We are now at the end of our labours; but, before parting with our readers, we would briefly call their attention to some of the chief points in our History. If we mistake not, the perusal of our narrative, imperfect as it may be, will convince even an indifferently attentive reader that Loyola had but one end in view—one fixed idea—namely, to establish an order which should domineer over society; and that his successors have been arrested by no scruples as to the means to be employed for obtaining this end. With the exception of this fixed rule, to which the Jesuits have adhered with undeviating constancy, it may be asserted that they have no principle whatever. The dogmas of their creed, the precepts of their moral code, their political principles, all these they have changed or modified according to places and circumstances. They have been against or in favour of the Roman See, according as it served or injured the interests of the order. They have proclaimed the unlimited sovereignty of the people, and have been instrumental in bringing many unfortunate persons to the scaffold, for resisting the tyrannical power of absolute monarchs. To accomplish their ends, they have all along thought that money would be the most efficient instrument; hence their insatiable desire of wealth, to accumulate which, they violated all laws, divine and human. The riches got by illicit means have been ever expended for still more culpable purposes. A Jesuit does not desire or spend money for his own personal self; he is frugal in his habits, and parsimonious in expenditure as far as regards mere comforts; but he is no miser. He does not hide his treasures in the bowels of the earth, but spends them freely to increase the influence and power of his order. The secret agent of the Society is handsomely rewarded; the spy liberally paid. Ministers of different sovereigns are bought over by princely largesses; and even the ruling beauties of courts are bribed to serve the order with costly and suitable presents.

The fathers were also persuaded, from the beginning, that it would greatly contribute to the grandeur and power of the order to insinuate themselves into the susceptible minds of the young, and they left nothing untried by which this might be effected. Other schemes—the conversion of heretics, the missions, the outward exercise of many of the Christian virtues—were all directed to the attainment of the same identical end—the aggrandisement of the order.

Two other principal facts are deserving of attention. The first is, that, from the beginning, the establishment of the Society was everywhere opposed, and in all places where it was finally admitted, it was subsequently, at different epochs, persecuted, and convicted of iniquitous and abominable crimes. The second fact is, that the Society of Jesus, though it may at times have disregarded its rules of internal policy, has nevertheless maintained its general primitive character; namely, its relentless domineering spirit, and the abnegation of every personal feeling in favour of the community. The Jesuits of the present day, unlike all other religious fraternities, which have invariably undergone so many modifications, are exactly the same as they were in Loyola’s lifetime. Founded by that bold, despotic, and ambitious man, it seems as if his spirit had transmitted itself into the whole Society, and presided over all its acts. The Company, so to speak, has perpetuated the life of Loyola. If we would personify the order, we might represent it, after his likeness, as an apparently humble and sainted man, deeply absorbed in the contemplation of heavenly things, while in reality revolving in his capacious and daring mind projects of unbounded ambition. There is no record in history of an association whose organisation has stood for three hundred years unchanged and unaltered by all the assaults of men and time, and which has exercised such an immense influence over the destinies of mankind.

This perseverance of the order in its principles and policy is comparable to nothing except the corresponding constancy of the world in the opinion which it formed of the Society at its commencement, and which it still retains. “The moment,” says an author of the beginning of the seventeenth century, “a great crime is committed, the public voice at once and unanimously accuses the Jesuits of being its perpetrators.” And the same sentiments with regard to them prevail to this day. In former times, indeed, that opinion was so strongly and universally received, that our forefathers, less scrupulous than we are in the administration of justice, at the simple announcement of a misdeed, brought the Jesuit before the tribunal, and sometimes unjustly condemned him for crimes of which he was guiltless. Do, then, the Jesuits, from the habit of committing crimes, bear on their countenances the indications of a criminal and wicked disposition, as is commonly the case with ruffians by procession? Or do they, by public and open misdemeanours, give the world a right to form this judgment of them? By no means. We have already said the reverse. They appear, on the contrary, to conduct themselves as the most innocent, most inoffensive, and holy of men; and, indeed, unless one has been present at the representation of Tartuffe, he would not easily recognise the Jesuit from the undisguisedly honest man. However, we would not be so illiberal as to say that all the Jesuits are knaves. Our lamented friend Gioberti, when Father Pellico said to him, “Are we, then, all assassins and robbers?” answered, “By no means. Individually, I consider you very honest fellows, and had I treasure, I would unhesitatingly intrust it to your keeping.” We would not perhaps go quite so far; but we will freely admit that the Jesuit may be individually honest, unless the interest of his order obliges him to be otherwise. For there are no considerations of religion, honesty, or virtue, which he does not feel himself bound peremptorily and at all times to sacrifice to this one supreme consideration. “The end sanctifies the means,” is his favourite maxim; and as his only end, as we have shewn, is the order, at its bidding the Jesuit is ready to commit any crime whatsoever.

Such, then, is the history of a Society dreaded and relied upon, worshipped and abhorred, which has produced little good, and infinite mischief, and which, having been hurled down from the pinnacle of splendour and glory, attempts now, with renewed vigour and unceasing activity, to regain the summit of its ancient pre-eminence. An appalling prospect, foreboding no good to the welfare of mankind! One cheering idea, however, still remains to dissipate the evil apprehension. The Jesuits, now more decidedly than ever, have identified themselves with the cause of despotism, fanaticism, and ignorance; and the day on which the tottering thrones of tyranny shall crumble under the mighty and resistless arm of progressive civilisation, they will bury deep and for ever under their ruins all traces of the influence once possessed by this most formidable and pernicious Society.

THE END.