Front matter (continued 3)

The Jesuits were unquestionably much discomfited and chagrined at this continued resistance, and were constrained to seek assistance from every available quarter. The nobility of Auvergne were consequently persuaded to interpose in their behalf by soliciting the admission of the society into all the towns of that province, evidently supposing if that were done that the Jesuits would soon diffuse themselves throughout the whole country. That the entire destruction of Protestantism was the only and ultimate end they contemplated is sufficiently proven by the fact that in their petition to the king, wherein they asked for the introduction of the Jesuits, they said: "Unless the king wishes the whole of Auvergne to fall into heresy, it is necessary that the Society of Jesus should be admitted into France."[59]

These proceedings were soon followed by the National Council of the French Church at Poissy, to which, as we have seen, the Protestants had looked forward with so much anxiety, anticipating it as an occasion when they would be permitted to make known the reasons of their religious belief. It was attended by the queen regent, the king, and the entire royal court, representing monarchical power; by five cardinals, forty archbishops and bishops, and numerous doctors, in behalf of the Church; by several Calvinist ministers, representing that form of faith; and by Henry, King of Navarre, and the Prince of Condé, representing the Huguenots and the general Protestant sentiment in favor of religious liberty. Such a body, under ordinary circumstances, might have enabled the Protestants to realize their hopes, at least to the extent of convincing the authorities of the Government that they were loyal to it, and obedient to all its commands, except in the single particular of desiring to be left free to follow their own consciences in the worship of God. But Laynez, the Jesuit general, was also there, to demand conformity to the requirements of the papacy and of his society, that no discussion should be tolerated, and that "uninquiring obedience" to authority should be exacted from all. To him and to his society it was impossible to preserve the union of Church and State without this; and if this were not done, its joint monarchism would be endangered. Accordingly he took especial pains to point out to the king and queen-mother "the indecency and danger" of the free discussion of questions of religious faith, by those who were disposed to defend Protestantism, in such an assembly. Daurignac says that Laynez was "shocked and grieved by the fearful blasphemies which had fallen from the lips of one Peter Martyr, an apostate monk," who had ventured to express his opinions freely. He considered it improper for any but theologians—that is, those whose minds had been already molded and fashioned to obedience—to be present upon such occasions. This rebuke offended the queen-mother, who withdrew from the Council. But this did not disconcert the Jesuit general, who was not so easily turned from his purpose. He knew the character of her majesty thoroughly, and said to the Prince of Condé, "She is a great dissembler," believing, as he undoubtedly did, that whatsoever she might then do or say, he would, in the end, bring her into obedience to the Jesuit purposes. He soon had convincing proof of his power; for the queen, the king, and the nobles never afterwards appeared in the Council, and the Jesuit general had the matter in his own hands.[60] Instead of bringing the conference to any practical results, favorable in the least degree to freedom of conscience, Laynez succeeded in causing it to contribute to measures having reference to the admission of the Jesuits into all parts of France.[61] The Protestants were dismayed, and the Jesuits were triumphant. Laynez then became the leader of the orthodox party, and from that time commanded an influence which Loyola himself did not acquire. We shall see hereafter how far-reaching and controlling this influence was.

After Laynez left the Council at Poissy, flushed with triumph, he repaired at once to the General Council of Trent, which was then in session, as a special legate of the pope—Pius IV—who had discovered in him such qualities as he supposed might become available in helping the sinking fortunes of the papacy. This was the first appearance of a Jesuit general in such a body, or in other general ecclesiastical assemblages, and consequently dates the beginning of a new era in the history of the Roman Church. Christianity had prevailed for more than fifteen hundred years without the aid of such a society as the Jesuits; but as that wonderful organization had been conceived by the restless brain of Loyola for the sole purpose of suppressing the Reformation and all its enlightening influences, it was readily accepted by the papal authorities as a valuable help, after the pope had given it his indorsement. Hence, Laynez was received by the Council of Trent with unusual manifestations of joy and enthusiasm. The prelates of the Council had undoubtedly been notified of his success at Poissy in obtaining the mastery over Catharine de Medicis, and, through her, over the king and court of France, as well as over the Protestants. Preference was shown him over all the representatives of the ancient religious orders of the Church, and when the latter complained of this, upon the ground that the Jesuit society was only of recent origin, the Council decided against them on account of the important services which the Jesuits, by means of their compact organization, would be able to render the cause of the papacy. And to manifest this preference of the Jesuits over the other orders, so that it could not be mistaken, a pulpit was prepared for Laynez in a conspicuous place in the Council chamber, so that whatsoever he said should be distinctly heard.[62] The monastic orders were not satisfied with the inferior position thus assigned to them, and murmured, but could not help it.

Such a reception as this by so distinguished a body of prelates as the Council of Trent, was well calculated to incite the pride and ambition of the Jesuits—especially of Laynez—and to create in their minds the belief that if they continued to pursue the cautious but aggressive policy of Loyola, they would bring the pope and all the ecclesiastical authorities of the Church into obedience to them. Manifestly, the society considered this the ultimate end contemplated by Loyola; and Laynez was sufficiently skilled in the methods of government to understand the necessity of obtaining from the Council of Trent the recognition of the superiority of the Jesuits over the monastic orders. He had not yet succeeded in accomplishing the admission of the society into France, and this he evidently regarded as an important step in that direction. Flattering as was his reception by the Council, it was not all he desired. He considered an additional step necessary to obtain from the Council a full approval of the reasons assigned by Loyola to justify the establishment of his society. Accordingly, after the Council had passed upon the questions of faith and dogma, it proceeded to investigate "the causes of the evils which afflicted the Church." This opened an exceedingly broad field of inquiry, and resulted, doubtless as Laynez desired, in the conclusion stated by Daurignac, "that these causes were, principally, the ignorance and immorality of a great portion of the clergy and the monastic orders," and that "the best remedy for this great evil was to prepare Christian generations by a good system of education;"[63] that is to say, that any effort to reform the existing clergy and ancient orders would be unavailing, but that the remedy lay in educating other and future generations. It is easy to see that this conclusion was unavoidable under the doctrine established by the same Council, and affirmed also by the Jesuits, that the clergy who lead virtuous and those who lead vicious lives, possess the same power and authority in the Church.

This was a great triumph for Laynez and his society, inasmuch as it was a specific approval by the Council of Trent of the grounds upon which Loyola had justified the creation of the Jesuit society; that is, the incompetency of the Church to reform itself without extraneous aid, apart from the existing clergy and the monastic orders, and the necessity for an educational organization, like that of the Jesuits, to be maintained by authority and discipline for that purpose.[64] And thus equipped by so important an indorsement, the Jesuits at once assumed to have been constituted, with Divine approval, the exclusive educators of the world, and to be endowed with authority to enter every nation at will, and so to train and discipline the "Christian generations" as to bring them down to a common level of obedience to the united authority of Church and State.

Without the indorsement obtained by the Jesuits from the Council of Trent, they might have been kept out of Paris entirely, or, at all events, their entry into that city would have been greatly delayed. As it was, the antipathy against them remained so great and universal among the Gallican Christians, that their admission at last was obtained only upon the condition that they should take a solemn oath to do nothing to impair the liberties of the Gallican Church; that they would submit to the laws of the nation, which recognized the pope as the head of the Church, but denied to him the power to excommunicate the king; or to lay an interdict upon the kingdom; or to exercise any jurisdiction over temporal matters; or to dismiss bishops from their office; or to exercise any authority by a legate, unless empowered by the king; and that they would, moreover, maintain those provisions of law which assigned to a General Council of the Church power superior to that of a pope—in other words, that papal infallibility was not a part of Christian faith.[65] There is abundant reason for believing, in view of both preceding and subsequent events, that when the Jesuits took this oath, they had not the least idea of being bound by it. No Jesuit's conscience was ever bound by such an oath.

The authority of Laynez, under the circumstances related, became potential enough to enable him to influence the decisions of the queen-mother and the court of France, and finding himself thus sustained, it was not long before the Jesuit policy began to bear its legitimate fruits. Of course, his most heavily charged batteries were immediately opened upon the Protestants, to whose heresies he traced all the existing evils of the times. An occasion for this soon occurred. The Protestants petitioned for "places of worship;" that is, merely to be allowed to worship at designated places according to their consciences. Laynez fully understood the meaning of this, and the ends it would ultimately accomplish if the Protestant petition were allowed. His keen sagacity enabled him to know that if the differences between Protestantism and the papacy became the subject of intellectual discussion, upon a forum where human reason had the right to assert itself, the triumph of the former over the latter would be assured. Therefore, true to his own instincts and the teachings of his society, he remonstrated with Catharine de Medicis against granting the prayer of the Protestants, and in his memorial upon the subject "pointed out to her so forcibly the danger to the Church and State that such a concession would entail, that, appreciating his arguments, she refused to sanction the erection of Protestant places of worship."[66]

These facts—related upon Jesuit authority, and boasted of by their historians—furnish the most palpable and incontestable proof of the conspiracy of Catharine de Medicis and the Jesuits, after the latter obtained admission into France, to suppress the freedom of religious worship, and so to mold the policy of Church and State as to render its existence impossible. It was an odious and revolting conspiracy; but the objects to be accomplished justified it in the eyes of the queen, of Laynez, and of all his followers. It was the cardinal point of the professed Jesuit policy—the most prominent feature of their organization. No imagination is fertile enough to picture the condition into which the civilized world would have been plunged if this conspiracy, besides its temporary and bloody triumph in France, had become sufficiently powerful to dictate the Governments of modern States. The Gallican Christians had for centuries successfully resisted all attempts of the papacy to interfere with the temporal affairs of France; and whilst they disagreed with Protestants upon questions of religious faith, the two forces were united in opposition to the Jesuits, because of the direct hostility of the latter to both. Each could see that the entrance of the society into France, under the control and dominion of an alien power, would be the introduction of a disturbing and hostile element, which would put an end to the concord and harmony then rapidly springing up between the two Christian bodies. This the Jesuits intended to prevent by whatsoever means they could manage to employ; for, from the beginning of their existence, they have opposed everything they could not subjugate. Therefore they realized the importance of having the monarchical power upon their side—especially when they saw it wielded by such a queen as Catharine de Medicis—so that by conspiracy with it against the Gallican Christians and the Protestants, they could destroy the liberties of the former, and entirely suppress the spirit of free inquiry asserted by the latter. Keeping these objects always before them, the Jesuits considered them of sufficient magnitude to justify any form of intrigue; and they were sufficiently familiar with the qualities of the queen to know that she possessed such love of power and capacity for conspiracy that they could successfully play upon her ambition and prejudices to accomplish their purposes.

There is no intelligent reader of French history who is not familiar with the steps taken by this perfidious queen regent, after the admission of the Jesuits into Paris, to bring about the terrible Massacre of St. Bartholomew—an event so closely allied with others, of which they were the undoubted authors, that one must close his eyes not to see the evidences which point to their agency in that infamous transaction. They needed such bloody work to give them the mastery over France; and although they have since then been more than once expelled in disgrace from French soil, they have returned again and again to torment her people, who still continue to realize, under their Republic, how unceasingly they labor for the entire overthrow of every form of popular government.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER VII.

THE SOCIETY ENTERS GERMANY.

The Jesuits encountered less difficulty in establishing themselves in Germany than in either Spain, Portugal, or France. Race differences may have occasioned this. The populations resting upon the shores of the Mediterranean and the Atlantic descended from the early Celts, and became readily Latinized. They accepted the traditionary religion of Rome; knew comparatively little of the Bible, which was a sealed book to them; and received their Christian faith only from the Roman clergy. There was no word in any of their languages which signified liberty in the sense of a right derived from the law of nature. With them, liberty conveyed the idea of a franchise, granted by authority, and subject to be withdrawn at pleasure. Hence they yielded implicit obedience to Rome, and accepted it as consistent with the Divine will that no other than the Romish religion should be recognized or tolerated, and that force might be justifiably employed to suppress all others when it was deemed necessary to do so. Consequently they were inclined at first to resist—or, at least, to look suspiciously upon—the Jesuits, inasmuch as Loyola had declared it to be the controlling reason for the creation of the society that the ancient monastic orders and the clergy had by their vices endangered the Church. This seemed heretical, and therefore they practiced towards him and his followers at first their accustomed intolerance. They preferred the old system, to which they had become accustomed, to anything new, with regard either to the Church or the faith. Accordingly we find that among the Latin populations the influence of the pope became necessary to the admission and establishment of the Jesuit society. They yielded only to his authority, because they regarded disobedience of him as heresy.

It was otherwise with the Germans. As the descendants of the old Teutons, they had some conceptions of natural liberty, and had indicated a desire for popular government by the election of their kings. The Scriptures had been placed in their hands as early as the fourth century, when Bishop Ulfilas translated the Gospels and part of the Old Testament into the Gothic language, thereby making them accessible to the people, and stimulating the desire to read and understand them. This created a sense of individuality, which soon became more diffused than elsewhere in Europe, thus making the Germans an intelligent and tolerant race. Their tolerance, therefore, when the Jesuits appeared, prevented any popular commotion. By that time the influences of the Reformation had become greatly extended, and had impressed the minds of a large number of the German people. Protestantism had become established, and the population was divided into two religious parties—Roman Catholic and Protestant. But these parties, influenced towards each other by the old Teutonic liberality and tolerance, lived together in perfect peace and harmony, each maintaining its own religious faith and worship without interference by the other. There were also divisions among the Protestants—some being the followers of Luther, and others of Calvin. But there was no religious strife between Roman Catholics and Protestants. According to the German custom of that period, there were earnest disputations about doctrines, but no tumult—nothing to disturb the quiet of society. Persecution on account of religious differences was entirely unknown; a persecutor would have been considered a public enemy. The true spirit of Christianity prevailed—the natural consequence of the same form of religious liberty provided for by the institutions of the United States, and which might now exist throughout the Christian world, but for the baneful influences of Jesuitism. The Venetian ambassador, then in Germany, thus describes the peaceful condition of the German Christians:

"One party has accustomed itself to put up with the other so well, that, in any place where there happens to be a mixed population, little or no notice is taken as to whether a person is a Catholic or Protestant. Not only villages, but even families, are in this manner mixed up together, and there even exist houses where the children belong to one persuasion while the parents belong to the other, and where brothers adhere to opposite creeds. Catholics and Protestants, indeed, intermarry with each other, and no one takes any notice of the circumstance, or offers any opposition thereto."[67]

The German author to whom we are indebted for the above extract says, in addition, "Even many princes of the Catholic Church in Germany went even a step further, and appointed men who were thorough Protestants to situations at their courts as counselors, judges, magistrates, or whatever other office it might be, without any opposition or objection being offered thereto." And these, he adds in a note, "were not at all exceptional cases."[68]

Notwithstanding Germany was enjoying this state of calm and repose, under the influence of that religious toleration which is the natural outgrowth of all the teachings of Christ, and has the full sanction of his example, it afforded neither pleasure nor satisfaction to the ecclesiastical supporters of the papacy at Rome. They saw in it the threatened destruction of the papal system, and the ruin of their ambitious hopes, unless, by some means, this spirit of religious toleration and liberalism could be entirely extirpated. They regarded Protestantism and the liberty which gave birth to it as heretical, as the worst and most flagrant violations of God's law. How to put an end to this liberty, and destroy all its fruits, was the practical question which agitated the mind of the pope. He was willing enough to imitate the example of Innocent III in his treatment of the Albigenses, by beginning the work of persecution in Germany, and turning over the Protestants to the Inquisition, for that would have conformed to the Canon law. But there were difficulties in the way not easily overcome. The Inquisition was not likely to carry on its murderous work as successfully in Germany as among the Latin races trained to obedience. The Germans were not so docile and submissive. And, besides, the influences of the Reformation, under the impulse given them by the courageous example of Luther, had reached some of the most powerful princes in Germany, who would have stood as a strong wall of protection against all such assaults. They were not willing to obey the pontifical command when it required that papal emissaries should be allowed at pleasure to burn their own subjects at the stake, and desolate their homes. Excommunication had nearly run its course. It had been so frequently employed to promote the personal ambition of popes, and for trifling and temporal purposes, that it was fast coming into disrepute. Its influence was so impaired that it had, in a large degree, lost its effectiveness. Protestant Churches could not be closed by edicts of interdict. The attempt to release the German people from allegiance to their princes, would have been as ineffectual as the command of King Canute when he ordered the waves of the ocean to retire. Any form of papal malediction and anathema would have been unavailing.

Howsoever sick at heart the pope may have been at this prospect so fatal to his ambition, he was not reduced to entire despair. He did not abandon the hope of bringing back the German princes to the old religion, and employing them as secular aids in such measures of coercion as should be found necessary to reduce the people into obedience. He found the old ecclesiastical weapons somewhat blunted, and looked around for others. Fortune seemed, at last, to smile upon the pope when, casting his eyes around, they rested upon the Jesuits—the freshly enlisted "militia of the Church"—who, without any sense of either pride or shame, were trained to implicit obedience, without stopping to inquire whether the work required of them was good or bad, noble or ignoble. Called upon by the pope, probably at the suggestion of Loyola himself, the Jesuits were as ready to obey as the latter was to command, even to the extent of conspiring against the peace of Germany, or any other country where barriers had been constructed to protect society against aggression. But the method of procedure was by no means clear. Courageous as Loyola was, he could not venture to send his small army into Germany with an open display of the instruments of persecution in their hands. They could not go as the open defenders of the papal dogmas, for they were unable to speak or understand the German language. If they had even been able to make known their opinions and purposes, they could not have withstood the intense indignation and fiery eloquence of the disciples of Luther and Calvin. The occasion, therefore, demanded of Loyola the exercise of his keen penetration—of that wonderful sagacity which never deserted him, and which, at his death, he succeeded in imparting to his successor. The manner of procedure he finally adopted is suggestive of serious reflection, especially to the people of the United States.

If it be true that "history repeats itself," and that nations, moving in fixed cycles, follow each other in their courses, the remembrance of the fact that many of them, once prosperous, have passed out of existence, admonishes us to inquire with exceeding caution into the relations which these same Jesuits have created between themselves and our institutions. They have not changed, but are still the infatuated and vindictive followers of Loyola, and it is well for us to know whether there are not evidences that, if permitted, they may repeat here what their society, at the command of its founder, attempted in Germany, under the pretense that God had appointed them to conspire against any free and independent nation they could not otherwise subjugate. The people of the United States spend their time in the pursuit of a thousand objects, and in the investigation of a thousand questions, not the thousandth part as important to them as this.

Military men have long been accustomed to reserve sappers and miners as helps in the emergencies of war. These always attack under cover, approaching by slow and stealthy degrees, like the tiger or the cat. They do not take the chances of actual conflict, and never expose themselves to the leaden hail of battle. When the walls of a fortress can not be battered down by direct assault, they secretly undermine them; and when the fuse is lighted, the magazine exploded, and the dead scattered in all directions, they return to their hiding-places unharmed, to share in the rewards of victory.

Loyola was a skillful and courageous soldier, perfectly familiar with all the plans and strategies of war. In the organization of his society, he had availed himself of his knowledge both of the motives of men and of the movements of armies. Hence, when he submitted to the pope his proposed methods of operation, he took the precaution to impress him with its importance and necessity, by declaring that, as its head, he should consider himself "as the representative of Christ, the commander-in-chief of the heavenly hosts," and as engaged in "the war service of Christ," with an army bound by solemn oaths to obey him implicitly "in every particular, and on all occasions."[69] Hence, also, speaking of his society, he said: "We must be always ready to advance against the enemy, and be always prepared to harass him or to fall upon him, and on that account we must not venture to tie ourselves to any particular place;"[70] that is, that Jesuits must secretly skulk about over the world, without habitations or homes, and, paying no allegiance to any opposing authority, to "harass" Protestants wheresoever they are found—like freebooters upon the sea—leaving no tracks behind them.

The "chief thing" with the Jesuits, says Greisinger, was to obtain the sole direction of education, so that by getting the young into their hands, they could fashion them after their own pattern, and, by holding them down to the low standard of passive and "uninquiring obedience," fit them to become subservient slaves of monarchical and papal power. Nobody need be told the impressible character of the youthful mind, or how the stamp made upon it becomes indelible. Loyola understood this, and, realizing the impossibility of arresting the progressive advancement of Germany under Protestant influences, or to uproot the tolerant spirit that prevailed there among both Protestants and Roman Catholics, by any of the usual methods of papal coercion, he insidiously planned the scheme of bringing Germany back to papal obedience by Jesuitical training in the German schools. The process was slow, it is true, but the stake was great; and no man could have known better than he how surely it would be won, if the minds of the young could be cramped and dwarfed by Jesuit teaching.

In the Jesuit seminaries and schools, at the period here referred to, the Latin language—being the language of the Church—grammar, and rhetoric were taught, preparatory to a college course, which last was confined to philosophy and theology. The latter was regarded as the most important, because it culminated in obedience to papal authority, and was centered in the idea that it was impossible to reach heaven by any other methods than those prescribed by the Roman Church. Of course, no education could be perfected, in the estimation of the Jesuits, that did not conform to their own standard by requiring the pupils to surrender their manhood into the keeping of their superiors, as they had done themselves, and thereby become pieces of human machinery, to be moved about at the will and pleasure of those whom they were taught to regard as God's vicegerents upon earth. No matter where Jesuit colleges or schools have existed, or yet exist, this has always been the primary and chief object and end of the education furnished by them. When it stops short of this, it is a failure; but when this object is accomplished, the society exultingly adds its fresh recruits to the papal militia, to be marshaled against Protestantism, enlightenment, and popular government, under commanders who never tolerate disobedience.

Pope Julius III—successor of Paul III—in aid of the conspiracy against Germany, granted an extension of the privileges originally conferred upon the Jesuits, and, at the suggestion of Loyola, authorized him to establish a German college (Collegium Germanicum) in Rome. The object of this was, not to teach the German language to the Spanish, French, and Italian pupils then being educated in Rome in the Collegium Romanum, but to procure German youths to be taught there under Jesuit auspices and the patronage of the pope, so that upon their return home they would disseminate Jesuit opinions and influences among the people, and thus arrest the progress of Protestantism, and put an end to the religious toleration prevailing among the Protestant and Roman Catholic Germans. In execution of this purpose, steps were at once taken to procure from Germany some young men, to be brought to Rome and put in training for the ecclesiastical subjugation of their countrymen. That such was the sole object will not be doubted by any intelligent investigator of the facts. Germany was well supplied with colleges and schools, where the standard of education was higher than at Rome; but they were under Protestant management and control, and therefore considered heretical. It was the odious form of heresy embodied in Protestantism that Loyola and his followers were sworn to exterminate, and these young Germans were carried to Rome that they might be disciplined and educated for that purpose—to undermine the institutions of their own country! Have the Jesuits ever changed their purpose to make the extermination of Protestantism a leading and central feature of their educational system? Have they abandoned any of the methods employed by Loyola himself for that purpose? We shall see as our investigations proceed.

But the institution of a Jesuit college at Rome was not the only means employed, inasmuch as more immediate and active measures were considered necessary. Therefore, whilst that was left to bear its fruits at a later period, the Jesuits sent into Germany some of their prudent and sagacious members, such as they supposed would be likely to exercise influence over the princes, so that through them the whole German population might be reached. These princes were the acknowledged representatives of monarchism, and it was believed that if they could be persuaded to accept the Jesuit emissaries as their allies, the usual methods of papal compulsion could be employed with impunity. In this the Jesuits calculated sagaciously, and were enabled to establish several colleges in Germany, and ultimately to begin an open and direct war upon Protestantism. They did not invoke the aid of reason. They neither invited nor allowed calm discussion with learned Protestant theologians, but relied entirely upon the united authority of the pope and the princes—that is, upon monarchical power. Finding the Lutherans and the Calvinists divided upon theological questions, they availed themselves of every opportunity to incite them to mutual strife, insisting, as they have ever since continued to do, that there can be but one true form of Christian faith, which every human being is obliged to accept, or to offend God. Seemingly insensible to the fact that the Creator has made the minds of men to differ as their faces and features, they were sagacious enough to know that differences of opinion upon religious as upon all other subjects could be prevented only by force and coercion. Therefore, to compel uniformity of faith and to uproot Protestantism, they persuaded some of the princes, especially those of Bavaria, to believe that the principle of monarchy was endangered, and would be entirely destroyed, if the influences of the Reformation were not obliterated. That such was, and yet is, the natural effect of these influences is true; and therefore, as these princes could easily see that, if popular institutions were established in Germany, their princely occupations would be threatened, they became the willing tools of the Jesuits. The Duke of Bavaria was one of the most submissive, as he was the most willing to become a persecutor. He had been educated by the Jesuits, and consequently was soon induced to exhibit "the utmost earnestness" in adopting measures for destroying all the influences of the Reformation, and putting an end to Protestantism.[71] He was resolved, says Nicolini, "not to leave a vestige of those new doctrines which, for the last forty years, had been spreading so fast in his kingdom." Neither he nor the Jesuits made the least disguise of the fact that all their efforts were directed to the single object of preventing the freedom of religious belief. His first step to this end was to require that the Profession of Faith prescribed by the Council of Trent should be subscribed and adhered to; that is, that Protestants should renounce the religion which their consciences approved, and accept that which their consciences did not approve. That the people might be brought into obedience and forced to this, "he sent through all the provinces swarms of Jesuits, accompanied by bands of troopers, whose bayonets came to the aid of the preachers when their eloquence was unsuccessful in converting the heretics"—that is, the Protestants. Those who remained unsubdued were expelled from their estates. Prohibited books were seized and burned. All the ancient practices were revived. And, "above all," says Ranke, "the Jesuit institutions were promoted; for by their agency it was, that the youth of Bavaria were to be educated in a spirit of strict orthodoxy"—which meant then, what with the Jesuits it still means, opposition to religious freedom.

For a time the Jesuits were restrained in Austria by Ferdinand I and Maximilian; but during the reign of Rudolph II they became bolder and more exacting. The provincial of the society obtained great influence over Rudolph, and was urgent in his demands that he should extirpate heresy from his dominions. At last he succeeded in inducing Rudolph to inaugurate a general persecution of the Lutherans, and "the greatest atrocity and the utmost rigor were displayed in destroying every trace of Protestantism." The work of extirpation began in the cities. "The Reformed clergy were removed, and their places filled by Catholic priests." A religious formula was prescribed, which required universal assent to the doctrine "that everything is true which the Church of Rome has laid down as the rule of life and doctrine," and that "the pope is the head of one Apostolic Church." The Protestants were expelled from all offices of State. Papists alone could become burghers. Doctors' degrees in the universities were conferred only upon those who subscribed to the Roman Confession of Faith. The Jesuit schools were governed by regulations "which prescribed Catholic formularies, fasts, worship, according to the Catholic Ritual," and all the pupils were taught the Jesuit Catechism. All Protestant books were seized and taken away from booksellers' shops, and all that were found in the custom-houses were confiscated. And the historian, summing it all up, says: "All through Germany the same proceedings were resorted to, and everywhere we find the Jesuits foremost in the reaction. There was no bishop, no prince, who went to visit a province upon religious concerns, who did not bring with him a troop of Jesuits, who, on his departure, were often left there with almost unlimited powers."[72]

The task of becoming familiar with the history of those times is formidable; but its performance will amply repay the careful and thoughtful student, inasmuch as the events which then transpired materially influenced the subsequent condition of the world. Especially did they influence that current of affairs which caused the most enlightened nations to drift towards religious freedom and popular government, the two great and inseparable factors in modern progress. At the period here referred to, true Christian civilization, as inspired by the charity and gentleness exhibited in the life of Christ, seemed to hang, for a time, at equipoise in the balance. The struggle for mastery between the light of the Reformation and the darkness of the Middle Ages was long and fierce, and occasionally doubtful. One can not fail to see that the spirit of liberty had been so nearly crushed out by the monarchism of Church and State, that it required the finger of Providence to point out the way to the revival of primitive Christianity, and the restoration of its beneficial influences upon the consciences and lives of the vast multitudes who had been long held in inferiority. The student will find the conflict instructive at every point. It will bring into view perfidy and treachery where there ought to have been confidence and fair dealing, shameful betrayals of the cause of truth and justice, and the heartless sacrifice of many thousands of inoffensive people. It will show popes and kings uniting their power in the cause of oppression and wrong, and shamelessly practicing vices condemned equally by the laws of God and man. Many figures conspicuous in history will appear, among them that of the great Emperor Charles V. He will be seen procuring imperial dominion over a people he did not know, and whose language he could neither speak nor understand; quarreling with the pope one day and threatening to subvert his throne, and becoming reconciled the next, in order that monarchism should be strengthened; sending savage hordes of armed men to crush out the spirit of religious liberty in his native Netherlands by blood and murder; promising protection to the German Protestants in order to obtain their assistance in his war against the Turks, and afterwards betraying and persecuting them for heresy; uniting for a time with the pope against the king of France, and then with the king of France against the pope; forcing the pope to convene a General Council, and pretending to grant by his famous "Interim" some shadowy rights to Protestants, in order that they might ultimately be compelled to accept the faith as the Council should decree; and at last, when his successes were turned into adversities and his tortuous policy involved him in disappointment, abdicating his royal authority, retiring to a monastery, and confiding the infamous work of persecuting Protestants and desolating his native land to his cold-blooded and murderous son. Then, as the scene shifts, Philip II will appear, with his vicegerent, the Duke of Alva, and his bloodthirsty crew, the sounds of whose warlike bugles were drowned by the piercing cries of their Protestant victims. Then may also be seen, passing in panoramic view, the whole land of the Netherlands drenched in the blood of innocent and persecuted Protestants; the Spanish and Italian Inquisitions carrying on their horrible work with so much activity that its machinery was never still; France trembling upon the threshold of ruin, and her kings and queens forming leagues with the Huguenots, to be immediately and perfidiously violated; and Germany, torn into factions by the discord between princes and people which was born of Jesuit intrigue, offering a tempting field to the emissaries of the papacy, wherein usurped and illegitimate authority might revel whilst the "sacred militia" of Loyola rejoiced at the triumph they had won over Protestantism and free religious thought.

Through all these courses of events the Jesuits steadily appeared—alike indifferent to the wounds they inflicted upon the Church and the agonies of their unnumbered victims. As confessors and confidants of kings, their exertions to enshroud the world in the pall of monarchism were ceaseless and untiring. They climbed into offices of state, and molded the temporal policy of popes and kings. They moved sovereigns from right to left, forward or backward, as children amuse themselves with toys. They exchanged the humble worship of the altar for the glitter of courts, as if Christ in his life had set the example of ambitious display. They enrolled sovereigns and princes in the ranks of their defenders, and by their help drove Protestant preachers from their pulpits, Protestant professors and teachers from their colleges and schools, and Protestant people into the deepest depths of humiliation, by such measures of compulsion and repression as it must have required the inventive faculties of fiends to discover. All these things transpired in Europe during the terrible conflict between Protestantism and reaction. But in no other portion of the Continental States was the difference between the opposing forces more distinctly marked than in Germany, after the Jesuits, by means of their control of education, became enabled to check the progress of popular enlightenment, and force the nation back again into the old grooves of ignorance and superstition.

From the first entry of the Jesuits into Germany the peace of the country was seriously disturbed. We have seen how thoroughly reconciled to each other were those of all the shades of religious faith. Members of the Church of Rome and Protestants were in perfect accord upon all matters involving the welfare of Germany, neither concerning themselves about the religious opinions of the other. In this respect it was as it should have been, and ought yet to be throughout the Christian world. And the happiness and progressive prosperity of Germany was assured by it, until the spoiler came in the form of Jesuitism, not as the bearer of messages of peace and good-will from Rome, but the vast progeny of evils which, in the age of fable, were supposed to have escaped when Pandora's jar was broken. They let these loose upon the land without shame or remorse, until society was convulsed from center to circumference, peaceful homes were desolated, hearts that had rejoiced were broken,—all under the irreverent pretense that it was for "the greater glory of God!"

Let it not be forgotten that Germany was indebted to Protestantism for her condition of peace and prosperity. We have seen that the demoralized condition of the clergy was employed by Loyola to justify the papal approval of his society, and the learned Jesuit historian, the Abbé Maynard, is forced to admit that when Luther gave the first impulse to the Reformation, "the clergy of Germany offered a sad example of corrupted faith and relaxed morals." He calls it a "mournful period,"[73] notwithstanding for a thousand years these and other evils had been growing and spreading under the patronage of Rome. The papacy then dictated the Christianity of Germany. Mark the difference when Luther, Melanchthon, Bucer, and Carlstadt announced the necessity for reform, and put the ball of the Reformation in motion. The great Ranke, whose impartiality has extorted even Jesuit praise, when referring to the effect produced by the Reformation in Germany, says:

"In short, from west to east and from north to south, throughout all Germany, Protestantism had unquestionably the preponderance. The nobility were attached to it from the very first; the body of public functionaries, already in those days numerous and important, was trained up in the new doctrine; the common people would hear no more of certain articles—such, for instance, as purgatory—or of certain ceremonies, such as the pilgrimages; not a man durst come forward with holy relics. A Venetian ambassador calculates, in the year 1558, that but a tenth part of the inhabitants of Germany still clung to the ancient faith."[74]

Maynard also refers to this approvingly, and the Jesuits make it a matter of boasting, in order to support their claim to superior merit for having extirpated so much Protestant heresy, and for bringing back such multitudes of people to papal obedience. Nine Protestants to one papist! Germany, then, was a Protestant nation, governed by Protestant authorities, under Protestant laws, tolerant towards all who adhered to the ancient faith, allowing no interference with the freedom of religious opinions, happy, prosperous, and free, under her own institutions. In these respects she was in the same condition as the United States is to-day, so far as she could be in the absence of written constitutional guarantees.

What people upon earth, other than the Germans themselves, had the just right, under the law of nations or any other human law, to interfere with their condition, or to plot, openly or secretly, against their independence? What was all this, however, to the pope or to the Jesuits? From whence did they derive the authority to form a conspiracy at Rome to invade Germany, overthrow her existing institutions, bind the limbs of her people with fetters they had already broken, to gather up the rusty iron they had cast away, and reforge it into manacles to hold them in obedience to an alien and foreign power? Was this conspiracy commanded by the law of God? If it was, wherein is that law changed? If not changed, and God's laws are all immutable, may not the Jesuits of to-day enter into fresh conspiracies to subvert the present institutions of Germany, or of Great Britain, or of the United States, or of any other nation that maintains the principles of Protestantism and the freedom of conscience?

These questions command the most serious thought, and are pregnant with considerations we are not allowed to put aside. Before this volume closes, answers to all of them may be so plainly discovered as to enable the friends of free thought and popular government to see wherein their greatest danger lies. "The Jesuits," says Ranke, "conquered the Germans on their own soil, in their very home, and wrested from them a part of their native land." Will there not be other conquests to be achieved by them so long as the freedom of conscience is sheltered and guaranteed by Protestant institutions?

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER VIII.

THE JESUITS IN ENGLAND.

The conspiracy to overthrow the Protestant institutions of Germany furnished a precedent in dealing with other Governments. That against England was characterized by some peculiarities, owing to its having been subject to the spiritual dominion of the pope until the reign of Henry VIII, and afterwards under that of Mary. As there are no instances in history where a people have surrendered the control over their institutions without a struggle, unless previously reduced to absolute imbecility, the inauguration and progress of this conspiracy furnish a great many "object-lessons" of special interest to all in the United States who hold in kindly remembrance the struggles of our English ancestry for liberty.

When Henry VIII quarreled with the pope, it was only about his divorce. Religion was not involved. He maintained the dogmas of the Roman Catholic Church until his death. But in order to give license to his passions, he caused himself to be recognized by a submissive Parliament as taking the place of the pope in the religious affairs of England—not, however, as the head of the National Church, which did not distinctively exist as such until the subsequent reign of Edward VI. As between him and the pope, the dispute was about authority, not doctrine. It excited intense anger in the minds of both, and this was soon imparted to their respective adherents. Each was familiar with the methods of persecution and the implements of coercion, long in use to produce uniformity of faith, and they were equally ready to employ them. There were, however, differences between them worthy of being noted. The highest aspiration of Henry was to govern England; the pope reached out after the spiritual government of the world. The pope, without the sanction and authority of the Church, claimed personal infallibility; Henry did not. They were consequently formidable antagonists. Trained within the same circle of events, with minds disciplined by the same doctrinal teachings, and entirely agreed about the employment of compulsion in matters of faith, each dealt with the other as a mere competitor for power.

The pope—Paul III—endeavored to bring his royal antagonist to terms by excommunication; but Henry defied it and its accompanying anathemas. In proportion as the passions of the pope became intensified by resistance to his spiritual authority, the measures designed to reduce England to obedience became more violent. Henry was denounced as a traitor to heaven and the Church, and threatened with all the consequences implied by that denunciation. The pope endeavored to induce the Emperor Charles V and Francis I of France to invade England, make conquest of the country, and bring it again into obedience to him; but these monarchs feared the consequences, and prudently declined the undertaking. Disappointed in this, the pope hastened to solicit the aid of Loyola, who without delay provided Jesuits to be sent to England as spies, and to plot secretly against Henry. These emissaries were privately instructed by Loyola himself; and inasmuch as these instructions have been made known, and are admitted by the Jesuits, they serve to show the uses to which Loyola intended to put his society. The philosophy of history is often left unperceived by omitting to observe the force of such evidence as this.

After counseling them to practice great prudence and circumspection in conversing with others, so as to unveil "the depth of their sentiments"—that is, to draw out their secret thoughts—Loyola proceeded to instruct them that, "in order to conciliate to yourselves the good-will of men in the desire of extending the kingdom of God, you will make yourselves all things to all men, after the example of the apostle in order to gain them to Jesus Christ." And he tells them further that "when the devil attacks a just man, he does not let him see his snares"—therefore they must imitate him, in order to entice men into Jesuit snares![75] Taken as a whole, these instructions were manifestly designed so to train all Jesuits as to make them, according to Nicolini, "crafty, insinuating, deceitful." Cretineau, a Jesuit, attempts to argue, continues Nicolini, that they had reference to religious and not to political matters, and this is the only defense he offers for them. But this is itself Jesuitical, inasmuch as these emissaries were sent to England upon a mission involving politico-religious affairs—that is, the policy established by the Government of England in regard to the relations between it and the pope. Whether right or wrong, the English people established these relations for themselves, as they had the undoubted right to do, and no alien or foreign power, whether employed by the pope or any other monarch, could rightfully interfere with them.

These emissaries of Loyola and the pope visited Ireland and Scotland; but with the exception of intriguing with James V of Scotland, their mission was ineffectual, and they returned to Rome. Henry was not seriously disturbed by them. Nor was there any other attempt to introduce the Jesuits into England until after the death of Queen Mary, whose persecution of the Protestants was sufficiently satisfactory to the papacy without their aid. Their introduction during her reign had been opposed and defeated by Cardinal Pole, an Englishman; but whether he was hostile to them, or considered the existing system of persecution perfect enough without them, is not clearly shown.

We are thus brought to a portion of English history specially interesting and instructive to all who hold in admiration the civil institutions of the United States; for they have read history to but little purpose who do not know how the events of that period gave stability to principles which now constitute fundamental parts of our national polity. In tracing our pedigree back to its English source, it is as easy to see our intimate relations with the Elizabethan era as it is to follow the little rivulets in the valleys or upon the mountains in their courses to the sea. On this account some particularity of detail is rendered necessary, or else some matters of historic interest, not generally observed, may be omitted.

During the reign of Elizabeth the papal authorities renewed their exertions to put a stop to Protestantism in England, and sent more Jesuits there for that purpose. "These satellites of the pope," says the historian, "entered the country under fictitious names, and as stealthily as nocturnal robbers, mendacious in every word they uttered, and exciting the people to rebellion against the 'impious' queen."[76] The vigilance of Elizabeth, however, was of such a character that she was not easily taken by surprise, and their plottings against her became less effective than they and the pope had anticipated. Accordingly other Jesuits were sent to Scotland to encourage Queen Mary, and hold her steadfast in the faith; but they were unsuccessful in the attempt to stir up rebellion there, and being fearful of detection and arrest, escaped out of the country as fugitives from justice. Nevertheless they accomplished one thing, which was to carry away with them several young English noblemen, to be educated by the Jesuits in Flanders, so as to fit them for treason against their own country—repeating in this the experiment Loyola had made in Germany. All these movements, although not immediately followed by any direct consequences, tend to show how ready the Jesuits were to make secret and incendiary war upon anything or any country upon which the pontifical curse was resting. And they show, moreover, their subtle methods of procedure—how they were trained and educated in adroitness and cunning, the more easily to mislead others; how they raised hypocrisy and deceit up to the side of virtue; how they endeavored to attach to falsehood the merit which belongs alone to truth; and how, in order to be "all things to all men," they were required to be what they were not, or not to be what they were, in order by deception to accomplish the subjugation of England to the authority of the pope.

The Jesuits endeavored to become the educators of English youths as they had those of Germany. They understood, and have not yet forgotten, the value of this. The pope therefore established an English college at Rome, to educate young Englishmen for the traitorous purpose of destroying English institutions. Loyola conceived this idea as a covert and strategic method of uprooting obnoxious Governments, and the pope accepted it as an effective plan of conspiracy. This college became a hotbed of treason. The young men were doubtless instructed that the gates of heaven would be opened to them in no other way, and that country and patriotism were unmeaning phrases, of no significance when weighed in the scale against the interests of the papacy and the Jesuits. None have better understood than they "that he who guides the youth, directs the destinies of man."

The young Englishmen, educated at this college in Rome to hate their country and its sovereign, reached the highest round in the ladder of collegiate culture when they were brought to realize this as the central feature of religious faith. It takes a peculiar training to pluck out entirely from the mind all the tender and holy memories of home and country, of family and friends; and no others in the world except the Jesuits have ever undertaken it. They boast of this as one of the prominent principles of their system, and the distinguishing merit of their society. By means of it they succeeded well at Rome, and sent back to England a swarm of conspirators, charged with the special duty of winning a conquest over the Government, plucking Protestantism up by the roots, and re-establishing the papal scepter, which Henry VIII, in the pursuit of his illicit amours, had broken.

Elizabeth, as queen, was the great obstacle to papal success. Her position was a peculiar one. At the beginning of her reign she had been tolerant towards her Roman Catholic subjects, and they were permitted to enjoy their religion and mode of worship without interference, notwithstanding the severities practiced towards the Protestants during the preceding reign of Mary. All historians agree, and the Roman Catholic Lingard is candid enough to admit, that she retained in her royal council eleven of those who had served under Mary, and appointed only eight of her own selection—an extraordinary instance of impartiality and conservatism. She preferred the reformed religion, but "contrived," says Lingard, "to balance the hopes and fears of the two parties,"[77] which she must have done from an honest purpose to see that justice should be shown to both, and that religious strife and discord should cease. Her want of success in this most desirable object can be attributed to no other cause than the machinations of the Jesuits; for, whatsoever may be thought of the fierce and angry controversy which followed, the evidence is conclusive that they were the main reliance of the pope in the subsequent inauguration and prosecution of civil war in England. If it had not been their special avocation to enter into plots and conspiracies against all governments and peoples who rejected the absolute rule of the pope in doctrine and morals, and if they had not actively engaged in that work during the reign of Elizabeth, the memory of Mary's bloody and persecuting reign might, in a large degree, have been blotted out, and this impartial policy of Elizabeth might have induced the Christians of different religious faiths to live in peace and mutual toleration, as they did in Germany before that country was blighted by the curse of Jesuitism. But taught by the Jesuits not to submit to equality merely, but to demand absolute and unqualified superiority and dominion by the entire suppression of Protestantism, the English Roman Catholics were encouraged to form leagues and combinations and conspiracies against the queen, Protestantism, and the Government.

Under these circumstances, Elizabeth could not have remained unresisting if she had desired. To have done so would have been a treasonable abandonment of the country of which she was the legitimate sovereign. Not only was she assailed in all her rights as queen, but the pope, adopting the views and opinions of the Jesuits, impudently attempted to justify resistance to her authority upon the ground that she was an illegitimate daughter of Henry VIII by Anne Boleyn, and therefore had no just right to exact obedience to her authority. He went further than this, and claimed jurisdiction over her conscience by commanding her to accept "the communion of the Roman Church," which, with queenly dignity, she refused. He required her to send ambassadors to the Council of Trent, and this she also declined to do. When she imprisoned Mary Queen of Scots, he usurped jurisdiction over the case, although Mary was an English subject, and undertook to procure her release, for the reason only that she preferred Romanism to Protestantism. He sought the aid of the kings of France and Spain to make war upon England in the name of religion, to release Mary, dethrone Elizabeth, and seize upon her crown. Failing in all these things, and being baffled by Elizabeth, he caused a prosecution to be instituted at Rome to try "in the papal court" her title to the crown—a sham and farce as ineffective as it was ridiculous and discreditable. It is difficult to imagine a more presumptuous and impotent proceeding; but it is instructive as showing the pretensions of the popes of that period.

In the papal indictment Elizabeth was accused, among other things, of rejecting the ancient and supporting the new worship; of having "received the sacrament after the manner of heretics;" of having "chosen known heretics for the lords of her council;" and of having "imposed an oath derogating from the rights of the Holy See." The queen, of course, did not appear; but, nevertheless, she was held to be in default, and the trial was conducted in the papal form. Twelve English Roman Catholics, who are represented as "exiles for their religion," were examined as witnesses, and, after their evidence was heard and considered, "the judges pronounced their opinion that she had incurred the canonical penalties of heresy." The major one of these, which included all the minors, was the forfeiture of her crown; that is, her actual dethronement. It is to be supposed that, in the decree of the Roman Curia, all this was recorded in solemn form. But this decree, like those of other courts, did not execute itself. Therefore, the pope provided for its execution by issuing his pontifical bull, with all necessary gravity and composure, whereby he pronounced Elizabeth guilty of heresy, deprived of her "pretended" right to the crown of England, and absolved her subjects from all allegiance to her.[78]

Notwithstanding the long period intervening between those and the present times, we are not relieved from the obligation and necessity of understanding fully upon what pretense of authority Pius V assumed the prerogative right to pluck from the head of the English queen a crown placed there with practical, if not absolute, unanimity by the English people. It is not enough to say that these things occurred in another age and under circumstances peculiar to that age. This may sufficiently explain the conduct of individuals, and the character and structure of governments, all of which have ever been, and will continue to be, liable to change. But the laws of God, founded in divine wisdom, are not subject to these changes. The creative power of the Deity alone can change them. It is the special boast of the papists and the Jesuits that the system of laws which governs the papacy has the stamp of Divine approval upon it, and that, therefore, it has always been, and still remains, the same—"Semper eadem," is their motto. Hence it is important to us to know the nature and extent of the spiritual powers asserted by Pius V over the English Government and people, in order to ascertain whether, if a parallel case existed to-day, or may exist hereafter, the same papal powers may not be again invoked. The question which most concerns us is not whether they may or may not be asserted, but whether or no they have been embodied in the Canon law of the Roman Church, and have been thereby stamped with the character of perpetuity. No special pleading, however adroit, can make the issue otherwise.

The question tried and decided at Rome by the Papal Curia, in so far as it involved the right to the English crown, was exclusively political, and the pope could not rightfully change its character by assuming that it was brought within his spiritual jurisdiction by virtue of the universality of his spiritual powers. It was an English and not a Roman question. By the existing laws of England, Elizabeth was the rightful and hereditary heir to the throne, and had possession of the crown. It had been so decided by the Parliament, and ratified by the people with a unanimity almost unknown in those times. She was queen, not only de facto, but de jure. By what mode of reasoning or by what perversion of language could the pope take to himself jurisdiction over such a question? England was governed by laws, and whether they appear to us now to have been right or wrong, they were her own laws, enacted by her rightful authorities. They were exclusively political laws, provided for her own Government and people. The pope was the spiritual head of the Church at Rome, with a recognized jurisdiction over the spiritual welfare of those who regarded themselves as within that jurisdiction. By the methods of reasoning then adopted by the English nation, and now familiar to all intelligent American minds, all who chose to remain within that spiritual jurisdiction had the perfect right to do so; all who did not, had an equal right to withdraw from it. Rights of this character concern individuals, not nations, except as their populations shall decide, in which case they may submit or not to this jurisdiction at their pleasure. The English nation, by its domestic laws, had established a system of government suitable for itself, and had placed its crown upon Elizabeth's head. To say that the pope had the divine right, as the spiritual head of the Church at Rome, to set this National Government aside, and substitute for it another dictated by himself, and after the papal model, means this, and only this: that his spiritual power includes political and temporal power over all nations, to the extent of requiring them to adopt whatsoever form of religious faith the popes shall prescribe, to the absolute exclusion of all other forms. And it allows him, moreover, to employ for that purpose, against every domestic law to the contrary, all the papal machinery of coercion. The decree pronounced at Rome against Elizabeth affirms, in effect, that such is the Canon law; that is, the law of the Church. Have the provisions of that law been authoritatively changed or abrogated since the time of Pius V and Elizabeth? It may be necessary to find an answer to this question when we come to see, as we shall, that, at Jesuit dictation, it has been authoritatively announced that the time has come, or is rapidly approaching, when the Canon law of the Roman Church shall be introduced into the United States, to supersede such of our laws, National and State, as are in conflict with it. For the present, we must not pass by too rapidly the conflict between the pope and Elizabeth—to the principles involved in which enough consideration is not generally given—in order that we may comprehend fully what it meant, and how, in the end, it turned the nations upon their progressive courses, and brought them where they now are. In all history there are few more instructive lessons.

In carrying on the war against Elizabeth, the Jesuits did not forget the work of educating young Englishmen so as to make them believe that treason was one of the highest virtues when dictated by what they chose to consider the interests of religion; that is, of the papacy or of their society, just as we have seen they did in Germany. Among other seminaries of learning, they had one at Rheims, in France, established by the Cardinal of Lorraine, one of the most vindictive persecutors of the Huguenots. They had another at Douay, also in France. From these, colonies of Jesuits were sent to England every year, instructed and trained to subvert the English Government, and particularly to vilify and calumniate Elizabeth by accusing her of leading a "licentious and voluptuous private life." It is not easy to understand what force was intended to be given to this accusation, as an argument against her right to the crown, in view of the fact that a life tenfold more licentious and voluptuous than that falsely charged against Elizabeth did not invalidate the right of Pope Alexander VI to the papal crown and the headship of the Church at Rome. Nevertheless, the Jesuits availed themselves of it, without regard either to its truthfulness or their own consistency. They were educated to this peculiar kind of work, and it was considered their duty to educate others in the same way, leaving the consequences to take care of themselves. Hume gives this account of these Jesuit emissaries to England: "They infused into all their votaries an extreme hatred against the queen, whom they treated as a usurper, a schismatic, a heretic, a persecutor of the orthodox, and one solemnly and publicly anathematized by the holy father. Sedition, rebellion, sometimes assassination, were the expedients by which they intended to effect their purposes against her,"[79] pretending to find in the existing state of things in England justification for all this, even for the assassination of the queen.

Two Jesuit leaders—Campion and Parson—were sent from Rome to give direction to the movements of the conspirators already there. In order more effectually to encourage treason and sedition, they "pretended to be Protestants," not being ashamed of this false profession, because the obligation to practice deception when necessary was instilled into their minds by Jesuit training, and, on that account, created no compunctions of conscience. When Parson reached Dover, the better to practice his disguise, he wore the uniform of an English army officer, and pretended to be such. In this way he deceived the inspecting officer, and arranged with him for the safe passage of Campion, whom he represented as a fellow officer, who would follow in a few days. It may thus be seen how easy it is to be "all things to all men," when those who desire to become so have quieted their consciences with the belief that falsehood and deception may be rightfully employed in promoting "the greater glory of God." Howsoever incomprehensible may be the casuistry by which the mind can be brought to this belief, it is perfectly plain to a Jesuit, and is doubtless explained in their schools.

It is exceedingly difficult to separate the true from the false in the history of the times here referred to. The passions of the rival parties became so intense as seemingly to render agreement between them impossible, either with regard to facts or conclusions. It may not even be safe to assume that the truth lies midway between the extremes. But there is always, in the influences and effects produced by any given period of time, that which explains the motives and purposes of the chief actors. By careful investigation of these, we acquire a knowledge of the philosophy of history. Conducting our investigations in this spirit, we can not fail to conclude that the interference with the domestic and internal affairs of England by an alien and foreign power, was a flagrant act of usurpation, unless the spiritual authority of the pope gave him rightful jurisdiction over temporal and political questions in that country. And if he did rightfully possess this jurisdiction in 1570, when Pius V fulminated his pontifical bull against Elizabeth, and derived it from the divine law, we, of the present age, and especially in the United States, can not refrain from inquiring whether, from the Jesuit standpoint, Leo XIII does not possess the same jurisdiction derived from the same law? Without pressing this inquiry here, however, it is deemed more essential to ascertain still more minutely how far the Jesuits were responsible for sowing the seeds of discord and civil war in England, when otherwise Protestants and Roman Catholics might, at the Elizabethan period, have lived and associated harmoniously together, as they did in Germany before the Jesuits appeared there. Many intelligent readers of history fail to give due consideration to the events of this important period.

We have seen—upon the authority of Lingard, a papal historian—that Elizabeth was, at the beginning of her reign, desirous of holding an equal balance between the rival bodies of Christians. Her mind was not fully made up with regard to her own faith, although it is probable she was inclined to Protestantism. There were reasons for this, some of which may have been controlling with a masculine mind like hers. The relations between her father, Henry VIII, and the papacy must have created impressions not favorable to the pope as a sharer in her governing power over the English people. And the reign of her sister Mary must have tended to strengthen, rather than remove, these impressions. She could not have failed to know that Mary's marriage to Philip II of Spain had brought with it to England a series of calamities, the remembrance of which must have made her not only sorrowful, but indignant. If Mary's natural inclination had been kindly and her heart benevolent, it must have been apparent to Elizabeth that these good qualities had been exchanged for others of the very opposite character, which had incited her to prosecute her Protestant subjects in the spirit of intense religious bigotry, and as if God were acceptably served by shedding blood. And when, upon coming to the throne as the immediate successor of Mary, she found herself confronted by the terrible condition into which England had been thrown—with every evil passion aroused, and little ground for hope of the future—nothing was more natural than the belief that this state of things had been produced, mainly if not entirely, by the unfortunate marriage of Mary with Philip II, who possessed such a combination of bad qualities as left room for scarcely a single good one. Sullen, morose, and selfish, Philip separated himself from everything in life calculated to encourage good or benevolent emotions, and gave free play to that bad ambition which led him to desolate the Netherlands by cruelties as unparalleled as they were atrocious. He had no affection for Mary, being incapable of any such emotion. His marriage with her was a matter of policy alone—one of those political unions which, in the course of time, have produced evils to all the Governments of Europe. He had inherited religious fanaticism from his father, Charles V, but without any of the better qualities of the latter; and gave such excessive indulgence to his hatred of Protestants that nothing rejoiced him so much as to know that the dungeons of the Inquisition were crowded with them, and that none of them escaped the rack, the thumb-screw, and the flames. The best people in England—Roman Catholics as well as Protestants—had feared, when this ill-fated marriage was proposed, that the bloody scenes so often witnessed on the Continent would be repeated there, and for that reason opposed it. But State policy prevailed, and the popular will was of no avail. England, thus united with Spain, became subject to the influence of Philip, who employed it over Mary, to make her, like himself, the obedient instrument of papal outrages. English persecution hitherto had one distinguishing characteristic, in this, that Henry VIII had visited his vengeance upon both Protestants and Roman Catholics, who were bound alike to the stake and burned to death because of resistance to his royal power and assumed right, in imitation of the pope, to hold the consciences of individuals in subjugation. Elizabeth knew all this. Her strong and sagacious mind was penetrating enough to foresee that, unless this disheartening course of events could be in some way changed, England would remain where Mary had left her—a mere appendage to the papacy—and thereby reduced to a condition of inferiority among the nations from which she might never recover.

When Philip proposed to marry Elizabeth—for whom he had no more affection than he had for her sister—she was brought to realize, if she had not already done so, that the future destiny of England was mainly in her hands. From motives of policy she took time to deliberate before accepting or rejecting this proposition of marriage by Philip. Whilst holding it under advisement, she suggested that it would violate the law of the Church, inasmuch as their relationship brought them within the prohibited degrees. But when Philip proposed that he would obtain a dispensation from the pope, she saw at once that it was a well-matured scheme to bring her to acknowledge the jurisdiction of the pope over English affairs of State, and consequently declined Philip's proposal. And thus was broken the alliance between the two crowns of England and Spain, and Elizabeth was left to protect herself against foreign interference in taking care of the internal affairs of her own country. The occasion demanded that she should assert herself by taking the affairs of the nation in her own hands, and the result has long since proved how well and conspicuously she did so.

Elizabeth was wise. Her bitterest enemies concede this. Whilst she may have inclined to Protestantism, she had not, at the beginning of her reign, acquired any positive dislike to the Roman Catholic religion. On the contrary, the Roman Catholic bishops and lords were disposed to regard her exhibition of tolerance as indicating that she would, at least, act with justice and impartiality towards them. Camden, the historian, says that, during Mary's reign, Elizabeth had intimated to Cardinal Pole that she had a disposition to prefer Roman Catholicism. Howsoever this may have been, she not only sometimes attended confession, but assisted at divine service after the manner of the Roman Church. Lingard says: "She continued to assist, and occasionally to communicate, at mass; she buried her sister with all the solemnities of the Catholic ritual; and she ordered a solemn dirge and a mass of requiem for the soul of the Emperor Charles V."[80] Influenced by these considerations, and probably by others of the same character, the House of Lords—composed entirely of Roman Catholics—declared in her favor, and the Commons having readily and unanimously approved their decision, she was proclaimed queen "with the acclamations of the people." Thus her right to the crown was settled by the highest authority in the kingdom. There was not a murmur of discontent. Some regretted the death of Mary, but there was a general desire that the barbarities practiced during her reign should cease. In that desire Elizabeth manifestly shared, as is well established by the fact, already stated, that she retained thirteen of Mary's counselors, and appointed only eight Protestants. She could have meant nothing else by this than to express the desire that religious persecution should cease, and that the two religious parties should in the future live in peace with each other, and thus enable the country to develop into greatness.

The first attack upon her right to the crown was made by Henry II of France, and not by her Roman Catholic subjects. Henry was thoroughly indoctrinated with the persecuting spirit which prevailed in France among the defenders of the papacy, and was dominated over by the Guises, one of whom was the Cardinal of Lorraine, and patron of the Jesuits. His persecution of the Reformers has been previously mentioned. In assailing the title of Elizabeth, Henry II had undoubtedly several objects in view, the chief of which were to humiliate England and probably establish French sovereignty over it, to continue the policy of Mary in persecuting the Protestants, and to place the crown of Elizabeth upon the head of Mary Queen of Scots. Whether one or all these motives influenced him, he solicited the aid of the pope, and made himself a party to the conspiracy against the peace of England by endeavoring to obtain a papal decree that Elizabeth was a bastard, and therefore not lawfully queen. Consequently, when, after her rejection of Philip's proposal of marriage, she saw the Roman Catholic powers, with the pope at their head, conspiring against her, she resolved that her own safety and that of England required her to dismiss the Roman Catholic members of her council, declare her purpose to protect and encourage the Reformed religion, and submit the matter to the people by means of a Parliament to be assembled for that purpose. This precautionary measure was most commendable, inasmuch as it proposed to submit to Parliament the question whether or no the two religions were equally entitled to legal protection. In order that her purposes might be fully understood, she issued a proclamation allowing divine service to be performed in the English tongue, and the Scriptures to be read by the laity—a privilege hitherto denied them. In order to allay all undue excitement, she expressly prohibited religious "controversy by preaching," until the meeting of Parliament. When the new Parliament did assemble, it was addressed in her behalf by the Keeper of the Great Seal, who announced to the representatives of the people that the queen had commanded him to exhort them "to take a mean between the two extremes of superstition and irreligion, which might reunite the partisans of both the one and the other religion in the same public worship."[81]

The conciliatory course of Elizabeth, as indicated by her proclamation and this address to Parliament, exhibited a degree of liberality to which the English people had been unaccustomed during the reign of Mary. It is a reasonable supposition that, if her suggestions had been accepted in the spirit in which they were offered, England would have bounded forward far more rapidly than she did to the condition she subsequently reached through severe and protracted trials. The times were suited to the introduction of compromising measures of peaceful policy. The people were tired of commotion, persecution, and bloodshed on account of religious differences, and would readily have acquiesced in any amicable plan of adjustment. But, unfortunately for England, and the world as well, neither the interests nor the wishes of the people were of sufficient avail to bring quiet to the country. The course of subsequent events may be easily traced. The papal machinery of Church government had been so constructed at Rome that, in order to keep the people in subjection, it had deposited unlimited powers in the hands of the prelates. The Roman Catholic bishops of England, as well as elsewhere, had been accustomed to rule with a rod of iron, and the time had not arrived when they could be reconciled to any diminution of their ecclesiastical authority. They became "alarmed," says Lingard, at the position taken by Elizabeth. They undoubtedly viewed it only in its relation to themselves and the interests of the Church at Rome—or, rather, of the papacy—without bestowing a moment's thought upon the general welfare of England. They regarded conciliation as a form of heresy not to be tolerated. What they desired was the extirpation of Protestantism and the unity of the Roman Church, assured by the establishment of its religion to the exclusion of any dissenting faith. Accordingly, they assembled themselves together to consult "whether they could in conscience officiate at the coronation" of a queen who proposed so to adjust religious differences as to put an end to all interference with the right of individuals to freedom of conscience. Upon various pretexts they decided not to attend, or to take part in, the ceremony of coronation. Consequently, the ceremony was performed with the attendance of only a single bishop, and was made "to conform to all the rites of the Catholic pontifical." This decision and conduct of the bishops "created considerable embarrassment," and might have produced serious consequences but for the withdrawal of this single bishop from his associates.[82]

The non-attendance of the Roman Catholic bishops upon the coronation of Elizabeth was a signal for opening the old strife. It was unquestionably intended upon their part to array their followers in opposition to the conciliatory measures of the queen; and it did not take long, in those days, to be so understood upon both sides. The consequence was that the public excitement was imparted to Parliament, and led to the repeal of several of the statutes of Mary, and the substitution for them of others whereby the Reformed religion was made national, and penalties prescribed for refusing so to recognize it. This, of course, led to severe measures and to persecution, in imitation of the example set during the reign of Mary, and produced the unfortunate condition of affairs with which all readers of English history are familiar. Upon which side, during the long controversy that followed, the responsibility rested most heavily, is not easily decided. Wrongs were undoubtedly inflicted by both sides. But whatsoever these were, they grew out of the spirit of that age, and had their origin, as we have seen, in the influences created by the papacy, aided by Jesuit intrigues. The fact, however, which most nearly concerns our present inquiries is what has just been stated, that the first step taken in the direction towards the renewal of religious agitation was the organized opposition of the bishops to Elizabeth, formed for the purpose of defeating the measures of pacification she had proposed to Parliament. It is impossible not to have known that the defeat of those measures by the combined opposition of the bishops would lead to a revival of the hatreds which had been encouraged under Mary, and, therefore, to oppose them was to invite that revival for which, consequently, these bishops were responsible.

Whether the Protestants would have accepted or rejected the proposition of Elizabeth can not now be decided with positive certainty; all the probabilities indicate that they would have accepted them. One thing, however, is certain, they were rejected by the Roman Catholics under the lead of their bishops. This, of course, revived the old animosities, but with increased violence. Throughout all the departments of society passion became greatly intensified. Nevertheless, the questions involved were English questions alone. They were primarily and chiefly political, although having politico-religious aspects. But they involved only the internal and domestic condition of England. No alien or foreign power had the right, by international or other law, or consistently with what is now universal usage among civilized nations, to interfere with them. But we have seen that they were interfered with, not only by a direct attempt to make the policy of the country conform to that dictated by a foreign power, but in the threatening form of a conspiracy between the king of France and the pope, to impeach the title of Elizabeth upon the ground that she was a bastard, to which she could not have submitted without disgrace. We have also seen how this conspiracy moved stealthily forward, step by step, until she was tried at Rome by an alien tribunal, pronounced a usurper by a decree which declared her crown to have been forfeited and her subjects released from their natural and lawful allegiance. And in order that her escape from the wrath and vengeance of the pope should become impossible, swarms of incendiary Jesuits were turned loose upon the country, to fan the flames of discord, stir up rebellion and civil war, and carry into execution the judgment and sentence of the papal court at Rome. If Elizabeth erred in defending herself and her kingdom against this formidable and dangerous combination, her error was upon the side of patriotism; and she is scarcely censurable for it, inasmuch as the life of the nation, and probably her own life, were the stake for which her enemies were playing. And whether it be true or not, that the Jesuits attempted her assassination—as some historians allege—it must be accepted in her praise that, although a woman, she taught her assailants that she was "every inch a queen," and that England under her reign became enabled to convince all these rival powers that she was competent to conduct her own affairs and take care of herself—facts sufficiently demonstrated by her advanced position among the modern progressive nations.

Every American mind should be duly impressed by this portion of English history, showing, as it does, how fierce and protracted was the struggle which led, in the end, to popular government, and the civil and religious freedom which it alone has guaranteed. Elizabeth was undoubtedly a great queen—great in the qualities of her intellect, in the steadfastness of her purposes, in that manly courage which "mounteth with occasion." When she became queen, the people of England, both Protestants and Roman Catholics, were tired of religious persecution, and anxious to put an end to it. She favored and recommended to Parliament measures of pacification, in the spirit of liberality and toleration. If, obeying the dictates of her own conscience, she preferred Protestantism to Roman Catholicism, she had such respect for the conscientious convictions of others as to desire that all her subjects should be secured in the right to accept either the one or the other at their own discretion. By the avowal of these and other kindred purposes, she incurred the opposition of the Roman Catholic bishops, who, in concert with foreign powers, and backed by the pope and his Jesuit militia, brought on a civil war which afflicted England with a long train of evils and calamities. Under the influence of her liberalism, the bulk of the population became tolerant of each other, and, by the great unanimity with which they accepted her as queen, indicated the desire that the protection of the Government should be given to both forms of worship. And it may be accepted as a fair inference from what then transpired, that she was defeated in her plan of conciliation only by the animosities engendered by the English bishops, the pope, and the Jesuits. Her defeat, however, was not final; and having survived the machinations of all her enemies, even the excommunication and anathemas of the pope, together with the stealthy plottings of the Jesuits, the pages which record the events of her reign constitute some of the brightest in English history. They teach a philosophy that will not be forgotten so long as free popular institutions shall continue to exist.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER IX.

JESUIT INFLUENCE IN INDIA.

The reader who shall intelligently trace the history of the Jesuit through their conspiracies against the peace of Europe, and especially their tireless efforts to eradicate everything that tended to freedom of conscience and the public enlightenment, will not wonder that, during the last century, it became necessary to the interests of society and the Church that one of the foremost of the popes should suppress and entirely abolish the order. And as that event was brought about, not alone on account of the odium they incurred by intermeddling with the temporal affairs of States, but because they pursued practices which shocked the whole Christian world, their society can not be thoroughly understood without becoming familiar with the history of their missionary enterprises. As they prosecuted these among ignorant and illiterate multitudes of peoples, where no watchful eye could observe them, they have mainly become their own historians; yet there is enough to be discovered to show that, at every stage of their development, they have been true to the injunction of their founder, to be "all things to all men."

Loyola considered his society superior to the ancient monastic orders. We have seen that he looked upon the latter as corrupted, and no longer worthy to be intrusted with the work of Christian missions, on which account he claimed for his society superior jurisdiction in the missionary field. There, among populations unable to detect imposture, his followers had their own way, made their own history, and executed their own purposes, without intelligent popular inspection. Consequently, when he realized the odium his society had encountered among European peoples, he considered it necessary to remove this by setting up for it exaggerated claims of merit in the missionary work. By this means he evidently hoped to be able to appeal successfully to the pope and the Church to protect the Jesuits from the rising indignation of such Christians as had resisted their introduction into France. Hence it became a fixed Jesuit habit, and yet is, to shield the society under pretense that it is a necessary part of the Church machinery, and that the Church can not exist without it. And out of that same necessity must have grown that multitude of miracles, said to have been performed in remote and unfrequented parts of the world, and in the manufacture of which the Jesuits have acquired the reputation of being thorough adepts. It was not a difficult matter in those days to impose upon superstitious people by the claim of miraculous powers. None understood this better than the Jesuits.

The first important mission of the Jesuits was to the East Indies, in charge of Francis Xavier, one of the most impressible of Loyola's converts. This mission is of chief importance, inasmuch as it was initiatory, and conspicuously displays the operations of the society whilst under the immediate personal charge of its founder. It indicates the methods of the Jesuit missionary system, and how they were made to conform to the main purpose of acquiring dominion, with but little regard to the means employed. There are very few of the present age who do not regard many of the recorded events as apocryphal—notwithstanding, the overcredulous have accepted them as true for many centuries. They are only important now because we learn from them the prominent characteristics of the Jesuits, and the real foundation of the reputation to which they so boastingly lay claim.

The Portuguese had, some years before, acquired the occupancy of territory in India, with a commercial capital and an episcopal see at Goa. By means of these influences a number of the natives had professed Christianity, and, along with all the Portuguese Christians, paid spiritual allegiance to the pope. But the condition of society was by no means favorable to the practice of the Christian virtues. On the contrary, it had become greatly demoralized, rivaling Rome and the principal cities of Europe in that respect. In "The Lives of the Saints"—a work of standard ecclesiastical authority in the Roman Church—the author represents "revenge, ambition, avarice, usury, and debauchery," as extensively prevailing at Goa. According to him, the Indians who had professed conversion were so influenced by the example of the Portuguese that they had "relapsed into their ancient manners and superstitions." Even those who professed to be Christians "lived in direct opposition to the gospel which they professed, and by their manners alienated the infidels from the faith."[83]

Those familiar with the condition of ecclesiastical affairs in Europe at that time, and especially with the immorality prevailing at Rome, will not be surprised at this description of things at so remote a place as the Portuguese possessions in India. Of course, such tendency to demoralization could not long exist anywhere without producing absolute social degradation. To prevent this, the king of Portugal made an attempt to reform these abuses, influenced probably by the twofold purpose of desiring to spread Christianity and to improve the commercial interests of his subjects. Xavier, therefore, was sent to India under his auspices, and was better fitted for that purpose than Loyola himself would have been, because he was less ambitious, less selfish, and more conscientious. Whilst he possessed some commendable traits of character and wonderful energy, much that has been written about him by papal and Jesuit authors can only be considered as imaginary, and as deserving no permanent place in history. The character assigned to him is perfectly angelic, with scarcely any mixture of humanity; and, like Loyola, he is represented as having performed a vast number of miracles, even to the extent of restoring the dead to life! With regard to these, he is said to have resembled Loyola in another respect—in that he, too, performed more miracles than Christ! It is not difficult to perceive the object of all this, when it is considered that the pretenses were set up at a time when an unenlightened public were easily misled by them. They, like the innumerable myths of the Middle Ages, answered the ends of their inventors, and are no further useful now than as they serve to show, not only the character of the society which required them to be accepted as absolutely true, but that of those who invented and employed them to mislead the credulous and unsuspecting multitude. The entire account of Xavier's mission is so mixed up with these idle tales that the time spent in their perusal would be wasted, but for the reason that they bring prominently before us some of the distinguishing characteristics of the Jesuits, under the tuition and during the lives of the founder of their society and his most confidential colleague.

When he reached Goa, Xavier found the Portuguese Christians in the demoralized condition already mentioned. The order of Franciscans had there an established monastery, which, as we may suppose, needed to be reformed, inasmuch as they do not seem to have been excepted from other professing Christians in the general charge of immorality. We do not learn from Jesuit authors how far this order was in fact reformed, since the eulogists of Xavier consider it to have been his greatest glory that he brought vast multitudes of the natives into the Christian fold, and thereby established Jesuit authority and dominion in India in place of that which the Church, under the patronage of the pope and by means of the long-established religious orders, had already acquired there. This was manifestly the view which Xavier himself took of his mission, as is plainly shown by his conduct. Instead of co-operating with the established Church authorities and with the monks at Goa, he entered upon an independent course of his own, whereby he evidently intended to indicate the superiority of his Jesuit methods. He roamed the streets with a bell in his hand, and when the ringing attracted a crowd of curious lookers-on, he invited them "to send their children and slaves to catechism," so as to learn the truths of Christianity from him. When the children gathered around him, prompted alone by curiosity, he taught them "the Creed and practices of devotion," which, of course, could have been nothing more than the simplest form. After following this method for some time, he engaged in public preaching, and it is gravely said that "in half a year" he accomplished the "reformation of the whole city of Goa," which must have included the native along with the Portuguese population. The whole story is told after the manner of the romance-writers.