conservatives just before the Revolution, when they said that as priests were far too many it was a mistake to abrogate celibacy because it would increase their number.
One big mind raised the debate to a new level. J. B. Hirscher, professor at the new Catholic faculty at the Protestant university of Tübingen, printed in the Tübingen journal for 1820 an unsigned review. 34 What concerned him was the entire relationship between moral sensitivity and the married life. It is doubtful morally to compel a man to be married in the hope that thereby he will turn his mind to higher things. The family brings with it the suffering inseparable from private affections, and is the school of compassion; therefore it is wrong to deprive priests, unless they feel the vocation to the single life, of the chance of sharing in these passions and compassions. The article was far the most profound plea to appear on the side of those who wanted change. It came too late to make any difference.
In Silesia and Baden, where the population was mixed in religion, the movement against celibacy was still vocal. In 1828 the two young Theiner brothers at the university of Breslau (one was later to become the celebrated Vatican archivist) published with polemical intent the best history of clerical celibacy written until that moment, a book still useful. That same year twenty-three Catholic laymen headed by professors at the university of Freiburg im Breisgau, petitioned the lower house of the Baden Parliament, the grand-duke, and the archbishop, that celibacy be abolished for Catholic priests. Even two of the Catholic professors of divinity at Freiburg were strong against celibacy in their public lectures. In 1831 the petition was revived and joined by fifty ordinands. The archbishop (Boll) refused to ordain any of them till they retracted. He forced one of the Catholic professors out of his chair and both he and his colleague soon became Protestants and married. In Württemberg a certain little 'women's movement' was evident, women protesting against the lowering of their sex because of the rule of celibacy. A Württemberg society of some 200 members was formed, and unrest ensued in the parishes. Forty parishes appealed to the king, 'rather no priest than a married priest.' 35
Here is the career of a German priest whose way was disturbed by revolution. Johann Anton Dereser (whom we have met as a reformer of vernacular liturgy, p. 442) lived 1757-1827, and therefore was at the height of his powers during the revolutionary years. He became a discalced Carmelite and when the French Revolution broke out was teaching oriental languages at the new university founded by the Elector of Cologne in Bonn. He accepted that the Bible was inerrant in faith and morals but that its history must be investigated scientifically. He believed that we must interpret the texts for ourselves, and need not rely on the opinions of the Fathers. He demanded that Catholic dogmatic must be based on a scientific study of the Bible and historical in its approach. These opinions soon made him suspect for heresy and a New Testament study was put upon the Index of prohibited books. In 1790 Pope Pius VI demanded that the elector (Max Franz) proceed against Dereser and other Bonn professors. The elector refused, but in the next year Dereser resigned, and some members of Bonn university thought that they lost their best man.
This record meant that he could never afterwards come to full fruition as a scholar. The world changed rapidly, and had small use for a monk of his opinions. He found a teaching post at Strasbourg under a bishop who accepted the new French civil constitution of the clergy, and himself took the oath to the civil constitution. This did not protect him from arrest and death sentence under Jacobin rule. The fall of Robespierre saved him from execution, and at Würzburg he was absolved for taking the oath. In 1799 he became professor of oriental languages at Heidelberg, and soon afterwards left the Carmelites and lived as a secular priest. In 1806 he taught at the university of Freiburg im Breisgau, in 1810 was city pastor at Karlsruhe but was expelled after fourteen months because of a funeral sermon at the death of the grand duke. Then Wessenberg found him a home at Lucerne as professor, but the fall of Napoleon in 1814 meant that many with a doubtful past lost their employment, and he was accused of heresy. Nevertheless he found his last haven as professor of dogmatic theology in Breslau. 36 Meanwhile he translated several of the books of the Bible into German, a translation much used among Catholics in the second quarter of the nineteenth century.
The Structure of the Church
Of the 131 sees in the kingdom of Naples, eighty-eight were vacant in 1818. In Germany only five sees were occupied (1814). In Latin America almost all sees had either no bishops or bishops who could not act.
The Revolution abolished some dioceses, usually in fact rather than theory, by failing to fill a vacant see. The men of the Restoration were therefore confronted with certain sees which existed in theory and were obviously good to revive, and other sees which existed in theory and which it would be insane to revive. Sometimes, as in south-west Germany, nothing would serve but an entire reconstruction of dioceses and sees; and then the revival must be matter for argument between Rome and governments, and incorporated in a Concordat. At the other extreme the kingdom of Italy had quietly 'suppressed' the diocese of Caorle with its three parishes and of Torcello with its eleven parishes. To revive was absurd. In 1818 Rome formally suppressed.
History provided a special problem in southern Italy. Near to Greece, the land adopted from a very early epoch the Greek systems of many bishops and many dioceses, every town with its bishop. Therefore the mainland in the kingdom of the Two Sicilies had more bishops per head of population than anywhere else in the world.
In 1800 mainland southern Italy had 131 dioceses; Spain had fifty-four; Sicily had nine; Germany had twenty. The Napoleonic governments in southern Italy solved the difficulty by refusing to fill sees and at the Restoration only forty-three of the 131 dioceses had bishops. The Sorrento peninsula alone had nine bishoprics. It was not only the Greek example. Barons preferred bishops of their private region.
The age of reconstruction reduced these sees in the kingdom of Naples by fifty; in six stages between 1818 and 1834. Reason, or attention to the number of bishops elsewhere in Europe, suggested that they could comfortably lose another twenty or thirty. But for a very conservative government to abolish so many bishoprics was itself extraordinary and only fought through in the teeth of resistance, from squires who still preferred their own bishops, canons afraid for their chapter if the diocese vanished, antiquarians in love with a historic office, townsmen, men of civic pride fearing loss of prestige for their town, provincial governments arguing that the presence of a bishop helped them to be a local centre. Difficult and time-consuming though the process was, it was done. Fifty bishoprics disappeared. The nine sees of the Sorrento peninsula became two. Money was the overriding reason.
The mensa of the bishop contained far less money where it had not disappeared. Many mensae lost much of their income when feudal tithes were abolished. The mensa of the little diocese was even more precarious, because the administration had been less efficient, title-deeds more easily lost, intruders more brazen. At first bishops of small sees in the south found it hard to repair their houses and live honourably, let alone help the poor or subsidise the seminary. The Concordat of 1818 between Rome and Naples laid it down that a bishop must have not less than 3,000 ducats a year net; but this was far easier to agree than to achieve. A long hunt ensued for documents that went missing during the Napoleonic years. The first bishops of the Restoration found the recovery of property for the mensa to be their most arduous and time-occupying duty, they passed from official to official according to the district, wrote letter after letter and lamented that answers dallied and the file grew fat. 'I've made numberless efforts,' wrote a bishop sadly; 'I've toured the officials of three provinces where the property is and those in charge of it. I've written and rewritten numberless letters, and I have been at my wits' end to know what else I can do to get possession or even to discover what I own.' 37
That bishop's archive was found to be the only surviving item in the ransacked bishop's palace; the rooms were naked even of a crucifix; but someone must have hunted through all the papers, damaged as they were by time and water, looking ignorantly for he knew not what, because they were heaped together higgledy-piggledy, and it took a few years of sorting before they were again usable as a system of filing.
At first sight little changed in the bishop's duties.
Pastoral letters of Italian bishops might have been written fifty years before. Visitations felt the same and their reports read alike; diocesan synods were urged from Rome but seldom held, missioners preached; in the summer of 1822 crowds of both sexes came to the chapel of St. Foca near Melendugno in southern Italy because they suffered from a plague of insect bites and went away healed; the number of endowed masses fell because endowments were lost but were still high, country priests were still countrymen and needed lifting amid the morals of countrymen; an old administrative system inherited from the Council of Trent and Spanish rule in Italy continued to hamper freedom of action; the diocese of Lecce still had seventy-one churches and 215 chapels for twenty-six inhabited places; 38 the ideal of priesthood was still that of the Counter-Reformation, the model saint was still St. Charles Borromeo; chapters were still divided though they had far fewer canons because they had lost so many endowments; seminaries were still in crisis, or worse crisis because bishops found it hard to reach a tolerable level of students or of teaching staff. In short, at first sight men still lived in the world of the eighteenth century, as though Bonaparte never crossed Rhine or Pyrenees or Alps.
The bishop's cure was subtly different.
Too much had happened to too many people.
Monks and nuns in their thousands were driven out of their convents and perforce made new homes and new careers. Many of them liked these new homes or new careers. Under the rules they were bound to return to their monasteries or nunneries if these were reopened. The idea had only to be put forward to look absurd. Priests had been driven out of parishes or countries and perforce made new careers. Many of these new careers could not be ecclesiastical. A man who left his priesthood under compulsion and twenty years later had no desire to return, could hardly be compelled, whatever the laws of the Church decreed.
Father Napoletani was a parish priest and confessor. In the Parthenopean republic in Naples he took the side of revolution, and in the reaction of 1799 was driven into exile. He enlisted as a soldier in the French army and steadily rose in rank. Sent to service in his native land he became colonel and then general under King Joachim Murat. During this time he married twice and begot numerous children. When King Ferdinand was restored in 1815 he could not possibly return to the priesthood, nor could a run-away priest serve as a soldier. So he applied to Rome, received absolution and lay status, and continued to serve as a general in the army. 39
A diocese (if in southern Italy, a diocese larger than before) was no longer dominated by monks. The bishop was more evidently the pastoral leader of most of the clergy. He had less frequent need to argue with abbots, or besiege Rome to decide between himself and a monastery. Those arguments and appeals continued. They took less of a bishop's endeavour.
He was free (in most places) of the prison, and the office of a judge. If he still sent away delinquent clergy it was more like sending them away to a retreat than to shackles, to a home than to gaol. Good bishops had always appeared as pastors rather than policemen. The Revolution made it easier for any bishop not to look like a policeman. Where he was not so free of the prison, as in the kingdom of the Two Sicilies, he was sometimes perplexed.
During the occupation [wrote a puzzled bishop to the Congregation of the Council] certain priests of this diocese, at a time when there was no bishop, sank so low as to put sons into the world, to the scandal of the faithful. I ordered that they be shut up in a monastery as in a prison for three years. They are still there. Now I do not know what to do. While the children are alive, scandal remains. So long as there is scandal, how can I order that the punishment ends? But here the half-witted fathers and unhappy children clash against each other in my mind. The fathers talk of human weakness, the sons talk of hunger. The fathers ask for forgiveness, the sons for justice. What ought I to do? I am in trouble of mind. In my soul the fire of charity and the hatred of sin are locked in battle. I do not know what to do. 40
The bishop lost his feudal rights and therefore part of the secular authority which made him a magnate in the state and the secular equal of the provincial governor. But he gained more than he lost. For generations he had fought barons and squires, whether to preserve the property of the Church, or to protect peasants, or to be rid of some criminal priest whom they shielded. Now barons and squires had no such power; and if they tried to steal the glebe or trample upon the curate, the bishop could claim the help of central government. With feudalism disappeared the old rights of patrons. The Restoration allowed patronage a little revival. But patrons were never again what once they were. The bishop had more say than before in the posting of more priests.
In the first few years bishops on confirmation tours administered the sacrament to huge numbers of candidates, some advanced in years, for many districts had had no bishop to confirm for thirty years.
Lists of confessors had names which arrived without anyone knowing how, with certificates of passing an examination which had hardly asked other than very formal questions. Several Italian bishops of the Restoration forced confessors to re-subject themselves to examination, and were disquieted with the results. Of thirty-seven confessors examined by the new Archbishop of Conza, he renewed the faculties of only ten. 41
Because priests were few, bishops complained that they dare not discipline the priests in service, and had to put up with lay clothes, non-residence, and gabbled masses. Doubtless the standards varied as greatly as before the Revolution. Turin in 1821 reported a high standard among the diocesan clergy. 42
The Revolution played about with holy days. The ability to transfer saints' days to another day had not been overlooked as an advantage by peasant populations. Local communities moved their saint away from the day in the calendar to the day which suited their market, or their harvest, or their traditional people's ceremony—that is, they started to choose the date for its secular interest; and bishops spent time and too much energy, in securing that the saint was once again celebrated on his proper day.
Visitations after the Restoration have a somewhat different tone. They are shorter, accept brief information and more summary inventories. They are shorter because many dioceses were united and the bishop must go further and quicker and had less time for the paper. They were also shorter because clergy and parishes could even less afford the cost of entertaining and feeding the visitors. Perhaps the bishop's entry to a parish was a little more elaborate, even more ceremonious, with louder fireworks, more flowery arches of triumph, a more clanking escort; but the bishop's entry during the eighteenth century could be very ceremonious. Because they were shorter they could be less searching, and less informative. The reader may learn less of the people's superstition, and sit aridly among lists of church furniture. The bishop probably understood less fully than his predecessor. But he had more people to try to understand.
In many dioceses the repair of churches was more anxious to the bishop's eye. Whether incumbent or patron, congregation or community was responsible, everyone found it harder to mend roof and walls and windows during the troubled years, because materials were expensive and labour scarce and money insecure. In Lombardy and Venezia congregations had the fabbricieri, their officers to supervise repair. In south Italy the funds for repair were called luoghi pii laicali were taken by government during the Napoleonic years and used for general welfare under a committee of local laymen. If the Church had been repaired not by the community but by the patron, this too was lost because patronage was abolished with all other feudal rights. The 'general welfare' for which the luoghi were to be used could include the repair of the church and the expenses of its worship. But in the slump of 1816-17 villagers were starving and their communes had few monies to pay for altar cloths. In at least one place the village gave only money which failed to suffice for the oil in the lamps, and paid for nothing else. Villages could not afford incense even on high feasts, or candles to escort the sacrament. The Bishop of Campagna used the word horror of his feelings when he witnessed 'the indecency and ruin of the worship of God.' His worst agony came when he was forced to take the reserved sacrament out of a church because it had no lamp burning, no wax, no incense; the floor was wet, priests were reluctant to say mass, people had nowhere to kneel. Simultaneously he had news of a fall of lead from the roof at Quaglietta church, and heard that at Buccino those who knelt to pray before the monuments above were threatened with death because they were held only by rotting cords and strands. The bishop tried to comfort himself: 'I have no peace of mind, I pour out my grief before the Lord.' One of the worst things was the behaviour of some new lay administrators of charity in backward parts, who instead of giving money to the priest to buy candles, bought candles themselves and thought it their duty personally to place the candles on, or later remove them from, the altar—not without irreverent clambering about a sanctuary. Bishops made representations that the income of the former luoghi be administered by clergymen. In time (1820) the government of Naples made bishops vice-presidents of the committee that administered charitable funds. 43
This was the beginning in southern Italy, of consciousness of spheres of life, one that of the Church and the other that of the world.
It was also a big social shift. Once the poor man begged his loaf and soup at the door of a monastery. But now the doors of many monasteries were shut for ever. Charitable funds were once administered by the parish priest, now by a lay committee. Formerly the clergy were registrars and had an oversight of engagements as well as marriages. Their oversight still existed, because society expected it to exist, not because the law, with its civil marriage, provided. Once he was buried in the church cemetery or in the church; from 1817 the kingdom of Naples began to provide public cemeteries, and no one could be buried in church.
The Bishop of Campagna, when he visited his cathedral in 1820, was disturbed to find that the windows had no glass. At Calitri he found the parish church with large holes in the walls, gaping clefts in the floor, and the chancel arch out of true and threatening to fall. 44
How rapid was recovery is hard to determine, because it is not agreed in what recovery consisted. Old-fashioned parishes wanted everything back as it stood before 1789, and however prosperous parochial life now, older men remembered a day when they had five brotherhoods instead of one, and easier endowments, and less ill-paid clergy, and more chalices, and more populous pilgrimages. In changing times natural regrets for past time bred their habitual illusions of a more golden age. The Bishop of Treviso knew that before the wars his cathedral had thirty-eight choral prebends and now only twenty. He imagined twenty to be inadequate and applied to government for more endowment. Government refused, and suggested that instead he appoint honorary canons. But the bishop thought honorary canons would cheapen the rank of canon and declined.
In 1826 the little parish of Coste in Venezia reported to its bishop that the parish church was badly off for sacred vessels and furnishings 'because so much silver and other valuables were stolen' during the invasion; but their standards were of the eighteenth century, for the inventory shows a provision which a modern church might think ample, and perhaps it was relevant that the learned incumbent had seventy-two years and served most of his ministry in more prosperous days, and still liked to grumble that he was turning into a sheep among ploughboys and preferred to be away from his parish for longer weeks than his bishop approved.
Nevertheless, not all was imagination. In 1801 French troops sacked the sacristy and relic chests of Pezzan di Campagna. Twenty-six and a half years later the sacristy still looked as though it had been sacked. 45
Trying to get government to release more ex-Church money to now impoverished churches, a bishop could use the argument from utility: 'In this way [by a better provided worship] the people are made religious and in consequence socially responsible and obedient to law. Take away the foundation and all is disorder.' 46
Where the buildings of a former monastery stood idle and empty, unconverted to other uses (as happened more often in country than town), seminaries if reopened moved into better buildings than ever before. This was not the common case. Many bishops had the old problem of a seminary where the students, or two-thirds of them, lived in lodgings round the town and could have no common life. And seminaries were hard to revive because priests were in short supply. Bishops dare not decree too strict rules about attendance in a seminary because they needed more priests quickly. This got worse before it got better. The seminary at Ferrara had 114 students in 1814, twenty-five students fifteen years later. 47
The end of any need to prove that a man was an ordinand, if he were to be exempt from conscription into the army, may have affected numbers. But this was not the real cause. To restore to young men the habit of coming forward for ordination was no light task. In the diocese of Treviso during the years after the Restoration an average of twenty-two priests died each year, an average of six priests took orders.
Numbers of clergy in the city of Rome are not typical. Nevertheless a comparison (see Table 12) illustrates the age of reconstruction. 48
But in north Italy at Lodi priests in the diocese, secular and regular, 49 were as follows: in 1772, 1,168; in 1782, 1,070; in 1792, 887; in 1799, 713; in 1816, 565.
After the Restoration things could not right themselves at once, if to right matters was (though it was not) to go back to the same percentage of priests to people as in 1772. The diocese of Lodi had 265 people to each priest in 1816, 414 people to each priest forty-six years later.
The number of priests in diocese of Modena 50 were, in 1797, 1,407; in 1815, 896; in 1832, 791. Part of the decline in numbers rested upon a growing determination of bishops, or sometimes of Josephist governments, to keep standards higher.
In certain states the Josephist hand lay heavy upon the reopened seminaries. According to the Council of Trent, the seminary was the bishop's nursery of priests. All good bishops took a fatherly interest, some bishops joined in the common life where it existed, and even attended the examinations. But in Lombardy and Venezia of the Restoration, government interfered, intruded, fussed. Bureaucrats plagued the staff of the seminary over admissions, expulsions, textbooks, lists, data, and every sort of exhortation. A seminary was supposed to teach agriculture and a small amount of science; but it quickly became also the only secondary school of the city. All the ordinands came from poor homes and had their fees paid. They were not enthusiastic about their studies. If an ordinand came from a middle-class home, he was probably sent away to Padua. Government liked Febronian textbooks of canon law, but neither interfered with solidly orthodox books on doctrine nor pushed the teaching staff towards Jansenist ideas. The staff was ill paid, diet meagre, library poor.
Bishops asked government for books from the libraries of suppressed monasteries at Padua, but lots of those books had come under the auctioneer's hammer. The biographer of the director of the seminary at Treviso raged over the miserable stipend, especially because dancers and mimes and singers earned rivers of gold to mislead the young while the director had a pittance for leading them aright. 51
The largest change in parish life was marked by the near-disappearance of brotherhoods. These lost their money and disappeared. One brotherhood remained almost universally, that of the Most Holy Sacrament (Santissimo). Sometimes (San Canciano in Venice) the Santissimo tried to help the parish priest to revive other brotherhoods. In 1817 the Austrian government went back on part of the laws of Joseph II by allowing the revival of brotherhoods. But very few were successful in the old way, they were now small groups of the godly who prayed for the dead and cared for the cemetery chapel, or kept special devotion to the rosary, or fostered prayers among a particular group like the Slavs in north-east Italy. The revived brotherhoods of Genoa sent a petition (1826) to Rome that their property be restored. In parts of Spain, especially Andalusia, the decline of brotherhoods was less evident. But except in rare pockets of parish life they never again dominated the religious life of the laity. Country priests became kings of their congregations. Laymen lost a place when that main form of religious life in the old world faded. Perhaps, (some have thought) they also lost interest, the parish church never succeeded in harvesting loyalties like an old brotherhood.
Nevertheless, local loyalties could still be strong. The village of Falzé in Venezia, whose saint was St. Jerome, protested to the bishop against the near-by village of Trevignano, whose saint was Theonistus, because hung over the main door of the church at Trevignano appeared 'an insolent picture' showing St. Jerome at the feet of St. Theonistus. 52 Jerome was a far more famous saint. But Theonistus was the martyr patron of Treviso.
The Napoleonic wars made movement of civilians difficult, and therefore knocked pilgrimage, already declining under discouragement by reforming governments. Catholic assailants of pilgrimage grew more outspoken, defenders more lukewarm or softvoiced. By the end of the Napoleonic wars it was widely agreed that a pilgrimage was not an event of the Church but an event of the individual, part not of corporate worship but of private devotion. The habit was broken. Peninsular war made travel to Compostella the riskiest of adventures. It stopped, and after the wars was never renewed in more than a trickle from anywhere outside Spain. Napoleon's armies and Catholic Reformers between them left a vacuum in a people's devotion, not to be filled again, and then in a different way, until the coming of the railway and new shrines like Lourdes.
The Jubilee of 1825
In 1825 Pope Leo XII celebrated the only jubilee of the nineteenth century. He was warned against it, because of European opinion and the insecurity of roads in the Papal States. He insisted. The first signs disquieted. The hotel for pilgrims had 5,000 beds and on 2 January 1825 had only 100 pilgrims. But in all May (the highest month) the pilgrims were 41,888, and the total for the year was 94,157, and enabled Rome to claim success. The numbers did not compare with those of the eighteenth century. And the pilgrims who came were dominantly Italian: nearly half the total from the Two Sicilies, (44,973); nearly a quarter from the Papal States (19,857); handfuls from Austria, France, Spain, Poland, Ireland. 53 Europe outside Italy took no notice of this jubilee. It was a resounding proof of the decline of pilgrimage over long distances.
In the confiscations of property cathedral chapters and colleges of canons suffered. Many chapters of southern Italy could now sustain only a few canons. The French arrangements provided State pay for parish clergy but no endowments for chapters, and the functions of French chapters remained largely decorative. The clergy were more parochial, the gulf between priest and bishop grew wider because chapters no longer made so strong a middle rank between the country clergyman and his diocesan. Revolutionary governments disliked collegiate churches. They thought them liable to foster abuse and idleness, to promote disharmony because no one could decide, and to use unnecessary endowments when the church could more easily be directed by a parish priest with assistant curates. Since those governments needed the money, this last consideration was final. The Italian kingdom in the north, King Joachim Murat in the south, got rid of collegiate churches, excepting the chapters of cathedrals in a diocese.
When the time of restoration came, the old canons expected to get back their rights. And they could not often succeed. The abolition of so many collegiate churches was not only a way of stealing money from the Church, it was a genuine reform of Church structure. They made an untidy lump in a diocesan and parochial ministry. Neither bishops nor governments of the Restoration were eager to see canons back in their colleges.
This was not a little problem. It can be illustrated from the very different areas of Vicenza in northern Italy and the receptive churches in southern Italy.
Vicenza on the edge of the northern hills was not a diocese with many collegiate churches. But it had a historic college at the church of St. Mary-on-the-hill in the parish of Bassano. The Italian kingdom (1810) took the endowments of the college, abolished its structure and left it under a parish priest. The canons, all natives of Bassano, now applied to be given back their prebends. But the State had no money to recreate prebends, and with the vicar-capitular's support (for the see was in a nine-year interregnum) gave back the prebends as honorary canonries, with due ceremonial in church, but without pay or vote in chapter. The canons at once began to behave as though the church was again a college, and started to try to run the parish church without leave of the parish priest—who asked the authorities of Church and State what he ought to do. When the parish priest had his directing power upheld, the canons ceased to appear, or even to help him in festivals, until some of the laity could not even communicate in their parish church but must go to one of the other churches. 54 It took six years for harmony to reappear in the parish.
Here was a contretemps illuminating for the age of reconstruction. Men expected, and sometimes were told, that acts of revolutionary regimes were null and void, and they therefore expected to come back into their own. But the money which was once their own had evaporated, being directed to other ends; and meanwhile governors and bishops preferred the direct chain of command, bishop-priest-assistant, to these awkward semi-independent chapters which were not the chapters of cathedrals. In such circumstances critics of old colleges easily misrepresented or represented them as comfortable homes for the idle sons of middle-class citizens of the town.
We hear, though seldom, that this destruction was a pity because priests work better in colleges, where they find mutual criticism and mutual encouragement.
Some canons reassumed their colleges and were not challenged. Towards the middle of the nineteenth century can still be found colleges which perhaps had no legal right to exist but which continued to distribute the income in a collegiate way. The canons came into their own at the Restoration, no one challenged, the habit was accepted.
As the Josephists of the north killed the collegiate churches of Venezia, King Murat in south Italy found the 'receptive churches' (1087 out of 3,000 parishes on the mainland) and started to turn them into normal parishes. The Restoration must respect old rights, and disliked everything that Murat did. But it had no desire that receptive churches should continue unreformed. In 1819 the government of Naples subjected the appointment of the parish priest to concursus—that is, the bishop as well as the corporation now chose their pastor; and the bishop henceforth could demand to oversee the parish, require residence of the priests (if they drew any part of the income) and see that they attended choir. 55 This new interference caused discontent among the clergy. The receptive churches had preserved many generations of south-Italian clergy, and south-Italian families, in security and at times in comfort. Numbers of the priests of these churches were now found among the carbonari because they disliked the bishop as an agent of a new and meddling central government. Despite this attempt at drastic reform, receptive churches continued important in the parochial life of south Italy. Colleges had made the one place where after long service pensions could be had. Then the dissolution of so many monasteries and nunneries familiarized the Catholic world with the idea of elderly ecclesiastics living in retirement on a pension. In parts of the French empire there had been talk, and even action, to get a system of pensions and retirement for old clergy. This idea was much alive in the years of reconstruction. The impetus was not the French suggestion but the need, evident to everyone trying to get a better pastoral system. In Venice tourists were scandalized to see ancient shabby unshaven clergymen, down-and-out, toes coming out of their boots, tramps in cassocks, hanging about the streets or canals or bars. The need shrieked the louder because the Revolution dislocated the pattern of ordinations and the average age of the clergy was higher.
In the thirty parishes of Venice City (1821) were serving among the 700 clergy a fair number whose ages are unknown. But the majority whose ages are known included one priest of ninety years, sixteen priests in their eighties (one labelled as 'sick', another as in a home, but among the other fourteen were two heads of parishes) and thirty-three in their seventies. The numerous ex-monks were normally secure because they received a pension from their former monastery. Patriarch Pyrker started a home for elderly clergy in part of a former monastery which a merchant had bought for a factory. To persuade elderly clergy to retire thither was so hard that Pyrker's successor got leave from government to house a few of them within the seminary. 56
The Revolution reduced the number of parishes to confiscate or reallot endowment. The Restoration accepted the reductions as sensible. In 1824 Pope Leo XII even reduced the eighty-one parishes of Rome to forty-four, made from thirty-five of the old plus nine new parishes including Santa Maria Maggiore.
In the reconstruction of parish life the missioner still played a part. In a devastated series of parishes, where the normal system of pastoral care could not quickly be rebuilt, bishops invited missioners to fill the gap. Travelling Redemptorists again spoke to peasant crowds as in the eighteenth century, and often with terrifying effect. It was not quite the same. They were even more unpopular with the middle class and probably with parish priests; and among the carbonaro-minded clergy they were accused of being part of the political reaction. This charge was not quite fanciful, in the atmosphere of those years. More than one Italian government, seeing a rebellious countryside, sent missioners among them to restore order. King Ferdinand I of the Two Sicilies was one who believed in them as men who would summon the people to this obedience. He witnessed a Redemptorist mission in Caserta, and said, 'These good fathers get the people into better order than the generals achieve with my troops.'
During a Redemptorist mission in Campagna (1819), a letter from the Carbonari leaders at Salerno to their lieutenants in Campagna was dropped on the road by the postman. The finder gave it to the missioners, who took it to the archbishop, who gave it to the police. The Carbonari were enraged at the missioners, and accused them of wanting to stir revolution by their use of scourges, litanies, crown of thorns, penitential processions. 57 In all these ways the parish church and the parish priest were much more important after the Revolution. His force in the ancien régime was weakened by
1 semi-independent brotherhoods in his congregations,
2 shrines and chapels of the countryside near by,
3 the frequent presence of collegiate churches.
4 the still more frequent presence of monastery chapels, and the prestige of (many) monks among the people.
All this was changed. Brotherhoods were weak where they existed and part of the parish structure. The old shrines of the countryside, often looked after by a hermit, and magnets for pilgrims or Sunday worshippers, lay in ruins, the hermits were almost forgotten, chapels took men away less often from the parish churches. Church order was more logical, more intelligible, less cluttered, less cumbersome, more clerical, far less diversified, than Church order before the Revolution. The priest was less often a mass-priest, more often a pastor. He had to do more teaching, indeed more work, because he had fewer priests to help, and far fewer monks. The Revival of the Monks The whole Catholic Church was transformed by the destruction of the monks.
In 1815 almost no monks existed in western Europe, except in Spain where King Joseph Bonaparte had not been ruthless and a number of houses continued, and many houses quickly revived. In Austria-Hungary and in Russian Poland many monasteries continued throughout the age of revolution but in conditions which seldom promoted a high quality of community. In countries where monasteries were only suppressed for a short time—Italy, Spain, Portugal, Catholic Switzerland—remnants of a monastery often remained together, or in friendly touch, near their old house, and without much difficulty reoccupied the buildings.
But in 1815 many ex-monks who could have returned to that way of life failed to return. They had married, or found new vocations in parish life, or in teaching, or in all manner of secular employment. They sent to Rome very numerous pleas to be released from vows. The monks who returned to monasteries were a small minority of those who could have returned.
This circumstance must not be thought blameworthy. After the suppressions of their homes many ex-monks found satisfying work as curates or schoolmasters. Of all the parishes in Venice in the year 1821, only eight parishes had no ex-religious as a member of their staffs. The clergy in Venice in 1804 numbered about 1,000, and seventeen years later only 700—but of these 700 more than 150 were ex-monks. They preferred to continue with their new-found vocation and not to return to their old way of life. In certain cases the distinction between the old way and the new was blurred. The parish church of SS Giovanni and Paolo in Venice had only in the revolution become a parish church, it was formerly the friary chapel of the Dominicans. But in 1821, six or seven years after he could have returned to the Dominican order had he wished, the parish priest was an ex-Dominican; and of his twenty-three assistants nineteen were ex-Dominicans. They were in effect a group of religious, no longer living the common life in the old way, not able to keep all their old rule, but intent on a common pastoral endeavour in their old church and buildings. They used indulgences customary among the Dominicans, and had an altar of St. Thomas Aquinas. That this was not the choice of an easier way was proved by the comments of the visiting patriarch who praised them highly for their pastoral zeal and activity. Two of them were blamed for dressing wretchedly; and—this was the danger of a formerly united group continuing as a group in new circumstances—the bishop ordered them when celebrating the liturgy always to use the Roman rite and not the rite of the Dominican order. 58
A similar group of ex-Carmelites were the large majority of assistant priests at the ex-Carmelite chapel of Santa Maria del Carmelo.
At St. Andrew's church in Treviso (1827) fourteen nuns were attached to the parish, coming from several suppressed nunneries; four Camaldolese, five Benedictines, two Ursulines, two Capuchins (one from a suppressed house in Venice) and a Dominican. Of these fourteen nuns, seven lived a common life. Thus the line between the old way and the new was shadowy.
An Ursuline nun of Treviso, whose house was suppressed by the Republic of Venice in 1777, was still working as a nun in a little village near Treviso fifty years later; not solitary, for as time passed she acquired a lay-sister, a Benedictine from a later suppression. 59 She had found her way, and saw no reason to return to a community. Governments made no effort to persuade ex-monks or ex-nuns to return. Usually their old houses had fallen to other uses. But bishops of the Restoration on their visitations were known to ask whether these ex-nuns had no need to return to convents and yet might go on drawing pensions. Someone high in Rome raised (1824) the question whether they ought to reassemble the eighty-four secularized ex-nuns living in the city. 60 The Naples Concordat of 1818 agreed that ex-monks or ex-nuns had no need to return to convents and yet might continue to draw pensions.
Some monks fled to Protestant countries—Benedictines from France to England—and since they fled to keep their way of life, survivors returned.
The most romantic and extraordinary of these monk-refugees was the charismatic Trappist Father Lestrange. In 1790 he took his Trappists out of France to Valsainte in Switzerland, and there continued to attract novices. He made new foundations, especially at Westmalle in Belgium. Then the French occupied Switzerland and Belgium. He took his Trappists to Russia, and from Russia to the United States. Thence the Trappists were strong enough to reopen not only Westmalle but La Trappe itself at the Restoration.
Carthusians were among the worst sufferers. Famous Italian houses, like Pavia and San Martino in Naples, were closed during the Josephist age. France had sixty-eight Carthusian houses which all vanished in 1790, Germany had eighteen which all vanished after the secularization of 1803. The Praemonstratensians were hit even harder. They continued on the Great St. Bernard, in Hungary and in Russian Poland. They never returned to what they were before the Revolution.
The Dominicans had eighty houses instead of 500. The Franciscan Conventuals never recovered from the blows of revolution. In 1773 they had 25,000 members, in 1850 despite revival they had not reached 1,500. The Carmelites made a slow recovery but never came anywhere near the prestige and numbers of fifty years before. The Benedictines had lost more than 1,000 abbeys and priories. 61
Five years after the Restoration an English visitor went into the historic Charterhouse at Pavia, suppressed not by the Revolution but by Joseph II. It was beautiful; quiet and peaceful, with wild flowers growing among the paving-stones, and a fig-tree in fruit, and a caretaker, with wife and child, using the garden to grow food. In the prior's rooms she found a store of grain. 62
In all the grand duchy of Tuscany in 1808 there were 6,332 monks and 10,382 nuns; in 1835, 2,461 monks and 3,939 nuns.
In southern Italy Lecce before the Revolution had 14,000 people and thirty-one monasteries and nunneries. When a new bishop arrived after the Restoration, he found five male houses in all the diocese. He continually lamented—for diocesan and parochial reasons—this shortage of monks.
Elsewhere in south Italy, where Joseph Bonaparte allowed some houses to continue:
Not all bishops were like the Bishop of Lecce in lamenting this decline of numbers. Bishop Vincenzo Ferrari of Melfi was so indignant with the ignorance and corruption of monks that he wished to be rid of them all. Some bishops quietly accepted what happened, and made no strenuous efforts to revive. Still other bishops worked hard to recover old monasteries, and sent mournful letters to Rome lamenting that they failed because the endowments were alienated. The Archbishop of Conza tried to reopen monasteries only in parishes where the priests were too old or incompetent or unavailable, and opposed the reopening of the house of Franciscan Observants at Campagna because when they existed they were no use to the people and caused such talk by ill behaviour that most of the people were glad when they were closed and would dislike to see the house reopen.
Tuscany refused to release more than part of the former monastic endowments. In the Papal States all shut monasteries were reopened—provided that numbers were sufficient to maintain common life. The proviso was big. Between provinces long occupied by the French and provinces, briefly occupied, a difference is observable:
Old monks did not always make the best re-founders of monasteries. The comfortable ways of the eighteenth century were not expected in this new and more emotional world. When bishops revived houses, they found difficulty in getting common life because so frequently they had no or narrow buildings. Rome even proposed (1824) that houses should not continue with less than twelve members, that nunneries without sufficient endowments should be ordered not to receive novices, that those in an order who wished for stricter observance should be gathered in a single house. The plan was not executed but shows the plight of the religious life in the early years of reconstruction. The idea of grouping orders, to help weaker orders, returned from time to time. In 1824 Rome talked of amalgamating Scolopi with Somaschi, and Theatines with Barnabites. Several governments were discontented with the indiscipline or anarchy among revived monasteries. The Pope had to send (1825) a plenipotentiary visitor to Piedmont to reform and reorganize. Much of the work consisted in the reallocation of the fraction of endowment which could be recovered, among the various claimants like monasteries, nunneries, chapters, colleges, charities. It was a legal and pastoral tangle.
The Revival of the Jesuits
They found it easier to renew orders engaged in pastoral work, especially teaching and nursing. Pope Pius VII refounded the Jesuits in 1814 and, despite the reserves of Metternich, saw their numbers grow rapidly, too rapidly for good government, though they never again came anywhere near the numbers when they were suppressed.
In 1773 there were about 22,000 Jesuits; in 1815 about 800 (Russia c. 300, Sicily 199, England 84, USA 86, France 47); in 1820 about 2,000 (banned from Russia in 1820—Spain 436, Papal States 400, France 198).
Among the new members was Charles Emmanuel, the abdicated (1802) King of Sardinia and Piedmont. One of those who returned was Prince Raczynski, Archbishop of Gnesen in Poland. He was a young Jesuit before suppression, new dioceses were made for what was once Poland and (1818) he got leave to renounce his see and rejoin the society.
The early years of the Jesuits after refounding illustrated the problem of reconstruction. The classical tension inside a monastery or order before the Revolution, between men who demanded faithfulness to the founder and his ideal, and men who demanded adaptation to the needs of the society in which now they were placed, reappeared at once among the refounded Jesuits, in a tense form. By will of Ignatius, government was no democracy. Naturally the Jesuits at once in command were those who were Jesuits before 1773. They were ancient, ill, incompetent, with ideas about vocation in a different world, and rapidly dying. Young men came in with that excess of zeal so often found in the age of reconstruction, determined to recreate the see of Rome and the work of the order in a way which would be effective in new circumstances. The Society suffered the same awkwardness as the Church at large. Young Jesuits versus old Jesuits grew into a battle which shook the community on its newly revived foundation. The trouble was made no easier because the allpowerful Secretary-Cardinal Consalvi, who had no hand in the revival, disliked them because their reputation made more difficult his diplomatic aim to get the Papacy again accepted among the powers of Europe. And a key-point of controversy lay in the constitutional friction between the order's new government in Rome and the Russian-Polish Jesuits who saw themselves, with reason, as continuity in the Society. Another part lay in the vow of poverty, and how to operate it when for many revolutionary years 'Jesuits' perforce controlled their own purses. Still another lay in the intentions of Pope Pius VII. He must have Jesuits again because their disappearance was somehow connected with the errors of the old world, with Jansenism and even with the coming of revolution. But he wanted Jesuits more as symbol than reality. He made no move to give them back their old exemptions and privileges or to reinstate them in their old work.
Younger men among the Roman Jesuits were determined upon a revision of statutes. And the statutes were not all observed in the revived houses. Many Spanish and Italian Jesuits were quickly promoted to the solemn vow without passing through the old discipline.
When (1820) they needed to elect a new general they were found to be on the verge of schism. The constitutional question which produced the split was a simple one, whether the electors needed to wait for the arrival of representatives from the Polish Jesuits, who had just been expelled from Russia. Some cardinals, especially Cardinal della Genga the future Pope Leo XII, believed that they could not trust them to conduct the election under the old statutes. Nineteen Jesuits appealed to Consalvi (25 September, 1820) that the constitutions of the Society be preserved unchanged. Consalvi let them go ahead to elect. They elected a conservative after a stormy scene and started to expel young hotheads.
Leo XII (1826) whose attitude was feared by the Society because of his intervention as cardinal in this election, proved himself an unexpected friend. He gave the Jesuits back their old exemptions, and put them again in charge of the Roman College.
They were still a symbol; carrying with them the burden of ancient battles and heaped fables; a flag which Protestants feared, and against which the heirs of Jansenists and Gallicans still fought. A lot of people were alive for whom Clement XIV Ganganelli was the greatest of Popes. At times the reader of Catholic anti-Jesuit pamphlets in the twenties and thirties of the nineteenth century wonders whether Pius VII and his cardinals were right to revive the name. But the fact was, an injustice had been done for the sake of expediency; and even if expediency might suggest that no one should remedy the injustice which by now was partly forgotten, the age of reconstruction was not a time when this mood attracted.
The Revival of Other Orders
In Lombardy the Austrians encouraged orders which taught school or cared for orphans or ran hospitals, and Naples and Tuscany did likewise. The 'pastoral' order of monks or nuns was easier to reconstruct than the contemplative or Benedictine type of order; and sometimes the old contemplative order or Benedictine house could only be revived if it took work which was alien to the tradition of the order, in parishes or schools or hospitals. This was why, as early as 1815, even France had already 14,226 nuns. But it was not the only reason for the revival of nunneries. The old social reason could still be heard. When the Bishop of Campagna in south Italy came to his diocese, he was disturbed to find only one house of nuns, a sorely divided community, into which the survivors of nunneries had been collected. He wrote thus to government: 'It is beyond measure burdensome, and intolerable to a town of 7,000 inhabitants, that they have only this single refuge for their daughters.' 64
The pastoral needs began to break or modify the cloister of nuns. In 1817 Pope Pius VII allowed the Spanish to use enclosed nuns to teach in schools. 65
The monastic endowments of southern Italy had been nationalized, and part alienated. The part which had not been alienated was inadequate to endow all the houses which bishops or communes or orders now wanted to reopen. There was also a problem of conscience; quieting the minds of those now in possession of ex-monastic alienated property. Because the money was insufficient, and controlled by the State, government here also gave precedence to 'useful' orders, that is, teaching and nursing and missionizing.
Slowly the old orders collected themselves. The Grande Chartreuse was reopened in 1816, Monte Cassino as a not strict Benedictine centre five years later.
By way of example, we have a report (1823) from a Lateran canon on the way in which the order was recreated. He said that already they had fourteen houses (sixty Italian houses in 1537). Those in the Papal States (not the Legations) had endowments almost as before the Revolution, though the houses at Orvieto and Urbino had suffered partial loss of income and could only support six canons each. In the kingdom of Naples they had two restored, Naples which dated from 1453 and Bitonto, not with all the previous endowment but with ample to exist, and in Bitonto one of the fairest buildings in all southern Italy. In the Legations Fano and Bologna were restarted, each with a little endowment; Bologna would soon flourish because of its pastoral care in the city, Fano needed grants from other houses to survive. In Lucca (site of the original mother house in the eleventh century) and Genoa the restored houses had but a small income but would manage, at Genoa because they cared for a sanctuary with many offerings, at Lucca because they had charge of a big parish. They hoped next to refound in Ferrara. They had altogether thirteen novices. They now jettisoned their scapular. But in the very year that this report was written they united with another historic order of Italian canons of St. Mary in Reno, which had about forty houses before the revolution but had not now the strength to revive; such of its survivors as wished to practise again the regular life were absorbed into the Lateran canons. In this way 100 houses of canons before the Revolution became less than twenty houses in the Restoration. 66
Monks, especially Italian monks, still adorned the world of scholarship. But the famous were usually older men. The leisure and in good part the great libraries of an old monastic world were gone for the time. Monks were more pastoral, helped in more parishes, taught more small boys, cared for more sick—and they were fewer. The opinion can be found that what the Revolution did to monks led to fewer eminent scholars in monasteries; which meant also, fewer eminent scholars among the clergy. Even in Rome, the schools of divinity were nearer the fringes of knowledge in 1750 than they were three-quarters of a century later.
New Religious Groups
The nineteenth century witnessed a godly revival of the monastic life. But this revival was due not so much to the regrowth of historic orders as the flowering of new orders, or groups, adapted to the new age. Deprived of the assistance of monks or mass priests, the pastor gathered devout women to be his fellow-workers, they adopted a common life and then a rule, sought the bishop's leave, and finally spread beyond parish or diocese and the name of the group was heard in Rome. Already in the years of reconstruction began the foundation of a bewildering variety of little orders, often diocesan, sometimes parochial, rarely exempt; and with pastoral aims, the work of the parish, the care of the old, the teaching of illiterate girls. In this way they altered the complexion of the religious life within Catholicism; making its totality less of a series of independent and powerful corporations, and more of a kaleidoscopic diversity of groups brimming with individual vitality. They hampered the revival of the older and historic orders because they fulfilled the vocation of self-sacrifice in another direction. Some twenty old (but minor) orders finally disappeared.
Also, they were lower in social origins. The rich houses to provide pensions for aristocratic ladies vanished when national treasuries took their money. But women were still in surplus, new primary schools or nursing offered occasion, many new nuns raised their station when they entered the nunnery. Aristocrats might still be found. The system of dowry continued. But the world of the religious orders was no longer so middle class.
Giuseppe Benaglio (1767-1836) was just such a priest-founder of the epoch of reconstruction. As Bonaparte invaded Italy, Benaglio was a canon of Bergamo cathedral. When the convents were suppressed, he created a little teaching 'order' of women, called Daughters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus; and then an evening school for lads in the empty buildings of the old seminary. When the diocesan seminary returned to life he became a professor and then its head, very papalist, fighting tenaciously against every trace of old Jansenism. He wanted to found a religious order of men, called the Institute of the Sacred Heart, to 'fight Jansenism and preach missions', and had even acquired premises when the bishop refused his leave.
At first sight nothing much had changed; a priest with the ascetic ideals of the Counter-Reformation, revering Borromeo and Ignatius Loyola, continuing like priests of the eighteenth century to struggle for good education and extend it to girls, eager for traditional modes of mission. But the atmosphere subtly altered. The Revolution made this priest a more vehement man of the Pope, a more passionate enemy of Jansenists, a more stout defender of Church freedoms from State interference. The name of his new religious order was not tactful. To call it Daughters of the Sacred Heart could not commend it to the older priests and bishops of northern Italy who were disciples of Muratori. The name must offend some whose support or complaisance might have helped. That the bishop at last refused leave for a male order, and that the women's order was at one moment in danger of suppression, will not surprise. Into the devotional attitudes of the Counter-Reformation the Revolution brought new pugnacity, a willingness to flaunt, a readiness to provoke opponents for the sake of winning disciples more committed. Above all, this admirer of St. Ignatius did not put his women or men into historic orders, like Jesuits, or even the more modern Redemptorists who in the age of the Restoration began extraordinary expansion north of the Alps. He preferred a new order, a new name, more local, for local needs, pastoral in its design, more parochial and more diocesan for all its papalism. The reason was at first necessity—he founded in an age when he could not have Jesuits whom a Pope suppressed, and could not have a historic order which the Italian republic suppressed. But as he passed the year of the battle of Waterloo this reason vanished—and still he preferred the new order, new name, new pattern. 67
So the Catholic Church looked different in 1815, and especially because its monks and nuns were now few instead of many. The parish church became more central in pastoral care because the monastic chapel was no longer central. And priests were few instead of many. Instead of far too many priests in a diocese, bishops struggled to find men to fill indispensable work.
To say whether the outlook towards virtus changed, and so affected popular religious attitudes, enters a realm where tests are hard to apply. We can only record events and contemporary opinion.
If God, or St. Mary, or the saints, had not defended their own against Bonaparte, yet Bonaparte prospered for a time, perhaps the saints were not quite so aweful in keeping away depredators. But a devastation could occur such as was rare before the wars. A gang of robbers (1822) got into the country church of Ospedaletto (Treviso) and systematically stripped it of valuables. 68 Such evidence is doubtful; for in the middle eighteenth century hermits were specially at risk of murder.
In southern Italy and parts of Spain government was rigorous in exacting the fulfilment of Easter duties. The certificate of attendance must be shown to the authorities. At first sight this merely revived the habitual practice of the eighteenth century after disuse during the age of revolution. In Spain and Italy during the eighteenth century whole parishes accepted tickets as a matter of form, without the slightest protest or sense of the incongruous, and with handfuls of shirkers quietly evading and little pursued. But what now happened in the Restoration, though it looked the same, was altogether different. In the old days the ticket showed that you did your duty by God, which was also to do your duty by the community, since prosperity depended upon God. Now the ticket showed, or also showed, that you were less likely to be a conspirator against the State. The police were interested to know whether the ticket existed. You were doing your duty by your king, which was also your duty to God, because every good Christian must obey his sovereign. This dramatic change of attitude in Naples was connected, however mysteriously, with the fall of the Bastille.
In north Italy the system never recovered from the blow which it received from revolutionary armies. While Venezia was occupied by the French, tickets for confession and communion at Easter were often discarded, because they were voluntary and failure to acquire them led to no awkwardness. With the return of Venezia to the Austrians some parishes reintroduced tickets.
In small villages all or almost all parishioners were again found communicating at Easter. In Padernello village the parish priest described himself as following the 'old custom' of tickets, not a way in which men describe an unchallenged practice. In Saletto nearby the parish priest said that he 'greatly regretted' that five failed to come to communion at Easter. At Istrana near Treviso the parish priest not only reported with satisfaction that all his people received the sacrament at Easter but said that he was sure of this completeness because his curate distributed and collected the tickets. Father Milani became parish priest of Sala di Campagna at the age of thirty-nine, in the beginning of the reign of Joseph II. He went on and on, and was still there, among his 350 souls, at the age of eighty-five; when he was able still to record that all communicants received the sacrament at Easter and that the only tavern in the village closed at times of service.
But in towns and larger villages tickets never won their old efficacy. Something 'voluntary'—in a civic as distinct from a religious sense—hung about communion at Easter; parishes did not wish, or could not, bring back tickets. The incumbent of Montebelluna in the diocese of Treviso reported (1826) that parishioners were generally faithful about attending mass but he could not tell how many were absent from their Easter duties because tickets were 'not yet' introduced.
Even in villages prudence, as well as social custom or religious conviction, might make conformity wise. The parish priest of the village of Venegazzù in north Italy reported to his bishop very favourably of the way in which his parishioners received the sacrament at Easter. Only three or four persons failed to receive; and they 'are of ill repute and under surveillance by the political authority'. No doubt Austrian policemen had grounds for suspecting three or four for reasons nothing to do with their failure to communicate. But in a very small world the absence cried for explanation.
Under the occupation taverns had not needed to observe the law of the Church that they be not open at time of service. Except in big towns they almost always observed the old rule and in the Restoration old ways continued. But not quite always. The pastor of Maser (diocese of Treviso) where, under Austrian rule, the law of the Church was also again the law of the State, reported to his bishop (1826) that his village (900 souls) had two public houses of which 'one keeps the rule of Church and King, and the other makes me sad.' 69
Pastors agreed that conscription made an extraordinary difference to their work among youth. For the first time it took peasant boys out of their village (unless they first fled to the maquis) and put them into a new world of new axioms. Bishops were known to diagnose conscription as the chief source of the difference for the worse which they found among their young men. One bishop described his boys as 'wrested from the Church's bosom and herded into barracks'. 70 The Sunday school in its various forms declined during the revolutionary years; boys lounged about the streets during time of service and no one had the necessary authority or prestige to drive them into the church porch. In northern Italy they had an official catechism, that of Napoleon, for Josephists and Jansenists disliked the papistical nature of Robert Bellarmine's catechism, till the eighties regarded as the customary catechism for north Italy.
They were at once rid of Napoleon's catechism. But that meant, the official catechism was an old text with archaic and in places misleading language. The age of Restoration was not a time for trying to amend texts which the revolution abolished. A Venetian priest was consulted (1827), whether it would be good to revise the old catechism. He said, it would be better to change nothing. There are imprecisions of theology but we put up with them 'not only out of respect to famous men who approved them, but much more that we may not give a motive for priests to raise doubts and new questions'. 71 Such an attitude can commonly be found among the churches of the age of Restoration. It was their form of anti-revolutionary conservatism.
Schoolboys resented the rules. Their predecessors had not been made to go to communion, they were rebellious. Of the pupils in the royal colleges of rhetoric and philosophy at Paris it was found that only 7 to 8 per cent made their communion at Easter. A church parade at Marseilles (1823) was turned by the boys into a parody, with mocking hoots at the worshippers. The age of violence left an age of student demonstrations, who would have demonstrated against anyone but happened to find restored Jesuits or other religious as their masters. In a school at Rouen the boys were, as of old, compelled to make their confession. Once boys accepted the rule as a natural part of the world. In the age of Restoration the rule caused so furious a mutiny of boys that everyone had to be expelled and the school closed till a new agreement could be reached. In the streets of Venice boys who ought to be in Sunday school lounged about the streets, following in the habits which their elders learnt during the revolutionary years; but now, when they misbehaved, the guard was called out to round up the truants.
Even when nothing so dramatic happened, the pastors found it harder to get the young back to Sunday school. In the visitations of the age of reconstruction appeared frequent comments on 'poor' or 'miserable' or 'thin' or 'diminished' attendance at catechism or 'Christian doctrine'; and sometimes the parish priest, answering his bishop's question, ascribed these smaller numbers to the stormy years through which they had passed. This was not a general rule. Visitations also show that by 1820-5 a majority of parishes again had Sunday schools which flourished. And no doubt, at times, a parish priest whose catechism was ill attended through his own fault, excused himself by blaming recent revolution. The parish priest of the Carmini in Venice reported that in a few years his catechism for girls had grown from thirty or forty attendants to 170 or 180; and this without any suggestion that girls went more zealously than boys, because in a different building he had 200 boys. 72 Many of the Venetian Sunday schools were attended by approximately 10 per cent of the parish. Therefore they flourished again as before the revolution, and the principal difference consisted in the fewer adults who now came.
The Sunday school was not the only meeting which was hard work to revive. The meetings of clergy to discuss cases of conscience lapsed in the revolutionary years, and in bishopless interregna. The bishops of the Restoration set about reviving attendance and found the work hard. The complaints at failure were louder, in some areas meetings were almost deserted, the Patriarch of Venice threatened to take away the licence of confessors who would not come. When the Bishop of Campagna ordered that the meetings should restart, unknown hands tore down the notice placarded in the cathedral sacristy. 73 Still, meetings restarted.
The endowed mass was again a difficulty, hard to carry. When zealous reforming bishops came back into the dioceses after 1815, one of their first enquiries asked whether endowments were being applied according to the intentions of donors and testators; and the question had force because so many endowments were lost. Since during the Napoleonic years the burden was lighter, because priests perforce made it lighter surreptitiously, the re-inforcement of the rules by revived authority made the old burden seem even harder. Complaints about excessive number of masses rose again in stridency.
Archbishop Lupoli of Conza (south of Naples) wrote to Pope Pius VII (2 January 1819): 'Holy Father, it is my humble duty to tell you that the clergy of my diocese cannot possibly bear the burden of endowed masses. . . ' 74
Taste had changed.
Bishops and parish priests were more intolerant of statues in clothes or pictures hung with pseudo-jewelry or side-chapels which looked like junk shops.
Old-fashioned musical ears still loved the sound of the castrati. But that form of choir suffered in the revolution a blow from which it never recovered, though it lived on for three-quarters of a century. Musical or moral taste, or a mixture of both, had changed. When the new Hungarian patriarch came to Venice, he found an old castrato in the choir of the cathedral (it had just become the cathedral instead of the doge's chapel) of San Marco. He felt horror, and promptly reconstructed the choir and its recruitment. 75
The secular arm was less easy to invoke. Bishops in certain parts of Europe could still nominate a monastery—or rather, now, the empty buildings of an ex-monastery—as a 'retreat' for their delinquent clergy. But either the clergy were less delinquent or other forms of dealing with clerical crime were preferred. The Hungarian Patriarch of Venice, Pyrker, started a 'house of retreat' for delinquent clergy in the ex-Camaldolese monastery on the island of San Clemente. It never housed more than two or three priests and soon closed.
Doctors no longer abandoned the sick if they had not confessed. An unusual bishop might urge the revival of the old rule but was not heard.
Parish priests, who met concubines in their parishes, were no longer sure that it always helped to thunder out the time-honoured penalties of canon law. Where statistics are published as in southern Bavaria, the number of bastards can be seen rising, but it looks as though the increase was not derived from decline in religious belief by the progenitors.
The Differences in Parish Life
An enquirer into peasant life imagined a visitor staying in the vicarage of a Bavarian country pastor in 1780 and again forty years later. What difference would he notice? In the enquirer's view the people were no longer content with the imaginary world of childlike faith in religious means of harvesting good crops or healing sick cows. They still had naïve faith. They begot more illegitimate children. They dreamed a little less of heaven and more of earth, a little less of marrying a princess to live happily even after and a little more of luxury goods. They submitted less axiomatically to their landlords and superiors. Although clergy were fewer, peasants respected the clergy a little less as clergy (leaving out of account respect due to personal quality) because the clergy were now subject like themselves to civil courts and superiors. 76
Such differences are, however, hard to prove from the existing evidence. All that is certain is that the lowest class was just as superstitious and got more bastards, the lower-middle class grew less superstitious with widespread education, and the clergy were more subject to interference from civil servants.
Other old rules were not quite so easy to keep. In the countryside shops stayed shut on Sundays, taverns closed at service times, people needing to work still sought leave from their parish pastor. But when the exceptions occurred, they stood out sharply in the social landscape. It did not matter that the parishes along the river Piave were perturbed by the number of Sunday fishermen, for this was no new trouble. Towns were different. Noventa on the left bank of the river, a town of 5,050 souls, had bakeries which helped to supply bread to the city of Venice; there on Sundays the ovens worked away in full view of the public; the parish priest was shocked and appealed to the bishop, who was shocked and appealed to the governor; who in his turn was not shocked, and refused to stop the bakers. The theatre in Treviso, across from the cathedral, horrified the clergy by staying open even at times of service.
The parish priest of a village on a main road in north Italy (Cornuda near Treviso) allowed that his parishioners kept the precepts of the Church most faithfully; with one exception—because they saw so much traffic on holy days, they could not be stopped from getting out their own carts 'especially after time of service'. 77
An occasional moral change was established by the habits of the Napoleonic era and never afterwards challenged seriously. The most remarkable change was the attitude to rates of interest. In the Napoleonic empire no one could challenge rates of interest. In the Restoration no one seriously wanted to return to the former and stricter rules. The interpretation of Count Maffei three-quarters of a century earlier won a silent victory.
Father Jeremiah O'Callaghan wrote a book called Usury (1824). His pastoral experience led him to think the Church to be failing in its duty. Parishioners were oppressed by borrowing at rates of interest, and the Church had ceased to protect them. His attacks upon usurers became more and more outspoken. His bishop (of Cloyne and Ross) finally suspended him, from which he appealed first to his archbishop, and then to Rome (August 1822). He was encouraged because in July 1822 the restored Roman Inquisition held that a woman of Lyons, who arranged to get interest on a loan, could be absolved without restoring the money. But on O'Callaghan the Inquisition would take no stand, except to send him Benedict XIV's ambiguous bull Vix pervenit and recommend him to obey his bishop. The bishop argued that the custom was so deep-rooted and widely accepted that any attempt to declare it immoral must fail and make a priest despised. Seminaries continued to teach their ordinands that usury was wrong. But in the parishes and the confessionals it ceased to be a question. Catholic laity accepted it as useful and harmless, and were too strong for the more conservative of their priests. It was the same power of the laity as was shown over the right or wrong of birth control more than a century later. 78
But most of the old moral problems remained. The visitation of Treviso in 1825 shows that babies were still so commonly abandoned that the bishop must spend many hours over orphanages and adoption; that both sexes smuggled without a sense of sin. The number of couples living unmarried in towns had increased but not in the country. This rise in concubines was at times attributed 'to the unhappy influence of the recent revolutions'. The canons of Treviso cathedral remarked of the inhabitants of the city, 'There are not a few disorders of incontinence, drunkenness, indifference to religion, small numbers coming to Sunday School. . . .
These disorders became obvious after the French invasion. Till then the city was a model of good behaviour.' 79
The language used was occasionally odd by the standards of the eighteenth century. In the large village of Volpago the churchwardens (fabbricieri) appealed to the bishop to make the assistant curate, who did nothing, celebrate a mass on Sundays because they had only one mass to go to; and in their appeal they used a hyperbole that we have not met before: 'if not', they said, 'the faith will very quickly disappear.' 80 Their grandfathers had seen almost as apocalyptic visions when some detail went awry in the parish, but had not imagined the possibility that faith could be destroyed. The churchwardens of 1825 had seen it happen.
Diocesan synods could use new language of this sort. 'We live in an age' said a south-Italian synod of 1827 '. . . when the faithful are deceived by empty fallacies and pulled out of the Church's bosom.' 81 The synod evidently attributed the main cause to books which circulated among their people. But most of the language of such a synod was more ancient. This synod still needed to denounce pacts with the devil, magic arts, men who boast that they can change shape or pacify storms or cork devils inside a phial or abuse sacraments for purposes of incantation.
Cardinal Severoli was Bishop of Viterbo. He was the most old-fashioned member of the reconstructing episcopate. He wanted everything as it was in the days of his youth. He told parish priests to note down all the faults of their parishioners in a secret book; ordered doctors to persuade the sick to confess and to abandon them after three days if they had not confessed; threatened those who failed in their Easter duties with public exposure, including posting of the names on the church door; banned all meetings during Lent, even private. Severoli was the reaction in the most literal sense. Such a bishop was very rare, because sensible men saw that it was useless to command what would not be obeyed.
The Papacy had suffered. The martyrdom began under Clement XIII about 1759, and continued through the pontificates of his three successors, of whom the first was wrongly supposed to be poisoned and the next two were carried prisoner to France. Bourbon kings bullied Clement XIII, Clement XIV, and Pius VI; a Corsican conqueror bullied Pius VI and Pius VII; but it was almost more agonizing to be bullied as a Pope in Rome than as a Pope in exile; and exile brought international sympathy while agony in Rome brought none. The martyrdom continued until Pius VII returned to Rome as one of the 'victors' in the long wars. This martyr-status was a condition of what happened in the nineteenth century. The status consisted of more than two Popes in exile. That exile stood as a symbol of European suffering, murders, executions, shooting of hostages, pollution of churches, the horror of guerrilla war. The Pope was a known confessor who represented thousands of martyrs unknown and forgotten.
His office was elevated, not in political power, for there he lost rights steadily; but in the feeling of ordinary faithful worshippers.
His office was also elevated ecclesiastically, by the fall of his possible peers. In the old world the bishop who towered nearest to the Pope in worldly prestige was the Archbishop of Mainz; next to him, the Archbishops of Cologne and Trier and Salzburg. Now the Bishop of Mainz was less important than the Archbishops of Paris or Toledo or Vienna. The French bishops were stipendiaries of the State; the Spanish bishops were troubled by division and civil war; the Archbishop of Vienna lived under a Josephist government. The Pope of the old world stood above his fellow bishops, but not always far above. In the new world he stood head and shoulders above everyone.
The Revolution hurt Catholic episcopalianism even more than it hurt Popes.
Europe wanted peace, and order. Part of stability was respect for historic institutions. This feeling benefited the papacy; but only in one direction.
In another direction it pushed Catholicism towards that association with the political right which was not typical of its past. The Popes knew that they stood for order, and that they were valued because they stood for order. As the twin forces of nationalism and liberalism began to over-whelm Europe, the papacy was seen less as a force for order than as a small additional dam against changes which could not for ever be resisted. This dam was the weaker because the Congress of Vienna saddled the Popes with the least stable state to issue from the peace-treaties. It was the old Papal State revived, but in circumstances which made it either the hand-maid of Metternich and Austrian reaction, or the sick man of western Europe. Popes must stand against Italian unity in a generation when Napoleon had turned Italian unity from a literary dream into a distant but conceivable ideal.
This link with order, and stance against 'liberalism', was the curse which the Revolution bequeathed to the Popes. The world at last accepted toleration. Metternich still allowed the expulsion of Protestants from the Tyrol, German Protestant states and Great Britain still treated their Roman Catholics as second-class citizens. But France could never go far back upon its equality for religions before the law, and in Germany the populations of the rearranged states were now so mixed in religion that the clause which once saved Germany, 'cujus regio ejus religio', was seen to be obsolete and impossible. Into the treaties was built a provision for fair treatment in religion for the citizens of the German states.
But Popes held an office which taught truth. Their experience of freedom of the press was unhappy. Freedom to publish was freedom to publish error or immorality. They stood wholly upon the side of the numerous governments which wished to control presses and censor books in the interests of truth and morality. A teaching office which felt toleration to be wicked was supreme governor of a Church where most of the members knew toleration as a necessity of life, German states, France, Holland and Belgium, some of the Latin American republics.
A break in history has the gain, among its many losses, that an institution can discard burdens from the past. The right of sanctuary, or benefit of clergy, had become heavy loads for a Church to carry. Now it had no need to carry them, except in modest ceremony. The bull Unigenitus had sorely tried the Church of the eighteenth century. It still lay in the books of canon law. But no one now paid attention, and that was easy, because it had turned only into a bugle of assault upon the Jansenists, and men fancied that the Jansenist battalions had fled. The best education of the past had been Jesuit, and Jesuit near-monopoly became one of the most irritating brakes upon the progress of the mind. Jesuits were revived, but never again with a near-monopoly. Everywhere the Church was impoverished; and the aristocratic comfort of the German chapters had made a main part of Catholic power in Germany; yet afterwards few could regret that the Revolution destroyed the medley of historic Barchesters. Revolutions do much. Afterwards they are seen not to have done quite so much as the revolutionaries thought.
When observers mark the difference between the Catholicism of 1820 and the Catholicism of forty years before, they are apt to be blind to what would have happened without revolution. The Revolution shattered western monasticism; but already the number of monks was falling, and with increasing speed. The Revolution confiscated a mass of Church endowments, a confiscation to be in main part irreversible by Restoration, and the effects on Church life were permanent. But already states had begun to order endowments, control, confiscate, reapply, change the destination, especially to create a system of education or help with the relief of the poor. The Revolution turned the parish church into the centre of the life of the Church, perforce, by leaving almost nothing else. But already the Jansenists and their fellows had begun to move towards the same end. The revolutionary wars forced Germany and Italy to tolerate Protestants, and though the world of the Restoration was not by instinct tolerant, this was a landmark in the history of liberty. But Austria and France already led the way in showing how a government might be at once Catholic and tolerant of Protestants.
History needs to escape the illusion that the Enlightenment was always and everywhere anti-Christian and still more anti-Catholic. The Enlightenment in Catholic countries was for the most part a movement of reform by Catholic men. They made mistakes by obstinacy, or tactlessness, or exaggeration, or extremism, as in any earnest movement of reform. But they aimed at the good of the Catholic Church, and through it at the good of humanity. In one form, though in an unusual form, they represented that deep inward thrust ever present within Catholicism, the ecclesia semper reformanda, the self-criticism because a Church should ever be judged against the highest of ideals.
The Revolution and the Restoration threw all the reformers into discredit. For a time history thought that their endeavours led only into a cul-de-sac, their work was vain, nothing remained, their fate was typified by Ricci recanting, Tamburini without influence in the wrong faculty at Pavia, Pujati too ancient a curate in a Venice parish, Lambruschini leaving the Curia because he could not bear its spirit in the post-revolutionary mood of that age. Port-Royal was a ruin, later to be a garden with a little museum.
The names of Enlightenment, or of Jansenism, were disreputable and faded into terms of large but vague abuse. But what they stood for was in some part fostered by the Revolution and adapted by the Restoration. They wanted a stronger parish and congregational life, and the nineteenth century developed the parish in a manner unthinkable under the old regime. They wanted a better education of priests; and though the wars ended with priests more ignorant and fewer, this was one of the successful drives of the nineteenth century. They wanted better work in schools, whether weekday or Sunday, and this also the nineteenth century fostered, the more easily since it had only to take part in a general European movement. They worked for a more congregational liturgy; and for all the reaction against the vernacular in Germany or against the attempted revision of psalters and breviaries, the Church of the nineteenth century continued to lift the parish mass always more into the centre of the people's worship.
They did not stand for a liberal Catholicism. The reformers of the eighteenth century were never specially liberal even though several of their heirs, like Bishop Serrao of Potenza, were murdered for their readiness to accept a satellite French regime. Nor did they stand for a reasonable Catholicism; the word is a little more fitting, because part of their strength was the new historical learning of men like Muratori, carrying with it a new critique of legend, a raised dislike of superstition, and at last a more subtle understanding of the nature of doctrinal development.
In men like Johann Michael Sailer, professor at Landshut and later Bishop of Regensburg, we see the link between the old world and the new at its best; men cultivated and intelligent, heirs of the Catholic Enlightenment, critics of superstitions and stupidities and obscurantism; distrusted by the neo-conservatives, ultra-conservatives, for their frankness and originality of mind or expression; lovers of the early Christians, and of simplicity, and of the Bible; yet at the same time deep within the renewal of a quest for the authentic and innermost meaning of Catholicism, as structure and as doctrine and as moral system; the forms had been knocked about and found to be brittle forms, far more brittle than anyone had expected; the Church must go back, penetrate behind the forms, and refresh itself with its own possession of truth. In such men can be seen simultaneously the disciples of the best in the Catholic Enlightenment of the eighteenth century and the creators of much that was best in the Catholic nineteenth century.
The epithet then is neither liberal Catholicism, which had not yet had its day, nor rational Catholicism which suggests a very one-sided attitude to the sources of Catholic doctrine, but rather a pastoral Catholicism; understanding the Church less as the ruler of the peoples than as their servant; caring for the affections of ordinary men and women more than for the favour of governments; imbued with a readiness to adapt privileged position for the sake of men's souls, and for the knowledge of the truth in the common man.
This makes no attempt at a complete bibliography. Excellent annotated bibliographies exist in the Handbuch (ed. Jedin and others, see below) and the Italian edition of Fliche and Martin. This bibliography lists the works or articles which I cited or found helpful in writing this book. The works of general reference (pp. 614-15) will give further guidance. The place of publication is London unless otherwise stated.
The standard working tool is the bibliography in each number of R.H.E. H. Hurter, Nomenclator, vol. 4 (1910), is still an admirably useful guide to all Catholic writers of the eighteenth century, even the obscure. Bibliografia dell' età del Risorgimento in onore di Alberto M. Ghisalberti, 4 vols. (Florence, 1971-7) has a full bibliography on Church and State in eighteenth-century Italy. See also the encyclopedias, under Abbreviations, p. xx; and the Enciclopedia Cattolica, the New Catholic Encyclopaedia, and Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart.
The background to the history of the Church is found in certain general histories of particular countries: A. R. M. Carr, Spain 1808-1939 (Oxford, 1966); the Spanish edition (Barcelona, 1969) is revised. F. Valsecchi, L'Italia nel Settecento (1714-1788) (Milan, 1971). N. Valeri, Storia d'Italia, 2nd edn. vols. 2-3 (Turin, 1965). S. Woolf, A History of Italy 1700-1860 (1979). E. Rota, Le origine del Risorgimento (1710-1800), corr. edn., 2 vols. (Milan, 1948). B. Croce, Uomini e cose della vecchia Italia, 2 vols. (Bari, 1927).
For Germany: M. Spindler (ed.), Handbuch der bayerischen Geschichte, 6 vols. (Munich, 1967-75); cf. K. O. von Aretin, Bayerns Weg sum souveränen Staat (1714-1818) (Munich, 1976). K. O. von Aretin, Heiliges Römisches Reich 1776-1806, 2 vols (Wiesbaden, 1967). K. T. Heigel, Deutsche Geschichte vom Tode Friedrichs des Grossen bis zur Auflösung des alten Reiches (Stuttgart, 1899).
For Salzburg: H. Widmann, Deutsche Landesgeschichte: Salzburg, 3 vols. (Gotha, 1907-14).
For Switzerland: J. Dierauer, Geschichte der Schweizer Eidgenossenschaft, 5 vols. (Gotha, 1919-22).
For Portugal: H. V. Livermore, A New History of Portugal, 2nd edn. (Cambridge, 1976).
For Poland: The Cambridge History of Poland, 2 vols. (Cambridge, 1941-50).
General Histories of the Church
H. Jedin and others (edd.), Handbuch der Kirchengeschichte (vol. 5, 1648-1789; vol. 6. i, 1789-) (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1963-). A. Fliche and V. Martin (edd.), Histoire de l'Église (Paris, 1936-). The original French editions of the relevant volumes were E. Préclin and E. Jarry, Les Luttes politiques et doctrinales aux XVIIeet XVIIesiecles, 2 vols. (Paris, 1955-6); and J. Leflon, La Crise révolutionnaire 1789-1846 (Paris, 1949). But from revised French editions was taken an Italian translation which is extensively and ably supplemented and is now the most effective edition—especially vol. XIX i, ed. L. Mezzadri (Turin, 1974), which gave the original book a new social depth together with remarkable bibliographical guides; and in the Italian translation of Leflon, a chapter by Nasalli on the religious life of Italy 1800-50.
Older books, still useful for materials, are Josef Hergenröther, Handbuch der allgemeine Kirchengeschichte, vol. 4, new edn. (Freiburg, 1917). M. Picot, Mémoires pour servir a l'histoire ecclésiastique pendant la dix-huitieme siecle, 3rd edn. 4 vols. (Paris, 1853-7).
Good general surveys by single authors are: L. A. Veit, Die Kirche im Zeitalter des Individualismus (Freiburg, 1933). E. E. Y. Hales, Revolution and Papacy, 1769-1846 (1960). Very readable are the two English translations of H. Daniel-Rops, The Church in the Eighteenth Century (French, Paris, 1960; English, 1964), and The Church in an Age of Revolution (French, Paris, 1960, English, London, 1965). One of the best of all individual treatments is G. Schnürer, Katholische Kirche und Kultur im 18. Jahrhundert (Paderborn, 1941). For a series of modern essays, W. J. Callaghan and D. Higgs (edd.), Church and Society in Catholic Europe in the Eighteenth Century (Cambridge, 1979).
Histories of National Churches
F. de Almeida, Historia da Igreja em Portugal, new edn. (Porto, 1967-); cf. B. J. Wenzel, Portugal und der heilige Stuhl (Lisbon, 1958). P. B. Gams, Die Kirchengeschichte von Spanien, 3 vols. (Regensburg, 1862-79, repr. Graz, 1956). V. Lafuente, Historia de la Iglesia en España, vol. vi (Madrid, 1875). P. Brachin and L. J. Rogier, Histoire du Catholicisme hollandais depuis le XVIesiecle (Paris, 1974). T. Schwegler, Geschichte der katholischen Kirche in der Schweiz, 2nd edn. (Stans, 1943). K. Völker, Kirchengeschichte Polens (Berlin, 1930); cf. D.T.C. s.v. 'Pologne'. E. de Moreau, Histoire de l'Église en Belgique, 6 vols. (Brussels, 1947-52); cf. D.H.G.E. s.v. 'Belgique'. J. Bossy, The English Catholic Community 1570-1850 (1975). J. Wodka, Kirche in Österreich, Vienna, 1959.
Works of Reference For the most important see under Abbreviations; also Acta Sanctorum (Antwerp, 1643 ff.). G. Moroni, Dizionario di erudizione storica-ecclesiastica, 103 vols. in 53 (Venice, 1840-61). Acta historica-ecclesiastica nostri temporis (Weimar, 1736-90). These annals of the time carry much rare information, especially on Germany.
Invaluable guide to sources in Vatican archives in L. Pásztor, Archivio Segreto
Vaticano (Vatican, 1970). Codicis Iuris Canonici Fontes, ed. P. Gasparri et al., 9 vols. (Rome, 1923-39). H. Denzinger, Enchiridion Symbolorum, Definitionum et Declarationum de rebus fidei et morum, 33rd edn. (Barcinone, 1965). Bullarium diplomatum et privilegiorum sanctorum Romanorum pontificum (Turin, 1857-72). Bullarii Romani Continuatio (Rome, 1835-46). Benedicti Papae XIV Bullarium, new edn., 13 vols. (Malines, 1826-7). J. D. Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum nova et amplissima collectio, 31 vols. (Florence-Venice, 1757-98), continued and reprinted, 60 vols. (Paris, 1899-1927). Guide to local Italian archives, in G. Mazzatinti, Gli archivi della storia d'Italia, 9 vols. (Rocca S. Casciano, 1899-). Decreta authentica Congregationis Indulgentiis Sacrisque Reliquiis praeposita ab anno 1668-1882 (Regensburg, 1883). Decreta authentica Sacrae Congregationis Sacrorum Rituum, 7 vols. (Rome, 1898-1947). S. Pallotini, Collectio omnium conclusionum et resolutionum quae in causis propositis apud Sacram Congregationem Cardinalium Sancti Concilii Tridentini interpretum prodierunt (1564-1860), 18 vols. (Rome, 1868-95). But better for historical purposes are the fuller records of the Congregation of the Council in Thesaurus resolutionum Sacrae Congregationis Concilii, 167 vols. (Rome, 1718-1908). S. Rotae Romanae Decisiones nuperrimae, 12 vols. (Rome, 1751-92). For a guide to this mass of legal material, see Plöchl, or Feine (p. 617); or H. F. Schulte, Geschichte der Quellen und Literatur des canonischen Rechts von Gratian bis auf die Gegenwart, 3 vols. (Stuttgart, 1880).
Chapter I: The Religion of the People
In Italy: P. Lambertini (= Benedict XIV), Raccolta di alcune notificazione, editti e istruzione pubblicate dall' eminentissimo . . . . Cardinale Prospero Lambertini, 5 vols. (Bologna, 1733-40), useful for parish and diocesan life. M. Vaussard, Daily life in Eighteenth Century Italy, Eng. trans. (London, 1962). R. de Maio, Società e vita religiosa a Napoli nell' età moderna, 1656-1799 (Naples, 1971). G. de Rosa, Vescovi, populo e magia nel Sud (Naples, 1971). Cf. Ernesto de Martino, Sud e Magia (Milan, 1959). G. de Rosa, 'Sainteté, clergé et peuple dans le Mezzogiorno italien au milieu du XVIIIe siècle' in Revue d'histoire de la spiritualité, 52 (1976), 245-64, and Chiesa e religione popolare nel Mezzogiorno (Rome, 1978). G. Pitré, Palermo nel Settecento (Milan, 1916), and Usi e costumi, credenzi e pregiudizi del popolo siciliano, 4 vols. (Palermo, 1889). M. Rosa, Religione e società nel Mezzogiorno (Bari, 1976), 4, 275-334. See also diocesan synods, p. 621.
In Germany: W. G. Soldan, Geschichte der Hexenprocesse, new edn., by H. Heppe, 2 vols. (Stuttgart, 1880). For witchcraft: H. Bächtold-Stäubli, Handwörterbuch des deutschen Aberglaubens, 10 vols. (Berlin, 1927-), an encyclopedia of superstitions among the common people of Germany. J. Caro Baroja, The World of the Witches (Eng. trans. 1964). L. A. Veit and L. Lenhart, Kirche und Volksfrömmigkeit im Zeitalten des Barock (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1956). B. Goy, Aufklärung und Volksfrömmigkeit in den Bistümern Würzburg und Bamberg (Würzburg, 1969). Josef Klersch, Volkstum und Volksleben in Köln, 3 vols. (Cologne, 1965-8). F. M. Phayer, Religion und das gewöhnliche Volk in Bayern in der Zeit von 1750 bis 1850 (Munich, 1970).
On the Jews: A. Berliner, Geschichte der Juden in Rom (Frankfurt, 1893). S. M. Dubnov, History of the Jews, Eng. trans. by M. Spiegel, 5 vols. (New Brunswick 1967-73). A. Milano, Storia degli Ebrei in Italia (Turin, 1965). H. V. and P. Rieger, Geschichte der Juden in Rom, vol. 2 (Berlin, 1895). Cecil Roth, The History of the Jews in Italy (Philadelphia, 1946). R. Mahler, A History of Modern Jewry, 1780-1815 (1971). This is also useful for the eighteenth-century background. Cecil Roth (ed.), The Ritual Murder Libel and the Jew: the Report by Cardinal Lorenzo Ganganelli (Pope Clement XIV) (1935).
Travellers' descriptions: So many were on the grand tour that the material is vast. I give a selection of what is valuable. For guides to further matter, see for the Germans L. Schudt, Italienreisen im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (Vienna, 1959); for the French in Sicily (and others) Hélène Tuzet, La Sicile au XVIIIesiècle vue par les voyageurs étrangers (Strasbourg, 1955); and for the English at the end of the period, C. P. Brand, 'A bibliography of travel books describing Italy published in England 1800-1850', in Italian Studies, xi (1956), 108-17.
J. Baretti, A Journey from London to Genoa (1770), and An Account of the manners and customs of Italy, 2 vols. (1768). J. H. Bartels, Briefe über Kalabrien und Sizilien, 3 vols. (Göttingen, 1787-92). P. Brydone, A Tour through Sicily and Malta, new edn., 2 vols. (1790). C. de Brosses, Lettres familières sur l'Italie, 2 vols. (Paris, 1931); cf. G. de Socio, Le Président Charles de Brosses et l'Italie (Rome, 1923). Leucadio Doblado (= J. Blanco White) Letters from Spain (1822); cf. The Life of the Reverend J. Blanco White, ed. J. H. Thom, 3 vols. (1845). C. M. Dupaty, Lettres sur l'Italie en 1785 (Paris, 1795). Dupaty was a superficial observer but was interested in the Church. J. B. Labat, Voyages en Espagne et en Italie, 8 vols. (Paris, 1730), a specially valuable journal. Labat was a Dominican and understood what he described. There is an abridgment in J. B. Labat, La Comédie ecclésiastique (Paris, 1927). E. Martène and V. Durand, Voyage littéraire de deux religieux bénédictins (Paris, 1717-20). F. Münter, Nachrichten von Neapel und Sicilien (Copenhagen, 1790). Hester Piozzi, Observations in a Journey through Italy (1789). H. Swinburne, Travels in the two Sicilies, 2nd edn. 4 vols. (1789). J. Townsend, A Journey through Spain in the years 1786-7, 3 vols. (1792). J. Villanueva, Viage literario a las Iglesias de Espana, 22 vols. (1803-52). Other famous diarists touring—e.g. Boswell, Casanova, Gibbon, Goethe, Dr Burney (see p. 619) are not negligible.
On the evidence from canon law: The best guide to this mass of material is W. M. Plöchl, Geschichte des Kirchenrechts, vols. 3-5 (Vienna-Munich, 1959-69). All the volumes have a view of the literature. See also H. E. Feine, Kirchliche Rechtsgeschichte, I: Die katholische Kirche, 4th edn. (Cologne, 1964). Dictionnaire de droit canonique, ed. R. Naz (Paris, 1935 ff.). Among the contemporary sources, see especially Benedict XIV, Opera Omnia, 6 vols. (Venice, 1767). I. Devoti, Institutionum canonicarum libri IV (Rome, 1785). L. Ferraris, Promptabibliotheca canonica, ed. by Migne, 8 vols. (Paris, 1860-3). B. Z. Van Espen, Jus ecclesiasticum universum, first edn. 1700; in Opera omnia (Cologne, 1777-8).
On St. Mary: Walter Delius, Geschichte der Marienverehrung (Munich-Basel, 1963). H. C. Graef, Mary, 2 vols. (1963-5).
On the Sacred Heart: Good guide in D.T.C., s.v. 'Coeur Sacré'.
On flagellants: E. G. Förstemann, Die christlichen Geisslergesellschaften (Halle, 1828). Realenc s.v. 'Geisselung'.
On the parish mission: M. de Meulemeister, 'La “vita devota” des missions napoletaines au XVIIIe siecle', in Revue d'ascétique et de mystique 25 (1959), 457-64.
Inside the church: R. Berliner, Die Weihnachtskrippe (Munich, 1955), full of valuable evidence on the Christmas crib. J. Braun, Der Christliche Altar, 2 vols. (Munich, 1924); Das Christliche Altargerät (Munich, 1932, repr. Hildersheim, 1973); and Die liturgische Gewandung (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1907). H. Thurston, The Stations of the Cross (1906).
On sanctuary: L. Mascambrone, Degli asili de'christiani (Rome, 1731). 'Pompeo Neri', Discorso sopra l'asilo ecclesiastico (Florence-Venice, 1763). J. Gröll, Die Elemente des kirchlichen Freiungsrechtes (Stuttgart, 1911). R. G. Bindschedler, Kirchliches Asylrecht (immunitas ecclesiastica localis) und Freistätten in der Schweiz (Stuttgart, 1906).
On Bible-reading: S. L. Greenslade (ed.), The Cambridge History of the Bible, vol. 3 (Cambridge, 1963). T. H. Darlow and H. F. Moule (eds.), Historical Catalogue of the Printed Editions of Holy Scripture in the Library of the British and Foreign Bible Society, 4 vols. (1903). L.T.K. s.v. 'Bibelübersetzungen'. Realenc. s.v. 'Bibelverbot'. See also Reusch, p. 624.
On pilgrimage: G. Schreiber, Wallfahrt und Volkstum in Geschichte und Leben (Düsseldorf, 1934). For Loreto: U. Chevalier, Notre-Dame de Lorette (Paris, 1906).
On indulgences: G. Benrath, s.v. 'Ablass' in T.R.E. H.C. Lea, Auricular Confession and Indulgences, vol. 3 (London, 1896). Ferraris (p. 617), s.v. 'Indulgentia'.
For art and architecture: F. Haskell, Patrons and Painters: a study in the relations between Italian art and society in the age of the baroque (1963). Klaus Brantz, Jubelndes Rokoko (Munich, 1963). A. E. Brinckmann, Baukunst des 17 und 18 Jahrhunderts in den romanischen Ländern, 4th edn., 2 vols. (Berlin, 1919-22). G. Kubler and M. Soria, Art and Architecture in Spain and Portugal and their American dominions 1500-1800 (Pelican History of Art, 1959). C. Justi, Winckelmann, 4th edn. (Leipzig, 1943), important also for life in papal Rome. N. Powell, From Baroque to Rococo (1959). A. Blunt, Neapolitan Baroque and Rococo Architecture (1975). Sacheverell Sitwell, Southern Baroque Art: a study of painting architecture and music in Italy and Spain of the 17th and 18th centuries (1924, repr. 1971). R. Wittkower, Art and Architecture in Italy 1600-1750, 3rd edn. (1973, repr. 1978).
For music: Charles Burney, Music, Men and Manners in France and Italy (1770), ed. H. E. Poole (1974) [= Burney's Journal], and The Present State of Music in
France and Italy (1773), ed. P. A. Scholes, An Eighteenth Century Musical Tour in France and Italy, 2 vols. (1959); cf. P. A. Scholes, The Great Dr. Burney, 2 vols. (1948). F. Häbock, Die Kastraten und ihre Gesangbuch (Stuttgart, 1927); cf. Angus Heriot, The Castrati in Opera (1956). J. A. Fuller-Maitland, The Age of Bach and Handel (Oxford History of Music, vol. 4), 2nd edn. (Oxford, 1939). André Pons, Droit ecclésiastique et musique sacrée, 3 vols. (Paris, 1960). E. A. Wienandt, Choral Music of the Church (New York, 1963). J. L. J. Combarieu, Histoire de la musique (Paris, 1950-). Grove's Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 5th edn., ed. E. Blom, 10 vols. (1975). Biographies: e.g. R. Hughes, Haydn (rev. edn., 1974). M. J. E. Brown, Schubert (1958); P. M. Young, Schubert (1970). P. M. Young, Mozart (1965); Eric Bloom, Mozart, 3rd edn. (1974). L. T. K. s.v. 'Kirchenmusik', with bibliography. K. G. Fellerer (ed.), Geschichte der katholischen Kirchenmusik, 2 vols. (Kassel, 1972).
Chapter 2: The Clergy
On preaching: For Italy, A. Prandi, Religiosità e cultura nel '1700 italiano (Bologna, 1966). See also the Life of Casini (p. 624), Leonard of Port-Maurice (p. 622), and missions (p. 618). For France, A. Bernard, Le Sermon au XVIIIesiècle (Paris, 1901). For Germany, J. N. Brischar, Die katholische Kanzelredner Deutschlands, 5 vols. (Schaffhausen, 1867-71). Karl Gastgeber, Gotteswort durch Menschenwort (Vienna, 1964). J. Kehrein, Geschichte der katholischen Beredsamkeit der Deutschen, 2 vols. (Regensburg, 1843). G. Lohmeier, Bayerische Barockprediger (Munich, 1961) (extracts). For Spain, B. Gaudeau, Les prêcheurs burlesques en Espagne au XVIIIesiècle (Paris, 1891). J. F. de Isla, The History of the famous preacher Friar Gerund de Campazas, Eng. trans., 2 vols. (1772), Spanish edn., 3 vols. (1960). In general, E. C. Dargan, A History of Preaching, 2 vols. (New York, 1905-12).
For parish life generally: A. Playout-Chassis, La Vie religieuse dans le diocèse de Boulogne au XVIIIesiècle (1725-1790) (Arras, 1976). B. Plongeron, La Vie quotidienne du clergé français au XVIIIesiècle (Paris, 1974). T. Tackett, Priest and Parish in Eighteenth-Century France (Princeton, 1977).
On seminaries: Seminaria ecclesiae catholicae (Vatican City, 1963), a fundamental book of reference with otherwise inaccessible information. A. Theiner, Il seminario ecclesiastico (Rome, 1834). For Italian seminaries, L. Cecconi, Instituzione dei seminarii vescovili (Rome, 1766). Giovanni di Giovanni, La storia de' seminarii chiericali (Rome, 1747). See also Serena, p. 924. For Spanish seminaries, F. Martin Hernandez, 'Los seminarios españoles en la epoca de los primeros Borbones (1700-1808)' in Hispania Sacra 12 (1959), 357-420. For French seminaries, A. Degert, Histoire des séminaires francais jusqu' à la Révolution, 2 vols. (Paris, 1912).
On celibacy: Augustinus de Roskovány, Coelibatus et breviarium, 17 vols. (Pest, 1861-90): contains an indispensable bibliographical guide with valuable notes. Early historical treatments, sometimes polemical but often useful in F. W.
Carové, Uber das Cölibatsgesetz des römisch-katholischen Klerus, 2 vols. (Frankfurt, 1832). J. A. and A. Theiner, Die Einführung der erzwungenen Ehelosigkeit bei den christlichen Geistlichen und ihre Folgen, 3 vols. (first edn. 1828; Altenburg, 1845). H. C. Lea, History of Sacerdotal Celibacy in the Christian Church, 3rd edn., 2 vols. (1907). (The fourth edn. 1932 omitted the notes.) Modern treatment in Georg Denzler, Das Papsttum und der Amtszölibat, 2 vols. (Stuttgart, 1973-6). For the discussions in the Age of the Enlightenment, P. Picard, Zölibatdiskussion im katholischen Deutschland der Aufklärungszeit (Düsseldorf, 1975). W. Leinweber, Der Streit um den Zölibat im 19. Jahrhundert (Münster, 1978).
For the concursus: Benedict XIV, Bullarium (1826, 2, 5 ff., with historical introduction) and de synodo dioecesana (see p. 621). D.D.C. s.v. 'Concours', with bibliography. Thesaurus resolutionum (see p. 616) frequently, especially 4, 383 ff. (Caserta); 9, 134 ff. (Capua). F. A. Reclusi, Tractatus de concursibus, 2 parts (Rome, 1724). L. Higueruela de Pino, 'Los concursos a parroquias en la diócesis de Toledo durante el pontificato del Cardenal Borbón', in Hispania Sacra 27 (1974), 240 ff.
For the confessional: On the decisions at meetings of clergy to debate moral cases, Decisioni di casi di coscienza e di dottrina canonica fatte nel diocesi di Bologna, 4th edn. (Venice, 1797). Giovanni Chiericato, Decisiones sacramentales, theologicae, canonicae et legales (Venice, 1727, new edn., 3 vols. Ancona, 1757). This included among its parts Decisiones miscellaneae (= vol. 3, bk 7; also separately, 2nd edn. 1703) and Erotemata ecclesiastica (= vol. 3, bk 9).
For the theologians of moral cases, especially Alfonso Liguori, Theologia Moralis, 9 vols. (Paris, 1839). A. Reiffenstuel, Theologia Moralis, Venice 1752 (original, Munich, 1692).
For the controversy over Probabilism, guide in D.T.C. s.v. 'Probabilisme'. Ignaz von Döllinger and H. Reusch, Geschichte der Moralstreitigkeiten in den römisch-katholischen Kirche, 2 vols. (Nördlingen, 1889).
On usury: B. Nelson, The Idea of Usury, 2nd edn. (Chicago, 1969). J. T. Noonan, The Scholastic Analysis of Usury (Harvard, 1937).
For the Monte di Pietà: B. Pullan, Rich and Poor in Renaissance Venice (Oxford, 1971). Giuseppe Coniglio, Enciclopedia Cattolica VIII s.v. 'Monte di Pietà'.
On the morality of sex: J. T. Noonan, Contraception (Cambridge, Mass., 1966). The German edition is amended, Empfängnisverhütung (Mainz, 1969). J. T. Noonan, The Morality of Abortion (Cambridge, Mass., 1970). C. B. Paris, Marriage in XVIIth Century Catholicism (Montreal, 1975).
On nullity of marriage: J. T. Noonan, Power to Dissolve (Cambridge, Mass., 1972).
On repair of churches: P. Peckius, De reparandis ecclesiis (Münster, 1620), and much used as a reference book later. F. A. Reclusi, Tractatus de re parochiali, 2 vols. (Rome, 1773).
On diocesan synods: The numerous diocesan synods in Italy almost always printed their minutes and resolutions which form an important body of evidence on church life. A catalogue by Silvino da Nadro of what is printed is in Studi e Testi no. 207 (Rome, 1960). Benedict XIV, de synodo dioecesana, is fundamental. S. Palese 'Sinodi diocesani e visite pastorale delle diocesi di Alessano e Ugento dal Concilio di Trento al Concordato del 1818' in Archivio storia pugliese, 27 (1974), 453-500.
For the duty of residence, see the canonists; and E. Papa 'L'obbligo della residenza nell' episcopato napoletano del secolo XVIII' in Gregorianum 42 (1961), 738 ff.
For the law of interdicts: Alban Haas, Das Interdikt (Amsterdam, 1963, repr. of 1929).
On chapters: Apart from the canonists (Ferraris, p. 617, Benedict XIV, above, Plöchl, p. 617, etc.), J. J. Scarfantonio, Animadversiones ad lucubrationes canonicales Francisci Ceccoperii, 2 vols. (Lucca, 1723). In Germany, Disquisitio canonico-publica de capitulorum . . . origine (Amsterdam, 1758). H. E. Feine, Die Besetzung der Reichsbistümer vom Westfalischen Frieden bis zur Säkularisation, 1648-1803 (Stuttgart, 1921).
On a bishop's visitation: D.D.C. s.v. 'Visite canonique'. G. Crispini, Trattato della visita pastorale (Rome, 1695) and later editions. Gaudentio de Janua, De Visitatione cujuscumque praelati ecclesiastici (Rome, 1748). F. Maria d'Aste, Metodo della santa visita apostolica (Otranto, 1706).
Biographies of bishops: E. H. Burton, The Life and Times of Bishop Challoner, 2 vols. (1909). E. Regnault, Christophe de Beaumont, Archevêque de Paris, 2 vols. (Paris, 1882). D.B.I., D.H.E.E., D.H.G.E., passim.
Chapter 3: Monks and Nuns
Monks: For general reference, D.I.P. M. Heimbucher, Die Orden und Kongregationen der katholischen Kirche, new edn., 2 vols. (Paderborn, 1907-8). P. Helyot, Histoire des ordres monastiques, 8 vols. (Paris, 1714-19). G. Penco, Storia della monachesimo in Italia nell' epoca moderna (Rome, 1968). Collectanea Ordinis Cisterciensium Reformatorum, Westmalle, 1965-. Statuta Capitulorum generalium Ordinis Cisterciensis (1116-1786), ed. J. M. Canivez, 8 vols. (Louvain, 1933-41). Annales Camaldulenses, vol. 8 (Venice, 1764). J. M. Canivez, L' Ordre de Citeaux en Belgique des origines au XXe siècle (Forges-les-Chimay, 1926). O. Premoli, Storia dei barnabiti (1700-1825) (Rome, 1925).
For reforming movements in Portugal (Jacobeans etc.): E. Apollis 'Mystiques portugais du XVIIIe siècle: Jacobéens et Sigillistes' in Annales 19 (1964), 38-54 (and references there cited).
For the reform movement of the friars in Ireland: H. Fenning 'The undoing of the friars of Ireland' in Recueil de Travaux d'Histoire et de Philologie, 6th series, fasc. i (Louvain, 1972), 154-87; cf. also H. Fenning in Archivium Fratrum Praedicatorum 45 (1975), 399 ff.; and W. P. Burke, Irish Priests in the Penal Times (Waterford, 1914).
For the life and work of the Jesuits: Documents: See Epistolae Praepositorum Generalium ad patres et fratres S.J., vol. 2 (Ghent, 1847). A.H.S.I. is a valuable periodical. Of the various histories of the different provinces, that for Germany is specially useful for the eighteenth century—B. Duhr, Geschichte der Jesuiten in den Ländern deutscher Zunge, vol. 4 (Munich-Regensburg, 1928). On the Reductions—P. Caraman, The Lost Paradise: an account of the Jesuits in Paraguay, 1607-1768 (London, 1975). See also the histories s.v. suppression, p. 625.
On hermits: In Italy, D.I.P. s.v. 'Eremiti'. In France, J. Sainsaulieu, Les Ermites français (Paris, 1974). In Spain, D.H.E.E. s.v. 'Eremitismo', with bibliography. España eremitica (Pamplona, 1970).
Biographies of monks: A. Berthe, St. Alfonso de'Liguori, Eng. trans., 2 vols. (Dublin, 1905); cf. G. Cacciatore, S. Alfonso de'Liguori e il Giansenismo (Florence, 1944). The original life by A. M. Tannoia was translated under the auspices of F. W. Faber, 5 vols. (London, 1848-9). See also J. Favre, A Great Mystic of the Eighteenth Century: Mary Celeste Crostarosa, Eng. trans. (1935). D. Sandelli, De Danielis Concinae Vita et Scriptis Commentarius (Brescia, 1767). G. Tabacco, La vita di San Bononio di Rotberto 1671-1742 (Turin, 1954). E. Dudel, Klemens Hofbauer, ein Zeitbild (Bonn, 1970); cf. English Life by John Carr (1939). On Labre: A. de la Gorce, Saint Benedict Joseph Labre (Eng. trans. 1952), Canonization Process, 3 vols. (Rome, 1830-6). On Leonard of Port-Maurice: His The Little Way of Paradise had an Eng. trans. (London, 1870), Canonization Process (Rome, 1838-9). D. Devas, Life of St. Leonard of Port Maurice, O.F.M. (1676-1751), (1920). On Paul of the Cross: E. Zoffoli, S. Paolo della Croce, 3 vols. (1963-8). M. Bialas, Das geistliche Tagebuch des heiligen Paul vom Kreuz (Aschaffenburg, 1976). Father Edmund, Hunter of Souls (Dublin, 1946). On Feijóo: I. L. McLelland, Benito Jerónimo Feijóo (New York, 1969).
Chapter 4: The Office of the Pope
The Popes: F. X. Seppelt, Geschichte der Päpste von den Anfangen bis zur Mitte des 20. Jahrunderts, vol. 5, 2nd edn. by G. Schwaiger (Munich, 1959). Ludwig von Pastor, History of the Popes, Eng. trans., 40 vols. (1938-53). Leopold von Ranke, The History of the Popes during the last four centuries, Eng. trans., 3 vols. (1913). The German edition of 1941 is revised. Both Pastor and Ranke ended in 1800. To continue Pastor, and by intention with the same methods, followed J. Schmidlin, Papstgeschichte der neuesten Zeit, 4 vols. (Munich, 1933-9). F. Nielsen, The History of the Papacy in the Nineteenth Century, Eng. trans., 2 vols. (1906). Despite the title vol. 1 has much of the eighteenth century. V. E. Giuntella, Roma nel Settecento (Bologna, 1971).
For the Roman jubilee: H. Thurston, The Holy Year of Jubilee (London, 1900); cf. P. Fedele (ed.), Gli anni santi (Rome, 1934).
Papal election and the veto: A. Eisler, Das Veto der katholischen Staaten bei der Papstwahl (Vienna, 1907). L. Wahrmund, Das Ausschliessungsrecht (ius exclusivae) bei den Papstwahlen (Vienna, 1888). F. Petrucelli della Gattina, Histoire diplomatique des Conclaves (Paris, 1864-6). G. de Novaes, Elementi della storia de'sommi pontefici (Rome, 1822). Pastor, passim; Plöchl; D.D.C. s.v. 'Conclave'; L.T.K. s.v. 'Ausschliessungsrecht'.
Biographies of Popes: Nearly contemporary biographies, up to Benedict XIV, in a splendid volume, M. Guarnacci, Vitae Romanorum Pontificum (Rome, 1751).
Clement XI: Opera Omnia, Rome 1729 (Part III: Epistolae et Brevia). C. G. Buder, Leben und Thaten des klugen und berühmten Pabsts Clementis des Eilfften, 3 vols. (Frankfurt, 1720). F. de Lafitau, La Vie de Clément XI, 2 vols. (Padua, 1752). F. Pometti, 'Studi sul pontificato di Clemente XI' in Arch. della Societa Romana di Storia Patria 21 (1898), 279-453; 22 (1899), 109-50. A. le Roy, La France et Rome de 1700 à 1715 (Paris, 1892). A. Sarubbi, Curia Romana e regno di Napoli (Naples, 1972). These are letters to F. Pignatelli, 1690-1712 from an agent in Rome.
Benedict XIII: Opera, 3 vols. (Ravenna, 1728). G. B. Vignato, Storia di Benedetto XIII, 6 vols. (Milan, 1952-). D.B.I. s.v. 'Benedetto XIII', excellent article.
Clement XII: A. Fabroni, De Vita et rebus gestis Clementis XII (Rome, 1760).
Benedict XIV: Opera omnia. Bullarium, see p. 616. Apart from de synodo dioecesana and the Bullarium the most important and lasting was de canonizatione. Part of this was translated by F. W. Faber under the title Heroic Virtue, 3 vols. (London, 1850). For Benedict XIV while Bishop of Ancona, W. Angelini 'Il card. P. Lambertini ed Ancona 1727-1731' in R. stor. Risorg. 56 (1969), 27-43. For Benedict XIV while Archbishop of Bologna, P. Lambertini, Raccolta etc., see p. 616. For the indiscreet letters to Tencin, in French edn. E. de Heeckeren, 2 vols. (Paris, 1912); critical text, ed. E. Morelli (Rome, 1955-). D.B.I. s.v. 'Benedetto XIV', excellent article. R. Haynes, Philosopher King: The Humanist Pope Benedict XIV (1970).
For Clement XIII: D.H.G.E. s.v., by Roger Mols.
Clement XIV: Lettres intéressantes, 2 vols. (Paris, 1777), Eng. trans., 3 vols. in 4 (1777); but parts, or perhaps all, are not from Clement XIV. A. Theiner, Geschichte des Pontificats Clemens' XIV, 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1853). G. X. Ravignan, Clément XIII et Clément XIV (Paris, 1854). A. Reumont, Ganganelli (Berlin, 1847). Pastor's portrait (History of the Popes, Eng. trans., vol. 38) is the best now existing. It was amended by W. Kratz and P. Leturia, Intorno al 'Clemente XIV' del Barone von Pastor (Rome, 1935). H. Raab announced a forthcoming study.
Pius VI: J. Gendry, Pie VI, 2 vols. (Paris, 1906). J. Leflon, Pie VII, vol. 1 (Paris, 1958), which is important for the Church under Pius VI. D.B.I. s.v. 'Braschi-Onesti'. J. F. Bourgoing, Historical and Philosophical Memoirs of Pius VI, Eng. trans., 2 vols. (1799).
Pius VII: J. Leflon, as under Pius VI, and 'Le Cardinal Chiaramonti, éveque d'Imola et la Republique Cisalpine' in R. stor. Risorg. 43 (1956), 427 ff. E. Pistolesi, Pius VII, 4 vols. (1829-30). A. F. Artaud de Montor, Histoire du pape Pius VII, 2nd edn. (Paris, 1837). E. E. Y. Hales, Napoleon and the Pope: the Story of Napoleon and Pius VII (1962); cf. A. Latreille, p. 629.
Leo XII: Fundamental now are R. Colapietra, La formazione diplomatica di Leone XII (Rome, 1966), and La Chiesa tra Lamennais e Metternich: il Pontificato di Leone XII (Rome, 1963): fine study. A. F. Artaud de Montor, Histoire du pape Leon XII, 2 vols. (Paris, 1843). N. Wiseman, Recollections of the Last Four Popes, new edn. (1859). Historically speaking this is more important than the title suggests.
For the office of cardinal: Hieronymus Platus, De cardinalis dignitate et officio, 6th edn. (1826). C. Weber, Kardinäle und Prälaten in den letzten Jahrzehnten des Kirchenstaats, 2 vols. (Stuttgart, 1978). Though about the middle nineteenth century, this has repercussions for the period before the Revolution. See also Plöchl, 3, 151 ff.
Biographies of cardinals: For reference, J. P. Migne (ed.), Dictionnaire des Cardinaux (Paris, 1857). P. Castagnoli, Il cardinale Giulio Alberoni, 3 vols. (Piacenza, 1929-32). S. Harcourt-Smith, Alberoni (1943). F. Masson, Le Cardinal de Bernis depuis son ministère, 1756-1794 (Paris, 1884). P. Carlini, Francesco Maria Casini (1648-1719) (Rome, 1969), useful also for the religious life, and the nature of contemporary preaching. S. Serena, S. Gregorio Barbarigo e la vita spirituale e culturale nel suo seminario di Padova (Padua, 1963). J. A. Helfert, Fabrizio Ruffo (Vienna, 1882). B. W. Kelly, Life of Henry Benedict Stuart, Cardinal Duke of York (1899). Brian Fothergill, The Cardinal King (1958). For Angelo Quirini see his Epistolae, ed. N. Coleti (Venice, 1756). Cardinal Pirelli's diary of the 1769 Conclave is printed by L. Berra in Archivio della Società romana di storia patria, 85-6 (1962-3), 25-319. P. Chevallier, Loménie de Brienne, Paris, 1959-60.
Curia: See Moroni, p. 615. N. del Re, La Curia Romana, 3rd edn. (Rome, 1970), standard work. F. Grimaldi, Les Congrégations romaines (Siena, 1890), too lively to be quite comfortable, but it has much insight. V. Martin, Les Congrégations romaines (Paris, 1930).
For the Congregation of the Council: D.D.C. s.v. 'Concile (Congrégation de)'. R. Parayre, La S. Congrégation du Concile (Paris, 1897). La Sacra Congregazione del Concilio (1564-1964): studi e recerche (Rome, 1964).
For Index and Inquisition: J. Hilgers, Der Index der verbotenen Bücher (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1904). F. H. Reusch, Der Index der verbotenen Bücher, 2 vols. (Bonn, 1883-5). Both Hilgers and Reusch are needed. L. Amabile, Il santo officio della inquisizione in Napoli, 2 vols. (Castello, 1892). H. C. Lea, A History of the Inquisition of Spain, vol. 4 (New York, 1907), and The Inquisition in the Spanish Dependencies (New York, 1908). J. Llorente, Histoire critique de l'Inquisition del'Espagne, 2nd edn., 4 vols. (Paris, 1818). G. Pitré, Del sant' officio a Palermo e di un carcere d'esso (Rome, 1940).
For foreign service: R. A. Graham, Vatican Diplomacy (Princeton, 1959). On the nuncios, a magnificent collection in P. Maserus, De legatis et nuntiis, 2 vols. (Rome, 1709). See Plöchl, p. 617; Mercati, p. 626; L.T.K. s.v. 'Gesandtschaftswesen', with bibliography. Geschichte der Nunziaturen Deutschlands (Nuremberg, 1790).
On the Papal State: M. Andrieux, La Vie quotidienne dans la Rome pontificale (Paris, 1962); Eng. trans. (1968). M. Brosch, Geschichte des Kirchenstaates, 2 vols. (Gotha, 1880-2), the standard narrative. L. dal Pane, Lo Stato pontificio e il movimento riformatore del Settecento (Milan, 1959), the start of modern study. Thomas Denham, The Temporal Government of the Pope's State (London, 1788). For fair-minded treatment of the nephew-system, see M. Laurain-Portemer, 'Absolutisme et népotisme: la surintendance de l'Etat ecclésiastique' in Bibliothèque de l'École des Chartes, 131 (1973), 487-568.
Chapter 5: The Fall of the Jesuits
For a general popular history, Christopher Hollis, The History of the Jesuits (1968). For a more detailed account, T. J. Campbell, The Jesuits 1534-1921 (1921). No adequate history of the suppression exists. The excellent separate historians of the various provinces were told to stop about 1750 so that there could be an all-embracing history of the suppression. This history was never written. The best of the general histories is Pastor's volume on Pope Clement XIV, written with the aid of two assistants. But though Pastor had the admirable merit of drawing attention to the sources and archives, even he was not quite able to put the suppression in a general perspective. For other general histories see p. 622.
A. Carayon, Documents inédits concernant la Compagnie de Jésus, vol. XIV (Poitiers, 1869). This includes a biography of the general Ricci and useful letters from French ambassadors and others. G. C. Cordara, Commentarii de suppressione S.J., ed. G. Albertotti (Padua, 1925). Cordara wrote (1774-9) an autobiography, De suis et suorum rebus. This was edited by G. Albertotti and A. Faggiotti (Turin, 1933). The latter part Cordara refashioned into de suppressione. The account is brilliantly written and of the first importance. P. Dudon, 'De la suppression de la Compagnie de Jésus', in Revue des questions historiques, 132 (1938), 75-107. The letters of Horace Mann, who was the English agent in Florence, to Horace Walpole in England make a fairly informed commentary on rumours out of Rome, often fascinating: cf. The Letters of Horace Walpole, ed. W. S. Lewis (Yale edn., 1937-). Alfred Weld, The Suppression of the Society of Jesus (1877). Dale van Kley, The Jansenists and the Expulsion of the Jesuits from France (Yale, 1975). See Masson above, p. 624. For Prussia, F. Hoffmann, Friedrich II von Preussen und die Aufhebung der Gesellschaft Jesu (Rome, 1969).
On Jesuit property after suppression: F. Renda, Bernardo Tanucci e i beni dei gesuiti in Sicilia (Rome, 1974). For refugees, see, e.g., N. S. Cushner (ed.), Philippine Jesuits in Exile: the Journals of Francesco Puig, S.J. 1768-1770 (Rome, 1964).
Chapter 6: The Catholic Reformers
Church and State: For the jurisdictionalists, see Van Espen, p. 618; cf. studies of Van Espen by G. Leclerc (Zurich, 1964) and M. Nuttinck (Louvain, 1969). On
Giannone and the Storia civile, studies by B. Vigezzi (Milan, 1961) and G. Ricuperati (L'esperienza civile e religiosa di P. Giannone, Milan, 1970). For the Concordats, see Mercati, Raccolta di Concordati, Rome 1954.
For Church and State in Italy: A. C. Jemolo, Stato e Chiesa negli scrittori politici italiani del Seicento e del Settecento, 2nd edn. (Pompeii, 1972). F. J. Sentis, Die Monarchia Sicula (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1869). F. Scaduto, Stato e Chiesa nelle due Sicilie, 2 vols. (repr. Palermo, 1969). G. Falzone, La Sicilia tra il Settecento e l'Ottocento, vol. 1 (Palermo, 1965). G. Nuzzo, La Monarchia nella due Sicilie tra Ancien Régime e Rivoluzione (Naples, 1972). G. Falzone, La politica di Carlo di Borbone in Sicilia 1734-59 (Bologna, 1977). H. Benedikt, Das Königreich Neapel unter Carl VI (Vienna-Leipzig, 1927), still valuable from its use of Austrian archives. D.B.I. s.v.v. 'Capra', 'Carracciolo, Domenico'. R. Mincuzzi, Bernardo Tanucci (1759-76) (Bari, 1967). H. M. Acton, The Bourbons of Naples 1734-1825 (1956). F. Scaduto, Stato e Chiesa sotto Leopoldo 1, Granduca di Toscana 1765-90 (repr. Leghorn, 1975). For Tuscany see also Ricci, p. 628. B. Cecchetti, La Reppublica di Venezia e la Corte di Roma, 2 vols. (Venice, 1890). For the State hand on the endowments in the south of Italy, and the real extent of the endowments and the efficaciousness or otherwise of reform, see A. Placanica, Cassa Sacra e beni della Chiesa nella Calabria del Settecento (Naples, 1970). A. Placanica, Il patrimonio ecclesiastico calabrese (Chiaravalle, 1972).
Febronius: Best portrait by H. Raab, in 'Nikolaus von Hontheim' in Rheinische Lebensbilder V (Bonn, 1973). D.T.C. s.v. 'Febronius'. Among the older studies, O. Mejer, Febronius (Tübingen, 1880).
For Church and State in Switzerland: The fundamental (Gallican) book of the age was J. A. F. Balthasar, De Helvetiorum juribus circa sacra (Lucerne, 1768); for Balthasar see Neue Deutsche Biographie s.v.; and a monograph by B. Laube (Basel, 1956). See Schwegler, p. 615.
For Church and State in Austria see Joseph II, p. 628. In Prussia, M. Lehmann, Preussen und die katholische Kirche, 5 vols. (Leipzig, 1878). F. Hanus, Church and State in Silesia under Frederick II (Washington, 1944).
On Muratori: Letters in Carteggio (Florence, 1975-). Life (still) by his affectionate nephew Soli-Muratori (Naples, 1758). The Congresses of Muratorian studies print their proceedings (Atti), the Modena 1972 Congress had valuable articles which were printed in Atti (Florence, 1975). A. Dupront, Muratori et al société Européenne des pré-lumières (Florence, 1976). M. Rosa, Riformatori e ribelli nel '700 religioso italiano (Bari, 1969). For Muratori's relation with Austria: E. Zlabinger, L. A. Muratori und Österreich (Innsbruck, 1970). For Muratori on reduction of feasts: L. Brandolini, 'La partecipazione di L. A. Muratori alla controversia del sec. XVIII sulla diminuzione delle feste infrasettimanali', in Ephemerides liturgicae 88 (1974), 310 ff. Aldo Andreoli, Nel mondo di L. A. Muratori (Bologna, 1972), important for Muratori's religious development. See also Venturi, p. 627.
The Enlightenment in Italy: Documents in Illuministi italiani, 7 vols., so far various editors (Milan, 1958-): extracts from the leading authors, with valuable introductions to each. F. Venturi, Settecento Riformatore (Turin, 1969-), and Italy and the Enlightenment (1972), Eng. trans. of various essays. G. Compagnino, Gli illuministi italiani (Rome, 1974). G. Racioppi, Antonio Genovesi (Naples, 1871).
The Enlightenment in Germany: Background in M. Braubach, Aufklärung und Revolution (Bonn, 1960). Valuable general study in E. Hegel, Die katholische Kirche Deutschlands unter dem Einfluss der Aufklärung des 18 Jahrhunderts (Münster, 1975). (For the distance which history has travelled, contrast H. Brück, Die rationalistischen Bestrebungen im katholischen Deutschland, bes. in der drei rheinischen Erzbistümern in der zweiten Hälfte des 18 Jahrhunderts (Mainz, 1865), which was for three-quarters of a century the accepted treatment.) E. Hegel, Geschichte der katholischen theologischen Fakultät Münster 1773-1964, 2 vols. (Münster, 1966-71). K. Maier, 'Auswirkung der Aufklärung in den schwäbischen Klöstern' in Z.K.G. 86 (1975), 329-55. S. Merkle, Die kirchliche Aufklärung im katholischen Deutschland (Bonn, 1910), and Die katholische Beurteilung des Aufklärungszeitalters (Berlin, 1910). See also Goy, p. 616; Ehrensperger below.
For the argument on celibacy, see Picard, p. 620.
For Werkmeister, see A. Hagen, Die kirchliche Aufklärung in der Diozese Rottenburg (Stuttgart, 1953).
For German episcopalianism: F. Vigener, Bischofsamt und Papstgewalt, 2nd edn. (Göttingen, 1964) (1st edn., 1913). D.H.G.E. s.v. 'Allemagne' (P. Richard). T. C. W. Blanning, Reform and Revolution in Mainz 1743-1803 (Cambridge, 1974). M. Braubach, Kurköln (Münster, 1949). R. von Dülmen, 'Antijesuitismus und katholische Aufklärung in Deutschland' in H.J. 89 (1969), 52-80. E. Schotte 'Zur Geschichte des Emser Kongresses' in H.J. 35 (1914), 86-109, 319-48, 781-820. Joseph von Beck, I. H. von Wessenberg (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1863).
For the coming of Church history: Eugen Saeger, Die Vertretung der Kirchengeschichte in Freiburg im Breisgau (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1952).
For reform of liturgy in Germany: A. Ehrensperger, Die Theorie des Gottesdienstes in der späten deutschen Aufklärung 1770-1815 (Zurich, 1971). S. Bäumer, Histoire du breviaire, 2 vols. (Paris, 1905). M. Probst, Gottesdienst in Geist und Wahrheit: die liturgischen Ansichten und Bestrebungen J. M. Sailers 1751-1832 (Regensburg, 1976). E. Hegel, 'Stadtkolnischer Pfarrgottesdienst zwischen Barock und Aufklärung' in Zur Geschichte und Kunst im Erzbistum Köln (Festschrift fur Wilhelm Neuss), edd. R. Haass and J. Hoster (Düsseldorf, 1960), 204-32. L. Swidler, Aufklärung Catholicism, 1780-1850 (Ann Arbor, 1978).
Jansenism: General narrative in A. Gazier, Histoire générale du mouvement janséniste, 2 vols. (Paris, 1922). E. Préclin, Les Jansénistes du XVIIIesiècle (Paris, 1929). The central Jansenist journal of the eighteenth century was Nouvelles Ecclésiastiques (Paris-Utrecht, 1728-90), but it was often a bitter and deplorably edited journal. In Belgium, D.H.G.E., s.v. 'Belgique'. In Italy, A. C. Jemolo, Il Giansenismo in Italia prima della Rivoluzione (Bari, 1928). M. Vaussard, Jansénisme et gallicanisme aux origines du Risorgimento (Paris, 1959). In south Italy, G. Cigno, Giovanni Andrea Serrao e il giansenismo nell' Italia meridionale (secolo XVIII) (Palermo, 1938). See also Cacciatore, p. 622. In Rome, E. Dammig, Il movimento giansenista a Roma (Vatican City, 1945). In the north of Italy, A. Vecchi, Correnti religiosi nel Sei-Settecento veneto (Venice, 1962). G. Mantese, Pietro Tamburini e il giansenismo bresciano (Brescia, 1942). For Degola in Genoa, D.H.G.E., s.v. 'Degola'. F. Codignola, Carteggi di giansenisti liguri, 3 vols. (Florence 1941-4). In Tuscany, A. Wandruszka, Leopold II, 2 vols. (Vienna, 1963-6). L. J. A. De Potter, Vie de Scipione de' Ricci, 3 vols. (Brussels, 1826). The English version by T. Roscoe, 2nd edn., 2 vols. (London, 1829) is less satisfactory. C. A. Bolton, Church Reform in Eighteenth Century Italy (The Hague, 1969). N. Rodolico, Gli amici e il tempi di Scipione dei Ricci (Florence, 1920). M. Vaussard edited Ricci's correspondence with Grégoire (Florence, 1963). E. Codignola, Il giansenismo toscano nel carteggio di F. de Vecchi, 2 vols. (Florence, 1944). E. Codignola, Illuministi, giansenisti e giacobini nell' Italia del Settecento (Florence, 1947). In Austria, see under Joseph II, below. In Germany, W. Deinhardt. Der Jansenismus in deutschen Landen (Munich, 1929). D. Hildebrand, Das kulturelle Leben Bayerns im letzten Viertel des 18. Jahrhunderts (Munich, 1971).
Jansenism and the Enlightenment in Spain: For background, F. Rousseau, Régne de Charles III d'Espagne (1759-1788), 2 vols. (Paris, 1907). Desdevizes de Dezert, L'Espagne de l'ancien régime, 3 vols. (Paris, 1897-1904), 2nd edn. (1928) still valuable. J. Sarrailh, L'Espagne éclairée de la seconde moitié du XVIIIesiècle (Paris, 1954). R. Heer, The Eighteenth Century Revolution in Spain (Princeton, 1958), so far the best book in the English language on our problem. M. Defourneaux, Pablo de Olavide ou l'afrancesado (1725-1803) (Paris, 1959). J. Saugnieux, Un Prélat éclairée: Don Antonio Tavira y Almazan (1737-1807) (Toulouse, 1970). C. C. Noel, 'Opposition to enlightened reform in Spain' in Societas, 3, 1 (1973), 21 ff. L. Gil Fernández, Campomanes, un helenista en poder (Madrid, 1976). On Spanish Jansenism, D.H.E.E. s.v. 'Jansenismo'. E. Apollos, Les Jansénistes espagnoles (Paris, 1966). M. Menendez y Pelayo, Historia de los heterodoxos españoles, rev. edn. (Madrid, 1956).
Joseph II: Neue Deutsche Biographie s.v. with bibliography. T. C. W. Blanning, Joseph II and Enlightened Despotism (1970). S. K. Padover, The Revolutionary Emperor: Joseph II of Austria, 2nd edn. (1967). A. von Arneth, Maria Theresia, 10 vols. (Vienna, 1863 ff.).
For Jansenist ideas: E. Lesky and A. Wandruszka (ed.), Gerard von Swieten und seine Zeit (Vienna, 1973). P. Hersche, Der Spätjansenismus in Österreich (Vienna, 1977), breaks new ground.
For the Church policy: E. Winter, Der Josefinismus (Berlin, 1962). F. Maass (ed.), Der Josephinismus: Quellen zu seiner Geschichte in Österreich, 1760-90, 5 vols. (Vienna, 1951-7). F. Geier, Die Durchführung der kirchlichen Reformen Joseph II in vorderösterreichischen Breisgau (Stuttgart, 1905). J. R. Kusej, Joseph II and die äussere Kirchenverfassung Innerösterreichs (Stuttgart, 1908). A. Wolf, Die
Aufhebung der Klöster in Innerösterreich 1782-90 (Vienna, 1972, repr. of 1871). K. Walf, Das bischöfliche Amt in der Sicht Josephinischer Kirchenrechtler (Vienna, 1975).
On toleration no adequate general treatment exists, after the age of the Reformation. F. Ruffini, Religious Liberty, Eng. trans. (1912). A. Vermeersch, Tolerance, Eng. trans. (1913).
Chapter 7: The Revolution
Church and State in the French Revolution: John McManners, The French Revolution and the Church (1969) with its bibliography. A. Latreille, L'Église catholique et la Révolution française, 2 vols. (Paris, 1946-50).
Revolutionary Italy: Delio Cantimori and R. de Felice (ed.), Giacobini italiani (Bari, 1956). R. de Felice, Note e ricerche sugli illuminati e di misticismo revoluzionario, 1789-1800 (Rome, 1960). A. Heriot, The French in Italy 1796-99 (1957). A. Dufourcq, Le Régime jacobin en Italie (Paris, 1900). A. Cretoni, Roma giacobina, Storia della Repubblica Romana del 1798-99 (Rome, 1971). L. M. Kantner, 'Die französischen Besatzungen in Rom 1798-1800 und 1807-14 im Blickwinkel des Zeremonialdiaristen von San Pietro', in Römische Historische Mitteilungen, xv (1973), 67-92. A. Pingaud, Bonaparte, Président de la République italienne (Paris, 1914). See also Leflon, Pie VII (p. 623).
For Napoleon's religion: J. Holland Rose, Napoleonic Studies, 2nd edn. (1906). M. Lührs, Napoleons Stellung zur Religion und Kirche (Berlin, 1939, repr. Vaduz, 1965). V. Bindel, Histoire religieuse de Napoléon, 2 vols. (Paris, 1940).
Concordats: Alfred Boulay de la Meurthe, Documents sur la négotiation du Concordat et sur les autres rapports de la France avec le Saint-Siège en 1800 et 1801, 6 vols (Paris, 1897-1905). A. Latreille, Napoléon et le Saint-Siège 1801-08 (Paris, 1930). I. Rinieri, La diplomazia pontificia nel secolo XIX, 4 vols (Rome, 1902-4). See also Schmidlin, p. 622; Dansette, p. 630; Hales, p. 623.
Napoleon in Italy: J. E. Driault, Napoléon en Italie (1800-1812) (Paris, 1906). L. Madelin, La Rome de Napoléon (Paris, 1906). M. Roberti, Milano capitale napoleonico, 3 vols. (Milan, 1946-7). The Historical Memorials of Cardinal Pacca have an English translation, 2 vols. (1850). Venice under France and Austria, 2 vols. (1824). For a visitation in North Italy during the age, La visita pastorale di L. Flangini nelle diocesi di Venezia, 1803, ed. B. Bertoli and S. Tramontin (Rome, 1969). In the south: R. M. Johnston, The Napoleonic Empire in Southern Italy and the Rise of the Secret Societies, 2 vols. (1904).
On religious suppressions: J. Rambaud, 'L'Église de Naples sous la domination napoléonienne', R.H.E. 9 (1909), 294-312.
On Belgium: D.H.G.E. s.v. 'Belgique; Moreau, p. 615. A. Theiner, Der Kardinal J. H. von Frankenberg (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1850). J. P. Verhaagen, La Belgique sous la domination française 1792-1814, 4 vols. (Brussels, 1922-).
Secularization in Germany: See Aretin, p. 614; Heigel, p. 614. A. M. Scheglmann, Geschichte der Säkularisation in rechtsrheinischen Bayern, 3 vols. in 4 (Regensburg, 1903-8). R. Bauerreiss, Kirchengeschichte Bayerns, St. Ottilien-Augsburg, 1949-). M. Erzberger, Die Säkularisation in Württemberg von 1803-1810 (Stuttgart, 1902). J. A. Bornewasser, Kirche und Staat in Fulda 1802-6 (Fulda, 1956). Justus Hashagen, 'Die rheinische Kirche unter französischer Herrschaft' in Studium Lipsiense: Ehrengabe Karl Lamprecht (Berlin, 1909). Rudolph Morsey, 'Wirtschaftliche und soziale Auswirkungen der Säkularisation in Deutschland' in Dauer und Wandel der Geschichte: Aspekte europäischer Vergangenheit: Festgabe für Kurt von Raumer (Münster, 1966). P. Wende, Die geistliche Staaten und ihre Auflösung im Urteil der zeitgenössischen Publizistik (Lübeck, 1966).
Spain: The old history of Lafuente, Historia Eclesiastica de España, vol. vi, was partisan and is obsolete. P. B. Gams, Die Kirchengeschichte von Spanien, iii.2 (Regensburg, 1879), was tired when he reached this point of his famous history and gave nothing but a sketchy miscellany. The general histories are helpful, e.g. A. R. M. Carr, Spain 1808-1939 (Oxford, 1966); G. H. Lovett, Napoleon and the Birth of Modern Spain, 2 vols. (New York, 1965). The best account of the debates of the Cortes of Cadiz is still H. Baumgarten, Geschichte Spaniens vom Ausbruch der französischen Revolution bis auf unsere Tage, i (Leipzig, 1865). For biographies and studies of dioceses see the articles in D.H.E.E. with useful bibliographies. For the conflict between the Cortes of Cadiz and the Bishop of Orense, see F. Lopez-Aydillo, El obispo de Orense en la Regencia del año 1810 (Madrid, 1918). For the afrancesados, Miguel Artola Gallego, Los Afrancesados (Madrid, 1953). F. Marti Gilabert, La Iglesia en Espana durante la Revolution francese, Pamplona, 1971, breaks new ground but does not go beyond 1801. The abolition of the Inquisition by the Cadiz Cortes is printed in Actas de las Cortès de Cadiz (Antologia) (Madrid, 1964), ii, 1027 ff. Sketch only in E. Allison Peers, The Church in Spain 1737-1939 (1938). Recent work in J. M. Cuenca Toribio, Estudios sobre la Iglesia española del XIX (Madrid, 1973).
Chapter 8: Restoration
On Metternich: H. Srbik, Metternich, 3 vols. (Munich, 1925-64).
In France: Adrien Dansette, Histoire religieuse de la France contemporaine, rev. edn. (Paris, 1965), with bibliography.
In Italy: for Consalvi, A. Roveri (ed.), La Missione Consalvi e il Congresso di Vienna, 2 vols. (Rome, 1970-1), prints the documents. A. Roveri, La Santa Sede tra Rivoluzione francese e Restaurazione: il Cardinal Consalvi 1813-15 (Florence, 1974). Severoli's dispatches to Consalvi were printed by M. Petrocchi in La Restaurazione, il Cardinal Consalvi e la riforma di 1816 (Florence, 1941). M. Petrocchi, La Restaurazione romana (Florence, 1943).
For the administration of the Papal States, see Colapietra, La Chiesa. . . , p. 624. G. Pignatelli, Aspetti della propaganda cattolica a Roma da Pio VI a Leone XII (Rome, 1974). See also N. Wiseman, p. 624.
For south Italy: H. M. Acton, The Bourbons of Naples (p. 626), and The Last Bourbons of Naples (1825-1861) (1961). P. Colletta, History of the Kingdom of
Naples, Eng. trans., 2 vols. (Edinburgh, 1858). W. Maturi, Il principe di Canosa (Florence, 1944), and Il Concordato del 1818 tra la Santa Sede e le due Sicilie (Florence, 1929).
The Secret Societies: R. M. Johnston, p. 629. E. E. Y. Hales, Mazzini and the secret societies (1956). A. Luzio, La massoneria e il Risorgimento, 2 vols. (Bologna, 1925). B. Saint-Edme, Constitution et organisation des Carbonari (Paris, 1821). B. Allason, La vita di Silvio Pellico (Verona, 1933). C. Spellanzon, Storia del Risorgimento e dell' Unità d'Italia, 8 vols. (Milan, 1933-65), the standard narrative with excellent illustrations.
The conditions of Church life are well illustrated by the records published by Thesaurus Ecclesiarum Italiae Recentioris Aevi: A. Cestaro, Le diocesi di Conza e di Campagna nell' età della Restaurazione (Rome, 1971). La visita pastorale di Giuseppe Maria Peruzzi nella diocesi di Vicenza (1819-25), ed. G. Mantese and E. Reato (Rome, 1972). La visita pastorale di G. L. Pyrker nella diocesi di Venezia (1821), ed. B. Bertoli and S. Tramontin (Rome, 1971). This also contains Pyrker's auto-biography. La visita pastorale di Giuseppe Gasser nella diocesi di Treviso, 1826-1827, ed. L. Pesce (Rome, 1969). For Gazzola see V. E. Giuntella, 'Profilo di uno zelante' in R. stor. Risorg. 43 (1956), 413-18.
The Restoration in Germany: F. Schnabel, Deutsche Geschichte im Neunzehnten Jahrhundert, vol. 4: Die religiösen Kräfte (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1937). G. Goyau, L'Allemagne religieuse, Le Catholicisme, 4 vols. (6th edn. 1909-23). Schnabel's is the deeper treatment. For Görres see H.J. 96 (1976).
The Restoration in Spain: M. Artola Gallego, La España de Fernando VII (Madrid, 1968). J. Herrero, Los origenes del pensamiento reaccionario español (Madrid, 1971), breaks new ground. P. Leturia, Relaciones entre la Santa Sede e Hispano-américa 1493-1835, 3 vols. revised (Rome, 1959-60) (Analecta Gregoriana, 101-3). See also A. R. M. Carr, p. 614; Cuenca, p. 630.
Acton, H. M., 626
Adalpreto, St., 22
Adam, Hermenegild, 4-5
afrancesados, the, 530
Agatha, St., 24 , 208
agnus dei, waxen object of devotion, 11 , 149
Agueda da Luna, 333
Alacoque, Marguerite-Marie, 64-5
Alatri, 116 , 472 , 595
Albani, Cardinal Alessandro, 107 , 312
Albani, Cardinal Annibale, 305 , 313
Albani, Cardinal Gian Francesco, see Clement XI
Albani, Cardinal Giovanni Francesco, 265 , 463 , 482 , 566-7
Albergotti, Bishop of Arezzo, 473
Alberoni, Cardinal, 107 , 156 , 261 , 308 , 314 , 361
Aldersbach, monastery, 503
Alexander III, Pope, 257
Alexander VII, Pope, 79 , 303-4
Alexander VIII, Pope, 270 , 273 , 304 , 309 , 312
Alexis, St., 11
Alfonso Liguori, see Liguori
Altar and Throne, 542-3 ; see also Sanfedists
Althan, Cardinal, 268
Altieri, Cardinal, 274
Altötting, 44 , 61
Ancona, 11 , 19 , 53 , 117 , 126 , 130 , 211 , 232 , 296 , 568
Andreoli, Giuseppe, 559
, 561 Andreucci, A. G., 179
Andria near Bari, 90
Anfossi, Filippo, 553
Angelo of Acri, St., 223
Annales Camaldulenses, 621
Anthony, St., of Padua, 13 , 21-2 , 38 , 88-9
Antici, Cardinal, 307
Antonelli, Cardinal Leonardo, 493
Anzani, 196 , 201
apostolic delegates, 321
Aracoeli, 11 , 61-2 , 463 , 470
Archinto, Alberico, Cardinal, 300
Aretin, K. A., 614
Arienzo (S. Italy), 12 , 206
Armenians, 221-2 , 526
Arnauld, Antoine, 279
Arnauld, Louis, 230-1
Arneth, A. von, 628
Assisi, 42 , 88 , 116 , 175
Auctorem fidei (1794), 572
Augustinians, 60 , 105 , 211 , 217-18 , 224-5 , 242 , 293 , 451
Avignon, 266 , 276 , 298 , 326 , 358 , 370 ff , 447 , 462 , 489 , 494 , 552
Bach, J. S., 86 , 92-3
Ballerini, 146 , 222
Bamberg, 4 , 28-31 , 111 , 178
banks, seeMons Pietatis
baptism of bells, 4-5
Barbarigo, Gregorio, 119
Barbastro diocese, 120
Barberini family, 274 , 299 , 302-3
Barberini, Cardinal Francesco, the elder, 326
Barberini, Cardinal Francesco, the younger, 113
Barckhaus, Hermann, 105
Barnabites, 211-12 , 221 , 224-5 , 596
Baretti, Joseph, 32 , 215 , 223 , 353 , 617
Baronius, Cardinal, 326 , 395 , 399
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