CHAPTER XIII.
OF WHAT RELIGION IS FATHER IGNATIUS?
I have often been asked this question, and in some respects it is not a very easy one to answer, because Father Ignatius has such a wonderful way of being all things to all men. He has stood on the platform and preached by the side of General Booth’s wife, and has joined in their processions. He has himself told me that he has gone to a Roman Catholic Dominican monastery, and was welcomed there by the monks under the designation of the “Abbot Ignatius.” He has himself told us not to let poor ignorant Roman Catholics know there is any difference between us and them, as they will not know the difference unless they are told.
Whilst we were bid to read the Bible, yet we were taught to regard it as giving a clear proof that the monastic life is the highest life on earth, and our Lord’s example for such a life was ever put before us: we were taught that He was an enclosed monk from the age of twelve until thirty, when He commenced His public life, because there is not a word mentioned in the Bible about Him during this period. This was supposed to afford a clear proof that the life of a monk or a nun is much higher than that even of a sister of mercy.
Though we were allowed to read a non-Roman Catholic Bible, yet with regard to other books we went to Rome for them; such as: “The Life of St. Teresa,” “Life of St. Gertrude,”[19] “Life of St. Mary Magdalene of Piazzi,” “Life of St. Catherine of Sienna,” “Life of St. Thomas Aquinas,” “Life of St. Alphonsus Liguori,” “Life of the Curé de Ars,” “The Diurnal of the Soul,” “The Glories of Mary,” and “The Paradise of the Earth.”
Many other books from the same source, too many to enumerate here, were given us by Father Ignatius (and truly a man is known by his books), or were read with his sanction.
He did not approve of one thing which St. Thomas Aquinas taught; namely, that if a Superior should teach what is sinful or contrary to God’s law, the obedience would be illicit, and the nun would not be breaking her vow if she refused to obey. Father Ignatius taught us that he himself could not command what was wrong, because he was the father and founder of the revived monastic life in the Church of England. I cannot put this matter any plainer, for I never could quite understand what he meant, but I did foolishly believe he could not tell us to do wrong, because he said so, and for no other reason whatever. Our Office Book, too, was the Roman Catholic “Benedictine Breviary,” and for years the Roman Catholic “Ordinary of the Mass” was used at the altar. Lately Father Ignatius has taken a fancy to use the Sarum missal, which seems more elaborate than the Roman ritual. The High Church party is not in great favour with him, and, as a good many of them ignore him, they are put down as “namby pamby.”
The nuns were and are (when there are sufficient to perform the ceremony) to be called “Nuns of the Perpetual Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament.” At present this perpetual adoration is, as a fact, only for certain times and great festivals. I will attempt to describe it.
The altar is for the occasion adorned with about 105 lighted candles. These are intermingled with vases of exquisite flowers. I have known them to cost £60.
The “Sacred Host” is always in the tabernacle; but on these days, when the altar is decorated out so finely, the Host is put into a Monstrance, and enthroned amidst lighted tapers, flowers, jewels, and clouds of incense, and at the sound of sweet music and singing (in Latin) bottles of Eau de Cologne are poured over the altar, to be, as he frequently said, “wasted on Jesus,” like Mary’s alabaster box of ointment. The tabernacle is of exquisite beauty and workmanship, with crimson velvet curtains, looped up with massive gold chains, over which is a real diamond cross. The beautiful images of angels have enough bangles hanging on their arms to set up a jeweller’s shop with, and there is a piece of cloth of gold used for the Host, on which are many jewels; one small corner of the cloth alone has, I think, seventeen rings, which formerly belonged to a certain sister. The boys on this occasion are clothed in scarlet cassocks, each with a white cotta, trimmed with lace; the abbot himself appears in gorgeous apparel, as also those who assist him. The nuns used to wear long white veils down to the ground, over which were their crimson veils, used only during the adoration of the Host, with long trains. Though these are attractive-looking, yet the weight of about twelve yards of material hanging from the head is anything but pleasant, especially in hot weather; and what with wearing these veils, inhaling the incense, and singing with all one’s power for two hours or more, I generally had a very bad headache.
After the service called “Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament,” all leave the chapel, except the monk or nun who remains to take the watch. After this one has remained motionless in prayer for an hour, the great abbey bell (which was consecrated to and named St. Bernard) tolls five strokes, when everybody (no matter where or in what occupation) must kneel down and say, “Blessed and praised at every moment be the most holy and divine Sacrament.” Then some one else takes the watch before the reserved Sacrament for another hour, and this goes on all the day, which closes with the most solemn and gorgeously bewildering “Benediction of the Sacrament,” more so, I verily believe, than in any Roman Catholic Church in England.