The decisive character of the Regensburg conference was seen in Italy almost at once. Its failure involved the destruction of the party of Italian Romanists who hoped to end the religious strife by a compromise. When Contarini returned to Italy he found that his influence was gone. He was rewarded with the Government of Bologna, which removed him from the centre of things. He died soon after (Aug. 24th, 1542), leaving none behind him to fill his place. Ghiberti survived him only sixteen months. Caraffa had become more and more alienated from his early friends. Sadoleto, Pole, and Morone remained, all of them men of intellect, but lacking the qualities which fit men to be leaders in trying times. Pole lived to make atonement for his liberalism by hounding on the persecutions in England, and Morone by becoming the champion of ultramontanism at the close of the Council of Trent. The conception of a Catholic Reformation disappeared; the idea of a Counter-Reformation took its place.
CHAPTER IV.
IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND THE COMPANY OF JESUS.[669]
§ 1. At Manresa.
The little mountainous province of Guipuzcoa, lying at the corner of the Bay of Biscay, bordering on France, was the district of Spain which produced one of the greatest of her sons, Iñigo de Recalde de Loyola, the founder of the Society of Jesus. The tower which was the family seat still stands, rough and windowless as a Scottish border keep, adorned with one ornament only, a stone above the doorway, on which are carved the arms of the family—two wolves in quest of prey. Guipuzcoa had never been conquered by the Moors, and its nobles, poor in their barren highlands, boasted that the bluest Gothic blood ran in their veins. The Recaldes belonged to the very oldest nobility of the district, and possessed the highly valued privilege of the right of personal summons to the coronation of the Kings of Leon. Their younger sons were welcomed at Court as pages, and then as soldiers; and the young Iñigo was a page at the Court of Ferdinand. He was well educated for a Spanish noble; could read and write; composed ballads; and could illuminate manuscripts with miniatures. Most of his spare time was employed in reading those romances of chivalry then very popular. When older he became a soldier like his elder brothers.
In 1521, when twenty-eight years of age (b. 1493), he was the youngest officer in command of the garrison of Pampeluna, ordered to withstand a combined force of invading French troops and some revolting Spaniards. The enemy appeared before the place in such overwhelming numbers that all but the youngest officer wished to surrender without a struggle. Iñigo’s eloquence persuaded the garrison to attempt a desperate defence. No priest was among the soldiers; the Spaniards, according to their custom, confessed each other, and were ready to die at their posts. A bullet struck the young officer as he stood in the breach encouraging his men. His fall gave the victory to the besiegers.
The conspicuous bravery of Iñigo had won the respect of his enemies. They extricated him from the heap of dead under which he was buried, and conveyed him to the old family castle. There his shattered leg was so badly set as to unfit him for a soldier’s career. He had it twice broken and twice reset. The prolonged torture was useless; he had to believe that he would never fight on horseback again. The dream of taking a man’s part in the conquests which all Spaniards of that age believed lay before their country, had to be abandoned. His body was a useless log.
But Iñigo was a noble of the Basque provinces, and possessed, in a superlative degree it was to be discovered, the characteristics of his race—at once taciturn and enthusiastic, wildly imaginative, and sternly practical. He has himself recorded that, as soon as he was convinced that he could never become a distinguished soldier, he asked himself whether he might not become a famous saint like Dominic or Francis, and that the question arose from no spiritual promptings, but simply from the determination to win fame before his death. As he lay bedridden, thinking much and dreaming more, it suddenly occurred to him that no one could become a saint unless he lived very near God, and that his life had not been of such a kind. He at once resolved that he would change; he would feed on herbs like a holy hermit; he would go to Jerusalem as a devout pilgrim. This vow, he tells us, was the earliest conscious movement of his soul towards God. His reward came soon in the shape of his first revelation. The blessed Virgin, with the Child Jesus in her arms, appeared to him in a dream. He awoke, hustled out of bed, dragged himself to the small window of his turret-room, and looked out. The earth was dark, an obscure mingling of black shadows; the heavens were a great vault of deepest blue strewn with innumerable stars. The sight was a parable and an inspiration. “How dull earth is,” he cried, “how glorious heaven!” He felt that he must do something to get nearer God. He must be alone in some holy place to think things out with his own soul. His brother’s servants hoisted the maimed body of the once brilliant soldier on an ass, one foot in a boot, the wounded leg still swathed in bandages and its foot in a large soft slipper, and Iñigo left the old castle determined to live a hermit’s life on Montserrat, the holy hill of Aragon.