as belonging to Catholic Europe, belongs now
to whom? Neither to Europe nor even to
Italy. It lies at the mercy of half a dozen
adventurers from the Campagna of Rome, who
have become what they are, by the means
indicated in Scribe's comedy of La Camaraderie.

Of the august personage around whom the
coterie weave their toils, Liverani sketches a
sad and striking portrait. Pure and innocent
habits, a love for religious ceremonies, great
facility and charm in speaking and improvisation,
unction and grace in prayer, a melodious chant,
a great air of majesty while officiating at the
altar, a constant zeal for the glory of God which
never shrinks from the boldest enterprises, are a
slight specimen of Pius the Ninth's good qualities.
Moreover, no favouritism towards
members of his family; not a shadow of greediness,
or avarice; caring nothing for wealth except to
pass it on to the hands of the poor, or to
employ it in adorning the sanctuary.

Patient in giving audience, an indefatigable
listener; but at the same time anxiously inquisitive
after the most trifling tales, the most childish
gossip; judging men and things by their
accessories and circumstances, rather than by
themselves; very acceptable both to sinister
impressions and to ill-natured prejudice; hasty
in his resolutions, obstinate in his decisions, but
also inexorable in his aversions and his
withdrawals of favour; subject to be smitten with
sudden sympathies and violent likings;
incapable of dissimulating his tastes, his repugnances,
his inmost sentiments, and thus handing over
the key of his heart to profligate courtiers and
knaves, who read his soul on his countenance.
There they stand in front of him, with anxious
look, half-open mouth, outstretched neck,
straining every muscle, at hand to approve as
soon as the Pontiff's visage gives the signal;
ready to flatter his every desire, even if those
desires were sure to cause his ruin.

Pius the Ninth's judgments of the merits of
men are somewhat summary; he founds his opinion
on their external gifts—a grave mien, a bald
head, a harmonious voice—rather than on their
qualities of heart and mind. He is chary of
his favour, unless one knows how to seize it
with skill; suspicious and constantly distrustful
with honest people, he is constantly unarmed
and unprepared, in his intercourse with the skilful
and cunning. He is virtuous, but it is a
virtue of parade, pompous, like his clear and
sonorous voice. He is charitable and fond of
doing good; but he requires the newspapers
to repeat the echo to the world, and likes
indifferent or forgetful persons to be reminded of
his beneficent acts by so many inscriptions,
medals, and legends. He changes his views and
plans according to the temperature, the direction
of the wind, the state of the weather, the agitation
of his nerves and arteries, the pathological
condition of a sickly body; in short, his intellect
shares all the impressions of his feeble
constitution.

Kindly and tender-hearted, he yet is unable
to abstain from insulting speeches, sudden bursts
of anger, and other acts, which are neither more
nor less than human weaknesses. For instance,
when he tore from his seat the virtuous
Monsignor Gigli; or when he forbade Monsignor
Campodonico to enter his presence during
a visit he paid to the University; or when
he ordered a pauper to be arrested for the sole
crime of asking him for alms. Such actions as
these he is sorry for, immediately afterwards,
when his passions are not made to rankle by the
insinuations of others. The examples cited were,
in reality, the result of the intrigues and cabals
of Cardinals Altieri and Patrizzi.

These defects might be developed into virtues
and noble actions, with faithful and able ministers.
But, for the last fifteen years, Pius the Ninth
has been the dupe of adventurers of all kinds,
from all countries, of every party and every
faction, incessantly occupied in robbing each other
of his favour, in order to profane and outrage
it themselves.

And who are these "intriguers and knaves?"
—to make use of Liverani's plain expressions.
First, there is the Cavaliere Filippani, a
combination of contractor and papal house-steward,
taking a deep interest in railways. As steward,
he seizes the opportunity, during meal-times, of
advancing individuals, intended for promotion,
in the esteem and good will of the Pope (exactly
as he would serve a pheasant or a hare); as
contractor, he does not forget to receive
considerable money-payments. He spreads his nets
around every vacant bishopric; he bird-limes
with promises, threats, and cajoleries, the
aspirants to the vacancy; he monopolises
privileges and favours, to the detriment of other
agents who are no better than himself, but who,
in order to have their revenge, blacken him as
the worst of the whole lot. He builds hotels,
whose approaches the innocent Cardinal Milesi
causes to be paved, with a view to the legation
of Bologna. He distributes money by handfuls,
but in such a way that no account can be
taken of it; for he tempers his passion for
feathering his nest, by a skilfully assumed
appearance of moderation.

Another of his Holiness's intimates is the
Signor Baladelli: an ambiguous personage, an
amphibious engineer, a courtier clerk, who has
no determinate individuality, but whose office is,
by his foolish prating, to prepare the Pontiff's
mind for master-strokes and decisive thrusts, to
be given by bolder and stronger assailants.

And now comes the good Stella, a man whose
virtues might be taken for vices, and whose vices
have a look of virtue. He has the air of a
person possessed by demons, and talks the
stilted nonsense of an astrologer. He is an
insupportable narrator of the miracles of Saint
Philomene, the prophecies of hermits, and the
visions of nuns; which did not prevent his
introducing, with the utmost politeness, Montanelli
to the Holy Father. His conversation is
more terrible to the traveller than a hurricane
in the desert. It is a series of sudden sighs,
violent enough to turn a windmill, of abrupt
interruptions and cautious pauses, of questions