Blessed John Henry Newman and the Ordinariate

The other group in England that especially celebrates the memorial of Blessed John Henry Newman is the Ordinariate of Our Lady of Walsingham, which is under his spiritual patronage:

The Feast of the Blessed John Henry Newman is on Friday 9th October when there will be a Solemn Mass in the Ordinariate Use at 6.30pm in Our Lady of the Assumption and St Gregory, Warwick Street, London W1B 5LZ.

The Celebrant will be the Ordinary of the Personal Ordinariate of Our Lady of Walsingham, the Rt Rev Mgr Keith Newton, and the Preacher will be the Rev Dr Stephen Morgan, a leading authority on Newman.

The current issue of The Portal, the Ordinariate's monthly review, features on its cover Emmeline Deane's portrait of Newman painted after he was named a cardinal by Pope Leo XIII.

Blessed John Henry Newman's Feast at the English Oratories

Tomorrow is the memorial of Blessed John Henry Newman in the dioceses of England and Wales, but the Birmingham and Oxford Oratories begin their celebration of his feast today. The schedule for the Birmingham Oratory is detailed in the flyer pictured above: First Vespers, Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament and Benediction on the vigil and then several Masses on the feast of their founder.

According to the Oxford Oratory's bulletin/newsletter:

TRIDUUM BL. JOHN HENRY NEWMAN: From 6th to 8th October we mark a Triduum for Blessed John Henry Newman after the 6pm Mass. On 8th October at 7:45pm, there will be a Night Walk to Littlemore to mark his reception into the Church and on Friday 9th October at 6pm, we will celebrate a Solemn Mass for his feast, at which Fr John Saward (Priest-in-Charge at SS Gregory and Augustine, Oxford) will preach. 

John Whitehead provides some details about the Littlemore walk from last year on his blog, Once I Was a Clever Boy:

We began as usual at the Oxford Oratory and walked via sites associated with Newman - Trinity College, St Mary's Church, Oriel College, the site of the Angel Inn where Bl. Dominic arrived soaking wet from travelling on the roof of the stage coach in 1845, the site of old St Clement's Church where Newman was assistant curate in the 1820s, and reflected at Greyfriars on his lament for the loss of Catholicism in the University of his day by contrast with the era of Duns Scotus. We also paused at the two houses at Rose Hill on the way to Littlemore occupied by his mother and sisters in the 1830s.

At Littlemore we had a Holy Hour in the modern church of Bl.Dominic Barberi led by Fr Hancock, the parish priest, before processing to the College.

The London/Brompton Oratory does not indicate any celebration other than the daily Mass on the feast day. 

More tomorrow.

Our Lady of the Rosary; Our Lady of Victory

Today is the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary (and October is the month of the Rosary). This feast was first known as Our Lady of Victory, for it commemorates the great victory of the Battle of Lepanto in 1571. As C.N.A. explains:

On October 7, the Roman Catholic Church celebrates the yearly feast of Our Lady of the Rosary. Known for several centuries by the alternate title of “Our Lady of Victory,” the feast day takes place in honor of a 16th century naval victory which secured Europe against Turkish invasion. Pope St. Pius V attributed the victory to the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary, who was invoked on the day of the battle through a campaign to pray the Rosary throughout Europe.

The feast always occurs one week after the similar Byzantine celebration of the Protection of the Mother of God, which most Eastern Orthodox Christians and Eastern Catholics celebrate on October 1 in memory of a 10th-century military victory which protected Constantinople against invasion after a reported Marian apparition.

G.K. Chesterton wrote a narrative poem about this day:

White founts falling in the courts of the sun,

And the Soldan of Byzantium is smiling as they run;

There is laughter like the fountains in that face of all men feared,

It stirs the forest darkness, the darkness of his beard,

It curls the blood-red crescent, the crescent of his lips,

For the inmost sea of all the earth is shaken with his ships.

They have dared the white republics up the capes of Italy,

They have dashed the Adriatic round the Lion of the Sea,

And the Pope has cast his arms abroad for agony and loss,

And called the kings of Christendom for swords about the Cross,

The cold queen of England is looking in the glass;

The shadow of the Valois is yawning at the Mass;

From evening isles fantastical rings faint the Spanish gun,

And the Lord upon the Golden Horn is laughing in the sun.

Dim drums throbbing, in the hills half heard,

Where only on a nameless throne a crownless prince has stirred,

Where, risen from a doubtful seat and half attainted stall,

The last knight of Europe takes weapons from the wall,

The last and lingering troubadour to whom the bird has sung,

That once went singing southward when all the world was young,

In that enormous silence, tiny and unafraid,

Comes up along a winding road the noise of the Crusade.

Strong gongs groaning as the guns boom far,

Don John of Austria is going to the war,

Stiff flags straining in the night-blasts cold

In the gloom black-purple, in the glint old-gold,

Torchlight crimson on the copper kettle-drums,

Then the tuckets, then the trumpets, then the cannon, and he comes.

Don John laughing in the brave beard curled,

Spurning of his stirrups like the thrones of all the world,

Holding his head up for a flag of all the free.

Love-light of Spain—hurrah!

Death-light of Africa!

Don John of Austria

Is riding to the sea.

My friend Jeri Holladay is going to teach a class about this great event next week at the Spiritual Life Center here in Wichita, as part of the Docentium series:

Join us on the third Thursday of every month at the Spiritual Life Center for an evening of food, friendship, and learning. Doors open at 6 p.m., food is served at 6:30 p.m., and a lecture will be given on some topic related to religion and culture. The cost is $15 per person.

The topic for October is: “In Defense of Christendom: The Battle of Lepanto”

For centuries, Christian lands had been attacked and gobbled up by Islamic conquerors. The Holy Land, Syria, Iran, Iraq, North Africa, even Spain. As if things could not get worse, the Turks then conquered the Anatolian Peninsula. In 1453 the Byzantine capital city of Constantinople fell into Islamic hands, where it remains even today known as Istanbul. By the 16th century the Turks were pressing into the European heartland, determined to take that too. Until God intervened through a great pope -- Pope St. Pius V, who called for a final Crusade and for the Rosary to be prayed throughout Europe -- and a great warrior -- Don Juan of Austria, who was appointed by the Pope to lead the Holy League in battle against the attackers. Learn about this amazing battle and period of history and its continuing importance today.

The Original Miserere from the Sistine Chapel

The new album from the Sistine Chapel Choir contains a different version of Allegri's Miserere than we are used to, as this site explains:

The Deutsche Grammophon-recorded album even includes a world premiere, but it's not one you’d expect. Allegri’s Miserere may have been topping the classical charts for years, but the Sistine Chapel’s performance of the work in its original form (from the Sistine Codex of 1661) is, unbelievably, the first of its kind. Hardly anyone alive today will have heard the Miserere as Allegri originally conceived it. The version that most of us know – below, with its thrilling high C in the semichorus – is from a much later transcription.

‘The version of the Miserere that most people are familar with is based on a later transcription, most probably the one made by [former choir director] Lorenzo Perosi at the beginning of the 20th century,’ says Palombella [the current choir director]. ‘That version has the additions of many Vatican singers, but we have now recorded the true, Renaissance Miserere.

'It’s very simple, very clear, and we are singing it as authentically as possible, given what we know about the choir’s history. The soloist on the recording sings from the Salla Regia next to the Sistine Chapel, and we have also used two male cantuses [countertenors] in the semi-chorus rather than boy singers, because this is most probably how it was done in the past.’

The article also addresses the story of Mozart's secretive transcription of the music:

Allegri’s famous setting of Psalm 51 is already the stuff of legend – not least because of the widely-circulated tale about Mozart allegedly defying papal law by smuggling it out of the Vatican using memory alone. According to the story, the 14-year-old Mozart heard the Miserere during Mass on a visit to Rome in 1770 and wrote it down from memory that evening. Is it true?

‘I can believe the Mozart story is true,' says Palombella, 'but mostly because it’s very easy to transcribe the Miserere! The harmony is always the same, and it’s repeated many times. But the part about the music not being allowed to leave the Vatican is probably a myth. It is true that music was written specifically for the Sistine Chapel, and that there was a sort of copyright, but if a pope was asked to have the scores sent somewhere else, generally he accepted.’

The story I've linked includes two versions of the Miserere: one by The Sixteen (the one with the high C) and the one by the Sistine Chapel Choir. More background on the composition here. 

Catholics, the English Reformation, and Liberty

Bruce P. Frohnen, Senior Contributor at The Imaginative Conservative and Professor of Law at Ohio Northern University College of Law, writes about Catholics, the English Reformation, and the idea and ideal of liberty:

Were it true that only England provides a true history of liberty’s growth prior to the time of modern revolutions, that would be tragic from two points of view. It would show that there is in fact something “anti-liberty” about Catholicism, as Protestants often have claimed. Further, it would seem to excuse the sometimes quite oppressive and even violent treatment of Catholics by English authorities and by those who wish to follow in their footsteps today. Catholics should not need to be reminded that the English government going back to Henry VIII, and coming forward even into the twentieth-century, has been hostile toward Catholicism and Catholics. The martyrdom of numerous priests and bishops such as St. John Fisher, the sacking of the monasteries, and laws forbidding the saying of Catholic mass and even decreeing execution for priests lasted for centuries. Catholics were disenfranchised until the nineteenth-century and even in the twentieth-century social disabilities were common (e.g. J.R.R. Tolkien, being Catholic, was not allowed to dine with his Protestant colleagues at Oxford). A central justification of these injustices was that Catholics were “loyal to a foreign prince” who sought enslavement of both souls and bodies, imposing the tyrannous hierarchy of Catholicism. Even on the continent, the story often was repeated that Popes ruled their “estates” as tyrants and sought only to expand their temporal authority in order to force reconversions to their faith and re-establish a kind of absolute rule over the bodies and minds of the people. What is more, it has been this vision of Catholicism as intrinsically hostile to human liberty that has fed into an anti-Catholic sentiment in portions of the American public that has damaged religious liberty and constitutional government itself.

If true, the charges leveled at the Catholic Church and her people would be damning, indeed. Were it true that only the particular cultural institutions and developments of Protestant England, along with, perhaps, those of Protestant Holland, could produce political liberty then Catholicism would be riven by internal contradictions. Catholics recognize that, while salvation is the ultimate, highest good, liberty also is a real human good and freedom aids greatly in the development of the human person. If their religion were hostile to liberty, then, they would have to choose between salvation and freedom. Thankfully, ordered liberty is not a purely English phenomenon and Catholicism is entirely consistent with ordered liberty, not merely in theory, but also in historical practice. My purpose, here, is to examine some of the reasons for Americans’ focus on English liberty. Some of these reasons are accidental and some genuinely important. They are worth exploring for what they can tell American Catholics about ourselves and about the requirements for ordered liberty.

It is best to begin with accidental reasons. Most Americans know little about medieval and early modern history of any kind. What is more, the further one strays from English history (which has a great deal written about it, almost all of which is, well, in English) the less knowledge there is. This is not just a matter of self-centered disinterest—such “multiculturalist” arguments make just as much sense in regard to Italy or medieval Germany as in regard to Africa and the Far East, which is to say, none. It is natural and right that people know most about their own history; they always should know more than they do, but that goes for all times and all fields. American culture is predominantly British, in the wide sense, and so our historical knowledge tends to focus on Great Britain and its center, England.

There is, not surprisingly, a somewhat more sinister aspect to our ignorance of the middle ages and the sources of liberty in particular, one that applies to England as well as the continent and has ideological origins and results. The assault on courses in Western Civilization and on the study of Western history has hit hardest in the area of European history before the modern era. Americans for generations have learned increasingly little about the medieval world, becoming more and more ignorant of the development of their culture and civilization. This ignorance has allowed for ideological fantasies to gain more than a foothold on university campuses and even in the public mind.

Read the rest there. In many ways Frohnen is reflecting on the effects of the Whiggish interpretation of history, which has read into the past the defeat of Catholicism as the prerequisite for modern freedom. See Butterfield's study of this pattern of reading victory into the past: The Whig Interpretation of History. In my opinion, the best antidote to this ignorance of the medieval period is to read the works of Christopher Dawson and Regine Pernoud.

Closing Out the Proms: Elgar's The Dream of Gerontius

At least as of this posting, you may listen to the performance of Elgar's The Dream of Gerontius at the Proms (the penultimate night) in Albert Hall on September 11, 2015 on the BBC site. Sir Simon Rattle conducted the Vienna Philharmonic. Reviews of the soloists were mixed, but both the composition and the orchestra/chorus were appreciated, as in this commentary:

And so it ends – with angels and archangels and “heart-subduing melody”. The Proms might not officially finish till tomorrow night, but this penultimate concert is always the true close of the season, and what better or more fitting an ending – especially on this most poignant anniversary – than Elgar’s The Dream of Gerontius.

Cardinal Newman’s verse – the outpourings of a fervent Catholic convert – is spiced with incense and ecstasy, drawing music of matching potency from Elgar. Sprawling over two fat halves rather than a tidier multi-movement structure, the oratorio unfolds in almost continuous swelling and ebbing of melody (cruelly bisected here by an interval), expanding to fill any space with its surges of choir and orchestra.

But The Royal Albert Hall isn’t just any space. A temple to art and science, it is to secular aspiration as Elgar’s oratorio is to spiritual. It’s a friction that only intensifies the piece in this setting – Victorian England distilled into an evening. It was Gerontius, however, that prompted Strauss to hail its composer as “the first English progressivist”, and this new Austro-Germanic drift was sympathetically captured in this performance by Simon Rattle and the Vienna Philharmonic.

Golden-sweet, the Vienna strings traced halos round Elgar’s lines, softly insistent but never striving to fill the hall, finding an exquisite simplicity for the opening of Part II. Where they were bright the brass glowed darker, urged by Rattle into barking frenzy for the demonic sections, but otherwise a supportive foil to baritone Roderick Williams’s deliberately shaded vocal colours. . . .

Founded in 2012, the BBC Proms Youth Choir brings together young singers from choirs across the country, its personnel changing every year. What has remained constant, however, is the standard. While perhaps a less natural fit for the thicker and weightier writing of Gerontius than 2012’s A Child of Our Time (unaided here, as with 2013’s Sea Symphony, by the BBCSC), the chorus made it work on their own terms. Mezzos found a lovely forthright tone for the lower writing, while the men came into their own as the demons. And all, from the tight fugal “Dispossessed” to the hushed pealings of the Angelical Chorus, was immaculately precise, following Rattle’s carefully (sometimes too-carefully) crafted shapes to the last detail.

As send-offs go this was a good one – a celebration of British musical richness whose quiet affirmations left none of the sour aftertaste the jingoism of the Last Night traditionally provides.

Today is the 115th anniversary of the premiere in Birmingham, which was a disaster because of an unprepared chorus, but The Dream of Gerontius is a masterpiece. Sir Simon Rattle and the same forces presented the work in Lucerne a couple of days later last month. 

For years, of course, Rattle was the conductor of the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra and he recorded Gerontius with Janet Baker in her second recording as the Guardian Angel (the first was with Sir John Barbirolli). Here is one reviewer's opinion of her artistry:

Janet Baker has recorded the role of the Angel twice : with Barbirolli (1964) and Rattle. More than twenty years separate the recordings and both bring huge rewards. There is no denying that the voice is far fresher in 1964 where Miss Baker delivers a very dramatic reading of the role, no doubt spurred on by Barbirolli. The interpretation has softened and deepened by 1986, but it is to the earlier recording I turn again and again. As when discussing the Gerontius of Nash and of Vickers, words cannot adequately do justice to the sheer thrill of Baker's performances, but a few examples must be given. As with Yvonne Minton, the poise on the last section of the 'Angel's Song' is exquisite with Barbirolli; with Rattle it remains very beautiful and there is even an added warmth. "You cannot now cherish a wish..." in the 1964 recording is one of those phrases that simply lives on in the mind - totally unforgettable. Staying with 1964, Baker's launching of the "duet" 'A presage falls upon thee' is simply glorious and, as already implied, with Richard Lewis an ideal blend is achieved to magical effect. With John Mitchinson (Rattle) this section lacks a sense of repose. Only Janet Baker, in both recordings, can match Alfreda Hodgson in the section "Yes, for one moment thou shalt see thy Lord - one moment". With Baker I hear it with tears pricking my eyes. Throughout her exchanges with Mitchinson's Gerontius, she achieves a stillness not always in evidence under Barbirolli. And so I could go on. If you want to judge for yourself, I would ask you to listen to the 'Farewell' under Barbirolli. This is glorious singing by any standard with some heart-stopping moments, eg. "I poise thee, and I lower thee, and hold thee" (figs 128-129) - this is surely the peak of Janet Baker's art.

Here is that "Farewell" from the 1964 recording.

Softly and gently, dearly-ransomed soul,
In my most loving arms I now enfold thee,
And o'er the penal waters, as they roll,
I poise thee, and I lower thee, and hold thee.
And carefully I dip thee in the lake,
And thou, without a sob or a resistance,
Dost through the flood thy rapid passage take,
Sinking deep, deeper, into the dim distance.
Angels to whom the willing task is given,
Shall tend, and nurse, and lull thee, as liest;
And Masses on the earth, and prayers in heaven,
Shall aid thee at the Throne of the Most Highest.
Farewell, but not for ever! brother dear,
Be brave and patient on thy bed of sorrow;
Swiftly shall pass thy night of trial here,
And I will come and wake thee on the morrow.
Farewell! Farewell!

"Between Two Worlds" (English and American) on the John Batchelor Show

John Batchelor has a radio show on WABC-AM in New York, which I listen to via the internet. He interviews authors in depth on their books. He and Malcolm Gaskill have discussed Between Two Worlds: How the English Became Americans in three parts. This podcast covers the period of the English Civil War and how the English in British America reacted to the conflict back home. including the news that King Charles I had been executed. Gaskill and Batchelor note that the colonies had different reactions to the Civil War and the victory of Parliament/Cromwell and that some of the differences were influenced by religion (Anglican, Puritan, Catholic).

According to Oxford University Press:

Between Two Worlds is a story teeming with people on the move, making decisions, indulging or resisting their desires and dreams.

In the seventeenth century a quarter of a million men, women, and children left England's shores for America. Some were explorers and merchants, others soldiers and missionaries; many were fugitives from poverty and persecution. All, in their own way, were adventurers, risking their lives and fortunes to make something of themselves overseas. They irrevocably changed the land and indigenous peoples they encountered - and their new world changed them.

But that was only half the story. The plantations established from Maine to the Caribbean needed support at home, especially royal endorsement and money, which made adventurers of English monarchs and investors too. Attitudes to America were crucial, and evolved as the colonies grew in size, prosperity, and self-confidence.

Meanwhile, for those who had crossed the ocean, America forced people to rethink the country in which they had been raised, and to which they remained attached after emigration. In tandem with new ideas about the New World, migrants pondered their English mother country's traditions and achievements, its problems and its uncertain future in an age of war and revolution.

Using hundreds of letters, journals, reports, pamphlets and contemporary books, Between Two Worlds recreates this fascinating transatlantic history - one which has often been neglected or misunderstood on both sides of the Atlantic in the centuries since.

Joan Redmond of the University of Cambridge reviews the book here:

In the book, Gaskill sets out three major points of enquiry. The first is to examine what happened to English people in America, from those who settled in harsh New England, through to the development of the Caribbean colonies including Bermuda and Barbados. The second aims to investigate, in turn, the impact of America on those who remained at home. At the heart of this approach lies a critique of some English historians, who ‘lose interest’ in English migrants once they leave European shores, while some American scholars in turn are neglectful of the ‘backstory’ of these migrants (p. xiv). Gaskill’s argument is that the New World was not a cut-off sphere of action from Old England, but rather that events in the colonies had an impact on those ‘at home’, rather than purely vice versa. The third proposes to examine the idea of the extension of England to America: the importing of English ideas, values, and social and political structures into an American context. Gaskill questions the idea of an inherently ‘progressive’ America, arguing that many such ideas were already in circulation in England. Central to all of this is nostalgia. English migrants to the New World overwhelmingly set out to ‘re-create a world felt to be vanishing at home’. Seen in this light, emigration, while still requiring great depths of courage and adventurousness, becomes something more conservatively-driven, a ‘conservative counter-measure’ to changes at home in England (p. xiii). This in turn naturally affected the character of many of the colonies that were established in America, and later generational shifts would produce crises of identity as the New World moved further away from the Old, with England seen more as a distant cousin than a parent or sibling.

October Martyrs: Blessed John Robinson

According to this blog, Blessed John Robinson was an older man: 

BORN at Fernsby, Yorkshire, he lived for some time in the world in the married state, but on becoming a widower he went over to Rheims, was ordained, and sent on the Mission. He was a man of great simplicity and sincerity, and he used to say that " if he could not dispute for the faith as well as some of the others, he could die for it as well as the best." He was apprehended in the very port where he landed, and cast into the Clink prison. His fellow-prisoners, in respect to his age and probity, called him "Father," and he in return styled them his "bairns," and when they were sent off to be executed in different parts of the Kingdom, the good old man lamented for days exceedingly, until at last the warrant for his own execution arrived. To the bearer of the warrant he gave all his money, and on his knees gave God thanks. He was sent to suffer at Ipswich, a long journey taken on foot, but he refused to put on boots, as he said, " These feet of mine have never worn them, and they can well travel now without them, for they will be well repaid."

So like the priests executed at Canterbury and Oxford, Father Robinson had no opportunity to fulfill his mission of serving the Catholics of England--except perhaps in prison and on his way to execution (82 miles from the Clink in Southwark, London!), through his example and his patient endurance.

English Martyrs of October 1, 1588, pray for us.

October Martyrs: The Oaten Hill Four in Canterbury

"The Oaten Hill Martyrs" were executed on Oaten Hill in Canterbury on October 1, 1588. According to this page on the website for St. Thomas of Canterbury Roman Catholic Church, they were:

BLESSED EDWARD CAMPION 
Edward Campion was the alias used by Father Gerard Edwards. He was born at Ludlow in Shropshire and studied at Oxford where he obtained a degree. This would indicate that he had subscribed to the new religion, since only those prepared to take the Oath of Supremacy, swearing on the Bible that the king was the rightful governor of the Church in England and so denying the authority of the Pope, could come down with a degree. He then became a servant to Gregory Fiennes, 8th Baron Dacres of the South. Baron Dacres was married to Anne Sackville, a member of a family with strong Catholic leanings. Gerard was reconciled to the Church at this time, and in February 1586 went to the English Seminary at Rheims. Here he adopted the name of Campion in order to associate himself more closely with St Edmund Campion, who had been martyred some years earlier. Because of his good education, his priestly training was shortened, and he was ordained in March 1587. A few days later he set sail for England, but after only a few weeks was arrested at Sittingbourne. He confessed he was a priest and boldly avowed that the religion now professed in England was heretical. He was then taken to London and imprisoned in the Marshalsea Prison in South London. Father Campion was examined again on 14th August,1588, and at the end of September he was sent to Canterbury for execution. 

BLESSED CHRISTOPHER BUXTON 
Christopher Buxton, a Derbyshire man, was born in 1562, and was educated at Tidewell Grammar School where one of his masters was Nicholas Garlick who was himself martyred for the Faith. In July 1582 Christopher arrived with two school-friends at Rheims. In 1584 he was sent to the English College in Rome where he was ordained on 26th October 1586. He had a lengthy and difficult journey across Europe, calling in at Rheims on his way to Dieppe. In September 1587 he crossed over to Kent, but was arrested there in November and taken to the Marshalsea prison. On 15th August 1588 Father Buxton was examined and then taken to Canterbury for trial and execution at the end of September. At his examination he admitted he was a priest. 

BLESSED ROBERT WILCOX 
Robert Wilcox was born in Chester in 1558 and entered the seminary at Rheims when he was twenty-five years old. He was ordained on 20th April 1585 and arrived in England on 7th june 1586. He was arrested almost immediately at Lydd in Kent, presumably where he landed. He, too, was sent to the Marshalsea where he was examined on 15th August 1588. Here he admitted he was a priest and was sent for trial with the others to Canterbury. 

BLESSED ROBERT WIDMERPOOL 
Robert Widmerpool was born in Nottinghamshire in 1560 and was at Oxford in 1578. There is no record that he graduated, an indication that he had remained a Catholic. A little later he obtained a post as a tutor with the Countess of Northumberland. In 1588 he was charged with hospitality towards priests and specifically with having introduced a priest into the house of the Countess. He was imprisoned in the Marshalsea, and was sent down with the others for trial and execution at Canterbury. It would seem that it was decided that the executions of Catholics should take place in significant local centres around London so that the example made by them would be felt as widely as possible. 

These four were beatified in 1929 by Pope Pius XI.

October Martyrs: Two Out Four Condemned Were Executed

In response to the attempted invasion of England by Spain by the Armada, from late August through October in 1588, the Elizabeth government arranged several executions of Catholic priests and/or laity to demonstrate the fate of traitors. In Chichester and in Canterbury on October 1, 1588, the government planned two more group executions of priests.

In Chichester, something unusual happened—one of the priests on the scaffold recanted and agreed to take the Oath of Supremacy. Four priests had been condemned to death on September 30, but one of the four had already taken the Oath of Supremacy after condemnation to avoid being hung, drawn, and quartered.

Father Edward James and Father Ralph Crockett had been arrested on April 19, 1586 and held in prison in London for more than two years without trial (from April 27, 1586). After the failure of the Spanish Armada, these imprisoned Catholic priests were prime targets of the English government for vengeance and punishment. Fr. James and Fr. Crockett were tried in Chichester along with Father John Oven and Father Francis Edwardes, found guilty and sentenced to death, but Fr. Oven took the Oath of Supremacy and was reprieved.

Then on October 1st, at Broyle Heath, Fr. Edwardes took the Oath of Supremacy and was reprieved--Fr. James and Fr. Crockett refused to recant and the butchery of their execution was carried out, after they first absolved each other on the scaffold. So often when we tell the story of the Catholic recusants and the Catholic priests of that recusant era, we emphasize the heroic faithfulness of those who suffered and died. This story reminds us that some who faced the crisis of life and death chose to recant their Catholic faith and avoid martyrdom.

This blog points out that: "Blessed Ralph Crockett and Blessed Edward James had never offered a mass or heard a confession in England. They accomplished their ministry in their death." They were beatified by Pope Pius XI in 1929 (among many others).

In her novel Superstition Corner, the Catholic convert from Anglicanism Sheila Kaye-Smith depicts the effect of Father Edwardes recanting and accepting the Oath of Supremacy on a recusant Catholic who knew him. Catherine Alard has traveled to Chichester, hoping to meet her brother who is now a Catholic priest, and hears about the impending executions:

Among much that was painful for her to hear, Catherine learned that the names of the other two priests were Ralph Crockett and Edward James, so she now knew for certain that Father Oven had refused his martyr's crown. The number of her honest men was dwindling . . . miserere mei. . . . She felt strangely moved and exalted, almost light-headed, as at last she jostled her way under the gate and came out on the high-road leading to the Broyle.

About a mile farther on the gallows rose up before her, and she felt a curious fear and constriction of her heart. This would not be the first hanging she had seen, but it would indeed, as the landlord had said, be different from the others. To-day she would see men die, but not for their own sins. No doubt their sufferings would be a passion offered for the sins of the unfaithful—for the unfaithful that they did not know as well as for the unfaithful that they knew. These three friends would die expiating her father's conformity, her mother's adultery, her friend's apostasy: they would wipe her world clean as they left it. . . . Yet before they died she would have to witness dreadful things, and for a moment her heart failed her. Though she had never been squeamish, she was glad to be on the outskirts of the crowd that swarmed round the scaffold.

Catherine witnesses the executions of Father Crockett, appalled by the animosity of the crowd toward the priest and horrified by his suffering:

Then silence fell: the executioner stood on the ladder watching the victim's struggles, and when they seemed to decrease gave the order for him to be cut down. He was caught as he fell, and his clothes torn off him, so that castration and dismemberment could follow while he was still alive. Catherine had never before seen an execution for high treason, and an ordinary hanging had always stopped short of this. She began to feel a little sick, and would have closed her eyes had she been able, but a kind of paralysis had taken her, and she could not move; she could only sit there staring and holding up her beads.

After seeing Father James suffer in the same horrible way, she notices that Father Edwardes’ execution is not proceeding apace, but that he has begun to cry out for mercy:

"Oh, Lord!" cried Catherine. "Oh, dear, dear Lord!" A great yell broke from the crowd, and she expected to see the wretched man carried up the ladder and flung off in a bundle. But the next moment she saw that something else was happening. Three men in black who had been standing with the magistrates on the scaffold now came forward, and she guessed that they were the Protestant ministers. They gathered round Francis Edwards (sic), who was vomiting. She knew that they were offering him his life at a price which in his terror and exhaustion he might pay. De profundus clamavi ad te, Domine: Domine, exaudi vocem meum. Oh, Lord, help him; oh, Lord, spare him. . . . Oh, Lord, let him fall down dead rather than deny his faith. . . . Oh, Lord, spare him. . . . Domine, Domine, exaudi vocem meum. The crowd was shouting and muttering—some were urging the martyr to change his faith and save his life. "'At, that's right 'at, that's right!" "Be a Protestant and live!" But others said: "You can never trust a Jesuit." "Set him free and he poisons us all." The cries swelled to a roar, and all the time a voice was shouting in her ear miserere mei! miserere mei! She did not know it was her own. . . .

She could stay no longer; the sheriff came to the edge of the scaffold to address the crowd, but she would not wait. She had seen enough—too much; and in that distracted moment she did not know which was too much—the sufferings of the martyrs or the sparing of the apostate. Francis Edwards had been spared—he would not have to climb that ladder, to endure that agony, to suffer that outrageous death. She was glad—she was glad. No, no—she was not glad. She was sorry.

Kaye-Smith’s description of the crowd and its changing fancies serve as a good example the expectations of the witnesses of the executions to see justice handed out effectively. They did not trust the recanting priest and might have admired the priests who endured their executions more. Please see the next post for the story of the Oaten Hill Martyrs at Oxford,also on October 1 in 1588.