An Englishwoman who had a private audience with the pope brought her little boy of four to receive his blessing. While she was talking the child stood at a little distance looking on; but presently he crept up to the pope, put his hands on his knees and looked up into his face. "How old is he?" asked Pius, stroking the little head.
"He is four," answered the mother, "and in two or three years I hope he will make his first communion."
The pope looked earnestly into the child's clear eyes. "Whom do you receive in holy communion?" he asked.
"Jesus Christ," was the prompt answer.
"And who is Jesus Christ?"
"Jesus Christ is God," replied the boy, no less quickly.
"Bring him to me to-morrow," said Pius, turning to the mother, "and I will give him holy communion myself."
François Laval describes the impression made on the children of a pilgrimage of 400 first communicants who went from France to thank Pius X in 1912. "As soon as they had returned from Rome," he says, "I went to see some little friends of mine to question them. There was no need, they talked without stopping of all they had seen. Everything had been wonderful, but most wonderful of all—wonderful enough almost to blot out the memory of everything else—had been the pope. They had not been a bit shy with him, they explained—it was impossible, he was so kind. 'The tears were in his eyes—but lots of us were crying too,' nearly all who could get near enough to speak to him were begging him for graces. 'Cure my sister, Holy Father; convert my father; I want to be a priest . . . and I a missionary!' It must have been rather like that when the people came to Jesus in Galilee."
"It seems to me," added the writer, "that in these days, when so many people are trying to enforce obedience, and failing signally in the attempt, that there is only one man in the world who is really master of the minds and hearts of others—an old man clothed in white garments . . . ."
In July 1907 the Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office issued the decree "Lamentabili," which condemned sixty-five distinctive Modernist doctrines. Two months later appeared the encyclical "Pascendi," denouncing under the name of "Modernism" a group of errors which struck at the very roots of the Christian faith.
These events marked the breaking of a storm that had been threatening for some time, of which the condemnation of certain books of the Abbé Loisy, and other incidents, had been the warning rumblings. Loisy's condemnation let loose an outburst in the rationalist, anti-clerical and Modernist press. "The old shadowy images of Rome gagging her progressive men will be revived with added venom to poison the mind of the public," prophesied a writer in theEcclesiastical Review, and the prophecy was certainly fulfilled. In vain did the Abbé Monchamp point out, after close analysis of Loisy's book, the impossibility of escaping a conclusion which places the writer in direct opposition to the authoritative teaching of the Church. The authoritative teaching of the Church was to the minds of many a much less important thing than the retaining of a few intelligent men within her fold. Yet even among those outside of the Church there were men who saw more clearly. "From the paternal standpoint of the Church of Rome," wrote Professor Sanday, "it seems to me, if I may say so, that the authorities have acted wisely. It is not an insuperable barrier placed in the way of future progress, but the intimation of a need for caution."
The storm of abuse which had arisen at the condemnation of Loisy, which had been increased by the publication of the decree "Lamentabili," reached its climax at the appearance of the encyclical "Pascendi," which tore the veil from Modernism and exposed its errors with ruthless precision. Modernism, like Jansenism, had made up its mind to remain in the Church and to mould her teaching to its will; and now it was only one more of the many heresies that had fallen on the rock of the promise and been broken in the falling. The pope and Cardinal Merry del Val, who as secretary of state had the honour of sharing in all the attacks that were levelled at his illustrious chief, were denounced as intolerant fanatics. The one idea of Pius X, cried the Modernists, was to repress by violent means every indication of originality of thought and independence of judgement within the Church; he had attempted to stifle a movement with which some of the best thinkers of the age were in sympathy. He was a "good country priest," perhaps; but utterly incapable of dealing with the questions which were at issue. "The Modernist movement had quickened a thousand dim dreams of reunion into enthusiastic hopes," wrote Father Tyrrell, the leader of Modernism in England, "when lo! Pius X comes forward with a stone in one hand and a scorpion in the other."
To many Christians the encyclical "Pascendi" revealed a danger that they themselves had never suspected; and the account of the Modernist doctrines which it so lucidly gave was for them a lesson more eloquent than any censure. It was no empty accusation, much less a travesty, as the Modernists themselves allowed, that masterly analysis of a system which claimed the right to substitute itself for the Catholic conception of a teaching authority established by Jesus Christ. "Yes or no, do you believe in the divine authority of the Church?" asked Cardinal Mercier. "Do you accept outwardly and in the sincerity of your heart what she commands in the name of Christ? Do you consent to obey her? If so, she offers you her sacraments and undertakes to guide you safely into the harbour of salvation. If not, then you deliberately sever the tie that unites you to her, and break the bond consecrated by her grace. Before God and your conscience you no longer belong to her; don't remain in obstinate hypocrisy a pretended member of her fold. You cannot honestly pass yourself off as one of her sons; and as she cannot be a party to hypocrisy and sacrilege, she bids you, if you force her to it, to leave her ranks. . . . The Modernism condemned by the pope is the negation of the Church's teaching."
WhatisModernism? is a question that has been often asked. It is not easy to put the matter in a nutshell, and various answers have been given. For a complete analysis of Modernism we must go to the encyclical itself. After condemning Modernism as "a meeting-ground of all heresies," the pope denounced in it a group of errors which included: the separation of an "historical" from a "religious" Christ; the reversal of the Incarnation by the denial of the entering of the Divine into the temporal sphere; the reducing of faith to a matter of feeling; the reducing of religious authority from its apostolic basis to a sort of "chairmanship," and the throwing over of the Bible and revelation in favour of a personal inward enlightenment. The encyclical proceeded to deal with the subject in three parts, First came the analysis of Modernist teaching, with agnosticism as the basis of its philosophy and immanence as its positive side, thus placing the explanation of religion in man alone, and lifting conscience to the same level as revelation. Faith and science to the Modernist are separate, the latter being supreme, and religious dogmas are not only inadequate but must be changeable to be adapted to living needs. Everything must be subject to evolution, and these principles were being applied to the deformation of history and of apologetics.
In the second part Modernism was traced to its causes. "The proximate cause," said the pope, "is without any doubt an error of the mind. The remoter causes are two: curiosity and pride. Curiosity, unless wisely held in check, is of itself sufficient to account for all errors. But far more effective in darkening the mind and leading it into error is pride, which, as it were, dwells in Modernism as in its own house. Through pride the Modernists have overestimated themselves. They are puffed up with a vainglory which lets them see themselves as the sole possessors of knowledge, and makes them say, 'We are not as the rest of men'; which leads them, lest they should seem as other men, to embrace and to devise novelties of the most absurd kind. It is pride which . . . causes them to demand a compromise between authority and liberty. It is owing to their pride that they seek to be the reformers of others while they forget to reform themselves."
"If from moral causes we pass to the intellectual, the first and most powerful is ignorance. These very men who pose as teachers of the Church, who speak so highly of modern philosophy and show such contempt for Scholasticism, have embraced the one with its false glamour precisely because their ignorance of the other has left them without the means of recognizing the confusion of their ideas and of refuting sophistry. Their system, full of so many errors, has been born of the union between faith and false philosophy." "Modernism is inclined to pantheism by its doctrine of divine immanence—i.e., of the intimate presence of God within us," continues the pope. "Does God declare Himself distinct from us? If so, then the position of Modernism must not be opposed to that of Catholicism, nor exterior revelation be rejected. But if God declares Himself not distinct from us, the position of Modernism becomes openly pantheistic."
In the third part are set forth the remedies for the evil, amongst which are the study of scholastic philosophy in seminaries and by clerics at the universities; ceaseless activity and watchfulness on the part of the bishops by a diocesan censorship of books, and the tendering of an oath to clergy and professors by which they were to bind themselves to reject the errors denounced in the encyclical and decree.
The danger was indeed a serious one. The Modernists had put themselves forward as the champions of science, led to the conclusions they defended by anxiety for scientific truth. Their movement from the point of view of many marked a religious reaction against the materialism and positivism which had failed so signally to satisfy longings of the human soul. It was a reaction in the right direction which had taken the wrong road, which threatened to land its votaries in a deeper ditch than that from which they had set out. There was therefore an attractive side to its teaching, especially for the young.
The storm raged hotly for a while round the pontiff who had spoken so fearlessly; but a deep thanksgiving was in the hearts of those who could see the issues at stake. "In his dealings with France," wrote one of these, "the Holy Father saved, so to speak, the body of the Church, but now he has saved her soul." "The pope has spoken, Modernism has ceased to be," wrote Paul Bourget a year or two later. "Five years ago," wrote Monsignor R. H. Benson on the death of Pius X, "it was proclaimed that by his action thought was once more thrown back into the fetters from which it was shaking itself loose, and that Rome henceforward must be considered as finally out of the struggle; that once more she had feared to face the light, and held back or cast out those of her children who honestly desired it. And now there is practically not a Christian anywhere—a Christian, that is to say, in the historic sense of the word, who believes that Christ's mission lay in the revelation which He promulgated, and not merely in the impulse which His coming gave to spiritual aspiration— there is not a Christian in this sense, however far his sympathies may be from the Catholic interpretation of the contents of that revelation, who does not acknowledge that Pius stood firm where their religious leaders faltered or temporized; and that Rome, under his leadership, placed herself on the side of plain Gospel truth, of the authority of Holy Scripture and of the divinity of Christ."
A personal friend of Pius X was speaking to him one day with indignation of the abuse levelled at him by a Modernist writer. The pope's answer was as characteristic as the smile that accompanied it. "Come," he said, "did he not allow that after all I was a good priest? Now, of all praise, that is the only one I have ever valued."
"A man who hid a boundless ambition under a pretence of humility," wrote another opponent. And in one sense most certainly Pius X was a man of ambition, an ambition that had taken shape within him as he knelt before the altar of the cathedral of Castelfranco to receive the priesthood with all that it entailed. Study, prayer, labour, self-denial and unlimited self-devotion; charity, poverty and loyal-hearted obedience—all these were part of that ambition—the ambition to be a good and fervent priest, to walk in the footsteps of his Master. It had been his guiding star through life; he had sacrificed everything to it; and in a certain sense it was true that this ambition, realized most perfectly in his holy life, had placed him against his will on the chair of Peter.
A noble and worthy priesthood, according to his first encyclical, was to be one of the means towards that restoring of all things in Christ "which was to heal the wounds of the world." "The priest is the representative of Christ on earth," he said on one occasion to the students of the French College in Rome; "he must think the thoughts of Christ and speak His words. He must be tender as Christ was tender, pure and holy like his Lord; he must shine like a star in the world." This was not easy, he acknowledged; it needed a long preparation of study, of self-discipline and of prayer. The spiritual weapons must be well tempered for the combat, for the fight would be hard and long. "A holy priest makes holy people," he said on another occasion; "a priest who is not holy is not only useless but harmful to the world."
And it was not only the cultivation of virtue on which he insisted, but the cultivation of the mind also. The man who all his life had curtailed his hours of sleep in order to study, had done it to perfect his priesthood, to fit himself to cope with the dangers that were abroad, to be armed at every point against error. Although his enemies were never tired of asserting that he was ignorant and unlettered, and he himself was quite ready to let the world believe it, his knowledge and the extent of his learning could not be concealed. Those who came in contact with him and his personal work could not be otherwise than impressed with his depth of thought, the extent of his reading, his literary and classical training, and his strong grasp of philosophy and theology. His wide and far-reaching appreciation of men and things in different countries all over the world was astonishing in a man who had not travelled, as many statesmen often remarked after conversing with him. He read French perfectly, although he felt shy at attempting to speak it. He was an excellent accountant. The delicacy and nobility of his dealings with others were unequalled.
"In order that Christ may be formed in the faithful," said Pius in his first encyclical, "He must first be formed in the priest," and with this end in view he set himself to the task which lay before him. The first six years of his pontificate were chiefly spent in work which concerned the priesthood and sacerdotal institutions. Uniform rules of study, discipline and ecclesiastical education were given to all the seminaries of Italy, which were to be inspected carefully from time to time by apostolic men, who had at heart the perfection of the priesthood. Small seminaries in dioceses incapable of supporting them on these lines were suppressed. Bishops were exhorted to further the work by all the means in their power; care was to be taken in the selection of candidates for the priesthood, who, after a thorough training in the seminary, were to be wisely directed in the first exercise of their ministry, safeguarded against the errors of the day, and encouraged to keep up their studies without detriment to their active work. The Academy of St. Thomas in Rome and the Catholic Institute of Paris won special praise for the excellence and thoroughness of their teaching. Special regulations were laid down for the examination of those about to be ordained. The study of Holy Scripture was to be pursued in the seminaries during the four years of the theological course, while especially gifted students were to be set apart for more advanced studies. On those who were already, or about to be ordained, the pope enjoined constant and fervent prayer, daily meditation on the eternal truths, the attentive reading of good books, especially of the Bible, and diligent examination of conscience. The priest was to stand forth as an example to all by the integrity of his life, his deference and obedience to legitimate authority, his patient charity with all men. It was not by a bitter zeal that they would gain souls to God; they must reprove, entreat, rebuke, but in all patience; their charity must be patient and kind with all men, even with those who were their open enemies. "Such an example," said Pius X, "will have far more power to move hearts and to gain them than words or dissertations, however sublime." "The renewal of the priesthood," wrote the pope a little before the celebration of his sacerdotal jubilee in 1908, "will be the finest and most acceptable gift that the clergy can offer to us."
The gift that he himself bestowed on the priesthood on this fiftieth anniversary of his ordination was the wonderful Exhortation to the Catholic Clergy, published on August 4th, 1908. Every word of it was his own, embodying the wisdom and experience of a lifetime spent in God's service. The exhortation set before the clergy of the world the model of "the man of God"—the perfect parish priest. Its fervent and eloquent appeal to the clergy to show themselves worthy of their high calling, by being truly the "salt of the earth and the light of the world," is followed by a clear and practical exposition of the means necessary to attain this great end. His ministry must be in deed as well as in word. He must remember that he is not only the servant but the friend of Christ, who has chosen him that he may go and bring forth much fruit. And as friendship consists in unity of mind and will, it is the first duty of a priest to study the mind and will of his Master, so as to conform himself in all things to them. Stress is laid on the necessity of cultivating the "passive" virtues—those which perfect the character of the man himself—as well as the more active ones which are called forth by contact with other people. The exhortation, written for priests, by one who was a model of all priestly virtues, and given from the chair of the Apostle, is a perfect rule of life for every priest who aspires to holiness.
Once more he recommended, as he had so often done before, preaching to the people plain and simple gospel truths rather than flowery and rhetorical sermons. Once more, but this time as head on earth of the Universal Church, he insisted on the necessity of clear and simple instruction in Christian doctrine to adults and children alike, again reiterating his conviction that the growth of unbelief was largely due to ignorance of what Christ's teaching was.
"It is in a time of sore stress and difficulty," he writes in his encyclical of 1905 on this subject, "that the mysterious counsel of divine Providence has raised up our littleness to bear the office of chief shepherd over the whole flock of Christ . . . . It is a common complaint . . . that in this age there are very many Christian people who live in utter ignorance of those things, the knowledge whereof is necessary for their eternal salvation . . . we do not only mean the masses and those in the lower walks of life . . . but those who, though not without talent and culture, abound in the wisdom of the world, and are utterly reckless and foolish in matters of religion. . . . They hardly ever think of the supreme Maker and Ruler of all things, or of the wisdom of the Christian faith . . . they in no wise understand the malice and foulness of sin . . . a great many . . . fall into endless evil through ignorance of those mysteries of faith which those who would be counted among the elect must needs know and believe."
"The erring will of man has need of a guide who shall show it the way . . . this guide is the mind. But if the mind itself be lacking true light . . . it will be a case of the blind leading the blind, and both will fall into the ditch . . . . Only the teaching of Jesus Christ makes us understand the true and wondrous dignity of man . . . and is it not the teaching of Jesus Christ again that inspires in proud man the lowliness of mind which is the origin of all true glory? From it we learn the prudence of the spirit whereby we may shun the prudence of the flesh, the justice whereby we may give to everyone his due, the fortitude whereby we are made ready to endure all things and may suffer with gladness for the sake of God and eternal happiness; and the temperance by which we may love poverty itself for the kingdom of God, and may even glory in the Cross, despising the shame . . . . Since then such dire evils flow from ignorance of religion and . . . the necessity of religious instruction is so great, because no one can hope to fulfil the duties of a Christian without knowing them, it remains to ask whose duty it is to destroy this deadly ignorance in people's minds and to teach them this necessary knowledge."
The answer is obvious—that duty falls on the priesthood, and this the pope clearly points out. "There is nothing nearer or dearer than this to the heart of Jesus Christ," he continues, "who said of Himself through the lips of Isaias, 'to preach the Gospel to the poor He hath sent me'."
Having laid down in urgent words the duty of the shepherds to feed the flock committed to their care, the pope expounds the mission of the catechist, and its power for good. He quotes the words of St. Gregory the Great on the Apostles of Christ. "They took supreme care to preach to the ignorant things easy and intelligible, not sublime and arduous," ending with the saying of St. Peter, "as every man hath received grace, ministering the same one to another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God."
To Pius X the Divine Office had always been a work of predilection. It is said that as a child he had often seen Cardinal Monico with his Breviary in his hands, and had wondered vaguely what beautiful stories there could be in the book that so engrossed his attention. And when in later days he opened it for the first time himself his childish dreams found their fulfilment. For the Breviary is the story of the Church and her saints, and the whole Psalter enwraps it like a glory. It was to the treasures of that great book that he went all his life for his morning meditation until he knew it as one knows the heart of a friend. And loving it with the love of a true friend, and seeing faults amidst its beauties, he would let it also share in "the restoring of all things in Christ." For over four hundred years a redistribution of the Psalter throughout the week had been sighed for, but every scheme had failed. Pius appointed a commission to deal with this problem, giving certain general lines on which to base the reform, and in a few years the new Breviary was issued. The rearrangement secured the recitation of the whole Psalter once a week, the length of the office on Sundays and ferias was reduced, while the complexities of the calendar were simplified.
"No one can fail," wrote the pope, "to be stirred by those numerous passages of the Psalms which proclaim so loudly the immense majesty of God, His omnipotence, His unutterable justice, His goodness and clemency . . . . Who can fail to be inspired . . . by those thanksgivings for God's benefits, by those lowly and trustful prayers for benefits desired, by those cries of the penitent soul deploring its sins? Who is not kindled with love for the picture of Christ the Redeemer so lovingly shadowed forth, whose voice Augustine heard in all the Psalms, praising or mourning, rejoicing in hope or longing for accomplishment? With good reason was provision made in past ages by decrees of the Roman pontiffs, canons of councils, and monastic laws that both sections of the clergy should chant or recite the whole Psalter every week." The pope spoke of the many pleas that had reached him that the old custom might be restored, and of the work that had been done to this effect, which was but a prelude to a further emendation of the Breviary and the Missal.
The reform of the Roman Curia was another undertaking, which did much to simplify the government of the Church. The various Roman Congregations were founded by Sixtus V to study questions submitted to the decision of the pope and to deal with any legal questions that might arise; and as persons of experience and mature judgement alone should deal with these matters, various committees were formed, each of which attended to its own particular branch of business. But the organization of the different congregations needed to be adapted to the requirements of the present day. Pius X, with the practical spirit which distinguished all his undertakings, completely remodelled the curia, fixing the number of congregations at thirteen, and defining clearly the work of each. The constitution "Sapienti consilio" on this matter instituted also many other important reforms in the tribunals and offices of the curia.
The purchase of the Palazzo Mariscotti, assigned to the Cardinal Vicar of Rome, enabled Pius X to carry out another long-cherished plan, for the thorough reform of his own diocese, inadequate in its organization to the needs of the present day. Want of space, which had been the chief difficulty in the way of reorganization, having been thus supplied for, the necessary reforms were at once set on foot. In many other important matters the needs of modern times called for the simplification and amendment of methods that had become obsolete. The reform and codification of canon law was another laborious work carried on by the pope for eleven years, and brought to a conclusion under his successor Benedict XV.
With affectionate interest the pope watched the progress of Catholicism in England. "If there is any Church in the whole Christian world," he wrote in January 1912, on the occasion of the founding of the two new ecclesiastical provinces of Birmingham and Liverpool, "which merits the special care and forethought of the Apostolic See, it is certainly the Church of the English, which, happily founded among the Britons by St. Eleutherius[*] and still more happily established through apostolic men by Gregory the Great, was subsequently made famous by the numbers of its children distinguished by the holiness of their lives or by the martyr's death courageously suffered for Christ."
[*] History scholars seem now agreed that the story of a mission sent to Britain by Pope St. Eleutherius in the later second century rests on a misunderstanding. Christianity was certainly introduced into Britain during the Roman occupation, but the circumstances are not known.
"It is with the greatest pleasure that I greet you, my dear children of Great Britain," he said at an audience given to four hundred English pilgrims presented to him by Cardinal Bourne, Archbishop of Westminster, "worthy descendants of your Catholic forefathers who during ten centuries remained constantly faithful to the Church and the Holy See, and who by the purity of their faith and by personal holiness gave many saints to God. And although through the blind passion of an unworthy king your country fell into schism, the Faith is still alive in her midst, for are you not the children of those valiant Christians . . . who gave their lives for the truth, and won for Great Britain her title of the Island of Saints?"
The beatification of Joan of Arc in April 1909 was one more token of the pope's love of another country that had given so much for God, and the presence in Rome of forty thousand of her children was a further proof of her true spirit. And when, borne in thesedia gestatoriathrough the crowd, the Holy Father, leaning forward, lifted the fold of the French flag that had been lowered at his passage and reverently kissed it, the enthusiasm knew no bounds. That flag had stood for much that was not noble; the memory of its origin was still in the minds of many. But by that kiss it was consecrated for ever.
Monsignor Blanc, a Marist missionary in Oceania, wrote thus to his clergy after an audience with Pius X: "My attention was completely captivated by his expression and his eyes. I could not tell you what the room was like nor what the Holy Father wore; I could see nothing but those eyes, and the light of them I shall never forget. He made me sit beside him, and I spoke of our people, our natives, the country that I love. If the life of the missionary is sometimes hard, let us remember that the pope has said 'the missions are my great consolation.' He was full of interest in all I had to tell him of your work, your zeal and your devotedness. I spoke of our schools and he was delighted. 'Tell them to devote themselves there without counting the cost,' he said: 'it is the most important thing of all." With touching graciousness and cordiality he gave his blessing to you, to our people, to all for whom I asked it."
"You cannot go near him without loving him," said another priest, "his kindness and sweetness are irresistible." Father Boevey Crawley, a South American priest and an ardent apostle of devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, went to Rome to obtain the pope's blessing on his mission. His story was a strange one. Attacked while quite young by a serious form of heart disease, he was sent to Paris to consult a specialist. The American doctors had told him that he had but a few months to live; the Paris specialist confirmed their verdict. Father Crawley had an overwhelming devotion to the Sacred Heart and to St. Margaret Mary. He went straight to Paray-le-Monial to ask through her intercession the grace of a holy death. Scarcely had he knelt in the chapel when he felt himself shaken from head to foot. He was cured. That night while kneeling in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament he received a divine intimation that he was to go forth and conquer the world, family by family, to love the Sacred Heart. To preach love was henceforward to be his mission, for what is devotion to the Sacred Heart but love of the love of Christ? The conversion of his father, who was a Protestant, was the first fruit of his apostolate.
Kneeling at the pope's feet, he told him the story of his life, asking permission to begin the work to which he was called. Pius listened with the deepest interest. Then, "No, my son," he said, "I do not give you permission."
Father Crawley looked up at him in consternation; the pope's eyes were shining, and there was a little smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. "But, Holy Father . . ." pleaded the priest.
"No," repeated the pope, "I do not give you permission."—"I do not give you permission," he said again. "Iorderyou to do it. You hear? I am the pope, and I command it. It is a splendid work; let your whole life be consecrated to it."
"He had the greatest heart that it was possible for a human being to have," was said of Pius X, not once but many times. Even for treachery he had no condemnation. A betrayal of trust which had affected him deeply came to his knowledge after the death of the culprit. Folding his hands he prayed silently for the departed soul. "He is dead," he said gently, "may he rest in peace." He met with a sad smile an indignant accusation of treachery against one who was still living, an accusation which could not be denied. "Traitor is a hard word," he said, "let us say that he is a man of many skins—like an onion . . . ."
One more picture drawn from life. A young priest, tortured by doubts, knelt shaken with sobs at the pope's feet. The white figure bent compassionately over the kneeling man, the strong and gentle hands of the Holy Father held the head of the suppliant closely to his heart. "Faith, faith, faith," repeated the ringing voice over and over again. "Faith, my son, must be your place of refuge."
As a young parish priest at Salzano, Giuseppe Sarto during the cholera epidemic of 1873 had been the stay and comfort of his people. Consoling the grief-stricken, nursing the sick, burying the dead, utterly regardless of his own safety, his one thought had been for his suffering parishioners. This compassion for every kind of pain or sorrow was characteristic of him throughout his life. Not without reason was it said that he had "the greatest heart of any man alive." The very sight of suffering moved him to tears; there was no trouble of body or soul that failed to awaken his sympathy.
While patriarch of Venice he was walking one day through one of the poorest quarters of the city when suddenly from a house at the end of a mean street arose the piercing cries of a child who was being cruelly beaten by its mother. The cardinal strode down the street and pulled the bell vigorously. A window opened overhead and from it appeared the head of a. woman, a regular virago, crimson with fury "Stop beating that child at once!" was the indignant mandate. The woman, astounded at seeing the patriarch standing on her doorstep, shut the window in confusion. For some time there was no more beating.
Anything like tyranny roused his instant indignation. When reports too circumstantial to be doubted reached him about the condition of certain Indian tribes in South America and of the atrocious treatment to which they were forced to submit, the bishops of the country were exhorted to do their utmost to put an end to what was nothing less than a cruel slavery. "Every day I receive fresh news of the persecution in Asia Minor and in Macedonia," he said one day sorrowfully at a private audience. "How many poor Christians are massacred! What cowardice and what barbarity are shown by this Sultan, who trembles with fright and begs that he may not be put to death, who is always whining 'I have never done anyone any harm!' He had in his palace a secret room in which he himself killed his victims, where only a week ago he put a young girl to death!" These were some of the sorrows that wrung the heart of him "who bore the care of all the churches."
All the calamities that befell the world awakened his sympathy, earthquakes, floods, fires, railway accidents . . . . The sufferers were comforted not only with kind words but with material help. Even the papers least favourable to the Church noticed his personal fatherly interest in the joys and sorrows of his people. His appeal to the charity of Catholics on the occasion of the Calabrian earthquake in 1908, which in a few moments totally destroyed Messina, Reggio, Sille and the surrounding villages, burying more than 100,000 people in the ruins, met with a magnificent response. The sum of 7 million francs which was generously offered served to supply the immediate needs of the survivors, who in many cases were left totally destitute.
But it was not only to make others give that Pius exerted himself; he gave himself to the utmost of his power. The day after the Messina disaster he sent people to investigate and report, to search out the victims most urgently in need of help and care and to bring them to Rome. Trainloads of sufferers arrived daily and were taken to the papal hospice of Santa Marta, the pope making himself responsible for over five hundred orphans. His Christlike compassion, his grand initiative and masterly organization of relief won a burst of praise in which even the anti-clerical syndic of Rome joined, while the nations of Europe expressed their admiration. "This pope, of whom it was said that his sole policy was the Gospel and the Creed, and his sole diplomacy the Ten Commandments, fired the imagination of the world by his apostolic fearlessness, his humility, his simplicity and single-minded faith."
"Who that has seen him," wrote Monsignor Benson, "can ever forget the extraordinary impression of his face and bearing, the kindness of his eyes, the quick sympathy of his voice, the overwhelming fatherliness that enabled him to bear not only his own supreme sorrows, but all the personal sorrow which his children laid on him in such abundance?" An irresistible impulse seemed to drive the suffering to seek his presence and to ask his prayers, and they seldom failed to find the help that they sought.
Perhaps it was his ardent desire to help and comfort pain of any kind, united with personal holiness and fervent prayer, that made the touch of his hand or even his blessing so strangely efficacious for healing. The wonderful graces obtained through the prayers and the touch ofIl santowere the talk of Rome; men and women who had seen the marvels with their own eyes bore witness to the facts.
Rumours of what was happening came to the ears of Catholics in other countries, and a young girl in England who had been reading the Acts of the Apostles was seized with a great desire to go to Rome. Her head and neck were covered with running sores which would not heal. The shadow of St. Peter falling on the sick, she said, had cured them; the shadow of his successor would cure her. Her mother took her to Rome, where both were present at a public audience. The pope passed slowly through the crowd, speaking a few words here and there as he went. To the kneeling girl he said nothing, but as he blessed her she felt that she was cured; and indeed, when on their return to the hotel her mother removed the bandages she found that the sores were completely healed.
More remarkable still because more public was the case of two Florentine nuns, both suffering from an incurable disease. They made the journey to Rome with great difficulty, and admitted to a private audience, they begged the pope to cure them. "Why do you want to be cured?" he asked.
"That we may work for God's glory," was the answer.
The pope laid his hands upon their heads and blessed them. "Have confidence," he said, "you will get well and will do much work for God's glory," and at the same moment they were restored to health. Pius bade them keep silence as to what had happened, but the facts spoke for themselves. At their entrance, the two nuns had hardly had strength to drag themselves along; at their exit they walked like strong and healthy women. Their cab driver, an unimaginative man of sturdy common sense, refused to take them back to their convent. "No," he said, "I will take back the two I brought or their dead bodies."
"But we are the two you brought," they insisted.
"No," repeated the vetturino, "the two I brought were half dead; you are not in the least like them."
At another public audience was a man who carried his little son, paralysed from birth and unable to stand. "Give him to me," said Pius; and taking the child on his knee, he began to talk to another group of pilgrims. A few minutes later the child slipped down from the pope's knee and began to run about the room.
That the touch of a holy man, or the garments he has worn, or even his shadow falling on the sick should have power to cure them, is vouched for by Holy Scripture.[*] "Perhaps so," say some, "but the age of miracles has passed." The age of miracles has not passed, nor will it ever while there is faith on the earth; for faith, as Jesus Christ Himself said, alone makes miracles possible. At Nazareth even His almighty power could not work them, because of the unbelief of the people. Where the age of faith has passed, the age of miracles has passed with it, but in the Church of Christ they both endure.
[*] Acts v 15 and vi 12; Matt. xiii 58.
More marvellous still than the graces obtained by the touch of Pius X were those obtained—sometimes at a great distance—by his blessing and his prayers.
In one of the convents of the Sacred Heart in Ireland was a young nun suffering from disease of the hip-bone. For eight months she had not put her left foot to the ground, as any weight on it caused acute pain. The disease was making rapid progress. In the October of 1912 the superioress of the convent, having heard of a cure obtained through the prayers and blessing of the Holy Father, determined to have recourse to him. She told a little girl of six, the daughter of the convent carpenter, to write to the pope, asking him to bless the dear Mother who was ill, and to pray for her. During the night of the 29th October the sick nun suddenly realized that the pain had entirely left the injured hip—so entirely that she was able to turn and lie on it. The next morning she sat up in bed and asked to be allowed to try to walk. She got up, made her bed and walked to the church, where she knelt for some time in prayer. It was then that she was told of the letter to the pope. "I did not know what had happened," she said, "all that I knew was that the pain was gone and that I could walk."
A railway worker had a boy of two who lay dangerously ill of meningitis. The doctor, who had given up all hope, asked the priest to break the news to the young parents, who at once cried out, "We will write to the pope! We used to go to confession to him at Mantua when we were children; bishop as he was, he used to hear the confessions of the poor." A letter was written and posted, and Pius wrote with his own hand several lines in reply, bidding the young couple pray and hope. On the following day the child had completely recovered.
These are only a few of the many graces obtained in the same way. The cure of a Redemptoristine nun in the acute stages of cancer by the application of a piece of stuff that had been worn by Pius X was borne witness to by Cardinal Vives y Tuto. The sudden return to life and speech of Don Rafael Merry del Val, father of the Cardinal Secretary of State, at the prayer of his wife who, when death was declared imminent, tried the same remedy; a French woman dying of heart disease, who denied the very existence of God, was not only healed by the pope's blessing, but reconciled to the Church and was henceforward a fervent Catholic: these are only a few more of the marvels wrought. Pope Pius did his best to hush the matter up. "I have nothing to do with it," he continually exclaimed; "it is the power of the keys."
"I hear that you are asantoand work miracles," said a lady one day, with more enthusiasm than tact.
"You have made a mistake in a consonant," replied the pope, laughing, "it is a 'Sarto' that I am." No less witty was his reply to a man who came to solicit a cardinal's hat for one of his friends. "But I cannot give your friend a cardinal's hat," said the Holy Father. "I am not a hatter, only a tailor" (sarto).
The Portuguese revolution in 1911 was a fresh heartbreak to the pope, for the Portuguese Republic was bitterly anti-Catholic and anti-clerical. The first action of its representatives was to expel the religious orders and to confiscate their buildings and belongings. This was done in the most brutal manner, nuns being driven off to prison after their convents had been looted and some of the inhabitants put to death. Many died of the privations endured, while others testified to the humanity of their gaolers by going mad. Religious instruction of any kind was prohibited in the government schools; priests were arrested and imprisoned; the Bishop of Oporto was driven from his diocese. The separation law of church and state fell more heavily on the Church in Portugal than even that of France, and its object was the elimination of the Christian faith from Portuguese society.
These things fell heavily on the heart of the Father of Christendom, who sorrowed with his sorrowing children, He protested against the injustice in his encyclical "Jamdudum in Lusitania," in which he set forth and condemned the oppressive measures of the republic. A touching letter of thanks expressed the gratitude of the persecuted clergy of Portugal for the pope's courageous protest. That some of the harshest features of the law seemed in a fair way to be relaxed during the years that followed was some small consolation to him.
In the spring of 1913 the health of the pope gave cause for anxiety, an attack of influenza which had greatly weakened him being followed by a relapse, with symptoms of bronchitis. From every part of the world came assurances of prayers and sympathy, while in Rome the anxiety felt by all lay like a weight on the city. But he made a quick recovery. He was not a good patient, and his doctors had the greatest difficulty in keeping him quiet. No sooner was he convalescent than he accused them of being tyrants, whose only idea was to make him waste the time that belonged to the Church. Over and over again they would find that in their absence he had disobeyed orders and received somebody or settled an urgent piece of business.
"Just think of our responsibility before the world!" said Dr. Amici one day to his recalcitrant patient. "Just think of mine before God," was the energetic answer, "if I do not take care of His Church!" They began to talk to him seriously, trying to make him promise to do as he was told. "Come, come," said he with his irresistible smile, "don't be cross; surely it is my interest to get well quite as much as it is yours to make me so."
During the winter before this illness Rosa Sarto, the pope's eldest sister, died. She had been with her brother nearly all his life, having gone at the age of seventeen to keep house for him when he was a curate at Tombolo, afterwards accompanying him to Salzano. During the years when he had been at Treviso and Mantua she had lived with her mother, until her death, after which she came to Venice with her two younger sisters and her niece. On Cardinal Sarto's election to the papacy the little group made their home in Rome in a small apartment not far from the Vatican, where they led a quiet life of charity and good works.
Those who went to pray beside the dead woman were equally struck by the humble surroundings and the peace that prevailed there. A small room, a common iron bedstead, a sweet, almost transparent old face framed in a plain white cap, violets scattered here and there over the body. The funeral took place at the church of St. Laurence-outside-the-Walls, and all the cardinals in Rome were present, together with a great crowd eager to do honour to one so near and dear to the Holy Father. Her brother alone could not be present. Following in spirit the funeral procession he knelt in his private oratory praying for the soul of his sister. Telegrams from every part of the world bore witness to the sympathy felt for the sorrow of the pope who had made the sorrows of the world his own. This demonstration of love and interest was a comfort to him in his grief and touched him deeply.
But a fresh blow was in store in the sufferings of his children in Mexico. Carranza had headed a revolution against Huerta, the president of the Mexican Republic, An ex-bandit named Villa, who was Carranza's chief supporter, soon turned against him and started a counter-revolution of his own, followed by a systematic persecution of religion. Many priests were forced to flee the country, ten bishops crossed into the United States to save their people from a favourite trick of the insurgents, who would arrest a bishop and, relying on the people's love of their pastor, then demand an exorbitant ransom. Horrible outrages followed; priests were shot, hanged or thrown into prison; churches were converted into barracks, the sacred vessels were carried off to the bar rooms as cups. The venerable Archbishop of Durango was compelled to sweep the streets; religious were shot for refusing to betray the hiding places of their brethren, while the fate of many of the nuns is not to be described. Although the revolutionary government set up a press bureau in the United States to deny these facts and fill the mails with calumnies against the Church, the truth became gradually known—not in all its entirety until after the pope's death—but enough to wring the brave old heart with a fresh pang of anguish . . . .
"Thesediaadvanced," wrote one who was present about this time at a service in St. Peter's, "bearing the pope aloft above the heads of the people. He was in a red cope and a high golden mitre. His face was sweet and sad; his soul, far away from all this show and splendour, seemed lost in the contemplation of the distance that separates the things of earth from the things of Heaven, while his hand moved from side to side in blessing. The sadness was so deeply engraved on that pensive face that it seemed as if no smile could ever lighten it; truly he bore on his shoulders the weight of the world's grief. Suddenly a movement in the crowd brought the procession to a halt; the thoughtful face was raised as if the pope had awakened from his contemplation; he bent forward. A smile of infinite sweetness and kindness, like a ray of sunshine in a winter sky, lit up for a moment those sad features, while beneath me I heard two Italians murmur, 'O Father, dear, dear old Father!'"
At the private consistory held in May 1914, Pius X, alluding to the consolation which had been afforded him by the celebration of the sixteenth centenary of the Peace of Constantine the year before, spoke words which in the light of later events might well have seemed prophetic.
"During these months," he said, "the Catholic world, while confirming its own faith, has presented to the suffering human race the Cross of Christ as the only source of peace. To-day more than ever is that peace to be desired, when class is set against class, nation against nation; when interior conflicts by their increasing bitterness not infrequently end in open hostility. The wisest and most experienced men are devoting themselves to the betterment of human society, trying to find some means of putting an end to the terrible massacres entailed by war, to secure for the world the benefits of lasting peace. Yet this excellent endeavour will remain almost or wholly barren if at the same time an attempt is not made to establish in the hearts of men the laws of justice and charity. The peace or the strife of civil society and of the state depend less on those who govern than on the people themselves. When the minds of men are shut out from divine revelation, no longer restrained by the discipline of the Christian law, what wonder if many, with blind desire, rush headlong down the road to ruin, persuaded by leaders who think of nothing but their own personal interests.
"The Church, made by her divine Founder the guardian of charity and of truth, is the only power capable of saving the world. Would it not then be better for the world, not only to allow her freely to fulfil her mission, but to help her to do so? It is the contrary that happens; the Church is too often looked upon as the enemy of the human race, when she is in reality the mother of civilization.
"Yet this need not surprise us; we know that after the example of her Founder, the Church, whose mission is to do good, is also destined to bear injustice and contempt. Divine help will never fail her, even in her darkest moments. Christ Himself has said it, history bears witness to the fact."
The Catholic world was busy at this time over preparation for the twenty-fifth national eucharistic congress, which was to be held at Lourdes from the 22nd to the 26th of July. The pope had appointed Cardinal Granito di Belmonte as legate to the congress, and his last pontifical brief was written on this subject. "Never," he wrote, "has Mary ceased to show that motherly love which till her last breath she poured forth so fully upon the bride that her divine Son purchased with His precious blood. It might indeed be said that her sole work was to care for the Christian people, to lead all minds to the love of Jesus and zeal in His service. May the divine Author and preserver of the Church look upon that noble part of His flock, which is afflicted to-day by so many calamities: may He stimulate the generous virtue and willingness of the good and, pouring out the fire of His love, revive the half-dead faith of those who now barely retain the name of Christian. This, in our fatherly love for the French people, we most earnestly ask of God through the Immaculate Virgin."
The congress was one of the greatest that has ever been held. Every country, even the furthest, could boast its representative. Never, it was said, had men of so many nations been seen together in one place; the confusion of tongues was like Babel. Clergy and lay folk of every age, rank and race came flocking from every quarter, all moved by one impulse—devotion to Jesus Christ in the Blessed Sacrament.
It was scarcely more than three weeks before the opening of this congress when the news of the murder at Serajevo of the Austrian Archduke Francis Ferdinand and his wife came like a thunder-clap upon the world. Serbia was at once accused by Austria of complicity in the crime, and a drastic note, to be answered within forty-eight hours, was presented for her acceptance. Of the policy which caused this move, and of the powers behind it, this is not the place to speak.
The pope, to whom the text of the Note was officially communicated by the Austro-Hungarian government, foresaw clearly the catastrophe that must follow. The papal nuncios received instructions to do all in their power to avert an international conflict, but it was too late to prevent the calamity; all efforts were in vain. By midnight on August 4, the eleventh anniversary of the pope's election, Austria, Serbia, Russia, Germany, Belgium, France and Great Britain were at war.
The blow fell crushingly on the pope, whose heart was heavy with the thought of all the sufferings that war would bring in its train. The representative of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy asked him in the emperor's name to bless the armies of the dual empire. "I bless peace, not war," was the stern reply.[*]
[*] This story is quite in keeping with Pius X's character, but the evidence for its factual truth is not altogether satisfactory.
The exhortation to the Catholics of the world, published in theOsservatore Romanoof the 2nd of August, was a touching expression of the Holy Father's sorrow: "While nearly all Europe is being dragged into the whirlpool of a most deadly war, of whose dangers, bloodshed and consequences no one can think without grief and alarm, we too cannot but be anxious and feel our soul rent by the most bitter grief for the safety and lives of so many citizens and so many peoples for whose welfare we are supremely solicitous. Amid this tremendous upheaval and danger we deeply feel and realize that our fatherly charity and our apostolic ministry demand that we direct men's minds to Him from whom alone help can come, to Christ, the Prince of Peace, and man's all-powerful Mediator with God. Therefore we exhort the Catholics of the whole world to turn confidently to His throne of grace and mercy; let the clergy lead the way by their example and by appointing special prayer in their parishes, under the order of the bishops, that God may be moved to pity, and may remove as soon as possible the disastrous torch of war and inspire the rulers of the nations with thoughts of peace and not of affliction."
When the pope appeared to bless the crowds gathered in the Cortile di San Damaso on the same day, it was noticed that an expression of the deepest sadness replaced the usual kind smile of welcome. "My poor children! My poor children!" he exclaimed sorrowfully as despatch after despatch confirmed the rumours of fresh mobilizations. All the bishops who visited him during those sad days were urged to start a crusade of prayer in their dioceses to avert the impending disaster. Groups of pilgrims were received during the week, but blessed in silence; no public address was given by the pope: the awful burden of the world's tragedy weighed too heavily on his heart. Night and day he prayed and suffered, trying to think of some way of bringing peace out of the conflict.
The rumour that the pope was ill was spread about on the feast of the Assumption. As a matter of fact, he was merely feeling indisposed, and had suspended his usual audiences. His doctor, usually inclined to be over-careful, and his sisters, always over-anxious, looked on his illness as of no importance, and evinced not the slightest anxiety.
On Tuesday, the 17th of August, as the Cardinal Secretary of State, himself unwell, was unable to go to his usual daily audience, the pope sent him a message assuring him that he was all right. "Dica al Cardinale," he said, "che stia bene, perche quando sta male lui, sto male io!"[*] His sisters saw him on the Tuesday evening, and went home after leaving a message for the cardinal that the Holy Father was doing well, and would be all right in the morning. He had been at his writing-table as usual, and had received a Franciscan friar, who left him without any idea that he was ill. During the night of Wednesday, the 18th, he became very much worse, and at eight o'clock in the morning was declared to be seriously ill, though the doctor had not given up all hope. A few hours later it was announced that the pope was dying.
[*] "Tell the cardinal to get well, for when he is ill I am ill too."
Those of the cardinals who could be present, hastily summoned, knelt around him, unable to restrain their tears. The pope lay, or rather sat, propped up with pillows and breathing with difficulty; his sisters were by his side, a Brother of St. John of God in attendance as nurse. The last consecutive words he had spoken were to his confessor; "I resign myself completely," he said, after which his answers to the prayers grew fainter and fainter until they ceased altogether.
"One was not conscious of time and it was all unreal," wrote one who was present. "Suddenly the deep notes of St. Peter's great bell boomed out, tolling 'pro pontifice agonizzante,' and at that signal Exposition began in all the patriarchal basilicas, with special prayers. The hotscirocco, the buzz from the Piazza San Pietro far below, whispering prelates and attendants, the boom of the bell—how strange it all seemed; and behind everything the catastrophe of the present public situation and war."
So the hours of the afternoon wore on into the night. The pope could not speak, but he recognized those who approached him, received the clasp of their hands with an answering pressure, raised his own to bless them, and from time to time made slowly on his brow and breast a long sign of the cross. At a little after 1.15 a.m., in deepest peace and calm, Pius X passed away.
He died as he had lived, quietly and simply; and few strangers, had they seen the plain, austerely furnished bedroom where he lay, majestic in death, could have believed that this was the death-chamber of a pope. Opposite the bed, which was surrounded by four great candles, stood an altar, where from the small hours of the morning Mass succeeded Mass; two Noble Guard were on duty beside the dead pontiff. The grief felt for his loss was deep and universal; cardinals, prelates, servants, all sorts and conditions of men, wept openly as they went about their duties. Diplomats expressed in heartfelt accents to Cardinal Merry del Val their admiration, veneration and love for the saintly pope who had passed away. "The whitest soul in this blood-stained tempest-torn world has left us," wrote an Italian prelate to a friend. "The Holy Father has died of a broken heart," said another.
The body of the pope lay in state in the Sala del Trono and afterwards was carried to St. Peter's, where it was placed in the chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, raised aloft and visible to the crowd. A continuous stream of people passed through the basilica, getting thicker and thicker as the day went on. Pius X had asked that he might be buried in the crypt of St. Peter's, absolutely forbidding the embalming of his body. His wish was carried out on the 23rd of August.
"The will of the Holy Father," said one of the cardinals, "is the will of a saint." Opening with an invocation of the Blessed Trinity and an expression of confidence in the mercy of Almighty God, it continued thus: "I was born poor, I have lived poor, and I wish to die poor." A sum not exceeding £12 a month was left to his sisters, and 48s. a month to his valet, while a legacy of £400 was bequeathed to his nephews and nieces, subject to the approval of the next pope. The maintenance of 400 orphans, victims of the Messina earthquake of 1908 and undertaken by the Holy Father, was also provided for.
"Pius X has left his mark on the world," wrote Monsignor Benson inThe Tabletof August 29th, "perhaps more than any pontiff of the last four centuries. That humble cry of sorrow, which, we are told, broke from him only a few days ago when he deplored his impotence to check the madness of Europe, indeed witnessed to the great historical lesson that those who reject the arbitration of Christ's Vicar and the elementary principles of Christian justice will surely reap—indeed are already reaping—the bitter fruits of disobedience; but along other lines he has done more than any predecessor of his since the days of that great schism to reconcile by love those who throw over authority; and the secret of it all lies in exactly that which he would be the last to recognize—namely, the personal holiness and devotion of his own character . . . .
"It is a wonderful consolation to realize how, for the first time perhaps for centuries, the Shepherd of the flock has succeeded in making his voice heard, and a part, at least, of his message intelligible among the sheep that are not of his fold. Pontiff after pontiff has spoken that same message, and pontiff after pontiff has been, without the confines of his own flock, little more than a voice crying in the wilderness. Now, for the first time, partly no doubt through the breaking down of obstinate prejudice, but chiefly through the particular accents of the voice that spoke and the marvellous personality of the speaker, that message has become audible, and Pius X has succeeded where diplomacy and even sanctity of another complexion have failed. Men have recognized the transparent love of the Pastor where they have been deaf to the definitions of the Pontiff; they have at any rate paused to listen to the appeals of their Father, when they have turned away from the authority of theRector mundi."
Nor was it the Catholic press alone that paid tribute to the holy life and noble aims of the dead pope. "All men who hold sincere and personal holiness in honour," saidThe Times, "will join with the Roman Catholic Church in her mourning for the Pontiff she has lost. The policy of Pius X has had many critics, not all of them outside the Church he ruled, but none has ever questioned the transparent honesty of his convictions or refused admiration for his priestly virtues. Sprung from the people, he loved and understood them as only a good parish priest can do. That was the secret of the love which he won amongst them from the first, and which at Venice made him a great popular power. Not that he ever courted popularity; he taught them as one having authority and could insist upon obedience. But the Roman Church mourns in him something more than a saintly priest and a great bishop; in him she also deplores a great pope. In the spheres of church politics his reign has witnessed grievous disasters. It has seen the separation of church and state in France and in Portugal, and the whole process of 'dechristianizing' national and social life, of which that measure was the symbol. Unprejudiced judges cannot blame a pope for rejecting all compromise with a policy which, on the admission of its authors, was deliberately aimed at the destruction of the faith which it was his mission to uphold. Compromise, it has been said, ought to have been possible, but there are principles which Rome cannot waive or abate. Pius X conceived that such principles were jeopardized in all the accommodations with the new system which were suggested to him. It was no light thing for him to impose upon the faithful clergy of France and of Portugal a course which brought to them the loss of their revenues, their homes, and even of all legal right in their churches. But his decision was to him not a question of expediency, but of right and wrong. He gave it in accordance with the dictates of his conscience, and the wonderful obedience which the priests whom it impoverished have shown to his commands has filled with a just pride his children throughout the world . . . . His reform of church music was in the main a return to the pure and noble manner of the best masters of the sixteenth century . . . . His zeal for establishing the true text of the Vulgate—the 'authorized version' of Latin Christianity—illustrates in yet another field the plain practical nature of his mind . . . . The sweeping condemnation of 'Modernism' was the most conspicuous act of his pontificate within the domain of dogma. It was a consequence of his position and of his character as inevitable as his repudiation of compromise with the secularism of M. Combe or M. Briand. Few persons familiar with the elementary doctrines of the Roman Church could suppose that the tendencies of the new school were compatible with them. To the downright plain sense of the pope the desperate efforts of men who had explained away the content of historical Christianity to present themselves as orthodox Roman Catholics were simply disingenuous …. The elevation of Giuseppe Sarto to the most ancient and most venerable throne in Europe is a striking illustration of the democratic side of the Roman Church to which she has largely owed her power . . . . The story is not without its lessons for statesmen and for educationists. The Church did not attempt universal education, but by her monastic schools, her bursaries and her seminaries she set up a ladder leading to the most exalted of all her dignities for the most fit. It was long since a peasant's son had won the Triple Crown. In this, as in so much besides, the reign of Pope Pius X was a return to the past."
In the crypt of St. Peter's the then last pope, who was a peasant, was laid close to the sepulchre of the First, who was a fisherman. This was the inscription on his tomb: