Spirit Of Father Ignatius At This Time.
So much has to be said about the exterior actions of Father Ignatius,
that one is apt, in reading them, to forget the spirit in which they
were done. It is true that it is by the nature of the actions
themselves a judgment can be formed of what that spirit must have
been, but then they are liable to a false construction.
He was chiefly remarkable for his spirit of poverty. It was not alone
that he loved poverty, and tried to observe his vow, but he refined
this observance to an exquisite degree, by trying to treat himself and
get others to treat him like a mean beggar. He wished to feel poverty,
and sought hardships in things that were easy enough, for that end.
When he went by train he always took a third-class ticket, and was
most ingenious in his defence of this proceeding. If some one objected
to him that the third-class carriages generally contained rough, low,
ill-bred, and coarsely-spoken fellows, he gently answered: "Yes; you
may find a thick sprinkling of blackguards there." "Whether or no," he
would say again, "the third class is the poor man's class, and it
ought to be mine." One time he was expected to preach a grand sermon
in some town or other; the lord of the manor, a Catholic, ordered his
carriage, with livery servants, and came himself to bring him in state
to the priest's house. He waited for the good father on the platform,
looking at the doors of the different first-class carriages, and
condescending to give a glance or two towards the second. What was his
surprise when Father Ignatius, habit and sandals and a', got out of a
third. "My dear Father Ignatius," he half indignantly exclaimed, "why
do _you_ travel by {381} third class?" "Well," replied Father
Ignatius, "because there isn't a fourth."
This idea that he was a poor man and ought to live like one he carried
out in everything. He might be generally seen with a large blue bag.
This bag was not of a respectable make or durable material; no, it was
made of some kind of drogget, like an ordinary sack, and had a thick
clumsy tape that gathered in the mouth of it, and closed it with a big
knot. When he had a long journey before him he brought a pair of
these, and tying them together put the knot upon his shoulder, and
would trudge off six or seven miles with one dangling in front and
another behind. If somebody offered him a seat in a car or wagon, he
gladly accepted it; if not, he did without it. On this same principle
he seldom refused a meal when out; and if he wanted something to eat,
he generally went and begged for it at the first house he came to. At
home he usually washed and mended his underclothing and stockings (the
stockings, by the way, would have blistered the hardest foot after his
mending), and whilst he was Superior he would never allow anyone to do
a menial service for him. He had a great dread of the slightest
attempt at over-nicety in a priest's dress; it was anguish to him to
see a priest, especially a religious, with kid gloves, neat shoes, or
a fashionable hat. His own appearance might be put down as one degree
short of slovenliness. Be it remembered that this was not his natural
bent. We are told by those who knew him when a young man, that he
would walk a dozen streets in London, and enter every hosier's shop,
to find articles that would suit his taste in style and fitting; it
had been almost impossible to please him in this respect; whereas,
when a religious, he would as soon wear a cast-off tartan as anything
else, if it did not tend to bring a kind of disrespect upon his order.
He wore for several years an old mantle belonging to a religious who
died, and would never leave it off as long as there was room for
another patch upon it, unless the Provincial gave him strict orders to
do so.
He was scrupulously exact in fulfilling the rules and regulations of
the Congregation, so much so that even in {382} those cases in which
others would consider themselves dispensed, he would go through
everything. It is our rule to chant the entire of the Divine Office in
choir; the rector is supposed to give a homily or two, called
_examens_, every week to the religious. When there is not a sufficient
number to chant, of course no law human or divine would require us to
do so; and if there be not a congregation, one is not expected, in the
ordinary course of things, to preach to empty benches. Father Ignatius
was as keenly aware of the common-sense drift of this kind of
reasoning as any one could be, but he so overcame the promptings of
human considerations, that a literal observance, in the face of such
plain exceptions, seemed his ordinary way of acting. There are two
instances in point that occurred about the year 1849. The two priests
who formed the choir of the community at The Hyde remained in bed one
night, either from illness or late attendance at sick-calls, and
Father Ignatius was the only priest present. He chanted the whole of
matins and lauds by himself, and went through it as formally as if
there were twenty religious in choir. Another day the priests were
out, and he and two lay brothers only remained at home; he preached
them the _examen_ just the same as if the choir was full. Another time
the alarum that used to go off at one o'clock, at that time for
matins, missed. Father Ignatius awoke at three o'clock, and he
immediately sprung the rattle and assembled the religious for matins.
At half-past four the night work in choir was over: half-past five was
then the hour of rising for prime. Father Ignatius kept them all in
choir until the time, and had the bells rung, and everything else in
due order. This does not argue a kind of unreasoning observance in
him, out of time and out of place. On the contrary, he well knew that
it was inconvenient, but he thought God would be more glorified by it
than by an exemption from what was prescribed. One anecdote he used to
relate to us convinced us of that. He often related with particular
tact how once in Aston Hall, Father Dominic did not hear the bell for
matins. He awoke at half-past two; everything was still. He went and
sounded the rattle with a vengeance, {383} as if every sound was meant
to say, "I'll give a good penance to the brother that forgot to put up
the alarum." When he had done sounding he dropped the instrument at
the choir door, and went in with a taper to light the lamps. What was
his mortification to find all the religious just concluding their
meditation with a smothered laugh at their Superior.
Two other tokens of his spirit at this time must be illustrated
together. He was a very cool reasoner; it might almost be said that he
scarcely ever grew hot in dispute, and always gave his adversary's
arguments due consideration. At the same time he was far from being of
a sceptical cast of mind. If an argument approved itself to him, no
matter how trifling it might be intrinsically, he felt bound to admit
it, and adopt it, if practical, unless he could refute it completely.
Again, he had a thorough disregard of human respect. "What will people
say?" or "How will it look?" never entered into the motives of his
actions; and if it did, he would consider himself bound to go straight
and defy them. What did he care about the opinion of the world? It
was, he knew, seldom led by sound reason, and therefore beneath his
consideration.
He found that the Oratorians began to go about in their _soutanes_; he
had a talk with Father Faber about it, and forthwith resolved to go
about in his habit. Cardinal Wiseman approved of it, if done with
prudence, and Father Ignatius began at once. In a letter to Mr.
Monteith he says:--"I court the honour of following the Oratorians
close in this" (confining ourselves to the work of our vocation), as I
have done likewise in beginning to wear the habit." He used to relate
an amusing adventure he once had in a train with his habit on. At a
certain station a middle-aged gentleman, with his little daughter,
were getting into the carriage which Father Ignatius had to himself,
as every one shunned his monkish company. The little girl got afraid,
and would not enter. The gentleman bravely ventured in, to set an
example to his child, but all to no avail,--the girl was still afraid.
At last the man said out loud, "Come on, child; the gentleman won't
bite!" meaning Father Ignatius. {384} The child summed up courage when
she heard the paternal assurance of safety to her skin, and got to a
seat. She bundled herself up in the corner diagonally opposite the
monk, tried to appear as near the invisible as she could, and stared
wildly on the strange spectacle for a long time. Her father got into
conversation with Father Ignatius, began deciphering the badge by
means of all the Greek and Latin he could bring to his assistance, and
became quite interested in the genial conversation of the good priest.
When the child heard her father laugh, she began to edge up near the
stranger, and, before they separated, father and child were convinced
that monks were not such frightful things as they appeared at first
sight. We shall have other adventures to relate about his habit
further on.
Another peculiar characteristic of his spirit was his great devotion
to the Blessed Virgin. He set more value on a Hail Mary than any
conceivable form of prayer. He went so far in this, that he had to be
reasoned out of its excess afterwards by one of his companions. He did
everything by Hail Marys; he would convert England by Hail Marys; and
in the year 1850 he obtained a plenary indulgence for the three Hail
Marys for the conversion of England. When any one asked him to pray
for them, he promised a Hail Mary. This was very praiseworthy in him,
as we know how hard it is even for some to go heart and soul into the
Catholic instinct of devotion to the Mother of God. They must have
their qualifications, and their terms, and their conditions, as if,
forsooth, she ought to be obliged to them for acknowledging her
privileges at all. The worst of it is, that Catholics often tone down
their books of devotion and expressions to suit the morbid tastes of
ultra-Protestants, or the fastidiousness of some whitewashed Puseyite.
It may be thought prudent to do so; but it is disgraceful, mean, and
dishonourable, to say the least of it.
These are the most prominent outlines in Father Ignatius's spirit at
the time we are writing about, and if we add to them a great devotion
to the sacrifice of the mass, we shall have his soul in a fair way
before us. He never missed celebrating, if he possibly could; and
often he arrived at {385}
11 o'clock in the day at one of our houses, after travelling all
night, and would eat nothing until he had first said mass. A month
before he died he travelled all night from Glasgow to London, and said
mass in Highgate at 11 o'clock. He was jaded, weak in health, but he
would not lose one sacrifice: it was of too great a value, and he had
received too many favours through it, to omit it on light grounds.
This was a life-long devotion of his, and it is the essential one for
a priest of God.
From what has been said, we can form a fair estimate of his character
as a Passionist. One is so obvious that it requires no mention at all,
and that was his zeal for the conversion and sanctification of souls.
So far did this go, that he seemed led by it blindly and wholly. This
was his weak, or, perhaps more properly, his strong point. Go with him
in that, and you covered a multitude of sins.
Another essential was his "thanking God for everything." This he
carried so far that he became perfectly insensible to insults,
mockeries, and injuries, and yet he felt them keenly. At one time he
used to pass late at night by a lonesome lane that led to our last
house at The Hyde. He heard rumours of some evil-disposed wretches
having intended to shoot him. One night he heard a rustling in the
hedge as he was walking on, and the thought struck him that perhaps an
assassin was lying in ambush for him. The religious asked him what
were his thoughts. "Well," said he, "I hoped that when the bullet
struck me I would have time to say, _'thank God for that'_ before I
died."
From this rough sketch of his spirit it will be seen that he had too
little of the serpent, in the Gospel sense, to make a good Superior.
He was too simple and confiding for that; he did not know how to
suspect, and any one that knew how to get into his views could do what
he pleased. At the same time, all reverenced him as a saint, and every
day of his religious life increased the estimation in which he was
held by his own brethren. This is the more valuable as it is the
private life of most men which lowers them in the eyes of those who
have the opportunity of observing them. Father Ignatius tried always
to make the subject-matter of {386} his conversation as edifying as
possible; it was withal so beautifully interspersed with amusing
anecdotes, that it could not fail to interest all. He had a peculiar
tact for relating stories, and a wonderful memory; he was unrivalled
in his power of mimicry, and he enjoyed fun with the greatest relish.
It was the opinion of every one who knew him intimately, that nothing
came under his notice which he could not turn to pointing the argument
of a sermon or furthering the glory of God. He christianized
everything; and did so with such grace, that the love of what he
remodelled was increased for its new aspect.
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