Father Ignatius At Home.
The work of the little missions kept Father Ignatius very much away
from the community. His visits at home were like meteor flashes,
bright and beautiful, and always made us regret we could not enjoy his
edifying company for a longer time. Those who are much away on the
external duties of the Order find the rule a little severe when they
return; to Father Ignatius it seemed a small heaven of refreshing
satisfaction. His coming home was usually announced to the community a
day or two before, and all were promising themselves rare treats from
his presence amongst them. It was cheering to see the porter run in,
beaming with joy, as he announced the glad tidings, "Father Ignatius
is come." The exuberance of his own delight as he greeted, first one,
and then another of his companions, added to our own joy. In fact, the
day Father Ignatius came home almost became a holiday by custom. Those
days were; and we feel inclined to tire our readers by expatiating on
them, as if writing brought them back.
Whenever he arrived at one of our houses, and had a day or two to
stay, it was usual for the younger religious, such as novices and
students, to go to him, one by one, for conference. He liked this very
much, and would write to higher Superiors for permission to turn off
to Broadway, for instance, on his way to London, in order to make
acquaintance with the young religious. His counsels had often a
lasting effect; many who were inclined to leave the life they had
chosen remained steadfast, after a conference with him. He did not
give common-place solutions to difficulties, but he had some peculiar
phrase, some quaint axiom, some droll {470} piece of spirituality, to
apply to every little trouble that came before him. He was specially
happy in his fund of anecdote, and could tell one, it was believed, on
any subject that came before him. This extraordinary gift of
conversational power made the _Conferences_ delightful. The novices,
when they assembled in recreation, and gave their opinions on Father
Ignatius, whom many had spoken to for the first time in their life,
nearly all would conclude, "If there ever was a saint, he's one."
It was amusing to observe how they prepared themselves for forming
their opinion. They all heard of his being a great saint, and some
fancied he would eat nothing at all for one day, and might attempt a
little vegetables on the next. One novice, in particular, had made up
his mind to this, and, to his great surprise, he saw Father Ignatius
eat an extra good breakfast; and, when about to settle into a rash
judgment, he saw the old man preparing to walk seven miles to a
railway station on the strength of his meal. Another novice thought
such a saint would never laugh nor make anybody else laugh; to his
agreeable disappointment, he found that Father Ignatius brought more
cheerfulness into the recreation than had been there for some time.
In one thing Father Ignatius did not go against anticipation; he was
most exact in the observance of our rules. He would be always the
first in for the midnight office. Many a time the younger portion of
the community used to make arrangements overnight to be in before him,
but it was no use. Once, indeed, a student arrived in choir before
him, and Father Ignatius appeared so crestfallen at being beaten that
the student would never be in before him again, and might delay on the
way if he thought Father Ignatius had not yet passed. He seemed
particularly happy when he could light the lamps or gas for matins. He
was childlike in his obedience. He would not transgress the most
trifling regulation. It was usual with him to say, "I cannot
understand persons who say, 'Oh, I am all right if I get to
Purgatory.' We should be more generous with Almighty God. I don't
intend to go to Purgatory, and if I do, I must know what for." "But,
Father Ignatius," a father would say, {471} "we fall into so many
imperfections that it seems presumption to attempt to escape scot
free." "Well," he would reply, "nothing can send us to Purgatory but a
wilful venial sin, and may the Lord preserve us from such a thing as
that; a religious ought to die before being guilty of the least wilful
fault." We saw from this that he could scarcely imagine how a
religious could do so, or, at least, that he was very far from the
like himself.
One time we were speaking about the Italian way of pronouncing Latin,
which we have adopted; he noticed some imperfections, and one of the
Italian Fathers present remarked a few points in which Father Ignatius
himself failed. One of them was, that he did not pronounce the letter
_r_ strong enough; and another, that he did not give a its full sound
when it came in the middle of a word. For some time it was observed
that he made a most burring sound when he pronounced an _r_, and went
so far in correcting himself in the other particular as to sin against
prosody. Sometimes he would forget little rubrics, but if any one told
him of a mistake, he was scarcely ever seen to commit it again.
Whenever he had half an hour to spare he wrote letters. We may form an
idea of his achievements in this point, when he tells us in the
Journal that on two days which remained free to him once he wrote
seventy-eight. A great number of his letters are preserved. They are
very entertaining and instructive; a nice vein of humour runs through
all those he wrote to his familiar friends.
These two letters may be looked upon as the extremes of the sober and
humorous style in his letter-writing:--
"When I used to call on you, you seemed to be tottering, as one
might say, on your last legs. Here you are, after so many years,
without having ever seen health or prosperity, and with about as
much life in you as then, to all appearance. All has been, all is,
and all will be, exactly as it pleases God. This is the truth, the
grand truth, I would almost say the whole and only truth. There may
be, and are, plenty of things besides, which may be truly affirmed,
yet this is the whole of what it concerns us each to know. For if
this is once well understood, of course it follows that we {472}
have but one affair to attend to, that is, to please God; because
then, to a certainty, all the past, present, and future will be
found to be perfectly and absolutely ordered for our own greatest
good. If this one point be well studied, I think we can steer people
easily enough out of all low spirits and melancholy. Many people can
see the hand of God over them in wonderful mercy in their past
history, and so be brought to a knowledge that their anxieties, and
afflictions, and groans, in those bygone days were unreasonable
then. "Why do they not learn to leave off groaning over the present
troubles? Because they do not trust God to manage anything right
till they have examined His work, and understood all about it. But
He, will be more honoured if we agree with Him, and approve of what
He does before we see what the good is which is to come of it. In
your case, if we go back to the days when I first saw you at ----,
when your father was in a good way of work, and you were in health,
there was the prospect then, I suppose, before you of getting well
settled in the world; and if all had continued smooth and
prosperous, you might now be a rich merchant's wife in Birmingham,
London, or New York, reckoned the ornament of a large circle of
wealthy friends, &c. But might there not, perhaps, have been written
over you as your motto? _Wo to you rich, for you have received your
consolation. Wo to you that laugh now for you shall mourn and weep_.
You may be disposed to answer, you do not think you would have been
spoiled by prosperity. But if you are more or less troubled or
anxious at being in poverty, sickness, or adversity, it shows that
you would be, just in the same measure, unable to bear prosperity
and health unhurt. Wealth and prosperity are dangerous to those only
who love them and trust in them. If, when you are in adversity, you
are sorry for it, and wish for prosperity, it shows love for this
world's goods, more or less. And if a person loves them when he has
them not, is it likely he would despise them if he had them? God
saves multitudes by poverty and afflictions in spite of themselves.
The same poverty and afflictions, if the persons corresponded with
God's providence and rejoiced in them, would make them {473}
first-rate saints. The same may be said, with as great truth, of
interior afflictions, scruples, temptations, darkness, dryness, and
the rest of the catalogue of such miseries. A person who is
disquieted and anxious on account of these, either does not
understand that God's gifts are not God, or if they do understand
it, they love the gifts of God independently of the giver. And so I
add that such a one, if he enjoyed uninterrupted peace and serenity
of soul, would stop very short indeed of the perfection of love to
which God intends to lead him if he will be docile. Now, as to your
case, if you are still alive and still serving God, and desiring to
do so better and better, it is clear that your afflictions, exterior
and interior, have not spoiled or ruined you. And as God loves our
peace and happiness, we may conclude that he would not have kept you
down and low, if it had not been necessary for your good. What have
you to do at last? Begin again to thank, praise, bless, adore, and
glorify God for all the tribulations, past and future, and he may
yet strengthen and preserve you to do abundance of good, and lay up
a great treasure in heaven."
The next letter is to a nun about a book which was supposed to be
lost:--
"The second perpetual calendar has been found. I had no thought it
would; but took my chance to ask, and somebody had seen it, and it
was looked for again and found. It has been a clumsy bit of business
on our part; but it ends right. It gives another example of the
wisdom of a certain young shepherdess celebrated in the nursery in
my early days--
"'Little Bopeep
Has lost her sheep,
And doesn't know where to find them.
Let them alone,
And they'll come home,
And bring their tails behind them.'
"There is great philosophy in the advice given to the heroine of
these lines.
"It seems by what you said the other day, that you {474} expected a
long tail to this sheep, but I don't think the tail ever grew. Any
way, it never brought a tail so far as this house. However, if there
does exist a tail to it, I recommend to you the calm philosophy of
little Bo-peep, and it will, I dare say, follow in time."
The little rhyme given above was a favourite with Father Ignatius.
When he saw any one looking for a thing with anxiety he generally
rhymed it out with peculiar emphasis. It might be safely said that he
never wrote a letter, preached a sermon, or held a conversation
without introducing resignation to the will of God, the desire of
perfection, or the conversion of England.
As he was always a Superior, the religious could come to him and speak
whenever they pleased. He was ever ready to receive them, he laid down
his pen, or whatever else he might be at, directly he saw a brother or
father wished to speak to him, and he listened and spoke as if this
conversation was the only duty he had to discharge.
In recreation he was a treasure. We gathered round him by a kind of
instinct, and so entertaining was he that one felt it a mortification
to be called away from the recreation-room while Father Ignatius was
in it. He used to recount with peculiar grace and fascinating wit,
scenes he went through in his life. There is scarcely an incident in
this volume that we have not heard him relate. He was most ingenuous.
Ask him what question you pleased, he would answer it, if he knew it.
In relating an anecdote he often spoke in five or six different tones
of voice; he imitated the manner and action of those he knew to such
perfection, that laughter had to pass into admiration. He seldom
laughed outright, and even when he did, he would very soon stop. If he
came across a number of _Punch_, he ran over some of the sketches at
once and then he would be observed to stop, laugh, and lay it down
directly, as if to deny himself further enjoyment. It is needless to
say there was nothing rollicking, or off-handed in his wit--never; it
was subdued, sweet, delicate, and lively. He would introduce very
often amusing puzzles, such as passing the poker around, or the game
of "He can do little who cannot do that, that, that." Then to see his
{475} glee when some one thought he had found out the secret by his
keenness of observation, and was far from it; and how he laughed at
the _denouement_ of the mystery, when all was over, was really
delightful. He often made us try "Theophilus Thistlethwick," and
"Peter Piper," and used to enjoy the blunders immensely. In fact, a
recreation, presided over by Father Ignatius, was the most innocent
and gladsome one could imagine.
He had a few seasons of illness in the closing years of his life; in
1861 he was laid up for several days with a sore foot, in Highgate.
When one of us is ill, it is customary for the members of the house to
take turn about in staying with him, and we are allowed to go at all
times to visit an invalid. Whenever Father Ignatius was asked how his
foot was, he would say it was "very well," because it brought him some
pain, and that was a valuable thing if we only knew how to turn it to
good account. He felt very grateful for the smallest service done him
in sickness. It is supposed that he wrote more letters during his
illness, and held more "profitable" conversations than in any other
equal period of his life. No one ever found him idle. He read, or he
wrote, or he talked, or he prayed, or he slept. Lying awake and
listless in bed, even when suffering from acute pain, seemed an
imperfection to him. Complaint was like a language he had forgotten,
or knew not, except as one knows sin by the contrary virtue.
He suffered greatly from drowsiness. When he went to meditation he
would nod asleep, and the exertions he made to keep himself awake made
us pity him. He would stand up, even sometimes on one foot, extend his
arms in the form of a cross, and do everything he could possibly think
of in order to keep awake. During his rectorship in Button, after
returning from a sick call on a cold winter's evening, he was obliged
to walk about saying his office. He dared not sit down, or he would go
off asleep, and had to avoid going near a fire, or no effort could
keep him awake. Notwithstanding this, he was the first to matins, and
seldom went to bed again before prime. When others were ill, Father
Ignatius was all charity; he would make sure first that {476} they
took their sickness in a right spirit, and thanked God for it, then he
would see that all kinds of attention were paid to them. As for sick
calls, no matter at what hour of the day or night they came, he would
be the first to go out and attend them. He liked assisting at
death-beds; he felt particular pleasure in helping people to heaven.
He received all kinds of visitors. He went immediately to see any one
that wanted to speak to him, and never kept them a moment waiting if
he could possibly help it. When distinguished visitors were coming he
did not make the least preparation, but just treated them like any one
else. His sister promised to visit him in Highgate in December, 1859.
Neither she nor any member of his family had ever been in one of our
monasteries; he therefore looked upon this as a kind of event. Father
Ignatius had a wretched old mantle, and one of the students went to
him to offer him his, which was quite new, for the day. He would not
at all accept of it, and lectured the other upon human respect for his
pains.
He was very fond of conducting the walk the students take every week.
He brought the London students often through the City, and wonderful
was his knowledge and reminiscences of the different places they
passed by. He took them once to the Zoological Gardens. They went
about looking at the different beasts, and he had his comments to make
on each. He drew a moral reflection from the voraciousness of the
lion, the fierceness of the hyaena, the vanity of the seal, and the
stupor of the sloth. When he saw the flamingo, he stayed full ten
minutes wondering what might be the use of its long, thin legs. The
hippopotamus amused him beyond all. "Look at his big mouth," he would
say; "what in the world does he want it for? Couldn't he eat enough
with a smaller one?" During their walks, a lord, perhaps, would turn
up, and address him as, "Ho, Spencer! is this you? How d'ye do? It is
some years since I saw you?" After a few words they would part, and
then he'd tell his companions about their college days, or field
sports.
{477}