1548-56.
THE FIRST OPPOSITION TO THE ORDER, AND DEATH OF LOYOLA.
The order of Jesuits, which had hitherto progressed so favourably, was
now surrounded with difficulties and enemies. While the rapid increase
of the Society, the influence it had acquired, and the wealth which it
had already accumulated, combined to render the Jesuits less cautious and
more authoritative, they caused also a great deal of envy, especially
among those classes menaced by the company in some of their privileges.
At the first opportunity an attempt was made to crush the order in the
bud.
This opportunity was offered by the emperor, Charles V., who had at
no time been very favourable to the institution, and who, no matter
how bigoted a Catholic he may have become in his latter days, was then
just as much Catholic as was necessary to extend his dominions and to
consolidate his despotic power.
In 1548, Charles, indignant at the cunning policy of Paul III., who
set the emperor to war with the Reformers, and who deserted him when
he feared that, being master of the Protestant league, he would also
become his dictator—Charles, we say, when the Pope recalled his troops,
not wishing to drive the Protestant princes to extremities, published
the famous _Interim_, a sort of compromise between the two creeds,
and a tacit acquiescence in the more commonly received doctrines of
the Reformers, leaving, besides, in their hands, the confiscated
ecclesiastical properties. Paul became furious at the audacity of a
layman mingling in matters of faith, and loudly exclaimed against the
prince. Cardinal Farnese, the Pope’s legate and nephew, told the emperor
that his book contained at least ten propositions which were heretical,
and for which he might be called to account. Besides his legate, the
Pope had in Germany a staunch and faithful partisan in the person of
Bobadilla. Bobadilla was a bold and thorough Jesuit. He went to the
war, and attached himself as a sort of commissary to the troops which
the Pope’s grandson had led into Germany. At the battle of Mulberg he
received a wound, but this gave him little concern. Some days afterwards,
he was to be seen at Passau, a Protestant town, preaching the Catholic
tenets, and announcing a day of thanksgiving for the victory that the
Catholics had gained over the Protestants.
You may well believe that such a man would not hesitate to attack the
_Interim_. In fact, by writing, by preaching publicly and privately,
Bobadilla boldly denounced the book, and that even in the presence of the
emperor himself, as a sacrilegious composition. The emperor, frustrating
the Jesuit’s desire to gain renown by means of persecution, simply
expelled him from all his estates.
Bobadilla hastened to Rome to receive, he hoped, the deserved ovation.
But, alas! how bitterly was he deceived! Ignatius, “fearing that
Bobadilla in impugning the _Interim_ may have gone beyond due bounds,
thought it better at first not to receive him into the house.”[67] So
Orlandini. Our Mr Crétineau, who generally transcribes literally, here,
with more zeal than prudence, thus reports the passage of the Jesuit
writer:—“Loyola seized hold of this circumstance to revenge the majesty
of kings, which, even in the height of the dispute, one ought never to
attain.”[68] We understand you well, Mr Crétineau! you have lost much of
your influence over the people, too well educated to repose much faith,
either in your sanctity or your miracles, and you intend to preserve some
of your domineering influence, by clinging to these same kings against
whom, when they were adverse to you, you directed the poniard of the
assassin!
Bobadilla’s expulsion seemed to have been the signal for the outburst of
a violent war against the order, especially in Spain. The fight began at
Salamanca. Three Jesuits, Sanci, Capella, and Turrian, arrived there in
1548, for the purpose of establishing their Society. They entered the
town in the most pitiable condition, and were so poor, that, “having
no image to adorn the altar of their private chapel with, they in its
stead put a piece of paper, upon which was delineated, I do not know
what figure—‘Impressam nescio,’ says Orlandini, ‘quam in papyro figuram,
pro scite picta tabula collocarent.’”[69] And Crétineau thus translates
it:—“In consequence” (of having no picture), “one of them simply sketched
on a piece of paper an image of the Virgin, and this paper, stuck on the
wall, was the only ornament of the high altar.”[70]
I must say I feel surprised at their candour! You confess, then, that
you worship a dirty scrap of paper, upon which you do not know what sort
of figure was represented, or you scratch four lines and make it the
object of your cultus—the indispensable ornament of your altar, upon
which you are going to renew the sacrifice of the Cross! Ah! we already
knew that your religion only consisted in externalities—in blind and
absurd superstitions. Yet we register this other example to prove your
own idolatry, and your constant practice, to represent Christ the Lord
in the background, while adoring images and statues which you have made
according to your hearts’ wishes, as our great poet says, of gold and
silver—
“Fatto v’avete Dio d’oro e, d’argento.”—_Dante_, _Inferno_, cant. xix.
However, there lived at that time at Salamanca a Dominican friar, famous
for his eloquence, his learning, and particularly for his uprightness of
purpose—Melchior Cano. He had known Loyola, and formed a bad opinion of
him, because he never ceased speaking of his revelations, his visions,
his virtues, his undeserved persecutions.
After his disciples came to Salamanca, equipped only with their bigoted
fanaticism, and of doubtful morality, he resolved to oppose them, and
poured forth against them, from his chair and pulpit, torrents of
eloquent invectives. He represented them as crafty, insinuating; living
in palaces, deceiving the kings and the great; declaring them to be
soiled by every species of crime; capable of all kinds of excesses; and
dangerous both to religion and society.
We may perhaps say that the picture which he, in his passionate
eloquence, drew of the members of the order, which he also called the
pioneers of Antichrist, was then somewhat exaggerated. The Jesuits at
that time were not so perverse as he represented them to be, for they
had as yet only existed for a few years. But it would seem that Cano
had spoken in the spirit of prophecy, of the character which it assumed
in after generations, the germ of which he may have seen beginning to
develop itself.
If the letter which we are about to transcribe, written by him in 1560,
two days before his death, is not to be numbered among the prophecies, it
is nevertheless an extraordinary prediction, which came to be fulfilled
in every point. Here is this remarkable letter:—“God grant that it may
not happen to me as is fabled of Cassandra, whose predictions were not
believed till Troy was captured and burned. If the members of the Society
continue as they have begun, God grant that the time may not come when
kings will wish to resist them, but will not have the means of doing
so.”[71]
But we have anticipated.—The hideous colours in which he pourtrayed
the disciples of Loyola made such an impression in Salamanca, that the
Jesuits were not allowed to establish themselves in it. In vain did the
Pope, taking up the cause of the Jesuits, by a bull reprove the conduct
of Cano. In vain did the General of the Dominicans issue a circular to
all his subordinates, in which, after a long eulogium on the Society,
he says that “it ought to be praised and imitated, and not assailed
with calumnies.”[72] Cano, disregarding both the Papal brief and his
general’s circular, and being supported, at least secretly, by the
civil authorities, boldly held out against the order. What could his
adversaries do? Persecution and revenge were impossible against a subject
of the emperor, who was then at war with the Pope, and yet Cano must
be got rid of. Well, one fine morning he was strangely and agreeably
surprised with the news, that that same Pope who had threatened and
censured him had now conferred upon him the bishopric of the Canaries.
Dazzled and flattered, the friar yielded at first to the temptation,
and left Salamanca for his bishopric. But soon, very soon, he perceived
why he had been sent so far away. Resolved, therefore, to baffle his
enemies’ cunning, he resigned the Episcopal dignity, and returned to
Salamanca, the undoubted and indefatigable adversary of the order. He
died Provincial of his order, and much respected.
About the same epoch, 1548, the University of Alcala also declared
against the order. The contest lasted for a considerable time; and even
after many of the doctors were, by the usual mysterious arts, gained
over to the cause of the company, Dr Scala persisted in his opposition,
and did not refrain from attacking them till he was called before the
Inquisition, and threatened with an _auto-da-fé_.[73]
The opposition which the Jesuits encountered in Toledo, where they had
already established themselves, was a more serious affair. They had
found here the population docile, and easy to be imposed upon. They had
introduced sundry abuses, and many superstitious practices. Nay, their
devotees—horrid to say!—went to the communion table twice a day! In
the year 1550, these scandalous enormities forced themselves upon the
attention of the authorities. Don Siliceo, Cardinal Archbishop of Toledo,
once tutor to Philip of Spain, wishing to repress them, published an
ordinance, reproving and condemning them, and in which, after bitterly
reproaching the Jesuits for their many usurpations, he forbids the
people, under pain of excommunication, to confess to any Jesuit, and
empowers all curates to exclude them from the administration of all
sacraments; furthermore, laying an interdict upon the Jesuit College of
Alcala.
This ordinance produced a great excitement among the Jesuits and their
partisans, and nothing was left untried to make the archbishop relent.
But neither the influence that the Society already possessed, nor the
intercession of the Papal nuncio, and of the Archbishop of Burgos, nor
even the Pope’s own authority, could vanquish the archbishop’s hostility.
Then the bold Loyola had the impudence to institute a process against
the archbishop, before the Royal Council of Spain. Paul III. was dead,
and was succeeded by Julius III., who, as Ignatius well knew, was on the
best terms with Charles. The Royal Council condemned the prelate, who
thereupon recalled the interdict[74]—not that his opinions were changed,
but to avoid, perhaps, the fate which encountered his successor, the
learned but unfortunate Carranza—twelve years of torture in the dungeons
of the Inquisition.
A still fiercer tempest was gathering over the heads of the Jesuits at
Saragossa. Instructive is the cause of the quarrel. The town of Saragossa
was so full of convents and monasteries, that, to observe the rule which
forbade any religious house to be built within a certain distance of
another, it was impossible for the Jesuits to find a spot unforbidden.
However, after thoroughly surveying the town, they imagined they had
found a spot at the requisite distance. They there erect a house and
a chapel, which is to be consecrated on Easter Tuesday 1555. Great
preparations are made to make the pageant pompous and attractive, when,
alas! Lopez Marcos, Vicar-general of Saragossa, on the complaint of the
Augustine Friars, who pretend that the chapel was built on their grounds,
intimated to Father Brama, the superior of the house, that the ceremony
might be deferred. Brama refused to obey. Lopez, at the very moment
the Jesuits were performing the solemn ceremony, issued a proclamation
forbidding the chapel to be entered under pain of excommunication.
Anathemas were poured upon the fathers, and the clergy, accompanied by a
great crowd of people, march through the town, singing the 109th Psalm,
the people repeating—“As he clothed himself with cursing like as with his
garment, so let it come into his bowels like water, and like oil into his
bones;” and, to unite the ludicrous with the terrible, they carry along
images with hideous faces, representing the Jesuits dragged to hell by a
legion of demons still more hideous. A funeral procession, with the image
of Christ covered with a black veil, singing lugubrious songs, march
towards the house of the Jesuits. From time to time, the cry, “Mercy!
Mercy!” burst from the crowd, as they wished to avert the curse of God
from an interdicted city. The poor Jesuits, shut up in their own house,
patiently wait for a fortnight, until the tempest should pass away.
But this ignoble goblin representation, worthy only of Jesuits and of
their opponents, not yet ending, Loyola’s disciples, as usual, gave way,
feeling assured that, if actual force would be of no avail in making good
their claim, intrigues and cunning would in the end win the day. Nor were
they deceived.[75]
In Portugal, dangers of another kind menaced the Society. It seemed as
if Portugal were to be the theatre where the Jesuits were to perform the
principal act of their ignoble drama.
The protection of John III., united with the zeal of Rodriguez, had made
this country one of the most flourishing provinces of the Society. But
its very prosperity nearly caused its ruin. Having possessed themselves
of immense wealth, the Jesuits, yielding to the common law, relaxed
in the strictness of their conduct, pursued a life of pleasure and
debauchery; above all, their principal college (Coimbra) resembled more
a garden of academics than a cloister.[76] Scandal became so great,
that the court began to frown upon them, and the people were losing
that respect and veneration with which they had before regarded them.
Ignatius, of course, was soon informed of the state of things, and took
at once the most energetic measures for repressing the evil (in 1552).
Rodriguez was recalled and sent to Spain, and a new provincial and rector
were sent to Coimbra.
Miron, the provincial, attempted a reform, but the Jesuits—spoiled
children—refused to submit to it. Some he dismissed from the college—a
greater number abandoned it. Insubordination and disorder were at their
height. Fortunately, Ignatius had in the rector Godin a man according
to his heart. Godin proved a worthy disciple of the author of the
_Spiritual Exercises_. Stripping his shoulders of their garments, arming
himself with a scourge, he rushed, demoniac-like, out into the streets
of Coimbra, and flagellated himself, crying for mercy. Breathless,
covered with dust and blood, running and screaming, he returned to the
college church, where the brethren were assembled, and here he again
lashed himself. Strange and uncommon examples fire the imagination and
prejudices of imitators. The Jesuits were at first surprised; then, all
on a sudden, they beg to be allowed to undergo the same public penance.
Godin feigns to refuse; he speaks of the scandal given—he paints in
strong colours the enormities of their sins, and dwells at length upon
the sufferings and passion of Christ. When he had wrought their feelings
to the highest pitch, he granted them the permission solicited, and, like
a crowd of Bacchanti, when their deity rages within them, they all rush
out of the church, and with lamentable cries run through the streets,
scourging themselves in a most merciless manner. When they reached the
Church of the Misericordia, they knelt down, whilst the rector begged
pardon of the multitude for the scandal they had given them. Some of the
people are moved—others laugh loudly—but the intent of the rector is
obtained. The disciples become more tractable; the college submits to the
necessary reform, and the Jesuits regain their influence.[77]
The Society met with a more serious and durable opposition in France.
After their first banishment they had returned to Paris, but there they
had no house of their own, neither could they find any. They therefore
took up their abode in the College des Lombards, till Du Prat, Bishop
of Clermond, offered them his own hotel, to which they immediately
repaired. As yet, however, this establishment was neither a house for
professed members, since there were none of them, nor a noviciate, since
the rules for the noviciate were not established till six or seven
years afterwards. The members who repaired to Clermond hotel were only
students, or priests aspiring to become members of the Society; but we
are told that they were so conspicuous for their learning and piety,
that three of them were chosen by Ignatius to establish a new college
in Sicily, while Viole, the chief of those aspirants, was named by the
university, Procurator of the College des Lombards. This nomination,
however, appeared to Ignatius to be of a rather doubtful character,
since it proceeded from the university, which had been adverse to the
order from the first. It seems as if he feared that these students,
seduced by the allurements of honour and emoluments, would renounce
their pious determination to become Jesuits; he therefore ordered Viole
to give up the appointment, and to take the vows of the order before
Du Prat, enjoining at the same time, that all students who may receive
any pension from the College des Lombards should instantly renounce it.
Although these orders were absolute, they were promptly obeyed. The great
secret of Loyola’s influence and power lay in the inflexibility of his
character, and in his military education, which rendered him absolute and
imperative, and excluded the possibility of others disputing his orders.
Meanwhile the Society in France—we should say in Paris—the only place
where it had tried to establish itself, lived in a most precarious
state, until the year 1550, when Henry II., stimulated by the too famous
cardinal of Guise, thought of establishing the Jesuits in his kingdom,
and issued patent letters authorising them to do so.
The ordinances of the French king were not at this time considered
binding, until they were registered by the parliament.[78] When those
concerning the Jesuits were brought before them, the parliament, after
hearing the conclusions of their Advocate-General, refused to register
them, on the ground “that the new institute would be prejudicial to the
monarchy, the state, and the ecclesiastical hierarchy.”
The contest lasted for two years, when the king, in 1552, sent an order
to the parliament to register the patent letters of 1550, authorising
the establishment of the Jesuits. The order was formal and imperative,
yet the parliament refused to comply with it, although, out of deference
to the sovereign will, they advised that further inquiries be made
concerning the Society.
After other two years of serious consideration and strict inquiry, the
parliament, in 1554, enacted that “the bull establishing the Society,
and the king’s patent letters, shall be communicated both to the
Archbishop of Paris, and to the Faculty of Theology there, in order that,
their opinion heard, the court may come to a sentence.” The archbishop
and the faculty were thus called to decide upon a question of their
exclusive competence, since the one was the ecclesiastical superior,
and the other the natural judge in matters of faith. Both took the
case in hand, and after due consideration, they respectively decided
against the establishment of the Society. The archbishop, Eustache
de Bellay, belonging to one of the most illustrious parliamentary
families of France, after mature deliberation, gave out all the reasons
why he thought it his duty to oppose the introduction of the order,
and concluded in this remarkable and logical way:—“Since the order
pretends to be established for the purpose of preaching to the Turks
and infidels, to bring them to the knowledge of God; they ought to
establish their houses and societies in places near the said infidels,
as in the times of old had been done by the Knights of Rhodes, who were
placed on the frontiers of Christendom, not in the midst thereof.” But
the severe and bitter censure of the Doctors of the Sorbonne was a more
explicit condemnation of the order. Here is the document of their famous
“conclusion:”—
“As all the faithful, and principally the theologians, ought to be
ready to render an account to those who demand the same, respecting
matters of faith, morals, and the edification of the Church; the faculty
has thought, that it ought to satisfy the desire, the demand, and the
intention of the court.
“Wherefore, having perused, and many times re-perused, and well
comprehended all the articles of the two bulls, and after having
discussed and gone to the depths of them, during several months, at
different times and hours, according to custom, due regard being had
to the subject, _the Faculty_ has, with unanimous consent, given this
judgment, which it has submitted with all manner of respect to that of
the Holy See.
“This new Society, which arrogates to itself in particular the unusual
title of the name of Jesus—which receives with so much freedom, and
without any choice, all sorts of persons, however criminal, lawless, and
infamous they may be—which differs in nowise from the secular priests
in outward dress, in the tonsure, in the manner of saying the canonical
hours in private, or in chaunting in public, in the engagement to remain
in the cloister and observe silence, in the choice of food and days, in
fasting, and the variety of rules, laws, and ceremonies which serve to
distinguish the different institutes of monks;—this Society, to which
have been granted and given so many privileges and licences, chiefly in
what concerns the administration of the sacraments of penance and the
eucharist, and this without any regard or distinction being had of places
or persons; as also in the function of preaching, reading, and teaching,
to the prejudice of the ordinaries and the hierarchical order, as well as
of the other religious orders, and even to the prejudices of princes and
lords temporal, against the privileges of the universities,—in fine, to
the great cost of the people;—this Society seems to blemish the honour
of the monastic state; it weakens entirely the painful, pious, and very
necessary exercises of the virtues of abstinences, ceremonies, and
austerity. It even gives occasion very freely to desert the religious
orders; it withdraws from the obedience and submission due to the
ordinaries; it unjustly deprives lords, both temporal and ecclesiastical,
of their rights, carries trouble into the government of both, causes
many subjects of complaint amongst the people, many lawsuits, strifes,
contentions, jealousies, and divers schisms and divisions.
“Wherefore, after having examined all these matters, and several
others, with much attention and care, this Society appears dangerous
as to matters of faith, capable of disturbing the peace of the Church,
overturning the monastic order, and more adapted to break down than to
build up.”[79]
Here, as in the denunciations of Cano, the faculty seem to have got a
glimpse of the future history of the Jesuits, since, at that epoch at
least, the accusation of receiving into the Society indiscriminately was
not well founded.
The apologists of the Jesuits have said—and we are partly inclined
to admit the truth of their assertion—that as the Jesuits were then
in possession of the education of youth in many parts of Europe, the
university, jealous of its privileges, condemned the order of the
Jesuits, not as an infamous and sacrilegious community, but as a
dangerous rival. They have also affirmed, that the expulsion of the
famous Postel[80] had irritated the Sorbonne, of which he was a doctor.
But this we believe to be a gratuitous supposition.
However, the decisions of the parliament, archbishop, and university,
were hailed throughout France with a shout of jubilee. The Jesuits were
obliged to leave Paris, and as all the parliaments of France had echoed
the resolution of that of the capital, they would be nowhere received,
and, as a last and momentary refuge, they went and hid themselves in the
Abbey of St Germain des Près.
The more warlike and inconsiderate members of the order would have
replied to the terrible sentence of the Sorbonne, but Ignatius was too
consummate a politician to yield to their imprudent desires. For open
wars, the Jesuits had no predilection. When their opponents were too
strong for them, their practice was, and still is, to give way, as if in
submission; but then they begin a hidden and mysterious war of intrigues
and machinations, that in the end they are always the victors. So acted
Ignatius in this affair in France. The Jesuits contented themselves
with living for some time in obscurity and complete seclusion from all
society, and preparing the way for future triumph. Nor had they long to
wait. Soon were they called into France to help and cheer that atrocious
and cruel hecatomb, that bloody debauch of priests and kings—the Saint
Bartholomew.
But what is worthy of more serious reflection, is the fact, that
in Rome—the centre of their power and glory—the Jesuits were also
publicly accused as a set of heretics, dangerous and immoral persons;
and the famous book of _The Spiritual Exercises_ was submitted to the
Inquisition. It is indeed true that this little manual got a certificate
for orthodoxy, and that the priest who had traduced them before the
tribunal, having to struggle alone against the Society, was condemned (we
don’t wonder at it) as a calumniator; but how can you, you subtle sons
of Ignatius, explain this concurrence; this accumulation of accusations
and hostilities? How is it that nations, separated from one another by
diversities of interest, custom, opinion—that citizens of different
classes, characters, principles, interests—that all men and nations,
widely separated in every thing else, united only by a common tie—the
Catholic religion—should exactly agree in this one thing—hatred to
and abhorrence of the avowed champion of Catholicism? And remember we
don’t speak of Protestant countries, or Protestant opponents. All your
adversaries were bigoted Catholics. There is but one way to explain this
strange coincidence. We fear that from the very beginning, the Jesuits,
notwithstanding all their prudence, could not conceal from the eye of the
observer those subtle arts, that duplicity of character, that skill in
accomplishing dark and mysterious exploits, for which they were in later
times opposed, and at length abolished.
What is still more remarkable, is the fact that the greatest part of
those persons who were foremost in opposing the Jesuits, knew Loyola,
and, if not as intimately as Caraffa and Cano, at least well enough to
be able to appreciate him. We shall adduce as the last, though not the
least fact, militating against the order—that Caraffa, a man of the most
rigid Catholicism, nay, bigotry—who had nothing so near his heart as the
furtherance of the Roman religion—the former friend of Loyola, both as
cardinal and as Pope, was constantly and firmly adverse to the order. I
should like if some of the reverend fathers would explain this almost
inexplicable fact.
However, all these oppositions were sooner or later got rid of by
Jesuitical craft; and the Society, in 1556, only sixteen years after its
commencement, counted as many as twelve provinces, a hundred houses, and
upwards of a thousand members, dispersed over the whole known world.
Their two most conspicuous and important establishments were the Collegio
Romano and the German College. They already were in possession of many
chairs, and soon monopolised the right of teaching, which gave them a
most overwhelming influence. We shall speak of the colleges, and of
their method of study, after it had received from Acquaviva, the fifth
General, a farther development, and nearly the same form in which it is
at the present day. The Jesuits also derived great importance from their
missions, to the consideration of which we shall devote the next chapter.
The reason of the immense success of the Jesuits is the fact, that their
order was established in direct opposition to the rising Protestantism,
and that both the court of Rome, and those princes whose interest it
was to maintain the Catholic religion, and oppose that of the Reformed,
were very eager to introduce and uphold the Society of Jesuits into
their states. Yet even with this preponderant favourable circumstance,
the Society would have either succumbed under the many obstacles it
encountered in its beginning, or at least would not have progressed so
rapidly, had it not been for Ignatius Loyola. This extraordinary man
seems to have united in his own person all the qualities indispensable
for succeeding in any undertaking;—unbounded ambition—inflexibility of
character—unwearied activity, and a thorough and profound knowledge of
the human heart. With such qualities, he could hardly fail to succeed in
the accomplishment of any project. Almost every writer of Loyola’s life
(I do not speak either of the miracle-tellers or of the pamphleteers)
has represented him as most sincere, fervidly devout, and pious. On this
point, however, we must observe, that all the historians, not excluding
even the Protestant, copied from his two first biographers, Maffei and
Rybadaneira.
We also beg to be permitted to give the humble opinion which we have
formed of him, after having carefully perused what has been said
regarding him—and much more, after a dispassionate examination of
the facts connected with his life. Without doubt, Ignatius, during
his illness, felt disposed to change his dissipated course of life,
and, as happens in every sudden reaction, he, from being a profligate
freethinking officer, went to the other extreme, and became a rigid and
bigoted anchorite. No penances were too severe to expiate his numerous
sins, and no devotion was too fervent to atone for his past irreligion.
So he thought at the moment, and, we think, conscientiously. But after
the first burst of his devotion—after the deep contemplation into which
he was plunged had given place to the felt necessity of acting in one
way or another, we are led to believe, and have already expressed that
belief, that his natural ambition rose, and that all his thoughts were
turned upon the surest method of accomplishing some great and uncommon
exploit, by which he might render himself famous. As devotion was the
principal requisite for success in the path which he had chosen, Ignatius
was a fervent devotee, first by calculation, and then by habit—but not
the less zealous for all that. Had his whole thoughts been absorbed
with that one object—the salvation of his soul—his devotion would have
been less ostentatious, and, without wavering between one project and
another, he would have been contented with an humble and retired life,
or would have spent it in unquestionable works of charity—in ministering
to the sick, as he had begun in the Hospital of the Theatines. It cannot
be denied, however, that Ignatius, after his conversion, was very
humane, compassionate, and charitable, and that his private conduct,
in the later part of his life, was moral and unimpeached. He treated
his disciples with much kindness, and never denied them what he could
grant without inconvenience. On the other hand, he was imperious to the
last degree, and could not endure the slightest contradiction. An old
Jesuit priest, who had been once guilty of disobedience, was scourged
in his own presence. One instance will perhaps serve to depict Loyola
more effectively than words can. He had sent Lainez as provincial to
Padua. Lainez, who had had an immense success at the Council of Trent,
and who was in fact superior to any one then belonging to the Society,
at first refused this secondary post, but at last obeyed. Hardly had
he, however, entered upon his functions, before Ignatius drained his
province of all the best professors, whom he summoned to Rome. The
provincial remonstrated. It was the Lainez, Ignatius’ bosom friend—his
right hand—the glory of the company—the man who had been chosen to be a
cardinal. But Ignatius disregarded all these considerations, and without
even entering into any discussion, simply wrote to him, thus: “Reflect
on your proceedings; tell me if you are persuaded of having erred, and
if so, indicate to me what punishment you are ready to undergo for the
expiation of your fault.”[81] This letter pourtrays the man!
We are also assured, that the general was so humble, that you might have
seen him carrying wood on his shoulders—lighting the common fire—or going
to the well with a pitcher in his hand. We should be inclined to call
such humility ostentation, or, if you prefer it, good policy. Ignatius
was, above all, anxious to curb the spirit of his disciples. In his eyes,
they could not be humble and submissive enough. The Jesuit ought to value
himself, individually, as nothing—the Society as everything. Now, which
of his disciples would have dared refuse any undertaking, however humble,
after he had seen his general engaged in the meanest services?
But while Ignatius affected these acts of humility, he was seriously
giving his attention to the state affairs of different nations. He was
holding correspondence with John III. of Portugal, the cardinal his son,
Albert of Bavaria, Ferdinand of Austria, Philip of Spain, Ercole of
Est, and many other princes. He was the spiritual director of Margaret
of Austria. He went to Tivoli, purposely to allay the quarrels of two
neighbouring towns, and to Naples to make peace between an angry husband
and his wife of rather doubtful morals. All these things tend to prove
what we have said regarding his devotion, viz. that it was of a rather
meddlesome and ambitious character.
But his career was now drawing to an end. These different occupations—the
direction of both the spiritual and temporal matters of the order, which
was already widely spread—the anxiety caused by the many conflicts in
which the Society was engaged—the fear of defeat—the joy arising from
success—his unrelenting activity—his uneasiness at seeing the pontifical
chair occupied by Caraffa, always adverse to the order—all these things
contributed to shorten his days. His constitution, which had been
impaired in his youth, and in the cavern of Manreze, now gradually gave
way; and although no symptom of his approaching end was yet visible, “no
paleness of countenance, not a sign in all his body,”[82] nevertheless he
felt the vital principle fading away within him, and that his last hour
was rapidly drawing near. He tried the country air, and for this purpose
went to a villa lately given by some friends for the use of the Roman
college,[83] but he found no relief. His strength was fast failing him;
an unconquerable lassitude crept over his whole frame, and his intellect
only remained clear and unchanged. He spoke of his illness, nay, of his
approaching end, to nobody. He returned to Rome, and threw himself upon
a bed. A doctor was sent for by the alarmed fathers, but he bade them
be of good cheer, “for there was nothing the matter with the general.”
Ignatius smiled; and when the physician was gone, he gave orders to
his secretary, Polancus, to proceed to the holy father straightway to
recommend the Society to his care, and to obtain a blessing for himself
(Ignatius), and indulgences for his sins.[84] Perhaps he made this last
attempt to disarm, by his humility, the inflexible Paul IV. (Caraffa),
and so render him favourable to the Society. He was mistaken. Paul
sent the requested benison, but he did not change his mind toward the
Society. However, Polancus, reassured by the doctor, and not seeing any
danger himself, disregarded the order, postponing the fulfilment of his
mission till next day. Meanwhile, after Ignatius had attended till very
late to some affairs concerning the Roman college, he was left alone to
rest. But what was the surprise and consternation of the fathers, on
entering his room next morning, to find him breathing his last! The noise
and confusion caused by such an unexpected event were great. Cordials,
doctor, confessor, were immediately sent for; but, before any of them
came—before Polancus, who only now ran to the Pope, returned—Loyola had
expired. His demise took place at five o’clock on the morning of the 31st
of July 1556, in his sixty-fifth year. So ended a man who is extolled by
the one party as a saint, execrated by the other as a monster. He was
neither. Most assuredly, in the Protestant point of view, and by all
those who advocate the cause of freedom of conscience, and of a return
to the purity of the primitive religion of Christ, Ignatius ought to be
detested above any other individual. To him and to his order belongs the
mournful glory of having checked the progress of the Reformation, and of
having kept a great part of Europe under the yoke of superstition and
tyranny.
And here we are led to mention a fact which we think has hitherto been
unnoticed—the indulgence, we should say the partiality, evinced by
Protestant writers for these last ten years towards the Jesuits, and
especially the founders of the order. The fact must be explained. The
Jesuits, from 1830 to the end of ’48, seemed to have lost all public
favour, all influence and authority. Persecuted and hooted in France,
Switzerland, Russia, hated in their own dominion, Italy, they were
considered as a vanquished enemy, deserving rather commiseration than
hatred. A reaction ensued in their favour among their most decided
opponents. Generous souls rose up to defend these persecuted men, and
stretched out a friendly hand to them, thus trodden upon by all. Carried
away with such chivalrous sentiments, they have embellished, with the
colours of their fervid imaginations and the graces of their copious
style, whatever the Jesuit writers have related of their chiefs, and have
represented Loyola and his companions as heroes of romance rather than
real historical characters. We leave these writers to reflect whether the
Jesuits are a vanquished enemy, or whether they are not still redoubtable
and menacing foes. But, with deference to such distinguished writers as
Macaulay, Taylor, Stephen, and others, we dare to assert that in writing
about the Jesuits they were led astray by the above romantic sentiments;
and we should moreover warn them that their words are quoted by the
Jesuit writers, Crétineau, Pellico, &c., as irrefragable testimony of the
sanctity of their members.