While these constitutional and theological wars were at their height a discussion of quite another kind was going on in the immediate surroundings of the General. It was to determine what amount of prayer and penitential exercises should be the normal practice of the Society. Maggio and Alarcón, two of the assistants, were for long contemplations and great austerities, while Hoffæus and Emmanuel Rodrigues advocated more sobriety in those two matters. Aquaviva decided for a middle course, declaring that the Society was not established especially for prayer and mortification, but, on the other hand, that it could not endure without a moderate use of these two means of Christian perfection. As this was coincident with the Spanish troubles, these five holy men were like the old Roman senators who were speculating on the improvement of the land which was still occupied by the Carthaginian armies. Meantime, another storm was sweeping over the Society in France.
When Henry IV entered Paris in triumph, his former enemies, the Sorbonne and the parliament, hastened to pay him homage; but something had to be done to make the public forget their previous attitude in his regard. The usual device was resorted to of denouncing the Jesuits. A complaint was manufactured against the College of Clermont, about the infringement of someone's property rights, and the rector was haled to court to answer the charge. The orator for the plaintiffs was Antoine Arnauld, the father of the famous Antoine and Angélique, who were to be, later on, conspicuous figures in the Jansenist heresy. Absolutely disregarding the point at issue, Arnauld launched out in a fierce diatribe against the Jesuits in general; "those trumpets of war," he called them, "those torches of sedition; those roaring tempests that are perpetually disturbing the calm heavens of France. They are Spaniards, enemies of the state, the authors of all the excesses of the League, whose Bacchanalian and Catalinian orgies were held in the Jesuit college and church. The Society is the workshop of Satan, and is filled with traitors and scoundrels, assassins of kings and public parricides. Who slew Henry III? The Jesuits. Ah, my King!" he cried, "when I contemplate thy bloody shirt, tears flow from my eyes and choke my utterance." And yet every one knew that it was his own clients, the Sorbonne and the parliament, who were the centre of all "the orgies of the League"; that it was they who had glorified the assassin of Henry III as a hero, and made the anniversary of his murder a public holiday; that it was they who had heaped abuse on Henry IV, and had sworn that he never should ascend the throne of France, even if he were absolved from heresy by the Pope, and had returned to the Faith. The travesty of truth in this discourse is so glaring that Frenchmen often refer to it as "the second original sin of the Arnauld family," the source, namely, of its ineradicable habit of misrepresentation.
A short time after this, Jean Chastel struck Henry IV with a knife and cut him slightly on the lip. Immediately everyone recalled Arnauld's furious denunciation of the Jesuits, and a descent was made on the college. A scrap of paper was conveniently found in the library, incriminating the custodian, but the volumes upon volumes of denunciations which had been uttered in the university and in parliament, and which were piled upon the library shelves, were not discovered. The scrap of paper sufficed. The college was immediately confiscated, the inmates expelled from France, and after Jean Chastel had been torn asunder by four horses, Father Guéret was stretched on the rack and Father Guignard was hanged. This occurred at the end of December, 1594.
Up to this Henry IV had not yet been reconciled to the Church, for the Pope doubted his sincerity and refused to withdraw the excommunication which the king had incurred at the time of his relapse. At last, however, owing to the persistency of Father Possevin and of Cardinal Toletus, he was absolved from his heresy, and could be acknowledged, with a safe conscience by all Catholics, as the legitimate King of France. The action of Toletus in this matter is all the more remarkable from the fact that he was a Spaniard, and in espousing the cause of Henry he was turning his back on his own sovereign, who was using all his power to prevent the reconciliation. This service was publicly recognized by Henry who thanked the Cardinal for his courageous act, and when Toletus died elaborate obsequies were held by the king's orders in the cathedrals of Paris and Rheims. Of course, the appeal of the banished Jesuits was then readily listened to by the king. He restored Clermont to them; gave them other colleges, including the royal establishment of La Flèche, and was forever after their devoted helper and friend. It must have been a great consolation for Father Aquaviva, during the battle he was waging and from which he was to emerge triumphant, to be told of this support of Henry; and also to hear of the welcome the Society had received in loyal Belgium in spite of the persistent animosity of Louvain. Almost every city had been asking for a college.
About this time, the Jesuits lost a devoted friend in the person of St. Charles Borromeo, who died in 1584. It is a calumny to say that he had turned against them and had taken the seminary of Milan from their direction. It was they themselves who had asked to be relieved of the responsibility, for he had so multiplied their colleges in his diocese, that it was impossible to give the seminary the attention it required. It is true that he was grievously offended by one individual Jesuit who injected himself into a controversy that was going on between the governor and the archbishop, and assailed the great prelate in the pulpit of the very church which had been given to the Society by Borromeo; but Aquaviva quickly brought him to the cardinal's feet to ask forgiveness, and then suspended him for two years from preaching. That incident, however, in no way diminished the affection of the saint for the Society. His last Mass was said in the Jesuit novitiate which he had founded, and he died in the arms of his Jesuit confessor, Father Adorno, two days afterwards.
Seven years later, on June 21, 1591, another saint died, the young Aloysius Gonzaga. Borromeo knew him well, and had given him his first Communion. This boy saint was not only an angel of purity, but also a martyr of charity, for he died of a fever he had caught from the victims of a plague whom he was attending during a pestilence that devastated Italy. The venerable Bellarmine was his confessor and spiritual father, and, later, when he was about to expire, he said to those around him: "Bury me at the feet of Aloysius Gonzaga."
There was still another trouble before Aquaviva, for while the disturbances were going on in France and Spain, a storm arose in Venice. The Society had been expelled from the republic; but it is to its credit to have been hated by the government that ruled Venice at that time. The republic had become embroiled with the Holy See, and war was imminent. The Pope put the city under interdict, and as the Jesuits who were established there submitted to the injunction, they were all exiled; their property was confiscated, and they were forbidden ever to return. This treatment was in keeping with the traditions of the government of "a republic," as some one had said, "which in reality was a monarchy tempered by assassination." Hallam (Hist. of Europe during the Middle Ages, iii, 144) insists that "it had all the pomp of a monarchy; and its commerce with the Mohammedans had deadened its sense of religious antipathy." Its action in this instance is ascribed to the influence of the Servite friar, Paolo Sarpi, whom the apostate Bishop de Dominis and Duplessis-Mornay, the chief of the French Huguenots at that time, describe as "another Calvin." He was in league with the Dutch and English to create a schism by defying the Pope, and to convert Venice into a Protestant republic. He is also the author of the virulent and calumnious "History of the Council of Trent."
Henry IV of France interested himself in this quarrel, and finally succeeded in having the papal and Venetian representatives meet to discuss their grievances. After protracted negotiations, the republic finally came to terms, but on one condition, namely that the Jesuits should not be allowed to return. As both the Pope and Henry absolutely refused to admit that clause, a deadlock ensued, until Aquaviva declared himself unwilling to allow any such difficulty to stand in the way of reconciliation: and as a consequence, the Society did not return to Venice until after fifty years of exile. Henry, however, had his revenge on Sarpi. He intercepted a letter written by a minister of Geneva to a Calvinist in Paris which revealed the fact that the Doge and several senators had already made arrangements to introduce the Reformation into Venice; and that Sarpi and his associate, Fulgenzio, had formed a secret society of more than a thousand persons, among whom were three hundred patricians, who were merely awaiting the signal to abandon the Church (Daru, Hist. de la république de Venise). The letter was read in the Senate, and many a guilty face grew pale. That was the end of Sarpi's influence. It was, probably also Henry IV who prevented him from going to England when the friar wrote to Casaubon to provide him a home there in case he had to leave Venice. In view of all that Henry IV had done for the Society, the sixth general congregation voted unanimously and enthusiastically to establish a French assistancy in the Society as an expression of gratitude to the monarch.
In Mexico the storm evoked by Palafox did not, it is true, result in expulsions, confiscations and executions as elsewhere, nevertheless it was deadly in its effects; and a century later it furnished the Jansenists of Europe with an exhaustless supply of calumnies against the Society. Its arraignment by Palafox was particularly efficacious because it expressed the mind of a distinguished functionary of the Church who was held by some to be a saint and whose canonization was insisted on by the politicians and nobility of Spain.
The character of this extraordinary personage has always been a mystery, and perhaps it would have been better or, at least, more comfortable to have left it in its shroud instead of revealing the truth about his life. He tells us himself in his "Vida interior" that his university days were wild; but though the text is explicit enough, it may be a pious exaggeration. In 1628 occurred what he calls his conversion. He made a general confession and determined to embrace an ecclesiastical career. His preparation for it was amazingly brief, and we find him soon occupying the post of grand almoner of the Princess Mary, whom he accompanied to Germany. On his return to Spain, he resumed his occupation as fiscal, and in 1639 was consecrated Bishop of Puebla in Mexico and, in the following year, was sent to America with the most extravagant plenipotentiary powers. Besides being Bishop of Puebla, he was simultaneously administrator of the vacant see of the city of Mexico and visitor of the audiencia of the colony, with the absolute right to depose any civil official whom he judged unsuitable.