Produced by David McClamrock

POPE PIUS THE TENTH

BY

F. A. [FRANCES ALICE] FORBES

LONDON

BURNS OATES & WASHBOURNE LTD.

PUBLISHERS TO THE HOLY SEE

1954

[Transcriber's note: First published 1918; second edition 1919; third edition 1924; fourth edition entitled Pope Saint Pius the Tenth, unchanged in content except for anonymous postscript referring to canonization of Pope Pius X (omitted here), 1954]

NIHIL OBSTAT: PATRICIVS MORRIS, S.T.D., L.S.S.

CENSOR DEPUTATUS

IMPRIMATUR: E. MORROGH BERNARD

VICARIVS GENERALIS

WESTMONASTERII: DIE XI MARTII MCMLIV

CONTENTS

Chapter

I. CHILD AND STUDENT

II. CURATE AND PARISH PRIEST

III. CANON AND BISHOP

IV. PATRIARCH OF VENICE

V. THE PAPAL ELECTION

VI. THE AIMS OF PIUS X

VII. PIUS X AND FRANCE

VIII. THE POPE OF THE EUCHARIST

IX. PIUS X AND MODERNISM

X. PIUS X AND THE PRIESTHOOD

XI. THE POPE OF THE SUFFERING

XII. THE POPE OF PEACE

I

CHILD AND STUDENT

In the village of Riese in the Venetian plains was born on the 2nd of June, 1835, a child who was destined to leave his mark on the world's history.

Giuseppe[*] Melchior Sarto was the eldest of the eight surviving children of Giovanni Battista Sarto, the municipal messenger and postman of Riese, and his wife Margherita. They were poor people, and it was difficult sometimes to make both ends meet. The daily fare was hard and scanty, and the future pope was clothed, as an Italian biographer puts it, "as God willed." But both Giovanni Battista and his wife came of a hard-working, God-fearing stock, who could endure manfully and suffer patiently, and who taught their children to do the same.

[*] Joseph, Beppo, Beppino, Bepi and Beppe are all diminutives of the same name. "Sarto" is the English "Taylor."

Little Bepi was remarkable both for his intelligence and for his restless activity. The village schoolmaster, who at once singled him out as a pupil worth cultivating, was, we are told, not infrequently obliged to use means more persuasive than agreeable to calm his vivacity. Indeed, the seraphic element in Bepi seems to have been considerably leavened by that of the human boy. "That little rascal!" exclaimed an old inhabitant of Riese when he heard of Cardinal Sarto's elevation to the papacy, "Many a cherry of mine has found its way down his throat!"

It was not long before Bepi had mastered the rudiments of reading and writing, which were all that the village school could offer. He became an efficient server at Mass, and such was his influence over his companions that at the age of ten he was appointed leader of the somewhat unruly band of acolytes who served in the village church. The young master of ceremonies proved himself perfectly equal to the occasion. There was such a serene good temper and such a merry wit behind the somewhat drastic methods of Bepi that his authority was irresistible and unquestioned.

To most boys who serve daily at the altar the thought of the priestly life will sooner or later suggest itself; to some it comes as an overwhelming call. Giuseppe's vocation seems to have grown up with him, to have been, from his earliest years, the very centre of his life. About half a mile beyond Riese stands a chapel dedicated to the Blessed Virgin, containing a statue known as the Madonna delle Cendrole. Here young Bepi loved to come and pray, pouring out his joys and sorrows at the feet of the Mother of Christ, and perhaps she was the first confidant of his desire to consecrate his life to God. Certainly this sanctuary was especially dear to him in after-life, as one round which clung the happiest memories of his childhood.

At twelve years old the boy made his first communion. Did he think the time was long in coming, and was it the memory of the desire of his own childish heart that moved him in after years to shorten the time of waiting for the children of the Catholic world?

Anything that tended to the knowledge of God seemed to have an irresistible fascination for Bepi. Never was he known to miss the classes where the parish priest, Don Tito Fusarini, and his curate, Don Luigi Orazio, taught Christian doctrine to the children of the parish. So quick was his intelligence and so remarkable his aptitude that Don Luigi, who at the time was teaching Latin to his own younger brother, took Bepi also as pupil. The boy's progress soon convinced his tutor that he had the makings of a scholar, and the two priests determined to prepare him for the grammar school at Castelfranco.

Distant about four miles from Riese, Castelfranco, with its medieval and romantic atmosphere, its ancient fortress and picturesquely crowded market-place, is not the least attractive of the old Venetian cities. Here, in 1447, was born Giorgione, and here, in the beautiful old cathedral, is to be seen one of his most famous Madonnas. On either side of the Virgin Mother, seated on a throne with the Divine Child in her arms, stand St. Francis of Assisi, and St. Liberalis, the patron saint of Treviso, a young knight in armour. Many a time must the boy Giuseppe have slipped into the quiet cathedral to pray before the Madonna. Did he ask for the strength of the warrior and the humility of the friar, to be loving like the Christ and pure like His Mother? Those who knew him in after-life could bear witness that these gifts were his.

Day after day, in all weathers, the boy tramped the four miles into Castelfranco, his shoes slung over his shoulder, and a piece of bread or a lump of polenta in his pocket. In the fourth and last year of Giuseppe's school life he was joined by his brother Angelo, and as the financial affairs of their father had slightly improved, the two brothers were promoted to a rather ramshackle donkey-cart.

The day's work was far from over when the lads came home from school. There was plenty to be done in the house and outside it. Both the cow and the donkey must be attended to; there was work in the garden and work in the fields. It was Bepi's delight to help his mother in the care of the house, and to look after his baby brothers and sisters, that she might have a little sorely needed rest. His merry nature and thoughtful unselfishness made him a general favourite, while the younger members of the family looked up to him almost as much as to their parents.

From the beginning of his first year at Castelfranco Giuseppe Sarto had shown himself a hard-working and brilliant pupil, qualities which do not always go together, At the end of his fourth year, in the examinations held at the diocesan seminary of Treviso, he came out first in every subject. The two priests of Riese were justly proud of their scholar, and dreamed of great things in the future. Education, however, costs money; and the Sarto family were not only poor, but had eight children to provide for. That Bepi had a vocation to the priesthood was evident to everyone who had had to do with him. The next step was obviously the seminary; but who was to pay the expenses? The stipend of an Italian parish priest leaves no margin for such undertakings. Don Tito Fusarini therefore went to Canon Casagrande, prefect of studies at the seminary, who had examined the boys of Castelfranco; he would surely interest himself in the brilliant youngster who had passed with honour in every subject.

Now it happened that the patriarch of Venice, Cardinal Jacopo Monico, was himself the son of a peasant, and a child of that very village of Riese. Distinguished no less for his love of letters than for his zeal for religion, it belonged to him to name the few students who were entitled to a free scholarship at the seminary of Padua. That his heart would be touched at the thought of his young fellow townsman, like himself a child of the people, and unable to continue his priestly education for lack of means, was a likely surmise. Don Tito applied to Canon Casagrande, begging him to plead Giuseppe's cause with the patriarch, a request which met with a prompt and hearty assent.

At Riese all was suspense and hope. The postman was a man of firm faith, whose trust in God had never failed him; Margherita prayed unceasingly. As to Bepi his whole future lay in the balance; the dearest hopes of his heart depended on the patriarch's answer. At last the letter arrived. Canon Casagrande announced to Don Fusarini that Giuseppe Sarto had been proposed and accepted as a student at the seminary of Padua, and that the patriarch had himself written to the bishop of the diocese recommending young Sarto to his care.

Giuseppe's joy was not unmixed with sorrow at the thought of leaving for the first time the humble village home with all its dear associations. In the dusk of an early November morning the fifteen-year-old boy packed his few belongings into the country cart, in those days the only means of conveyance for the poor, and, bravely choking back the tears that could hardly be repressed, bade farewell to his family.

If the medieval charm of Castelfranco had influenced the young student so profoundly, there was enough and to spare in the city of Padua to satisfy his love of beauty. Famous throughout the world is the basilica of Il Santo, built in the thirteenth century, and dedicated in honour of the great St. Antony. Sculptures by Donatello, bas-reliefs by Lombardi and pictures by Mantegna, Veronese and Giotto adorn its walls. The cathedral, partly destroyed in the twelfth century, was rebuilt by Michelangelo. The university, founded in the thirteenth century, and counting among its students such men as Vittorino da Feltre, the great educator, and Giovanni da Ravenna, the friend of Petrarch, was famous throughout the Middle Ages for its schools of medicine and of law.

The seminary, founded in 1577 and greatly enlarged a century later, boasts a handsome church and a noble library rich in precious manuscripts. It was probably the first library that Bepi had seen, certainly the first of which he had had the freedom, and one can imagine the delight of the young student as he wandered through its lofty halls, and realized that its treasures were henceforward part of the endowment of the new life that was now his.

The intelligence and cheery good-humour of Giuseppe, joined to the charm of manner that seems to have been his from childhood, soon made him a general favourite both with boys and masters. "His mind is quick," wrote one of the latter to Don Pietro Jacuzzi, who had succeeded Don Orazio as curate of Riese and was a firm friend of Bepi's, "his will strong and mature, his industry remarkable." The somewhat strict discipline of the seminary presented no difficulties to a boy who had all his life been accustomed to self-denial; a willing and intelligent submission to authority was indeed a characteristic of Giuseppe Sarto throughout his life. "In order to command," he was to say hereafter as pope, "it is necessary to have learned to obey."

At the end of his first year at Padua, Giuseppe was first in all his classes. The home-coming to Riese was an unclouded joy, both to the young seminarist and to his family. The holidays were spent in the company of the friends of his childhood in the country that he loved. To Don Jacuzzi and Don Fusarini he was as a beloved son, and much of his time was spent either at the presbytery or in long rambles with the good curate. Neither could studies be altogether neglected, although it was holiday time; and the autumn days passed quickly enough.

Back again at Padua, Giuseppe set to work vigorously, without a presentiment of the sorrow that was so soon to overcloud his happiness. In the month of May his father died after a few days' illness, leaving his wife and large family in very straitened circumstances. The thought of the struggle which his mother was waging against poverty lay like a weight upon Giuseppe's heart. He was the eldest of the family and would have come to her assistance, but not for worlds would the good Margherita have allowed her son to give up his priestly career. She was full of courage, and the other boys were growing up; they would soon be able to help to support the family. A second grief followed upon the first. Don Tito Fusarini, who had been like a second father to Bepi, and whose failing health had caused him for some time past to rely more and more upon the devotedness of his curate, was at last obliged to give up his work at Riese.

Don Pietro Jacuzzi, who succeeded him as rector, had been, from the day of his arrival in the village, Giuseppe's firm friend and chief adviser in all his boyish difficulties. The lad looked up to him as the model of everything that a priest should be, and corresponded with him continually from Padua. To him he owed the love and the knowledge of music that was to prove so valuable in after years, for had he not assisted at the transformation that had taken place in the village choir under the able tuition of Don Pietro? He had been witness, too, of the rector's unselfish and untiring devotion to his priestly duties which had won him the love and reverence of his parishioners; but within a year Giuseppe was to lose this second friend also. Don Pietro was transferred to Vascon, to the grief of the people of Riese.

When Giuseppe came home for the autumn holidays in 1853 the fullness of his loss became clear to him; Riese was hardly Riese without Don Tito and Don Pietro. The new parish priest, whose somewhat morose character formed a striking contrast to the genial kindliness of his two predecessors, was not popular. He did not like sick calls in the night, and told his parishioners so plainly from the pulpit. But sickness and death have a knack of not considering the convenience of the parish priest, or indeed of anybody else; and of this the inhabitants of Riese were fully aware.

By his very position as a church student Giuseppe was bound to be on friendly terms with the presbytery. On the other hand, mixing as he did with the people of the place, he could not avoid hearing some severe criticisms of their pastor. While forced to admit to himself that the methods of the new arrival were a little singular, the boy's loyal and upright nature forbade him to discuss matters with his friends. In this difficult and awkward position the lad of seventeen showed a tact and discernment which would have been admirable in a man of experience, "These holidays have been perfectly miserable," he wrote to Don Jacuzzi, who had learnt from other correspondents how things were going on; "I shut myself up in the house as much as I can and try when visiting the members of my family to keep off dangerous subjects."

"No greater grief than to remember days
Of joy when sorrow is at hand,"

he quotes, for he knew his Dante well. "Even the singing has gone down. I long for my little room at the seminary and the quiet life of study."

In 1856 Giuseppe distinguished himself more than ever, He had now only two years more to spend at the seminary. His brilliant successes as a student left him modest and humble as before, whilst his cheery kindliness and sympathy made him a powerful influence for good amongst his young companions. Such was the trust reposed in him by his superiors that he had for long been prefect of discipline in the general study room. "My masters call me 'Giubilato'," he wrote to Don Pietro. "I wish I could do more to show my gratitude for their kindness." Nevertheless he greatly appreciated the private room allotted to him during his last two years at Padua. "Here I read and work," he wrote to the same dear friend, "and prepare myself for the life of solitude and study that will be mine as a priest." His favourite studies were the Bible and the Fathers of the Church. The pastoral letters and papal encyclicals of later years bear witness to the fact that this predilection lasted throughout his life.

His knowledge and love of music had obtained for him the direction of the seminary choir. "I have worked so hard at the music for the feast of St. Aloysius," he wrote in the June of 1857, "that I am fairly dried up."

On the 27th of February of the same year he was ordained subdeacon in the cathedral of Treviso, and on the feast of the Sacred Heart went to Riese to preach. "Last Sunday I went to Riese to give a little discourse on the Sacred Heart," he writes to Don Pietro. He does not mention that the little discourse was so striking and so eloquent that the enthusiasm of the congregation knew no bounds.

At the end of August, 1858, Giuseppe Sarto's seminary life was over. As he was only twenty-three, and the canonical age for ordination is twenty-four, the Bishop of Treviso wrote to Rome to obtain a dispensation. The young cleric had finished his last year as he had finished his first, with honours in every subject. The record of his triumphal progress is still to be seen in the books of the seminary of Padua, the professors united in praising the qualities of his character no less than those of his intellect. In September the dispensation arrived, and with it the day so long desired, when Giuseppe Sarto was to be for ever consecrated to the service of God. The Bishop of Treviso was then at Castelfranco, and it was here that the ordination was to take place.

An autumn mist lay like a veil over the familiar landscape as the young man drove along the road which led from Riese to Castelfranco. The horse trotted swiftly, yet the way had never seemed so long. How often had he tramped it in the old days through dust and mud and snow, barefoot to save the shoes that were such a heavy item of expense in the Sarto family. And it was the thought of the day which at last had dawned, a day that seemed then so far away and so impossible, which had been the inspiration and the strength of that life of hardships, making everything easy to bear. The supreme happiness that now possessed him blotted out all the past. The first glimpse of the ivied walls of Castelfranco made his heart beat almost to suffocation. "To-day I shall be a priest," was the one thought that possessed him; and when, a little later, he knelt at the altar of the cathedral where he had so often prayed as a child, to receive the sacred laying-on of hands, it seemed to him as if earth had nothing more to give.

On the following day the newly-made priest sang his first Mass in the parish church of Riese. Who shall describe the joy of his mother as that beloved voice, clear and resonant as it remained even to old age, yet tremulous with the joy and fear of the moment, pronounced the words of the great Mystery? The Mass ended, the congregation flocked to kiss the hands of the young priest whom they had known and loved from childhood—hands that had touched to-day for the first time the Body of the Lord. To say that it was a feast day in Riese but feebly expresses the general jubilation.

A few days later Don Giuseppe received a letter announcing his destination. The Bishop of Treviso had appointed him curate to Don Antonio Costantini, the parish priest of Tombolo.

II

CURATE AND PARISH PRIEST

The village of Tombolo, in the province of Padua and the diocese of Treviso, is surrounded by hilly and well-wooded country, watered by the tributary streams of the Brenta. The parish church, St. Andrew's, stands in the centre of the little township. Tombolo boasts of no commercial industries; it is a pastoral country, and the greater part of the population is occupied in dairy farming and the rearing of cattle. The people have clearly marked characteristics; strong and robust in build, hardened to sun, rain, and wind, rough-voiced and somewhat ungentle in manner, they have, nevertheless, good hearts and are in their own way religious.

But the Tombolani have one vice—or had when Don Giuseppe became; their curate. They swore systematically and profusely at everything, at each other, and at the world at large. "No offence is intended to Almighty God," they explained ingenuously to the horrified young priest. "He certainly understands. Just go to market, and try to sell your beasts and your grain with a 'please' and a 'thank you,' and you will see what you will get!"

There may have been some truth in this; and intention, no doubt, goes a long way; but the argument did not satisfy Don Giuseppe. For the moment he dropped the subject, but he had not done with it.

The rector of the parish, Don Antonio Costantini, was habitually ailing. Devoted to his people and wholly desirous to do them good, his ill-health was a constant impediment. He had many tastes in common with his curate, notably the love of music and of biblical and patristic studies. He soon learnt to look upon Don Giuseppe as a son, and highly appreciated his good qualities.

"They have sent me a young man as curate," he wrote to a friend, "with orders to form him to the duties of a parish priest. I assure you it is likely to be the other way about. He is so zealous, so full of common sense and other precious gifts that I could find much to learn from him. Some day he will wear the mitre—of that I am certain—and afterwards? Who knows?"

The good rector nevertheless did his best to fulfil his commission. "Don Bepi," he would say to his young curate, "I did not quite like this or that in your last sermon." When the church was empty he would make Don Bepi go into the pulpit and preach, criticizing and commenting the while both on matter and method; comments well worth having, for Don Antonio was a man of wide learning and an excellent theologian. Meanwhile Don Bepi, whose sermons were already becoming famous throughout the countryside for their zeal and eloquence, would listen humbly and promise to try to do better.

The income of the young curate was next to nothing, for Tombolo was a very poor parish; but he had not been used to luxury. He had planned his priestly life before his ordination, and was busy carrying out the scheme. To study deeply in order to fit himself more fully for preaching; to do as much good as was possible in the confessional and in the pulpit; to help his people both materially and morally, to visit the sick, to succour the poor and to instruct the ignorant—such was the programme, and with all the vigour of his soul he threw himself into the work.

The widowed niece of Don Antonio who kept house for her uncle used to see a light burning in the window of Don Giuseppe's poor lodging the last thing at night and the first thing in the morning.

"Do you never go to bed, Don Bepi?" she asked at breakfast one day, for the curate took his meals at the rectory.

Don Bepi laughed. "I study a good deal," he replied. He confessed later that he slept for four hours, and found it quite sufficient for his needs.

"He was as thin as a rake," said the good lady when pressed in after-life for reminiscences, "for he scarcely ate enough to keep body and soul together, and was never off his feet."

In the morning he would often ring the church bell for Mass, in order not to disturb the sacristan. Then he would go to fetch Don Antonio, having prepared for him all that was needed. Sometimes he would find his chief unwell and unable to rise.

"What is the matter?" he would ask in his cheery way—"another bad night?"

"I am afraid I cannot get up," would be the plaintive answer.

"Don't try to; stay quiet, and do not worry yourself I will see to everything," the cheery voice would continue.

"But you have already one sermon to preach to-day, my Bepi."

"What of that? I will preach two."

During the days of sickness Don Giuseppe, as well as doing double duty, would himself nurse the poor invalid. How he managed it was known to himself alone.

He had not forgotten—there was no chance of forgetting—the deplorable language of his parishioners. The curate mixed with them as much as he could, making friends especially with the young men and the boys. He interested himself in their work and in their play, treating them with such a spirit of friendly comradeship that they would crowd to talk to him whenever he appeared. One day some of them lamented that they could neither read nor write.

"Let us start a night school," proposed Don Bepi, "and I will teach you."

"It would be too difficult," objected another; "some of us know a little, some less, and others nothing at all."

"What of that?" replied the priest. "We will have two classes-those who know something, and those who know nothing. We will get the schoolmaster to take the upper class, and I will teach the alphabet."

"Why shouldn't he teach the alphabet?" protested a loyal admirer of
Don Giuseppe.

Bepi laughed. "The alphabet is hard work," he answered, "I had rather keep it."

"But we can't take up your time like that for nothing," declared another. "What can we do for you in return?"

"Stop swearing," answered Bepi promptly, "and I shall then be more than repaid."

The school of singing made rapid progress in his hands. Don Antonio, who, like his curate, was an ardent lover of Gregorian music, warmly seconded all his efforts. The somewhat unmelodious, if extremely powerful, vocalization of the village choir became quiet and prayerful under his tuition. If one of the acolytes showed signs of a vocation to the priesthood, Don Giuseppe would teach him privately until he knew enough to go up for examination at the diocesan seminary.

On one point Don Antonio and his curate could never agree. Everything that could be saved out of Don Giuseppe's tiny income went straight to the poor. They knew it, and when he went to preach in a neighbouring village would lie in wait for him as he returned with his modest fee in his pocket. It sometimes happened that when he reached home not a penny would be left, and Don Antonio would remonstrate.

"It is not fair to your mother, Bepi," he would say; "you should think of her."

"God will provide for my mother," was the answer; "these poor souls were in greater need than she."

Invitations to preach in other parishes became more frequent. What he said was always simple, but it was full of teaching and went straight to the heart. The young priest had, moreover, a natural eloquence and a sonorous and beautiful voice. It was so evident that he spoke from the fullness of a soul on fire with the love of God that his enthusiasm was catching, and his sermons bore fruit. It happened on one occasion that a priest who had been invited to preach on a feast-day in the neighbouring village of Galliera was prevented at the last moment from coming. There was consternation at the presbytery. What was to be done?

"Leave it to me," said Don Carlo Carminati, curate of Galliera and a friend of Don Giuseppe; "I promise you it will be all right," and jumping into the presbytery pony-cart he took the road to Tombolo.

It was a Sunday afternoon and the hour of the children's catechism class. Don Giuseppe was at the church door, about to enter.

"Stop, stop," cried Don Carlo, "I want to speak to you." Don Giuseppe turned.

"You must come and preach at Galliera," said Don Carlo; "our preacher has fallen through."

"What are you thinking of?" exclaimed Don Giuseppe. "I cannot improvise in the pulpit!" and he turned once more to go into the church.

"You have got to come, your rector says so, and there is not a minute to lose," replied his friend; and, laying hold of the still expostulating Don Giuseppe, he packed him into the pony-cart, bowed to Don Antonio who stood smiling at the scene, and whipped up his steed. Arrived at Galliera, Don Carlo conducted his victim to an empty room, provided him with pencil and paper and left him. An hour later, having been set at liberty by his triumphant fellow-curate, Don Giuseppe vested and entered the church. The sermon that followed was so eloquent and so appropriate to the occasion that what had threatened to be a calamity became a cause for rejoicing. "Did not I tell you?" exclaimed Don Carlo.

Don Giuseppe's energy was boundless, and to him no labour was amiss. "Work," he used to say, "is man's chief duty on earth." When the presbytery cook fell ill, he both nursed him and took his place; for in his eyes any kind of work was a thing to draw men nearer to the Christ who was "poor and in labours from His youth."

Whether it was preaching, teaching, playing with the village children, visiting the sick, helping the dying, hearing confessions, catechizing the young or studying theology, it was all the same to him—work for the Master, and as such ennobling and honourable.

So the time passed, until Don Giuseppe had been eight years at Tombolo. Much as Don Antonio loved and appreciated his curate, or rather because of this very love and appreciation, it distressed him to think that his talents should have no wider sphere than a little country parish. He spoke of this one day to one of the canons of Treviso. The two curates of Galliera who were present joined enthusiastically in the praise of their friend. The canon became thoughtful.

"Do you think he could preach in the cathedral of Padua for the feast of St. Antony?" he asked after a moment of reflection.

"Most certainly, Monsignor," was the answer.

"Well," continued the canon, "if you will be responsible for his accepting, I will see to it that he is asked."

The feast-day sermon was naturally a topic of much interest in Padua. "Who is to preach?" was the question on everybody's lips on the morning of the great day.

"Don Giuseppe Sarto, a young priest who is curate of Tombolo," was the reply.

Now it was customary on the feast of St. Antony to ask a preacher of some distinction to occupy the cathedral pulpit.

"The curate of Tombolo!" was the apprehensive comment. "Oh dear! A country curate from an out-of-the-way village!" The cathedral was crowded for the high Mass. When the slight young figure of Don Giuseppe mounted the pulpit stairs there was a gasp of astonishment, which gave place to an expectant silence.

"His intelligence and culture were no less remarkable than his eloquence," wrote one of the congregation to a friend. "His imagery was beautiful, his style perfect." The sermon lasted over an hour, and no one thought it too long.

In the May of 1867 Don Giuseppe was appointed rector of Salzano. A wail of lamentation arose from the little parish where he had worked so faithfully for nearly ten years. "He was our father, our brother, our friend, and our comfort," cried the Tombolani. In the heart of Don Antonio grief for his loss contended with joy at the thought that the merits of his beloved Don Bepi had been recognized at last.

Salzano is a small country town in the province of Venetia. It has a handsome church with a graceful campanile and a somewhat imposing presbytery. The country is fertile, and the people, who are wholly given to agriculture, are quiet, steady and hard-working. The new rector arrived on a Saturday evening in July. At Mass the next morning, in spite of the heat, the church was crowded, for the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages had assembled in force to hear the sermon of the newly appointed parroco.

The result was a delightful surprise. "What was the bishop thinking of," they asked one another when Mass was over, "to leave a man like that buried all these years at a place like Tombolo?"

As for Don Giuseppe, he set to work at once to visit his people. His frank simplicity, his understanding sympathy and zeal for their welfare gained their hearts at once. As at Tombolo, he gave special attention to the instruction of children; and, not content with this, inaugurated classes in Christian doctrine for the adults. "Most of the evil in the world," he would often say, "comes from a want of the knowledge of God and of His truth."

In spite of the large parish and the handsome rectory, Don Giuseppe's habits were as frugal as ever. There was more to give to the poor, that was all. His sister Rosina kept house for him.

"Bepi," she said one day, "there is nothing for dinner."

"Not even a couple of eggs?"

A couple of eggs there were, and on these they dined.

But there was always a welcome at the rectory and a share of anything that was going for any old friend who dropped in. Don Carlo came one evening for a visit, and found Don Giuseppe in the kitchen playing games with some little children. They were sent home with a promise that the game should be continued on another occasion, and Don Carlo was pressed to stay. The next morning he was accosted by Rosina.

"Don Carlo, you are an old friend, and a very kind one," she began hesitatingly; "there is a man coming to-morrow who sells shirting."

"Really?" answered Don Carlo, rather at a loss to connect the statements.

"Yesterday my brother got a little money," continued Rosina, "and he has hardly a shirt to his back. Now if you were to try to persuade him to buy some shirting, I think he perhaps would do it. Will you do your best?"

Don Carlo promised, and took the first opportunity of broaching the subject.

"Nonsense, nonsense," was the answer, "there is no necessity at all," and the plea was cut short.

But Don Carlo was not so easily beaten; he knew the sunny nature of his friend, and determined to have recourse to strategy. On the arrival of the pedlar, he examined his materials, selected what he considered suitable, and set to work, after the manner of his country, to bargain. Having agreed on what he considered a fair price, he ordered the required length to be cut off, and turned to Don Giuseppe who had been innocently watching the transaction. "So many yards at such and such a price," he declared. "Pay up, Don Giuseppe!"

The rector was disgusted; but there was nothing to be done but to obey. The bargain had been made and the shirting cut off. "Even you come here and plot to betray me," he complained.

As for Rosina, her delight knew no bounds. "God bless the day you came, Don Carlo," she said, meeting him outside the door. "If you had not been here to-day, to-morrow there would have been neither money nor linen!"

Salzano was a large parish, and the rector had to keep a conveyance. It was not much to look at, but it did hard service, being at the disposal of everybody who appealed to the well-known charity of its owner. The horse came home one day with both knees badly damaged.

"I am very sorry," pleaded the borrower, "an accident . . . ."

Don Giuseppe swallowed hard. "Never mind, never mind," he said; "it is all right."

One day—there had been a bad harvest that year, and there was much poverty in the parish—the rector asked a friend who was in easy circumstances to sell the horse for him. "You have so many relations with money," he pleaded.

The horse having been disposed of, it was then suggested that the same friend might also sell the carriage.

"I don't think I shall succeed," he remarked doubtfully, "for you must allow that it is not in the best condition." His fears were too true; no purchaser was found, and the carriage remained in the presbytery stable at the disposal of anyone who possessed a horse without a vehicle.

In 1873 there was a serious outbreak of cholera. The people of Salzano knew little of hygiene and less of sanitation; it was hard to make them take the most necessary precautions. Don Giuseppe was everything at once: doctor, nurse and sanitary inspector, as well as parish priest. Not only were there the sick and the dying to be tended, but the living to be heartened and consoled. "If it had not been for our dear Don Giuseppe," said an old man in later days, "I should have died of fear and sorrow during those dreadful times." Some of the people took it into their heads that the medicines and remedies ordered by the doctor were intended to put them quickly out of their pain, and would not take them unless they were administered by the priest's own hand.

For fear of infection, the dead had to be buried by night, and no one was allowed to attend the funeral. Anxious lest in the fear and the haste of the moment due honour should not be paid to these victims of the epidemic, Don Giuseppe was always there to see that all was done as it should be. Not only did he say the prayers and carry out the rites prescribed by the Church, but would take his place as coffin bearer, and even helped to dig the graves. Sorrow at the heartrending scenes he had to witness, added to these incessant labours by night and by day, would have ruined a less robust constitution than his. It is small wonder that Don Carlo Carminati, coming to visit him soon afterwards, was horrified at his appearance.

"You are ill!" he exclaimed.

"You think so?" was the quiet answer.

"He is ill," interposed Rosina vehemently, "but what can you expect? He is everybody's servant, he never spares himself. He has not only given away the food from his own mouth, but his night's rest. Look at him, nothing but skin and bone!"

"Your sister is right, you are doing too much. Remember that the pitcher can go to the well once too often; and when it is quite worn out, it will break."

"You are becoming quite an orator," commented Don Giuseppe with a smile.

Don Carlo was a man of action. He wrote to Don Antonio Costantini telling him that their dear Giuseppe was killing himself, and begging him to give a hint to the diocesan authorities. The hint was duly conveyed and duly taken. The bishop wrote to the rector of Salzano, ordering him to take more care of himself; but this was an art which Don Giuseppe had never studied, and he did not know how to begin. He continued to devote himself body and soul to his flock, leaving himself to the care of God.

With Don Giuseppe the service of Christ in His poor went hand in hand with the service of Christ at the altar. During his ministry at Salzano the parish church was greatly improved and beautified. He got together a choir of young men and boys and taught them to sing the stately Gregorian music that he loved for its devout and prayerful spirit. Even those who knew the stark poverty of the rector's private life did not always understand how the means could be obtained to carry out the plans he had at heart.

"But how will you get the money?" they would sometimes ask.

"God will provide," was the quiet answer, given with the serene faith characteristic of the strong.

III

CANON AND BISHOP

In the early spring of the year 1875 the chancellor of the diocese of Treviso was removed to Fossalunga. A canon's stall was also vacant, while the seminary was in need of a spiritual director. It was the general opinion that if these three offices could be held by one holy, wise and purposeful man, it would be an excellent thing for all parties concerned.

"I have it!" said Bishop Zinelli, "Don Giuseppe Sarto is the very man we need."

No sooner said than done. The rector of Salzano was named chancellor and residential canon of the cathedral of Treviso, and appointed spiritual director of the seminary. The bishop had not forgotten the warnings of Don Giuseppe's friends. By this arrangement the newly appointed canon would reside at the seminary, where the care of his health would not be left entirely in his own hands. He would, moreover, preside at the professors' table, and therefore would be unable to indulge his tendency to starve so as to feed the poor.

The news was received with mixed feelings by the people of Salzano. Joy that their beloved father should receive such a mark of honour struggled hard with their grief at losing him. It comforted them a little, they said, to think that his precious gifts, instead of being spent on Salzano alone, would now find full scope in a diocese that counted two hundred and ten parishes.

It was not until the autumn of the same year that Don Giuseppe bade farewell to his sorrowing parishioners, and, taking possession of his stall, sang the first vespers of Advent Sunday in the cathedral of Treviso. Like all the other professors of the seminary, Canon Sarto had three small rooms set apart for his use. From the windows he could look across the neatly-kept garden to where the quiet waters of the Sile, flowing by the ivy-coloured walls, widened out into little lakes amongst the thickets of poplar and plane trees that lay beyond.

The rector of the seminary was Don Giuseppe's old friend Pietro Jacuzzi, and there were in the college 160 lay students and 54 aspirants to the priesthood. "I well remember Monsignor Sarto's first instruction," said one of the latter in after years. "'You are expecting to find in me,' he began, 'a man of profound learning and of wide experience in spiritual matters, a master in asceticism and doctrine. You will be disappointed, for I am none of these things. I am only a poor country parish-priest. But I am here by God's will—therefore you must bear with me.' I have forgotten the instruction," added the narrator, "but the preamble I shall never forget."

A regular course of instruction and meditation was begun at once, and immediately won the attention of the students. The lucid simplicity with which Monsignor Sarto spoke carried the minds of his hearers straight into the heart of the truth which they were considering. The students were never tired, never puzzled, his conferences being eminently practical and within the grasp of his audience. His aim was to inculcate real solid piety which would endure throughout the troubles and temptations of life. It is not everybody who has the art of appealing to the young: it was one in which Monsignor Sarto excelled. Even in his familiar talks, full of merriment and sympathy, there was always something helpful and uplifting. Personal cleanliness, not as a rule the most prominent characteristic of southern nations, was a thing on which he laid particular stress. Gentle and kind as he was to all weakness and suffering, he could be stern enough when it was necessary, and his reproofs were seldom forgotten. If any of the students fell sick, he would nurse them with a mother's tenderness; and to those of the seminarists who were the sons of poor parents he gave material as well as moral help.

It happened that one of these students was in great distress by reason of a family difficulty. His father, a poor working man, was in urgent need of a few pounds, and there was no means of obtaining the sum. He confided his trouble to one of his companions, who asked him why he did not go to Monsignor Sarto and tell him all about it. The advice was taken, and he knocked at the familiar door. Monsignor Sarto was seated at his table reading. "What can I do for you?" he asked kindly.

The young man, who found it difficult to put his trouble into words, stammered out the whole story, Monsignor Sarto listening with compassion. "I am so sorry," he said when the tale was ended, "but I have only a few lire, nothing like the sum you require." The poor student broke down completely, for his last hope was gone.

"Come, come; cheer up!" cried the good canon, greatly distressed; "come to me to-morrow, and if I cannot give you all, I may be able to give you part of the money."

Next morning the seminarist returned.

"Well?" said Monsignor Sarto.

"Well?" answered the student nervously.

"Do you really think," continued the canon, "that I can manufacture banknotes?" Then, seeing the young man's distress, he added hastily: "Come come, my son, I was only joking, I have got the money," and, opening a little drawer, he took out the required sum.

"You will soon be a priest," he continued, "and when you can do so without inconvenience, you must give it back to me, for you see I have had to borrow it myself."

The winters were sometimes bitterly cold at Treviso, and the house was unwarmed. The needy students would often find warm clothing provided for them by the same charitable hand. A tradesman of Treviso certified that he received many orders from Monsignor Sarto for warm cloaks, with strict injunction to keep the matter secret. That the canon had seldom more than a few lire in his possession was not surprising.

It was a labour of love to him to prepare the little boys for their first communion. The vice-rector begged that this task might be left to those of the staff who had more time to spare.

"It is my duty," was the answer. "Am I not their spiritual father?"

In order to obtain the necessary time Monsignor Sarto deprived himself of the evening walk which was his only recreation after a day of hard work; and, assembling his lively little band of neophytes in the church, he would hold them spellbound.

His kindness and quick sympathy made him as popular with the staff. Laying aside the cares of his office together with the big bundle of papers that accompanied him everywhere, he set himself to make the time spent in the refectory as refreshing for the minds as it was for the bodies of his colleagues. The amusing stories told by him and the interesting discussions he set afoot were long remembered, as was his sly teasing of certain professors. These were not the moments, he held, for discussing serious questions; anyone who mentioned the word logic, for instance, was obliged to make amends by telling an interesting or useful story. When Monsignor Sarto's place was empty, everything fell flat.

He still kept up his old habit of working during part of the night. His neighbour in the seminary would often hear him moving in his room long after everyone else had retired to rest. "Go to bed, Monsignor," he would sometimes call out. "He works ill who works too long."

"Quite true, quite true, Don Francesco," would come the answer; "put that into practice. Go to bed and sleep well." It was past midnight before Monsignor Sarto's light went out, and he was up again by four o'clock.

In 1879 Bishop Zinelli died, and Monsignor Sarto was elected vicar capitular to administer the diocese while the see remained vacant. He announced his nomination in characteristic words.

"Called by the votes of my colleagues to administer the diocese of Treviso in place of him who for so many years has ruled it with such wisdom, prudence and zeal, I must frankly confess that I have accepted this heavy burden, not only because I feel assured that they will help me in my task, but because I know the spirit of the clergy. That you will earnestly co-operate with me in upholding the most precious prerogatives of the priesthood I have no doubt. I ask you, therefore, to remember the words of the Apostle: 'Walk carefully, that our ministry be not blamed'; let our actions be such that our enemies shall find nothing in us worthy of reproach. You are full of zeal for souls: seek to win them rather by love than by fear. The supreme wish of our Lord for His own was that they should love one another, and this wish found its fulfilment in apostolic times, when the Christians were one heart and one soul in Christ. A priest's life is a continual warfare against evil, which cannot fail to raise up powerful enemies. In order that they may not prevail against us, let us be united in charity amongst ourselves; thus we shall be invincible and strong as a rock."

Monsignor Sarto administered the diocese for less than a year, but in this short time he accomplished much. Although still spiritual director of the seminary, he preached oftener in public, his sermons invariably rousing enthusiasm. In the February of 1880 he was relieved of this office on the nomination as bishop of Monsignor Callegari, who was to find in his chancellor a devoted and faithful friend. The new bishop, however, was destined to remain but a short time at Treviso. In 1882 he was promoted to Padua, Monsignor Apollonio succeeding him at Treviso.

In September, 1884, Monsignor Apollonio, who had been making the pastoral visit of his diocese, returned home rather unexpectedly, and Monsignor Sarto was not a little surprised at being summoned somewhat mysteriously to the bishop's private oratory. "Let us kneel before the Blessed Sacrament," said Monsignor Apollonio gravely, "and pray about a matter which concerns us both intimately." Still more astonished, Monsignor Sarto knelt, and the two prelates prayed for a moment in silence. Then the bishop rose, and, handing a letter to his companion, bade him read it. Thus did Monsignor Sarto learn his nomination to the bishopric of Mantua.

The strong man who all his life long had welcomed hardship and suffering with a cheery smile, wept like a child. He was, he declared, utterly incapable, quite unworthy of such a trust. The bishop, who knew better, but whose heart was touched at the sight of his friend's distress, comforted him as best he could. "It is God's will," he said; "trust in His help." Convinced, however, in his own mind that Pope Leo XIII was wholly mistaken in his judgment of him, Monsignor Sarto wrote to Rome to profess his incapacity and worthlessness. His arguments were not accepted.

Early in November, amidst enthusiastic demonstrations, the bishop-elect set out for Rome. At Padua he met with a fresh ovation, Monsignor Callegari himself came to the station to greet his old friend and to wish him well. On the evening of the 8th he was received by Pope Leo, and left his presence consoled and full of courage as to the future. Consecrated on the 16th, he remained in Rome for ten days longer, returning on the 29th to Treviso, where he was to remain for some months before entering on his episcopal charge.

It was during this time that he went one day, accompanied by a friend, to visit a Venetian city. In the railway carriage were two gentlemen, who, while conversing on local subjects, touched on the election of the new bishop of Mantua. They wondered what kind of a man Monsignor Sarto was; not very intelligent, they feared, nor very gifted. The bishop-elect, with a sign to his companion to keep quiet, joined in the conversation, endorsing most heartily everything that they said in his own disparagement. He then proceeded to contrast the poor picture he had painted of himself with the qualities that were necessary for an ideal bishop, and this with such ability and discernment that his two hearers were greatly impressed. Monsignor Sarto was the first to leave the carriage.

"Who is that delightful priest?" asked the gentlemen of his companion, who was preparing to follow.

The latter made a low bow. "Monsignor Sarto, Bishop-elect of Mantua," he answered with elaborate irony.

He spent Holy Week and Easter that year with his mother and sisters at Riese. It was a double festival for his family and the friends of his childhood who crowded round him. Back again at Treviso, where he had spent so many happy days, he had not the courage to face a public farewell. "Read them this letter at dinner," he said to the rector of the seminary; "tell them I keep them all in my heart, and that they must pray for me." Then, slipping unnoticed out of the house, he went to the carriage ordered to wait for him at a little distance, and so set out for Mantua.

At the station a large crowd had gathered to receive him, priests, people, representatives of the noble families of the place, and of the divers associations of town and country. Outside the bishop's house, in the great square of St. Peter, a multitude of townspeople were awaiting his arrival. "We want to see our bishop," they cried tumultuously, and their desire was immediately satisfied. Stepping out into the balcony which overlooked the square, their new pastor greeted them with warm affection and gave them his blessing.

Mantua, say the Italians, has always been a fighting city, and in 1885 it was still true to its reputation. Of Etruscan origin, and the birthplace of Virgil and Sordello, throughout the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries its see had been usually held by members of the famous family of Gonzaga. The task which lay before the new bishop was no easy one. There were divisions between clergy and people; the seminary was almost empty of students; many parishes were without a priest; no synod had been held within the memory of man. The spirit in which Monsignor Sarto took up his new work showed itself in his first pastoral letter to his flock.

"I shall spare myself neither care nor labour nor watchfulness for the salvation of souls. My hope is in Christ, who strengthens the weakest by His divine help; I can do all in Him who strengtheneth me! His power is infinite, and if I lean on Him it will be mine; His wisdom is infinite, and if I look to Him for counsel I shall not be deceived; His goodness is infinite, and if my trust is stayed on Him I shall not be abandoned. Hope unites me to God and Him to me. Although I know I am not sufficient for the burden, my strength is in Him. For the salvation of others I must bear weariness, face dangers, suffer offences, confront storms, fight against evil. He is my hope."

His first care was the seminary, and in a little more than a year he was able to write to a friend: "I have a hundred and forty-seven boarders, young men with healthy appetites who can digest anything and everything."

The scarcity of priests in the country villages was indeed disastrous. The bishop lost no time in convoking a synod. "If people do not hear of God, of the sacraments, and of eternal life," he said to the priests assembled, "they will soon lose every good feeling, both civil and social. No difficulty is insurmountable; nothing is impossible to those who will and those who love." The difficulty that at that moment seemed most insurmountable was the want of money. The hundred and forty-seven young men required feeding, and the seminary was poor. The bishop sold the few fields at Riese that were all he possessed to meet the immediate need, and others, stirred by his zeal and eloquence, came forward to help him.

A thorough visitation of the diocese enabled Monsignor Sarto to understand its needs more fully. He liked to hear both sides of every question, and asked everyone to be perfectly frank with him in discussing both good and evil. "Joy shared is joy doubled," he would say, "and grief imparted becomes easier to bear." An old man who came one day was received with such kindness that, concluding he had to do with the bishop's secretary, he talked to him at great length about a little personal affair. "Can I believe you?" he asked wistfully, as the kind priest assured him that all would be right.

"What!" was the answer, "can you not trust your bishop?"

In order that the pastoral visitation might be no burden on the country priests, whose life was a continual struggle with poverty, he ordered that no preparations whatever were to be made for his reception. Nothing extra was to be provided; he would share with them what they had. Instead of a demonstration at the station, he begged that the people might gather in the churches for Mass and communion. "That is the greatest honour they can do me," he said; "that will be my greatest reward. I desire no useless pomp, but the salvation of souls."

One of his first acts was to write to the mayor of the city to ask his assistance, thus holding out the right hand of fellowship to the civil authority, and enlisting it in his behalf. "Your new bishop," ran the letter, "poor in everything else, but rich in love for his flock, has no other object than to work for the salvation of souls and to form among you one family of friends and brothers." The question of church and state, then a thorny one in Italy, had not of late years found a happy solution in Mantua. This gracious act of the new bishop was the first step towards a better understanding. He interested himself much in social questions; and it was through his efforts that the first Italian social congress was held at Piacenza in 1890. He understood the power of the press, and started a flourishing paper called the Citizen of Mantua.

As at Tombolo, at Salzano, and at Treviso, so at Mantua was the teaching of Christian doctrine one of the bishop's first cares. Schools and confraternities were established everywhere throughout the diocese, and on his pastoral visits he would catechize the children himself to see that they were properly instructed in the faith. Parents who would not allow their children to attend were threatened with severe penalties; on this subject the bishop, so gentle towards sorrow and suffering, was stern and inflexible. The children's souls were at stake, he said, and he would not see their birthright withheld from them. He insisted that church music should be decorous and religious, and that the Gregorian chant should be used when possible.

The bishop's day was a strenuous one. At five he celebrated Mass in his private chapel, and, his thanksgiving ended, went straight to his confessional in the cathedral. After breakfast of black coffee and a mouthful of bread, he began the oft-interrupted day's work, for he would have no set hours for receiving visits. Those who wanted him were admitted at any hour, and received with the most genial kindness. "No matter with what faces they go in," it was said of his visitors, "they always come out smiling—that is, unless they have done something dreadful." On these occasions Bishop Sarto could scorch the offender with words of fire, but at the first sign of repentance he was ready to forgive, to lift up the sinner and set him on the right road. Towards evening he would take a walk in the town, speaking familiarly to all he met. At nine he said the rosary with his household, after which he worked or studied till midnight.

St. Anselm of Lucca, friend of Gregory VII, and, like him, inspired with holy zeal for the reform of the clergy, is the patron saint of Mantua. In 1886 his centenary was celebrated with great splendour in the cathedral where he lies buried. Nor did the tercentenary of St. Aloysius Gonzaga, whose family was one of Mantua's olden glories, pass without special honour. A stirring address was given by the bishop himself to the young men, of whom St. Aloysius was the special patron.

"Religion has no fear of science," said Monsignor Sarto, attacking one of the most popular fallacies of the day; "Christianity does not tremble before discussion, but before ignorance. Tertullian proclaimed as much to the emperors of Rome. 'One thing,' he said, 'our faith demands: not to be condemned before it be known,' and it is this that I ask of you, young men, not to condemn religion before you have studied it." Pilgrimages were inaugurated to the birthplace of the saint at Castiglione; a mission was preached to the boys and young men of the district; processions were held. The celebration of the festival did a great deal of good in the diocese, impressing as it did upon the people the fact that the best way to honour their saints was by following in their footsteps.

In 1887 the sacerdotal jubilee of Pope Leo XIII was celebrated throughout the world. The words in which the Bishop of Mantua announced the approaching celebration to his flock found an echo in every Catholic heart. "The moment has come," he said, "to prove to the great Vicar of Christ our unchanging affection and fidelity. For us Leo XIII is the guardian of the Holy Scriptures, the interpreter of the doctrine of Jesus Christ, the supreme dispenser of the treasures of the Church, the head of the Catholic religion, the chief shepherd of souls, the infallible teacher, the secure guide, who directs us on our way through a world wrapped in darkness and the shadow of death. All the strength of the Church is in the pope; all the foundations of our faith are based on the successor of Peter. Those who wish her ill assault the papacy in every possible way; they cut themselves adrift from the Church, and try their best to make the pope an object of hatred and contempt. The more they endeavour to weaken our faith and our attachment to the head of the Church, the more closely let us draw to him through the public testimony of our faith, our obedience and our veneration."

The fame of the zeal and piety of the Bishop of Mantua soon spread beyond the bounds of his own diocese. His conspicuous merit and ability had not escaped the vigilant eye of Leo XIII, who had marked him out for higher dignity still. "If the Mantuans do not love their new bishop," he had said on the appointment of Monsignor Sarto, "they will love no one."

But the Mantuans were not so hard of heart, and the quarrelsome city, in the hands of one who, like his Master, was meek and humble of heart, had become a city of peace.

IV

PATRIARCH OF VENICE

In the consistory of June 12, 1893, Pope Leo XIII named Bishop Sarto cardinal of the Holy Roman Church, and three days later appointed him archbishop and patriarch of Venice.[*] On June 7 the bishop had set out for Rome, and on the 15th, in the presence of representatives from Venice, Treviso, Mantua and Riese, he received the cardinal's hat, with the title of San Bernardo alle Terme. The wisdom and modesty of the new cardinal, added to his charm of manner, won him many friends during his stay in Rome. For sixteen months Cardinal Sarto was unable to take possession of his see; for the Italian government, having claimed the right to nominate the patriarch, refused to sanction his appointment; and the municipality of Venice, which was largely anti-clerical, was only too glad of a pretext to show hostility to the Church.

[*] Patriarch is an honorary title. The only real patriarch in the
Western Church is the pope himself.

The cardinal's first visit after his return from Rome was to his mother at Riese. At one of the stations on the way thither he was met by a deputation of his old friends the Tombolani, headed by their parish priest. Quite forgetting in their joy the respect due to a prince of the Church, the simple peasants rushed at their old curate, shouting vociferously, "Don Giuseppe! Don Giuseppe!" The cardinal, pleased with their enthusiasm, laughed and greeted his old friends with much affection.

All the bells were ringing in Riese as he entered it; all the people, young and old, were there to meet him and to escort him, the centre of a laughing, weeping, shouting crowd, to the church. Everyone was at Benediction, and when old friends had been greeted and good wishes given and received, the greatest joy of all was still to come—the meeting in the little home of his childhood, where Margherita had her son at last to herself. Next morning the cardinal preached to the people, thanking them for their welcome, and speaking of all the precious memories that centred for him round the altar where he had made his first communion and offered his first Mass. The day was spent in receiving visits; there was a kind word of greeting for new friends, and a still kinder word of remembrance for the old.

Early next day, having vested in his scarlet cappa magna, Cardinal Sarto went to his mother's room and, standing beside her bed, showed himself in all the glory of the "sacred purple." Margherita wept with joy; but there were tears of sorrow before night. It was the last day at Riese, and although neither of them knew it, that parting kiss was to be the last on this side of the grave. The old mother clung to her son with a passionate tenderness as he clasped her frail figure in his arms. She was eighty years old, and at that age partings are hard. A few months later the sorrowful news of her death reached the cardinal, now back at Mantua and busy with his episcopal duties. The joy of the last meeting and the grief of the last parting had been too much for the old mother's heart.

In September 1894 the government gave way at last, and the exequatur or confirmation of the papal bull arrived. A few weeks later Cardinal Sarto pontificated for the last time in the cathedral of Mantua, and, bidding a loving farewell to the diocese where he had laboured so long and so strenuously, set out for Venice.

For years a government hostile to religion had waged relentless war on the Church in Italy. Laws had been passed forbidding religious teaching in the schools; charitable works had been "laicized": in other words, the goods of religious fraternities and charitable societies had been confiscated by the state, the revenues of bishoprics had been refused to prelates appointed by the pope, and rights of patronage had been claimed by the government over many sees. The result was soon to be seen in a growing materialism in all ranks of society.

"God is driven out of politics by this theory of the separation of church and state," wrote the new patriarch in his first letter to his flock. "He is driven out of learning by systematized doubt; from art by the degrading influence of realism; from law by a morality which is guided by the senses alone; from the schools by the abolition of religious instruction; from Christian marriage, which they want to deprive of the grace of the sacrament; from the cottage of the poor peasant, who disdains the help of Him who alone can make his hard life bearable; from the palaces of the rich, who no longer fear the eternal Judge who will one day ask from them an account of their stewardship. . . . We must fight this great contemporary error, the enthronement of man in the place of God. The solution of this, as of all other problems, lies in the Church and the teaching of the Gospel."

The Venetian people were determined to show their new pastor that the representatives of the government were not the representatives of popular feeling. Amidst the decorations which adorned the town, the municipal buildings alone remained untouched; amongst the crowds that gathered to meet the patriarch, the members of the municipality were conspicuously absent. The people resolved on an ovation the like of which had never before been seen. As the patriarch entered the launch that had been sent to receive him, the bells of all the towers in the City of the Sea rang out a joyous welcome; from every balcony and bridge came bursts of cheering, while a closely packed and enthusiastic crowd occupied every available space along the route. At the prow of the launch stood Cardinal Sarto in all the splendour of scarlet robes, a noble manly figure, full of dignity and sweetness, blessing the crowd with the winning smile that was characteristic of him.

On the following morning in St. Mark's, having listened to the congratulatory speeches addressed to him, the cardinal turned to the people, and in the breathless silence that followed, his clear voice rang out to the farthest recesses of the cathedral.

"I should be ashamed," he said, "to be the object of such honour, did I not know that it is offered, not to my poor person, but to Jesus Christ, whose representative I am and in whose name I come among you. You wish to show that you see in me your bishop, your father, and your patriarch, and I am bound to love you in return. When Jesus Christ gave to St. Peter the charge of His sheep and of His lambs, He asked him three times for the assurance of his love, thus giving him to understand that love is the greatest necessity for a shepherd of souls. From this moment I gather you all into my heart; I love you with a strong and supernatural love, desiring but the good of your souls. For you are all my family—priests, citizens, great and small, rich and poor. My heart and my love are yours, and from you I ask nothing but the same love in return. My only desire is that you should say of me, 'Our patriarch is a man of upright intention, who holds high the banner of our Lord Jesus Christ, who seeks only to defend the truth and to do good.' And since God has raised me, a son of the people, to this high dignity, He will certainly give me the strength and the grace necessary for so great a mission. It is the duty of a bishop to proclaim God's truth, to interpret it to the people; and I look upon it as a holy duty to speak frankly in its defence. I am ready to make any sacrifice for the salvation of souls. You who have zeal for the things of God, work with me, help me, and God will give us the grace that is necessary to achieve our ends."

The Venetians were deeply moved; they felt that their new patriarch was a truly apostolic man, and the impression only gathered strength as time went on. The doors of his house were always open to anyone, rich or poor, who wished to speak to the patriarch; the troubles of the least of his flock were his own. He threw himself with all his heart into every movement for the bettering of the condition of the poor, often settling, by his tact and zeal, bitter disputes between capital and labour. The municipality was, as we have seen, anti-clerical. He rallied the Catholic forces with such success that within a year they prevailed. For he knew the way to obtain his ends; and while throwing into the struggle the whole influence of his forceful personality, he inaugurated throughout the diocese, before and during the elections, a regular crusade of prayer. Wherever he went, peace and reconciliation followed. "Possessed of much sweetness and charm of manner," wrote one who knew him, "and uniting a certain stateliness and dignity with a graceful address and a delightful sense of humour, he preached the gospel of personal culture, putting cleanliness next to godliness, and good manners next to good morals, himself setting the example in these things."

As at Mantua and at Treviso, he insisted strongly on religious instruction for all classes. Ignorance of Christian teaching, he said, was the great defect of the times, and very many evils sprang from this alone. Many who were learned in secular sciences were deplorably ignorant of the truths of their faith. Preachers were apt to take too much for granted that their congregations were well instructed, and on this account their sermons bore little fruit.

"There is too much preaching and too little teaching," said the patriarch; "put aside these flowery and elaborate discourses, and preach to the people plainly and simply on the eternal truths of faith and on the teaching of the Gospel. Think of the good of souls rather than of the impression you are making. The people are thirsting for truth; give them what they need for their souls' health, for this is the first duty of a priest."

He insisted on religious instruction for adults as well as children, but reminded his priests that all these things require study, preparation and prayer. As nothing pertaining to the dignity of the priesthood was small in his eyes, he insisted that the clergy should be tidy in dress and scrupulously clean. He mixed freely with the people, often stopping to talk to those he met in friendly and familiar fashion. The Venetians loved him dearly. "There goes our dear patriarch," they would say, "intent on some good. God bless him and the mother who bore him." His home life was as simple as ever, and his charities as great. His two sisters and his niece kept house for him. His steward had to put him on an allowance, so unmeasured was his almsgiving, and it was said that the episcopal ring of the chief pastor of Venice was more than once in pawn.

"Times are changed," said an old friend who was visiting him, as the cardinal pulled out a gold watch from his pocket. "Do you remember the silver one which was always going to the pawnbroker at Tombolo?"

The patriarch looked ruefully at the watch. "The person who gave it me," he said, laughing, "had the unfortunate inspiration to get the patriarchal arms engraved on the back!"

"I am so sorry to have to send you such a wretched sum," he wrote to a priest in Mantua who had applied to him for money for some charity; "I was poor at Mantua, but here I am a perfect beggar. Take what I send in the same spirit, and forgive me."

The diocesan visitation begun soon after his arrival in Venice was no small affair, and took several months to accomplish. "We appreciate greatly the zeal and charity of our patriarch," said the people, "but we are praying that he may sometimes think a little of himself; for such men are precious, and we want to keep him as long as we can." As at Mantua, he begged that there might be as little pomp and ceremony as possible, and that no extraordinary preparations might be made in the different parishes for his arrival. With quick intuition he saw at a glance exactly what was needed in the way of reform or development, and at the synod which followed showed a perfect knowledge of the requirements of the archdiocese.

The eucharistic congress in Venice which took place in August, 1898, was prompted and carried out by the zeal and energy of Patriarch Sarto, who spared no pains to make it a success. Inaugurated as a reparation for the many sacrileges offered to Jesus Christ in the Blessed Sacrament, its aim was to stimulate the faith of the people and to arouse in them a greater love for this mystery of their faith. Each parish was to take its part in the celebration, the whole congress being carefully organized by the cardinal himself. "The heart of man," he said, "is inconstant in good; it grows cold and careless if it is not stirred up to action from time to time." Conferences were held and missions preached in many of the Venetian churches to prepare the people. The bells of all the city rang out to announce the beginning of the congress, which opened with a magnificent procession to St. Mark's. The inaugural address was preached by Cardinal Svampa, Archbishop of Bologna; and on the following day the patriarch himself addressed the people.

"Jesus is our king," he said, "and we delight to honour as our king Him whom the world dishonours and disowns. We, His true subjects, offer our true homage to Christ the King; the warmth of our love shall be greater than the coldness of the world. We meet around the tabernacle where Jesus remains in our midst until the end of time; there faith springs up anew in our hearts, while the fire of His charity—the very fire that He came to cast upon the earth—burns within us. The object of this eucharistic congress is to make reparation to our Lord Jesus Christ for the insults offered to Him in the Blessed Sacrament; to pray that His thoughts may be in our minds, His charity in our institutions, His justice in our laws, His worship in our religion, His life in our lives."

On the afternoon of the third day the final procession was one of the most magnificent of all the magnificent pageants ever seen in the City of the Sea, even in the days when the doge went in solemn state to wed the Adriatic. Cardinal Svampa carried the monstrance, while before and after him went cardinals in scarlet, bishops in cope and mitre, religious orders, the confraternities with their banners and insignia, hierarchs and priests of the Byzantine and Armenian rites in their vestments. "Splendid as a dream," wrote one who was present, "it seemed as if the very Greek saints had stepped out of the mosaics in the cathedral to be present at the solemn passage of Christ in their midst."

Cardinal Sarto had not been long at Venice before he determined on a thorough reform of church music. He summoned Don Lorenzo Perosi, a young cleric whom he had known at Mantua and a skilled musician. Music, said the patriarch, was intended to excite the faithful to devotion and to help them to pray: the music in vogue did neither. The fearful and wonderful performances of string orchestras, dear to the hearts of many, were banned, as was the use of drums, trumpets, tambourines and whistles. No instrument but the organ was to be used in the churches, and even that was to be subordinate. The words of the Mass were to be sung to the Gregorian chant with solemnity and dignity, and by men and boys alone. That the change was not acceptable in all quarters was hardly to be wondered at. The operatic efforts of loud-voiced ladies singing the O Salutaris during Mass to the air of the Serenade from Faust, or a Creed that was like the Brigands' Chorus from an opera, still found many admirers.

Nevertheless, when a Mass of Palestrina was sung under the leadership of Perosi for the first time in the cathedral of St. Mark, the Venetians realized the difference. "Enchantingly beautiful," they said. But it was uphill work, and Don Lorenzo would have lost heart altogether had it not been for the support and encouragement of his holy patron.

One of the poorest of the island parishes of Venice was Burano, which in ancient times had been famous for its point lace. The cardinal, moved by the misery of its inhabitants, determined to revive the industry; but only one old woman remained who knew the art. A benevolent lady, persuaded to interest herself in the work, got the old woman to teach her, started a school of lace workers, and soon had six hundred girls in training. Clubs were started for young men and boys, not only here, but in many other parishes. There was no difficulty, no misery for which the patriarch did not try to find a cure. He had the art of giving without offending people whose decent appearance covered a poverty often more bitter in that it had to be hidden. He went one day to see a friend who had fallen on evil times, and who was in dire need of help. "I am so sorry," said the patriarch, "I have absolutely nothing left, but take this," giving him an exquisite ivory crucifix which had been given him as a present; "it is valuable, and will realize a good sum."

Although unflinchingly firm in everything that concerned the faith and the rights of the Church, the frank courtesy of Patriarch Sarto and his conciliating spirit kept him always on good terms with the government. He bade his priests and people respect all lawfully constituted authority, recognizing that "the powers that be are ordained of God." "Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's," he would often say. When King Humbert of Italy was assassinated he ordered that a requiem should be sung for him in St. Mark's; and when the widowed queen came to Venice for rest and change of air, he visited and consoled her with the most heartfelt sympathy. "The restoration of society in Christ is the only cure for all the world's evils," he would constantly repeat. "No good is good which is not rooted and founded in Christ." He had the gift of inspiring others and rallying them to his own charitable schemes, filling them with a fire and energy like his own.

The 14th of July, 1902, was a day of grief for Venice. The great campanile of St. Mark's, which had stood for centuries watching over the glories of the City of the Sea, crumbled and fell in ruins. The universal lamentations were changed, by order of the patriarch, into thanksgivings that no one had been injured, and that the cathedral itself had not suffered. The reconstruction of the campanile was immediately determined on, and on the 25th of April, 1903, the feast day of the evangelist and patron saint of Venice, the first stone was laid. The square of St. Mark was a sea of heads; every window and balcony was crowded. The Duke of Turin, a prince of the house of Savoy, was present as the representative of the king, who had contributed generously to the reconstruction fund. The cardinal stood opposite him. Church and state were face to face, with the memory of all that had passed since the beginning of the Italian Revolution between them. Was conciliation possible? It might have seemed that day that it was—that in charity and justice lay the solution. The cardinal's tact and courtesy on this occasion, as on so many others, put everybody at ease, and his discourse won the admiration of all.

"It is a good and beautiful thing," he said, "for men to ask God's blessing on their work. The genius of man is at its highest when it bows before the Light Eternal. I rejoice, therefore, with you, most noble representatives of Venice, that, as faithful interpreters of public opinion, you have decided that the rebuilding of our beloved campanile must be inaugurated with a solemn act of religious worship. I rejoice that you have shown yourselves worthy sons of your Venetian forefathers, who, knowing well that 'unless the Lord build the house, their labour is in vain that build it,' began no enterprise without asking God's blessing and the protection of His Virgin Mother in their work." After having shown that all the glory of medieval Venice sprang from her faith and her religion, he turned to the Duke of Turin and the other illustrious guests with a word of thanks for their presence. "A man of personal fascination and splendid presence," wrote a member of the French government who was there, "with handsome open face and strong clear-cut features, softened by eyes in which shines the light of perpetual youth. Nothing proud about him, nothing obsequious, his manner with the Duke of Turin was perfect, that of a man who is completely at his ease."

Prince of the Church as he was, he was always ready to fulfil the duties of a simple parish priest. He would carry holy communion to the sick, hear confessions, give retreats in the churches of the diocese, and visit the prisons, the hospitals and the reformatories, preaching to their inmates and comforting all their sorrows. The religious orders were amongst the most favoured of his children; he was always ready to visit them on their feast days, and loved and esteemed their work. Both saint and sinner found in him a kindly strength and simple goodness which set them at their ease at once. The very sight of his face was a welcome; there was no affectation of piety or austerity which might repel or frighten anyone; no one could feel stiff or awkward in his presence, all shyness and reserve gave way before his gentle manner.

An intimate friend of the cardinal, who was staying with him, asked one day if he might celebrate Mass at an early hour next morning, as he had to catch a train. "Why not?" was the answer, "I will see that all is ready for you."

What was the astonishment of the priest when he went to the cardinal's private chapel at an early hour to find his host himself preparing for the Mass.

"But who will serve?" asked the celebrant.

"I," answered the cardinal very simply.

"Eminence!" protested his guest, quite aghast at the suggestion.

"What!" he exclaimed, smiling, "do you imagine that a prelate of my rank does not know how to serve Mass? A fine idea you have of the princes of the Church!"

He hated ostentation of any kind and would often travel about the country incognito. He was going one day to the convent of the Sisters of Charity at Crespano when, feeling sure that at Bassano, where he had to get out, there would be an ovation, he wrote to a friend telling him that two Venetian priests going to Crespano who did not know the country would be glad if a carriage could be sent to meet them at the station. The train arrived, and the two priests made their way to a ramshackle little carriage which was standing outside. The friend, who was waiting to do the honours to the cardinal's priests, came forward eagerly, and was just about to greet the elder of the two when he recognized the patriarch. "Your Eminence!" he stammered, utterly taken aback; but the cardinal, finger on lips in warning, jumped into the carriage followed by his companion, and drove away. Little did he guess that the time was close at hand when his desire to be unnoticed could nevermore be fulfilled, when he who loved to take the lowest place was to be obliged to take the highest in the world.

V

THE PAPAL ELECTION

The news of the death of Leo XIII, on July 20, 1903, came as a blow to the whole Catholic world. The old man of ninety-four, whose wonderful intelligence had remained unimpaired until the very end of his life, had guided the bark of Peter with sure and unswerving hand during the twenty-live years of his pontificate. His blameless life, his lofty ideas, and his indomitable moral courage have been borne witness to by men who had small sympathy for the Catholic Church. "The original attitude of Leo XIII towards the new social forces," wrote the Quarterly Review, "will make his pontificate a memorable epoch, not only in the history of the Roman Church, but in that of all Christian countries. His personal conception of the duties of the Church towards the labouring classes was catholic in the broadest and best sense of the term. It was such a conception as befitted the chief pastor of Christendom." And this was only one side of the activity of the great statesman and pope who had passed away. "Pray that God may send to His Church a shepherd after His own heart," said Cardinal Sarto when he announced to his people at Venice the news of the pope's death. Little did he think how that prayer was to be answered. Yet Leo XIII himself not long before his death had said to an intimate friend, "If the conclave chooses a cardinal not resident in Rome, it is Cardinal Sarto who will be elected."

The announcement of the death of Leo was sent to all the cardinals throughout the world, with the intimation that the conclave for the election of his successor would be held on the 31st of July. It was not until the 26th that Cardinal Sarto was able to set out. He laughed at the apprehensions of his sisters that he might not come back to them. His secretary, Don Giovanni Bressan, was busy putting together what was necessary for the journey. "Where is Don Giovanni?" asked the cardinal of his niece Amalia. "Go and tell him that a journey to Rome is not a journey to America."

"Get the conclave over and come back quickly," said Amalia.

"Sooner or later," replied the Cardinal, "it does not matter. In the meantime you go to Possagno for a change of air and I will pick you up on my way back." But the sisters were sad, and refused to be comforted.

The whole city turned out to greet the patriarch as the gondola made its way to the station; from every balcony and bridge good wishes and farewells followed him. At the station there was a regular ovation, poor and rich crowded round him to kiss his ring or catch a word from his lips. With tears in his eyes he thanked them for that demonstration of affection, and for the love they bore him.

"One more blessing! one more blessing!" pleaded the people, "who knows if you will ever come back?"

"Alive or dead, I shall come back," was the answer.

The train began to move, and from its window Cardinal Sarto unknowingly looked his last on his beloved Venice; it was good-bye for ever.[*] He had written to the Lombard College for rooms, and there he remained until the opening of the conclave. A Venetian lady who lived at Rome, having come to see him, expressed a polite wish that he would be the new pope. Cardinal Sarto laughed. "It is sufficient honour," he replied, "that God should make use of such as I to elect the pope."

[*] The story that he had taken a return ticket does not seem to be true but he planned to return to Venice immediately after the coronation of the new pope.

A French cardinal (Lecot of Bordeaux) who did not know him spoke to him one day. "Your Eminence is an Italian archbishop?" he asked.

"I do not speak French," replied Cardinal Sarto, in Latin; "I am the patriarch of Venice."

"Ah! if you do not speak French," answered his questioner, "you will not be eligible for the papacy."

"Thank God, no," was the answer; "I am not eligible for the papacy."

"I think the election will be quickly over," said Cardinal Sarto to an Italian journalist who came to visit him in Rome. "The pope will probably be elected at the second scrutiny."

"I venture to disagree with your Eminence," was the reply, "and on these grounds. I hope—for I think it is permissible—for a cardinal who resides in his diocese. Not that the cardinals of the curia are wanting in breadth or in experience, but as a rule those prelates who live in the provinces are in immediate contact with the people. They have a better chance of seeing things from the inside than those who occupy an official post in Rome, important and indispensable though these may be. But of necessity the non-resident cardinals are less well known in Rome than those of the curia, their candidature must therefore be slower and the election longer."

The election of a pope is one of the most solemn deeds of the Church, and is safeguarded by strict regulations. On the death of the pontiff the Cardinal Chamberlain, as representative of the Sacred College, assumes charge of the papal household, notifying to all the cardinals of the Church the death of the pope and the impending election. Every cardinal has the right to vote in the conclave, but he must be present in person to do so. Each one may take with him a secretary, who is generally a priest, and a servant. In the meanwhile a large portion of the Vatican palace has been walled off and divided into apartments or cells for the conclavists. Access to it can be had through one door alone, which is left open until the conclave begins, when it is closed and barred from without by the Marshal of the Conclave, and from within by the Cardinal Chamberlain. All communication with the outside world is then at an end until the result of the election is announced.

The conclave opens officially (now) not later than eighteen days after the pope's death. The cardinals assist at Mass and receive holy communion from the hands of the Cardinal Dean, who solemnly adjures them to elect as pope him whom they believe to be the most worthy. They assemble in the Sistine Chapel, where the actual voting takes place. The stall of each cardinal has a canopy overhead and a small writing-desk in front. The door is shut and bolted and the voting begins. Each cardinal having written the name of his candidate on the paper provided, deposits it in a chalice on the altar, taking as he does so the required oath: "I call to witness the Lord Christ, who will be my judge, that I am electing the one whom before God I think ought to be elected." The ballots are then counted and read aloud, and if no candidate has received the necessary number of votes, they are burnt in a little stove together with a handful of damp straw. As the chimney of this stove extends through a window of the chapel, the colour of the smoke or sfumata can be clearly seen by those outside. Not until the election is made are the ballots burnt without the accompanying straw, when the clear white smoke is the first notification to the people that the pope is elected. Voting takes place twice a day, morning and evening, until a majority of two-thirds of the votes has been attained.

The veto was the alleged right of certain Catholic rulers to object to the election of a cardinal of whom they do not approve. It was exercised rarely and has never been formally approved by the Church. Although Pius IX had forbidden any interference by the secular power in a papal election, an attempt was made to exercise the veto at the conclave which resulted in the election of Pius X. At the third scrutiny, in which Cardinal Rampolla came first with twenty-nine votes, Cardinal Puzyna, Bishop of Cracow, who had accepted the mandate of the Austrian government in the name of the Emperor Francis Joseph, read (it is said after signs of severe embarrassment) a declaration excluding Cardinal Rampolla, without giving any reason for the exclusion.

The cardinals protested against the interference, and the votes in Cardinal Rampolla's favour were found to have increased by one in the evening scrutiny. But Cardinal Sarto's had been mounting steadily from the beginning and continued to do so until they reached the number of fifty.[*]

[*] The opinions of those best qualified to judge seem to agree that Cardinal Rampolla's failure to be elected was quite uninfluenced by the Austrian action. Soon after his election Pius X definitively abolished the exercise of the veto.

At five o'clock on the 31st of July the Cardinals, sixty-three in all, assembled at the Vatican. At nightfall the last door was closed and bricked up; the conclave had begun. At the first scrutiny Cardinal Rampolla had twenty-four votes, Cardinal Gotti seven, and Cardinal Sarto five. There was nothing alarming in this; but when, at the second scrutiny, the votes in favour of the Patriarch of Venice had doubled, and at the third doubled again, it was another matter, and his anguish was obvious to all. With trembling voice and tears in his eyes, he spoke to the Cardinals, begging them to give up all thought of him. "I am unworthy, I am not qualified," he pleaded, "forget me."

"It was that very adjuration, his grief, his profound humility and wisdom," said Cardinal Gibbons of Baltimore, "that made us think of him all the more; we learnt to know him from his words as we could never have known him by hearsay." The voting continued. In the evening of the second day Cardinal Sarto, who at the last scrutiny had obtained twenty-four votes, on returning to his room found several of his colleagues who had come to beg him not to refuse the burden if God should call upon him to bear it. "I was one of those who went to visit him in his cell in the evening, to try to induce him to accept," said the American cardinal. "Those who had gone before had shaken his resistance, so that I almost hoped he would resign himself to what seemed to be inevitable." On the third day the votes for Cardinal Sarto went on increasing, until on the morning of the fourth day fifty out of the sixty-two were in his favour, eight more than the forty-two required for a valid election.

They asked him if he would accept, but he had already accepted in his heart after a most grievous inward struggle. "I accept," he said, with tears.

"What name will you take?" they asked him. "I will be called Pius," he replied.

Pale and trembling, he was clothed in the white cassock, the ring was placed on his finger, and he was led to the throne to receive the obedience of the cardinals. When at last the pope returned to his cell he remained for long in prayer before the crucifix. The faithful servant who had come with him from Venice begged him several times in vain to take some food. At last he rose, and, turning to his secretary, Monsignor Bressan, with something of his old serenity: "Come," he said, "it is the will of God."

Immediately after his election, when leaving the balcony from which he had given his first blessing inside St. Peter's, Pius X expressed his wish to go and visit Cardinal Herrero y Espinosa, Archbishop of Valencia, an old man eighty years of age who was lying sick in his cell. He had been taken ill a few days before and had received the last sacraments. The pope blessed and prayed over him. Three days later the man for whom the doctors had declared there was little hope was well enough to get up. He returned soon after to Spain, cured, as he himself always declared, by the prayer of Pius X.

The news of the election was received with joy in Italy. Outside of that country Pius X was little known. "What kind of a pope will he be?" was the question on many lips. The world had not long to wait for the answer. Two months had scarcely passed before his first encyclical letter rang through the Catholic world.

"It matters not to tell with what tears and earnest prayers we sought to avoid this appalling burden of the pontifical office," he begins. "We could not be other than disturbed at being appointed the successor of one who, after having most wisely ruled the Church for well-nigh six-and-twenty years, showed such power of genius and so shone with virtue that even adversaries were constrained to admire him."

Going straight to the heart of the world's unrest, the pope lays bare the cause of the disease—"the falling away from and forsaking God, than which there is nothing more nearly allied to perdition. As, borne up by God's might, we set our hand to the work of withstanding this great evil, we proclaim that in bearing the pontifical office this is our one purpose, 'to restore all things in Christ, so that Christ may be all in all'." Beautiful words, which embody the teaching and the work of a lifetime spent in God's service. No empty ideal either, but the one that Giuseppe Sarto had set steadfastly before himself from the very day of his consecration to the priesthood, to which he had devoted himself strenuously ever since.

He foresaw the hostile judgments that were to be expected from certain quarters on every action of the head of the Catholic Church. "There will be some, assuredly, who, measuring divine things by those that are human, will study our mind to wrest it to earthly ends and the aims of parties. To cut off this vain hope of theirs, we affirm in all truth that in human society we desire to be nothing, and by the help of God we will be nothing, but the minister of God whose authority we bear. God's cause is our cause, to which we are determined to devote all our strength and life itself Therefore, if any ask of us a token to show forth the purpose of our mind, we shall ever give this one alone—'to restore all things in Christ'."

"To this, therefore," he continues later, speaking of the evils that follow on the forsaking of God, "must we direct all our efforts, to bring the race of men under the dominion of Christ; when once this is done, it will have already returned to God Himself. How many are there," he laments, "that hate Christ and abhor the Church and the Gospel through ignorance rather than perversity, of whom you may rightly say that 'they blaspheme whatever things they know not'; and this is to be found not only in the common people, but among the cultured and even those who enjoy no mean learning. It cannot be agreed that faith is quenched by the growth of science: it is more truly quenched by want of knowledge." Speaking of those who are hostile to the Church, "Why may we not hope," he says, "that the fire of Christian charity will dissipate the darkness, and bring them 'the light and peace of God'? Charity is never wearied by waiting."

"A 'shepherd of souls' was the verdict of the Catholic world on reading the encyclical. 'Gentle and strong' was the judgement of a well-known American bishop. But there was another side to the character of the pope which later on became evident. 'Pius X,' wrote one who had known him intimately at Venice, 'is a man of keen intelligence, and of great culture, thoroughly well up in the philosophy, literature, and social movements of the times'." But first and foremost a shepherd of souls. The world was right in its judgement.

One of the first actions of the new pope was to order the distribution of four thousand pounds amongst the poor of Rome, and half that amount amongst the poor of Venice. "Is it not rather a large sum?" suggested the almoner respectfully, "considering the actual state of things?"

"Where is your trust in God's Providence?" asked Pius, and the money was given.

He could no longer go to his beloved poor, but word was given that they should come to him. Sunday after Sunday they were gathered, parish by parish, in the courts of the Vatican to hear from the lips of the pope himself a simple sermon on the gospel of the day. "Love God, and lead good Christian lives," such was the burden of his teaching; but there was more teaching still in the warm welcome that awaited them, in the tender charity that shone forth in every word and movement. "Sweet Christ on earth," was what St. Catherine of Siena loved to call the successor of St. Peter. Surely the name must have often come to the lips of those whose privilege it was to be much in the presence of Pius X.

VI

THE AIMS OF PIUS X

With a firm and sure hand the new pope had traced out the programme of his pontificate—the restoring of all things in Christ. It was not the first time he had used these words. We have already seen how as parish priest, bishop and patriarch they had been ever in his thoughts as the ideal and the aim of the sacerdotal life. The time had come when from the chair of Peter he was to set them before the world as the remedy for all its evils, calling on the faithful children of the Church to help in the great work.

Not only had he pointed out the evils to be dealt with, but the means of dealing with them. Earnest prayer, the formation of a learned, zealous and devout priesthood, religious instruction for the adult as well as for the child, wise efforts to ameliorate the condition of the poor and deal with the social question, Christian charity towards both friends and enemies, the faithful keeping of the commandments of God, the frequent use of the sacraments—thus was the "restoring of all things in Christ" to be accomplished.

All his life Pope Pius X had been a strenuous worker. At sixty-eight he was still a hale and vigorous man. He rose early, making an hour's meditation and reciting his Office before saying Mass, which he did usually at six o'clock. The day's work was carefully planned so that no time might be lost. A born organizer, the pope soon acquainted himself thoroughly with all that concerned the administration of the government of the Church and set on foot several necessary reforms in the work of the different congregations. Practical, punctual and exact in all his undertakings, he required that others should be the same. There was not a question of the day in which his quick intelligence did not take a lively interest.

"He is a wonderful listener," said a French statesman who had an audience with him in the early days of his pontificate. "He grasps the matter under discussion quickly and completely, going straight to the point, which he sums up in a few precise words. To my mind he possesses the qualities of a true statesman as much as Leo XIII. He sees in one comprehensive glance what is possible and what is not. What struck me still more in him was his calm, steadfast courage. There is no rashness about him; he will be slow to condemn, but when he does he will be inflexible. If difficult circumstances arise he will show himself both a hero and a saint."

Pius X had been brought up in no school of diplomacy, but the same goal may be reached by different roads. "A man born of the people," said another writer, "who has lived among working men, a student of the Bible and of the Fathers of the Church, of philosophy and theology—a man rich in experience and knowledge of men and things."

Lovers of church music in all countries had hailed with joy the news of Cardinal Sarto's election to the papacy. The changes brought about in Venice had not passed unnoticed in the musical world; a need for reform was universally felt. "May we not hope that your Holiness will do for the world what you have already done for Venice?" asked a French musician. "It shall be done and soon," was the reply, "but it will be a hard fight. And not the only one," added the pope thoughtfully, musing on the work that lay before him. Leo XIII had more than once urged on the faithful the study of the traditional music of the Church. He had even sent to Venice for Don Lorenzo Perosi to take charge of the music of the Sistine Chapel; but the Italians clung to their operatic effects, and the results had not been notable.

On the 22nd of November, 1903, the motu proprio[*] on sacred music laid down definite rules on the matter. "Nothing should have place in the church that is unworthy of the house of prayer and the majesty of God," said the pope. "Sacred music contributes to the fitness and splendour of the ecclesiastical rites, and since its principal office is to clothe with suitable melody the liturgical text proposed for the understanding of the faithful, its proper aim is to add greater efficacy to the words, in order that through it the people may be the more easily moved to devotion and better disposed for the fruits of grace belonging to the celebration of the most holy mysteries. It must be holy, it must be true art, it must be universal; and since these qualities are to be found in the highest degree in the Gregorian chant . . . the more closely the composition of church music approaches . . . to the Gregorian form, the more sacred and liturgical it becomes; and the more out of harmony it is with that supreme model, the less worthy it is of the temple."

[*] A motu proprio is a document drawn up by the pope on his own initiative.

The motu proprio, however, did not exclude the use of modern music, provided that it was suitable to be associated with the liturgy; but theatrical music was not to be tolerated. Rules were laid down to guarantee the dignity and solemnity of church offices; paid singers, especially women, were not to be employed in the choir; bands and orchestral accompaniments were forbidden. Bishops were to institute special commissions of persons skilled in sacred music, to see that the rules were carried out. Schools of sacred song were to be established in those seminaries where they did not already exist, and in town and country parishes. From his personal experiences at Tombolo, Salzano, Treviso and Mantua, Pius X knew that this was perfectly practicable.

In the letter to Cardinal Respighi, cardinal-vicar of Rome, written a few weeks later, the pope laments once more that the beautiful musical tradition of the classical Roman school had almost totally disappeared. "For the devout psalmody of the clergy," he writes, alluding to the singing of Vespers, in which the people also used to join, "there have been substituted interminable musical compositions on the words of the Psalms, all of them modelled on theatrical works, and most of them of such poor quality that they would not be tolerated for a moment even in second-rate concerts. Gregorian chant," he continues, "as it was handed down by the Fathers and is found in the codices of the various churches, is noble, quiet, easy to learn, and of a beauty so fresh and full of surprises that wherever it has been introduced it has never failed to excite real enthusiasm in the youthful singers."

The motu proprio was received with joy by many, and with consternation by those who believed that operatic music was an attraction to the multitude. "We are going to have good music in church," observed Pius X to Don Perosi. "The pope has not been slow in carrying his words into effect," said a writer in the Ecclesiastical Review. "May he live long, this lover of the sanctuary and of the beauty of holiness; and may his kindly face soften those hard hearts that can still bring themselves to sing bravura, not to say buffo, boldly before the Blessed Sacrament, with fearsome shriekings, tremblings and trills."

Some hearts were not softened. Pius had spoken the truth when he said, "The pleasure of a depraved taste rises in hostility to sacred music; for it cannot be denied that profane music, so easy of comprehension and so specially full of rhythm, finds favour in proportion to the want of a true and good musical education among those who listen to it."

That reform was necessary in England may be shown by the impression made on a serious outsider by the music in use in some of our Catholic churches. "You have Miss A. singing duets with Miss B. to the words, 'Domine Fili Jesu Christe' as if they were singing 'O that we two were maying,' or 'There's Life in the Old Horse yet,' and to music which would disgrace a tenth-rate writer of music-hall songs. Or if it be a male choir, you hear thunderous basses without a note in tune, and emasculated tenors . . . engaged over worrying the most solemn words of the Creed as though they were prize dogs, and the Creed a pack of rats."

It was not that the pope cared for nothing but classical church music and Gregorian chant. He was a lover of all good music, whether sacred or secular. But he considered that operatic music, however beautiful, was unsuited to the sanctuary. It is possible to admire the pictures of Watteau, without desiring to see them used as altar-pieces.

In his first encyclical Pius had already touched on the question of Catholic social action. In his motu proprio of December 1903 he spoke still more definitely on the subject. Born and brought up in the midst of the people, he could thoroughly understand their needs. He foresaw also the dangers of rash and imprudent action which might rely too strongly on popular effort and influence. It was not the movement towards social reform itself which stood in need of being checked, but the extravagances of some over-enthusiastic reformers.

"Christian democracy," he declared, "must have for its basis the principles of Catholic faith and morals, and must be free of political parties." His great predecessor Leo XIII, having luminously traced the rules of Christian popular action in his famous encyclicals (continued Pius), his own desire was that those prudent rules should be exactly and fully observed. He had therefore decided to collect them in an abridged form that they might be for all Catholics a constant rule of conduct. After having laid down man's right to the use and permanent ownership of property, he passed on to the obligations of justice between masters and men, and the utility of aid societies and trades unions. Christian democracy, he maintained, had for its special aim the solution of the difficulties between labour and capital, but in order to do this effectually it must be based on the principles of the Catholic faith and morality; it must not be made use of for party purposes; it must be a beneficent activity for the people founded on the natural law and the precepts of the Gospel. Catholic writers, when upholding the cause of the people and the poor, were to beware of using language calculated to inspire ill-feeling between classes. Here, as in other matters, obedience to the laws of God and of the Church was to be the means to the solution of the many difficulties which existed. "Godliness is profitable to all things," he had said in his first encyclical, "and when this is whole and vigorous, in very truth the people shall sit in the beauty of peace."

In 1905 an apostolic letter to the Italian bishops defined still more clearly the lines of Catholic social action. "Such," he says, "is the power of the truth and morality taught by Jesus Christ, that even the material well-being of individuals, of the family and of human society receive support and protection." The civilization of the world is Christian civilization; the more frankly Christian, the more frankly true, the more lasting and the more productive of good fruit; the more it withdraws from the Christian ideal, so much the feebler does it become, to the great detriment of society. The Church has been throughout the ages the guardian and protector of Christian civilization. "What prosperity and happiness, what peace and concord, what respectful submission to authority, what excellent government would be established and maintained in the world if the perfect ideal of Christian civilization could be everywhere realized. But given the constant warfare of flesh with spirit, of darkness with light, of Satan with God, so great a good in its full measure can scarcely be hoped for. Yet this is no reason for losing courage. The Church goes fearlessly on, and while extending the Kingdom of God in places where it has not yet been preached, she strives by every means to repair the losses inflicted on the Kingdom already acquired." Once more the only means that can achieve the desired end are clearly pointed out: "To reinstate Jesus Christ in the family, the school and society; to re-establish the principle that human authority represents that of God; to take closely to heart the interests of the people, especially those of industrial and agricultural workers, to endeavour to make laws conformable to justice, to amend or suppress those which are not so . . . to defend and support the rights of God in everything, and the no less sacred rights of the Church."

"What can I do for the Church?" asked a lady of Pius X at a private audience.

"Teach the catechism," was the prompt and perhaps rather unexpected reply.

"It is manifestly impossible," said the pope, "to re-establish all the institutions found useful in former times; instruments must be suited to the work intended. There must be unity, co-operation in working, suitable methods adapted to the times. In all Catholic social work there must be submission to ecclesiastical authority. Let everyone, therefore, strive to ameliorate . . . the economic condition of the people, supporting and promoting institutions which conduce to this end . . . and let all our beloved sons who are devoting themselves to Catholic action listen again to the words which spring so spontaneously from our heart. Amid the bitter sorrows which daily surround us, we will say, with the apostle St. Paul, if there be any consolation in Christ, if any comfort comes to us from your charity . . . fulfil ye our joy, that you being of one mind . . . agreeing in sentiment, with humility and due submission, not seeking your own convenience but the common good, and imprinting on your hearts the mind which was in Christ Jesus our Saviour. Let Him be the beginning of all your undertakings. 'All whatsoever you do in word or in work, all things do ye in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ,' let Him be the end of your every work; 'for of Him, and by Him, and in Him, are all things; to Him be glory for ever. Amen.'"

During the whole life of Pius X the Bible had been his favourite study. Every encyclical he issued bears witness to his intimate knowledge and love of both the Old Testament and the New. The words in which he insistently recommended the careful and loving study of Holy Writ to priests and people would greatly astonish those of our separated brethren who persist in believing that the Catholic Church forbids the reading of the Bible by her children. When receiving representatives of the Society of St. Jerome for the diffusion of the Holy Scriptures, he spoke with the greatest praise of the splendid work of this most deserving institution, which in the space of fifteen months had been able to give out more than 200,000 copies of the gospels: to those Catholic theologians who were engaged in historical studies and biblical research he always gave the warmest encouragement. "The Catholic faith has nothing to fear from knowledge, but much from ignorance," was a truth that he more than once averred.

The pope, who in his youth had entered keenly into all the games and sports of the seminary life, was a strong believer in schemes for the physical development of youth. "I bless with all my heart your games and amusements," he said on the occasion of a display in the Vatican gardens by athletic clubs. "I approve of your gymnastics, your cycle, boat, and foot races, your mountain climbing and the rest, for these pastimes will keep you from the idleness which is the mother of every vice; and because friendly contests will be for you the symbol of emulation in the practice of virtue . . . . Be strong to keep and defend your faith when so many are losing it; be strong to remain devoted sons of the Church when so many are rebelling against her . . . be strong to conquer the obstacles which you will meet in the practice of the Catholic religion, for your own merit and for the good of your brothers."

To the pilgrimages that flocked from all parts of the world to do him homage, Pius X addressed like words of sympathy and encouragement. "I bless you all, great and small, rich and poor," he said to a band of peasants from Moravia—"the good that they may remain good; those who have strayed from the right path, that they may come back to it; parents that they may bring up their children well; children that they may honour the white hairs of their parents and the country that has nourished them."

"Tell the rich to be generous in almsgiving," he said on another occasion; "tell the poor to be proud of being chosen as the living representatives of Christ on earth. Bid them neither envy nor hate others, but have resignation and patience."

It was to those of his own province that a special tenderness was revealed. "If I could tell you all that is in my heart," he said one day to a pilgrimage from Treviso, "when night comes on I should be still speaking." It was hard for him to believe that he would never see his beloved Venice again. Walking one day in the Vatican gardens with a friend, he heard in the distance a shrill whistle. "Hark!" he said, wistfully, "perhaps that is the train for Venice!" But much as he loved his own people there was no thought either in his mind or in theirs that honours might come to them through his position. "Thank God, we are all able to support ourselves," said one of his sisters soon after his election, "we need trouble him for nothing. Poor dear," she added compassionately, "he has all the poor people in the world to think of now." They had their own places in the pope's private chapel, and on gala days at St. Peter's. That was their only privilege, and it was all that they asked.

It was said of the new pope that his usual expression was one of overwhelming sadness, and to those who only saw him in public this might have seemed to be true. His humble spirit hated pomp and display, and the burden of his huge responsibility lay heavy on his soul. When borne through the crowd in the sedia gestatoria he seemed more than ever conscious of the weight of the cross laid upon him by his divine Master. "His face amid the scene of triumph spoke of the vanity of all earthly glory. He had ever the look of one who is weighed down by the sins and the sorrows of mankind—a look befitting the vicar of Him of whom we speak as the Man of Sorrows," wrote Wilfrid Ward. In St. Peter's he would allow no outbreak of the applause which had become customary at papal services. "It is not fitting that the servant should be applauded in his Master's house," he said sternly as he gave the order. So it was in silence that he passed thenceforward amongst his people—but a silence tense and trembling with an emotion that would occasionally break out in spite of all attempts at restraint.

But those who knew him intimately had another tale to tell. The genial and merry spirit that had been his of old, though overshadowed at first by the burden he had to bear, was by no means dead. He had the art of making himself all things to all men; he could be gay and merry with the young, wonderfully tender and gentle with those in sorrow or suffering. "He had the greatest heart," said one who knew him well, "of any man alive."