The Condition of Catholics Under James I. Part 4

" '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 n.o.bleman 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 pa.s.sing over to Belgium, there to consecrate herself to G.o.d. 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 s.h.i.+ning. 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 b.u.t.ter 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 G.o.d'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 fas.h.i.+on.(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 fas.h.i.+on 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 Ma.s.s, 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 G.o.dly 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 G.o.d's providence had shut up there for his own good and mine. I had other G.o.dly 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 pa.s.sed 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 G.o.d summoned him from the wardens.h.i.+p 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 a.s.sistance 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 a.s.sured 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 G.o.dly 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 G.o.d, and had much to suffer for His sake.

This lady's father was a Protestant, and when he heard of his daughter's becoming a Catholic, he withheld the dower which he had promised her. He disinherited one of his sons for the same reason. This son, called William Heigham, is now in Spain, a Lay-brother of the Society. It is twenty-six years since I knew him. He was then a well-educated gentleman, finely dressed like other high-born Londoners. He supported a Priest named Thomson, whom I afterwards saw martyred. As soon as his father learned that he, too, had become a Catholic, he went and sold his estate, the rents of which were reckoned at 6,000 florins [600_l._] yearly, that it might not pa.s.s 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 G.o.d or the world,' was his courageous answer, 'I prefer to give up the world, for it is good to cleave unto G.o.d.' 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 Ma.s.s, 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 Ma.s.s, 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. G.o.d 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 G.o.d. 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 G.o.d, along with the martyr Father Filc.o.c.k, 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 a.s.sist 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 a.s.sociate with gentlemen without causing any suspicion. I introduced him, therefore, to my chief friends; and he a.s.sisted them well and zealously for two years and more that he tarried in my house. This good Priest also G.o.d 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 G.o.d." ...

"It was written, not with ink, but merely with pencil, upon loose sc.r.a.ps 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 princ.i.p.ally 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 a.s.sist 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 pa.s.s by Ostend, which is not the usual way, and thus they came to be taken), to bid the Fathers steep the paper in water, and they would be able to read what I had written. On this information, then, the paper was steeped by the authorities, and two letters of mine were read, written on the same paper. One was written in Latin to our Belgian Fathers; this I had consequently signed with my own proper name. The other was addressed to our English Fathers at St. Omers. The letters having been thus discovered, I was sent for to be examined.

"Young, however, was no longer to be my examiner. He had died in his sins, and that most miserably. As he lived, so he died:(72) he lived the devil's confessor, he died the devil's martyr; for not only did he die in the devil's service, but he brought on his death through that very service. He was accustomed to work night and day to increase the distress of the Catholics, and to go forth frequently in inclement weather, at one or two o'clock in the morning, to search their houses. By these labours he fell into a consumption,(73) of which he died. He died, moreover, overwhelmed with debt, so that it might be clear that he abandoned all things for the devil's service. Notwithstanding all the emoluments of his office, all the plunder he took from the persecuted Catholics, and the large bribes they were constantly giving him to buy off his malicious oppression, his debts were said to amount to no less a sum than a hundred thousand florins [10,000_l._]; and I have heard even a larger sum mentioned than this.

Perhaps he expected the Queen would pay his debts; but she did nothing of the sort. All she did was once to send a gentleman from Court to visit him, when he was confined to his bed, and near death; and this mark of favour so delighted him, that he seemed ready to sing _Nunc dimittis_. But it was a false peace, and the lifting up of the soul that goes before a fall; and like another Aman, he was bidden not to a banquet, but to execution, and that for ever. So with his mouth full of the Queen's praises, and his great obligations to Her Majesty, he died a miserable death, and anguish took the place of his joy. The joy of the hypocrite is but for an instant.

"This man's successor in the office of persecuting and hara.s.sing the servants of G.o.d, 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.'