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domesties of all classes. Besides these he has his confessor, preacher, chaplains—queer necessities these for the fountain-head of religion— his porters, jesters, poultrymen, and muleteers. These all have rank and appointments in the sacred household, mingling strangely with "monsignori" the secretaries of state, and other officials. The private chamberlains who wait in the ante-chambers are clergymen. In imitation of imperial courts, we find cup-bearers, masters of the wardrobe, grand esquires, a grand herald, private chamberlains of the sword and cloak, who wear the black-spangled dress, the most graceful of all court costumes, and a guard of nobles, magnificently uniformed, a section of which attends at divine service in the Pope's chapel with drawn swords.
Each cardinal and high officer has a little court of his own. When the revenues of Christendom flowed into the papal treasury, it was not difficult to maintain this state and expense; but, now that it falls mainly on the Roman Sacristory, it becomes a burden which Christian humility might consistently seek to lighten. When there exists so numerous a corps of servants, whether of the household or church, invention must be racked to find employment for them; consequently, we
are not surprised to see that during high church ceremonies—for instance, on Palm Sunday—it requires "a prince, an auditor of the rota, two clerks of the chamber, and two mace-bearers," to present a basin of water to the Pope, in which he washes his hands, while a cardinal dean holds the towel, a senior cardinal priest hands him the incense, which he puts into a censer held by the "senior voter of the signature." Verily, St. Peter could have written all his epistles in much less time than it would have taken him to learn the titles and employments of the household of his successors in the nineteenth century!"In the sacred functions of the altar, when the Pope assists without officiating," says Bishop England, he selects the officers from a number of names presented by the chapters of each of the three patriarchal basilies, selecting "always a nobleman, if his other qualifications be equal to those of his associates"—the wisdom of which choice, and its consistency with Christianity, all republicans can not fail to perceive.
The mode of electing a Pope is curious. The conclave is the assemblage of the cardinals for that purpose. They select their own place of meeting, in general choosing simply between the Vatican or Quirinal palaces.
The day after the last day of the funeral ceremonies of a deceased Pope, the mass of the Holy Ghost is repeated with great solemnity, a Latin discourse pronounced, and the procession of cardinals enters the chapel, chanting Vent Creator. The bulls concerning the election are read, and the cardinal dean harangues them upon the duties prescribed for the occasion. Each cardinal then takes his place in the conclave, that is, retires to his cell, a small room of about twelve feet square, modestly furnished by himself, with his arms over the door. These cells are all alike, upon the same floor, and arranged in galleries. Chimneys are not permitted, warmth being communicated from the neighboring rooms. To make the isolation complete, in winter the windows are all built up, excepting a single pane. In summer the cardinals are permitted to look into the garden.
For the service of each cell there is allowed a secretary and one gentleman, who are obliged to perform the duties of domesties. But as the emoluments are great, consisting of a considerable sum before the conclave, and a distribution of ten thousand crowns by the new Pope after his election, besides certain advantages for their future career, these posts are much sought after by the younger ecclesiastics.
The conclave is allowed also the services of a sacristan, two sub-sacristans, a confessor, four masters of ceremonies, two physicians, an apothecary, three barbers, a mason, a carpenter, and twelve valets, whose livery is violet.
Before the cardinals enter into conclave, should any feel not adequate to the discipline about to be imposed upon them, they are warned to retire. Once in conclave, they are placed in solitary confinement, each in his own cell. Every avenue to the palace is strictly guarded by detachments of soldiers, and each door carefully closed. The only communication from without is by means of small revolving shelves, or boxes, like the "tours" of foundling hospitals, through which the meals are passed, and also any official communications, but only in the presence, and with the authorization of their military guardians. Vocal intercourse is permitted only at certain high apertures in the walls, in Italian, and with raised voices, so that the guards can hear and understand the conversation. The utmost precautions are taken to prevent the inmates of adjoining cells from communicating with each other. If a cardinal become ill, he is permitted to go out, but he can not re-enter his cell during the conclave.
Before the closing of the conclave, a final day is permitted to the visits and conferences of the cardinals, in the hall arranged for that purpose. These interviews are according to prescribed rules.
All the expenses of the conclave are borne by the Apostolic Chamber. Among these, the meals are not the least. As nothing is done in Rome without a procession, the dinners of the cardinals are served up in the same manner. The order is as follows:
At the head, two footmen with wooden maces.
A valet with the silver.
The gentlemen in service, two by two, bareheaded.
The chief cook with a napkin on his shoulder.
Cup-bearers and esquires.
Two footmen, carrying upon their shoulders a huge dish-warmer, containing the meats, 1fcc.
Then follow the valets, with wine and fruit in baskets.
Upon arriving at the palace, each cardinal is visited in turn by his procession, and the dinner deposited. But before this is done, every dish is inspected lest some letter or message should be concealed within the viands. The bottles and glasses are required to be transparent, and the vases sufficiently shallow to show their depths. With all these precautions, however, diplomatic ingenuity at times contrives to convey hidden communications. The fruits often speak intelligibly for themselves. A truffle has served to baffle a rival combination, and destroy a choice fixed upon for the succeeding day. This species of culinary diplomacy was due, as might be expected, to an embassador of France.
There are four modes of electing the Pope: the "adoration," the "compromise," the "icrutin," and the " aceetsit."
The votes are deposited by the cardinals, ae, .dling to certain prescribed rules, in a chalice placed upon an altar, either in the Sistine Chapel or one of the same dimensions at the Quirinal. They are summoned twice a day, at six in the morning and at the same hour of the evening, to deposit their votes. These are carried bv them
selves on golden plates. Each bulletin containing the vote is carefully scaled, and stamped with some fanciful design, known only to the voter, and prepared expressly for his vote. Great care is also taken to disguise the handwriting so that no external clew to the voter's choice can be detected. This act is preceded by an oath to choose him whom they believe the most worthy, and is accompanied by sacred chants. The officers, designated by lot to examine the votes, inspect them with the most minute attention and precautions, for fear of fraud. If a cardinal has obtained twothirds of the votes, they are verified by comparing the names of the voters with their chosen devices. Should two-thirds of the votes be wanting to one name, the bulletins are burned, and the voting commences anew. The smoke which arises from the chimney attached to the chapel at this hour, telegraphs to an expectant crowd without the failure of the vote.
Election by "adoration" is when a cardinal, in giving his vote, goes toward his candidate, proclaiming him the Head of the Church; and is followed by two-thirds of the cardinals imitating his example. The "compromise" is when the uncertain suffrages are given to certain members of the conclave from which to elect a Pope. The "scrutin" is the secret ballot. The "accessit" is the last resource for a choice, but as it is seldom resorted to, and I do not clearly comprehend the process myself, I can not give it to my readers. During the examination of the votes by secret ballot, the cardinals say masses upon the six altars of the chapel.
The excessive precautions taken to insure purity of choice, betray the extent to which faction and corruption must have intruded into these elections. In times past the most scandalous scenes have preceded and accompanied the intrigues which, despite the severity of the regulations, find entrance into the holy conclave, splitting it into unholy factions. During the comparatively recent conclave, which resulted in the election of Pius VI., the cardinals even proceeded to blows, and their excitement rivaled the worst scenes that have ever occurred in any democratic congress.
After his election the Pope selects the name by which he wishes to be known. The Master of Ceremonies then clothes him in the papal vestments, and the cardinals, each in turn, kiss his hands and feet, the Pope giving them upon the right cheek the kiss of peace. They then chant, "Behold the high priest, pleasing to God, and found just!" The guns of St. Angelo thunder forth a salute, every bell of the city augments the joyous clamor, and drums, trumpets, and timbrels, amid the acclamations of the people—if the election be a popular one—complete the noisy chorus.
After a special adoration in the Sistine Chapel, the Pope seats himself under a red canopy before the grand altar in St. Peter's, where he receives the adoration of the people. This finished, he is borne in grand procession to the palace which he selects for his residence. In the adoration paid to the Pope enlightened Romanists disclaim, and with justice no doubt, any act of personal idolatry. But while they render the same forms of
homage to a man which we are taught to believe are due only to God, it will be difficult for the mass to discriminate the nice distinction they would make. Their example, at all events, is so much weight in the scale of idolatry, while their motives are far beyond the capacity of ignorant minds to comprehend.
During the interval between the death of one Pope and the election of another, the papal functions are administered by an officer called the "Camerlingue," or Cardinal President, of the Court of Rome. He holds one of the three keys of the treasure of the Castle of St. Angelo; the dean of the sacred college another, and the Pope the third.
The unity and policy of the papal court is undoubtedly the same in all ages, so far as concerns its claims to temporal and spiritual power. Were it not counteracted by the spirit of the age, there is no reason to believe it would not now assert its authority as distinctly and frankly as in the thirteenth century, in the mandate of Nicholas III., cited in the ninety-sixth distinction of the canon law, viz.:
"It is evident that the Roman pontiff can not be judged of man, because he is Goo!"
In a bull of Gregory IX., inserted in the Decretals, under the title of " Pre-eminence," we read as follows:
"God has made two great lights for the firmament of the universal Church—that is to say, he has instituted two dignities: these are the pontifical authority and the royal power; but that which rules in these days, that is to say over things spiritual, is the greater, and that which presides over things material the lesser. Therefore all should know that there is as much difference between pontiffs and kings as between the sun and moon. We say that every human creature is subjected to the sovereign pontiff, and that he can (according to the decretal of Innocent III., called the Prebends), in virtue of his full power and sovereign authority, dispose of the natural and divine right."
At this age of the world we may smile at these doctrines. But the spirit which conceived them still exists, though the power then enforced has departed. The haughty ceremonies that accompanied these assumptions of power are yet in full sway, yearly growing in imbecility, as the authority which alone could make them respected becomes more remote. That which once carried with it terrible meaning has now degenerated into pitiful farce. Spectators now gather to Rome during holy festivals, not to worship or to acknowledge the great head of the Christian church, but to wonder at the debasing shows proffered, and the haughty magnificence displayed by priests who found their creed on a gospel of humility and love. Should these remarks be construed as uncharitable, I can only add that where religion, as I intend showing, is metamorphosed designedly into a mere spectacle, it must expect to be subjected to the ordinary laws of criticism.
THE CAMPAIGN OF PARIS.
THE war had now become a struggle for the dethronement of Napoleon, and for the effectual suppression, throughout Europe, of those principles of republican equality, to which the French Revolution had given birth. There never was a government so popular as not to have its opposition. In every nation and state allied to France there were many royalists, ready eagerly to join the allied armies. In the triumph of that cause they hoped to regain their exclusive privileges. And in all the old aristocracies there were multitudes, of the more intelligent portion of the populace, hungering for reform. They welcomed, with enthusiasm, the approach of the armies of Napoleon. It was the existence of this party, in such strength, both in England and Ireland, which roused the Tory government of Britain, to such tremendous exertions, to crush, in the person of the French Emperor, the spirit of republican equality. The North British Review, one of the organs of the Tory party, in the following strain, which will certainly amuse American readers, complains of that equality, which Napoleon established in France:
"Those who have watched the interior workings of society in France, long and close at hand, are inclined to attribute much of that uselessness and discontent, which is one of its most striking features, and which is the despair both of the friends of order and the friends of freedom, to the
national system of education. Members of various grades and classes in the social scale are instructed together, in the same schools, in the same mode, and on the same subjects, to a degree of which we have no example here. If the peasant, the grocer, or the tailor, can scrape together a little money, his son receives his training in the same seminary as the son of the proprietor, whose land he cultivates, whose sugar and coffee he supplies, and whose coat he makes. The boy, who ought to be a laborer or a petty tradesman, sits on the same bench, and learns the same lesson, as the boy who is destined for the bar, the tribune, or the civil service of the state. This system arises out of the passion for equality, and fosters it in turn. The result is, that each one naturally learns to despise his own destination, and to aspire to that of his more fortunate school-fellow. The grocer's son can not see why he should not become an advocate, a journalist, a statesman, as well as the wealthier and noble-born lad, who was often below him in the class, whom he occasionally thrashed, and often helped over the thomy places of his daily task."*
The Allies now advanced triumphantly toward the Rhine. Napoleon roused all his energies to meet the emergence. "Though age," says Bourrienne, "might have been supposed to have deprived him of some of his activity, yet, in that crisis, I beheld him as in his most vigorous youth. Again he developed that fervid mind, which, as in his early conquests, annihilated time and space, and seemed omnipresent in its energies." France, from the Rhine to the Pyrenees, assumed the appearance of a vast arsenal. The Council of State suggested to Napoleon that it might not be wise to announce to the people the humiliating truth that the frontiers of France were invaded.
"Wherefore," replied Napoleon, "should not the truth be told? Wellington has entered the south; the Russians menace the north; the Aus
* It is greatly to Napoleon's honor, that such men as the Dnke of Wellington were contending against him. It is, in itself, evidence of the righteousness of his cause. Probably there can not be found in the world a man more resolutely hostile to popular reform than was the Duke of Wellington. He was the idol of the aristocracy. He was hated by the people. They had pelted him with mud through the streets of London, and he had been compelled to barricade his windows against their assaults. Even the soldiers under his command in Spain had no affection for his person; and, notwithstanding all the calumnies of the British press, they loved, around their camp-fires, to tell stories of the goodness of Napoleon. Many, too, of these soldiers, after the battle of Waterloo, were sent to Canada. I am informed, by a gentleman of commanding character and intelligence, that when a child, he has sat for hours listening to the anecdotes in favor of Napoleon which these British soldiers had picked up in the camp. Yet, true to military discipline, they would stand firmly to their color s in the hour of battle. They were proud of the grandeur of the "Iron Duke," but no soldier loved him. We will imitate Napoleon's magnanimity, in not questioning the sincerity of the Duke of Wellington's convictions, that an aristocratic government is best for the people. We simply state the undeniable fact, that his hostility was deadly to all popular