However, there lived at that time at Salamanca a Dominican friar, famous for his eloquence, his learning, and particularly for his uprightness of purpose—Melchior Cano. He had known Loyola, and formed a bad opinion of him, because he never ceased speaking of his revelations, his visions, his virtues, his undeserved persecutions.

After his disciples came to Salamanca, equipped only with their bigoted fanaticism, and of doubtful morality, he resolved to oppose them, and poured forth against them, from his chair and pulpit, torrents of eloquent invectives. He represented them as crafty, insinuating; living in palaces, deceiving the kings and the great; declaring them to be soiled by every species of crime; capable of all kinds of excesses; and dangerous both to religion and society.

We may perhaps say that the picture which he, in his passionate eloquence, drew of the members of the order, which he also called the pioneers of Antichrist, was then somewhat exaggerated. The Jesuits at that time were not so perverse as he represented them to be, for they had as yet only existed for a few years. But it would seem that Cano had spoken in the spirit of prophecy, of the character which it assumed in after generations, the germ of which he may have seen beginning to develop itself.

If the letter which we are about to transcribe, written by him in 1560, two days before his death, is not to be numbered among the prophecies, it is nevertheless an extraordinary prediction, which came to be fulfilled in every point. Here is this remarkable letter:—“God grant that it may not happen to me as is fabled of Cassandra, whose predictions were not believed till Troy was captured and burned. If the members of the Society continue as they have begun, God grant that the time may not come when kings will wish to resist them, but will not have the means of doing so.”[71]

But we have anticipated.—The hideous colours in which he pourtrayed the disciples of Loyola made such an impression in Salamanca, that the Jesuits were not allowed to establish themselves in it. In vain did the Pope, taking up the cause of the Jesuits, by a bull reprove the conduct of Cano. In vain did the General of the Dominicans issue a circular to all his subordinates, in which, after a long eulogium on the Society, he says that “it ought to be praised and imitated, and not assailed with calumnies.”[72] Cano, disregarding both the Papal brief and his general’s circular, and being supported, at least secretly, by the civil authorities, boldly held out against the order. What could his adversaries do? Persecution and revenge were impossible against a subject of the emperor, who was then at war with the Pope, and yet Cano must be got rid of. Well, one fine morning he was strangely and agreeably surprised with the news, that that same Pope who had threatened and censured him had now conferred upon him the bishopric of the Canaries. Dazzled and flattered, the friar yielded at first to the temptation, and left Salamanca for his bishopric. But soon, very soon, he perceived why he had been sent so far away. Resolved, therefore, to baffle his enemies’ cunning, he resigned the Episcopal dignity, and returned to Salamanca, the undoubted and indefatigable adversary of the order. He died Provincial of his order, and much respected.

About the same epoch, 1548, the University of Alcala also declared against the order. The contest lasted for a considerable time; and even after many of the doctors were, by the usual mysterious arts, gained over to the cause of the company, Dr Scala persisted in his opposition, and did not refrain from attacking them till he was called before the Inquisition, and threatened with an auto-da-fé.[73]

The opposition which the Jesuits encountered in Toledo, where they had already established themselves, was a more serious affair. They had found here the population docile, and easy to be imposed upon. They had introduced sundry abuses, and many superstitious practices. Nay, their devotees—horrid to say!—went to the communion table twice a day! In the year 1550, these scandalous enormities forced themselves upon the attention of the authorities. Don Siliceo, Cardinal Archbishop of Toledo, once tutor to Philip of Spain, wishing to repress them, published an ordinance, reproving and condemning them, and in which, after bitterly reproaching the Jesuits for their many usurpations, he forbids the people, under pain of excommunication, to confess to any Jesuit, and empowers all curates to exclude them from the administration of all sacraments; furthermore, laying an interdict upon the Jesuit College of Alcala.

This ordinance produced a great excitement among the Jesuits and their partisans, and nothing was left untried to make the archbishop relent. But neither the influence that the Society already possessed, nor the intercession of the Papal nuncio, and of the Archbishop of Burgos, nor even the Pope’s own authority, could vanquish the archbishop’s hostility. Then the bold Loyola had the impudence to institute a process against the archbishop, before the Royal Council of Spain. Paul III. was dead, and was succeeded by Julius III., who, as Ignatius well knew, was on the best terms with Charles. The Royal Council condemned the prelate, who thereupon recalled the interdict[74]—not that his opinions were changed, but to avoid, perhaps, the fate which encountered his successor, the learned but unfortunate Carranza—twelve years of torture in the dungeons of the Inquisition.

A still fiercer tempest was gathering over the heads of the Jesuits at Saragossa. Instructive is the cause of the quarrel. The town of Saragossa was so full of convents and monasteries, that, to observe the rule which forbade any religious house to be built within a certain distance of another, it was impossible for the Jesuits to find a spot unforbidden. However, after thoroughly surveying the town, they imagined they had found a spot at the requisite distance. They there erect a house and a chapel, which is to be consecrated on Easter Tuesday 1555. Great preparations are made to make the pageant pompous and attractive, when, alas! Lopez Marcos, Vicar-general of Saragossa, on the complaint of the Augustine Friars, who pretend that the chapel was built on their grounds, intimated to Father Brama, the superior of the house, that the ceremony might be deferred. Brama refused to obey. Lopez, at the very moment the Jesuits were performing the solemn ceremony, issued a proclamation forbidding the chapel to be entered under pain of excommunication. Anathemas were poured upon the fathers, and the clergy, accompanied by a great crowd of people, march through the town, singing the 109th Psalm, the people repeating—“As he clothed himself with cursing like as with his garment, so let it come into his bowels like water, and like oil into his bones;” and, to unite the ludicrous with the terrible, they carry along images with hideous faces, representing the Jesuits dragged to hell by a legion of demons still more hideous. A funeral procession, with the image of Christ covered with a black veil, singing lugubrious songs, march towards the house of the Jesuits. From time to time, the cry, “Mercy! Mercy!” burst from the crowd, as they wished to avert the curse of God from an interdicted city. The poor Jesuits, shut up in their own house, patiently wait for a fortnight, until the tempest should pass away. But this ignoble goblin representation, worthy only of Jesuits and of their opponents, not yet ending, Loyola’s disciples, as usual, gave way, feeling assured that, if actual force would be of no avail in making good their claim, intrigues and cunning would in the end win the day. Nor were they deceived.[75]

In Portugal, dangers of another kind menaced the Society. It seemed as if Portugal were to be the theatre where the Jesuits were to perform the principal act of their ignoble drama.

The protection of John III., united with the zeal of Rodriguez, had made this country one of the most flourishing provinces of the Society. But its very prosperity nearly caused its ruin. Having possessed themselves of immense wealth, the Jesuits, yielding to the common law, relaxed in the strictness of their conduct, pursued a life of pleasure and debauchery; above all, their principal college (Coimbra) resembled more a garden of academics than a cloister.[76] Scandal became so great, that the court began to frown upon them, and the people were losing that respect and veneration with which they had before regarded them. Ignatius, of course, was soon informed of the state of things, and took at once the most energetic measures for repressing the evil (in 1552). Rodriguez was recalled and sent to Spain, and a new provincial and rector were sent to Coimbra.

Miron, the provincial, attempted a reform, but the Jesuits—spoiled children—refused to submit to it. Some he dismissed from the college—a greater number abandoned it. Insubordination and disorder were at their height. Fortunately, Ignatius had in the rector Godin a man according to his heart. Godin proved a worthy disciple of the author of the Spiritual Exercises. Stripping his shoulders of their garments, arming himself with a scourge, he rushed, demoniac-like, out into the streets of Coimbra, and flagellated himself, crying for mercy. Breathless, covered with dust and blood, running and screaming, he returned to the college church, where the brethren were assembled, and here he again lashed himself. Strange and uncommon examples fire the imagination and prejudices of imitators. The Jesuits were at first surprised; then, all on a sudden, they beg to be allowed to undergo the same public penance. Godin feigns to refuse; he speaks of the scandal given—he paints in strong colours the enormities of their sins, and dwells at length upon the sufferings and passion of Christ. When he had wrought their feelings to the highest pitch, he granted them the permission solicited, and, like a crowd of Bacchanti, when their deity rages within them, they all rush out of the church, and with lamentable cries run through the streets, scourging themselves in a most merciless manner. When they reached the Church of the Misericordia, they knelt down, whilst the rector begged pardon of the multitude for the scandal they had given them. Some of the people are moved—others laugh loudly—but the intent of the rector is obtained. The disciples become more tractable; the college submits to the necessary reform, and the Jesuits regain their influence.[77]

The Society met with a more serious and durable opposition in France. After their first banishment they had returned to Paris, but there they had no house of their own, neither could they find any. They therefore took up their abode in the College des Lombards, till Du Prat, Bishop of Clermond, offered them his own hotel, to which they immediately repaired. As yet, however, this establishment was neither a house for professed members, since there were none of them, nor a noviciate, since the rules for the noviciate were not established till six or seven years afterwards. The members who repaired to Clermond hotel were only students, or priests aspiring to become members of the Society; but we are told that they were so conspicuous for their learning and piety, that three of them were chosen by Ignatius to establish a new college in Sicily, while Viole, the chief of those aspirants, was named by the university, Procurator of the College des Lombards. This nomination, however, appeared to Ignatius to be of a rather doubtful character, since it proceeded from the university, which had been adverse to the order from the first. It seems as if he feared that these students, seduced by the allurements of honour and emoluments, would renounce their pious determination to become Jesuits; he therefore ordered Viole to give up the appointment, and to take the vows of the order before Du Prat, enjoining at the same time, that all students who may receive any pension from the College des Lombards should instantly renounce it. Although these orders were absolute, they were promptly obeyed. The great secret of Loyola’s influence and power lay in the inflexibility of his character, and in his military education, which rendered him absolute and imperative, and excluded the possibility of others disputing his orders.

Meanwhile the Society in France—we should say in Paris—the only place where it had tried to establish itself, lived in a most precarious state, until the year 1550, when Henry II., stimulated by the too famous cardinal of Guise, thought of establishing the Jesuits in his kingdom, and issued patent letters authorising them to do so.

The ordinances of the French king were not at this time considered binding, until they were registered by the parliament.[78] When those concerning the Jesuits were brought before them, the parliament, after hearing the conclusions of their Advocate-General, refused to register them, on the ground “that the new institute would be prejudicial to the monarchy, the state, and the ecclesiastical hierarchy.”

The contest lasted for two years, when the king, in 1552, sent an order to the parliament to register the patent letters of 1550, authorising the establishment of the Jesuits. The order was formal and imperative, yet the parliament refused to comply with it, although, out of deference to the sovereign will, they advised that further inquiries be made concerning the Society.

After other two years of serious consideration and strict inquiry, the parliament, in 1554, enacted that “the bull establishing the Society, and the king’s patent letters, shall be communicated both to the Archbishop of Paris, and to the Faculty of Theology there, in order that, their opinion heard, the court may come to a sentence.” The archbishop and the faculty were thus called to decide upon a question of their exclusive competence, since the one was the ecclesiastical superior, and the other the natural judge in matters of faith. Both took the case in hand, and after due consideration, they respectively decided against the establishment of the Society. The archbishop, Eustache de Bellay, belonging to one of the most illustrious parliamentary families of France, after mature deliberation, gave out all the reasons why he thought it his duty to oppose the introduction of the order, and concluded in this remarkable and logical way:—“Since the order pretends to be established for the purpose of preaching to the Turks and infidels, to bring them to the knowledge of God; they ought to establish their houses and societies in places near the said infidels, as in the times of old had been done by the Knights of Rhodes, who were placed on the frontiers of Christendom, not in the midst thereof.” But the severe and bitter censure of the Doctors of the Sorbonne was a more explicit condemnation of the order. Here is the document of their famous “conclusion:”—

“As all the faithful, and principally the theologians, ought to be ready to render an account to those who demand the same, respecting matters of faith, morals, and the edification of the Church; the faculty has thought, that it ought to satisfy the desire, the demand, and the intention of the court.

“Wherefore, having perused, and many times re-perused, and well comprehended all the articles of the two bulls, and after having discussed and gone to the depths of them, during several months, at different times and hours, according to custom, due regard being had to the subject, the Faculty has, with unanimous consent, given this judgment, which it has submitted with all manner of respect to that of the Holy See.

“This new Society, which arrogates to itself in particular the unusual title of the name of Jesus—which receives with so much freedom, and without any choice, all sorts of persons, however criminal, lawless, and infamous they may be—which differs in nowise from the secular priests in outward dress, in the tonsure, in the manner of saying the canonical hours in private, or in chaunting in public, in the engagement to remain in the cloister and observe silence, in the choice of food and days, in fasting, and the variety of rules, laws, and ceremonies which serve to distinguish the different institutes of monks;—this Society, to which have been granted and given so many privileges and licences, chiefly in what concerns the administration of the sacraments of penance and the eucharist, and this without any regard or distinction being had of places or persons; as also in the function of preaching, reading, and teaching, to the prejudice of the ordinaries and the hierarchical order, as well as of the other religious orders, and even to the prejudices of princes and lords temporal, against the privileges of the universities,—in fine, to the great cost of the people;—this Society seems to blemish the honour of the monastic state; it weakens entirely the painful, pious, and very necessary exercises of the virtues of abstinences, ceremonies, and austerity. It even gives occasion very freely to desert the religious orders; it withdraws from the obedience and submission due to the ordinaries; it unjustly deprives lords, both temporal and ecclesiastical, of their rights, carries trouble into the government of both, causes many subjects of complaint amongst the people, many lawsuits, strifes, contentions, jealousies, and divers schisms and divisions.

“Wherefore, after having examined all these matters, and several others, with much attention and care, this Society appears dangerous as to matters of faith, capable of disturbing the peace of the Church, overturning the monastic order, and more adapted to break down than to build up.”[79]

Here, as in the denunciations of Cano, the faculty seem to have got a glimpse of the future history of the Jesuits, since, at that epoch at least, the accusation of receiving into the Society indiscriminately was not well founded.

The apologists of the Jesuits have said—and we are partly inclined to admit the truth of their assertion—that as the Jesuits were then in possession of the education of youth in many parts of Europe, the university, jealous of its privileges, condemned the order of the Jesuits, not as an infamous and sacrilegious community, but as a dangerous rival. They have also affirmed, that the expulsion of the famous Postel[80] had irritated the Sorbonne, of which he was a doctor. But this we believe to be a gratuitous supposition.

However, the decisions of the parliament, archbishop, and university, were hailed throughout France with a shout of jubilee. The Jesuits were obliged to leave Paris, and as all the parliaments of France had echoed the resolution of that of the capital, they would be nowhere received, and, as a last and momentary refuge, they went and hid themselves in the Abbey of St Germain des Près.

The more warlike and inconsiderate members of the order would have replied to the terrible sentence of the Sorbonne, but Ignatius was too consummate a politician to yield to their imprudent desires. For open wars, the Jesuits had no predilection. When their opponents were too strong for them, their practice was, and still is, to give way, as if in submission; but then they begin a hidden and mysterious war of intrigues and machinations, that in the end they are always the victors. So acted Ignatius in this affair in France. The Jesuits contented themselves with living for some time in obscurity and complete seclusion from all society, and preparing the way for future triumph. Nor had they long to wait. Soon were they called into France to help and cheer that atrocious and cruel hecatomb, that bloody debauch of priests and kings—the Saint Bartholomew.

But what is worthy of more serious reflection, is the fact, that in Rome—the centre of their power and glory—the Jesuits were also publicly accused as a set of heretics, dangerous and immoral persons; and the famous book of The Spiritual Exercises was submitted to the Inquisition. It is indeed true that this little manual got a certificate for orthodoxy, and that the priest who had traduced them before the tribunal, having to struggle alone against the Society, was condemned (we don’t wonder at it) as a calumniator; but how can you, you subtle sons of Ignatius, explain this concurrence; this accumulation of accusations and hostilities? How is it that nations, separated from one another by diversities of interest, custom, opinion—that citizens of different classes, characters, principles, interests—that all men and nations, widely separated in every thing else, united only by a common tie—the Catholic religion—should exactly agree in this one thing—hatred to and abhorrence of the avowed champion of Catholicism? And remember we don’t speak of Protestant countries, or Protestant opponents. All your adversaries were bigoted Catholics. There is but one way to explain this strange coincidence. We fear that from the very beginning, the Jesuits, notwithstanding all their prudence, could not conceal from the eye of the observer those subtle arts, that duplicity of character, that skill in accomplishing dark and mysterious exploits, for which they were in later times opposed, and at length abolished.

What is still more remarkable, is the fact that the greatest part of those persons who were foremost in opposing the Jesuits, knew Loyola, and, if not as intimately as Caraffa and Cano, at least well enough to be able to appreciate him. We shall adduce as the last, though not the least fact, militating against the order—that Caraffa, a man of the most rigid Catholicism, nay, bigotry—who had nothing so near his heart as the furtherance of the Roman religion—the former friend of Loyola, both as cardinal and as Pope, was constantly and firmly adverse to the order. I should like if some of the reverend fathers would explain this almost inexplicable fact.

However, all these oppositions were sooner or later got rid of by Jesuitical craft; and the Society, in 1556, only sixteen years after its commencement, counted as many as twelve provinces, a hundred houses, and upwards of a thousand members, dispersed over the whole known world. Their two most conspicuous and important establishments were the Collegio Romano and the German College. They already were in possession of many chairs, and soon monopolised the right of teaching, which gave them a most overwhelming influence. We shall speak of the colleges, and of their method of study, after it had received from Acquaviva, the fifth General, a farther development, and nearly the same form in which it is at the present day. The Jesuits also derived great importance from their missions, to the consideration of which we shall devote the next chapter. The reason of the immense success of the Jesuits is the fact, that their order was established in direct opposition to the rising Protestantism, and that both the court of Rome, and those princes whose interest it was to maintain the Catholic religion, and oppose that of the Reformed, were very eager to introduce and uphold the Society of Jesuits into their states. Yet even with this preponderant favourable circumstance, the Society would have either succumbed under the many obstacles it encountered in its beginning, or at least would not have progressed so rapidly, had it not been for Ignatius Loyola. This extraordinary man seems to have united in his own person all the qualities indispensable for succeeding in any undertaking;—unbounded ambition—inflexibility of character—unwearied activity, and a thorough and profound knowledge of the human heart. With such qualities, he could hardly fail to succeed in the accomplishment of any project. Almost every writer of Loyola’s life (I do not speak either of the miracle-tellers or of the pamphleteers) has represented him as most sincere, fervidly devout, and pious. On this point, however, we must observe, that all the historians, not excluding even the Protestant, copied from his two first biographers, Maffei and Rybadaneira.

We also beg to be permitted to give the humble opinion which we have formed of him, after having carefully perused what has been said regarding him—and much more, after a dispassionate examination of the facts connected with his life. Without doubt, Ignatius, during his illness, felt disposed to change his dissipated course of life, and, as happens in every sudden reaction, he, from being a profligate freethinking officer, went to the other extreme, and became a rigid and bigoted anchorite. No penances were too severe to expiate his numerous sins, and no devotion was too fervent to atone for his past irreligion. So he thought at the moment, and, we think, conscientiously. But after the first burst of his devotion—after the deep contemplation into which he was plunged had given place to the felt necessity of acting in one way or another, we are led to believe, and have already expressed that belief, that his natural ambition rose, and that all his thoughts were turned upon the surest method of accomplishing some great and uncommon exploit, by which he might render himself famous. As devotion was the principal requisite for success in the path which he had chosen, Ignatius was a fervent devotee, first by calculation, and then by habit—but not the less zealous for all that. Had his whole thoughts been absorbed with that one object—the salvation of his soul—his devotion would have been less ostentatious, and, without wavering between one project and another, he would have been contented with an humble and retired life, or would have spent it in unquestionable works of charity—in ministering to the sick, as he had begun in the Hospital of the Theatines. It cannot be denied, however, that Ignatius, after his conversion, was very humane, compassionate, and charitable, and that his private conduct, in the later part of his life, was moral and unimpeached. He treated his disciples with much kindness, and never denied them what he could grant without inconvenience. On the other hand, he was imperious to the last degree, and could not endure the slightest contradiction. An old Jesuit priest, who had been once guilty of disobedience, was scourged in his own presence. One instance will perhaps serve to depict Loyola more effectively than words can. He had sent Lainez as provincial to Padua. Lainez, who had had an immense success at the Council of Trent, and who was in fact superior to any one then belonging to the Society, at first refused this secondary post, but at last obeyed. Hardly had he, however, entered upon his functions, before Ignatius drained his province of all the best professors, whom he summoned to Rome. The provincial remonstrated. It was the Lainez, Ignatius’ bosom friend—his right hand—the glory of the company—the man who had been chosen to be a cardinal. But Ignatius disregarded all these considerations, and without even entering into any discussion, simply wrote to him, thus: “Reflect on your proceedings; tell me if you are persuaded of having erred, and if so, indicate to me what punishment you are ready to undergo for the expiation of your fault.”[81] This letter pourtrays the man!

We are also assured, that the general was so humble, that you might have seen him carrying wood on his shoulders—lighting the common fire—or going to the well with a pitcher in his hand. We should be inclined to call such humility ostentation, or, if you prefer it, good policy. Ignatius was, above all, anxious to curb the spirit of his disciples. In his eyes, they could not be humble and submissive enough. The Jesuit ought to value himself, individually, as nothing—the Society as everything. Now, which of his disciples would have dared refuse any undertaking, however humble, after he had seen his general engaged in the meanest services?

But while Ignatius affected these acts of humility, he was seriously giving his attention to the state affairs of different nations. He was holding correspondence with John III. of Portugal, the cardinal his son, Albert of Bavaria, Ferdinand of Austria, Philip of Spain, Ercole of Est, and many other princes. He was the spiritual director of Margaret of Austria. He went to Tivoli, purposely to allay the quarrels of two neighbouring towns, and to Naples to make peace between an angry husband and his wife of rather doubtful morals. All these things tend to prove what we have said regarding his devotion, viz. that it was of a rather meddlesome and ambitious character.

But his career was now drawing to an end. These different occupations—the direction of both the spiritual and temporal matters of the order, which was already widely spread—the anxiety caused by the many conflicts in which the Society was engaged—the fear of defeat—the joy arising from success—his unrelenting activity—his uneasiness at seeing the pontifical chair occupied by Caraffa, always adverse to the order—all these things contributed to shorten his days. His constitution, which had been impaired in his youth, and in the cavern of Manreze, now gradually gave way; and although no symptom of his approaching end was yet visible, “no paleness of countenance, not a sign in all his body,”[82] nevertheless he felt the vital principle fading away within him, and that his last hour was rapidly drawing near. He tried the country air, and for this purpose went to a villa lately given by some friends for the use of the Roman college,[83] but he found no relief. His strength was fast failing him; an unconquerable lassitude crept over his whole frame, and his intellect only remained clear and unchanged. He spoke of his illness, nay, of his approaching end, to nobody. He returned to Rome, and threw himself upon a bed. A doctor was sent for by the alarmed fathers, but he bade them be of good cheer, “for there was nothing the matter with the general.” Ignatius smiled; and when the physician was gone, he gave orders to his secretary, Polancus, to proceed to the holy father straightway to recommend the Society to his care, and to obtain a blessing for himself (Ignatius), and indulgences for his sins.[84] Perhaps he made this last attempt to disarm, by his humility, the inflexible Paul IV. (Caraffa), and so render him favourable to the Society. He was mistaken. Paul sent the requested benison, but he did not change his mind toward the Society. However, Polancus, reassured by the doctor, and not seeing any danger himself, disregarded the order, postponing the fulfilment of his mission till next day. Meanwhile, after Ignatius had attended till very late to some affairs concerning the Roman college, he was left alone to rest. But what was the surprise and consternation of the fathers, on entering his room next morning, to find him breathing his last! The noise and confusion caused by such an unexpected event were great. Cordials, doctor, confessor, were immediately sent for; but, before any of them came—before Polancus, who only now ran to the Pope, returned—Loyola had expired. His demise took place at five o’clock on the morning of the 31st of July 1556, in his sixty-fifth year. So ended a man who is extolled by the one party as a saint, execrated by the other as a monster. He was neither. Most assuredly, in the Protestant point of view, and by all those who advocate the cause of freedom of conscience, and of a return to the purity of the primitive religion of Christ, Ignatius ought to be detested above any other individual. To him and to his order belongs the mournful glory of having checked the progress of the Reformation, and of having kept a great part of Europe under the yoke of superstition and tyranny.

And here we are led to mention a fact which we think has hitherto been unnoticed—the indulgence, we should say the partiality, evinced by Protestant writers for these last ten years towards the Jesuits, and especially the founders of the order. The fact must be explained. The Jesuits, from 1830 to the end of ’48, seemed to have lost all public favour, all influence and authority. Persecuted and hooted in France, Switzerland, Russia, hated in their own dominion, Italy, they were considered as a vanquished enemy, deserving rather commiseration than hatred. A reaction ensued in their favour among their most decided opponents. Generous souls rose up to defend these persecuted men, and stretched out a friendly hand to them, thus trodden upon by all. Carried away with such chivalrous sentiments, they have embellished, with the colours of their fervid imaginations and the graces of their copious style, whatever the Jesuit writers have related of their chiefs, and have represented Loyola and his companions as heroes of romance rather than real historical characters. We leave these writers to reflect whether the Jesuits are a vanquished enemy, or whether they are not still redoubtable and menacing foes. But, with deference to such distinguished writers as Macaulay, Taylor, Stephen, and others, we dare to assert that in writing about the Jesuits they were led astray by the above romantic sentiments; and we should moreover warn them that their words are quoted by the Jesuit writers, Crétineau, Pellico, &c., as irrefragable testimony of the sanctity of their members.

CHAPTER VII.
1541-1774.
MISSIONS.

Before we proceed any further, we feel obliged to say a few words regarding the missions which were undertaken by the Jesuits soon after the establishment of their order. To write a complete history would be almost interminable. To analyse Orlandini, Sacchini, Bartoli, Jouvency, the Litteræ Annuæ, and Les Lettres Edifiantes, not to speak of a hundred others, would take up a great many volumes.[85] We think we may fill our pages with more instructive matter.

We shall now confine ourselves to a short chapter on the missions of India. We shall next speak of those of America, and finally, in what condition the missions are at the present day. In speaking of the missions of India, we fear we shall incur the reproach we have addressed to others, because we frankly confess that we are partial to Francis Xavier; but our Protestant readers, to be impartial, must not judge those missions by too rigid a standard, or by too constant a reference to the doctrinal errors of those who undertook them, furthermore, by the consideration of what those missions subsequently became. All human institutions emanating from imperfect beginnings, are necessarily imperfect, and the further they recede from their origin, the more they lose of their primitive character, and the less are they calculated to answer the end for which they were established. The idle and immoral monk—this gangrene of Catholic countries—was at one time the most industrious of men; and Europe owes much to the monastic orders, not only for the preservation of the greatest part of the works of genius of our forefathers, but also for the tillage of its barren wastes. If the monks and priests now bring disorder, confusion, and often civil war into the countries where they are sent under pretence of missions, such was not the case at the discovery of the Western World, and at the conquest of India by the Portuguese. The first zealous and devoted missionaries attempted to civilise and Christianise savage and barbarous populations. And if you object that in their missions they preached the Popish creed, and destroyed one idolatry by introducing another, at least you ought to give them credit for their good intentions. Nor are you to suppose that they undertook the task of civilising these nations in order to acquire dominion over them. No. Such, indeed, has been the case in later times, but in the beginning they were actuated by worthier and more disinterested motives. In going thither they had before their eyes martyrdom rather than worldly establishments. They carried with them no theological books. Having no antagonist to dispute with, they had left behind the acrimony and hatred inherent in almost all theological controversies. They brought with them the essence of the Christian religion—the most consoling and sublime part of it—gratitude to the Creator, with charity and love to their fellow-creatures. Undoubtedly, when we speak of their missions, we must not blindly believe all that the Jesuitical historians, who are often the only chroniclers of these events, relate to us. We shall not give them credit for the prodigies and miracles said to be performed by their missionaries, even though that missionary be Xavier himself. We shall not believe that he raised from the tomb another Lazarus, or that at his bidding the salt waves of the ocean were changed into sweet and palatable water. Yet there are irrefragable proofs of the good done by their exertions, and of their success in introducing Christianity, or at least civilisation, into India and America. The man who first engaged in that glorious work was Francis Xavier—Xavier, whom, if Rome had not dishonoured the name by conferring it upon assassins and hypocrites, we would gladly call a saint.

He was the offspring of an ancient and illustrious Spanish family, and was born in 1506, at his father’s castle in the Pyrenees. He was about the middle size, had a lofty forehead, large, blue, soft eyes, with an exquisitely fine complexion, and with the manners and demeanour of a prince. He was gay, satirical, of an ardent spirit, and, above all, ambitious of literary renown. All his faculties, all his thoughts, were directed to this noble pursuit, and so efficiently, that at the age of twenty-two he was elected a professor of philosophy in the capital of France. There he lived on terms of intimacy with Peter Lefevre, a young Savoyard, of very humble extraction, of a modest and simple character, but of uncommon intelligence and industry. It was with Lefevre that Xavier first met Ignatius. Francis was shocked at his appearance, his affected humility, his loathsome dress; and when he spake of spiritual exercises, Xavier looked at his own fair, white arms, shuddered at the idea of lacerating them with the scourge—this principal ingredient of the spiritual exercises—and laughed outright in his face. But Ignatius, having cast his eyes upon such a noble being, was not to be discouraged by a first or second repulse in his endeavours to become intimate with him. He spared no exertions to ingratiate himself with Xavier; and at last, as Bartoli says, “he resolved to gain him over by firing his ambition, just as Judith did with feigned love to Holofernes, that she might triumph over him at the last.”[86] As we have already stated, Xavier was ambitious, and eager for literary renown. Ignatius made himself the eulogist of his countryman. He gathered around his chair a benevolent and an attentive audience, and gratified the young professor in his most ardent wishes. The generous heart of Xavier was touched by this act of kindness, and he began to look upon this loathsome man with other eyes. Ignatius redoubled his efforts. The improvident Xavier was often surrounded with pecuniary difficulties. Ignatius went begging, to replenish his purse. It was not wonderful that Xavier, having fallen under the influence of such a persevering assailant, who was admonitor at once and friend—who flattered and exhorted, rebuked and assisted, with such matchless tact—should gradually have yielded to the fascination. He went through the Spiritual Exercises, and from that moment became a mere tool in the hands of Loyola. This was the first missionary sent to India.

The order had not yet been approved by the Pope, when John III. of Portugal, by means of his ambassador D. Pedro de Mascaregnas, asked of him six missionaries to be sent to the East Indies. The Pope, who was undecided whether he should consent to the establishment of this new order or not, thought this a plausible pretext to get rid of them altogether, and asked Loyola for six of his companions. But Ignatius was not the man to consent to the suicide of the intended Society, and offered the Pope only two members for the undertaking. The choice fell upon Rodriguez and Bobadilla. The first set out immediately, but Bobadilla falling ill, Ignatius called Xavier, and said to him, “Xavier, I had named Bobadilla for India, but Heaven this day names you, and I announce it to you in the name of the Vicar of Jesus Christ. Receive the appointment which his Holiness lays upon you by my mouth, just as if Jesus Christ presented it himself. Go, brother, whither the voice of God calls you, and inflame all with the divine fire within you—Id y accendedlo todo y embrasadlo en fuego divino.” Ignatius often used these words, and in his mouth they were a talisman which fanned the flame of enthusiasm. It is impossible to describe the exultation of Xavier at the thought of the boundless regions which would open before him there, to exercise his unbounded charity and love of mankind. Xavier went to receive the Pope’s blessing, and the very next morning he left Rome—alone—penniless—clothed in a ragged cloak, but with a light heart and joyful countenance. He crossed the Pyrenees without even visiting his father’s castle, and hastened to Lisbon, where he joined his companion Rodriguez. Portugal at this epoch was experiencing the influence of the wealth brought from the recently conquered provinces of India. Eagerness for pleasure, effeminacy of manners, relaxation from every duty, had completely changed the aspect of the nation. These two Jesuits, by exhortation and preaching, endeavoured to stem the onward march of that fast spreading corruption. Their panegyrists assure us that they succeeded in their efforts, but the subsequent history of Portugal gives them the lie. To no man is given the power to stop the propensities or the vices of a nation, when they are in the ascendancy. Xavier may perhaps have made the Portuguese nobility for a moment ashamed of their luxurious and profligate life; but if so, a more complete abandonment to a life of idleness and pleasure succeeded a fugitive shame.

However, the King of Portugal, changing his mind, wished to retain in the capital the two Jesuits whom he had intended for India, but he could only prevail on Rodriguez to remain. Xavier was impatient to be sent on his mission. At length, on the 7th of April 1541, the fleet, having on board a thousand men to reinforce the garrison of Goa, left the Tagus, and spread her sails to the wind. It was under the command of Don Alphonso of Sousa, the vice-king of India. As the fleet sailed on, the eyes of the soldiers were bedimmed with tears; even the bravest of the host could not see without emotion and dismay the shores of their native land receding from their view. Xavier alone was serene, and his countenance beamed with delight. On sailed the fleet, and after five long and weary months, they reached the coast of Mozambique. Under a burning African sun, they found little relief from the fatigues of their tedious voyage, and an epidemic fever spread consternation and death among these European adventurers. Xavier was indefatigable among them, nursing the sick, consoling the dying, and cheering all with his joyful and placid countenance.

After six months’ stay, they left this inhospitable land, and arrived at Goa, the capital of the Portuguese dominions in India, thirteen months after their departure from Lisbon.

There Xavier was horror-struck at the indescribable degradation in which he found, not the Indian idolaters, but the Portuguese Catholics, their own priests foremost in the path of vice. The contempt that these proud conquerors had for a feeble and despised race, the charm of the East, the wealth they found, the climate inspiring voluptuousness—all combined to banish from their breasts every sentiment of justice, shame, and honesty. The history of their debauches and immoralities is really revolting. Thirst for gold and voluptuousness were their two predominant passions; and the gold, acquired by infamous and cruel means, was dissipated in revolting and degrading deeds. Bartoli gives us a fearful picture of the demoralised condition of the Portuguese in India.[87] But, without trusting implicitly to all this historian represents regarding their corruptions and licentiousness, we know by other sources that the corruption was extreme, and that it was their dissolute life that induced the Indians who had been converted to our religion, feeling ashamed of the name of Christian, to return to their idols. Xavier thought it would be useless to attempt converting the idolater before he had reformed the morals of the Christian; but he considered it neither prudent nor useful to attack so great an evil directly and openly. He rightly judged that the children would be most easily worked upon, and he resolved to reach this by exciting their love of novelties and unwonted sights. He arms himself with a hand-bell, which he swings with a powerful hand, throws away his hat, and calls in a loud and impressive tone on the fathers to send their children to be catechised. The novelty of the fact, the noble and dignified countenance of a man dressed in rags, could not fail to excite curiosity at least. Men, women, and children rush out to see this strange man, who draws along with him a crowd to the church, and there, with passionate and impressive eloquence, endeavours to inspire them with shame for their conduct, and lectures to them on the most essential rules of morality. Then he begins to teach the children the rudiments of the Christian religion, and these innocent creatures love to listen to a man who shews himself the kindest and gentlest companion, joyfully mixing in all their pastimes. A number of children soon became his constant auditors, and to say he did not work any good among them would be an untruth. Nor did he confine his apostolic ministry to the instruction of children. He was, on the contrary, indefatigable in his exertions to be of use to every one. He took up his abode in the hospital, visited the prisoner, assisted the dying. With a flexibility characteristic of the system, and often employed for the worst ends, he mixed with all classes, and spoke and acted in the most suitable manner to please them all. Often might you have seen him at the same table with the gamester—often did he by his gay humour rejoice the banquet table—often might he have been seen in the haunts of debauchees; and in all those places exquisite good taste, combined with jest or bitter sarcasm, à-propos to time and place, rendered the vice either ridiculous or loathsome. Many, to enjoy Xavier’s friendship, renounced their profligate habits, and fell back to the paths of virtue. But it is a gratuitous assertion, and contradicted by Xavier himself, that the aspect of the town was changed by his predications and catechisings. We repeat it again—no man has the power to work such miracles. After Xavier had spent twelve months in Goa, he heard that the pearl fishermen on the coast of Malabar were poor and oppressed. Thither Xavier went without delay. He took with him two Malabarese whom he had converted, as his interpreters. But finding this mode of communication slow and ineffectual, he committed to memory the creed, the decalogue, and the Lord’s Prayer in the Malabar language, and repeated them to the natives with passionate and eloquent eagerness. By degrees he began to be able to communicate with them; and here, as elsewhere, Xavier not only acted the indefatigable apostle, but also shewed himself the best friend, the kindest consoler of these poor people, and shared in their fatigues and privations. Many were the favours which he obtained for them from the vice-king, and these grateful fishermen willingly embraced the religion preached by their benefactor. He lived among them for thirteen months, and we are assured that at his departure he had planted no less than forty-five churches on the coast. From Cape Comorin he passed to Travancore, thence to Meliapore, to the Moluccas, to Malacca; and, in short, he visited a great part of India, always vigilant, zealous, and indefatigable in his endeavours to make these idolaters partake of the benefits of the Christian religion.

In 1547 he returned to Goa. Ignatius had sent him in the year 1545 three Jesuits. Xavier had directed two of them to go to Cape Comorin, and named the third, Lancillotti, Professor of the College of Saint Foi. Soon after, nine other Jesuits were sent to assist him. Xavier assigned a place and an occupation to each of them, and he himself returned to Malacca. Here he learned something about Japan. He was informed that the Japanese were moral, industrious, and very eager to acquire knowledge of every kind. Xavier at once determined that neither the distance nor the difficulties of the way should deter him from visiting Japan. Listening to no remonstrance which would have dissuaded him from this undertaking, he named the Jesuit, Paul of Camarino, Superior in his place, and with two companions set out for Japan.

Before leaving Malacca he wrote to Ignatius thus:—“I want words to express to you with what joy I undertake this long voyage, full of the greatest dangers. Although these dangers are greater than all I have yet encountered, I am far from giving up my undertaking, our Lord telling me internally that the cross once planted here will yield an abundant harvest.”

We shall not relate the various extraordinary incidents or miracles which we are told he performed whilst on the way, and we shall conduct him at once to that cluster of islands, with mountains barren of fruits and grain, but rich in mines of all sorts, which we call Japan, where he arrived in the summer of 1549. The Japanese of those days were partly atheists, partly idolaters. Xavier endeavoured to ingratiate himself with the Bonzes, those crafty priests of Japan. He succeeded in converting some of them, and by their influence a great many more of the idolaters, and prepared the ground which should afterwards have produced an abundant harvest, if this father’s successors had possessed a little more of his uprightness and charity.

But Xavier’s vivid imagination and restless activity made him soon desert Japan for a more ample and splendid theatre. He formed the project of penetrating into the Celestial Empire. Leaving his two companions in Japan, he returned to Goa to settle the affairs of the Society, which had increased in numbers, influence, and authority; and this duty performed, he returned to Malacca, to embark from thence for China.

Better to succeed in his undertaking, he had obtained for a Portuguese merchant, Pereyra, the title of ambassador to the emperor. Pereyra, according to custom, had purchased many presents, in order to obtain a more cordial reception for himself and his friend Xavier. The vessel in which the two friends were to take a passage was on the point of sailing, when Don Alvarez, Captain-General of Malacca, opposed their departure, and, effectually to prevent it, laid an embargo on the Saint Croix, the only vessel which was bent thither. Xavier remonstrated in vain. The captain persisted in opposing the embassy of Pereyra. Xavier shewed him the commission of John III., which conferred upon him great and almost unlimited power, and also his commission as the Pope’s legate. Alvarez still refused to consent to their departure, and Xavier fulminated against him the anathemas, but without any effect.

Pereyra was thus obliged to remain, and Xavier, after having lost much time, took a passage in this same vessel, which was now ordered for the island of Sancian. There they at length landed, to the inexpressible joy of Xavier, who saw himself within a few leagues of this promised land of his own. But, alas! his hopes were frustrated. It was ordained that his praiseworthy ambition should not be gratified, and that he should not see the vast empire he aspired to conquer to Christianity, but at a distance. Others might attempt this difficult mission; Xavier, a victim to fatigue and fever, lay powerless on the inhospitable shore of Sancian. In a very few days his illness made fearful progress, and on the 2d of December 1552, Xavier, in the forty-sixth year of his age, breathed his last. Thus ended the adventurous life of this noble and extraordinary man, which we have merely sketched.

We pass over the absurd and miraculous facts which the panegyrists of the saint have coupled with his name. We think they have injudiciously smothered, in ridiculous and supernatural legends, the many noble exploits and the great qualities of Xavier. In respect for his memory, we shall therefore make no mention of his miracles. Besides, Xavier’s miracles are as nearly as possible the same as those performed by other saints. We really believe that the biographers of any saint might do like that gentleman who, after having written a long letter without either comma, colon, period, or point of interrogation, put down a great quantity of these at the close of the epistle, and enjoined his correspondent to insert them in their requisite places. Our biographers should, in like manner, place at the end of their panegyrics some hundreds of miracles performed on the sick, or the blind, or those possessed with devils, and let the judicious reader insert them in those parts of the narrative they may think proper.[88]

No one, however, will deny to Xavier uprightness of purpose, sincerity of conviction, mildness and intrepidity of character, self-denial, and a fervid zeal for the propagation of the Christian religion. But while we gladly give him praise for his excellent qualities, we cannot overlook some of his defects. Thus, for example, we cannot approve of his continual wandering, and we think, that in undertaking his voyages, he was actuated, perhaps, as much by the love of novelty as by the desire of propagating Christianity. His way of making Christians was also in the highest degree inconsiderate and hasty; for, most assuredly, the 10,000 idolaters whom he christened in a single month, had no more of the Christian than the baptism.

But we must impute to him a still greater fault, and one which seems to be inherent in the character of the Romish priests—the absolute authority which they claim over all men, and their unscrupulous proceedings against any one who is bold enough to resist their orders—nay, their very wishes. Observe. Don Alphonso de Sonza, vice-king of India, although an exemplary Roman Catholic, because he does not yield to all Xavier’s wishes, the Jesuit writes to the king and procures his recall! Alvarez opposes the embassy of Pereyra, which Xavier had contemplated, and for this the Jesuit priest excommunicates him! These two acts are characteristic of the Romish priests, and we quote them to shew that even the mildest does not hesitate at anything, in order to carry his point.

However, in the time of Xavier, and for some fifty years afterwards, the missions, if they were far from what they ought to have been, as instrumental for propagating the gospel, were nevertheless conducted in a manner not altogether unpraiseworthy. The missionaries were laborious, energetic, indefatigable. They submitted to every kind of privation, persecution, even death itself, with a courageous and sometimes joyful and willing heart. Had they simply preached the gospel, and not mingled with it the diffusion of the superstitious practices of the Church of Rome, no praise would be adequate to their deserts. But, alas! the noble qualities which they brought to work were soon perverted, and directed to interested and impure motives, so that we fear the good which they did at first can hardly compensate for the evil which they at length produced.

The man who after Xavier had the greatest success in India, but who also perverted the character of the mission, and introduced the most abominable idolatry, was Father Francis Nobili. He arrived at Madura in 1606, and was surprised that Christianity had made so little progress in so long a time, which he attributed to the strong aversion which the Indian had for the European, and to the fact, that the Jesuits, having addressed themselves more especially to the Pariahs, had caused Christ to be considered as the Pariahs’ God.[89] He therefore resolved to play the part of a Hindoo and a Brahmin. After having learned with wonderful facility their rites, their manners, and their language,[90] he gave himself out as a Saniassi, a Brahmin of the fourth and most perfect class; and, with imperturbable impudence, he asserted that he had come to restore to them the fourth road to truth, which was supposed to have been lost many thousands of years before. He submitted to their penances and observances, which were very painful; abstained from everything that had life, such as fish, flesh, eggs;[91] respected their prejudices, and, above all, the maintenance of the distinction of classes. It was forbidden the catechumen Pariah to enter the same church with the Sudra or Brahmin converts. All this was the beginning of those heathen ceremonies and superstitions with which the Christian religion was contaminated.

Great care was taken by these Roman Saniassi that they might not be taken for Feringees,[92] and still greater care not to hurt the prejudices of the Hindoos. We might multiply quotations ad infinitum to prove our assertions, but we shall content ourselves with two. “Our whole attention,” writes Father de Bourges, “is taken up in our endeavour to conceal from the people that we are what they call Feringees; the slightest suspicion of this would prove an insurmountable obstacle to our success.”[93] And Father Mauduit writes,—“The catechist of a low caste can never be employed to teach Hindoos of a caste more elevated. The Brahmins and the Sudras, who form the principal and most numerous castes, have a far greater contempt for the Pariahs, who are beneath them, than princes in Europe can feel for the scum of the people. They would be dishonoured in their own country, and deprived of the privileges of their caste, if they ever listened to the instructions of one whom they look upon as infamous. We must, therefore, have Pariah Catechists for the Pariahs, and Brahminical catechists for the Brahmins, which causes us a great deal of difficulty.” “Some time ago, a catechist from the Madura mission begged me to go to Pouleour, there to baptize some Pariah catechumens, and to confess certain neophytes of that caste. The fear that the Brahmins and Sudras might come to learn the step I had taken, and thence look upon me as infamous and unworthy ever of holding any intercourse with them, hindered me from going! The words of the holy apostle Paul, which I had read that morning at mass, determined me to take this resolution,—‘Giving no offence to any one, that your ministry might not be blamed’ (2 Cor. vi. 3). I therefore made these poor people go to a retired place, about three leagues from here, where I myself joined them during the night, and with the most careful precautions, and there I baptized nine!”[94]

We appeal to every impartial man, if these were apostles and teachers of the gospel. But it seems by all their proceedings, that they considered the conversion of these idolaters to consist in the mere fact of their being baptized. To administer baptism to a man volens nolens, was the Jesuits’ utmost ambition, and this ambition they satisfied per fas et nefas. Let them relate the facts themselves:—

“When these children,” says Father de Bourges, “are in danger of death, our practice is to baptize them without asking the permission of their parents, which would certainly be refused. The catechists and the private Christians are well acquainted with the formula of baptism, and they confer it on these dying children, under the pretext of giving them medicines.”[95]

Women were also found very useful in the case of newly born infants, when none other could obtain access. Father Bouchet mentions one woman in particular, “whose knowledge of the pulse and of the symptoms of approaching death was so unerring, that of more than ten thousand children whom she had herself baptized, not more than two escaped death.”[96] In like manner, during a famine in the Carnatic, about A.D. 1737, Father Trembloy writes, that according to the report of the catechists and missionaries, the number of deserted and dying children baptized during the two years of death, amounted to upwards of twelve thousand. He adds, that, as every convert knew the formula of baptism, it was rare, in any place where there were neophytes, for a single heathen child to die unbaptized.[97]

The logical consequence of this mode of making Christians was, that at the first opportunity these converts repudiated the name of Christian with as much facility as they assumed it. This was seen on many occasions, and more particularly, perhaps, in 1784:—

“When Tippoo ordered all the native Christians in Mysore to be seized, and gathered together in Seringapatam, that he might convert them to Mahometanism, amidst that vast multitude, amounting to more than 60,000 souls,” says the Abbé Dubois, “not one—not a single individual among so many thousands—had courage to confess his faith under this trying circumstance, and become a martyr to his religion. The whole apostatised en masse, and without resistance or protestation.”[98]

But even when these converts retained the name of Christian, we are much at a loss to distinguish them from the pagans, either in their manner of worship, or in their moral conduct. And what is still more disheartening, is to see that the Jesuits, who nourished them in those idolatrous and diabolical superstitions make light of them—nay, even seem to approve of them.

Listen to M. Crétineau:—

“The Malabar rites consist in omitting some ceremonies in the administration of baptism, respecting, however, the essence of the sacrament; in disguising the name of the Cross, and of the objects of the Catholic religion, under a more common and vernacular appellation; to give them heathen names; to marry children before the age of puberty, seven years; to allow the women to wear the Taly (bijou),[99] which they receive the day of their nuptials, and upon which is engraved an idol, the Greek god Priapus; to avoid assisting the Pariahs in their illness, and to refuse them certain spiritual succours—the sacraments of confession and communion.”[100] He might have added that these rites consisted also in the use of burned cows’ dung applied to the body,[101] in a joyous feast, at an occasion which decency forbids us to name, in dancing and playing instruments of different kinds, in idol processions, in ablutions according to the Brahminical rites, and in sundry other pagan superstitions. Now, listen to what Crétineau and the Jesuits think about these abominable acts of idolatry:—

“The Jesuits of Madura, Mysore, and the Carnatic found themselves surrounded by so many superstitious practices, that they thought best to tolerate those who in their eyes did not cause any prejudice to the Christian religion.”[102] Now, these practices which in their eyes “did not cause any prejudice to the Christian religion,” were exactly those which we have named; which the Jesuits pertinaciously maintained even after they were condemned by three successive Popes, and which they still considered “innocent ones.” Really, we don’t know whether we ought most to execrate their wickedness, or to lament their blindness. We could almost regret that they do not deny these facts. A lie more or less would not matter much in the sum total, and would, at least, shew that they are still alive to some sense of shame. Mycio, seeing Eschinus blush at his remonstrances, looks complacently aside, and says, “Erubuit, salva res est!” Terentius was right. Eschinus was capable of feeling shame, and amended; but the Jesuits blush not. Either they have lost all shame, and you would not find—