Father Gerard’s Narrative of the Gunpowder Plot

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 Narrative2 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 Tutbury3] “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 Office6 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, 30l. 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 Priests11 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 [200l.].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 petition16 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 pension17 from Walsyngham of 100l. a-year for his treachery, the suspicion of which caused his imprisonment. Apparently from his prison, he found means to write a letter18 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 Judge24 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 mansion26 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 relative31 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 richest32 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 nobleman33 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 blessed37 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 Wiseman44 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 Puckering45 “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 servants46 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 letter47 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. Homulus48 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 examination50 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 friends52 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 [600l.] 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 [10,000l.]; 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 prison75 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 Sanders76 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 man77 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 [130l.]. 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 received84 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, but86 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 he87 thinketh that some within this realm have greater88 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 concerning89 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 not90 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 not91 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 gentleman101 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 [100l.] on the spot, and a hundred florins [10l.] 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 day105 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 [20l.] 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 [30l.] 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 Marshal109 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 1590111 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 [1,500l.], 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 Spital118 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 [1,000l.]; 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 [800l.]. 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 [1,000l.] 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 Tower123 (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 [100l.] 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. Letters131 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 letters132 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 grant133 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 pardon134 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 description136 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 letters139 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 will146 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. “Concerning148 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’s149 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 town150 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’s152 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 down156—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, though157 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 page166 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 80l. 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 letter168 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 Coffin171 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 residence173 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 falcon178 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 said179 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 time183 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 interview184 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 examined185 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 Priests200 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 use210 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 said212 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 Office214 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 being216... 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 Bartoli217 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. Lingard223 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 Bemondo227 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 there that, in my simple opinion, better deserve it. As concerning Father Roger Lee’s going into England, if you please that I write justly that I think, there be divers reasons for which I think it, at this time, very inconvenient. First, in that he is so profitable where he is, that it will not be easy to find another will do so much good in that place; and, in one word to express my opinion, for ought I see, the most good of the House, both for external discipline and for progress in spirit, dependeth upon his care and effectual industry, wherein I should think it more needful to provide him more helpers of like desires and practical endeavours (who would conspire with him and have talents to effect both with the good Rector and with the scholars, that which they should together find to be most expedient). The Fathers which be there do very well, but all are not of like apprehensions and proceedings, and I suppose if yourself did see all particulars, you would think Father Roger to be a strong helper to the good of that House, and that it would nourish much if it had some others of his like. I know not where to name one upon the sudden, unless it be Father Henry Flud [Floyd], whose zeal and practical proceedings I think would be very profitable for that House, if he may be spared, and truly in my opinion upon the good of that House dependeth much the good and quiet of the other Colleges, besides much edification to many, both friends and enemies, unto whom this is a continual spectacle.

“But besides this reason (which alone I take to be sufficient) I wish Father Roger’s stay for the good he may hereafter do in England, which I do hope will be great, and therefore great pity it should now be lost before the fruit of so likely a tree can come to ripeness. For, sir, yourself can better judge that none can be much profitable in England until he have gotten acquaintance there, and until his acquaintance by their trial of him have gotten a great opinion and estimation of him, which then they will spread from one to another, and every one will bring his friend, who upon hearing will be desirous to try, but after trial will say unto the friend that brought him, ‘Jam non propter sermonem tuum credimus sed ipsi,’ &c. By this means one shall have, after some continuance, more acquaintances and devoted friends than he can satisfy, and more business in that kind than he can turn his hands unto; but this is supposing he may at the first go up and down to get this acquaintance, and to be so known unto many; and until he have means so to do, if he have never so good talents, yet he shall not do so much good as a meaner person that is better acquainted. Now in this time I do verily think, if the laws be put in execution, there will be no means at all to get acquaintance, but the best acquainted shall have difficulty to help his known friends, and to be helped by them with safe places of abode as [I have declared at] large in my last letters, and they must lie much still and private and do [good part of] their [work by means of le]tters. Therefore, although I know Father Roger would be as much esteemed of my special friends as any that could be sent (unless my brother [probably Sir Oliver Manners] “had served his apprenticeship and were made a journeyman, for of his skill and workmanship in framing the best wedding garment there is great and general hope conceived) yet, things staying as they do in England, and Father Roger so well acquainted now with the place where he is, and thereby also more profitable there than a stranger could be, although as fit for the place as himself (which truly I think will be hard to find) my friends also being already furnished in England: these reasons move me to think it neither needful nor best that Father Roger go thither as yet: which yet in a more quiet time I shall be bold to beg for, if I see the College where he is so furnished that without great loss it might want him. I find Father Roger desirous of England if it were thought best, but wholly desirous to do that which yourself do think most convenient, but when I urge him to speak his very thoughts whether he do not think the College would be at want, he cannot deny but that the College hath need rather of more than less help, and surely I think if it were another’s case of whom he might with humility acknowledge how profitable he is, I do think he would absolutely do his best to hinder it as I do.”

“For the answer to your questions, though in my last long letters I did in part answer to most of them before I received yours, yet now I will briefly again set down my opinion to the several points, Father Baldwin having written of them in his last, I being at St. Omers; but now I am come to him, being advised by the physician there to go to the Spa for the drying up of my rheum, which here I shall take further counsel of, how far it is needful, and whether the great rains have not made the waters of less force. I am here private, and more private than I could be at St. Omers whilst the banished Priests are passing by. I think I shall hear within two or three posts your further pleasure; if not, I will return and then begin to talk with the youths there, or do any service I can as you appointed in your last. In the meantime, with many humble thanks for your many undeserved favours, I rest this 15th of July.

“Your Rev. son and servant wholly to command,

“Fr. Harrison.”

Address—“Al molto Rev. in Christo Padre, il Padre Roberto Parsonio, Rettore del Collegio delli Inglesi, Roma.”

To these we must add an extract from a letter of Father Persons dated December 29, 1606, and evidently written while Father Gerard was at Tivoli (Stonyhurst MSS., P., vol. ii., f. 447). “The man you name, to wit, Ger[ard] passed this way some months gone, but made little or no abode, lest offence might be taken thereat, only I can say that during the few days which he remained he gave great edification for his behaviour and sundry great testimonies of his rare virtue, but most of all of his innocency concerning that crime whereof he was imputed in the proclamation, about which himself procured that his General should judicially examine in presence of divers witnesses, commanding him in virtute sanctæ obedientiæ to utter the truth therein to his Superior, whereupon he swore and protested that he was wholly innocent therein, which the rest of his behaviour doth easily make probable. I shall cause him to be advertised by the first commodity of the note you write about his friends.”

P. ccviii.—As Father Gerard certainly left Belgium in 1622, and therefore could not have been in the Tertianship at Ghent in 1624, there must be a mistake in the name of the Father who reconciled to the Church James, Lord Maltravers, in the July of that year, as related in the Life of Anne Countess of Arundel (p. 232). It is there said that “before his death he was so fortunate as to be visited by Father John Gerard, a Priest of the Society, who, together with others, lived there” [at Ghent] “in the house which his grandmother a little before had erected.... By that Father he was in fine reconciled to the Holy Church.”

P. 240.—James Garney, servant to Sir Everard Digby, “confesseth the journey to St. Winifred’s Well and the particular places where they lay, and that Darcy [Father Garnett] and Fisher [Father Percy] were with them, and the whole company thirty horse” (Montacute Papers, f. 52).

Pp. 240 and 254.—Father Ouldcorne in his letter to the Privy Council (P. R. O., Gunpowder Plot Book, n. 214) says respecting the verse of the hymn of All Saints: “Also he [Father Garnett] told me they charged him with a prayer that he should pen or make against the beginning of this Parliament: but he said that he denied that ever he penned or made any such. ‘Perhaps’ (said he), ‘they have heard that sometimes this summer I have wished Catholics to pray, for that we had cause to fear there would be more severe laws made against us this Parliament than had been as yet. Or else they have heard how sometimes upon occasions I have told how Cardinal Allen had got an indulgence of Gregory XIII. for all those that did devoutly for the conversion of England say that verse which is in the hymn of All-Hallow Day, Gentem auferte perfidam, &c., and the Psalm lxxviii., Deus venerunt gentes.’”

P. 306.—Father Garnett to Anne Vaux from the Tower (P. R. O., Gunpowder Plot Book, n. 245). “Mr. Hall [Father Ouldcorne] dreamed that Father General would have him and me professed. He said that I was professed already. ‘Yea,’ quoth he, ‘but I will have him professed of ten or eleven vows more.’ And there were provided two fair tabernacles or seats for us. And so he awaked, and falling asleep again, had the same dream.” Anne Vaux to Father Garnett (ibid., n. 246). “Mr. Hall his dream had been a great comfort, if at the foot of the throne there had been a place for me. God and you know my unworthiness. I beseech you help me with your prayers.”