“Why is the old Marquesa de Fulano starving? I will tell you. When her father, the last Marquis, was dying, the Jesuits never left him for a moment, and at last they persuaded him that his soul was of more consequence than his daughter’s livelihood, and he made a will by which he left all his money to found a college for boys in ——. When he was dead his daughter discovered that all she had was the family land, and not a farthing of the capital her father had invested. Soon afterwards a famine came, and there was no rain for nine months. The Marquesa gave food to all the labourers on the estate, although there was no work for them, for she is a very charitable lady. She spent all the money she had, and then sold all her jewels and other valuables to buy them food. You see, she is a widow without family to advise and help her. Of course she was too proud to betray her poverty, but even if she had told her friends they could have done nothing, for many landowners were ruined that year. Now the estate is mortgaged to the last acre, and she has sold everything she has and is almost without food for herself. If you wish to hear about the Jesuits, ask the Marquesa de Fulano! And you will understand that all the people employed on the estate lost their livelihood too, for it is now long since she has been able to afford to have it cultivated.”
“Yes, it is a pity to see that fine old oil-mill falling to ruin. It used to belong to a very rich man, but when he died the Jesuits got hold of his widow and induced her to build a large new chapel in the monastery of ——. Millions of pesetas they squeezed out of her for the work, and when it was finished, there was nothing left of the business. One of the sons meanwhile became a Jesuit, and as they have a big business in oil over there he naturally took the olive-groves for his share of the property. This happened twenty years ago: the younger brothers are married and have children to bring up. They have to earn their bread as they can. One of them rents ten acres and cultivates them himself, so he does not starve, but the other poor fellow has taken to drink, and he and his family mostly go hungry. It is all the work of the Jesuits.”
There are many such stories of gifts made to the Church in articulo mortis. The priests are said to urge the dying penitent to save his soul by benefiting the Religious Orders instead of providing for his family, on the ground that if he acts as his duty and instincts dictate he will lengthen his stay in purgatory. There seems no room for doubt that many once wealthy families have been reduced to poverty in consequence of such legacies to the Church. Indeed, it almost seems as if a new class of society is gradually arising among the very people who formerly were the strongest supporters of the Church—people of good birth and gentle breeding, with a family tradition of injury at the hands of the Jesuits, which has alienated them for ever from a Church to which they owe their worldly misfortunes, and is converting them into earnest recruits to the cause of Free Thought. From these men of gentle breeding will eventually come the leaders of the people in their final struggle against the Ultramontanes.
The ways which the Jesuits are reputed to employ in order to ruin those who defy them are many. The following story shows how easily it can be done, if it is true that the Company of Jesus condescends to such contemptible action against the industrial and working classes.
“Francisco Mengano used to have a very good business. He employed nine men to work for him. But he hated the friars, and he used to talk against them to a man who pretended to think as he did and came to sit with him every day, and encouraged him to say he would never let his daughters go to confession because he was afraid the priest would make love to them, and many other things. That vile man always talked in the same sort of way himself, and poor Francisco looked upon him as a friend. But when his eldest girl was old enough for her first Communion and Francisco refused to let her go to confession, he discovered that the man he trusted was himself a Jesuit, and had told the Jesuits everything Francisco had said. They waited to be sure his daughter was not going to confession, and then set to work to ruin him. It was quite simple. He was a cart-builder and wheelwright, and depended on the landowners in the neighbourhood for most of his work. The Jesuits merely sent word round that he was charging too much and doing bad work, and his trade was ruined and he became what you see—a poor old jobbing carpenter, who cannot even afford to employ a boy to do his heavy work.”
When I heard this story I recollected that about a year earlier, when passing Francisco’s workshop in company with a gentleman reputed to be friendly with the Jesuits, he had remarked, apropos des bottes, “Don’t employ Francisco if you should want any carpentering done; his work is bad and he overcharges abominably.” It naturally did not occur to me that this observation could have any other object than to save me, as a foreigner, from being cheated, and, all unconscious of what I afterwards discovered to be its injustice, I gave my work elsewhere.
Not only do the people accuse the Religious Orders of depriving them of employment by underselling them and destroying their trade by slanders, but they also bring grave charges of indifference, if not actual brutality, to the poor who ask them for help of any kind.
It seems to be a fact that no assistance was volunteered by any Religious House during the epidemic of typhus in Madrid in 1909. In another town, where a seminary for priests was temporarily converted into a hospital for the sick and wounded from Melilla, the cisterns ran dry one night owing to the unusual quantity of water used for the invalids. Not a man or a boy among the seminarists would take the trouble to pump more water, though a quarter of an hour’s work would have done all that was needed for the time, so workmen had to be fetched in the middle of the night to supply what was immediately required for the sufferers. This I heard from one of the men who did the work.
The working classes have as yet no plan of campaign against the Religious Orders. They are waiting in the hope that at no distant day they will have the suffrage in fact, not, as at present, in name only. But the bitterness of their hostility may be judged from the following incident, related to me by an eye-witness.
Three country people, dealers in charcoal, were sitting in a tramcar. My informant was sitting immediately behind them, and at his side was a priest. One of the charcoal-merchants, pretending to be unaware of the priest’s presence, related how he had been overtaken by night on the mountains, where he was buying wood in pursuit of his trade, and how he had gone to a large Jesuit college standing alone on the hillside, to ask permission to sleep under the portico, the season being mid-winter and the weather bitterly cold. The “good Father” who opened the door at his knock refused to admit him, telling him that “the college was not a house of call for tramps, and he could go and sleep under a tree by the roadside.” The narrator had no option but to do this, for the door was shut in his face, and “he thought he would have died of cold before morning.” “I wish,” he concluded, “that all the frailes in Spain would come to my house some cold night and ask for shelter. Before morning I would leave every one of them under my trees with his throat cut.”