I’m afraid I’ve made a big mistake.
I started reading about Elizabeth Barton under the vague impression
that she was one of the Forty Martyrs of England and Wales, and the
more definite impression that at minimum she had been beatified
before the 1970 canonization of the Forty. I find that the first
impression is definitely wrong, and can find no evidence of her
beatification other than an icon which refers to her that way.
Moreover, it is not even entirely agreed upon even by Catholic
sources that she was not a fraud. However, I had promised Janet a
post for this week, and it’s too late for me to research anyone
else. So I’m proceeding with more or less what I had intended to
say, which is fundamentally not dependent on Barton’s status as
Saint or Blessed.
When I hear someone congratulating
himself for “speaking truth to power,” I figure the chances are
pretty good that what he has in fact done is to speak his purported
truth to someone who has no ability or will whatsoever to do him any
harm. And usually that he expects to be congratulated by other
powerful people who agree with him, so that on balance he has gained
something without taking any risk, though he may have to put up with
some abuse from people whose opinion doesn’t matter to him anyway.
It was not so for Elizabeth Barton,
otherwise known by titles including “The Maid of Kent,” “The
Holy Maid of Kent,” and even “The Mad Maid of Kent,” or many
other Catholics in 16th century England. I was just
looking over my contributions to this series and I see that with this
one three of six will have been of that period. It interests me
greatly in part because of my ancestral and cultural connection with
Great Britain, and in part because our time has something in common
with theirs. Not that we are at anything like the same risk from our
government that, for instance, St. Thomas More was from his: it is an
imprudent exaggeration to say that we are being persecuted.
Nevertheless, the trend now has a similar shape, in that
Christians—not only Catholics now—who only recently constituted
the mainstream of society are finding themselves rather abruptly and
startlingly cast in the role of outsider, subversive, and possibly
traitor. And this has happened without any change on the part of the
Christians, but rather in the world around them.
Some of the facts in the case of
Elizabeth Barton are disputed, and, as will be noted shortly, perhaps
deliberately suppressed. This much is clear:
Elizabeth Barton was born in 1506 and
was a domestic servant in the household of a farmer near Aldington,
which is near Canterbury. In 1525, when she was nineteen years old,
she began to have a series of visions and to utter prophecies. She
attracted a great deal of attention. Apparently at least one of her
prophecies, having to do with the impending death of a child, was
more or less accurate, so that of course gave her credibility. She
claimed many revelations, including accounts of visions of heaven and
hell and even visits there, and these involved some claims which are
certainly suspicious to put it mildly: for instance, a handkerchief
which she claimed had been spat upon by the devil.
The religious authorities naturally
wanted to figure out what was going on, so a group of clergy under
the leadership of the Archbishop (of Canterbury), William Warham,
investigated her. They found nothing heretical in her utterances. Her
following grew, and Warham arranged for her to be admitted to the
Benedictine convent of St. Sepulchre.
Prominent people, including Catholics
like More and Fisher, took an interest in her. In 1528 she had an
audience with Cardinal Wolsey, and soon thereafter with the King
himself. At that point she was no threat to them. But as the matter
of the King’s wish to have his marriage to Catherine of Aragorn
annulled so that he could marry Anne Boleyn came to a head,
Elizabeth, instead of flattering Henry as she might have, vigorously
denounced him—to his face, according to some accounts—asserting
that he would “die a villain’s death” if he persisted in
marrying Boleyn.
Henry, obviously, was not going to let
this stand. But it was not yet legally an act of treason to prophesy
a bad future about the king, so Henry had no law at hand which would
justify moving against her, and Archbishop Warham was well-disposed
toward her. The marriage of course proceeded in 1532, and Henry did
not die immediately as Barton had said he would. And when Archbishop
Warham died in the same year he was succeeded by Cranmer, who was
much more eager to do the King’s bidding.
Barton refused to be silent (despite
having been urged to do so by no less than Thomas More). In 1533 she
was arrested. What happened during her interrogation by Cranmer and
others is not known, although they said she was not subjected to
torture. In any case a confession in which she admitted to having
been a fraud all along was soon forthcoming. And on the basis of it,
she and five supporters who were said to be complicit in her fraud ,
including her parish priest and a monk who had been her spiritual
adviser in the convent, were condemned to death, not by a trial, but
by a “bill of attainder,” a legislative decree of capital
punishment, and a term which Americans of a certain age may recognize
as being prohibited by the Constitution, for very good reason. On
April 20th, 1534, the five were executed. Barton was
merely hanged. The others, all men, were butchered in the horrendous
manner suffered by many other martyrs in this period.
If her confession was voluntary, was it
made in the hope of obtaining clemency? And if it wasn’t for that
reason, and she knew that she was going to die either way, why would
she have confessed? If she was dishonest enough to have made up her
revelations all along, why abjure them and go to death disgraced,
unless by coercion? I suppose it might have been fear of hell
suddenly catching up with her. But then if she had been all along the
mere liar and opportunist which Cranmer said she was, why would she
have not given up her attacks on the King long before, when it was
obvious that they would eventually lead to her death? It would have
been simple enough to have another revelation in which God forgave
Henry.
There seems reasonable ground to
suspect that the confession was coerced. As the 1911
Catholic Encyclopedia summarizes:
Protestant authors
allege that these confessions alone are conclusive of her imposture,
but Catholic writers, though they have felt free to hold divergent
opinions about the nun, have pointed out the suggestive fact that all
that is known as to these confessions emanates from Cromwell or his
agents; that all available documents are on his side; that the
confession issued as hers is on the face of it not her own
composition; that she and her companions were never brought to trial,
but were condemned and executed unheard; that there is contemporary
evidence that the alleged confession was even then believed to be a
forgery. For these reasons, the matter cannot be considered as
settled, and unfortunately, the difficulty of arriving at any
satisfactory and final decision now seems insuperable.
Perhaps she was honest, and a genuine
martyr. Perhaps she was something of a lunatic and no consistency in
her statements and actions can be expected. Or perhaps she was the
out-and-out deliberate liar that Cromwell said she was. Unless some
new and indisputable evidence is discovered, the world will never
know.
We tend to think that the truth will
eventually win out, historically speaking: that, for instance, a More
or a Fisher will in time be recognized as having been in the right,
and his accusers disgraced. But that isn’t necessarily true. As
with the conviction of innocent persons in criminal trials, we only
know about the cases in which the truth was eventually discovered,
but there is no reason to think there aren’t others in which it was
not. It would be terrible to go to one’s death tainted by the guilt
for some atrocious crime which one had in fact not committed. And of
course even the judgments of “history,” which is to say
historians, are changeable. I noticed in reading about Elizabeth
Barton that she plays a role in Hilary Mantel’s novel Wolf Hall,
which everyone seems to agree is very anti-Catholic. Mantel and one
of her admirers, the late Christopher Hitchens, have put some effort
into revising the favorable picture of Thomas More left with the
public by Robert Bolt’s A Man for All Seasons,
and I imagine they have found a receptive audience. A few months ago
I read reviews of a book by an historian claiming to show that the
persecution of the early Church by the Roman empire is essentially a
Christian myth. It would not surprise me, given the direction of our
culture, if in a century or two that were the generally accepted
truth.
This
is worth considering in an age where many people in power seem
to have no regard at all for truth. One facing a penalty for speaking
the truth is greatly encouraged and strengthened if he believes that
others know what he is doing, or will learn of it later. And
sometimes it happens that way. But it can’t be counted on. One who
is about to speak the actual truth to actual power can’t count on
any sort of vindication in this world, and must be prepared not only
to face trouble in this life but to be permanently and irrevocably
slandered and disgraced. So perhaps the Maid of Kent, holy or mad,
can serve, if not as a patron, as an example for those who suffer for
doing the right thing but whose courage and sacrifice are never
recognized.
The fullest accounts of Elizabeth
Barton’s life that I found in my not very exhaustive search can be
read here
and here.
Both are blogs, and I can’t vouch for their accuracy, but they
don’t contradict any other sources I found.
If you want to see all of the posts in this series, click HERE.
Maclin Horton is the proprietor of his own blog Light on Dark Water from which sprang this series. You might want to check out the current series there, 52 Movies or last year's 52 Authors. In this series he has written about St Henrik, St. John Fisher, St Ansgar, St. Mary of Egypt and St. John Kemble.
I appreciate the integrity of this account. Our Lord was despised as a lying criminal. I am one who needs to be held to a standard of honesty.
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