The Jesuits, 1534-1921. Thomas J. Campbell

had spent vast sums of money in purchasing rare manuscripts; he was sought for by all the universities; he drew immense crowds to his lectures, and wrote books about every conceivable subject, but at the same time with all his genius he was undoubtedly insane. So that when he went to Rome and told about his spiritual communications with the mythical Mère Jeanne, and how he proposed to unite the whole human race, by the power of the sword or the word, under the banner of the Pope and the King of France, who, he said, was a lineal descendant of the eldest son of Noe, the perspicacity of a Loyola was not needed to understand his mental condition. His rejection ought to have been a recommendation rather than a reproach.

      When established in their new house, the Jesuits received scholars and asked for affiliation to the university, but the request was peremptorily refused, for the alleged reason that they were neither secular priests nor friars, but a nondescript and novel organization whose purpose was mysterious and suspicious. Besides, they were all Spaniards – a genuine difficulty at a time when Charles V and Francis I were threatening to go to war with each other. It happened also that the Archbishop of Paris, du Bellay, was their avowed enemy; he denounced them as corrupters of youth, and expelled them from the little chapel of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, which a Benedictine abbot had put at their disposal. Finally, when the war seemed imminent, the foreigners were sent away, some to Lyons and some to Louvain. For a time, those who remained were shielded by the papal nuncio at Paris, but he was recalled. Then the Archbishop of Rheims and the Cardinal of Lorraine appeared as their protectors. They had even secured the grant of a charter for the college and were very hopeful of opening it, but, as the concession had to be passed on by the Parliament before it became effective, they were as badly off as ever. Besides this, their lack of friends had left the college without funds, for the teaching given in their house was gratuitous – a practice which formed the chief educational grievance alleged by the university. Evidently a staff of clever professors who taught for nothing constituted a menace to all other institutions. Conditions became so desperate that at one time there were only four pupils at Clermont. Nevertheless, with an amazing confidence in the future success of the Society in France, it was just at this moment that St. Ignatius established the French province, and sent the beloved Pasquier Brouet as superior.

      Brouet had already given proofs of his ability in dealing with difficulties; for with Salmerón he had faced the danger of death in Ireland, and when there was question of creating a Patriarch of Abyssinia or Ethiopia, another place of prospective martyrdom, he was the first choice, though Oviedo was ultimately selected, probably because of his nationality. Shortly after his arrival, a new college was attempted at Billom, but Father de la Goutte who was appointed rector was captured by the Turks and died on an island off the coast of Tunis. A substitute, however, was appointed, and in a few years the college had five hundred students on its roll. Applications were made also for establishments at Montarges, Périgueux and elsewhere. In 1560 the first friend of the Society in France, the Bishop of Clermont, died, leaving rich bequests in his will to the colleges at Paris and Billom, but they were disallowed by the courts because the Society was not an authorized corporation. For, in spite of the fact that not only the sanction of Henry II but also that of Francis II had been given, yet the university and the Archbishop of Paris had contrived by all sorts of devices to delay the complete official recognition of the establishment. In the long fight that ensued against this injustice, Father Cogordan, who was the procurator of the province, distinguished himself by his resourcefulness in facing and mastering the various situations.

      The opposition finally collapsed in a very dramatic fashion. Charles IX was on the throne, but the reins of government were in the hands of his mother, Catherine de' Medici, who, contrary to the express wish of the Sovereign Pontiff, had consented to the demands of the Huguenots for a general assembly, where the claims of the new religion might be presented to the representative Catholics of the kingdom. The Colloquy, as it was called, took place at Poissy in 1561. The experience of Germany in permitting such gatherings had shown very clearly that, instead of conducing to religious peace, they only widened the breach between Catholics and Protestants. For the calm statement of dogmatic differences was ignored by the appellants, and the sessions were purposely turned into a series of disorderly and virulent denunciations and recriminations.

      The Colloquy in this instance was very imposing. The queen mother, Charles IX and the whole court were present. There were five cardinals, forty bishops and a throng of learned divines from all parts of France. Cardinal de Tournon presided; Hôpital was the spokesman for the crown; while the King of Navarre and the Prince de Condé represented the Huguenot party. Among the Protestant ministers were Theodore Beza and Peter Martyr, the ex-friar. Eight days had gone by in useless squabbles when into the assembly came James Laínez, who was then General of the Society, and had been sent thither by the Pope to protest against the Colloquy. Beza had already been annihilated by the Cardinal of Lorraine, and Peter Martyr was speaking when Laínez entered. The great man who had held the Council of Trent enthralled by his leaning and eloquence listened for a while to his unworthy adversary and then arose. Addressing the queen, he said: "It may be unseemly for a foreigner to lift his voice in this presence, but as the Church is restricted to no nation, it cannot be out of place for me to give utterance to the thoughts that present themselves to my mind on this occasion. I will first advert to the danger of these assemblies and will especially address myself to what Friar Peter and his colleague have advanced."

      The use of the name "friar" publicly pilloried the apostate. He writhed under it, but he could not escape. It recurred again and again as the tactics of Beza and his associates were laid bare. Then, turning to the queen, Laínez said: "The first means to be taken to avoid the deceits of the enemy is for your Majesty to remember that it is not within the competency either of your Majesty or any other temporal prince to discuss and decide matters pertaining to the Faith. This belongs to the Sovereign Pontiff and the Councils of the Church. Much more so is this the case when, as at present, the General Council of Trent is in session. If these teachers of the new religion are sincerely seeking the truth, let them go there to find it." After adding his authority to the splendid reply already uttered by the Cardinal of Lorraine, Laínez said: "As Friar Peter has asked us for a confession of faith, I confess the Catholic Faith, for which I am ready to die; and I implore Your Majesties, both you, Madame, and your son, the Most Christian King, to safeguard your temporal kingdom if you wish to gain the Kingdom of Heaven. If on the contrary you care less for the fear and love of God than the fear and love of man, are you not running the risk of losing your earthly as well as your heavenly kingdom? I trust that this calamity will not fall upon you. I expect, on the contrary, that God in his goodness will grant you and your son the grace of perseverance in your faith, and will not permit this illustrious nobility now before me, and this most Christian kingdom, which has been such an example to the world, ever to abandon the Catholic Faith or be defiled by the pestilential touch of these new sects and new religions."

      This discourse was a particularly daring act, on the part of Laínez. According to a recent authority (Martin, Gallicanisme et la Réforme, 28, note 4), Du Ferrier, the government delegate at Trent, circulated a note which said among other things: "As for Pius IV we withdraw from his rule; whatever decisions he may have made we reject, spit back at him (respuimus) and despise. We scorn and renounce him as Vicar of Christ, Head of the Church and successor of Peter." Far from reprehending his ambassador for these furious words, Charles IX and, of course, Catherine praised the ambassador unreservedly. Catherine had busied herself previous to this in trying to persuade the different governments to have a council in which the Pope should have nothing to say, one whose object would be, not to define dogma or enforce discipline, but, to draw up a formula of reconciliation which would satisfy Protestants. Even the French bishops, though admitting that the Pope was a supreme power in the Church, denied that he had supreme power over it, and refused to acknowledge "his plenitude of power to feed, rule and govern the Universal Church." The separation of France from the Church was at that time openly advocated. Since such were the conditions in France at that time, it is clear that Catherine never expected an attack of the kind that Laínez treated her to. She burst into tears and withdrew from the Colloquy. There was never another public session. Crétineau-Joly says that Laínez told Condé: "The queen's tears are a bit of comedy;" but such an utterance from a man of the character of Laínez and in such surroundings, where the insult would have been immediately reported to the queen, is simply inconceivable. He could never have been guilty of such an unpardonable indiscretion.

      Meantime,