HOW IGNATIUS LOYOLA DREW HIS FOLLOWERS AROUND HIM.
WE have not space to sketch all the remarkable vicissitudes and adventures that befell Ignatius Loyola on his way through the “Holy City” to the Holy Land. Suffice it to say that he rejoiced in the privileges of seeing the Pope at Rome; of being regarded, from his woebegone appearance, as a victim of the then plague-stricken district around Venice, hence being compelled to sleep in the open air outside the town; and of so provoking the sailors by preaching on board the Italian state galley, bound for Jaffa, that they all but threw him into the sea.
He arrived at length, “in good condition,” says his biographer, at Jerusalem, and soon presented himself before the Provincial of the Franciscans as a would-be missioner―much to the astonishment of that holy man. In vain Loyola (as we will henceforth call him) pleaded that it was possible for God by His miraculous power, to enable the Turks to understand his preaching to them in the Spanish tongue!
The beggar missioner was peremptorily ordered to return to his mother country, and when there to acquaint himself first with his own ignorance. And in order to give force to his directions, the prior conveyed the suppliant on board a ship bound for Venice. Thus ended the first missionary tour of the Knight of the Virgin.
On arriving once more in Spain, Loyola found himself possessed of no further clothing than a cloak, trousers which hardly reached to his knees, and a long frock of ticking full of holes. Thus he presented himself to Hieronymus Ardabale, in Barcelona, as a scholar. The professor, who found that Loyola knew nothing of Latin grammar, was so amazed at his humility and pluck that he gave him a seat on the preparatory school form gratis. Loyola was thirty-three years old, but he meekly sat upon the same bench as the little boys, bore their teasing with indifference in school hours, and when in his recreation he begged his bread. He studied with zeal, keeping well before him his one supreme object in life—the winning of souls to the religion of the Virgin—and when opportunity allowed he used all his powers of fascination and eloquence as a preacher; and thus the mysterious and wonderful man made friends as well as foes.
A young lady, Isabella Roselli, and a dame, Agnes Pasquali, became his benefactresses, and encouraged him, not only by good advice, but by the more substantial help of their purses, to persevere in overcoming both his extreme ignorance and poverty.
At the end of two years Loyola had so far progressed as to install himself in Cardinal Ximenes’ high school at Alkala. He was no longer ignorant. There he studied logic, metaphysics, and theology. He now had greater opportunities for attracting others to like-mindedness with himself. He was a genius in the arts of preaching, begging, and converting; and three young men, fellow-students, completely fascinated by his eloquence, were won to do as he did. They, too, dressed in long coarse gowns of grey frieze, reaching to the ankles, and wore bell-shaped hats and knotted rope girdles; and thus this conspicuous trio of barefooted disciples accompanied Loyola daily in his open-air preaching in the streets. The inhabitants of Alkala grew excited over the grotesque troupe, whom they nicknamed “Ensazaladas,” or “the men with the frieze coats.”
The four missioners then began to act the part of confessors, and a number of spinsters of all ages flocked to them for absolution and spiritual advice. But this the established monks could not endure, and complaint was made to the Holy Inquisition. Accordingly, on the indictment of belonging to the class of heretics popularly called “The Enlightened,” Loyola was arrested, and imprisoned for six days.
It did riot require an acute perception on the part of the Vicar-General to discover that his prisoner was not illumined with any particular heretical light. Loyola was a very good Roman Catholic, if a poor preceptor of theology; he was therefore discharged, but was forbidden, under pain of excommunication, to preach again until he had successfully passed his college course. A gentle hint was also given him that he and his frieze-coated following should resume their student garb!
Loyola might, perhaps, have accepted this most unwelcome decision of the Holy See with better grace, but for another unpleasant circumstance at Alkala which quickly followed his release. By his persuasive eloquence two highborn young ladies had their emotions and aspirations for a saint-like life so stirred, that they determined to become begging and praying pilgrims. They were to give up all their possessions, and dress in rags. They suddenly disappeared by night from their homes, and Loyola was held responsible by their relatives. A second time he was thrown into prison, and was only acquitted upon the ladies’ return as penitents and pretty well cured of their ambition!
Loyola now began to modify his methods. As soon as his frieze-coated company had secured sufficient money by a begging expedition, he withdrew with them to Salamanca University. Here the same parts were enacted as at Alkala, and the same retribution followed. Loyola was kept for three weeks in close captivity― “Carlisto,” one of his companions, sharing his sentence. “Carlisto” must have cut a very extraordinary figure, as he was a tall, thin man, furnished with an enormous beard; he carried a knobbed stick, and rejoiced in having a short old jacket, a still shorter tattered pair of trousers, a beggarly pair of half boots, and an enormous hat. This disciple was attached to his master by a long heavy chain. The two were not released from jail until after a most binding promise from Loyola that he would not again assume the work of a priest until he had studied theology for four consecutive years. Thus Salamanca proved as unappreciative as Alkala!
Loyola, whose courage, and energy, and fixedness of purpose were supreme, now determined on the bold course of entering the most celebrated of all existing universities, Paris. In spite of his companions’ remonstrances against entering a foreign country, he commenced his journey alone on foot, in the middle of the winter of 1528, driving before him an ass laden with his books. He was well aware that Francis I., a most broadminded monarch, would preserve him in freedom, even when carrying out the wildest eccentricities. Loyola’s dominating aim was to make converts. He entered again upon the necessary though tedious college course. It was the only high road to the priesthood and its power. He resumed his studies in the Parisian academies, and became Master of Arts; but he never once lost sight of the goal he meant to reach, which was nothing less than the leadership of a mighty spiritual army, of which he was to be the creator. “He knew clearly,” says Bouhours, “that he was chosen by God to establish a company of apostolic men, and that he was to select companions in the University of Paris.”
Enthusiasm is contagious, especially among fellow-students, and Loyola possessed in a marked degree the faculty of governing, and, what is more rare, a fascinating power, which gave him ascendancy over men superior to himself in intelligence and in accomplishments. By a species of benevolent dissimulation, of which he was master, he secured the allegiance of his inferiors. How far this power of influencing human nature overstepped the boundaries of truth and sincerity will be seen as the story unfolds itself. Very soon numbers of coadjutors were found in St. Barbara’s College, ready to follow their leader, and to fast and flog themselves as he, and to go through every “spiritual exercise” he should prescribe. Circumstances, which proved of great importance to Loyola’s future career, compelled him to be cautious in the choice of followers.
As we have already seen, the Reformation was in its infancy, yet daily growing in persuasive and prevailing force. Never before had the Papacy been threatened by such a foe. Over men’s minds, whether English, French, German, Scandinavian, or Italian, a new spirit was stealing. The rusted fetters of ignorance and superstition were being snapped on every hand. The Pope beheld Protestantism, or, as he would term it, “the plague of Lutheranism,” rapidly spreading on all sides. “The Reformers,” as a Roman Catholic author expresses it, “were inviting peoples and princes to a great hunt of the Romish Church,” and almost every country was responding to the cry. Hidden away in the heart of dark Spain, where the Inquisition took care that the Reformation should never have firm root, Loyola had been ignorant of what was taking pace. Judge of his indignation and alarm, therefore, when the truth burst upon him that the saloons of the Louvre were opened for the Protestant sermons, and that even the University itself was infected by Protestant heresy! Dread seized the Knight of the Virgin. He deemed it his duty at all hazards to act as a spy in every circle into which he obtained entrance, and to denounce each public or private heretic to the Inquisition. Still this was not a very adequate or far-reaching protest. A new system of warfare must be created if the new system of thought was to be effectually encountered. It was quite clear that Rome could no longer sway men’s hearts through the medium of Benedictine or Dominican friars; their begging sacks had long hung about them empty. Nor had she greater influence through her ignorant dissolute clergy, for these the people thoroughly despised. Her downfall appeared imminent,
The idea fastened itself upon Loyola that in view of the present peril to the Romish faith, his most pressing duty was to wage war against heresy, and thereby to defeat the forces spreading out from Germany. To do this, associates were required, and they must consider themselves first as warriors. Therefore, in order to meet the well-armed Reformers, picked men only must be chosen.
Two young students shared with Loyola his rooms in the College of St. Barbara-Pierre le Fevre, or Peter Faber, and Francis Xavier. Faber was a young Genevan priest, of humble birth, but undoubted genius. He possessed an enthusiastic piety, combined with a glowing imagination. He was easily inspired with Loyola’s grand idea. Xavier of Navarre was a different character. His ancestors for five hundred years had been renowned as warriors, and his ambition, as a professor in Beauvais College, was to add glory to his house by the brilliant ecclesiastical future before him. He at first ridiculed the scheme, but eventually he gave himself up to it, heart and soul. By flattering his extravagance―the weak spot in the character of the highborn Navarrese―by the substantial compliment of a purse well filled at that time by patrons, Loyola secured a disciple who proved himself most valuable to the future General of the Jesuit army.
With consummate tact Loyola set himself the task of molding and fashioning these two characters. He won their affection, excited their admiration, and fired them with the ambition of sharing in his grand project. He then led them through a course of discipline, enjoining frequent confession and severe bodily mortifications. “Three days and three nights did he compel them to fast. During the severest winters, when carriages might be seen crossing the frozen River Seine, he would not permit Faber the slightest relaxation of discipline.” By thus mortifying his pupils’ pride and inuring them to hunger, cold, and toil, he made them dead to every passion save that of his “holy war.”
It was natural that other students and professors who held Faber and Xavierin high esteem should now offer themselves unreservedly to Loyola. But from them four collegiates only were accepted. The learned Laynez of Castille, the able Salmeron from Toledo, the powerful literary scholar and lecturer Alphons (nicknamed Bobadilla) of Valencia, and lastly the noble and daring Rodriguez of Portugal. Such were the first seven Jesuits the world had ever seen. Singularly enough, the University of Paris, which afterwards so rigorously repudiated their system, was the birthplace of the army which was destined to win triumphs in every land.
It must not be supposed, however, that the fraternity became known at once as a new order. Even in Paris most were unaware of the seven men who lived together, pledged secretly as spiritual knights. Their community dress consisted of a narrow black cloak, a broad-brimmed hat, and black leather shoes; but this attracted little or no attention. The society in embryo was insignificant. Yet the seed was destined to produce a mighty tree.
The adherence of his followers to himself by word of promise merely did not satisfy Loyola. Members of a secret society with such a program before it, required a solemn initiatory ceremonial. Accordingly, a subterranean cavern-chapel on the heights of Montmartre was selected, and the seven brethren met there at daybreak on the. Festival of the Ascension of Mary (August 15th, 1534). The rough grey walls, which encircled the decayed statue of the holy Denis, were dripping with moisture. The head of the saint, severed from the trunk, was held in its outstretched arms. A few tapers threw a pale light on the dismal surroundings, while Peter Faber, the priest, performed solemn mass, and administered the Host to each of the kneeling six. This done, Loyola stepped forth before the altar, and swore upon the Bible the threefold vow of poverty, chastity, and obedience, adding an oath of perpetual devotion to Mary and her Son, for the protection of the Holy Roman Church and of its supreme head the Pope, and the extension of the Roman Catholic faith unto his life’s end. Immediately the oath had passed his lips, and with a wild, piercing light in his eyes, he exclaimed, “Ad majorem Dei gloriam!” (To the greater glory of God!) At once his followers imitated his example, and each uttered the same watchword, which in aftertimes served as a cloak for some of the greatest enormities that ever stained the pages of history.
The little band remained kneeling in fasting and prayer until the darkness of night. Then Loyola gave the signal to rise and come away. As he did so he marked upon the altar three large capital letters, “I. H. S.” “What do these mean?” asked his companions. “Jesus Hominum Salvator” (Jesus the Saviour of Mankind), he answered. “Henceforth let them be our motto.”
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A COMMENT ON THE MOTTO OF THE JESUITS.
IN, 1866 the Pope’s private chamberlain thus wrote to Cardinal Manning: “The motto of the Jesuits ought to be changed from Ad majorem Dei gloriam to Ad majorem Societatis gloriam.” See “The Life of Cardinal Manning” ―Purcell, Vol. II., p. 388, note. Published 1895.