CHAPTER XVII.

Father Ignatius At Home.

The work of the little missions kept Father Ignatius very much away from the community. His visits at home were like meteor flashes, bright and beautiful, and always made us regret we could not enjoy his edifying company for a longer time. Those who are much away on the external duties of the Order find the rule a little severe when they return; to Father Ignatius it seemed a small heaven of refreshing satisfaction. His coming home was usually announced to the community a day or two before, and all were promising themselves rare treats from his presence amongst them. It was cheering to see the porter run in, beaming with joy, as he announced the glad tidings, "Father Ignatius is come." The exuberance of his own delight as he greeted, first one, and then another of his companions, added to our own joy. In fact, the day Father Ignatius came home almost became a holiday by custom. Those days were; and we feel inclined to tire our readers by expatiating on them, as if writing brought them back.

Whenever he arrived at one of our houses, and had a day or two to stay, it was usual for the younger religious, such as novices and students, to go to him, one by one, for conference. He liked this very much, and would write to higher Superiors for permission to turn off to Broadway, for instance, on his way to London, in order to make acquaintance with the young religious. His counsels had often a lasting effect; many who were inclined to leave the life they had chosen remained steadfast, after a conference with him. He did not give common-place solutions to difficulties, but he had some peculiar phrase, some quaint axiom, some droll {470} piece of spirituality, to apply to every little trouble that came before him. He was specially happy in his fund of anecdote, and could tell one, it was believed, on any subject that came before him. This extraordinary gift of conversational power made the _Conferences_ delightful. The novices, when they assembled in recreation, and gave their opinions on Father Ignatius, whom many had spoken to for the first time in their life, nearly all would conclude, "If there ever was a saint, he's one."

It was amusing to observe how they prepared themselves for forming their opinion. They all heard of his being a great saint, and some fancied he would eat nothing at all for one day, and might attempt a little vegetables on the next. One novice, in particular, had made up his mind to this, and, to his great surprise, he saw Father Ignatius eat an extra good breakfast; and, when about to settle into a rash judgment, he saw the old man preparing to walk seven miles to a railway station on the strength of his meal. Another novice thought such a saint would never laugh nor make anybody else laugh; to his agreeable disappointment, he found that Father Ignatius brought more cheerfulness into the recreation than had been there for some time.

In one thing Father Ignatius did not go against anticipation; he was most exact in the observance of our rules. He would be always the first in for the midnight office. Many a time the younger portion of the community used to make arrangements overnight to be in before him, but it was no use. Once, indeed, a student arrived in choir before him, and Father Ignatius appeared so crestfallen at being beaten that the student would never be in before him again, and might delay on the way if he thought Father Ignatius had not yet passed. He seemed particularly happy when he could light the lamps or gas for matins. He was childlike in his obedience. He would not transgress the most trifling regulation. It was usual with him to say, "I cannot understand persons who say, 'Oh, I am all right if I get to Purgatory.' We should be more generous with Almighty God. I don't intend to go to Purgatory, and if I do, I must know what for." "But, Father Ignatius," a father would say, {471} "we fall into so many imperfections that it seems presumption to attempt to escape scot free." "Well," he would reply, "nothing can send us to Purgatory but a wilful venial sin, and may the Lord preserve us from such a thing as that; a religious ought to die before being guilty of the least wilful fault." We saw from this that he could scarcely imagine how a religious could do so, or, at least, that he was very far from the like himself.

One time we were speaking about the Italian way of pronouncing Latin, which we have adopted; he noticed some imperfections, and one of the Italian Fathers present remarked a few points in which Father Ignatius himself failed. One of them was, that he did not pronounce the letter _r_ strong enough; and another, that he did not give a its full sound when it came in the middle of a word. For some time it was observed that he made a most burring sound when he pronounced an _r_, and went so far in correcting himself in the other particular as to sin against prosody. Sometimes he would forget little rubrics, but if any one told him of a mistake, he was scarcely ever seen to commit it again.

Whenever he had half an hour to spare he wrote letters. We may form an idea of his achievements in this point, when he tells us in the Journal that on two days which remained free to him once he wrote seventy-eight. A great number of his letters are preserved. They are very entertaining and instructive; a nice vein of humour runs through all those he wrote to his familiar friends.

These two letters may be looked upon as the extremes of the sober and humorous style in his letter-writing:--

"When I used to call on you, you seemed to be tottering, as one might say, on your last legs. Here you are, after so many years, without having ever seen health or prosperity, and with about as much life in you as then, to all appearance. All has been, all is, and all will be, exactly as it pleases God. This is the truth, the grand truth, I would almost say the whole and only truth. There may be, and are, plenty of things besides, which may be truly affirmed, yet this is the whole of what it concerns us each to know. For if this is once well understood, of course it follows that we {472} have but one affair to attend to, that is, to please God; because then, to a certainty, all the past, present, and future will be found to be perfectly and absolutely ordered for our own greatest good. If this one point be well studied, I think we can steer people easily enough out of all low spirits and melancholy. Many people can see the hand of God over them in wonderful mercy in their past history, and so be brought to a knowledge that their anxieties, and afflictions, and groans, in those bygone days were unreasonable then. "Why do they not learn to leave off groaning over the present troubles? Because they do not trust God to manage anything right till they have examined His work, and understood all about it. But He, will be more honoured if we agree with Him, and approve of what He does before we see what the good is which is to come of it. In your case, if we go back to the days when I first saw you at ----, when your father was in a good way of work, and you were in health, there was the prospect then, I suppose, before you of getting well settled in the world; and if all had continued smooth and prosperous, you might now be a rich merchant's wife in Birmingham, London, or New York, reckoned the ornament of a large circle of wealthy friends, &c. But might there not, perhaps, have been written over you as your motto? _Wo to you rich, for you have received your consolation. Wo to you that laugh now for you shall mourn and weep_. You may be disposed to answer, you do not think you would have been spoiled by prosperity. But if you are more or less troubled or anxious at being in poverty, sickness, or adversity, it shows that you would be, just in the same measure, unable to bear prosperity and health unhurt. Wealth and prosperity are dangerous to those only who love them and trust in them. If, when you are in adversity, you are sorry for it, and wish for prosperity, it shows love for this world's goods, more or less. And if a person loves them when he has them not, is it likely he would despise them if he had them? God saves multitudes by poverty and afflictions in spite of themselves. The same poverty and afflictions, if the persons corresponded with God's providence and rejoiced in them, would make them {473} first-rate saints. The same may be said, with as great truth, of interior afflictions, scruples, temptations, darkness, dryness, and the rest of the catalogue of such miseries. A person who is disquieted and anxious on account of these, either does not understand that God's gifts are not God, or if they do understand it, they love the gifts of God independently of the giver. And so I add that such a one, if he enjoyed uninterrupted peace and serenity of soul, would stop very short indeed of the perfection of love to which God intends to lead him if he will be docile. Now, as to your case, if you are still alive and still serving God, and desiring to do so better and better, it is clear that your afflictions, exterior and interior, have not spoiled or ruined you. And as God loves our peace and happiness, we may conclude that he would not have kept you down and low, if it had not been necessary for your good. What have you to do at last? Begin again to thank, praise, bless, adore, and glorify God for all the tribulations, past and future, and he may yet strengthen and preserve you to do abundance of good, and lay up a great treasure in heaven."

The next letter is to a nun about a book which was supposed to be lost:--

"The second perpetual calendar has been found. I had no thought it would; but took my chance to ask, and somebody had seen it, and it was looked for again and found. It has been a clumsy bit of business on our part; but it ends right. It gives another example of the wisdom of a certain young shepherdess celebrated in the nursery in my early days--

"'Little Bopeep Has lost her sheep, And doesn't know where to find them. Let them alone, And they'll come home, And bring their tails behind them.'

"There is great philosophy in the advice given to the heroine of these lines.

"It seems by what you said the other day, that you {474} expected a long tail to this sheep, but I don't think the tail ever grew. Any way, it never brought a tail so far as this house. However, if there does exist a tail to it, I recommend to you the calm philosophy of little Bo-peep, and it will, I dare say, follow in time."

The little rhyme given above was a favourite with Father Ignatius. When he saw any one looking for a thing with anxiety he generally rhymed it out with peculiar emphasis. It might be safely said that he never wrote a letter, preached a sermon, or held a conversation without introducing resignation to the will of God, the desire of perfection, or the conversion of England.

As he was always a Superior, the religious could come to him and speak whenever they pleased. He was ever ready to receive them, he laid down his pen, or whatever else he might be at, directly he saw a brother or father wished to speak to him, and he listened and spoke as if this conversation was the only duty he had to discharge.

In recreation he was a treasure. We gathered round him by a kind of instinct, and so entertaining was he that one felt it a mortification to be called away from the recreation-room while Father Ignatius was in it. He used to recount with peculiar grace and fascinating wit, scenes he went through in his life. There is scarcely an incident in this volume that we have not heard him relate. He was most ingenuous. Ask him what question you pleased, he would answer it, if he knew it. In relating an anecdote he often spoke in five or six different tones of voice; he imitated the manner and action of those he knew to such perfection, that laughter had to pass into admiration. He seldom laughed outright, and even when he did, he would very soon stop. If he came across a number of _Punch_, he ran over some of the sketches at once and then he would be observed to stop, laugh, and lay it down directly, as if to deny himself further enjoyment. It is needless to say there was nothing rollicking, or off-handed in his wit--never; it was subdued, sweet, delicate, and lively. He would introduce very often amusing puzzles, such as passing the poker around, or the game of "He can do little who cannot do that, that, that." Then to see his {475} glee when some one thought he had found out the secret by his keenness of observation, and was far from it; and how he laughed at the _denouement_ of the mystery, when all was over, was really delightful. He often made us try "Theophilus Thistlethwick," and "Peter Piper," and used to enjoy the blunders immensely. In fact, a recreation, presided over by Father Ignatius, was the most innocent and gladsome one could imagine.

He had a few seasons of illness in the closing years of his life; in 1861 he was laid up for several days with a sore foot, in Highgate. When one of us is ill, it is customary for the members of the house to take turn about in staying with him, and we are allowed to go at all times to visit an invalid. Whenever Father Ignatius was asked how his foot was, he would say it was "very well," because it brought him some pain, and that was a valuable thing if we only knew how to turn it to good account. He felt very grateful for the smallest service done him in sickness. It is supposed that he wrote more letters during his illness, and held more "profitable" conversations than in any other equal period of his life. No one ever found him idle. He read, or he wrote, or he talked, or he prayed, or he slept. Lying awake and listless in bed, even when suffering from acute pain, seemed an imperfection to him. Complaint was like a language he had forgotten, or knew not, except as one knows sin by the contrary virtue.

He suffered greatly from drowsiness. When he went to meditation he would nod asleep, and the exertions he made to keep himself awake made us pity him. He would stand up, even sometimes on one foot, extend his arms in the form of a cross, and do everything he could possibly think of in order to keep awake. During his rectorship in Button, after returning from a sick call on a cold winter's evening, he was obliged to walk about saying his office. He dared not sit down, or he would go off asleep, and had to avoid going near a fire, or no effort could keep him awake. Notwithstanding this, he was the first to matins, and seldom went to bed again before prime. When others were ill, Father Ignatius was all charity; he would make sure first that {476} they took their sickness in a right spirit, and thanked God for it, then he would see that all kinds of attention were paid to them. As for sick calls, no matter at what hour of the day or night they came, he would be the first to go out and attend them. He liked assisting at death-beds; he felt particular pleasure in helping people to heaven.

He received all kinds of visitors. He went immediately to see any one that wanted to speak to him, and never kept them a moment waiting if he could possibly help it. When distinguished visitors were coming he did not make the least preparation, but just treated them like any one else. His sister promised to visit him in Highgate in December, 1859. Neither she nor any member of his family had ever been in one of our monasteries; he therefore looked upon this as a kind of event. Father Ignatius had a wretched old mantle, and one of the students went to him to offer him his, which was quite new, for the day. He would not at all accept of it, and lectured the other upon human respect for his pains.

He was very fond of conducting the walk the students take every week. He brought the London students often through the City, and wonderful was his knowledge and reminiscences of the different places they passed by. He took them once to the Zoological Gardens. They went about looking at the different beasts, and he had his comments to make on each. He drew a moral reflection from the voraciousness of the lion, the fierceness of the hyaena, the vanity of the seal, and the stupor of the sloth. When he saw the flamingo, he stayed full ten minutes wondering what might be the use of its long, thin legs. The hippopotamus amused him beyond all. "Look at his big mouth," he would say; "what in the world does he want it for? Couldn't he eat enough with a smaller one?" During their walks, a lord, perhaps, would turn up, and address him as, "Ho, Spencer! is this you? How d'ye do? It is some years since I saw you?" After a few words they would part, and then he'd tell his companions about their college days, or field sports.

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