History of the Jesuits: Their origin, progress, doctrines, and designs

by G. B. Nicolini

Charles had not notified his intentions either to the French Court, the indiscretion of whose minister he feared, or to the Court of Rome, which he knew would thwart the measure with all its might. Neither of these courts was informed of the fact till after it was accomplished. When the news reached Rome, the old and infirm Clement XIII. shed a flood of tears. His spirits were broken down by the misfortunes that had befallen his Jesuits. Already, after their expulsion from France, he had declared that the decree which banished them was null and void, adding, “We repel the grave injury offered to the Church and to the Holy See, and we declare in the plenitude of our certain knowledge, certâ scientiâ, that the institution of the Jesuits is in the highest degree pious and holy.”[353] In the present circumstances he again attempted to shelter the children of his predilection under the mantle of his infallibility, and addressed to the King of Spain a brief, in which we read as follows: “Of all the misfortunes that have afflicted us during the nine years of our unhappy pontificate, the most sensible to our paternal heart has been that inflicted by the hand of your Majesty. So you, too, my son, tu quoque fili mi, so the Catholic King Charles III., who is so dear to our heart, fills up the chalice of our suffering, condemns our old age to a torrent of tears, and precipitates us into the grave. The pious Spanish king ... thinks of destroying an institution so useful, so meritorious for the Church, and which owes its origin and its splendour to those saints and heroes whom God chose in the Spanish nation for His greater glory” (this rather savours of Jesuit composition).... “We call God and men to witness, that the Society is not only innocent of all crime, but that it is pious, useful, holy, in its pursuits, in its laws, in its maxims.”[354] Charles answered that he alone knew the crimes of the Society, and that he would keep them concealed in his own breast, to spare Christendom a great scandal.[355] Clement returned to his tears, and this was all that was left him to do in favour of his children.

Lorenzo Ricci.

Hinchliff.

However, there was a man in Rome who would not witness the ruin of the Company of Jesus without attempting a desperate effort to save it. This man was Ricci, the General. Ricci was a morose, obstinate, and narrow-minded bigot, extremely jealous of his authority, and altogether incapable of appreciating either circumstances or persons. Unlike Acquaviva, he placed all his glory in never yielding an inch of ground; and to partial loss, he preferred an entire ruin. Acquaviva would have by some timely concession deferred for a while the impending storm. Ricci accelerated its march by his intractability. “Let them be as they are, or not at all”—these words shew the man. And now that his disciples were expelled from a part of Europe, he, to save the Society, if possible, decided upon sacrificing some thousands of individuals. Either the persecution, which he studied to render more cruel, and in some measure effective, would bring the Pope, the other sovereigns, or the different populations, to some acts of energy, to retrieve the affairs of the order, or it must incur the last distressful consequences. He would submit to every extremity rather than to humiliation. In consequence, he obliged Torrigiani, whom he seems to have kept under a severe yoke (if the Cardinal received, or had received money, we can understand it), to write to the Spanish minister that his Holiness would not permit the Jesuits to land on his estates. Charles paid little attention to the letter, and gave orders to the commander of the fleet to land them, if necessary, by force of arms.

Torrigiani obeyed Ricci’s injunction to the letter. When after some days’ sailing the first vessels arrived before Civita Vecchia, they were received by cannon shot. The poor Jesuits, who thought they were near the end of their sufferings, and had smiled at the sight of the promised land, were furious when they saw themselves rejected from a country in which they knew that their General had the utmost influence, and loudly accused him of being the author of all their miseries. The Spanish commander, not wishing to employ violence, and to land by force of arms, coasted away towards Leghorn and Genoa, but there too they were refused a landing. A similar fate was reserved for them on their first approach to Corsica; and only after having been for six long months at the mercy of the winds and waves, were those unfortunate monks, decimated by illness, fatigue, and old age, permitted to disembark in Corsica, lately ceded by Genoa to France, and where Paoli at that same moment had begun to fight for independence.

The King of Naples and the Duke of Parma, both of the house of Bourbon, the former in the month of November 1767, the latter in the beginning of 1768, resorted to the same measures as France and Spain, and the Jesuits were expelled from their estates.

At the news of these repeated outrages, as he considered them, the old Pope, driven to extremities, and instigated by the Jesuits, resolved on an act of vigour, to test what the Supreme Pontiff could do for the sons of his predilection. It seems that he could not summon courage enough to strike the blow against France, Spain, or Naples, but he thought he could dare anything against the Duke of Parma. He did not view him in the light of a grandson of France and infant of Spain, but as a Farnese, over whose dukedom the Roman See had always, if not exercised, at least claimed, the right of suzerainty. In this persuasion, he published a “monitorium,” wherein he pronounced ecclesiastical censures against his vassal, and declared that he had forfeited his estates. Charles and Louis were aghast at the boldness of the old Pope, and although the indolent Louis shewed no great resolution to resent the insult, Choiseul and Charles contrived to stir up his indignation, representing to him the scorn which would fall on the house of Bourbon, if a son of a Venetian merchant (Clement) should insult with impunity a grandson of St Louis.[356] In consequence, the ambassadors of the three courts, France, Spain, and Naples, had orders to present to the Pope a memorial, asking him to revoke the “monitorium,” or to expect to see some of his estates confiscated. Torrigiani and the Jesuit partisans, who knew the demand that was going to be addressed to the Pope, fearing lest the old man should yield, represented to him how glorious it would be to uprear again the tiara, humbled by Benedict XIV., before the secular powers, and made him even descry in the distance the crown of martyrdom, an honour which the enthusiastic and pious Pope would have wished above all things. Clement accordingly, when the ambassadors presented themselves for the appointed audience, would hardly deign to look at the memorial; and when they spoke of reprisals, his whole frame trembled, and he exclaimed, in a broken voice—“The Vicar of Jesus Christ is treated like the lowest of mankind. True that he has neither armies nor cannon, and it is an easy matter to despoil him of all his possessions; but it is beyond the power of man to compel him to act against his conscience.”[357]

The moment this answer was made known to the monarchs, the troops of the French king seized on Avignon, those of the King of Naples on Pontecorvo and Benevento, all possessions belonging to the Roman states.