A change of religion causes, to most of those who make it, a very
forcible wrench. It may be, probably it usually is, accompanied by great
happiness and a sensation of intense relief; no regrets whatever may be
felt that the former faith, with its ministers, ceremonies, and churches
have been renounced for ever; on the contrary, the convert may be
delighted to be rid of them, and in turning his back upon the religion
of his childhood, he may feel that he is dismissing a false teacher who
has deceived him, rather than that he is bidding farewell to a guide who
has conducted him, however unintentionally, unwittingly, or unwillingly,
to the gate of safety. Yet granting, and most emphatically granting, all
this, we should not forget that there is another view of his position.
Let his rejoicing be ever so great at entering that portal and leaving
the land of darkness for the regions of light, be the welcome he
receives from his future co-religionists as warm as it may, and be his
confidence as great as is conceivable, the convert is none the less
forsaking a well-known country for one that is new to him, he is
leaving old friends to enter among strangers, and he is exchanging
long-formed habits for practices which it will take him some time to
understand, to acquire, and to familiarize.
A convert, again, is not invariably free from dangers. Let us take the
case of Sir Everard Digby. A man with his position, popularity, wealth,
intellect, and influence, was a convert of considerable importance from
a human point of view, and he must have known it. If he lost money and
friends by his conversion, much and many remained to him, and among the
comparatively small number of Catholics he might become a more leading
man than as a unit in the vast crowd professing his former faith; and
although, on the whole, the step which he had taken was calculated to be
much against his advancement in life, there are certain attractions in
being the principal or one of the principal men of influence in a
considerable minority. I am not for a moment questioning Digby's motives
in becoming a Catholic; I believe they were quite unexceptionable; all
that I am at the moment aiming at is to induce the reader to keep before
his mind that the position of an influential English convert, at the
beginning of the seventeenth century, like most other positions, had its
own special temptations and dangers, and my reasons for this aim will
soon become obvious.
In comparing the situation of a convert to Catholicism in the latter
days of Elizabeth or the early days of James I., with one in the reign
of Victoria, we are met on the threshold with the fact that terrible
bodily pains, and even death itself, threatened the former, while the
latter is exposed to no danger of either for his religion. In the matter
of legal fines and forfeitures, again, the persecution of the first was
enormous, whereas the second suffers none. But of these pains and
penalties I shall treat presently. Just in passing I may remark that
many a convert now living has reason for doubting whether any of his
forerunners in the times of Elizabeth or James I. suffered more
pecuniary loss than he. One parent or uncle, by altering a will, can
cause a Romish recusant more loss than a whole army of pursuivants.
Looking at the positions of converts at the two periods from a social
point of view, we find very different conditions. Instead of being
regarded, as he is now, in the light of a fool who, in an age of light,
reason, and emancipation from error, has wilfully retrograded into the
grossest of all forms of superstition, the convert, in the reigns of
Elizabeth and James, was known to be returning to the faith professed by
his fathers, one, two, or, at most, three generations before him. It was
not then considered a case of "turning Roman Catholic," but of returning
to the old religion, and even by people who cared little, if at all,
about such matters, he was rather respected than otherwise.
Now it is different. During the two last generations, so many
conversions have apparently been the result of what is known as the
Oxford Movement, or of Ritualism, that converts are much associated in
men's minds with ex-clergymen, or with clerical families; and to tell
the truth, at least a considerable minority of Anglicans of good
position, while they tolerate, invite to dinner, and patronise their
parsons, in their inmost hearts look down upon and rather dislike the
clergy and the clergy-begotten.
At present, again, a prejudice is felt in England against an old
Catholic, _prima facie_, on the ground that he is probably either an
Irishman, of Irish extraction, or of an ancient Catholic English family
rendered effete by idleness, owing to religious disabilities, or by a
long succession of intermarriages. It would be easy to prove that these
prejudices, if not altogether without foundation in fact, are immensely
and unwarrantably exaggerated, but my object, at present, is merely to
state that they exist. Three hundred years ago, whatever may have been
the prejudices against Catholics, old or new, they cannot have arisen on
such grounds as these, and if Protestants attributed the tenacity of the
former and the determined return of the latter to their ancient faith
rather to pride than to piety, there is no doubt which motive would be
most respected in the fashionable world.
The conduct of the Digbys, immediately after their conversion, was most
exemplary. They threw themselves heart and soul into their religion,
and Father Gerard, who had received them into the Church, writes[42] of
Sir Everard in the highest terms, saying:--"He was so studious a
follower of virtue, after he became a Catholic, that he gave great
comfort to those that had the guiding of his soul (as I have heard them
seriously affirm more than once or twice), he used his prayers daily
both mental and vocal, and daily and diligent examination of his
conscience: the sacraments he frequented devoutly every week, &c."
"Briefly I have heard it reported of this knight, by those that knew him
well and that were often in his company, that they did note in him a
special care of avoiding all occasions of sin and of furthering acts of
virtue in what he could."
[42] _A Narrative of the Gunpowder Plot_, p. 89.
He read a good deal in order to be able to enter into controversy with
Protestants, and he was the means of bringing several into the
Church--"some of great account and place." As to his conversation, "not
only in this highest kind, wherein he took very great joy and comfort,
but also in ordinary talk, when he had observed that the speech did tend
to any evil, as detraction or other kind of evil words which sometimes
will happen in company, his custom was presently to take some occasion
to alter the talk, and cunningly to bring in some other good matter or
profitable subject to talk of. And this, when the matter was not very
grossly evil, or spoken to the dishonour of God or disgrace of his
servants; for then, his zeal and courage were such that he could not
bear it, but would publicly and stoutly contradict it, whereof I could
give divers instances worth relating, but am loth to hold the reader
longer." Finally, in speaking of those "that knew him" and those "that
loved him," Father Gerard says, "truly it was hard to do the one and not
the other."
Like most Catholics living in the country, and inhabiting houses of any
size, the Digbys made a chapel in their home, "a chapel with a
sacristy," says Father Gerard,[43] "furnishing it with costly and
beautiful vestments;" and they "obtained a Priest of the Society" (of
Jesus) "for their chaplain, who remained with them to Sir Everard's
death." Of this priest, Gerard says[44] that he was a man "who for
virtue and learning hath not many his betters in England." This was
probably Father Strange,[45] who usually passed under the _alias_ of
Hungerford. He was the owner of a property, some of which, in
Gloucestershire, he sold,[46] and "L2000 thereof is in the Jesuites'
bank" said a witness against him. He was imprisoned, after Sir Everard
Digby's death, for five or six years.[47] In an underground dungeon in
the Tower[48] "he was so severely tortured upon the rack that he dragged
on the rest of his life for thirty-three years in the extremest
debility, with severe pains in the loins and head." Once when he was in
agony upon the rack, a Protestant minister began to argue with him about
religion; whereupon, turning to the rack-master, Father Strange[49]
"asked him to hoist the minister upon a similar rack, and in like
fetters and tortures, otherwise, said he, we shall be fighting upon
unequal terms; for the custom everywhere prevails amongst scholars that
the condition of the disputants be equal."
[43] _Life of Father John Gerard_, p. clv.
[44] _A Narrative of the Gunpowder Plot_, p. 89.
[45] _Father H. Garnet and the Gunpowder Plot_, by Father Pollen, p.
15.
[46] _Records of the English Province._ S.J. Series, ix. x. xi., p.
3.
[47] _Ib._, p. 5, and Stoneyhurst MSS.
[48] _Ib._, p. 3.
[49] _Ib._, p. 4.
Another Jesuit Father, at one time private chaplain to Sir Everard
Digby, was Father John Percy,[50] who afterwards, under the _alias_ of
Fisher, held the famous controversy with Archbishop Laud in the presence
of the king and the Countess of Buckingham, to whom he acted as chaplain
for ten years. He also had been fearfully tortured in prison, in the
reign of Elizabeth; and if he recounted his experiences on the rack to
Sir Everard Digby, the hot blood of the latter would be stirred up
against the Protestant Governments that could perpetrate or tolerate
such iniquities.
[50] _Records_, S.J. Series, i., p. 527.
In trying to picture to himself the "chapel with a sacristy" made by the
Digbys at Gothurst, a romantic reader may imagine an ecclesiastical
gem, in the form of a richly-decorated chamber filled with sacred
pictures, figures of saints, crucifixes, candles, and miniature shrines.
Before taking the trouble of raising any such representation before the
mind, it would be well to remember that, in the times of which we are
treating, that was the most perfect and the best arranged chapel in
which the altar, cross, chalice, vestments, &c., could be concealed at
the shortest possible notice, and the chamber itself most quickly made
to look like an ordinary room. The altar was on such occasions a small
slab of stone, a few inches in length and breadth, and considerably less
than an inch in thickness. It was generally laid upon the projecting
shelf of a piece of furniture, which, when closed, had the appearance of
a cabinet. Some few remains of altars and other pieces of "massing
stuff," as Protestants called it, of that date still remain, as also do
many simple specimens used in France during the Revolution of last
century, which have much in common with them. To demonstrate the small
space in which the ecclesiastical contents of a private chapel could be
hidden away in times of persecution, I may say that, even now, for
priests who have the privilege of saying mass elsewhere than in churches
or regular chapels--for instance, in private rooms, on board ship,[51]
or in the ward of a hospital--altar, chalice, paten, cruets,
altar-cloths, lavabo, alb, amice, girdle, candlesticks, crucifix,
wafer-boxes, wine-flask, Missal, Missal-stand, bell, holy-oil stocks,
pyx, and a set of red and white vestments (reversible)--in fact,
everything necessary for saying mass, as well as for administering
extreme unction to the sick, can be carried in a case 18 inches in
length, 12 inches in width, and 8 inches in depth. Occasionally, as we
are told of the Digbys, rich people may have had some handsome
vestments; but a private chapel early in the sixteenth century must have
been a very different thing from what we associate with the term in our
own times, and however well furnished it may have been as a room, it
must have been almost devoid of "ecclesiastical luxury."
[51] In his _Mores Catholici_ (Cincinnati, 1841, Vol. II. p. 364),
Kenelm H. Digby says that "Portable altars were in use long before
the eleventh century. St Wulfran, Bishop of Sens, passing the sea in
a ship, is said to have celebrated the sacred mysteries upon a
portable altar."
Here and there were exceptions, in which Catholics were very bold, but
they always got into trouble. For instance, when Luisa de Carvajal came
to England, she was received at a country house--possibly Scotney
Castle, on the borders of Kent and Sussex--the chapel of which[52] "was
adorned with pictures and images, and enriched with many relics. Several
masses were said in it every day, and accompanied by beautiful vocal and
instrumental music." It was "adorned not only with all the requisites,
but all the luxuries, so to speak, of Catholic worship;" and Luisa could
walk "on a spring morning in a pleached alley, saying her beads, within
hearing of the harmonious sounds of holy music floating in the balmy
air." What was the consequence? "The beautiful dream was rudely
dispelled. One night, after she had been at this place about a month, a
secret warning was given to the master of this hospitable mansion, that
he had been denounced as a harbourer of priests, and that the
pursuivants would invade his house on the morrow. On the receipt of this
information, measures were immediately taken to hide all traces of
Catholic worship, and a general dispersion took place." I only give this
as a typical case to show how necessary it then was to make chapels and
Catholic worship as secret as possible.
[52] _The Life of Luisa de Carvajal_, by Lady G. Fullerton, p. 154,
_seq._
Sir Everard Digby was anxious that others, as well as himself, should
join the body which he believed to be the one, true, and only Church of
God, and of this I have nothing to say except in praise. An anecdote of
his efforts in this direction, however, is interesting as showing, not
only the necessities of the times, but also something of the character
and disposition of the man. In studying a man's life, there may be a
danger of building too much upon his actions, as if they proved his
inclinations, when they were in reality only the result of exceptional
circumstances, and I have no wish to force the inferences, which I
myself draw from the following facts, upon the opinions of other
people; I merely submit them for what they are worth.
Father Gerard says[53] that Sir Everard "had a friend for whom he felt a
peculiar affection," namely, Oliver Manners, the fourth son of John,
fourth Earl of Rutland, and said by Father J. Morris[54] to have been
knighted by King James I. "on his coming from Scotland," on April 22nd,
1603, but by Burke,[55] "at Belvoir Castle, 23rd April 1608." He was
very anxious that this friend should be converted to the Catholic faith,
and that, to this end, he should make the acquaintance of Father Gerard;
"but because he held an office in the Court, requiring his daily
attendance about the King's person, so that he could not be absent for
long together," this "desire was long delayed." At last Sir Everard met
Manners in London at a time when he knew that Father Gerard was there
also, "and he took an opportunity of asking him to come at a certain
time to play at cards, for these are the books gentlemen in London study
both night and day." Instead of inviting a card-party, Digby invited no
one except Father Gerard, and when Manners arrived, he found Gerard and
Digby "sitting and conversing very seriously." The latter asked him "to
sit down a little until the rest should arrive." After a short silence
Sir Everard said:--
[53] _Life of Father John Gerard_, p. clxvi. _seq._
[54] _Ib._, footnote to p. cciii.
[55] _Peerage_, 1886, p. 1173.
"We two were engaged in a very serious conversation, in fact, concerning
religion. You know 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." At this he turned to Father Gerard and begged him not to be
angry with him for betraying the fact of his being a Romish recusant to
a stranger; then he said to Manners, "And I must say he so well defended
the Catholic faith that I could not answer him, and I am glad you have
come to help me."
Manners "was young and confident, and trusting his own great abilities,
expected to carry everything before him, so good was his cause and so
lightly did he esteem" his opponent, "as he afterwards confessed." After
an hour's sharp argument and retort on either side, Father Gerard began
to explain the Catholic faith more fully, and to confirm it with texts
of Scripture, and passages from the Fathers.
Manners listened in silence, and "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." He became an excellent and exemplary Christian, and his life
would make an interesting and edifying volume.
All honour to Sir Everard Digby for having been the human medium of
bringing about this most happy and blessed conversion! It might have
been difficult to accomplish it by any other method. In those days of
persecution, stratagem was absolutely necessary to Catholics for their
safety sake, even in everyday life, and still more so in evangelism. As
to the particular stratagem used by Digby in this instance, I do not go
so far as to say that it was blame-worthy; I have often read of it
without mentally criticising it; I have even regarded it with some
degree of admiration; but, now that I am attempting a study of Sir
Everard Digby's character, and seeking for symptoms of it in every
detail that I can discover of his words and actions, I ask myself
whether, in all its innocence, his conduct on this occasion did not
exhibit traces of a natural inclination to plot and intrigue. Could he
have induced Manners to come to his rooms by no other attraction than a
game of cards, which he had no intention of playing? Was it necessary on
his arrival there to ask him to await that of guests who were not
coming, and had never been invited? Was he obliged, in the presence of
so intimate a friend, to pretend to be only well-disposed towards
Catholics instead of owning himself to be one of them? Need he have put
himself to the trouble of apologising to Father Gerard for revealing
that he was a Catholic? In religious, as in all other matters, there are
cases in which artifice may be harmless or desirable, or even a duty,
but a thoroughly straightforward man will shrink from the "pious dodge"
as much as the kind-hearted surgeon will shrink from the use of the
knife or the cautery.
Necessary as they may have been, nay, necessary as they undoubtedly
were, the planning, and disguising, and hiding, and intriguing used as
means for bringing about the conversions of Lady Digby, Sir Everard
Digby, and Oliver Manners, though innocent in themselves, placed those
concerned in them in that atmosphere of romance, adventure, excitement,
and even sentiment, which I have before described, and it is obvious
that such an atmosphere is not without its peculiar perils.
It is certainly very comfortable to be able to preach undisturbed, to
convert heretics openly, and to worship in the churches of the King and
the Government; yet even in religion, to some slight degree, the words
of a certain very wise man may occasionally be true, that[56] "stolen
waters are sweeter, and hidden bread is more pleasant." Nothing is more
excellent than missionary work; but it is a fact that proselytism, when
conducted under difficulties and dangers, whether it be under the
standard of truth or under the standard of error, is not without some of
the elements of sport; at any rate, if it be true, as enthusiasts have
been heard to assert, that even the hunted fox is a partaker in the
pleasures of the chase, the Jesuits had every opportunity of enjoying
them during the reigns of Elizabeth and James I.
[56] Proverbs ix. 17.
Besides a consideration of the personal characteristics of Sir Everard
Digby, and the position of converts to Catholicism in his times, it will
be necessary to take a wider view of the political, social, and
religious events of his period. Otherwise we should be unable to form
anything like a fair judgment either of his own conduct, or of the
treatment which he received from others.
The oppression and persecution of Catholics by Queen Elizabeth and her
ministers was extreme. It was made death to be a priest, death to
receive absolution from a priest, death to harbour a priest, death even
to give food or help of any sort to a priest, and death to persuade
anyone to become a Catholic. Very many priests and many laymen were
martyred, more were tortured, yet more suffered severe temporal losses.
And, what was most cruel of all, while Statutes were passed with a view
to making life unendurable for Catholics in England itself, English
Catholics were forbidden to go, or to send their children, beyond the
seas without special leave.
The actual date of the Digbys' reception into the Catholic Church is a
matter of some doubt. It probably took place before the death of
Elizabeth. That was a time when English Catholics were considering their
future with the greatest anxiety. Politics entered largely into the
question, and where politics include, as they did then, at any rate, in
many men's minds, some doubts as to the succession to the crown,
intrigue and conspiracy were pretty certain to be practised.