HISTORY OF THE JESUITS.
CHAPTER I.
1500-40.
ORIGIN OF THE ORDER.
The sixteenth century presents itself pregnant with grave and all-important events. The old world disappears—a new order of things commences. The royal power, adorned with the seignorial prerogatives snatched from the subjugated barons, establishes itself amidst their ruined castles, beneath which lies buried the feudal system. Mercenary armies, now constantly maintained by the sovereign, render him independent of the military services of his subjects, and formidable alike to foreign foes and to turbulent nobles. The monarchs advance rapidly towards despotism—the people subside into apathetic submission, Europe has become the appanage of a few masters. Henry VIII. of England, Francis I. of France, and Charles V. of Spain, share it among them; but, not content with their respective dominions, they fight among themselves for the empire of the whole, or at least for supremacy of power. Henry having retired from the contest after the Electoral Congress of Frankfort, the other two continue the strife with varying success. The gold of the recently discovered western world, and his immense possessions, give to Charles an enormous power. The bravery of a warlike nation makes formidable the chivalrous spirit of the indomitable Francis. Their wars redden Europe with blood, yet produce no decided result.
Meanwhile, as a compensation for these evils, the human mind, casting off the prejudices and ignorance of the Middle Ages, marches to regeneration. Italy becomes, for the second time, the centre from whence the light of genius and learning shines forth over Europe. Leonardo da Vinci, Tiziano, Michael Angelo, are the sublime, the almost divine interpreters of art. Pulci, Ariosto, Poliziano, give a new and creative impulse to literature, and are the worthy descendants of Dante. Scholasticism, with its subtle argumentations, vague reasonings, and illogical deductions, is superseded by the practical philosophy of Lorenzo and Machiavelli, and by the irresistible and eloquent logic of the virtuous but unfortunate Savonarola. Men who for the last three centuries had been satisfied with what had been taught and said by Aristotle and his followers—who, as the last and incontrovertible argument, had been accustomed to exclaim, Ipse dixit—now begin to think for themselves, and dare to doubt and discuss what had hitherto been considered sacred and unassailable truths. The newly-awakened human intellect eagerly enters upon the new path, and becomes argumentative and inquiring, to the great dismay of those who deprecated diversity of faith; and the Court of Rome, depending on the blind obedience of the credulous, anathematising every disputer of the Papal infallibility, views with especial concern this rising spirit of inquiry, and has to tremble for its usurped power.
Fortunately, the three last Popes had bestowed little or no attention on the spiritual affairs of the world, and made no effort to combat the new ideas. Borgia, amid his incestuous debaucheries, had been solely intent upon suppressing by poniard and poison the refractory spirit of the Roman barons, and upon acquiring new territories for his cherished Cæsar—a son worthy of such a father. Julius, in his noble enterprise of ridding Italy from foreign domination, was a great deal fonder of casque and cuirass than of the Somma of St Thomas or any other theological book. Leo, son of that Lorenzo rightly called “Magnifico,” had inherited his father’s love of art and literature, and of every noble pursuit. Magnificent, generous, affable yet dignified in his manners, living amidst every luxury, the centre of the most splendid court in the world, he exhibited the characteristics of a temporal prince rather than those of the supreme pontiff. He took a greater interest in a stanza of Ariosto or a statue by Michael Angelo than in all the writings of the scholastics, of which, in fact, he knew very little. The impartial and accurate Sarpi says of him—“He would have been a perfect pontiff, if to so many excellencies he had united some knowledge in the matter of religion, and a little more inclination to piety, two things about which he seemed to care but little.”[1] He laughed heartily when some of his more bigoted prelates pointed out to him the imminent perils to religion and the Church from the rapid spread of the new and dangerous doctrines. He viewed the quarrels between the Dominican and Augustine Friars much in the same light in which Homer is supposed to have regarded the battle of the frogs and mice, and was at last roused from his indifference only when Luther attacked—not any article of faith, but his pretended right of selling indulgences to replenish his coffers and provide his sister’s dowry. Yet even then he would have preferred a compromise to a religious war. Had his fanatical courtiers participated in his prudent scruples, the Roman Church might have long retained Germany and many other European countries under her yoke. But God in his wisdom had ordained otherwise.
To a very submissive letter which the Reformer addressed to the Pope, appealing to him as to a judge, the Court of Rome replied by a bull of excommunication. Upon this Luther renewed his anxious investigation of the Holy Scriptures with increased ardour; and, becoming more and more powerfully convinced that he had been propounding nothing but the Word of God, fearlessly cast aside all idea of a reconciliation, and stood firm in support of his doctrines. Previously he might have been inclined to keep in abeyance some of his private opinions, but now he had come to consider it a deadly sin not to preach the truth as expressed by God in his Holy Word.
The German princes, partly persuaded of the truth of Luther’s doctrines, partly desirous to escape the exacting tyranny of Rome which drained their subjects’ pockets, supported the Reformer. They protested at Spires, and at Smalkaden made preparations to maintain their protest by arms. In a few years, without armed violence, but simply by the persuasive force of truth, the greater part of Germany became converted to the Reformed faith. The honest indignation of Zuinglius in Switzerland, and, conspiring with the diffusion of the truth, the unbridled passions of Henry VIII. in England, alike rescued a considerable portion of their respective countries from the Romish yoke. In France and in Navarre the new doctrines found many warm adherents; whilst in Italy itself, at Brescia, Pisa, Florence, nay, even at Rome and at Faenza, there were many who more or less openly embraced the principles of the Reformation. Thus, in a short time, the Roman religion—founded in ancient and deep-rooted prejudices—supported by the two greatest powers in the world, the Pope and the Emperor—defended by all the bishops and priests, who lived luxuriously by it—was overturned throughout a great part of Europe.
And let us here admire the hand of Divine Providence! As if with the special view of facilitating the rapid diffusion of the Reformed religion, there was given to the world but a few years before, and in that same Germany where it took its rise, the most wonderful and efficient instrument for the purpose—the Art of Printing. Without the press, Luther’s doctrines would never have spread so widely in so very few months. As at that time this beneficent invention was a powerful agent in advancing religious reformation, so has it since become an effective means of political as well as religious enfranchisement. Hence the hatred of the Popes and their brother despots towards this staunch supporter of liberty.
But while the Word of God was thus rescuing such multitudes from idolatry, the Spirit of Evil, furious at the escape of so many victims whom he had already counted his own, made a desperate effort to retrieve his past, and prevent future losses. He saw, with dismay, Divine truth, like a vast and ever-extending inundation, rapidly undermining and throwing down, one by one, his many strongholds of superstition and ignorance; and, with the despairing energy of baffled malignity, he set about rearing up a bulwark which should check the tide ere its work of destruction was completed. For this bulwark he devised the since famous order of the Jesuits, which arose almost simultaneously with the establishment of the Reformation. So we may say. The Roman Catholic writers, however, ascribe the origin of the Jesuits to a far different influence. They declare, “that, as from time to time new heresies have afflicted the Church of God, so He has raised up holy men to combat them; and as He had raised up St Dominic against the Albigenses and Vaudois, so He sent Loyola and his disciples against the Lutherans and Calvinists.”[2]
It is of this renowned and dreaded Society that I purpose to write the history. As a matter of course, the first few pages will contain a biographical sketch of its bold and sagacious founder, to whom altars have been consecrated, and who is still regarded as the type and soul of the order.
Iñigo, or, as commonly called, Ignatius Loyola, the youngest of eleven children of a noble and ancient family, was born in the year 1491, in his father’s castle of Loyola at Guipuscoa in Spain. He was of middle stature, and rather dark complexion; had deep-set piercing eyes, and a handsome and noble countenance. While yet young he had become bald, which gave him an expression of dignity, that was not impaired by a lameness arising from a severe wound. His father, a worldly man, as his biographer says, instead of sending him to some holy community to be instructed in religion and piety, placed him as a page at the court of Ferdinand V. But Ignatius, naturally of a bold and aspiring disposition, soon found that no glory was to be reaped in the antechambers of the Catholic king; and, delighting in military exercises, he became a soldier—and a brave one he proved. His historians, to make his subsequent conversion appear more wonderful and miraculous, have represented him as a perfect monster of iniquity; but, in truth, he was merely a gay soldier, fond of pleasure no doubt, yet not more debauched than the generality of his brother officers. His profligacy, whatever it was, did not prevent him from being a man of strict honour, never backward in time of danger.
At the defence of Pampeluna against the French, in 1521, Ignatius, while bravely performing his duty on the walls, was struck down by a ball, which disabled both his legs. With him fell the courage of the besieged. They yielded, and the victors entering the town, found the wounded officer, and kindly sent him to his father’s castle, which was not far distant. Here he endured all the agonies which generally attend gunshot wounds, and an inflammatory fever which supervened brought him to the verge of the grave—when, “Oh, miracle!” exclaims his biographer, “it being the eve of the feast of the glorious saints Peter and Paul, the prince of the apostles appeared to him in a vision, and touched him, whereby he was, if not immediately restored to health, at least put in a fair way of recovery.” Now the fact is, that the patient uttered not a syllable regarding his vision at the time; nevertheless we are gravely assured that the miracle was not the less a fact. Be this, however, as it may, Ignatius undoubtedly recovered, though slowly. During his long convalescence, he sought to beguile the tedious hours of irksome inactivity passed in the sick chamber by reading all the books of knight-errantry which could be procured. The chivalrous exploits of the Rolands and Amadises made a deep impression upon his imagination, which, rendered morbidly sensitive by a long illness, may well be supposed to have been by no means improved by such a course of study. When these books were exhausted, some pious friend brought him the Lives of the Saints. This work, however, not suiting his taste, Ignatius at first flung it aside in disgust, but afterwards, from sheer lack of better amusement, he began to read it. It presented to him a new phase of the romantic and marvellous, in which he so much delighted. He soon became deeply interested, and read it over and over again. The strange adventures of these saints—the praise, the adoration, the glorious renown which they acquired—so fired his mind, that he almost forgot his favourite paladins. His ardent ambition saw here a new career opened up to it. He longed to become a saint.
Yet the military life had not lost its attractions for him. It did not require the painful preparation necessary to earn a saintly reputation, and was, moreover, more in accordance with his education and tastes. He long hesitated which course to adopt—whether he should win the laurels of a hero, or earn the crown of a saint. Had he perfectly recovered from the effects of his wound, there is little doubt but that he would have chosen the laurels. But this was not to be. Although he was restored to health, his leg remained hopelessly deformed—he was a cripple for life. It appeared that his restorer, St Peter, although upon the whole a tolerably good physician, was by no means an expert surgeon. The broken bone of his leg had not been properly set; part of it protruded through the skin below the knee, and the limb was short. Sorely, but vainly, did Ignatius strive to remove these impediments to a military career, which his unskilful though saintly surgeon had permitted to remain. He had the projecting piece of bone sawn off, and his shortened leg painfully extended by mechanical appliances, in the hope of restoring it to its original fine proportions. The attempt failed; so he found himself, at the age of thirty-two, with a shrunken limb, with little or no renown, and, by his incurable lameness, rendered but slightly capable of acquiring military glory. Nothing then remained for him but to become a saint.
Saintship being thus, as it were, forced upon him, he at once set about the task of achieving it, with all that ardour which he brought to bear upon every pursuit. He became daily absorbed in the most profound meditations, and made a full confession of all his past sins, which was so often interrupted by his passionate outbursts of penitent weeping, that it lasted three days.[3] To stimulate his devotion, he lacerated his flesh with the scourge, and abjuring his past life, he hung up his sword beside the altar in the church of the convent of Monserrat. Meeting a beggar on the public road, he exchanged clothes with him, and, habited in the loathsome rags of the mendicant, retired to a cave near Manreze, where he nearly starved himself. When he next re-appeared in public, he found his hopes almost realised. His fame had spread far and wide; the people flocked from all quarters to see him—visited his cave with feelings of reverent curiosity—and, in short, nothing was talked of but the holy man and his severe penances. But now the Evil Spirit began to assail him. The tender conscience of Ignatius began to torment him with the fear that all this public notice had made him proud; that, while he had almost begun to consider himself a saint, he was, in reality, by reason of that very belief itself, the most heinous of sinners. So embittered did his life become in consequence of these thoughts, that he went wellnigh distracted. “But God supported him; and the Tempter, baffled in his attempts, fled. Ignatius fasted for seven days, neither eating nor drinking; went again to the confessional; and, receiving absolution, was not only delivered from the stings of his own conscience, but obtained the gift of healing the troubled consciences of others.”[4] This miraculous gift Ignatius is believed to have transmitted to his successors, and it is in a great measure to this belief that the enormous influence of the Company of Jesus is to be attributed, as we shall see hereafter.
Now that Ignatius could endure his saintship without being overwhelmed by a feeling of sinfulness, he pursued his course with renewed alacrity. Yet it was in itself by no means an attractive one. In order to be a perfect Catholic saint, a man must become a sort of misanthrope—cast aside wholesome and cleanly apparel, go about clothed in filthy rags, wearing haircloth next his skin—and, renouncing the world and its inhabitants, must retire to some noisome den, there to live in solitary meditation, with wild roots and water for food, daily applying the scourge to expiate his sins—of which, according to one of the disheartening doctrines of the Catholic Church, even the just commit at least seven a day. The saint must enter into open rebellion against the laws and instincts of human nature, and consequently against the will of the Creator. And although it cannot be denied that some of the founders of monastic orders conscientiously believed that their rules were conducive to holiness and eternal beatitude, nevertheless, we may with justice charge them with overlooking the fact, that as the transgression of the laws of nature invariably brings along with it its own punishment—a certain evidence of the Divine displeasure—true holiness cannot consist in disregarding and opposing them.
Ignatius, however, continued his life of penance, made to the Virgin Mary a solemn vow of perpetual chastity, begged for his bread, often scourged himself, and spent many hours a day in prayer and meditation. What he meditated upon, God only knows. After a few months of this ascetic life, he published a little book which much increased his fame for sanctity. It is a small octavo volume, and bears the title of Spiritual Exercises.[5] As this work, the only one he has left, is the acknowledged standard of the Jesuits’ religious practice, and is by them extolled to the skies, we must say some few words about it.
First of all, we shall relate the supernatural origin assigned to it by the disciples and panegyrists of its author.
“He” (Ignatius) “had already done much for God’s sake, and God now rendered it back to him with usury. A courtier, a man of pleasure, and a soldier, he had neither the time nor the will to gather knowledge from books. But the knowledge of man, the most difficult of all, was divinely revealed to him. The master who was to form so many masters, was himself formed by Divine illumination. He composed the Spiritual Exercises, a work which had a most important place in his life, and is powerfully reflected in the history of his disciples.”
This quotation is from Crétineau Joly (vol i. p. 18), an author who professes not to belong to the Society, but whose book was published under the patronage of the Jesuits, who, he says, opened to him all the depositories of unpublished letters and manuscripts in their principal convent, the Gesù, at Rome; he wrote also a virulent pamphlet against the great Pontiff Clement XIV., the suppressor of the Jesuits. Hence we consider ourselves fairly entitled to rank the few quotations we shall make from him as among those emanating from the writers that belong to the order; and we are confident that no Jesuit would ever think of repudiating Crétineau Joly. This author proceeds to state, that in the manuscript in which Father Jouvency narrates in elegant Latin those strange events, it is said—‘This light shed by the Divine will upon Ignatius shewed him openly and without veil the mystery of the adorable Trinity and other arcana of religion. He remained for eight days as if deprived of life. What he witnessed during this ecstatic trance, as well as in many other visions which he had during life, no one knows. He had indeed committed these celestial visions to paper, but shortly before his death he burned the book containing them, lest it should fall into unworthy hands. A few pages, however, escaped his precautions, and from them one can easily conjecture that he must have been from day to day loaded with still greater favours. Chiefly was he sweetly ravished in contemplating the dignity of Christ the Lord, and his inconceivable charity towards the human race. As the mind of Ignatius was filled with military ideas, he figured to himself Christ as a general fighting for the Divine glory, and calling on all men to gather under his standard. Hence sprang his desire to form an army of which Jesus should be the chief and commander, the standard inscribed—‘Ad majorem Dei gloriam.’
With deference to M. Joly, we think that a more mundane origin may be found for the “Exercises” in the feverish dreams of a heated imagination. Be this as it may, however, we shall proceed to lay before our readers a short analysis of it, extracted from Cardinal Wiseman’s preface to the last edition. He says—“This is a practical, not a theoretical work. It is not a treatise on sin or on virtue; it is not a method of Christian perfection, but it contains the entire practice of perfection, by making us at once conquer sin and acquire the highest virtue. The person who goes through the Exercises is not instructed, but is made to act; and this book will not be intelligible apart from this view.”
“The reader will observe that it is divided into Four Weeks; and each of these has a specific object, to advance the exercitant an additional step towards perfect virtue. If the work of each week be thoroughly done, this is actually accomplished.[6]
“The first week has for its aim the cleansing of the conscience from past sin, and of the affections from their future dangers. For this purpose, the soul is made to convince itself deeply of the true end of its being—to serve God and be saved, and of the real worth of all else. This consideration has been justly called by St Ignatius the principle or foundation of the entire system.” The Cardinal assures us that the certain result of this first week’s exercises is, that “sin is abandoned, hated, loathed....
“In the second, the life of Christ is made our model; by a series of contemplations of it we become familiar with his virtues, enamoured of his perfections; we learn, by copying him, to be obedient to God and man, meek, humble, affectionate; zealous, charitable, and forgiving; men of only one wish and one thought—that of doing ever God’s holy will alone; discreet, devout, observant of every law, scrupulous performers of every duty. Every meditation on these subjects shews us how to do all this; in fact, makes us really do it.[7] ... The third week brings us to this. Having desired and tried to be like Christ in action, we are brought to wish and endeavour to be like unto him in suffering. For this purpose his sacred passion becomes the engrossing subject of the Exercises.... But she (the soul) must be convinced and feel, that if she suffers, she also shall be glorified with him; and hence the fourth and concluding week raises the soul to the consideration of those glories which crowned the humiliations and sufferings of our Lord.” Then, after a highly figurative eulogium upon the efficacy of the Exercises “duly performed,” the reverend prelate proceeds to shew that the one “essential element of a spiritual retreat” (for so the Exercises reduced to action are popularly called) “is direction. In the Catholic Church no one is ever allowed to trust himself in spiritual matters. The sovereign pontiff is obliged to submit himself to the direction of another, in whatever concerns his own soul. The life of a good retreat is a good director of it.” This director modifies (according to certain written rules) the order of the Exercises, to adapt them to the peculiar character of the exercitant; regulates the time employed in them, watches their effects, and, like a physician prescribing for a patient, varies the treatment according to the symptoms exhibited, encouraging those which seem favourable, and suppressing those which are detrimental, to the desired result. “Let no one,” says the Cardinal, “think of undertaking these holy Exercises without the guidance of a prudent and experienced director.”
“It will be seen that the weeks of the Exercises do not mean necessarily a period of seven days. The original period of their performance was certainly a month; but even so, more or less time was allotted to each week’s work according to the discretion of the director. Now, except in very particular circumstances, the entire period is abridged to ten days; sometimes it is still further reduced.”
It will be observed from the above extracts, that the Cardinal, ignoring the fact that the sinner’s conversion must be effected entirely by the operation of the Holy Spirit, seems to regard the unregenerate human soul merely as a piece of raw material, which the “director” may, as it were, manufacture into a saint, simply by subjecting it to the process prescribed in the Exercises.
In regard to the merits of the book, I cannot agree either with Wiseman or a very brilliant Protestant writer,[8] who, speaking of the approbation bestowed on it by Pope Paul III., says—“Yet on this subject the chair of Knox, if now filled by himself, would not be very widely at variance with the throne of St Peter.” The book certainly does not deserve this high eulogium. However, it cannot be denied that, amidst many recommendations of many absurd and superstitious practices proper to the Popish religion, the little volume does contain some very good maxims and precepts. For instance, here are two passages to which I am sure that not even the most anti-Catholic Protestant could reasonably object. At page 16 it is said—
“Man was created for this end, that he might praise and reverence the Lord his God, and, serving him, at length be saved.[9] But the other things which are placed on the earth were created for man’s sake, that they might assist him in pursuing the end of creation; whence it follows, that they are to be used or abstained from in proportion as they benefit or hinder him in pursuing that end. Wherefore we ought to be indifferent towards all created things (in so far as they are subject to the liberty of our will, and not prohibited), so that (to the best of our power) we seek not health more than sickness, nor prefer riches to poverty, honour to contempt, a long life to a short one. But it is fitting, out of all, to choose and desire those things only which lead to the end.” And again, at page 33—“The third” (article for meditation) “is, to consider myself; who, or of what kind I am, adding comparisons which may bring me to a greater contempt of myself; as, if I reflect how little I am when compared with all men; then, what the whole multitude of mortals is, as compared with the angels and all the blessed: after these things I must consider what, in fact, all the creation is in comparison with God the Creator himself; what now can I, one mere human being, be? Lastly, let me look at the corruption of my whole self, the wickedness of my soul, and the pollution of my body, and account myself to be a kind of ulcer or boil, from which so great and foul a flood of sins, so great a pestilence of vices, has flowed down.
“The fourth is, to consider what God is, whom I have thus offended, collecting the perfections which are God’s peculiar attributes, and comparing them with my opposite vices and defects; comparing, that is to say, his supreme power, wisdom, goodness, and justice, with my extreme weakness, ignorance, wickedness, and iniquity.”
But then the above “Exercises” are followed by certain “Additions,” which are recommended as conducing to their “better performance.” Some of these are very strange; for instance—“The fourth is, to set about the contemplation itself, now kneeling on the ground, now lying on my face or on my back; now sitting or standing, and composing myself, in the way in which I may hope the more easily to attain what I desire. In which matter, these two things must be attended to: the first, that if, on my knees or in any other posture, I obtain what I wish, I seek nothing further. The second, that on the point in which I shall have attained the devotion I seek, I ought to rest, without being anxious about pressing on until I shall have satisfied myself.” “The sixth, that I avoid those thoughts which bring joy, as that of the glorious resurrection of Christ; since any such thought hinders the tears and grief for my sins, which must then be sought by calling in mind rather death or judgment.” “The seventh, that, for the same reason, I deprive myself of all the brightness of the light, shutting the doors and windows so long as I remain there” (in my chamber), “except while I have to read or take my food.” At page 55 we find, in the Second Week—“The Fifth Contemplation is the application of the senses to those” (contemplations) “mentioned above. After the preparatory prayer, with the three already mentioned preludes, it is eminently useful to exercise the five imaginary senses concerning the first and second contemplations in the following way, according as the subject shall bear.
“The first point will be, to see in imagination all the persons, and, noting the circumstances which shall occur concerning them, to draw out what may be profitable to ourselves.
“The second, by hearing, as it were, what they are saying, or what it may be natural for them to say, to turn all to our own advantage.
“The third, to perceive, by a certain inward taste and smell, how great is the sweetness and delightfulness of the soul imbued with Divine gifts and virtues, according to the nature of the person we are considering, adapting to ourselves those things which may bring us some fruit.
“The fourth, by an inward touch, to handle and kiss the garments, places, footsteps, and other things connected with such persons; whence we may derive a greater increase of devotion, or of any spiritual good.
“This contemplation will be terminated, like the former ones, by adding, in like manner, Pater noster.”
At page 52, among things “to be noted” is—
“The second, that the first exercise concerning the Incarnation of Christ is performed at midnight; the next at dawn; the third about the hour of mass; the fourth about the time of vespers; the fifth a little before supper; and on each of them will be spent the space of one hour; which same thing has to be observed henceforward everywhere.”
Loyola’s next step towards holiness was a pilgrimage to Palestine to convert the infidels. What he did in the Holy Land we do not know; his biographer tells us only that he was sent back by the Franciscan friar who exercised there the Papal authority.[10]
On his homeward voyage, Ignatius conceived that a little learning would perhaps help him in the task of converting heretics, and thus furnish him with an additional chance of rendering himself famous; so after his return he attended a school at Barcelona for two years, where, a full-grown man of thirty-four, he learned the rudiments of the Latin language, sitting upon the same bench with little boys.
Having failed to make any proselytes to his extravagances at Barcelona, he went to Alcala, and studied in the university newly erected there by Cardinal Ximenes. Here he attracted much public notice by the eccentricities of his fanatical piety. He wore a peculiar dress of coarse material, and by his fervid discourse contrived to win over to his mode of life four or five young men, whom he called his disciples. But he was regarded with suspicion by the authorities, who twice imprisoned him. He and his converts were ordered to resume the common garb, and to cease to expound to the people the mysteries of religion.[11] Indignant at this, Ignatius immediately set out for Paris, where, in the beginning of 1528, he arrived alone, his companions having deserted him.
His persecutions at Alcala had taught him prudence; so that, although his attempts at notoriety in Paris, in the way of dress, manners, and language, brought him before the tribunal of the Inquisition,[12] he nevertheless had managed matters so cautiously as to escape all punishment. Here, while contending with the difficulties of the Latin grammar,[13] he was ever revolving in his vast and capacious mind some new scheme for fulfilling his desires and gratifying his passion for renown. But as yet he knew not what he was destined to accomplish. There seems no ground for supposing that he could already have formed the gigantic and comprehensive project of establishing, on the basis on which it now stands, his wonderful and powerful Society. No; he only contrived, as he had done in Spain, to enlist some followers, over whom he could exercise an absolute control, for the furtherance of any future project. In this his success had far exceeded his expectations. The magnanimous and heroic Xavier, the intelligent and interesting Le Fevre, the learned Lainez, the noble and daring Rodriguez, and some three or four others, acknowledged him as their chief and master.
It may at first sight appear strange that such privileged intelligences should have submitted themselves to a comparatively ignorant ex-officer. But when it is borne in mind that Ignatius had a definite end, towards which he advanced with steady and unhesitating steps, whilst his companions had no fixed plan—that he was endowed with an iron will, which neither poverty, nor imprisonment, nor even the world’s contempt, could overcome—that, above all, he had the art to flatter their respective passions, and to win their affections by using all his influence to promote their interests—it is less surprising that he should have gained an immense influence over those inexperienced and ingenuous young men, on whose generous natures the idea of devoting their lives to the welfare of mankind had already made a deep impression. Loyola’s courage and ambition were strongly stimulated by the acquisition of disciples so willing and devoted—so efficient for his purpose—so attached to his person; and he began to consider how he might turn their devotion to the best account.
After some conferences with his companions, he assembled them all on the day of the Assumption, 16th August 1534, in the church of the Abbey of Montmartre, where, after Peter Le Fevre had celebrated mass, they each took a solemn vow to go to the Holy Land and preach the gospel to the infidels. Ignatius, satisfied for the present with these pledges, left Paris, in order, as he asserted, to recruit his health by breathing his native air at Loyola before setting out on his arduous mission, and doubtless also to find solitude and leisure in which to meditate and devise means for realising his ambitious hopes. His disciples remained in Paris to terminate their theological studies, and he commanded them to meet him again at Venice in the beginning of 1537, enjoining them, meanwhile, if any one should ask them what religion they professed, to answer that they belonged to the Society of Jesus—since they were Christ’s soldiers.[14]
Our saint preceded them to Venice, where he again encountered some difficulties and a little persecution; but he endured all with unflinching patience. Here he became acquainted with Pierre Caraffa (afterwards Pope Paul IV.) This harsh and remarkable man had renounced the bishopric of Theate, to become the companion of the meek and gentle Saint Gajetan of Tyenne, and with his assistance had founded the religious order of the Theatines. The members of this fraternity endeavoured, by exemplary living, devotion to their clerical duties of preaching and administering the sacraments, and ministering to the sick, to correct the evils produced throughout all Christendom by the scandalous and immoral conduct of the regular and secular clergy. To Caraffa, who had already acquired great influence, Ignatius attached himself, became an inmate of the convent he had founded, served patiently and devotedly in the hospital which he directed, and shortly became Caraffa’s intimate friend. This fixed at once the hitherto aimless ambition of Loyola. He conceived the idea of achieving power and fame, if not as the founder of a new order, at least as the remodeller of one already existing. With this design, he submitted to Caraffa a plan of reform for his order, and strongly urged its adoption. But Caraffa, who perhaps suspected his motive, rejected his proposal, and offered to admit him as a brother of the order as it stood. This, however, did not suit Ignatius, whose proud nature could never have submitted to play even the second part, much less that of an insignificant member in a society over which another had all power and authority. He therefore declined the honour, and at once determined to found a new religious community of his own. Aware, however, of the difficulties he might have to overcome, he resolved to proceed with the utmost caution.
Being under a vow to go to convert the infidels in the Holy Land, he gave out that to this work alone were the lives of himself and his companions to be devoted. Accordingly, as soon as they arrived in Venice, he sent them to Rome to beg the Pope’s blessing on their enterprise, as he said; and also, no doubt, to exhibit them to the Roman court as the embryo of a new religious order. The reason assigned by his historians for his not going to Rome along with them, is, that he feared that his presence there might be prejudicial to them.[15] It is just as likely that he was afraid lest, beneath his cloak of ostentatious humility, the discerning eye of Pope Paul might detect his unbounded ambition.
At Rome his disciples were favourably received;—the Pontiff bestowed the desired benediction, and they returned to Venice, whence they were to sail for Palestine.
Here Ignatius prevailed upon them to take vows of perpetual chastity and poverty, and then, under pretext of the war which was raging at the time between the emperor and the Turks, they abandoned their mission altogether. So ended their pious pilgrimage.
Taking with him Lainez and Le Fevre, Loyola then proceeded to Rome, and craved audience of the Pope.
The chair of St Peter was at this time occupied by Paul Farnese—that same Pope who opened, and in part conducted, the Council of Trent; who instigated the emperor to the war against the Protestants; who sent, under his grandson’s command, 12,000 of his own troops into Germany to assist in that war; and who lifted up his sacrilegious hand to bless whoever would shed Protestant blood. He had been scandalously incontinent; and if he did not, like Alexander VI., entirely sacrifice the interests of the Church and of humanity to the aggrandisement of his own family, nevertheless, his son received the dukedom of Placentia, and his grandsons were created cardinals at the age of fourteen, and one of them was intended to be Duke of Milan. However, Paul had some grandeur in his nature. He was generous, and therefore popular, and his activity was indefatigable. But Sarpi says of him, that of all his own qualities, he did not appreciate any nearly so much as his dissimulation.[16]
By this amiable pontiff, Ignatius and his companions were kindly received. He praised their exemplary and religious life, questioned them concerning their projects, but took no notice of the plan they hinted at, of originating a new religious order.
But Loyola was not to be thus discouraged. He summoned to Rome all his followers (who had remained in Lombardy, preaching with a bigoted fanaticism and calling the citizens to repentance), and gave them a clearer outline than he had hitherto done of the society he proposed to establish. This they entirely approved of, and took another vow (the most essential for Loyola’s purpose) of implicit and unquestioning obedience to their superior. Admire here the cautious and consummate art by which Ignatius, step by step, brought his associates to the desired point.
Notwithstanding the repeated refusals of the Court of Rome to accede to his wishes, neither the courage nor the perseverance of Ignatius failed him. After much reflection, he at last thought he had discovered a way to overcome the Pope’s unwillingness. Consulting with his companions, he persuaded them to take a fourth vow, viz., one of obedience to the Holy See and to the Pope pro tempore, with the express obligation of going, without remuneration, to whatever part of the world it should please the Pope to send them. He then drew up a petition, in which were stated some of the principles and rules of the order he desired to establish, and sent it to the Pope by Cardinal Contarini.
This fourth vow made a great impression on the wily pontiff; yet so great was his aversion to religious communities, some of which were just then the objects of popular hatred and the plague of the Roman court, that he refused to approve of this new one until he had the advice of three cardinals, to whom he referred the matter. Guidiccioni, the most talented of the three, strenuously opposed it; but Paul, who perhaps had by this time penetrated the designs of Loyola, and perceived that the proposed Society could not prosper unless by contending for and maintaining the supremacy of the Holy See, thought it would be his best policy to accept the services of these volunteers, especially as it was a time when he much needed them. Consequently, on the 27th of September 1540, he issued the famous bull, regimini militantis Ecclesiæ, approving of the new order under the name of “The Society of Jesus.” We consider it indispensable to give some extracts from this bull.
“Paul, Bishop, Servant of the Servants of God, for a perpetual record. Presiding by God’s will over the Government of the Church, &c.... Whereas we have lately learned that our beloved son Ignatius de Loyola, and Peter Le Fevre, and James Lainez; and also Claudius Le Jay, and Paschasius Brouet, and Francis Xavier; and also Alphonso Salmeron and Simon Rodriguez, and John Coduri, and Nicolas de Bobadilla; priests of the Cities, &c.... inspired, as is piously believed, by the Holy Ghost; coming from various regions of the globe; are met together, and become associates; and, renouncing the seductions of this world, have dedicated their lives to the perpetual service of our Lord Jesus Christ, and of us, and of other our successors, Roman Pontiffs; and expressly for the instruction of boys and other ignorant people in Christianity; and, above all, for the spiritual consolation of the faithful in Christ, by HEARING CONFESSIONS; ... We receive the associates under our protection and that of the Apostolic See; conceding to them, moreover, that some among them may freely and lawfully draw up such Constitutions as they shall judge to be conformable to, &c.... We will, moreover, that into this Society there be admitted to the number of sixty persons only, desirous of embracing this rule of living, and no more, and to be incorporated into the Society aforesaid.”
The above-named ten persons were the first companions of Loyola, and, with him, the founders of the Society. But the merit of framing the Constitution which was to govern it belongs solely to Ignatius himself. He alone among them all was capable of such a conception. He alone could have devised a scheme by which one free rational being is converted into a mere automaton—acting, speaking, even thinking, according to the expressed will of another. There is no record in history, of any man, be he king, emperor, or pope, exercising such absolute and irresponsible power over his fellow-men as does the General of the Jesuits over his disciples. In the Spiritual Exercises Loyola appears to be merely an ascetic enthusiast; in the Constitution he shews himself a high genius, with a perfect and profound knowledge of human nature and of the natural sequence of events. Never was there put together a plan so admirably harmonious in all its parts, so wonderfully suited to its ends, or which has ever met with such prodigious success.
Prompt, unhesitating obedience to the commands of the General, and (for the benefit of the Society, and ad majorem Dei gloriam) great elasticity in all other rules, according to the General’s goodwill, are the chief features of this famous Constitution, which, as it constitutes the Jesuits’ code of morality, we shall now proceed to examine, doing our best to shew the spirit in which it was dictated.
CHAPTER II.
1540-52.
CONSTITUTIONS OF THE SOCIETY.[17]
The times in which Ignatius wrote the Constitutions were, for the Court of Rome and the Catholic religion, times of anxiety and danger. The Reformation was making rapid progress, and all Christendom, Catholic[18] as well as Protestant, resounded with the “Hundred Complaints” (Centum gravamina) brought forward at the Diet of Nuremberg against the Roman court—complaints and accusations which the wonderfully candid Adrian VI. acknowledged to be too well founded. This pontiff, by his nuncio, frankly declared to the Diet, “that all this confusion was originated by men’s sins, and, above all, by those of the clergymen and prelates—that for many years past the Holy See had committed many abominations—that numerous abuses had crept into the administration of spiritual affairs, and many superfluities into the laws—that all had been perverted—and that the corruption, descending from the head to the body, from the Sovereign Pontiff to the prelates, was so great, that there could hardly be found one who did good.”[19] When a pope confessed so much to Protestant ears, it may well be imagined to what a degree of rottenness the moral leprosy must have arrived.
But, besides this corruption, great confusion reigned throughout the Roman Catholic world. The different monastic orders were at war with one another. The bishops accused the Pope of tyranny; the Pope denounced the bishops as disobedient. The mass of the people were deplorably ignorant, and general disorder prevailed.
Now, mark with what admirable art, what profound sagacity, Ignatius modelled a society, which, by displaying the virtues directly opposed to the then prevailing vices, should captivate the affections and secure the support of the good and the pious, whilst, by underhand practices, and, above all, by shewing unusual indulgence in the confessional, it should obtain an influence over the minds of the more worldly believers.
In order that diversity of opinion and the free exercise of individual will should not produce division and confusion within this new Christian community, Loyola enacted that, in the whole Society, there should be no will, no opinion, but the General’s. But, in order that the General might be enabled profitably to employ each individual member, as well as the collective energy and intelligence of the whole Society, it was necessary that he should be thoroughly acquainted with his character, even to its smallest peculiarities. To insure this, Ignatius established special rules. Thus, regarding the admission of postulants, he says—
“Because it greatly concerns God’s service to make a good selection, diligence must be used to ascertain the particulars of their person and calling; and if the superior, who is to admit him into probation, cannot make the inquiry, let him employ from among those who are constantly about his person some one whose assistance he may use, to become acquainted with the probationer—to live with him and examine him;—some one endowed with prudence, and not unskilled in the manner which should be observed with so many various kinds and conditions of persons.”[20] In other words, set a skilful and prudent spy over him, to surprise him into the betrayal of his most secret thoughts. Yet, even when this spy has given a tolerably favourable report, the candidate is not yet admitted—he is sent to live in another house, “in order that he may be more thoroughly scrutinised, to know whether he is fitted to be admitted to probation.”[21] When he is thought suited for the Society, he is received into the “house of first probation;” and after a day or two, “he must open his conscience to the superior, and afterwards make a general confession to the confessor who shall be designed by the superior.”[22] But this is not all, for—“in every house of probation there will be a skilful man to whom the candidate shall disclose all his concerns with confidence; and let him be admonished to hide no temptation, but to disclose it to him, or to his confessor, or to the superior; nay, to take a pleasure in thoroughly manifesting his whole soul to them, not only disclosing his defects, but even his penances, mortifications, and virtues.”[23] When the candidate is admitted into any of their colleges, he must again “open his conscience to the rector of the college, whom he should greatly revere and venerate, as one who holds the place of Christ our Lord; keeping nothing concealed from him, not even his conscience, which he should disclose to him (as it is set forth in the Examen) at the appointed season, and oftener, if any cause require it; not opposing, not contradicting, nor shewing an opinion, in any case, opposed to his opinion.”[24]
The information thus collected, regarding the tastes, habits, and inclinations of every member, is communicated to the General, who notes it down in a book, alphabetically arranged, and kept for the purpose, in which also, as he receives twice a year a detailed report upon every member of the Society, he from time to time adds whatever seems necessary to complete each delineation of character, or to indicate the slightest change. Thus, the General knowing the past and present life, the thoughts, the desires of every one belonging to the Society, it is easy to understand how he is enabled always to select the fittest person for every special service.
But this perfect knowledge of his subordinates’ inmost natures would be of but little use to the General, had he not also an absolute and uncontrolled authority over them. The Constitution has a provision for insuring this likewise. It declares that the candidate “must regard the superior as Christ the Lord, and must strive to acquire perfect resignation and denial of his own will and judgment, in all things conforming his will and judgment to that which the superior wills and judges.”[25] To the same purpose is the following: “As for holy obedience, this virtue must be perfect in every point—in execution, in will, in intellect; doing what is enjoined with all celerity, spiritual joy, and perseverance; persuading ourself that everything is just; suppressing every repugnant thought and judgment of one’s own, in a certain obedience; ... and let every one persuade himself that he who lives under obedience should be moved and directed, under Divine Providence, by his superior, just as if he were a CORPSE (perinde ac si cadaver esset), which allows itself to be moved and led in any direction.”[26] And so absolutely is this rule of submissive obedience enforced, that the Jesuit, in order to obey his General, must not scruple to disobey God. The warnings of conscience are to be suppressed as culpable weaknesses; the fears of eternal punishment banished from the thoughts as superstitious fancies; and the most heinous crimes, when committed by command of the General, are to be regarded as promoting the glory and praise of God.
Read and consider the following blasphemy:—“No constitution, declaration, or any order of living, can involve an obligation to commit sin, mortal or venial, unless the superior command it in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, or in virtue of holy obedience; which shall be done in those cases or persons wherein it shall be judged that it will greatly conduce to the particular good of each, or to the general advantage; and, instead of the fear of offence, let the love and desire of all perfection succeed, that the greater glory and praise of Christ, our Creator and Lord, may follow!”[27]
I shudder at the thought of all the atrocities which have been perpetrated at the order of this other “old man of the mountain,” who presents to his agents the prospects of eternal bliss as the reward of their obedience.
But this is not enough. Not content with having thus transferred the allegiance of the Jesuit from his God to his General, the Constitution proceeds to secure that allegiance from all conflict with the natural affections or worldly interests. The Jesuit must concentrate all his desires and affections upon the Society. He must renounce all that is dear to him in this life. The ties of family, the bonds of friendship, must be broken. His property must, within a year after his entrance into the Society, be disposed of at the bidding of the General; “and he will accomplish a work of greater perfection if he dispose of it in benefit of the Society. And that his better example may shine before men, he must put away all strong affection for his parents, and refrain from the unsuitable desire of a bountiful distribution, arising from such disadvantageous affection.”[28]
He must, besides, forego all intercourse with his fellow-men, either by word of mouth or by writing,[29] except such as his superior shall permit. “He shall not leave the house except at such times and with such companions as the superior shall allow. Nor within the house shall he converse, without restraint, with any one at his own pleasure, but with such only as shall be appointed by the superior.”[30] Such was the strictness with which these rules were enforced, that Francis Borgia, Duke of Candia, afterwards one of the saints of the Society, was at first refused admittance into it, because he delayed the settlement of the affairs of his dukedom, and refused to renounce all intercourse with his family; and although, by a special rescript from the Pope, he was enrolled as a member, Ignatius for three years sternly denied him access to the house of the community, where he was not admitted till he had renounced all intercourse with the external world.
But not only is all friendly communication forbidden to the Jesuit, but he is also placed under constant espionage. He is never permitted to walk about alone, but, whether in the house or out of doors, is always accompanied by two of his brethren.[31] Each one of this party of three acts, in fact, as a spy upon his two companions. Not, indeed, that he has special instructions from his superior to do so, but, knowing that they, as well as himself, have been taught that it is their duty to inform the General of every suspicious or peculiar expression uttered in their hearing, he is under constant fear of punishment, should either of them report anything regarding the other which he omits to report likewise. Hence it is very seldom that a Jesuit refrains from denouncing his companion. If he does not do so at once, his sinful neglect becomes revealed in the confessional, to the special confessor appointed by the superior.
Then, in order that these members, so submissive in action to their General, should not differ in opinion among themselves and so occasion scandal in the Catholic world, and to oppose an uniformity of doctrine to that of the free examen of the Protestants, the Constitution decrees as follows:—“Let all think, let all speak, as far as possible, the same thing, according to the apostle. Let no contradictory doctrines, therefore, be allowed, either by word of mouth, or public sermons, or in written books, which last shall not be published without the approbation and the consent of the General; and, indeed, all difference of opinion regarding practical matters should be avoided.”[32] Thus, no one but the General can exercise the right of uttering a single original thought or opinion. It is almost impossible to conceive the power, especially in former times, of a General having at his absolute disposal such an amount of intelligences, wills, and energies.
Now, it must not be imagined that all, willing implicitly to obey the behests of the superior, are indiscriminately admitted into the Society. Such, indeed, is the case with all other monastic orders (I speak more particularly of Italy and Spain). Vagabonds, thieves, and ruffians, often became members of those communities, in whose convents they had found an asylum against the police and the hangman. Ignatius wisely guarded his Society from this abuse. Its members must be chosen, if possible, from among the best. The wealthy and the noble are the fittest for admission; although these qualifications are not essential, and the want of them may be supplied by some extraordinary natural gift or acquired talent.[33] Besides this, the candidate must possess a comely presence, youth, health, strength, facility of speech, and steadiness of purpose. To have ever been a heretic or schismatic, to have been guilty of homicide or any heinous crime, to have belonged to another order, to be under the bond of matrimony, or not to have a strong and sound mind, are insurmountable obstacles to admission. Ungovernable passions, habit of sinning, unsteadiness and fickleness of mind, lukewarm devotion, want of learning and of ability to acquire it, a dull memory, bodily defects, debility and disease, and advanced age—any of these imperfections render the postulant less acceptable;[34] and, to gain admission, he must exhibit some very useful compensating qualities. It is evident that persons so carefully selected are never likely to disgrace the Society by any gross misbehaviour, and will perform with prudence and success any temporal or worldly service they may be put to by the General. I say worldly service, because I should suppose that it must matter very little for the service of God should the servant be lame or of an “uncomely presence.”
But in no part of the Constitution do Loyola’s genius and penetration shine so conspicuously as in the rules regarding the vow of poverty, and the gratuitous performance of the duties of the sacred ministry. The discredit and hatred which weighed upon the clergy and the monastic orders was in great part due to the ostentatious display of their accumulated wealth, and to the venality of their sacred ministry. To guard against this evil, Ignatius ordained that “poverty should be loved and maintained as the firmest bulwark of religion.” The Jesuit was forbidden to possess any property, either by inheritance or otherwise. He was required to live in an inexpensive house, to dress plainly, and avoid all appearance of being wealthy. The churches and religious houses of the order were to be without endowments. The colleges alone were permitted to accept legacies or donations for the maintenance of students and professors. No limit was assigned to these gifts, the management of which was intrusted entirely to the General, with power to appoint rectors and administrators under him. These functionaries, generally chosen from among the coadjutors and very rarely from the professed Society, although debarred by their vow of perpetual poverty from the possession of the smallest amount of property, are yet, by this ingenious trick, enabled to hold and administer the entire wealth of the Society. We shall afterwards see, and especially in the famous process of Lavallette, in what a large sense they understand the word administer. So much for the display of wealth. With respect to the venality of the sacred ministry, they declared that “no Jesuit shall demand or receive pay, or alms, or remuneration, for mass, confessions, sermons, lessons, visitations, or any other duty which the Society is obliged to render; and, to avoid even the appearance of covetousness, especially in offices of piety which the Society discharges for the succour of souls, let there be no box in the church, into which alms are generally put by those who go thither to mass, sermon, confession,” &c.[35] Thus the Jesuit refuses to accept a few paltry sixpences for performing mass, or a fee of some shillings per quarter for teaching boys. He disdains to appear mercenary. He would much rather be poor. He looks for no reward. Yet, those little boys whom he instructs gratuitously, and with such affectionate tenderness that he cannot bring himself to chastise them, but must have the painful though necessary duty performed by some one not belonging to the Society;[36]—these boys, I say, will become men, many of them religious bigots, strongly attached to their kind preceptors, to whom they will then pay the debt of gratitude incurred in their youth.
Alas for such gratitude! How many families have had cause to deplore it! How many children have been reduced to beggary by it! How many ancient and noble houses has it precipitated from the height of affluence and splendour into the depth of poverty and wretchedness! Who can number the crimes committed in the madness of despair occasioned by the loss of the family inheritance? That the parent may suffer a few years less of purgatory, the child has been too often condemned to misery in this life, and perhaps to eternal punishment in the next. But all this is of no consequence. The man who has been led thus to disregard one of his most sacred parental duties, in order to found a Jesuits’ college or endow a professorship, will be saved, because they promise him—“In every college of our Society, let masses be celebrated once a week for ever, for its founder and benefactor, whether dead or alive. At the beginning of every month, all the priests who are in the college ought to offer the same sacrifice for them; and a solemn mass, with a commemorative feast, shall be celebrated on the anniversary of the donation, and a wax candle offered to the donor or his descendants.” Besides this, “the donor shall have three masses while alive, and three masses after his death, by all the priests of the Society, with the prayers of all its members; so that he is made partaker of all the good works which are done, by the grace of God, not only in the college which he has endowed, but in the whole Society.”[37]
By such allurements do these crafty priests, with diabolical cunning, snatch princely fortunes from the credulous and superstitious believers. And so assiduous and successful were they even at the very beginning, that, only thirteen years after the establishment of the order, during Loyola’s lifetime, they already possessed upwards of a hundred colleges very largely and richly endowed.
Now, let not my Protestant readers wonder how sensible men can be induced, by such ephemeral and ill-founded hopes, to disinherit their families in order to enrich these hypocritical monks. They must remember that the Romish believer views these matters in quite a different light from that in which they see them. Masses and prayers are, in his belief, not only useful, but indispensable. For lack of them he would writhe for centuries amid the tormenting fires of purgatory, the purifying pains of which are described by his priest, with appalling eloquence, as being far more excruciating than those of hell. According to the doctrine of his Church, every soul (one in a million only excepted) who is not eternally damned, must, ere it enter heaven, pass a certain time in this abode of torture for the expiation of its sins. And let him not take comfort from the fact that his conscience does not reproach him with the commission of any heinous crime. The catalogue of sins by which he may be shut out from eternal blessedness is made artfully long, and detailed with great minuteness. The most upright and pious of men must condemn himself as a presumptuous sinner if he for an instant harbours the hope of escaping the purifying fire. So he becomes quite resigned to his fate, and all his care in this life is, how to appease the Divine anger, and shorten the period of his exclusion from heaven. This he is taught to do—not by trusting to the righteousness of Jesus Christ, with the true repentance which manifests itself through a holy life, but by accumulating on his head hundreds of masses and millions of days of indulgence. Hence the innumerable masses and prayers which he sends before him during his life, as if to forestall his future punishment, and bribe the Divine justice. And when the terrible moment arrives—that moment in which he is about to appear before the awful Judge, beneath whose searching eye his most secret thoughts lie bare—when, trembling at the strict account that is about to be demanded of him, his fears represent to his excited imagination the most trifling shortcomings as mortal sins—when, with the decline of bodily strength, his enfeebled mind becomes more easily worked upon—then does his Jesuit confessor, his generous master, his kind, disinterested friend, come to give him the last proof of his ever-growing affection. He seats himself at his bedside, and, serpent-like, under pretence of inducing him to repent of his sins, he draws him a fearful and impressive picture of the torments which await the damned. He descants to him with oily sanctity upon the enormity of offending the Divine Saviour, who shed his precious blood to redeem us. He terrifies him with the Almighty’s implacable vengeance; and when his victim, choked with heart-rending agony, distracted, despairing of his ultimate salvation, is ready to curse God, and set his power and anger at defiance—then, and not till then, does the Jesuit relent. Now he raises in the sufferer’s heart the faintest hope that the Divine justice may possibly be disarmed, and mercy obtained by means of masses and indulgences. The exhausted man, who feels as if he were already plunged amid the boiling sulphur and devouring flames, grasps with frantic eagerness at this anchor of salvation; and, did he possess tenfold more wealth than he does, he would willingly give it all up to save his soul. It may be that his heart, yearning with paternal affection, shrinks at the thought of condemning his helpless ones to beggary; but nevertheless, as if the welfare of his family were necessarily connected with his own perdition, and that of the Jesuits with eternal beatitude, the family is invariably sacrificed to the Jesuits.
It is notorious that the most diabolical tricks have been resorted to in the case of dying men whose better judgment and natural sense of duty have withstood such perfidious wiles.
Alas! the punishment of such criminal obstinacy was always near at hand; the sick-chamber has been suddenly filled with flames and sulphureous vapour as a warning to the impenitent sinner. And if he still resisted, the Evil Spirit himself, in his most frightful shape, has appeared to the dying man, as if waiting for his soul. Ah!—one’s hair stands on end while listening to such sacrilegious manœuvres. The immense wealth of the Jesuits has been bequeathed to them by wills made at the last hour!
In order that all classes of Jesuits may better attend to their peculiar occupations, Ignatius relieved them from the obligation, incumbent on all other religious communities, of performing the Church service at the canonical hours.
Jesuits of every class may be expelled from the order, either by the general congregation or by the all-powerful General. In such cases, however, it is enacted, that great care be taken to keep secret the deeds or crimes which necessitate the dismissal, in order that the ex-Jesuit may suffer the least possible disgrace; also, that he shall be assisted by the prayers of the community, together with something more substantial, to the end that he may harbour no resentment against the order.[38]
No Jesuit, without the consent of the General, is allowed to accept any ecclesiastical dignity or benefice; and the General is required to refuse such consent, unless the Pope command him in the name of holy obedience to grant it. By this rule Ignatius designed to avoid exciting the animosity and jealousy of the other monastic orders, and of the clergy in general. Besides, Ignatius knew well that any ecclesiastical dignity would confer lustre and power on the individual, but be detrimental to the order. A bishop or a cardinal would be less disposed than a poor priest, to obey the General, and to work for the Society. He himself most rigidly enforced it, and would permit neither Lainez nor Borgia to receive the cardinal’s hat, which the Pope offered them. Since his time, the Jesuits have very seldom broken this rule, and that most often only to undertake some bishopric in far distant countries where no one else would desire to go.
The dress of the Jesuits consists of a long black vest and cloak, and of a low-crowned broad-brimmed hat, all of the greatest simplicity, and of good but common material. In their houses and colleges there reigns the most perfect order, the most exemplary propriety. The banqueting, revelling, and licence which so disgrace the establishments of the other monastic orders, are strictly prohibited.[39] They are very frugal in their habits, and prudently avoid all display of wealth. It is said that the General occasionally relaxes the rules in favour of some of the most trusty of the professed and coadjutors, in order that, disguised as laymen, they may enjoy a few holidays as they please, in some distant place where they are not known.
We shall now proceed to examine that part of the Constitutions which concerns the hierarchy. Our readers must always bear in mind what we have already said, that the Constitutions were not finished till the year 1552, and it may perhaps be that some rules were added even after. The Society at first consisted only of professed members, and of scholastics or scholars, a sort of Jesuit aspirants who were trained up for the Society, into which they were admitted or not, according to the proofs which they had given of their fitness. In the year 1546, Paul III. approved of the introduction of the class of the Coadjutors, and in the year 1552 was erected at Lisbon the first house for the novices. We may further observe that, under the first three Generals, those Constitutions were scrupulously observed. And those were the heroic times of the Society. But from that moment, internal discord at first, and afterwards the more worldly and political character assumed by the Society, were its ruin, and the cause of its suppression as well as of its re-establishment. But let us not anticipate events.
CHAPTER III.
1540-53.
HIERARCHY.
The government of the Company of Jesus is purely monarchical, and the General is its absolute and uncontrollable king.
The members of the Society are divided into four classes,—the Professed, Coadjutors, Scholars, and Novices. There is also a secret fifth class, known only to the General and a few faithful Jesuits, which, perhaps more than any other, contributes to the dreaded and mysterious power of the order. It is composed of laymen of all ranks, from the minister to the humble shoe-boy. Among the individuals composing this class are to be found many ladies, who, unknown and unsuspected, are more dangerous in themselves, and more accurate spies to the Company. These are affiliated to the Society, but not bound by any vows. The Society, as a noble and avowed reward, promises to them forgiveness for all their sins, and eternal blessedness, and, as a more palpable mark of gratitude, protects them, patronises them, and, in countries where the Jesuits are powerful, procures for them comfortable and lucrative places under government, or elsewhere. If this is not sufficient, they are paid for their services in hard cash, according to an article of the Constitution, which empowers the General to spend money on persons who will make themselves useful. In return for these favours, they act as the spies of the order, the reporters of what goes on in those classes of society with which the Jesuit cannot mix, and serve, often unwittingly, as the tools and accomplices in dark and mysterious crimes. Father Francis Pellico, brother to the famous Silvio, in his recent quarrel with the celebrated Gioberti, to prove that the order is not so very deficient of supporters as his opponent asserts, candidly confesses that “the many illustrious friends of the Society, prelates, orators, learned and distinguished men of every description, the supporters of the Society, remain occult, and obliged to be silent.”[40] This avowal, coming from the mouth of a Jesuit, must be specially noted. Now, reversing the order of the classes, we shall begin by describing