CHAPTER V.

Spirit Of Father Ignatius At This Time.

So much has to be said about the exterior actions of Father Ignatius, that one is apt, in reading them, to forget the spirit in which they were done. It is true that it is by the nature of the actions themselves a judgment can be formed of what that spirit must have been, but then they are liable to a false construction.

He was chiefly remarkable for his spirit of poverty. It was not alone that he loved poverty, and tried to observe his vow, but he refined this observance to an exquisite degree, by trying to treat himself and get others to treat him like a mean beggar. He wished to feel poverty, and sought hardships in things that were easy enough, for that end. When he went by train he always took a third-class ticket, and was most ingenious in his defence of this proceeding. If some one objected to him that the third-class carriages generally contained rough, low, ill-bred, and coarsely-spoken fellows, he gently answered: "Yes; you may find a thick sprinkling of blackguards there." "Whether or no," he would say again, "the third class is the poor man's class, and it ought to be mine." One time he was expected to preach a grand sermon in some town or other; the lord of the manor, a Catholic, ordered his carriage, with livery servants, and came himself to bring him in state to the priest's house. He waited for the good father on the platform, looking at the doors of the different first-class carriages, and condescending to give a glance or two towards the second. What was his surprise when Father Ignatius, habit and sandals and a', got out of a third. "My dear Father Ignatius," he half indignantly exclaimed, "why do _you_ travel by {381} third class?" "Well," replied Father Ignatius, "because there isn't a fourth."

This idea that he was a poor man and ought to live like one he carried out in everything. He might be generally seen with a large blue bag. This bag was not of a respectable make or durable material; no, it was made of some kind of drogget, like an ordinary sack, and had a thick clumsy tape that gathered in the mouth of it, and closed it with a big knot. When he had a long journey before him he brought a pair of these, and tying them together put the knot upon his shoulder, and would trudge off six or seven miles with one dangling in front and another behind. If somebody offered him a seat in a car or wagon, he gladly accepted it; if not, he did without it. On this same principle he seldom refused a meal when out; and if he wanted something to eat, he generally went and begged for it at the first house he came to. At home he usually washed and mended his underclothing and stockings (the stockings, by the way, would have blistered the hardest foot after his mending), and whilst he was Superior he would never allow anyone to do a menial service for him. He had a great dread of the slightest attempt at over-nicety in a priest's dress; it was anguish to him to see a priest, especially a religious, with kid gloves, neat shoes, or a fashionable hat. His own appearance might be put down as one degree short of slovenliness. Be it remembered that this was not his natural bent. We are told by those who knew him when a young man, that he would walk a dozen streets in London, and enter every hosier's shop, to find articles that would suit his taste in style and fitting; it had been almost impossible to please him in this respect; whereas, when a religious, he would as soon wear a cast-off tartan as anything else, if it did not tend to bring a kind of disrespect upon his order. He wore for several years an old mantle belonging to a religious who died, and would never leave it off as long as there was room for another patch upon it, unless the Provincial gave him strict orders to do so.

He was scrupulously exact in fulfilling the rules and regulations of the Congregation, so much so that even in {382} those cases in which others would consider themselves dispensed, he would go through everything. It is our rule to chant the entire of the Divine Office in choir; the rector is supposed to give a homily or two, called _examens_, every week to the religious. When there is not a sufficient number to chant, of course no law human or divine would require us to do so; and if there be not a congregation, one is not expected, in the ordinary course of things, to preach to empty benches. Father Ignatius was as keenly aware of the common-sense drift of this kind of reasoning as any one could be, but he so overcame the promptings of human considerations, that a literal observance, in the face of such plain exceptions, seemed his ordinary way of acting. There are two instances in point that occurred about the year 1849. The two priests who formed the choir of the community at The Hyde remained in bed one night, either from illness or late attendance at sick-calls, and Father Ignatius was the only priest present. He chanted the whole of matins and lauds by himself, and went through it as formally as if there were twenty religious in choir. Another day the priests were out, and he and two lay brothers only remained at home; he preached them the _examen_ just the same as if the choir was full. Another time the alarum that used to go off at one o'clock, at that time for matins, missed. Father Ignatius awoke at three o'clock, and he immediately sprung the rattle and assembled the religious for matins. At half-past four the night work in choir was over: half-past five was then the hour of rising for prime. Father Ignatius kept them all in choir until the time, and had the bells rung, and everything else in due order. This does not argue a kind of unreasoning observance in him, out of time and out of place. On the contrary, he well knew that it was inconvenient, but he thought God would be more glorified by it than by an exemption from what was prescribed. One anecdote he used to relate to us convinced us of that. He often related with particular tact how once in Aston Hall, Father Dominic did not hear the bell for matins. He awoke at half-past two; everything was still. He went and sounded the rattle with a vengeance, {383} as if every sound was meant to say, "I'll give a good penance to the brother that forgot to put up the alarum." When he had done sounding he dropped the instrument at the choir door, and went in with a taper to light the lamps. What was his mortification to find all the religious just concluding their meditation with a smothered laugh at their Superior.

Two other tokens of his spirit at this time must be illustrated together. He was a very cool reasoner; it might almost be said that he scarcely ever grew hot in dispute, and always gave his adversary's arguments due consideration. At the same time he was far from being of a sceptical cast of mind. If an argument approved itself to him, no matter how trifling it might be intrinsically, he felt bound to admit it, and adopt it, if practical, unless he could refute it completely. Again, he had a thorough disregard of human respect. "What will people say?" or "How will it look?" never entered into the motives of his actions; and if it did, he would consider himself bound to go straight and defy them. What did he care about the opinion of the world? It was, he knew, seldom led by sound reason, and therefore beneath his consideration.

He found that the Oratorians began to go about in their _soutanes_; he had a talk with Father Faber about it, and forthwith resolved to go about in his habit. Cardinal Wiseman approved of it, if done with prudence, and Father Ignatius began at once. In a letter to Mr. Monteith he says:--"I court the honour of following the Oratorians close in this" (confining ourselves to the work of our vocation), as I have done likewise in beginning to wear the habit." He used to relate an amusing adventure he once had in a train with his habit on. At a certain station a middle-aged gentleman, with his little daughter, were getting into the carriage which Father Ignatius had to himself, as every one shunned his monkish company. The little girl got afraid, and would not enter. The gentleman bravely ventured in, to set an example to his child, but all to no avail,--the girl was still afraid. At last the man said out loud, "Come on, child; the gentleman won't bite!" meaning Father Ignatius. {384} The child summed up courage when she heard the paternal assurance of safety to her skin, and got to a seat. She bundled herself up in the corner diagonally opposite the monk, tried to appear as near the invisible as she could, and stared wildly on the strange spectacle for a long time. Her father got into conversation with Father Ignatius, began deciphering the badge by means of all the Greek and Latin he could bring to his assistance, and became quite interested in the genial conversation of the good priest. When the child heard her father laugh, she began to edge up near the stranger, and, before they separated, father and child were convinced that monks were not such frightful things as they appeared at first sight. We shall have other adventures to relate about his habit further on.

Another peculiar characteristic of his spirit was his great devotion to the Blessed Virgin. He set more value on a Hail Mary than any conceivable form of prayer. He went so far in this, that he had to be reasoned out of its excess afterwards by one of his companions. He did everything by Hail Marys; he would convert England by Hail Marys; and in the year 1850 he obtained a plenary indulgence for the three Hail Marys for the conversion of England. When any one asked him to pray for them, he promised a Hail Mary. This was very praiseworthy in him, as we know how hard it is even for some to go heart and soul into the Catholic instinct of devotion to the Mother of God. They must have their qualifications, and their terms, and their conditions, as if, forsooth, she ought to be obliged to them for acknowledging her privileges at all. The worst of it is, that Catholics often tone down their books of devotion and expressions to suit the morbid tastes of ultra-Protestants, or the fastidiousness of some whitewashed Puseyite. It may be thought prudent to do so; but it is disgraceful, mean, and dishonourable, to say the least of it.

These are the most prominent outlines in Father Ignatius's spirit at the time we are writing about, and if we add to them a great devotion to the sacrifice of the mass, we shall have his soul in a fair way before us. He never missed celebrating, if he possibly could; and often he arrived at {385}

11 o'clock in the day at one of our houses, after travelling all night, and would eat nothing until he had first said mass. A month before he died he travelled all night from Glasgow to London, and said mass in Highgate at 11 o'clock. He was jaded, weak in health, but he would not lose one sacrifice: it was of too great a value, and he had received too many favours through it, to omit it on light grounds. This was a life-long devotion of his, and it is the essential one for a priest of God.

From what has been said, we can form a fair estimate of his character as a Passionist. One is so obvious that it requires no mention at all, and that was his zeal for the conversion and sanctification of souls. So far did this go, that he seemed led by it blindly and wholly. This was his weak, or, perhaps more properly, his strong point. Go with him in that, and you covered a multitude of sins.

Another essential was his "thanking God for everything." This he carried so far that he became perfectly insensible to insults, mockeries, and injuries, and yet he felt them keenly. At one time he used to pass late at night by a lonesome lane that led to our last house at The Hyde. He heard rumours of some evil-disposed wretches having intended to shoot him. One night he heard a rustling in the hedge as he was walking on, and the thought struck him that perhaps an assassin was lying in ambush for him. The religious asked him what were his thoughts. "Well," said he, "I hoped that when the bullet struck me I would have time to say, _'thank God for that'_ before I died."

From this rough sketch of his spirit it will be seen that he had too little of the serpent, in the Gospel sense, to make a good Superior. He was too simple and confiding for that; he did not know how to suspect, and any one that knew how to get into his views could do what he pleased. At the same time, all reverenced him as a saint, and every day of his religious life increased the estimation in which he was held by his own brethren. This is the more valuable as it is the private life of most men which lowers them in the eyes of those who have the opportunity of observing them. Father Ignatius tried always to make the subject-matter of {386} his conversation as edifying as possible; it was withal so beautifully interspersed with amusing anecdotes, that it could not fail to interest all. He had a peculiar tact for relating stories, and a wonderful memory; he was unrivalled in his power of mimicry, and he enjoyed fun with the greatest relish. It was the opinion of every one who knew him intimately, that nothing came under his notice which he could not turn to pointing the argument of a sermon or furthering the glory of God. He christianized everything; and did so with such grace, that the love of what he remodelled was increased for its new aspect.

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