The Last Illness and Death of St. Pius X

Were it not for these worthy doctors, and could I have my own way, I should be up and about long since,' is what he cheerily repeated during the days he spent in bed. Often did I see him start up energetically from his pillow to sign a document that I presented to him and exclaim with a smile and his hand firmly extended: 'Eminence, you see my hand does not shake,' and thereupon proceed to append his signature with his habitual energy.

On his return to his usual life he seemed to be very much better in health than I had seen him for many a year. His activity increased. He appeared to have acquired renewed vigour and almost to have thrown off something of the burden of age. The enforced rest had been obviously a blessing in disguise and there was every reason for supposing that he would be spared for several years ahead. 

And so did he continue until August, 1914, up to the outbreak of the Great War. How deeply he was affected by the fearful tragedy it is difficult to say. As I have already related, he had long foreseen and explicitly foretold the advent of the European conflict. The horror and pain that overwhelmed him when it actually broke out was intense. Day and night the awful spectacle of the appalling struggle haunted his mind together with the forecast of all the suffering and anguish that must inevitably follow in its train.

The invasion of Belgium and the news of the first battles filled him with the bitterest grief. He feverishly awaited the documentary evidence of all the facts in order to trace his definite line of action and to enable him to raise his fearless voice in the defence of the sacred principles of justice and of peace. The Master's call came before he had time to do more than issue a preliminary exhortation which bears the date of August 2.

After the feast of the Assumption, August 15, the Holy Father showed signs of a slight catarrhal indisposition; but neither he himself nor those in attendance attributed importance to a trifling disorder apparently due chiefly if not exclusively to the excessive heat of a trying summer. I myself was somewhat poorly, and on Tuesday, August 18, feeling unable to go up that morning to dispatch business with the Holy Father, I deputed Monsignor Canali, the Substitute of the Secretariate, to submit to His Holiness one or two more urgent matters I had in hand. He returned with the report that the Pope did not reveal any symptoms of sickness and a personal message from him that there was nothing much amiss. Tell the Cardinal,' were his words, to get well, for when he is ill I am ill, too.' His doctors, ever watchful and inclined to take no risks. made light of his indisposition and after prescribing a very ordinary remedy expressed their conviction that a day would suffice to set him right. His sisters, usually over-anxious whenever they detected the smallest sign of an ailment, were not in the least disturbed at this stage. They went out of their way to let me know that there was nothing to worry about and that I should find the Holy Father quite well the next morning.

No one has been able to account for the sudden change that occurred during the following night. Monsignor Bressan, the Pope's devoted chaplain, who slept in an adjoining room and within hearing, only noticed that the Holy Father was rather restless and nothing more. However, as he failed to rise at the usual hour, Monsignor Bressan went to him and found him feverish and in pain. The doctors were immediately summoned. On examination they discovered that the Holy Father's lungs were congested and they pronounced him to be very seriously ill. About eight o'clock they came down to give me this news. Their report fairly staggered me, for I realized at once the full gravity of the case and the danger of heart failure. I told Doctor Marchiafava that I considered that the end was at hand. In my opinion the Holy Father was suffering far too much under the strain of impressions caused by public events to offer prolonged resistance in the face of serious illness. Though inclined to think me somewhat pessimistic the doctors diagnosed the case as exceedingly grave but not desperate and still withheld their final verdict.

The announcement that Pius X lay dangerously ill spread quickly throughout the town and people of all classes flocked to the Vatican for news. Many who only a few days since had seen him in excellent health could not bring themselves to believe that he was dying. At ten o'clock a severe crisis ensued. I hurried to the Holy Father's bedside and found him gasping for breath. The doctors had been called back and were applying every possible remedy, with the assistance of a Brother of St. John of God. The moment he saw me he clasped my hand firmly. 'Eminenza! . . . Eminenza!' was all he said. The imminent danger of a fatal collapse made it imperative to give him the Sacraments without further delay. The last consecutive words I heard from his lips were: 'I resign myself completely.' Shortly after that he lost all power of speech, though perfectly conscious, and looking intelligently from one to the other he manifested beyond doubt that he realized his condition.

The Holy Viaticum and Extreme Unction were administered to him by Monsignor Sacrista in the simplest form possible. On a little table by the bedside, covered with a white cloth, a crucifix and two lighted candles were the only evidence of ceremony. I could not help thinking that after all Pius X was receiving the last rites of the Church in the way most congenial to him and that he must be glad to avoid the publicity and solemnity which usually surround the death-bed of a Pontiff. It was not unlike the scene one might have witnessed in the humblest cottage of a dying labourer, without pomp or splendour of any kind. His devoted sisters stood by in tearful silence; but we were very few, owing to the suddenness of all that had happened. Very graphically has this moment been described in the following words: One was not conscious of time and it was all unreal. Suddenly the deep notes of St. Peter's great bell boomed out, tolling pro Pontifice agonizante, and at that signal Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament began in all the patriarchal Basilicas with special prayers. The hot sirocco, 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.'

There is no ground for the statement made occasionally that during the preceding weeks the Holy Father's health had caused us anxiety, and in support of what I have already said in this respect I may add that most of the cardinals were away from Rome for their summer vacation. Indeed had it not been for the outbreak of the war, I myself should have gone to Monte Mario, at a short distance from the Vatican, as the Pope so kindly urged upon me to do each year, after the anniversary of his coronation on August 9.

We lost no time in informing the few cardinals still in residence of His Holiness' precarious condition and they hastened to the Palace in great anxiety, the first to come being Cardinal Bisleti. Telegrams were despatched from the Secretariate of State to the members of the Sacred College, and Cardinal Della Volpe, the Camerlengo, arrived in Rome the following morning. 

The energetic measures adopted by the doctors produced their result and the Holy Father rallied considerably. All through the day he remained half sitting, propped up with pillows, perfectly calm and peaceful. No further crisis occurred to disturb the serenity of his countenance; no gesture of agitation or complaint ever escaped him. Though unable to speak, he recognized those around him and from time to time he slowly made the sign of the cross. The long summer day wore on interminably whilst we sat in the adjoining room within sight of his bed, in order to leave him as much air as possible, and we watched through the seemingly endless hours for his passage to eternity.

About eleven at night, I stepped into his room, noiselessly I thought, from the opposite side to the one towards which he was reclining. But he immediately turned his head and his piercing look followed me whilst I went slowly round the foot of the bed. As I approached he raised an arm to welcome me and when I sat down quite near to him, he seized my hand and held it in his grasp with a vigour that astonished me. He then gazed intently at me and his eyes were riveted on mine. How I longed to read his thoughts at that moment and to hear his voice whilst we looked so steadfastly at each other! What was it he was endeavouring to convey in those eyes that seemed to speak? Was he recalling the long years I had spent in familiar intercourse with him and all we had endured together? Was he trying to comfort me with a last message in the grief I strove in vain to conceal? 

He held me thus motionless for nearly forty minutes. From time to time he loosened his grasp to caress me and then again took up my hand in his.

At last he let his head sink back wearily upon the pillow and his eyes closed. He seemed to have bidden me farewell. Never shall I forget the scene of our parting. It is as vividly before me now as it was on that memorable night, when I found myself repeating the words of St. Lawrence which we had read in the Breviary a few days previously: Quo progrederis sine filio, pater? quo sacerdos sancte sine ministro properas?

Shortly afterwards Doctor Marchiafava, who was in the next room, writing out the last official bulletin of the Pope's condition, beckoned me to his side, and to my surprise requested me to assist him in drawing up the text. On my asking him how I could possibly be of the slightest use in a matter regarding which I was obviously incompetent, the doctor replied that I had mistaken his meaning; he did not call upon me to assist him in framing the technical report, but merely to suggest a word that would give an idea at all events of the extraordinary serenity of the Holy Father's attitude in the face of death. Look at him,' he said, 'is he not truly wonderful?'

Towards midnight I was prevailed upon to go and rest awhile, being assured that His Holiness would still live on for several hours. An hour later a message came for me to hurry back, but before I could reach his bedside Pius X had gently passed away and his beautiful soul was with God.

From Memoirs of St. Pius X, by Cardinal Merry del Val