CHAPTER VII. Life in a French Jesuit College.

A SHORT description of life in a French Jesuit college may prove interesting, above all as it is taken from a narrative of personal experience. There is but little difference in the mode of life, save what comes of unavoidable necessity, and from differences of national customs and climate. The rule of the Jesuits is wooden and unalterable.

M. Dziewicki commences his narrative with an account of his retreat. As an account of a retreat has been already given, it is omitted here, but we may again remark on the want of common sense in making the time of retreat one for deciding the future, for the conditions under which a retreat is made are by no means those which would enable a clear and wise decision to be made. The object of the retreat apparently is to make a choice between the service of God, and the service of the world. But Christ drew no hard and fast line, to say so reverently, between the service of God and the service of humanity. His disciples were ever exhorted to be in the world but not of it. To declare the world which God has made for His creature to live in to be an accursed place, where there is nothing but danger to the soul, is not true in fact or in religion.

We should certainly pray and pray with all earnestness, when we desire to be guided by God in the choice of a state of life, but to work ourselves up deliberately into a condition of spiritual exaltation or depression is not the way to strengthen the judgment. Hence it is that so many “vocations” which are decided in this fashion prove defective, and a cause of much after misery.

Pau may be taken as a type of French houses of the Order, from which type they never recede very far. It may now be worth while to follow step by step, a day passed in the novitiate.

A brother rises a few minutes before four o’clock in the morning, dresses hastily, rings the bell, and passes through all the rooms, saying in each Benedicamus Domino! (Bless the Lord) to which Deo Gratias! (Thank be to God) having been answered, he lights a candle placed overnight for him, and passes on. The moment the bell rings, you hear a series of jumps on the floor, some dress more, some less quickly, but all, hearing the voice of God in the bell, instantly obey. And should the visitor, who passes through the rooms a quarter of an hour after, find anybody still in bed, it would certainly be a case of illness. They throw away the water in which they have washed down a sink, “walking on tip toe.” The reason for this peculiarity is that the master of the novices thought that one of the best means to inculcate silence. It was a rule often broken.

As soon as the rapid toilet of the novices is over they hurry down to the oratory to visit the Holy Sacrament and say their morning prayers. If not ready by 4.25, they must not go in for fear of disturbing the others. During this service not a movement is permitted, even when bitten by fleas—very common in the South of France. This immovability amounts almost to torture.

Novices Purposely Exasperated.

After these prayers, they proceed to make their beds. Every bed untidily arranged is liable to be pulled down. Everything is done to try the temper of the novices, although the bed is perfectly well made it is pulled down to get him to make it again. Some times secret orders are given, and he is set upon and teased for trifles by five or six novices in office. In other cases, when he is too weakly and sensitively attached to the master, the latter treats him for months together with affected coldness, never finds time to speak with him and so on. Every weak point of every character is soon found out, and war waged against it in different ways, if it be serious, and no progress be visible after some time, the novice receives notice to quit.

Mass is heard at six. The novices remain kneeling all the morning, except from the Gospel to the sanctus bell, during which they stand. Their attitude is the following: head slightly bent forward, neither to the right nor to the left, eyes cast down, body straight as an arrow, hands folded in each other. By the bye, this attitude they are required, or rather counselled, to keep at all times, as far as possible, except, for instance, when either hands or eyes are required for useful purposes.

These may be looked upon as miserable minutiae, reducing every Jesuit to the state of a machine, grinding every particle of individuality out of him, and unworthy of Loyola’s genius. These practices, particularly the rules of modesty, appeared extremely important to St. Ignatius, and he paid more attention to them than to many other matters, seemingly of greater importance. His ideal was Jesuita alter Jesus (Another Jesuit Jesus), and therefore he wished the Jesuits to imitate the exterior of Jesus as far as they could. He laid down those rules according to the ideal that he himself had formed. After mass, from 6.30 to 7.30, the novices repair to their rooms in order to read their commentary on the Holy Scriptures. At 7.30, they go . to breakfast—an excellent meal. At a quarter to eight, the bell calls all hands upstairs, the novices, standing in two lines in the passage, await orders of the director of manual work, from whom, as from the hand of God, they are to accept whatever he tells them to do.

For three-quarters of an hour, the novices are all busily engaged, some working in the garden, some drawing the wine in the cellar, some in the sacristy and oratory waxing the floors, some in the lecture room, making disciplines, chains and rosaries, others helping in the refectory or the kitchen. But 9.30 has struck and the bell rings. At once, leaving the bottle of wine half filled, a link of a chain half formed, or a weed half pulled out, all the novices, with the admonitor at their head, speed to the garden with Rodriguez’ treatise, “On Christian Perfection.” The admonitor threads the alleys of the garden, and all follow close behind him in single file, like a flock of geese, or convicts, walking faster or more slowly according to his pace, turning when he turns, and taking care at the same time to read Rodriguez and not to tread on the heels of those before him. This exercise called Tourner Rodriguez, though ridiculous enough in outward seeming, is not without its motive, it is done for exercise of the body.

A Strange Scene.

From nine to ten is a lecture upon spiritual subjects, being in general an explanation of the rules of the Society, given by a master. Then one novice is required to give an abstract of what was said at the last lecture. After this the master drops his voice, says a short prayer, and goes out. The lecture is ended. Then follows the repetition of the conference, a most strange scene. Groups of novices are formed by threes or fours, as the admonitor tells them off, a novice in each gives an account of what has been said. Each novice raises his voice to be heard above the others. The lecture room seems a bedlam.

A visit to the oratory follows. The novices again proceed in single file to the garden, there to get by heart a few verses of Scripture. St. Ignatius prescribed all studies in the novitiate except an exercise of memory, to prevent that faculty from rusting by disuse. That all studies are carefully prescribed in the novitiate I know very well.

M. Dziewicki says If a novice leaves a room, “he must inform the ‘ancient’ of the room where he has been—The term ancient does not imply advanced in years. It is the custom in all Roman Catholic convents and colleges to ask permissions of the brother or sister who has been the longest time in the convent, and whoever is the eldest present is so asked, when the regular superior is absent. The object is to teach the practice of humility. If no one was in the room when he left it, he must say on his return where he has been.”

Eleven o’clock strikes, it is the hour for the pronunciation class. A novice presides over this exercise. From the beginning, Loyola accustoms them to obey those who are not above them in station or age, in order that later on in life, old fathers may reverence a young superior quite as much as an aged one, and not inquire whether the rector is a professed father, or only a coadjutor.

At a quarter to twelve o’clock, “examination of consciences,” reflection and silent, of his conduct by each novice.

At twelve the midday bell—dinner—a good meal with a pint of wine a head, a book read during the time.

In the evening at supper is read a history of Jesuit fathers experiences called “Ménologe,” adventures of missionaries, such as Father Anquita, full of the miracles he worked. We find Father Anquita thaumaturgising (working miracles) (if I may use the expression), he left certain provisions under the care of two jaguars, they watched them some weeks. He walked under the water, he caused a roast pigeon to come to life and fly away. For my own part,” says Dziewicki, “I think one should never admit any such facts— whether miracles, spiritualistic phenomena, or assertions about thought transference—until it becomes unreasonable not to believe them.”

Dinner being ended, the Holy Sacrament is visited again in order to prepare for the most difficult exercise of the day, the recreation. Why I call it the most difficult exercise is evident enough, for an almost impossible combination of virtues is required to pass it correctly, the multitude of virtues—charity, modesty, cordiality, gaiety, self-collection, piety, and I know not how many besides required for a recreation to be properly passed has in most cases an unsuccessful result. The difficulty is much increased by the fact that one is never allowed to choose one’s companions, to do so would be a most flagrant breach of fraternal charity. Except on festivals, bands of three or four novices are made by the admonitor, and he is instructed beforehand by the master to put the most contrary characters together, on purpose that their tempers may be tried.

Stoning the Novices.

The exercise of “modesty” or of charity which ought regularly to take place once a week instead of conference. A novice designated by the master goes down on his knees, in the middle of the room, and listens to whatever may be said against him. All such as are questioned, are bound in conscience to state whatever defect they have noticed in his conduct. Such as, our brother makes too much noise in eating, he talks too loud. This form of penance is practised in some way or other in all convents and colleges. But it has been much modified of late years, except in the Jesuit novitiates on account of the serious heart-burnings and anger to which it gave rise. In some convents it is called the lapidarium or stoning, and is supposed to be performed in honour of the stoning of Christ by the Jews. The words of censure addressed to the novice by those around being the substitution for stones. It may be added that most of these practices of humiliation are carried out in the colleges where priests are trained.

The present writer heard an amusing story from a priest who had been educated in Maynooth, about the use of the expression Benedicamus Domino. A new night porter had been placed in the dormitories. There was then a professor named Donohue, who was for some reason very unpopular. Some of the students, who were after all boys suffering from this drastic system of repression of every natural feeling and enjoyment of youth, thought it a good opportunity to get even with the obnoxious professor. They went to the new porter and told him that the professor was very particular about the pronunciation of Latin, and that when he came to call the Benedicamus Domino he must say it very plainly or he would be very angry indeed. But they taught him to say maledicamus Donohue (let’s curse Donohue) which he did with great and grave emphasis to the no small delight of the conspirators.

Little remains to be said about the afternoon. After the visit to the chapel, by which “recreation” ends, as it began, there is once a week an exercise of “tones.” The “tones” are a short sermon, it is learnt by heart and. recited, and from being badly delivered they often occasion laughter among the novices.

On other days instead of tones, a novice had to explain a chapter of catechism to the others as if they were children, and question them in the same way. They had to answer as children, and they certainly did—a worse class could hardly be found in all Christendon. Such laziness, such insubordination, such utter recklessness of reproof and punishment! It was, however, a little overdone, for children, even the worst, are never as bad as that.

By the bye, I may here say a few words about an analogous exercise practised during the third probation by the young priests who are preparing themselves for active service in the Society. It is the exercise of confession. But here the novices have their part assigned to them beforehand, and have come well prepared, one as a nun, with no end of scruples and peccadilloes of her own, another as a devotee laden with the sins of others, another as a trooper, rough and ready, hearty and frank. A man kneels down, he is a Voltairean workman, come to dispute, he is followed by an innkeeper, whose gains are not always of the most honourable sort, and then there comes a monk with an unintelligible confession, having something he does not wish to tell, and fears to leave untold. When all these have been counselled, rebuked and shriven, one after another, then comes the criticism—the most important part. Evidently, though highly comical and more amusing than many a comedy, this exercise is of much use to Catholic priests.

After catechism, half an hour of manual labour— half an hour of writing or French grammar—a quarter of an hour of private reading of the “Imitation of Christ” —half an hour over the life of a saint, then a second meditation. Then out in the garden to say their beads. At seven o’clock, supper, which consists of meat, vegetables, wine and dessert, at half past seven to a quarter past eight, recreation, then silence, “sileutum majus,” (greater silence) begins, only to end after breakfast the next day. The Litany of the Saints is the evening prayer, said by a resident priest, the whole community being present, at a quarter to nine the examination of conscience, and at nine, bed.

No Friendships Allowed.

Recreation among Jesuits is not companionship, or the unbending of the overstrung bow, or friendship or even hilarity or outdoor sports, such as football or cricket. They, of all youths, amuse themselves sadly, for with them before they can play they require such a multitude of virtues, such as charity, modesty, cordiality, gaiety, self-collection, piety, and M. Dziewicki says, “I know not how many more virtues are necessary to pass through the most trying test of the day, a blameless recreation.”

No lad in a Jesuit college is allowed to choose his own companion, nor are they ever permitted to walk singly, three or four youths are chosen by the admonitor, and especially selected that they may correct each others failings. A sad, pious mystic with a lad overflowing with fun, an ignorant lad with one fond of studying, a stupid lout with a highly cultivated intellect, and what makes an atmosphere of cautious reserve among them the more marked is, that each lad is expected to act as a spy upon his companions, and repeat every jest, or thoughtless word, or still more each too thoughtful remark, all of which they consider it a duty to report to the admonitor. Therefore, as each youth is among watchful enemies, silence is golden, for each lad is ever in danger of being dismissed as unsuitable to the Society, that Society, which, to most of them, is their only home and protector on earth, for the novices, with few exceptions, are very poor.

During recreation, they are not allowed to talk about each other in private conversation, but once a week, as we have stated, they have an opportunity of exercising the gift of criticism to its greatest extent, and for serious faults, if they existed, the system of secret denunciation is enjoined, under pain of expulsion. The system of watching and prying exists in all and every order of monks and nuns, and it is by that, and also by confession, these communities are kept in some outward order, but the spite, hatred, envy and secret detestation of each other in which they, with few exceptions, live, is the outcome of this continual tale bearing, which places the higher and nobler natures at the mercy of the most slanderous and the most base.

We have given the experience of M. Dziewicki in full, for it is these young men, who have undergone this irrational training, who in very few years after become the schoolmasters of the upper classes of all Romanist countries, and the Jesuit confessors of a vast number of women and girls. In the Jesuit schools they always have young masters of classes, called “Regents,” who are only a few years older than the pupils themselves, and this is one reason that thoughtful, liberal minds on the continent have given for the degeneracy. of the Latin races, with such masters, trained by such a bad system, what can be hoped for the pupils!

How can such Masters train Good Men.

This early training will not make learned or wise men, but it does make artful flatterers of infinite courtesy and patience, ready and accustomed to make use of the folly and credulity of their fellow creatures, and to do so with such tact that they are invariably forgiven.

It is said that the world belongs to people of good manners, and while they are becoming rapidly extinct in all other classes, they are always to be found among the Jesuit priesthood, it is one of the great features of the “Matchless Organisation.”

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