CHAPTER XIX.

Trials And Crosses.

The days of the religious life of Father Ignatius might be numbered by his trials and crosses. It was not that a goodly share fell to him, as became his great holiness; but he happened to be so very keenly tried, that what generally assuages the bitterness of ordinary trials served, by a special disposition of Providence, to make his the more galling. His trials were multiplied in their infliction; the friends to whom he might unburthen himself were often their unconscious cause; and the remedies proposed for his comfort would be generally an aggravation of his sufferings. He had an abiding notion of his being alone and abandoned, which followed him like a shadow, even unto the grave. This feeling arose from his spirit of zeal. He burned to be doing more and more for God's glory every day, and sought to communicate to others some sparks of the flames that consumed himself. His projects for carrying out his ideas seldom met the cordial approval of superiors, and when he received such sanction, it was only after his schemes had been considerably toned down. This restraint he had always to bear.

When his plans were tolerated, or even approved, he could not find one to take them up as warmly as he wished. In fact, he found no second. Catholics have an instinctive aversion to anything that wears the appearance of novelty in their devotions. Father Ignatius's plans for the sanctification of Ireland, the conversion of England, and the perfection all should tend to, were very good things. No one could have the least objection to them; but, somehow, every one could not see his way to working them out. When {484} Father Ignatius proposed the means he intended to adopt, the old Catholic shrugged his shoulders as if he had heard a temerarious proposition. It was new; the good old bishop that gave his life for his flock, or the saintly priest he had listened to from childhood, never proposed such a thing. He never read it in his books of piety, and though it seemed very good, it "did not go down with him." He listened to the holy Passionist, because he reverenced him; but he never encouraged his zeal with more than a cold assent.

Father Ignatius found this want of correspondence to his suggestions in every person even his own brethren in religion failed to be of accord with him. He was perpetually speaking upon his favourite topics, and never seemed satisfied with the work of his fellow-labourers if they did not take up his ideas. He often drew down upon himself severe animadversions on account of this state of mind. When fathers returned to the retreat, tired and wearied after a number of missions, they felt it rather hard to be told that they had done very little, because they had not set about their work in his way. He would be told very sharply that they should wish to see what he had done himself; that his chimerical notions looked well on paper, or sounded nicely in talk; that there was a surer way of guiding people to heaven than talking them into fancies beyond their comprehension. These remarks only served to bring out the virtue and humility of the saintly man. He became silent at once, or turned the conversation into another channel.

He had a still severer trial in this point. He very frequently attributed the caution of his superiors to want of zeal, and used to lecture them without human respect on what he thought to be their duty. On one occasion he went so far as to complain of this to Cardinal Wiseman; but the explanation was so satisfactory that he gave expression to different sentiments for the future. Whenever they spoke positively, he immediately acquiesced, and was most exact in carrying out their injunctions. His zeal was unbounded, and one of his superiors always said: "Father Ignatius will become a saint by the very thwarting of his plans." If he had not the virtue of submitting his judgment, it is hard to {485} say into what extravagances he might rush. This one trial was the staple of his religious life for more than thirty years.

We shall now give a few instances from his letters, and from anecdotes recorded of him, to show the spirit with which he bore this and kindred trials and crosses.

In 1853 he received a very severe letter from one of our Belgian fathers, who is in high repute for learning and virtue. He forwarded the letter to Father Eugene, who was then Provincial, accompanied by these remarks:--

"I thought of answering the enclosed letter from Father ---- at once, before sending it to your Paternity; but, on looking it over again, I have changed my mind. The rule which I make for myself is, to mind what my superiors say on this matter and the conversion of England, and to charge them to stop my proceedings if they disapprove of them. I shall take what they say as coming from God, who has a right to dispose of all souls, and who may judge that the time for grace in England is not come, or never has to come. Besides, they are the proper judges whether my proceedings are correct _in toto_ or in part. Your Paternity has lately expressed your mind upon the matter, and I have no scruple on the subject; but it is well you should know what others feel. I beg you to take this letter from Father ---- as kindly meant, and, with me, to be thankful for it."

Another to his Provincial:--

"With regard to the principal topic of your Paternity's letter, I will first thank you, and thank God that I am thought worthy to be spoken and written to, without dissimulation or reserve, of what people think of me. If I make use with diligence of their remarks, I shall be able to gain ground in the esteem of God, and, perhaps, also in men's esteem; but that is not of consequence. Now, I suppose it would be best not to have said so much in explanation of my intentions in time past; and certainly I have said things which were vexing in the course of these explanations. It is no justification of this to allege that your Paternity's style of writing admonitions and reproofs is more severe than that of some persons, because I ought to receive {486} all with joy. But the cutting tone of some of your letters excites me to answer more or less in a cutting tone on my side, and I have given way to this temptation. It appears to me, it would be better if with me and others your tone was not so cutting. But God so appoints it for us, and so I had better prefer his judgment to my own, and persevere correcting myself, till I can answer cutting letters with the same gentle, affectionate language as I might the mildest ones. In this way I shall be the greatest gainer. So I will conclude with leaving it to your Paternity to decide in what tone you will correct me--only begging that you will not omit the correction when you see me in the wrong, and that you will inflict it, for charity's sake, at the risk even of suffering pain from my hasty and improper answers, which I cannot expect to correct at once, though I will try to do it. Will you let me meet you at the station when you pass through London, and accompany you to the station for the Dover Railway?"

In another letter, he writes:--

"I am frequently assailed with black doubts about the prudence of all my proceedings; but these pass by, and I go on again with brighter spirits than ever, and, in the end, I am astonished how Providence has carried me clear of danger and perplexities when they have threatened me the most. I trust it will be so now.

"I beg your Paternity will write to me again what you decide about St. Wilfrid's functions, and tell me what I can do by writing letters or otherwise. I feel better qualified to do what I am told, than to give advice what others should do."

As may be seen from some of the letters introduced above, Father Ignatius had to endure trials from the want of sympathy with his ways, in many of the English converts. One celebrated convert went so far as to prohibit his speaking of the conversion of England to any of the members of a community of which he was Superior. Another used to tell him that "England was already damned," and that it was no use praying for it. A third treated him to some sharp cuts about the work of his little {487} missions, when answering an application of Father Ignatius to give one in his parish. These and many other crosses of the like nature, he used to complain of with deep feeling among his fellow religious. It is remarkable that those who crossed him had great respect for his holiness, and, very likely, their opposition proceeded from not giving him credit for much prudence.

An incident that happened to him in one of his journeys in Ireland will give an idea of how he bore humiliations. He was walking to one of the principal towns in Tipperary, and a vehicle overtook him on the road. The man in the car took compassion on the poor old priest, and asked him to "take a lift." Father Ignatius took his seat at once; before they had proceeded far together, his companion perceived that he spoke in an "English accent," and began to doubt his being a priest. There had been some ugly rows in the town, lately, on account of a gang of "soupers" that infested it, and it struck the good townsman that his waggon was carrying a veritable "souper. "What," thought he, "if the neighbours should see me carrying such a precious cargo?" And, without asking or waiting for an explanation, he unceremoniously told Father Ignatius "to get down, for he suspected he wasn't of the right sort." Father Ignatius complied at once, without the least murmur. When the man was about a mile ahead of his late fellow-traveller, and could not stifle the remorse occasioned by his hasty leave-taking, he resolved to turn back and catechise him. The result satisfied him, and the good father was invited to take a seat a second time. To atone for his almost unpardonable crime, as he thought it, the man invited him to stay at his house for the night, as it was then late. Father Ignatius said he was due at the priest's house, but in case he found nobody up there, he should be happy to avail himself of his friend's hospitality. They parted company in the town; Father Ignatius went to the priest's, and the other to his home. They were all in bed in the presbytery, and no answer was returned to the repeated knocks and rings of the benighted traveller. He went to the friend's house, but found _they_, too, were gone to bed. No word was left about {488} Father Ignatius, and his strange accent made the housewife refuse him admittance. He went off without saying a word in explanation. The man bethought himself shortly after, and sent messengers to seek him, who overtook him outside the town, walking off to the next, which he expected to reach before morning.

Another time he undertook the foundation of a convent in Staffordshire. With his usual indifference in matters temporal, he made no material provision whatever for the reception of the sisters, except a bleak, unfurnished house. The reverend mother came, with three or four sisters, and was rather disconcerted at what she found before them. Father Ignatius was expected in a day or two, and as the time of his arrival approached, the reverend mother went into the reception-room, and there sate--

"A sullen dame, "Nursing her wrath to keep it warm."

Father Ignatius got a very hot reception. The lady scolded him heartily for his carelessness, and descanted most eloquently on the wants and grievances she had to endure since her arrival. He replied calmly that it was not his fault, that that department of the proceedings devolved on the parish priest. This only fired her the more--"Why didn't he tell the parish priest?" He then waited, quietly standing until she had exhausted her stock of abuse; whereupon he asked if she had done, and on receiving a nod in the affirmative, he said: "Oh, well, I know how I must approach your ladyship in future, I must make three bows in the Turkish fashion." So saying, he bowed nearly to the ground, retreated a step and bowed again, a third step backwards brought him to the door of the apartment, and when he had bowed still deeper than before, he stood up straight, took out a purse with some sovereigns in it, and spun it to the corner of the room in which the good nun sat petrified with astonishment:--"Take that now, and it may calm you a bit," was the good morning he bid her, as he closed the door after him, and went his way.

The tongue of slander assailed him again the last year of {489} his life. We will give the occurrence in the words of the only one to whom the reverend mother told it in confidence. Father Ignatius himself never spoke of it.

"As our dear Lord loved him much, he wished to try him as he had tried the dearest and best-beloved of his servants. Therefore he permitted that his character should be assailed in the most vile manner by one who, through mistaken zeal, gave out the most injurious insinuations regarding our dear father and the late reverend mother. When Father Ignatius heard of it, he sent for the reverend mother to exhort her to bear the calumny with love and resignation. In speaking to her he said that God had asked all of him, and he had freely given all but his good name, and that he was ready now to offer as it had pleased God to ask for it; for all belonged to Him and he thanked Him for leaving him nothing. 'Will you not.' he continued, 'do the same? Do you not see that God is asking you for the dearest thing you can give? Give it, then, freely, and thank Him for taking it, for don't you see that by this you are resembling Him more closely? Besides, He has permitted this to happen, and if we do not give up our good name, which already belongs to Him, cheerfully and willingly, He will take it, in spite of us, and we shall lose the merit of our offering. How foolish, therefore, is it to go against God! Let us resign ourselves unreservedly into his hands. However, to remove any scandal that might follow, and to show this good priest that I have no ill-feeling against him, I will go and visit him on friendly terms.' And so he did."

Besides casual attacks of illness brought on by his want of care or great labours, he suffered during the latter part of his life from chronic ailments. His heart often troubled him, and medical men told him that he would very likely die of disease of the heart. He had an ulcer in one of his ancles for a number of years, and was often obliged to keep his bed on account of it. No one ever heard him complain, and yet his sufferings must have been very acute. We never remarked him rejoice so much over this painful sore, than when one of the fathers, who respected him much, and {490} wanted to test his mortification, became a Job's comforter. He said: "You deserve to be lame, Father Ignatius, you made such use of your feet in the days of your dancing and sporting, that Almighty God is punishing you now, and the instruments of your pleasure are aptly turned into instruments of pain." He said it was quite true, and that he believed so himself, and that his only wish was that he might not lose a particle of the merit it would bring him, by any kind of complaint on his part. He got a rupture in 1863, and he simply remarked, "I have made another step down the hill to-day."

Whilst labouring under a complication of sufferings he never abated one jot of his round of duties, though requested to do so by his subjects. He was Superior, and exercised his privilege by doing more than any other instead of sparing himself. He did not take more rest nor divide his labours with his companions. During the time of his rectorship in Sutton, he used to preach and sing mass after hearing confessions all morning; attend sick calls, preach in some distant chapel in the evening, return at eleven o'clock, perhaps, and say his office, and be the first up to matins at two o'clock again. The only thing that seemed to pain him was a kind of holy envy. He used to say to the young priests: "Oh, how well it is for you that are young and buoyant, I am now stiff and old, and must have but a short time to labour for Almighty God; still I hope to be able to work to the last." This was his ordinary discourse the very year he died, and the young fathers were much struck by the coincidence between his wishes and their completion.

Father Ignatius Paoli, the Provincial, gave the cook orders to take special care of the indefatigable worn-out Rector. He was not to heed the fasts of the Rule, or at least to give the Superior the full supply of meagre diet. Father Ignatius took the indulgence thankfully for two or three days after returning from a mission; but when he saw a better portion served up for himself oftener than was customary for the other missionaries, he remonstrated with the brother cook. Next day he was served in the same manner, he then gave a prohibition, and at last scolded him. {491} The good brother then told him that he was only carrying out the Provincial's orders. Father Ignatius was silent, but, after dinner, posted off to the doctor, and made him give a certificate of good health and ability to fast, which he forwarded to the Provincial. Father Provincial did not wish to deny him the opportunity of acquiring greater merit, and, at the same time, he would prolong so valuable a life. To save both ends he placed him under the obedience, as far as regarded his health, of one of the priests of his community, whom he strictly obeyed in this matter thenceforward.

Once he went on a sick-call in very wet weather, and either a cramp or an accident made him fall into a dirty slough, where he was wetted through and covered with mud. He came home in this state, and finding a friend of his at the house, who more or less fell into his way of thinking, he began to converse with him. The good father began to speak of the conversion of England, and sat in his wet clothes for a couple of hours, and likely would have stayed longer, so thoroughly was he engrossed with his favourite topic, if one of the religious had not come in, and frightened him off to change garments by his surprise and apprehension.

He seemed indifferent to cold; he would sit in his cell, the coldest day, and write until his fingers became numbed, and then he would warm them by rubbing his hands together rather than allow himself the luxury of a fire. He went to give a retreat somewhere in midwinter, and the room he had to lodge in was so exposed that the snow came in under the door. Here he slept, without bed or fire, for the first night of his stay. It was the thoughtlessness of his entertainers that left him in these cold quarters. In the morning some one remarked that very probably Father Ignatius slept in the dreary apartment alluded to. A person ran down to see, and there was the old saint amusing himself by gathering up the snow that came into his room, and making little balls of it for a kitten to run after. The kitten and himself seem to have become friends by having slept together in his rug the night before, and both were disappointed by the intrusion of the wondering visitor.

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His humility was as remarkable to any one who knew him as was his zeal; and on this point also he was well tried. It is not generally known that in the beginning of his Passionist life he adopted the custom of praying before his sermons that God's glory would be promoted by them and himself be humiliated. At the opening of Sutton Church in 1852, he was sent for from London to preach a grand sermon in the evening. A little before the sermon he was walking up and down the corridor; the Provincial met him and asked more in joke than otherwise: "Well, Father Ignatius, what are you thinking of now?" "I am praying," he replied, "that if it be for the glory of God my sermon may be a complete failure as far as human eloquence is concerned." We may imagine the surprise of his Superior at hearing this extraordinary answer; it is believed that this was his general practice to the end. Contrary to the common notion that prevails among religious orders, he wished that the Order would receive humiliations as well as himself. He wished it to come to glory by its humiliations. On one occasion, he expected that the newspapers would make a noise about something that might be interpreted as humiliating to the community of which he was Superior. Father Ignatius addressed the community nearly in these words: We shall have something to thank God for tomorrow; the Protestants will make a great noise in the papers about this affair, and we must be prepared for a full feast of misrepresentations. Let us thank God now in anticipation." He was disappointed, however, as the papers were content with a bare notice of the matter.

Many persons did not give him credit for great humility; they thought his continual quoting of himself, and his readiness to speak about his doings, was, if not egotism, at least inconsistent with profound humility. We cannot answer this imputation better than by giving Father Faber's description of simplicity, which every one knows to be the very character of genuine humility:--

"But let us cast an eye at the action of simplicity in the spiritual life. Simplicity lives always in a composed consciousness of its own demerit and unworthiness. It is {493} possessed with a constant sense of what the soul is in the sight of God. It knows that we are worth no more than we are worth in His sight, and while it never takes its eye off that view of self, so it does not in any way seek to hide it from others. In fact it desires to be this, and no more than this, in the eyes of others; and it is pained when it is more. Every neighbour is, as it were, one of God's eyes, multiplying His presence; and simplicity acts as if every one saw us, knew us, and judged us as God does, and it has no wounded feeling that it is so. Thus, almost without direct effort, the soul of self-love is so narrowed that it has comparatively little room for action; although it never can be destroyed, nor its annoyance ever cease, except in the silence of the grave. The chains of human respect, which in the earlier stages of the spiritual life galled us so intolerably, now fall off from us, because simplicity has drawn us into the unclouded and unsetting light of the eye of God. There is no longer any hypocrisy. There is no good opinion to lose, because we know we deserve none, and doubt if we possess it. We believe we are loved in spite of our faults, and respected because of the grace which is in us, and which is not our own and no praise to us. All diplomacy is gone, for there is no one to circumvent and nothing to appropriate. There is no odious laying ourselves out for edification, but an inevitable and scarcely conscious letting of our light shine before men in such an obviously innocent and unintentional manner that it is on that account they glorify our Father who is in Heaven."--_Blessed Sacrament_, Book II., c. vii.

The secret by which Father Ignatius arrived at this perfect way of receiving trials was his _thanking God_ for everything. When some one objected to him that we could not thank God for a trial when we did not feel grateful, "Never mind," he would say, "you take a hammer to break a big stone; the first stroke has no effect, the second seemingly no effect, and the third, and so on; but somewhere about the twentieth or hundredth the stone is broken, and no one stroke was heavier than the other. In the same way, begin to thank God, no matter about the feeling, continue, {494} and you will soon break the hardest difficulties." His maxims and sayings on resignation would fill a good-sized volume were they collected together. We shall conclude this chapter with one picked by chance from his letters:

"In trials and crosses we are like a sick child, when its mother wants it to take some disagreeable medicine. The child kicks and screams and sprawls, and spits the medicine in its mother's face. That is just what we do when God sends us crosses and trials. But, like the mother, who will persevere in giving the medicine until the child has taken enough of it, God will send us crosses and trials until we have sufficient of them for the health of our souls."

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