Chapter III. How Upon These And The Like Motives Divers Gentlemen Did

The Condition of Catholics Under James I.

Father Gerard’s Narrative of the Gunpowder Plot

Edited, With His Life, By

John Morris,

Priest of the Society of Jesus

London: Longmans, Green, & Co.

1871

CONTENTS

The Life Of Father John Gerard

A Narrative Of The Gunpowder Plot.

Jesus Maria. The Preface.

Chapter II. [I.] The State Of Persecuted Catholics At The Queen’s Death

And The King’s Entry, With Their Hopes Of Relaxation By Him, Whereof

They Failed.

Chapter III. [II.] The Increase Of Persecution And All Kind Of

Molestations Unto Catholics, With Their Failing Of All Hopes, Procured

By The Puritan Faction.

Chapter III. How Upon These And The Like Motives Divers Gentlemen Did

Conspire And Conclude Upon Some Violent Remedy.

Chapter IV. How After They Had Begun Their Enterprise, They Fell Into

Some Scruple, And Went About To Satisfy Their Conscience By Asking

Questions Afar Off, Of Learned Men, Without Opening The Case.

Chapter V. How Father Garnett Beginning To Suspect Somewhat By Certain

Generalities He Understood Of The Gentlemen, Wrote Divers Letters To

Rome For Prevention Of Rebellion.

Chapter VI. How In The Mean Space, The Conspirators Proceeded In Their

Purpose, And Drew In More Complices, And What They Were.

Chapter VII. How, The Parliament Drawing Near, The Whole Plot Was

Discovered, And That Which Ensued Thereupon.

Chapter VIII. How Upon Examination Of The Prisoners It Was Apparent

That No Other Catholics Could Be Touched With The Conspiracy. The Same

Also Confirmed By His Majesty’s Own Words, To The Great Comfort Of

Catholics.

Chapter IX. How The Fathers Of The Society Were By Industry Of The

Heretics Drawn Into This Matter, To Incense The King Against Them, And

For Them Against The Catholic Religion.

Chapter X. How Father Garnett, The Superior, Was Discovered And Taken

In Worcestershire And Brought Up To London: And Of His First Entreaty

And Examination.

Chapter XI. Of Father Garnett, His Carriage To The Tower And Subtle

Usage There. Also Of The Usage Of Fr. Ouldcorne And Nicholas Owen,

Ralph, And John Grisoll In The Same Place.

Chapter XII. Of The Arraignment, Condemnation, And Execution Of The

Conspirators, With The Full Clearing Of Some Of The Society Falsely

Accused In This Arraignment.

Chapter XIII. Of The Arraignment And Condemnation Of Father Garnett.

Chapter XIV. Of The Arraignment And Execution Of Father Ouldcorne And

Those That Suffered With Him, And Of The Occurrences There, With A

Brief Relation Of His Life.

Chapter XV. Of The Execution Of Father Garnett, With A Brief Relation

Of His Life.

Chapter XVI. Of The State Of Catholics After Father Garnett His

Execution: How God Did Comfort Them With Some Miraculous Events, And

How Their Zeal Increased, Notwithstanding The Increase Of Persecution.

Chapter XVII. A Catalogue Of The Laws Against Catholics Made By Queen

Elizabeth And Confirmed By This King, And Of Others Added By Himself.

Alphabetical Index.

Footnotes

THE LIFE OF FATHER JOHN GERARD

I.

The life and character of a witness are the grounds on which we base our

estimate of his credibility. That he should have spoken of himself at

great length and with many and minute details is a circumstance most

favourable to the formation of an accurate judgment respecting him. Such

is fortunately our position with regard to Father John Gerard, the author

of the Narrative of the Gunpowder Plot. He has left a full and most

interesting autobiography in Latin; and we have felt that we could not do

the reader a better service, or better establish the good fame of a man

who has been unjustly accused, than by prefixing to his Narrative

translations of large portions of his Autobiography. When the life of

Father Gerard is before the reader, we will address ourselves directly to

the subject of his veracity, and in conclusion, we will give what is known

of the history of the Autobiography, and of the autograph manuscript from

which the Narrative of the Powder Plot is printed.

John Gerard was the second son of Sir Thomas Gerard, of Bryn,(1)

Lancashire, Knight, and Elizabeth, daughter of Sir John Port, of Etwal,

Derbyshire, Knight. In the Narrative(2) of the Plot, when he has occasion

to speak of his elder brother Thomas, who received knighthood from King

James on his accession, he says “that was to him no advancement whose

ancestors had been so for sixteen or seventeen descents together.” This

Sir Thomas was made a baronet at the first creation of that dignity in

1611.

“I was born,” in 1564, “of Catholic parents, who never concealed their

profession, for which they suffered much from our heretic rulers; so much

so that, when a child of five years of age, I was forced, together with my

brother who was also a child, to dwell among heretics under another roof,

for that my father, with two other gentlemen, had been cast into the Tower

of London, for having conspired to restore the Scottish Queen to liberty

and to her kingdom. She was at that time confined in the county of Derby”

[at Tutbury(3)] “at two miles distance from us. Three years afterwards, my

father, having obtained his release by the payment of a large sum, brought

us home, free however from any taint of heresy, as he had maintained a

Catholic tutor over us.”

Sir Thomas Gerard was again in the Tower of London later on, and had been

there more than two years when his son landed in England as a Priest.(4) A

little before this imprisonment, he had been summoned by his kinsman,(5)

Sir Gilbert Gerard, the Master of the Rolls, to compound for his recusancy

by the “free offer” of a yearly sum to be paid to the Queen, “to be freed

from the penalty of the statute.” As it gives an excellent idea of the

exactions to which wealthy Catholics were continually subjected in those

days, we subjoin Sir Thomas’ “offer.” The original in the Public Record

Office(6) is signed by himself.

“14 die Martii, 1585.

“Sir Thomas Gerard saith that he is greatly in debt, by reason of

his troubles and suretyship, and payeth large interest for the

same; and hath sold much of his lands and departed with a large

portion of the rest unto his sons; and hath two daughters to

bestow, so that he is not able to offer any great sums unto Her

Highness in this behalf [preparation to resist the Spanish

invasion]. “Yet, nevertheless, he most humbly submitteth himself

unto Her Majesty’s pleasure, offering his person to serve Her

Highness in any place of the world. And if he shall not be

admitted thereto, then he offereth, with very good will, 30_l._

a-year, which is the fourth part of his small portion remaining,

now left to maintain himself, his poor wife and children.”

“THOMAS GERARD.”

The name of “Dame Elizabeth Gerard” heads the list of thirty-three

“Recusants sometimes resident about London and in Middlesex, but now

dispersed into other countries.”

With regard to the mention of property transferred by Sir Thomas Gerard to

his sons, it may be interesting to quote from the information of a spy,(7)

given just ten years later, the following details—

“_Item_, John Gerard the Jesuit hath certain houses in Lancashire, called

Brockehouse Row, near Ashton; he hath made leases, and one tenant hath not

paid all his fine: old John Southworth, dwelling thereabouts, is his

bailiff, who can show how else the land and title standeth.”

“At the age of fifteen,” the Autobiography resumes, “I was sent to Exeter

College, Oxford, where my tutor was a certain Mr. Leutner,(8) a good and

learned man, and a Catholic in mind and heart. There however I did not

stay more than a twelvemonth, as at Easter the heretics sought to force us

to attend their worship, and to partake of their counterfeit sacrament. I

returned then with my brother to my father’s house, whither Mr. Leutner

himself soon followed us, being resolved to live as a Catholic in very

deed, and not merely in desire. While there, he superintended our Latin

studies for the next two years, but afterwards going to Belgium, he lived

and died there most holily. As for Greek, we were at the same time placed

under the tuition of a good and pious Priest, William Sutton by name, to

whom this occupation served as an occasion for dwelling in our house

unmolested. He afterwards entered the Society, and was drowned on the

coast of Spain, whither Superiors had called him.

“At the age of nineteen I passed over to France, by permission, with the

object of learning the French tongue, and resided for three years at

Rhemes. While there, though yet a lad, and far from being solidly grounded

in my Humanities, I applied myself to the study of Sacred Scripture,

consulting the commentators for the sense of the more difficult passages,

and writing down with my own hand the explanations given publicly to the

theological students. Being my own master, I did not, as I ought to have

done, lay a sufficiently solid foundation. My own taste guided my choice

of authors, and I sedulously read the works of St. Bernard and St.

Bonaventure, and such other spiritual writers. About this time I made, by

God’s providence, the acquaintance of a saintly young man, who had been

admitted into the Society at Rome, but having for reasons of health been

sent out for a time, was then living at Rhemes. He gave me the details of

his past life; he told me (may the Lord reward him) how he had been

educated in the household of God; he taught me how good and wholesome it

was for a man to have borne the yoke from his youth. He taught me the

method of mental prayer; for which exercise we were wont to meet together

at stated hours, as we were not living in the College, but in different

lodgings in the town. It was there that, when about twenty years of age, I

heard the call of God’s infinite mercy and loving kindness inviting me

from the crooked ways of the world to the straight path, to the perfect

following of Christ in His holy Society.”

“After my three years’ residence at Rhemes, I went to Clermont College, at

Paris, to see more closely the manner of the Society’s life, and to be

more solidly grounded in Humanities and Philosophy. I had not been there

one year, when I fell dangerously ill. After my recovery, I accompanied

Father Thomas Darbyshire to Rouen, in order to see Father Persons, who had

arrived thither from England, and was staying incognito in that city, to

superintend the publication of his _Christian Directory_, a most useful

and happy work, which in my opinion has converted to God more souls than

it contains pages. The heretics themselves have known how to appreciate

it, as appears from a recent edition thereof published by one of their

ministers, who sought to claim the glory of so important a work. To Father

Persons then did I communicate my vocation, and my desire of joining the

Society. But as I was not yet strong, nor fit to continue my studies, and,

moreover, as I had some property to dispose of and arrangements to make in

England, he advised me to return thither, so as to recruit my health by

breathing my native air, and at the same time to free myself from every

obstacle which might prevent or delay me in my pursuit of perfection and

the Religious life. I accordingly went home, and after settling my

affairs, set out on my return, in about a year; this time, however,

without having asked for a license, for I had no hope of obtaining it, as

I did not venture to communicate my plans to my parents.

“I embarked then with some other Catholics, and after having been kept

five days at sea by contrary winds, we were forced to put in at the port

of Dover. On arriving thither, we were all seized by the Custom House

officers, and forwarded to London in custody. My companions were

imprisoned, on a warrant of the Queen’s Privy Council. For my own part,

though I declared myself a Catholic, and refused to attend their worship,

I escaped imprisonment at that time, as there were some of the Council

that were friendly to my family, and had procured me the license to travel

abroad on the former occasion. They entertained, it would seem, some hopes

of perverting me in course of time, so I was sent to my maternal uncle’s,

a Protestant, to be kept in his custody, and if possible, to be perverted.

He, after three months, sought to obtain my full liberty by praying or

paying;(9) but being asked whether I had _gone to church_, as they call

it, he was obliged to acknowledge that he could never bring me to do so.

Thereupon the Council sent me with a letter to the pseudo-Bishop of

London,(10) who having read it, asked whether I would allow him to confer

with me on religious matters. I replied, that as I doubted of nothing, I

had rather decline. ‘You must in that case,’ answered the Superintendent,

‘remain here in custody.’ I replied that in this I was obliged to

acquiesce, through force and the command of the Government. He treated me

with kindness, with a view perhaps of thus drawing me over. But he ordered

his chaplain’s bed to be brought into my chamber. At first I repeatedly

declared my determination not to enter into any dispute with this man on

matters of faith, as to which my mind was settled, nor to receive

religious instruction from him; but as he ceased not pouring forth abuse

and blasphemy against the Saints in Heaven, and against our Holy Mother

the Church, I was forced to defend the truth, and then almost the whole

night was spent in disputing. I soon discovered that in him at least God’s

truth had no very formidable adversary. After two days, as they saw my

case was hopeless, they sent me back to the Council with letters of

recommendation forsooth, for the so-called Bishop told me that he had

greatly striven in my favour, and that he had great hopes of my being set

at large. It was, however, a Uriah’s letter that I carried, for no sooner

had the Council read it, than they ordered me to be imprisoned until I had

learnt to be a loyal subject. For they hold him a bad subject who will not

subject himself to their heresies and their sacrilegious worship.

“Being committed to the Marshalsea prison, I found there numbers of

Catholics and some Priests(11) awaiting judgment of death with the

greatest joy. In this school of Christ I was detained from the beginning

of one Lent” [March 5, 1584] “to the end of the following, not without

abundant consolation of mind, and good opportunity for study.”

“Twice during this interval we were all dragged before the Courts, not to

be tried for our lives, but to be fined according to the law against

recusants. I was condemned to pay 2,000 florins [200_l._].(12) The Court

was held in the country, some six miles out of London....”(13)

“At times our cells were visited, and a strict search made for church

stuff, Agnus Dei, and relics. Once we were, almost all of us, betrayed by

a false brother, who had feigned to be a Catholic, and disclosed our

hidden stores to the authorities. On this occasion were seized quantities

of Catholic books and sacred objects, enough to fill a cart. In my cell

were found nearly all the requisites for saying Mass: for my next-door

neighbour was a good Priest, and we discovered a secret way of opening the

door between us so that we had Mass very early every morning. We

afterwards repaired our losses, nor could the malice of the devil again

deprive us of so great a consolation in our bonds.

“In the course of the following year, my liberty was obtained by the

importunities of my friends, who however were bound as sureties, to the

extent of a heavy sum of money, for my remaining in the kingdom. I was,

moreover, to present myself at the prison at the three months’ end. And

these sureties had to be renewed three or four times before I was able to

resume my project. At length the long-wished-for opportunity presented

itself. A very dear friend of mine offered himself as bail to meet

whatever demand might be made, if I was discovered to be missing after the

appointed time. After my departure, he forfeited not indeed his money, but

his life: for he was one of the most conspicuous of those fourteen

gentlemen who suffered in connection with the captive Queen of Scots, and

whose execution, as events soon showed, was but a prelude to taking off

the Queen herself.

“Being at length free, I went to Paris;(14) and finding Father William

Holt, who had just arrived from Scotland, ready to start for Rome with the

Provincial of France, I joined myself to their company. At Rome I was

advised to pursue my studies in the English College, and to take Priest’s

Orders before I entered the Society. I followed this advice, despite my

ardent desire of entering Religion, which I communicated to Father

Persons, and to Father Holt, the then Rector of the English College. But

as the Roman climate was not suited to my constitution, and I had an

extreme desire of going to England, it seemed good to the Fathers to put

me at the beginning of the year to casuistry and controversies; I went

therefore through a complete course of Positive Theology. Towards its

close, when the Spanish Armada was nearing the coasts of England, Cardinal

Allen thought fit to send me to England for various matters connected with

Catholic interests, but as I still wanted several months of the lawful age

for taking Priest’s Orders, a Papal dispensation was obtained. I was most

unwilling to depart unless I was first admitted into the Society, so

Father Persons, out of his singular charity towards me, obtained my

admission to the Novitiate, which I was to finish in England. There were

at that time in the English College some others who had the like vocation,

and we used to strive to conform ourselves as much as possible to the

Novices at St. Andrew’s, serving in the kitchen, and visiting hospitals.

On the Feast of the Assumption of the Most Blessed Virgin Mary, 1588, our

Very Rev. Father General Aquaviva received Father Edward Ouldcorne of

blessed memory and my unworthy self into the Society of Jesus, and gave us

his blessing for the English Mission.

II.

“I started then on my homeward journey,(15) in company with Father

Ouldcorne and two other Priests who had been students at the English

College.”... “As we passed through Rhemes, where there was an English

Seminary, and through Paris, we kept the strictest incognito.”

Father Gerard’s passing through Paris was not as little known as he

thought, and without being aware of it, he then fell into the gravest of

the perils that beset the poor Catholics of England, the “perils from

false brethren.” Gilbert Gifford, _alias_ Jacques Colerdin, “an English

Priest and Bachelor in Theology,” as he describes himself in his

petition(16) to the Archbishop of Paris for liberation from his prison in

Paris, was one of Sir Francis Walsyngham’s most copious correspondents. He

had been arrested for Babington’s conspiracy, and turned spy to save his

life. He had a pension(17) from Walsyngham of 100_l._ a-year for his

treachery, the suspicion of which caused his imprisonment. Apparently from

his prison, he found means to write a letter(18) to his employers, in

which the following sentence occurs: “There be 8 Priests over from Rome,

whereof John Gerard and Arthur Shefford a Priest, and his man, will be in

England within five days.”

In all unconsciousness Father Gerard proceeds: “At length we came to Eu,

where a College for English youths had been established, which was

afterwards abandoned on account of the wars, and another more extensive

establishment erected at St. Omers. Our Fathers at Eu, after conferring

with those who had the management of the College in that town, all

strongly opposed our venturing into England as circumstances then were,

for that the Spanish attempt had exasperated the public mind against

Catholics, and most rigid searches and domiciliary visits had been set on

foot; that guards were posted in every village along the roads and

streets; that the Earl of Leicester, then at the height of his favour, had

sworn not to leave a single Catholic alive at the close of the year, but

this man of blood did not live out half his days, for he was cut off in

that very same year. We were compelled then to stay there for a time,

until fresh instructions were sent us by Father Persons in the name of

Father General. They were to this effect, that the state of affairs had

indeed much changed since our departure from Rome, but that, as it was the

Lord’s business that we had to do, he left us free either to wait the

return of greater calm or to pursue the course we had entered upon. On

receiving this desirable message we did not long deliberate, but

immediately hired a ship to land us in the northern part of England, which

seemed to be less disturbed. Two Priests from Rhemes joined us, as our

former companions preferred to take time before they faced the dangers

which awaited them on the opposite shores.

“The ship then set sail with four Priests on board, a goodly cargo indeed,

had not my unworthiness deprived me of the crown, for all those other

three suffered martyrdom for the faith. The two Priests were soon taken,

and being in a short space made perfect, they fulfilled a long time. Their

names were Christopher Bales and George Beesley,(19) but my companion, the

blessed Father Ouldcorne, after having spent eighteen years of toil and

labour in the Lord’s vineyard, watered it at length with his blood.

“After crossing the Channel, as we were sailing along the English coast on

the third day, my companion and I, seeing a convenient spot in which the

ship’s boat might easily set us on shore, and considering that it were

dangerous if we were to land all together, recommended the matter to God

and took counsel with our companions. We then ordered the ship to anchor

until dark, and in the first watch we were put ashore in the boat and left

there, whereupon the ship immediately set sail and departed. We remained

there awhile commending ourselves in prayer to God’s providence; then we

sought out some path which might lead us further inland, at a greater

distance from the sea, before the day should dawn. But the night being

dark and cloudy we could not strike out any path that would lead us to the

open country, but every way we tried always brought us to some dwelling,

as we were made aware by the barking of the dogs. As this happened some

two or three times we began to fear lest we might rouse some of the

inhabitants, and be seized upon as thieves or burglars. We therefore

turned into a neighbouring wood, where we proposed to rest during the

night. But the rain and the cold (for it was about the end of October)

rendered sleep impossible, nor did we dare to speak aloud to one another,

as the wood was in the neighbourhood of a house, but we deliberated in

whispers whether to set out together for London or to part company, so

that if one were taken the other might escape. Having pondered the reasons

on both sides, we determined to set forth each by himself, and to take

different routes.

“At day-dawn, then, we cast lots who should first leave the wood, and the

lot fell on the good Father who was also the first to leave this world for

Heaven. We then made an equal division of what money we had, and after

embracing and receiving one from the other a blessing, the future martyr

went along the sea-shore to a neighbouring town, where he fell in with

some sailors who were thinking of going to London. Being prudent and

cautious, he strove by cheerfulness to accommodate himself to their

humours in indifferent things. But twice or thrice he could not withhold

from reproving their coarse and filthy language, though he imperilled

himself by so doing, as he afterwards told me.”... “Evil as they were, he

did not so displease them, but that, by their means, and the protection

they unwittingly afforded, he was enabled to reach London without

molestation; for the watchers, who were in almost every town through which

he passed, taking him to be one of the party, cared not to annoy those

whose appearance and carriage distinguished them so completely from those

for whom they were keeping watch.

“When my companion had departed, I too set out, but by a different road. I

had not gone far before I saw some country folks coming towards me. I went

up to them and inquired about a stray falcon, whether they had heard the

tinkling of his bells. For I wanted them to think that I had lost a

falcon, and was going through the country in search of it, as is usual

with those who have sustained such a loss, so that they might not wonder

why I was strange to the country and had to ask my way. They of course had

neither seen nor heard any such thing of late, and seemed sorry that they

could not direct my search. I then went with a disappointed air to examine

the neighbouring trees and hedges, as if to look for my bird. Thus I was

able, without awakening suspicion, to keep clear of the highway, and to

get further and further from the sea-shore by going across country.

Whenever I saw any one in a field I went up to him and put the same series

of questions about the falcon, concealing thereby my anxiety to keep out

of the public roads and villages, where I knew sentinels were posted with

power to examine every stranger. I thus managed to expend the best part of

that day, walking some eight or ten miles, not in a straight line, but by

doubling and returning frequently on my steps. At length, being quite

soaked with rain and exhausted with hunger and fatigue, for I had scarcely

been able to take any food or rest on board ship for the tossing of the

waves, I turned into a village inn which lay in my road, for those who go

to the inns are less liable to be questioned.

“There I refreshed myself well, and found mine host very agreeable,

especially as I wanted to buy a pony he had in his stable. I concluded the

bargain at a reasonable price, for the owner was not very rich, but I took

it as a means of more speedy and safer transit, for foot-passengers are

frequently looked upon as vagrants, and even in quiet times are liable to

arrest.

“Next morning I mounted my pony and turned towards Norwich, the capital of

that county. I had scarcely ridden two miles when I fell in with the

watchers at the entrance of a village, who bade me halt and began to ask

me who I was and whence I came. I told them that I was the servant of a

certain lord who lived in a neighbouring county (with whom I was well

acquainted, though he was unknown to them), that my falcon had flown away,

and that I had come to this part of the country to recover him if he

should have been found. They found no flaw in my story, yet they would not

let me go, but said I must be brought before the constable and the

beadle,(20) who were both in church at the time, at their profane

heretical service. I saw that I could neither fly nor resist, nor could I

prevail with these men, so, yielding to necessity, I went with them as far

as the churchyard. One of the party entered the church and brought word

that the beadle wished me to come into the church, and that he would see

me when service was over. I replied that I would wait for him where I was.

‘No, no,’ said the messenger, ‘you must go into the church.’ ‘I shall stop

here,’ I returned, ‘I do not want to lose sight of my horse.’ ‘What!’ said

the man, ‘you won’t dismount to go and hear the Word of God! I can only

warn you that you will make no very favourable impression; as to your

horse, I myself will engage to get you a better one, if you are so anxious

about him.’ ‘Go and tell him,’ said I, ‘that if he wants me, either he

must come at once or I will wait here.’ As soon as my message was taken to

him, the beadle came out with some others to examine me. I could easily

see he was not best pleased. He began by demanding whence I came. I

answered by naming certain places which I had learnt were not far off. To

his questions as to my name, condition, dwelling, and business, I made the

same answers as above. He then asked whether I had any letters with me, on

which I offered to allow him to search my person. This he did not do, but

said he should be obliged to take me before the Justice of the Peace.(21)

I professed my readiness to go, should he deem it needful, but that I was

in a hurry to get back to my master after my long absence, so that if it

could be managed I should be better pleased to be allowed to go on. At

first he stood to his resolution, and I saw nothing for it but to go

before the Justice and to be committed to gaol, as doubtless would have

been the case. But suddenly looking at me with a calmer countenance, he

said, ‘You look like an honest man: go on in God’s name, I do not want to

trouble you any more.’ Nor did God’s providence abandon me in my further

journey. As I rode onward towards the town, I saw a young man on horseback

with a pack riding on before me. I wanted to come up with him, so as to

get information about the state of the town, and ask the fittest inn for

me to put up at, and he looked like one of whom I could make such

inquiries without exciting suspicion; but his horse being better than mine

I could not gain upon him, urge my pony how I would. After following him

at a distance for two or three miles, it chanced by God’s will that he

dropped his pack, and was obliged to dismount in order to pick it up and

strap it on. As I came up I found he was an unpolished youth, well fitted

for my purpose. From him I acquired information that would have been very

useful had any danger befallen, but, as it was, by his means the Lord so

guided me, that I escaped all danger. For I inquired about a good inn near

the city gate, that I might not weary my horse in going from street to

street in search of one. He told me there was such an inn on the other

side of the city; but that if I wanted to put up there I must go round the

town. Having learnt the way thereto and the sign of the house, I thanked

my informant, and left him to pursue his road, which led straight through

the town, the same way I should have followed had I not met with such a

guide, and in that case I should have run into certain danger, nor would

any of those things have befallen which afterwards came to pass for God’s

greater glory and the salvation of many souls.

“Following then the advice of the young man, I went round the skirts of

the city to the gate he had described, and as soon as I entered I saw my

inn. I had rested me but a little while there, when a man who seemed to be

an acquaintance of the people of the house came in. After greeting me

civilly, he sat down in the chimney corner, and dropped some words about

some Catholic gentlemen who were kept in gaol there; and he mentioned one

whose relative had been a companion of mine in the Marshalsea some seven

years since. I silently noted his words, and when he had gone out, I asked

who he might be. They answered that he was a very honest fellow in other

points, but a Papist. I inquired how they came to know that. They replied

that it was a well-known fact, as he had been many years imprisoned in the

Castle there (which was but a stone’s throw from where I was); that many

Catholic gentlemen were confined there, and that he had been but lately

let out. I asked whether he had abandoned the Faith in order to be at

large. ‘No indeed,’ said they, ‘nor is he likely to, for he is a most

obstinate man. But he has been set free under an engagement to come back

to prison, when called for. He has some business with a gentleman in the

prison, and he comes here pretty often, on that account.’ I held my

tongue, and awaited his return. As soon as he came back, and we were

alone, I told him I should wish to speak with him apart, that I had heard

that he was a Catholic, and for that reason I trusted him, as I also was a

Catholic: that I had come there by a sort of chance, but wanted to get on

to London: that it would be a good deed worthy of a Catholic, were he to

do me the favour of introducing me to some parties who might be going the

same road, and who were well known, so that I might be allowed to pass on

by favour of their company: that being able to pay my expenses, I should

be no burden to my companions. He replied that he knew not of any one who

was then going to London. I hereon inquired if he could hire a person who

would accompany me for a set price. He said he would look out some such

one, but that he knew of a gentleman then in the town, who might be able

to forward my business. He went to find him, and soon returning desired me

to accompany him. He took me into a shop, as if he were going to make some

purchase. The gentleman he had mentioned was there, having appointed the

place that he might see me before he made himself known. At length he

joined us, and told my companion in a whisper that he believed I was a

Priest. He led us therefore to the cathedral, and having put me many

questions, he at last urged me to say whether or no I was a Priest,

promising that he would assist me, at that time a most acceptable offer.

On my side, I inquired from my previous acquaintance the name and

condition of this party; and on learning it, as I saw God’s providence in

so ready an assistance, I told him I was a Priest of the Society, who had

come from Rome. He performed his promise, and procured for me a change of

clothes, and made me mount a good horse, and took me without delay into

the country to the house of a personal friend, leaving one of his servants

to bring on my little pony. The next day we arrived at his house, where he

and his family resided, together with a brother of his who was a heretic.

They had with them a widowed sister, also a heretic, who kept house for

them; so that I was obliged to be careful not to give any ground for them

to suspect my calling. The heretic brother at my first coming was somewhat

suspicious, seeing me arrive in his Catholic brother’s company unknown as

I was, and perceiving no reason why the latter should make so much of me.

But after a day or so, he quite abandoned all mistrust, as I spoke of

hunting and falconry with all the details that none but a practised person

could command. For many make sad blunders in attempting this, as Father

Southwell, who was afterwards my companion in many journeys, was wont to

complain. He frequently got me to instruct him in the technical terms of

sport, and used to complain of his bad memory for such things, for on many

occasions when he fell in with Protestant gentlemen, he found it necessary

to speak of these matters, which are the sole topics of their

conversation, save when they talk obscenity, or break out into blasphemies

and abuse of the Saints or the Catholic faith. In these cases it is of

course desirable to turn the conversation to other subjects, and to speak

of horses, of hounds, and such like. Thus it often happens that trifling

covers truth,(22) as it did with me on this occasion. After a short

sojourn of a few days, I proposed to my newly-found friend, the Catholic

brother, my intention of going to London, to meet my Superior. He

therefore provided me with a horse, and sent a servant along with me;

begging me at the same time to obtain leave to return to that county, and

to make his house my home, for he assured me that I should bring over many

to the faith, were I to converse with them publicly as he had seen me do.

I pledged myself to lay his offer before Father Garnett, and said that I

would willingly return if he should approve of it. So I departed, and

arrived in London without accident, having met with no obstacle on the

road. I have gone into these particulars, to show how God’s providence

guarded me on my first landing in England; for without knowing a single

soul in that county, where until then I had never set foot, as it was far

distant from my native place, on the very first day I found a friend who

not only saved me from present peril, but who afterwards, by introducing

me to the principal families in the county, furnished an opportunity for

many conversions; and from the acquaintance I then made, and the knowledge

the Catholics in those parts had of me in consequence, all that God chose

hereafter to do by my weakness took its origin, as will appear by the

sequel.”

III.

“On my arrival in London, by the help of certain Catholics I discovered

Father Henry Garnett, who was then Superior. Besides him, the only others

of our Society then in England were Father Edmund Weston,(23) confined at

Wisbech (who, had he been at large, would have been Superior), Father

Robert Southwell, and we two new-comers.

“My companion, Father Ouldcorne, had already arrived, so the Superior was

rather anxious on my account, as nothing had been heard of me; but yet for

that very reason hopes were entertained of my safety. It was with

exceeding joy on both sides that we met at last. I stayed some time with

the Fathers, and we held frequent consultations as to our future

proceedings. The good Superior gave us excellent instructions as to the

method of helping and gaining souls, as did also Father Southwell, who

much excelled in that art, being at once prudent, pious, meek, and

exceedingly winning. As Christmas was nigh at hand, it was necessary to

separate, both for the consolation of the Faithful, and because the

dangers are always greater in the great solemnities.

“I was then sent back to my friend in the county where I was first set

ashore. This time the Superior provided me with clothes and other

necessaries, that I might not be a burden to my charitable host at the

outset. But afterwards, throughout the whole period of my missionary

labours, the fatherly providence of God supplied both for me and for some

others. My dress was of the same fashion as that of gentlemen of moderate

means. The necessity of this was shown by reason and subsequent events;

for, from my former position, I was more at ease in this costume, and

could maintain a less embarrassed bearing, than if I had assumed a

character to which I was unaccustomed. Then, too, I had to appear in

public and meet many Protestant gentlemen, with whom I could not have held

communication with a view to lead them on to a love of the Faith and a

desire of virtue, had I not adopted this garb. I found it helped me, not

only to speak more freely and with greater authority, but to remain with

greater safety, and for a longer interval of time, in any place or family

to which my host introduced me as his friend and acquaintance.

“Thus it happened that I remained for six or eight months, with some

profit to souls, in the family of my first friend and host; during which

time, he took me with him to nearly every gentleman’s house in the county.

Before the eight months were passed, I gained over and converted many to

the Church: among whom were my host’s brother, his brother-in-law, and his

two sisters; one of these, as I have before mentioned, was my friend’s

housekeeper, and had been all along a notable Calvinist.

“I reconciled, moreover, the sister of a Judge(24) who even now is the

most firm support of the Calvinist party. This lady, having been brought

up in his house, had been strongly imbued with this heresy. A very

remarkable thing had happened to her some time previously. Being very

anxious as to the state of her soul, she went to a certain Doctor of the

University of Cambridge, of the name of Perne,(25) who she knew had

changed his religion some three or four times under different sovereigns,

but yet was in high repute for learning. Going to this Dr. Perne, then,

who was an intimate friend of her family, she conjured him to tell her

honestly and undisguisedly what was the sound orthodox faith whereby she

might attain Heaven. The Doctor, finding himself thus earnestly appealed

to by a woman of discretion and good sense, replied: ‘I conjure you never

to disclose to another what I am going to say. Since, then, you have

pressed me to answer as if I had to give an account of your soul, I will

tell you, that you can, if you please, _live_ in the religion now

professed by the Queen and her whole kingdom, for so you will live more at

ease, and be exempt from all the vexations the Catholics have to undergo.

But by no means _die_ out of the faith and communion of the Catholic

Church, if you would save your soul.’ Such was the answer of this poor

man, but such was not his practice; for, putting off his conversion from

day to day, it fell out that, when he least expected, on his return home

from dining with the pseudo-Archbishop of Canterbury, he dropped down dead

as he was entering his apartment, without the least sign of repentance, or

of Christian hope of that eternal bliss which he had too easily promised

to himself and to others after a life of a contrary tendency. She to whom

he gave the above-mentioned advice was more fortunate than he, and though

she at first by no means accepted his estimate of the Catholic faith, yet

later on, having frequently heard from me that the Catholic faith alone

was true and holy, she began to have doubts, and in consequence brought me

an heretical work which had served to confirm her in her heresy, and

showed me the various arguments it contained. I, on the other hand,

pointed out to her the quibbles, the dishonest quotations from Scripture

and the Fathers, and the misstatement of facts which the book contained.

And so, by God’s grace, from the scorpion itself was drawn the remedy

against the scorpion’s sting, and she has lived ever since constant in her

profession of the Catholic faith to which she then returned.

“I must not omit mentioning an instance of the wonderful efficacy of the

Sacraments as shown in the case of the married sister of my host. She had

married a man of high rank, and being favourably inclined to the Church,

she had been so well prepared by her brother, that it cost me but little

labour to make her a child of the Catholic Church. After her conversion

she endured much from her husband when he found that she refused to join

in heretical worship, but her patience withstood and overcame all. It

happened on one occasion that she was so exhausted after a difficult and

dangerous labour, that her life was despaired of. A clever physician was

at once brought from Cambridge, who on seeing her said that he could

indeed give her medicine, but that he could give no hopes of her recovery;

and having prescribed some remedies, he left. I was at that time on a

visit to the house, having come, as was my wont, in company with her

brother. The master of the house was glad to see us, although he well knew

we were Catholics, and used in fact to confer with me on religious

subjects. I had nearly convinced his understanding and judgment, but the

will was rooted to the earth, ‘for he had great possessions.’ But being

anxious for his wife, whom he dearly loved, he allowed his brother to

persuade him, as there was no longer any hope for her present life, to

allow her all freedom to prepare for the one to come. With his permission,

then, we promised to bring in an old Priest on the following night: for

those Priests who were ordained before Elizabeth’s reign were not exposed

to such dangers and penalties as the others. We therefore made use of his

ministry, in order that this lady might receive all the rites of the

Church. Having made her confession and been anointed with great devotion,

she received the Holy Viaticum; and behold in half an hour’s time she so

far recovered, as to be wholly out of danger; the disease and its cause

had vanished, and she had only to recover her strength. The husband seeing

his wife thus snatched from the jaws of death, wished to know the reason.

We told him that it was one of the effects of the holy Sacrament of

Extreme Unction, that it restored bodily health when Divine Wisdom saw

that it was expedient for the good of the soul. This was the cause of his

conversion; for admiring the power and efficacy of the Sacraments of the

true Church, he allowed himself to be persuaded to seek in that Church the

health of his own soul. I, being eager to strike the iron while it was

hot, began without delay to prepare him for confession; but not wishing

just then that he should know me for a Priest, I said that I would

instruct him as I had been instructed by Priests in my time. He prepared

himself, and awaited the Priest’s arrival. His brother-in-law told him

that this must be at night time. So, having sent away the servants who

used to attend him to his chamber, he went into the library, where I left

him praying, telling him that I would return directly with the Priest. I

went downstairs and put on my soutane, and returned so changed in

appearance, that he, never dreaming of any such thing, was speechless with

amazement. My friend and I showed him that our conduct was necessary, not

so much in order to avoid danger, but in order to cheat the devil and to

snatch souls from his clutches. He well knew, I said, that I could in no

other way converse with him and his equals, and without conversation it

was impossible to bring round those who were so ill-disposed. The same

considerations served to dispel all anxieties as to the consequence of my

sojourn under his roof. I appealed to his own experience, and reminded

him, that though I had been in continual contact with him, he had not once

suspected my priestly character. He thus became a Catholic; and his lady,

grateful to God for this two-fold blessing, perseveres still in the Faith,

and has endured much since that time from the hands of heretics.

“Besides these, I reconciled to the Church, during the period of my

appearance in public, more than twenty fathers and mothers of families,

equal, and some even superior, in station to the above mentioned. For

prudence sake I omit their names. As for poor persons and servants, I

received a great many; the exact number I do not remember.” ...

“After some six or seven months, I received a visit from a Catholic

gentleman of another county, a relative of one of my spiritual children,

who was very desirous to make acquaintance with a Jesuit. He was a devout

young man, and heir to a pretty considerable estate, one half of which

came into his possession by his brother’s death, the other portion being

held for life by his mother, who was a good Catholic widow lady. Her son

lived with her, and they kept a Priest in the house. He had then sold a

portion of his estate, and devoted the proceeds to pious uses, for he was

fervent and full of charity. After the lapse of a few days, as I saw his

aspiration to a higher life and his desires of perfection wax stronger, I

told him that there were certain spiritual exercises, by means of which a

well-disposed person could discover a short road to perfection, and be

best prepared to make choice of a state of life. He most earnestly begged

to be allowed to make them. I acceded to his request, and he made great

spiritual profit thereby, not only in that he made the best choice, which

was that he would enter the Society of Jesus as soon as possible, but also

because he made the best and most proper arrangements to carry his purpose

into execution, and to preserve meanwhile his present fervour. After his

retreat he expressed the greatest wish that I should come and live with

him, and I had no rest until I promised to submit the matter to my

Superior. For my own part, I could not but reflect that my present public

mode of life, though in the beginning it had its advantages, could not be

long continued, because the more people I knew and the more I was known

to, the less became my safety, and the greater my distractions. Hence it

was not without acknowledging God’s special providence that I heard him

make me this invitation. So, after having consulted with my Superior, and

obtained his permission to accept the offer, I bade adieu to my old

friends, and stationed a Priest where they might conveniently have

recourse to his ministry. He still remains there, to the great profit of

souls, though in the endurance of many perils.

“In my new abode, I was able to live much more quietly and more to my

taste, inasmuch as nearly all the members of the house were Catholics; and

thus it was easier for me to conform to the manner of life of the Society,

both as regards dress and the arrangement of my time.... While in this

residence (and I was there all but two years) I gave much time to my

studies. At times I made missionary excursions, and not only did I

reconcile many, but I confirmed some Catholic families in the Faith, and

placed two Priests in stations where they might be useful to souls.”

Amongst those to whom Father Gerard gave the Spiritual Exercises while in

this residence, were two brothers of the name of Wiseman, who entered the

Novitiate of St. Andrew at Rome “under the names of Starkie and Standish,

which they assumed,” says Father Gerard, “as a remembrance of me; for

under these I passed in the first and second county where I took up my

residence.” The one died there, and the other at St. Omers, not long

after. Their eldest brother was William Wiseman, of Braddocks, or

Broadoaks, a family mansion(26) which stands in the fields two miles from

Wimbish Church, in Essex. “He had lately come to his estate on the death

of his father, and had made himself a large deer park in it. There he

lived like a little king, in ease and independence, surrounded by his

children, to whom, as well as to his wife, he was tenderly attached. As he

kept clear of Priests from the Seminaries, he lived unmolested, feeling

nothing of the burden and heat of the day; for the persecutors troubled

chiefly those who harboured the Seminarists, not caring to inquire after

those who kept the old Priests, that is, those who had taken Orders before

the reign of Elizabeth.... In his house there was living my host’s mother,

a most excellent widow lady, happy in her children, but still happier in

her private virtues. She had four sons and four daughters. These latter,

without exception, devoted their virginity to God. Two had already joined

the holy Order of St. Bridget before my arrival,” Ann and Barbara;(27)

“and one of these,” Barbara, “is even at this day Abbess in Lisbon. I sent

the two others,” Jane and Bridget “to Flanders, where they still serve God

in the Order of St. Augustine at Louvain. Her sons were all pious young

men; two,” Thomas and John, “died in the Society, as was related above;

the third,” Robert, “chose the army, and was lately slain in a battle with

the heretics in Belgium; he fell fighting when many around him had

surrendered; the fourth,” William,(28) who married Jane, daughter of Sir

Edmund Huddleston, Knight, “was the master of that house, who to his

mother’s great joy, had given himself up to every good work.”

Mrs. Wiseman, or “the Widow Wiseman,” as it seems more natural to call

her, had a house of her own at Northend in the parish of Great Waltham,

which had been in possession of the family since the time of Henry VI. On

Father Gerard’s recommendation she went to live there, and maintained a

Priest, “in order that so noble a soul, and one so ready for all good

deeds, might be a profit not only to herself but to many, as in fact she

became. Her house was a retreat and no small protection both to ours and

to other Priests.” This valiant Catholic woman and her brave son were in

bad repute with the persecuting authorities, and the Public Record Office

preserves many reports respecting them. In January, 1594, Justice Young

writes to Lord Keeper Puckering,(29) “Mrs. Jane Wiseman her house is the

only resort for these wicked persons. She was at Wisbech with the

Seminaries and Jesuits there, and she did repent that she had not gone

bare-footed thither, and she is a great reliever of them, and she made a

rich vestment and sent it them, as your Lordship doth remember as I think,

when you and my Lord of Buckhurst sent to Wisbech to search, for that I

had letters which did decypher all her doings.” She was condemned in 1598

to the _peine forte et dure_ for refusing to plead when indicted for

harbouring Father Jones, _alias_ Buckley, the Franciscan martyr. “However,

on account of her rank and the good name which she had, the Queen’s

councillors would not let such barbarity be practised in London. So they

transferred her after her condemnation to a more loathsome prison, and

kept her there. They wanted at the same time to seize her income for the

Queen. Now if she had been dead, this income would not have gone to the

Queen, but to the widow’s son, my host. The godly woman therefore lived in

this prison, reft of her goods but not of her life, of which she most

desired to be reft. She pined in a narrow and filthy cell till the

accession of King James, when, as is usual at the crowning of a new King,

she received a pardon, and returned home; where she now serves the

servants of God, and has two of ours with her in the house.”

IV.

While Braddocks was his head-quarters, “I found time,” he says, “both for

study and missionary excursions. I took care that all in the house should

approach the Sacraments frequently, which none before, save the good

widow, used to do oftener than four times a year. Now they come every

week. On feast-days, and often on Sundays, I preached in the chapel;

moreover, I showed those who had leisure the way to meditate by

themselves, and taught all how to examine their conscience. I also brought

in the custom of reading pious books, which we did even at meals, when

there were no strangers there; for at that time we Priests sat with the

rest, even with our gowns on. I had a soutane besides and a biretta, but

the Superior would not have us use these except in the chapel.

“In my excursions I almost always gained some to God. There is, however, a

great difference to be observed between these counties where I then was,

and other parts of England; for in some places, where many of the common

people are Catholics, and almost all lean towards the Catholic faith, it

is easy to bring many into the bosom of the Church, and to have many

hearers together at a sermon. I myself have seen in Lancashire two hundred

together at Mass and sermon; and as these easily come in, so also they

easily scatter when the storm of persecution draws near, and come back

again when the alarm has blown over. On the contrary, in those parts where

I was now staying there were very few Catholics, but these were of the

higher classes; scarcely any of the common people, for they cannot live in

peace, surrounded as they are by most violent heretics. The way of

managing in such cases, is first to gain the gentry, then the servants:

for Catholic masters cannot do without Catholic servants.

“About this time I gained to God and the Church my hostess’ brother, the

only son of a certain Knight,” Henry, son of Sir Edmund Huddleston, of

Sawston.(30) “I ever after found him a most faithful friend in all

circumstances. He afterwards took to wife a relative(31) in the third

degree of the most illustrious Spanish Duke of Feria,” Dorothy, daughter

of Robert first Lord Dormer, by his wife, Elizabeth Browne, daughter of

Anthony first Viscount Montague. “This pious pair are so attached to our

Priests, that now in these terrible times they always keep one in their

house, and often two or three.” ...

“Besides others of less standing whom my host’s mother, in her great zeal

for souls, brought me to be reconciled, she had nearly won over a certain

great lady, a neighbour of hers. Though this lady was the wife of the

richest(32) lord in the whole county, and sister to the Earl of Essex

(then most powerful with the Queen), and was wholly given to vanities,

nevertheless she brought her so far as to be quite willing to speak with a

Priest, if only he could come to her without being known. This the good

widow told me. I consequently went to her house openly, and addressed her

as though I had something to tell her from a certain great lady her

kinswoman, for so it had been agreed. I dined openly with her and all the

gentry in the house, and spent three hours at least in private talk with

her. I first satisfied her in all the doubts which she laid before me

about faith; next, I set myself to stir up her will, and before my

departure I so wrought upon her, that she asked for instructions how to

prepare herself for confession, and fixed a day for making it. Nay, she

afterwards wrote to me earnestly protesting that she desired nothing in

the world so much as to open to me the inmost recesses of her heart. But

the judgments of God are a deep abyss, and it is a dreadful thing to

expose oneself to the occasions of sin. Now there was a nobleman(33) in

London, who had loved her long and deeply; to him she disclosed her

purpose by letter, perchance to bid him farewell; but she roused a

sleeping adder. For he hastened to her, and began to dissuade her in every

kind of way; and being himself a heretic, and not wanting in learning, he

cunningly coaxed her to get him an answer to certain doubts of his from

the same guide that she herself followed; saying that if he was satisfied

in this, he too would become a Catholic. He implored her to take no step

in the meantime, if she did not wish for his death. So he filled two

sheets of paper about the Pope, the worship of Saints, and the like. She

sent them with a letter of her own, begging me to be so good as to answer

them, for it would be a great gain if such a soul could be won over. He

did not, however, write from a wish to learn, but rather with the

treacherous design of delaying her conversion. For he got an answer, a

full one I think, to which he made no reply. But meanwhile he endeavoured

to get her to London, and succeeded in making her first postpone, and

afterwards altogether neglect her resolution. By all this, however, he was

unwittingly bringing on his own ruin; for later on, returning from Ireland

laden with glory, on account of his successful administration, and his

victory over the Spanish forces that had landed there (on which occasion

he brought over with him the Earl of Tyrone, who had been the most

powerful opponent of heresy in that country, and most sturdy champion of

the ancient faith), he was created an Earl, and though conqueror of

others, he conquered not himself, but was kept a helpless captive by his

love of this lady. This madness of his caused him to commit such

extravagances that he became quite notorious, and was publicly disgraced.

Unable to endure this dishonour, and yet unwilling to renounce the cause

of it, he died of grief, invoking, alas! not God, but this goddess, ‘his

angel,’ as he called her, and leaving her heiress of all his property.

Such was his miserable end, in bad repute of all men. The lady, though now

very rich, often afterwards began to think of her former resolution, and

often spoke of me to a certain Catholic maid of honour that she had about

her. This latter coming into Belgium about three years back to become a

Nun, related this to me, and begged me to write to her and fan the yet

unquenched spark into a flame. But when I was setting about the letter, I

heard that she had been carried off by a fever, not, however, before she

had been reconciled to the Church by one of ours. I have set this forth at

some length, that the providence of God with regard to her whose

conversion was hindered, and His judgment upon him who was the cause of

the hindrance, may more clearly appear.

“I used also to make other missionary excursions at this time to more

distant counties towards the north. On the way I had to pass through my

native place, and through the midst of my kindred and acquaintance; but I

could not do much good there, though there were many who professed

themselves great friends of mine. I experienced in fact most fully the

truth of that saying of Truth Himself, that no prophet is received in his

own country; so that I felt little wish at any time to linger among them.

It happened once that I went to lodge on one of those journeys with a

Catholic kinsman.(34) I found him in hunter’s trim, ready to start for a

grand hunt, for which many of his friends had met together. He asked me to

go with him, and try to gain over a certain gentleman who had married a

cousin of his and mine. I answered that some other occasion would be more

fit. He disagreed with me, however, maintaining that unless I took this

chance of going with him, I should not be able to get near the person in

question. I went accordingly, and during the hunt joined company with him

for whose soul I myself was on the hunt. The hounds being at fault from

time to time, and ceasing to give tongue, while we were awaiting the

renewal of this hunters’ music, I took the opportunity of following my own

chase, and gave tongue myself in good earnest. Thus, beginning to speak of

the great pains that we took over chasing a poor animal, I brought the

conversation to the necessity of seeking an everlasting kingdom, and the

proper method of gaining it, to wit, by employing all manner of care and

industry; as the devil on his part never sleeps, but hunts after our souls

as hounds hunt after their prey. We said but little on disputed points of

faith, for he was rather a schismatic than a heretic, but to move his will

to act required a longer talk. This work was continued that day and the

day after; and on the fourth day he was spiritually born and made a

Catholic. He still remains one, and often supports Priests at home and

sends them to other people.”

V.

“My journeys northwards were undertaken for the purpose of visiting, and

strengthening in the faith, certain persons who there afforded no small

aid to the common cause. Among them were two sisters of high nobility,

daughters of an Earl of very old family who had laid down his life for the

Catholic faith.(35) They lived together, and manifested a great desire to

have me not merely visit them sometimes, but rather stay altogether with

them. The elder, who had a family, became a pillar of support to that

portion of our afflicted Church. She kept two Priests with her at home,

and received all who came to her with great charity. There are numbers of

Priests in that part of the country, and many Catholics, mostly of the

poorer sort. Indeed, I was hardly ever there without our counting before

my departure six or seven Priests together in her house. Thus she gave

great help to religion in the whole district during her abode there, which

lasted till I was seized and thrown into prison; whereupon she was

constrained by her husband to change her abode and go to London, a

proceeding which did neither of them any good, and deprived the poor

Catholics of many advantages. Her sister was chosen by God for Himself. I

found her unmarried, humble and modest. Gradually she was fitted for

something higher. She learnt the practice of meditation; and profited so

well thereby, that the world soon grew vile in her eyes, and Heaven seemed

the only thing worthy of her love. I afterwards sent her to Father Holt,

in Belgium. He wrote to me on one occasion about her in these terms:

‘Never has there come into these parts a countrywoman of ours that has

given such good example, or done such honour to our nation.’ She had the

chief hand in the foundation of the present convent of English Benedictine

Nuns at Brussels,(36) where she still lives, and has arrived to a great

pitch of virtue and self-denial. She yearns for a more retired life, and

has often proposed to her director to allow her to live as a recluse, but

gives in to his reasons to the contrary.

“At first I used to carry with me on these journeys my altar furniture,

which was meagre but decent, and so contrived that it could be easily

carried, along with several other necessary articles, by him who acted as

my servant. In this way I used to say Mass in the morning in every place

where I lodged, not however before I had looked into every corner around,

that there might be no one peering in through the chinks. I brought my own

things mainly on account of certain Catholics, my entertainers, not having

yet what was necessary for the Holy Sacrifice. But after some years this

cause was removed; for in nearly every place that I came to they had got

ready the sacred vestments beforehand. Moreover, I had so many friends to

visit on the way, and these at such distances from one another, that it

was hardly ever necessary for me to lodge at an inn on a journey of one

hundred and fifty miles; and at last I hardly slept at an inn once in two

years.

“I used to visit my Superior,” Father Garnett, “several times a year, when

I wished to consult him on matters of importance. Not only I, but all of

us used to resort to him twice a year to give our half-yearly account of

conscience and renew the offering of our vows to our Lord Jesus. I always

remarked that the others drew great profit from this holy custom of our

Society. As for myself, to speak my mind frankly, I never found anything

do me more good, or stir up my courage more to fulfil all the duties which

belong to our Institute, and are required of the workmen who till the

Lord’s vineyard in that country. Besides experiencing great spiritual joy

from the renewal itself, I found my interior strength recruited, and a new

zeal kindled within me afterwards in consequence; so that if I have not

done any good, it must have come from my carelessness and thanklessness,

and not from any fault of the Society, which afforded me such means and

helps to perfection.

“On one occasion we were all met together in the Superior’s house while he

yet resided in the country,” in Worcestershire, “and were employed in the

renovation of spirit. We had had several conferences, and the Superior had

given each of us some advice in private, when the question was started

what we should do if the Priest-hunters suddenly came upon us, seeing that

there were so many of us, and there were nothing like enough hiding-places

for all. We numbered then, I think, nine or ten of ours, besides other

Priests our friends, and some Catholics who would also have had to seek

concealment. The blessed(37) Father Garnett answered, ‘True, we ought not

all to meet together now that our number is daily increasing; however, as

we are here assembled for the greater glory of God, I will be answerable

for all till the renovation is over, but beyond that I will not promise.’

Accordingly, on the very day of the renovation, though he had been quite

unconcerned before, he earnestly warned every one to look to himself, and

not to tarry without necessity, adding, ‘I do not guarantee your safety

any longer.’ Some, hearing this, mounted their horses after dinner and

rode off. Five of ours and two Secular Priests stayed behind.

“Next morning, about five o’clock, when Father Southwell was beginning

Mass, and the others and myself were at meditation, I heard a bustle at

the house door. Directly after I heard cries and oaths poured forth

against the servant for refusing admittance. The fact was, that four

Priest-hunters, or pursuivants as they are called, with drawn swords were

trying to break down the door and force an entrance. The faithful servant

withstood them, otherwise we should have been all made prisoners. But by

this time Father Southwell had heard the uproar, and, guessing what it

meant, had at once taken off his vestments and stripped the altar; while

we strove to seek out everything belonging to us, so that there might be

nothing found to betray the presence of a Priest. We did not even wish to

leave boots and swords lying about, which would serve to show there had

been many guests though none of them appeared. Hence many of us were

anxious about our beds, which were still warm, and only covered, according

to custom, previous to being made. Some, therefore, went and turned their

beds, so that the colder part might deceive anybody who put his hand in to

feel. Thus, while the enemy was shouting and bawling outside, and our

servants were keeping the door, saying that the mistress of the house, a

widow, had not yet got up, but that she was coming directly and would give

them an answer, we profited by the delay to stow away ourselves and all

our baggage in a cleverly-contrived hiding-place.

“At last these four leopards were let in. They raged about the house,

looking everywhere, and prying into the darkest corners with candles. They

took four hours over the business; but failed in their search,(38) and

only brought out the forbearance of the Catholics in suffering, and their

own spite and obstinacy in seeking. At last they took themselves off,

after getting paid, forsooth, for their trouble. So pitiful is the lot of

the Catholics, that those who come with a warrant to annoy them in this or

in other way, have to be paid for so doing by the suffering party instead

of by the authorities who send them, as though it were not enough to

endure wrong, but they must also pay for their endurance of it. When they

were gone, and were now some way off, so that there was no fear of their

returning, as they sometimes do, a lady came and summoned out of the den,

not one, but many Daniels. The hiding-place was underground, covered with

water at the bottom, so that I was standing with my feet in water all the

time. We had there Father Garnett, Father Southwell, and Father Ouldcorne

(three future martyrs), Father Stanny, and myself, two Secular Priests,

and two or three lay gentlemen. Having thus escaped that day’s danger,

Father Southwell and I set off the next day together, as we had come.

Father Ouldcorne stayed, his dwelling or residence being” at Henlip House,

“not far off.”

VI.

But Father Gerard’s good works were now to be interfered with by the

treachery of a servant. This man’s name was John Frank, and his deposition

taken before Justice Young, May 12, 1594,(39) will illustrate Father

Gerard’s story. The Father introduces the traitor without naming him.

“There is a time for gathering stones together, and a time for scattering

them. The time had now come for trying the servants of God, my hosts, and

myself along with them. And that they might be more like in their

sufferings to their Lord for Whom they suffered, God allowed them to be

betrayed by their own servant, whom they loved. He was not a Catholic, nor

a servant of the house, but had been once in the service of the second

brother, who when he crossed the sea recommended him to his mother and

brother. He lived in London, but often used to visit them, and knew nearly

everything that happened in either of their houses. I had no reason for

suspecting one whom all trusted. Still I never let him see me acting as a

Priest, or dressed in such a way as to give him grounds to say that I was

one. However, as he acknowledged afterwards, he guessed what I was from

seeing his master treat me with such respect; for he nearly always set me

two or three miles on my journeys. Often too my host would bear me company

to London, where we used at that time to lodge in this servant’s house. I

had not yet found by experience, that the safest plan was to have a

lodging of my own. Such were the facts which, as the traitor afterwards

stated, gave rise to his suspicions. Feeling sure that he could get more

than three hundred pieces of silver for the sale of his master, he went to

the magistrates and bargained to betray him. They, it seems, sent him for

a while to spy out who were Priests, and how many there were of them

haunting the houses of the widow and her son.

“The widow’s house was first searched. The Priest that usually dwelt there

was then at home, but escaped for that time by taking refuge in a

hiding-place. As for the pious widow, they forced her to go to London,

there to appear before the Judges who tried cases concerning Catholics. At

her appearance she answered with the greatest courage, more like a free

woman than a grievously persecuted prisoner. She was thrown into gaol.”

From Frank we learn that the search was made Dec. 26, 1593.

“He saith that one Brewster, a Priest, being a tall man with a white

flaxen beard, was at old Mrs. Wiseman’s house at Northend from Michaelmas

till Christmas last, and was in the house when the pursuivants were there

on Wednesday the 26th of December last, hid in a privy place in a chamber.

And William Suffield, Mr. William Wiseman’s man, came thither for him on

Thursday in the Christmas week, at five o’clock in the night, and carried

him to Mr. William Wiseman’s house at Braddocks (as this examinate heard).

And afterwards Suffield came again and rode with old Mrs. Wiseman to the

Lord Rich’s.” The seat of Lord Rich was at Lee Priory, not far from

Northend. The widow, therefore, was not arrested on this occasion.

Of the search, Justice Young made the following report to Lord Keeper

Puckering.(40) “Right honourable, my humble duty remembered, this is to

advertize your honour that the bearers hereof, Mr. Worsley and Mr.

Newall,” pursuivants who were Topcliffe’s chief aiders in the searches

made in the houses of Catholics, “hath been in Essex at Mrs. Wiseman’s

house, being a widow, and there they found a Mass a preparing, but the

Priest escaped, but they brought from thence Robert Wiseman her son,(41)

and William Clarke, a lawyer, and Henry Cranedge, a physician, and Robert

Foxe, who doth acknowledge themselves all to be recusants, and do deny to

take an oath to answer truly to such matters as shall touch the Queen’s

Majesty and the State, whereupon I have committed them close prisoners,

one from another. Also they found in the said house one Nicholas

Norffooke, Samuel Savage, and one Daniell, servants unto the said Mrs.

Wiseman, and one Mrs. Ann Wiseman, a widow, and Mary Wiseman her daughter,

and Elizabeth Cranedge, and Alice Jenings, wife of Richard Jenings, and

Mary Wiseman, daughter to Mr. George Wiseman, of Upminster, and is in

Commission of the Peace, and all these in the said house are recusants;

wherefore it may stand with your lordship’s good liking, I think it were

well that they were all sent for hither to be examined, for that, the said

Mrs. Jane Wiseman——” and then follows the remembrance of old Mrs.

Wiseman’s wish that her pilgrimage to the Priests at Wisbech had been

barefooted, that we have already given.

“_Item_, he saith, to return to Frank’s examination, “that Mr. Gerard,

_alias_ Tanfield, _alias_ Staunton, the Priest Jesuit, was at Mr. William

Wiseman’s house at Braddocks all the Christmas last, and Richard Fulwood

was his man attending on him, and was two years coming and going thither,

and was also with Mr. Wiseman in Lancashire a little before Michaelmas was

twelve months, as Ralph Willis, who then attended on Master Gerard, told

this examinate, and were at the Lady Gerard’s house, she being at home.”

“_Item_, he saith that he hath seen Mr. Gerard dine and sup ordinarily

with Mr. Wiseman at his own table in his house at Braddocks about twelve

months past, and that at Michaelmas was twelve months they were both

together in the examinate’s house,—Father Gerard has just told us that

they used to go there till he got a lodging of his own—“and Mr. Ormes, the

tailor of Fleet-street, was there with him, and did take measure of Mr.

Gerard by the name of Mr. Tanfield, to make him garments.”

“_Item_, he saith that the said Gerard lay one night at the Lady Mary’s in

Blackfriars (as he thinketh) a little before Easter last,(42) and Ralph

Willis, his servant, lay that night at this examinate’s house, and that

Richard Fulwood, since his imprisonment in Bridewell at Easter last, wrote

a letter and sent it from Bridewell to the Lady Mary’s, and there this

examinate received it and went down with it to Mr. Gerard, who was at Mr.

William Wiseman’s house at Braddocks all the Easter last, and hidden in

the house while the pursuivants were there, which letters aforesaid this

examinate did deliver to Ralph Willis, who carried them immediately to Mr.

Gerard. And this examinate saw the letters in Mr. Gerard’s hands, and

heard him read them. Wherein Fulwood wrote that he expected torture every

day, and Mr. Gerard wished that he might bear some of Fulwood’s

punishment.” ...

“_Item_, he saith that the satin doublet and velvet hose which were found

in Middleton’s house at the apprehension of Mr. Gerard were Mr. Wiseman’s,

and the ruffs were Mrs. Wiseman’s; and if they had not been taken, the

apparel should have been carried by this examinate the next day to Mr.

Wiseman in the Counter.

“_Item_, he saith that about three weeks before Michaelmas last or

thereabouts, this examinate was sent by old Mrs. Wiseman to Mr. Gerard,

from Northend to London, with Scudamore, _alias_ John Wiseman, the

Priest,(43) and a boy named Richard Cranishe, of the age of 16 years, son

of Robert Cranishe, and afterwards Mrs. Jane Wiseman(44) and Mrs. Bridget

Wiseman, sisters to Mr. William Wiseman, came up also; and William Savage,

tailor, servant to old Mrs. Wiseman, and Richard Fulwood, Mr. Gerard’s

man, attended on them, and John Jeppes came up at the same time; all of

which persons (saving Jeppes) lay at this examinate’s house a week. And

then Scudamore, the two gentlewomen, Cranishe, Savage, and this examinate,

embarked themselves at Gravesend in one Motte his bark, and went over to

Middleborough, and there lay at one Charles his house about a fortnight,

and then went to Antwerp, and this examinate returned back again, but

whether Mr. William Wiseman did know of their going over or no he cannot

tell.” ...

“_Item_, he saith that Nicholas Owen, who was taken in bed with Mr. Gerard

the Jesuit, was at Mr. Wiseman’s house at Christmas was twelve months, and

called by the name of Little John and Little Michael, and the cloak that

he wore was Mr. Wiseman’s cloak a year past, and was of sad green cloth

with sleeves, caped with tawny velvet and little gold strips turning on

the cape. And the said Owen was at Mr. Emerson’s at Felsted while Mrs.

Wiseman lay there.” ...

Such is Frank’s examination, taken in May, 1594, and it will throw much

light on the subsequent narrative. On the 14th of April, Justice Young

sent to Lord Keeper Puckering(45) “the names of them that were found in

Mr. Wiseman’s house: John Fulwood, Richard Fulwood, Richard Wallis,

William Wallis, William Suffield, Ralph Williamson, John Stratforde. These

men are all recusants, and will not take an oath to the Queen’s Majesty,

nor to answer to anything. One Thomas was apprehended when his master was

taken, and he fled away with his master’s best gelding and a handful of

gold that his master gave him. All these were servants(46) to Mr. William

Wiseman, who is a continual receiver of all Seminary Priests, and went to

Wisbech to visit the Priests and Jesuits there, and since his imprisonment

there was a Seminary Priest in his house which escaped away from the

Justices and pursuivants and left his apparel behind him.” This was, as we

shall see, Father Gerard himself, and later on he was made to try on the

clothes thus found, and “they were just a fit.” All this was to prove Mr.

Wiseman guilty of harbouring a Priest, “which,” Father Gerard says, “they

were never able to do.”

Father Garnett, in a letter(47) to Father Persons at Rome, dated Sept. 6,

1594, thus describes the capture of the servants. “The Friday night before

Passion Sunday” [March 15] “was such a hurly-burly in London as never was

seen in man’s memory; no, not when Wyatt was at the gates. A general

search in all London, the Justices and chief citizens going in person; all

unknown persons taken and put in churches till the next day. No Catholics

found, but one poor tailor’s house at Golding-lane end, which was esteemed

such a booty as never was got since this Queen’s days. The tailor and

divers others there taken lie yet in prison, and some of them have been

tortured. That mischance touched us near; they were our friends and

chiefest instruments. That very night had been there _Long John_ with the

little beard, once your pupil” [in the margin is written _John Gerard_],

“if I had not more importunately stayed him than ever before. But soon

after he was apprehended, being betrayed we know not how; he will be stout

I doubt not. He hath been very close, but now is removed from the Counter

to the Clink, where he may in time do much good. He was glad of Mr.

Homulus(48) his company, but he had been taken from him and carried to

Newgate, whence he hopeth to redeem him again.”

Father Gerard tells the story thus. “The hidden traitor, wholly unknown to

his master, was watching his chance of giving us up without betraying his

own treachery. At first he settled to have me seized in a house” in

Golding-lane “which had been lately hired in London to answer my own and

my friends’ purposes. From his master’s employing him in many affairs, he

could not help knowing the place which his master had hired for my use.

Consequently he promised the magistrates to tell them when I was coming,

so that they might surround the house during the night with their

officers, and cut off my escape. The plan would have succeeded, had not

God provided otherwise through an act of obedience.

“My Superior had lately come to live four or five miles from London.(49) I

had gone to see him, and had been with him a day or two, when, having

business in London, I wrote to those who kept the house to expect me on

such a night, and bring in certain friends whom I wanted to see. The

traitor, who was now often seen in the house, which belonged ostensibly to

his master, learnt the time, and got the Priest-hunters to come there at

midnight with their band.

“Just before mounting my horse to depart, I went to take leave of my

Superior. He would have me stay that night. I told him my business, and my

wish to keep my appointment with my friends; but the blessed Father would

not allow it, though, as he said afterwards, he knew no reason, nor was it

his wont to act in this manner. Without doubt he was guided by the

inspiration of God; for early next morning we heard that some Papists had

been seized in that house, and the story ran that a Priest was among them.

The fact was that my servant, Richard Fulwood, was caught trying to hide

himself in a dark place, there being as yet no regular hiding-places,

though I meant to make some. As he cut a good figure, and neither the

traitor nor any one else that knew him was there, he was taken for a

Priest. Three Catholics and one schismatic were seized and thrown into

prison. The latter was a Catholic at heart, but did not refuse to go to

the heretics’ churches. As he was a trusty man, I employed him as keeper

of the house, to manage any business in the neighbourhood. At their

examination they all showed themselves steadfast and true, and answered

nothing that could give the enemy any inkling that the house belonged to

me instead of to my host. It was well that it was so; for things would

have gone harder with the latter had it been otherwise. The magistrates

sent him a special summons, in the hope that my arrest would enable them

to make out a stronger case against him. As soon as he arrived in London

he went straight to the house, never dreaming what had happened there, in

order to treat with me as to the reason of his summons, and how he was to

answer it. So he came and knocked at the door. It was opened to him at

once; but, poor sheep of Christ, he fell into the clutches of wolves,

instead of the arms of his shepherd and friend. For the house had been

broken into the night before, and there were some ministers of Satan still

lingering there, to watch for any Catholics that might come, before all

got scent of the danger. Out came these men then; the good gentleman found

himself ensnared, and was led prisoner to the magistrates. ‘How many

Priests do you keep in your house?’ ‘Who are they?’ were the questions

poured in upon him on all sides. He made answer, that harbouring Priests

was a thing punishable with death, and so he had taken good care not to

run such a risk. On their still pressing him, he said that he was ready to

meet any accusation that could be brought against him on this head.

However, they would not hint anything about me, because though

disappointed this time, they still hoped to catch me later, as the traitor

was as yet unsuspected.

“My host had on hand a translation of a work of Father Jerome Platus, _On

the Happiness of a Religious State_. He had just finished the second part,

and had brought it with him to see me about it. When he was seized, these

papers were seized too. Being asked what they were, he said it was a book

of devotion. Now the heretics are wont to pry into any writings that they

find, because they are afraid of anything being published against

themselves and their false doctrine. Not having time to go on with the

whole case, they were very earnest about his being answerable for those

papers. He said that there was nothing contained in them against the State

or against sound teaching; and offered on the spot to prove the goodness

and holiness of everything that was there set down. In so doing, as he

told me afterwards, he felt great comfort at having to answer for so good

a book. He was thrown into prison, and kept in such close confinement that

only one of his servants was allowed to go near him, and that was the

traitor. Knowing that his master had no inkling of his bad faith, they

hoped by his means to find out my retreat, and seize my person much sooner

than they could otherwise have done.”

The following is Mr. Wiseman’s examination, taken before Sir Edward Coke

and others, in which will be found the defence of Father Jerome Platus,

which Father Gerard so accurately remembered, and embodied in his

Narrative.

“The examination(50) of William Wiseman, of Wymbyshe, in the county of

Essex, gentleman, taken the 19th day of March, in the thirty-sixth year of

Her Majesty’s reign [1594].

“He saith that he hath the murrey” [mulberry-coloured] “beads (showed unto

him upon his examination) of a gentlewoman and friend of his, and that he

will not tell her name, for that she is a Catholic, as he termeth her, and

saith that he hath had these beads about a year and a quarter, and

received the same at Wymbyshe aforesaid, at his house there, called

Broadoaks, and saith now, upon better advertisement, that his sister,

Bridget Wiseman, now being beyond sea, did get the said beads and string

the same for him, this examinate, but where she had them he cannot tell.

Being demanded whether he knew a book (showed to him upon his examination)

called _Breviarium Romanum_, he denieth that he knoweth the book or whose

it is. He supposeth that a letter showed unto him upon his examination,

beginning, ‘Dear son, this day,’ &c. &c., and ending with ‘Commendation to

all my friends,’ is his mother’s own handwriting, and sent unto him, this

examinate, to his house aforesaid to-morrow shall be a seven-night.

“And saith that a friend of his hath hired the house in Golding-lane,

where he was apprehended, but denieth to tell his name for charity sake,

but saith that his friend hired it of Mr. Tute, dwelling in the next house

unto it, and saith that he hired it the last term. And saith that his

friend did hire the said house for him, this examinate, and his mother,

and saith that he never was at the house before, but came to the said

house by such description as his friend made to him of it, and that this

examinate came thither on Saturday at night to lie there, and his man

(whose name _he will not tell_,(51) is Richard Fulwood) provided him by

his commandment and appointment a bed and furniture belonging to the same

in the said house, and knoweth not whether the bedding was in the house

before he, this examinate, hired the same house or no, but thinketh that

some of the bedding that now is there was in the house before.

“He saith that the said Richard Fulwood hath served him about Shrovetide

last was two years.

“And saith that since he, this examinate, was confined, he hath used John

Fulwood, brother to the said Richard Fulwood, in travelling about his

business.

“And saith that his servant, Thomas Barker, after he was apprehended and

under arrest, was sent by this examinate to his inn, to return to him

again as he saith, and further saith that before the said Thomas Barker

went off out of the constable’s custody, he, this examinate, laid two

angels in the headborough’s hand, and to take them to his own use if his

servant did not return again. He thinketh he is gone to this examinate’s

house and denieth that he gave any message to the said Thomas Barker, save

only that he should signify to his housekeeper where he this examinate

was, and saith that Thomas Barker hath dwelt with him above a year past,

and was commended to him by a friend of his being a Catholic, and refuseth

to tell his name; and saith that both his said servants have been

recusants ever since they dwelt with him.

“And confesseth that a book intituled _Hieronymi Plati de Societate Jesu

de bono statu religionis_ is his own, and that he caused the same to be

bought at Cawood’s shop in Paul’s Churchyard, and saith that the book

containeth nothing but true doctrine, and that he translated it through

with his own hand—which was found and yet remaineth—the book; and that his

servant Richard Fulwood bought the same, and hath had it or the like by

the space of these two years and more, and saith that certain of his

friends(52) coming to him this examinate, he the said examinate commended

the same book to them to be a good book, and delivered the same book to

them, to be seen and read of, and saith within the said two years he this

examinate bought divers of the said book and hath sent of the same to some

of the examinate’s friends, as namely to the Priests at Wisbech, that is

to say, Father Edmonds, and to no other by name but to him, but generally

to the Priests, which is about a year past: and that the said Father

Edmonds returned thanks [in] answer to the examinate that he liked the

book very well, and this book he sent and received answer by his said

servant Thomas Barker, who was born in Norwich, and saith that this

examinate hath read over the first and half the second of the said book

unto the 12th chapter, and that he dare to take upon him to defend so much

to be sound and true: and saith that this examinate was with Father

Edmonds at Wisbech about Michaelmas last was twelve months, and there saw

and spake with him both privately and in company.

“W. WISEMAN.

“Examined by

“EDW. COKE

“WILL. DANYELL.

“EDW. VAUGHAN.

“R. WATSON.

“RYC. YOUNG.”

VII.

“On learning the seizure of our house at London,” Father Gerard continues,

“and my host’s imprisonment, I went down to his country house to settle

with his wife and friends what was to be done, and put all our effects in

safe keeping. As we wanted the altar furniture for the approaching Easter,

we sent very little of it to our friends. Of course I could not stay away

from my entertainers at so holy a time, especially as they were in sorrow

and trouble. In Holy Week the treacherous servant came from London with a

letter from his master, wherein the latter set forth all that had befallen

him, the questions that had been put to him, and his answers. This letter,

though seen, had been let pass for the credit of the bearer, to give him a

chance of seeing whether I was in the house at this solemn season. He

brought me another letter from my servant, whose capture I spoke of above.

When from the traitor’s information they knew him to be my servant, hoping

to wrest from him the disclosure of his friends and abettors, they kept

him in solitary confinement in the loathsome prison of Bridewell. The

purport of the letter was how he had denied everything,(53) what threats

had been held out to him, and what his sufferings were in prison. He had,

he said, hardly enough black bread to keep him from starving; his abode

was a narrow strongly-built cell, in which there was no bed, so that he

had to sleep sitting on the window-sill, and was months without taking off

his clothes. There was a little straw in the place, but it was so trodden

down and swarming with vermin that he could not lie on it. But what was

most intolerable to him was their leaving all that came from him in an

open vessel in that narrow den, so that he was continually distressed and

almost stifled by the smell. Besides all this, he was daily awaiting an

examination by torture.

“While reading the letter to my hostess in presence of the traitor, I

chanced to say at this last part, ‘I wish I could bear some of his

tortures, so that there might be less for him.’ It was these words of mine

that let us know later on who was the traitor, and author of all our woes.

For when I was taken and questioned, and declared I was quite unacquainted

with the family, those who were examining me forgot their secret, and

cried out, ‘What lies you tell!—did you not say so-and-so before such a

lady, as you read your servant’s letter?’ But I still denied it, giving

them good reasons, however, why, even if it had been true, I could and

ought to have denied it.(54) But to take up the thread of my story.

“The traitor on his return to London informed our enemies of everything.

Forthwith they sent two of their best messengers, or pursuivants as they

call them, to two gentlemen of the county, who were Justices of the Peace,

bidding them search the house carefully with their men. The traitor also

returned on Easter Sunday, on pretence of bringing a fresh letter from

London, but in reality to play into the hands of our enemies and acquaint

them with our plans. On Easter Monday” [April 1, 1594], “on account of the

dangers that threatened us, we rose before our usual hour, and were trying

to get ready for Mass before sunrise, when suddenly we heard the noise of

horses galloping, and of a multitude of men coming to surround the house

and cut off all escape. Seeing what was going to happen, we had the doors

kept fast. Meanwhile the ornaments were pulled off the altar, the

hiding-places thrown open, my books and papers carried into them, and an

effort was made to hide me and all my effects together. I wanted to get

into a hiding-place near the dining-room, as well to be further from the

chapel and the more suspicious part of the house, as because there was

store of provisions there, to wit, a bottle of wine, and certain light but

strengthening food, such as biscuit made to keep, &c. Moreover, I hoped to

hear our enemies talk, wherein there might be something, perchance, which

bore upon our interests. These reasons, then, moved me to choose that

place, and, in sooth, it was very fit and safe for hiding in. But God so

willed it, that the mistress of the house should in nowise agree. She

would have me go into a place near the chapel, where the altar furniture

could sooner be stowed with me. I yielded, though there was nothing there

for me to eat in case the search should last long. I went in, then, after

everything was safe that needed putting away.

“Scarcely had I done so, when the searchers broke down the door, and

forcing their way in, spread through the house with great noise and

racket. Their first step was to lock up the mistress of the house in her

own room with her maids; and the Catholic servants they kept locked up in

divers places in the same part of the house. They then took to themselves

the whole house, which was of a good size, and made a thorough search in

every part, not forgetting even to look under the tiles of the roof. The

darkest corners they examined with the help of candles. Finding nothing

whatever, they began to break down certain places that they suspected.

They measured the walls with long rods, so that if they did not tally,

they might pierce the part not accounted for. Thus they sounded the walls

and all the boards, to find out and break into any hollow places that

there might be.

“They spent two days in this work without finding anything. Thinking,

therefore, that I had gone on Easter Sunday, the two magistrates went away

on the second day, leaving the pursuivants to take the mistress of the

house, and all her Catholic servants of both sexes, to London, to be

examined and imprisoned. They meant to leave some who were not Catholics

to keep the house, the traitor being one of them. The good lady was

pleased at this, for she hoped that he would be the means of freeing me,

and rescuing me from death: for she knew that I had made up my mind to

suffer and die of starvation between two walls, rather than come forth and

save my own life at the expense of others. In fact, during those four days

that I lay hid, I had nothing to eat but a biscuit or two and a little

quince jelly, which my hostess had at hand and gave me as I was going in.

She did not look for any more, as she supposed that the search would not

last beyond a day. But now that two days were gone, and she was to be

carried off on the third with all her trusty servants, she began to be

afraid of my dying of sheer hunger. She bethought herself then of the

traitor, who she heard was to be left behind. He had made a great fuss and

show of eagerness in withstanding the searchers, when they first forced

their way in. For all that, she would not have let him know of the

hiding-places, had she not been in such straits. Thinking it better,

however, to rescue me from certain death, though it was at her own risk,

she charged him, when she was taken away, and every one had gone, to go

into a certain room, call me by my wonted name, and tell me that the

others had been taken to prison, but that he was left to deliver me. I

would then answer, she said, from behind the wainscot where I lay

concealed.

“The traitor promised to obey faithfully, but was faithful only to the

faithless, for he unfolded the whole matter to the ruffians who had been

left behind. No sooner had they heard it, than they called back the

magistrates who had departed. These returned early in the morning, and

renewed the search. They measured and sounded everywhere, much more

carefully than before, especially in the chamber above mentioned, in order

to find out some hollow place. But finding nothing whatever during the

whole of the third day, they purposed on the morrow to strip off all the

wainscot of that room. Meanwhile they set guards in all the rooms about,

to watch all night lest I should escape. I heard from my hiding-place the

pass-word which the captain of the band gave to his soldiers, and I might

have got off by using it, were it not that they would have seen me issuing

from my retreat: for there were two on guard in the chapel where I got

into my hiding-place, and several also in the large wainscotted room which

had been pointed out to them.

“But mark the wonderful providence of God. Here was I in my hiding-place.

The way I got into it was by taking up the floor, made of wood and bricks,

under the fire-place. The place was so constructed that a fire could not

be lit in it without damaging the house; though we made a point of keeping

wood there, as if it were meant for a fire. Well, the men on the

night-watch lit a fire in this very grate, and began chatting together

close to it. Soon the bricks, which had not bricks but wood underneath

them, got loose, and nearly fell out of their places, as the wood gave

way. On noticing this and probing the bottom with a stick, they found that

the bottom was made of wood; whereupon they remarked that this was

something curious. I thought that they were going there and then to break

open the place and enter; but they made up their minds at last to put off

further examination till next day. Meanwhile, though nothing was further

from my thoughts than any chance of escaping, I besought the Lord

earnestly, that if it were for the glory of His Name, I might not be taken

in that house, and so endanger my entertainers; nor in any other house,

where others would share my disaster. My prayer was heard. I was preserved

in that house in a wonderful manner; and when, a few days after, I was

taken, it was without prejudice to any one, as shall be presently seen.

“Next morning, therefore, they renewed the search most carefully,

everywhere except in the top chamber which served as a chapel, and in

which the two watchmen had made a fire over my head, and had noticed the

strange make of the grate. God had blotted out of their memory all

remembrance of the thing. Nay, none of the searchers entered the place the

whole day, though it was the one that was most open to suspicion, and if

they had entered, they would have found me without any search; rather, I

should say, they would have seen me, for the fire had burnt a great hole

in my hiding-place, and had I not got a little out of the way, the hot

embers would have fallen on me. The searchers, forgetting or not caring

about this room, busied themselves in ransacking the rooms below, in one

of which I was said to be. In fact, they found the other hiding-place to

which I thought of going, as I mentioned before. It was not far off, so I

could hear their shouts of joy when they first found it. But after joy

comes grief; and so it was with them. The only thing that they found, was

a goodly store of provision laid up. Hence they may have thought that this

was the place that the mistress of the house meant; in fact, an answer

might have been given from it to the call of a person in the room

mentioned by her.

“They stuck to their purpose, however, of stripping off all the wainscot

of the other large room. So they set a man to work near the ceiling, close

to the place where I was: for the lower part of the walls was covered with

tapestry, not with wainscot. So they stripped off the wainscot all round,

till they came again to the very place where I lay, and there they lost

heart and gave up the search. My hiding-place was in a thick wall of the

chimney, behind a finely laid and carved mantel-piece. They could not well

take the carving down without risk of breaking it. Broken, however, it

would have been, and that into a thousand pieces, had they any conception

that I could be concealed behind it. But knowing that there were two

flues, they did not think that there could be room enough there for a man.

Nay, before this, on the second day of the search, they had gone into the

room above, and tried the fire-place through which I had got into my hole.

They then got into the chimney by a ladder to sound with their hammers.

One said to another in my hearing, ‘Might there not be a place here for a

person to get down into the wall of the chimney below, by lifting up this

hearth?’ ‘No,’ answered one of the pursuivants, whose voice I knew, ‘you

could not get down that way into the chimney underneath, but there might

easily be an entrance at the back of this chimney.’ So saying, he gave the

place a kick. I was afraid that he would hear the hollow sound of the hole

where I was. But God, Who set bounds to the sea, said also to their dogged

obstinacy, ‘Thus far shalt thou go, and no further;’ and He spared His

sorely-stricken children, and gave them not up into their persecutors’

hands, nor allowed utter ruin to light upon them for their great charity

towards me.

“Seeing that their toil availed them naught, they thought that I had

escaped somehow, and so they went away at the end of four days, leaving

the mistress and her servants free. The yet unbetrayed traitor stayed

after the searchers were gone. As soon as the doors of the house were made

fast, the mistress came to call me, another four-days-buried Lazarus, from

what would have been my tomb had the search continued a little longer. For

I was all wasted and weakened, as well with hunger, as with want of sleep,

and with having to sit so long in such a narrow place. The mistress of the

house, too, had eaten nothing whatever during the whole time, not only to

share my distress, and to try on herself how long I could live without

food, but chiefly to draw down the mercy of God on me, herself, and her

family, by this fasting and prayer. Indeed, her face was so changed when I

came out, that she seemed quite another woman, and I should not have known

her but for her voice and her dress. After coming out, I was seen by the

traitor, whose treachery was still unknown to us. He did nothing then, not

even send after the searchers, as he knew that I meant to be off before

they could be recalled.”

VIII.

“As soon as I had taken a little refreshment and rest, I set out and went

to a friend’s house, where I kept still for a fortnight. Then knowing that

I had left my friends in great distress, I proceeded to London to aid and

comfort them. I got a safe lodging with a person of rank.(55) A year ago

it had been Father Southwell’s abode, before his seizure and imprisonment

in the Tower of London, where he now was. I wanted, however, to hire a

house where I might be safe and unknown, and be free to treat with my

friends; for I could not manage my business in a house that was not my

own, especially in such a one as I then dwelt in. I had recourse to a

servant of Father Garnett, named Little John,(56) an excellent man and one

well able to help me. He it was that used to make our hiding-places; in

fact, he made the one to which I owed my safety. Thanks to his endeavours,

I found a house well suited for my purpose, and settled with my landlord

about the rent. Till the house was furnished, I hired a room in my

landlord’s own house.(57) There I resolved to pass two or three nights in

arranging my affairs, getting letters from my friends in distress, and

writing back letters of comfort in return. Thus it was that the traitor

got sent to the place, which was only known to a small circle of friends.

It was God’s will that my hour should then come.

“One night, when Little John and I had to sleep in that room, the traitor

had to bring a letter that needed an answer, and he left with the answer

about ten o’clock. I had only come in about nine, sorely against the will

of the lady, my entertainer, who was uncommonly earnest that I should not

leave her house that night. Away went the traitor then, and gave

information to the Priest-hunters both when and where he had left me. They

got together a band, and came at midnight to the house, just as I had gone

to sleep. Little John and I were both awakened by the noise outside. I

guessed what it was, and told John to hide the letter received that night

in the ashes where the fire had been. No sooner had he done so and got

into bed again, than the noise which we had heard before seemed to travel

up to our room. Then some men began knocking at the chamber-door, ready to

break it in if it was not opened at once. There was no exit except by the

door where our foes were; so I bade John get up and open the door. The

room was at once filled with men, armed with swords and staves; and many

more stood outside, who were not able to enter. Among the rest stood two

pursuivants, one of whom knew me well, so there was no chance of my

passing unknown.

“I got up and dressed, as I was bid. All my effects were searched, but

without a single thing being found that could do harm to any man. My

companion and I were then taken off to prison. By God’s grace we did not

feel distressed, nor did we show any token of fear. What I was most afraid

of was, that they had seen me come out of that lady’s house, and had

tracked me to the room that I had hired; and so that the noble family that

had harboured me would suffer on my account. But this fear was unfounded;

for I learnt afterwards that the traitor had simply told them where he had

left me, and there it was that they found me.

“The pursuivant who knew me, kept me in his house two nights; either

because those who were to examine me were hindered from doing so on the

first day, or (as it struck me afterwards) because they wished first to

examine my companion, Little John. I noticed the first night, that the

room where I was locked up was not far from the ground; and that it would

be easy to let myself down from the window by tearing up the bedclothes

and making a rope of them. I should have done so that very night, had I

not heard some one stirring in the next room. I thought that he was put

there to watch me, and so it turned out. However, I meant to carry out my

plan the night after, if the watchman went away; but my keeper forestalled

me; for to save the expense of a guard, he put irons on my arms, which

prevented me from bringing my hands together and from separating them.

Then in truth I was more at ease in mind, though less in body; for the

thought of escape vanished, and there came in its place a feeling of joy

that I had been vouchsafed this suffering for the sake of Christ, and I

thanked the Lord for it as well as I could.

“Next day I was brought before the Commissioners, at the head of whom was

one who is now Lord Chancellor of the realm.(58) He had been a Catholic,

but went over to the other side, for he loved the things of this world.

“They first asked me my name and calling. I gave them the name I passed

by; whereupon one called me by my true name, and said that I was a Jesuit.

As I was aware that the pursuivant knew me, I answered that I would be

frank and open in everything that belonged to myself, but would say

nothing that could affect others. So I told them my name and calling, to

wit that, though most unworthy, I was a Priest of the Society of Jesus.

“ ‘Who sent you into England?’ they asked.

“ ‘The Superiors of the Society.’

“ ‘To what end?’

“ ‘To bring back stray souls to their Creator.’

“ ‘No, no,’ said they; ‘you were sent for matters of State; and to lure

people from the obedience of the Queen to the obedience of the Pope.’

“ ‘As for matters of State,’ I replied, ‘we are forbidden to have anything

to say to them, as they do not belong to our Institute. This prohibition,

indeed, extends to all the members of the Society; but on us Missioners it

is particularly enjoined in a special instruction. As for the obedience

due to the Queen and the Pope, each is to be obeyed in that wherein they

have jurisdiction; and one obedience does not clash with the other, as

England and all Christian realms have hitherto experienced.’

“ ‘How long have you been doing duty as a Priest in this country?’

“ ‘About six years.’

“ ‘How, and where, did you land, and where have you lived since your

landing?’

“ ‘I cannot in conscience answer any of these questions,’ I replied,

‘especially the last, as it would bring mischief on others; so I crave

pardon for not satisfying your wishes.’

“ ‘Nay,’ said they, ‘it is just on these heads that we chiefly desire you

to satisfy us, and we bid you in the Queen’s name to do so.’

“ ‘I honour the Queen,’ said I, ‘and will obey her and you in all that is

lawful, but here you must hold me excused: for were I to mention any

person or place where I have been lodged, the innocent would have to

suffer, according to your laws, for the kind service they have done me.

Such behaviour on my part would be against all justice and charity, and

therefore I never will be guilty of it.’

“ ‘You shall do so by force, if not by goodwill.’

“ ‘I hope,’ I said, ‘by the grace of God, it shall not be as you say. I

beg you, therefore, to take this my answer: that neither now nor at any

other time will I disclose what you demand of me.’

“Thereupon they wrote a warrant for my imprisonment, and gave it to the

pursuivants, bidding them take me to prison. As we were leaving, he who is

now Chancellor said that I must be kept in close confinement, as in cases

of high treason. ‘But tell the gaolers,’ he added, ‘to treat him well on

account of his birth.’ It seems, however, that the head gaoler gave orders

at variance with this humane recommendation: for I was lodged in a

garret,(59) where there was nothing but a bed, and no room to stand up

straight, except just where the bed was. There was one window always open,

through which foul air entered and rain fell on to my bed. The room door

was so low, that I had to enter, not on my feet, but on my knees, and even

then I was forced to stoop. However, I reckoned this rather an advantage,

inasmuch as it helped to keep out the stench (certainly no small one) that

came from the privy close to my door, which was used by all the prisoners

in that part of the house. I was often kept awake, or woke up, by the bad

smell.

“In this place I passed two or three days of true repose. I felt no pain

or anxiety of mind, and enjoyed, by the blessing of God, that peace which

the world does not and cannot give.

“On the third or fourth day, I was taken for a second examination to the

house of a magistrate called Young. He it was who had the management of

all the searches and persecutions that the Catholics in the neighbourhood

of London had to endure; and it was to him that the traitor had given his

information. Along with him was another, who had for many years conducted

the examination by torture, Topcliffe by name. He was a man of cruelty,

athirst for the blood of the Catholics, and so crafty and cunning, that

all the wily wit of his companion seemed abashed into silence by his

presence; in fact, the Justice spoke very little during the whole

examination. I found the two of them alone: Young in a civilian’s dress,

Topcliffe with a sword by his side and in a Court dress. He was an old

man, grown grey in wickedness. Young began questioning me as to my place

of abode, and the Catholics that I knew. I answered that I neither could

nor would make disclosures that would get any one into trouble, for

reasons already stated. He turned then to Topcliffe and said, ‘I told you

how you would find him.’

“Topcliffe looked frowningly at me and said, ‘Do you know me? I am

Topcliffe, of whom I doubt not you have often heard.’

“He meant this to frighten me. To heighten the effect, he had laid his

sword on the table near his hand, as though he were ready to use it on

occasion. But he failed certainly, and caused me not the least alarm; and

whereas I was wont to answer with deference on other occasions, this time

I did quite the contrary, because I saw him making a show to scare me.

Finding that he could get no other manner of reply from me than what I had

given, he took a pen and wrote an artful and malicious form of

examination.

“ ‘Here,’ says he, ‘read this paper. I shall show it to the Privy Council,

that they may see what a traitor you are to the realm, and how manifestly

guilty.’

“The contents of the paper were as follows: ‘The examinate was sent by the

Pope and the Jesuit Persons, and coming through Belgium there had

interviews with the Jesuit Holt and Sir William Stanley; thence he came

into England, on a political errand, to beguile the Queen’s subjects, and

lure them from their obedience to their Sovereign. If, therefore, he will

not disclose the places and persons with whom he has lived, it is presumed

that he has done much mischief to the State,’ &c.

“On reading this, I saw that I could not meet so many falsehoods with one

single denial; and as I was desirous that he should show my way of

answering to the Council, I said that I also wished to answer in writing.

Hereat Topcliffe was overjoyed, and cried out, ‘Oh! now you are a

reasonable man;’ but he was disappointed. He had hoped to catch me in my

words, or at least to find out my handwriting, so that some of the papers

found in the houses of the Catholics might be proved to be mine. I foresaw

this, and therefore wrote in a feigned hand as follows: ‘I was sent by my

Superiors. I never was in Belgium. I have not seen Father Holt since the

time that I left Rome. I have not seen Sir William Stanley since he left

England with the Earl of Leicester. I am forbidden to meddle with matters

of State; I never have done, and never will do so. I have tried to bring

back souls to the knowledge and love of their Creator, and to make them

show obedience to the laws of God and man; and I hold this last point to

be a matter of conscience. I humbly crave that my refusal to answer

anything concerning the persons that I know, may not be set down to

contempt of authority; seeing that God’s commandment forces me to follow

this course, and to act otherwise would be against justice and charity.’

“While I was writing this, the old man waxed wroth. He shook with passion,

and would fain have snatched the paper from me.

“ ‘If you don’t want me to write the truth,’ said I, ‘I’ll not write at

all.’

“ ‘Nay,’ quoth he, ‘write so-and-so, and I’ll copy out what you have

written.’

“ ‘I shall write what _I_ please,’ I answered, ‘and not what _you_ please.

Show what I have written to the Council, for I shall add nothing but my

name.’

“This I signed so near the writing, that nothing could be put in between.

The hot-tempered man, seeing himself disappointed, broke out into threats

and blasphemies. ‘I’ll get you put into my power, and hang you in the air,

and show you no mercy; and then I shall see what God will rescue you out

of my hands.’

“From the abundance of his heart he poured forth these evil words; but by

this he raised my hopes, just the opposite effect to what he wanted.(60)

Neither then nor since have I ever reckoned aught of a blasphemer; and, in

sooth, I have found by experience, that God increases the confidence of

His servants, when He allows strife to rise up against them. I gave,

therefore, this short answer: ‘You will be able to do nothing without the

leave of God, Who never abandons those that hope in Him. The will of God

be done.’

“Thereupon Young called the gaoler who had brought me, to take me back to

prison. As he was leading me off, Topcliffe addressed him and bade him put

irons on my legs. Both then fell a-chiding him for having brought me by

himself, fearing perchance lest I should escape from his hands. When I had

crept back to my little closet, my legs were garnished according to order.

The man seemed grieved that put the fetters on. For my part, instead of

grief I felt very much joy, such is God’s goodness to the most unworthy of

His creatures. To pay the man for the kind turn that he had done me, I

gave him some money for his job; and told him it was no punishment to

suffer in so good a cause.”

Father Garnett described this act of faith and courage in the following

terms in a letter to the General of the Society, which we translate from

the Italian: “This Father has always been very courageous, and when he was

first taken, and the gaoler put very heavy irons on his legs, he gave him

some money. The following day, the gaoler, thinking that if he took off

the irons doubtless he would give him more, took them off, but got

nothing. After some days he came to put them on again, and received a

reward, and then taking them off did not get a farthing. They went on

playing thus with one another several times, but at last the gaoler,

seeing that he did not give him anything for taking off his irons, left

him for a long time in confinement, so that the great toe of one foot was

for almost two years in great danger of mortification. So your Reverence

sees that in these times the courage of true Christian soldiers is not

wanting. May our Lord give him perseverance, and to those who follow him

the grace to imitate him.”(61)

IX.

“Here I stayed upwards of three months. During the first month I made from

memory, as well as I could, the Spiritual Exercises; giving four and

sometimes five hours a day to meditation. God lavished His goodness on me

throughout, and I had proof that He opens His bounteous hands to His

servants most of all when He has closed up the sources of earthly comfort

to them.

“When I was quietly lodged in prison, without being brought out or

undergoing any further examination for many days, they examined and put to

the torture Richard Fulwood, whom the traitor had pointed out as my

servant, and Little John, who had been taken with me. Unable, either by

coaxing or bribery, to draw anything from them that would compromise

others, they had recourse to threats, and then to force: but the force of

the Holy Ghost in them was too great to be overcome by men. They were both

hung up for three hours together, having their arms fixed into iron rings,

and their bodies hanging in the air; a torture which causes frightful pain

and intolerable extension of the sinews. It was all to no purpose; no

disclosure could be wrested from them that was hurtful to others; no

rewards could entice, no threats or punishments force them, to discover

where I or any of ours had been harboured, or to name any of our

acquaintances or abettors.

“Here I ought not to pass over in silence God’s great goodness and mercy

to me, the most unworthy of all His servants. It was shown in this, that

there was not a single traitor, either among those that were then seized

in my house or in the house of the good gentleman, my entertainer; no, nor

even among those that, in the other persecutions which by God’s providence

afterwards befel me, were imprisoned, tortured, and treated with the

utmost cruelty. Not one of them, I say, ever yielded, but all, by the

grace of God, held steadfast through everything. Those who were my

companions, or the servants I intrusted with commissions to the gentlemen

of my acquaintance, as they necessarily knew all my friends, would have

been able to do very great mischief, and enrich themselves by ruining

others: yet not one of them ever caused any harm either by word or deed,

wittingly or unwittingly; nor, as far as I remember, did they ever give

one cause of complaint. On many of them God, in His goodness, poured the

choicest gifts of His Holy Spirit.

“John Lasnet, the first that I had, died in Spain a Lay-brother of the

Society. The second that I had for some little while was Michael Walpole,

who is now a Priest of the Society, and labouring in England. The third

was named [Ralph] Willis. He had a vocation, so I sent him to study in the

Seminary at Rhemes, where he went through his course of philosophy. His

behaviour there was orderly, but afterwards at Rome he joined a turbulent

party, thus returning evil for good. He was the only one of my helpmates

that walked at all awry. He was, however, made Priest, and sent into

England. There he was seized, and condemned to death for the Faith, and

answered unflinchingly before the tribunal; but instead of losing his

life, he was kept some time in prison; whence he effected his escape, and

is still labouring in England.

“After him I had a godly man of the name of John Sutton, the brother of

three Priests, one of whom was a martyr, and another died in the Society.

Father Garnett kept him in his house for many years, up to the time of his

own arrest.

“The next that I had was Richard Fulwood, of whom I have spoken above. He

managed to make his escape, and during my imprisonment was employed by

Father Garnett until that Father’s happy death. He managed nearly all his

master’s business with strangers, not without the knowledge of the

persecutors, who offered a handsome sum for his capture, and were still

more anxious about it after Father Garnett was taken. In fact, they gave

the poor man no peace until they drove him into banishment, where he yet

remains, doing good service to our mission notwithstanding.

“After him I had John Lilly, a man well known at Rome; he died lately in

England, a Lay-brother of the Society. Next came two other godly men, whom

I did not take to keep, but merely as makeshifts till I could get a man

every way suited to my wants, and endowed with a religious spirit. I found

one at length; and when I quitted England, I took him with me, and left

him at St. Omers. There he was well grounded in Greek and Latin, and

became a great favourite with all the Fathers, who sent him into Spain

with the highest recommendations. He still remains there, growing always

in virtue and learning. Not long ago I had a letter from the Father

Prefect of Studies, in which he tells me that he is the best student in

his course.

“Such were the mercies of God vouchsafed to His unworthy servant, in

answer to my constant prayers. Many gentlemen intrust themselves and their

interests to our servants’ good faith no less than to ours; so that there

could be no greater let or hindrance to our good work, than any treachery

on their part; indeed, the defection of such a one would be likely to

cause the most frightful ruin among Catholics. For if one servant, and he

neither a Catholic nor one of the household, like the traitor of whom I

have spoken, made such havoc in his master’s family, what mischief could a

Priest’s servant do to the many persons of high rank that had harboured

him and his master! God has hitherto kept me free from the like betrayal.

“To return to my story. They could wrest nothing out of Little John and

Fulwood; and none of my host’s Catholic servants would make any avowal, or

own that he knew me. Seeing that they could bring no witness against him,

they gradually lost the hope they had of seizing his chattels and revenue.

“Sometimes they would bring me up for examination, when they had anything

new against me. Once they called me to try on a suit of clothes, which had

been found in my host’s house, and which the traitor said were mine. I put

them on, and they were just a fit, for the truth was that they had been

made for me; however, I would not own them, nor admit them to be mine.

Hereupon Young flew into a passion, called me a headstrong and

unreasonable man. He was so barefaced as to add ‘How much more sensible is

Southwell, who after long wilfulness is now ready to conform, and wishes

to treat with some man of learning.’

“ ‘Nay,’ I answered, ‘I will never believe that Father Southwell wishes to

treat with any one from any wavering in his faith, or to learn what to

believe from a heretic; but he might perchance challenge any heretic to

dispute with him that dared, as Father Campion did, and as many others

would do if you would let them, and appoint proper umpires.’

“Then Young seized hold of the book, and kissing it, cried: ‘I swear upon

this book that Southwell has offered to treat, with a view of embracing

our religion.’

“ ‘I do not believe he ever did so,’ said I.

“ ‘What,’ said an officer of the Court, ‘do you not believe his oath?’

“ ‘No,’ was my reply, ‘I neither can nor will believe him; for I have a

better opinion of Father Southwell’s firmness than of his truthfulness;

since perhaps he thinks that he is allowed to make this statement to

beguile me.’

“ ‘No such thing,’ said Young; ‘but are you ready to conform if he has

done so?’ (To conform, in their sense, means to embrace their deformed

religion.)

“ ‘Certainly not,’ I answered; ‘for if I keep myself free from heresy and

heretical meetings, it is not because he or any man on earth does the

same; but because to act otherwise would be to deny Christ, by denying His

faith, which may be done by deed as well as by word. This is what our Lord

forbade under pain of a heavier punishment than man can inflict, when He

said, “He that shall deny Me before men, him will I deny before My Father

Who is in Heaven.” ’

“To this the heretic answered not a word, save that I was stiff-necked (a

name that was applicable rather to himself), and bade them take me back to

prison.

“Another time I was sent for to be confronted with three witnesses,

servants of a certain nobleman named Lord Henry Seymour, son of the Duke

of Somerset. They were heretics, and avouched that on a certain day I had

dined with their mistress and her sister, while they, among others, waited

at table. The two sisters were daughters of the Earl of Northumberland.

One of them was a devout Catholic, and had come to London a little before

my imprisonment to get my help in passing over to Belgium, there to

consecrate herself to God. She was staying at the house of her sister, the

wife of the aforesaid lord. She wanted to bring back this sister to the

Catholic faith, which the latter had abandoned after her good father’s

death. I dined with them on the day the witnesses mentioned. It was in

Lent; and they told how their mistress ate meat, while the Lady Mary and I

ate nothing but fish. Young flung this charge in my teeth with an air of

triumph, as though I could not help acknowledging it, and thereby

disclosing some of my acquaintances. I answered that I did not know the

men whom he had brought up.

“ ‘But we know you,’ said they, ‘to be the same that was at such a place

on such a day.’

“ ‘You wrong your mistress,’ said I, ‘in saying so. I, however, will not

so wrong her.’

“ ‘What a barefaced fellow you are!’ exclaimed Young.

“ ‘Doubtless,’ I answered, ‘were these men’s statements true. As for me, I

cannot in conscience speak positively in the matter, for reasons that I

have often alleged; let them look to the truth and justice of what they

say.’

“Young then, in a rage, remanded me to prison.

“After three months some of my friends made efforts to have me removed to

another more comfortable prison, seeing that nothing could be proved

against me except my Priesthood; and this they obtained by means of a

handsome bribe to Young. So they sent to my prison, which was called the

Counter, and took off my fetters. These were rusty when they were first

put on; but by wearing and moving about in them every day, I had rendered

them quite bright and shining. My cell was so small, that a man who had

his legs free, might take the whole length of it in three steps. I used to

shuffle from one end to the other, as well for exercise, as because the

people underneath used to sing lewd songs and Geneva psalms; and I wanted

to drown by the clanking of my chain a noise that struck still more

harshly on my ear. My fetters then being removed, and my expenses paid

(which were not great, as I had had little but butter and cheese to season

my bread withal), they brought me before Young, who, making a show of

anger, began to chide and upbraid me more than was his wont, and asked me

whether I was yet willing to acknowledge where and with whom I had lived.

I answered that I could not do so with a safe conscience, and therefore

would not.

“ ‘Well then,’ said he, ‘I will put you in closer confinement, where you

shall be safer lodged, and have iron bars before your window.’

“Forthwith he wrote a warrant, and sent me to the prison that is called

the Clink.(62) He made all this show, that he might not appear to have

taken money for what he did. The fact was, that the prison to which I was

now sent was far better than the other, and more comfortable for all

prisoners; but to me it afforded especial comfort, on account of the great

number of Catholics whom I found there.

“They could not now hinder me from approaching the Sacraments, and being

comforted in divers other ways, as I shall afterwards show; for when I had

been there a few months, the place was by God’s grace so improved, that as

for discharging all the duties of the Society, I should never wish to be

at large in England, provided I could always live in the like prison and

after the like fashion.(63) So my being shut up in the Clink seemed like a

change from Purgatory to Paradise. Instead of lewd songs and blasphemies,

the prayers of some Catholic neighbours in the next room met my ear. They

came to my door to cheer me up, and showed me a way by which we could open

a free communication. This was through a hole in the wall, which they had

covered with a picture, that it might not be seen. By means of it they

gave me on the morrow a letter from my friends; and at the same time

furnished me with materials for writing back. I wrote, therefore, to

Father Garnett, and told him the whole truth of what had happened to me,

and what manner of replies I had made, as I have set forth above.”

“I also confessed, and received the Most Holy Body of Christ, through that

same hole. But I had not to do this long, for the Catholics contrived to

fashion a key that would open my door; and then every morning, before the

gaoler got up, they brought me to another part of the prison, where I said

Mass, and administered the Sacraments to the prisoners lodged in that

quarter; for all of them had got keys of their cells.

“I had just such neighbours as I would have picked out had I had my

choice. My next-door neighbour was our Brother, Ralph Emerson, of whom

Father Campion, in a letter to Father General, makes mention in these

terms, ‘My little man and I.’ He was indeed small in body,(64) but in

steadfastness and endurance he was great. He had been already many long

years in bonds, ever keeping godly and devout, like a man of the Society:

and after my coming to the Clink, he remained six or seven years more. At

last he was sent off, with other confessors of Christ, to the Castle of

Wisbech, where he was attacked with palsy. One half of his body was

powerless, so that he could not move about or do the least thing for

himself. He lived, notwithstanding, to add by his patience fresh jewels to

the crown that awaited him. Being driven into banishment with the same

company, he came to St. Omers, and died a holy death there, to the great

edification of the by-standers. I found this good Brother my next

neighbour in the Clink; overhead I had John Lilly, whom God’s providence

had shut up there for his own good and mine. I had other godly men around

me, all true to their faith.

“These having the free run of the prison, any one might visit them without

danger. I arranged, therefore, that when any of my friends came to the

prison, they should ask to see one of these; and thus they got to have

talk with me without its being noticed. I did not, however, let them into

my room, but spoke to them through the aforesaid hole.

“So I passed some time in great comfort and repose; striving the while to

gather fruit of souls, by letter and by word of mouth. My first gaoler was

a sour-tempered man, who watched very closely to see that there were no

unlawful doings amongst us. This called for great wariness on our part, to

avoid discovery; but ere long God summoned him from the wardenship of the

prison, and from the prison of his body at the same time.

“His successor was a younger man of a milder turn. What with coaxing, and

what with bribes, I got him not to look into our doings too nicely, and

not to come when he was not called for, except at certain fixed times, at

which he always found me ready to receive him.

“I used the liberty thus granted me for my neighbour’s profit. I began to

hear many confessions, and reconciled many persons to the Catholic Church.

Some of them were heretics, but the greater number were only schismatics,

as I could deal more freely with these than with the others. It was only

after long acquaintance, and on the recommendation of trusty friends, that

I would let any heretics know how little restraint was put upon me. I do

not remember above eight or ten converts from heresy, of whom four entered

Religion. Two joined our Society, and the other two went into other

Orders. As for schismatics, I brought back a goodly number of them to the

bosom of the Church. Some became Religious: and others gave themselves to

good works in England during the persecution. Of these last was Mr. John

Rigby, afterwards martyred.”(65)

X.

“During my stay in this prison, I found means to give the Spiritual

Exercises. The gaoler did as I wished him to do; he never came to me

without being called, and never went into my neighbours’ rooms at all. So

we fitted an upper chamber to serve as a chapel, where six or seven made

the Exercises, all of whom resolved to follow the counsels of Christ our

Lord, and not one of them flinched from his purpose.

“I found means also to provide for a very pressing need. Many Priests of

my acquaintance, being unable to meet with safe lodgings when they came to

London, used to put up at inns till they had settled the business that

brought them. Again, as my abode was fixed, and easy to find, the greater

part of the Priests that were sent from the Seminaries abroad had

instructions to apply to me, that through me they might be introduced to

their Superior, and might receive other assistance at my hands. Not having

always places prepared, nor houses of Catholics to which I could send

them, I rented a house and garden in a suitable spot, and furnished it, as

far as was wanted, by the help of my friends. Thither I used to send those

who brought letters of recommendation from our Fathers, and who I was

assured led a holy life and seemed well fitted for the mission. I

maintained them there till I had supplied them, through the aid of certain

friends, with clothes and necessaries, sometimes even with a residence, or

with a horse to go to their friends and kinsmen in the country. I covered

all the expenses of this house with the alms that were bestowed on me. I

did not receive alms from many persons, still less from all that came to

see me; indeed, both out of prison and in prison, I often refused such

offers. I was afraid that if I always accepted what was offered, I might

scare from me souls that wished to treat with me on the business of their

salvation; or receive gifts from those that could either ill afford it, or

would afterwards repent of it. I made it a rule, therefore, never to take

alms except from a small number of persons, whom I knew well. Most of what

I got was from those devoted friends, who offered me not only their money

but themselves, and looked upon it as a favour when I took their offer.

“I gave charge of this house to a very godly and discreet matron of good

birth, whom the Lord honoured with martyrdom.(66) Her maiden name was

Heigham, but she bore the name of Line from her deceased husband. Both she

and her husband were beloved by God, and had much to suffer for His sake.

This lady’s father was a Protestant, and when he heard of his daughter’s

becoming a Catholic, he withheld the dower which he had promised her. He

disinherited one of his sons for the same reason. This son, called William

Heigham, is now in Spain, a Lay-brother of the Society. It is twenty-six

years since I knew him. He was then a well-educated gentleman, finely

dressed like other high-born Londoners. He supported a Priest named

Thomson, whom I afterwards saw martyred. As soon as his father learned

that he, too, had become a Catholic, he went and sold his estate, the

rents of which were reckoned at 6,000 florins [600_l._] yearly, that it

might not pass to his son. The son was afterwards arrested for the Faith;

and he and his Priest together, if I mistake not, were thrown into the

prison of Bridewell, where vagrants are shut up and put to hard labour

under the lash. I paid him a visit there, and found him toiling at the

tread-mill, all covered with sweat. On recovering his freedom he hired

himself out as a servant to a gentleman, that had to wife a Catholic lady

whom I knew. She intrusted her son to his care: he taught the boy the

ground-work of the Latin tongue, besides giving him lessons on the harp,

which he himself touched admirably. I went to see him in this situation,

and had a long talk with him about his call to his present state.

“Mistress Line, his sister, married a good husband and a staunch Catholic.

He had been heir to a fine estate; but his father or uncle (for he was

heir to both) sent a message from his death-bed to young Line, then a

prisoner for the Faith, asking him to conform and go to some heretical

church for once; otherwise he would have to give up his inheritance to his

younger brother. ‘If I must either give up God or the world,’ was his

courageous answer, ‘I prefer to give up the world, for it is good to

cleave unto God.’ So both his father’s and his uncle’s estate went to his

younger brother. I saw this latter once in his elder brother’s room,

dressed in silk and other finery, while his brother had on plain and mean

clothes. This good man afterwards went into Belgium, where he obtained a

pension from the King of Spain, part of which he sent to his wife; and

thus they lived a poor and holy life. His death, which happened in

Belgium, left his widow friendless, so that she had to look to Providence

for her support. Before my imprisonment she had been charitably taken by

my entertainers into their own house. They furnished her with board and

lodging, and I made up the rest.

“She was just the sort of person that I wanted as head of the house that I

have spoken of, to manage the money matters, take care of the guests, and

meet the inquiries of strangers. She had good store of charity and

wariness, and in great patience she possessed her soul. She was nearly

always ill from one or other of many divers diseases, which purified her

and made her ready for Heaven. She used often to say to me: ‘Though I

desire above all things to die for Christ, I dare not hope to die by the

hand of the executioner; but perhaps the Lord will let me be taken some

time in the same house with a Priest, and then be thrown into a chill and

filthy dungeon, where I shall not be able to last out long in this

wretched life.’ Her delight was in the Lord, and the Lord granted her the

desires of her heart.

“When I was rescued out of prison, she gave up the management of my house;

for then so many people knew who she was, that her being in a place was

enough to render it unsafe for me. So a room was hired for her in another

person’s house, where she often used to harbour Priests. One day (it was

the Feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin) she let in a great

many Catholics to hear Mass, a thing which she would never have done in my

house. Good soul, she was more careful of me than of herself. Some

neighbours noticed the throng, and called the constables. They went

upstairs into the room, which they found full of people. The celebrant was

Father Francis Page, S.J., who was afterwards martyred.(67) He had pulled

off his vestments before the Priest-hunters came in; so that they could

not readily make out which was the Priest. However, from the Father’s

grave and modest look, they thought that he must be their man.

Accordingly, they laid hold of him, and began questioning him and the

others also. No one would own that there was a Priest there; but as the

altar had been found ready for Mass, they acknowledged that they had been

waiting for a Priest to come. While the Catholics and their persecutors

were wrangling on this point, Father Francis Page, taking advantage of

some one’s opening the door, got away from those that held him and slipped

out, shutting the door behind him. He then went upstairs to a place that

he knew, where Mrs. Line had had a hiding-place made, and there he

ensconced himself. Search was made for him the whole house over, to no

purpose.

“So they took Mrs. Line and the richer ones of the party to prison, and

let the others go on bail. God lengthened out the martyr’s life beyond her

expectation. It was some months before she was brought to trial, on a

charge of harbouring and supporting Priests. To the question of ‘guilty or

not guilty,’ she made no direct answer, but cried out in a loud voice, so

that all could hear her: ‘My lords, nothing grieves me, but that I could

not receive a thousand more.’(68) She listened to the sentence of death

with great show of joy and thanksgiving to the Lord God. She was so weak,

that she had to be carried to Court in a chair, and sat there during the

whole of the trial. After her return to prison, a little before her death,

she wrote to Father Page, who had escaped. The letter is in my hands at

present. She disposed therein of the few things that she had, leaving to

me a fine large cross of gold that had belonged to her husband. She

mentioned me thrice in the letter, calling me her Father. She also left

some few debts which she begged me to see paid. Afterwards she bequeathed

me her bed by word of mouth. I wanted to purchase it from the gaolers, who

had plundered everything found in her cell after her death; but I could

only get the coverlet, which I used ever after during my stay in London,

and reckoned it no small safeguard.

“Being arrived at the place of punishment, some preachers wanted to tease

her, as usual, with warnings to abandon her errors; but she cut them

short, saying, ‘Away! I have no dealings nor communion with you.’ Then,

kissing the gallows with great joy, she knelt down to pray, and kept on

praying till the hangman had done his duty. So she gave up her soul to

God, along with the martyr Father Filcock, S.J.,(69) who had often been

her confessor, and had always been her friend. Her martyrdom, however,

happened six or seven years after the time of which I am now speaking. She

managed my house for three years, and received therein many holy Priests.”

“I always had a Priest residing in this house, whom I used to send to

assist and console my friends, as I was unable, during my imprisonment, to

visit them myself. The first I had there was Father Jones, a Franciscan

Recollect, afterwards martyred,(70) but then newly arrived in England....

After him I received another Priest, lately arrived from Spain, and

formerly known to me, Robert Drury by name. He was of gentle birth and

well educated, and could consequently associate with gentlemen without

causing any suspicion. I introduced him, therefore, to my chief friends;

and he assisted them well and zealously for two years and more that he

tarried in my house. This good Priest also God chose to be His witness and

martyr....”

“In that house of mine, while I was in prison, there lived awhile one of

our Fathers, who was in ill health, Father John Curry. There also he died,

and there he lies buried in some secret corner. For those Priests who live

secretly on the mission, we are obliged also to bury secretly when they

die.

“All this while my good host, who had been taken a little before me, was

kept imprisoned; and for the first four months so straitly, that neither

his wife nor any of his friends were allowed to have any access to him.

After this, however, the persecutors, seeing that they could not produce

any proof against him, because none of the Catholic servants would

acknowledge anything and the traitor had never seen me in Priest’s guise,

and was only one witness after all, by degrees relaxed a little of their

harshness, and permitted him to be visited and cared for, though they

still kept him in strict custody.

“While thus close shut up, he wrote a work by no means contemptible, which

he divided into three parts, and called ‘Three Farewells to the world, or

three deaths in different states of soul.’(71) In the first book he

described a man of moral life, and virtuous in the opinion of men, but

directing himself in all things by his own lights.... In the second book

he described a good and pious lady, who at first wished to be guided in

everything, but subsequently, deceived by the devil, determined in some

things to follow her own ideas.... In the third book he described the

death of a pious and devoted man, who, though living in the world and

possessed of riches, yet always sought and followed the counsels of his

spiritual Father, manifesting himself entirely for the purpose of being

directed by him to the greater glory of God.” ...

“It was written, not with ink, but merely with pencil, upon loose scraps

of paper, for at that time he was kept so close that he could get no ink.

As he finished each of the three parts, he sent it to me, that I might

correct anything I might find against sound doctrine. He gave as a reason

for writing the work, that he had himself found, as he thought, so immense

a benefit from giving himself thoroughly to the direction of his spiritual

guide, and had felt in consequence so undisturbed a peace of mind, even

when the malice of the persecutors was daily threatening him with death,

that he could not refrain from recommending the same course to others whom

he loved. He said, moreover, that he wrote the book, not for the public,

but principally for his own family, and secondly for his relations and

friends; for that, as he could not communicate with them by word of mouth,

he desired to show them in writing the most secure and meritorious way to

perfection while living in the world. For he endeavoured to prove that

perfection was even more necessary for those who lived in the world than

for Religious.

“Such were the sentiments of this good man. He noways regretted that he

had during four years given himself up to my direction, though he found

himself in consequence exposed to such extreme distresses, and saw his

family and fortune made a mark for the persecutors as a result of having

harboured me. Nay, it was not only that he bore all these trials

patiently, but he really thought it all joy to suffer thus for the good

cause. His wife, also, though she loved her husband most tenderly, and was

of a peculiarly sensitive mind, yet in this juncture bore everything with

a singular sweetness and patience. After I was transferred to the Clink,

where there was more chance of communicating with me either by word or

letter, she took a house in the immediate neighbourhood of my prison, in

order that she might consult me constantly, and provide me with everything

I needed. In this house she and her husband, who obtained his release

after a time by large payments of money, resided while I remained in that

prison. But after my escape from the Tower, they betook themselves back to

their country seat, in order that they might have me with them there

again.”

XI.

“In the meantime, I was so fully taken up in the prison with business, and

with the visits of Catholics, that in the next room, which was Brother

Emerson’s, there were often six or eight persons at once, waiting their

turn to see me. Nay, many of my most intimate and attached friends have

oft-times had to wait many hours at a stretch, and even then I have been

obliged to ask them to come another time....”

“While I remained in this prison, I sent over numbers of boys and young

men to Catholic Seminaries abroad. Some of these are, at this present,

Priests of the Society, and engaged on the English mission: others still

remain in the Seminaries, in positions of authority, to assist in training

labourers for the same field. On one occasion I had sent two boys on their

way to St. Omers, and had given them letters of recommendation, written

with lemon-juice, so that the writing was not visible on the paper. In the

paper itself I wrapped up a few collars, so that it might seem that its

only use was to keep the collars clean. The boys were taken, and on being

questioned, confessed that I had sent them. They let it out also that I

had given them this letter, and had told them, when they came to a certain

College of ours, on their way to St. Omers (for they had to pass by

Ostend, which is not the usual way, and thus they came to be taken), to

bid the Fathers steep the paper in water, and they would be able to read

what I had written. On this information, then, the paper was steeped by

the authorities, and two letters of mine were read, written on the same

paper. One was written in Latin to our Belgian Fathers; this I had

consequently signed with my own proper name. The other was addressed to

our English Fathers at St. Omers. The letters having been thus discovered,

I was sent for to be examined.

“Young, however, was no longer to be my examiner. He had died in his sins,

and that most miserably. As he lived, so he died:(72) he lived the devil’s

confessor, he died the devil’s martyr; for not only did he die in the

devil’s service, but he brought on his death through that very service. He

was accustomed to work night and day to increase the distress of the

Catholics, and to go forth frequently in inclement weather, at one or two

o’clock in the morning, to search their houses. By these labours he fell

into a consumption,(73) of which he died. He died, moreover, overwhelmed

with debt, so that it might be clear that he abandoned all things for the

devil’s service. Notwithstanding all the emoluments of his office, all the

plunder he took from the persecuted Catholics, and the large bribes they

were constantly giving him to buy off his malicious oppression, his debts

were said to amount to no less a sum than a hundred thousand florins

[10,000_l._]; and I have heard even a larger sum mentioned than this.

Perhaps he expected the Queen would pay his debts; but she did nothing of

the sort. All she did was once to send a gentleman from Court to visit

him, when he was confined to his bed, and near death; and this mark of

favour so delighted him, that he seemed ready to sing _Nunc dimittis_. But

it was a false peace, and the lifting up of the soul that goes before a

fall; and like another Aman, he was bidden not to a banquet, but to

execution, and that for ever. So with his mouth full of the Queen’s

praises, and his great obligations to Her Majesty, he died a miserable

death, and anguish took the place of his joy. The joy of the hypocrite is

but for an instant.

“This man’s successor in the office of persecuting and harassing the

servants of God, was William Wade, now Governor of the Tower of London,

but at that time Secretary to the Lords of the Council. For the members of

the Council choose always to have a man in their service to whose cruelty

anything particularly odious may be attributed, instead of its being

supposed to be done by their warrant. This Wade then sent for me, and

first of all showed me the blank paper that I had given to the boys, and

asked me if I recognized it. I answered, ‘No, I did not.’ And in fact I

did not recognize it, for I did not know the boys had been taken. Then he

dipped the paper in a basin of water, and showed me the writing, and my

name subscribed in full. When I saw it, I said: ‘I do not acknowledge the

writing. Any one may easily have counterfeited my handwriting and forged

my signature; and if such boys as you speak of have been taken, they may

perhaps in their terror say anything that their examiners want them to

say, to their own prejudice and that of their friends; a thing I will

never do. At the same time, I do not deny that it would be a good deed to

send such boys abroad to be better educated; and I would gladly do it if I

had the means; but closely confined as I am in prison, I cannot do

anything of the kind, though I should like to do it.’

“He replied to me with a torrent of abuse for denying my signature and

handwriting, and said: ‘In truth, you have far too much liberty; but you

shall not enjoy it long.’ Then he rated the gaoler soundly for letting me

have so much liberty.

“I was sent for on two or three other occasions, to be examined; and

whenever I came out of this prison, I always wore a Jesuit’s cassock and

cloak,(74) which I had had made as soon as I came among Catholic

fellow-prisoners. The sight of this dress raised mocks from the boys in

the streets, and put my persecutors in a rage. On the first occasion, they

said I was a hypocrite. I replied: ‘When I was arrested, you called me a

courtier, and said that I had dressed myself in that fashion in order to

disguise my real character, and to be able to deal with persons of rank in

safety, and without being recognized. I told you then, that I did not like

a layman’s dress, and would much rather wear my own. Well, now I am doing

so; and you are in a rage again. In fact, you are not satisfied with

either piping or mourning, but you seek excuses for inveighing against

me.’

“To this they answered: ‘Why did you not go about in this dress before,

instead of wearing a disguise, and taking a false name? A thing no good

man would do.’

“I replied: ‘I am aware you would like us not to do so, in order that we

might be arrested at once, and not be able to do any good in the work of

rescuing and gaining souls. But do you not know that St. Raphael

personated another, and took another name, in order that, not being known,

he might better accomplish God’s work for which he had been sent?’

“At another time I was examined before the Dean of Westminster, the

dignitary who has taken the place of the former Abbot of the great royal

monastery there. Topcliffe and some other Commissioners were present.

Their object was to confront me with the good widow, my host’s mother, of

whom I have before spoken, and who was confined at this time in a

prison(75) near the church at Westminster, for she was not yet condemned

to death; that happened later. They wanted to see if she recognized me. So

when I came into the room where they brought me, I found her already

there. When she saw me coming in with the gaolers, she almost jumped for

joy; but she controlled herself, and said to them: ‘Is that the person you

spoke of? I do not know him; but he looks like a Priest.’

“Upon this she made me a very low reverence, and I bowed in return. Then

they asked me if I did not recognize her?

“I answered: ‘I do not recognize her. At the same time, you know this is

my usual way of answering, and I will never mention any places, or give

the names of any persons that are known to me (which this lady, however,

is not); because to do so, as I have told you before, would be contrary

both to justice and charity.’

“Then Topcliffe said: ‘Tell the truth; have you reconciled any persons to

the Church of Rome?’

“I quite understood his bloodthirsty intention, that being a thing

expressly prohibited under penalty of high treason; but then I knew I was

already as much compromised on account of my Priesthood, and therefore I

answered boldly: ‘Yes, in truth, I have received some persons, and am

sorry that I have not done this good service to more.’

“ ‘Well,’ said Topcliffe, ‘how many would you like to have reconciled, if

you could? A thousand?’

“ ‘Certainly,’ I said, ‘a hundred thousand, and many more still, if I

could.’

“ ‘That would be enough,’ said Topcliffe, ‘to levy an army against the

Queen.’

“ ‘Those whom I reconciled,’ said I, ‘would not be against the Queen, but

all for her; for we hold that obedience to superiors is of obligation.’

“ ‘No such thing,’ said Topcliffe, ‘you teach rebellion. See, I have here

a Bull of the Pope, granted to Sanders(76) when he went to Ireland to stir

up the Queen’s subjects to rebellion. See, here it is. Read it.’

“I answered: ‘There is no need to read it. It is likely enough that the

Pontiff, if he sent him, gave him authority. But I have no power to meddle

at all in such matters. We are forbidden to have anything to do with such

things. I never have, and never will.’

“ ‘Take and read it,’ he said; ‘I will have you read it.’

“So I took it, and seeing the name of Jesus on the top, I reverently

kissed it.

“ ‘What,’ said Topcliffe, ‘you kiss a Bull of the Pope, do you?’

“ ‘I kissed,’ said I, ‘the name of Jesus, to which all love and honour are

due. But if it is a Bull of the Pope, as you say, I reverence it also on

that score.’

“And so saying, I kissed the printed paper again. Then Topcliffe, in a

furious passion, began to abuse me in indecent terms.... At this

insolence, to own the truth, I somewhat lost command of myself; and though

I knew that he had no grounds which seemed probable even to himself for

what he said, but had uttered it from pure malice, I exclaimed: ‘I call

the Great and Blessed God to witness, that all your insinuations are

false.’

“And, as I spoke, I laid my hand on the book that was open before me on

the table. It was a copy of the Holy Bible, but according to their corrupt

translation into the vulgar tongue. Then Topcliffe held his peace; but the

Dean took up the word. ‘Are you willing,’ said he, ‘to be sworn on our

Bible?’ The better instructed Catholics, who can show the dishonesty of

that translation, usually refuse this.

“I replied: ‘In truth, under the necessity of rebutting this man’s false

charges at once, I did not take notice what version this was. However,

there are some truths, as, for instance, the Incarnation and Passion of

Christ, that have not been corrupted by mistranslation; and by these I

call the truth of God to witness. There are many other things falsely

rendered, so as to involve heresies; and these I detest and anathematize.’

“So saying, I laid my hand again upon the book, and more firmly than

before. The old man was angry and said: ‘I will prove that you are a

heretic.’

“I replied: ‘You cannot prove it.’

“ ‘I will prove it,’ he said, ‘thus: Whoever denies Holy Scripture is a

heretic; you deny this to be Holy Scripture: _Ergo_.’

“I replied: ‘This is no true syllogism; it shifts from general to

particular, and so has four terms.’

“The old man answered: ‘I could make syllogisms before you were born.’

“ ‘Very likely,’ I said; ‘but the one you have just produced is not a true

one.’

“However, the good old man(77) would not try a new middle term, and made

no further attempt to prove me a heretic. But one urged one thing, and

another another, not in the way of argument, but after their usual plan,

asking me such questions as they knew very well I did not like to answer;

and then, in the end, they sent me back to prison.”

XII.

“On another occasion they examined me, and all the other Catholics that

were confined in the same prison with me, in a public place called

Guildhall, where Topcliffe and several other Commissioners were present.

When they had put their usual questions, and received from me the usual

answers, they came to the point, intending, I imagine, to sound us all as

to our feelings towards the State, or else to entrap us in some

expressions about the State that might be made matter of accusation. They

asked me, then, whether I acknowledged the Queen as the true Governor and

Queen of England.

“I answered: ‘I do acknowledge her as such.’

“ ‘What,’ said Topcliffe, ‘in spite of Pius V.’s excommunication?’

“I answered: ‘I acknowledge her as our Queen, notwithstanding I know there

is such an excommunication.’

“The fact was, I knew that the operation of that excommunication had been

suspended for all in England by a declaration of the Pontiff, till such

time as its execution became possible.

“Topcliffe proceeded: ‘What would you do in case the Pope sent an army

into England, asserting that the object was solely to bring back the

kingdom to the Catholic religion, and protesting that there was no other

way left of introducing the Catholic faith, and, moreover, commanding all

in virtue of his Apostolical authority to aid his cause? Whose side would

you then take, the Pope’s or the Queen’s?’

“I saw the malicious man’s cunning, and that his aim was, that whichever

way I answered I might injure myself, either in soul or body; and so I

worded my reply thus: ‘I am a true Catholic, and a true subject of the

Queen. If, then, this were to happen, which is unlikely, and which I think

will never be the case, I would act as became a true Catholic and a true

subject.’

“ ‘Nay, nay,’ said he; ‘answer positively and to the point.’

“ ‘I have declared my mind,’ said I, ‘and no other answer will I make.’

“On this he flew into a most violent rage, and vomited out a torrent of

curses; and ended by saying: ‘You think you will creep to kiss the Cross

this year; but before the time comes, I will take good care you do no such

thing.’

“He meant to intimate, in the abundance of his charity, that he would take

care I should go to Heaven by the rope before that time. But he had not

been admitted into the secrets of God’s sanctuary, and did not know my

great unworthiness. Though God had permitted him to execute his malice on

others, whom the Divine Wisdom knew to be worthy and well prepared, as on

Father Southwell and others, whom he pursued to the death, yet no such

great mercy of God came to me from his anger. Others indeed, for whom a

kingdom was prepared by the Father, were advanced to Heaven by our Lord

Jesus through his means; but this heavenly gift was too great for an angry

man to be allowed to bestow on me. However, he was really in some sort a

prophet in uttering these words, though he meant them differently from the

sense in which they were fulfilled.

“What I have mentioned happened about Christmas. In the following Lent, he

himself was thrown into prison for disrespect to the members of the

Queen’s Council, on an occasion, if I mistake not, when he had pleaded too

boldly in behalf of his only son, who had killed a man with his sword in

the great hall of the Court of Queen’s Bench. This took place about

Passion Sunday. We, then, who were in prison for the Faith, seeing our

enemy, Aman, about to be hanged on his own gibbet, began to lift up our

heads, and to use what liberty we had a little more freely, and we

admitted a greater number to the Sacraments, and to assist at the services

and holy rites of the Church. Thus it was that on Good Friday a large

number of us were together in the room over mine, in fact, all the

Catholics in the prison, and a number of others from without. I had gone

through all the service, and said all the prayers appointed for the day,

up to the point where the Priest has to lay aside his shoes. I had put

them off, and had knelt down, and was about to creep towards the Cross and

make the triple adoration of it; when, lo! just as I had moved two paces,

the head gaoler came and knocked at the door of my room underneath, and as

I did not answer from within, he began to batter violently at the door and

make a great noise. As soon as I heard it, I knew that the chief gaoler

was there, because no other would have ventured to behave in that way to

me: so I sent some one to say that I would come directly, and then,

instead of going on with the adoration of the material Cross, I hastened

to the spiritual cross that God presented to me, and taking off the sacred

vestments that I was wearing, I went down with speed, for fear the gaoler

might come up after me, and find a number of others, who would thus have

been brought into trouble. When he saw me, he said in a loud tone of

voice: ‘How comes it that I find you out of your room, when you ought to

be kept strictly confined to it?’

“As I knew the nature of the man, I pretended, in reply, to be angry, that

one who professed to be a friend should have come at such a time as that,

when, if ever, we were bound to be busy at our prayers.

“ ‘What,’ said he, ‘you were at Mass, were you? I will go and see.’

“ ‘No such thing,’ I said; ‘you seem to know very little of our ways.

There is not a single Mass said to-day throughout the whole Church. Go up

if you like; but understand that, if you do, neither I nor any one of the

Catholics will ever pay anything for our rooms. You may put us all, if you

like, in the common prison of the poor who do not pay. But you will be no

gainer by that; whereas, if you act in a friendly way with us, and do not

come upon us unawares in this manner, you will not find us ungrateful, as

you have not found us hitherto.’

“He softened down a little at this; and then I said: ‘What have you come

for now, I pray.’

“ ‘Surely,’ said he, ‘to greet you from Master Topcliffe.’

“ ‘From him?’ I said; ‘and how is it that he and I are such great friends?

Is he not in such a prison? He cannot do anything against me just now, I

fancy.’

“ ‘No,’ said the gaoler, ‘he cannot. But he really sends to greet you.

When I visited him to-day, he asked me how you were. I replied that you

were very well. “But he does not bear his imprisonment,” said Master

Topcliffe, “as patiently as I do mine. I would have you greet him, then,

in my name, and tell him what I have said.” So I have come now for the

purpose of repeating his message to you.’

“ ‘Very well,’ I replied. ‘Now tell him from me, that by the grace of God

I willingly bear my imprisonment for the cause of the Faith, and I could

wish his cause were the same.’

“Thereupon the gaoler went away, rating his servant, however, for not

having kept me more closely confined. And thus Topcliffe really

accomplished what he had promised, having checked me in the very act of

adoration, although without thinking of what he said, and with another

intent at the time. Thus was Saul among the prophets. However, he did not

prevent my going up again and completing what I had begun.

“The man who had charge of my room would not do anything in our rooms

without my leave. And after my first gaoler, who soon died, the others who

succeeded were well disposed to oblige me. One of them, who had the

gaolership by inheritance, I made a Catholic. He immediately gave up his

post and sold the right of succession, and became the attendant of a

Catholic gentleman, a friend of mine, and afterwards accompanied his son

to Italy, and got a vocation to the Religious state. At present he is a

prisoner in the very prison where he had been my gaoler. The next who had

the charge of me after him, being a married man with children, was kept by

fear of poverty from becoming a Catholic; but yet he was afterwards so

attached to myself and all our friends, that he received us into his own

house, and sometimes concealed there such Catholics as were more sorely

pressed than others by the persecution. And when I was to be got out of

the Tower of London, with serious risk to all who aided the enterprise, he

himself in person was one of the three who exposed themselves to such

great danger. And although he was nearly drowned the first night of the

attempt, he rowed the boat the next night as before, as I shall hereafter

relate. For not long after what I just now mentioned, I was removed from

that prison to the Tower of London; the occasion of which was the

following.”

XIII.

“There was in the prison with me a certain Priest,(78) to whom I had done

many good services. When he first came to England, I had lodged him in an

excellent house with some of my best friends; I had made Catholics of his

mother and only brother; I had secured him a number of friends when he was

thrown into prison, and had made him considerable presents. I had always

shown him affection, although, perceiving that he was not firm and steady

in spirit, but rather hankered too much after freedom, I did not deal

confidently with him, as with others in the prison, especially Brother

Emerson and John Lilly. Nevertheless, this good man, from some motive or

other, procured my removal; whether in the desire and expectation that, if

I were gone, all whom he saw come to me would thenceforth come to him, or

in order to curry favour with our enemies, and obtain liberty or some such

boon for himself, is not certain. Be that as it may, he reported to our

enemies that he was standing by when I handed a packet of letters dated

from Rome and Brussels to a servant of Father Garnett’s, of the name of

Little John, about whom I have before spoken. This latter, after having

been arrested in my company, as I have related, and subjected to various

examinations, but without disclosing anything, had been released for a sum

of money which some Catholic gentlemen had paid. For his services were

indispensable to them and many others, as he was a first-rate hand at

contriving Priests’ hiding-places. The Priest then reported that I had

given this man letters, and that I was in the habit of receiving letters

from beyond the sea addressed both to my Superior and to myself.

“Acting on this information, the persecutors sent a Justice of the Peace

to me one day, with two Queen’s messengers, or pursuivants as they call

them. These came up to my room on a sudden with the head gaoler; but by

God’s providence they found no one with me at the time except two boys,

whom I was instructing with intention to send them abroad; one of whom, if

I remember right, escaped, the other they imprisoned for a time. But they

found nothing else in my room that I was afraid of being seen; for I was

accustomed to keep all my manuscripts and other articles of importance in

some holes made to hide things. All these holes were known to Brother

Emerson; and so after my removal he took out everything, and among the

rest a reliquary that I have with me now, and a store of money that I had

in hand for the expenses of my house in town, of which I have before

spoken, to the amount of thirteen hundred florins [130_l._]. This money he

sent to my Superior, who took charge of the house from that time till I

was got out of prison.

“When these officials came in they began to question me; and when the

examination was over, which it soon was, as they could get nothing from me

of what they wanted to know, they began to search the room all over, to

find letters or something else, that might serve their turn and injure me.

While the Justice of the Peace was rummaging my books, one of the

pursuivants searched my person, and opening my doublet, he discovered my

hairshirt. At first he did not know what it was, and said: ‘What is this?’

“ ‘A shirt,’ I replied.

“ ‘Ho, ho!’ said he, ‘it is a hairshirt.’ And he caught hold of it, and

wanted to drag it off my body by force.

“This insolence of the varlet, to confess my imperfection honestly,

excited me more than anything that I have ever had to endure from my

enemies, and I was within a little of thrusting him violently back; but I

checked myself by God’s grace, and claimed the Justice’s protection, who

immediately made him give over. So they sought, but found nothing in my

room that they sought for except myself; and me they took at once, and

went straight to the Tower of London with me, and there handed me to the

Governor, whose title is King’s Lieutenant. He was a Knight of the name of

Barkley. He conducted me at once to a large high tower of three stories,

with a separate lock-up place in each, one of a number of different towers

contained within the whole inclosure. He left me for the night in the

lowest part, and committed the custody of my person to a servant in whom

he placed great confidence. The servant brought a little straw at once,

and throwing it down on the ground, went away, fastening the door of my

prison, and securing the upper door both with a great bolt and with iron

bars. I recommended myself therefore to God, Who is wont to go down with

His people into the pit, and Who never abandoned me in my bondage, as well

as to the most Blessed Virgin, the Mother of Mercy, and to my Patron

Saints and Guardian Angel; and after prayer I lay down with a calm mind on

the straw, and slept very well that night.

“The next day I examined the place, for there was some light, though dim;

and I found the name of Father Henry Walpole, of blessed memory,(79) cut

with a knife on the wall, and not far from there I found his oratory,

which was a space where there had been a narrow window, now blocked up

with stones. There he had written on either side with chalk the names of

the different choirs of Angels, and on the top, above the Cherubim and

Seraphim, the name of Mary Mother of God, and over that the name of Jesus,

and over that again, in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, the name of GOD. It was

truly a great consolation to me to find myself in this place, hallowed by

the presence of so great and so devoted a martyr, the place, too, in which

he was frequently tortured, to the number, as I have heard, of fourteen

times. Probably they were unwilling to torture him in public and in the

ordinary place, because they did it oftener than they would have it known.

And I can well believe that he was racked that number of times, for he

lost through it the proper use of his fingers. This I can vouch for from

the following circumstance. He was carried back to York, to be executed in

the place where he was taken on his first landing in England, and while in

prison there he had a discussion with some ministers which he wrote out

with his own hand.(80) A part of this writing was given to me, together

with some meditations on the Passion of Christ, which he had written in

prison before his own passion. These writings, however, I could scarcely

read at all, not because they were written hastily, but because the hand

of the writer could not form the letters. It seemed more like the first

attempts of a child, than the handwriting of a scholar and a gentleman,

such as he was. Yet he used to be at Court before the death of Father

Campion, in whose honour he also wrote some beautiful verses in the

English tongue, declaring that he and many others had received the warmth

of life from that blessed martyr’s blood,(81) and had been animated by it

to follow the more perfect counsels of Christ.

“When, therefore, I found myself in Father Walpole’s cell I rejoiced

exceedingly thereat; but I was not worthy to be the successor of such a

man in his place of suffering. For on the day following my gaoler, either

because he thought to do me a favour, or in consequence of his master’s

orders, brought me into the upper room, which was sufficiently large and

commodious for a prisoner. I told him that I preferred to stay in the

lower dungeon, and mentioned the reason, but as he showed himself opposed

to this, I asked him to allow me sometimes to go there and pray. This he

promised me, and in fact frequently permitted. Then he inquired of me if

he could go for me anywhere to any friends of mine who would be willing to

send me a bed. For it is the custom in this prison that a bed should not

be provided, but that a prisoner should provide himself a bed and other

furniture, which afterwards goes to the Lieutenant of the Tower, even

though the prisoner should be liberated. I replied that I had no friends

to whom I could send, except such as I left in the prison from which I had

been brought;(82) these, perhaps, if he would call there, would give me a

plain bed by way of alms. The gaoler therefore went to the Catholics

detained in the Clink, who immediately sent me a bed such as they knew I

wished for; that is, a mattrass stuffed with wool and feathers after the

Italian fashion. They sent also a cloak and some linen for me; and asked

him always to come there for anything I wanted, and promised to give money

or anything else, provided he brought a note signed by me of things I

needed. They also gave him money at that time for himself, and besought

him to treat me kindly.”

XIV.

“On the third day, immediately after dinner, came my gaoler to me, and

with sorrowful mien told me the Lords Commissioners had come, and with

them the Queen’s Attorney General, and that I must go down to them.

“ ‘I am ready,’ I replied. ‘I only ask you to allow me to say a _Pater_

and _Ave_ in the lower dungeon.’

“This he allowed; and then we went together to the house of the

Lieutenant, which was within the Tower walls. There I found five men, none

of whom had before examined me except Wade, who was there for the purpose

of accusing me on all points.

“The Queen’s Attorney General then took a sheet of paper, and began to

write a solemn form of juridical examination.”

The examination of Father Gerard on this occasion is preserved in the

Public Record Office.(83) The Commissioners were Sir Richard Barkley,

Lieutenant of the Tower, Sir Edward Coke, then Attorney General, Thomas

Fleming, a Privy Councillor, Sir Francis Bacon, afterwards Lord

Chancellor, and William Wade, or Waad, afterwards Lieutenant of the Tower.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐

“The examination of John Gerard, Priest, taken this 14th day of April,

1597.

“Being demanded whether he received any letters from the parts beyond the

seas or no, confesseth that within these four or five days he received(84)

from Antwerp (as he supposeth) letters inclosed and sealed up. But how

many letters were inclosed therein he knoweth not, and saith that the said

letters were directed to him by the name of Standish; and being demanded

from whom those letters were sent,(85) saith that he knoweth not from whom

the same were sent, and denieth that he read them or that he knoweth the

contents of the same, and at the first he said that he burnt them, but

afterwards retracted that and confesseth that he sent them over to whom

the same appertained, but(86) refuseth to declare to whom the same were

delivered over, and refuseth also to declare who brought the same to him,

or by whom he conveyed them over. He confesseth that he received within

this year past other letters from the parts beyond the seas, and two or

three of them he confesseth he did read, and saith that those letters

contained matter concerning maintenance of scholars beyond sea, but

refuseth to declare who sent those letters or by whom the same were

brought, and saith that some of those letters were sent from St. Omers;

and two or three other letters which he received from the parts beyond the

seas he conveyed over to some other within this realm, but denieth that he

knew the contents of those letters, and refuseth to tell who sent or

brought the same or to whom the same were conveyed, but saith that the

same were sent over to him to whom the said last letters which he received

were conveyed unto. And being demanded whether he sent not those letters

to Garnett, his Superior, saith that he will name no name; but saith that

those letters came to him because he had more opportunity to receive them

and to convey them over. And confesseth that the party to whom he sent

those letters is a Priest, and being demanded how it is possible that he

should know to whom the said last letters appertained, considering that he

saith that he neither knoweth from whom the same were sent, nor knoweth

the contents of the same, especially the said letters being directed to

himself by the name of Standish, saith that he(87) thinketh that some

within this realm have greater(88) care and authority to provide for such

scholars as be beyond sea than he, and saith that he sent those last

letters as he had done other to that person, taking the same to contain no

other matter but only concerning(89) maintenance of scholars and such as

be sent from hence for the like matters. And being demanded whether he

opened not the outermost sealed of those last letters, confesseth that he

did; and being also demanded to whom the letters within inclosed were

directed, saith that he remembereth not(90) the name, but saith that he

thinketh it was to the said former person, and saith that there was

nothing written within the outermost paper, and thinketh, that there were

two letters within that which he conveyed over. And saith that the letters

within were not directed as the outermost was, but saith that he

remembereth not(91) by what name the same were directed.

“_I refuse not for any disloyal mind, I protest as I look to be saved, but

for that I take these things not to have concerned any matter of State,

with which I would not have dealt, nor any other but matters of devotion

as before._

“And being demanded whether this subscription is his usual manner of

writing, saith that he useth the same in his subscriptions to his

examinations, and saith that the cause thereof is that he would bring no

man to trouble and that he will not acknowledge his own hand, and saith

that he never wrote any letter to any man in this hand, saving once to Mr.

Topcliffe. And being demanded what was the cause that moved him to have

escaped out of prison of late, saith that the cause was that he might have

more opportunity to have won souls. And being demanded who procured the

counterfeit keys for him, by means whereof he should have escaped,

refuseth to tell who it was, for that, as he saith, he will not discover

anything against any other that may bring them to trouble.

“JOHN GERARD.(92)

“Examined by us,”

RY. BARKELEY.

EDW. COKE.

THO. FFLEMYNGE.

FR. BACON.

W. WAAD.”(93)

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐

We now return to the impression that remained on Father Gerard’s memory of

this examination, when he wrote his life some twelve years afterwards.

“They did not ask anything at that time about private Catholics, but only

about matters of State, to which I answered as before in general terms;

namely, that all such things were strictly forbidden to us of the Society,

that I had consequently never mixed myself up with political matters,

sufficient proof whereof, I said, was to be found in the fact that, though

they had had me in custody for three years and had constantly examined me,

they had never been able to produce a single line of my writing, nor a

single trustworthy witness, to show that I had ever injured the State in a

single point.

“They then inquired what letters I had lately received from our Fathers

abroad. Here it was I first divined the reason of my being transferred to

the Tower. I answered, however, that if I had ever received any letters

from abroad, they never had any connection with matters of State, but

related solely to the money matters of certain Catholics who were living

beyond seas.

“ ‘Did not you,’ said Wade, ‘receive lately a packet of letters; and did

you not deliver them to such a one for Henry Garnett?’

“ ‘If I have received any such,’ I answered, ‘and delivered them as you

say, I only did my duty. But I never received nor delivered any but what

related to the private money matters of certain Religious or students who

are pursuing their studies beyond seas, as I have before said.’

“ ‘Well,’ said they, ‘where is he to be found to whom you delivered the

letters, and how is he called?’

“ ‘I do not know,’ I answered; ‘and if I did know, I neither could nor

would tell you.’ And then I alleged the usual reasons.

“ ‘You tell us,’ said the Attorney General, ‘that you do not wish to

offend against the State. Tell us, then, where this Garnett is; for he is

an enemy of the State, and you are bound to give information of such

people.’

“ ‘He is no enemy of the State,’ I replied; ‘but, on the contrary, I am

sure that he would be ready to lay down his life for the Queen and the

State. However, I do not know where he is, and if I did know I would not

tell you.’

“ ‘But you shall tell us,’ said they, ‘before we leave this place.’

“ ‘Please God,’ said I, ‘that shall never be.’

“They then produced the warrant which they had for putting me to the

torture, and gave it me to read; for it is not allowed in this prison to

put any one to the torture without express warrant. I saw the document was

duly signed, so I said: ‘By the help of God, I will never do what is

against God, against justice, and against the Catholic faith. You have me

in your power; do what God permits you, for you certainly cannot go

beyond.’

“Then they began to entreat me not to force them to do what they were

loath to do; and told me they were bound not to desist from putting me to

the torture day after day, as long as my life lasted, until I gave the

information they sought from me.

“ ‘I trust in God’s goodness,’ I answered, ‘that He will never allow me to

do so base an act as to bring innocent persons to harm. Nor, indeed, do I

fear what you can do to me, since all of us are in God’s hands.’

“Such was the purport of my replies, as far as I can remember.

“Then we proceeded to the place appointed for the torture. We went in a

sort of solemn procession; the attendants preceding us with lighted

candles, because the place was underground and very dark, especially about

the entrance. It was a place of immense extent, and in it were ranged

divers sorts of racks, and other instruments of torture. Some of these

they displayed before me, and told me I should have to taste them every

one. Then again they asked me if I was willing to satisfy them on the

points on which they had questioned me. ‘It is out of my power to satisfy

you,’ I answered; and throwing myself on my knees, I said a prayer or two.

“Then they led me to a great upright beam, or pillar of wood, which was

one of the supports of this vast crypt. At the summit of this column were

fixed certain iron staples for supporting weights. Here they placed on my

wrists manacles of iron, and ordered me to mount upon two or three wicker

steps;(94) then raising my arms, they inserted an iron bar through the

rings of the manacles, and then through the staples in the pillar, putting

a pin through the bar so that it could not slip. My arms being thus fixed

above my head, they withdrew those wicker steps I spoke of, one by one,

from beneath my feet, so that I hung by my hands and arms. The tips of my

toes, however, still touched the ground;(95) so they dug away the ground

beneath, as they could not raise me higher, for they had suspended me from

the topmost staples in the pillar.

“Thus hanging by my wrists, I began to pray, while those gentlemen

standing round asked me again if I was willing to confess. I replied, ‘I

neither can nor will.’ But so terrible a pain began to oppress me, that I

was scarce able to speak the words. The worst pain was in my breast and

belly, my arms and hands. It seemed to me that all the blood in my body

rushed up my arms into my hands; and I was under the impression at the

time that the blood actually burst forth from my fingers and at the back

of my hands. This was, however, a mistake; the sensation was caused by the

swelling of the flesh over the iron that bound it.

“I felt now such intense pain (and the effect was probably heightened by

an interior temptation), that it seemed to me impossible to continue

enduring it. It did not, however, go so far as to make me feel any

inclination or real disposition to give the information they wanted. For

as the eyes of our merciful Lord had seen my imperfection, He did ‘not

suffer me to be tempted above what I was able, but with the temptation

made also a way of escape.’ Seeing me therefore in this agony of pain and

this interior distress, His infinite mercy sent me this thought: ‘The very

furthest and utmost they can do is to take away thy life; and often hast

thou desired to give thy life for God: thou art in God’s hands, Who

knoweth well what thou sufferest, and is all-powerful to sustain thee.’

With this thought our good God gave me also out of His immense bounty the

grace to resign myself, and offer myself utterly to His good pleasure,

together with some hope and desire of dying for His sake. From that moment

I felt no more trouble in my soul, and even the bodily pain seemed to be

more bearable than before, although I doubt not that it really increased,

from the continued strain that was exercised on every part of my body.

“Hereupon those gentlemen, seeing that I gave them no further answer,

departed to the Lieutenant’s house; and there they waited, sending now and

then to know how things were going on in the crypt. There were left with

me three or four strong men, to superintend my torture. My gaoler also

remained, I fully believe out of kindness to me, and kept wiping away with

a handkerchief the sweat that ran down from my face the whole time, as,

indeed, it did from my whole body. So far, indeed, he did me a service;

but by his words, he rather added to my distress, for he never stopped

beseeching and entreating me to have pity on myself, and tell these

gentlemen what they wanted to know; and so many human reasons did he

allege, that I verily believe he was either instigated directly by the

devil under pretence of affection for me, or had been left there purposely

by the persecutors to influence me by his show of sympathy. In any case,

these shafts of the enemy seemed to be spent before they reached me, for

though annoying, they did me no real hurt, nor did they seem to touch my

soul, or move it in the least. I said, therefore, to him, ‘I pray, you to

say no more on that point, for I am not minded to lose my soul for the

sake of my body, and you pain me by what you say.’ Yet I could not prevail

with him to be silent. The others also who stood by said: ‘He will be a

cripple all his life, if he lives through it; but he will have to be

tortured daily till he confesses.’ But I kept praying in a low voice, and

continually uttered the holy names of Jesus and Mary.

“I had hung in this way till after one of the clock, as I think, when I

fainted. How long I was in the faint I know not; perhaps not long; for the

men who stood by lifted me up, or replaced those wicker steps under my

feet, until I came to myself; and immediately they heard me praying, they

let me down again. This they did over and over again when the faint came

on, eight or nine times before five of the clock. Somewhat before five

came Wade again, and drawing near said, ‘Will you yet obey the commands of

the Queen and the Council?’

“ ‘No,’ said I, ‘what you ask is unlawful, therefore I will never do it.’

“ ‘At least then,’ said Wade, ‘say that you would like to speak to

Secretary Cecil.’

“ ‘I have nothing to say to him,’ I replied, ‘more than I have said

already; and if I were to ask to speak to him, scandal would be caused,

for people would imagine that I was yielding at length, and wished to give

information.’

“Upon this Wade suddenly turned his back in a rage, and departed, saying

in a loud and angry tone, ‘Hang there, then, till you rot!’

“So he went away, and I think all the Commissioners then left the Tower;

for at five of the clock the great bell of the Tower sounds, as a signal

for all to leave who do not wish to be locked in all night. Soon after

this they took me down from my cross, and though neither foot nor leg was

injured, yet I could hardly stand.”

XV.

“I was helped back to my cell by the gaoler, and meeting on the way some

of the prisoners who had the range of the Tower, I addressed the gaoler in

their hearing, saying I wondered how those gentlemen could insist so on my

telling them where Father Garnett was, since every one must acknowledge it

to be a sin to betray an innocent man, a thing I would never do, though I

should die for it. This I said out loud, on purpose that the authorities

might not have it in their power to publish a report about me that I had

made a confession, as they often did in such cases. I had also another

reason, which was that word might reach Father Garnett, through these

persons spreading abroad what they heard me say, that it was about him I

was chiefly examined, in order that he might look to himself. I noticed

that my gaoler was very unwilling that I should speak thus before the

others, but I did not stint for that. My gaoler appeared sincerely to

compassionate my state, and when he reached my cell he laid me a fire, and

brought me some food, as supper-time had nearly come. I scarcely tasted

anything, but laid myself on my bed, and remained quiet there till the

next morning.

“Early next morning, however, soon after the Tower gates were opened, my

gaoler came up to the cell and told me that Master Wade had arrived, and

that I must go down to him. I went down, therefore, that time in a sort of

cloak with wide sleeves, for my hands were so swollen that they would not

have passed through ordinary sleeves. When I had come to the Lieutenant’s

house, Wade addressed me thus: ‘I am sent to you on the part of the Queen

and of Master Secretary Cecil, the first of whom assures you on the word

of a Sovereign, the other on his word of honour, that they know for

certain that Garnett is in the habit of meddling in political matters, and

that he is an enemy of the State. Consequently, unless you mean to

contradict them flatly, you ought to submit your judgment, and produce

him.’

“ ‘They cannot possibly know this,’ I replied, ‘by their own experience

and of certain knowledge, since they have no personal knowledge of the

man. Now, I have lived with him and know him well, and I know him to be no

such character as you say.’

“ ‘Well then,’ returned he, ‘you will not acknowledge it, nor tell us what

we ask?’

“ ‘No, certainly not,’ said I; ‘I neither can nor will.’

“ ‘It would be better for you if you did,’ he replied. And thereupon he

summoned from the next room a gentleman who had been there waiting, a tall

and commanding figure, whom he called the Superintendent of Torture. I

knew there was such an officer, but this man was not really in that

charge, as I heard afterwards, but was Master of the Artillery in the

Tower. However, Wade called him by that name to strike the greater terror

into me, and said to him, ‘In the name of the Queen, and of the Lords of

her Council, I deliver this man into your hands. You are to rack him twice

to-day, and twice daily until such time as he chooses to confess.’ The

officer then took charge of me, and Wade departed.

“Thereupon we descended with the same solemnity as before into the place

appointed for torture, and again they put the manacles on the same part of

my arms as before; indeed, they could not be put on in any other part, for

the flesh had so risen on both sides that there were two hills of flesh

with a valley between, and the manacles would not meet anywhere but in the

valley. Here then were they put on, not without causing me much pain. Our

good Lord, however, helped me, and I cheerfully offered Him my hands and

my heart. So I was hung up again as I before described; and in my hands I

felt a great deal more pain than on the previous day, but not so much in

my breast and belly, perhaps because this day I had eaten nothing.

“While thus hanging I prayed, sometimes silently, sometimes aloud,

recommending myself to our Lord Jesus and His Blessed Mother. I hung much

longer this time without fainting, but at length I fainted so thoroughly

that they could not bring me to, and they thought that I either was dead

or soon would be. So they called the Lieutenant, but how long he was there

I know not, nor how long I remained in the faint. When I came round,

however, I found myself no longer hanging by my hands, but supported

sitting on a bench, with many people round me, who had opened my teeth

with some iron instrument, and were pouring warm water down my throat. Now

when the Lieutenant saw I could speak, he said: ‘Do you not see how much

better it is for you to yield to the wishes of the Queen than to lose your

life this way?’

“By God’s help I answered him with more spirit than I had ever before

felt, ‘No, certainly I do not see it. I would rather die a thousand times

than do what they require of me.’

“ ‘You will not, then,’ he repeated.

“ ‘No, indeed I will not,’ I answered, ‘while a breath remains in my

body.’

“ ‘Well then,’ said he, and he seemed to say it sorrowfully, as if

reluctant to carry out his orders, ‘we must hang you up again now, and

after dinner too.’

“ ‘Let us go, then, in the name of God,’ I said; ‘I have but one life, and

if I had more I would offer them all for this cause.’ And with this I

attempted to rise in order to go to the pillar, but they were obliged to

support me, as I was very weak in body from the torture. And if there was

any strength in my soul it was the gift of God, and given, I am convinced,

because I was a member of the Society, though a most unworthy one. I was

suspended, therefore, a third time, and hung there in very great pain of

body, but not without great consolation of soul, which seemed to me to

arise from the prospect of dying. Whether it was from a true love of

suffering for Christ, or from a sort of selfish desire to be with Christ,

God knows best; but I certainly thought that I should die, and felt great

joy in committing myself to the will and good pleasure of my God, and

contemning entirely the will of men. Oh, that God would grant me always to

have that same spirit (though I doubt not that it wanted much of true

perfection in His eyes), for a longer life remains to me than I then

thought, and He granted me time to prepare myself better for His holy

presence.

“After awhile the Lieutenant, seeing that he made no way with me by

continuing the torture, or because the dinner-hour was near at hand, or

perhaps through a natural feeling of compassion, ordered me to be taken

down. I think I hung not quite an hour this third time. I am rather

inclined to think that the Lieutenant released me from compassion; for,

some time after my escape, a gentleman of quality told me he had it from

Sir Richard Barkley himself (who was this very Lieutenant of whom I

speak), that he had of his own accord resigned the office he held, because

he would no longer be an instrument in torturing innocent men so cruelly.

And, in fact, he gave up the post after holding it but three or four

months, and another Knight was appointed in his stead, in whose time it

was that I made my escape.

“So I was brought back to my room by my gaoler, who seemed to have his

eyes full of tears, and he assured me that his wife had been weeping and

praying for me the whole time, though I had never seen the good woman in

all my life. Then he brought me some food, of which I could eat but

little, and that little he was obliged to cut for me and put into my

mouth. I could not hold a knife in my hands for many days after, much less

now when I was not even able to move my fingers, nor help myself in

anything, so that he was obliged to do everything for me. However, by

order of the authorities he took away my knife, scissors, and razors, lest

I should kill myself, I believe; for they always do this in the Tower as

long as the prisoner is under warrant for torture. I expected, therefore,

daily to be sent for again to the torture-chamber, according to order; but

our merciful God, while to other stronger champions, such as Father

Walpole and Father Southwell, He gave a sharp struggle that they might

overcome, gave His weak soldier but a short trial that he might not be

overcome. They indeed, being perfected in a short time, fulfilled a long

space; but I, unworthy of so great a good, was left to run out my days,

and so supply for my defects by washing my soul with my tears, since I

deserved not to wash it with my blood. God so ordained it, and may that be

done which is good in His eyes.”

Father Garnett, in his letters, mentions Father Gerard’s torture for the

first time when writing to Father Persons at Rome, April 23, 1597:(96)

“John Gerard hath been sore tortured in the Tower: it is thought it was

for some letters directed to him out of Spain.” Between this date and the

next, some details had reached Father Garnett, for on the 7th of May,

1597, he wrote to the General (we translate from the Italian):(97) “Of

John Gerard I have already written to you where he is. He hath been twice

hanged up by the hands, with great cruelty of others, and not less

suffering of his own. The inquisitors here say that he is very obstinate,

and that he has a great alliance with God or the devil, as they cannot

draw the least word out of his mouth, except that in torment he cries

‘Jesus.’ They took him lately to the rack, and the torturers and examiners

were there ready, but he suddenly, when he entered the place, knelt down,

and with a loud voice prayed to our Lord that, as He had given grace and

strength to some of His Saints to bear with Christian patience being torn

to pieces by horses for His love, so He would be pleased to give him grace

and courage, rather to be dragged into a thousand pieces than to say

anything that might injure any person or the Divine glory. And so they

left him without tormenting him, seeing him so resolved.” On June 13, 1597

(in the copy it is _Jan. 10_, evidently a mistake), he writes:(98) “I

wrote unto you heretofore of the remove of Mr. Gerard to the Tower: he

hath been thrice hanged up by the hands, every time until he was almost

dead, and that in one day twice. The cause was (as now I understand

perfectly) for to tell where his Superior was, and by whom he had sent him

letters which were delivered him from Father Persons, and he was

discovered by one of his fellow-prisoners. The Earl of Essex saith he must

needs honour him for his constancy.” Again, a letter of Father Garnett to

the General, in Latin, dated June 11, 1597, runs thus:(99) “I have written

to you more than once of our Mr. John Gerard, that he has been thrice

tortured, but that he has borne all with invincible courage. We have also

lately heard for certain that the Earl of Essex praised his constancy,

declaring that he could not help honouring and admiring the man. A

secretary of the Royal Council denies that the Queen wishes to have him

executed. To John this will be a great trouble.”

XVI.

“I remained therefore in my cell, spending my time principally in prayer.

And now again I made the Spiritual Exercises, as I had done at the

beginning of my imprisonment, giving four or five hours a day to

meditation for a whole month. I had a breviary with me, so that I was able

to say my Office; and every day I said a dry Mass (such as is said by

those who are practising Mass before the Priesthood), and that with great

reverence and desire of communicating, especially at that part where I

should have communicated if the Sacrifice had been real. And these

practices consoled me in my tribulation.

“At the end of three weeks, as far as I can remember, I was able to move

my fingers, and help myself a little, and even hold a knife. So when I had

finished my retreat, I asked leave to have some books, but they only

allowed me a Bible, which I obtained from my friends in my former prison.

I sent to them for some money, by which means I saw that I should be able

to enlist the sympathies of my gaoler, and induce him to allow me things,

and even to bring me some books. My friends sent me by him all that I

asked for. I got my gaoler to buy some large oranges, a fruit of which he

was very fond. But besides gratifying him with a present of them, I

meditated making another use of them in time.

“I now began to exercise my hands a little after dinner. Supper I never

took, though it was always allowed; indeed, there was no stint of food in

the prison, all being furnished at the Queen’s expense; for there were

given me daily six small rolls of very good bread. There are different

scales of diet fixed in the prison, according to the rank of the prisoner;

the religious state, indeed, they take no account of, but only human rank,

thus making most of what ought to be esteemed the least. Well, the

exercise which I gave my hands was to cut the peel of these oranges into

the form of crosses, and sew them two and two together. I made many of

these crosses, and many rosaries also strung on silken cord. Then I asked

my gaoler if he would carry some of these crosses and rosaries to my

friends in my old prison? He, seeing nothing in this to compromise him,

readily undertook to do so. In the meanwhile, I put some of the

orange-juice in a small jug. I was now in want of a pen, but I dared not

openly ask for one; nay, even if I had asked, and obtained my request, I

could at this time scarcely have written, or but very badly; for though I

could hold a pen, I could hardly feel that I had anything in my fingers.

The sense of touch was not recovered for five months, and even then not

fully, for I was never without a certain numbness in my hands up to the

time of my escape, which was more than six months after the torture. So I

begged for a quill to make myself a toothpick, which he readily brought

me. I made this into a pen fit for writing, then cutting off a short piece

of the pointed end, I fixed it on a small stick. With the rest of the

quill I made a toothpick, so long that nothing appeared to have been cut

off, and this I afterwards showed my gaoler. Then I begged for some paper

to wrap up my rosaries and crosses, and obtained his leave also to write a

line or two with pencil on the paper, asking my friends to pray for me.

All this he allowed, not suspecting that he was carrying anything but what

he knew. But I had managed to write on the paper with some orange-juice,

telling my friends to write back to me in the same way, but sparingly at

first; asking them also to give the bearer a little money, and promise him

some as often as he should bring any crosses or rosaries from me, with a

few words of my writing to assure them that I was well.

“When they received the paper and the rosaries, knowing that I should if

possible have written something with orange-juice, as I used to do with

them, they immediately retired to their room, and held the paper to a

fire. Thus they read all I had written, and wrote back to me in the same

way, sending me some comfits or dried sweetmeats wrapped up in the paper

on which they had written. We continued this method of communication for

about half a year; but we soon proceeded with much greater confidence when

we found that the man never failed to deliver our missives faithfully. For

full three months, however, he had no idea that he was conveying letters

to and fro. But after three months I began to ask him to allow me to write

with a pencil at greater length, which he permitted. I always gave him

these letters open, that he might see what I wrote, and I wrote nothing

but spiritual matters that he could see, but on the blank part of the

paper I had written with orange-juice directions and particular advice for

my different friends, about which he knew nothing.

“As it happened, indeed, I need not have been so circumspect; for the man,

as I found out after some time, could not read. He pretended, however,

that he was able, and used to stand and look over my shoulder while I read

to him what I had written with pencil. At length it occurred to me that

possibly he could not read; so in order to make the trial, while he was

looking over the paper, I read it altogether in a different way from what

I had written. After doing this on two or three occasions without his

taking any notice, I said openly to him, with a smile, that he need not

look over my shoulder any more. He acknowledged, indeed, that he could not

read, but said that he took great pleasure in hearing what I read to him.

After this he let me write what I would, and carried everything as

faithfully as ever. He even provided me with ink, and carried closed

letters to and fro between my friends and me. For seeing that I had to do

with very few, and those discreet and trustworthy people, and thinking

that neither I nor they were likely to betray him, he did just what we

asked him for a consideration, for he always received a stipulated

payment. He begged me, however, not to require him to go so often to the

Clink prison, lest suspicion should arise from these frequent visits,

which might cause harm not only to him, but to me; he proposed, therefore,

that some friend of mine should meet him near the Tower and deliver the

letters to him. But I was loath to risk the safety of any one by putting

him thus in the man’s power. It made no difference to those already in

custody; they could, without much additional danger, hold correspondence

with me, and send me anything for my support by way of alms. Besides, I

knew that my messenger would not be likely to speak of the letter he

carried, as he was quite conscious that this would be as dangerous for

himself as for those to whom he carried them.

“Nay, even if he had wished he could not have done much injury either to

me or my friends, because I took good care never to name any of them in my

letters: but before I was in prison, and after, I invariably used

pseudonyms which were understood by those to whom I wrote. Thus, I called

one ‘Brother,’ another ‘Son,’ another ‘Nephew,’ or ‘Friend,’ and so of

their wives, calling this one ‘Sister,’ that one ‘Niece,’ or ‘Daughter.’

In this way no one not in the secret could possibly tell whom I meant,

even if the letters had been intercepted, which they never were. I may add

that even if the letters had been betrayed and read, they could never have

been made further use of by the enemy, in allowing them to be carried to

their destination to lure the correspondents on till they should

compromise themselves, as was sometimes done. For I never wrote now with

lemon-juice, as I once did in the Clink; which letter was betrayed to the

persecutor Wade, as I before related. The reason of my doing so then was

because there were two letters there, which had to be read in one place,

and then carried to another. Now lemon-juice has this property, that what

is written in it can be read in water quite as well as by fire, and when

the paper is dried the writing disappears again till it is steeped afresh,

or again held to the fire. But anything written with orange-juice is at

once washed out by water, and cannot be read at all in that way; and if

held to the fire, though the characters are thus made to appear, and can

be read, they will not disappear; so that a letter of this sort, once

read, can never be delivered to any one as if it had not been read. The

party will see at once that it has been read, and will certainly refuse

and disown it, if it should contain anything dangerous. It was in this way

I knew that my letters always reached my friends, and that theirs reached

me in safety. And so our correspondence continued, I obtaining sure

information of all my friends, and they receiving at my hands the

consolation they sought.

“In order, however, that matters might go on still more securely, I

managed, through some of my friends, that John Lilly’s release should be

purchased; and from that time I always got him to bring to my gaoler

everything that reached me from the outside. It was through his means too,

a little later, that I escaped from the Tower, although nothing certainly

was farther from my thoughts when I thus secured his services. All I had

in view was to be able to increase my correspondence with safety. This

went on for about four months, and after the first month I gave a good

time to study by means of books secretly procured. But at this time an

event occurred which caused me great anxiety.

“Master Francis Page, of whom I have before spoken, was now living with my

former host,” Mr. Wiseman, “who had been released from prison. After my

removal to the Tower, he got to learn in what part of it I was confined;

and out of regard for me used to come daily to a spot from whence he could

see my window, in order to get the chance some day of seeing me there. At

last it so happened that going one day to the window (it was a warm day in

summer), I noticed a gentleman at some distance pull off his hat as if to

me; then he walked to and fro, and frequently stopped and made pretence of

arranging his hair, in order to have the opportunity of doffing his hat to

me without attracting the attention of others. At last I recognized him by

the clothes that he was accustomed to wear, and made him a sign of

recognition, and giving him my blessing, I withdrew at once from the

window, lest others should see me, and have suspicion of him. But the good

man was not content with this; daily did he come for my blessing, and

stopped some time, walking to and fro, and ever as he turned he doffed his

hat, though I frequently made signals to him not to do so. At length he

was noticed doing this, and one day as I was looking I saw him, to my

great grief, seized and led away. He was brought to the Lieutenant of the

Tower, who examined him about me and my friends. But he denied everything,

and said that he simply walked there for his amusement, it being a fine

open space close to the river Thames. So they kept him a prisoner for some

days, and meanwhile by inquiry found that he was living with my former

host. This increased their suspicion that he had been sent there to give

me some sign. But as he constantly denied everything, they at last had

recourse to me, and sent for me to be examined. Now, as I was going to the

examination, Master Page was walking up and down with my gaoler in the

hall, through which I was taken to the chamber where the authorities

awaited me. Immediately I was introduced, the examiners said to me: ‘There

is a young man here named Francis Page, who says he knows you and desires

to speak with you.’

“ ‘He can do so if he wishes,’ I replied; ‘but who is this Francis Page? I

know no such person.’

“ ‘Not know him?’ said they; ‘he at any rate knows you so well that he can

recognize you at a distance, and has come daily to salute you.’

“I, however, maintained I knew no such man. So when they found they could

twist nothing out of me either by wiles or threats, they sent me back. But

as I passed again through the hall where Master Page was with the others,

I looked all round, and said with a loud voice, ‘Is there any one here of

the name of Francis Page, who says he knows me well, and has often come

before my window to see me? Which of all these is he? I know no such

person, and I wonder that any one should be willing to injure himself by

saying such things.’

“All this while the gaoler was trying to prevent my speaking, but was

unable. I said this, not because I had any idea that he had acknowledged

that he knew me, but for fear they might afterwards tell him of me what

they had told me of him. And so it turned out. For they had told him

already that I had acknowledged I knew him, and they had only sent for me

then that he might see me go in, intending to tell him I had confirmed all

I said before. But now they could not so impose on him. For when he was

summoned, he immediately told them what I had said publicly in the hall as

I passed through. The men, in their disappointment, stormed against the

gaoler and me, but being thus baffled, could not carry out their

deception.

“A little later they released Master Page for money, who soon crossed the

sea, and, after going through his studies in Belgium, was made Priest.

Thence he returned afterwards to England and remained mostly in London,

where he was much beloved, and useful to many souls. One of his penitents

was that Mistress Line whose martyrdom I have above related. In her house

he was once taken, as I said, but that time he escaped. A little after he

obtained his desire of being admitted into the Society, but before he

could be sent over to Belgium for his noviceship, he was again taken, and

being tried like gold in the furnace, and accepted as the victim of a

holocaust, he washed his robe in the blood of the Lamb, and is now in the

possession of his reward. And he sees me now no longer detained in the

Tower while he is walking by the water of the Thames, but rather he

beholds me on the waters, still tossed by the various winds and storms,

while he is secure of his own eternal happiness, and solicitous, as I

hope, for mine. Before all this, however, he used to say that he was much

encouraged and amused by hearing what I said as I passed through the hall,

as it enabled him to detect and avoid the snares of the enemy.

“During the time I was detained at the Tower, no one was allowed to visit

me, so that I could afford no help to souls by my words; by letter,

however, I did what I could with those to whom I could venture to trust

the secret of how they might correspond with me. Once, however, after John

Lilly’s release, as he was walking in London streets, two ladies, mother

and daughter, accosted him, and begged him if it was by any means possible

to bring them where they could see me. He, knowing the extreme danger of

such an attempt, endeavoured to dissuade them, but they gave him no peace

till he promised to open the matter to the gaoler, and try to get him to

admit them, as if they were relations of his. Gained over by large

promises, the man consented; the ladies had also made a present of a new

gown to his wife. They therefore, dressing themselves as simple London

citizens, the fashion of whose garments is very different from that of

ladies of quality, came with John Lilly under pretence of visiting the

gaoler’s wife, and seeing the lions that are kept in the Tower, and the

other animals there which the curious are in the habit of coming to see.

After they had seen all the sights, the gaoler led them within the walls

of the Tower, and when he found a good opportunity, introduced them and

John Lilly into my room, exposing himself to a great danger for a small

gain. When they saw me they could not restrain themselves from running and

kissing my feet, and even strove with one another who should first kiss

them. For my part, I could not deny them what they had bought so dear, and

then begged for so earnestly, but I only allowed them to offer this homage

to me as to the prisoner of Christ, not as to the sinner that I am. We

conversed a little, then leaving with me what they had brought for my use,

they returned in safety much consoled, but not without tears, for they

thought they should never see my face again, inasmuch as they had heard in

the city that I was to be brought to trial and executed.”

XVII.

“Once also Father Garnett, my Superior, sent me similar happy news,

warning me in a letter full of consolation to prepare myself for death.

And, indeed, I cannot deny that I rejoiced at the things that were said to

me; but my great unworthiness prevented me from going into the House of

the Lord. In fact, the good Father, though he knew it not, was to obtain

this mercy before me; and God grant that I may be able to follow him even

at a distance to the Cross which he so much loved and honoured. God gave

him the desire of his heart; for it was on the Feast of the Invention of

the Holy Cross that he found Him Whom his soul loved. On this same Feast

of the Holy Cross on which this holy Father found his crown, I received,

by his intercession I fully believe, two great favours, of which I will

speak further at the close of this narration; to which close, indeed, it

behoves me to hasten, for I am conscious that I have already been more

diffuse than such small matters warranted.

“What good Father Garnett warned me of by letter, the enemy threatened

also by words and acts about that time. For those who had come before with

authority to put me to the torture, now came again, but with another

object, to wit, to take my formal examination in preparation for my trial.

So the Queen’s Attorney General questioned me on all points, and wrote

everything down in that order which he meant to observe in prosecuting me

at the assizes, as he told me. He asked me, therefore, about my

Priesthood, and about my coming to England as a Priest and a Jesuit, and

inquired whether I had dealt with any to reconcile them to the Pope, and

draw them away from the faith and religious profession which was approved

in England. All these things I freely confessed that I had done; answers

which furnished quite sufficient matter for my condemnation according to

their laws. When they asked, however, with whom I had communicated in

political matters, I replied that I had never meddled with such things.

But they urged the point, and said it was impossible that I, who so much

desired the conversion of England, should not have tried these means also,

as being very well adapted to the end. To this I replied, as far as I

recollect, in the following way: ‘I will tell you my mind candidly in this

matter, and about the State, in order that you may have no doubt about my

intent, nor question me any more on the subject; and in what I say, lo!

before God and His holy Angels I lie not, nor do I add aught to the true

feeling of my heart. I wish, indeed, that the whole of England should be

converted to the Catholic and Roman faith; that the Queen, too, should be

converted, and all the Privy Council; yourselves also, and all the

magistrates of the realm: but so that the Queen and you all without a

single exception should continue to hold the same powers and dignities

that you do at present, and that not a single hair of your head should

perish, that so you may be happy both in this life and the next. Do not

think, however, that I desire this conversion for my own sake, in order to

regain my liberty and follow my vocation in freedom. No; I call God to

witness that I would gladly consent to be hanged to-morrow if all this

could be brought about by that means. This is my mind and my desire:

consequently I am no enemy of the Queen’s nor of yours, nor have I ever

been so.’

“Hereupon Mr. Attorney kept silence for a time, and then he began afresh

to ask me what Catholics I knew; did I know such-and-such? I answered, ‘I

do not know them.’ And I added the usual reasons why I should still make

the same answer even if I did know them. Upon this, he digressed to the

question of equivocation, and began to inveigh against Father Southwell,”

whose conduct I defended by several arguments.(100)

“They made no reply to me; but the Attorney General wrote everything down,

and said he should use it against me at my trial in a short time. But he

did not keep his word: for I was not worthy to enter under God’s roof,

where nothing denied can enter. I have, therefore, still to be purified by

a prolonged sojourn in exile, and so at length, if God please, be saved as

by fire.

“This my last examination was in Trinity term, as they call it. They have

four terms in the year, during which many come up to London to have their

causes tried, for these are times that the law courts are open. It is

during these terms, on account of the great confluence of people, that

they bring those Priests to trial whom they have determined to prosecute;

and probably this was what they proposed to do in my case: but man

proposes and God disposes, and He had disposed otherwise. When this time,

therefore, had passed away, there was no longer any probability that they

would proceed against me publicly. I turned my attention consequently to

study in this time of enforced leisure, as I thought they had now

determined only to prevent my communication with others, and that this was

the reason they had transferred me to my present prison, as being more

strict and more secure.”

XVIII.

“I thus endeavoured to conform myself to the decrees of God and the

tyranny of man; when lo! on the last day of July [1597], the anniversary

of our holy Father Ignatius’ departure from this life, while I was in

meditation and was entertaining a vehement desire of an opportunity for

saying Mass, it came into my head that this really might be accomplished

in the cell of a certain Catholic gentleman, which lay opposite mine on

the other side of a small garden within the Tower. This gentleman(101) had

been detained ten years in prison. He had been, indeed, condemned to

death, but the sentence was not carried out. He was in the habit of going

up daily on the leads of the building in which he was confined, which he

was allowed to use as a place of exercise. Here he would salute me, and

wait for my blessing on bended knees.

“On examining this idea of mine more at leisure, I concluded that the

matter was feasible, if I could prevail on my gaoler to allow me to visit

this gentleman. For he had a wife who had obtained permission to visit him

at fixed times, and bring him changes of linen and other little comforts

in a basket; and as this had now gone on many years, the officers had come

to be not so particular in examining the basket as they were at first. I

hoped, therefore, that there would be a possibility of introducing

gradually by means of this lady all things necessary for the celebration

of Mass, which my friends would supply. Resolving to make the trial, I

made a sign to the gentleman to attend to what I was going to indicate to

him. I then took pen and paper and made as if I was writing somewhat;

then, after holding the paper to the fire, I made a show of reading it,

and lastly I wrapped up one of my crosses in it, and made a sign of

sending it over to him. I dared not speak to him across the garden, as

what I said would easily have been heard by others. Then I began treating

with my gaoler to convey a cross or a rosary for me to my fellow-prisoner,

for the same man had charge of both of us, as we were near neighbours. At

first he refused, saying that he durst not venture, as he had had no proof

of the other prisoner’s fidelity in keeping a secret. ‘For if,’ said he,

‘the gentleman’s wife were to talk of this, and it should become known I

had done such a thing, it would be all over with me.’ I reassured him,

however, and convinced him that such a result was not likely, and, as I

added a little bribe, I prevailed upon him as usual to gratify me. He took

my letter, and the other received what I sent; but he wrote me nothing

back as I had requested him to do. Next morning when he made his

appearance on the leads he thanked me by signs, and showed the cross I had

sent him.

“After three days, as I got no answer from him, I began to suspect the

real reason, namely, that he had not read my letter. So I called his

attention again, and went through the whole process in greater detail.

Thus, I took an orange and squeezed the juice into a little cup, then I

took a pen and wrote with the orange-juice, and holding the paper some

time before the fire, that the writing might be visible, I perused it

before him, trying to make him understand that this was what he should do

with my next paper. This time he fathomed my meaning, and thus read the

next letter I sent him. He soon sent me a reply, saying that he thought

the first time I wanted him to burn the paper, as I had written a few

visible words on it with pencil; therefore he had done so. To my proposal,

moreover, he answered, that the thing could be done, if my gaoler would

allow me to visit him in the evening and remain with him the next day; and

that his wife would bring all the furniture that should be given her for

the purpose.

“As a next step, I sounded the gaoler about allowing me to visit my

fellow-prisoner, and proposed he should let me go just once and dine with

him, and that he, the gaoler, should have his share in the feast. He

refused absolutely, and showed great fear of the possibility of my being

seen as I crossed the garden, or lest the Lieutenant might take it into

his head to pay me a visit that very day. But as he was never in the habit

of visiting me, I argued that it was very improbable that the thing should

happen as he feared. After this, the golden arguments I adduced proved

completely successful, for I promised him a crown for his kindness; and he

acceded to my request. So I fixed on the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin;

and in the meanwhile I told my neighbour to let his wife call at such a

place in London, having previously sent word to John Lilly what he should

give her to bring. I told him, moreover, to send a pyx and a number of

small hosts, that I might be able to reserve the Blessed Sacrament. He

provided all I told him, and the good lady got them safely to her

husband’s cell. So on the appointed day I went over with my gaoler, and

stayed with my fellow-prisoner that night and the next day; but the gaoler

exacted a promise that not a word of this should be said to the

gentleman’s wife. The next morning, then, said I Mass, to my great

consolation; and that confessor of Christ communicated, after having been

so many years deprived of that favour. In this Mass I consecrated also

two-and-twenty particles, which I reserved in the pyx with a corporal;

these I took back with me to my cell, and for many days renewed the divine

banquet with ever fresh delight and consolation.”

XIX.

“Now while we were together that day, I—though nothing was less in my

thoughts when I came over than any idea of escape (for I sought only our

true deliverer, Jesus Christ, as He was prefigured in the little ash-baked

loaf of Elias, that I might with more strength and courage travel the rest

of my way even to the Mount of God),—seeing how close this part of the

Tower was to the moat by which it was surrounded, began to think with

myself that it were a possible thing for a man to descend by a rope from

the top of the building to the other side of the moat. I asked my

companion, therefore, what he thought about it, and whether it seemed

possible to him. ‘Certainly,’ said he, ‘it could be done, if a man had

some real and true friends to assist him, who would not shrink from

exposing themselves to danger to rescue one they loved.’

“ ‘There is no want of such friends,’ I replied, ‘if only the thing is

feasible and worth while trying,’

“ ‘For my part,’ said he, ‘I should only be too glad to make the attempt;

since it would be far better for me to live even in hiding, where I could

enjoy the Sacraments and the company of good men, than to spend my life

here in solitude between four walls.’

“ ‘Well, then,’ I answered, ‘let us commend the matter to God in prayer;

in the meanwhile I will write to my Superior, and what he thinks best we

will do.’

“While we remained together, we took counsel on all the details that would

have to be carried out, if the plan were adopted. I returned that night to

my cell, and wrote a letter to Father Garnett by John Lilly, putting all

the circumstances before him. He answered me that the thing should be

attempted by all means, if I thought it could be done without danger to my

life in the descent.

“Upon this I wrote to” Mr. Wiseman, “my former host, telling him that an

escape in this way could be managed, but that the matter must be

communicated to as few as possible, lest it should get noised about and

stopped. I appointed, moreover, John Lilly and Richard Fulwood, the latter

of whom was at that time serving Father Garnett, if they were willing to

expose themselves to the peril, to come on such a night to the outer bank

of the moat opposite the little tower in which my friend was kept, and

near the place where Master Page was apprehended, as I described before.

They were to bring with them a rope, one end of which they were to tie to

a stake; then we, from the leads on the top of the tower, would throw over

to them a ball of lead with a stout string attached, such as men use for

sewing up bales of goods. This they would find in the dark by the noise it

would make in falling, and would attach the string to the free end of

their rope, so that we, who retained one end of the string, would thus be

able to pull the rope up. I ordered, moreover, that they should have on

their breasts a white paper or handkerchief, that we might recognize them

as friends before throwing out our string, and that they should come

provided with a boat in which we might quickly make our escape.

“When these arrangements had been made and a night fixed, yet my host

wished that a less hazardous attempt should first be made, by trying

whether my gaoler could be bribed to let me out, which he could easily do

by permitting a disguise. John Lilly therefore offered him, on the part of

a friend of mine, a thousand florins [100_l._] on the spot, and a hundred

florins [10_l._] yearly for his life, if he would agree to favour my

escape. The man would not listen to anything of the kind, saying he should

have to live an outcast if he did so, and should be sure to be hanged if

ever he was caught. Nothing, therefore, could be done with him in this

line. So we went on with our preparations according to our previous plan;

and the matter was commended to God with many prayers by all those to whom

the secret was committed. One gentleman, indeed, heir to a large estate,

made a vow to fast once a week during his life if I escaped safely. When

the appointed night came, I prevailed on the gaoler, by entreaties and

bribes, to allow me to visit my friend. So he locked us both in together

with bolts and bars of iron as usual, and departed. But as he had also

locked the inside door that led to the roof, we had to loosen the stone

into which the bolt shot with our knives, or otherwise we could not get

out. This we succeeded in doing at length, and mounted the leads softly

and without a light, for a sentinel was placed in the garden every night,

so that we durst not even speak to each other but in a very low whisper.

“About midnight we saw the boat coming with our friends, namely, John

Lilly, Richard Fulwood, and another, who had been my gaoler in the former

prison, through whom they procured the boat, and who steered the boat

himself. They neared the shore; but just as they were about to land, some

one came out of one of the poor cottages thereabouts, and seeing their

boat making for the shore, hailed them, taking them for fishermen. The man

indeed returned to his bed without suspecting anything, but our boatmen

durst not venture to land till they thought the man had gone to sleep

again. They paddled about so long, however, that the time slipped away,

and it became impossible to accomplish anything that night; so they

returned by London Bridge. But the tide was now flowing so strongly, that

their boat was forced against some piles there fixed to break the force of

the water, so that they could neither get on nor get back. Meanwhile, the

tide was still rising, and now came so violently on the boat that it

seemed as if it would be upset at every wave. Being in these straits, they

commended themselves to God by prayers, and called for help from men by

their cries.

“All this while we on the top of the tower heard them shouting, and saw

men coming out on the bank of the river with candles, running up and

getting into their boats to rescue those in danger. Many boats approached

them, but none durst go up to them, fearing the force of the current.(102)

So they stood there in a sort of circle round them, spectators of their

peril, but not daring to assist. I recognized Richard Fulwood’s voice in

the shouts, and said, ‘I know it is our friends who are in danger.’ My

companion indeed did not believe I could distinguish any one’s voice at

that great distance;(103) but I knew it well, and groaned inwardly to

think that such devoted men were in peril of their lives for my sake. We

prayed fervently, therefore, for them, for we saw that they were not yet

saved, though many had gone to assist them. Then we saw a light let down

from the bridge,(104) and a sort of basket attached to a rope, by which

they might be drawn up, if they could reach it. This it seems they were

not able to do. But God had regard to the peril of His servants, and at

last there came a strong sea-boat with six sailors, who worked bravely,

and bringing their boat up to the one in danger, took out Lilly and

Fulwood. Immediately they had got out, the boat they had left capsized

before the third could be rescued, as if it had only kept right for the

sake of the two who were Catholics. However, by God’s mercy, the one who

was thrown into the river caught a rope that was let down from the bridge,

and was so dragged up and saved. So they were all rescued and got back to

their homes.”

XX.

“On the following day(105) John Lilly wrote me by the gaoler as usual.

What could I expect him to say but this: ‘We see, and have proved it by

our peril, that it is not God’s will we should proceed any further in this

business.’ But I found him saying just the contrary. For he began his

letter as follows: ‘It was not the will of God that we should accomplish

our desire last night; still He rescued us from a great danger, that we

might succeed better the next time. What is put off is not cut off:(106)

so we mean to come again to-night, with God’s help.’

“My companion, on seeing such constancy joined with such strong and at the

same time pious affection, was greatly consoled, and did not doubt

success. But I had great ado to obtain leave from the gaoler to remain

another night out of my cell; and had misgivings that he would discover

the loosening of the stone when he locked the door again. He, however,

remarked nothing of it.

“In the meantime I had written three letters to be left behind. One was to

the gaoler, justifying myself for taking this step without a word to him;

I told him I was but exercising my right, since I was detained in prison

without any crime, and added that I would always remember him in my

prayers, if I could not help him in any other way. I wrote this letter

with the hope that if the man were taken into custody for my escape, it

might help to show that he was not to blame. The second letter was to the

Lieutenant, in which I still further exonerated the gaoler, protesting

before God that he knew nothing whatever about my escape, which was, of

course, perfectly true, and that he certainly would not have allowed it if

he had suspected anything. This I confirmed by repeating the very tempting

offer which had been made him and which he had refused. As to his having

allowed me to go to another prisoner’s cell, I said I had extorted it from

him with the greatest difficulty by repeated importunities, and therefore

it would not be right that he should suffer death for it. The third letter

was to the Lords of the Council, in which I stated first the causes which

moved me to the recovery of my liberty, of which I had been unjustly

deprived. It was not so much the mere love of freedom, I said, as the love

of souls which were daily perishing in England that led me to attempt the

escape, in order that I might assist in bringing them back from sin and

heresy. As for matters of State, as they had hitherto found me averse to

meddling with them, so they might be sure that I should continue the same.

Besides this, I exonerated the Lieutenant and gaoler from all consent to,

or connivance at, my escape, assuring them that I had recovered my liberty

entirely by my own and my friends’ exertions. I prepared another letter

also, which would be taken next morning to my gaoler, not, however, by

John Lilly, but by another, as I shall narrate presently.

“At the proper hour we mounted again on the leads. The boat arrived and

put to shore without any interruption. The schismatic, my former gaoler,

remained with the boat, and the two Catholics came with the rope. It was a

new rope, for they had lost the former one in the river on occasion of

their disaster. They fastened the rope to a stake, as I had told them;

they found the leaden ball which we threw, and tied the string to the

rope. We had great difficulty, however, in pulling up the rope, for it was

of considerable thickness, and double too. In fact, Father Garnett ordered

this arrangement, fearing lest, otherwise, the rope might break by the

weight of my body. But now another element of danger showed itself, which

we had not reckoned on: for the distance was so great between the tower

and the stake to which the rope was attached, that it seemed to stretch

horizontally rather than slopingly; so that we could not get along it

merely by our weight, but would have to propel ourselves by some exertion

of our own. We proved this first by a bundle we had made of books and some

other things wrapped up in my cloak. This bundle we placed on the double

rope to see if it would slide down of itself, but it stuck at once. And it

was well it did; for if it had gone out of our reach before it stuck, we

should never have got down ourselves. So we took the bundle back and left

it behind.

“My companion, who had before spoken of the descent as a thing of the

greatest ease, now changed his mind, and confessed it to be very difficult

and full of danger. ‘However,’ said he, ‘I shall most certainly be hanged

if I remain now, for we cannot throw the rope back without its falling

into the water, and so betraying us both and our friends. I will therefore

descend, please God, preferring to expose myself to danger with the hope

of freedom, rather than to remain here with good certainty of being

hanged.’ So he said a prayer, and took to the rope. He descended fairly

enough, for he was strong and vigorous, and the rope was then taut: his

weight, however, slackened it considerably, which made the danger for me

greater, and though I did not then notice this, yet I found it out

afterwards when I came to make the trial.

“So commending myself to God, to our Lord Jesus, to the Blessed Virgin, to

my Guardian Angel, and all my Patrons, particularly to Father Southwell,

who had been imprisoned near this place for nearly three years before his

martyrdom, to Father Walpole, and to all our Saints, I took the rope in my

right hand and held it also with my left arm; then I twisted my legs about

it, to prevent falling, in such a way that the rope passed between my

shins. I descended some three or four yards face downwards, when suddenly

my body swung round by its own weight and hung under the rope. The shock

was so great that I nearly lost my hold, for I was still but weak,

especially in the hands and arms. In fact, with the rope so slack and my

body hanging beneath it, I could hardly get on at all. At length, I made a

shift to get on as far as the middle of the rope, and there I stuck, my

breath and my strength failing me, neither of which were very copious to

begin with. After a little time, the Saints assisting me, and my good

friends below drawing me to them by their prayers, I got on a little

further and stuck again, thinking I should never be able to accomplish it.

Yet I was loath to drop into the water as long as I could possibly hold

on. After another rest, therefore, I summoned what remained of my

strength, and helping myself with legs and arms as well as I could, I got

as far as the wall on the other side of the moat. But my feet only touched

the top of the wall, and my whole body hung horizontally, my head being no

higher than my feet, so slack was the rope. In such a position, and

exhausted as I was, it was hopeless to expect to get over the wall by my

own unaided strength. So John Lilly got on to the wall somehow or other

(for, as he afterwards asserted, he never knew how he got there), took

hold of my feet, and by them pulled me to him, and got me over the wall on

to the ground. But I was quite unable to stand, so they gave me some

cordial waters and restoratives, which they had brought on purpose. By the

help of these I managed to walk to the boat, into which we all entered.

They had, however, before leaving the wall, untied the rope from the stake

and cut off a part of it, so that it hung down the wall of the tower. We

had previously, indeed, determined to pull it away altogether, and had

with this object passed it round a great gun on the tower without knotting

it. But God so willed it that we were not able by any exertion to get it

away; and if we had succeeded, it would certainly have made a loud splash

in the water, and perhaps have brought us into a worse danger.

“On entering the boat we gave hearty thanks to God, Who had delivered us

from the hand of the persecutor and from all the expectation of the

people; we returned our best thanks also to those who had exposed

themselves to such labours and perils for our sakes. We went some

considerable distance in the boat before landing. After we had landed I

sent the gentleman, my companion, with John Lilly, to my house, of which I

have before spoken, which was managed by that saintly widow, Mistress

Line. I myself, however, with Richard Fulwood, went to a house which

Father Garnett had in the suburbs; and there Little John and I, a little

before daylight, mounted our horses, which he had ready there for the

purpose, and rode straight off to Father Garnett, who was then living a

short distance in the country.(107) We got there by dinner-time, and great

rejoicing there was on my arrival, and much thanksgiving to God at my

having thus escaped from the hands of my enemies in the name of the Lord.

“In the meanwhile I had sent Richard Fulwood with a couple of horses to a

certain spot, that he might be ready to ride off with my gaoler, if he

wished to consult his immediate safety. For I had a letter written, of

which I made previous mention, which was to be taken to him early in the

morning at the place where he was accustomed to meet John Lilly. Lilly,

however, did not carry the letter, for I had bidden him remain quiet

within doors until such time as the storm which was to be expected had

blown over. So another, who also knew the gaoler, took the letter, and

gave it to him at the usual meeting-place. He was indeed surprised at

another’s coming, but took the letter without remark, and was about to

depart with the intention of delivering it to me as usual; but the other

stopped him, saying, ‘The letter is for you, and not for any one else.’

“ ‘For me?’ said the gaoler, ‘from whom then does it come?’

“ ‘From a friend of yours,’ replied the other; ‘but who he is I don’t

know.’

“The gaoler was still more astonished at this, and said, ‘I cannot myself

read; if, then, it is a matter which requires immediate attention, pray

read it for me.’

“So the man that brought the letter read it for him. It was to the effect

that I had made my escape from prison; and here I added a few words on the

reasons of my conduct, for the purpose of calming his mind. Then I told

him, that though I was nowise bound to protect him from the consequences,

as I had but used my just right, yet, as I had found him faithful in the

things which I had intrusted him with, I was loath to leave him in the

lurch. If, therefore, he was inclined to provide for his own safety

immediately, there was a horse waiting for him with a guide who would

bring him to a place of safety, sufficiently distant from London, where I

would maintain him for life, allowing him two hundred florins [20_l._]

yearly, which would support him comfortably. I added that if he thought of

accepting this offer, he had better settle his affairs as quickly as

possible, and betake himself to the place which the bearer of the letter

would show him.

“The poor man was, as may well be supposed, in a great fright, and

accepted the offer; but, as he was about to return to the Tower to settle

matters and get his wife away, a mate of his met him, and said, ‘Be off

with you as quick as you can; for your prisoners have escaped from the

little tower, and Master Lieutenant is looking for you everywhere. Woe to

you if he finds you!’ So, returning all in a tremble to the bearer of the

letter, he besought him for the love of God to take him at once to where

the horse was waiting for him. He took him, therefore, and handed him over

to Richard Fulwood, who was to be his guide. Fulwood took him to the house

of a friend of mine residing at the distance of a hundred miles from

London, to whom I had written, asking him, if such a person should come,

to take him in and provide for him. I warned him, however, not to put

confidence in him, nor to acknowledge any acquaintance with me. I told him

that Richard Fulwood would reimburse him for all the expenses, but that he

must never listen to the man if at any time he began to talk about me or

about himself.

“Everything was done as I had arranged; my friend received no damage, and

the gaoler remained there out of danger. After a year he went into another

county, and, becoming a Catholic, lived there comfortably for some five

years with his family on the annuity which I sent him regularly according

to promise. He died at the end of those five years, having been through

that trouble rescued by God from the occasions of sin, and, as I hope,

brought to Heaven. I had frequently in the prison sounded him in matters

of religion; and though his reason was perfectly convinced, I was never

able to move his will. My temporal escape, then, I trust, was by the sweet

disposition of God’s merciful providence the occasion of his eternal

salvation.

“The Lieutenant of the Tower, when he could not find either his prisoners

or their gaoler, hastened to the Lords of the Council with the letters

which he had found. They wondered greatly that I should have been able to

escape in such a way; but one of the chief members of the Council, as I

afterwards heard, said to a gentleman who was in attendance that he was

exceedingly glad I had got off. And when the Lieutenant demanded authority

and assistance to search all London for me, and any suspected places in

the neighbourhood, they all told him it would be of no use. ‘You cannot

hope to find him,’ said they; ‘for if he had such determined friends as to

accomplish what they have, depend upon it they will have made further

arrangements, and provided horses and hiding-places to keep him quite out

of your reach.’ They made search, however, in one or two places, but no

one of any mark was taken that I could ever hear of.

“For my part, I remained quietly with Father Garnett for a few days, both

to recruit myself and to allow the talk about my escape to subside. Then

my former hosts, who had proved themselves such devoted friends, urged my

return to them, first to their London house close to the Clink prison,

where they were as yet residing. So I went to them, and remained there in

secrecy, admitting but very few visitors; nor did I ever leave the house

except at night, a practice I always observed when in London, though at

this time I did even this very sparingly, and visited only a few of my

chief friends.

“At this time I also visited my house, which was then under the care of

Mistress Line, afterwards martyred. Another future martyr was then

residing there of whom I have previously spoken, namely, Mr. Robert Drury,

Priest. In this house about this time I received a certain parson who had

been chaplain to the Earl of Essex in his expedition against the Spanish

King, when he took Cadiz. He was an eloquent man and learned in languages;

and when converted to the Catholic faith he had abandoned divers great

preferments, nay, had likewise endured imprisonment for his religion.

Hearing that he had an opportunity of making his escape, I offered that he

should come to my house. There I maintained him for two or three months,

during which time I gave him the Spiritual Exercises. In the course of his

retreat, he came to the determination of offering himself to the Society;

upon which I asked him to tell me candidly how he, who had been bred up in

Calvin’s bosom as it were, had been accustomed to military life, and had

learnt in heresy and had long been accustomed to prefer his own will to

other people’s, could bring himself to enter the Society, where he knew,

or certainly should know, that the very opposite principles prevailed. To

this he replied, ‘There are three things, in fact, which have especially

induced me to take this step. First, because I see that heretics and evil

livers hold the Society in far greater detestation than they do any other

Religious Order; from which I judge that it has the Spirit of God in an

especial degree, which the spirit of the devil cannot endure, and that it

has been ordained by God to destroy heresy, and wage war against sin in

general. Secondly, because all ecclesiastical dignities are excluded by

its Constitutions, whence it follows that there is in it a greater

certainty of a pure intention; and as its more eminent members are not

taken from it for the Episcopate, it is more likely to retain its first

fervour and its high estimation for virtue and learning. Thirdly, because

in it obedience is cultivated with particular care, a virtue for which I

have the greatest veneration, not only on account of the excellent effects

produced thereby in the soul, but also because all things must needs go on

well in a body where the wills of the members are bound together, and all

are directed by God.’

“These were his reasons; so I sent him into Belgium, that he might be

forwarded to the College at Rome by Father Holt, giving him three hundred

florins [30_l._] for his expenses. I gave the Spiritual Exercises also to

some others in that house before I gave it up, among whom was a pious and

good Priest named Woodward, who also found a vocation to the Society, and

afterwards passed into Belgium with the intention of entering it; but as

there was a great want of English Priests in the army at the time, he was

appointed to that work, and died in it, greatly loved and reverenced by

all.

“I did not, however, keep that house long after the recovery of my

liberty, because it was now known to a large number of persons, and was

frequented during my imprisonment by many more than I should have

permitted if I had been free. My principal reason, however, for giving it

up was because it was known to the person who had been the cause of my

being sent to the Tower. He had indeed expressed sorrow for his act, and

had written to me to beg my pardon, which I freely gave him; yet, as he

was released from prison soon after my escape, and I found that those

among whom he had lived had no very good opinion of his character, I did

not think it well that a thing involving the safety of many should remain

within his knowledge. Mistress Line, also, a woman of singular prudence

and virtue, was of the same mind. So I determined to make other

arrangements as soon as possible....”

“It seemed best, therefore, that Mistress Line should lodge for a space by

herself in a hired room of a private house; while I, who did not wish to

be without a place in London where I could safely admit some of my

principal friends, and perhaps house a Priest from time to time, joined

with a prudent and pious gentleman, who had a wife of similar character,

in renting a large and spacious house between us. Half the house was to be

for their use and the other half for mine, in which I had a fair chapel

well provided and ornamented. Hither I resorted when I came to London, and

here also I sent from time to time those I would, paying a certain sum for

their board. In this way I expended scarce half the amount I did formerly

under the other arrangement, when I was obliged to maintain a household

whether there were any guests in the house or not; though indeed it was

seldom that the house was empty of guests.

“I made this new provision for my own and my friends’ accommodation just

in good time; for most certainly had I remained in my former house I

should have been taken again. The thing happened in this wise. The Priest

who, as I have related, got me promoted from a more obscure prison to a

nobler one, began to importune me with continual letters that I would

grant him an interview. Partly by delaying to answer him, partly by

excusing myself on the score of occupation, I put him off for about half a

year. At length he urged his request very pressingly, and complained to me

by letter that I showed contempt of him. I sent him no answer, but on a

convenient occasion, knowing where he lodged, I despatched a friend to him

to tell him that if he wished to see me, he must come at once with the

messenger. I warned the messenger, however, not to permit any delay, nor

to allow him to write anything nor address any one on the way if he wished

to have an interview with me. I arranged, moreover, that he should be

brought not to any house, but to a certain field near one of the Inns of

Court, which was a common promenade, and that the messenger should walk

there alone with him till I came. It was at night, and there was a bright

moon. I came there with a couple of friends, in case any attempt should be

made against me, and making a half circuit outside (that he might not know

in what part of London I lived), I happened to enter the field near the

house of a Catholic which adjoined it; and our good friend catching first

sight of me near this house, thought perhaps that I came out of it, and in

fact the Archpriest was lodging in it at the time. However that may be, I

found him there walking and waiting for me, and when I had heard all he

had to say, I saw that there was nothing which he had not already said in

his letters, and to which he had not had my answer. My suspicion was

therefore increased, and certainly not without reason. For within a day or

two that corner house near which he saw me enter the field, and my old

house which I had lately left (though he knew not that I had left it),

were both of them surrounded and strictly searched on the same night and

at the same hour. The Archpriest was all but caught in the one; he had

just time to get into a hiding-place, and so escaped.(108) The search

lasted two whole days in the other house, which the Priest knew me to have

occupied at one time. The Lieutenant of the Tower and the Knight

Marshal(109) conducted the searches in person, a task they never undertake

unless one of their prisoners has escaped. From these circumstances it is

sufficiently clear, both of whom they were in search and from whom they

got their information.

“But when they found me not (nor indeed did they find the Priest who was

then in the house, living with a Catholic to whom I had let it), they sent

pursuivants on the next day to the house of my host, who had by this time

returned to his country seat, but by God’s mercy they did not find me

there either. It was well, therefore, that I acted cautiously with the

above-mentioned Priest, and also that I had so opportunely changed my

residence in London.”

XXI.

“I saw also that it would soon be necessary for me to give up my present

residence in the country, and betake myself elsewhere; otherwise those

good and faithful friends of mine,” the Wisemans, “would always be

suffering some annoyance for my sake. I proposed the matter, therefore, to

them, but they refused to listen to me in this point, though in all other

things they were most obedient. But I thought more of their peace than of

their wishes, however pious these wishes were; and therefore I laid the

matter before my Superior,(110) who approved my views. So I obtained from

Father Garnett another of ours, a pious and learned man, whom I had known

at Rome, and who at that time was companion to Father Ouldcorne, of

blessed memory; this was Father Richard Banks, now professed of four vows.

I took him to live with me for a time, that I might by degrees introduce

him into the family in my place; and in the meantime I made more frequent

excursions than usual.

“In one of these excursions I visited a noble family, by whom I had long

been invited and often expected, but I had never yet been able to visit

them on account of my pressing occupations. Here I found the lady of the

house, a widow, very pious and devout, but at this present overwhelmed

with grief at the loss of her husband. She had, indeed, been so affected

by this loss that for a whole year she scarce stirred out of her chamber,

and for the next three years which had intervened before my visit, had

never brought herself to go to that part of the mansion in which her

husband had died. To this grief and trouble were added certain anxieties

about the bringing up of her son, who was yet a child under his mother’s

care. He was one of the first Barons of the realm; but his parents had

suffered so much for the Faith, and had mortgaged so much of their

property to meet the constant exactions of an heretical Government, that

the remaining income was scarcely sufficient for their proper maintenance.

But a wise woman builds up her house and is proved in it....”

This lady was Elizabeth, daughter of Sir John Roper, who was raised to the

peerage in 1616 as Lord Teynham. In 1590(111) she married George, the

second son of William, Lord Vaux of Harrowden, but her husband died in

1594, during the lifetime of his father. When in the following year her

father-in-law also died, she was left in charge of her infant son, Edward

fourth Baron Vaux.

As she wished me to reside in her house, “on my return to London I

proposed the matter to Father Garnett, who was much rejoiced at the offer,

knowing the place to be one where much good might be done both directly

and indirectly. He said, too, that the offer had occurred most

opportunely, for that there were some Catholics in another county more to

the north, where Catholics were more numerous and there was no Priest of

the Society, who had been long petitioning for the Father at present

stationed at that house, and who would much rejoice at the prospect of

having him among them. To this I urged that the place was large enough for

two, and that I very much desired to have a companion of the Society with

me, and I requested that he would assign me Father John Percy, with whom I

had become acquainted during my imprisonment, not indeed personally, but

by frequent interchange of letters. This Father had been brought prisoner

from Flanders to Holland,(112) where he was recognized and tortured; he

was afterwards thrown into the foul gaol of Bridewell, and after remaining

there some time made a shift to escape from a window with another Priest,

letting himself down with a rope. Mistress Line made him welcome in my

house, where he tarried for a time; but soon after went down into the

county of York, and dwelt there with a pious Catholic. In this part he

made himself so dear to every one, that though I had Father Garnett’s

consent, it was a full year before I could get him away from them.

“Since now to the desire of this noble widow was added the approval of

Father Garnett, I so settled my affairs as to provide amply for the

security and advantage of my former hosts. For I left with them Father

Banks, a most superior man in every respect; and although at first my old

friends did not value him so much, yet, as they became better acquainted,

they found that the good account I had given them was no more than the

truth, and soon came to esteem him as a father. I often afterwards visited

their house, where I had found so great faith and piety.

“When I was domiciled in my new residence, I began by degrees to wean my

hostess’ mind from that excessive grief; showing how that we ought to

mourn moderately only over our dead, and not to grieve like those who have

no hope. I added that as her husband had become a Catholic before his

death, one little prayer would do him more good than many tears; that our

tears should be reserved for our own and others’ sins, for our own souls

stood in need of floods of that cleansing water, and it was to the

concerns of our own souls that all our thoughts and labours should be

turned. I then taught her the use of meditation, finding her quite capable

of profiting by it, for her mental powers were of a very high order. I

thus gradually brought her first to change that old style of grief for a

more worthy one; then to give eternal concerns the preference over worldly

matters; and to consider how she might transform her life, which before

was good and holy, into better and holier, by endeavouring as much as she

could to imitate the life of our Lord and of His Saints.

“She was ready to set up her residence wherever I judged it best for the

good of religion, whether in London,(113) or in the most remote part of

the island, as she often protested to me. I considered, however, that

though a residence in or near London would be better for the gaining of

souls, yet that it was not at present very safe for me; nor, indeed, could

she remain there in private, since she was well known for a Catholic, and

the Lords of the Council demanded from her frequent accounts of her son,

the Baron, where and how he was educated. Moreover, as she had the

management of her son’s estate while he was a minor, stewards and

bailiffs, and other such persons, must have constant communication with

her; so that it was quite out of the question her living near London under

an assumed name; yet this was absolutely necessary if a person wished to

carry on the good work in that neighbourhood. It was thus those ladies did

with whom Father Garnett lived so long, who were in fact sisters of this

lady’s deceased husband, one unmarried, the other a widow.(114) I saw,

therefore, no fitter place for her to fix her residence than where she was

among her own people, where she had the chief people of the county

connected with her and her son, either by blood or friendship.

“The only difficulty which remained was about the exact spot. The house in

which she was actually living was not only old, but antiquated. It had

been the residence of her husband’s father, who had married a wife who was

a better hand at spending than at gathering, and consequently the house

was very poorly appointed for a family of their dignity. There was another

and larger house of theirs at” Great Harrowden, “a distance of about three

miles, which had been the old family seat. This had also been neglected,

so that it was in some part quite ruinous, and not fit for our purpose,

namely, to receive the Catholic gentry who might come to visit me. In

addition to this, it was not well adapted for defence against any sudden

intrusions of the heretics, and consequently we should not be able to be

as free there as my hostess wished. Her desire was to have a house where

we might as nearly as possible conform ourselves to the manner of life

followed in our Colleges; and this in the end she brought about.

“She sought everywhere for such a house, and we looked at many houses in

the county; but something or other was always wanting to her wishes. At

last we found a house which had been built by the late Chancellor of

England,(115) who had died childless, and was now to be let for a term of

years. It was truly a princely place, large and well built, surrounded by

gardens and orchards, and so far removed from other houses that no one

could notice our coming in or going out. This house she took on payment of

fifteen thousand florins [1,500_l._], and began to fit it up for our

accommodation. She wished to finish the alterations before we removed

thither; but man proposes, and God disposes as He wills, though always for

the best, and for the true good of His elect.

“When I came to the lady’s house, she had a great number of servants, some

heretics, others indeed Catholics, but allowing themselves too much

liberty. By degrees things got into better order; some became Catholics;

others, through public and private exhortations, became by the grace of

God more fervent; and some, of whom there did not appear any hope of

amendment, were dismissed. There was one who brought great trouble on us.

For on one occasion when we were in London, either from thoughtlessness or

loquacity, or because the yoke of a stricter discipline, now begun in the

family, sat uneasily upon him, he said to a false brother that I had

lately come to live at his lady’s house, and had carried on such and such

doings there; and that I was then in London at such a house, naming the

house of which I rented half, as I have before said; he told him also that

he himself had gone to that house with his lady at a time when she and I

were in town on business connected with her son, and that he had seen the

master and mistress of that house when they called on his lady, as they

had often done. My hostess had now returned into the country with this

servant, leaving me for a short time in town. But the man had left this

tale behind him, which soon came to the ears of the Council, how that I

had my residence with such a lady, and was at this moment at such a house

in London. They instantly, therefore, commissioned two Justices of the

Peace to search the house.

“I, who had no inkling of such a danger, had remained in town for certain

business, and was giving a retreat to three gentlemen in the house before

mentioned. One of these three gentlemen was Master Roger Lee, now Minister

in the English College of St. Omers. He was a gentleman of high family,

and of so noble a character and such winning manners that he was a

universal favourite, especially with the nobility, in whose company he

constantly was, being greatly given to hunting, hawking, and all other

noble sports. He was, indeed, excellent at everything, but he was withal a

Catholic, and so bent on the study of virtue that he was meditating a

retreat from the world and a more immediate following of Christ. He used

frequently to visit me when I was in the Clink prison, and I clearly saw

that he was called to greater things than catching birds of the air, and

that he was meant rather to be a catcher of men. I had now, therefore,

fixed a time with this gentleman and good friend of mine, in which he

should seek out, by means of the Spiritual Exercises, the strait path that

leads to life, under the guidance of Him Who is Himself the Way and the

Life.

“But while he and the others were engaged privately in their chambers in

the study of this heroic philosophy, suddenly the storm burst upon us. I,

too, in fact, after finishing my business in town, had taken the

opportunity of a little quiet to begin my own retreat, giving out that I

had returned into the country. I was now in the fourth or fifth day of the

retreat, when about three o’clock in the afternoon John Lilly hurried to

my room, and without knocking, entered with his sword drawn.

“Surprised at this sudden intrusion, I asked what was the matter.

“ ‘It is a matter of searching the house,’ he replied.

“ ‘What house?’

“ ‘This very house: and they are in it already!’

“In fact, they had been cunning enough to knock gently, as friends were

wont to do, and the servant opened readily to them, without the least

suspicion until he saw them rush in and scatter themselves in all

directions.

“While John was telling me this, up came the searching party, together

with the mistress of the house, to the very room in which we were. Now,

just opposite to my room was the chapel, so that from the passage the door

of the chapel opened on the one hand, and that of my room on the other.

The magistrates, then, seeing the door of the chapel open, went in, and

found there an altar richly adorned, and the priestly vestments laid out

close by, so handsome as to cause expressions of admiration from the

heretics themselves. In the meanwhile I, in the room opposite, was quite

at my wit’s end what to do; for there was no hiding-place in the room, nor

any means of exit except by the open passage were the enemy were. However,

I changed the soutane which I was wearing for a secular coat, but my books

and manuscript meditations, which I had there in considerable quantities,

I was quite unable to conceal.

“We stood there with our ears close to the chink of the door, listening to

catch what they said: and I heard one exclaim from the chapel, ‘Good God!

what have we found here? I had no thoughts of coming to this house

to-day!’ From this I concluded that it was a mere chance search, and that

they had no special warrant. Probably, therefore, I thought they had but

few men with them. So we began to consult together whether it were not

better to rush out with drawn swords, seize the keys from the searching

party, and so escape; for we should have Master Lee and the master of the

house to help us, besides two or three men-servants. Moreover, I

considered that if we should be taken in the house, the master would

certainly be visited with a far greater punishment than what the law

prescribes for resistance to a magistrate’s search.

“While we were thus deliberating, the searchers came to the door of my

room and knocked. We made no answer, but pressed the latch hard down, for

the door had no bolt or lock. As they continued knocking, the mistress of

the house said, ‘Perhaps the man-servant who sleeps in that room may have

taken away the key. I will go and look for him.’

“ ‘No, no,’ said they, ‘you go nowhere without us, or you will be hiding

away something.’

“And so they went with her, not staying to examine whether the door had a

lock or not. Thus did God blind the eyes of the Assyrians, that they

should not find the place, nor the means of hurting His servants, nor know

where they were going.

“When they had got below-stairs, the mistress of the house, who had great

presence of mind, took them into a room in which some ladies were, the

sister, namely, of my hostess in the country, and Mistress Line; and while

the magistrates were questioning these ladies, she ran up to us, saying,

‘Quick, quick! get into the hiding-place!’ She had scarce said this and

run down again, before the searchers had missed her and were for

remounting the stairs. But she stood in their way on the bottom step, so

that they immediately suspected what the case was, and were eager to get

past. This, however, they could not do without laying forcible hands on

the lady, a thing which, as gentlemen, they shrank from doing. One of

them, however, as she stood there purposely occupying the whole width of

the stair-way, thrust his head past her, in hopes of seeing what was going

on above-stairs. And indeed he almost caught sight of me as I passed along

to the hiding-place. For as soon as I heard the lady’s words of warning, I

opened the door, and with the least possible noise mounted from a stool to

the hiding-place, which was arranged in a secret gable of the roof. When I

had myself mounted, I bade John Lilly come up also, but he, more careful

of me than of himself, refused to follow me, saying: ‘No, Father; I shall

not come. There must be some one to own the books and papers in your room;

otherwise, upon finding them, they will never rest till they have found

you too: only pray for me.’

“So spoke this truly faithful and prudent servant, so full of charity as

to offer his life for his friend. There was no time for further words. I

acquiesced reluctantly and closed the small trap-door by which I had

entered, but I could not open the door of the inner hiding-place, so that

I should infallibly have been taken if they had not found John Lilly, and

mistaking him for a Priest ceased from any further search. For this was

what happened, God so disposing it, and John’s prudence and intrepidity

helping thereto.

“For scarcely had he removed the stool by which I mounted, and had gone

back to the room and shut the door, when the two chiefs of the searching

party again came upstairs and knocked violently at the door, ready to

break it open if the key were not found. Then the intrepid soldier of

Christ threw open the door and presented himself undaunted to the

persecutors.

“ ‘Who are you?’ they asked.

“ ‘A man, as you see,’ he replied.

“ ‘But what are you? Are you a Priest?’

“ ‘I do not say I am a Priest,’ replied John; ‘that is for you to prove.

But I am a Catholic certainly.’

“Then they found there on the table all my meditations, my breviary, and

many Catholic books, and what grieved me most of all to lose, my

manuscript sermons and notes for sermons, which I had been writing or

compiling for the last ten years, and which I made more account of,

perhaps, than they did of all their money. After examining all these they

asked whose they were.

“ ‘They are mine,’ said John.

“ ‘Then there can be no doubt you are a Priest. And this cassock, whose is

this?’

“ ‘That is a dressing-gown, to be used for convenience now and then.’

“Convinced now that they had caught a Priest, they carefully locked up all

the books and papers in a box, to be taken away with them. Then they

locked the chapel door and put their seal upon it, and taking John by the

arm they led him downstairs, and delivered him into the custody of their

officers. Now when he entered with his captors into the room where the

ladies were, he, who at other times was always wont to conduct himself

with humility and stand uncovered in such company, now, on the contrary,

after saluting them, covered his head and sat down. Nay, assuming a sort

of authority, he said to the magistrates: ‘These are noble ladies; it is

your duty to treat them with consideration. I do not, indeed, know them,

but it is quite evident that they are entitled to the greatest respect.’

“I should have mentioned that there was a second Priest in the house with

me, Father Pullen,(116) an old man, who had quite lately made his

noviceship at Rome. He luckily had a hiding-place in his room, and had got

into it at the first alarm.

“The ladies, therefore, now perceiving that I was safe, and that the other

Priest had also escaped, and seeing also John’s assumed dignity, could

scarce refrain from showing their joy. They made no account now of the

loss of property, or the annoyance they should have to undergo from the

suspicion of having had a Priest in the house. They wondered indeed and

rejoiced, and almost laughed to see John playing the Priest, for so well

did he do it as to deceive those deceivers, and divert them from any

further search.”

XXII.

“The magistrates who had searched the house took away John Lilly with

them, and the master of the house also with his two men-servants, under

the idea that all his property would be confiscated for harbouring a

Priest.(117) The ladies, however, represented that they had merely come to

pay an after-dinner visit to the mistress of the house, without knowing

anything about a Priest being there; so they were let off on giving bail

to appear when summoned. The same favour was ultimately shown to Master

Roger Lee, though it was with greater difficulty the magistrates could be

persuaded that he was only a visitor. At last, then, they departed well

satisfied, and locked up their prisoners for the night to wait their

morrow’s examination.

“Immediately on their departure, the mistress of the house and those other

ladies came with great joy to give me notice; and we all joined in giving

thanks to God, Who had delivered us all from such imminent danger by the

prudence and fidelity of one. Father Pullen and I removed that very night

to another place, lest the searchers should find out their error and

return.

“The next day I made a long journey to my hostess’ house in the country,

and caused much fear, and then much joy, as I related all that God had

done for us. Then we all heartily commended John Lilly to God in prayer.

And, indeed, there was reason enough to do so. For the magistrates, making

full inquiries the next day, found that John had been an apothecary in

London for seven years, and then had been imprisoned in the Clink for

eight or nine more, and that he had been the person who had communicated

with me in the Tower, for the gaoler’s wife had been apprehended after her

husband’s flight, and had confessed so much. They saw, therefore, clearly

that they had been tricked, and that John was not a Priest, but a Priest’s

servant; and they now began to have a shrewd suspicion, though rather too

late, that I had been hidden at the time in the same house where they

caught him, especially as they found so many books and writings which they

did not doubt were mine. They sent, therefore, to search the house again,

but they found only an empty nest, for the birds were flown.

“John was carried to the Tower and confined there in chains. Then they

examined him about my escape, and about all the places he had been to with

me since. He, seeing that his dealings with the gaoler were already known

to them, and desirous (if God would grant him such a favour), to lay down

his life for Christ, freely confessed that it was he who had compassed my

deliverance, and that he took great pleasure in the thought of having done

so; he added that he was in the mind to do the same again if occasion

required and opportunity offered. The gaoler, however, he exonerated, and

protested that he was not privy to the escape. With regard to the places

where he had been with me, he answered (as he had been often taught to do)

that he would bring no one into trouble, and that he would not name a

single place, for to do so would be a sin against charity and justice.

Upon this they said they would not press him any further in words, but

would convince him by deeds that he must tell them all they wanted. John

replied: ‘It is a thing that, with the help of God, I will never do. You

have me in your power; do what God permits you.’

“Then they took him to the torture-chamber, and hung him up in the way I

have before described, and tortured him cruelly for the space of three

hours. But nothing could they wring from him that they could use either

against me or against others, so that from that time they gave up all hope

of obtaining anything against any one from him either by force or fear.

Consequently they tortured him no more, but kept him in the closest

custody for about four months to try and tire him into compliance. Failing

also in this, and seeing that their pains availed them nothing, they sent

him to another prison, where prisoners are usually sent who are awaiting

execution, and probably it was their intention to deal that way with him,

but God otherwise determined. For after a long detention here, and having

been allowed a little communication with other Catholic prisoners, he was

asked by a certain Priest to assist him in making his escape. Turning his

attention, therefore, to the matter, he found a way by which he delivered

both the Priest and himself from captivity.

“I ought not, however, to omit an incident that happened during his

detention in the Tower, since it is in such things that the dealings of

God’s providence are often to be very plainly recognized. While he was

under examination about me and others of the Society, Wade, who was at

that time the chief persecutor, asked him if he knew Garnett. John said he

did not.

“ ‘No?’ said Wade, with a sour smile; ‘and you don’t know his house in the

Spital(118) either, I dare say! I don’t mind letting you know,’ he

continued, ‘now that I have you safe, that I am acquainted with his

residence, and that we are sure of having him here in a day or two to keep

you company. For when he comes to London he puts up at that house, and

then we shall catch him.’

“John knew well that the house named was Father Garnett’s resort, and was

in great distress to find that the secret had been betrayed to the enemy;

and, though kept as close as possible, yet he managed in a few days by

God’s good providence to get an opportunity of sending some little article

_wrapped up in blank paper_ to a friend in London. His friend on receiving

it carefully smoothed out the paper and held it to the fire, knowing that

John would be likely to communicate by the means of orange-juice if he had

the opportunity, and there he found it written that this residence of

Father Garnett’s had been betrayed, and that Father Garnett must be warned

of it. This was instantly done, and in this way the Father was saved, for

otherwise he would assuredly, as Wade had said, have betaken himself to

that house in a day or two. Now, however, he not only did not go, but took

all his things away, so that when the house was searched they found

nothing. Had it not been for this providential warning from our greatest

enemy, they would have found plenty; they would have found him, his books,

altar furniture, and other things of a similar nature. Father Garnett,

then, escaped this time by John’s good help, as I had done previously.

“After his escape John came to me, but though I desired much to keep him,

it was out of the question, for he was now so marked a man that his

presence would have been a continual danger for me and all my friends. For

I was wont in the country to go openly to the houses of Catholic

gentlemen, and it might well happen that John might come across persons

that knew him, and would know me through him. Whereas but very few of the

enemy knew me, for I was always detained in close custody, and none but

Catholics saw me in prison, nay, such Catholics only as I knew to be

specially trustworthy. I had, indeed, been examined publicly in London

several times, but the persons concerned in the examinations very seldom

left town, and if they had done so I should have been warned of it

instantly, and should have taken good care never to trust myself in their

neighbourhood. So I put John with Father Garnett, to stay in quiet hiding

for a time; and when opportunity offered sent him over to Father Persons,

that he might obtain, what he had long hoped for, admission to the

Society. He was admitted at Rome,(119) and lived there for six or seven

years as a Lay-brother, much esteemed, I believe, by everybody. I can on

my part testify about him to the greater glory of God, and that the more

allowably because I believe he has died in England before this present

writing, whither he returned with a consumption on him: I can, I say,

testify that for nearly six years that he was with me in England, and had

his hands full of business for me, though he had to do with all sorts of

men in all sorts of places (for while I was engaged upstairs with the

gentry and nobility, he was associating downstairs with the servants,

often very indifferent characters), yet the whole of this time he so

guarded his heart and his soul that I never found him to have been even in

danger of mortal sin. Truly his was an innocent soul, and endowed with

great prudence and cleverness.

“But now that I have brought the history of John Lilly to its close, it is

time to return to myself, who, having just escaped one danger, had like to

have fallen into a second and still greater one, had not God again

interposed His hand.”

XXIII.

“I mentioned just now that one of my hostess’ servants told a friend of

his, but an enemy of ours, that I habitually resided at his mistress’

house, and that at that particular time I was at such a house in London.

How this house was searched, and how they seized my companion and my

manuscripts, but missed me, I have related. The Council, therefore, now

knowing my residence in the country, issued a commission to some Justices

of the Peace in that county to search this lady’s house for a Priest. It

had, in fact, began to be talked of in the county that she had taken this

grand house in order that she might harbour Priests there in larger

numbers and with greater freedom, because it was more private; and in this

people were not far wrong.”

“Now at this time, that is, soon after my return from London, we had

driven over to the new house to make arrangements for our removal thither,

and with the special object of determining where to construct

hiding-places. To this end we had Little John with us, whom I have before

mentioned as very clever at constructing these places, and whom Father

Garnett had lent to us for a time for this purpose. Having made all the

necessary arrangements we left Little John behind, and Hugh Sheldon also

to help him, who is now at Rome with Father Persons in the room of John

Lilly. These two, whom we had always found most faithful, were to

construct the hiding-places, and to be the only ones beside ourselves to

know anything about them. The rest of us, however, returned the same day

to our hostess’ own house, and by the advice of one of the servants, God

so disposing it, we came back a different way, as being easier for the

carriage. Had we returned by the way we went, the searchers would have

come early to the house where we were, and most probably catching us

entirely unprepared, would have found what they came to seek. The fact was

that the road by which we went to the new house ran through a town, where

some of the enemy were on the watch and had seen us pass, but not seeing

us return they concluded that we were spending the night at the new house,

and went there the first thing in the morning to search.

“But the house was so large that, although they had a numerous body of

followers, they were not able to surround it entirely, nor to watch all

the outlets so narrowly, but what Little John managed to make off safely.

Hugh Sheldon they caught, but could get nothing out of him, so they sent

him afterwards to prison at Wisbech, and from thence later to some other

prison in company with many Priests, and at last in the same good company

into exile.

“When, however, the Justices found that they were wrong, and that the lady

had returned home the previous day, they retraced their steps and came as

fast as their horses could carry them to the old house. They arrived at

our dinner-hour, and being admitted by the carelessness of the porter, got

into the hall before we had any warning. Now as the lady of the house was

a little indisposed that morning, we were going to take our dinner in my

room, that is, Father Percy, myself, and Master Roger Lee, who had come

down from London to finish his retreat which had been so rudely

interrupted before. So when I heard who had come, that they were in the

great hall, and that his lordship himself, who was indeed but a boy at

that time, could not prevent them from intruding into his room, though he

was also unwell, I made a pretty shrewd guess what they had come about,

and snatching up such things as wanted hiding I made the best of my way to

the hiding-place, together with Father Percy and Master Roger Lee. For it

would not do for this latter to have been found here, especially as he had

already been found in the house in London where I was known to have been,

and would therefore have given good reason to think that I was here also.

But we had to pass by the door of the room in which the enemy were as yet

waiting, and exclaiming that they would wait no longer. Nay, one of the

pursuivants opened the door and looked out; and some of the servants said

that he must have seen me as I passed. But God certainly interposed, for

it was surely not to be expected from natural causes that men who had come

eager to search the house at once, and were loudly declaring they would do

so, should stay in a room where they were not locked in, just as long as

was necessary for us to hide ourselves, and then come forth as if they had

been let loose, intrude upon the lady of the house, and course through all

the rooms like bloodhounds after their prey. I cannot but think that this

was the finger of God, Who would not that the good intentions of this lady

should be so soon frustrated, but rather wished by so evident a display of

His providence to confirm her in her determinations, and preserve her for

many more good works.

“The authorities searched the house thoroughly the whole day, but found

nothing. At last they retired disappointed, and wrote to the Council what

they had done. We soon discovered who had done the mischief (for he had

not done it secretly) and discharged him, but without unkindness. I gave

out also that I should quit the place altogether, and for a time we

practised particular caution in all points.

“In consequence of this mishap it became impossible for us to remove to

the new house. For those same Justices, who were pestilent heretics, and

several others in the same county, Puritans, declared they would never

suffer her ladyship to live at peace if she came there, as her only object

was to harbour Priests. Being deterred, therefore, from that place, but

not from her design, she set about fitting up her own present residence

for that same purpose, and built us separate quarters close to the old

chapel, which had been erected anciently by former Barons of the family to

hear Mass in when the weather might make it unpleasant to go to the parish

church. Here, then, she built a little wing of three stories for Father

Percy and me. The place was exceedingly convenient, and so free from

observation that from our rooms we could step out into the private garden,

and thence through spacious walks into the fields, where we could mount

our horses and ride whither we would.

“As we lived here safely and quietly, I frequently left Father Percy at

home, and made excursions to see if I could establish similar centres of

operation among other families; and in this Father Roger Lee (to give him

his present title) helped me not a little. He first took me to the house

of a relation of his, who lived in princely splendour, and whose father

was one of the Queen’s Council. This young nobleman was a schismatic, that

is, a Catholic by conviction, but conforming externally to the State

religion; and there seemed no hope of getting him any further, for he

contented himself with _velleities_, and was fearful of offending his

father. His wife, however, who was a heretic, had begun to listen with

interest to Catholic doctrine, so that there was hope she might in time be

brought into the Church. Their house was full of heretic servants, and

there was a constant coming and going of heretic gentry either on business

or on visit; it was therefore imperatively necessary that, as I could only

go there publicly, I should well conceal my purpose.

“We paid a visit, then, to this house, and were made very welcome, Master

Lee for his own sake, as being much beloved, and I for his. On the first

day I looked in vain for an opportunity of a conversation with the lady of

the house, for there was always some one by. We were obliged to play at

cards to pass the time, as those are wont to do who know not the eternal

value of time, or at least care not for it. On the next day, however, as

the lady of the house stept aside once to the window to set her watch, I

joined her there, and after talking a little about the watch, passed on to

matters which I had more in view, saying I wished we took as much pains to

set our souls in order as we did our watches. She looked up at me in pure

surprise to hear such things from my lips; and as I saw I might never get

a better opportunity than the present, I began to open a little further,

and told her that I had come there with Master Lee specially for her sake,

hearing from him that she took interest in matters of religion, and that I

was ready to explain the Catholic doctrine to her, and satisfy all the

doubts she could possibly have; moreover, that I could point out the way

to a height of virtue which she had hitherto never dreamt of, for that in

heresy she could neither find that way, nor any who made account of it.

She was struck with what I said, and promised to find some opportunity for

further conversation, when we might speak more fully on the matter. I gave

her this hint of a higher virtue, because she had been represented to me,

as she really was, as a lady of most earnest and conscientious character.

“She found the time according to her promise; all her difficulties were

removed, and she became a Catholic. After reconciling her to the Church, I

made some other converts in the same house; then I recommended her a

Catholic maid, and suggested that she should keep a Priest always in the

house, to which she gladly assented. This was a thing that might easily be

managed, not indeed as it was in our house, where the whole household was

Catholic, and knew us to be Priests; but a Priest could well live in the

upper part of the house, from which all heretics might be kept away,

especially now that some of the servants were Catholics. And, indeed, the

accommodation was such that I do not know any place in England where a

Priest who wished to be private could live more conveniently. For he could

have, in the first place, a fine room to himself, opening on a spacious

corridor of some eighty paces, which looked on a garden, the laying out of

which had cost, as I was told, ten thousand florins [1,000_l._]; in this

corridor, moreover, was a separate room, which would serve excellently as

a chapel, and another for his meals, with fire-places and every

convenience. It was a pity, I said, that such a place had not a resident

Priest, where the mistress was a devout Catholic, and the master no enemy

to religion. Her husband, indeed, made no difficulty of receiving Priests;

nay, he sometimes came to hear me preach, and at last went so far as to be

fond of dressing the altar with his own hands, and of saying the breviary:

yet with all this he still remains outside the ark, liable to be swept off

by the waters of the deluge when they break forth, for he presumes too

much on an opportunity of doing penance before death.

“The lady then readily fell in with my suggestion of having a Priest in

her house; so I brought thither Father Antony Hoskins, a man of great

ability, who had lately come over from Spain, where he had spent ten years

in the Society with remarkable success in his studies. Being placed there,

he did a great deal of good on all sides, and remained with them almost up

to the present time, when at length he has been removed and put to greater

things. He did not, however, stay constantly at home, for he is a man

whom, when once known, many would wish to confer with, so that he was

forced to go about at times. At present there is another Father in the

house, a most devoted man. But the lady directs herself chiefly by Father

Percy, who this very week addressed me a letter in the following

words:—‘Such a one’ (meaning this lady of whom I have been speaking) ‘is

going on very well. She has put her whole house under the protection of

our Blessed Lady of Loretto, and offers her heart to her, to serve her and

her Son for ever, with all that she possesses; and in token of this she

has had made a beautiful heart of gold, which she wishes to send to

Loretto by the first opportunity. We desire, therefore, to hear from you

by whom she can send this offering.’ Thus he writes about this lady. In

this way then, by the grace of God, was this house, with its domestic

church, established and confirmed in the Faith.

“Master Roger also introduced me to some neighbours of his; among others

to a gentleman of the Queen’s Court,”(120) Sir Everard Digby, “who had

inherited a large estate, and had married a lady who was sole heiress to

all her father’s property,” Mary Mulshaw, of Gothurst, in Buckinghamshire.

“Not one of this family was a Catholic, nor even inclined to the Catholic

faith. The wife’s father, who was the head of the house, was a thorough

heretic, and had his thoughts entirely occupied in hoarding money for his

daughter, and increasing her revenues. His son-in-law devoted himself

wholly to juvenile sports. When in London, he attended at Court, being one

of the Queen’s gentlemen pensioners; but in the country he spent almost

his whole time in hunting and hawking. Hence it happened that Master Roger

Lee, who was a neighbour of his, and fond of similar sports, often joined

him on such occasions, and brought his falcons to hawk in company. We two,

therefore, took advantage of this acquaintanceship, and I was introduced

to this gentleman’s house as a friend and intimate of Master Lee’s. We

made frequent visits there, and took every opportunity of speaking of

Catholic doctrine and practice. I took care, however, that Master Lee

should always speak more frequently and more earnestly than I, that no

suspicion might arise about my real character. Indeed, so far was this

gentleman from having the least suspicion about me, that he seriously

asked Master Lee whether he thought I was a good match for his sister,

whom he wished to see married well, and to a Catholic, for he looked on

Catholics as good and honourable men.

“We had, therefore, as I said, frequent converse on matters of salvation;

and the wife was the first to listen with any fruit, at a time when she

was living in the country but her husband was up in town. Her parents were

now dead, and she was mistress of the house, so that we were able to deal

more directly with her. At last she came to the point of wishing to be a

Catholic, and told me she should be glad to speak with a Priest. I could

scarce forbear a smile at this. I answered, however, that the thing might

be managed, and that I would speak with Master Lee on the subject. ‘In the

meantime,’ I added, ‘I can teach you the way to examine your conscience,

as I myself was taught to do it by an experienced Priest.’ So I told

Master Roger that as she was now determined and prepared, he might inform

her of my being a Priest. This he did, but she for some time refused to

believe it, saying, ‘How is it possible he can be a Priest? Has he not

lived among us rather as a courtier? Has he not played at cards with my

husband, and played well too, which is impossible for those not accustomed

to the game? Has he not gone out hunting with my husband, and frequently

in my hearing spoken of the hunt and of the hawks in proper terms, without

tripping, which no one could but one who has been trained to it?’

“Many other things she adduced to show I could not be a Priest: to all of

which Master Lee replied, ‘It is true that he said and did what you say;

and unless he had done so, how could he have gained entrance here, and

conversed with you, and by his conversation brought you to the Faith? For

if he had presented himself as a Priest (which he would much prefer, were

it feasible), how would your father, who was then living, have allowed his

introduction, or you yourselves?’

“She could not but admit the truth of this; yet she found it hard to

believe that it was so. ‘I pray you,’ she said, ‘not to be angry with me,

if I ask further whether any other Catholic knows him to be a Priest but

you. Does so-and-so know him?’

“ ‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘and goes to confession to him.’

“Then she mentioned other names, and at last that of my hostess, who lived

in the neighbourhood, but ten miles off.

“ ‘Does she, too, know him as a Priest, and deal with him as such?’

“ ‘Why,’ said Master Lee, ‘she not only knows him as a Priest, but has

given herself, and all her household, and all that she has, to be directed

by him, and takes no other guide but him.’

“Then at length she confessed herself satisfied.

“ ‘You will find him, however,’ added Master Lee, ‘quite a different man

when he has put off his present character.’

“This she acknowledged the next day, when she saw me in my soutane and

other priestly garments, such as she had never before seen. She made a

most careful confession, and came to have so great an opinion of my poor

powers, that she gave herself entirely to my direction, meditated great

things, which, indeed, she carried out, and carries out still.

“When this matter was thus happily terminated, we all three consulted

together, how we could induce her husband to enter also into St. Peter’s

net. Now, it so happened that he had fallen sick in London, and his wife

on hearing it determined to go and nurse him. We, however, went up before

her, and, travelling more expeditiously, had time to deal with him before

she came. I spoke to him of the uncertainty of life, and the certainty of

misery, not only in this life, but especially in the next, unless we

provided against it: and I showed him that we have here no abiding city,

but must look for one to come. As affliction oftentimes brings sense, so

it happened in his case; for we found but little difficulty in gaining his

goodwill. And as he was a man of solid sense and excellent heart, he laid

a firm foundation from the beginning. He prepared himself well for

confession, after being taught the way; and when he learnt that I was a

Priest, he felt no such difficulty in believing as his wife had done,

because he had known similar cases; but he rather rejoiced at having found

a confessor who had experience among persons of his rank of life, and with

whom he could deal at all times without danger of its being known that he

was dealing with a Priest. After his reconciliation, he began on his part

to be anxious about his wife, and wished to consult with us how best to

bring her to the Catholic religion. We both smiled at this, but said

nothing at that time, determining to wait till his wife came up to town,

that we might witness how each loving soul would strive to win the other.

“Certainly they were a favoured pair. Both gave themselves wholly to God’s

service, and the husband afterwards sacrificed all his property, his

liberty, nay, even his life, for God’s Church, as I shall relate

hereafter. For this was that Sir Everard Digby, Knight, of whom later on I

should have had to say many things, if so much had not been already

written and published about him and his companions. But never in any of

these writings has justice been done to the sincerity of his intention,

nor the circumstances properly set forth which would put his conduct in

its true light.

“After this they both came to see me at my residence in the country. But

while there he was again taken ill, and that so violently and dangerously,

that all the Oxford doctors despaired of his life. As, therefore, in all

likelihood he had not long to live, he began to prepare himself earnestly

for a good death, and his wife to think of a more perfect way of life. For

some days she gave herself to learn the method of meditation, and to find

out God’s will with regard to her future life, how she might best direct

it to His glory. To be brief, she came to this determination, that if her

husband should die, she would devote herself entirely to good works,

observe perpetual chastity and exact obedience; that as for her property,

which would be very extensive as they were without children, she would

spend it all in pious uses according to my direction; she would herself

live where and in what style I judged best for the advancement of God’s

honour and the good of her own soul; and she added that her desire was to

wear poor clothing wherever she might be, and observe all the rules of

poverty. All this was to be while the persecution might last in England.

If, however, it should cease, and England should become Catholic, then she

would give her house (a very large and fine one), and all the property her

father left her, for the foundation of a College of the Society: and this

would have been amply sufficient for a first-rate foundation.

“This was her resolution, but God had otherwise arranged, and for that

time happily. For when all the Oxford doctors gave up Sir Everard’s case

as hopeless, I, who loved him much, did not lose heart, but without his

knowledge I sent for a certain Cambridge doctor, a Catholic, and a man of

much learning and experience, whom I had known to cure cases abandoned by

other physicians. On his arrival at our house, where Sir Everard Digby

then was with his wife, after telling him all about the patient, I got him

to examine the sick man himself, and learn from him all about his habit of

body and general constitution. Then I asked him if he thought there was

any hope. He answered, ‘If Sir Everard will venture to put himself

entirely in my hands, I have good hopes, with the help of God, of bringing

him round.’

“The patient on hearing this said to me, ‘Since this doctor is known to

your Reverence, and is chosen by you, I give myself willingly into his

hands.’

“By this doctor, then, he was cured beyond all expectation, and so

completely restored to perfect health that there was not a more robust or

stalwart man in a thousand. He was a most devoted friend to me, just as if

he had been my twin-brother. And this name of brother we always used in

writing to each other. How greatly he was attached me, may be seen from

the following incident. Once when I had gone to a certain house to assist

a soul in agony, he got to learn that I was in great danger there: upon

this he at first expressed a terrible distress, and then immediately said

to his wife that if I should be taken, he was resolved to watch the roads

by which I should be carried prisoner to London, and take with him a

sufficient number of friends and servants to rescue me by force from those

who had me in custody; and if he should miss me on the road, he would

accomplish my release one way or another, even though he should spend his

whole fortune in the venture. Such, then, was his attachment to me at that

time, and this he retained always in the same—nay, rather in an

increased—degree to the end of his life; as he showed by the way he spoke

of me when pleading for his life before the public court. At this time,

however, as I said, he was restored to health; and he and his wife got

together a little domestic church after the pattern of that in our own

house, and built a chapel with a sacristy, furnishing it with costly and

beautiful vestments, and obtained a Priest of the Society for their

chaplain, who remained with them to Sir Everard’s death.

“What was done by this family was done by others also. For many of the

Catholic gentry coming to our house, and seeing the arrangements and

manner of life, followed the example themselves, establishing a sort of

congregation in each of their houses, providing handsome altar furniture,

making convenient arrangements for the residence of Priests, and showing

especial respect and reverence to them.

“Among those who came to this determination was a certain lady resident

near Oxford, whose husband was indeed a Catholic, but overmuch devoted to

worldly pursuits. She, however, gave herself to be directed by me as far

as she could, having such a husband. I often visited them, and was always

welcomed by both; and there I established one of our Fathers, Edward

Walpole, whom I mentioned at an early part of this narrative as having

left a large patrimony for the sake of following Christ our Lord, in the

first year of my residence in England.

“There was another lady also who had a similar wish: she was a relative of

my hostess, and she also resided in the county of Oxford. Her husband was

a Knight of very large property, who hoped to be created a Baron, and

still hopes for it. This lady came on a visit to our house, and wished to

learn the way of meditating, which I taught her; but as her husband was a

heretic, it was impossible for her to have a Priest in her house, as she

greatly wished. She took, however, the resolution of supporting a Priest,

who should come to her at convenient times. She resolved, also, to make a

meditation every day, and to give one or two hours daily to spiritual

reading, when she had no guests in the house. On her coming to me every

six months, I found that she had never omitted her meditation, nor her

daily examination of conscience, except on one occasion when her husband

insisted on her staying with the guests. Yet she had a large and busy

household to superintend, and a continual coming and going of guests.

“It happened on one occasion when I was in this lady’s house, and was

sitting with her after dinner, the servants having gone down to get their

own dinner, that suddenly a guest was shown up who had just arrived. This

was an Oxford Doctor of Divinity, a heretic of some note and a persecutor

of Catholics; his name was Dr. Abbot.(121) He had just before this

published a book against Father Southwell, who had been executed, and

Father Gerard, who had escaped from the Tower, because these two had

defended the doctrine of equivocation, which he chose to impugn. After

this publication, the good man had been made Dean of Winchester, a post

which brought him in a yearly income of eight thousand florins [800_l._].

This man then, as I said, was shown up, and entered the dining-room,

dressed in a sort of silk soutane coming down to his knees, as is the

manner of their chief ministers. We were in appearance sitting at cards,

though when the servants had all left the room we had laid the cards down

to attend to better things. Hearing, however, this gentleman announced, we

resumed our game, so that he found us playing, with a good sum of money on

the table.

“I may here mention, that when I played thus with Catholics, with the view

of maintaining among a mixed company the character in which I appeared, I

always agreed that each one should have his money back afterwards, but

should say an _Ave Maria_ for each piece that was returned to him. It was

on these terms that I frequently played with my brother Digby and other

Catholics, where it appeared necessary, so that the by-standers thought we

were playing for money, and were in hot earnest over it.

“So also this minister never conceived the slightest suspicion of me, but

after the first courtesies began to talk at a pretty pace: for this is the

only thing those chattering ministers can do, who possess no solid

knowledge, but by the persuasive words of human wisdom lead souls astray,

and subvert houses, teaching things that are not convenient. So he, after

much frivolous talk, began to tell us the latest news from London; how a

certain Puritan had thrown himself down from the steeple of a church,

having left it in writing that he knew himself to be secure of his eternal

salvation. About this writing, however, the learned Doctor said nothing,

but I had heard the particulars myself from another quarter.

“ ‘Wretched man!’ said I; ‘what could induce him thus to destroy body and

soul by one and the same act!’

“ ‘Sir,’ said the Doctor, learnedly enough and magisterially, ‘we must not

judge any man.’

“ ‘True,’ I replied; ‘it is just possible that, as he was falling, he

repented of his sin: _inter pontem et fontem_, as they say. But this is

extremely improbable; since the last act of the man of which we have any

means of judging was a mortal sin and deserving of damnation.’

“ ‘But,’ said the Doctor, ‘we cannot know whether this was such a sin.’

“ ‘Nay,’ I replied, ‘this is not left to our judgment; it is God’s own

verdict, when He forbids us under pain of hell to kill any one: a

prohibition which applies especially to the killing of ourselves, for

charity begins from oneself.’

“The good Doctor being here caught, said no more on this point, but turned

the subject, and said, smiling, ‘Gentlemen must not dispute on theological

matters.’

“ ‘True,’ said I, ‘we do not make profession of knowing theology; but at

least we ought to know the law of God, though our profession is to play at

cards.’

“The lady with whom I was playing, hearing him speak to me in this way,

could scarce keep her countenance, thinking within herself what he would

have said if he had known who it was he was answering. The Doctor,

however, did not stay much longer. Whether he departed sooner than he at

first intended, I know not; but I know that we much preferred his room to

his company.”

XXIV.

“I must now return to London, and relate what happened after John Lilly

was taken, and the gentleman imprisoned with whom I rented my London

house. This house being now closed to me, I sought out another, but on a

different plan. I did not now join in partnership with any one, because I

was unwilling to be in the house of one known to be a Catholic. I managed

that this new house should be hired by a nephew of Master Roger Lee, whom

with his wife I had reconciled to the Catholic Church; and, as he was not

known to be a Catholic, the house was entirely free from all suspicion. I

had the use of this house for three years, and during that time it was not

once searched; nor even before the Queen’s death, though there were many

general searches made, and the prisons were choked with Catholics, did

they ever come to this house.

“I had a man to keep the house who was a schismatic, but otherwise an

honest and upright person. When I was in residence, this man provided me

with necessaries; and when I was away, he managed any business for me

according to my written directions. In all appearance he was the servant

of the gentleman who owned the house, and so he was esteemed and called by

the neighbours; and since, as a schismatic, he frequented their churches,

they entertained no suspicion of him, nor of the house.

“For myself, when I came to town, I always entered the house after dark,

and in summer time scarce ever went out while I remained there. But my

friends would come to visit me by ones and twos on different days, that no

special attention might be drawn to the house from the number of visitors.

Nor did they ever bring any servants with them, though some were of very

high rank, and usually went about with a large number of attendants. By

these means I provided better for them and for myself, and was able to

continue longer in this way of life....”

“When I was in London I did not allow every one to come to my house whose

desire to converse with me I was willing to gratify; but I would

sometimes, especially after dark in winter time, go myself to their

houses. On one occasion I was asked by a certain lady to her house to hear

the confession of a young nobleman attached to the Court, who was a dear

friend of her husband’s. Her husband was also a Catholic and well known to

me: though quite a young man, he had been one of the principal captains in

the Irish war. And the young nobleman just mentioned was a Baron, and son

to an Irish Earl, and at this present writing he has himself succeeded to

the earldom on his father’s death.(122) This young Baron, then,” Lord

Dunkellin, “wished to make his confession to me. As I had not known him

before, I put a few questions to him, according to my wont, beforehand. I

asked him, therefore, if he was prepared at once. He answered that he was.

I then asked how often in the year he was accustomed to go to the

Sacraments. ‘Twice or thrice in the year,’ he said.

“ ‘It would be better,’ said I, ‘to come more frequently, and then less

preparation would be necessary. As it is, I should advise you to take a

few days for the exact and diligent examination of your conscience,

according to the method that I will show you; then you will come with

greater fruit, and with greater satisfaction to yourself and to me. And

for the future I would recommend a more frequent use of the holy

Sacraments.’ And I brought some reasons for my advice.

“He listened to me very patiently, and when I had finished he replied, ‘I

will do in future what you recommend, and I would willingly follow your

counsel at present, if it were possible; it is, however, impossible to put

off my present confession.’

“ ‘Why is it impossible?’ I asked.

“ ‘Because,’ he replied, ‘to-morrow I shall be in circumstances of danger,

and I desire to prepare myself by confession to-day.’

“ ‘What danger is this,’ I asked again, ‘to which you will be exposed?’

“ ‘There is a gentleman at Court,’ he said, ‘who has grievously insulted

me, so that I was compelled in defence of my honour to challenge him to

single combat, and we meet to-morrow at an appointed spot at some distance

from town.’

“ ‘My lord,’ I exclaimed, ‘to approach the Sacrament in such a frame of

mind is not to prepare yourself for danger, nor to cleanse your soul

(though I doubt not it was with a good intention you proposed it), but

rather to sully your soul more than ever, to affront God still further,

and render Him still more your enemy. For to come to confession with a

determination of taking vengeance is to put an obstacle to the grace of

the Sacrament; and, moreover, this particular action on which you are

resolved is not only a sin, but is visited with excommunication. I urge

you, therefore, to give up this intention; you will be able to preserve

your honour by some other way. Nay, the honour you think to preserve by

this is not real honour, but merely the estimation of bad men founded on

bad principles: men who exalt their own worldly ideas above the law and

honour of God.’

“ ‘It is impossible to withdraw now,’ he said, ‘for the thing is known to

many, and has been taken even to the Queen, who has expressly forbidden us

to pursue the matter any further.’

“ ‘Well then,’ said I, ‘you have the best possible reason for laying aside

the quarrel, namely, obedience to the Queen’s behest. Moreover, you must

remember that you are known for the intimate friend of the Earl of Essex,

and that, if you overcome your adversary, the Queen (if it be only to

spite the Earl) will certainly visit you with some heavy punishment for

having disregarded her commands; but if you should kill him,

unquestionably she will take your life. On the other hand, if you should

be vanquished, what becomes of the honour you wish to defend, and if you

should be slain in that state of soul in which you go to the fight, you go

straight to eternal fire and everlasting shame, for while you are

defending your body from your adversary’s sword, you forget to parry the

mortal thrust that the devil is aiming at your soul.’

“But spite of all I could say, the fear of the world, which is fatally

powerful with men of this rank, prevailed, and his reply was, ‘I implore

you, Father, to pray for me, and to hear my confession if you possibly

can.’

“ ‘Certainly I cannot hear you,’ I said, ‘for that honour which you

worship is not necessary to you, in the sense in which it is to those who

are obliged to take their part in a war. Besides, you are the challenger,

and you took this unlawful course when it was possible for you to follow

some other method of vindicating yourself, and so whatever necessity there

is for pursuing the matter has been created by yourself. But this is what

I will do; I will give you from my reliquary a particle of the Holy Cross,

inclosed with an Agnus Dei, and you shall wear it upon you. Perhaps God

may have mercy upon you for the sake of this, and afford you time for

penance. Understand, however, I do not give it you in order to encourage

you in your bad purpose, but that you may wear it with all reverence and

respect, so that, should you come into danger (which certainly I do not

desire), God may be moved to preserve your life, in the consideration of

the good will you have of honouring His Cross.’

“He took my gift very thankfully and reverentially, and had it sewed

inside his shirt over his heart, for it was arranged that they should

fight in their shirts without cuirass. It happened, God so allowing it,

that his adversary made a lunge at his heart and pierced his shirt, but

did not touch his skin. He on his side wounded and prostrated his enemy,

then gave him his life and came off victorious. He then came to me in high

spirits, and told me how he had been preserved by the power of the Holy

Cross; then he thanked me very earnestly, and promised to be more on his

guard in future. The Queen soon after took a fancy to this young nobleman,

and kept him close to her at Court for a time. But tiring soon of this

sort of life, at his father’s death he married the widow of the Earl of

Essex. She was a heretic when he married her, but he soon made her a

Catholic, and they both live now as Catholics in Ireland, as I hear.

“That Knight, moreover, who introduced this young Baron to me, followed my

counsel at that time, and after devoting several days to a diligent

examination of conscience, made a general confession of his whole life,

with a view of reforming it for the future. A little later he was desirous

of returning to the Irish wars, but as I was in doubt whether this was

lawful in conscience, he promised me to resign his appointment and return

to England, if the Priests there, to whom I referred him as living on the

spot, and therefore having a closer knowledge of the circumstances,

decided that it was unlawful. Soon after his arrival in Ireland, in a

certain fight, while he was bravely mounting a wall and animating his men

to follow, he was struck dead by a musket-ball. He had, however, before

the fight, carefully written me a letter and sent it off, informing me

that he had consulted the Priests in the country, and had received this

answer, that it was lawful to fight against the Catholic party, because it

was not clear to all why they had taken up arms.

“After his death a remarkable incident occurred, which I will relate. His

wife, pious soul, who never had the least idea of her husband’s death,

about that time heard every night some one knocking at her chamber door,

and that so loudly as to wake her. Her maids heard it too, but on opening

the door there was no one to be seen. She therefore got a Priest to stay

with her and her maids till the usual time of the knocking, and when the

same noise and knocking at the door were heard, the Priest himself went to

the door, but found no one. This knocking went on till such time as news

of her husband’s death reached her, as if it had been a warning from his

Angel to pray for his soul....”

“Having held this house for three years, I let it to a Catholic friend,

and took another house near the principal street in London, called the

Strand. Since most of my friends lived in that street, they were thus able

to visit me more easily, and I them. After my removal I discovered how

entirely free from suspicion was the house which I had left, and in which

I had dwelt for three years; for the servant who kept my house sent for a

gardener with whom he had been acquainted in the other house (for the

garden of the new house needed to be put in order), and the gardener

remarked to him, ‘Some Papists have come to live in your old house:’ as

though they who had previously dwelt there had been good Protestants.

“This new house was very suitable and convenient, and had private

entrances on both sides, and I had contrived in it some most excellent

hiding-places; and there I should long have remained, free from all peril

or even suspicion, if some friends of mine, while I was absent from

London, had not availed themselves of the house rather rashly. It

remained, however, in the same state up to the time of the great and

terrible disturbance of the Powder Plot, as I shall hereafter shortly

mention.

“Meantime my friends brought me another who was heir to a barony, and is

himself now a peer, and by God’s grace I persuaded him to take on his

shoulders the yoke of the law of Christ and of the Catholic faith, and

made him a member of the Church. Another whom I had previously known in

the world, and had seen to be wholly devoted to every kind of vanity, fell

sick. He had abounded with riches and pleasures, and passed his days in

jollity, destined, however, to fall from thence in a moment, had not God

patiently waited, and in a suitable time led him to penance. He then was

lying sick of a grievous illness, but yet had not begun to think of death.

I heard that he was sick, and obtained an entry into his chamber at eleven

o’clock at night, after the departure of his friends. He recognized me,

and was pleased at my visit. I explained why I had come, and warned him to

think seriously of the state of his soul, and, instead of a Judge, render

God a Friend and most loving Father, however much he might have wasted all

his substance. So then weakness of body opened the ears of his heart, and

in an acceptable time God heard us, and in the day of salvation helped us;

insomuch that he offered himself as at once ready to make his confession.

I, however, said I would return on the following night, and advised him

meantime to procure that there should be read to him, by a friend whom I

named, Father Lewis of Grenada’s _Explanation of the Commandments_: that

after each Commandment he should occupy some little time in reflection,

and call to mind how, and how often, he had offended against that

Commandment; that he should then make an act of sorrow regarding each, and

so go on to the next. He promised that he would do so, and I promised that

I would return on the following night. This I did, and heard his

confession; I gave him all the assistance I could, for the time had been

short, especially for a sick man, to prepare for such a confession, but he

dared no longer defer it, although he still seemed tolerably strong. I

advised him to use the utmost care in discharging all his debts, which

were great, through the extravagant expenditure in which he had indulged;

I also exhorted him to redeem his sins by alms. He did both by the will he

made the following day, and bequeathed a large sum for pious uses, which,

as I heard, was honestly paid.

“I also bade him prepare for the Holy Communion and Extreme Unction

against the following night, and to have some pious book read to him

meantime. He not only did what I advised, but exhorted all that came to

visit him on the following day, to repent at once of their former life,

and not defer their amendment as he had done: ‘Do not,’ he said, ‘look for

the mercy which I have found, for this is to be presumptuous and to

irritate God; for I have deserved hell a thousand times on this account.’

And much more to the same effect did he speak, with so much earnestness

and freedom, that all marvelled at so sudden a change. They asked him to

hide the cross which he had hanging from his neck (for I had lent him my

own cross full of relics to kiss, and exercise acts of reverence and

love); but he answered, ‘Hide it! Nay, I would not hide it, even if the

most bitter heretics were here. Too long have I refrained from profession

of the Catholic faith, and now, if God gave me life, I would publicly

profess myself a Catholic:’ so that all marvelled and were much edified

and moved at his words. He spoke thus to all the peers and great men that

visited him. His conversion thus became publicly known, and many of the

courtiers afterwards spoke of it. On the third night of my visiting him

according to my promise, he again made his confession with great

expressions of sorrow, and begged for the Sacrament of Extreme Unction,

and when he received it, himself arranged for me more conveniently to

reach the different parts of his body, just as though he had been a

Catholic many years. Seeing him in such good disposition, I asked him

whether he did not put all his trust in the merits of Christ and in the

mercy of God. ‘Surely!’ said he; ‘did I not do so, and did not that mercy

give me salvation, I should have been condemned to the pit of hell; in

myself I find no ground of hope, but rather of trembling. But I feel great

hope in the mercy and goodness of God, Who has so long waited for me, and

now has called me when I deserved, aye, and thought of, anything but

this!’ Then he took my hand and said, ‘Father, I cannot express how much I

am indebted to you, for you were sent by God to give me this happiness.’ I

found, moreover, that he had no temptation against faith, but most firmly

believed and confessed every point, and I saw most clearly that God had

poured into his soul the habits of many virtues. Then I erected an altar

in his chamber with the ornaments which I had brought, and I said Mass,

while he assisted with great devotion and comfort. I afterwards gave him

the Viaticum, which he received with the utmost reverence. When I had

finished everything, I gave him some advice that would be useful should he

fall into his agony before my return, and I left him full of consolation.

Now, see the providence of God: but a few hours after my departure, as he

was persevering in petitions for mercy, and in acts of thanksgiving for

the mercy he had received, he rendered up his soul to God. But before his

death, he asked the by-standers whether certain purple and red robes could

be applied to the use of the altar, which he had received from the King

when he was created a Knight of the Order of the Bath. The investiture of

this order takes place only at the coronation of the King, and the Knights

enjoy precedence before all other Knights except those of the most noble

Order of the Garter, almost all of whom are Earls or other peers. He,

however, was a Knight of the Bath, and he wished that the robes with which

he had been invested at the coronation should be devoted to the use of the

altar; for he said that he had derived great comfort from seeing my

vestments, which were merely light and portable, but yet handsome, of red

silk embroidered with silver lace. So after his death they gave me his

suit of the peculiar robes of that order, and out of them I made sets of

vestments of two colours, one of which the College of St. Omers still

possesses. Thus is the pious desire of the deceased fulfilled, in whose

conversion I could not fail to see God’s great goodness and providence.

“About the same time I received into the Church a lady, the wife of a

certain Knight, who is at the present day a very good and useful friend of

our Fathers. Her husband was at this time a heretic, but his brother had

been brought by me, through the Spiritual Exercises, to despise the world

and follow the counsels of Christ. He introduced me to his sister, and

after one or two interviews she embraced the Catholic faith, although she

was well assured that she would incur great losses as soon as it should

become known to her husband, as in truth it came to pass. For he first

tried caresses, then threats, and left no means unemployed to shake her

resolution, insomuch that for a long time she had nothing to expect or

hope but to be separated from her husband, and stripped of all the goods

of the world, that so in patience she might possess her soul. When her

husband was on her account deprived of the public employment which he

held, she bore it with great fortitude, and remained ever constant and

even in mind. At length, by her virtue and her patience, she rendered her

husband a friend to Catholics, and afterwards himself a Catholic. He was

reconciled by the ministry of Father Walpole, to whom I had recommended

her on my leaving England.

“There were many other conversions, which I cannot mention separately, for

I have already carried to too great length the narrative of these events,

which are truly very insignificant if they are compared with the actions

of others.”

XXV.

“One case more I cannot pass over, which gave me especial pleasure for the

sake of the person concerned; for I do not know that any one was ever more

dear to me.

“Sir Everard Digby, of whom I have spoken above, had a friend for whom he

felt a peculiar affection. He had often recommended him to me, and was

anxious to give me an opportunity of making his acquaintance and gaining

him over, if it possibly might be; but because he held an office in the

Court, requiring daily attendance about the King’s person, so that he

could not be absent for long together, our desire was long delayed.

“At last Sir Everard met his friend, while we were both together in

London; and he took an opportunity of asking him to come at a certain time

to his chamber, to play at cards, for these are the books gentlemen in

London study both night and day. He promised to come, and on his arrival

he did not find a party at play, but only us two sitting and conversing

very seriously; so Sir Everard asked him to sit down a little, until the

rest should arrive. Then, in an interval of silence, Sir Everard said, ‘We

two were engaged in a very serious conversation, in fact, concerning

religion. You know,’ he said, addressing the visitor, ‘that I am friendly

to Catholics and to the Catholic faith; I was, nevertheless, disputing

with this gentleman, who is a friend of mine, against the Catholic faith,

in order to see what defence he could make; for he is an earnest Catholic,

as I do not hesitate to tell you.’ Then, turning to me, he begged me not

to be vexed that he betrayed me to a stranger. ‘And I must say,’ he

continued, ‘he so well defended the Catholic faith that I could not answer

him, and I am glad that you have come to help me.’

“The visitor was young and confident, and trusting in his own great

abilities, expected to carry everything before him, so good was his cause

and so lightly did he esteem me, as he afterwards confessed. So he began

to allege many objections to the arguments before used. I waited with

patience until he ceased speaking, and then answered in few words. He

urged his points, and so we argued one against the other for a short

hour’s space. Afterwards I began to explain my view more fully, and to

confirm it with texts of Holy Scripture and passages from the Fathers, and

with such reasons as came to my mind. And I felt, as I often did, God

supplying me words as I spoke on His behalf in great might, not for the

sake of me that spoke, nor for any desert of mine, but just as He gives

milk to a mother when she has an infant who needs to be fed with milk. My

young friend was of a docile nature, and could no way bear to speak

against the truth when he saw it; so that he listened in silence, and God

was meantime speaking to his heart with a voice far more powerful and

efficacious. God, too, gave him ears to hear, so that the word fell not

upon stony ground, nor among thorns, but into good soil, yea, very good,

that yielded by God’s grace a hundred-fold in its season. So before he

left, he was fully resolved to become a Catholic, and took with him a book

to assist him in preparing for a good confession, which he made before a

week had passed. And from that time it was not enough for him to walk in

the ordinary path of God’s commandments, but God prepared him for higher

things; and whatever counsels I gave him he received with eagerness, and

retained not only in a faithful memory, but in a most ready will. He began

to use the daily examination of conscience, and even learned the method of

meditation, and made a meditation every day. He was forced to rise very

early to do this before he went to the King, which in summer was at break

of day, for the King went hunting every day, and he, by duty of his

office, was necessarily present at the royal breakfast. He would,

moreover, so with his whole soul devour pious books, that he always had

one in his pocket; and in the King’s Court and in the Presence-chamber,

while courtiers and ladies were standing around, you might see him turn

himself to a window, and there read a chapter of Thomas à Kempis’

_Imitation of Christ_, a book with which he was most intimate; and after

he had read it, you might see him turn in body, but not in mind, towards

the others, for there he would stand rapt in thought, while the rest

perhaps were supposing that he was admiring the beauty of some lady, or

thinking over the means to climb to great honours. In truth, he had no

need to take particular pains about this, for, in the first place, he was

son and brother to an Earl, and, moreover, the place and office which he

filled were very honourable, giving him the ear of the King every day. His

wit could not fail to distinguish favourable opportunities for gaining his

requests, and, in fact, the King had given him an office which he

afterwards sold, but which, had he kept it, would have brought him in more

than ten thousand florins [1,000_l._] a year. In short, such was his

position that he would undoubtedly have soon risen to great honours; for

he made himself acceptable to all, and was not a little beloved, insomuch

that after he had left the Court and given up all hope of worldly honour,

I heard it said by some persons of the greatest eminence and experience in

the ways of the Court, that they had never in forty years’ space known any

one so highly valued and beloved in every quarter.

“But, what is far more important, he was beloved in the Court of the King

of Kings, and inspired to desire and seek after greater and more abiding

blessings. So he conceived the wish of trying the Spiritual Exercises, in

the course of which he determined to desert the Court, and devote himself

to those pursuits which would render him most pleasing to God and most

profitable to his neighbour; so with as little delay as possible he made

such a disposition of his goods as would enable him freely to make his

escape from England. He then, to the surprise of all, asked and obtained

the King’s leave to go to Italy, where he still resides, and he is so well

known to our Fathers that there is no need to write anything more

concerning him; but this I can say, that wherever I have known him to have

been, he has left men filled with great esteem for him, and expectation of

yet greater things....”

“The conversions which took place in the country were not few, and some

were cases of heads of families; but I have already gone to great length,

and I will here recount one only, the beginning and end of which I saw to

be good.

“There was a lady, a kinswoman of my hostess, whose husband had now many

years been a Catholic, yet neither her husband, nor any of her friends,

nor my hostess herself, who loved her as a sister, could ever lead her to

become a Catholic. She did not object to listen to Catholics, even to

Priests, and was fond of earnest argument with them; but she would believe

no one but herself, and indeed her talents were greater than I have often

met with in a woman. My hostess often mourned over this lady, and grieved

that no remedy could be found; she wished that I should once see her. She

spoke highly in praise of her talents and amiable disposition, and of her

life and behaviour in all respects, with the one solitary exception of her

being an obstinate heretic. I asked my hostess, therefore, to invite her

to pay us a visit, although she lived in a distant county. She came

according to the invitation, and we took care that she should find me

showing myself in public, and dressed as though I had been a guest just

arrived from London. On the first two days we did but little, for we knew

that she would have plenty of time afterwards, and I wished to remove all

timidity from her; for though she had been accustomed to meet Priests at

that house, yet they had kept mostly to their chambers. But as soon as I

judged her to be convinced that I was a Catholic, but not a Priest, I

began slowly to turn my conversation with her often upon religion. At

first I spoke little, but to such purpose that she could not answer me;

and so I left her, not urging her, but rather leaving her with a desire to

hear more. At length, after a few days, I judged her thoroughly prepared,

and I arranged that my hostess should begin to talk seriously upon these

topics, and that when she saw me enter into the conversation and carry it

on, she should leave us in company with one or two of the lady’s

daughters, for she had brought three with her. This having been done, we

began the combat with, as it seemed to her, various success, for one or

two hours; and then she listened to me as I spoke without interruption for

two or three hours more. She spoke little in answer, and did not like on

the spot to acknowledge herself vanquished, but she thanked me heartily,

and went away quite red and flushed in the face. She was truly moved, or,

rather, changed interiorly, and straightway she ran to my hostess and

said, ‘Oh, cousin, what have you done?’

“ ‘What have I done?’ replied the other.

“ ‘Oh, who is it,’ she rejoined, ‘that you introduced me to? Is he such a

one as you represented to me? At any rate, he is,’ ... and she spoke in

much higher terms of my learning and language than I deserved, and she

added that she could not resist what I urged, nor answer it.

“On the following day God confirmed what He had wrought in her, and she

surrendered at discretion, and accepted a book to help her to prepare for

confession. Meantime, with the mother’s consent and assistance, I

instructed her three daughters, and when they had learned the catechism, I

heard their confessions. The mother, however, during the time of her

preparation, began to be filled with trouble and sorrow, not on account of

leaving her heresy, but through fear of confession. I, on the contrary,

encouraged her to persevere, and adduced arguments against her timidity,

but I could not rid her of it, and so, seeing that she was ready as far as

examination was concerned, but nevertheless put the matter off from day to

day, and begged a little more time to prepare, I would not consent. I told

her that this came from the enemy, who grieved to leave his habitation,

and at length she saw and acknowledged this. For as soon as out of

obedience she had made her confession, she felt relieved of a great

burden, and filled with consolation; and she told me that now she was glad

not to have delayed longer.

“I have often found this, that some souls experience great trouble when

first they make confession on being reconciled to the Church of God. Some

persons even fall sick and faint, so as to be forced to cease speaking for

a time and sit down, until they have recovered a little and are able to

continue; and this has happened even when at their first coming they were

in sound health, and ready to confess. And then when they recommenced,

they again fell ill, and this happened two or three times in the course of

their first confession. But when the confession was finished, they not

only felt no sickness, but having received absolution, they went away full

of joy and consolation. Some, in fact, have remarked to me, that did men

but know what consolation is gained in confession, they would never be

deprived of so great a happiness.

“Among these was to be reckoned this lady, who came forth from confession

full of consolation, and gave most hearty thanks to her cousin, for that

by her means she had been admitted to share in so great a happiness. So

great was God’s mercy towards her, that thenceforth she gave herself

wholly up to devotion. On her return home she devoted herself to making

handsome vestments, and, whenever she was able, she procured the company

of Priests. And not content with this, she was anxious to return wholly to

our house, and to dwell with us, in order to have more frequent access to

the Sacraments, and the opportunity of hearing the public and private

exhortations that we had every Sunday and Festival-day. She stayed with us

about two years, and all that time she gave herself up to devotion and the

constant reading of pious books. She was clearly led to this course of

life by the special mercy and providence of God; for at the end of the

period I have mentioned, although she seemed stout and strong, she was

suddenly attacked with disease, by which, within a few days, she was so

weakened, that no skill of the physicians could restore her strength. She

was warned to prepare for the life to come, and she repeated a good and

careful confession of her whole life.

“At length, finding herself in her last agony, she wished to write a

letter to her brother, who was a heretic, and almost the greatest enemy

the Catholics had in the county in which he dwelt. To him, then, she

wished to send a letter, written by her daughter’s hand, but subscribed

with her own, to the following effect: That he knew she had long been a

strenuous upholder of this new religion, so that he might be the more

convinced that she would not have changed it without good grounds, and

that she had certain and unanswerable authorities for the faith which she

had adopted; wherefore she protested to him that ever since the time when

she embraced the faith she had lived in peace of conscience, and that

never before that time had she enjoyed true internal consolation; finally,

she begged him to have a care of his soul, and proceeded thus: ‘I, your

sister, now at the point of death, by these my last words, beg and beseech

you to embrace the Catholic and ancient faith; and I protest that there is

no other in which you can be saved.’ These were her sentiments when almost

come into her last agony, from which I perceived that she was wholly

converted from heresy, and full of charity towards her neighbour; so

having asked her a few questions, and found that she was not troubled with

any temptations of presumption or of despair, I gave her as much help as I

could in forming and uttering acts of the opposite virtues. After which,

when she was on the point of death, I offered her a picture of the Passion

of Christ, and she embraced and kissed it with the greatest affection. I

put also a blessed medal into her hands, and reminded her to invoke the

name of Jesus in her heart at least, in order to gain the indulgences,

although she could not speak. I then asked her to give some sign to show

that she did thus from her heart, whereupon she caught hold of the medal

and kissed it, repeating this action several times. Observing she made

answer to me by signs, I bade her conceive a great sorrow for ever having

offended God, Who was so good in Himself, and had shown so great mercy to

her, and to give a sign of it by raising her hand: she did so with great

earnestness; then to conceive sorrow that she had ever been in heresy, and

had resisted God and the Church, of which also she gave a sign; then to

conceive the wish that all heretics might be converted, and that she

willingly offered her life for their conversion, and she again made the

signal with great earnestness, and also took my hand within her own, which

were already chill, and held it firmly, repeating the signs that she was

pleased with the suggestions I made to her. And I continued up to her last

gasp, encouraging her, and exhorting her to praise God in her heart, to

desire that all creatures should praise and serve Him, and to offer her

life for this end. And she gave me answer to everything, now raising, now

lowering her hand; just as I asked her to do in assent to what I

suggested. All the by-standers, who were numerous, and a Priest also who

was among them, were in great admiration, and declared that they never

witnessed such a death as this. For she continued, as I have said,

responding to my suggestions up to the very last breath, raising her hand

slightly when she could no longer raise it much. In these interior acts

she gave up her soul, without any trouble of mind or convulsion of body,

but like one going off to sleep, she went to rest in peace.

“Her youngest daughter had already died holily in our house before her

mother. The second daughter married a rich man, and brought him to me from

a considerable distance to be made a Catholic. The eldest still lives in

the same house, to be espoused not to man but to God, for she has a

vocation to the Religious state. In the meantime she lives there

religiously, and devotes herself to the service of Religious, as the lady

of the house always did, and does still....”

“I gave the Spiritual Exercises in this house to many others, as well to

those who formed part of the family as to others; and in each case the

fruit which I hoped for was produced....”

“But suddenly all things were upset for a time, and all good hindered by

the Powder Plot, as it is called. And if proof were wanting that I knew

nothing of this affair, this alone would be sufficient, that at that very

time I had sent several from England across the sea into these parts. One

was a lady, who was going to be a Nun in the Benedictine Convent at

Brussels, whither I had sent two others not long before, who are now in

high authority there. Another had been an heretical minister, whom I had

brought to the Faith and instructed. He was the last that I received into

the Church before these disturbances. When these persons, with certain

others, were on the point of crossing the Channel, orders were sent to

allow no ships to leave; they were, consequently, all taken and thrown

into prison, from which they were released two years ago. He who had been

a minister is at present studying in the Roman College; and the lady of

whom I spoke is now professed in the convent whither she was going when

she was taken. Only one other minister besides the one just mentioned did

I convert in England, and he is now a Priest and is working in that

vineyard. I also sent over many youths to the Seminaries while I was in

this last residence of mine, who will, by God’s help, give fruit in due

season.

“But if we have received good things from God’s hands, why should we not

also bear with evil things?—if those things can be truly called evil which

are sent from Him, and therefore sent that He may draw good from them, for

those who receive them well, and humbly recognize and adore His

providence, both when He gives and when He takes away. He had, indeed,

given me many and great consolations in this residence; interior

consolations chiefly, from conversions and from the signal progress in

virtue of many souls; but exterior consolations were not wanting. For in

external matters everything was well and abundantly supplied me. I had

several excellent horses for my missionary journeys, and all that I could

wish for to carry on the work I had in hand. Then, in the house itself,

the arrangements were made in the best way both for our health and our

convenience. And for companion I had Father Strange, who is now in the

Tower(123) (for Master Digby had obtained Father Percy from the Superior),

and another Priest who resided a long time with us. We had, moreover, good

store of useful books, which were kept in a library without any

concealment, because they had the appearance of belonging to the young

Baron, and of having been left him by his uncle,(124) who was a very

learned and studious nobleman, and was well known for his piety. He had,

in fact, resigned the right and title of the barony to his younger

brother, the father of the present lord, in order that he might more

entirely and securely devote himself to God and his studies. If he had

lived a little longer, he would assuredly have been a member of our

Society, for on his death-bed this was the only thing that caused him

regret, namely, that he could not then be admitted into the Society, a

thing he desired most earnestly.

“Our vestments and altar furniture were both plentiful and costly. We had

two sets for each colour which the Church uses; one for ordinary use, the

other for Feast-days: some of these latter were embroidered with gold and

pearls, and figured by well-skilled hands. We had six massive silver

candlesticks on the altar, besides those at the sides for the Elevation;

the cruets were of silver also, as were the basin for the lavabo, the

bell, and the thurible. There were, moreover, lamps hanging from silver

chains, and a silver crucifix on the altar. For greater Festivals,

however, I had a crucifix of gold, a foot in height, on the top of which

was represented a pelican, while on the right arm of the cross was an

eagle with expanded wings carrying on its back its young ones, who were

also attempting to fly; on the left arm a phœnix expiring in flames that

it might leave an offspring after it; and at the foot was a hen with her

chickens, gathering them under her wings. All this was made of wrought

gold by a celebrated artist....”

“But I, who was not sufficiently grateful to God for these benefits which

I have mentioned, and many others, was compelled to leave them to others

who could use them better and to greater advantage.

“For since it was my chief friends who were involved in that disaster of

the Powder Plot, the Council on this account believed me to be privy to

it, and from the first sought for me with great persistence and severity.

They sent certain magistrates to search our house most exactly, with

orders, if they found me not, to stay in the house till recalled, to post

guards all round the house every night, and to have men on the watch both

day and night at a distance of three miles from the house on every side,

who were to apprehend all whom they did not know and bring them before the

Justices. All this was done to the letter. But immediately the news

reached us of such a plot having been discovered, and we learnt that

certain of our friends had been killed and others taken, expecting that in

such a season we, too, should have something to suffer, we had made all

snug before they came, so that they found nothing. They continued

searching, however, for many days, till at last my hostess discovered to

the Justice in chief command one of the hiding-places in which a few books

had been stowed away, thinking that he would then desist from searching

any further, under the impression that if a Priest had been in the house

he would have been hidden there, yet they continued in the house for full

nine days; and I, meanwhile, remained shut up in a hole where I could sit,

but not stand upright. This time, however, I did not suffer from hunger,

for every night food was brought to me secretly; nay, after four or five

days, when the rigour of the search was somewhat relaxed, my friends even

took me out at night and warmed me at a fire, for it was wintry weather,

just before Christmas-tide. And when nine days had passed the searching

party withdrew, believing it impossible I could be there so long without

being discovered.

“In the meantime they had taken a Priest, who, knowing nothing of the

watch set about the place, was coming to our house for safety. This good

Priest (by name Thomas Laithwaite,(125) who is now of our Society, and is

labouring in England) had left us a few days before at my request, when we

heard of the Plot, in order to communicate with Father Garnett, and obtain

from him for me instructions how to act in the present crisis. Even on his

way thither he was taken, but escaped again for that time in the following

manner. His captors took him to an inn, intending to bring him up for

examination and committal the next day. On entering the inn he took off

his cloak and sword and laid them on a bench; then, on pretence of looking

after his horse and getting him taken to water, he went to the stable,

and, as there was a stream near the house, he bade the boy lead the horse

thither at once, and himself went along also. When they had come to the

stream and the horse was drinking, ‘Go,’ said he to the lad, ‘get ready

the hay and the straw for his bed, and I will bring him back when he has

drunk.’ The boy returned to the stable without further thought, and he,

mounting his horse, spurred him into the stream, and swam him to the

opposite bank. Those in the inn, seeing his cloak and sword still lying

there, had for some time no suspicion of his stratagem; but hearing from

the stable-boy what had happened, they saw they had been outwitted, and

immediately set off in pursuit. They were, however, too late, for the

fugitive, knowing the way well, got to the house of a Catholic before

night, and lay hid there for a few days. Then, finding that he could not

get to Father Garnett, and thinking all danger had passed in our

direction, he tried to return to me. But while avoiding Charybdis he fell

into the clutches of Scylla; for, as I said above, he was taken on his way

to our house, and dragged to London. They were not able, however, to prove

him a Priest, and his brother was allowed to buy him his freedom for a sum

of money.

“Two other Priests who were resident with me in that house (one of whom,

as I said before, was Father Strange), at the beginning of their troubles

wished to go to Father Garnett and remain with him. Both of them, however,

were taken prisoners on their way; one was thrown into Bridewell, and was

afterwards banished, together with other Priests, while Father Strange,

the other, was sent to the Tower, where he suffered much, as has been

before mentioned.”

XXVI.

“The history of the Plot, its causes and consequences, is but too well

known; since it has been written by both friends and enemies, though

perhaps by neither exactly as it ought to be. I myself, when I came from

England to Rome, was ordered to put in writing an account of the whole

affair, and did so as well as I could. There is no need, therefore, to

repeat here what I wrote at length on that occasion....”(126)

“I will now add a few words about myself before closing this narrative. I

have stated in the other treatise, of which I spoke, that a proclamation

was issued against three Jesuit Fathers, of whom I was one; and, though

the most unworthy, I was named first in the proclamation, whereas I was

the subject of one, and far inferior in all respects to the other. All

this, however, I solemnly protest, was utterly groundless; for I knew

absolutely nothing of the Plot from any one whatsoever, not even under the

seal of confession as the other two did; nor had I the slightest notion

that any such scheme was entertained by any Catholic gentleman, until by

public rumour news was brought us of its discovery, as it was to all

others dwelling in that part of the country.

“When I saw by that long search of nine days that I was sought after and

aimed at in particular, I wrote a public letter, as if to some friends, in

which, by many arguments, and by protestations beyond all cavil, I

maintained my entire innocence of the charges brought against me. Of this

letter I caused many copies to be taken, and to be dropped about the

London streets very early in the morning. These were found and read by

many persons, and a copy was shown to the King by one of the Lords of

Council, who was no enemy either of mine or of my cause. The King, as I

heard, was personally satisfied by this. Afterwards, however, when

information was given them of Father Garnett’s hiding-place, and they

conceived hopes of catching him, and of turning the whole charge on the

Society, they thought it necessary to publish the names of some of ours as

the principal contrivers of the Plot. So they put my name down, as well as

those of the other two Fathers, of whom they had heard from a certain

servant of Master Catesby. This man, however, before his death, repenting

of this injury he had done them, confessed that he had been induced to say

what he did of them against his conscience, by the fear of death on the

one hand, and by the hope of pardon, and by the persuasions and

suggestions of Secretary Cecil on the other. And it is possible that some

persons at that time had a real suspicion that I was privy to the thing,

because they knew that many of the gentlemen who had been taken were

friends of mine, and were in the habit of visiting me at my London house.

This, indeed, was acknowledged by one of them in his examination, though

at the same time he affirmed that I knew nothing of their scheme. Nor did

they ever get a single word against me from any of their examinations.

Master Digby, indeed, who was known to be most intimate with me, and for

that reason was most strictly examined about me, publicly protested in

open court that he never dare mention a syllable of it to me, because I

should never have permitted him to go on with it. When I heard of all

this, and, besides, had learnt several particulars concerning Father

Garnett, which proved that any knowledge he had was under seal of

confession, and imparted to him by the only Priest of the Society who knew

of it, and that also only in confession, it seemed to me that I was

sufficiently cleared of the charge; and in order to bring this fact into

notice, I prepared three letters to three Lords of the Council, a little

before the death of the condemned conspirators, in which I showed more at

full that I was completely ignorant of the whole matter, and pointed out

how they might satisfy themselves of the same while those gentlemen were

yet alive. Whether they did so or not, I do not know; but this much I

know, that in the whole process of Father Garnett’s trial, in which after

the receipt of these letters they tried their utmost to defame the whole

Society, and in particular to charge this Plot on the English mission,

they never once mentioned me. They spoke, indeed, of three Fathers as

guilty, but they named those two who had heard of it in confession, and

Father Ouldcorne, not as privy to the Plot beforehand, but as an

accomplice _post factum_.

“Nevertheless, I took the greatest precaution to remain hidden; and I lay

at a place in London known to no one. So by the protection of God I

continued safe, and if it had seemed good I could have remained so still

longer. I did not, therefore, leave England to avoid being taken, but as

in that great disturbance it was no time for labouring, but rather for

keeping quiet, I took a favourable opportunity that presented itself of

passing over into these parts and reposing a little, that after so long a

period of distracting work in all kinds of company, I might take breath

and recover strength for future labours. Why, even at that very time when

I was keeping so close, and when nearly all my friends were either in

prison, or so upset that they could scarcely help themselves, much less

me, though I had lost the house I had in London, through the fault of one

who disclosed it, as I have said, and though strict watch was kept

everywhere, and danger beset me on all sides; yet, before I had settled to

leave England, I managed to hire another house in London very fit for my

purpose, perhaps more so than the former. I managed also to furnish it

with everything necessary, and made some good hiding-places in it; and

there I remained in safety the whole of Lent before my departure. Besides

this house I also hired another, finer and larger than this, which I

intended should be in common between Father Antony Hoskins and me. This

house after my departure was used by the Superior of the mission for a

considerable time.

“The first of these last-mentioned houses I brought into some little

danger, about the end of Lent, in order to rescue one of our Fathers from

imminent danger. The thing happened in this wise. The good Father, by name

Thomas Everett, had gone to a gentleman’s house in London, where there

were some false brethren, or else some talkative ones; for the fact

reached the ears of the Council. And as he is something of my height, and

has black hair, Cecil thought it was I of whom notice was given him, and

said to a private friend of his, ‘Now we shall have him,’ naming me.

However, he had neither the one nor the other. For I, learning that the

Father had gone to this place, where he could not possibly remain hidden,

asked my friend, in whose house I had myself been concealed before I had

procured and furnished my new abode, to fetch him and keep him close in

his house for a time, which he did. Here he remained while the house he

had just left was undergoing a strict search. Now it so happened that,

after a few days, a search was also made in the very place to which he had

been brought, on account of some books of Father Garnett’s which had been

seen, and which this gentleman used to keep for him. After rifling the

place well and finding no one, for Father Everett had betaken himself to a

hiding-place, they carried off the master and mistress of the house, and

threw them into prison. Now when I heard this, and knew there was no

Catholic left in the house, fearing lest the Father should either perish

with hunger, or come forth to be taken, I sent persons from my own house,

to whom I described the position of his hiding-place. They went thither,

and called to him, and knocked at the place, for him to open it; he,

however, would neither open nor answer, though they said that I had sent

them for him. For, as he did not know their voices, he was afraid that

this was a trick of the searchers, who sometimes pretend to depart, and

then after a time return, and assuming a friendly tone, go about the

rooms, asking any who are hidden to come out, for that the searchers are

all gone. The good Father suspected that this was the case now, and

therefore made no answer. My messengers remained a long time trying to

reassure him, and at last were obliged to return, but so late, that they

fell into the hands of the watch. They were detained in custody that

night, and got off with some difficulty the next day. One of them,

however, was recognized as having formerly lived with a Catholic, and was

therefore believed to be a Catholic himself, and as it was now known that

he lived in the house that I had hired, this brought that house into

suspicion, though it had been ostensibly hired by a schismatic, who was

under no suspicion at all. The consequence was that some four days later

the chief magistrate of London, who is called the mayor, came with a

_posse_ of constables to search the house.

“In the meantime, hearing that Father Thomas would not answer, and knowing

well that he was there, to prevent his perishing from starvation, I sent

the next night another party with the man who had made the hiding-place

and knew how to open it. The place was thus opened, and the good Father

rescued from his perilous position. They brought him to my house, and

there he remained. I myself, however, before he arrived, had gone to a

friend’s house, a very secure place, for the purpose of staying there a

little, as I had some fears that the apprehension of my servants a day or

two back might bring the searchers to my house. My fears were well

founded: for on Holy Thursday, while Father Everett was saying Mass, and

had just finished the Offertory, there was a great tumult and noise at the

garden gate; and the mayor used such violence, and made such quick work of

it, as to have entered the garden, and the house, and to be now actually

mounting the stairs, just as the Father, all vested as he was, and with

all the altar furniture bundled up, had entered his hiding-place. So near

a matter was it, that the mayor and his company smelt the smoke of the

extinguished candles, so that they made sure a Priest had been there, and

were the more eager in their search. But of the three hiding-places in the

house they did not find one. So they departed, taking with them those men

whom they found in the house, and who acknowledged themselves to be

Catholics, and the schismatic also who passed for the house-holder. After

this, having again released Father Everett from his hiding-hole and

advised him to leave London, I determined not to use that house again for

some time. And seeing that the times were such as called us rather to

remain quiet, than to gird ourselves for work, I took the first

opportunity of crossing the sea and coming into these parts.(127)

“I recommended my friends to different Fathers, asking them to have

special care of them during my absence. As for my hostess,” Mrs. Vaux,

“she was brought to London after that long search for me, and strictly

examined about me by the Lords of the Council; but she answered to

everything so discreetly as to escape all blame. At last they produced a

letter of hers to a certain relative, asking for the release of Father

Strange and another, of whom I spoke before. This relative of hers was the

chief man in the county in which they had been taken, and she thought she

could by her intercession with him prevail for their release. But the

treacherous man, who had often enough, so far as words went, offered to

serve her in any way, proved the truth of our Lord’s prophecy: ‘A man’s

enemies shall be those of his own household;’ for he immediately sent up

her letter to the Council. They showed her, therefore, her own letter, and

said to her, ‘You see now that you are entirely at the King’s mercy for

life or death; so if you consent to tell us where Father Gerard is, you

shall have your life.’

“ ‘I do not know where he is,’ she answered; ‘and if I did know, I would

not tell you.’

“Then rose one of the lords who had been a former friend of hers, to

accompany her to the door out of courtesy, and on the way said to her

persuasively, ‘Have pity on yourself and on your children, and say what is

required of you, or otherwise you will certainly die.’

“To which she answered with a loud voice, ‘Then, my lord, I will die.’

“This was said when the door had been opened, so that her servants who

were waiting for her heard what she said, and all burst into weeping. But

the Council only said this to terrify her, for they did not commit her to

prison, but sent her to the house of a certain gentleman in the city, and

after being held here in custody for a time, she was released, but on

condition of remaining in London. And one of the principal Lords of the

Council acknowledged to a friend that he had nothing against her except

that she was a stout Papist, going ahead of others, and, as it were, a

leader in evil.

“Immediately she was released from custody, knowing that I was then in

London, quite forgetful of herself, she set about taking care of me, and

provided all the furniture and other things necessary for my new house.

Moreover, she sent me whole sheets daily, recounting everything that

occurred; and when she knew that I wished to cross the sea for a time, she

bid me not spare expense, so that I secured a safe passage, for that she

would pay everything, though it should cost five thousand florins; and, in

fact, she sent me at once a thousand florins [100_l._] for my journey. I

left her in the care of Father Percy, who had already, as my companion,

lived a long time at her house. There he still remains, and does much

good. I went straight to Rome, and being sent back thence to these parts,

was fixed at Louvain.

“I have received two signal benefits on the 3rd of May, through the

intercession, as I think, of blessed Father Garnett, who went to Heaven on

that day. The first was as follows: When I had come to the port where,

according to agreement, I was to embark with certain high personages, in

order to pass unchallenged out of England, they, out of fear, excused

themselves from performing their promise. And in this mind they continued

till the hour of the day fixed for embarking. Now just at that time Father

Garnett’s martyrdom was consummated in London, and he being received into

Heaven remembered me upon earth; for the minds of those lords were so

changed, that the Ambassadors themselves came to fetch me, and with their

own hands helped to dress me in Spanish costume, so that I might be taken

for one of their suite, and so pass free. All went well, and I do not

doubt that I owed it to Father Garnett’s prayers.

“The other and greater benefit is that three years later, on the same 3rd

of May, I was admitted into the body of the Society, by the four solemn

vows,(128) though most unworthy. This I look upon as the greatest and most

signal favour I have ever received, and it seems to me that God wished to

show me that I owed this also to the prayers of Father Garnett, from an

exact similarity in the circumstance of time between my profession and his

martyrdom. For the day originally fixed for both had been the 1st of May,

the Feast of the Holy Apostles SS. Philip and James, and in both cases

unforeseen delays postponed the event till the 3rd of May.

“God grant that I may truly love and worthily carry the Cross of Jesus,

that I may walk worthy of the vocation whereunto I am called. This one

thing I have asked of our Lord, and this will I continue to ask, that I

may dwell in the House of God all my days, until I begin to prove myself

grateful for so great a favour, and that though hitherto unfruitful, yet

by the fertility of the olive-tree in which I have been grafted, I may at

length begin to bear some fruit!”

XXVII.

Here the Autobiography of Father Gerard ends. Though he survived his

escape from England thirty-one years,(129) we have not much more to relate

of the events of his life. We have, however, first a few notes to record

on the concluding portion of the narrative.

First, with regard to the brave Elizabeth Vaux. She was re-arrested, long

after the liberation of which Father Gerard has told us, for in a letter

from Louvain to Father Aquaviva, the General of the Society, dated August

17, 1612, he gives the following account of her conduct, and that of her

son, Lord Vaux, in prison. We translate from the Latin original.(130)

“Lord Vaux remains in prison under condemnation, but by no means cast

down. He seems with invincible courage to trample on rather than to be

deprived of the world, and not so much to have lost as to have contemned

its goods. His praise certainly is in the mouths of all men. And his cause

is so honourable to him, and to the Catholic religion, and so disgraceful

to his enemies, that the King seemed to be ready to let the Baron go, and

to restore him all his goods, when, God so disposing it, and preserving

His servant for great things, some men making a more careful search than

usual, found out that the mother of the Baron, who was herself under

condemnation and in prison, but who retained all her fervour and devotion,

had received a Priest into her cell on the very Feast of St. John Baptist.

When the officers entered, they found a good Father who had just completed

the Holy Sacrifice, and was in the act of distributing the most holy Body

of Christ to those who were assisting. Mrs. Vaux herself, and two others,

had communicated. The Priest turned back to the altar, and quietly

received the remaining Hosts, lest they should fall into sacrilegious

hands. The first man who entered the room, seeing the altar well

appointed, and all of them kneeling before the Blessed Sacrament, was

astounded; and forgetting the fierceness with which, under similar

circumstances, most people rush upon a Priest, only uttered these words:

‘Has not your ladyship suffered enough already for this sort of thing?’

“The wonder is of old standing on the part of those who do not understand

how blessed is the life that God will give to those who never change their

fidelity to Him, and who, fearing God more than the King, even though they

have but just escaped death, still wish to bury the dead. So our good

Father Cornforth was taken: a very holy man, whose life well deserves

recording. He was carried off to the pseudo-Prelate of Canterbury, and as

he could not conceal his Priesthood on account of those with whom he was

taken, so neither would he for his own safety’s sake, hide his Religious

state. So he was sent off to that prison from which they usually take

their victims when they want an offering for the god of heresy. Canterbury

then went to the King in all haste and fury, and putting fire to the

cotton to raise a flame, so inflamed the King’s mind against the Baron,

that he seems to have diverted him from his inclination to set him free to

the very reverse. But notwithstanding all this, as the Baron has those

counsellors for him who are most powerful with the King, we all hope that

the King will soon be pacified, and that all will end well for our friend,

especially if your Paternity and yours will help him with your holy

prayers.”

In the Public Record Office we have various papers which add a little to

what Father Gerard has here written. Letters(131) dated February 26 and

October 22, 1612, say that Mrs. Vaux, Lord Vaux’s mother, was condemned to

perpetual imprisonment for refusing to take the oath of allegiance, and

that Lord Vaux was transferred to the custody of the Dean of Westminster.

The Privy Councillor, who was their friend, was Henry Howard, Earl of

Northampton. There are three letters(132) extant from him to Viscount

Rochester in behalf of the Vauxes. In the first he says that Lord Vaux’s

sister [Katherine, wife of Henry Nevill, Lord Abergavenny] has presented a

petition that her brother and mother may, on account of the hot season, be

removed from their keeper’s house in town to that in the country; but they

being imprisoned for life on a _prœmunire_, the matter rests with the

King. And this, in the third letter, he says the Archbishop and Council

consented to, if they can still be under charge of their keeper. The

second letter thanks Lord Rochester for his intercession in behalf of Lord

Vaux and his mother, and adds that they expect but little mercy where the

Metropolitan [Archbishop Abbot] is mediator. Lastly, we have the

grant(133) to Lord Vaux of Harrowden of his lands, &c., at Harrowden and

elsewhere, in the counties of Essex, Bedford, Nottingham, Lincoln, and

Cambridge, which were forfeited to the King on his conviction in a

_prœmunire_ for refusing the oath of allegiance. Later on, May 4, 1625,

Charles I. granted him a special pardon(134) for “not repairing to the

Protestant church and forbearing the same,” which is recited to be “a

contempt of the King’s crown and dignity.”

The proclamation for the apprehension of the three Fathers gives a

description of Father Gerard.(135) “John Gerard, _alias_ Brooke, of

stature tall, and according thereunto well set; his complexion swart or

blackish; his face large; his cheeks sticking out, and somewhat hollow

underneath the cheeks; the hair of his head long if it be not cut off; his

beard cut close, saving little mustachoes, and a little tuft under his

lower lip; about forty years old.” To this we may add the description(136)

of Father Gerard given by the ruffian Topcliffe, whose spelling is

sufficiently “kewryoos” to be worth retaining. It is dated in the Calendar

of the Record Office, 1583, but this is evidently erroneous, as Father

Gerard escaped from the Tower in 1597.

“Jhon Gerrarde ye Jhezewt preest that escaip out of the Tower and

Richard Blount a Seamry preest of estymacion, and a thirde preest

intend to passe our rather after then wth the Lo Imbass at Dovr

Rye or thirabowtts upon yt coast.

“They have provided for a Culler to passe wthout suspycion a Seale

lyke a Seale of the Counsall table to bleare the Eyes of

Seartchers and officers. Therefore it were not amysse That some

order were lefte wth my Lorde Trasorr that he gyve order that the

Lres do passe under such a Seale from yr Lls. But under & wth

summe prevey mark upon the lres besides the seale. Then any

passendgr that carryethe a lre wthowte suche a prevy mrk Is fytt

to be stayed for a tyme Until hee bee knowen.

“Jhon Gerrarde, ye Jhezewt is about 30 years oulde Of a good

stature sumwhat higher then Sr Tho Layton & upright in his paysse

and countenance sum what stayring in his look or Eyes Currilde

heire by Nature & blackyshe & not apt to have much heire of his

bearde. I thincke his noase sum what wide and turninge Upp

Blubarde Lipps turninge outwards Especially the over Lipps most

Uppwards toword the Noase Kewryoos in speetche If he do now

contynewe his custome ... And in his speetche he flourrethe &

smyles much & a falteringe or Lispinge, or dooblinge of his Tonge

in his speeche.

“Yor honors as you will comāde me.

“RIC TOPCLYFFE alias.

_Endorsed_—“Concerning Gerrard the Priest and others.”

What Sir Thomas Leighton’s height may have been we do not know, but in the

copy of this description sent by Cecil to Anne, Lady Markham,(137) a pen

has been passed through the words “Sir Thomas Leighton,” and the word

“ordinary” is written in its stead. The proclamation was nearer the truth

than Topcliffe as to Father Gerard’s age, which was then forty-two.

A correspondence between Cecil and Lady Markham betrays to us an offer

made by her “to deliver the person of Gerard into the hands of the State.”

Her object was to obtain the pardon and restoration of her husband, Sir

Griffin Markham, who was in banishment for having taken part in Watson’s

conspiracy. One of Cecil’s correspondents says,(138) of “certain lady of

Nottinghamshire, called the Lady Markham,” “this more I know, that there

is not the like pragmatical-headed lady in this part of England.”

Her letters(139) are interesting for the mention of her two servants, who

had gone to live with Father Gerard, but still more for the testimony she

bears to the general belief entertained by Catholics in Father Gerard’s

sanctity, and to the improbability in the judgment of all who knew him of

his being a party to the Plot.

“Right Honourable,—Your lordship may think me slack in performing

that which I so freely made promise of, but the death of my father

hath so much appalled me as I am not fit to do as I would. I did

hear Mr. Gerard was taken, which something stayed me. Moreover,

your lordship hath Mr. Ha. Hurlston in hold, who may direct you

the best concerning him of any I know, as also I take it Sir

Everard Digby came for Mr. Walley” [Father Garnett]; “but thus it

is I cannot learn where Mrs. Vaux is, neither if I knew durst I

visit her. And this is most strange to me, neither of those which

were my servants comes to me, which makes me think they remove

with Mr. Gerard, or are imprisoned, but I rather think they are

shifted out of the way, because their attendance will make their

master more acceptable, one of them being an exquisite painter and

the other a perfect good embroiderer. The painter is a black man,

and taller than the embroiderer, whose hair is yellowish, and was

called Christopher Parker by his true name. The painter was called

Brian Hunston. I am bold to inform you thus largely of them

because I verily suppose they attend their wandering friend and

master, but where, till I either see them or hear some directions,

I cannot imagine; but I protest to your lordship, if I could learn

I am resolved he should speak with you, if by any means I could

procure it, for I fear this most vile and hateful Plot hath taken

deep and dangerous root, because I meet with many that will as

easily be persuaded there was no gunpowder laid as that holy good

man was an actor in the Plot; and surely the generality did ever

so much admire him, that they were happy or blessed in hearing

him, and their roof sanctified by his appearance in their house. I

am to go shortly into the country. If it would please your

lordship to give me leave to send a man to my husband I should be

much bound to you, for I cannot tell till I hear from him how to

determine of those businesses occasioned by my father’s death. I

humbly beseech you commiserate my affliction and grant me this

poor request, if it stand with your liking, and I shall ever pray

for your increase of honour and happiness. So I humbly take my

leave this 18th of November, 1605.

“Your lordship’s most humble to command,

“ANNE MARKHAM.”

_Endorsed_—“The Lady Markham to my Lord.”

“Right Honourable,—Afore I came out of London I sent to know your

lordship’s pleasure, but mine uncle could not meet with Mr.

Lewnus, and indeed I did think my credit was so decayed with the

Padre that I could not do as I would, employ my best endeavours to

perform thereby to express my great desire of your lordship’s good

opinion. Now I find either necessity of their part or my two

servants’ credits hath given me so much power as I shall shortly

see Mr. Gerard, but for the day or certain time they are too

crafty to appoint, but whensoever I will do my best to keep him

within my kenning till I hear from your lordship, and then, my

credit preserved, which is dearer to me than life, your command

shall be as truly obeyed as if your most trusty servant were

commanded. I do perceive there are great business in hand, and

your lordship is, next to His Majesty, most shot at, but what the

project is I dare not be very inquisitive of, because it is not

ripe, as by circumstance I perceive; and I labour to make myself

in good estimation with them, which would not be if I covet to

know more than they like. This, I protest to God, is only to do

service to your lordship. There had been some of them with me ere

this, but great occasion hath drawn them to haste into other

places, whither I know not. If the watch had continued but two

days longer, Mr. Gerard had been pined out at Harrowden. I hear

Ric. the butler is close in the Gatehouse, yet your lordship knows

that prisons are places of such corruption as money will help

letters to their friends to tell what they have been examined of,

so they will guess shrewdly how to shift. I have none that I do

trust about me with my resolution to do my best endeavours to

preserve your lordship, therefore I am enforced to be brief. I

beseech you pardon it in me, that writes in fear, but if it please

your honour to send your note or directions to mine Uncle Harvey,

I will expect till that he send them, and ever pray God to protect

you from these most dangerous conspirators. For the true trial of

my devotion in that prayer I will most sincerely labour your

preservation, so I humbly take my leave this 3rd of January.

“Your lordship’s at command,

“ANNE MARKHAM.”

“To the Right Honourable my very good lord the Earl of Salisbury.

Haste this.”

_Endorsed_—“3rd January, 1605[-6]. Lady Markham to my Lord.”

The following is Cecil’s answer.(140)

“Madam,—Although I do confess my great mislike of the daily resort

and residence of the Priests, and especially the Jesuits, whose

end can be no other than of pernicious consequence to this estate,

yet, being in hope that warnings would make them retire from

further tempting of law, I have used no extraordinary course for

their apprehension, being, I confess, full of tenderness in

matters of blood. But having now discovered, by many confessions

of the late conspirators, that some of these Jesuits have passed

so far as to be persuaders and actors in this barbarous

conspiracy, which excludeth almost all offices of humanity from

men that have softest hearts, I have thought good to take your

offer for His Majesty’s service, to deliver the person of Gerard

(who is one of those) into the hands of the State. For which

purpose, although your letter doth not well express what you would

have done, whereby both the service may be effected and your name

covered; yet I have procured a warrant, here inclosed, which will

be sufficient to authorize and command any man to whom you shall

direct it, which I have left to your own choice to put in, because

I know not who they are which dwell thereabouts in whom you dare

repose trust. And unless you have the warrant presently, and in

the instant to execute, I know the inconvenience of the

protraction. You shall therefore do very well to observe how the

warrant is made, and thereby shall you perceive that the party to

whomsoever you shall direct it is authorized sufficiently, and

will receive this warrant from anybody’s hands whom you shall

send; so as if you will choose any of your own to carry it to any

such gentleman as you shall like, that third party need not say he

comes from you, but from some other, and yet he may bring the

gentleman that you shall name upon the back of the warrant to

execute all things according to your direction. Lastly, madam,

this I say unto you, that either your religion is very foul, or

you will make no difficulty to discover such a pernicious

creature, as differs so far from the rest of the society (as I am

persuaded); wherein I will add thus much further, that you shall

be an instrument of reflecting His Majesty’s good opinion to your

husband, and confirm the conceit I have of you, that you would not

trouble yourself and me in this kind unless you meant sincerely.

And so I commit you to God. From the Court at Whitehall, this 15th

of January, 1605[-6].

“Your ladyship’s loving friend,

“SALISBURY.”

“There are only three of your churchmen in this wicked

predicament, Gerard, Father Walley, and Father Greeneway, so as it

is indifferent to the State which of these be come by. This letter

is sent according to your direction to Mr. Stringer, who shall

receive it from the next post to him, and the packet to the post

is signed by the postmaster’s hand, and not by mine, who knoweth

not the contents nor anything of you, and yet his hand will make

the less suspicion. I desire you to keep safe both this mine own

letter and the warrant, because I may have both delivered again

hereafter, if there be no cause continuing to use them hereafter,

and I will do the like with your letter, which I reserve for you.”

_Endorsed_—“To the Lady Markham.”

The “certain high personages” with whom he crossed the Channel were the

Ambassadors of Spain and Flanders.(141) The former was the Conde de Villa

Mediana, the latter Don Pedro de Zuniga. It is remarkable that, though

Topcliffe had said that Father Gerard intended “to pass over rather after

than with the Lord Ambassador,” his conspicuous person should have been

allowed to pass.

On reaching the Continent in safety, he went, as he tells us, straight to

Rome, whence, we learn from Father More,(142) he was sent to Tivoli for

awhile, for rest of mind and body. He was then appointed English

Penitentiary in the Basilica of St. Peter,(143) and this was his field of

work till the spring of 1611.(144)

We have a letter,(145) dated “this Simon and Jude’s daie, 1606,” from

Father Andrew Whyte, afterwards the Apostle of Maryland, addressed, “To

his especial good friende Mr. Garret geue these att Roome.” It was to ask

him to speak to Father Persons to get Richard Green received into the

Society, who had been sent to College by Father Gerard, and had been

imprisoned “about the time of this late commotion.” Green “was received

very kindly” by Father Walley [Garnett] “and provided for very charitably

in a manner as one of the Society, with a promise that the year following

he should be received without fail;” but now, as “few or none of Father

Walley’s writings or determinations were found, and Richard Fulwood gone

which should have given particular testimony,” Father Whyte begs that “he

may either be sent to the Novitiates of other countries with the license

of the General, or else may have a promise to be next that is received at

Louvain.”

XXVIII.

To this Novitiate at Louvain we now turn, as it was thither that Father

Gerard was next sent. It was the foundation of Donna Luisa de Carvajal,

who by her will(146) dated Valladolid, Dec. 22, 1604, left 12,000 ducats

for the establishment of an English Novitiate. The document is an

admirable specimen of true Spanish devotion and humility. After commending

her soul to God by the intercession of our Blessed Lady, she proceeds—“For

the love of God I humbly pray the Superiors of the Society of Jesus and

the Præpositus of the Professed House, as a favour, to grant me some

little place in their church where my body may be buried, in consideration

of the devotion I have ever entertained for their holy Religious Order: to

which Order, in the manner that I have thought would be most to the glory

of God, I offer, with the greatest affection, a gift which, though but

small, is all that I have. And if a burial-place be refused me in that

church, my executors will obtain for me a resting-place in some other

church of the Society: and if they are unable to obtain this, let me be

buried in some monastery in which, for the love of God, they may be

willing to give burial to a poor person like myself; and let my funeral be

conducted in accordance with this my poverty. As executors I name Father

Richard Walpole, the Vice-Prefect of the English Mission, and the

Confessor of the English College in this city, or their successors. After

them (and I have named them first from respect to their priestly dignity)

I name the Condessa de Miranda, Donna Maria de Zuniga, Donna Maria Gasca,

Don Frances de Contreras, Melchior de Molina, and Don Luis de Carrillo e

Toledo, Conde de Caracena. First of all I declare that many years ago,

when I was with my uncle, I made a vow to God to dedicate all my goods to

His glory and greatest service. Then His Divine Majesty gave me large

desires and vehement attraction to spend myself above all things for the

preservation and advancement of the English Fathers of the Society of

Jesus, who sustain that kingdom like strong columns, defend it from an

otherwise inevitable ruin, and supply efficacious means of salvation for

thousands and thousands of souls. Wherefore I offer them to the most holy

Virgin our Lady, I place them under her protection, and I name and leave

her universal heir of all my goods.... And I give possession of them

henceforward to the most glorious Virgin, and in her name and place to

Father Robert Persons, or failing him, to the Father who shall succeed him

as Superior of the Mission: but with this condition and obligation, that

such goods shall be applied to the founding of a Novitiate of English

Religious of the Society of Jesus, in whatever kingdom or part of the

world shall seem to Father Persons to be to the greater glory of God. But

in the case that England shall be brought back to the faith and obedience

of the Roman Church, my will is that the said revenue be transferred into

that kingdom, for the foundation of a Novitiate of the Society there,

unless it shall seem better to Father Persons, for reasons concerning the

Catholic religion, to leave the Novitiate beyond the kingdom.”

Time was not lost in carrying out the intentions of this pious

benefactress.(147) In 1606, Father Persons obtained possession of a large

house in Louvain, which had been inhabited by the Knights of Malta, and

thus came to be called St. John’s, though the church attached to it was

dedicated to St. Gregory the Apostle of England and other Saints. Father

More, who lived there with Father Gerard, tells us that it was on high

ground commanding the whole city; below was a walled garden, and on the

slope of the hill pleasant walks amongst the vines which were ranged in

terraces, and the whole, though within the city walls, as quiet and calm

as befitted a house of prayer.

We do not know exactly the date of Father Gerard’s arrival at Louvain, or

the office to which he was first appointed there. The letter of the 17th

August, 1612, to the General, from which we have already given a large

extract concerning Mrs. Vaux, is dated from Louvain. It proceeds with an

account of a miraculous cure at the intercession of Father Thomas Garnett,

the nephew of the Provincial, who was martyred at Tyburn on the 3rd of

June, 1608. This father was the first Novice of St. John’s, Louvain. That

Noviceship commenced in February, 1607, with six Priests, two Scholastics,

and five Lay-brothers, Novices, under Father Thomas Talbot as their Novice

Master. In 1614, St. John’s received students in philosophy and theology,

as well as Novices, when a house in the garden was fitted up for the

Novitiate and Father Henry Silisdon was installed in St. John’s as Rector

of the new College. This arrangement did not last long, for at the end of

the year the Novitiate was transferred to Liége. No less than fifteen

letters have come down to us written by Father Gerard in the year 1614,

addressed to the Prefect of the English Mission, Father Thomas Owen,

Rector of the English College at Rome. They treat chiefly of the purchase

of the new house at Liége, and the transfer of the Novitiate to that city.

Some extracts relating to Father Gerard himself will be found interesting.

Some of them are signed John Nelson and others John Tomson. In later years

he seems to have been known only by the name of Tomson.

The choice of Liége as a residence seems to have been mainly owing to the

disquiet caused to the Catholics in the Low Countries by the remonstrances

of the English Government. We have some specimens of it in the following

extracts, in which we find Father Gerard true to the natural fearlessness

of his character. “Concerning(148) my wariness in avoiding the eyes of

spies, I have been all this year more sparing in that kind than divers

friends here did think needful, although some one or two did think it

dangerous to go any journey, as doubting I might be killed by the way, but

this was but according to their accustomed fears with which I have been

long acquainted. But, indeed, Father, I am so far from desire to go many

journeys, that it is a pain to me to think of going anywhither, and the

reason why I never went to any of those places your Reverence mentioneth

in this year past (but only the last Lent to Maclin for Mr. Rouse) was not

that I thought it dangerous (being known so well to live here public that

it cannot be unknown to any spies), nor for that I wanted leave, for I had

the other Provincial’s particular and willing grant, without my own

asking, to go to any place of these countries; but it was because I had

rather be at home: and in the town of Lovaine itself, I go not abroad half

so much as I think were needful for the contentment of others. I was not

at the Teresians, where the Mother of the House (to whom I gave the

Exercise four years ago) and Father Scott’s(149) sister do much desire my

often coming, any more than once since the last Lent. At the Monastery of

St. Monica’s, my cousin Shurley hath requested my coming thither for these

three or four months, to bestow one afternoon upon her and some younger

Nuns whom she hath charge of, that they may altogether ask me what

spiritual questions they may like best, and I have never yet found a fit

time for it; and, indeed, I doubt I am to blame for it. The gentlemen in

the town(150) I doubt I visit not once in a quarter of a year, and I have

some reason to think that either they think me careless of them, or afraid

to be seen abroad, as though my case were very dangerous, which would also

make them or any other that should come to town more fearful to come into

my company, and consequently hinder the little good that I might do with

them. But I hope I shall be as wary as your Reverence wisheth, and if this

course go forwards of being Rector without the name of Rector, there will

be less inconvenience, whosoever see me seeing me still as a private man.”

In this he alludes to a plan of his own, that Father Blackfan should have

the title of Rector, although he himself had been appointed to the

Rectorship of the Novitiate.

The next letter is dated April 6, 1614.(151) “I have yours of the 15th

March, and see in that, as in all of yours, your fatherly care of me,

which, by the grace of God, I will labour to deserve. I am well satisfied

with Father General’s order, and shall endeavour to get this building

finished for the Novitiate as soon as I can, and then will settle to my

book as much as my health and letters will permit.... Having writ thus

far, I was called to go to Bruxels with Father Rector (by Father Blacfan’s

and Father Percy his advice) to speak with the Duke’s(152) Secretary, who

telling Father Percy the last week that the Agent did solicit against me,

and that he could not well answer him, unless he delivered him some

reasons in writing for my innocency, this writing was promised him by

Father Percy; but I being loath to have any such writing sent, as thinking

it the likeliest means to raise a new persecution against me, though for

the Secretary’s satisfaction we drew and delivered him a brief note of

four or five effectual proofs, yet both to the Secretary first, and

afterwards to the Nuncio, I told this day that if any such writing were

sent it would do me great harm, for Canterbury having such a writing would

doubtless show it at the Council table, and then those lords who secretly

do know me to be innocent, and wish me well, will be, as it were, forced

to speak against me, lest they should seem to favour me, and so the King

should be more incensed. The Nuncio did promise Father Rector and me that

he would seriously deal both with the Secretary and the Prince himself in

the cause.”

Writing under date April 18, 1614,(153) he shows that he thinks that too

much importance had been given to the Agent’s interference. “I think your

Reverence was made to believe by letters sent about Easter, that there was

some new troubles against me here, out of England, and consequently that

there was need of such information to the Nuncio and Father Provincial as

had been given. But when I heard of it, I said it was nothing but Trumbol

his own device, in hope to work upon the weakness of the Prince; and so

now it proves, for I am going to the Secretary himself with our Father

Rector, as I wrote from Bruxells, and giving him a paper of some few

points for my innocency, with the request he would not deliver it, but

show it if he would to the Agent. The Secretary answered he would

advertise me if it were needful; but since the note was showed unto

Trumbol, and he showed to be satisfied with it, and afterwards meeting the

Secretary told him that he took it to be only matter of religion; but that

being now made matter of State, he, being a servant employed in matter of

State, could not but seek to concur with them that employed him, as it

were granting that himself was satisfied, and yielding a reason why he had

moved the matter. And this being understood both by the Prince and the

Nuncio, they were very glad of it.... I write this from Maclin, whither

Sir William [Stanley] was desirous to have me come for his comfort now and

after the death and funeral of his lady.”

But such a man as Father Gerard was not likely to be left in peace in

those intriguing times. In the August following, Father Silisdon writes to

Father Owen.(154) “Even now I have advice that His Majesty of England hath

made two complaints to the Prince, and that the first is against Father

Gerard’s being in his dominions.” The consequence was that a transfer to

another territory became desirable, and Father Gerard set his heart on

migrating with his Novices to Liége. He writes from that city, under the

signature of John Nelson, Sept. 19, 1614.(155) “There be many causes to be

alleged why here, rather than in any place; as the commodity of dealing

with our English in the summer, the opportunity of keeping our Novices

unknown, the excellent seat far beyond Lovaine, and that bestowed on us,

the present helps sent for this beginning, with great likelihood of much

more; the great favour which is to be expected from this Prince and his

family, and is to be strengthened by my two cousins, Sir William and Mr.

Morton, and Sir William hath written to him that he doth much joy in his

cousin who is there to be Rector.” The two cousins of whom Father Gerard

here speaks were two very powerful friends. The one was Sir William

Stanley, who showed himself a kind friend to Father Gerard and his charge

by negotiating the purchase of the property at Liége in his own name, and

advancing the purchase money—at least, that portion of it which had to be

paid down(156)—probably (as Father Gerard speaks of the “seat being

bestowed upon us”) regarding it as a gift. Whatever else was requisite for

the purchase was provided by Brother William Browne, who, though(157)

grandson, brother, and uncle of Viscounts Montague,—his grandfather was

Queen Mary’s Ambassador to the Holy See—was himself content to spend his

life in the humble duties of a Jesuit Lay-brother.

The “Mr. Morton” was Sir George Talbot of Grafton, afterwards ninth Earl

of Shrewsbury. He was a scholar of some repute,(158) and an intimate

friend of Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria. As Ferdinand, the Prince-Bishop of

Liége, was Maximilian’s brother, it was no little help to Father Gerard to

be on “cousinly” terms with George Talbot. The Duke became a generous

benefactor to the new House at Liége. In 1618 he sent Father Gerard,

through Sir George Talbot, 5,000 florins for the Noviceship.(159) In a

letter dated Jan. 25, 1620, the Duke writes to Father Gerard, who had

promised to pray that he might have a son: “I bound myself once by vow to

your Blessed Ignatius, that if he would obtain this favour for me, I would

give my son the name of Ignatius, and would build and endow a College of

the Society wherever Father General might judge it most useful. What if

God should purpose thus to provide for you?”(160) In July of the same year

he wrote: “We have sent you a contribution of 1,300 German florins by

Father Mayer for a tabernacle for the Blessed Sacrament, and for a niche

for an image of the Blessed Virgin.” Even after Father Gerard’s departure

from the House, Duke Maximilian’s liberality to it did not fail. Father

Silisdon, Father Gerard’s successor as Master of Novices, removed the

Novitiate to Watten,(161) and not long after the Duke settled a permanent

endowment upon the College of Liége, which was begun in the House that

Father Gerard had established.

Father Gerard’s Socius or “Compagnion,” as he calls him, was Father Henry

More, subsequently the historian of the Province. When discussing, before

his appointment, those Fathers who were fitted for that office, after

mentioning others, he says: “Father Nicholson is far short of either of

them for my turn, for he is no good Latinist, I think little better than

myself, though he be much better scholar; neither hath he any other

language but Spanish, of which I shall have small use. Father Henry More

hath French well, Dutch prettily, and Italian sufficiently, besides

Spanish very well, and Latin as I would wish him.”(162)

As to his first Novices, he had twelve, which made what he styled “a

pretty beginning.”(163) They were “the two that expect at Liége, the two

that are come from Rome, and four out of Spain, with Mr. Lewkner and Mr.

Whitmore, besides Grafton, when he comes, and a tailor now servant in this

house, who by all judgments here is as fit to be received as Brother

Silvester, the young tailor now in the Noviceship, is fit to be

dismissed.”(164)

Of the two that “expected at Liége,” a previous letter had said, “Here be

also Mr. Mansel and Mr. Owen Shelley, by the names of Mr. Griffin and Mr.

Titchborn: both expect, the first with some loathness to stay long, the

second is wholly resigned. The first is a pious man, and to those that

know his fashion will be profitable for some uses in the Society, but the

second will be practical and fit for anything, and in truth I think he

will do very well.”(165) This Father Owen Shelley was afterwards Rector of

the College of Liége, and justified Father Gerard’s judgment of his

character.

Amongst the “four which are come out of Spain” were two that must have

constantly served to remind their Rector at Liége of the Gunpowder Plot,

as the remonstrances of King James’ Agent had managed to do at Louvain.

“One of them,” he says, “is akin to Father Garnett, and of his name,

though we call him Gilford, as he was called at St. Omers. William Ellis,

but we call him John Williams, for he was page(166) to Sir Everard Digby,

and taken with him, though he might have escaped, for his master offered

him horse and money to shift for himself, but the youth said he would live

and die with him; and so, being taken, was condemned at Stafford, and

should have been executed. He was offered to have his life if he would go

to their church, which he refused. In the end they saved him and some

others. He never [yielded] in the least point. He hath good friends near

Sir Everard Digby’s whom I know, and he is heir to 80_l._ a year, if his

father do him right.”(167)

At the close of this short notice of Father Gerard’s Rectorship it will be

but right to record an unfavourable judgment passed upon him, as it will

help us to form a true appreciation of his character. It is the only

instance that has come down to us of blame on the part of one of his own

brethren. “I see a general fear in all ours, those of best judgment, of

the success of Father Nelson’s government, and unless he hath a companion

that may moderate him, his zeal will, I fear, carry him too far; and I

fear it so much the more because I see him loath to have anybody with him

who is likely to propose anything to him contrary to his own zealous

desires.” This is in a confidential letter(168) from Father Silisdon to

Father Owen, dated Oct. 31, 1614, so that, as it was written before the

transfer to Liége, it was a misgiving lest he should be indiscreet as a

Rector, rather than a judgment on his actual conduct as a Superior.

XXIX.

During his residence at Liége, amongst Father Gerard’s correspondents were

two venerable servants of God, Robert Cardinal Bellarmine, and Father Luis

de la Puente, better known by the Latinized form of his name, de Ponte. As

by a man’s friends we can obtain an insight into his character, we have

thought it desirable to give the few letters from these two holy men to

Father Gerard that have come down to us. Cardinal Bellarmine’s autograph

is preserved at Stonyhurst.(169) We translate the letter from the original

Latin.

“Very Rev. and beloved Father in Christ,—I have received your

Reverence’s letter dated from Liége the 23rd November, with the

little presents inclosed in it, an English knife, a little case

(either bone or ivory, I do not know which), and three small

toothpicks. I do not know whether these were sent me for use, or

as having some special meaning. Whichever it be they were welcome,

as a proof of friendship and brotherhood.

“The memory of that excellent Mr. Oliver,(170) whose acquaintance

I made very late, has brought me no little sadness, or rather

grief, not on his account, who is translated from this world to

the joys of Paradise, but for the sake of many whom without doubt

he would have converted to a good life if Divine Providence had

permitted him to live awhile longer. But the good pleasure of God

must ever be fulfilled, and the very same, in order that it may be

fulfilled, must ever be pleasing to us under all circumstances.

“I was pleased to read what your Reverence relates in your letter

of your journeys; of your office of Master of Novices; of the

building which you have bought at Liége; of the visitation of His

Serene Highness Ferdinand, the Prince-Bishop of Liége, and of the

promise that the Priory, at its next vacancy, shall be applied to

the College. If my assistance in carrying this out can be of any

use to you with the Pope, it shall not be wanting.

“Of Dr. Singleton I have heard much, and have defended him to the

best of my power, as long as I could, but the party opposed to him

has prevailed. Nor do I see how I can help him at so great a

distance, and especially as I should be suspected, because I am a

Jesuit. The devil is envious of the harmony between the English at

Douay and the Fathers of the Society, for which the good Cardinal

Allen cared so much; but all means must be tried to re-establish a

true and sincere friendship, and agreement in teaching; otherwise

a kingdom divided against itself shall be brought to desolation.

For many reasons I say freely that nothing can be done by me in

his behalf; first, as I was just saying, because I should be under

suspicion, being a Jesuit. Then because I am an old man of

seven-and-seventy years of age, and I daily expect the dissolution

of my tabernacle. Thirdly, because I cannot think of any manner in

which I could help him. The common way of helping men of this sort

is to give them ecclesiastical benefices, but here in Rome the

multitude of those who aspire to and seek after such benefits is

so great that their number is almost infinite. Nor are they only

Italians, but Spaniards also, Frenchmen, Germans, who look for

nothing but benefices at Rome. I myself, who was thought to have

some influence with the Pope, have laboured for more than ten

years for a Spaniard, an excellent man and a great friend of mine,

to obtain for him a good benefice falling vacant in his own

country. I could say the same of Flemish and German friends of

mine. What then would be the case with English people, in whose

country there are no ecclesiastical benefices for Catholics? But,

since these temporal things are nothing when compared to eternal

benefices, our friend Dr. Singleton must not be cast down if our

Lord treats him now, as of old He treated His Apostles, who He

willed should enter into the Kingdom of Heaven through many

tribulations. But I must not be too lengthy, for I know that both

he and your Reverence stand in no need of my exhortations. I know

that your Reverence will have hard work to read my bad writing,

but Father Coffin(171) would have it that I should write to you

with my own hand.

“With this I bid your Reverence farewell. Commend me to the

prayers of Dr. Singleton, and of all your College; but your

Reverence’s self especially, for our old friendship and

brotherhood, must diligently commend me to the Lord our God.

“From Rome, on Christmas Day, December 25, 1618.(172)

“Your Reverence’s brother and servant in Christ,

“ROBERT CARD. BELLARMINE.”

“To the Very Rev. Father John Tomson, S.J.,

“Rector of the College of the English Novices at Liége.”

The two letters which have come down to us, addressed to Father Gerard by

the venerable Father Luis de la Puente, were written just as his

residence(173) at Liége was drawing to a close. We translate from Father

Grene’s transcript of the originals.(174)

“I. H. S.

“P.C.

“When I received your Reverence’s letters, I was unable to answer

them at once, for I was suffering from extreme weakness, which

usually afflicts me every year all through the winter. Blessed be

our great God, from Whose providence come health and sickness,

life and death, and whatever prosperity and adversity there is in

this world. The height of felicity in this life is to be superior

to all these things, seeking only God’s good pleasure in all

things, for life in His will, and health, honour, happiness,

spiritual progress, and all sanctity consist in the fulfilment of

the will of God: and so every day I would that at every breath I

could say, May Thy most holy and most sweet will be done in me,

concerning me, and by me and about me, in all things and by all

things, now and always and for ever. Amen.(175) God always pours

His spirit of prayer into those who so submit their will to His;

wherefore the Psalmist says—‘Be subject unto the Lord and pray to

Him,’ for when any one with prompt obedience and entire

resignation humbly submits himself to God, God Himself, Who does

the will of those that fear Him, in a certain way is made subject

to him, so that He does whatever is asked, God becoming obedient

to the voice of a man—not of any man soever, but of the man who

obeys God. Oh, wonderful power of prayer and of obedience! Let us

pray, my Father, that we may be perfectly obedient, and let us

obey, that we may be able to pray, and to speak worthily with God.

“It will help wonderfully both one and the other, to meditate

profoundly on these two things: to wit, Who God is in Himself, and

what He is towards us, and then what we are of ourselves, and what

towards God. For whilst I think of God, His Trinity and Unity,

most beautiful, most wise, most holy, most full of love for me,

immense and everywhere present, the fountain of all good things

that are in me and beyond me, from Whom I myself depend, and all

that is mine, and everything that I use and enjoy, how can I do

otherwise than love Him with all my strength? How shall I not

praise Him and thank Him constantly? How shall I not give my whole

self to His service? And these affections become the more ardent

as I ponder that I have nothing of myself; that I am nothing, and

that I and all that is mine would be reduced to nothing unless I

were preserved by Him. Now whilst, within this immensity of God, I

consider what I have been and what I am towards Him, I am

horrified and tremble as I ponder on my malice, my ingratitude, my

slothfulness. Hence arise feelings of hatred of self, of

humiliation and self-denial, and various acts and exercises of

penance, which not only nourish humility by which a man, through a

truthful knowledge of himself, becomes vile to himself, but they

also arouse a most ardent charity by which he loves his Supreme

Benefactor, Who has conferred and still confers so many and such

great benefits on one who is ungrateful and unworthy. Thus the

mind is elevated to perfect contemplation and union with God

Himself, and, as it were forgetful of itself, is immersed in Him,

or rather God hides it in the concealment of His countenance from

all disturbance of men.

“Here is a short epitome of my mystical theology, which I have put

out at rather greater length in my book; but why should I teach

these things to a doctor of others and my own master? Surely I

have become foolish, but your letters compelled me. Would that you

would help me by your prayers, that what I write in my letters I

may perform in deed. Forgive my humble and poor style, for I know

not any more elegant; but I am sure that you do not care for

words, but for the sense that is in the words. I value very highly

the cross which you have sent me, and I will always bear it with

me. I hope, by the intercession of the Blessed Virgin, who

appeared in that tree,(176) and who confers such benefits on those

who are there and those who visit her, that I may be a partaker of

those benefits, for though I am absent in the body I am present in

spirit.

“I humbly commend myself to the Holy Sacrifices of your Reverence.

“Your Reverence’s unworthy servant in Christ,

“[Cross] LUDOVICUS DE PONTE. [Cross]

“Valladolid, March 23, 1621.

_Postscript_—“By God’s help I have finished a great work. Its

title is, _Expositio Moralis in Canticum Canticorum_, containing

exhortations on all the mysteries and virtues of the Christian

religion. It is divided into two volumes, and each volume into

five books. The arrangement is new and singular, but not without

foundation in the Sacred Text. The matter is grave in itself, and

very copious, taken out of Holy Scripture and the holy Fathers.

The style is humble, but clear and chaste, and not out of harmony

with matter that is spiritual and sacred, and therefore elevated.

It is printed at Paris, and will soon reach Germany and Belgium.

Would that it may be to the glory of God, the edification of the

Church, and of use to one’s neighbour.”

The other letter from the same Father was written in reply to one from

Father Gerard announcing that he was about to leave Belgium.

“I. H. S.

“P.C.

“May the Almighty and most pitiful Lord accompany you in the

journey that you begin, for with such a Guide and Companion you

will be everywhere safe and cheerful, and making true progress.

Let Him ever dwell in your memory, understanding, and will, for

His most sweet providence especially protects those who make their

journeys from obedience to Superiors, as Jacob did, who at his

father’s bidding journeyed through the desert into Mesopotamia,

where he heard the voice of the Lord, which said to him, ‘I will

be thy Keeper whithersoever thou goest.’ Trusting to this hope,

and protected by this guardianship, you will happily fulfil what

you have begun.

“I commend myself to your Reverence’s Sacrifices and prayers, for

my weakness oppresses me much; but may the will of God be done in

me and about me in all things and by all things, to Whom

concerning all things be glory for ever. Amen.

“[Cross] LUDOVICUS DE LA PUENTE. [Cross]

“Valladolid, Feb. 2, 1622.”

With these saintly words our materials for writing the life of Father John

Gerard abruptly fail us. Beyond what has been recorded we only know that

he was sent first to Spain, and then to Rome, which he reached Jan. 15,

1623.(177) He was Confessor to the English College till his death, July

27, 1637, at the ripe age of seventy-three, and upwards.

XXX.

In this Autobiography Father Gerard has laid before us his life in all the

freedom and unreserve of a confidential communication with his Religious

brethren and Superiors. It is not possible, we are convinced, for any

impartial person to rise from its perusal without a deep conviction that

Father Gerard was a gentleman and a Christian, a man of honour and

religious principle; and in many cases this sense of his integrity will be

accompanied with some of that personal regard and affection with which he

inspired those who lived in intimacy with him. He bore too much for

principle, and made too great sacrifices, for us to think that he would

deliberately and perseveringly commit sin to free himself from blame. Yet

this is the supposition that is involved in an attack upon his veracity in

the compilation of his Narrative of the Gunpowder Plot.

It is quite true that he, and many others, considered themselves

justified, when their own lives or those of innocent persons were at

stake, in the use of assertions that were simple falsehoods in the

ordinary sense of the terms employed. These they called equivocations; and

we find no trace in the period of which we are writing of the modern sense

of the word, that is, of a true expression which is really beside the

point, though it is so employed that it is very unlikely to be seen to be

so by the person to whom it is addressed, who thus is said rather to be

suffered to deceive himself than to be deceived. Practically the

distinction is hard to draw, and it has the disadvantage of seeming to

make the morality of the expression depend on the quickness and readiness

of the person in danger, who may be able to think of phrases containing a

real ambiguity but which yet would throw the hearers off the right scent.

According to modern feeling, Father Gerard would have been quite justified

in examining the trees and hedges in search of a falcon(178) he had not

lost, and inquiring of all he met whether they had heard the tinkling of

the bird’s bells, although it was to make them think that he had lost a

falcon, in other words, to deceive them; but by the same modern feeling he

would be held to be guilty of a lie when he said that he was the servant

of a lord in a neighbouring county, though he might, without guilt, have

worn that lord’s livery as a disguise if he could have obtained it, which

would have been a more effectual deception than any words.

Again, according to modern judgment, John Lilly would be held guilty of a

lie when he said(179) of Gerard’s books and manuscripts, “They are mine;”

but quite guiltless when, with the same intention of making the

magistrates believe him to be a Priest when he was not, he said, “I do not

say I am a Priest, that is for you to prove.” Yet the latter expression

was far more likely to deceive than the former. It was more like what a

Priest, under the circumstances, would have said. Present feeling would

condemn him of a lie for saying simply, that the books were his, when it

would acquit him if he had thought of using far more deceptive

expressions, such as “I am not bound to compromise myself by saying whose

they are.”

The only difference between modern morality and that on which Father

Gerard acted was that now-a-days men say, “Have recourse to evasions.”

Then men said, “Say what you like, it is their fault if they think it

true.” It is evident that of the two courses of proceeding, the

plain-spoken old way is the least open to abuse. No one certainly would

have recourse to it excepting from a well-weighed plea of a sorrowful

necessity. Whereas, on the other hand, evasions are not startling, and the

conscience may lay but little stress on the presence or absence of

justifying circumstances. For it is most necessary to bear seriously in

mind that all Catholic divines then held, and now hold, that to make use

of equivocation excepting under those peculiar circumstances that make it

lawful, is in itself a sin, and thus no escape from the sin of lying. So

Father Garnett plainly said when on his trial,(180) “As I say it is never

lawful to equivocate in matters of faith, so also in matters of human

conversation, it may not be used promiscually or at our pleasure, as in

matters of contract, in matters of testimony, or before a competent judge,

or to the prejudice of any third person: in which cases we judge it

altogether unlawful.”

It is but fair that, in reading the narrative of times when many lives

hung on successful disguise and concealment, we should remember that the

modern sense of equivocation was then unknown. Protestant moralists have

spoken out their minds plainly enough on this subject.

“Great English authors, Jeremy Taylor, Milton, Paley, Johnson, men of very

distinct schools of thought, distinctly say that under certain extreme

circumstances it is allowable to tell a lie. Taylor says: ‘To tell a lie

for charity, to save a man’s life, the life of a friend, of a husband, of

a prince, of a useful and a public person, hath not only been done at all

times, but commended by great and wise and good men. Who would not save

his father’s life, at the charge of a harmless lie, from persecutors or

tyrants?’ Again, Milton says: ‘What man in his senses would deny that

there are those whom we have the best ground for considering that we ought

to deceive, as boys, madmen, the sick, the intoxicated, enemies, men in

error, thieves? I would ask, by which of the Commandments is lying

forbidden? You will say, by the ninth. If then my lie does not injure my

neighbour, certainly it is not forbidden by this Commandment.’ Paley says:

‘There are falsehoods which are not lies, that is, which are not

criminal.’ Johnson: ‘The general rule is, that truth should never be

violated; there must, however, be some exceptions. If, for instance, a

murderer should ask you which way a man is gone.’ ”(181)

This _language_ would not have been used by Catholics. With them the word

“lie” signified a simple falsehood; and an “equivocation” was a false

expression used under such circumstances that if they to whom it was

addressed were deceived by it, it was their own fault. They had then no

right to the truth, and even in some cases it would have been a sin to

tell them the truth.

In substance, however, though not in form, the doctrine of Gerard,

Southwell, and Garnett, was the same as that of Taylor, Milton, and

Johnson. But to confine ourselves to the practice of Father Gerard, this

doctrine is not necessary for his defence, and if his conduct be fairly

examined, he will be held, even from the modern point of view, to have

done no wrong. Protestant moralists, as we have seen, permit men under

certain circumstances to tell a lie with intent to deceive. And Catholic

moralists permit under such circumstances assertions which would lead the

hearers to deceive themselves by neglecting to advert to the limit of the

speaker’s obligation to tell the truth. But with regard to Father Gerard’s

legal interrogations, we may waive the question whether they are right or

wrong in their morality, for we see clearly that he so expressed himself

as to show that his words were not intended to be believed.

The real parallel to them, alleged by Gerard himself, as we shall shortly

see, is the prisoner’s usual plea of “Not guilty.” This is the only form

in which the _question_ is now put to a person accused. But in those days

the question was put over and over again, and in every variety of form. To

deny was really to plead “Not guilty,” and if this be lawful once, it was

lawful whenever they were forced to repeat it. Not only was it a capital

offence to be a Priest within the realm, but it was high treason to be

reconciled to the Church, or absolved by a Priest, or to harbour or

comfort one. Thus the interrogations addressed to prisoners were always

intended to make them criminate themselves or others; that is, in the one

case to cause them to plead guilty, so that they might be condemned to

death on their own confessions; or, in the other case, to force them to

become Queen’s evidence, and be accessory to the infliction upon others of

the extremest penalties enacted by an unjust law.

The first instance that occurs in Father Gerard’s Life, is that when,

after his apprehension, on being questioned he declared that he was quite

unacquainted with the family of the Wisemans, and those who were examining

him betrayed their informer by crying out, “What lies you tell! Did you

not say so-and-so before such a lady as you read your servant’s letter?”

Then he adds, “But I still denied it, _giving them good reasons however

why, even if it had been true, I could and ought to have denied it_.”(182)

Another time(183) he was confronted with three servants of Lord Henry

Seymour, who avouched that he had dined with their mistress and her

sister, the Lady Mary Percy, that it was in Lent, and they told how their

mistress ate meat, while Lady Mary and Father Gerard ate nothing but fish.

“Young flung this charge in my teeth with an air of triumph, as though I

could not help acknowledging it, and thereby disclosing some of my

acquaintances. I answered that I did not know the men whom he had brought

up.

“ ‘But we know you,’ said they, ‘to be the same that was at such a place

on such a day.’

“ ‘You wrong your mistress,’ said I, ‘in saying so. I, however, will not

so wrong her.’

“ ‘What a barefaced fellow you are!’ exclaimed Young.

“ ‘Doubtless,’ I answered, ‘were these men’s statements true. _As for me,

I cannot in conscience speak positively in the matter, for reasons that I

have often alleged; let them look to the truth and justice of what they

say._’ ”

A third instance is the interview(184) between Father Gerard and the widow

Wiseman, in the presence of the Dean of Westminster, Topcliffe, and

others. “They wanted to see if she recognized me. So when I came into the

room where they brought me, I found her already there. When she saw me

coming in with the gaolers, she almost jumped for joy; but she controlled

herself, and said to them: ‘Is that the person you spoke of? I do not know

him; but he looks like a Priest.’

“Upon this she made me a very low reverence, and I bowed in return. Then

they asked me if I did not recognize her?

“I answered: ‘I do not recognize her. _At the same time, you know this is

my usual way of answering, and I will never mention any places, or give

the names of any persons that are known to me_ (which this lady, however,

is not); _because to do __ so, as I have told you before, would be

contrary both to justice and charity_.’ ”

Lastly, when examined(185) by the Attorney General, after having received

a letter from Father Garnett, warning him to prepare himself for death,

and after having freely confessed that he was a Priest and a Jesuit, and

that he had reconciled others to the Pope, and drawn them away from the

faith and religious profession which was approved in England, “answers,”

he says himself, “which furnished quite sufficient matter for my

condemnation, according to their laws,” and after having denied that he

had meddled in political matters; his examination proceeded as follows.

“Hereupon Mr. Attorney kept silence for a time, and then he began afresh

to ask me what Catholics I knew; did I know such-and-such? I answered, ‘I

do not know them.’ _And I added the usual reasons why I should still make

the same answer even if I did know them._(186) Upon this, he digressed to

the question of equivocation, and began to inveigh against Father

Southwell, because on his trial he denied that he knew the woman who was

brought forward to accuse him.(187) She swore that he had come to her

father’s house and was received there as a Priest; this he positively

denied, though he had been taken in that house and was found in a

hiding-place, having been betrayed by this wretched woman. (A dutiful

daughter truly, who thus betrayed to death both her spiritual and her

natural father! Christ our Lord, however, came not to send peace, but a

sword to divide between the good and the bad; and in this case he divided

the bad daughter from the good parents.) Good Father Southwell, then,

though he marvelled at the impudence of this miserable wench, yet denied

what she asserted, and _gave good reasons for his denial_, well knowing

and solidly proving that it was not lawful for him to do otherwise, lest

he should add to the injury of those who were already suffering for the

Faith, and for charity shown to him. Taking this occasion, therefore, he

showed very learnedly that it was lawful in some cases, nay, even

necessary perhaps, to use equivocation; which doctrine he established and

confirmed by strong arguments and copious authorities, drawn as well from

Holy Scripture as from the writings of the Doctors of the Church.

“The Attorney General inveighed much against this, and tried to make out

that this was to foster lying, and so destroy all reliable communications

between men, and, therefore, all bonds of society. I, on the other hand,

maintained that this was not falsehood, nor supposed an intention of

deceiving, which is necessary to constitute a lie, but merely a keeping

back of the truth, and that where one is not bound to declare it:

consequently there is no deception, because nothing is refused which the

other has a right to claim. I showed, moreover, that our doctrine did no

way involve a destruction of the bonds of society, because the use of

equivocation is never allowed in making contracts, since all are bound to

give their neighbour his due, and in making of contracts truth is due to

the party contracting. It should be remarked also, I said, that it is not

allowed to use equivocation in ordinary conversation to the detriment of

plain truth and Christian simplicity, much less in matters properly

falling under the cognizance of civil authority,(188) since it is not

lawful to deny even a capital crime if the accused is questioned

juridically. He asked me, therefore, what I considered a juridical

questioning. I answered that the questioners must be really superiors and

judges in the matter under examination; then, the matter itself must be

some crime hurtful to the common weal, in order that it may come under

their jurisdiction; for sins merely internal were reserved for God’s

judgment. Again, there must be some trustworthy testimony brought against

the accused; thus, it is the custom in England that all who are put on

their trial, when first asked by the Judge if they are guilty or not,

answer, ‘Not guilty,’ before any witness is brought against them, or any

verdict found by the jury; and though they answer the same way, whether

really guilty or not, yet no one accuses them of lying. Therefore I laid

down this general principle, that no one is allowed to use equivocation

except in the case when something is asked him, either actually or

virtually, which the questioner has no right to ask, and the declaration

of which will turn to his own hurt, if he answers according to the

intention of the questioner. I showed that this had been our Lord’s

practice, and that of the Saints. I showed that it was the practice of all

prudent men, and would certainly be followed by my interrogators

themselves in case they were asked about some secret sin, for example, or

were asked by robbers where their money was hid.

“They asked me, therefore, when our Lord ever made use of equivocations;

to which I replied, ‘When He told His Apostles that no one knew the Day of

Judgment, not even the Son of Man; and again, when He said that He was not

going up to the Festival at Jerusalem, and yet He went; yea, and He knew

that He should go when He said He would not.’

“Wade here interrupted me, saying, ‘Christ really did not know the Day of

Judgment, as Son of Man.’

“ ‘It cannot be,’ said I, ‘that the Word of God Incarnate, and with a

human nature hypostatically united to God, should be subject to ignorance;

nor that He Who was appointed Judge by God the Father should be ignorant

of those facts which belonged necessarily to His office; nor that He

should be of infinite wisdom, and yet not know what intimately concerned

Himself.’ In fact, these heretics do not practically admit what the

Apostle teaches (though they boast of following his doctrines), namely,

that all the fulness of the Divinity resided corporally in Christ, and

that in Him were all the treasures of the wisdom and knowledge of God. It

did not, however, occur to me at the moment to adduce this passage of St.

Paul.”

In every one of these instances words are carefully introduced to show

that the denials in question were uttered not with the intent of deceiving

the hearers (though even that, according to the grave Protestant

authorities recently quoted, would have been lawful), nor of allowing them

to deceive themselves if they did not choose to advert to the

circumstances in which the denials were made (as Catholic divines would

have permitted);(189) but avowedly in order that they might not be

available as legal evidence against the speaker or his friends.

To Father Gerard’s defence of himself it may be as well to add that of

Father Southwell,(190) who was assailed by Sir Edward Coke.

“The Father would have spoken further on this point [obedience to the

laws] had they not attacked him on another,” objecting to him a statement

of Anne Bellamy’s, who deposed that Father Robert had instructed her, that

if asked by searchers or persecutors if there was a Priest in the house,

she could say “No,” though she knew there was one: nay, that if asked on

oath, she could swear there was not. No sooner was this brought out than

the Judges and officers of the court showed themselves highly scandalized,

and were for stopping their ears:(191) as if, forsooth, the seeking for

Catholic Priests to put them to a traitor’s death, or force them to

apostatize, were a proceeding so clearly and so indubitably just, as to

make it as clearly and indubitably unjust to hide them from such an

ordeal, or to deny them to their pursuers: nor, indeed, would the harm be

confined to the cruel execution of the Priest, but with him the whole of

the family in whose house he was found would be liable to the same death

of traitors. Coke, therefore, the Attorney General, made the most he could

of this matter, insisting that such a pernicious doctrine tended to

destroy all truth, and all reliance of men in each other’s veracity, and

if allowed to prevail, would upset all good government. Topcliffe also

inveighed against it so exorbitantly, that Judge Popham silenced him.

Father Robert then, as soon as he was allowed to reply, explained briefly

what he had said to the witness, whose statement was not altogether exact,

and addressing the Judge, said:

“ ‘If you will have the patience to listen to me, I shall be able to prove

to you from the Holy Scriptures, from the Fathers, from theologians, and

from reason, that in case a demand is made against justice and with the

view of doing grievous harm to an innocent person, to give an answer not

according to the intent of the questioner is no offence against either the

divine law or the natural law. Nay, I will prove that this doctrine in no

wise threatens the good government of states and kingdoms: and that, where

the other necessary conditions of an oath are present, there is nothing

wrong in confirming such an answer in that manner. Now I ask you, Mr.

Attorney, Supposing the King of France (which God forbid) were to invade

this country successfully, and having obtained full possession of this

city, were to make search for Her Majesty the Queen, whom you knew to be

hidden in a secret apartment of the palace: supposing, moreover, that you

were seized in the palace and brought before the King, and that he asked

you where the Queen was, and would receive no profession of ignorance from

you except on oath: what would you do? To palter or hesitate is to show

that she is there: to refuse to swear is equivalent to a betrayal. What

would you answer? I suppose, forsooth, you would point out the place! Yet

who of all who now hear me would not cry out upon you for a traitor? You

would then, if you had any sense, swear at once, either that you knew not

where she was, or that you knew she was not in the palace, in order that

your knowledge might not become instrumental to her harm. Of this kind, in

fact, was the answer of Christ in the Gospel, when He said that concerning

the Day of Judgment no one had any knowledge, neither the Angels in

Heaven, nor the Son: that is, according to the interpretation of the

Fathers, such knowledge that He could communicate to others. Now this is

the condition of Catholics in England: they are in peril of their liberty,

their fortunes, and their lives, if they should have a Priest in their

houses. How can it be forbidden them to escape these evils by an equivocal

answer, and to confirm this answer, if necessary, by an oath? For in such

a case, three things must be remembered: first, that a wrong is done

unless you swear; secondly, that no one is obliged to answer everybody’s

questions about everything; thirdly, that an oath is always lawful, if

made with truth, with judgment, and with justice, all which are found in

this case.’(192)

“He went on to exemplify his position by supposed queries of robbers and

highwaymen; but he was interrupted by abuse.”

Father Garnett has defended himself at sufficient length in his speech on

his trial;(193) but as he there refers to his previous answers, we have

thought it best to give insertion here to an autograph paper of his

preserved in the Public Record Office.(194)

“Concerning equivocation, which I seemed to condemn in moral

things, my meaning was in moral and human conversation, in which

the virtue of verity is required among friends, for otherwise it

were injurious to all humanity. Neither is equivocation at all to

be justified, but in case of necessary defence from injustice or

wrong, or the obtaining some good of great importance, when there

is no danger of harm to others, as in the case of Coventry,(195)

wherein I suppose it is a great advantage to me for to be

admitted, and no harm can ensue to the city. For the city seeketh

nothing but to be free from the sickness, and if it were possible

that the city knew me to be free of certainty, they would admit me

presently, which is confirmed by the custom of places beyond

[sea], where, though they know a man to come from a place

infected, yet after they have kept him in some several place, with

convenient diet, for forty days, they admit him.

“As for Mr. Tresham’s equivocation, I am loath to judge; yet I

think ignorance might excuse him, because he might think it lawful

in that case to equivocate for the excuse of his friend, yet would

I be loath to allow of it or practise it: he being not then urged,

but voluntarily offering it himself, contrary to that which he had

before set down, and especially being in case of manifest treason,

as I will after explain. But in case a man be urged at the hour of

his death, it is lawful for to equivocate, _with such due

circumstances as are required in his life_. An example we may

bring in another matter. For the divines hold that in some cases a

man may be bound to conceal _something in his confession_, because

of some great harm which may ensue of it. And as he may do so in

his life, so may he at his death, if the danger of the harm

continue still.

“The case being propounded, supposing that I knew Gerard

acquainted with this treason, and having been often demanded

thereof, I still denying it, by way of equivocation, whether at

the hour of my death, either natural or by course of justice, I

may by equivocation seek to clear him again.

“I answer, that in case I be not urged I may not, but I must leave

the matter in case in which it stand; but if I be urged, then I

may clear him by equivocation, whereas otherwise my silence would

be accounted an accusation. But all this I understand when the

case is such that I am bound to conceal Gerard’s treason, as if I

had heard it in confession. For this is a general rule, that in

cases of true and manifest treason,(196) a man is bound

voluntarily in utter and very truth by no way to equivocate, if he

know it not by way of confession, in which case also he is bound

to seek all lawful ways to discover, _salvo sigillo_.

“HENRY GARNETT.

“29° Martii.

“All the Doctors that hold equivocation to be lawful do maintain

that it is not lawful when the examinate is bound to tell the

simple truth, that is, according to the civil law, when there is a

competent judge, and the cause subject to his jurisdiction, and

sufficient proofs. But in case of treason a man is bound to

confess of another without any witness at all, yea, voluntarily to

disclose it; not so of himself.

“And how far the common law bindeth in cases that are not treason

a man to confess of himself, I know not. In the civil law, it is

sufficient to have _semiplenam probationem_, that is, _unum testem

omni exceptione majorem_, or _manifesta indicia_.

“Our law I take to be more mild, and that a man may put all to

witnesses without confessing, except in cases of treason. For,

according to our law, _non pervertitur judicium tacendo vel

negando_, as in the civil law, where is required _reus confitens_.

But generally, when a man is bound to confess, there is no place

of equivocation. And when he is not bound to confess according to

the laws of each country, then may he equivocate.”

In the last paper Father Garnett is not speaking of equivocation used in

defence of an innocent person, but of what we may call the persistent plea

of “Not guilty,” and he there draws an interesting distinction between the

Roman civil law and our own, which he calls “more mild,” in that it

professed to regard a prisoner as innocent till he is proved to be guilty.

Happily this is our practice now, as well as our profession, and our

quotations are needed to enable us to form judgments of conduct in times

that have happily passed away.

But with regard to the trustworthiness of Father John Gerard’s evidence,

as we have it before us in his Narrative of the Gunpowder Plot, even if

the lawfulness of his proceedings were not admitted, all that we are

concerned to show is, that untrue statements, made by a man under

circumstances which, rightly or wrongly, he considers to justify him in

making them, furnish no presumption whatever that, under other

circumstances, affording to his conscience no such justification, his word

cannot be trusted. It is an evident instance of the maxim that the

exception proves the rule. Restraining himself carefully within the limits

of what he held to be lawful under circumstances of extreme difficulty and

great personal danger, are we not rather to conclude that, under far less

pressure, he will as carefully confine himself to the laws imposed by his

conscience? Clearly there is nothing in Father Gerard’s practice under

examination to cause us to hesitate in placing implicit trust in his word

when he speaks as an historian; and, in addition, we are sure that no one

will rise from the perusal of the exculpatory letters which we propose to

subjoin, without a full conviction of his innocence and truthfulness.

XXXI.

But before we close this subject by producing these letters, we think it

desirable to answer in detail two particular accusations that have been

brought against Father Gerard’s veracity by a modern writer. Canon Tierney

says:(197) “To show how very little reliance can be placed on the

asseverations of Gerard when employed in his own vindication, it is only

right to observe that, referring to this transaction” [the Communion of

the conspirators after their oath of secresy] “in his manuscript

narrative, he first boldly and very properly asserts, on the authority of

Winter’s confession, that the Priest who administered the Sacrament was

not privy to the designs of the conspirators; and then ignorant of Faukes’

declaration which had not been published, and supposing that his name had

not transpired, as that of the Clergyman who had officiated upon the

occasion, he returns at once to the artifice which I have elsewhere

noticed, of substituting a third person as the narrator, and solemnly

protests on his salvation that he knows not the Priest from whom Catesby

and his associates received the Communion!”

Dr. Lingard also says simply that the Communion was received by the

conspirators “from the hand of the Jesuit missionary Father Gerard,”(198)

apparently unconscious that he had ever denied it.

We have little doubt that the house in which the oath of secrecy was taken

and holy Communion received, was really Father Gerard’s house. The “house

in the fields behind St. Clement’s Inn,” as Faulks calls it; “behind St.

Clement’s,” as it appears in Winter’s confession, seems to be the house

described by Father Gerard as that which he occupied up to the time of the

Powder Plot, “nearer the principal street in London, called the

Strand,”(199) in which street most of his friends lived. But he was not

the only Priest who lived in that house. At least two other Priests(200)

resided habitually with him. One was Father Strange, who was in the Tower

when the Autobiography was written; the other, whose name he does not

give, “was thrown into Bridewell, and was afterwards banished, together

with other Priests.” Then there was also Thomas Laithwaite,(201) who

afterwards became a Jesuit, who frequented the house if he did not live

there. Father Gerard says, “There I should long have remained, free from

all peril or even suspicion, if some friends of mine, while I was absent

from London, had not availed themselves of the house rather rashly.” What

meaning can this have but that Catholics were allowed, in Father Gerard’s

absence, to come to the house too freely to receive the Sacraments, so

that it became too widely known that it was his house?

Immediately after binding themselves by oath to secrecy, the minds of the

conspirators must have been preoccupied with the thoughts of the

tremendous undertaking to which they had just pledged themselves; and it

is very unlikely that mention should be made, in subsequent conversation

among them, of the name of the Priest, whom they had only seen at the

altar, especially as he “was not acquainted with their purpose.”(202) The

only two conspirators who mention Father Gerard’s name are Faulks and

Thomas Winter. Faulks was a stranger, who had “spent most of his time in

the wars of Flanders, which is the cause that he was less known here in

England.”(203) We have no trace of any personal intercourse between Thomas

Winter and Father Gerard. What can have been more natural than that they

should have been told to meet at Father Gerard’s house, and that those who

did not know him by sight should have concluded that it was Father

Gerard’s Mass that they heard? It surely is more probable that they should

have been mistaken in a name than that Father Gerard should have been

guilty of perjury in contradicting, from a place of safety, that which was

no accusation against him, but a harmless statement that, in ignorance of

the oath taken, he had given Communion to certain Catholics.

Faulks’ confession was extorted by torture. King James had given orders,

“The gentler tortours are to be first usid unto him, _et sic per gradus ad

ima tenditur_, and so God speede your goode work.”(204) Faulks was under

none of the “gentler tortures” when in a tremulous hand he wrote “Guido”

on that declaration. “The prisoner is supposed to have fainted before

completing”(205) the signature. Before the words exculpating Father Gerard

from all knowledge of the conspirators’ purpose, the word _Hucusque_

appears in the handwriting of Sir Edward Coke, who has underlined the

sentence in red. The ideas of justice of this great lawyer permitted him

to publish the mention there made of Father Gerard’s name, and to suppress

the statement of his innocence. There is also a red line drawn beneath the

following words in Thomas Winter’s examination: “But Gerard knew not of

the provision of the powder, to his knowledge.”(206)

The second accusation brought by the same writer,(207) is couched as

follows: “Relying upon the fidelity of Gerard, who declares _upon his

conscience_, that he has ‘set down Father Garnett’s words truly and

sincerely as they lie in his letter,’ Dr. Lingard has printed what is

given by that writer, and from it has argued, with Greenway, that Garnett

on the 4th of October, the date assigned to it both by Gerard and

Greenway, was still ignorant of the nature of the Plot. The truth,

however, is, that although the _letter_ was written on the _fourth_, the

_postcript_ was not added until the _twenty-first_ of October; that from

this postscript the two Jesuit writers have selected a sentence, which

they have transferred to the body of the letter; and then, concealing both

the existence of the postscript and the date of the 21st, have represented

the whole as written and dispatched on the 4th. The motive for this

proceeding, especially on the part of Greenway, is obvious. That writer’s

argument is, that the Parliament had been summoned to meet on the 3rd of

October, that Garnett had not heard of the intention to prorogue it to the

following month (this, to say the least, is very improbable); that, for

anything he could have known to the contrary, the great blow had already

been struck, at the very time when he was writing; and, consequently,

that, had he been acquainted with the intentions of Catesby and his

confederates, he would never, at such a moment, have thought of

proceeding, as he says he was about to proceed, towards London, and thus

exposing himself to the almost inevitable danger of falling into the hands

of his enemies.... Now the whole of this reasoning is founded on the

assumption that the letter bore only the single date of the 4th. On the

21st, the supposed danger of a journey to London no longer existed. At

that period, too, Garnett, instead of proceeding towards the metropolis,

had not only removed in the opposite direction, from Goathurst, in

Buckinghamshire, to Harrowden, the seat of Lord Vaux, in Northamptonshire,

but was also preparing to withdraw himself still further from the capital,

and by the end of the month, was actually at Coughton, in the

neighbourhood of Alcester. In fact, what was written on the 4th, he had

practically contradicted on the 21st, and to have allowed any part of the

letter, therefore, to carry this later date, would have been to supply the

refutation of the very argument which it was intended to support. Hence

the expedient to which this writer has had recourse. The postscript and

its date are carefully suppressed; and we are told that, looking at the

contents of the letter, Garnett, when he wrote it, could have known

nothing of the designs of the conspirators: ‘Quando scrisse questa

lettera, che fu alli quattro d’Ottobre, non sapeva niente del disegno di

questi gentilhuomini, altro che il sospetto che prima havea havuto’

(Greenway’s MS., 51b). Without stopping to notice the falsehood contained

in the concluding words of this sentence, and without intending to offer

an opinion here, as to the principal question of Garnett’s conduct, I may

still remark that even the friends of that Jesuit universally admit him to

have received the details of the plot from Greenway about the 21st; and

that this fact alone may be regarded as supplying another and a sufficient

motive both to the latter and to Gerard, for the suppression of that

date.”

This note by Canon Tierney produced its effect on Dr. Lingard, and that

historian, in the edition of his work published in 1849, remarks upon the

matter as follows.(208) “The object for which this letter was made up in

the shape which it thus assumes in Gerard’s MS., is plain from the

reasoning which both he and Greenway found upon it. They contend that, if

Garnett had been privy to the conspiracy, he must have believed on the 4th

that the explosion had already taken place on the 3rd, the day on which

the Parliament had been summoned to meet; though no reason is assigned why

he might not, as well as others, have been aware of the prorogation to the

5th of November, and they add that, under such belief, he would never have

resolved to encounter the dangers of making, as he proposed to do, a

journey to London, though in fact he made no such journey, but changed his

route, and was actually, at the time in which he wrote, on his way to the

meeting appointed at Dunchurch. Hence it became necessary to suppress the

postscript, because it was irreconcileable with such statements. There

was, moreover, this benefit in the suppression, that it kept the reader in

ignorance (1) of the real date of the letter, the 21st of October, the

very time when it is admitted that Greenway made to Garnett a full

disclosure of the Plot; and (2) that Garnett took that opportunity of

blotting out a most important passage in the letter written on the 4th,

with a promise to forward the same passage later in an epistle apart; two

facts which would furnish strong presumptions against the alleged

innocence of the Provincial.”

One word in passing, in reply to the “two facts which would furnish strong

presumptions against” Father Garnett’s innocence. 1. Dr. Lingard has

forgotten that “the full disclosure of the Plot” was made in confession,

and that Father Garnett could make no use of it in any way, until the

conjuncture arose when the penitent gave him leave. 2. It is true that a

passage, written to Father Persons on the 4th October, was erased by

Father Garnett on the 21st; but what presumption does this furnish? The

“promise to forward the same passage later in an epistle apart,” could not

mean that he would write him word of the Powder Plot when it was safe to

do so. Is it likely that a conspirator would have written to his friend,

with all the chances of a letter being intercepted, that they were

proposing to blow up the Houses of Parliament? What would he have gained

even had he but risked a phrase as oracular as that of the letter to Lord

Mounteagle? Such a supposition assumes that Father Garnett was not only

guilty of the Plot, but that he had lost all common sense and ordinary

caution; and that he was indebted to the accidental return of his letter

to his hands, seventeen days after he had written it, for an opportunity

of destroying proof under his own hand that he was guilty. If this

consideration is not conclusive, we have but to refer to the context, as

given from the original by Mr. Tierney himself,(209) and our sense of the

ridiculous must settle the question. Father Garnett must have been the

most erratic of letter-writers, if he could insert a reference to the

Gunpowder Treason, or to any other treason, between two such subjects as

the choice of Lay-brothers and his own want of money. The letter ends as

follows.

“ ‘I pray you send word how many Coadjutors’ ” [Jesuit Lay-brothers]

“ ‘you will have. I have one, a citizen of London, of very good

experience, which may benefit us, in buying and selling without taxes. But

he is fifty years old: and I think it not amiss to have, at the first,

some ancient men for such. Send your will herein.’

“_A short but separate paragraph of three lines is here carefully

obliterated._

“ ‘I am in wonderful distress, for want of the ordinary allowance from

Joseph’ ” [Creswell, the Superior in Spain]. “ ‘I pray you write for all

the arrearages, which, if it may all be gotten, I can spare you some.

Thus, with humble remembrance to Claud’ ” [Aquaviva, the General],

“ ‘Fabio, Perez, Duras, and the rest, I cease, 4o Octobris.’ ”

But let us address ourselves to the grave accusation made against Gerard

and Greenway. That Dr. Lingard should have made such a statement at all is

owing, first, to the fact that at the time when he was preparing the new

edition of his History, he had no longer access to the manuscript of

Father Gerard, of which he had had the use(210) when originally compiling

his work. The reader, who has Gerard’s Narrative now beneath his eyes, can

speedily convince himself of this fact. And, secondly, to a

misunderstanding of Canon Tierney’s note, for which that writer’s

expressions are to blame. If it had been true, as Dr. Lingard understood

Mr. Tierney to say, that Gerard and Greenway drew the same argument from

the date of Father Garnett’s letter, their conduct would have been

entirely indefensible, and they would have deserved the blame brought

against them.

The truth however is, and in this lies an ample defence for both of them,

that this is not so. Father Gerard quotes Father Garnett’s letter only and

solely to illustrate the state of the Catholics in England. For this

purpose, the date of the letter he was quoting was entirely unimportant.

Indeed, he originally quoted the letter without any date; and then he

interlined the date of Oct. 4th, but laying no more stress upon it than he

had laid on the dates of the other letters of July 24th and August 28th.

For the same reason it would not occur to him to note that the passage

respecting Ireland was taken from a postcript. It was enough for him that

he gave Father Garnett’s very words, as he declared “upon his conscience”

that he did; and that he had Father Garnett’s authority for the account

that he was giving of the condition and state of feeling of Catholics.

When he turned to the letter for a date, it was natural enough that he

should take that which was endorsed upon it by Father Persons, who, having

erased the date of the 21st which he had originally written upon it, had

substituted the 4th, and “in another corner of the paper also, where it

appears most likely to catch the eye, inscribed the same date thus, ‘4°

8bris.’ ”(211) As there is no ground for blaming Father Persons for thus

endorsing a single date on a letter which continued to bear two, so

neither is it reasonable to blame Father Gerard for quoting the letter

under one date only. It is clear, therefore, that there is no accusation

whatever against Father Gerard, and if Father Greenway had not drawn from

the date of the letter the argument regarding Father Garnett, none would

ever have been made. It is gravely to be regretted that Mr. Tierney should

have said that there was “a sufficient motive both to the latter _and to

Gerard_ for the suppression of that date.” This expression evidently

misled Dr. Lingard, and led him erroneously to speak of “the reasoning

which both he [Gerard] and Greenway found upon it.” Had Dr. Lingard not

trusted to Mr. Tierney, but referred to Gerard’s Narrative, he would have

said of the whole charge that which he has said(212) of the alterations of

names in the first part of the letter. Of this his expression is, “Had his

object been only to present the public with an account of the persecution

to which the English Catholics were at that moment subjected, there would

not have been great cause to complain.” This _was_ his only object,(213)

and therefore there was, in Dr. Lingard’s judgment, no great cause to

complain.

Father Greenway derived his information of the letter from Father Gerard’s

Narrative, of which he was translator. Whether the argument he has founded

on the date of the letter has any and what force is not here under

discussion, but it is evident that he propounded it in good faith. The

original letter was in existence to confute him. If he had seen it or

noticed the postscript and its date, he would never have exposed himself

to such a confutation. He was misled, innocently enough, but seriously, by

the manner in which the letter appeared in Father Gerard’s pages which he

was translating.

In a word, the accusation is this. Gerard and Greenway found an argument

on the fact that a letter of Garnett’s was dated the 4th of October, when

they knew that it was in his hands on the 21st. And the answer is this.

Gerard may have known, but had no need to notice, the fact of the double

date, as he founded no argument whatever upon it: Greenway, who did found

an argument on it, had no reason for suspecting the existence of a later

date on the letter.

XXXII.

Having thus vindicated the fair fame of these Fathers from the unmerited

imputations brought against them, it remains for us to produce the letters

which were written expressly to prove Father Gerard’s innocence of all

complicity with the conspiracy. We first take from the Public Record

Office(214) his letter to the Duke of Lenox, enclosing letters to the Earl

of Salisbury and Sir Everard Digby. These are the letters described by

Father Gerard himself in the twelfth chapter of his Narrative.(215)

“Right Honourable,—Seeing all laws, both divine and human, do

license the innocent to plead for himself, and the same laws do

strictly require and highly commend an open ear in any of

authority to give audience and equal trial to a plaintiff in such

a case, my hope is that your Grace will excuse this my boldness in

offering up by your hands my humble petition for trial of my

innocence touching the late most impious treason, whereof I am

wrongfully accused, by some lost companions, I assure me, who, to

save themselves from deserved punishment, will not stick to accuse

any innocent of any crime wherein their bare word may pass for

proof. There is none so innocent but may be wrongfully accused,

sith innocency itself in our Lord and Master was accused and

condemned as an enemy to the State and no friend to Cæsar. The

servant must not look to be more free from wrongs than his Master

was. But happy is that man by whom the truth is tried in judgment

and innocency cleared.

“I durst not presume, being branded with the odious name of

traitor, to offer my petition to my Sovereign (to whom, as God is

witness, I wish long life and all happiness as to my own soul).

But if by your Grace’s means (of whose piety and worthy

disposition I have heard so much good) the humble suit of a

distressed suppliant (prostrate at His Majesty’s feet) may be

offered up, I hope it shall be found not unfit for your Grace to

offer, and most fit and reasonable for so wise and righteous a

Prince to grant.

“My humble petition is only this. That, whereas I have protested

before God and the world, I was not privy to that horrible Plot of

destroying the King’s Majesty and his posterity, &c., by powder

(wherewith I am now so publicly taxed in the proclamation), that

full trial may be made, whether I be guilty therein or not. And if

so it be proved, that then all shame and pain may light upon me;

but if the truth appear on the contrary side, that then I may be

cleared from this so grievous an infamation and punishment not

deserved. Two kinds of proofs may be made in this cause, which I

humbly beseech your Grace, for God’s cause, may be performed. One

is, that all the principal conspirators (with whom I am said to

have practised the foresaid Plot of Powder against the Parliament

House) may be asked at their death, as they will answer at the

dreadful tribunal unto which they are going, whether ever they did

impart the matter to me, or I practise the same with them in the

least degree, or whether they can but say of their knowledge that

I did know of it. And I know it will then appear that no one of

them will accuse me, if it be not apparent they do it in hope of

life, but do give signs that they die in the fear of God and hope

of their salvation.

“And as by this trial it will appear (in this time most fit for

saying truth) that there is not sufficient witness against me, so

I humbly desire also trial may be made by examining a witness, who

can, if he will, fully clear me, and I hope he will not deny me

that right, especially being(216) ... the place of right and

justice himself. Sir Everard Digby can testify for me, how

ignorant I was of any such matter but two days before that

unnatural parricide should have been practised. I have, for full

trial thereof, enclosed a letter unto him, which I humbly beseech

may be delivered before your Grace and the other two lords, whose

favour and equity I have likewise humbly entreated by these

letters unto them. All which I am bold to direct unto your Grace’s

hands, presuming upon your gracious furtherance, not having other

means, in this my distressed case, to have them severally

delivered. God of His goodness will reward, I hope, in full

measure, this your Grace’s favour and pity showed to an innocent

wrongly accused, who would rather suffer any death than not to be

found ever faithful to God and his Sovereign,

“JOHN GERARD.

“This 23rd of January.”

_Addressed_—“To the Right Honourable the Duke of Lenox, these

deliver.”

_Endorsed in Cecil’s hand_—“Gerard the Jesuit to the Duke of

Lenox.”

“Right Honourable,—Although I can expect no other from one in your

place, but that you should permit the course of justice to proceed

against any that are proved guilty of treason to His Majesty and

the State, especially in so foul and unnatural a treason as was

lately discovered, yet I cannot but hope where there is so much

wisdom, and so vigilant a care for the preservation of this State,

your lordship will also be pleased to hear, and forward to make

trial, who may be wrongfully accused, knowing right well that it

is as necessary in any Government to protect the innocent as to

punish the offenders.

“What proof there is of my accusation I know not, and therefore

cannot answer it. But this I know: that none can truly produce the

least proof that ever I was made privy to that treason of which I

am accused, and much less a practiser with the principal

conspirators in the same, as I am denounced to be. Therefore, sith

I know not my accusers, God I hope will be judge between them and

me, to Whom I refer my cause, and in Whom my trust is, and ever

shall be, that He will right me.

“In the meantime my humble request is, that your lordship, who

have been so often seen to be pitiful towards any in distress, and

a potent helper to those who were oppressed (a special ornament in

so eminent a person, and much commended and rewarded by God

Himself), will show your accustomed commiseration in my case, and

afford me therein such audience as may be sufficient to make trial

of my innocency. Wherein your lordship shall imitate the just

proceeding of the highest Lord, from Whom both yourself, and all

that govern, have all your power. For God Himself, although He

know all things before He call us to account, yet, to give us the

form of just proceeding, is said in Holy Scripture to be ever

careful in hearing what the accused can say for himself before He

proceeds to give sentence. So we read that God said to Abraham,

‘Clamor Sodomorum etc., multiplicatus est, etc., descendam et

videbo utrum clamorem qui venit ad me opere compleverint, an non

est ita, ut sciam.’ So again in the Gospel when He heard a

complaint against His steward, He would not proceed against him

without full audience, but called him and said, ‘Quid hæc audio de

te? redde rationem villicationis tuae.’ These most high and worthy

examples I trust your lordship will follow in my case, as you have

been known to do with others. And then I doubt not but that shall

appear true which I have most sincerely protested before God and

the world.

“My humble petition therefore is, that a witness may be asked his

knowledge who is well able to clear me if he will, and I hope he

will not be so unjust in this time of his own danger as to conceal

so needful a proof being so demanded of him. Sir Everard Digby

doth well know how far I was from knowledge of any such matter but

two days before the treason was known to all men. I have therefore

written a letter unto him, to require his testimony of that which

passed between him and me at that time. Wherein, if I may have

your lordship’s furtherance to have just trial made of the truth

whilst yet he liveth, I shall ever esteem myself most deeply bound

to pray for your lordship’s happiness both in this world and in

the next. In which hope I will rest, your lordship’s prone and

humble suppliant, never to be proved false to King and country,

“JOHN GERARD.

“This 23rd of January.”

_Addressed_—“To the Right Honourable the Earl of Salisbury,

Principal Secretary to His Majesty, these.”

_Endorsed in Cecil’s hand_—“Gerard the Jesuit to my son.”

“Sir Everard Digby,—I presume so much of your sincerity both to

God and man, that I cannot fear you will be loath to utter your

knowledge for the clearing of one that is innocent from a most

unjust accusation, importing both loss of life to him that is

accused, and of his good name also, which he much more esteemeth.

“So it is that upon some false information (given, as I suppose,

by some base fellows, desirous to save their lives by the loss of

their honesty) there is come forth a proclamation against my

Superior, and one other of the Society, and myself, as against

three notorious practisers with divers of the principal

conspirators in this late most odious treason of destroying the

King’s Majesty and all in the Parliament House with powder. And

myself am put in the first place, as the first or chiefest

offender therein.

“Now God I call to witness, Who must be my Judge, that I did never

know of it before the rumour of the country brought it to the

place where I was, after the treason was publicly discovered. And

if this protestation be not sincerely true, without any

equivocation, and the words thereof so understood by me, as they

sound to others, I neither desire nor expect any favour at God’s

hand when I shall stand before His tribunal. But because this

protestation doth only clear me in their opinion who are so

persuaded of my conscience that they think I would not condemn my

soul to save my body (which I hope by God’s grace shall never be

my mind): therefore, to give more full proof of my innocency to

those also may doubt the truth of my words, I take witness to

yourself whether you, upon your certain knowledge, cannot clear

me. I wrote a letter before Christmas which I hoped would be

sufficient to have cleared me; wherein, beside a most serious

protestation (such as no honest man can use if he were guilty, as

for my part my conscience doth persuade me), I alleged some other

reasons which did make it more than probable, in my opinion, that

I was neither to be charged with this late treason, nor chargeable

with former dealing in State matters. But I did of purpose forbear

this proof (which now I allege), although I did assure myself it

would clear me from all just suspicion of being privy to that last

and greatest treason; and I did forbear to set it down, in regard

I would not take knowledge of any personal acquaintance with you,

especially at your own house, not knowing how far you were to be

touched for your life, and therefore would not add unto your

danger. But now that it appears by your confession and trial in

the country that you stand at the King’s mercy for greater matters

than your acquaintance with a Priest, I hope you will not be loath

I should publish that which cannot hurt you, and may help myself

in a matter of such importance. And as I know you could never like

to stoop to so base and unworthy a humour as to flatter or

dissemble with any man, so much less can I fear that now (being in

the case you are in) you can ever think it fit to dissemble with

God, or not to utter your every knowledge, being required as from

Him, and in the behalf of truth. Therefore I desire you will bear

witness of the truth which followeth (if it be true that I affirm

of my demand to you, growing upon my ignorance in the matter then

in hand) as you expect truth and mercy at God’s hand hereafter.

“First, I desire you to bear witness whether, coming to your house

upon All Souls’ Day last, before dinner, with intention and hope

to celebrate there, and finding all things hid out of the way and

many of your household gone, you did not perceive me to be

astonished at it, as a thing much contrary to my expectation.

Whereupon I asked you what was become of them. And when you told

me you had sent them into Warwickshire, and your hounds also, and

yourself were going presently after, about a hunting match which

you had made, though I seemed satisfied for the present because a

stranger was there with you, yet whether I did not soon after

(when I had compared many particulars together which seemed

strange unto me) draw you into a chamber apart, and there urge you

to tell me what was the reason both of that sudden alteration in

your house and of divers other things which I had observed before,

but did not until then reflect upon them so much, as, for example,

the number of horses that you had not long before in your stable,

the sums of money which I had been told you had made of your stock

and grounds, which (said I) in one of your judgment and provident

care of your estate, are not likely to be done without some great

cause, and seemed to think you had something in hand for the

Catholic cause. Your answer was, ‘No, there was nothing in hand

that you knew of, or could tell me of.’ And when I replied that I

had some fear of it by those signs, considering you would not hurt

your estate so much in likelihood without some cause equivalent

(for I knew very well you meant to pay the statute, and so stood

not in fear of losing your stock), and therefore willed you to

look well that you followed counsel in your proceedings, or else

you might hurt both yourself and the cause, your answer was (which

I have remembered often since), ‘That you respected the Catholic

cause much more than your own commodity, as it should well appear

whensoever you undertook anything.’ I asked you once again

whether, then, there were anything to be done, and whether you

expected any help by foreign power, whereunto you answered,

holding up the end of your finger, that you would not adventure so

much in hope thereof. Then I said, ‘I pray God you follow counsel

in your doings. If there be any matter in hand, doth Mr. Walley

know of it?’ You answered, ‘In truth, I think he doth not.’ Then I

said further, ‘In truth, Sir Everard Digby, if there should be

anything in hand, and that you retire yourself and company into

Warwickshire, as into a place of most safety, I should think you

did not perform the part of a friend to some of your neighbours

not far off, and persons that, as you know, deserve every respect,

and to whom you have professed much friendship, that they are left

behind, and have not any warning to make so much provision for

their own safety as were needful in such a time, but to defend

themselves from rogues.’ Your answer was (as I will be sworn), ‘I

warrant you it shall not need.’ And so you gave me assurance that,

if there had been anything needful for them or me to know, you

would assuredly have told me. So I rested satisfied and parted

from you, and after that I never saw you nor any of the

conspirators. These were my questions unto you. And thus clear I

was from the knowledge of that Plot against the Parliament House,

whereof, notwithstanding, I am accused and proclaimed to be a

practiser with the principal conspirators. But I refer me to God

and your conscience, who are able to clear me, and I challenge the

conscience of any one that certainly expecteth death, and desireth

to die in the fear of God and with hope of his salvation, to

accuse me of it if he can. God, of His mercy, grant unto us all

grace to see and do His will, and to live and die His servants,

for they only are and shall be happy for ever.

“Your companion in tribulation though not in the cause,

“JOHN GERARD.”

_Postcript_—“I hope you will also witness with me that you have

ever seen me much averted from such violent courses, and hopeful

rather of help by favour than by force. And, indeed, if I had not

now been satisfied by your assurance that there was nothing in

hand, it should presently have appeared how much I had misliked

any forcible attempts, the counsel of Christ and the commandment

of our superiors requiring the contrary, and that in patience we

should possess our souls.”

_Addressed_—“To Sir Everard Digby, prisoner in the Tower.”

_Endorsed in Cecil’s hand_—“Gerard the Priest to Sir Everard

Digby.”

From Father Bartoli(217) we take a letter written from Rome, twenty-five

years after the Powder Plot, addressed by Father Gerard to Dr. Smith,

Bishop of Chalcedon, and Vicar Apostolic of England. The translation from

Bartoli’s Italian version is a very old one; the date of the letter is

September 1, 1630.

“My Lord,—Not long since I received information that a manuscript

dissertation, with the title of _Brevis Inquisitio, &c._, had been

circulated in your parts; in the course of which it is pretended

that a certain person continues to glory, to the present day, that

by working under ground in the mine of Mr. Catesby and other

conspirators, by excavating and carrying out the soil with his own

hands, he has often found his shirt wet through and dripping with

sweat as copiously as if it had been dragged through a river; and

that this person is no other than myself, according to the opinion

expressed in the letter. I despised such an idle tale as

undeserving of an answer, knowing it, as most others must know it,

to be not only most false, but, moreover, most remote, from

probability. I only begged of a good Priest, who was setting out

for England, to make known to your lordship what I had heard

concerning such a deed laid to my charge, so contrary to all truth

and justice; and that I hoped you would not give credit to it, but

rather on hearing it mentioned by any one, would show the

falsehood as it is. But in the meantime, while the Priest is yet

on his journey, I have learned from good authority that the book

has been printed and published, curtailed indeed of that story,

which is, however, circulated in manuscript through the hands of

many, with every circumstance and embellishment; whence has arisen

the general opinion that I am the person there spoken of, the

testimony of a Priest being alleged, who says that he has heard me

boast of it. Truly I cannot sufficiently express my astonishment

on perceiving that there can be found a Catholic, and if a Priest

so much the worse, who has so shameless a conscience as to dare

assert what he must necessarily know to be false, and injurious to

one who never did him any harm or injury whatever. This I can

affirm of myself with respect to every Priest in England, to many

of whom I have often afforded assistance, but, to my knowledge,

have never offended one. Your lordship, moreover, must be aware

how very improbable it is that I should boast of a crime so false,

so horrible. Now, with all due reverence, I call God to witness

that I had no more knowledge of the conspiracy than a new-born

infant might have; that I never heard any one mention it; that I

had not even a suspicion of the provision of gunpowder for the

mine, excepting only when the Plot was detected, made public, and

known to every one, and when the conspirators appeared openly in

arms in the county of Warwick; then only did I hear of it for the

first time, by a message brought to the place where I resided; and

this place was so ill provided that of itself it proved I could

have no knowledge of the conspiracy, either from the expressions

of others or from my own suspicions; there being in that place

neither men nor arms sufficient to defend us from the marauders,

who on every occasion of similar commotions issue forth and unite

in bodies for plunder. Neither did this happen for want of

sufficient means to furnish and reinforce the house with men and

arms, but solely because we had no suspicion of a commotion, much

less any knowledge of a conspiracy. Besides this, the accomplices

in the Plot were subjected to the most rigorous examination, and

questioned concerning me; and although some of them under the

torture named one or others of those who were privy to the

conspiracy, nevertheless all constantly denied it of me. Sir

Everard Digby, who of all the others, for many reasons, was most

suspected of having possibly revealed the secret to me, protested

in open court and declared that he had often been instigated to

say I knew something of the Plot, but that he had always answered

in the negative, alleging the reason why he had never dared to

disclose it to me, because, he said, he feared lest I should

dissuade him from it. Therefore the greater part of the Privy

Councillors considered my innocence established, it being proved

by the concurrent testimony of so many, and by a letter in which I

defended and cleared myself from such a groundless suspicion. In

that letter, besides the reasons therein produced in proof of my

innocence, I protested before Heaven and earth that, so far from

being engaged in the conspiracy, I was as ignorant of it as man

could be. Being at that time in imminent danger of falling into

the hands of the Privy Councillors, who with the most refined

diligence sent in every direction in quest of me, I had thoughts

of surrendering myself up to every torment imaginable, and what is

more to be regarded, to the terrible and disgraceful charge of

perjury, if having me in their power they could convict me, by

legal proof, of being privy to the conspiracy. There was a time,

when under Elizabeth they held me prisoner for something more than

three years, during which period, many times and in as many ways

as they chose, did they examine me, to discover in general if I

had ever meddled in affairs of State. I challenged them to produce

in proof a single character in my hand, a single word, or anything

else sufficient to show it, and then to punish me when convicted

with the most cruel death that could be inflicted. There never was

brought forward the smallest trace or shadow of a proof. How much

more improbable is it that I should consent to a Plot so inhuman,

I who, from the natural disposition of my soul, independently of

supernatural motives, hold in abhorrence everything that has the

smallest appearance of cruelty. This I can affirm with truth, that

from the time I first embraced the profession of life in which I

am engaged, down to the present moment, I have never, by God’s

mercy, desired the grievous harm, much less the death, of any man

in the world, although he may have been my most inveterate enemy:

how could I then have had any hand or part in the sudden,

unexpected, and on that account tremendous death of so many

personages of such high quality, for whom I have ever borne the

greatest respect. A person was employed to scatter copies of my

forementioned letter through various streets of London, and one in

particular was delivered to the Earl of Northampton, and by him

laid before the King, on whom my reasons so far prevailed to his

satisfaction that he would have desisted from the rigorous search

made after me, had not Cecil, for his own private ends, rendered

him more violent than ever. For being persuaded that some of the

conspirators had plotted against his life in particular, and

knowing that most of them were my friends, he hoped if he could

once lay hold of me, to find out from me how many and who were the

conspirators. For this sole reason he never rested until he had

again persuaded the King, as a thing evidently known to him and

clearly demonstrated, that I was not only an accomplice but the

ringleader in the Plot, and therefore to be the first named in the

proclamation; which was so done. Perceiving from this that the

persecution was not likely to abate, and that I might be

discovered and arrested, I took the advice to withdraw myself for

a time, and to ‘give place to wrath,’ and, after so many years of

hard labour in England, with the Apostles ‘to come apart into a

desert place and rest a little:’ nor was there any other principal

motive of my leaving the kingdom. In fine, this is the simple

naked truth; I was totally ignorant of the provision of gunpowder

and of the mine; I was and I am as innocent of this and of every

other conspiracy as your lordship or any other man living; and

this I affirm and swear upon my soul, without any equivocation

whatsoever; in such sort, that if the facts do not correspond

truly to the meaning of the words, or if I had any information of

the forementioned Plot before it was made public to the whole

world, as I have before said, I own myself guilty of perjury

before God and men; and as far as it is true that I had no

knowledge of it, so far and no more do I ask mercy at the throne

of God: and it is very probable that it will not be long before I

must appear at the divine tribunal, considering my age and the

present contagion in the neighbourhood; for if it should reach us

it is hardly possible I can escape, on account of the assistance

which it is my duty to render to this Community, whose souls are

committed to my care.(218) Therefore I am induced to hope that

your lordship will not consider me so careless and prodigal of my

eternal salvation, after having spent so many years in no other

employment than that of seeking to know and to accomplish the will

of God, and of teaching the same to others, as to be now willing

to burthen my conscience and risk the salvation of my soul by a

protestation so solemn and spontaneous, if my conscience were not

pure, my cause evident, and my words true in all sincerity. Now,

as I doubt not that God, the Supreme Judge, Who sees and knows all

things, will pass sentence on my cause according to its merits, so

I hope that your lordship, now knowing me to be innocent, will not

wish me to appear guilty, by permitting to stand against me

without contradiction an accusation so false and of such enormous

infamy. Since this accusation derives its greatest force from the

authority of your lordship, who, it is publicly said, gives credit

and support to it, I beseech you, by that love which you have for

charity and justice, to oppose the falsity of the calumny by the

truth of this my justification. With respect to the Priest,

whoever he may be, by whose false allegation your lordship appears

to have been deceived, I desire with all my heart he may meet with

true repentance before he dies, so that we may all live together

and love God in a blessed eternity.”

Next, we find, in Father Henry More’s _History of the English Province

S.J._,(219) a letter from Father Thomas Fitzherbert, Rector of the English

College at Rome, of which house Father Gerard was then Confessor. It is

not necessary for us to translate it from his Latin version, as it exists

in English amongst the Stonyhurst MSS.(220) It is dated some months later

than the foregoing letter of Father Gerard, and was sent by Mutius

Vitelleschi, General of the Society, to the Bishop of Chalcedon, by the

hands of Fathers Henry Floyd and Thomas Bapthorpe, who were at the same

time bearers of a second letter from Father Gerard to Bishop Smith,

extracts from which we subjoin, translated from Bartoli.(221)

“Right Rev. and my honorable good Lord,—Having understood that one

of our Society hath been of late traduced, _tacito nomine_, in a

printed book as to have bragged that he had sweat in working in

the Powder Plot, and that your lordship have named him, and as it

seemeth, dost believe him to be Father John Gerard, I think myself

obliged to represent to your lordship’s consideration some things

concerning him, and that matter, as well in respect of the common

bond of our religion and his great merits, as also for that he is

at this present under my charge (albeit I acknowledge myself

unworthy to have such a subject), and lastly for the knowledge I

have had many years of his innocency in that point ever since that

slanderous calumny was first raised by the heretics against him,

at which time I myself and many other of his friends and kinsmen

did very diligently and curiously inform ourselves of the truth

thereof, and found that he was fully cleared of it even by the

public and solemn testimony of the delinquents themselves, namely

of Sir Everard Digby (with whom he was known to be most familiar

and confident), who publicly protested at his arraignment that he

did never acquaint him with their design, being assured that he

would not like of it, but dissuade him from it; and of this I can

show good testimony by letters from London written hither at the

same time, bearing date the 29th of January, in the year 1606.

Therefore, to the end that your lordship may the better believe

it, I have thought good to shew the same to some very credible

persons, who are shortly to depart from hence, and do mean to

present themselves to your lordship, of whom you may (if it please

you) understand the truth of it. Besides that for your better

satisfaction, I have also by our right reverend Father General’s

express order and commission commanded him in their presence upon

obedience (which commandment we hold by our Rule and Institute to

bind, under pain of mortal sin) to declare the truth whether he

had any knowledge of that Powder Plot or no, and he hath in their

presence protested upon his salvation, that he had never any

knowledge of it, either by Sir Everard Digby, or any other, until

it was discovered, and that he came to know it by common fame;

besides that alleged many pregnant proofs of his innocency therein

which I omit to write, because he himself doth represent them to

your lordship by a letter of his own; and of this also the

witnesses aforesaid may inform your lordship if you be not

otherways satisfied. In the meantime, I have only thought it my

part to give this my testimony of his solemn protestation and

oath, and withal to send to your lordship the enclosed copies of

two clauses of letters from England and Flanders touching this

matter, not doubting but that your lordship’s charity will move

you to admit the same as sufficient to clear him of that calumny,

seeing there was never any proof produced against him, nor yet any

ground of that slander but the malicious conceit and suspicion of

heretics, by reason of his acquaintance with some of the

delinquents, in which case a solemn protestation and oath, as he

hath freely and voluntarily made, may suffice both in conscience

and law for a canonical purgation to clear him from all suspicion

as well of that fact as of all collusion or double dealing in this

his protestation, especially seeing he hath always been not only

_integerrimæ famæ_, but also of singular estimation in England for

his many years’ most zealous and fruitful labours there, and his

constant suffering of imprisonment and torments for the Catholic

faith. Besides that, he hath been ever since a worthily esteemed

and principal member of our Society, and given sufficient proof of

a most religious and sincere conscience, to the edification of us

all. This being considered, I cannot but hope that your lordship

will rest satisfied of his innocency in this point, and out of

your charity procure also to satisfy others who may have, by any

speech of your lordship’s, conceived worse of him than he hath

deserved; for so your lordship shall provide as well for the

reparation of his fame as for the discharge of your own

conscience, being bound both by justice and charity to restitution

in this case, as I make no doubt but that your lordship would

judge if it were another man’s case; yea, and exact also of others

if the like wrong had been done either to yourself, or to any

kinsman, dear friend, or subject of yours, all which he is to me;

and, therefore, I am the bolder, I will not say to expect this at

your lordship’s hands (because it doth not become me), but humbly

to crave it of you as a thing which I shall take for a favour, no

less to myself than to the Society; and so this to no other end, I

humbly take my leave, wishing to your lordship all true felicity,

this 15th of March, 1631.

“Your lordship’s humble servant,

“THOMAS FITZHERBERT.”

“Ex literis P. Ægidii Schondonchii Seminarii Audomarensis Rectoris

1 Martii 1606:

“ ‘Dum has scribo accepi literas recentissime datas a viro claro

quibus significavit Dominum Everardum Digbæum, dum a Judicibus

pronuntiaretur in eum mortis sententia, coram eisdem protestatum

esse nullum penitus in Anglia Jesuitam hujus rei fuisse conscium,

Nam, inquit, familiaris Patri Gerardo si quis alius, neque unquam

ausus fui indicare tantillum, veritus ne conaretur frangere

nostros conatus. Itaque sancte asseruit se id solo ex puro

Catholicæ ac Romanæ Ecclesiæ zelo neque ullo alio humano respectu

suscepisse.’

“Out of the letter of Father Michael Walpole written to Father

Persons, the 29th of January, 1606:

“ ‘Touching Gerard’s letter which I have seen, I can only say this

much, that it seemeth to me to be so effectual, as nothing can be

more, so that I am fully persuaded that the King’s Majestie

himself and the whole Council remain satisfied of him [in] their

own hearts, and his Majesty is reported for certain to have

declared so much in words upon the sight of his letter.’

“In the end, after his name, he writeth as followeth:

“ ‘This letter is confirmed since by Sir Everard Digby’s speech at

his arraignment, in which he cleared all Jesuits and Priests (to

his knowledge) upon his salvation. And in particular, that though

he was particularly acquainted with Gerard, yet he never durst

mention this matter, being fully assured that he would be wholly

against it, to which my Lord of Salisbury replied, affirming the

contrary, and that he knew him to be guilty.’ ”

The first extract of the letter enclosed from Father Gerard runs thus:

“It is known to all how those of any blood have loved and served

King James. My father knew it to his cost, for he was twice

imprisoned for attempting to set free the glorious Queen Mary, the

King’s mother, and to secure the succession to her children: which

intent of his own was so clear to the Ministers of State, that

besides imprisonment, to purchase his life of them cost him some

thousands of crowns, especially the first time when there were but

three accused and he one of them, and of the other two, one lost

his life. Of all which King James was mindful when he came from

Scotland to be crowned King of England, and my brother at York

offered him his service and that of all his house. ‘I am

particularly bound,’ said he, ‘to love your blood, on account of

the persecution that you have borne for me, and of that his love

he there gave him the first pledge by making him a Knight.’ ”(222)

The remaining extract concludes our series of exculpatory letters:

“I send your lordship a copy of the three letters that I wrote to

three Councillors of State, that you may see in them how I trusted

to my innocence, when I offered to put it to the proof in the two

ways which I there proposed to them. Further than this, though the

conspirators had been put to death, and I saw that the course

proposed by me to the Councillors was not accepted, while the

matter was fresh, and I yet in London, I requested of our Fathers

that I might present myself in person to the Council of State,

which I would have done had they but given me leave; and if the

Council would have proceeded against me, not on the score of

religion, but for the conspiracy only, which alone was in

question, and for which, if they had found me guilty of it, they

might have done to me their very worst. This request I can swear

that I made and renewed several times to our Fathers, and there

are some yet alive who can bear witness to it; but it did not seem

good to them to consent to it.”

The matter does not seem to have rested here, unless there is some mistake

in a date, for Dr. Lingard(223) quotes from a MS. copy, dated April 17,

1631, an affidavit made by Anthony Smith, a Secular Priest, before the

Bishop of Chalcedon, “that in his hearing, Gerard had said in the

Novitiate at Liége, that he worked in the mine with the lay conspirators

till his clothes were as wet with perspiration as if they had been dipped

in water; and that the general condemnation of the Plot was chiefly owing

to its bad success, as had often happened to the attempts of unfortunate

generals in war.” It would seem as if this were a repetition of the

original accusation, in answer to which the letters given above were

written. Of the attack on Father Gerard, Dr. Lingard says, “For my own

part, upon having read what he wrote in his own vindication, I cannot

doubt his innocence, and suspect that Smith unintentionally attributed to

him what he had heard him say of some other person.”(224)

XXXIV.

It remains for us only to give an account of the manuscripts that have

been used as well in the Narrative of the Powder Plot as in the

Autobiography of its author.

Father Christopher Grene, who was English Penitentiary at St. Peter’s,

died in Rome in 1697.(225) This Father was a most diligent collector of

all the documents that related to the history of the persecutions of

Catholics in England.(226) He copied volumes of such documents, several of

which are still extant. In one which is preserved at Stonyhurst, entitled

by him, _Miscellanea de Martyribus et Persecutione in Anglia signanda

lit._ M. ... _incept. anno 1690_, he informs us that there were various

books called _Collectanea_ in the Archives of the English College at Rome,

distinguished by the letters of the alphabet, of the contents of which he

gives us an account. At folio 51 we have: “Ex libro Collectaneorum in

folio signato lita _C_ in Archo Colli Angl. hoc die 24 Jan. 1689. A

relation of ye Gunpowder Treason and of Father Garnett’s araignmt and

martyrdome, &c., written by Father John Gerard: ’tis ye the original

written soon after ye sayd martyrdome. It contains 85 sheetes of paper,

and is an excellent work, and should be printed.” After a short analysis

of the book, the pages quoted agreeing with the Stonyhurst MS. of the

Narrative, we have, “A p. 176 in eod. libro Collectan. _C_ una relatione

del P. Filippo Bemondo(227) della sua Missione in Inghilta,” &c. The last

page of the Stonyhurst MS., bearing the endorsement, “A Relation of ye

Gunpowder Treason, ye execution, &c. Also of F. Garnett’s arrayment,” is

numbered 176. The first page bears in Father Grene’s handwriting the

inscription, “Of the Gunpowder Treason, written by F. John Gerard, _alias_

Tomson, it is the originall.” We are thus enabled to recognize our

manuscript as the commencement of Father Grene’s volume _C_. The

subsequent history of the MS. is related in the two following letters,

which Dr. Oliver appended to the copy that he made of the Narrative. It is

only necessary to add that the Rev. Marmaduke Stone, to whom the second

letter is addressed, transferred the Academy of Liége (as it was called

after the suppression of the Society), of which he was made President in

1790, to Stonyhurst, in 1794. In 1803 he was appointed Provincial in

England by the General of the Society in Russia. In all probability,

therefore, the MS. was given by Father Thorpe to Father Stone, at Liége,

and by him was brought to Stonyhurst, where it now is.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐

The following extract is taken from a letter addressed by the Rev. John

Thorpe from Rome, August 12, 1789, to Henry, eighth Lord Arundell.

“The collection of ancient papers at the English College here

consisted of two sorts. The first belonged to the Stuart family,

and was deposited there only after the old Chevalier retired into

Italy. Neither Rector nor any other person in the College knew

anything of the contents, which were locked up in a strong

chamber, of which the keys were kept in the Palace of SS.

Apostoli, and everything was carefully removed to that palace

several months before the oppression of the Society. The other

collection related to ecclesiastical matters, from the time of

Henry VIII. to the beginning of the present century; it had been a

repository of all papers and letters of many indefatigable men in

preserving a faithful remembrance of whatever was interesting to

religion during that period. But different removals of these

papers, which were very many, had thrown them into disorder.

Father Booth can tell in what state he left them. I have before

mentioned to your lordship a MS. relating to our British saints,

written in the manner of a calendar, in which many curious

passages of history frequently occurred. I do not think it had

been seen either by Father Alford (who wrote the annals of our

British Church up to the year 1180) or by Mr. Wilson, who digested

the English Martyrology that was daily read at St. Omer. Other

MSS. of this kind were also in the same place, while I lived in

the College. Afterwards, when the storm began to blacken over us,

divers attempts were made to put these papers into a place of

security; but every means miscarried. They never belonged to the

College, and among what are the College archives many very

interesting papers remain belonging to the Jesuits. The papers

above mentioned were finally destroyed by one accident or another,

to prevent further fears of molestation in those days of arbitrary

persecution. If anciently there had been any valuable MSS. in the

old hospital, they were supposed to have been removed when it was

converted to the purpose of a College, because scarce anything

more than accounts of pilgrims, house expenses, and like articles,

remained under that date, and even these in no regular order. Thus

I apprehend that no material intelligence of remote historical

facts can be gathered from hence.

“I will now venture to tell your lordship of a curious MS. that a

very unforeseen accident brought into my hands, at a considerable

distance of time from the oppression of the Society, and from the

total removal of the Jesuits from the College. It is a long

account of the Gunpowder Plot, from beginning to the end in the

original handwriting of Father John Gerard. It is a folio volume

of about 300 pages, composed with an extensive knowledge of the

persons concerned, and of whom several curious anecdotes are

recounted. Father John Gerard suffered much on occasion of that

Plot, wherein the prosecutors tried every means to involve him in

one manner or another. During the plundering and ransacking of the

Houses at the oppression, such an account was reported to have

been found in the Novitiate by the notorious Alfani, and it

immediately was sought for by our countrymen, and instructions

were said to have come from our Court at London for obtaining it

at any price. But on further examination that account contained no

more than relations of the religious lives and edifying death of

those Jesuits who suffered on that occasion. I have never heard

what became of those papers, but suppose them to have been

destroyed, with very many others of no less edification. I must

find some good place wherein to deposit the relation above

mentioned; it is very curious, though it contains no new

intelligence of the fact described in it. It is written with a

singular candour that distinguishes the good religious man, and

with a politeness that marks the gentleman. Your lordship may

signify all this with my best respects to Mr. More” [the last

English Provincial before the suppression], “desiring his counsel

on the manner of disposing of this valuable MS., every line of

which may be esteemed a relic for the eminent sanctity of the

writer.”

Lastly, we have an extract from a letter written from Rome, March 26,

1791, by the Rev. John Thorpe to the Rev. Marmaduke Stone, President of

the English Academy at Liége.

“Among other things with me is one very singular piece, which I

look upon as a kind of property of your House, at least in the

light wherein it stood twenty years ago. It is an original folio

MS. all in the handwriting of venerable Father John Gerard,

wherein he gives an ample relation of the Gunpowder Plot; and it

is, I believe, the only relation extant that was written by a

person accused of being in any manner acquainted of it. This

article demands your secrecy, and it is earnestly recommended to

it; but your counsel is also asked, where and how this rare

_depositum_ should be placed. Religion has nothing to fear from

it. A summary of its contents was sent some time ago to England,

and was in the hands of Lord Arundell. At the time of the

Society’s suppression here, a commission came hither from England

(supposed to be given by the Court) for purchasing at any rate, if

any such relation should be found among the Jesuits’ archives. A

long Latin account of Father Garnett’s sufferings was triumphantly

seized among the papers of the Novitiate, and occasioned the

vulgar mistake of what was sought being really found; but the

contents, when understood, notoriously demonstrated the contrary.

This is written in English, in that easy devout style for which

everything of the writer is remarkable. It is a valuable relic.”

Though we cannot exactly determine the date of the MS., we can approximate

to it pretty nearly. First of all, it is clear from the mention of Sir

Thomas Gerard’s knighthood at p. 27, that the book was written before the

creation of baronets in 1611. At page 282, Father Southwell’s martyrdom is

said to have happened eleven years before. As he died in 1595, and Father

Gerard escaped from England in May, 1606, the Narrative would seem to have

been written in the latter part of that year. We have, besides, Father

Grene’s statement that it was “written soon after the martyrdom” of Father

Garnett, and Father Gerard’s own assertion in his Autobiography: “I

myself, when I came from England to Rome, was ordered to put in writing an

account of the whole affair, and did so as well as I could.”

The original MS. of the Autobiography no longer exists. Father Grene had

seen it; for an analysis of it, _transcript. ex autographo ipsius_, in his

hand is in the second volume of the MSS. kept at Stonyhurst under the name

of _Collectanea_, which we have quoted under the letter _P_. The MS. we

have used,(228) which belongs to Stonyhurst, bears the title, “Narratio

Patris Joannis Gerardi de rebus a se in Anglia gestis.” It purports to be

a copy from an original at the Novitiate of St. Andrew, in the hands of

Father Francis Sacchini, the historian. We have no means of knowing

whether it is the same copy as that which existed, according to Father

Grene,(229) in the volume of the _Collectanea_ called _D_, in the English

College at Rome. He mentions it under the title of “Narratio P. Joannis

Gerardi de tota vita sua. Copia.” The Autobiography was composed in 1609,

as is plain from the mention of Robert Drury’s martyrdom, which our author

says happened two years before the time when he was writing. This good

Priest suffered at Tyburn, Feb. 26, 1607.

We now leave Father John Gerard in the hands of the reader, parting from

him with sincere respect, and sharing good old Father Grene’s affection

for him, who in some notes, written in preparation, apparently, for an

English Menology, has set down as applicable to Father Gerard the phrases,

“Non ipse martyrio, sed ipsi martyrium defuit,” and, again, the Church’s

antiphon for St. Martin, “O beatum virum, qui totis visceribus diligebat

Christum! O sanctissima anima, quam etsi gladius persecutoris non

abstulit, palmam tamen martyrii non amisit.”

Additional Notes.

P. x. and p. 26.—Elizabeth, the mother of John Gerard, was the eldest of

the three daughters and co-heiresses of Sir John Port, and at her father’s

death, June 6, 1557, Etwall became the property of Sir Thomas Gerard. This

is the “dwelling-house within two miles of” Tutbury “Castle where” Mary

Queen of Scots “was kept,” where Father Gerard lived when a child for

three years. Sir John’s second daughter, Dorothy, took Dale Abbey in

Derbyshire to her husband, George Hastings fourth Earl of Huntingdon; and

Margaret, the third daughter, by her marriage conveyed Cubley in the same

county to Sir Thomas Stanhope, grandfather of the first Earl of

Chesterfield.

Father Gerard had three sisters, Mary, wife of John Jenison; Dorothy, wife

of Edmund Peckham; and Martha, wife of Michael Jenison. In the British

Museum (Harl. MSS. 6998, f. 197) there is a report, dated June 16, 1595,

from Edward Cokayne, evidently a Derbyshire magistrate, of assistance

given by him to William Newall, “one of the messengers of Her Majesty’s

Chamber,” in searches in that county. The following paragraph relates to

one of Father Gerard’s sisters: “The first house that we searched

according to his direction was the house of one Mr. Jenison, that married

one of my Lady Gerard’s daughters, she being a great recusant, and not her

husband: howsoever, it is reported that there is great resort of

strangers, but what they be, we cannot learn, neither at this time did we

find any there, but pictures in the chambers according to their

profession. Only one West that was a messenger between the seminaries was

fled six weeks before we came, and whither he is gone, as yet we cannot

learn.”

P. xii.—It is not easy to reconcile the dates at this period of Father

Gerard’s life. He could not have been nineteen when he went to France, for

he lived at Rhemes three years, one at Clermont, and about a year in

England before he was committed to the Marshalsea; he was a full year in

that prison, and after his discharge his recognizances were renewed for

perhaps another year before leaving England for Rome, and he was in the

College about seventeen months before he was ordained Priest towards the

close of 1587, when he yet wanted several months of the canonical age for

the Priesthood, that is, twenty-five. From this we should gather that when

he first went to Rhemes he was under seventeen, which would have been in

1580.

On the other hand, it is equally difficult to understand the date given in

the Douay Diary, August or September, 1577, which would make him fourteen.

Perhaps this was a visit to the continent before going to Oxford, which he

says was when he was fifteen, spending a year there and two years

afterwards with Mr. Leutner as a tutor. The Douay Diary has the following

entry. “1577. Aug. 29 die, advenerunt ex Anglia Mr. Paschallus vir

nobilis, et quidam Aldrigius mercator: eodem etiam tempore adventavit Mr.

Gerrardus D. Tho. Gerrardi Equitis Aurati filius.”

P. xv.—The following is the entry respecting Father John Gerard in the

_Liber Annalium_ of the English College at Rome: “Joannes Gerardus Anglus

dioecesis Lichfeldiensis annum agens 23m, aptus ad theologiam positivam,

receptus fuit in hoc Anglorum Collegium inter alumnos SSmi. D. N. Sixti V.

a P. Gulielmo Holto hujus Collegii Rectore de mandato Illmi. Hippoliti

Cardis. Aldobrandini Viceprotectoris sub die 5o Aprilis Anno Dni. 1587,

cum fuisset antea Convictor per septem menses.

“Anno Dni. 1587 mense ... accepit ordines minores, et mense Augusto

Subdiaconatum, et Diaconatum 9o mense die 16.”

His name appears in the Pilgrims’ Register of the English College, as

having been there received Aug. 5, 1586 (Stonyhurst MSS., Father Grene’s

_Miscell. de Coll. Angl._, p. 19).

P. xvi.—The Douay Diary gives us the dates of Father Gerard’s arrival at

Rhemes and his departure thence, together with the names of his

fellow-travellers. It is clear that if they left Rhemes on the 26th of

September, and remained at Eu until they could receive an answer from

Rome, they could not possibly have landed in England so soon as the end of

October. “1588. Sept. 21 die, Roma ad nos venerunt D. Rodolphus Buckland,

D. Joannes Gerard filius D. Thomæ Gerard Equitis Aurati, D. Arthurus

Stratford” [whom Gifford, the spy, called Shefford], “D. Edouardus Oldcorn

presbyteri. Die 26 Angliam ituri discesserunt D. Jo. Gerard, D. Rodolphus

Buckland, D. Arthurus Stratford et D. Edouardus Oldcorn.”

P. xxx.—In the Public Record Office (_Domestic, Eliz._, vol. 244, n. 7)

are two forms of indictment of Richard Jackson, Priest, for saying Mass,

and of various members of the Wiseman family for being present at Mass, on

the 25th August and the 8th September, 34 Eliz., 1592. The endorsement is

“Masse-mongers.”

P. xxxviii.—Line 22, for “Worcestershire” read “Warwickshire.” See p. 282.

Pp. xlv., lxx.—In his examination Brother Emerson frankly acknowledged

himself to be a Jesuit Lay-brother, and “sometime Campion’s boy.” A copy

of his examination is in the British Museum (Harleian MSS., 6998, f. 65).

It is dated April 17, 1593, and bears the marginal note “Ley Jesuite.”

“Ralph Emerson of the bishopric of Durham, scholar, of the age of

forty-two years or thereabouts, examined before Sir Owen Hopton, Knight,

Mr. Doctor Goodman, Dean of Westminster, Mr. Dale, Mr. Fuller, and Mr.

Young, who refuseth to be sworn, but saith first that he hath [been] in

prison these nine years—namely, three years and a quarter in the Counter

in the Poultry, and the rest of that time hath been in the Clink—committed

by Mr. Young for bringing over of books, called my Lord of Leicester’s

books as he saith, and hath been examined before Sir Francis Walsingham,

and before Mr. Young, and before others divers times, and was never

indicted to his knowledge.

“Item, he confesseth that he is a Lay Jesuit, and took that degree at Rome

fourteen years since, and was sometime Campion’s boy, and sayeth when he

took that Order he did vow chastity, poverty, and obedience to the

Superior of their House, and if he sent him to the Turk he must go.

“Item, being urged to take the oath of allegiance to Her Majesty, refuseth

the same, and saith he may not take any oath.

“Item, he saith he hath neither lands, goods, nor other living, but will

not set down by whom he is maintained and now relieved.

“Item, he refuseth to be reformed, and to come to Church, affirming that

he will live and die in his faith.

“Item, being demanded whether if the Pope should send an army into this

realm, to establish that which he calleth the Catholic Romish religion, he

would in the like case fight for the Queen’s Majesty on her side against

the said army, or on the army’s side, saith that he will never fight

against Her Majesty, nor against the religion which he professeth.

“Concordat cum originali.—H. Fermor.”

P. xlvi.—Father Tesimond, in the Italian narrative already mentioned (p.

ccxlviii) as forming part of Father Grene’s volume _C_ (fol. 185), says

that, when he came to England in 1597, Father Garnett was living in a

house called Morecroftes, at Uxbridge, twelve or thirteen miles from

London. There may have been a friendly house at Brentford, for this was

their place of meeting on one occasion when they had suddenly to leave

Uxbridge on account of a search.

P. liii.—Dominam ipsam domus in suo cubiculo cum puellis suis clauserunt

(MS.) More probably “with her daughters” than “with her maids.” William

and Jane Wiseman had three children, Jane, Dorothea, and Winifred. John

who married Mary, daughter of Sir Rowland Rydgeley, had two daughters,

Lucy and Elizabeth, and an only son, Aurelius Piercy Wiseman, who was

killed in a duel in London in 1680. The following inscription on his

grave, in Wimbish Church, is given by Wright (_History of Essex_, vol.

ii., p. 134): “Here rest the sad remains of Aurelius Piercy Wiseman, of

Broad Oak, in this parish, Esq., the last of the name of that place, and

head and chief of that right worshipful and ancient family, who was

unfortunately killed in the flower of his age, December 11, 1680.”

P. lvii.—From the _Life of Anne Countess of Arundel_, published in 1857 by

the Duke of Norfolk (p. 308), we learn that, during the Earl’s

imprisonment, “she hired a little house at Acton, Middlesex, six miles

distant from London.”

P. cxl.—Father Tesimond relates a search some two years earlier than this,

in which Father Joseph Pollen escaped capture (Stonyhurst MSS., C, fol.

184).

Pp. clxvi. and cciii.—Sir Oliver Manners wrote the following letter in

Italian to Father Aquaviva, General of the Society, from Turin, April 17,

1612, shortly before his eldest brother’s death (Stonyhurst MSS., _Angl.

A._, vol. vi.). “I cannot tell you what comfort I received from the

letters of your Paternity. The troubles I then had will tell it better

than I can, for, when I was seriously ill, my brother the Earl sent to say

that I was to expect no more help from England, as the King has entrusted

my houses and estates to him, and would not permit him to send me a penny.

Precisely at that moment the letters of your Paternity reached me, and

seemed to me sent by the Lord to make me touch with my hand how His Divine

Majesty never abandons those who hope in Him and suffer for His love; and

as at that time I had a great desire of suffering more and more, if so it

should please our Lord, so my strength returned to me far more rapidly

than I could have expected, and thus I assured myself that it was the

Divine will that I should reach my intended goal, there to do something

for His service, _sive per vitam sive per mortem_. And so I undertook my

journey, and have already reached Turin. To-morrow I start for Lyons. In

England I cannot expect anything better than that which has befallen the

Baron” [Vaux], “my companion, who is in prison by the King’s express

orders, and expects to lose all he has; for his mother is already

condemned to the punishment called _præmunire_, that is, the loss of all

temporalities and perpetual imprisonment, for refusing the oath of

allegiance, as they call it. The grace I ask from God is so to bear myself

that I may always show myself grateful for the many favours of your

Paternity, as becomes a disciple of the Society, and for this intention

with all humility I asked to be armed with your blessing, and I beg to be

partaker of the Holy Sacrifices and prayers of your Paternity and of all

the Society. In conclusion with all reverence I kiss your hand.”

P. clxxxiv.—The following is the confidential report made to the General

respecting Father Gerard, previous to his profession. By a singular chance

the paper in which it is contained is the only one of similar reports that

has come to our hands. It is amongst the Stonyhurst MSS. (_Angl. A._, vol.

vi.). Father Gerard’s name is the ninth on the paper. We translate from

the Latin: “Father John Gerard, English, forty-five years old, nineteen in

the Society, twenty-one on the English mission.” [The writer was not aware

of the true date of his admission into the Society.] “He studied at Rome

in the English College controversy and cases of conscience for four

years.” [These four years must include his three years residence at

Rhemes.] “He was admitted in England, where he made his noviceship. He is

a very spiritual man; he is endowed with an admirable power of gaining

souls; he has also more than middling talent for preaching; and he is held

to be not unfit for government. If these talents can supply the defect of

learning, taking also into account all that he has suffered for the

Catholic faith, then he is proposed for the four vows. It would be a

consolation both to himself and to the many Catholics of note, by whom he

is held in high esteem. But if not, then he is proposed for profession of

the three vows.”

P. cxc.—Among the papers of Sir Edward Phelips, preserved at Montacute

House, Somersetshire, of which a copy has been deposited in the Public

Record Office by the Historical MSS. Commission, we have the examinations

of two of Mrs. Vaux’ servants, one of whom is the “Ric. the butler” of

whom Lady Markham speaks.

“The examination of Francis Swetnam, servant to Mrs. Elizabeth Vaux, and

served her in the bakehouse, taken the third of December, 1605. Saith that

he hath been a recusant these two years, but will now come to the Church,

for that he had rather adventure his own soul than loosen his five

children, but cannot give any reason why he should adventure his soul by

coming to Church. Saith that he was taken in his mistress’ house and

brought up with her to London, but denieth that he was ever at any Mass,

or that he knoweth any Priest, and cannot deliver any other material thing

to be set down. The mark of Francis Swetnam, Jul. Cæsar, Rog.r Wilbraham,

E. Phelipps, Jo. Croke, George More, Walter Cope, Fr. Bacon, John

Doddridge” (f. 25).

“The examination of Richard Richardson, butler to Mrs. Vaux. He saith he

hath served his mistress about six years, and hath not come to Church

since he was eleven year old. Saith that since Midsummer last Catesby was

at Harwardds [Harrowden] only one time, which was about St. Luke’s Day;

and Sir Everard Digby was there only twice, the former time about the 6th

of August and the later time about St. Luke’s Day; and that Francis

Tresham was not there this twelvemonth; Mr. Rookwood these three years;

and that Winter, Grant, Percy, Morgan, were never there during his

service. And for matter of faith or revealing of Priests or Masses, he

desireth to be spared, because it concerneth his soul. Richard Richardson,

Jul. Cæsar, Rog.r Wilbraham, Jo. Croke, John Doddridge, Walter Cope,

George More, Fr. Bacon.” _Endorsed_—“6° December, 1605” (f. 32).

These papers (f. 58 et seq.) likewise contain Serjeant Phelips’ Brief for

the prosecution of Sir John Yorke for complicity with the Powder Plot,

about 1612. The first three of “five general heads” of accusation are: “1.

That Gerard was received by Sir John Yorke both before and after the

Powder Treason. 2. That secret passages and places were made for Gerard at

Golthwaite. 3. That a private diet was provided for him.” A few specimens

of the evidence will show that, whoever it was who frequented Sir John

Yorke’s house, at all events it was not Father Gerard, who never set foot

in England after May, 1606. Francis Brown: “He hath seen Gerard the Jesuit

at Sir John Yorke’s house called Golthwaite both before and after the

Powder Treason. He hath seen Gerard the Jesuit within this seven years at

least twenty times. The last time was at Audebroughe in Christmas last

[1610], when Gerard lay secret in the house all the Christmas. And once he

went up into the chamber where Gerard was sitting by the fire. And resteth

assured that Sir John Yorke knows where Gerard is. That there was no half

year passed since the Powder Treason but he saw him at one of Sir John

Yorke’s houses, and mentioneth four particular times.” The marginal note

is, “The servants to Sir John Yorke all deny the conveying of Gerard or

the knowledge of him, whereof Johnson was put to torture and denied it.”

William Browne the elder “names the place where he met him in North Wales,

soon after the Powder Treason and before the Proclamation.” William Browne

the younger: “On Martinmas Day was two years, in a Close called Burnings,

near Sir John Yorke’s house, near a ford, he met Johnson on foot, and a

man like to the person described by the Proclamation to be Gerard on a

mare of Sir John Yorke’s called White Friar.” Robert Joye: “As he was

working in the hall at Golthwaite in the summer before the Powder Treason,

about the later Lady Day in harvest, Marmaduke Lupton, the steward to Sir

John Yorke, came to him and told him it was my lady’s pleasure he should

remove out of the hall and work in the buttery. Whereupon he removed into

the buttery, and Lupton put the door to. Whereat he marvelling pulled open

the door a little, and saw Lupton bring in a reasonable broad man. And the

Lady Yorke came out of the parlour and met him in the entry that goeth to

the kitchen, and up the stairs to the garret she said, ’Welcome, Mr.

Gerard,’ which this examinate perfectly heard, for there was but an inch

board between. Mr. Gerard was carried up to the garret chamber, and

remained there a month, not coming openly down. Heard Lupton, Grange, and

Almond many times severally ask the cook secretly whether Mr. Gerard’s

meat were ready.” Sampson Baines: “The Lady Yorke did use to appoint what

meat he should dress for dinner, and what for the chamber, which was

commonly two dishes and no more.” The margin here has, Margaret Almond:

“She carried no meat at any time to any strangers, saving such as were her

master’s and lady’s friends. She made shift to carry up meat, though she

go with a crutch and have but one leg.”

P. cxciii.—From the following letter it appears plain that the names of

the Ambassadors are wrongly given. And a witness named Parsons, examined

Dec. 12, 1605, says that a “Priest named Tempest went over with the

Spanish Ambassador about Bartholomew-tide last” (Montacute Papers, f. 46).

So the Conde de Villa Mediana left England in the latter part of August,

1605.

Father Baldwin from Brussels to Father Persons at Rome, May 20,

1606. “Since my last, five days ago, arrived at —5 (St. Omers),

469 (Father Gerard), where also is one” [Richard Fulwood] “whom

456 (H. Garnett) was wont to use in all his chief business of

passage, receiving and retaining of all things. I take it he be

229 (Jesuit) also. They are yet 627 (secret), and so it is

requisite for a time, especially in that the 194 225 (Marquis

Ambassador) brought them, and by his dexterous and courteous

manner had great care of them. The Marquis of St. Germain came

hither two days ago, and both he and D. Blasco de Arragon came as

well informed of our English matters as I could wish. They have

made relation accordingly to the Nuncio, and this morning to me,

who have been with them a long while. They praise the courage and

constancy of Catholics marvellously, and have an apprehension of

the daily increase of them, as also that the better sort in

England are inclined Catholicly and such in profession. They speak

much of the zeal of the Lady of Shrewsbury and of the indignation

of the King, who, hearing of the manner of Father Ouldcorne’s

death and requesting all Catholics to pray for him and say _De

profundis_, there were found so many to say that aloud, as they

were esteemed a great part of the number, and so many by signs and

voices to have given show of Catholic profession, as all were

amazed. Thus they report; and also that Father Garnett was to be

executed the day which they came away, in Paul’s Churchyard,

although another writing from St. Omers says that it was deferred

the day following, for that the day first appointed was May Day,

and Father Garnett, being advertised of his death, should answer,

‘What then, will you make a May-game of me?’ Howsoever, it is held

for certain that he is dead, and that Marquis told the Nuncio that

therefore he departed the sooner, as unwilling to be present at

such a tragedy.... I think Father Gerard may live in these

countries after that Mr. Owen is delivered (of whom the Archduke

mindeth to have great care), yet he who is said to have had

correspondence with him, one Philips the decipherer, is now

committed to the Tower. And it were very necessary one of ours

remain in Paris, for which place Father Keynes might serve for a

time, at least in that he is not a man noted, and hath the French

tongue, as having lived there. Father Schondonch is of my opinion,

and Father Gerard will do well in his place after some month or

two, if things alter not much, for he can hardly be in any other

place in regard of his indisposition, if it be as I have heard. I

shall soon know more thereof. Father Lee were good in England in

my opinion, for the consolation of many of ours, and Father

Gerard’s friends, all which I remit to your consideration.”

The same to the same, July 3, 1606. “I have not as yet received

from England from any of our Fathers; only John Powell, the

interpreter of the Spanish Ambassador, relateth what passed at the

execution of Father Garnett, upon the 13th May Stylo Novo and the

3rd Stylo Vetere. He hath given exceeding satisfaction to all

sorts, and much confounded our enemies of the one sort and other.

He was drawn according to the usual manner to Paul’s Churchyard

upon a hurdle and straw; his arms were not bound neither when he

was executed. Such concourse of people as hath not been seen....

The Spanish Ambassador would not remain in London that day; he

hath got his shirt, and some of his blood is sent to Spain, which

I have seen here, also his apparel is gotten, as I hear. Here now

is Richard Fulwood, who telleth me that Father Gerard is very sick

at St. Omers; that said you would have him come to Rome. I fear me

that journey will kill him.”

Father Gerard quickly rallied from his sickness, for in less than a

fortnight after this he wrote from Brussels to Father Persons, under the

pseudonym of Fr. Harrison. The letter is so characteristic of the man

that, though long, we give it in full, from the original at Stonyhurst

(_Angl. A._, vol. vi).

“July 15, 1606.

“Jesus. Maria.

“Pax C.ti.

“Most dear and respected Father,

“I have received your letters of the —— last, wherein you show

your fatherly care and undeserved love unto me, as were sufficient

to bind unto you any grateful heart, although he were not tied

with former obligations. But I am so much and so many ways bound

unto you before by favours of the highest kind, that these do only

tie me unto you with new knots, though I was before so wholly

yours and so firmly tied that sincerely I had rather not to be

than be untied. I beseech you, sir, that you will be pleased to

present my humble duty unto Father General, in whose favour though

your good word do procure me that place which I can no ways

deserve, yet this I hope you may promise for me, that I will now

begin to do my best endeavours, that I may be framed in all things

as is fit for a child of that most holy family whereof he hath the

care, that both by my voice and hands he may acknowledge me for

his child, the better to deserve the blessing of so great and good

a father. I would now acknowledge my duty by letters, but that I

am ashamed of my Latin, and loath to trouble with so rude lines,

unless there were further occasion or that you thought it needful.

But I hope to come and do my duty in person so soon that it will

not be necessary to signify it by letters. I will stay as you

appoint until I have your letters for my coming forward, and in

the meantime will not be solicitous one whit, having no desire in

the world whereof I would not most willingly leave the whole care

unto you, and indeed desiring to have no other desires but yours

so far as I may be able to discern them, after that I have

expressed my reasons as I know you would have me to do, and after

that you know me better and my many great wants, which, that they

may be more exactly known unto you, makes me so desirous to be

with you for some time, howsoever it may please you to dispose of

me afterwards. And if the chief cause why you think it best for me

to stay awhile in these parts be for that you would have me secret

as yet, and especially not to be seen with you there whilst the

appellants are negotiating their uncharitable accusations of their

brethren, then I suppose you will think I may be fully as secret

there as here, if I be first wary in my coming into the town and

then be your prisoner for some time (which I most desire), and

then go to St. Andrew’s, without visiting any holy places and

being seen in the town until you think it convenient. And because,

in my second and third letters, I expressed my earnest desire of

this private course at my first coming, I suppose I shall hear

from you in your next letter or the next but one, that you think

best I come forward, unless you wish my stay for some other

reasons than the desire of my being secret. I grant I might

perform my desire of some time of recollection either in Louvain

or in the new House if it go forwards, under Father Talbot; but I

have many reasons why I desire first to be with you for some time,

which I think you would allow of if you knew them. And I would be

glad also if it might be to begin in St. Andrew’s, to draw there

some lively water out of the chiefest fountain, and this rather in

the winter than to come the next spring, because I much fear my

health if I be there in the heats. But after I have been there for

some time, for so long time as you shall think it convenient that

I stay in that school, I shall be glad to be Father Talbot’s

Minister here, or to have some office of action under him, if my

health do require any exercise of body. I hear there is one

prepared for Minister that is very fit, but I could have care of

the Church, and then perhaps should get some stuff to furnish it

from some friends of mine in England; or I could have care of the

garden, for I am excellent at that (if you will permit me to

praise myself), for that was much of my recreation in England, and

I hope my brother will witness with me that he hath seen a good

many plants of my setting and tasted the fruit of some of them.

But indeed, dear Father, if it may stand with your liking, I would

be very glad to see you and be with you for some days before I

settle anywhere, how private soever my abode there be, either at

the first or for the whole time of my stay, as yourself shall see

it best. As for the settling of any with my friends, I have done

it before my departure, leaving my old companion and dear friend,

Father Percy, in the place where I was, who is so much esteemed

and desired by them as none can be likely to be more profitable.

Most of my other special friends I commended partly to Father

Antony [Hoskins], and partly to him, both which are most grateful

to all my friends and acquaintance, and indeed I know not any two