Ignatius had no sooner obtained a bull from the Pope approving of the Society, than he thought it expedient to give it a chief, or, to speak more correctly, to be himself formally elected as such, being de facto its master already. In order, therefore, to proceed to the election of the General, he summoned to Rome his companions, who were scattered through different parts of Europe. Six came. Bobadilla, Xavier, and Rodriguez sent their votes written. Both absent and present were unanimous in their choice, which (as one may well imagine) fell upon Ignatius. He, however, had the modesty (so we are told) to refuse the honour, and insisted that they should proceed to a new election. The second trial had the same result, but Ignatius still declined to accept of the office. At last, however, on being much importuned to do so, he exclaimed—“Since you persist in choosing me, who know well my infirmities, I cannot in conscience subscribe to your judgment. It only remains, then, that we refer the contested point to my confessor, whom, as you know, I consider the interpreter of the Divine will.”[52] The good fathers consented to this arrangement the more willingly, as they had no doubt whatever (I should think not) that Father Theodose would approve of their selection. Nor were they deceived.[53]
On Easter-day, therefore, in the year 1541, he assumed the government of the Society, and on the following Friday he and his disciples, in the magnificent Basilica of St Paul’s at Rome, renewed the four vows to which they had bound themselves, with extraordinary pomp and ceremony.
We candidly admit, however, that Ignatius, after reaching the height of his ambition, relaxed nothing in the strictness of his conduct, nor allowed that zeal which he had manifested in order to attain it, to cool down. On the contrary, he seemed to redouble his energy, and gain additional strength in his new dignity. The days in which he lived were days of battle, and Ignatius, not forgetting his first vocation, was impatient to enter the melée. Protestantism, a giant in its infancy, standing in a menacing attitude, with the Bible in one hand and the sword in the other, bid defiance to the impugners of the Sacred Volume. Catholicism, old in the debauch of power, discredited by the vices of its ministers, could only oppose his formidable antagonist with a scattered and undisciplined army of monks and priests, rendered effete by a life of effeminacy and debauchery. At this critical moment, Ignatius rushed to the rescue with an army, small indeed in number, but composed of brave and resolute souls, learned, eloquent, passionate, trained to fight, fully persuaded, as almost every soldier is, that theirs was the just cause, and that to them the victory ought to belong. The disciples of Ignatius took the field high in spirits, and prepared, if need be, to sacrifice their liberty, their blood, their lives, their all, for the cause they had embraced, which was in their eyes the cause of God. They dispersed to every part of Europe. Lefevre, from the Congress of Worms, proceeded to Spain; Lainez and Lejay succeeded him in Germany. Bobadilla went to Naples, Brouet and Salmeron to Ireland, Rodriguez and Xavier to Portugal. Everywhere these rigid and fanatic monks were, on the one hand, engaged in theological discussion, while, on the other, they preached repentance to the people and reform to the clergy, and paid no regard to the hatred evinced towards them both by Protestants and Catholics. It seems as if they courted persecution, and wished to wear the martyr’s crown. When the infuriated populace of Vienna threatened to throw Lejay into the Danube, he smiled scornfully, and calmly answered—“What do I care whether I enter heaven by water or land!”
From Rome, Ignatius, as an able general, directed the movements of all those soldiers of Christ, as they styled themselves. He praised one, admonished another, inspired all with his zeal and fanaticism. Nor was this enough for his ardent and indefatigable spirit. He turned his attention to less unquestionable acts of religion and charity. Many of the hospitals erected in the middle of Rome, were the fruits of his zealous exertions. The Convent of Santa Martha was opened for abandoned women, who wished to repent, and pass an upright and easy life. In that of Santa Catherine, poor and honest young girls found an asylum against temptation and seduction; fatherless children of both sexes were received, and carefully educated, in two hospitals which yet exist in Rome; and the inmates of which, on the 31st of July of every year, go in procession to the Church of Gesù, to pray to the shrine of the saint, and to give thanks to their benefactor.
However, the gratitude which we owe to Loyola for those charitable institutions cannot restrain our indignation and abhorrence towards the man who had so great a share in reviving the infamous tribunal of the Inquisition. The Jesuits reckon it among the glories of their order, that Loyola supported, by a special memorial to the Pope, a petition for the reorganising of that cruel and abhorred tribunal.
In the 13th century, the Inquisition had been diabolically active. 25,000 Albigenses perished for bearing testimony to the Word of God. Dominique, that wholesale butcher of these unfortunate Christians, by his barbarous inhumanities, struck horror throughout Europe, and gained for himself a place among the Roman saints. But, as is always the case, its very excess prepared a reaction. The tribunal, as if satiated with human suffering, gradually relented, and, in the epoch of which we are speaking, had almost fallen into decay. Besides, the inquisitors, chosen from among the monastic orders, were little inclined to enforce strict and severe laws against practices or opinions with which they themselves were in many cases chargeable.[54] Above all, the See of Rome, under the Alexanders, the Juliuses, the Leos, plunged in political affairs, and, extremely lax in matters of religion and morality, had little or no inclination to enforce the almost forgotten edicts of the Inquisition. But the new doctrines spread in Germany with amazing rapidity; and the outcry raised against the morals of the Catholic clergy produced two immediate effects—the partial reform of the more flagrant abuses of which the clergy were guilty, and the revival of a tribunal, which should destroy by fire and sword whoever dared to impugn the doctrines of the Popes, and the canonical laws. Caraffa, whom we have already mentioned, was the principal author of this dreadful tribunal. Through his exertions, and those of Loyola, an edict appeared on the 21st of July 1542, appointing six cardinals commissioners of the Holy See and general inquisitors, with power to delegate their authority to any person they pleased. All ranks of citizens, without exception, were subjected to these inquisitors. Suspected persons were immediately imprisoned, the guilty punished with death, and their property confiscated. No book could be printed or sold (and such is still the case through nearly the whole of Italy) without the authority of the inquisitor. Hence a catalogue of prohibited books, the first issue of which, containing seventy works, appeared at Venice.
In order that the tribunal might be made more efficient, Caraffa drew up, himself, the following stringent rules:—
First, When faith is in question, there must be no delay; but, on the slightest suspicion, rigorous measures must be resorted to with all speed.
“Secondly, No consideration is to be shewn to either prince or prelate, however high his station.
“Thirdly, Extreme severity is to be exercised against all those who attempt to shield themselves under the protection of any potentate; and those only are to be treated with gentleness and fatherly compassion, who make a full and frank confession of the charges laid against them.