At the news of Acquaviva’s election, the old Jesuits of Spain, incensed in the highest degree, broke out in loud complaints first, refused afterwards obedience to his orders, lastly rebelled openly, and asked that the members residing in Spain should be governed by a commissary-general independent of Rome. Philip, to cast a reproach upon Acquaviva, whom he detested on account of his partiality to the French king, sided with the malcontents. The General faced the storm in the best manner he could. First of all, he contrived, by promises of advancement and honours, to retain in his interest some of the less compromised among the rioters; secondly, he sent into the Peninsula new provincials and superiors, the most of whom were Neapolitans, young (a class of Jesuits who worshipped him), and firmly attached to his fortunes, with strict injunctions to enforce obedience to his orders. Some of the Jesuits, in the hope of making their way to preferment, submitted; the most refused obedience, and had recourse to the Inquisition and the king. Philip ordered the Bishop of Carthagena to subject the order to a visitation, and the Inquisition arrested the provincial Marcenius, and two or three more members of Acquaviva’s party; the latter being accused by the other party of absolving the members of their order from certain sins from which the Inquisition only could absolve; and those sins, Sacchini tells us, consisted in the attempt to corrupt the honesty of their penitents. This was rather a serious matter, and menaced the Society in its very existence. Nevertheless, Acquaviva was not appalled. He did not lose his self-command, nor vent his anger in threats. Against such enemies he had but one shield—the Pope. Sixtus V. filled the chair of St Peter; he bore no goodwill to the order, but he was jealous to an extreme degree of his own authority, and wished that that of others also should be respected. Acquaviva persuaded Sixtus, or, to speak more correctly, insinuated to him, that the blow was aimed not so much at him, the General, as at the supremacy of Rome; at the same time skilfully making him understand, that the Bishop of Carthagena was of illegitimate birth, a blemish which he knew the Pope abhorred above all things. Sixtus at once recalled the assent which he had given to the visitation, and commanded the Inquisition to set at liberty the arrested Jesuits, and to remit the whole case to Rome. When he was informed that the holy tribunal refused to obey his orders, Sixtus became furious with anger, and directed a letter to be written to Cardinal Quiroga, the Grand Inquisitor, to which he added, in his own handwriting, “And if you do not obey, I, the Pope, shall immediately depose you from your office of inquisitor, and tear from your head your cardinal’s hat.” This decided language produced the desired effect. Sixtus’s orders were obeyed, and Acquaviva, under the shadow of the Pope’s authority, maintained himself unshaken in his high office during Sixtus’s lifetime.

But the storm, which had been but momentarily quelled, broke out again after the death of Sixtus, with increased violence. In 1592, while the General was absent from Rome, Philip, who never forgave to Acquaviva his partiality for the French interest, sent the Pope a petition from all the Spanish Jesuits, praying for a general congregation of the order; he himself, at the same time, strongly recommending the measure. Clement VIII., the reigning Pope, granted their request, and before even the General could be aware of his enemies’ manœuvres, the Pope issued orders for the meeting of the congregation. Acquaviva, satisfied that the measure was now irrevocable, submitted to it with the greatest possible good grace, and having used his utmost endeavours that the election should not prove too unfavourable to him, the moment the congregation opened, he, without waiting to be accused, requested that his conduct should be examined and judged. A commission was immediately appointed to receive any accusation or complaint that might be brought against the General. But Acquaviva was far too prudent to have violated any essential rule, or to have given his enemies the right of consistently impeaching his private conduct; so that, as no charge could be substantiated against him, he was triumphantly acquitted. Philip, however, insisted that some restraint should be put upon the General’s authority, and, although the congregation refused to comply with the king’s wishes, the Pope, in the plenitude of his apostolic power, ordained that the superiors and rectors should be changed every third year, and that, at the expiration of every sixth year, a general congregation should be assembled. Acquaviva shewed a great readiness to acquiesce in the Pope’s decrees, but he rendered them almost nugatory by other ordinances; and as a new generation of Jesuits, all devoted to his interests, was now grown up, all questions taken up both by the provincial and general congregations, were decided in accordance with his wishes. By his letter on the happy increase of the Society, Acquaviva prescribed new rules to render the superiors more respected by their subordinates, and more submissive to the General. A second letter, ratio studiorum, which contains a complete code of school legislation, was of still greater importance, and productive of more momentous results. As the education of the young has been one of the principal and immediate causes of the Jesuits’ immense power and influence, we feel obliged to devote some few pages to this important matter.

Had the Jesuits devoted themselves to the work of education for the sole and noble end of diffusing knowledge and intellectual culture among the people, no praise would be adequate to their meritorious exertions and unremitting activity. Such, however, was not exactly the case. The Order—that idol which the Jesuit must have constantly before his eyes—was in this, as in every other undertaking, the great object to which their labours were consecrated; and for its honour and advantage they did not hesitate to sacrifice, when necessary, every other consideration. Nevertheless, in a literary point of view, we shall not refuse to them some eulogy.

“The instruction of boys and of ignorant people in Christianity” was one of the ends which they proposed to attain, and for which Loyola asked Paul III. to approve his order. The example of John III. of Portugal, and of the Duke of Candia, who first erected colleges for the fathers, was eagerly imitated by many. Their colleges increased rapidly, and were soon planted all over the world, so that there were no less than 669 of them at the epoch of the suppression of the order. We have already seen (pp. 40, 41) by what allurements wealthy persons were induced by the Jesuits to leave their property to Jesuit establishments. These were of two kinds, seminaries and colleges, the members of the latter being subdivided into gymnasium and faculty-students. In connexion with each college there was a boarding-house, whither parents were happy to send their children as under a safe shelter from the storms of passion, and from the dangerous society of depraved companions. In their seminaries were trained up the Scholars—those members of the order who were thought to be possessed of such talents as to qualify them to fulfil afterwards the office of professor. But the most numerous class, and perhaps the most useful for their purpose, was the class of day scholars. It is well known that all persons, of whatsoever rank, are admitted into the Jesuit schools, and receive the same instructions. At school hours the prince’s son, who is brought up in their boarding-houses, descends and takes his seat on the same bench with the son of a cobbler. And this we consider an admirable and most instructive plan. The only obligation imposed on the day scholars is, that they must give in their names, and promise to observe the rules of the college, which are everywhere uniform, and which oblige the pupil to hear mass every day, and to go to the confessional once every month. In former times, the Jesuits undertook a still more watchful oversight of this class. They visited them at unwonted hours in their abodes, they had them followed in their different movements, and if they were found guilty of any misdemeanour they were reprimanded, and their faults were made an obstacle to their advancement to academical honours. It is, however, worthy of remark, that Loyola, the clear-sighted Loyola, foreseeing that the obligation to follow the rules of the college would deter Protestants from sending their children to it, and wishing above all things to get hold of those children and to try what the Jesuits could do to convert them, had taken care to leave an opening for their admission. To the third paragraph of the thirteenth chapter of the fourth part of the Constitution, in which is enacted that the day scholars shall engage to observe the rules of the college, he added the following note:—“If any of those who present themselves to our schools will neither engage to observe the rules nor give in his name, he ought not for that reason to be prevented from attending the classes, provided he conduct himself with propriety, and do not cause either trouble or scandal. Let them be made aware of this; adding, however, that they shall not receive the peculiar care which is given to those whose names are inscribed in the register of the university or of the class, and who engage to follow its rules.”[204] This is a characteristic specimen of Jesuitical policy. By absolutely refusing to admit the children of Protestants, they would obtain no result; but by admitting them on such terms, they obtain an opportunity of influencing their youthful minds, and bending them to their purpose indirectly. On the one hand, such pupils cannot but imbibe, in the ordinary course of instruction, the principles and spirit of their masters; and on the other, their pride is mortified at never being considered or mentioned at those public exhibitions which form so important a part of the Jesuit system of education. This artful policy is too frequently successful. Oftentimes the parents, jealous of their children’s renown, and anxious to see them surrounded by those affectionate and friendly cares which the Jesuits unsparingly bestow upon the regular pupils, are induced to consent that they shall follow the rules of the college, and go to mass and to the confessional, and even change their own faith, the better to secure for them these desired advantages: and if it should chance that the mother alone is left as guardian, it commonly happens that both mother and son become Roman Catholics.

In the Jesuit schools the greatest order reigned. The Jesuit masters were men of polite and agreeable manners, in general of a comely appearance, with a cheerful and smiling countenance. They descended with a winning affability to the level of their pupils, and accommodated their language and manners to the capacities and dispositions of the class of persons they had to deal with. The parents, who were highly pleased with the polished manners and the high attainments of their children, sounded forth the praises of their kind instructors far and wide, and repaid their gratuitous instructions sometimes by large donations, always by a deference and devotion never withdrawn. It is an incontestable fact, that even Protestants and philosophers, who had been educated in these seminaries, and who afterwards became the most hostile to the Jesuits as a religious community, continued to preserve a grateful recollection of their Jesuit teachers. Voltaire himself dedicated his tragedy Merope to his dear master Father Porée; and the different princes who were brought up by the Jesuits never lost, when on the throne, that affection and veneration which they had conceived for their kind instructors at an age when generous minds are most susceptible of noble and generous impressions.

Nor was this all. Another strong link, that of religion, was added to the chain of sympathy by which they bound their pupils to the order, and insured for themselves in the different nations of Europe an all-powerful and irresistible influence. In 1569 the Jesuit Leon, a teacher, thought of assembling during the interval of studies such of the boys as were willing to sing the praises of the Virgin, and perform certain external acts of devotion, contributing at the same time, monthly, small sums of money, part of which was employed in works of charity, the merit of the action being always attributed, not to the donors, but to the Jesuits. These meetings took the form of associations, and increased so rapidly, that fifteen years after, in 1584, Gregory XIII. erected them into primary congregations, under the title of Congregations of the Holy Virgin. “These congregations, of which the General of the order was the supreme director, soon broke out from the walls of the colleges with those young men who left them to embrace a career, and who wished to remain in a communion of prayers and remembrances with their masters and their fellow-scholars. They became a link of connexion and friendship; they spread in Europe and in India; they united in the same association the east and the west, the populations of the north and of the south. They had statutes, rules, prayers, and duties in common. It was a numerous brotherhood, extending from Paris to Goa, and descending from Rome to the most insignificant hamlet. The congregations of Avignon, of Antwerp, of Prague, of Friburg, were the most celebrated. There were congregations composed of ecclesiastics, of military men, of magistrates, of nobles, of burgesses, of merchants, of artisans, of servants, all occupied in good and meritorious works.”[205] With the exception of this last clause, this description is perfectly true. A Jesuit was at the head of every congregation. At appointed times the members met together to repeat the office of the Virgin, and to listen to whatever exhortation or advice the Jesuit might think proper to give. His influence was greater or less, according to the quality of persons composing the congregation. Over the poor and the ignorant he had an almost absolute control, and whatever he enjoined, they unscrupulously obeyed. If he exercised no such absolute control over members of the higher classes, he still possessed a great influence over them, and had free access to their families, where he more leisurely practised those arts by which the Jesuit very seldom fails to attain his ends. One is amazed when he considers what immense power these congregations must have given the General of the society. His orders, his curses or commendations of a book, of a man, or of a measure, were repeated in the same tone throughout all the world by tens of thousands, who considered it a sin to disbelieve his word, or to disobey his commands. No wonder, then, that the Court of Rome itself was obliged to submit to the ascendancy of the Jesuits, and that the suppression of the order was with difficulty effected by the united efforts of almost all the sovereigns of Europe.

After the order was suppressed, and during the political turmoil and the unsettled state of Europe, the congregations, although kept up secretly by some disguised Liguorist or Jesuit, were thinly attended, and had lost all their importance. But after the restoration of the Pope and of the Bourbons, missionaries of all kinds overran the whole of Italy, Spain, and part of France, and, among other religious exploits, re-established the congregations of the Virgin. Congregations both of men and women are now very numerous, although they perhaps want that unity of purpose and of direction, which in former times rendered them so dangerously powerful. Their denominations are numberless; congregations of the Rosary, congregations of the Assumption of the Virgin, congregations of the Blood of Jesus (del Sangue di Gesù). In those places where there are no Jesuits, they are directed by proxy, some other religious community, as the Liguorist, the Lazarist, the Passionist, or such like idle and corrupted crew, being appointed to that duty. In church affairs, the members of these congregations have, so to speak, privileges above the rest of the citizens. They go foremost in the processions and other exhibitions; they wear a distinctive badge; they are entitled to a greater number of days of indulgence, and so on. Besides these things, which satisfy the devotional feeling, and flatter the vanity, especially that of the common people in small towns, each individual member may count upon receiving the protection and indirect assistance of the father director.

The boarders in the Jesuit college are subjected to almost the same mode of life as that of the Scholars (the second class of Jesuits), which, however, is not strictly conformable to that of the other classes; Loyola having given them a dispensation from some external practices, acts of devotion and of mortification, that they may have more time for study.[206] The boarders are placed in large rooms, called in Italian Camerate, in French Chambres, each of which accommodates from fifteen to twenty, who are under the superintendence of a Prefetto and Vice-prefetto. At six in the morning a bell gives the signal for rising. The prefect immediately chants some prayers, which are repeated by some of the youths who are less asleep than the rest. Half an hour is allowed for dressing; an hour is spent in the chapel, hearing mass, and singing the praises of the Virgin and St Ignatius. Study follows, and after breakfast, for which half an hour is allowed, they descend to the public schoolroom, where they mix with the day-boarders, with whom, however, they have no opportunities of secret converse. Two pupils, and every day different ones, are secretly charged by the prefect to give an account of the behaviour of all the others, and they are punished if they are not accurate in their denunciations. At twelve they sit down to dinner, during which ascetic books are read from a pulpit placed in the refectory. After the evening school, they walk for an hour in winter, two in summer, and almost double that time on holidays. Before supper, half an hour is again spent in the chapel; and what remains of the evening after supper is spent in study and recreation. At nine o’clock, being warned by the ringing of the bell, they prepare for rest, accompanying the prefect in chanting the Litany of the Virgin. No one is allowed to go from one camerata to another, without the express permission of the prefect or vice-prefect, one of whom must accompany him. No one, not even a parent, is allowed to visit a boarder without the consent of the superior, who is almost always present at the interview. No letter can be sent off or received by any boarder but it must pass through the hands of the rector, who stops it if he thinks proper. The boarders never go home except during the holidays in September, and some remain in the college even during that period. The consequence is, that the influence of the family is gradually destroyed, and the Jesuits mould these youthful hearts and intellects according to their own Jesuitical pattern. Every fortnight all the boarders must go to the confessional, and severe punishment is inflicted on those who transgress this principal rule of the college. But no one ever dares to brave the punishment, though many do not scruple to evade the duty by practising a little ruse.[207]

In all the Jesuit colleges, as we have already observed, reigns the greatest decency, and a sort of military order and discipline, which is highly pleasing to the young. “Their colleges were open for all the graceful arts. Even dancing and fencing were not excluded. The annual distribution of prizes was preceded not only by tragedies full of political allusions, but also by ballets composed by the reverend fathers, and executed by the most agile of their pupils.”[208]

No pains were spared by the Jesuits to advance their pupils in their studies. But as the end which they taught them to have in view was not the truth—as it was not their purpose to inspire their young minds with those noble and generous sentiments which form great citizens, but only to instruct them in their peculiar doctrines, and render them subservient to their order, the whole course of instruction was directed to the attainment of these ends, and the progress of their pupils was more brilliant than solid—partook more of a theatrical character than of a serious method of learning that would have developed the power of reason and reflection. In the speculative sciences especially, their instruction was most defective. The student was by no means taught to penetrate the superficial crust of prejudices and appearances on which the mass of mankind build their opinions, and to descend into the deeper essence of philosophy; but his attention was chiefly directed to the art of disputing in pitiable syllogism upon some of their established principles. The most fantastical, and, at the same time, attractive questions, were proposed for public disputation; and to that incessant fencing of nego, concedo, distinguo, &c., the apprentice philosopher was taught to give all his attention, and, in the display of ability in this exercise, to place all his glory. The Jesuits, so celebrated as casuists, cannot boast of any great philosopher. If some of their pupils acquired a great name in science or in literature, they owed it to their own creative power, which broke out from that sort of magic circle which had been described around them. They became great, not because they had had good masters, but, on the contrary, because they had followed no other master than their own inventive genius. And this is always the case—the Dantes, the Bacons, the Shakspeares, had no masters. The Jesuits cultivated, with more success, archæology, numismatics, and the study of languages. They have especially rendered important services to the study of the classics, which they strongly recommended as the most effectual requisite of a good education. But even to their labours in this department of learning we cannot render unqualified praise.

Literature forms the principal part of the education of a people. Greece and Rome owe their civilisation and grandeur to their poets and orators more than to anything else. With the Eschyluses, the Demostheneses, the Horaces, and the Ciceros, disappeared the glory, the liberty, the civilisation, of the two nations. And if now and then some privileged intelligences, such as Tacitus and Plutarch, appeared on the scene, they could not give a tone to the age, both because they stood alone, and because they were the reflection, not of their own, but of bygone times, and that all the elements of the expiring civilisation were concentrated, we may say, in themselves alone. For it is not to the excellence of the form that literature is indebted for its power; it is rather to its being a vivid representation of the thoughts and feelings, the opinions and sentiments, the hopes and fears, which constitute the life of a nation, and which the writers powerfully exhibit because they themselves are powerfully moved by them. It was by their possessing this excellence in the highest degree that the classical writers of antiquity contributed to form the character of their countrymen; and it is this which forms the chief attraction of their works to the modern student, and which renders them so efficient an instrument for developing the powers of the youthful mind. Now, how can a Jesuit, who has no country, no family, no affection, no history, nothing in which to glory but his order—how can such a man impart to young minds those noble sentiments, those inspirations, which form the essential part of classical literature? “How,” exclaims our Gioberti,[209] “how shall the youth love and admire the heroes of Plutarch if they are made known to him by a Jesuit?[210] because,” most judiciously adds the Italian philosopher, “even if the pupils can repeat the half of Demosthenes or of Cicero, the lesson cannot produce any good effect on their tender minds, if it is not assisted by the voice, by the manners, by the examples, of the interpreter; so that the soul and the life of the master ought to be a mirror and image of that ideal world into which he introduces the pupil.” In fact, the Jesuits gave all their attention merely to the external form of their compositions. Purity of language, elegance of style, correctness of expression, are, generally speaking, the distinctive characteristics of the writings of the Jesuits and their pupils. But their writings are devoid of invention, of bold and luxuriant images, of earnest and passionate expressions, and the care they take to publish their style renders them affected and often ridiculous. No doubt there are honourable exceptions; and Bartoli, for example, Segneri, and Bourdaloue, may be classed among the first Italian and French writers. The Jesuits exercised rather the memory than the intelligence of the pupil, who not seldom was able to recite volumes of which he hardly understood a word. Their greatest merit consisted in rendering study pleasing; and many of their pupils owe their fame and greatness, not to the information, but to the love of learning, they had acquired in their schools.

The Ratio Studiorum regulated with great precision the method of instruction in its most minute details, and has ever since been the code followed by the Jesuits to our day.

Meanwhile a great change had taken place in the general policy of the Society. Through Acquaviva’s influence, the order, at least as represented by its officials in Rome, and by the young generation of Jesuits who were devoted to the General, had passed from the Spanish into the French camp; and ever after, the Jesuits were in a great measure opposed by the Spanish and supported by the French court. Let us see how it happened.

The Jesuits had only partially obeyed the arrêt of the Parliament of Paris which expelled them from France. They resided publicly in many provinces: secretly and in disguise everywhere. Following the suggestions of their General, they had changed their language and their conduct, and, from being furious Leaguers, were become zealous partisans of Henry IV. “Cardinal Tolet has done wonders, and has shewn himself a good Frenchman,” wrote the French ambassador, Cardinal du Perron, to the minister Villeroy.[211] In fact, he, more than any other person, had contributed to obtain Henry’s absolution. Acquaviva refused to accept, without Henry’s consent, two new colleges which were offered to the order by some town of Languedoc, where the Jesuits had been maintained by the local parliament. He, the General, and the Pope, the king’s best friends, as they called themselves, pressed him hard to restore the Jesuits, who, on their part, promised him the same obedience, the same devotion, they had till then shewn to the King of Spain. Above all, they offered to uphold his royal authority in all its extent, which was then impugned by the Huguenots. Henry was in a very perplexing position. He stood in need of the Pope’s support against the rival house of Austria. He felt the necessity of shewing himself a zealous Catholic, and he wished to secure, if possible, the support of such men as the Jesuits. On the other hand, he knew what dangerous and perfidious guests they were; and the parliament, the greatest part of the clergy, and all his ministers, were adverse to the Society. Sully, the great minister and faithful friend of Henry, has handed down to us the sentiments of his royal master on this subject. “I do not doubt,” said the prince to Sully, “that you can easily combat this first reason, but I do not think that you will even attempt to refute the second, namely, that by necessity I am compelled to do one of these two things—either simply to recall the Jesuits, free them from the infamy and disgrace with which they are covered, and put to the test the sincerity of their oaths and of their splendid promises; or to expel them in a more absolute manner, using against them all the rigour and severity that can be thought of to prevent them from ever approaching either my person or my estates; on which supposition there is no doubt but that we shall drive them to despair, and to the resolution of attempting my life, which would render it so miserable to me, being always under the apprehension of being poisoned or murdered (for those people have correspondents everywhere, and are very dexterous in disposing the minds of men to whatever they wish), that I think it would be better to be already dead, being of Cæsar’s opinion, that the sweetest death is that which is least expected and foreseen.”[212] In conformity with this opinion, Henry, in 1603, issued letters-patent for the re-establishment of the Jesuits, and forced the reluctant parliament to register them. To Acquaviva he wrote a warm letter, assuring him of his friendship, and expressing to the then convened congregation his wishes that the original Constitutions should not be altered, and this letter in great part checked the influence of the Spanish party, who asked for a reform, and were supported by the Spanish court.[213]

In the affair of Venice, the two courts shewed the same dispositions. It does not enter into the plan of this work to narrate the particulars of this famous contest, except in so far as the Jesuits were concerned in it, and it belongs to their history; and this we proceed to do as shortly as possible.

Long had the difference lasted between the Roman See and the Venetian government, the first asserting many privileges of the Church over state affairs, the latter denying them. The Jesuits upheld the exorbitant pretensions of Rome with the utmost pertinacity. Now, it happened, while both parties were exasperated against each other, two priests, accused of infamous crimes, were, by order of the Venetian government, arrested, and delivered up to the ordinary tribunals. The Pope was highly incensed at this proceeding, and contended that the republic had no right to arrest any ecclesiastic, who was subject to none but ecclesiastical authority. The Jesuits were the most zealous of the clergy in maintaining this principle. The famous Bellarmine asserted, that “the priesthood has its princes who govern, not only in spiritual, but also in temporal matters. It could not possibly acknowledge any particular temporal superior. No man can serve two masters. It is for the priest to judge the emperor, not the emperor the priest. It would be absurd for the sheep to pretend to judge the shepherd.”[214] The republic, on the other hand, asserted her sovereign rights. Paul V. was in the Papal chair, a man who considered the canonical law as the word of God, and was ready to excommunicate whosoever dared to disregard its authority. He laid Venice under an interdict, which, as most of our readers are aware, would have shut up all the churches, and prevented the performance of all religious services within its bounds. The government, however, that the public tranquillity might not be disturbed, summoned before them all the clergy, both regular and secular, and offered them the alternative, either to officiate, as in ordinary times, or to leave the territory of the republic immediately. They did not hesitate for an instant; not a single copy of the Papal brief was fixed up, and public worship was everywhere conducted as before. The Jesuits, however, in obedience to the Pope’s command, transmitted by their General, departed from the Venetian States, ostentatiously carrying with them the consecrated host, as if they would shew, says Gioberti, that God went into exile along with them. When the dispute between Rome and the republic was afterwards settled, the senate refused, though requested, to re-admit the Jesuits. In vain the Pope, and above all, Henry IV., who sent the Cardinal Joyeuse to Venice on purpose, used all their influence to procure the re-establishment of the fathers. The republic, encouraged in her resolution by the court of Spain, would in no way yield on this point, and it was only in 1657 that, in exchange for pecuniary advantages and the support of the Pope in the war of Candia, the Jesuits were allowed, under many restrictions, to re-enter the Venetian states.[215]

By this time Acquaviva had established his authority more firmly than ever. The congregations had supported him; the revolt had been quelled; the rioters punished; and peace for the moment restored to the Society. “Acquaviva, so to speak, had gone through the iron age of the company—his successor was destined to govern in the golden age.... All, during a century, bestowed smiles upon the Company of Jesus. She became the favourite of the Popes and the kings—the confidant of their ministers—the director of the public spirit. All took inspiration from her—all returned to her as to its source.”[216] But, notwithstanding this flattering and in part true picture, the order had received a shock, the effect of which was soon to be made manifest. To govern the revolted province of Spain, Acquaviva, violating the fundamental law of the order, had appointed professed members as administrators of colleges, while, to meet the necessity of the moment, coadjutors fulfilled the duties assigned by the Constitution to the professed. This ultimately proved the ruin of the order. Besides this, Mariana[217] and Henriquez, two influential Spanish Jesuits, out of hatred to Acquaviva, had pointed out many abuses which had crept into the community, and bitterly inveighed against the tyranny of the General and a few of the higher functionaries. This had an immediate result most injurious to the order. Under the successors of Acquaviva, these seeds of revolt and disobedience spread so fast, that when, towards the year 1560, the General, Goswin Nickel, attempted to enforce obedience to the primitive rules, he was solemnly deprived by his disciples of all authority.

CHAPTER XI.
1600-1700.
DOCTRINES AND MORAL CODE OF THE JESUITS.

Let not our readers imagine that we shall enter into a profound theological discussion about the doctrines of the Jesuits. The thing has been repeatedly done, and we confess ourselves too deficient scholars in divinity, to throw any new light upon it. We shall briefly touch the theological question, and shall rather enlarge on those principles and maxims by which the Jesuits perverted the morals of their votaries, the better to domineer over them.

Acquaviva, in the Ratio Studiorum, had introduced a clause which threw the Roman Catholic world into confusion and alarm. Lainez, as we have observed, had already inserted a note in the Constitution regarding the study of scholastic learning, to this effect, that, “if any book of theology could be found more adapted to the times, it should be taught.” Acquaviva went a step further, and declared, “that St Thomas was indeed an author deserving of the highest approbation, but that it would be an insufferable yoke to be compelled to follow his footsteps in all things, and on no point to be allowed a free opinion; that many important doctrines had been more firmly established and better elucidated by recent theologians than by the holy doctor himself.”[218] This declaration produced a great commotion in the Roman Catholic world, and the Inquisition declared that the “Ratio Studiorum was the most dangerous, rash, and arrogant book that had ever appeared, and calculated to produce many disturbances in the Christian commonwealth.”[219] But a greater scandal and more violent tempest was awakened by Molina, who in 1588 published at Evora a work on grace and free-will,[220] which inculcated a doctrine quite at variance with that taught by St Thomas and received by the Church. He maintained that free-will, even without the help of grace, can produce morally good works, that it can resist temptation, and can elevate itself to various acts of hope, faith, love, and repentance. When a man has advanced thus far, God then bestows grace upon him on account of Christ’s merits, by means of which grace he experiences the supernatural effects of sanctification; yet, as before this grace had been received, in like manner, free-will is continually in action; and as everything depends on it, it rests with us to make the help of God effectual or ineffectual. Molina, in consequence, rejected the doctrine of Thomas and Augustine on predestination, and refused to admit it, as too stern and cruel. This is the substance of Molina’s doctrine.[221]

The Dominicans, a great part of the theologians, and some of the Jesuits, loudly exclaimed against it, and the Inquisition was on the point of condemning it, when, by the influence of Acquaviva, who sided with Molina, the affair was called up to Rome. Sixty-five meetings and thirty-seven disputations were held in presence of the Pope Clement VIII., who took a lively interest in the subject, wrote much upon it himself, and who was resolved to condemn the Jesuits’ doctrine. But when it was reported to him that the fathers spoke of calling a general council, and that in one of their public discussions the thesis to be proved was to this effect, that “it is not an article of faith that such and such a Pope (Clement VIII., for example) is really Pope;”[222] the poor Pope exclaimed, “They dare everything, everything!” paused, and died without having given any decision. The disputations were resumed under Paul V., who also held the doctrine of the Thomists. The Jesuits, however, had given him such proofs of their devotion in the affair of Venice, and were so powerful in the Church, that he had neither the heart nor the courage to condemn them. In consequence, in 1607 he imposed silence on both parties till he should pronounce a decision which would set the matter at rest.[223] As this decision never came, and as the doctrine of the Jesuits was not condemned, they chanted victory, and lost no time in having Molina’s book circulated and taught everywhere.

But a formidable antagonist arose a little later to oppose its progress. This was the sect of the Jansenists, so celebrated for its labours and sufferings, which form so interesting a chapter in the history of the Romish Church. Jansenius, the founder, was born in 1585, in Holland—studied at Louvain—was ordained a priest—and, in 1636, consecrated Bishop of Ypres. Shocked at the doctrine of the Jesuits, he and Du Verger de Hauranne (afterwards Abbot of St Cyran, by which name he is better known) plunged themselves into the study of the ancient fathers of the Church, and especially of Augustine; and, after six years of labour, Jansenius composed a book, in which the ancient doctrine of the Thomists was again propounded, advancing, however, a step towards Luther’s doctrine on grace and justification. Being smitten by the plague, Jansenius, on his death-bed, submitted his manuscript to the judgment of the Roman See; but St Cyran, without waiting for the oracle of the Vatican, published the Augustinus (such was the title of Jansenius’ work), which produced a great sensation. St Cyran became the chief of a school, in which were grouped scores of young ecclesiastics, and some of the most eminent men in France. The nuns of Port-Royal, amongst whom were almost the whole of the Arnauld family, under the guidance of the venerable Mère Angélique, the sister of the famous Arnauld, followed the doctrine of St Cyran. Cardinal Richelieu, jealous that any other person than himself should exercise influence or power, sent St Cyran to the dungeon of Vincennes. On the death of his persecutor, the noble sufferer being set at liberty, returned to his duties, and was received, and almost worshipped as a saint, by the increased number of his disciples. The Jesuits, alarmed at the favour with which the doctrine of Jansenius was received, bestirred themselves in every quarter to impugn it, and filled the world with their clamours and imprecations against the book, as if the Bishop of Ypres had denied the very existence of God. The Pope was applied to to anathematise the impious work; and, when he hesitated, they directed his attention to a passage, in which his infallibility was indirectly called in question. Of course this was a heresy not to be overlooked. Urban VIII. expressed his disapprobation of the book; but this had no effect in checking its popularity. Such men as Arnauld, Le Maître, De Sacy, Pascal, supported Jansenius’ doctrine, and their many followers disregarded the denunciations of its opponents. The Jesuits became furious. They embodied, in their own peculiar way, the essential doctrines of Jansenius in five propositions, and asked Innocent X. solemnly to condemn them. The Pope was a man who abhorred theological controversy, and would not willingly have engaged in this; but it was no longer in the power of the Court of Rome to resist the influence of the Jesuits. The five propositions were condemned, as tainted with heresy. The Jansenists indignantly denied that such propositions were to be found in the Augustinus, and that they expressed the sense attributed to them; but Alexander VII., who was now the reigning Pope, declared, by a bull, that the propositions were really to be found in Jansenius’ book. Of all the extravagant pretensions of the Roman See, this was assuredly the greatest. The Jansenists, in their defence, while they declared themselves good and devout Catholics, asserted, nevertheless, that the Pope’s infallibility did not extend to matters of fact. “Why make such a noise?” they said to their opponents—“we acknowledge that these propositions are heterodox. Shew us them in Augustinus, and we will unite with you in condemning them.” “We need not take the trouble to shew them to you,” was the answer; “the Pope has declared them to be in the book—and the Pope is infallible.” So, if the Pope affirms that a magnificent castle is to be found in the middle of the ocean, according to a doctrine to which the Papist sticks even in the present day, one must believe it, or be excommunicated! The Jansenists endured all sorts of persecution rather than submit to so unjust a decree; and it is a striking instance of human inconsistency, that men so noble and upright, who had approached so near the Protestant doctrine, at least in its most essential part, should continue within the pale of the Roman Church. The fact, we believe, may be partly explained by that pertinacity which men of all parties display in maintaining a position they have once taken up in any controversy, that they may not incur the ignominy of defeat. “The supporters of the Augustinus are heretics,” the Jesuits had said from the beginning; and the Jansenists, in order that the book might be declared orthodox, had indignantly repelled the accusation, and declared themselves good and devout Roman Catholics—and they maintained to the end their first declaration. Alas! how many eloquent pages Arnauld, Nicole, and Pascal have written, to prove themselves the votaries and slaves of the idol of Rome!

Not to interrupt our narrative, we have brought the reader far beyond the epoch we are considering. We must now look a little back, and see how the Jesuits had become so powerful a brotherhood. We have already seen what arts they used, and what doctrines they propounded, to get a footing in different countries, acquire an influence over persons of their own persuasion, and a preponderance in the Court of Rome. But as the doctrines and practices by which they had obtained their ends were no longer suited, or, at least, were not the most efficient, for the times, they now changed both doctrines and practices with wonderful promptitude.

When the order was established, the Court of Rome had itself to struggle for existence, and was on the verge of being stripped of its ill-gotten and ill-used authority. The politic Charles V. lent it soldiers—the Jesuits, theologians for the contest. Lainez, Salmeron, Lejay, and Canisius, rendered it as good and unequivocal services as the imperial armies. But such men as those were no longer needed. Not only had the flood of the Reformation been stayed, but Rome was in the utmost exultation at having reconquered many lost provinces; and, as theological controversies were now raging in the camp of her adversary, the Papacy, though emboldened to assert pretensions which, a century before, she would never have dreamt of mentioning, relaxed that activity which she had for a moment displayed, and returned to her former life of intrigues and indolence. However, the great contest with the Protestants had left among the Roman Catholics a tendency, a wish, we do not say to become better Christians, but to make a greater display of their religion. All the external practices of devotion which, in their eyes, constituted the true believer, were more eagerly resorted to; and, above all, the confessional was frequented with unprecedented assiduity. To have a confessor exclusively for one’s self was the surest sign of orthodoxy, and became as fashionable as it is now to have a box at the opera. Sovereigns, ministers, courtiers, noblemen—every man, in short, who had a certain position in society, had his own acknowledged confessor. Even the mistresses of princes pretended to the privilege—and Madame de Pompadour will prove to her spiritual guide that it is dangerous to oppose the caprices of a favourite. The Jesuits saw at once the immense advantage they would derive if they could enlarge the number of their clients, especially among the higher classes. They were already, in this particular, far advanced in the public favour; they were known to be very indulgent; had long since obtained the privilege of absolving from those sins which only the Pope himself could pardon; and Suarez, their great theologian, had even attempted to introduce confession by letter, as a more easy and expeditious way of reaching all penitents.[224]

But by this time they had made fearful progress in the art of flattering the bad passions, and winking at the vices, of those who had recourse to their ministry in order to make, as they believed, their peace with God. Escobar collected in six large volumes the doctrines of different Jesuit casuists, those preceptors of immorality and prevarication; and his book was for a time the only code followed by the generality of the Jesuits.[225] However, I will not assert that they taught downright immorality, to corrupt mankind merely for the sake of corrupting them. No; if this has sometimes been the case with individuals, it was never so with a sect. They had another end in view. As we said, they aspired to be the general confessors, for their own private purposes; concealing their designs under the mask of piety, they gave out that it was essential for the good of religion that they should have the direction of all consciences; and, as an inducement to penitents to resort to them, they offered doctrines in conformity to the wishes of persons of all sorts. Hence all their casuists were not licentious and indulgent to vice. A few of them were strict, severe, and indeed teachers of evangelical precepts, and those they held out to the few penitents who were of a more rigid morality, and quoted them when accused of teaching relaxed doctrines; while for the multitude, who are generally more loose in their morals, they had the bulk of their casuists. Father Petau calls this “an obliging and accommodating conduct.” So, for example, if the Jesuit confessor perceives that a penitent feels inclined to make restitution of ill-gotten money, he will certainly encourage him to do so, praise him for his holy resolution, insist to be himself the instrument of the restitution, taking care, however, that it should be known again. But if another person accuse himself of theft, but shew no disposition to make restitution, be sure that the Jesuit confessor will find in some book or other of his brother Jesuits some sophistry to set his conscience at rest, and persuade him that he may safely retain what he has stolen from his neighbour.

The existence of books to which those pernicious maxims have been consigned, having put it out of the power of the Jesuits to impugn their genuineness; in order to exculpate their Society, they have cast a reproach upon the teachers of their own Church, and even blasphemed Christianity. “The probabilism,” says their historian, “was not born with the Jesuits; at the moment of their establishment probabilism reigned in the schools.”[226] And again, “Ever since the origin of Christianity, the world had complained of the austerity of certain precepts; the Jesuits came to bring relief from these grievances.”[227]

But, that our readers may judge for themselves of the character of Jesuitical morality, we shall lay before them some of their doctrines; and in doing so (be it observed), we shall quote as our authorities none but Jesuit authors, and such as have been approved and are held in veneration by the Society.

It is evident that, in the confessional, everything depends upon the conception formed of transgression and sin. Now, according to the Jesuitical doctrines, we do not sin, unless we have a clear perception and understanding of the sin as sin, and unless our will freely consent to it.[228] The following are the consequences which the Jesuit casuists have deduced from that principle:—

“A confessor perceives that his penitent is in invincible ignorance, or at least in innocent ignorance, and he does not hope that any benefit will be derived from his advice, but rather anxiety of mind, strife, or scandal. Should he dissemble? Suarez affirms that he ought; because, since his admonition will be fruitless, ignorance will excuse his penitent from sin.”[229]

“Although he who, through inveterate habit, inadvertently swears a falsehood, may seem bound to confess the propensity, yet he is commonly excused. The reason is, that no one commonly reflects upon the obligation by which he is bound to extirpate the habit; ... and, therefore, since he is excused from the sin, he will also be excused from confession. Some maintain that the same may be said of blasphemy, heresy, and of the aforesaid oath; ... and, consequently, that such things, committed inadvertently, are neither sins in themselves, nor the cause of sins, and therefore need not necessarily be confessed.”[230]

“Wherever there is no knowledge of wickedness, there is also of necessity no sin. It is sufficient to have at least a confused notion of the heinousness of a sin, without which knowledge there would never be a flagrant crime. For instance, one man kills another, believing it indeed to be wrong, but conceiving it to be nothing more than a trifling fault. Such a man does not greatly sin, because it is knowledge only which points out the wickedness or the grossness of it to the will. Therefore, criminality is only imputed according to the measure of knowledge.”

“If a man commit adultery or suicide, reflecting indeed, but still very imperfectly and superficially, upon the wickedness and great sinfulness of those crimes; however heinous may be the matter, he still sins but slightly. The reason is, that as a knowledge of the wickedness is necessary to constitute the sin, so is a full clear knowledge and reflection necessary to constitute a heinous sin. And thus I reason with Vasquez: In order that a man may freely sin, it is necessary to deliberate whether he sins or not. But he fails to deliberate upon the moral wickedness of it, if he does not reflect, at least by doubting, upon it during the act. Therefore he does not sin, unless he reflects upon the wickedness of it. It is also certain that a full knowledge of such wickedness is required to constitute a mortal sin. For it would be unworthy the goodness of God to exclude a man from glory, and to reject him for ever, for a sin on which he had not fully deliberated; but if reflection upon the wickedness of it has only been partial, deliberation has not been complete; and therefore the sin is not a mortal sin.”[231]

The practical consequences of this doctrine have been admirably represented by Pascal in his happiest vein of irony. “Oh, my dear sir,” says he to the Jesuit who had exposed to him the afore-mentioned doctrine, “what a blessing this will be to some persons of my acquaintance! I must positively introduce them to you. You have never, perhaps, in all your life, met with people who had fewer sins to account for! In the first place, they never think of God at all; their vices have got the better of their reason; they have never known either their weakness or the physician who can cure it; they have never thought of ‘desiring the health of their soul,’ and still less of ‘praying to God to bestow it;’ so that, according to M. le Moine, they are still in the state of baptismal innocence. They have ‘never had a thought of loving God, or of being contrite for their sins;’ so that, according to Father Annat, they have never committed sin through the want of charity and penitence. Their life is spent in a perpetual round of all sorts of pleasures, in the course of which they have not been interrupted by the slightest remorse. These excesses had led me to imagine that their perdition was inevitable; but you, father, inform me that these same excesses secure their salvation. Blessings on you, my good father, for this new way of justifying people! Others prescribe painful austerities for healing the soul; but you shew that souls which may be thought desperately diseased are in quite good health. What an excellent device for being happy both in this world and in the next! I had always supposed that the less a man thought of God, the more he sinned; but, from what I see now, if one could only succeed in bringing himself not to think upon God at all, everything would be pure with him in all time coming. Away with your half-and-half sinners, who retain some sneaking affection for virtue! They will be damned, every soul of them. But commend me to your arrant sinners—hardened, unalloyed, out-and-out, thorough-bred sinners. Hell is no place for them; they have cheated the devil, by sheer devotion to his service.”[232]

But if you are not such an arrant hardened sinner but that your conscience warns you of your guilt, then come to the doctrine of probability, the A B C of the Jesuitical code of morality, which will set your troublesome conscience at rest. Listen!

“The true opinion is, that it is not only lawful to follow the more probable but less safe opinion ... but also that the less safe may be followed when there is an equality of probability.”

“I agree in the opinion of Henriquez, Vasquez, and Perez, who maintain that it is sufficient for an inexperienced and unlearned man to follow the opinion which he thinks to be probable because it is maintained by good men who are versed in the art; although that opinion may be neither the more safe, nor the more common, nor the more probable.

“Sotus thinks that it would be very troublesome to a penitent, if the priest, after having heard his confession, should send him back without absolution, to confess himself again to another priest, if he could absolve him with a safe conscience against his own (the priest’s) opinion; especially when another priest might not perhaps be readily found who would believe the opinion of the penitent to be probable.

“It may be asked whether a confessor may give advice to a penitent in opposition to his own opinion; or, if he should think in any case that restitution ought to be made, whether he may advise that the opinion of others may be followed, who maintain that it need not be made? I answer, that he lawfully may, ... because he may follow the opinion of another in his own practice, and therefore he may advise another person to follow it. Still it is better, in giving advice, always to follow the more probable opinion to which a man is ever accustomed to adhere, especially when the advice is given in writing, lest contradiction be discovered. It is also sometimes expedient to send the consulting person to another doctor or confessor who is known to hold an opinion favourable to the inquirer, provided it be probable.”[233]

“Without respect of persons may a judge, in order to favour his friend, decide according to any probable opinion, while the question of right remains undecided?

“If the judge should think each opinion equally probable, for the sake of his friend he may lawfully pronounce sentence according to the opinion which is more favourable to the interests of that friend. He may, moreover, with the intent to serve his friend, at one time judge according to one opinion, and at another time according to the contrary opinion, provided only that no scandal result from the decision.”[234]

“An unbeliever who is persuaded that his sect is probable, although the opposite sect may be more probable, would certainly be obliged, at the point of death, to embrace the true faith, which he thinks to be the more probable.... But, except under such circumstances, he would not.... Add to this, that the mysteries of faith are so sublime, and the Christian morals so repugnant to the laws of flesh and blood, that no greater probability whatever may be accounted sufficient to enforce the obligation of believing.[235]

“Indeed, while I perceive so many different opinions maintained upon points connected with morality, I think that the Divine providence is apparent; for, in diversity of opinions, the yoke of Christ is easily borne.”[236]

“A confessor may absolve penitents, according to the probable opinion of the penitent, in opposition to his own, and is even bound to do so.”[237]

“Again, it is probable that pecuniary compensation may be made for defamation; it is also probable that it cannot be made. May I, the defamed, exact to-day pecuniary compensation from my defamer, and to-morrow, and even on the same day, may I, the defamer of another, refuse to compensate with money for the reputation of which I have deprived him?... I affirm that it is lawful to do at pleasure sometimes the one and sometimes the other.

“Those ignorant confessors are to be blamed who always think that they do well in obliging their penitents to make restitution, because it is at all times more safe.”[238]

By this abominable doctrine the confessors were made to answer yes or no, as might be most agreeable to their penitents; and these might oblige the confessor to absolve them of their sins, if they only themselves believed that they were not sins. Imagine what an arrant knave the person inclined to do evil must have become, when, to the firm belief that the absolution of the confessor cleanses from all crimes, was superadded the certainty that this confessor must absolve him almost according to his own wishes. We shudder to think of it!

The doctrine of equivocation came in aid of that of probabilism. By the former, according to Sanchez, “it is permitted to use ambiguous terms, leading people to understand them in a different sense from that in which we understand them.”[239] “A man may swear,” according to the same author, “that he never did such a thing (though he actually did it), meaning within himself that he did not do so on such a day, or before he was born, or understanding any other such circumstances, while the words which he employs have no such sense as would discover his meaning.”[240] And Filiutius proves that in so speaking one does not even lie, because, says he, “it is the intention that determines the quality of the action; and one may avoid falsehood if, after saying aloud I swear that I have not done that, he add in a low voice, to-day; or after saying aloud, I swear, he interpose in a whisper, that I say, and then continue aloud, that I have done that, and this is telling the truth.”

With mental reservation and probabilism, they have sanctioned all sorts of crimes. The varlet might help his master to commit rape or adultery, provided he do not think of the sin, but of the profit he may reap from it—so says father Bauny. If a servant think his salary is not an adequate compensation for services, he may help himself to some of his master’s property to make it equal to his pretensions—so teaches the same father. You may kill your enemy for a box on the ear, as Escobar asserts in the following words:—“It is perfectly right to kill a person who has given us a box on the ear, although he should run away, provided it is not done through hatred or revenge, and there is no danger of giving occasion thereby to murders of a gross kind and hurtful to society. And the reason is, that it is as lawful to pursue the thief that has stolen our honour, as him that has run away with our property. For, although your honour cannot be said to be in the hands of your enemy in the same sense as your goods and chattels are in the hands of the thief, still it may be recovered in the same way—by shewing proofs of greatness and authority, and thus acquiring the esteem of men. And, in point of fact, is it not certain that the man who has received a buffet on the ear is held to be under disgrace, until he has wiped off the insult with the blood of his enemy?”

In short, you may be a fraudulent bankrupt, thief, assassin, profligate, impious atheist even, with a safe conscience, provided always you confess to a Jesuit confessor. It is doubtless in this that we are to see the efficacy of that miraculous gift, which we read at page 13 Loyola had received from heaven, and transmitted to his successors—the gift of healing troubled consciences; and this is even boldly asserted by themselves. In the Imago primi Sæculi, S. 3, ch. 8, are words to this effect:—“With the aid of pious finesse and holy artifice of devotion, crimes may be expiated now-a-days alacrius, with more joy and alacrity, than they were committed in former days; and a great many people may be washed from their stains almost as cleverly as they contracted them.” After this quotation, we need not trouble the reader with any more regarding the doctrine of the Jesuits on social duties. We only beg of him, in order that he may well understand all the enormity of these doctrines, to look at them from the point of view of the Papists, who consider the confessional as the only way of salvation, and who blindly obey their spiritual fathers, especially if they flatter their passions, and promise them paradise as the reward of their vices.

It is also of importance that our readers should be made acquainted with the doctrine of the Jesuits regarding religious duties, and the love which is due to God, that they may the better judge of the character of those champions of Romanism, those monks who are labouring hard to make proselytes to their religion—the only true one, as they pretend, out of which there is no salvation.

Father Antony Sirmond, in his book on The Defence of Virtue, has the following passage:—“St Thomas says that we are obliged to love God as soon as we come to the use of reason; that is rather too soon! Scotus says, every Sunday; pray, for what reason? Others say, when we are sorely tempted; yes, if there be no other way of escaping the temptation. Sotus says, when we have received a benefit from God; good, in the way of thanking him for it. Others say, at death—rather late! As little do I think it binding at the reception of any sacrament; attrition, in such a case, is quite enough, along with confession—if convenient. Suarez says, that it is binding at some time or another; but at what time? He does not know; and what that doctor does not know, I know not who should know.”[241]

And father Pinter can crown those execrable doctrines by the impious assertion, that the dispensation from the painful obligation to love God is purchased for us through the merits of Christ’s blood. “It was reasonable,” says that sacrilegious Jesuit, “that under the law of grace in the New Testament, God should relieve us from that troublesome and arduous obligation which existed under the law of bondage, to exercise an act of perfect contrition, in order to be justified; and that the place of this should be supplied by the sacraments instituted in aid of an easier exercise; otherwise, indeed, Christians, who are the children, would have no greater facility in gaining the good graces of their Father than the Jews, who were the slaves, had in obtaining the mercy of their Lord and Master.”[242]

And men guilty of all sorts of crimes—men who pretend that no love is due to God, that not even attrition is necessary for the remission of sins—such men shall be made worthy of the eternal blessedness through some idolatrous practices! Such is the doctrine taught by Jesuits, and, we must add, by most of the Roman Catholic clergy, some of whom we are going to bring under our reader’s eye. We beg permission to quote Pascal again. Our readers will certainly prefer the trenchant, sarcastic style of the celebrated Jansenist to our imperfect manner of narration. In a dialogue which he pretends to have had with a Jesuit, the father addresses him in the following words:—

“‘Would you not be infinitely obliged to any one who should open to you the gates of paradise? Would you not give millions of gold to have a key by which you might gain admittance whenever you pleased? You need not be at such expense; here is one—here are a hundred for much less money.’

“At first I was at a loss to know whether the good father was reading or talking to me, but he soon put the matter beyond doubt by adding:—

“‘These, sir, are the opening words of a fine book, written by Father Barry of our Society; for I never give you anything of my own.’

“‘What book is it?’ asked I.

“‘Here is its title,’ he replied—‘Paradise Opened to Philagio, in a Hundred Devotions to the Mother of God, easily practised.’

“‘Indeed, father! and is each of these easy devotions a sufficient passport to heaven?’

“‘It is,’ returned he, ‘Listen to what follows: “The devotions to the mother of God, which you will find in this book, are so many celestial keys, which will open wide to you the gates of paradise, provided you practise them;” and accordingly, he says at the conclusion, “that he is satisfied if you practise only one of them.”’

“‘Pray, then, father, do teach me one of the easiest of them.’

“‘They are all easy,’ he replied; ‘for example—”Saluting the Holy Virgin when you happen to meet her image—saying the little chaplet of the pleasures of the Virgin—fervently pronouncing the name of Mary—commissioning the angels to bow to her for us—wishing to build her as many churches as all the monarchs on earth have done—bidding her good-morrow every morning, and good-night in the evening—saying the Ave Maria every day in honour of the heart of Mary“—which last devotion, he says, possesses the additional virtue of securing us the heart of the Virgin.’

“‘But, father,’ said I, ‘only provided we give her our own in return, I presume?’

“‘That,’ he replied, ‘is not absolutely necessary, when a person is too much attached to the world. Hear Father Barry: “Heart for heart would, no doubt, be highly proper; but yours is rather too much attached to the world, too much bound up in the creature, so that I dare not advise you to offer, at present, that poor little slave which you call your heart.” And so he contents himself with the Ave Maria which he had prescribed.’[243]

“‘Why, this is extremely easy work,’ said I, ‘and I should really think that nobody will be damned after that.’