On 27th December of that year, 1594, Jean Chastel attempted to assassinate Henry, and a furious storm burst upon the Jesuits. Two undisputed facts stand out clearly from the prolonged controversy that followed this attempt; Chastel had been educated at the Jesuit college before going to the university (he was nineteen years old), and he had conferred with his former professor, Father Guéret, a few days before the attempt. This is by no means satisfactory evidence of the complicity of the Jesuits, but another piece of evidence, of a very inflammatory nature, was put before the court. The authorities had raided the Jesuit college and found in the rector's room a quantity of the League literature which Henry had rigorously commanded to be destroyed. In particular, there were papers in the writing of the rector, Father Guignard, which cast the most violent abuse on Henry and demanded his death. They had been written five years before, but the retention of them was considered a very serious sign of the hidden feeling of the Jesuits. We may admit that the court still went beyond the evidence in condemning the Jesuits. Guignard was executed, Guéret tortured, and all members of the Society were ordered to quit France within three days. On 8th January thirty-seven Jesuits set out sadly for Lorraine, and from the proceeds of their confiscated property a large stone pyramid, bearing the sentence against the "pernicious sect," was erected at Paris.
This sudden fall from their proud position was the price of political action, but Henry was not in a position, and indeed not of a character, to sustain the sentence, and the Jesuits at once began to struggle for recall. Within ten years the hated pyramid was demolished, and the Jesuits had regained their prestige. They had never entirely quitted France. Some put off their cassocks and became, in appearance, "lay" teachers of the young; some were sheltered by the local Parlements. The formal reconciliation of Henry with the Papacy followed, and the Pope urged him to recall the Jesuits. He pleaded again when he had negotiated for Henry a peace with Philip of Spain, but the Parlement stoutly maintained its decree, and Henry advised them to wait. Then the Pope obliged Henry by annulling his marriage, and the watchful Acquaviva stood again in the shadow of the papal throne. Father Maggio was sent, in the suite of the Archbishop of Arles, to win the King. They knew Henry, and shrewdly chose an envoy who could adopt the broad wit which Henry loved as easily as Possevin or Parsons could wear a sword, or Ricci a pigtail. "Sire," said Maggio to the bluff King, when the affair dragged, "you are slower than women, for they bear their fruit only nine months." "Quite true, Father Maggio," said Henry, "but kings are not delivered as easily as women." It was the way to win Henry IV., and he was won, but public feeling was still too hostile to the Jesuits. In 1603 their opportunity came. The Huguenots had been so imprudent as to abuse the Pope, and the Jesuits must be restored for the Pope's consolation; also, there was a new queen, Marie de Medici, and an amiable Father Coton winning influence over her. And at the beginning of 1604 the Parlement sullenly registered the decree for the readmission of the Jesuits, and the fathers all swore a sonorous oath of loyalty to the King "without mental reservation," as the decree ran; no other body of men ever needed to be insulted with such a clause.
The remaining years, down to the assassination of Henry in 1610, mark the rapid recovery of the Society. Father Coton was royal preacher and confessor, and obtained such influence that, when the King was deaf to their prayers or protests, men said that Henry "had cotton in his ears"; and the fusillade of pamphlets and counter-pamphlets—witty, fierce, and gross on both sides—again enlivened Paris. They raised more houses than they had ever had before, and got admission into Protestant Béarn and the Canadian mission. There was hardly a more generous benefactor to the Society in Europe than Henry, though we may take the word of Richelieu that he distrusted them, as a body, and acted from policy. At length Henry betrayed the real shallowness of their influence on him, and began to prepare for war with Spain; and on 14th May 1610 he fell by the hand of a Catholic fanatic.
The question whether the Jesuits were implicated in the crime of Ravaillac is one of the hundred almost insoluble problems of their history. On this occasion, indeed, it is exceptionally difficult to reach a confident verdict, because an entirely pro-Spanish and pro-Jesuit régime was set up by the death of Henry, and inconvenient testimony could easily be suppressed. It seems to me that a consideration of great importance is generally overlooked in the discussion of these problems. When the evidence is scanty or obscure, we give the Jesuits "the benefit of the doubt," as if we were arraigning them for something they regarded as a crime. This is a false attitude, of which they take full advantage. Crétineau-Joly quotes a dozen distinguished theologians of the time who taught that it was just and proper to remove a monarch whose rule was gravely injurious, and hardly a single eminent theologian who taught the contrary. We have merely to suppose that the Jesuit fathers were divided in anything like the same proportion, and we see at once that there must have been—and we know that there were—numbers of Jesuits in every province who would regard the assassination of a king who threatened the faith in his country as a quite moral and meritorious deed. Mariana's claim that Jacques Clément, the murderer of Henry III., was "the eternal glory of France" was echoed by thousands of his colleagues. It seems to me very material to bear this in mind in all these cases of assassination. The attitude of their apologists is singular: they admit that the Jesuits as a body regarded the assassination of kings who menaced the faith as a just and proper action, yet are remarkably eager to prove that the Jesuits never acted on their belief. On Jesuit principles the murder of Henry IV. was not a crime.
We must, on the other hand, say that the evidence of Jesuit complicity with Ravaillac is unsatisfactory, in spite of Michelet's spirited reliance on it. A certain Mme d'Escoman asserted that she overheard the Duke d'Épernon telling the plot to Henry's former lover, the Marquise de Verneuil, and that she revealed it to the Jesuit superior in good time to warn Henry; a soldier named Dujardin then told that he had seen Ravaillac in the service of Épernon at Naples, and that the Jesuits of that city had urged him (Dujardin) to enter the plot. Both these witnesses were of low moral character, and had a prospect of gaining by their revelations; we must therefore refrain from basing a verdict on their evidence. A recent French student of the subject [12] has concluded that Épernon and others were really plotting to take the life of Henry, but that Ravaillac committed the crime on his own initiative, and that the Jesuits were not in either plot, though it may be true that Mme d'Escoman warned them of Épernon's plot. This ingenious, but not wholly convincing, suggestion explains how Ravaillac could, with his dying breath and under threat of damnation, swear that he had no accomplices, but it really leaves open the question of the guilt of the Jesuits. The witnesses are of too low a character for us to decide whether they tell the truth or no. It is suspicious that Father Coton visited Ravaillac in jail and warned him "not to bring trouble on good people" by his statements, as we know on the high authority of d'Estoile.
These witnesses only came forward with their stories at a later date, but Paris had already turned with fierce indignation upon the Society. Although the doctrine of tyrannicide may have been taught before the Society was established, it was chiefly through the more explicit and general teaching of the Jesuits that it became a popular conviction among the general body of the faithful and began to inflame the brains of fanatics. Mariana's book was burned by order of the Parlement, in spite of the effort of the Jesuits to save it; they did succeed in getting a reference to the Jesuit character of the author suppressed in the indictment, and in preventing the works of Bellarmine, Becanus, and others of their theologians from being condemned. They had the zealous protection of Marie de Medici, and the hostility to them had to expend itself in a shower of witty and virulent pamphlets. Father Coton, especially, was violently assailed. The indulgence with which he had regarded the notorious amours of his royal penitent was said to be quite natural in a man who had tender relations of his own. The Jesuits continued to advance in spite of this hostility. Father de Suffren guided the conscience of Mary herself; Father Coton and Father Marguestana directed her son (Louis XIII.) and her daughter in the ways of virtue and political ignorance. There we may leave the Jesuits of France until Richelieu comes to disturb their mischievous pro-Spanish policy.
When we pass to the Netherlands we have again to consider a grave accusation of complicity in a design to assassinate. The Netherlands were now formally divided into Catholic Belgium and Protestant Holland, and the Dutch were eager to prevent the hated Jesuits from entering the country. A few succeeded in crossing the frontier and ministering, in disguise, to the remaining Catholics. The kind of activity they pursued will be understood when we have followed the similar labours of the Jesuits in England. In 1598, however, a Belgian was arrested at Leyden for a design on the life of Maurice of Nassau, and there is the customary controversy in regard to the complicity of the Jesuits.
Peter Panne was a cooper of Ypres, a restless and, apparently, a rather disreputable character. His method of seeking the life of the Dutch prince was singularly futile, and he made a lengthy and circumstantial "confession," in which he accused the Jesuits of Douai of egging him to commit the murder. The assassin of William of Orange in 1568 had accused a Jesuit confessor, and it was natural that the Dutch should again expect to hear of Jesuit complicity. His story was therefore implicitly believed in Holland, and wherever the Jesuits were detested; and the laws against them were made more stringent. In the following year, however, Father Coster undertook the defence of his colleagues, and their apologists maintain that he has completely demolished the charge. [13] To the impartial student the case is one of mere affirmation and denial, without very safe ground for judgment. Coster relies upon a number of reports issued by small legal and civic authorities in Belgium, who, at the request of the Jesuits, examined many witnesses, including Panne's wife and others named by him. These witnesses flatly denied the story told by Panne of his and their movements, and the unofficial judges then drew up statements to the effect that the Jesuits were innocent. At first sight it would seem that we ought at once to prefer the testimony of these numerous witnesses to that of Panne; but when we reflect on the Jesuit doctrine of mental reservation, we must admit that the word of these witnesses, provided by the Jesuits, is not to be taken at its superficial value. According to the Jesuit theologians, witnesses might give absolutely false answers, and confirm them by the most sacred oaths, to judges or others, if they felt that the inquirer had no right to learn the truth from them. In the case of Panne's wife, for instance, the Jesuit would most certainly decide that she would be justified in denying, on oath, that she had ever spoken to her husband about the projected murder, even if it were true that, as Panne said, she urged him to do it. In the next chapter we shall find the English Father Gerard acting on this well-known Jesuit principle. We cannot, therefore, attach any importance to these denials. And when Father Coster goes on to prove, or assert, that Panne was a doubtful Catholic and an unscrupulous fellow, he seems to overreach himself. Why should such a man seek to do the work of a Catholic fanatic at the risk of his life? Clearly, only because some one offered him payment. Either the gravest legal tribunal in Holland paid him to lie, or else his story gives the only plausible explanation of his conduct. It is more natural to suppose that the Jesuits acted on their known principles of regicide and mental reservation than that the Dutch acted in the most flagrant violation of their principles; and the mere fact of an indifferent Catholic risking his life to kill an heretical prince suggests this view.
In Belgium the Jesuits recovered all the ground they had lost in the religious wars, and at length secured an unassailable legal existence. At this period we are at every step observing the collusion of the Jesuits with Philip II. of Spain, and we have still to see how they helped him in his effort to annex England. He was not ungrateful, and he definitely overrode the prejudice of the Flemings and legally established the Jesuits in Belgium (1584). They at once became so bold that we find the Governor of Luxemburg levying taxes on the citizens for the erection of Jesuit houses: a project which caused such an outbreak of anger that they had to retreat from the province. The University of Louvain continued to disdain and assail them, but their great victory in securing the condemnation of the Chancellor of the University, Michel de Bay, had given them much prestige. Baius endeavoured to recover by denouncing to Rome their theologian Lessius; but his attempt failed, and the Jesuits renewed their effort to capture or displace the university. [14]
The record of the Germanic provinces is chiefly remarkable for the extension into Poland and an attempt to penetrate Russia. The Jesuits had entered Poland under Stephen Bathori, and made such progress in twenty years that men spoke bitterly of their "fortified palaces," and saw with regret that nearly the whole education of the nobility was in their hands. In one college (Pultusk) they boasted that they had four hundred youths of noble birth. In 1581 the Poles were bringing to a victorious close their long war with Russia, and the Tsar appealed for the mediation of the Pope. It was an auspicious opportunity for re-opening the question of the union of the Latin and Greek Churches, and the adventurous Father Possevin (the former Legate to Sweden) was sent as Legate. He learned on the way from Bathori that the Poles would drive a hard bargain, and felt that this strengthened his position with regard to Russia. He was received with great honour in Russia, and the Tsar gave many privileges to Catholics, but the war concluded at length without a word of union. It is clear that he then used his influence to induce the Russians to yield, so that his Society might at least have the gratitude of the Poles. He remained for a long time at Moscow, but made no progress, and the Pope recalled him to crush heresy in Transylvania. He was afterwards mediator between Germany and Poland. Possevin had considerable diplomatic ability, though he was apt to love melodramatic situations, like so many of the political Jesuits. Acquaviva at last resented his flagrant political activity, and compelled him to settle as a teacher at Padua.