The Holy Rosary

Friday, the Sorrowful Mysteries, in Latin with Cardinal Burke.

Did Anne Boleyn Attack Jane Seymour? Tudor History

From History Calling

Did Anne Boleyn ATTACK Jane Seymour while Jane was a lady-in-waiting to Henry VIII’s second queen? There is a story that while Jane was Henry’s mistress, Anne seized a necklace the King had gifted Mistress Seymour from around her throat, which contained a portrait of the monarch and wounded her own hand in the process. This story was even depicted in the Showtime series, The Tudors. Did this Tudor royal catfight ever occur though? In this Tudor history documentary from History Calling, we look at the tumultuous period of time during early 1536 when Anne Boleyn was falling from favour and Jane Seymour was on the rise and at the source for this story (which I will quote to you in full). I’ll discuss why that source (which is a book written by an Englishman called Thomas Fuller called The Worthies of England and published after his death in 1662) is not to be trusted and look at errors within its contents (including Jane Seymour’s dates of death) and at the supposed provenance of the story about these two Tudor queens. This video will also include details about the life of Jane Seymour, such as what we know about her court career, the start of her relationship with Henry VIII and at how we know she responded to receiving gifts from the King at other times. It will look at stories of tensions between her and Anne reported by Nicholas Sander and Jane Dormer, Duchess of Feria and at how trustworthy those people are as source. It will consider too the dangers of trusting traditions surrounding famous historical figures, when there are no contemporary sources to support them. So let’s take a look at the royal love triangle between Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymour.

"Responses of Tropical Forests to Extreme Drought," David Medvigy, PhD (University of Notre Dame)

From The Society of Catholic Scientists

Joan Leslie: Classic Hollywood Star Who Was True to Herself

Joan Leslie was a Catholic film star who sued to break her contract. "She realised the roles the studios were now offering her lacked moral clarity and substance."

From Aleteia

By Mary Claire Kendall

On October 12, 2015, almost 55 years to the day after she received her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, she died in Los Angeles at age 90.

Joan Leslie was a darling and talented star who radiated refreshing innocence. But she was no ingénue. Rather she embodied a simple yet multilayered high moral character. 

As Velma Goodhue in High Sierra (1941), she played a young working-class girl with disability; hardened criminal Roy Earle, played by Humphrey Bogart, befriends her. Earle pays for an operation to correct her clubfoot, then falls in love with her. Velma is engaged; Roy, left heartbroken.

As Gracie Williams, in her next role, opposite Gary Cooper in Sergeant York (1941), she played York’s sweetheart and future bride. Gracie knew what she wanted — York. But he needs to measure up before she agrees to marry him. But she is in love with him, which Leslie beautifully portrays.

It was much the same with her character, Mary, in Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942), opposite James Cagney as the famous Broadway entertainer George M. Cohan, who takes an immediate liking to this aspiring singer, soon marrying her. Through it all, she stands by her man, while cunningly yet playfully steering him in the right direction.

Then, too, she knew what she wanted in Hollywood — respect. And, when Hollywood began giving her roles that were morally empty, she demurred.

Forged in the Depression

Born Joan Agnes Theresa Sadie Brodel on January 26, 1925, in Detroit, Michigan, she was the youngest of three girls, who, like their mother, were all musically talented — Betty and Mary learning to play the sax and banjo, Joan, the accordion.

As the Great Depression metastasized, and their banker father lost his job, the three sisters hit the vaudeville circuit as “The Three Brodels,” touring in Canada and the United States, under the radar of child labor laws by pretending they were older — nine-year-old Joan claiming she was 16.  Given her prodigious impersonation talent, doing flawless imitations of Hepburn, Chevalier, and Durante, it worked. 

Her Irish ancestry bequeathed to her a rich Catholicism which she lived devoutly; she was formed in the faith at Catholic schools in Detroit, Toronto, and Montreal.

Soon catching the eye of a Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer talent scout in New York, Joan was signed to a six-month contract, earning the princely sum of $200 a week, while attending the Little Red Schoolhouse with Judy Garland, Mickey Rooney, and Freddie Bartholomew. But, after she was cast in Camille (1936), her lines were cut, she dropped, and it was back to New York for radio and modeling. Before long, she returned as a freelancer mainly for RKO Pictures, when her sister Mary was signed to Universal Studios.

Chosen by Hollywood’s top directors as one of 13 “baby stars of 1940,” Warner Bros. snatched her up, changing her name to Joan Leslie and screen-testing her for High Sierra. Not knowing she was testing for such a big film, she got the role because, as the Sunday Morning Star reported, “she could cry on cue.”

Fast on the heels of that success came her starring role as Gracie in Sergeant York, teeing up Yankee Doodle Dandy. Life described her portrayals as “sweet innocence without seeming too sugary.”

She made four more films, released in 1943, and during World War II volunteered regularly at the Hollywood Canteen, featured in the Warner Bros. film of that name (1944).

Fighting for character

Though considered “the most promising star of tomorrow” in Motion Picture Herald’s 1946 poll, that same year she realized the roles the studios were now offering her lacked moral clarity and substance. So she fought and won in court and was released from her Warner Bros. contract — the Catholic Theater Guild recognizing her “consistent refusal to use her talents and art in film productions of objectionable character.”

Jack Warner responded by blacklisting her. Shut out by all the major Hollywood studios, she was forced to accept work at the “poverty row” studio of Eagle-Lion Films and her career never recovered. Pivoting to full-time mothering, she accepted the occasional film role, including Republic Pictures’ Flight Nurse (1953) in which she played Polly Davis, based on successful flight nurse Lillian Kinkella Keil with a storied Air Force career. She made her last film in 1956 while doing television shows sporadically.

She had wed William Caldwell, an obstetrician, in 1950, giving birth to twin daughters Patrice Joan Caldwell and Ellen Marie Caldwell, on January 5, 1951 — both becoming outstanding teachers. A devoted wife of 50 years, while seeking greener pastures, she developed her Joan Leslie clothing line under the Leslie Fay label. In 2001, she founded the Dr. William G. and Joan L. Caldwell Chair in Gynecologic Oncology for the University of Louisville — having also volunteered for over 50 years at St. Anne’s Maternity.

On October 12, 2015, almost 55 years to the day after she received her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, she died in Los Angeles at age 90, at peace knowing she had been true to herself.

Leo Goes Full Mask Off by Endorsing Agenda 2030

Rome Makes Bombshell Announcement About The Future Of The Traditional Latin Mass

People who should know better are already making excuses for this. Cardinal Roche makes it clear: Leo will not change direction on the TLM. Traditionis Custodes stays.

Why the Middle Ages Were a Paradise for Psychopaths

From Medieval Mindset

Did a lack of modern forensics and DNA testing make the Middle Ages the ultimate playground for a complete psychopath? In this episode of Medieval Mindset, we explore how medieval society's heavy reliance on religious oaths, honor, and public reputation created massive blind spots for manipulative people.

We break down the terrifying true story of Thomas de Marle, a First Crusade veteran turned rogue French lord who became the poster child for everything a chivalrous knight shouldn't be. We also dive into the high-stakes political betrayals between King Henry II and King Louis VII, look at Thomas Aquinas’s groundbreaking realization about those who sin "from malice" (ex malitia), and explore how everyday peasants used sheer audacity to pull off massive identity theft, like the false Baldwin of Flanders and the infamous Martin Guerre. MERCH: https://www.medievalmindset.com PATREON:   / medievalmindset   TIMESTAMPS 0:00 - Getting Away with Crime Before Modern Forensics 0:45 - The Dark Triad and the Psychopathic Knight 4:27 - Synderesis: The Medieval Blind Spot 5:56 - King Henry II, Louis VII, & Royal Betrayals 7:29 - Thomas Aquinas & The Categories of Evil 11:19 - Peasant Impostors: The False Baldwin & Martin Guerre 15:09 - Why You Shouldn't Romanticize the Middle Ages WORKS CITED Aquinas, Thomas. Summa Theologica. Translated by Fathers of the English Dominican Province, Benziger Bros., 1947. Davis, Natalie Zemon. The Return of Martin Guerre. Harvard University Press, 1983. Guibert, of Nogent. A Monk's Confession: The Memoirs of Guibert of Nogent. Translated by Paul J. Archambault, Pennsylvania State University Press, 1996. Wickham, Chris. Medieval Europe. Yale University Press, 2016. Muzzey, David Saville. “Medieval Morals.” International Journal of Ethics, vol. 17, no. 1, 1906, pp. 29–47. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/2376098.

Traditional Catholic Morning Prayers in English | July

Traditional Catholic morning prayers to help start your day in a godly way! The month of July is dedicated to the Most Precious Blood of Jesus. May our devotion to the salvific action of the Precious Blood of Christ increase more fervently this month. We've included the Memorare of the Sacred Heart and litany of the Sacred Heart. Begin your July with daily morning prayer. This video is a compilation of many traditional morning prayers Catholics say, and should not be considered a replacement for those who have an obligation to pray the Divine Office morning prayers.

The One Passage that Proves the Papacy (to Protestants)

From Shameless Popery

Joe Heschmeyer explains that the Catholic doctrine of the papacy isn’t solely based on Matthew 16:18 offering insights from his book, Pope Peter. Use promo code POPEPETER to get 25% off at checkout: https://shop.catholic.com/pope-peter-...

This Is What Changed St Ignatius of Loyola’s Life Forever

Today is the Feast of St Ignatius of Loyola, Founder of the Society of Jesus, the Jesuits.

From Aleteia

He was an entirely different person after reading these stories.

Ignatius Loyola wasn't always a saint. In fact, before his conversion, he was quite the womanizer, gambler and fighter. In other words, being a faithful Catholic wasn't his "style."

Instead, St. Ignatius was enraptured by the fantastical tales of knights and ladies. He would often dwell upon these stories and place himself in them. He recounted later that he often “pictured to himself what he should do in honor of an illustrious lady, how he should journey to the city where she was, in what words he would address her, and what bright and pleasant sayings he would make use of, what manner of warlike exploits he should perform to please her.”

These tales fueled his life for some time and influenced how he looked at the world. It was a life divorced from Jesus Christ, taken up in many vain pursuits for power and glory.

If he kept on the path he was going, who knows what would have happened to him.

It took a cannonball to set him straight, leaving him bedridden for an extended amount of time. While recuperating he desired to read more stories of knightly adventures.

Saint stories

Providentially there were no such books around. This forced him to read two books that deeply shaped him and transformed him into another person. Ignatius explains what happened next in his autobiography (written in the third person):

As Ignatius had a love for fiction, when he found himself out of danger he asked for some romances to pass away the time. In that house there was no book of the kind. They gave him, instead, “The Life of Christ,” by Rudolph, the Carthusian, and another book called the “Flowers of the Saints,” both in Spanish. By frequent reading of these books he began to get some love for spiritual things. This reading led his mind to meditate on holy things, yet sometimes it wandered to thoughts which he had been accustomed to dwell upon before.

While perusing the life of Our Lord and the saints, he began to reflect, saying to himself: “What if I should do what St. Francis did?” “What if I should act like St. Dominic?” He pondered over these things in his mind, and kept continually proposing to himself serious and difficult things. He seemed to feel a certain readiness for doing them, with no other reason except this thought: “St. Dominic did this; I, too, will do it.” “St. Francis did this; therefore I will do it.” 

The lives of the saints cut straight to his heart and appealed to his innate desire to lead a life of adventure. This time, instead of being a brave knight winning the heart of a lady, Ignatius was inflamed to become a heroic saint and win the world for Jesus Christ.

As a result, Ignatius began to think more deeply about his own life and his need to repent for the many sins of his past. Once he fully recovered from the injury, Ignatius set out to the Holy Land on a pilgrimage to atone for those sins. He was a changed man and it didn't take long for his new found zeal to be utilized in the proclamation of the Gospel.

He would go on to found the Society of Jesus, and desired each day to imitate the lives of the saints he read while convalescing. Through God's grace, he was able to accomplish the tasks set out before him and became one of the most beloved saints of all time.

All because he read the lives of the saints and the life of Jesus Christ.

The Clearest Sign of a Bad Bishop

From Brian Holdsworth

"Not every man who carries a crozier is a true shepherd." Support the channel by visiting: https://brianholdsworth.ca/help In John 10, Christ warns that some men entrusted with his flock will act as hirelings: enjoying the position of a shepherd but abandoning the sheep when the wolves arrive. Saints such as Augustine and Gregory the Great applied this warning directly to bishops who seek worldly honours, temporal advantages, or personal security rather than the salvation of souls. So how can Catholics distinguish a faithful shepherd from a hireling? In this video, I consider two revealing tests: whether a bishop’s leadership produces vocations and whether he is willing to defend the faithful when doing so carries a personal cost. The difference between a thriving diocese and a dying one may have far less to do with consultants, strategic plans, and institutional resources than with whether its leaders genuinely believe in God and trust his grace. And when Catholics find themselves under a hireling rather than a shepherd, St. Augustine offers this advice: “Pluck the grapes; beware of the thorn.” TIMESTAMPS 00:00 Not every bishop is a true shepherd 00:38 Christ’s warning about hirelings 01:29 Augustine and Gregory on bad bishops 02:53 The clearest test: priestly vocations 03:38 Why faithful young men avoid some dioceses 04:45 The remarkable example of Wichita 06:55 Adoration versus institutional strategy 08:50 What happens when bishops flee from wolves 09:49 Seeking the approval of the Church’s enemies 11:42 Why some dioceses and parishes thrive 12:35 The difference a faithful priest can make 14:02 What Catholics should do under a bad bishop

Listen to Homer. Skip the Movies.

To the ancient authors, "Earthly life possessed neither value, nor meaning apart from the invisible yet decisive influence of the gods—or of God."

From One Peter Five

By Robert Lazu Kmita, PhD

My profound interest in film adaptations of literary masterpieces has never been rewarded. Quite the contrary. When it comes to this branch of contemporary cinema—adaptations—most directors and screenwriters seem determined to convince me of the infallibility of their mediocrity. And those few, very few, who have managed to do otherwise have invariably been distinguished by their fidelity to the works they adapted.

Among the classical authors, Homer has received the worst treatment. Then again, perhaps it could not have been otherwise. It is only natural that the greatest author in the history of world literature—the man who composed two masterpieces, the Iliad and the Odyssey, without any previous model to follow—should have inspired the largest number of adaptations. Although I cannot claim to have seen them all, over the course of fifty years I have watched a significant number of them.

To understand the substance of my criticism, I must first reveal a significant detail: I was raised on the myths and legends of ancient Greece. From my earliest childhood, my mother, a great lover of wandering heroes, began telling me the adventures of Ulysses. Alongside Heracles, he has always been my favorite hero. And not mine alone, since countless authors of the most diverse kinds—from Virgil and Dante to James Joyce and Henryk Sienkiewicz—have sought to extend his legendary shadow within their own works. It is only natural, then, that filmmakers should aspire to the same. The only consistent result they have achieved, however, has been to confirm, time and again, one bitter conclusion: the more ambitious the attempt, the more resounding the failure.

The aesthetic qualities of a supreme poetic or literary work are impossible to reproduce. Every competent translator knows this elementary truth. The finest translations are those produced by other great poets and writers. It is enough to mention Charles Baudelaire’s translations of Edgar Allan Poe’s tales and poems to make the point clear: it cannot be otherwise. To translate a genius, you need another genius. Simple enough and completely non-democratic, isn’t it?

Film directors, however, seem unwilling to acknowledge this simple axiom. Convinced—whether rightly or wrongly—that they are geniuses as directors, they also assume they are geniuses as writers. A fatal mistake, concealed beneath the stammering excuses they offer. These excuses almost always come in two parts. The first concerns the change of artistic medium: the art of words, which poets and writers use as their “raw material,” is one thing; the art of moving pictures (derived from dramatic art) is something entirely different. Who would dare deny it? Cinema has its own means of expression—which is precisely why suitable adaptations are necessary. In this respect, no special effort is needed to persuade us that this is true. But when it comes to adapting the content—that is, the story itself—nothing and no one has ever succeeded in offering either a convincing argument or a satisfactory creation. Just as films inspired by video games are generally lamentable, so too are films inspired by literary masterpieces. Boring and superficial. From an epic drama, they make an action movie. Just ask admirers of Tolkien’s works. But what arguments do directors and screenwriters have when they disfigure the masterpieces of world literature until they become unrecognizable?

Let us set aside every argument that concerns the necessity of adapting a work to the specific means of cinema. I have already said that such arguments are acceptable within certain limits. The arguments that concern me here are those relating to the alteration of the content—that is, as I have already said, the rewriting of the story itself. The ultimate line of reasoning I have encountered, in dozens of variations, is always the same: modern audiences no longer possess the sensibility required to appreciate an ancient epic poet. Therefore, the stories must be rewritten for today’s viewers. Without exception, all such rewritings reflect the profound crisis out of which the modern world and modern culture have emerged: the obliteration, to the point of disappearance, of the supernatural.

For the ancient authors, whether pagan or Jewish, the existence of the invisible world and of the beings that inhabited it was the supreme axiom. Earthly life possessed neither value, nor meaning apart from the invisible yet decisive influence of the gods—or of God. Certainly, we cannot reduce pagan polytheistic idolatry and the monotheistic faith of the chosen people to a common denominator. Yet, as some of the Holy Fathers of the Church recognized, there was something in the wisdom of the pre-Christian ancients that was not alien to the supreme Logos. Indeed, the presence among them of thinkers such as Pythagoras, Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, who speculated about the existence of a single, uncreated supreme deity, points to philosophical currents that foreshadowed the Incarnation of the Divine Word.

Here, then, is the first aspect of Homer’s world that demands our attention: everything that happens “below,” in the world of men, is strictly influenced by and subordinate to the conflicts and decisions made “above,” in the world of the gods. Without denying the massive element of superstition in the religion of the ancient Greeks, we nevertheless recognize that dual dimension of the cosmos to which the Christian Creed also bears witness when it reminds us that Almighty God created all things, “visible and invisible.” The consequences of such a belief are remarkable.

The existential dilemmas and dramas of Homer’s heroes all arise from the tension between these two worlds. Likewise, the principal concern of his heroes, however veiled or only dimly perceived, is always the passage from the world “below” to the world “above.” This is why war, honor, glory, and—last but certainly not least—death possess exceptional connotations, utterly different from the values of a culture for which there is nothing beyond this life. A culture for which, in fact, there is no longer any “world beyond.”

The adventures and decisions of those who lack faith in a transcendence polarized between Hell (Hades) and Paradise (the Elysian Fields) become the traumas, psychoses, and neuroses of Leibnizian monads, for whom Joker is no less plausible a character than Ulysses. For anyone with even a modest understanding of the ancient world, such a vision is utterly unintelligible and completely at odds with Homer’s universe. In Homer’s world, war itself is animated by higher forces; it is not merely a somewhat more dynamic manifestation of prevailing chaos. The music of Homer’s world calls to mind the royal anthems of Händel, not a death metal concert. Here we encounter, perhaps, the most radical difference between our world and the world of the author of the Iliad.

War is understood as a vast ritual arena in which one either receives or loses κῦδος kydos—glory. Like ambrosia, the immortal food of the Olympian gods, glory is the only “nourishment” capable of bestowing eternal youth and life without death. Derived exclusively from the honor and courage embodied in military heroism, it is the immediate goal of all those engaged in the struggle against their own weaknesses and shortcomings. Like every great writer, Homer portrays the limitations of his heroes with genius. We are astonished by the tears of Achilles, the legendary warrior, who weeps bitterly with his head resting on the shoulder of his mother, the nymph Thetis. Or by the quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles, both sharply rebuked by the wise Nestor, who reproaches them for “quarreling over girls.” Homer did not spare his heroes. Yet he also emphasized what distinguished them from the anonymous multitude who lacked their qualities: the capacity to respond in a unique way to unique situations. Only legendary deeds can justify the reception of divine glory. Thus war, despite all its cruelty, is and remains a field of glory—a vast ritual ground where those who fight well receive the support of the immortals. The Christian world inherited this vision while ennobling it.

Much as the imaginary art of alchemy was said to transform common metals into gold, Christianity transmuted the substance of pagan heroism into the gold of holiness. This explains the presence of Homer’s martial vocabulary throughout the stories of the Holy Desert Fathers: Anthony the Great, Macarius of Egypt, and Pachomius the Great. Detailed philological studies of the language of The History of the Monks of Syria by Saint Theodoret of Cyrrhus (c.393–458) have demonstrated this conclusively. The difference lies in their orientation: whereas the pagan heroes are focused on military exploits, the Christian heroes of the desert tradition are engaged in the vast cosmic war against the demons of whom Saint Paul speaks in his Epistle to the Ephesians (6:12). Such parallels, however, make it possible to interpret the pagan epics through a Christian lens.

Far less well known than his controversial brother, Hugo Rahner, S.J. (1900–1968), left behind writings that deserve far wider recognition. One of these is the magnificent monograph Griechische Mythen in christlicher Deutung (Greek Myths and Christian Mystery, 1957), which contains a remarkable section entitled “Saint Homer.” There, while rejecting the interpretations of those historians who sought to regard all the sacraments and rituals of the Christian religion as mere borrowings from pagan cults, Rahner shows how certain Church Fathers—foremost among them Saint Clement of Alexandria (c.150–c.215 AD)—interpreted Homer’s works. His conclusion points to the discreet persistence, even throughout pre-Christian history, of traces of Divine Wisdom that guided those who loved her toward the Gospel.

The essence of Hugo Rahner’s interpretation remains unchanged: now more than ever, the ancients have an important message for modern people, who have forgotten their roots and their fundamental beliefs: the importance of the “unseen world” is crucial, while ignoring it is fatal. Moreover, no personal crisis, drama, or tragedy can be resolved without restoring a harmonious relationship between the two worlds. Ritual is the only means of accomplishing this otherwise insoluble task. How can a film director receive and convey such a message when, in all likelihood, he does not even believe what Homer himself believed?

St Ignatius of Loyola, Confessor

Today's Holy Mass from SSPX Australia. You may follow the Mass at Divinum Officium.

St Ignatius, Confessor ~ Dom Prosper Guéranger

St Ignatius, Confessor

From Dom Prosper Guéranger's Liturgical Year:

Although the cycle of the time after Pentecost has shown us many times already the solicitude of the Holy Spirit for the defense of the Church, yet today the teaching shines forth with a new luster. In the sixteen century Satan made a formidable attack upon the holy city by means of a man who, like himself, had fallen from the height of heaven, a man prevented in early years by the choice graces which lead to perfection, yet unable in an evil day to resist the spirit of revolt. As Lucifer aimed at being equal to God, Luther set himself up against the Vicar of God, on the mountain of the covenant; and soon, falling from abyss to abyss, he drew after him the third part of the stars of the firmament of holy Church. How terrible is that mysterious law whereby the fallen creature, be he man or Angel, is allowed to keep the same ruling power for evil, which he would otherwise have exercised for good. But the designs of Eternal Wisdom are never frustrated: against the misused liberty of the Angel or man, is set up that other merciful law of substitution, by which St. Michael was the first to benefit.

The development of Ignatius’ vocation to holiness, followed step by step the defection of Luther. In the Spring of 1521 Luther had just quit Worms and was defying the world from the Castle of Wartburg, when Ignatius received at Pampeluna the wound which was the occasion of his leaving the world and retiring at Manresa. (Life of St. Ignatius of Loyola) Valiant as his noble ancestors, he felt within him from his earliest years the warlike ardor which they had shown on the battlefields of Spain. But the campaign against the Moors closed at the very time of his birth (1491). Were his chivalrous instincts to be satisfied with petty political quarrels? The only true King worthy of his great soul revealed himself to him in the trial which put a stop to his worldly projects: a new warfare was opened out to his ambition; another crusade was begun; and in the year 1522, from the mountains of Catalonia to those of Thuringia, was developed that divine strategy of which the Angels alone knew the secret.

In this wonderful campaign it seemed that hell was allowed to take the initiative, while heaven was content to look on, only taking care to make grace abound the more, where iniquity strove to abound. As in the previous year Ignatius received his first call three weeks after Luther had completed his rebellion, so in this year, at three weeks’ distance, the rival camps of hell and heaven each chose and equipped its leader. Ten months of diabolical manifestations prepared Satan’s lieutenant, in the place of his forced retreat, which he called his Patmos; and on the 5th of March the deserter of the altar and of the cloister left Wartburg.

On the 25th of the same month, the glorious night of the Incarnation, the brilliant soldier in the armies of the Catholic kingdom, the descendant of the families of Ognes and Loyola, clad in sackcloth, the uniform of poverty, to indicate his new projects, watched his arms in prayer at Montserrat; then hanging up his trusty sword at Mary’s altar, he went forth to make trial of his future combats by a merciless war against himself. In opposition to the already proudly floating standard of the freethinkers, he displayed upon his own this simple device: To the greater glory of God! At Paris, where Calvin was secretly recruiting the future Huguenots, Ignatius, in the name of the God of armies, organized his vanguard, which he destined to cover the march of the Christian army, to lead the way, to bear the brunt, to deal the first blows. On the 15th of August, 1534, five months after the rupture of England from the Holy See, these first soldiers sealed at Montmartre the definitive engagement which they were afterwards to solemnly renew at St. Paul’s outside the Walls. For Rome was to be the rallying place of the little troop which was soon to increase so wonderfully, and which was, by its special profession, to be ever in readiness, at the least sign from the Head of the Church, to exercise its zeal in whatever part of the world he should think fit, in the defense or propagation of the faith, or for the progress of souls in doctrine and Christian life. (Litt. Pauli III, Regimini militantis Ecclesiæ; Julii III. Exposcit debitum, etc.)

An illustrious speaker of our own day has said (in a homily delivered on the feast of the beatification of Bl. Pierre le Fèvre): “What strikes us at once in the history of the Society of Jesus, is that it was matured at its very first formation. Whosoever knows the first founders of the Company knows the whole Company, in its spirit, its aim, its enterprises, its proceedings, its methods. What a generation was that which gave it birth! What union of science and activity, of interior life and military life! One may say they were universal men, men of a giant race, compared with whom we are but insects: de genere giganteo, quibus comparati quasi locustæ videbamur.” (Numbers 13:34)

All the more touching, then, was the charming simplicity of those first Fathers of the Society, making their way to Rome on foot, fasting and weary, but their hearts overflowing with joy, singing with a low voice the Psalms of David. (P. Ribandeneiera, Vita Ignatii Loiolæ, lib. ii, cap. vii) When it became necessary, on account of the urgency of the times, for the new institute to abandon the great traditions of public prayer, it was a sacrifice to several of these souls; Mary could not give way to Martha without a struggle; for so many centuries, the solemn celebration of the Divine Office had been the indispensable duty of every religious family, its primary social debt, and the principal nourishment of the individual holiness of its members.

But new times had come, times of decadence and ruin, calling for an exception as extraordinary as it was grievous to the brave company that was risking its existence amid ceaseless alarms and continual sallies upon hostile territory. Ignatius understood this; and to the special aim imposed upon him, he sacrificed his personal attraction for the sacred chants; nevertheless, to the end of his life, the least note of the Psalmody falling on his ears drew tears of ecstasy from his eyes. (J. Rhous, in variis virtutum historiis, lib. iii., cap. ii)

After his death, the Church, which had never known any interest to outbalance the splendor of worship due to her Spouse, wished to return from a derogation which so deeply wounded the dearest instincts of her bridal heart; Paul IV revoked it absolutely, but St. Pius V, after combating it for a long time, was at last obliged to give in. In the latter ages so full of snares, the time had come for the Church to organize special armies. But while it became more and more impossible to expect from these worthy troops, continually taken up with outside combats, the habits of those who dwelt in security, protected by the ancient towers of the holy city, at the same time Ignatius repudiated the strange misconception which would try to reform the Christian people according to this enforced but abnormal manner of life. The third of the eighteen rules which he gives as the crowning of the Spiritual Exercises, to have in us the true sentiments of the orthodox Church, recommends to the faithful the chants of the Church, the Psalms, and the different Canonical Hours at their appointed times. And at the beginning of this book, which is the treasure of the Society of Jesus, where he mentions the conditions for drawing the greatest fruit from the Exercises, he ordains in his twentieth annotation that he who can do so, should choose for the time of his retreat a dwelling from whence he can easily go to Matins and Vespers as well as to the Holy Sacrifice. What was our Saint here doing, but advising that the Exercises should be practiced in the same spirit in which they were composed in that blessed retreat of Manresa, where the daily attendance at solemn Mass and the evening Offices had been to him the source of heavenly delights?

But it is time to listen to the Church’s account of the life of this great servant of God.

Ignatius, by nation a Spaniard, was born of a noble family at Loyola, in Cantabria. At first, he attended the court of the Catholic king, and later on, embraced a military career. Having been wounded at the siege of Pampeluna, he chanced in his illness to read some pious books, which kindled in his soul a wonderful eagerness to follow in the footsteps of Christ and the Saints. He went to Montserrat, and hung up his arms before the Altar of the Blessed Virgin; he then watched the whole night in prayer, and thus entered upon his knighthood in the Army of Christ. Next he retired to Manresa, dressed as he was in sackcloth, for he had a short time before given his costly garments to a beggar. Here he stayed for a year, and during that time he lived on bread and water, given to him in alms; he fasted every day except Sunday, subdued his flesh with a sharp chain and a hairshirt, slept on the ground, and scourged himself with iron disciplines. God favored and refreshed him with such wonderful spiritual lights that afterwards he was wont to say, that even if the sacred Scriptures did not exist, he would be ready to die for the faith, on account of those revelations alone which the Lord had made to him at Manresa. It was at this time that he, a man without education, composed that admirable book of the Exercises, which has been approved by the judgment of the Apostolic See, and by the benefit reaped from it by all.

However, in order to make himself more fit for gaining souls, he determined to procure the advantages of education, and began by studying grammar among children. Meanwhile he relaxed nothing of his zeal for the salvation of others, and it is marvelous what sufferings and insults he patiently endured in every place, undergoing the hardest trials, even imprisonment and stripes almost unto death. But he ever desired to suffer far more for the glory of his Lord. At Paris he was joined by nine companions from that University, men of different nations, who had taken their degrees in Art and Theology; and there at Montmartre he laid the first foundations of the Order, which he was later on to institute at Rome. He added to the three usual vows a fourth concerning the Missions, thus binding it closely to the Apostolic See. Paul III first welcomed and approved the Society, as did later other Pontiffs and the Council of Trent. Ignatius sent St. Francis Xavier to preach the Gospel in the Indies, and dispersed others of his children to spread the Christian faith in other parts of the world, thus declaring war against paganism, superstition, and heresy. This war he carried on with such success that it has always been the universal opinion, confirmed by the word of Pontiffs, that God raised up Ignatius and the Society founded by him to oppose Luther and the heretics of his time, as formerly he had raised up other holy men to oppose other heretics.

He made the restoration of piety among Catholics his first care. He increased the beauty of the sacred buildings, the giving of catechetical instructions, the frequentation of sermons and of the Sacraments. He everywhere opened schools for the education of youth in piety and letters. He founded at Rome the German College, refuges for women of evil life, and for young girls who were in danger, houses for orphans and catechumens of both sexes, and many other pious works. He devoted himself unweariedly to gaining souls to God. Once he was heard saying, that if he were given his choice, he would rather live uncertain of attaining the Beatific Vision, and in the meanwhile devote himself to the service of God and the salvation of his neighbor, than die at once certain of eternal glory. His power over the demons was wonderful. St. Philip Neri and others saw his countenance shining with heavenly light. At length in the sixty-fifth year of his age he passed to the embrace of his Lord, whose greater glory he had ever preached and ever sought in all things. He was celebrated for miracles and for his great services to the Church, and Gregory XV enrolled him amongst the Saints.

This is the victory which overcometh the world, our faith. (1 John 5:4) And thou didst prove this truth once more to the world, O thou great conqueror of the age in which the Son of God chose thee to raise up again his ensign that had been humbled before the standard of Babel. Against the ever-increasing battalions of the rebels thou didst long stand almost alone, leaving it to the God of armies to choose his own moment for engaging thee against Satan’s troops, as he chose his own for withdrawing thee from human warfare. If the world had then been told of thy designs, it would have laughed them to scorn; yet now, no one can deny that it was a decisive moment in the history of the world when, with as much confidence as the most illustrious general concentrating his forces, thou gavest the word to thy nine companions to proceed three and three to the holy City. What great results were obtained in the fifteen years during which this little troops, recruited by the Holy Ghost, had thee for its first General! Heresy was trampled out of Italy, confounded at Trent, checked everywhere, paralyzed in its very center; immense conquests were made in new worlds, as a compensation for the losses suffered in our West; Sion herself, renewing the beauty of her youth, saw her people and her pastors raised up again, and her sons receiving an education befitting their heavenly destiny; in a word, all along the line, where he had rashly cried victory, Satan was now howling, overcome once more by the name of Jesus, which makes every knee to bow, in heaven, on earth, and in hell! Hadst thou ever, O Ignatius, gained such glory as this in the armies of earthly kings?

From the throne thou hast won by so many valiant deeds, watch over the fruits of thy words, and prove thyself always God’s soldier. In the midst of the contradictions which are never wanting to them, uphold thy sons in their position of honor and prowess which makes them the vanguard of the Church. May they be faithful to the spirit of their glorious Father, “having unceasingly before their eyes: first, God; next, as the way leading to Him, the form of their institute, consecrating all their powers to attain this end marked out for them by God; yet each following the measure of grace he has received from the Holy Ghost, and particular degree of his vocation:” (Litt. Apos. primæ Institui approbationis, Pauli III, Regimini militantis) Lastly, O head of such a noble lineage, extend thy love to all religious families whose lot in these times of persecution is so closely allied with that of thine own sons; bless, especially, the monastic Order whose ancient branches overshadowed thy first steps in the perfect life, and the birth of that illustrious Society which will be thy everlasting crown in heaven. Have pity on France, on Paris, whose University furnished thee with foundations for the strong, unshaken building raised by thee to the glory of the Most High. May every Christian learn of thee to fight for the Lord, and never to betray his standard; may all men, under thy guidance, return to God, their beginning and their end.