Pietro Torrigiano (1472–1528), Bishop
John Fisher, 1510, Polychromed terracotta, Metropolitan Museum of Art, European
Sculpture and Decorative Arts
Saint John Fisher
Évêque de Rochester,
martyr (+ 1535)
Son ami Thomas More écrivait de lui: "Je ne connais personne qui lui soit comparable pour la science, la sagesse et la vertu."
Né à Beverley dans le Yorkshire, prêtre en 1491, évêque de Rochester en 1504, il devint la même année chancelier de l'université de Cambridge. Ce fut lui qui invita Erasme à venir y professer le grec et la théologie (1513). Bien qu'il eût le même dégoût des mœurs de la cour romaine que son ami Thomas More, John Fisher refusa comme lui de se séparer du pape lors du schisme d'Henri VIII. Il eut la tête tranchée pour cette raison.
Mémoire des saints Jean Fisher, évêque, et Thomas More, martyrs. Leur
opposition au roi Henri VIII dans la controverse autour de son divorce et sur
la suprématie spirituelle du pape, entraîna leur incarcération à la Tour de
Londres. Jean Fisher, évêque de Rochester, qui s’était fait remarquer par son
érudition et la sainteté de sa vie, fut, en ce jour en 1537, décapité devant sa
prison par ordre du roi lui-même. Thomas More, père de famille d’une vie
absolument intègre, et chancelier du royaume d’Angleterre, fut décapité le 6
juillet suivant, lié au saint évêque par la même fidélité à l’Église catholique
et par le même martyre.
Martyrologe romain
SOURCE : http://nominis.cef.fr/contenus/saint/1369/Saint-John-Fisher.html
.jpg)
SS
John Fisher & Thomas More in St Osmund, Salisbury
JOHN FISHER, Cardinal
(1469-1535), et THOMAS MORE, Chancelier (1478-1535) martyrs
Ce 22 Juin de 1535, après
avoir été enfermé dans la Tour de Londres, John Fisher, professeur à
l’Université de Cambridge et Évêque de Rochester, meurt décapité.
Né en 1469, Fisher fut un
humaniste et un théologien de grande envergure. Erasme disait à son sujet : «
Il n’est pas d’homme plus cultivé ni de plus saint Évêque ». Pasteur dans l’un
des plus petits et plus pauvres diocèses d’Angleterre ; Fisher aima et servit
avec beaucoup d’attention le petit troupeau qui lui avait été confié.
Toujours à Londres, deux
semaines après John Fisher, le 6 juillet 1535, sir Thomas More monte sur l’échafaud.
Né dans la capitale
anglaise le 6 Février 1478, après des études de droit et une période de
discernement, quatre ans durant, passée dans une chartreuse, Thomas s’était
orienté vers une carrière politique, jusqu’à devenir député en 1504.
Grand ami d’Erasme, qui
le définit comme un « modèle pour l’Europe chrétienne », Thomas était monté,
degré après degré, jusqu’à la charge de Grand Chancelier du souverain
d’Angleterre.
La fidélité de More et de
Fisher envers le roi trouva pourtant un obstacle dans les démarches entreprises
par ce dernier pour divorcer et transmettre les droits de succession aux fils
de sa seconde femme, Anne Boleyn.
L’acte crucial,
toutefois, auquel tous deux refusèrent de se soumettre et qu’ils payèrent du
martyre, est l’Acte de suprématie, où le roi était reconnu comme chef suprême
sur terre de l’Église d’Angleterre.
Les écrits de prison des
deux martyrs anglais, surtout les lettres de Thomas More, figurent parmi les
plus remarquables témoignages de la spiritualité Chrétienne.
Nourris par un dialogue
constant avec leur Seigneur au plus intime de leur conscience, More et Fisher
firent preuve jusqu’au bout d’une grande Charité et de Miséricorde à l’égard de
leurs persécuteurs.
Le témoignage extrême rendu à l’Évangile par More et Fisher est aussi rappelé
par l’Église d’Angleterre qui en célèbre la mémoire le 6 juillet.
Statue
de John Fisher sur le jubé de la cathédrale de Rochester.
SAINT JOHN FISHER
Jean (ou John) Fisher, humaniste et Chancelier de Cambridge, devint Évêque de Rochester en 1504, puis Cardinal en 1535.
Il est fêté le 22 juin en
même temps que Thomas More, Grand Intendant de l’université de Cambridge en
1525.
Né à Beverley, Yorkshire,
Jean Fisher était le fils d’un riche mercier qui mourut en 1477. Vers 1482, la
mère de l’enfant l’envoya à l’université de Cambridge où il se distingua comme
un brillant élève.
Il fut ordonné en 1491 et, après avoir étudié la théologie pendant dix ans, il
passa brillamment son examen en 1501.
Nommé Évêque de Rochester
en 1504, il administra cet évêché, un des plus pauvres d’Angleterre, pendant
trente ans.
Son université s’aperçut
rapidement de ses dons d’administrateur ; il assuma les charges de
censeur, vice-chancelier puis Chancelier.
Ce fut lui qui invita
Erasme à venir y professer le grec et la théologie (1513).
On lui conféra en 1514 le
titre de Chancelier à vie de l’université de Cambridge, titre qu’il partagea
avec celui d’Évêque de Rochester.
C’est dans l’exercice de ses charges universitaires qu’il rencontra, en 1494,
Lady Margaret Beaufort, mère de Henri VII.
Il devint son confesseur
et la conseilla sur les emplois charitables qu’elle pouvait faire de son
immense fortune.
Il participa à la refonte
du Christ’s College et, à la mort de Lady Beaufort en 1509, il utilisa ses
larges donations pour fonder Saint John’s College.
L’année 1527 fut décisive pour l’Angleterre, car c’est alors qu’Henri VIII
commença les démarches pour annuler son mariage avec Catherine d’Aragon et il
demanda la dissolution de ce mariage en prétendant que la dispense du Pape
n’était pas valable.
Jean s’opposa aux
empiétements du roi Henri VIII sur les libertés de l’Église et la juridiction
pontificale.
Quand Henri VIII exigea de l’Assemblée ecclésiastique de la province de
Canterbury qu’elle le reconnaisse comme chef suprême de l’Église anglicane,
Fisher s’y opposa.
Le 17 avril 1534, l’Évêque Jean Fisher et Sir Thomas More furent emprisonnés à
la Tour de Londres. Le Pape, croyant bien faire, le créa alors Cardinal du
titre de Saint-Vitalien (20 mai 1535).
Jean Fisher réaffirmant
que le roi n’était pas, et ne pouvait être, aux yeux de Dieu, le chef suprême
de l’Église d’Angleterre, fut décapité à Tower Hill, dès le 22 juin.
On laissa son cadavre nu sur l’échafaud tout le jour, et il fut enterré sans
cérémonie dans le cimetière voisin de All Hallows (Tous les Saints).
Sa tête fut exposée sur
le London Bridge (pont de Londres) jusqu’au 6 juillet, et ce jour-là, on la
jeta dans la Tamise pour la remplacer par la tête de son compagnon de martyre,
Sir Thomas More.
La dépouille de Thomas
More fut ensevelie dans l’église de Saint-Pierre-aux-Liens, dans l’enceinte de
la Tour, et on y transféra celle de Jean Fisher.
Les deux martyrs furent
Béatifiés en 1886 et Canonisés en 1935. On célèbre leurs Fêtes le même jour.
Saint
John Fisher Statue, Cambridge
LE MARTYRE DU CARDINAL
JOHN FISHER A LA TOUR DE LONDRES, LE 22 JUIN 1535.
John Fisher naquit à
Beverley, vers 1459. Fils d'un négociant très considéré, il apprit les
rudiments des lettres dans les écoles de sa ville natale, ensuite il fut admis
à l'Université de Cambridge, promu bientôt au grade de fellow et au sacerdoce.
Il fut présenté, jeune encore, à lady Marguerite, comtesse de Richmond, mère du
roi Henri VII, obtint rapidement sa confiance et devint son confesseur quand le
Dr Fitz James partit occuper le siège épiscopal de Rochester. John Fisher
refusa les bénéfices proposés, et sa modestie et son désintéressement
demeurèrent au-dessus des offres les plus avantageuses. Il employa l'influence
que lui valait sa charge à procurer la fondation d'une chaire de théologie dont
il fut nommé titulaire. La même année, il fut élu vice-chancelier de
l'Université de Cambridge (1501) et proposé par lady Marguerite pour le titre
d'abbé de Westminster, ce qui l'eût fait un des plus riches seigneurs du
royaume ; mais il refusa. Fisher portait dès lors à l'Université un attachement
profond et il dirigea vers elle les libéralités de lady Marguerite ; c'est de
cette époque que date l'opulence de Cambridge. Ce fut également pendant le
gouvernement de Fisher que le pape Alexandre VII concéda à l'Université un
précieux privilège : celui de choisir tous les ans douze prêtres, docteurs maîtres
ou gradués, qui iraient chaque année prêcher dans les trois royaumes, avec le
sceau de l'Université, sans avoir à solliciter la permission de l'Ordinaire.
Henri VII ne montra pas
moins de confiance à John Fisher que ne le faisait sa mère : il lui confia la
direction de la conscience de ses deux fils Arthur et Henri, le futur roi Henri
VIII, à qui son rang de cadet permettait alors de songer à l'état
ecclésiastique et que des vues humaines songeaient déjà à faire couronner de la
tiare. Fisher fut nommé évêque de Rochester sans renoncer pendant quelque temps
à s'occuper activement de Cambridge où s'élevait, sur ses conseils, un nouveau
collège, Corpus Christi College ; il devait quelques années plus
tard, sans se relâcher en rien de ses obligations épiscopales, fonder Saint
John College ; il reçut peu après le titre de chancelier à vie.
En 1509, la mort de Henri
VII éleva au trône d'Angleterre l'élève de John Fisher, le jeune roi Henri
VIII. Les quinze premières années du règne de ce prince n'étaient pas de nature
à alarmer sérieusement l'évêque de Rochester. Celui-ci conservait sur son roi
le prestige et l'autorité qu'il avait jadis exercés sur son pupil. Tout au
plus pouvait-il être contrarié par le faste, les réceptions somptueuses de la
cour, au milieu de laquelle il ne pouvait, aussi souvent qu'il l'eût souhaité,
se dispenser de paraître. John Fisher partagea la surprise et l'indignation
générale quand il apprit que le roi, d'après l'avis même de son confesseur
Longnan, formait le dessein de divorcer avec Catherine d'Aragon et d'épouser
Anne Boleyn. Le primat d'Angleterre, Wolsey, tenta d'attirer John Fisher dans
le parti du divorce, il échoua. Le roi lui adressa un traité de sa composition
dans lequel il arguait en théologien des causes de nullité de son propre
mariage. Fisher ne répondit rien. Henri fit mander l'évêque de Rochester à
Westminster, chez le primat. Le roi s'entretint avec son vieux précepteur et se
promena quelque temps avec lui dans la grande galerie. Ensuite ils s'assirent
et Henri demanda à Fisher ce qu'il pensait du projet de divorce. Bailey raconte
que l'évêque se jeta aux genoux du prince en lui disant : « Sire, j'éprouve le
besoin de délivrer mon âme. » Henri lui saisit les mains, le releva ; alors
Fisher lui déclara que la validité du mariage ne faisait pas de doute. « Oh !
mon seigneur et bien-aimé souverain, dit-il en finissant, pardonnez ma
franchise et laissez-moi espérer que vous inclinerez aujourd'hui du côté de la
justice et de la vérité ! » Le roi se leva et le quitta brusquement ; peu
après, il lui fit faire défense d'exprimer des opinions contraires au divorce.
Henri VIII fit réunir les
évêques d'Angleterre pour les consulter sur la licéité de son divorce.
L'assemblée ne décida rien, sinon que la cause devait être déférée au pape ou à
ses commissaires. On pouvait interpréter cette solution comme un doute d'autant
plus grave que parmi les signataires de la pièce se lisait le nom de John
Fisher. Mais celui-ci désavoua publiquement sa participation et sa signature à
un tel acte. A cette époque il devenait le conseiller écouté de la reine
Catherine d'Aragon, malgré les préventions que celle-ci ne cachait pas aux
sujets de son mari. L'enquête solennelle au cours de laquelle la reine répudiée
était en apparence appelée à se défendre procura à John Fisher l'occasion de
révéler la vaillance de son âme et la générosité de son caractère. L'évêque de
Rochester se présenta un jour à la barre et protesta que le salut de son âme
l'obligeait, au risque de sa vie, à dire ce qui appartenait à la cause. « Je
déclare, dit-il, que le mariage du roi est valide devant Dieu et devant les
hommes, et nul pouvoir divin ou humain ne le pourrait dissoudre. » Henri VIII,
présent, se tut ; mais, rentré au palais, il épancha sa colère en une violente
diatribe contre l'évêque, dont la faveur était décidément bien finie.
John Fisher ne cachait
nullement sa réprobation ; il la proclamait du haut de la chaire, en 1532. Il
fut arrêté sous un prétexte ridicule et condamné pour misprision of
treason ; l'évêque dut verser 300 livres sterling et sortit de la Tour de
Londres. Il y devait bientôt rentrer.
En sa qualité de pair
ecclésiastique du royaume, Fisher, membre de la Chambre des Lords, vota contre
le statut qui déshéritait Marie, fille de la reine Catherine, au profit
d'Elizabeth, fille d'Anne Boleyn. A la fin de la session, le Parlement déclara
que tous ses membres prêteraient serment à ce statut, Fisher refusa ; il fut
reconduit à la Tour. Sur les instances que lui firent ses amis, Fisher
consentit à une concession. Il se déclara prêt à accepter le statut
successoral et à ne jamais disputer sur la validité ou la nullité du
mariage de Catherine, quoique, ajoutait-il, ce serment ne lui laissât pas la
conscience parfaitement en repos. La réserve déplut au roi, qui entreprit de
convaincre l'évêque et, n'ayant pu y parvenir, le déposséda de son titre
épiscopal et le renvoya à la Tour.
Fisher distinguait très
sagement, au sujet de la loi successorale, entre ce qui regardait le pouvoir
civil, dont il ne discutait pas les règlements, et la partie théologique, sur
laquelle il réservait l'exclusive compétence du pape et de l'Eglise.
Fisher vit son serment,
ainsi expliqué, repoussé parle conseil du roi et, du même coup, fut condamné à
la dégradation, à la perte de ses titres et dignités, à la confiscation de ses
biens et revenus et à l'emprisonnement perpétuel.
Nous allons maintenant
retracer, d'après un document ancien, l'histoire de son procès et de son
martyre.
LE
MARTYRE DU CARDINAL JOHN FISHER
Ruses employées pour
faire souscrire par serment l'Evêque de Rochester au décret du Parlement qui
reconnaissait la succession royale à la descendance d'Anne Boleyn, et pour
l'amener à reconnaître la primauté du roi sur l'Eglise anglicane.
Jusqu'ici on les avait
pressés par tous les moyens, surtout pour leur faire approuver par serment la
légitimité de la descendance d'Anne Boleyn à la succession royale, qui venait
d'être confirmée par un nouveau décret. Alors les conseillers du roi résolurent
d'employer contre eux une nouvelle ruse. Au jour convenu ils firent venir
l'évêque de Rochester et lui dirent que, jusqu'ici, il avait été trop attaché à
Thomas More et que c'était sans doute parce que celui-ci l'en avait dissuadé
qu'il n'avait pas voulu prêter le serment ; mais, maintenant, ajoutèrent-ils,
cette cause d'hésitation n'existe plus puisque Thomas More a juré obéissance
aux statuts et, sous peu, va se réconcilier avec le roi et être mis en liberté.
L'évêque fut très étonné
de ces communications ; et plaignant son vieil ami Thomas More, qu'il avait en
grande estime à cause des dons remarquables dont Dieu l'avait gratifié, il crut
facilement ce qu'on lui affirmait si loyalement et si sérieusement. En homme
simple, il ne voulut pas même soupçonner la ruse et le mensonge dans les
paroles qu'on lui avait adressées. Néanmoins ces raisons ne purent l'amener à
jurer, sur les Evangiles, obéissance au décret concernant la descendance d'Anne
Boleyn.
On usa exactement du même
artifice envers Thomas More. On s'efforça de lui persuader que c'était à cause
de l'évêque de Rochester qu'il avait refusé de prêter le serment, et on ajouta
que l'évêque lui-même l'avait prêté. Or il crut qu'on lui disait la vérité ;
non pas tant sur l'affirmation de ces hommes, dont il connaissait depuis
longtemps l'astuce et les artifices, que sur celle de sa fille Marguerite Roper
qui, ayant accès auprès de lui très facilement par un privilège spécial, lui
rapporta qu'elle l'avait entendu dire et que le bruit en courait dans le monde.
Elle lui raconta aussi que, ayant été rendre visite au chancelier, pour
l'intéresser en sa faveur et lui obtenir une plus grande liberté, celui-ci
avait répondu : « Votre père est trop obstiné. Excepté lui et un certain évêque
déraisonnable (il voulait dire l'évêque de Rochester), qui enfin, après une
longue délibération, s'est laissé convaincre et est prêt à jurer, il n'y a
personne dans tout le royaume qui persiste à refuser de prêter le serment. Je
conseille donc à votre père de suivre cet exemple, autrement mon amitié ne lui
servira de rien auprès du roi. » — On rapporte que ce chancelier fit
à peu près la même réponse à Alice Alington, épouse de sir Gilles Alington et
fille de la femme de Thomas More par un premier mariage, quand elle alla lui
rendre visite pour intercéder auprès de lui pour son beau-père.
Comme on n'arrivait pas à
le fléchir, on eut recours à d'autres moyens : on le mit dans l'alternative, ou
de reconnaître la primauté du roi dans l'Église anglicane, d'après la teneur du
nouveau décret, ou d'encourir, s'il refusait, les peines édictées dans ce même
décret. A cet effet, Stokesley, évêque de Londres, Stephen Gardiner, évêque de
Winchester, Tunstall, évêque de Durham et un certain nombre d'autres prélats,
lui furent envoyés par le roi pour l'exhorter à se conformer à la volonté de Sa
Majesté. La plupart de ces évêques acceptèrent cette mission plutôt par crainte
d'offenser le roi, 'qu'ils savaient implacable, que parce qu'ils étaient
eux-mêmes persuadés que Fisher devait se soumettre. Aussi ai-je entendu dire
que Stokesley, l'évêque de Londres, se mettait à verser des larmes quand il
entendait parler de cette affaire et qu'il avait fort regretté de ne pas être
resté attaché à son frère de Rochester et de l'avoir abandonné.
Quant à l'évêque de
Winchester, je sais, pour l'avoir entendu de sa bouche, que, aussi bien en
chaire, dans ses sermons, que dans ses entretiens particuliers avec les membres
du conseil royal et dans d'autres circonstances encore, il s'accusa et se
reconnut coupable d'avoir pris part à ces démarches et à d'autres semblables.
Thomas Hardinge, docteur en théologie, autrefois son chapelain et son
confesseur, m'a raconté que chaque fois qu'il touchait ce sujet dans sa
conversation avec ses chapelains, il avait coutume de maudire vivement sa façon
d'agir d'autrefois dans cette cause. Sous le règne du jeune roi Édouard VI, il
fut cité devant le tribunal royal, et comme on le pressait fortement d'adhérer
à la nouvelle Église, loin d'y consentir, il rétracta tout ce qu'il avait fait
auparavant ; ses biens furent confisqués et lui-même fut emprisonné à la Tour
de Londres pendant au moins cinq années. Là, il espérait reprendre
courageusement la couronne du martyre qu'il avait perdue naguère, ou, si Dieu
en avait décidé autrement, confesser la foi catholique en souffrant la prison
pendant toute sa vie pour expier ses fautes et ses lâchetés d'autrefois. Mais
peu après, sous le règne de la vertueuse reine Marie, l'ancienne religion fut
rétablie. Dès que cette reine eut le pouvoir entre les mains, elle releva la
foi catholique par tout le royaume et mit en liberté l'évêque de Winchester,
Tunstall de Durham, et plusieurs autres qui avaient été emprisonnés à peu près
dans le même temps et pour les mêmes raisons. Mais, pour en revenir à l'évêque
de Rochester, bien que tous les prélats que nous avons nommés plus haut lui
eussent apporté de nombreux arguments pour le décider à passer du côté du roi,
il ne voulut pas s'écarter le moins du monde de la loi de sa conscience appuyée
sur les saintes Ecritures et sur la loi de Dieu.
Une autre fois, six ou
sept évêques subornés par le roi vinrent le visiter dans sa prison pour traiter
la même question. Quand ils lui eurent exposé les raisons de leur démarche, il
leur répondit : « Messeigneurs, je suis très affligé d'être forcé par les
circonstances de discuter sur cette malheureuse affaire; mais je suis bien
davantage peiné d'être poussé à mal agir par des personnes telles que vous,
dont le devoir aussi bien que le mien est d'empêcher cet acte que vous
conseillez. Il me semble que votre devoir était d'unir vos forces, bien plutôt
pour résister aux violentes injures dont on accable notre mère l'Église
catholique que pour faire cause commune avec ses ennemis. Il aurait mieux valu,
dis je, chasser du bercail du Seigneur ces loups rapaces qui s'efforcent de
détruire le troupeau que le Christ nous a confié et pour lequel il est mort,
que de souffrir par notre incurie et notre lâcheté qu'ils continuent chaque
jour à s'acharner contre ses brebis et à les dévorer. Parce que nous n'avons
pas mis la main à l'œuvre, voyez dans quel état se trouve le christianisme ; de
tous côtés nous sommes entourés d'ennemis, et il ne nous reste aucun espoir de
leur échapper ; l'iniquité est sortie de ceux qui sont l'appui du troupeau et
les princes de la Maison de Dieu. Pouvons-nous elle espérer, quand nous
faiblissons à notre devoir, que les autres se maintiendront dans la foi et la
justice ? Notre place forte est livrée par ceux mêmes qui devaient l'étayer et
la défendre. Notre parti a lâché pied ; nous autres qui étions ses chefs nous
nous sommes jetés avec bien peu de courage dans la lutte, et à cause de cela je
crains bien que nous ne voyions jamais la fin de ces calamités. Et comme je
suis déjà bien vieux, et bien près de la mort, je ne veux pas, quoi qu'il
puisse m'arriver, pour plaire à un roi de la terre perdre mon âme. Plût à Dieu
qu'il me soit permis de passer le reste de ma vie en prison : là, je prierai
Dieu continuellement pour le salut du roi. »
Après ce discours, les
évêques se retirèrent. La plupart portaient sur leur visage la tristesse qui
était dans leur âme. Ils ne revinrent plus faire visite au prisonnier. Peu
après, l'évêque de Rochester eut à subir un nouvel assaut. Le serviteur qui
s'occupait de lui dans la prison, homme simple, l'ayant entendu discuter avec
les évêques, s'approcha de lui et lui dit après s'être excusé : « Monseigneur,
pourquoi vous seul vous opposez-vous aux entreprises du roi plutôt que les
autres évêques, qui pourtant sont des hommes savants et pieux? Il ne vous
demande que de le reconnaître comme chef de l'Eglise anglicane : cela me paraît
de peu d'importance, et d'ailleurs, quoi que vous disiez, vous pouvez croire
dans votre âme ce que vous voudrez. » L'évêque, à la vue de la simplicité de
cet homme qui lui avait parlé avec bienveillance et sincérité, répondit : « Mon
bon ami, vous n'êtes pas suffisamment éclairé et vous ne voyez pas où out cela
conduit ; mais bientôt, par expérience, vous en apprendrez long. Ce n'est pas
seulement à cause de mon refus de souscrire au décret reconnaissant la primauté
du roi sur l'Eglise anglicane que je suis retenu ici, mais bien plutôt à cause
du serment d'obéissance établissant la succession royale dans la descendance
d'une épouse illégitime, et je suis persuadé que si j'avais consenti à accepter
ce dernier point, on n'aurait jamais agité la question de la primauté. Mais,
Dieu aidant, je ne souscrirai ni à l'une ni à l'autre formule, et quand je
serai mort, vous pourrez dire que vous avez entendu cette déclaration de ma
bouche quand je vivais encore. »
Comme jusqu'ici on
n'avait rien trouvé dans les paroles et les actes de l'évêque qui pût le faire
condamner, le roi décida de lui tendre un piège par un nouveau décret, et pour
cela il se servit d'un artifice secrètement et habilement machiné. Certes,
cette façon d'agir était contre la charité et indigne de la majesté royale,
mais telle était son irritation contre le prisonnier que par tous les moyens
possibles, bons et mauvais, justes et injustes, il s'étudia à le perdre.
Nouvelle ruse pour
arracher de la bouche de l'évêque de Rochester une déclaration ouverte contre
le statut, afin de pouvoir le convaincre de crime de lèse-majesté. Affaire du
chapeau de cardinal envoyé par le pape à Calais.
Voici quelle fut la
nouvelle ruse que l'on inventa. Au commencement du mois de mai, comme Fisher
était en prison depuis une année au moins, le roi lui envoya, pour lui faire en
son nom une communication secrète, Richard Rich, son intendant général, qui
avait autorité et crédit auprès de l'évêque. Ces communications restèrent quelque
temps cachées à tous, mais peu après elles furent rendues publiques; tant pour
le déshonneur du roi lui-même que pour la plus grande honte de l'infâme et
inique messager c'est d'ailleurs ce que nous verrons bientôt. Néanmoins richard
Rich demeura ferme et fit avec énergie ce (lue le roi lui avait ordonné. Quand
peu après, revenu chez le roi, il lui rapporta la réponse de l'évêque, aussitôt
on accusa le prisonnier du crime de lèse-majesté, crime qu'on lui imputa à faux
et dont il fut convaincu devant les juges sur certaines paroles prononcées dans
l'entrevue secrète qui avait eu lieu entre lui et le mandataire du roi : tout
cela deviendra plus clair par la suite du récit.
Cependant le pape Paul
III, ayant appris la constance inaltérable que l'évêque de Rochester avait
montrée tant avant que pendant son emprisonnement, résolut de l'élever à un
plus haut rang et à une plus haute dignité, persuadé qu'à ce titre le roi
serait plus doux envers lui. C'est pourquoi, dans la réunion solennelle des
cardinaux qui eut lieu à Rome au commencement de son pontificat, il le créa
cardinal prêtre du titre de Saint-Vital. C'était le 24e jour du mois de
mai de l'année du Seigneur 1535.
Peu après, comme c'était
la coutume, il lui envoya le chapeau de cardinal ; mais à Calais le messager
pontifical fut retenu jusqu'à ce qu'on eût averti le roi. Celui-ci lui fit
savoir qu'il ne devrait pas aller plus loin avant d'avoir reçu un ordre précis.
Pendant ce temps, il envoya Thomas Cromwell à l'évêque prisonnier pour lui
apprendre la décision du pape, et essayer de découvrir comment il
l'interpréterait. Cromwell alla donc le trouver et, après avoir parlé de choses
et d'autres, il lui demanda : « Que feriez-vous si le Souverain Pontife vous
envoyait le chapeau du cardinal ? Le refuseriez-vous ou
l'accepteriez-vous » — L'évêque lui répondit : « Certes, je me reconnais
bien indigne d'un tel honneur, aussi n'y ai-je pas pensé; cependant, si par
hasard le pape m'envoyait le chapeau de cardinal (Cromwell l'avait surtout
pressé de répondre à cette question), je pense que, revêtu d'un tel pouvoir, de
toute façon je pourrais être utile à l'Église de Dieu, et dans ce but je
l'accepterais volontiers, même s'il fallait me mettre à genoux pour le
recevoir. »
Quand Cromwell rapporta
ces paroles au roi, il entra dans une grande fureur et s'écria : « Est-il
encore si ardent ? Que le pape lui envoie le chapeau de cardinal quand il
voudra, je ferai en sorte que quand il arrivera, la tête qui doit le porter ne
soit pas sur ses épaules ! »
Comme nous avons commencé
à le raconter plus haut, après que le roi eut connaissance de la conversation
privée de Richard Rich et des prisonniers, voyant qu'il y avait matière
suffisante (du moins il le pensait) pour le faire condamner pour crime de
lèse-majesté sur les paroles qu'il avait prononcées au sujet du nouveau décret,
il délégua lord Awdley, son chancelier, en qualité de juge, afin de rechercher
et de déterminer les chefs d'accusation ; il lui donna cette commission le
premier jour de juin de la 27e année de son règne. En même temps qu'on
agissait contre l'évêque de Rochester, les conseillers du roi dressaient un
acte d'accusation très violent contre trois chartreux de Londres : William
Exmew, Humfrey Middlemore et Sébastien Newdigate. Le jour de la fête de saint
Barnabé, le 11 juin, ce réquisitoire fut présenté aux juges délégués siégeant à
la cour de justice royale de Westminster. Les chartreux faussement accusés
furent condamnés le 19 du même mois ; ils furent cruellement mis à mort et
suspendus à Tyburn revêtus de leurs habits monastiques.
Maladie du cardinal de
Rochester et confiscation de ses biens. Il est accusé devant le tribunal royal
d'avoir nié ouvertement, malicieusement et faussement la primauté du roi sur
l'Église anglicane. Sa réponse.
L'évêque de Rochester, ou
plutôt le cardinal de l'Église romaine (c'est ainsi que nous devons le nommer
désormais), tomba très gravement malade. Le roi craignit que sa mort naturelle
ne prévînt son supplice, et, en toute hâte, il envoya ses médecins pour le
soigner le mieux possible, et pour ramener le malade à la santé, le roi
prétendait plus tard avoir dépensé plus de cinq cents florins.
Pour qu'aucune partie des
biens que le cardinal possédait soit dans le Kent, soit à Rochester, ne fût
perdue, Henri envoya immédiatement son chambellan, sir Richard Morrison, avec
un certain Gostwicke et quelques autres pour confisquer tous ces biens, meubles
et immeubles. Quand ces commissaires arrivèrent à Rochester, ils chassèrent du
palais épiscopal tous les serviteurs et prirent possession de tout. Une partie
fut adjugée au roi, mais la plus grande part fut gardée par eux pour leur usage
personnel. Ils volèrent et dispersèrent la bibliothèque qui, dit-on, renfermait
un nombre immense de livres de valeur ; je ne crois pas qu'il y eût au monde
une bibliothèque où l'on pût trouver des volumes en si grand nombre et si bien
choisis. Ils en emplirent trente-deux grandes caisses, sans compter ce qu'ils
avaient enlevé en secret.
Par acte public, l'évêque
avait donné ses livres et le reste de ses biens meubles au collège de
Saint-Jean de Cambridge mais le fisc royal s'empara de tout et le collège ne
reçut absolument rien. Bien plus, les envoyés du roi enlevèrent trois mille
florins qu'un des prédécesseurs de Fisher lui avait laissés en garde pour les
besoins de l'église, et une autre somme de mille florins destinée au même usage
; cet argent était placé dans un coffre-fort qui se trouvait dans le vestibule
de la maison.
On fit encore dans le
palais épiscopal une autre découverte qu'il est bon de rapporter.
Les commissaires, ayant
trouvé dans un coin caché de l'oratoire un coffre très bien fermé par plusieurs
serrures, crurent qu'il renfermait une grande somme d'argent, et pour ne
pouvoir être accusés de fraude par le roi pour une chose aussi importante, ils
appelèrent plusieurs témoins et ouvrirent le trésor ; mais, au lieu de l'or et
de l'argent qu'ils espéraient, ils trouvèrent dans un coin un vieux cilice et
deux ou trois ceintures dont l'évêque se servait pour affliger son corps, comme
nous le savons par quelques-uns de ses chapelains et de ses serviteurs les plus
familiers, qui considéraient avec curiosité toutes les actions de leur maître.
D'autre trésor, on n'en
trouva point. Quand l'évêque apprit cette découverte, il fut grandement affligé
de ce que ces choses fussent parvenues à la connaissance des gens du dehors, et
il disait que si la grande précipitation de son départ ne lui avait fait
oublier ces instruments de pénitence, on ne les aurait jamais trouvés.
Peu après, grâce aux
soins des médecins, le cardinal avait recouvré assez de forces pour pouvoir
sortir et être transporté ; on le conduisit donc le jeudi 17 juin de la Tour
de. Londres devant le tribunal royal, à Westminster, entouré d'un grand nombre
de soldats armés de hallebardes, de massues en fer, de haches ; on portait
devant lui la hache de la Tour de Londres, le fil renversé, comme c'était la
coutume. Comme il n'était pas encore entièrement remis en santé pour pouvoir
marcher à pied, il fit une partie du trajet à cheval, revêtu d'une robe noire:
Pour le resté du voyage, il le fit en barque : à cause de sa trop grande
faiblesse, il n'avait pu continuer à aller à cheval. Aussitôt arrivé à
Westminster, il fut traduit devant ses juges qui siégeaient dans ce lieu.
Voici leurs noms : sir
Thomas Awdley, chevalier, chancelier d'Angleterre ; Charles, duc de Suffolk;
Henri, comte de Cumberland ; Thomas, comte de Wiltshire ; Thomas Cromwell ; sir
John Fitz-James, chef de la justice en Angleterre ; sir John Baldwin, chef de
justice à Westminster ; William Pawlet ; sir Richard Lyster, premier baron de
l'Échiquier ; sir John Porte, sir John Spilman et sir Walter Luke, juges du
tribunal royal ; enfin sir Anthonie Fitzherbert, juge de l'endroit. Les juges
interpellèrent l'accusé sous le nom de John Fisher, ex-évêque de Rochester, ou
encore Jean, évêque de Rochester, et lui demandèrent de lever la main étendue.
Il fit aussitôt ce qu'on lui commandait avec joie et calme.
On lut alors l'acte
d'accusation, conçu dans un style prolixe et verbeux ; on peut le résumer en
ces quelques lignes : « Le cardinal avait malicieusement, traîtreusement et
faussement affirmé que le roi, suprême seigneur d'Angleterre, n'était pas
ici-bas le chef suprême de l'Église anglicane. » On lui demanda s'il était
coupable ou non de ce crime ? Immédiatement il nia sa culpabilité.
Alors douze jurés,
choisis parmi les hommes liges du roi; feudataires du Middlesex, furent
désignés pour poursuivre l'enquête ; c'étaient :
Hugh Vaughan et Walter
Hungerford, chevaliers ; Thomas Burbage, John Newdigate, William Browne, John
Hewes, Jasper Leake, John Palmer, Richard-Henri Jonge, Henri Ladisman, John
Elrington et Georges Heveningham, écuyers. On fit comparaître devant ces
douze jurés, qui devaient rechercher quel était le crime dont le prisonnier
était coupable, son accusateur Richard, qui naguère avait été envoyé vers lui
par le roi avec un mandat secret, comme nous l'avons raconté plus haut. En
présence de tout le peuple qui s'était assemblé en nombre considérable, il jura
sur les Évangiles qu'il avait entendu l'évêque de Rochester lui dire en termes
très clairs, le jour où il l'avait visité à la Tour de Londres, « qu'il croyait
en conscience et qu'il savait d'une façon certaine que le roi n'était et ne
pouvait être en aucune façon chef suprême de l'Église anglicane. »
L'évêque rend compte des
paroles adressées par lui à l'envoyé du roi dans sa prison. Il prétend que par
aucune loi il ne peut être poursuivi pour cause de lèse-majesté à cause de ces
paroles. Il se défend de l'accusation d'obstination qu'on porte contre lui.
Après avoir entendu
l'accusation perfide de cet homme misérable qui lui avait juré de ne rien
révéler, l'évêque manifesta son grand étonnement de se voir ainsi traîné devant
un tribunal, publiquement, pour crime de lèse-majesté par un homme qui savait
parfaitement que l'entretien fait au nom du roi devait rester entièrement
secret. « Mais admettons, dit-il, que je vous aie dit tout cela, en vous le
disant je n'ai pas commis le crime de lèse-majesté, car ce n'est pas
malicieusement, comme l'accusation le porte, que je l'ai dit, mais avec un
autre sentiment, comme vous le savez parfaitement. Poussé par les
circonstances, je suis forcé de dévoiler plus de choses que je n'aurais voulu,
et je vous prie, lords juges, de m'écouter avec patience plaider ma cause. Certes,
je ne puis nier que Richard ne soit venu me voir en prison et m'apporter un
message, comme il le disait tout à l'heure. Il m'adressa d'abord des
compliments très flatteurs au nom du roi, qui, dit-il, avait conçu de moi une
opinion si élevée et une estime si grande qu'il était très peiné de me voir ans
les chaînes et en prison. Il ajouta bien d'autres flatteries encore qu'il est
inutile de répéter ; en tout cas il exagéra tant mes mérites que j'en étais
honteux, car je me rendais parfaitement compte que jamais je n'avais été digne
de telles louanges. Ensuite il me parla de la primauté spirituelle du roi
reconnue par un nouveau décret du Parlement ; il me disait que tous les évêques
du royaume excepté moi, toute l'assemblée et tous les ordres tant ecclésiastiques
que séculiers y avaient souscrit. Quoi qu'il en soit, ajoutait-il, Sa Majesté
royale, afin d'avoir la conscience plus tranquille, l'avait envoyé pour
s'enquérir sérieusement de mon avis en cette affaire, avis dans lequel il avait
une grande confiance à cause de la grande estime qu'il professait pour ma
doctrine qu'il mettait au-dessus de celle de tous les autres. Et, disait-il
encore, il n'y avait pas de doute que si je lui communiquais franchement mon
sentiment, bien que le roi eût remarqué que ses entreprises me déplaisaient, il
rétracterait en grande partie ce qu'il avait fait auparavant ; cédant à mes
conseils et à mes exhortations, il réparerait envers chacun le dommage qu'il
lui avait causé. Pendant que j'écoutais ce discours et que j'en pesais chaque
terme, je rappelai à Richard la clause du décret du Parlement qui gardait toute
sa force et toute sa rigueur contre ceux qui parleraient ou agiraient
directement contre, et je lui fis remarquer que si mon avis allait contre ce
statut, j'encourais facilement la peine de mort. Mais le messager me rassura en
m'affirmant que le roi lui avait ordonné de jurer sur son honneur que, quoi que
je pusse dire dans cet entretien, rien ne me serait imputé à mal, quand bien
même, en exprimant mon sentiment à l'envoyé royal, je devais aller expressément
contre le décret. Alors Richard promit sur son honneur de ne jamais révéler mes
paroles à d'autres qu'au roi. Donc, c'est sous prétexte d'informer a conscience
que le roi, par un envoyé secret, me demandait un avis que je suis prêt à lui
donner aujourd'hui en public comme naguère ; mais il me paraît inique que vous
ajoutiez foi à ce messager et que vous admettiez, dans une accusation aussi
grave, son témoignage comme d'un très grand poids. »
Richard ne répondit rien
directement à ces observations ; mais impudemment, sans nier ni affirmer la
vérité des dires de l'évêque, il fit connaître qu'il n'avait dit que ce que le
roi lui avait ordonné de lui communiquer. « Et, dit-il, si c'est ainsi que vous
m'avez parlé, je me demande comment vous pouvez vous défendre, puisque vous
avez parlé directement contre les statuts du Parlement ?
Les juges s'emparèrent de
ces paroles et tous, les uns après les autres, affirmèrent que la circonstance
d'un messager secret envoyé par le roi ne pouvait excuser l'accusé en rigueur
de justice, et ainsi, en parlant directement contre les décrets, bien qu'il
l'eût fait par un ordre particulier du roi, il encourait la peine édictée dans
ces mêmes décrets ; il ne lui restait plus qu'un seul moyen d'échapper à la
mort : c'était d'implorer la miséricorde et l'indulgence du roi.
Le cardinal vit tout de
suite combien on faisait peu de cas de son innocence et combien au contraire on
accordait de crédit à son accusation, et il comprit facilement où tendaient les
efforts de ses juges. C'est pourquoi il se retourna vers eux et leur dit : «
Lords juges, je vous en prie, considérez en toute équité et justice ce qu'on
m'objecte ; voyez si honnêtement je puis être accusé du crime de lèse-majesté ;
si j'ai prononcé ces paroles, je ne les ai pas dites malicieusement, mais
seulement à la prière et sur l'avis du roi, et cela en secret, par
l'intermédiaire d'un messager. Les termes des statuts qui regardent comme
coupables seulement ceux qui font ou disent quelque chose malicieusement contre
la primauté du roi, et non les autres, sont en ma faveur. »
Les juges répondirent que
ce mot malicieusement qui se trouvait dans le décret était superflu et sans
valeur, car, de quelque façon que ce soit, celui qui parlait contre la primauté
du roi devait être regardé comme l'ayant fait malicieusement. « Si c'est ainsi,
répondit le cardinal, que vous interprétez le statut, votre interprétation est
bien étroite et absolument contraire à l'esprit de ceux qui l'ont rédigé. Mais
encore une question : est-ce que dans votre législation le témoignage d'un seul
homme suffit à prouver la culpabilité d'un accusé, surtout pour un crime
capital? Ma négation ne vaut-elle pas autant dans cette affaire que le
témoignage de mon accusateur? »
Les juges lui répondirent
que, comme la cause regardait le roi, il avait laissé à la conscience des douze
inquisiteurs de se faire une opinion, et selon que l'évidence du fait à juger
leur apparaîtrait, ils devaient condamner ou absoudre.
Les douze jurés, éclairés
seulement par le témoignage d'un homme perfide et parjure, se retirèrent, comme
c'est la coutume, pour délibérer sur la sentence à porter. Avant de sortir du
lieu de la délibération, le chancelier exagéra tellement le chef d'accusation,
répétant si bien à plusieurs reprises que ce crime de lèse-majesté était très
grave et très abominable, que les juges virent facilement à ses paroles quelle
sentence ils devaient porter s'ils ne voulaient pas attirer sur leurs têtes les
plus grands malheurs, ce à quoi ils n'étaient nullement résignés.
Parmi les juges, il y en
avait quelques-uns qui accusaient le cardinal de je ne sais quelle obstination
singulière et perfide, car il était seul entre tous qui osât résister avec
fierté et audace au décret reconnu publiquement au Sénat par tous les évêques
du royaume. Il leur répondit modestement qu'il pouvait paraître singulier de le
voir seul de son opinion. « Mais, ajoutait-il, comme j'ai de mon côté tous les
évêques du monde chrétien, qui surpassent de beaucoup en nombre ceux
d'Angleterre, je ne vois pas comment sérieusement on peut dire que je suis
seul. De plus, comme j'ai pour moi tous les évêques depuis le Christ jusqu'à
nos jours et le consentement unanime de l'Eglise, je puis dire que ce parti que
j'embrasse est le plus sage et le plus sûr. Je ne pourrai donc me disculper de
l'accusation d'entêtement dont vous me chargez que s'il vous plaît de croire à
mon assertion du contraire, et si vous n'y ajoutez pas foi, je suis prêt à
affirmer avec serment que ce que je fais je ne le fais pas par obstination. »
C'est par ces paroles
pleines de dignité et de sagesse qu'il répondit avec une grande fermeté et un
grand calme aux calomnies et aux fausses accusations dont on l'accablait. La
plupart, non seulement de ceux qui l'entendaient, mais encore des juges,
étaient tellement affligés du misérable sort de cet homme vénérable que leur
douleur leur faisait verser des larmes. Tous s'affligeaient de voir ce cardinal
condamné au dernier supplice pour crime de lèse-majesté, au mépris de la foi et
de la parole à lui donnée par le roi, à cause d'une loi impie et du témoignage
sans valeur d'un misérable. Mais on fit taire la justice et la miséricorde, et
ce furent la rigueur, la perfidie et la cruauté qui l'emportèrent.
Sur le rapport des douze
jurés, l'évêque de Rochester est reconnu digne de mort. On porte contre lui la
sentence capitale pour crime de lèse-majesté. Retour à la prison pour quelques
jours.
Quand les douze jurés
revinrent de leur salle de délibérations, ils déclarèrent que l'accusé était
digne de mort. Cette sentence leur fut arrachée par les menaces des juges et
des conseillers du roi, de telle sorte qu'ils prononcèrent sans examen et
contre leur conscience, non pas un verdict, terme qui équivaut au mot sentence,
parce qu'habituellement la sentence est « un vrai dict », mais le plus affreux
et le plus abominable mensonge : c'est d'ailleurs ce que plusieurs d'entre eux
ne cessèrent de reconnaître jusqu'à leur mort. D'un autre côté, ils étaient
certains, s'ils portaient un jugement de non-culpabilité, de perdre eux-mêmes
la vie et tous leurs biens.
Après que le jugement fut
établi, le chancelier fit faire silence et adressa la parole à l'évêque de
Rochester : a Seigneur de Rochester, lui dit-il, vous avez été accusé devant
nous du crime de lèse-majesté. Comme vous avez nié ce crime, on a confié votre
cause, selon la coutume, au jugement de douze hommes qui, après avoir
sérieusement étudié l'affaire, ont prononcé en conscience votre culpabilité ; à
moins que vous n'ayez encore quelque chose à apporter pour votre défense, nous
allons vous lire dès maintenant la sentence définitive, selon les dispositions
de la loi. » Le cardinal répondit : « Si ce que j'ai dit précédemment ne
suffit pas, je n'ai rien à ajouter ; je prie seulement le Dieu tout-puissant de
pardonner à ceux qui m'ont condamné, car je crois qu'ils n'ont pas su ce qu'ils
faisaient. »
Alors le chancelier
gravement et sévèrement prononça contre lui la sentence de mort qui suit :
« Vous retournerez
quelques jours à l'endroit d'où vous êtes venu, et de là vous serez traîné à la
place d'exécution à Tyburn. Dans ce lieu, on vous engagera le cou dans un
lacet, et pendant que vous serez étendu par terre à demi mort, on vous
arrachera les entrailles que l'on brûlera devant vous. Ensuite on vous
tranchera la tête, et on coupera votre corps en quatre parties que 'on
suspendra ainsi que la tête dans les lieux désignés par le roi. Que Dieu fasse
miséricorde à votre âme !»
Aussitôt la sentence
prononcée, le gouverneur de la Tour de Londres se présenta avec une escorte de
soldats pour ramener le condamné. Mais ce dernier, ayant demandé aux juges la
permission de leur adresser quelques mots, leur dit : « Lords juges, j'ai été
condamné par vous à une mort cruelle comme coupable du crime de lèse-majesté,
parce que j'ai refusé de reconnaître la primauté spirituelle du roi sur
l'Église anglicane. Je laisse à Dieu, qui voit le fond de vos cœurs et de vos
consciences, à juger la procédure que vous avez suivie. Quant à moi, étant
condamné, je dois accepter avec résignation ce que le Dieu très bon m'envoie ;
je me soumets, pleinement à sa divine volonté. Maintenant je vais vous' dire
plus clairement mon avis sur la primauté du roi : je pense et j'ai toujours
pensé, et maintenant j'affirme publiquement que le roi ne peut ni ne doit
revendiquer cette primauté dans l'Église de Dieu, et jamais, avant notre temps,
on n'a entendu dire qu'un roi de la terre se soit arrogé cette dignité et ce
titre honorable. Et si notre roi se l'attribue, il ne peut y avoir de doute que
la colère de Dieu n'amène des malheurs sur lui et sur tout le royaume; ce crime
énorme sera suivi d'une vengeance de Dieu : il ne peut en être autrement. Fasse
Dieu que, se souvenant de son salut éternel, notre roi écoute les conseils
d'hommes sages et rende à son royaume et à l'univers chrétien la tranquillité
et la paix. »
Après ce discours, il fut
ramené à la Tour de Londres, marchant tantôt à pied, tantôt à cheval, entouré
du même nombre de soldats dont il avait été accompagné à l'aller. Arrivé à la
porte de la Tour, il se retourna vers eux et leur, dit :« Je vous
adresse tous mes remerciements pour la peine que vous avez prise en me
conduisant et en me ramenant; comme je n'ai absolument rien à vous donner,
ayant été dépouillé de tous mes biens, je vous prie d'accepter favorablement la
faible expression de ma reconnaissance. » Il prononça ces paroles avec un
visage si gai et si calme qu'il semblait plutôt revenir d'une fête que du lieu
de sa condamnation. Dans toutes ses paroles et dans tous ses actes, il montra
partout cette paix, et il était manifeste qu'il ne désirait rien plus que de
parvenir à la gloire et à la béatitude pour lesquelles il avait livré tant de
combats et de luttes. Il savait d'ailleurs que, malgré son innocence, il avait
été condamné iniquement pour la foi et la défense du Christ, et cela le rendait
plus sûr encore de son immortalité bienheureuse.
Son calme et sa gaieté
jusqu'à la mort. Ce qu'il répondit à son cuisinier qui, un jour, avait oublié
de lui apporter à dîner, et à son serviteur qui manifestait son étonnement de
le voir se vêtir avec plus de soin le jour de son supplice. Ses paroles au
gouverneur de la Tour qui venait lui annoncer le jour et l'heure de son
exécution.
Après la condamnation que
nous avons rapportée plus haut, le cardinal resta encore quatre jours en prison
; Il passa ce temps en de continuelles et ferventes prières. Bien qu'il
attendît chaque jour le moment de la mort, il n'en paraissait nullement troublé
; même on remarqua chez lui avec sa patience ordinaire une plus grande gaieté;
on peut le voir par ce seul fait. La rumeur s'était répandue dans le peuple que
son supplice devait avoir lieu tel jour; le cuisinier qui avait coutume de lui
apporter son dîner l'apprit, et ce jour-là, il ne lui proposa ni ne lui apporta
son repas. Le lendemain, comme ce même cuisinier venait à la prison, le
cardinal lui demanda pourquoi il ne lui avait point apporté son dîner la
veille. Celui-ci répondit qu'il avait entendu dire qu'il devait être supplicié
ce même jour, et qu'à cause de cela il avait pensé que le dîner lui serait
inutile. — « Mais, dit l'évêque, tu vois bien que je vis encore ? C'est
pourquoi, quoi qu'on dise de moi, tâche de ne pas oublier mon repas et continue
de le préparer toujours comme tu l'as fait jusqu'à présent, et si un jour en
l'apportant tu apprends que je suis mort, tu le mangeras tout seul; mais si je
suis en vie, tu peux être sûr que je mangerai comme d'habitude. »
Ainsi l'évêque de
Rochester attendait chaque jour la mort ; le roi, lui aussi, ne désirait pas
moins le voir disparaître ; à cet effet, il prit soin de faire écrire les
lettres exécutoires et les fit envoyer au lieutenant de la Tour, sir Edmond
Walsingham. Comme le portait la sentence, le condamné devait être traîné sur
une claie au lieu du supplice et là être pendu ; puis on lui arracherait les
entrailles et on couperait son corps en morceaux, comme ceux des autres
criminels. Le roi lui fit grâce de ce genre de mort barbare et cruel, non par
miséricorde ou par clémence, mais probablement, comme je l'ai entendu dire,
parce que si on avait traîné ce condamné sur une claie par les rues jusqu'à
Tyburn, ce qui était le supplice ordinaire, à cause de la longueur du chemin
qui était de deux milles et vu son grand âge et sa faiblesse extrême qui aurait
encore été augmentée par un long emprisonnement, il eût rendu l'âme avant la
fin du trajet. Le roi ordonna donc de le conduire seulement à la porte de la
Tour et de lui trancher la tête à cette place.
Quand le lieutenant de la
Tour eut reçu ces lettres du roi, il appela ceux dont il avait besoin et leur
commanda de se tenir prêts pour le lendemain. Il était déjà tard à cette heure,
et le lieutenant ne voulut pas éveiller le condamné qui dormait ; mais de grand
matin, vers cinq heures, il entra dans sa chambre qui se trouvait près de la
cloche de la Tour et le trouva couché et encore endormi.
L'ayant éveillé, il lui
dit qu'il était envoyé par le roi pour lui faire une communication, et, se
servant de circonlocutions, il se mit à l'exhorter et à le prier de ne pas
s'affliger trop si avant le soir, par ordre du roi, il était privé de la vie;
d'ailleurs, ajoutait-il, il était âgé et n'avait plus sans doute que peu de
temps à vivre. — « C'est très bien, répondit le cardinal, si vous m'apportez
cette nouvelle ; ce n'est pas pour moi une chose extraordinaire et redoutée
mais depuis longtemps attendue. C'est pourquoi je rends grâces à Sa Majesté qui
va me délivrer des difficultés de cette misérable vie et de tous les soins de
ce monde ; je vous remercie, vous aussi qui m'apportez ce message. Mais
dites-moi donc, à quelle heure vais-je partir d'ici ? — A neuf heures. — Et
quelle heure est-il actuellement ? — Environ cinq heures. — Permettez-moi donc
de me reposer encore une heure ou deux, car j'ai très mal dormi cette nuit, non
par crainte de la mort et appréhension du supplice, mais à cause de ma mauvaise
santé. »
Le lieutenant ajouta que
le désir du roi était que le discours qu'il adresserait aux gens fût aussi
court que possible et qu'il ne contînt rien qui pût faire soupçonner quelque
chose de mal de Sa Majesté et de sa conduite. « Par la grâce de Dieu, dit le
cardinal, j'y pourvoirai, et ni le roi ni qui que ce soit ne pourront rien
trouver à reprendre à mes paroles. »
Sur cette réponse le
lieutenant le laissa. Il dormit, pendant deux heures au moins, puis, s'étant
éveillé, il appela son serviteur, le pria de faire disparaître secrètement de
sa chambre le cilice dont il se servait habituellement, et à sa place il se fit
apporter un vêtement de dessous propre et ses meilleurs habits. Comme il s'en
revêtait, son serviteur remarqua qu'il mettait une certaine coquetterie dans sa
toilette, et il lui demanda pourquoi il agissait ainsi, puisqu'il ne voulait
pas cacher sa dignité et que dans deux heures au plus il devait laisser ces
habits que les bourreaux lui arracheraient. « Que dis-tu, lui dit le cardinal,
est-ce que ce n'est pas le jour de mes noces aujourd'hui? C'est en l'honneur de
ce mariage que je dois mettre mes habits les plus riches et les plus propres.»
Il est conduit au lieu du
supplice. Ce qu'il fait et ce qu'il dit le long du chemin et en montant à
l'échafaud.
Vers neuf heures, le
lieutenant de la Tour retourna à la chambre où John Fisher était en train de
s'habiller et il lui dit qu'il venait le chercher. « Je vais vous suivre,
répondit celui-ci, autant que mon faible corps va me le permettre. » Il appela
son domestique et lui dit : « Apportez-moi mon manteau de fourrures pour me
protéger la gorge contre le vent. » — Le serviteur lui répondit : « Pourquoi
donc êtes-vous si soucieux de conserver votre santé pour un temps si court qui
ne peut guère dépasser une heure ! — Moi, je ne pense pas ainsi, dit le
cardinal, c'est pourquoi je veux prendre soin de ma santé jusqu'au dernier
moment. Bien que, parla grâce de Dieu, je sente en moi un désir très vif de
mourir à présent, désir que la bonté infinie et la très grande miséricorde de
Dieu me feront conserver comme je l'espère, jamais cependant je ne voudrais
nuire à ma santé même le moins du monde ; bien au contraire, je m'efforce par
tous les moyens convenables de conserver ce que le bon Dieu m'a donné. »
A cet instant, il prit
dans ses mains le livre du Nouveau Testament et, faisant le signe de la croix,
il sortit de la prison avec le lieutenant ; mais, vu son extrême faiblesse, il
ne put qu'à grand'peine descendre l'escalier. Comme il arrivait au dernier
degré, il fut placé par deux serviteurs du lieutenant dans une chaise à
porteurs et transporté entre une haie de soldats jusqu'à la porte de la Tour,
où on le livra aux sheriffs de Londres qui devaient le conduire au lieu du
supplice. C'est sans doute à ce moment qu'il récita quelques vers d'Horace
tirés de son épître à Quintus. Quand les porteurs furent arrivés à l'extrême
limite de l'enceinte de la, Tour, ils s'arrêtèrent quelque temps, afin de
s'informer si les sheriffs étaient prêts à le recevoir. Pendant ce temps, il
sortit de sa chaise et s'appuya au mur, puis, levant les yeux au ciel, il
ouvrit le livre qu'il tenait entre les mains et dit : « Mon Dieu, c'est pour la
dernière fois que j'ouvre ce livre : faites donc que j'y rencontre une parole
de consolation, dont je ferai une louange à votre honneur à mes derniers
moments. » Il ouvrit le livre et providentiellement il tomba sur ce passage de
l'Evangile de saint Jean, au chapitre XVII : Hæc est vita æterna ut
cognoscant te solum verum Deum et quem misisti Jesum Christum. « Vous
connaître vous seul, mon Dieu, et celui que vous avez envoyé, Jésus-Christ,
voilà en quoi consiste la vie éternelle. » Après il ferma ce livre, disant
que ce verset lui apportait un sujet assez ample de méditation et une grande
consolation pour jusqu'à la fin de sa vie.
Quand les gens du sheriff
arrivèrent, ils s'emparèrent du condamné et le conduisirent avec une escorte
plus, nombreuse que la première, jusqu'à un autre escalier de la Tour appelé
East-Smithfield. Pendant tout ce temps il était absorbé par la méditation des
paroles qu'il venait de lire. Quand il arriva au pied de l'échafaud où il
devait être supplicié, ses porteurs lui offrirent leur aide pour monter les
degrés, mais il leur dit : e Puisque je suis arrivé jusqu'ici, laissez-moi,
vous verrez que j'ai encore assez de force pour monter à l'échafaud. » Ainsi,
Seul et sans l'aide de personne, il monta avec assurance les degrés, de telle
sorte que ceux qui connaissaient son état de faiblesse étaient grandement
étonnés. Quand il se trouva sur l'échafaud, les rayons du soleil frappèrent son
visage, alors il se mit à réciter ce verset du psaume XXXIII : Accedite ad
eum et illuminamini, et facies vestræ non confundentur. « Approchez-vous de
lui, et il vous illuminera et vous ne serez point confondus. » Il était dix
heures quand le bourreau, prêt à remplir son office, lui demanda pardon à
genoux, comme c'est la coutume. « Je vous pardonne de tout cœur, lui dit le
cardinal, et j'espère que bientôt vous me verrez sortir victorieux de ce monde.
»
Alors il quitta son
manteau et sa robe, gardant la, poitrine couverte et les pieds chaussés, et il
se tint debout devant une populace innombrable qui était venue pour assister à
son supplice. On put alors voir ce corps émacié, d'une extrême maigreur,
n'ayant plus que la peau et les os. Ceux qui étaient là s'étonnaient à bon
droit de ce qu'un homme pût vivre avec un corps si faible ; il leur apparut
comme l'image de la mort se servant d'un corps et d'une voix humaine. Cet acte
du roi, de punir du dernier supplice un homme déjà mourant et sur le bord du
tombeau, même en admettant qu'il eût été gravement offensé par lui, fit voir à
tous sa cruauté raffinée. Je ne crois pas que même chez les Turcs, quoique
convaincu d'un tel crime, il eût été mis à mort. C'est en effet un crime
horrible de tuer quelqu'un qui doit bientôt mourir, à moins qu'il ne soit
accablé de souffrances et de calamités extraordinaires. Certainement l'atrocité
de ce crime surpasse la férocité des Turcs et de tous les tyrans qui ont existé
jusqu'ici.
Du haut de l'échafaud, le
saint cardinal adressa ces quelques paroles à la foule : « Chrétiens,
mes frères, je vais mourir pour ma foi et mon attachement à l'Église
catholique. Par la grâce de Dieu, jusqu'à présent, je me suis maintenu dans le
calme et je n'ai ressenti aucune horreur ni aucune crainte de la mort, mais je
vous prie, vous tons qui m'écoutez, de m'aider maintenant de vos prières, afin
qu'au dernier moment je reste ferme dans la foi catholique et que je sois sans
faiblesse. Quant à moi, je supplierai le Dieu immortel, par son infinie bonté
et sa clémence, de garder sains et saufs le roi et le royaume et d'inspirer à
Sa Majesté de salutaires conseils en tout. » Sa liberté d'esprit en cette
occasion, jointe au calme et à la' gravité de son visage, fit voir à tous que
loin de craindre la mort il l'appelait avec joie. Sa voix résonnait si
distincte, si claire, si animée, que tous étaient dans l'admiration d'entendre
une voix aussi pleine et aussi vibrante sortir d'un corps exténué et
extrêmement affaibli. Il n'y avait pas dans toute la foule un seul jeune homme,
quelque bien constitué qu'il fût, qui eût pu parler aussi fortement et aussi
distinctement que le vieux cardinal.
Cependant il fléchit les
genoux et adressa à Dieu quelques courtes prières; il récita entre autres,
comme on le rapporte, le Te Deum tout entier et le psaume In te Domine
speravi. Comme le bourreau lui liait le bandeau sur les yeux, il fit quelques
oraisons jaculatoires ardentes et enflammées ; quand il eut fini, il mit sa
tête sur le billot et le bourreau la trancha d'un coup de hache. Le flot de
sang qui sortit fut tellement abondant que tout le monde fut très étonné d'en
voir sortir une telle quantité d'un corps si maigre et qui semblait sans forces
et si anémié. Son âme très sainte et très innocente, séparée de son corps,
s'envola au ciel triomphante pour y jouir de la béatitude et de la paix
éternelle.
Sépulture de l'évêque de
Rochester. Sa tête est portée à Anne Boleyn, qui en la frappant se blesse la
main... Elle est ensuite suspendue au pont de Londres, où elle semble pleine de
vie. Miracles au tombeau du martyr.
Le bourreau mit la tête
du supplicié dans un sac et l'emporta avec lui afin de la planter sur un pieu
sur le pont de Londres, pendant la nuit, comme il en avait reçu l'ordre ; mais
Anne Boleyn, qui avait été la principale cause de cette mort atroce, demanda,
comme on le rapporte, à voir la tête avant qu'elle fût exposée. Quand on la lui
eut apportée, elle la regarda quelque temps, puis avec mépris : « Est-ce donc
cette tête, dit-elle, qui s'est emportée tant de fois contre moi ? Maintenant
au moins elle ne me nuira plus. » Et de l'extrémité de sa main elle la frappa,
mais par hasard elle toucha une dent qui dépassait les autres, ce qui lui
meurtrit un doigt, lequel lui fit mal très longtemps et qu'elle faillit même
perdre ; il se guérit difficilement et il resta toujours une cicatrice. Il est
assez rare de rencontrer une telle cruauté et une telle audace surtout dans ce
sexe qui est par sa nature faible et craintif et qui d'habitude a horreur de
tels spectacles. On voit par là quelle haine et quelle aversion Anne Boleyn
avait contre le saint homme dont elle traita la tête coupée d'une façon si
inhumaine.
Le bourreau ayant
dépouillé le corps de tous ses vêtements, le laissa entièrement nu ; il resta
ainsi tout le jour sans que quelqu'un eût l'idée de jeter un voile sur ce que
la pudeur devait faire cacher.
Vers huit heures du soir,
quelques conseillers du roi qui regardaient le cadavre commandèrent à une
troupe de soldats qui était là de lui donner la sépulture. Deux d'entre eux le
placèrent sur leurs hallebardes et le portèrent dans le cimetière proche de
Bastringe, appelé vulgairement Cimetière de tous les Saints. Là ils creusèrent
une tombe au nord de l'église, près du mur, avec leurs hallebardes qui avaient
servi à transporter le corps, et sans aucun respect ils le jetèrent dedans tout
nu, sans linceul et sans aucune des cérémonies de la sépulture chrétienne, puis
ils jetèrent de la terre dessus et ils s'en allèrent. Le roi avait ordonné de
l'ensevelir de cette façon et dans ce lieu. Ceci se passa le jour de la fête de
saint Alban, premier martyr d'Angleterre, qui se trouvait le 22 juin de l'année
1535, la 27e du règne d'Henri VIII. Le cardinal de Rochester mourut à l'âge de
76 ans ; il avait été 30 ans 9 mois et quelques jours évêque de Rochester.
Le lendemain, on rendit
au bourreau la tête du condamné ; il la fit bouillir dans l'eau, afin de la
rendre plus difforme, puis il l'attacha à un pieu placé sur le pont de Londres,
où étaient déjà les têtes des chartreux qui avaient été suppliciés quelques
jours auparavant. Là se passa un fait qu'on regarda comme un miracle et que je
ne dois pas passer sous silence. Au bout de quatorze jours que cette tête était
exposée sur le pont, malgré la chaleur très grande et ce qu'on lui avait fait
subir auparavant, la chair du visage et la peau du crâne ne tombaient point en
pourriture, mais au contraire elle apparaissait de jour en jour plus pleine de
vie et plus agréable à la vue, si bien que le visage devint plus beau qu'il
n'avait jamais été pendant la vie. Les joues se coloraient et la face avait
repris un air de santé, si bien qu'elle paraissait regarder les passants et
vouloir leur adresser la parole. Par ces signes, l'innocence et la sainteté de
celui qui avait livré sa tête pour la défense de l'Église du Christ apparut à
tous. Il y eut une telle multitude d'hommes à aller voir ce spectacle que ni
les voitures ni les chevaux ne pouvaient passer sur le pont.
Après le 14e jour,
on commanda au bourreau qui avait fait l'exécution de jeter la tête dans la
Tamise pendant la nuit. C'est dans ce même endroit qu'on jeta la tête de
l'admirable martyr Thomas More, son compagnon de prison et de souffrances, qui
le 6e jour du mois de juillet suivant changea cette vie misérable contre
une mort glorieuse.
Quant à sa sépulture dans
le cimetière que nous avons nommé plus haut, plusieurs hommes illustres
d'Italie, d'Espagne, de France, qui voyageaient en Angleterre en ce temps,
ayant tout observé avec soin et écrit ce qu'ils avaient vu, ont raconté que
pendant les sept années qui suivirent l'inhumation du corps, il ne crût sur
cette tombe ni herbe ni gazon, mais la terre resta aride et entièrement
dénudée, comme si tous les jours elle avait été foulée aux pieds par les
hommes. Voilà ce que nous rapportent tous ces étrangers dont le témoignage a
d'autant plus de valeur que, n'étant pas sujets du roi, ils sont moins
susceptibles d'être soupçonnés de partialité.
Nous faisons suivre le
récit du martyre de Fisher de la traduction française d'un opuscule qu'il
écrivit dans sa prison. On a été jusqu'à dire que cet ouvrage avait été composé
par le bienheureux dans la journée qui précéda sa mort. Nous laissons ce point
aux biographes, qui ne pourront manquer de l'éclaircir.
Portret
in ovale lijst van John Fisher, bisschop van Rochester en katholiek martelaar.
Onder het portret een cartouche met de naam van de geportretteerde. prentmaker:
Frederik Bouttats (de Oude) (vermeld op object). Antwerpen, 1600 - 1676
EXHORTATION SPIRITUELLE
Écrite par John Fisher,
évêque de Rochester, à sa sœur Elisabeth, quand il était prisonnier à la Tour
de Londres.
Ouvrage très nécessaire
et convenable pour tous ceux qui veulent mener une vie vertueuse, et aussi très
propre à les avertir d'être toujours prêts à mourir.
L'auteur est censé écrire
sous la menace d'une mort soudaine.
« Ma sœur Élisabeth,
quand l'âme est inerte, sans vigueur de dévotion, sans goût pour la prière ni
pour toute autre bonne œuvre, le remède le plus efficace est de l'exciter et de
l'animer, par une féconde méditation, à Vivre une vie bonne et vertueuse. Voilà
pourquoi j'ai écrit à votre intention la méditation qui suit. Je vous prie, par
égard pour moi, et en vue même du bien de votre âme, de la lire dans les
moments où vous vous sentirez plus appesantie et lente aux bonnes œuvres. C'est
une sorte de lamentation, de plainte douloureuse, au sujet d'une personne qui a
rencontré prématurément la mort, comme il peut arriver à toute créature, car
nous n'avons là-dessus, dans notre vie terrestre, nulle assurance.
« Si vous voulez
tirer quelque profit de cette lecture, il vous faut observer trois règles.
D'abord, lisant cette méditation, représentez-vous du mieux possible l'état
d'un homme ou d'une femme soudain emporté et ravi par la mort ; imaginez
ensuite que vous êtes pareillement remportée et qu'il faut sur-le-champ que
vous mouriez, que votre âme quitte cette terre, abandonne votre corps mortel,
pour ne jamais revenir faire satisfaction. En second lieu, ne lisez jamais
cette méditation, que seule, toute seule, secrètement, là où vous y pourrez
donner le plus d'attention, dans le moment du plus grand loisir, quand vous ne
serez pas empêchée par d'autres pensées ou par quelque autre occupation. Si
vous la lisez d'autre façon, elle perdra immédiatement la vertu et le pouvoir
d'exciter et d'émouvoir votre âme quand vous désireriez le plus qu'elle fût
émue. Enfin, quand vous aurez l'intention de la lire, il faudra d'abord élever
votre esprit vers Dieu tout-puissant, et le prier que, par l'aide et le secours
de sa grâce, cette lecture puisse créer en votre âme une vie bonne et
vertueuse, selon sa volonté ; puis il faudra dire : Deus in adjutorium meum
intende, Domine ad adjuvandum me festina. Gloria Patri etc. Laus tibi Domine
Rex æternæ gloria. Amen. »
« Hélas !
hélas ! je me vois injustement entraîné ; tout soudainement la mort a
fondu sur moi ; le coup qu'elle m'a porté est si rude et si douloureux que je
ne saurais longtemps l'endurer. Ma dernière heure est venue, je le vois bien ;
il me faut quitter maintenant ce corps mortel ; il me faut maintenant
abandonner ce monde pour n'y jamais revenir. L'endroit où j'irai, l'habitation
que j'aurai ce soir, la compagnie que je rencontrerai, le pays qui
m'accueillera, le traitement que j'y recevrai, Dieu le sait, mais moi je ne le
sais pas. Serai-je damné en l'éternelle prison de l'enfer, où les souffrances
sont sans fin et sans nombre ? Quelle douleur sera celle des hommes damnés pour
l'éternité ! car ils endureront les plus rudes douleurs de la mort et
souhaiteront de mourir, et pourtant ne mourront jamais. Il me serait très
pénible de reposer toute une année, sans interruption, sur un lit, fût-ce le plus
moelleux ; combien donc il sera pénible de demeurer dans le feu le plus cruel
tant de milliers d'années qui ne finiront pas ; d'être en la compagnie des
démons les plus horribles, pleins de noirceur et de malice ! Oh ! quelle
misérable créature je suis ! car j'aurais pu ordonner ma vie, par l'aide et la
grâce de mon maître Jésus-Christ, en sorte que cette heure-ci eût été pour moi
l'objet d'un grand désir et de beaucoup de joie . Beaucoup de saints ont désiré
joyeusement cette heure, parce qu'ils savaient bien que par la mort leur âme
serait transportée dans une vie nouvelle la vie de joie et de bonheur sans fin,
transportée des entraves et de l'esclavage de ce corps périssable à une liberté
véritable, parmi les compagnies célestes ; enlevée aux malheurs et aux douleurs
de ce monde misérable, afin de demeurer là-haut avec Dieu dans la consolation
qui ne peut se concevoir ni s'exprimer. Ils étaient assurés de recevoir les
récompenses que Dieu tout-puissant a promises à tous ceux qui le servent
fidèlement. Et je suis certain que si je l'avais servi fidèlement jusqu'à cette
heure, mon âme aurait eu sa part de ces récompenses. Mais, malheureux que je
suis, j'ai négligé son service, et maintenant mon cœur se consume de chagrin à
la vue de la mort qui vient, et de ma paresse et négligence. Je ne songeais pas
que je dusse être si soudainement pris au piège ; mais voici que la mort m'a
surpris, m'a enchaîné à mon insu, m'a accablé de sa puissance, tellement que je
ne sais où chercher de l'aide ni où trouver quelque remède. Si j'avais eu le
loisir et le temps de me repentir et d'amender ma vie de moi-même, et non
contraint par ce coup soudain, mais aussi pour l'amour de Dieu, j'aurais pu
alors mourir sans terreur, quitter la terre et les innombrables misères de ce
monde avec joie. Mais comment pourrais-je penser que mon repentir vient
maintenant de ma propre volonté, puisque j'étais avant ce coup si froid et si
négligent dans le service du Seigneur mon Dieu? Comment pourrais-je penser que
j'agis par amour pour lui et non par crainte de son châtiment? car, si je
l'avais véritablement aimé, je l'aurais servi jusqu'ici avec plus de
promptitude et de diligence. Il me semble bien que je ne rejette ma paresse et
ma négligence que contraint et forcé. Si un négociant est contraint par une
grande tempête de jeter ses marchandises à la mer, il n'est pas à supposer
qu'il le ferait de son propre mouvement sans être contraint par la tempête.
Ainsi ferais-je : si cette tempête de la mort ne s'était pas levée contre moi,
je n'eusse sans aucun doute pas rejeté ma paresse et ma négligence. Oh ! plût à
Dieu que j'eusse maintenant quelque répit et un peu de temps pour me corriger
librement et de plein gré !
« Oh ! que ne
puis-je supplier la mort de m'épargner un temps I mais ce ne sera pas, la mort
n'écoute pas les prières; elle ne veut aucun délai, aucun répit. Quand même je
lui donnerais toutes les richesses de ce monde, quand même mes amis tomberaient
à genoux et la prieraient pour moi, quand même mes amis et moi pleurerions
(s'il était possible) autant de larmes qu'il est de gouttes d'eau dans les
mers, nulle pitié ne l'arrêterait. Quant le temps m'était donné, je n'ai pas
voulu le bien employer ; si je l'avais fait, il aurait à présent plus de prix
pour moi que les trésors d'un royaume. Mon âme eût été maintenant revêtue
d'innombrables bonnes œuvres, qui m'enlèveraient toute honte en la présence du
Seigneur mon Dieu, devant qui je vais bientôt paraître, misérablement chargé de
péchés, à ma confusion et à ma honte. Mais, hélas ! j'ai négligemment laissé
passer mon temps, sans considérer de quel prix il était, ni quelles richesses
spirituelles j'aurais pu acquérir, si j'avais seulement dépensé quelque soin et
quelque étude. Sans aucun doute toute action bonne, quelque petite qu'elle
soit, sera récompensée par Dieu tout-puissant. Une gorgée d'eau donnée pour
l'amour de Dieu ne restera pas sans récompense, et qu'y a-t-il de plus facile à
donner que l'eau ? De même des paroles et des pensées les plus infimes. Oh !
que de bonnes pensées que de bonnes actions, que de bonnes oeuvres ne peut-on
pas concevoir, dire et faire en un jour ! Et combien plus en une année
tout entière ! Hélas ! quand je songe à ma négligence, à mon aveuglement, à ma
coupable folie qui savait bien tout cela, et n'a pas voulu l'exécuter en
effet ! Si tous les hommes vivant en ce monde étaient présents ici pour
voir et connaître dans quelle condition périlleuse je me trouve, et comment
j'ai été surpris par l'assaut de la mort, je les exhorterais à me prendre tous
en exemple, et, tandis qu'ils en ont le loisir, à ordonner leur vie, à
abandonner toute paresse et toute oisiveté, à se repentir de leurs fautes
envers Dieu, et à déplorer leurs péchés, à multiplier les bonnes oeuvres, et à
ne laisser point passer de temps stérilement.
« S'il plaisait au
Seigneur mon Dieu que je vécusse un peu plus longtemps, j'agirais autrement que
je n'ai fait auparavant. Je souhaite d'avoir du temps, mais c'est bien
justement qu'il m'est refusé. Quand je pouvais l'avoir, je n'ai pas voulu le
bien employer et je ne puis plus l'avoir. Vous qui possédez ce temps précieux
et le pouvez employer à votre gré, usez-en bien ; ne le gaspillez pas, de peur
que, lorsque vous désireriez le posséder, il vous soit refusé comme il m'est
maintenant refusé. Mais maintenant je me repens douloureusement d'une grande
négligence ; je déplore de tout mon cœur d'avoir si peu considéré .la richesse
et le profit de mon âme, et d'avoir eu un souci excessif des consolations et
des vains plaisirs de mon misérable corps. O corps périssable, chair puante,
terre pourrie, que j'ai servi, aux appétits de qui j'ai obéi, dont j'ai
satisfait les désirs, voici que tu parais maintenant sous ta forme véritable.
L'éclat des yeux, la vivacité de l'oreille, la promptitude de tous les sens, ta
rapidité et ton agilité, ta beauté, tu ne les possèdes pas de toi-même : ce
n'est qu'un prêt temporaire.
« De même qu'un mur
de terre dont la surface est peinte, pour un temps, de belles et fraîches
couleurs, et en outre dorée, semble beau à qui ne voit pas plus à fond que
l'artifice extérieur, mais lorsque la couleur s'écaille, et que la dorure
tombe, ce mur apparaît tel qu'il est, la terre se montre telle quelle au regard
; de même en sa jeunesse mon corps misérable semblait frais et vigoureux ; sa
beauté extérieure m'abusait ; je ne songeais pas quelle laideur se cachait
au-dessous, mais maintenant il se montre dans sa vérité. Maintenant, ô mon
corps misérable, ta beauté s'est évanouie ; elle a disparu ; ta vigueur, ta
vivacité, tout s'en est allé ; voilà que tu as repris ta vraie couleur terreuse
; te voilà noir, froid, lourd, comme une motte de terre ; ta vue se trouble,
ton oreille s'affaiblit, ta langue hésite dans ta bouche, tu suintes partout la
corruption ; la corruption a été ton commencement dans le sein de ta mère, et
tu as persévéré dans la corruption. Tout ce que tu reçois, quel qu'en soit le
prix, tu le tournes en corruption ; rien ne vient jamais de toi qui ne soit
corruption, et maintenant tu retournes à la corruption ; te voilà devenu
ignoble et vil, tandis que tu avais bonne mine autrefois. Les beaux traits
n'étaient qu'une peinture ou une dorure posée sur un mur de terre, qui est
couvert au-dessous d'une matière ignoble et puante. Mais je ne regardai pas
plus avant ; je me contentai de la couleur extérieure, et j'y trouvai une
grande volupté. Tout mon travail et tout mon soin allaient à toi, soit pour te
parer d'habits de diverses couleurs, soit pour satisfaire ton goût des
spectacles agréables, des sons délicieux, des odeurs exquises, des contacts
moelleux, soit pour te donner de l'aise et quelque temps de tranquille repos
dans le sommeil ou autrement. Je m'assurai la possession d'une habitation
aimable, et, afin d'éviter en tout le dégoût, aussi bien dans le vêtement, le
manger et les boissons que dans l'habitation, j'imaginai des variations
nombreuses et diverses, pour te permettre, fatigué de l'une, de jouir de
l'autre. C'était là mon étude vaine et blâmable, l'étude où mon esprit
s'appliquait de lui-même ; voilà à quoi je passais le plus grand nombre de mes
jours. Et pourtant je n'étais jamais longtemps satisfait, mais je murmurais et
je grondais sans cause à tout moment. En quoi m'en trouvé je mieux maintenant ?
Quelle récompense puis-je attendre pour un long esclavage ? Quels grands
profits recevrai-je de mes soucis, de mon travail et de mes soins ? Je ne m'en
trouve aucunement mieux, mais bien pire ; mon âme s'est emplie de corruption et
d'ignominie, la vue en est maintenant très horrible. Je n'ai d'autre récompense
que le châtiment de l'enfer éternel ou au moins du purgatoire, si je puis
échapper aussi aisément. Le profit de mon labeur c'est les soucis et les
chagrins qui m'environnent ; n'ai-je pas le droit de penser que mon esprit
s'est bien occupé en cette activité mauvaise et stérile ? N'ai-je pas fait bon
usage de mon travail, en le soumettant au service de mon corps misérable ? Mon
temps n'a-t-il pas été bien employé dans ces soins médiocres dont il ne reste
maintenant nulle consolation, mais chagrin et remords ?
«Hélas, j'ai entendu bien
souvent dire qu'il convenait à ceux qui doivent être damnés, de se repentir de
tout leur cœur, et de concevoir plus de douleur de leur inconduite qu'ils n'ont
jamais eu de plaisir. Pourtant il ne faudrait pas qu'ils eussent besoin de ce
repentir, alors qu'un peu de repentir conçu à temps les aurait pu décharger de
toutes leurs douleurs. Voilà ce que j'ai entendu dire, et ce que j'ai lu bien
souvent ; j'y donnai peu d'attention ou de réflexion, je m'en suis aperçu, mais
trop tard j'en ai peur. Je voudrais que par mon exemple tous se gardassent,
grâce au secours de Dieu, des dangers où je suis à présent, et se préparassent
pour l'heure de la mort mieux que je ne me suis préparé. Que me vaut maintenant
la chère délicate et les boissons que mon misérable corps absorbait
insatiablement ? Que me vaut la vanité ou l'orgueil que j'avais de moi-même,
pour le vêtement ou toute autre chose qui m'appartenait ? Que me valent lés
désirs et les voluptés impures et viles d'une chair corrompue : un grand
plaisir paraissait s'y trouver, mais en réalité, le plaisir du pourceau qui se
vautre dans la fange. Maintenant que ces plaisirs sont évanouis, mon corps n'en
est pas mieux, mon âme en est beaucoup plus mal ; rien ne me reste que du
chagrin et de la souffrance, et mille fois plus que je n'eus jamais de plaisir.
Corps impur qui m'as conduit à cette extrémité de malheur, corruption immonde,
sac plein de fumier, il faut maintenant que j'aille rendre des comptes de ton
impureté : je dis ton impureté, car elle vient toute de toi. Mon âme n'avait
nul besoin des choses que tu désirais ; de quel prix étaient pour mon âme
immortelle le vêtement, le manger ou le boire ? l'or ou l'argent
périssables ? les maisons ou les lits ou toutes choses de ce genre ? Toi,
ô corps périssable, comme un mur de boue, tu exiges tous les jours des
réparations et comme des replâtrages de viande et de boisson, et la défense du
vêtement contre le froid et le chaud ; pour toi j'ai pris tout ce souci et j'ai
fait tout ce travail, et pourtant tu m'abandonnes dans le plus grand besoin,
alors qu'il faut que le compte soit fait de toutes mes fautes devant le trône
du plus redoutable des juges. C'est le moment où tu m'abandonnes : celui du
terrible danger. De nombreuses années de délibération ne suffisent pas pour rendre
mes comptes devant un si grand juge, qui pèsera chaque parole, même de nulle
importance, qui n’a jamais traversé mes lèvres. De combien de vaines paroles,
de combien de pensées mauvaises, de combien d'actes n'ai-je pas à répondre,
qui, par nous comptés pour rien, seront jugés avec la dernière gravité devant
le Très-Haut ! Que faire pour trouver de l'aide en cette heure de danger
extrême ? Où chercher du secours, une consolation quelconque ? Mon corps
m'abandonne, mes joies s'évanouissent comme une fumée, mes biens ne
m'accompagnent pas. Il faut que je laisse derrière moi toutes les choses de ce
monde ; si je dois trouver quelque consolation, ce ne sera que dans les prières
de mes amis, ou dans mes bonnes actions passées. Mais pour ces actions bonnes,
qui me serviraient devant Dieu, elles sont en bien petit nombre : car elles
auraient dû être faites seulement par amour pour lui. Et moi, quand mes actions
étaient bonnes par nature, en insensé je les gâtais. Je les accomplissais par
égard pour les hommes, pour éviter de rougir devant le monde, par complaisance
pour moi-même, ou par crainte d'être châtié. Bien rarement j'ai fait une bonne
action avec cette pureté et cette droiture qui auraient été convenables. Mes
fautes, mes actes impurs, ceux-là qui sont abominables, honteux, je n'en sais
pas le nombre ; pas un jour dans toute ma vie, pas même une heure, j'en suis
sûr, je ne me suis assez sincèrement ouvert à la volonté de Dieu ; en grand
nombre au contraire, actions, paroles, pensées, m'ont échappé contre mon gré.
Je ne puis que bien peu me fier sur mes actions. Quant aux prières des amis que
je laisserai derrière moi, il en est beaucoup qui en auront tout autant besoin
que moi, si bien que si leurs prières leur sont de quelque utilité, elles ne
peuvent profiter à nul autre. Et puis, il y en aura de négligents, d'autres
m'oublieront. Cela n'est d'ailleurs point surprenant : qui donc aurait, dû être
pour moi le meilleur des amis, sinon moi-même ? Et moi qui plus qu'homme au
monde aurais dû agir pour mon propre bien, je l'oublie pendant ma vie ; qu'y
a-t-il de surprenant à ce que les autres m'oublient après ma mort ? Il est
d'autres amis, dont les prières peuvent secourir les âmes, comme les
bienheureux saints du ciel, qui se souviendront 'certainement de ceux qui les
ont honorés sur la terre. Mais je n'avais de dévotion spéciale que pour
quelques-uns, et ceux-là même, je les ai si mal honorés, et je les ai si
froidement priés de me secourir, que j'ai honte de leur demander de l'aide à
présent ; j'aurais bien voulu les honorer et recommander ma pauvre âme à leurs
prières, en faisant d'eux mes amis particuliers ; mais la mort m'a tellement
surpris qu'il ne me reste d'autre espoir que dans la pitié du Seigneur mon
Dieu, en qui je me confie, en le suppliant de ne pas considérer mes mérites,
mais sa bonté infinie et sa pitié surabondante. Mon devoir aurait été bien
plutôt de me rappeler cette heure terrible, j'aurais dû avoir ce danger
toujours devant les yeux, j'aurais dû faire tout le nécessaire pour me trouver
mieux préparé contre l'approche de la mort, car je savais qu'elle viendrait
enfin, bien que je ne susse pas quand, où, ni comment. Je savais que l'heure,
l'instant, lui étaient indifférents et dépendaient d'elle. Pourtant, par une
folie à jamais déplorable, malgré ces incertitudes, je n'ai rien fait de ce
qu'il fallait. Souvent je me suis prémuni avec le plus grand soin contre de
petits dangers, parce que j'imaginais qu'ils pourraient se produire ; ils ne
sont pas venus cependant. C'étaient, en outre, des riens en comparaison de
celui-ci : combien plus d'étude et de travail j'aurais dû dépenser en vue de ce
danger si grand, qui devait certainement m'arriver un jour ! Il ne pouvait
pas être évité, et j'aurais dû me préparer contre lui. Notre bonheur en dépend
tout entier ; car si un homme meurt bien, il ne manquera après sa mort de rien
qu'il puisse désirer, tous ses souhaits se trouveront pleinement satisfaits. Et
s'il meurt mal, aucune préparation faite auparavant ne lui servira de rien.
« Mais la
préparation à la mort mérite plus de soin que toute autre, parce qu'elle est
utile, même sans les autres, et que, sans elle, toutes les autres sont vaines.
O vous qui pouvez vous préparer en vue de l'heure de la mort, ne différez pas
de jour ainsi que j'ai fait. Car j'ai eu souvent la pensée et l'intention de me
préparer à quelque moment; néanmoins, sous les plus infimes prétextes, je les
ai remises à plus tard, me promettant cependant de le faire alors ; mais quand
le moment était venu, une autre affaire se présentait, et ainsi j'allais de
délai en délai. Tellement qu'à présent la mort me presse ; mon intention était
bonne, l'exécution a fait défaut. Ma volonté était droite, mais sans efficacité
; mes intentions louables, mais infructueuses. C'est l'effet de délais fréquents
: jamais je n'ai exécuté ce que j'ai voulu faire. Ne différez donc pas, comme
je l'ai fait ; avant tout, assurez-vous ce qui doit être votre principal souci.
Ni la construction des collèges, ni la prédication d'un sermon, ni le don des
aumônes, ni aucun autre travail ne vous servira sans cela.
« Préparez vous-y
donc en premier lieu, et devant toutes choses ; point de retard d'aucune sorte
; si vous différez, vous vous abuserez comme je me suis abusé.
« J'ai lu, j'ai
entendu dire, j'ai moi-même su que beaucoup ont été déçus comme je le suis.
J'ai toujours pensé, toujours dit, et toujours espéré que je prendrais mes
sûretés, et ne me laisserais pas surprendre par la soudaine venue de la mort.
Néanmoins m'y voilà pris, me voilà entraîné dans le sommeil, sans préparation.
Et cela dans le temps où je pensais le moins à sa venue, où je me croyais au
plus haut degré de santé, dans la plus grande occupation au milieu de mes
travaux. Donc ne différez pas davantage, ne mettez pas trop de confiance en vos
amis, mettez votre confiance en vous-mêmes tandis que vous en avez le temps et
la liberté, et avisez pour vous-mêmes alors que vous le pouvez. Je vous
conseille de faire ce que moi-même je ferais avec la grâce de Dieu mon maître
si son désir était de me maintenir plus longtemps en vie. Regardez-vous comme
morts, et imaginez que vos âmes sont au Purgatoire, et qu'elles y doivent
demeurer jusqu'à ce que leur rançon ait été complètement acquittée, par de
longues souffrances en ce lieu-là, ou par des suffrages accomplis ici-bas par
quelques amis particuliers. Soyez votre propre ami, accomplissez ces suffrages
pour votre âme, prières, aumônes, ou quelque autre pénitence. Si vous ne voulez
pas faire cela de toutes vos forces et de tout votre cœur pour votre âme, ne
comptez pas qu'un autre le fera pour vous, et, le faisant pour vous-mêmes, cela
vous sera mille fois plus profitable que si toute autre personne le faisait. Si
vous suivez ce conseil et l'exécutez, vous serez pleins de grâce et de bonheur
; sinon vous vous repentirez sans doute, mais trop tard. »[1]
Le Cardinal John Fisher fut
canonisé en 1935.
[1] LES
MARTYRS : Recueil de pièces authentiques sur les martyrs depuis les
origines du christianisme jusqu'au XX° siècle ; traduites et publiées par
le R. P. Dom H. Leclercq, moine bénédictin de Saint-Michel de Farnborough.
SOURCES : http://nouvl.evangelisation.free.fr/john_fisher.htm
Gerard
Valck (1652–1726) After Adriaen van der Werff (1659–1722),
Portrait of John Fisher, line
engraving, published 1697, National Portrait Gallery
Also
known as
John of Rochester
John Fisher of Rochester
formerly 13 June
formerly 9 July
Profile
Studied theology at Cambridge
University, receiving degrees in 1487 and 1491. Parish priest in
Northallerton, England from 1491 to 1494.
Gained a reputation for his teaching abilities.
Proctor of Cambridge
University. Confessor to
Margaret Beaufort, mother of King Henry
VII, in 1497. Bishop of Rochester, England in 1504;
he worked to raise the standard of preaching in
his see. Chancellor of Cambridge. Tutor of
the young King Henry VIII.
Excellent speaker and writer.
When in 1527 he
was asked to study the problem of Henry‘s marriage, he
became the target of Henry‘s
wrath when John defending the validity of the marriage and
rejecting Henry‘s
claim to be head of the Church in England. Imprisoned in 1534 for
his opposition, he spent 14 months in prison without
trial. While in prison he
was created cardinal in 1535 by Pope Paul III. Martyr.
Born
1469 at
Beverly, Yorkshire, England
hanged,
drawn and quartered on 22 June 1535 on
Tower Hill, Tyburn, London, England
buried in
the churchyard of All Hallows, Barking, England without
rites or a shroud
head exhibited
on London Bridge
for two weeks as an example, then thrown into the River Thames
relics in
Saint Peter’s Church in the Tower of London
29 December 1886 by Pope Leo XIII
diocese of Rochester, New
York
cardinal with
his hat at
his feet
cardinal with
worn, haggard features
Additional
Information
Book
of Saints, by the Monks of
Ramsgate
Dictionary
of National Biography
John
Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, from Catholic World
Mementoes
of the English Martyrs and Confessors, by Father Henry
Sebastian Bowden
Relics
of Saints John Fisher and Thomas More, by Monsignor P E Hallett
Saint
John Fisher, by Father Richard L Smith
Saint
John of Rochester, by Archbishop Richard
Down
Saints
of the Day, by Katherine Rabenstein
Short
Biographical Dictionary of English Literature
Spiritual
Consolation, by Saint John
Fisher
The
Martyrdom of Blessed John Fisher, by Father T
E Bridgett, C.Ss.R.
Ways
to Perfect Religion, by Saint John
Fisher
books
Catholic Martyrs of
England and Wales 1535-1680, by the Catholic Truth Society
Our Sunday Visitor’s Encyclopedia of Saints
other
sites in english
SaintCast, by Paul Camarata
images
video
e-books
on other sites
Commentary on the Seven Penitential Psalms, v1, by Saint
John Fisher
Commentary on the Seven Penitential Psalms, v2, by Saint
John Fisher
sitios
en español
Martirologio Romano, 2001 edición
fonti
in italiano
Dicastero delle Cause dei Santi
Martirologio Romano, 2005 edition
Readings
Had you but tasted one
drop of the sweetness which inebriates the souls of those religious from their
worship of this Sacrament, you would never have written as you have, nor
have apostatized from
the faith that you formerly professed. – Saint John
Fisher, writing to the bishop of Winchester, England
I reckon in this realm no
one man, in wisdom, learning, and long approved virtue together, meet to be
matched and compared with him. – Saint Thomas
More
O God, who in martyrdom
have brought true faith to its highest expression, graciously grant that,
strengthened through the intercession of Saints John Fisher and Thomas More, we
may confirm by the witness of our life the faith we profess with our lips. Through
our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of
the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. – liturgical collect
MLA
Citation
“Saint John
Fisher“. CatholicSaints.Info. 4 May 2024. Web. 5 October 2024.
<https://catholicsaints.info/saint-john-fisher/>
SOURCE : https://catholicsaints.info/saint-john-fisher/
_(14587114990).jpg)
The life and death of
Cardinal Wolsey, John Fisher, Internet
Archive document lifedeathofcardi00cave 0
St. John Fisher
Feastday: June 22
Patron: of Diocese of Rochester
Birth: 1469
Death: 1535
St. John Fisher was
born in Beverly, Yorkshire, in 1459, and educated at Cambridge, from which he
received his Master of Arts degree
in 1491. He occupied the vicarage of Northallerton, 1491-1494; then he became
proctor of Cambridge University. In 1497, he was appointed confessor to
Lady Margaret Beaufort, mother of Henry VII, and became closely associated in
her endowments to Cambridge; he created scholarships, introduced Greek and
Hebrew into the curriculum, and brought in the world-famous Erasmus as
professor of Divinity and Greek. In 1504, he became Bishop of
Rochester and Chancellor of Cambridge, in which capacity he also tutored Prince
Henry who was to become Henry VIII. St. John was
dedicated to the welfare of his diocese and
his university. From 1527, this humble servant of God actively
opposed the King's divorce proceedings against Catherine, his wife in the sight
of God, and steadfastly resisted the encroachment of Henry on the Church. Unlike
the other Bishops of
the realm, St. John refused
to take the oath of succession which acknowledged the issue of Henry and Anne
as the legitimate heir to the throne, and he was imprisoned in the tower in
April 1534. The next year he was made a Cardinal by
Paul III and Henry retaliated by having him beheaded within a month. A half
hour before his execution, this dedicated scholar and churchman opened
his New
Testament for the last time and
his eyes fell on the following words from St. John's Gospel:
"Eternal life is
this: to know You, the only true God, and Him Whom You have sent, Jesus Christ. I have given
You glory on
earth by finishing the work You gave me to do. Do You now, Father, give
me glory at
Your side". Closing the book, he observed: "There is enough learning
in that to last me the rest of my life." His feast day is June 22.
SOURCE : https://www.catholic.org/saints/saint.php?saint_id=688
.jpg)
St John Fisher and St Thomas More Roman Catholic Church, Borehamwood, Hertfordshire
John Fisher of Rochester
BM (RM)
Born at Beverley,
Yorkshire, England, 1469; died on Tower Hill, London, on June 22, 1535;
canonized in 1935; feast day formerly on June 13 (Roman calendar) and July 9
(locally).
"Had you but tasted
one drop of the sweetness which inebriates the souls of those religious from
their worship of this Sacrament, you would never have written as you have, nor
have apostatized from the faith that you formerly professed. --John Fisher,
writing to the bishop of Winchester The son of a textile merchant who died while
John was still a boy, Saint John Fisher was a Catholic of high ideals. He was
equally distinguished as a humanistic scholar, a fosterer of sound learning in
others, and a faithful bishop. Educated at Michaelhouse at Cambridge (since
merged into Trinity) from age 14, forever afterwards he was connected with the
life of the university. Fisher was ordained a priest under a special
dispensation at the age of 22. He became a doctor of divinity, master of
Michaelhouse, and vice chancellor.
In 1502, he resigned his
mastership to become the chaplain of the king's mother, Lady Margaret Beaufort,
countess of Richmond and Derby. Under his direction, Lady Margaret founded
Christ's College and Saint John's College at Cambridge, and established there
and at Oxford a Lady Margaret divinity chair. Because of this and other
princely gifts, she has come to be regarded as Cambridge's greatest
benefactress.
Fisher's contributions
have not been as readily recognized. He was the first to fill the divinity
chair at Cambridge. But more important than that, he himself endowed
scholarships, provided for Greek and Hebrew in the curriculum, and engaged his
friend, the famous humanist, Erasmus as a professor of divinity and Greek at a
time was the school's scholarship was at its lowest ebb. Before that no Greek
or Hebrew was taught, and the library had been reduced to 300 volumes. In 1504,
Fisher was elected chancellor of the university. As such he did much to further
the growth and progress of his alma mater, of which he may justly be considered
the second founder.
John Fisher lived in the
last days of Catholic England and reached high office under Henry VII. After
serving as chaplain to his patron Margaret Beaufort, he was appointed bishop of
Rochester in 1504. He was only 35 years old, young to be a bishop. He accepted
the office warily, as it added greatly to his responsibilities (he was still
university chancellor until his death). It was the smallest and poorest diocese
in England, but so great was his love for it that, later, he refused the richer
sees of Ely and Lincoln, saying he "would not leave his poor old wife for
the richest widow in England." The climate was so damp and the state of
his palace so ruinous that Erasmus, when staying with him, was appalled; yet
for 30 years Fisher chose to remain there and was one of the most faithful of
the English bishops of the period.
Fisher was a zealous and
thorough pastor. He regularly made visitations, administered confirmation,
disciplined his clergy, visited the sick poor, and distributed alms with his
own hands. His personal life was strict and simple. "He kept a good table
for every one but himself." He was such an articulate preacher that when
King Henry VII died in 1509, he preached the funeral sermon, as he did for Lady
Margaret in her turn.
He discharged his public
offices with dignity and courage. His reputation both at home and abroad was
that of a great and distinguished figure. In the words of Erasmus: "There
is not in the nation a more learned man nor a holier bishop." Henry VIII,
before Fisher had roused his vindictive rage, openly gloried "that no
other prince or kingdom had so distinguished a prelate."
During this time, he
continued to write books and pursue his own studies, beginning to learn Greek
at age 48, and Hebrew at 51. Fisher lived austerely, sleeping and eating
little, and he kept a skull in front of him at meals to remind himself of his
mortality. He formed one of the most exceptional libraries in Europe with the
intention of bequeathing it to the university.
Fisher fully realized the
urgent need of reform in the church, from popes and bishops downwards, but was
opposed to Lutheran ideas of reform and wrote four weighty volumes against
them. He preached at Paul's Cross in defense of Christian doctrine when
Luther's books were banned and burned. Yet he preferred prayer and example
before controversy.
With the utmost boldness
and not without justification, Fisher censured the clergy at a synod in the
presence of Cardinal Wolsey himself for their corruption, vanity, laxity, and
love of gain. Most of the higher clergy had won their preferments through
secular service to the state or by private interest. As a member of the House
of Lords, Fisher vigorously opposed the government's policy of war and criticized
the measures against the clergy that were being forced through the Commons. He
uttered another great protest in convocation when that assembly was called upon
to agree that Henry VIII was the head of the Church of England. He did suggest
adding to the oath the words, "So far as the law of Christ allows"
which smoothed the path of many who signed. But boldest of all was his
uncompromising attitude to the scandalous divorce of Catherine of Aragon by
Henry.
As Queen Catherine's
confessor, he appeared on her behalf before the commissioners at Blackfriars in
1529 and also spoke and wrote vigorously against it. This infuriated the king
and when, later, Fisher refused to take the Oath of Supremacy acknowledging the
king to be head of the English Church, he was deprived of his bishopric and
committed to the Tower.
The warnings of friends
and the threats of his enemies were not necessary to bring home to Fisher the
danger he now ran by his opposition to the ruling powers. Despite being
imprisoned for two short periods, and being the object of poisoning and a
shooting attempt, Fisher persisted in espousing his views. Thomas Cromwell
unsuccessfully tried to link him with Elizabeth Barton, the 'Holy Maid of
Kent,' a nun who had trances and made personal attacks upon Henry for trying to
divorce the queen.
He was summoned to
Lambeth, despite being so ill that he fainted on the road between Rochester and
London, to sign the oath of the bill of succession. He refused, because it was
in essence an oath of supremacy. He was at Rochester at the time he was
arrested, and from the country round people flocked into the city to bid him
farewell. After settling his affairs and making gifts to the poor, he rode
bareheaded through the streets giving his blessing to the crowd.
On his arrival in London,
when confronted with the Oath he replied: "My answer is that forasmuch as
mine own conscience cannot be satisfied, I do absolutely refuse the Oath. I do
not condemn any other men's consciences. Their consciences may save them, and
mine must save me." In April 1534, the 66-year-old prelate began a 15-
month imprisonment in the Tower of London, his property was confiscated, and he
was stripped of his offices. A confidential messenger from Henry asked him to
declare, for the king's ears alone, his opinion on royal supremacy. His
negative opinion sealed his conviction.
During this time Pope
Paul III named him a cardinal. King Henry was furious, and within a month
Fisher was brought to trial in Westminster Hall, charged with treason in that
he had denied the king's ecclesiastical supremacy and found guilty. Some of the
judges cried as "the most holy and learned prelate in Christendom"
was sentenced to death on June 17, 1535.
On a June morning a few
days later, John was awakened at 5:00 a.m. and told that he was to be executed
that day. He asked to rest a little longer and slept for two hours. So frail
and emaciated by illness that he could barely stand, Fisher was carried in a
chair from the Tower to the place of execution.
He courteously thanked
his guards for their attentive trouble and pains. Saying that he was dying for
he faith, he asked the people to pray that he might have courage. He carried
his little New Testament, and at Tower Gate opened it at the words: "This
is life eternal, that they may know Thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ
whom Thou hast sent. I have glorified Thee upon the earth, I have finished the
work which Thou gavest me to do" (John 17:3- 5).
Closing the book, he
said: "Here is learning enough for me to my life's end." As he
mounted the scaffold, facing the morning sun, he lifted his hands and cried:
"They had an eye unto Him, and were lightened; and their faces were not
ashamed." Then kneeling in prayer, he repeated Psalm 31, In Thee, O Lord,
have I put my trust (others say that he died with the words of the Te Deum on
his lips), and was beheaded with an axe.
His friend Thomas More
wrote of Saint John of Rochester: "I reckon in this realm no one man, in
wisdom, learning, and long approved virtue together, meet to be matched and
compared with him."
John Fisher was buried in
the churchyard of All Hallows, Barking, without rites or a shroud. His head was
exhibited on London Bridge for two weeks, then was thrown into the Thames
(Attwater, Benedictines, Bentley, Gill, Hughes, Reynolds, Surtz, Walsh, White).
In art, Saint John Fisher
is shown robed as a cardinal, with haggard ascetic features, or with an axe or
his hat at his feet (White.)
SOURCE : http://www.saintpatrickdc.org/ss/0622.shtml
.jpg)
St. John Fisher: Martyr
and Model for Bishops
The Shepherd Who Joined
St. Thomas More in Defending Marriage
Stephanie A. Mann
During the annual
“Fortnight for Freedom” sponsored by the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops,
we remember Sts. John Fisher and Thomas More on their shared memorial, June 22,
highlighting their martyrdoms in the cause of religious liberty.
Neither thought of
religious liberty as we do today, accepting a plurality of religious faiths in
the public square. They fought against religious dissent, defending Catholic
doctrine, worship, morality and prayer. Thomas More is infamous for his
official prosecution of heretics, his apologetics and polemics against Martin
Luther, William Tyndale and others. John Fisher, the bishop of Rochester, also
wrote and preached against Lutheran dissent — once in 1521 at a public burning
of books considered heretical.
While More is highlighted
because he was the layman defending doctrine and Church unity against the
attacks of the state, we should not forget Bishop Fisher’s consistent stand to
defend not only the sacrament of marriage, but also the unity of the Church
under the pope as the vicar of Christ.
Because he was a bishop,
Fisher was responsible for upholding Church teaching in a way that More was
not. Throughout the debates in the “Convocation of Bishops” about the
legitimacy of Henry VIII’s marriage to Catherine of Aragon, Fisher was resolute
in defending that marriage and the Church’s authority to define that marriage
as sacramental.
Fisher opposed Henry
VIII’s proclamation of himself as supreme head and governor of the Church in
England in the convocation — where he at least prevailed enough to add the
words “as far as the law of God allows” — and in British Parliament. His resolution
led to assassination attempts: once by poisoning (but Fisher was too abstemious
for the poison to be effective) and once by cannon shot aimed at his London
house. He was too ill to attend the last parliamentary gathering in 1529, which
legislated the English Reformation, or the convocation in 1532, when the clergy
submitted to Henry VIII, paid a fine and accepted the monarch’s supremacy.
In April of 1534, Fisher
was presented with an oath to accept Henry VIII’s supremacy, refused to take
it, was stripped of his offices and imprisoned in the Tower of London. He would
not emerge from its confines until he stood trial on June 17, 1535; he was
taken to Tower Hill for his execution, mercifully commuted to being beheaded
rather than hung, drawn and quartered, the usual punishment for traitors.
Holy Bishop of Rochester
John Fisher was born in
Beverley, East Yorkshire, in 1469. He attended the University of Cambridge,
beginning an association that would last almost until his death. He earned his
bachelor’s and master’s degrees, became proctor (treasurer) of the university,
and then came to the attention of Lady Margaret Beaufort, Henry VII’s mother
(Henry VIII’s grandmother). With her patronage, Fisher founded Christ’s Church
and St. John’s Colleges, dedicated to improving the quality of clerical
education and formation.
Lady Margaret’s patronage
encouraged Henry VII to nominate Fisher bishop of Rochester; he became
chancellor of Cambridge and occupied her endowed chair of theology. He brought
Desiderius Erasmus and other classical scholars to Cambridge, fostering the
study of Greek and Hebrew, along with Latin, to improve the understanding of
Scripture.
Bishop Fisher faithfully
fulfilled his episcopal duties, declining promotion to larger, richer dioceses.
Through both example and denunciation of clerical abuses, he offered a model of
honesty, integrity, detachment and holiness. With this combination of virtue
and wisdom, John Fisher was the only bishop who stood against Henry VIII’s
takeover of the Catholic Church in England.
After the bishops’
submission — and Thomas More’s resignation as chancellor — Parliament declared
Henry the supreme head and governor of the Church of England. Henry demanded
that individual bishops, religious, nobles and other leaders in England take an
oath accepting his supremacy and denying papal authority.
Trial and Execution
Neither More nor Fisher
would take the oath — and so they were imprisoned in the Tower of London.
More was held for some
time in relative comfort, but Fisher, stripped of title and office, was
destitute and abandoned. He had never completely recovered from the attempted
poisoning, and he was elderly and frail.
Bishop Fisher was not
permitted access to the sacraments and suffered greatly. Nevertheless, he was
still a pastor and preacher, writing A Spiritual Consolation and The Ways
of Perfect Religion, for his half-sister Elizabeth, a nun at the Dartford
Dominican Priory, and a Latin treatise De Necessitate Orandi (The
Necessity of Prayer).
Pope Paul III proclaimed
Bishop Fisher a cardinal while he was in the tower, hoping for some leniency,
but the honor only infuriated Henry VIII more. He declared that when the
cardinal’s hat arrived in England, Cardinal Fisher wouldn’t have a head on which
to wear it. Henry VIII’s right-hand man, Richard Rich, who also betrayed Thomas
More, tricked him into saying directly that Henry VIII couldn’t be — and wasn’t
— the supreme head of the Church in England.
At Bishop Fisher’s trial,
the guilty verdict and sentence were pre-ordained. He was prepared to die,
having compared himself to St. John the Baptist in his willingness to suffer
for the sake of defending holy matrimony.
On June 22, 1535, he was
taken to Tower Hill for beheading. The witnesses were shocked when they saw how
emaciated he was. He asked them for prayers and proclaimed the Te Deum in
praise and thanksgiving, before death. His body was left on the scaffold
through the night and then buried in St. Peter ad Vincula, one of the chapels
in the Tower of London. His head was displayed on London Bridge and then thrown
into the Thames River.
Pope Leo XIII beatified
Fisher, More and 52 other English martyrs in 1886, and Pope Pius XI canonized
Fisher and More in 1935, as the powers of fascism and nationalism were rising
in Europe.
St. John Fisher is a
great model for our priests and bishops. He exemplifies awareness, preparation
and steadfastness in the midst of confusion and danger for the Church.
St. John Fisher, pray for
us!
Stephanie A. Mann is the
author of Supremacy and Survival: How Catholics Endured the English
Reformation,
available from Scepter Publishers. She writes from Wichita, Kansas, and blogs at SupremacyandSurvival.blogspot.com.
RELICS TOUR
The U.S. bishops are sponsoring an American tour of the relics of Sts. Thomas More and John
Fisher. USCCB.org/issues-and-action/religious-liberty/fortnight-for-freedom/
Statue
of St John Fisher, St Peter, Broad Street, Ely
St. John Fisher
Cardinal, Bishop of Rochester,
and martyr;
born at Beverley,
Yorkshire, England,
1459 (?1469); died 22 June, 1535.
John was the eldest son
of Robert Fisher, merchant of Beverley,
and Agnes his wife. His early education was
probably received in the school attached
to the collegiate church in
his native town, whence in 1484 he removed to Michaelhouse, Cambridge.
He took the degree
of B.A. in 1487, proceeded M.A. in
1491, in which year he was elected a fellow of his college,
and was made Vicar of
Northallerton, Yorkshire. In 1494 he resigned his benefice to
become proctor of his university,
and three years later was appointed Master of Michaelhouse, about which date he
became chaplain and
confessor to Margaret
Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and
Derby, mother of King Henry VII. In 1501 he received the degree of D.D., and
was elected Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge
University. Under Fisher's guidance, the Lady Margaret founded St. John's
and Christ's Colleges at Cambridge,
and also the two "Lady Margaret" professorships
of divinity at Oxford and Cambridge respectively,
Fisher himself being the first occupant of the Cambridge chair.
By Bull dated 14
October, 1504, Fisher was advanced to
the Bishopric of Rochester, and in the same year
was elected Chancellor of Cambridge
University, to which post he was re-elected annually for ten years and then
appointed for life. At this date also
he is said to have acted as tutor to Prince Henry, afterwards Henry
VIII. As a preacher his reputation was
so great that in 1509, when King Henry VII and the Lady Margaret died, Fisher
was appointed to preach the funeral oration on both occasions; these sermons are
still extant. In 1512 Fisher was nominated as
one of the English representatives at the Fifth
Council of Lateran, then sitting, but his journey to Rome was
postponed, and finally abandoned. Besides his share in the Lady Margaret's
foundations, Fisher gave further proof of
his genuine zeal for
learning by inducing Erasmus to
visit Cambridge. The latter indeed (Epist., 6:2) attributes it to Fisher's
protection that the study of Greek was allowed to proceed at Cambridge without
the active molestation that it encountered at Oxford. He has also been
named, though without any real proof,
as the true author
of the royal treatise against Luther entitled
"Assertio septem sacramentorum", published in 1521, which won the
title Fidei Defensor for Henry
VIII. Before this date Fisher
had denounced various
abuses in the Church,
urging the need of disciplinary reforms,
and in this year he preached at St. Paul's Cross on the occasion when Luther's books
were publicly burned.
When the question of
Henry's divorce from
Queen Catherine arose, Fisher became the Queen's chief supporter and most
trusted counsellor. In this capacity he appeared on the Queen's behalf in
the legates' court,
where he startled his hearers by the directness of his language and most of all
by declaring that, like St.
John the Baptist, he was ready to die on behalf of the indissolubility
of marriage. This statement was reported to Henry
VIII, who was so enraged by it that he himself composed a
long Latin address to the legates in
answer to the bishop's speech.
Fisher's copy of this still exists, with his manuscript annotations
in the margin which show how little he feared the
royal anger.
The removal of the cause to Rome brought
Fisher's personal share therein to an end, but the king never forgave him for
what he had done. In November, 1529, the "Long Parliament" of Henry's
reign began its series of encroachments on the Church.
Fisher, as a member of the upper house, at once warned Parliament that such
acts could only end in the utter destruction of the Church in England.
On this the Commons, through their speaker, complained to the king that
the bishop had
disparaged Parliament. Dr. Gairdner (Lollardy and the Reformation, I, 442) says
of this incident "it can hardly be a matter of doubt that
this strange remonstrance was prompted by the king himself, and partly for
personal uses of his own".
The opportunity was not
lost. Henry summoned
Fisher before him, demanding an explanation. This being given, Henry declared
himself satisfied, leaving it to the Commons to declare that the explanation
was inadequate, so that he appeared as a magnanimous sovereign, instead of
Fisher's enemy.
A year later (1530) the
continued encroachments on the Church moved
the Bishops of Rochester, Bath,
and Ely to appeal to
the Apostolic
see. This gave the king his opportunity. An edict forbidding such appeals was
immediately issued, and the three bishops were
arrested. Their imprisonment,
however, can have lasted a few months only, for in February, 1531, Convocation
met, and Fisher was present. This was the occasion when the clergy were
forced, at a cost of 1000,000 pounds, to purchase the king's pardon for having
recognized Cardinal
Wolsey's authority as legate of
the pope;
and at the same time to
acknowledge Henry as Supreme Head of the Church in England,
to which phrase, however, the addition "so far as God's
law permits" was made, through Fisher's efforts.
A few days later, several
of the bishop's servants
were taken ill after eating some porridge served to the household, and two
actually died. Popular opinion at the time regarded
this as an attempt on the bishop's life,
although he himself chanced not to have taken any of the poisoned food. To
disarm suspicion, the king not only expressed strong indignation at the crime,
but caused a
special Act of Parliament to be passed, whereby poisoning was to be
accounted high
treason, and the person guilty
of it boiled to death. This sentence was
actually carried out on the culprit, but it did not prevent what seems to have
been a second attempt on Fisher's life soon
afterwards.
Matters now moved
rapidly. In May, 1532, Sir
Thomas More resigned the chancellorship, and in June, Fisher preached
publicly against the divorce.
In August, Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury,
died, and Cranmer was at once nominated to
the pope as
his successor. In January, 1533, Henry secretly went
through the form of marriage with
Anne Boleyn; Cranmer's consecration took
place in March of the same year, and, a week later, Fisher was arrested. It
seems fairly clear that the purpose of this arrest was to prevent his opposing
the sentence of divorce which
Cranmer pronounced in May, or the coronation of
Anne Boleyn which followed on 1 June; for Fisher was set at liberty again
within a fortnight of the latter event, no charge being made against him. In
the autumn of this year (1533), various arrests were made in connexion with the
so-called revelations of
the Holy
Maid of Kent, but as Fisher was taken seriously ill in December,
proceedings against him were postponed for a time. In March, 1534, however, a
special bill
of attainder against the Bishop of Rochester and
others for complicity in the matter of the Nun
of Kent was introduced and passed. By this Fisher was condemned to
forfeiture of all his personal estate and to be imprisoned during
the king's pleasure. Subsequently a pardon was granted him on payment of a fine
of 300 pounds.
In the same session of
Parliament was passed the Act of Succession, by which all who should be called
upon to do so were compelled to take an oath of
succession, acknowledging the issue of Henry and
Anne as legitimate heirs to the throne, under pain of being guilty of
misprision of treason.
Fisher refused the oath and
was sent to the Tower of London, 26 April, 1534. Several efforts were made to
induce him to submit, but without effect, and in November he was a second time
attained of misprision of treason,
his goods being forfeited as from 1 March preceding, and the See
of Rochester being declared vacant as
from 2 June following. A long letter exists, written from the Tower by
the bishop to
Thomas Cromwell, which records the severity of his confinement and the sufferings
he endured.
In May, 1535, the
new pope, Paul
III, created Fisher Cardinal
Priest of St.
Vitalis, his motive being apparently to induce Henry by this mark
of esteem to treat the bishop less
severely. The effect was precisely the reverse. Henry forbade the cardinal's hat
to be brought into England,
declaring that he would send the head to Rome instead.
In June a special commission for Fisher's trial was issued, and on 17 June he
was arraigned in Westminster Hall on a charge of treason,
in that he denied the king to be supreme head of the Church.
Since he had been deprived of his bishopric by
the Act of Attainder,
he was treated as a commoner, and tried by jury. He was declared guilty, and
condemned to be hanged, drawn, and quartered at Tyburn, but the mode of execution was
changed, and instead he was beheaded on Tower Hill.
The martyr's last
moments were thoroughly in keeping with his previous life. He
met death with a calm dignified courage which
profoundly impressed all present. His headless body was stripped and
left on the scaffold till evening, when it was thrown naked into
a grave in the churchyard of Allhallows, Barking. Thence it was
removed a fortnight later and laid beside that of Sir
Thomas More in the church of St. Peter ad Vincula by the
Tower. His head was stuck upon a pole on London Bridge, but its ruddy and
lifelike appearance excited so much attention that, after a fortnight, it was
thrown into the Thames, its place being taken by that of Sir
Thomas More, whose martyrdom occurred
on 6 July next following.
Several portraits of
Fisher exist, the best being by Holbein in
the royal collection; and a few secondary relics are
extant. In the Decree of
29 December, 1886, when fifty-four of the English
martyrs were beatified by Leo
XIII, the best place of all is given to John Fisher. He was canonized in
1935 by Pope Pius XI — Ed.
A list of Fisher's
writings will be found in Gillow, "Bibliographical Dictionary of the English
Catholics" (London, s.d.), II, 262-270. There are twenty-six works in all,
printed and manuscript,
mostly ascetical or
controversial treatises, several of which have been reprinted many times. The
original editions are very rare and valuable. The principal are:
"Treatise
concernynge . . . the seven penytencyall Psalms" (London, 1508);
"Sermon . . . agayn
ye pernicyous doctrin of Martin Luther" (London, 1521);
"Defensio Henrici
VIII" (Cologne, 1525);
"De Veritate
Corporis et Sanguinis Christi in Eucharistia, adversus Johannem
Oecolampadium" (Cologne, 1527);
"De Causa Matrimonii
. . . Henrici VIII cum Catharina Aragonensi" (Alcalá de Henares, 1530);
"The Wayes to
Perfect Religion" (London, 1535);
"A Spirituall
Consolation written . . . to hys sister Elizabeth" (London, 1735).
Huddleston,
Gilbert. "St. John Fisher." The Catholic
Encyclopedia. Vol. 8. New York: Robert Appleton
Company, 1910. 22 Jun.
2016 <http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/08462b.htm>.
Transcription. This
article was transcribed for New Advent by Marie Jutras.
Ecclesiastical
approbation. Nihil Obstat. October 1, 1910. Remy Lafort, S.T.D.,
Censor. Imprimatur. +John Cardinal Farley, Archbishop of New York.
Copyright © 2023 by Kevin Knight.
Dedicated to the Immaculate Heart of Mary.
SOURCE : http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/08462b.htm
The
second north transept window of St Mary's Church, Petworth, West Sussex. It was
made in 1907 and has been attributed to Ninian Comper.
A Comparison between the
Life of Hunters and the Life of Religious Persons
What life is more painful
and laborious of itself than is the life of hunters, which most early in the
morning break their sleep and rise when others do take their rest and ease? And
in his labour he may use no plain highways and the soft grass, but he must
tread upon the fallows, run over the hedges and creep through the thick bushes,
and cry all the long day upon his dogs, and so continue without meat or drink
until the very night drive him home. These labours be unto him pleasant and
joyous, for the desire and love that he hath to see the poor hare chased with
dogs.
Verily, verily, if he
were compelled to take upon him such labours, and not for this cause, he would
soon be weary of them, thinking them full tedious unto him; neither would he
rise out of his bed so soon, nor fast so long, nor endure these other labours,
unless he had a very love therein. For the earnest desire of his mind is so
fixed upon his game that all these pains be thought to him but very pleasures.
And therefore I may well say that love is the principal thing that maketh any
work easy, though the work be right painful of itself, and that without love no
labour can be comfortable to the doer. The love of his game delighteth him so
much that he careth for no worldly honour, but is content with full simple and
homely array. Also the goods of the world he seeketh not for, nor studieth how
to attain them; for the love and desire of his game so greatly occupieth his
mind and heart. The pleasures also of his flesh he forgetteth by weariness and
wasting of his body in earnest labour. All his mind, all his soul, is busied to
know where the poor hare may be found. Of that is his thought, and of that is
his communication, and all his delight is to hear and speak of that matter,
every other matter but this is tedious for him to give ear unto; in all other
things he is dull and unlusty, in this only quick and stirring; for this also to
be done, there is no office so humble, nor so vile, that he refuseth not to
serve his own dogs himself, to bathe their feet and to anoint them where they
be sore, yea, and to cleanse their stinking kennel, where they shall lie and
rest them. Surely if religious persons had so earnest a mind and desire to the
service of Christ as have these hunters to see a course at a hare, their life
should be unto them a very joy and pleasure.
For what other be the
pains of religion but these that I have spoken of? That is to say, much
fasting, crying and coming to the choir, forsaking of worldly honours, worldly
riches, fleshly pleasures and communication of the world, humble service and
obedience to her sovereign, (i.e., religious superior) and charitable dealing
to her sister; which pains in every point the hunter taketh and sustaineth more
largely for the love that he hath to his game, than doeth many a religious
person for the love of Christ. For albeit the religious person riseth at
midnight, which is painful to her in very deed, yet she went before that to her
bed at a convenient hour, and also cometh after to her bed again. But the
hunter riseth early, and so continueth forth all the long day, no more
returning to his bed until the very night, and yet peradventure he was late up
the night before, and full often up all the long nights. And though the
religious woman fast until it be noon, the which must be to her painful, the
hunter yet taketh more pain, which fasteth until the very night, forgetting
both meat and drink for the pleasure of his game. The religious woman singeth
all the forenoon in the choir, and that also is laborious unto her, but yet the
hunter singeth not, but he crieth, hallooeth and shouteth all the long day and
hath more greater pains. The religious woman taketh much labour in coming to
the choir and sitting there so long a season, but yet no doubt of it more
labour taketh the hunter in running over the fallow, and leaping over the
hedges, and creeping through the bushes than that can be. And would to God that
in other things, that is to say, touching worldly honours, worldly riches,
worldly pleasures — would to God that the religious persons many of them might
profit as much in mindfulness in seeking of Christ, as the hunter doeth in
seeking of his game, and yet all their comfort were to commune and speak of
Christ, as the hunters have all their joy to speak of the poor hare, and of
their hunting.
And furthermore, would to
God the religious persons would content themselves with the humble service done
to their sovereign, and with charitable behaviour unto their sisters, and with
as good a heart and mind as the hunters acquit them to serve their hounds. I
wot it is a thing much more reasonable to love and serve reasonable creatures
made to the image of Almighty God, rather than to love and serve dogs which be
unreasonable creatures. And rather our duty were to speak of Christ, and of
things belonging to His honour, than of the vain worldly matters which be but
very trifles indeed. And also with more attentive mind we should seek after our
Saviour Christ Jesu, to know our very comfort in Him — wherein resteth the
great merit of our souls — than the hunters should seek after the hare, which
when they have gotten they have no great gains thereby. But as I have said, the
cause why so many religious persons so diligently pursue not the ways of
religion as do the hunters, is the want of the observation of their game, which
is nothing else but the lack of love. For verily, as I think, the earnest love
and hearty desire of game maketh all labours and pains joyous unto the hunter.
And if there v/ere in religious persons as great favour and love to the service
of God, as be in hunters to their game, all their life should be a very
paradise and heavenly joy in this world. And contrariwise without this fervour
of love it cannot be but painful, weary and tedious to them.
My purpose therefore,
dear sister, is to minister unto you some common considerations which if you
will often resort unto by due remembrance and so by diligent prayer call upon
Almighty God for His love, you shall now by His grace attain it.
The First Consideration
The first consideration
may be this: First consider by your own mind and reason that Almighty God of
His own singular goodness and free will did create you and make you of naught,
whereunto He was not bound by any necessity, nor drawn by any commodity that
might rise upon Him by your creation. No other thing moved Him but His very
goodness and special favour that He bare unto you, long or ever He did make
you. This, good sister, take for a very truth and firmly believe it, for so it
is in very deed; innumerable creatures, more than ever were made or ever shall
be made, He might have made if it had been so pleasing unto Him. For how many,
suppose you, married men and married women have been and shall be hereafter in
this world, that never had nor never shall have any children, yet they full
gladly would have had, and by possibility of nature might have had many, if it
had so pleased Almighty God to have made and to have given unto them children.
But all those be left unmade, and amongst them He might have left you also
unmade, and never have put His hand to the making of you if He had so would.
Nevertheless, as I said, it pleased His goodness herein to prefer you of His
special favour that He bore unto you, leaving unmade others more innumerable,
electing you and appointing you to be made, refusing and setting apart all them
which would, peradventure, have considered His special grace and favour more
lovingly than you hitherto have done, and would have studied more for His
pleasure and service than ever you did; and you occupy the room and place that
some of them might have occupied by like favour as Almighty God hath shewed
unto you. Ah, dear sister, how much should this one consideration move you to
the earnest love of this our so gracious a Lord, that thus hath appointed and
chosen you to be His creature before so many others, where He might have taken
any of them at His pleasure and repelled you and left you as naught without any
manner of being!
The Second Consideration
The second consideration
is this: Where there is many manner of beings, some creatures have a goodly
being, some have an ungoodly being. It is a more goodly being margarite (i.e.,
a pearl) of a precious stone than of a pebble stone; of the fair bright gold
than of rusty iron; of a goodly pheasant than of a venomous serpent; of a
pretty fawn than of a foul toad; of a reasonable soul than of an unreasonable
beast. And it is not to be doubted but Almighty God might have given to any of
them what being soever He would, and might have transformed each of those into
the nature and kind of any of the other at His pleasure and will. For of the
stones He might make men, as in the Gospel our Saviour doth affirm: Potens
est Deus de lapidibus istis suscitare filios Abrahae, Almighty God hath the
power to make of these stones the children of Abraham. And contrariwise He
might of men have made stones, as the wife of Lot was turned into a salt stone.
And in like wise me or you or any other man or woman, He might have made a stone,
or a serpent, or a toad, for His pleasure. There is no creature so foul, so
horrible, or so ungodly, but He might put you in the same condition that the
most loathly of them be put in, and them, in contrariwise, He might have put in
the same condition that you be in. Consider now, by your reason, that if you
had been made in the hkeness of an owl, or of an ape, or of a toad, how
deformed you should have been, and in how wretched and miserable condition. And
thank your Lord God that hath given you a more excellent nature, yea, such a
nature as excelleth in nobleness, in dignity, all other bodily natures; for it
is made to the very likeness and image of Almighty God, whereunto none other
bodily creature doth reach near. Metals nor stones, be they never so precious,
neither herbs nor trees, neither fishes nor fowls, neither any manner of beast,
be they never so noble in their kind, doth attain to this high point of
nobleness to have in them the image and likeness of Almighty God, but only man.
Forasmuch then as our
Lord God might have given this excellent dignity to other innumerable
creatures, as to beasts, to fowls, to fishes, totrees, to herbs, to metals, to
stones, and hath not so done, but before all those hath elected and chosen you
to bear His image and likeness and to be endued with a reasonable soul, how
much should his loving dealing move you to enforce yourself with all the
strength and power of your heart and mind to love Him therefore again.
The Third Consideration
The third consideration
is this: That whereas, notwithstanding this great and excellent gift, you,
nevertheless, by reason of original sin wherewith you were born of your mother
into this world, had lost the great inheritance above in heaven and purchased
everlasting imprisonment in hell, He of His great and singular goodness had
provided you to be born within the precincts of Christendom, where you have
been instructed in the doctrine of His taith and received the holy Sacrament of
Baptism, and have been made a Christian woman, whereby you did receive again
your inheritance before lost, and have escaped the most horrible danger of
everlasting damnation. How many, suppose you, in all the world that be not
instructed in this law and faith of Christ, nor have not received the holy
Sacrament of Baptism, both noble men and women, both knights and princes, which
have great wisdom and reason, and many such as, peradventure, if they were
taught it, would more readily apply their minds to Christ’s faith than you do,
and more heartily serve Him, honour and love Him than ever you did; and yet,
lo! thus graciously hath He provided for you before all them, and hath
appointed you to be a Christian woman and to be partaker of all those graces
and benefits that belong unto the Christian people, which be so many and so
great, that it passeth the wits of men, not only to number but also to think.
And here, good sister, do
deeply consider in your soul how much this loving preferment of our Lord God
should stir you to love Him again, when He suffereth so innumerable a multitude
of men and women to perish and to be lost for ever, amongst whom many do pass
you in all natural virtues, both of body and soul, and also would farther pass
you in profiting in the law of Christ if they were received thereunto; and yet,
I say, He suffereth them to perish everlastingly and perpetually to be damned;
and for your safeguard hath provided of His singular goodness and mercy towards
you, for the which since it is not possible of your part to recompense, why
shall you not with all your power enforce yourself to love His most gracious
goodness again, and after your possibility to give unto Him most humble thanks
therefor?
The Fourth Consideration
The fourth consideration
is this: That where, since that time of your Baptism and that you were made a
Christian woman, you have many times unkindly fallen into deadly sin and broken
His laws and commandments, setting at naught all those benefits which He before
had given to you, following your wretched pleasure to the great displeasure and
contempt of His Most High Majesty; and yet He furthermore did not strike you,
nor yet revenge Himself upon you rigorously, punishing the transgressors and
breakers of His law as He might and should by His righteousness have done. But,
contrariwise, He did long spare you by His excellent mercy, and mercifully He
did abide your return to Him again by sorrowful repentance and asking of Him
mercy for your abominable offences. And where you so did with good hearty mind
at any time, He received you to His grace, and by the sacrament of penance you
were taken into His favour again, and so yet escape the horrible pains of hell
due for your outrageous unkindness. No reason may judge the contrary but that
you of good right have deserved them for your foul presumption in breaking of
the laws of your Lord God, and preferring your wretched appetites before His
pleasure, and following your own wilful desires before His most high
commandments. Alas, what miserable condition should you now have been in if He
so incontinent after your offences had stricken you by death and had sent you
to the horrible pains of hell, where you should not only for a time have
bidden, but for ever and without all remedy. No prayers of your friends, no
almsdeeds, no such other good works should have relieved you.
Ah, sister, imprint
deeply in your soul this inestimable mercy of your Lord God showed unto you
through His most gracious and merciful abiding for your return to Him by true
repentance and asking of His mercy. For innumerable souls of men and women, for
less offences than you have done, lie now in the prison of hell, and shall
there continue without end; which if they might have had as great sufferance as
you have had, and so long leisure to repent them, they would have taken more
sorrowful repentance than ever you took, and do now more sorrowfully repent
than ever you did, but that as now cannot profit them, for that sorrow and
repentance is now too late. But to my purpose, how may you think that this
loving sufferance and gracious abiding of your amendment and merciful accepting
of your sorrows and repentance for your great sins, Cometh not of a singular
love showed unto you by your Lord God before all them? And shall not this
consideration pierce your heart and move you much to love Him again?
The Fifth Consideration
The fifth consideration
is this: Peradventure, after that thus by your repentance and asking mercy you
were taken to this grace of your God, yet far more grievously and far more
unkindly you fell again to sin, and kept not the purpose and promise that before
you did make, but more without shame and dread of His highness took your
liberty in your sinful ways, abusing His gentleness and presuming upon His
mercy, not regarding any benefit or kindness showed by His most excellent
goodness unto you before, so defiling your soul by innumerable ways, and making
it filthy and more ungoodly than is the sow that waltereth herself in the foul
miry puddle, and more pestilently stinketh in the sight of God than is the
stinking carrion of a dead dog being rotten and lying in a ditch; yet,
nevertheless, for all these misbehaviours, your Lord God of His far-passing
goodness hath called you again from your sinful life and hath graciously
stirred your soul to forsake your sin and to leave this wretched world and to
enter the holy religion. Whereby (after the sentence of holy doctors) your soul
is made as clean as it was at your baptism and restored again to the purity and
cleanliness of your first innocence; and not only that, but also He hath
appointed you to be of the number of them that He assigned for His best beloved
spouses. And what high point of singular favour is this? How many women, far
better than you, be left behind in this world, not called to this high dignity
nor admitted to this most special grace? When the noble King Asuerus, as it is
written in the Scripture, commanded many fair maidens to be chosen out and to
be seen unto with all things that might make them fair and beautiful and
pleasant to his sight, to the intent that they at all times when it should like
him to appoint any of them to come to his presence and to be his spouse, they
might be the more ready, this thing, no doubt of it, was to them that were thus
chosen a comfort, that they were preferred before others, and also every one of
them might live in hope to come to the king’s presence and have some likelihood
to be accepted for his spouse, in SO much that all others but they were
excluded. In like manner it is with religious women. All they, by the gracious
calling of the great King of heaven, be gathered into God’s religion and
dissevered from the other secular women that be of the world, there a season to
abide until they be sufficiently prepared by the holy sacraments and the holy
observations of religion to come to His gracious Highness’s presence, and to be
brought into His secret chamber above in heaven, there to abide with Him in
endless joy and bliss. Blessed is that religious woman that so doth prepare
herself for this little time that here she shall tarry by prayer, by
meditation, by contemplation, by tears of devotion, by hearty love and burning
desire, that after that this transitory lite she may be admitted to the most
excellent honour, and not with shame and rebuke be repelled therefrom when the
day shall come.
The Sixth Consideration
The sixth consideration
that you call well to your remembrance, who it is that doth thus exhort you for
to love, verily He is that person that if either you will freely give your
love, or else sell your love, He is most worthy to have it above all other. First,
if ye were of that mind to give your love free, it were good yet there to
bestow it that you should choose such a one, as both in goodliness of person,
as also in prowess and wisdom, and good gentle manners may be worthy of your
love. For if there be any deformity in him whom you would love, it is an
impediment and great let for to love him; but in our Saviour Christ the Son of
God is no deformity, for He is all goodly, and surmounteth all other in
goodliness; and, therefore, of Him the prophet David affirmeth in this
manner: Speciosus forma prae filiis hominum, that is to say, “He is goodly
before the children of men.” And of truth much goodly must He needs be that
hath so many goodly creatures. Behold the rose, the lily, the violet; behold
the peacocks, the pheasant, the popinjay; behold all the other creatures of
this world—all these were of His making, all their beauty and goodliness of Him
they received it. Wherefore this goodliness describeth that He Himself must
needs of necessity be very goodly and beautiful. And for that in the book of
Canticles the Spouse describeth His goodliness, saying: Dilectus meus
candidas et rubicundus, electus ex millibus that is to say: “He that I
love is white and red, chosen out amongst thousands.” And this beauty and goodliness
is not mortal, it cannot fade nor perish as doeth the goodliness of other men,
which like a flower to-day is fresh and lusty, and to-morrow with a little
sickness is withered and vanisheth away. And yet it is sensible to the
goodliness of man’s nature, for the which also he is more naturally to be
beloved of many. For likeness is the ground of love, like always doth covet
like, and the nearer in likeness that any person be, the sooner they may be
knit together in love. The same likeness He hath and you have, like body and
like soul, touching His manhood; your soul is also like unto Him in His
Godhead, for after the image and similitude of it your soul is made.
Furthermore of His might and power you may be likewise a certain season. He
made this world by the only commandment of His mouth, and gave to the herbs and
all other creatures their virtue and might that they have; and may also by His
power save and damn creatures, either to lift them up in body and soul into
heaven above, or else to throw them down into ever-during pains of hell. If ye
doubt of His wisdom, behold all this world, and consider how every creature is
set with another, and every of them by himself, how the heavens are apparelled
with stars, the air with fowls, the water with fishes, the earth with herbs,
trees and beasts, how the stars be clad with Hght, the fowls with feathers, the
fishes with scales, the beasts with hair, herbs and trees with leaves, and
flowers with scent, wherein doth well appear a great and marvellous wisdom of Him
that made them. Finally His good and gentle manner is all full of pleasure and
comfort so kind, so friendly, so liberal and beneficious, so piteous and
merciful, so ready in all opportunities, so mindful and circumspect, so dulcet
and sweet in communication. For as Scripture saith: Non hahet amaritudinem
conversatio vel taedium convictus illius, sed laetitiam et gaudium, that is to
say: “His manners be so sweet and pleasant that the conversation of Him hath no
bitterness; yea, His company hath no loathsomeness nor weariness in it, but all
gladness and joy.” Here peradventure you will say unto me, how may I love that
I see not? if I might see Him with all the conditions ye speak of, I could with
all my heart love Him. Ah! good sister, that time is not come yet; you must, as
I said, now for the time prepare yourself in cleanness of body and soul,
against that time; so when that time Cometh you may be able and worthy to see
Him, or else you shall be excluded from Him with the unwise virgins, of whom
the Gospel telleth that they were shut out from His presence with great shame
and confusion, because they had not sufficiently prepared themselves.
Therefore, good sister, for this time be not negligent to prepare yourself with
all good works, that then you may be admitted to come unto His presence, from
the which to be excluded it shall be a more grievous pain than any pain of
hell. For, as Chrysostom saith: Si decem mille gehennas quis dixerit,
nihil tale est quale ab illa beata visione excidere, that is to say: “If one
would rehearse unto me ten thousand hells, yet all that should not be so great
pains as it is to be excluded from the blessed sight of the face of Christ.”
The Seventh Consideration
The seventh consideration
is this: where now it appeareth unto you, that if you will give your love
freely, there is none so worthy to have it as Jesus the Son of the Virgin Mary.
I will further shew unto you that if you will not freely give it, but you will
look peradventure to have something again, yet there is none so well worthy to
have it as He is; for if another will give more for it than He, I will not be
against it; take your advantage. But sure I am there is none other to whom your
love is so dear, and of so great a price as it is unto Him, nor any that will
come nigh unto that that He hath given or will give. If His benefits and
kindness shewed towards you, whereof I spake somewhat before, were by you well
pondered, they be no small benefits, and especially the love of so great a
prince, and that He would thus love you, and prefer you before so many
innumerable creatures of His, and that when there was in you no love, and when
you could not skill of love; yea, and that, that more is, when you were enemy
unto Him, yet He loved you, and so wonderfully that for your love, and to wash
you from sin, and to deliver your soul from the extreme peril, He shed His most
precious blood, and suffered the most shameful, the most cruel and the most
painful death of the cross; His head to be pierced with thorns. His hands and
feet to be through holed with nails, His side to be lanced with a spear, and
all His most tender body to be torn and rent with whips and scourges. Believe
this for a very truth, good sister, that for your sake He suffered all, as if
there had been no more in all the world but only yourself, which I will declare
more largely unto you in the next consideration following.
Believe it in the
meantime certainly, for so it is indeed, and if you believe it not, you do a
great injury and shew a full unkindness unto Him that thus much hath done for
you.
And if this belief truly
settle in your heart, it is to me a marvel if you can content your heart
without the love of Him, of Him, I say, that thus dearly hath loved you, and
doth love you still. For what other lover will do thus much for your love? What
creature in all the world will die for your sake? What one person will part
with one drop of his heart blood for your sake? When then the Son of God, the
Prince of heaven, the Lord of Angels, hath done this for your sake, which thing
no other creature will do, what frost could have congealed your heart that it
may not relent against so great an heat of love? If He, so excellent in all
nobleness, should have given you but one favourable countenance from the
heavens above, it had been a more precious benefit than ever you could
recompense by your love again. It were impossible for your love to recompense
that one thing. But how much rather when He hath descended into this wretched
world for your sake, and here hath become man, and hath endured all misery
pertaining unto man, save only sin and ignorance, and finally hath suffered
this great horrible death for your love, how shall you ever now recompense this
by any love or service to be done for your pity? And He hath not only done all
this for your sake, but also hath prepared for you after this transitory life a
reward above in heaven, so great that never mortal eye saw the like, nor any
tongue can express, nor yet any heart can think. Ah, sister, when your wretched
soul shall hence depart, which cannot be very long here, who shall give you
refreshing the space of one hour? Good therefore it is that you look unto
yourself and upon Him bestow your love, the which hitherto hath done most for
you and best hath deserved it beyond all other; and yet after this life He will
give for it a reward so inestimable that it shall never fail you.
The Eighth Consideration
The eighth consideration
is this: that albeit, there are many others which also are beloved of Christ
Jesu, yet the love that He sheweth to them, nothing minisheth His love towards
you, as if there were no more beloved of Him in all the kind of man. This may
evidently be shewed unto you by this example following. If before any image of
our Saviour were disposed and set in a long row many glasses, some great and
some little, some high and some low, a convenient distance from the image, so
that every one of them might receive a presentment of the image, it is no doubt
but in every one of these glasses should appear the very likeness of the same
image. I will not say but this likeness should be longer in the great glasses
than in the less, and clearer in the better cleansed glasses, and in them that
were nigh unto the image, than in the others that were not so well cleansed and
much farther off. But as to the likeness itself it shall be as full and as
whole in every one glass as though there were but one.
Now to my purpose, if you
consider likewise that all the good souls that be scoured from deadly sin be in
the manner of glasses set in an order to receive the love of our Saviour Christ
Jesu, such souls as by true penance doing, by sighing, by weeping, by praying,
by watching, by fasting and by other like, be the better scoured and cleansed
from the spots and malice of deadly sin, they be the brighter glasses and more
clearly receive this love, and such also be near unto our Saviour, for nothing
putteth us far from Him but only sin. And therefore they that have more
diligently scoured their souls from the rust of sin be nearer unto Him than the
others that so have not done. Such souls also as of their part enforce
themselves to a great love and to a more ample fervour, they do enlarge the
capacity of their souls to receive a more large abundance of love; again, those
that less enforce them, have a less capacity in receiving, and therefore so
much the less they receive of this love, even as a man that openeth his bosom
wide and enlargeth it, is more able to receive a greater thing into it than he
that doeth not.
But yet, as I have said
before of the glasses, every one of the souls receives as full and as whole a
love of Jesu Christ as though there were no more souls in all the world but
that one alone, for the love of Christ Jesus [is] infinite. And therefore when
innumerable of souls have every one of them received as much the love of Christ
Jesu as to every one of them is possible, yet hath He still in Himself love
sufficient for infinite more, and this His love thereby is not in any point
diminished nor lessened, though it be divided into many, be the number of them
never so great. None of them that be beloved receive the less because of the
multitude of his fellows, nor if he had no more but himself he should not
thereby have any more abundance of love to his part, but according to the cleansing
and capacity of his soul and nighness unto Christ, his part in love shall be
the less or more. Wherefore, good sister, I pray you be diligent to scour your
soul clean, and to enforce your soul on your part fervently to love your spouse
Christ Jesu, and draw nigh unto Him with entire devotion, and then undoubtedly
you shall be partner to the more plenteous abundance of His love,
notwithstanding any other multitude which beside is beloved of Him; for He
nevertheless is as studious of you and as mindful and as fervently careth for
your weal as though there were no more beloved of Him but you alone in all this
world.
The Ninth Considefation
The ninth consideration
is this: where peradventure you would object to me again and say: “Brother, if
it be thus as you say, that my Lord Jesu loveth me so much, and is so mindful
of me, and so fervently intendeth my weal, what need me to care whatsoever I
do? He will not cast me away; He will not forsake me nor suffer me to perish.”
Good sister, without doubt as I have said, our Saviour Christ Jesu is in love
towards you, and He is mindful and more loving towards you than I can express.
And sure you may be that He will never cast you away, nor forsake you, if you
before cast not yourself away, nor forsake yourself. But if you give any place
to sin in your soul, and suffer it to enter upon you, verily then you forsake
yourself and cast yourself away, and willingly destroy yourself, that is your
deed and not His; for He never forsaketh any creature unless they before have
forsaken themselves. And if they will forsake themselves, were they never in so
great favour with Him before, they then incontinently lose His favour. The
which thing well appeareth in His first spiritual creatures the noble angels,
Lucifer and his company, which were created in excellent brightness, and were
much in the favour of Almighty God, they presumptuously offended Him in pride;
for the which not only they lost His favour, but also their marvellous
brightness became incontinently horrible, foul, and were expelled out of the
glorious kingdom of heaven that they were in, and thrown into perpetual
darkness, into the prison of hell.
The first man Adam also,
who was created in singular honour, and was put into paradise, a place full of
gladness, there to live in comfort of all pleasure, the which was done to him
for a singular love that Almighty God had towards him; yet anon as he fell to
sin he was in like manner expelled out from that pleasure, and sent into this
miserable world to endure misery and pain.
If those noble creatures
which were lifted up into so great favour with Almighty God, so lightly by
their misdemeanour in sin lost His gracious favour, let none other creature
think but if they admit any sin to their soul, they shall be likewise excluded
out of His favour. For sin is so odious unto Almighty God, that not the dearest
friends that ever He had in all the world, but if there were found in their
souls any deadly sin after death, they should never be received into the joy of
heaven. Not the blessed Mary Magdalene for all her love towards Him, nor yet
His own blessed Mother that bare Him into this world, if one deadly sin were
found in their souls, they should incontinent be thrown into the dark dungeon
of hell. Wherefore, good sister, say not, if His love be so much upon you, and
He so desirously intendeth your profit, that you may do what you list, you need
not to care what you do; but contrariwise, the more that He loveth you, the
more you should take heed unto yourself and beware that you offend Him not, for
so did the Blessed Mary Magdalene, of whom I spake before. She, notwithstanding
the great love that both our Saviour had to her and she unto Him again, for the
which also her sins were forgiven her, yet after His death she fled from the company
of men, and lived in the wilderness far from any worldly comfort, in great
wailing, fasting and prayer and such other painfulness of her body, and was
nothing the less diligent to keep herself warily from sin, for the great love
that our Lord and Saviour had to her; but for that the more studiously she did
avoid and eschew everything whereby she might run into any displeasure against
Him.
The Tenth Consideration
The tenth consideration
is this: it were well done, and much it should further this cause if you truly
esteem of how little value your love is, how vain, how light and how trifling a
thing it is, and how few there be that would much regard it or set much price
thereby, for few there be or none to whom it may do any profit or avail.
Contrariwise, you should consider the love of your spouse, the sweet Jesu, how
excellent it is, how sure, how fast, how constantly abiding, how many have much
specially regarded it. Martyrs innumerable, both men and women, for His love
have shed their blood and have endured every kind of martyrdom, were it never
so cruel, were it never so terrible. No pain, no torment, might compel them to
forsake His love; so desirous were they of His love that rather than they would
forego it, they gave no force of the loss of all this world beside, and their
own life also. So dear and precious was that love to them that all the honours,
pleasures and possessions of this life they accounted as very trifles in
comparison of that. And what be you in comparison of them, but naughty, wretched
and miserable? Where then they, which be now glorious saints above in heaven,
so much have valued and so greatly esteemed this most excellent love, and you
may have the same love for yours, that is so naughty and so little worth, what
should you do of your part? How much should you enforce yourself not only to
obtain this love, but studiously to keep it, since that you have it once, and
for nothing to depart therefrom! He of His goodness doth not repel any creature
from His love, but permitteth them assuredly that if any draw nigh unto Him by
love, He will love them again, and give His most precious love for theirs. He
sayeth: Ego diligentes vie diligo; that is to say: “I love them that love
Me.” And in another place: En qui venit ad me non ejiciam foras; that is
to say: “What person soever cometh unto Me, I will not cast him away.” Sister,
if you consider this deeply, it should move you to fall down upon your knees
and with all your heart and mind say unto your Spouse in this manner:
“O my blessed Saviour
Lord Jesu, Thou askest my love, Thou desirest to have my heart, and for my love
Thou wilt give me Thy love again. O my sweet Lord, what is this for Thee to
desire, which art so excellent? If my poor heart were of so much value as all
the hearts of men and women that ever were, if they were put together in one;
and if it were as precious and noble as there is price and nobleness in all the
orders of angels; if furthermore it did contain in it all bodily and spiritual
treasure that is within the compass of heaven or without, yet it were but a
little gift to give unto so great a Lord, for His most delicate and precious
love to be had of Him again: much rather my love and heart, as it is now
naughty, wretched and miserable, so is it but a small gift and of little value.
Nevertheless, such as it is, since it is Thy pleasure to have it and Thy
goodness doth ask it of me, saying: Praebe mihi cor tuum; that is to say:
‘Give me thy heart’ — I freely give it unto Thee, and I most humbly beseech Thy
goodness and mercy to accept it, and so to order me by Thy grace, that I may
receive into it the love of nothing contrary to Thy pleasure, but that I always
may keep the fire of Thy love, avoiding from it all other contrary love that
may in any wise displease Thee.”
The Final Conclusion of
All
Now then, good sister, I
trust that these considerations, if you often read them with good deliberation,
and truly imprint them in your remembrance, they will somewhat inflame your
heart with the love of Christ Jesu, and that love once established in you all
the other points and ceremonies of your religion shall be easy unto you, and no
wit painful; you shall then comfortably do everything that to good religion
appertaineth, without any great weariness. Nevertheless, if it so fortune that
you at any time begin to feel any dulness of mind, quicken it again by the
meditation of death, which I send you here before, or else by some effectual
prayer earnestly calling for help and succour upon the most sweet Jesu,
thinking, as it is indeed, that is your necessity and that no where else you
can have any help but of Him. And if you will use these short prayers
following, for every day in the week one, I think it shall be unto you
profitable. For thus you may in your heart shortly pray, what company soever
you be amongst.
The Prayers be these:
O blessed Jesu, make me
to love Thee entirely.
O blessed Jesu, I would fain, but without Thy help I cannot.
O blessed Jesu, let me deeply consider the greatness of Thy love towards me.
O blessed Jesu, give unto me grace heartily to thank Thee for Thy benefits.
O blessed Jesu, give me good will to serve Thee, and to suffer.
O sweet Jesu, give me a natural remembrance of Thy passion.
O sweet Jesu, possess my heart, hold and keep it only to Thee.
These short prayers if
you will often say, and with all the power of your soul and heart, they shall
marvellously kindle in you this love, so that it shall be always fervent and
quick, the which is my especial desire to know in you. For nothing may be to my
comfort more than to hear of your furtherance and profiting in God and in good
religion, the which our blessed Lord grant you for His great mercy. Amen.
text taken from A Spiritual Consolation and Treatises, by Saint
John Fisher, edited by D. O’Connor, 1903;
imprimatur by + Bishop Edward
Ilsley, Diocese of Birmingham, England, 25
April 1903
.jpg)
Saint
John Fisher, Our Lady and the English
Martyrs Church
A
Spiritual Consolation, by Saint John Fisher
Sister Elizabeth, nothing
doth more help effectually to get a good and a virtuous life than if a soul,
when it is dull and unlusty without devotion, neither disposed to prayer nor to
any other good work, may be stirred or quickened again by fruitful meditation.
I have therefore devised unto you this meditation that followeth, praying you
for my sake and for the weal of your own soul, to read it at such times as you
shall feel yourself most heavy and slothful to do any good work. It is a manner
of lamentation and sorrowful complaining made in the person of one that was
hastily prevented by death (as I assure you every creature may be): none other
surety we have, living in this world here.
But if you will have any
profit by reading of it, three things you must do in anywise. First, when you
shall read this meditation, devise in your mind as nigh as you can all the
conditions of a man or woman suddenly taken and ravished by death; and think
with yourself that ye were in the same condition so hastily taken and that
incontinent you must needs die, and your soul depart hence and leave your mortal
body, never to return again for to make any amends, or to do any release to
your soul after this hour.
Secondly, that ye never
read this meditation but alone by yourself in secret manner, where you may be
most attentive thereunto, and when ye have the best leisure without any let of
other thoughts or business. For if you otherwise behave yourself in the reading
of it, it shall anon lose the virtue and quickness in stirring and moving of
your soul when you would ratherest have it stirred.
Thirdly, that when you
intend to read it, you must afore lift up your mind to Almighty God and beseech
Him that, by the help and succour of His grace, the reading thereof may
fruitfully work in your soul a good and virtuous life according to His
pleasure, and say: Deus in adjutorium meum intende, Domine ad adjuvandum
vie festina. Gloria Patri, etc. Laus tibi Domine Rex aeternae gloriae. Amen.
Alas, alas, I am
unworthily taken, all suddenly death hath assailed me, the pains of his stroke
be so sore and grievous that I may not long endure them; my last hour, I
perceive well, is come; I must now leave this mortal body; I must now depart
hence out of this world never to return again into it. But whither I shall go,
or where I shall become, or what lodging I shall have this night, or in what
company I shall fall, or in what country I shall be received, or in what manner
I shall be treated, God knoweth, for I know not. What if I shall be damned in
the perpetual prison of hell, where be pains endless and without number?
Grievous it shall be to them that be damned for ever, for they shall be as men
in most extreme pains of death, ever wishing and desiring death, and yet never
shall they die. It should be now unto me much weary, one year continually to
lie upon a bed were it never so soft; how weary then shall it be to lie in the
most painful fire so many thousands of years without number; and to be in that
most horrible company of devils most terrible to behold, full of malice and
cruelty?
O wretched and miserable
creature that I am, I might so have lived and so ordered my life by the help
and grace of my Lord Christ Jesus, that this hour might have been unto me much
joyous and greatly desired. Many blessed and holy saints were full joyous and
desirous of this hour, for they knew well that by death their souls should be
translated into a new life; to the life of all joy and endless pleasure, from
the straits and bondage of this corruptible body into a very liberty and true
freedom among the company of heaven, from the miseries and grievances of this
wretched world, to be above with God in comfort inestimable that cannot be
spoken nor thought. They were assured of the promises of Almighty God, which
had so promised to all them that be His faithful servants; and sure I am that
if I had truly and faithfully served Him unto this hour, my soul had been
partner of these promises.
But unhappy and ungracious
creature that I am, I have been negligent in His service, and therefore now my
heart doth waste in sorrows seeing the nighness of death, and considering my
great sloth and negligence. I thought full little thus suddenly to have been
trapped; but, alas, now death hath prevented me, and hath unwarily attacked me
and suddenly oppressed me with his mighty power, so that I know not whither I
may turn me for succour, nor where I may seek now for help, nor what thing I
may do to get any remedy.
If I might have leisure
and space to repent me and amend my life, not compelled with this sudden stroke
but of my own free will and liberty, and partly for the love of God, putting
aside all sloth and negligence, I might then safely die without any dread; I
might then be glad to depart hence and leave my manifold miseries and
encumbrances of this world. But how may I think that my repentance or mine
amendment cometh now of mine own free will, since I was before this stroke so
cold and dull in the service of my Lord God? Or how may I think that I do this
more rather for His love than for fear of His punishment, when, if I had truly
loved Him, I should more quickly and more diligently have served Him
heretofore? Me seemeth now that I cast away my sloth and negligence, compelled
by force. Even as a merchant that is compelled by a great tempest in the sea to
cast his merchandise out of the ship, it is not to be supposed that he would
cast away his riches of his own free will, not compelled by the storm. And even
so likewise do I: if this tempest of death were not now raised upon me, it is
full like that I would not have cast from me my sloth and negligence. O would
to God that I might have now some farther respite, and some longer time to
amend myself of my free will and liberty. O if I might entreat death to spare
me for a season: but that will not be; death in no wise will be entreated;
delay he will none take; respite he will none give, if I would give him all the
riches of this world; no, if all my lovers and friends would fall upon their
knees and pray him for me. No, if I and they would weep (if it were so
possible) as many tears as there be in the seas drops of water, no pity may
restrain him. Alas, when opportunity of time was, I would not use it well,
which, if I had done, it would now be unto me more precious than all the
treasures of a realm. For then my soul as now should have been clothed with
good works innumerable, the which should make me not to be ashamed when I
should come to the presence of my Lord God, where now I shall appear laden with
sin miserably, to my confusion and shame. But, alas, too negligently have I let
pass from me my time, not regarding how precious it was, nor yet how much
spiritual riches I might have got therein, if I would have put my diligence and
study thereunto.
For assuredly no deed
that is, be it never so little, but it shall be rewarded of Almighty God. One
draught of water given for the love of God shall not be unrewarded, and what is
more easy to be given than water? But not only deeds, but also the least words
and thoughts shall be in like wise rewarded. O how many good thoughts, deeds,
works, might one think, speak and do in one day? But how many more in one whole
year? O alas, my great negligence! O alas, my foul blindness! O alas, my sinful
madness that knew this well, and would not put it in eifectual execution! if
now all the people of this world were present here to see and know the perilous
condition that I am in, and how I am prevented by the stroke of death, I would
exhort to take me as an example to them all, and while they have leisure and
time, to order their lives and cast from them sloth and idleness, and to repent
them of their misbehaviour towards God, and to bewail their offences, to
multiply good works and to let no time pass by them unfruitfully. For if it
shall please my Lord God that I might any longer live, I would otherwise
exercise myself than I have done before. Now I wish that 1 may have time and
space, but righteously I am denied, for when I might have had it I would not
well use it; and, therefore, now when I would well use it, I shall not have it.
O ye, therefore, that
have and may use this precious time in your liberty, employ it well, and be not
too wasteful thereof, lest, peradventure, when you would have it, it shall be
denied you likewise, as now it is to me. But now I repent me full sore of my
great negligence, and right much I sorrow that so little I regarded the wealth
and profit of my soul, but rather took heed to the vain comforts and pleasures
of my wretched body. O corruptible body! O stinking carrion! O rotten earth, to
whom I have served, whose appetites I have followed, whose desire I have
procured, now dost thou appear what thou art in thy own likeness! That
brightness of thy eyes, that quickness in hearing, that liveliness in thy other
senses by natural warmness, thy swiftness and nimbleness, thy fairness and
beauty; all these thou hast not of thyself, they were but lent unto thee for a
season, even as a wall of earth that is fair painted without for a season with
fresh and goodly colours, and also gilded with gold, it appeareth goodly for
the time to such as consider no deeper than the outward craft thereof; but when
at the last the colour faileth and the gilding falleth away, then appeareth it
in his own likeness; for then the earth plainly showeth itself. In like wise my
wretched body, for the time of youth it appeareth fresh and lusty, and I was
deceived with the outward beauty thereof, little considering what naughtiness
was covered underneath; but now it showeth itself.
Now my wretched body, thy
beauty is faded, thy fairness is gone, thy lust, thy strength, thy loveliness
all is gone, all is failed; now art thou returned to thine own earthly colour;
now art thou black, cold and heavy, like a lump of earth; thy sight is
darkened, thy hearing is dulled, thy tongue faltereth in thy mouth, and
corruption issueth out of every part of thee; corruption was thy beginning in
the womb of thy mother, and corruption is thy continuance. All things that ever
thou receivest, were it never so precious, thou turnest into corruption; and
naught came from thee at any time but corruption, and now to corruption thyself
returnest: altogether right vile and loathly art thou become, where in
appearance before thou wast goodly: but the good lines was nothing else but as
a painting or a gilding upon an earthen wall; under it was covered with
stinking and filthy matter. But I looked not so deep, I contented myself with
the outward painting, and in that I took great pleasure; for all my study and
care was about thee, either to apparel thee with some clothes of divers
colours, either to satisfy thy desire in pleasant sights, in delectable
hearings, in goodly smells, in sundry manner of tastings and touchings, either
else to get thee ease and rest as well in sleep as otherwise. And I provided,
therefore, pleasant and delectable lodgings, and to eschew tediousness in all
these, not only lodgings, but also in apparel, meats and drinks procured many
and divers changes, that when thou wast weary of one then mightest thou content
thyself with some other. Oh, alas, this was my vain and naughty study whereunto
my wit was ready applied, in those things I spent the most part of my days. And
yet was I never content long, but murmuring or grudging every hour for one
thing or other.
And what am I now the
better for all this? What reward may I look for of all my long service? or what
great benefits shall I receive for all my great study, care and diligence?
Nothing better am I, but much the worse; much corruption and filth my soul
thereby hath gathered, so that now it is made full horrible and loathly to
behold. Reward get I none other than punishment, either in hell everlasting or
at the least in purgatory, if I may so easily escape. The benefits of my labour
are the great cares and sorrows which I now am wrapped in. May not I think my
wit to have been well occupied in this lewd (i.e., light or frivolous –
ed.) and unfruitful business? Have I not well bestowed my labour about this
service of my wretched body? Hath not my time been well employed in these
miserable studies, whereof now no comfort remaineth, but only sorrow and
repentance? Alas, I heard full often that such as should be damned should
grievously repent themselves and take more displeasure of their misbehaviour
than ever they had pleasure before. And yet that repentance then should stand
them in no stead, where a full little repentance taken in time might have eased
them of all their pains.
This I heard and read
full often, but full little heed or regard I gave thereunto; I well perceived
it in myself, but all too late, I dread me. I would that now, by the example of
me, all others might beware, and avoid by the gracious help of God these
dangers that I now am in, and prepare themselves against the hour of death
better than I have prepared me. Alas, what availeth me now any delicacy of
meats and drinks which my wretched body insatiable did devour? What availeth my
vanity or pride that I had in myself either of apparel or of any other thing
belonging unto me? What availeth the filthy and unclean delights and lusts of
the stinking flesh, wherein was appearance of much pleasure, but in very deed
none other than the sow hath, waltering (i.e, wallowing – ed. herself
in the miry puddle? Now these pleasures be gone, my body is nothing better, my
soul is much the worse, and nothing remaineth but sorrow and displeasure, and
that a thousandfold more than ever I had any pleasure before.
O lewd body and naughty,
which hast brought me to this utter discomfort; O dirty corruption; sachell
(i.e., satchel or sack – ed) full of dung, now must I go to make answer
for thy lewdness; thy lewdness, I say, for it all cometh of thee. My soul had
nothing need of such things as was thy desire: what need my soul that is
immortal, either clothing, or meat or drink? What need it any corruptible gold
and silver? What need it any houses or beds, or any other things that
appertaineth to these? For thee, O corruptible body, which like a rotten wall
daily needeth reparations and botching up with meat and drink, and defence of
clothing against cold and heat, was all this study and diligence taken, and yet
now wilt thou forsake me at my most need, when account and reckoning of all our
misdeeds must be given before the throne of the Judge most terrible. Now thou
wilt refuse me and leave me to the jeopardy of all this matter.
O alas, many years of
deliberation suffice not before so great a Judge to make answer, who shall
examine me of every idle word that ever passed my mouth. O then how many idle
words, how many evil thoughts, how many deeds have I to make answer for! and
such as we set but at light, full greatly shall be weighed in the presence of
His most high Majesty. O alas, what may I do to get some help at this most dangerous
hour? Where may I seek for succour? Where may I resort for any comfort? My body
forsaketh me, my pleasures be vanished away as the smoke, my goods will not go
with me. All these worldly things I must leave behind me; if any comfort shall
be, either it must be in the prayers of my friends, or in mine own good deeds
that I have done before.
But as for my good deeds
that should be available in the sight of God, alas, they be few or none that I
can think to be available; they must be done principally and purely for His
love. But my deeds, when of their kind they were good, yet did I linger them by
my folly; for either I did them for the pleasure of men, or to avoid the shame
of the world, or else for my own affection, or else for dread of punishment; so
that seldom I did any good deed in that purity and straightness that it ought
of right to have been done. And my misdeeds, my lewd deeds that be shameful and
abominable, be without number; not one day of all my life, no, not one hour I
trow was so truly expended to the pleasure of God, but manydeeds, words and
thoughts miscaped me in mylife. Alas, little trust then may I have upon my
deeds!
And as for the prayers of
my friends such as I shall leave behind me, of them many peradventure be in the
same need that I am in; so that where their own prayers might profit
themselves, they cannot so profit another. And many of them will be full
negligent, and some forgetful of me, and no marvel: for who should have been so
friendly unto me than mine own self? Therefore I that was most bound to have
done for myself, forget my own weal in my lifetime; no marvel therefore if
others do forget me after my departing hence. Other friends there be by whose
prayers souls may be helped, as by the blessed and holy saints above in heaven,
which verily will be mindful of such as in earth here have devoutly honoured
them before. But, alas, I had special devotion but to a few, and yet them I
have so faintly honoured, and to them so coldly sued for favour, that I am
ashamed to ask aid or help of them. At this time indeed I had more effectually
meant to have honoured them and more diligently to have commended my wretched
soul unto their prayers, and so to have made them my special friends; but now
death hath prevented me so, that no other hope remaineth, but only in the mercy
of my Lord God, to whose mercy I do now offer myself, beseeching Him not to
look upon my deserts, but upon His infinite goodness and abundant pity.
Alas, my duty had been
much better to have remembered this terrible hour; I should have had this
danger ever before my eyes; I should have provided, therefore, so that now I
might have been in a more readiness against the coming of death, which I knew
assuredly would come at the last, albeit I knew not when, where, or by what
manner; but well I knew every hour and moment was to him indifferent, and in
his Uberty. And yet (my madness ever to be sorrowed), notwithstanding this
certainty of his coming, and the uncertainty of the time thereof, I made no
certain nor sure provision against this hour. Full often I took great study and
care to provide for little dangers, only because I thought they might hap, and
yet happed they never a deal; and but trifles they were in comparison of this.
How much rather should I have taken study and care for this so great a danger
which I knew well must necessarily fall unto me once. For this cannot be
eschewed in no wise, and upon this I ought to have made good provision; for in
this hangeth all our wealth. For if a man die well, he shall after his death
nothing want that he would desire, but his appetite shall be satiate in every
point at the full; and if he die amiss, no provision shall avail him that ever
he made before.
This provision,
therefore, is most effectually to be studied, since this alone may profit
without other, and without this none can avail. O ye that have time and space
to make your provision against the hour of death, defer not from day to day as
I have done. For I often did think and purpose with myself that at some leisure
I would have provided; nevertheless, for every trifling business I put it
aside, and delayed this provision always to another time, and promised with
myself that at such a time 1 would not fail to do it; but when that came
another business arose, and so I deferred it again unto another time. And so,
alas, from time to time, that now death in the meantime hath prevented me. My
purpose was good, but it lacked execution; my will was straight, but it was not
effectual; my mind well intended, but no fruit came thereof. All for because I
delayed so often and never put in effect that that I had purposed; and,
therefore, delay it not as I have done, but before all other business put this
first in surety, which ought to be chief and principal business. Neither
building of colleges, nor making of sermons, nor giving of alms, neither yet
any other manner of business shall help you without this.
Therefore, first and
before all things, prepare for this; delay not in any wise, for if you do you
shall be deceived as I am now. I read of many, I have heard of many, I have
known many that were disappointed as I am now. And ever I thought and said and
intended that I would make sure and not be deceived by the sudden coming of
death; yet, nevertheless, I am now deceived, and am taken sleeping, unprepared,
and that when I least weened of his coming, and even when I reckoned myself to
be in most health, and when I was most busy and in the midst of my matters.
Therefore, delay not you any farther, nor put your trust overmuch in your friends;
trust yourself while ye have space and liberty, and do for yourself now while
you may. I would advise you to do that thing that I, by the grace of my Lord
God, would put in execution if His pleasure were to send me longer life.
Account yourself as dead, and think that your souls were in prison of
purgatory, and that there they must abide till that the ransom for them be
truly paid, either by long sufferance of pain there, or else by suffrages done
here in earth by some of your special friends. Be you your own friend; do you
these suffrages for your own soul, whether they be prayers or almsdeeds or any
other penitential painfulness. If you will not effectually and heartily do
these things for your own soul, look you never that others will do them for you,
and in doing them in your own persons, they shall be more available to you a
thousandfold than if they were done by any other. If you follow this counsel
and do thereafter, you be gracious and blessed, you shall doubtless repent your
follies, but too late.
text taken from A Spiritual Consolation and Treatises, by Saint
John Fisher, edited by D. O’Connor, 1903;
imprimatur by + Bishop Edward
Ilsley, Diocese of Birmingham, England, 25
April 1903
SOURCE : https://catholicsaints.info/a-spiritual-consolation-by-saint-john-fisher/
St John Fisher & St Thomas More, Eltham Well Hall, Arbroath Road, London SE9
St
John Fisher and St Thomas More, Eltham Well Hall, Arbroath Road, London SE9 -
High altar
Mementoes
of the English Martyrs and Confessors – Bishop Fisher and Henry VII, 1509
Article
To poor sick persons he
was a physician, to the lame he was a staff, to poor widows an advocate, to
orphans a tutor, and to poor travellers a host. Wheresoever he lay, either at
Rochester or elsewhere, his order was to inquire where any poor sick folks lay
near him, which after he once knew, he would diligently visit them. And when he
saw any of them likely to die he would preach to them, teaching them the way to
die, with such godly persuasions that for the most part he never departed till
the sick persons were well satisfied and contented with death. Many times it
was his chance to come to such poor houses as, for want of chimnies, were
unbearable for the smoke, yet himself would there sit three or four hours
together when none of his servants were able to abide in the house. And in some
other poor houses where stairs were wanting, he would never disdain to climb up
a ladder for such a good purpose. And when he had given them such ghostly
comfort as he thought expedient for their souls, he would at his departure
leave behind him his charitable alms, giving charge to his steward daily to
prepare meat for them if they were poor.
“He never omitted so much
as one collect of his daily service, which he used commonly to say to himself
alone, without the help of any chaplain, not in such speed or hasty manner to
be at an end, as many will do, but in most reverent and devout manner, so
distinctly and tractably pronouncing every word, that he seemed a very devourer
of heavenly food, never satiated nor filled therewith. Insomuch that talking on
a time with a Carthusian monk, who much commended his zeal and diligent pains
in compiling his book against Luther, he answered again, saying that he wished
that time of writing had been spent in prayer, thinking that prayer would have
done more good and was of more merit.
“And to help this
devotion he caused a great hole to be digged through the wall of his church at
Rochester, whereby he might the more commodiously have prospect into the church
at Mass and Evensong times. When he himself used to say Mass, as many times he
used to do, if he was not letted by some urgent and great cause, ye might then
perceive in him such earnest devotion that many times the tears would fall from
his cheeks.”
After reminding our Lord
of His promise that the Gospel should be preached throughout the world as a
testimony to all nations, he recalls how the Apostles were but soft and
yielding clay till they were baked hard by the fire of the Holy Ghost, and then
offered a prayer to be fulfilled in himself. “So, good Lord, do now in like
manner again with Thy Church militant, change and make the soft and slippery
earth into hard stones. Set in Thy Church strong and mighty pillars, that may
suffer and endure great labours watching, poverty, thirst, hunger, cold, and
heat which also shall not fear the threatenings of princes, persecution,
neither death, but always persuade and think with themselves to suffer, with a
good will, slanders, shame, and all kinds of torments for the glory and laud of
Thy Holy Name. By this manner, good Lord, the truth of Thy Gospel shall be
preached throughout the world. Oh! if it would please our Lord God to show this
great goodness and mercy in our days, the memorial of His so doing ought, of
very right, to be left in perpetual writing, never to be forgotten of all our
posterity, that every generation might love and worship Him time without end.”
In his funeral sermon on
King Henry VII, Fisher said: “The cause of his hope was true belief that he had
in God, in His Church, and in the Sacraments thereof, which he received all
with marvelous devotion; namely, in the Sacrament of Penance, the Sacrament of
the Altar, and the Sacrament of Aneling the Sacrament of Penance with a
marvelous compassion and flow of tears; the Sacrament of the Altar he received
at Mid-Lent and again upon Easter Day with great reverence. At his first entry
into the closet, where the Sacrament was, he took off his bonnet and kneeled
down upon his knees, and so crept forth devoutly till he came unto the place
itself where he received the Sacrament. The Sacrament of Aneling, when he well
perceived that he began utterly to fail, he desirously asked therefor, and
heartily prayed that it might be administered unto him; wherein he made ready
and offered every part of his body by order, and as he might for weakness
turned himself at every time and answered in the suffrages thereof. That same
day of his departing, he heard Mass of the Glorious Virgin, the Mother of
Christ, to whom always in his life he had singular and special devotion.”
On hearing news of his
promotion to the sacred purple, from personal humility and contempt of honour,
he remarked that if the Cardinal’s hat were laid at his feet he would not stoop
to pick it up; yet that he held the dignities of the Church in due reverence
the following dialogue shows.
“My Lord of Rochester,”
said Cromwell, “if the Pope should now send you a Cardinal’s hat, what would
you do? Would you take it?”
“Sir,” said he, “I know
myself so far unworthy of any such dignity, that I think of nothing less than
such matters; but if he do send it me, assure yourself I will work with it by
all the means I can to benefit the Church of Christ, and in that respect I will
receive it on my knees.”
The King’s rage was
uncontrollable. When he heard of this answer of the servant of God, he said to
Cromwell: “Yea, is he yet so lusty? Well, let the Pope send him a hat when he
will; but I will so provide that whensoever it cometh he shall wear it on his
shoulders, for head shall he have none to set it on.” And so was his death
decreed.
MLA
Citation
Father Henry Sebastian
Bowden. “Bishop Fisher and Henry VII, 1509”. Mementoes
of the English Martyrs and Confessors, 1910. CatholicSaints.Info.
22 April 2019. Web. 5 October 2024.
<https://catholicsaints.info/mementoes-of-the-english-martyrs-and-confessors-bishop-fisher-and-henry-vii-1509/>
Ejecuciones
de Juan Fisher, Tomás Moro y Margarita Pole, grabado de Giovanni Battista de'
Cavalieri a partir de los frescos de Niccolò Circignani en la capilla del
Colegio Inglés de Roma. Grabado de la serie "Ecclesiae Anglicanae trophaea
siue Sanctor[um] martyrum qui pro Christo Catholicaeq[ue] fidei veritate
asserenda antiquo recentioriq[ue] persecutionum tempore mortem in Anglia
subierunt passiones Romae in Collegio Anglico per Nicolaum Circinianum depictae
nuper autem per Io. Bap. de Cauallerijs aeneis typis repraesentatae",
Romae : ex officina Bartholomaei Grassi, 1584. Biblioteca Nacional de
España.
The
Martyrdom of Blessed John Fisher, by Father T E Bridgett, C.SS.R.
It was very late in the
night when the sentence was pronounced, and the prisoner was asleep. The
lieutenant was unwilling to disturb his rest for that time, and so did not
awaken him, but in the morning before five of the clock he came to him in his
chamber in the Bell Tower, and found him yet asleep in his bed.
He awakened the good
father, and explained that he was come to him on a message from the king. Then,
with some persuasion, he said that he should remember himself to be an old man,
and that he could not expect by course of nature to live much longer. Finally
he informed him that he was come to signify unto him that the king’s pleasure
was he should suffer death that forenoon.
“Well,” answered this
blessed father, “if this be your errand, you bring me no great news. I have
long expected this message. And I most humbly thank the king’s majesty that it
has pleased him to rid me from all this worldly business, and I thank you also
for your tidings. But I pray you, Mr. Lieutenant, when is mine hour that I must
go hence?”
“Your hour,” said the
lieutenant, “must be nine of the clock.”
“And what hour is it
now?” said he.
“It is now about five,”
said the lieutenant.
“Well, then,” said he, “let
me by your patience sleep an hour or two, for I have slept very little this
night. My rest has been very much broken, not for any fear of death, I thank
God, but by reason of my great infirmity and weakness.”
“The king’s further
pleasure is,” said the lieutenant, “that you should not talk much. Especially
you must not say anything touching his majesty, whereby the people should have
any cause to think ill of him or of his proceedings.”
“For that,” said the
father, “you shall see me order myself well. For, by God’s grace, neither the
king, nor any man else, shall have occasion to mislike my words.”
The lieutenant then
departed from him, and so the prisoner, falling again to rest, slept soundly
two hours and more.
After he was waked again
he called to his man to help him up. Then he commanded him to take away the
shirt of hair (which he was accustomed to wear on his back) and to convey it
secretly out of the house. Then he bade him bring a clean white shirt, and all
the best apparel he had, as cleanly bright as possible.
While he was dressing
himself, he appeared to have more curiosity and care for the fine and cleanly
wearing of his apparel that day than had ever been his wont before. His man
asked him what this sudden change meant, since he must know well enough that he
must put off all again within two hours and lose it.
“What of that?” said the
father. “Dost thou not mark that this is our wedding day, and that it is
necessary for us to use more cleanliness for solemnity of the marriage?”
About nine of the clock
the lieutenant came again to his prison. Finding him almost ready, he said that
he was now come for him.
“I will wait upon you
straight,” said the father, “as fast as this thin body of mine will give me
leave.” Then he turned to his man and said, “Reach me my fur cape to put about
my neck.”
“Oh, my lord,” said the
lieutenant, “why need you be so careful for your health for this little while?
Your lordship knoweth that it is not much above an hour.”
“I think no otherwise,”
said this blessed father. “But in the meantime I will keep myself as well as I
can, till the very time of my execution. I have, I thank our Lord, a very good
desire and willing mind to die at this present time, and so trust of His
infinite mercy and goodness He will continue this desire. Nevertheless, I will
not willingly hinder my health for one minute of an hour. Indeed, I will
prolong the same as long as I can by such reasonable ways and means as Almighty
God hath provided for me.”
Then, taking a little
book in his hand, which was a New Testament lying by him, he made a cross on
his forehead and went out of his prison door with the lieutenant. He was so
weak that he was scarce able to go down the stairs, and at the stairs-foot he
was taken up in a chair between two of the lieutenant’s men. These carried him
to the Tower gate to be delivered to the sheriffs of London for execution.
When they were come to
the farthest wall of the Tower, they rested there with him a space; and an
officer was sent on before to know in what readiness the sheriffs were to
receive him. As they were resting here, the father rose out of his chair, and
stood on his feet, leaning his shoulder to the wall. Then, lifting his eyes
towards heaven, he opened his little book in his hand, and said, “O Lord, this
is the last time that ever I shall open this book; let some comfortable place
now chance unto me whereby I thy poor servant may glorify Thee in this my last
hour.”
Then he opened the book,
and the first thing that came to his sight were these words: “This is life
everlasting, that they may know Thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom
Thou hast sent. I have glorified Thee upon earth, I have finished the work Thou
gavest me to do.” Having read these words, he shut the book together and said,
“Here is even learning enough for me to my life’s end.”
The sheriff was now ready
for him. So he was taken up again by certain of the sheriff’s men, and, guarded
by many armed men, he was carried to the scaffold on Tower Hill, otherwise
called East Smithfield. He was seen to be praying all the way, and pondering
upon the words that he had read.
When he was come to the
foot of the scaffold, they that carried him offered to help him up the stairs;
but he said, “Nay, masters, since I have come so far let me alone, and you
shall see me shift for myself well enough.” So he went up the stairs without
any help, so lively that it was a marvel to them that knew before of his
weakness. As he was mounting up the stairs, the southeast sun shined very
bright in his face. Observing this, he said to himself these words, lifting up
his hands, “Come ye to Him and be enlightened; and your faces shall not be
confounded.”
By the time he was on the
scaffold, it was about ten of the clock. The executioner, being ready to do his
office, kneeled down to him (as the fashion is) and asked his forgiveness.
“I forgive thee,” said
the father, “with all my heart, and I trust thou shalt see me overcome this
storm lustily.”
Then was his gown and fur
cape taken from him, and he stood in his doublet and hose, in sight of all the
people. There was to be seen a long, lean, and slender body, having on it
little other substance besides the skin and bones. Indeed, so thin and
emaciated was he that those who beheld him marveled much to see a living man so
far consumed. Therefore, it appeared monstrous that the king could be so cruel
as to put such a man to death as he was, even though he had been a real
offender against the law.
If he had been in the
Turk’s dominion, and there found guilty of some great offense, yet methinks the
Turk would never have put him to death being already so near death. For it is
an horrible and exceeding cruelty to kill that thing which is presently dying,
except it be for pity’s sake to rid it from longer pain. Therefore, it may be
thought that the cruelty and hard heart of King Henry in this point passed all
the Turks and tyrants that ever have been heard or read of.
After speaking a few
words the father kneeled down on his knees and said certain prayers. Then came
the executioner and bound a handkerchief about his eyes. This holy father,
lifting up his hands and heart to heaven, said a few other prayers, which were
not long but fervent and devout, which being ended, he laid his holy head down
over the midst of a little block.… And so his immortal soul mounted to the
blissful joys of Heaven.
SOURCE : https://catholicsaints.info/the-martyrdom-of-blessed-john-fisher-by-father-t-e-bridgett-c-ss-r/
.jpg)
Saint John Fisher, Our Lady and the English Martyrs Church
San Giovanni Fisher Vescovo
e martire
- Memoria Facoltativa
Beverley, Yorkshire (Gran
Bretagna), ca. 1469 - Torre di Londra, 22 giugno 1535
Giovanni Fisher nacque a
Beverly nel 1469. Umanista e teologo apprezzato, fu cancelliere dell'università
di Cambridge e vescovo di Rochester. Di lui diceva Erasmo: «Non c'è uomo più
colto né vescovo più santo». Subì numerose pressioni perché riconoscesse
il matrimonio di Enrico VIII con Anna Bolena e l'Atto di Supremazia nel quale
il re veniva dichiarato «Capo supremo dopo Cristo della Chiesa d'Inghilterra».
Al suo rifiuto, venne giustiziato il 22 giugno del 1535. Tommaso Moro nacque a
Londra nel 1478. In gioventù coesistevano in lui l'amore per il chiostro e il
desiderio di formare una famiglia. Prevalse quest'ultima aspirazione. Si sposò
ed ebbe 4 figli, tre femmine e un maschio. Padre affettuoso, ci ha lasciato
delle lettere tenerissime dirette alla figlia Margaret. Ebbe una carriera
straordinaria: avvocato, politico e umanista, scrittore e amico di Erasmo,
diplomatico e cancelliere del regno. Tutto ebbe termine quando a sua volta si
trovò di fronte alla necessità di dover decidere tra il riconoscimento
dell'Atto di supremazia e la sua coscienza. Optò per quest'ultima affermando:
«L'uomo è la sua coscienza e non altro». Condannato a morte, venne giustiziato
il 6 luglio del 1535. Giovanni Fisher e Tommaso Moro vennero proclamati santi
nel 1935, esattamente 400 anni dopo la loro morte. Giovanni Paolo II proclamò
Tommaso Moro patrono dei politici e dei governanti.
Etimologia: Giovanni = il
Signore è benefico, dono del Signore, dall'ebraico
Emblema: Bastone
pastorale, Palma
Martirologio Romano:
Santi Giovanni Fisher, vescovo, e Tommaso Moro, martiri, che, essendosi opposti
al re Enrico VIII nella controversia sul suo divorzio e sul primato del Romano
Pontefice, furono rinchiusi nella Torre di Londra in Inghilterra. Giovanni Fisher,
vescovo di Rochester, uomo insigne per cultura e dignità di vita, in questo
giorno fu decapitato per ordine del re stesso davanti al carcere; Tommaso More,
padre di famiglia di vita integerrima e gran cancelliere, per la sua fedeltà
alla Chiesa cattolica il 6 luglio si unì nel martirio al venerabile presule.
“Popolo cristiano, sono
venuto qui a morire per la fede nella Santa Chiesa cattolica di Cristo”. Queste
le ultime parole di Giovanni Fisher prima di essere decapitato. È il 22 giugno
1535 e il vescovo di Rochester, dopo aver ribadito per tre volte il no alla
sottomissione del clero al re d’Inghilterra, muore da martire dopo essere stato
in vita “l’uomo più colto e il vescovo più santo”, come lo aveva definito
Erasmo da Rotterdam, di cui era grande amico.
Una cultura fuori dal comune
Giovanni nasce in una famiglia ricca dello Yorkshire e subito mostra di avere
un’intelligenza fuori dal comune. A 14 anni accede all’università di Cambridge
e si laurea in teologia. A 22 anni viene eccezionalmente ordinato sacerdote e
diventa il confessore personale e cappellano presso la contessa Margherita
Beaufort, la futura nonna di Enrico VIII. Insieme fonderanno il Saint John’s e
il Christ’s College, di cui diventa vice cancelliere, imponendo lo studio del
latino, del greco o dell’ebraico, le lingue della Bibbia, per meglio
familiarizzare con le Scritture. Grande latinista, a 48 anni inizia a studiare
anche greco e a 50 anni l’ebraico.
Da vescovo contro la Riforma
Nel 1504 Giovanni viene consacrato vescovo di Rochester, una delle diocesi più
piccole e più povere del Paese, dalla quale non vorrà più muoversi – pur
avendone avute le possibilità – e che chiamerà per sempre “la mia povera
sposa”. Sostenuto dalla sua profonda cultura, nel 1523 si lancia nella lotta
alla Riforma luterana che si stava espandendo anche in Inghilterra. Sono gli
anni in cui è accanto al re nella salvaguardia del primato della Chiesa di Roma
e pubblica il De veritate corporis et sanguinis Christi in Eucharistia, che gli
varrà il soprannome di “difensore della fede”.
Lo scontro con Enrico VIII
Il rapporto con Enrico VIII s’incrina quando questi divorzia da Caterina
d’Aragona – di cui Giovanni è confessore – per sposare Anna Bolena, ma il Papa
non gli concede la dispensa. Il re chiede allora l’aiuto del vescovo di
Rochester, che però si rifiuta di andare contro il Romano Pontefice. Il sovrano
s’indispettisce e impone al prelato di giurare fedeltà al re. La risposta di
Giovanni è chiara: “Solo fin dove lo consente la legge di Cristo”. È la
rottura. Nel 1534 Enrico VIII prepara l’Atto di Supremazia che dovranno
sottoscrivere e cui dovranno sottomettersi tutti i vescovi: è, di fatto, la
nascita della Chiesa Anglicana, che non riconosce il Papa bensì il re come
massima autorità religiosa. Giovanni non ci sta e il 13 aprile viene arrestato
imprigionato nella Torre di Londra. La sede vescovile di Rochester viene
dichiarata vacante.
L’amicizia ritrovata con Moro in carcere e il martirio
Nel periodo della prigionia e del processo in cui sarà condannato a morte,
Giovanni ritrova in carcere un amico di vecchia data: Tommaso Moro, un giurista
laico anche lui condannato alla pena capitale per non aver giurato obbedienza
al re. Non sono nella stessa cella, ma in quei giorni sono sostegno l’uno per
l’altro, si aiutano e si confortano, condividono il poco che hanno. Intanto a
Roma Papa Paolo II decide di creare cardinale Giovanni nel disperato tentativo
di salvarlo dal martirio, ma Enrico VIII rifiuta di scarcerarlo per mandarlo a
Roma. Arriva, dunque, quel 22 giugno in cui Giovanni viene svegliato dalle
guardie con l’avviso che l’esecuzione è stata fissata per le 10 di quello
stesso giorno. Sul patibolo, prima di morire, per altre tre volte nega la sua
fedeltà a Enrico VIII. Tommaso Moro lo seguirà pochi giorni dopo: per questo la
Chiesa cattolica fissa la memoria dei due Santi allo stesso giorno. Saranno
beatificati tra i 54 martiri inglesi da Leone XIII e canonizzati da Pio XI; i
loro resti riposano nella cappella di San Pietro in Vincoli della Torre.
Entrambi, oggi, sono venerati anche dalla Chiesa anglicana.
(Vatican News)
Lo svegliano in cella: "Sono le 5. Alle 10 sarai decapitato". Risponde: "Bene, posso dormire ancora un paio d’ore". Questo è Giovanni Fisher, vescovo di Rochester, nella Torre di Londra, estate del 1535. Un maestro di coraggio elegante (come il suo amico Tommaso Moro, già Gran cancelliere del regno, anche lui nella Torre aspettando la scure). Figlio di un orefice, Giovanni è stato a Cambridge come studente e poi come promotore del suo sviluppo, aiutato da Margherita di Beaufort, nonna di Enrico VIII. Sacerdote nel 1491, nel 1514 lascia Cambridge perché nominato vescovo di Rochester, e si dedica solo alla diocesi. Ma la rivoluzione luterana, con i suoi riflessi inglesi, lo porta in prima fila tra i difensori della Chiesa di Roma, con i sermoni dottrinali e con i libri, tra cui il De veritate corporis et sanguinis Christi in Eucharistia, del 1522, ammirato in tutta Europa per la splendida forma latina. E fin qui egli si trova accanto a re Enrico, amante della cultura e “difensore della fede”.
Il conflitto scoppia con il divorzio del re da Caterina d’Aragona per sposare Anna Bolena. E si fa irreparabile con l’Atto di Supremazia del 1534, che impone sottomissione completa del clero alla corona. Giovanni Fisher dice no al divorzio e no alla sottomissione, dopo aver visto fallire una sua proposta conciliante: giurare fedeltà al re "fin dove lo consenta la legge di Cristo". Poi un’altra legge, l’Atto dei Tradimenti, è approvata da un Parlamento intimidito, che ha tentato invano di attenuarla: così, chi rifiuta i riconoscimenti e le sottomissioni, è traditore del re, e va messo a morte.
Nella primavera 1534 viene portato alla Torre di Londra Tommaso Moro, e poco dopo lo segue Giovanni Fisher. Sanno che cosa li aspetta. E il papa Paolo III immediatamente no mina Fisher cardinale, sperando così di salvarlo: e invece peggiora tutto. Re Enrico infatti dice: "Io farò in modo che non abbia più la testa per metterci sopra quel cappello". Come previsto, i processi per entrambi, distinti, finiscono con la condanna a morte. Ma loro due, da cella a cella e senza potersi vedere, vivono sereni l’antica amicizia e si scambiano lettere e doni: un mezzo dolce, dell’insalata verde, del vino francese, un piatto di gelatina... Sono regali di un loro amico italiano, Antonio Bonvini, commerciante in Londra e umanista.
Alle 10 del 22 giugno 1535, Giovanni Fisher va al patibolo. Per tre volte gli promettono la salvezza se accetta l’Atto di Supremazia. Lui risponde con tre affabili no, e muore sotto la scure. La sua testa viene esposta in pubblico all’ingresso del Ponte sul Tamigi. Quindici giorni dopo uno dei carnefici la butterà nel fiume, per fare posto alla testa di Tommaso Moro. Nel 1935, in Roma, papa Pio XI li proclamerà santi insieme. E sempre insieme li ricorda la Chiesa.
Autore: Domenico Agasso
SOURCE : http://www.santiebeati.it/dettaglio/27850
Roman
Catholic church of St John Fisher, Maidstone Road, Rochester, Kent, seen from
the southeast
John Fisher
(1469-1535)
Beatificazione:
- 29 dicembre 1886
- Papa Leone XIII
Canonizzazione:
- 19 maggio 1935
- Papa Pio XI
- Basilica Vaticana
Ricorrenza:
- 22 giugno
Vescovo di Rochester
e martire, che, essendosi opposto al re Enrico VIII nella controversia sul suo
divorzio e sul primato del Romano Pontefice, fu rinchiuso assieme a Thomas More
nella Torre di Londra in Inghilterra; uomo insigne per cultura e dignità di
vita, in questo giorno fu decapitato per ordine del re stesso davanti al
carcere. Dopo aver ribadito per tre volte il no alla sottomissione del clero al
re d’Inghilterra, muore da martire dopo essere stato in vita “l’uomo più colto
e il vescovo più santo”, come lo aveva definito Erasmo da Rotterdam, di cui era
grande amico
“Popolo cristiano, sono venuto qui a morire per la fede nella Santa Chiesa cattolica di Cristo”
John Fisher nasce a
Beverley il 19 ottobre 1469 in una famiglia ricca dello Yorkshire e
subito mostra di avere un’intelligenza fuori dal comune.
A 14 anni accede
all’università di Cambridge e si laurea in teologia. A 22 anni viene
eccezionalmente ordinato sacerdote e diventa il confessore personale e
cappellano presso la contessa Margherita Beaufort, la futura nonna di Enrico
VIII. Insieme fonderanno il Saint John’s e il Christ’s College, di cui diventa
vice cancelliere, imponendo lo studio del latino, del greco o dell’ebraico, le
lingue della Bibbia, per meglio familiarizzare con le Scritture. Grande
latinista, a 48 anni inizia a studiare anche greco e a 50 anni l’ebraico.
Nel 1504 viene consacrato
vescovo di Rochester, una delle diocesi più piccole e più povere del Paese,
dalla quale non vorrà più muoversi – pur avendone avute le possibilità – e che
chiamerà per sempre “la mia povera sposa”. Sostenuto dalla sua profonda
cultura, nel 1523 si lancia nella lotta alla Riforma luterana che si stava
espandendo anche in Inghilterra. Sono gli anni in cui è accanto al re nella
salvaguardia del primato della Chiesa di Roma e pubblica il De veritate
corporis et sanguinis Christi in Eucharistia, che gli varrà il soprannome di
“difensore della fede”.
Il rapporto con Enrico
VIII s’incrina quando questi divorzia da Caterina d’Aragona – di cui John è
confessore – per sposare Anna Bolena, ma il Papa non gli concede la dispensa.
Il re chiede allora l’aiuto del vescovo di Rochester, che però si rifiuta di
andare contro il Romano Pontefice. Il sovrano s’indispettisce e impone al
prelato di giurare fedeltà al re. La risposta di John è chiara: “Solo fin dove
lo consente la legge di Cristo”. È la rottura.
Nel 1534 Enrico VIII
prepara l’Atto di Supremazia che dovranno sottoscrivere e cui dovranno
sottomettersi tutti i vescovi: è, di fatto, la nascita della Chiesa Anglicana,
che non riconosce il Papa bensì il re come massima autorità religiosa. John non
ci sta e il 13 aprile viene arrestato imprigionato nella Torre di Londra. La
sede vescovile di Rochester viene dichiarata vacante.
Nel periodo della
prigionia e del processo in cui sarà condannato a morte, John ritrova in
carcere un amico di vecchia data: Tommaso Moro, un giurista laico anche lui
condannato alla pena capitale per non aver giurato obbedienza al re. Non sono
nella stessa cella, ma in quei giorni sono sostegno l’uno per l’altro, si
aiutano e si confortano, condividono il poco che hanno.
Intanto a Roma Papa Paolo
II decide di creare cardinale Giovanni nel disperato tentativo di salvarlo dal
martirio, ma Enrico VIII rifiuta di scarcerarlo per mandarlo a Roma. Arriva,
dunque, quel 22 giugno in cui Giovanni viene svegliato dalle guardie con
l’avviso che l’esecuzione è stata fissata per le 10 di quello stesso giorno.
Sul patibolo, prima di morire, per altre tre volte nega la sua fedeltà a Enrico
VIII.
Tommaso Moro lo seguirà
pochi giorni dopo: per questo la Chiesa cattolica fissa la memoria dei due
Santi allo stesso giorno.
Saranno beatificati tra i
54 martiri inglesi da Leone XIII e canonizzati da Pio XI; i loro resti riposano
nella cappella di San Pietro in Vincoli della Torre. Entrambi, oggi, sono
venerati anche dalla Chiesa anglicana.
SOURCE : https://www.causesanti.va/it/santi-e-beati/john-fisher.html
Voir aussi : Martyrs of England and Wales († 1535-1680) (I) - http://newsaints.faithweb.com/martyrs/England01.htm
