A Day in the Castelli

This time last week I was in the Castelli, the little towns in the Alban Hills just outside Rome. After a sublime lunch at Monte Porzio (where the English College had a villa up until 1918 - above you can see a view looking down to Rome), I popped into Frascati. The exterior of the Cathedral (below) had been restored since my last visit:

Respects were paid at the site of the original tomb of 'Bonne Prince Charlie' - his young brother, the Cardinal Duke of York, was of course bishop of Frascati between 1761 and 1803. Although the body of 'Charles III' was moved to St Peter's in 1807, his praecordia is still near this monument :

There was also an amazing crib, based on a Piranesi print of the Porto di Ripetta on the Tiber, featuring the Croatian church (San Girolamo degli Schiavoni) and to its right the little chapel of San Gregorio dei Muratori (up until recently the HQ of the Fraternity of St Peter in Rome). This view can no longer be seen due to subsequent town-planning. The actual Nativity Scene was tucked away in the corner, in true Roman style:


It was good to see Cardinal Henry Stuart remembered in a special exhibition at the Scuderie Aldobrandini per l'Arte, rather unimaginatively called La Biblioteca del Cardinale (though the Cardinal's library was only part of the exhibition's focus). It's on until 15 February, in case you're passing through Rome. There were many familiar portraits, many of which I had only seen as illustrations in books, and I was particularly pleased to buy a large, well-illustrated catalogue (anyone interested in the 'Cardinal King' should get a copy).
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Before leaving Frascati, I popped over to Cardinal Stuart's former residence of La Rocca. It was here that the last of the Stuarts died on 13 July 1807:

The Royal Penitent

On Monday I led some prayers on Trafalgar Square for the repose of the soul of our last Catholic king, James II. This happens every year, around the time of the King's birthday (14 October), and is organised by the Royal Stuart Society. At the end of the service a wreath was laid on the splendid statue outside the National Gallery by the Society's Chairman, Lord Aylmer.

I chose as my theme the final years of the exiled King's life. By the time of his death in 1701, James had gained a reputation for sanctity and the cause for his beatification was even launched. He had kept an almost monastic daily routine of morning prayer, meditation, two Masses, vespers and rosary. He also received Holy Communion twice a week (which was, at the time, very unusual), made a monthly day of recollection, said prayers for the Conversion of England every third Wednesday and undertook bodily penances. He was a living example of the teachings of St Francis de Sales, whose works he read every day and who taught that the pursuit of holiness was possible amidst the distractions and trials of the world.

The King came under a number of spiritual influences during his second period of exile. He had a Jesuit confessor and read many books of piety written by members of the Society – making it rather appropriate that he was mistaken as a Jesuit priest when he was captured at Faversham. He had a great affection for the English Benedictines in Paris, at whose church his mortal remains were eventually buried. He also visited with his wife the Visitation Convent at Chaillot, where his mother’s heart was enshrined. Mary of Modena was a frequent guest at this house and made her annual retreats there; James, on the other hand, from 1690 onwards made his retreats at the reformed Cistercian Abbey of La Trappe. He enjoyed a close relationship with the influential Abbot which, according to the historian John Callow, was ‘possibly the only lasting and entirely satisfying attachment that James made outside his family circle during his last exile.’ James admitted that it took his first visit to the austere monastery ‘to give me knowledge of myself and make me despise all that seems great in the world.’ The Abbot, likewise, was impressed by the King’s ‘tranquillity and evenness of mind’ and ‘his disengagement from worldly things and a resignation to the will of God.’

In his exile, James learnt to trust in the plan that God had for him, even though to human eyes it often seemed harsh and confusing. In his view, the loss of his Kingdom would allow him to save his soul. He came to see his own sufferings as expiation for past sins and in particular regretted his relationships with various mistresses: Lady Denham, the Countess of Dorchester, Arabella Churchill and Goditha Price. Perhaps he saw further reparation for these sins when, in 1690, his daughter by Arabella Churchill was professed as Dame Ignatia at the English Benedictine convent at Pontoise – a ceremony at which Mary of Modena was present.

Though he continued to promote his cause, the King was humble enough to walk the way of Calvary. Indeed, he had a great devotion to the cross – it was, after all, on the Feast of the Finding of the Cross that he had been crowned at Westminster Abbey; it was on Good Friday 1701 that he suffered the beginning of his final illness, and it was on a Friday at three in the afternoon – the very hour of the Lord’s death – that James passed away.

Yesterday's Pontifical Requiem

Vernon Quaintance has posted a magnificent gallery of pictures from yesterday's Pontifical Requiem ('extraordinary form' of the Roman Rite), celebrated by one of the Westminster Auxiliaries, Bishop Bernard Longley. Here's a small selection (all copyright Vernon):

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Panegyric for the Cardinal Duke of York

A few people asked me to post the text of the panegyric for the Cardinal Duke of York from yesterday's Pontifical Requiem. Pictures are copyright of Vernon Quaintance:

We come together this afternoon to commemorate one of the most intriguing figures in our history, the Cardinal Duke of York, and to pray for the repose of his soul according to the traditional rites of the Church.

It might seem at first rather strange that this Requiem is being held in London, for the Cardinal Duke spent almost all his life in the Papal States. Indeed, the closest he got to setting foot on British territory was his evacuation to Sicily in 1798 aboard Nelson’s flagship, HMS Vanguard. In this country he is largely forgotten; but his memory is still kept alive in and around the Eternal City. His monument stands proudly at the back of St Peter’s Basilica. His coat of arms can be found in Santa Maria in Trastevere and elsewhere. The prayers for the Conversion of England which he and his father introduced to the church of Santa Maria in Campitelli, were still in use until recently. Throughout the Castelli region, just outside Rome, there are numerous plaques in churches and on streets witnessing to his patronage – a church he dedicated here, a school or orphanage he opened there.

And yet, despite his apparent foreignness, the Cardinal clearly belongs to our nation’s story, as grandson of James II and, for nearly twenty years, the senior member of the Royal House of Stuart, known to his supporters as King Henry IX. If he had emerged victorious from the Venetian Conclave of 1800 – and as a senior cardinal he was considered in some quarters to be papabile – then he could have uniquely claimed to be Supreme Pontiff and King of Great Britain.

One of the most impressive aspects of Henry’s character was his dedication as Cardinal Bishop of Frascati for over forty years. He lived a lifestyle according to his high rank, as he was expected to, with an especial fondness for music, feasting and fast horses, but this clearly did not distract him from his Episcopal duties. He re-founded the Frascati seminary, established a magnificent library, organised two diocesan synods and became known as the ‘Protector of the Poor’. The only work of his to be published in English, thanks to the Catholic Truth Society many years after his death, was a pamphlet entitled The Sins of the Drunkard.

When Nicholas Wiseman, the future Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster, was a student in Rome shortly after the fall of Napoleon, he found many fond memories in Frascati of the Cardinal King. He later wrote:

Of that prettily-situated city, successor of Tusculum, from which the bishop yet derives his title, the Cardinal is still considered the great benefactor. Whatever else may have been wanting for his title, to a royal heart he was no pretender. His charities were without bounds; poverty and distress were unknown in his see…The diocese of Frascati was full, when the author first knew it, of recollections of that Cardinal Duke, all demonstrative of his singular goodness and simplicity of character.

During this Bicentenary Year of his death, we especially remember the ‘simplicity of character’ that marked his final years. He celebrated his own accession after his brother’s death in 1788 by striking medals with the famous words ‘not accepted by men but chosen by the will of God’. He continued the royal custom of touching for the ‘King’s Evil’ and was addressed as ‘Majesty’ by his household. And yet he promoted his claims with discretion and a touch of realism. His biographer, Herbert Vaughan (not to be confused with the Cardinal of the same name) suggested that ‘in his own eyes he became, after his brother’s death, King of Britain in Rome, and no further recognition did he desire or demand’, being content to pray for the Conversion of England and ‘place himself and his cause in the hands of the Almighty to deal with as He thought fit’. Not accepted by men but chosen by - and obedient to - the will of God, whatever that might involve.

Already at his accession, the storm-clouds of revolution loomed. During the wars of the 1790s the Cardinal lost most of his revenues and was forced to flee his beloved Frascati. It was at this moment that he received an annual pension from his third cousin twice removed, King George III – a sign of the cooling of old resentments in the face of a new radicalism. The venerable Cardinal was seen no longer as a threat but rather an object of compassion and a symbol, perhaps, of a nobler era. Despite the close proximity of the Napoloeonic Wars, the Cardinal’s final years were relatively peaceful. The new Pope had returned to Rome and the Cardinal Duke was now Dean of the Sacred College and, therefore, Bishop of Ostia and Velletri. However, he was allowed to continue residing at Frascati, enjoying the companionship of his loyal supporters and even a King Charles Spaniel, who had attached itself to the Cardinal at St Peter’s – a sure sign, in the old man’s eyes, of the dignity of his Stuart blood. The venerable Cardinal finally died on 13 July 1807, the forty-sixth anniversary of his translation as bishop to Frascati, and his royal claims were passed on to his second cousin, Charles Emmanuel of Savoy – another religious man, who ended his days in a Jesuit novitiate in Rome.

So, we pray today for the repose of the soul of the Cardinal Duke of York – not merely a historical might-have-been but a conscientious pastor and, in the words of the somewhat florid homilist at his original Requiem, the ‘last and sublimest glory of the House of Stuart’. We remember also the other members of his family – in particular his father, brother and saintly mother, all of whom are buried in St Peter’s, waiting for the last trumpet to sound. Through the offering of the Sacrifice of the Mass and the Prayers of Absolution which we are about to say, we ask the Lord of consolation that, though the last Stuarts did not inherit their Kingdom in this world, they will receive the crown of the blessed in the Kingdom of Heaven – a Kingdom to which we all aspire and to which we are true heirs.

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Requiem for the Cardinal Duke of York

This year is the bicentenary of the death of the Cardinal Duke of York - the grandson of James II and brother of 'Bonnie Prince Charlie'. A Solemn Requiem was celebrated this afternoon by Bishop Bernard Longley at the Conventual Church of the Soveriegn Military Order of Malta, which is hidden away in London's SS John and Elizabeth Hospital. As you can see from the pictures, the church was superbly decorated and the catafalque had a cappa magna and precious mitre (lent by various prominent London churches), ducal robes, decorations and even a very fine galero, expertly made for the occasion by one of the priests who sat in choir.

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It was a historic occasion - a solemn commemoration of the 'Cardinal King', one of the most intriguing and yet forgotten figures in our history, and also the first Pontifical Mass in the extraordinary form of the Roman Rite in this country since the motu proprio, Summorum Pontificum. The Mass was organised on behalf of the Royal Stuart Society (of which I am Honorary RC Chaplain) and with the permission of the Order of Malta.


I acted as subdeacon and also preached the panegyric before the Final Absolutions. A reception followed in the Order of Malta's Chancery, next to the Hospital, where we enjoyed Kir Royale in the September sunshine. I even met a former blogger (Hilary White of The Devout Life). A good time was had by all - I think the Cardinal Duke would have approved.

Rebellious English Seminarians

I'm afraid this is not an exclusive story concerning our modern seminaries but rather the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when many of the English Colleges (all of which were 'in exile' overseas) were supporters of the Jacobite cause.

Hopefully I'll be able to tell you a bit more later because tonight I'm attending a lecture at the parish hall of the Farm Street Jesuit church, organised by the Royal Stuart Society. It's being given by Dr Jonathan Oates (hopefully not a relation of Titus) and is entitled: 'A school for sedition? Jacobitism and the English Colleges.' It begins at 7pm and is preceded by a glass of wine.

UPDATE
Well, it was an interesting lecture - but I misunderstood the title. Catholic historians often speak of the 'English Colleges,' like those at Douai, Rome and Valladolid, and so I assumed that this talk was about these seminaries overseas. I know for a fact that the English College, Rome, was notorious as a centre of Jacobitism.

But it just shows that we tend to live in a 'Catholic bubble': the talk was about English colleges, yes, but English universities and schools. It was interesting enough - the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, Winchester College and Westminster School were all centres of Jacobite support. Indeed, in 1715 only the wardens of the Oxford Colleges of Jesus, Wadham and Merton were known to be Whig and therefore anti-Jacobite. There were various Jacobite clubs, though these eventually became little more than drinking clubs. Such are the enthusiasms of youth!

A fellow blogger was there, the author of Emitte lucem tuam, so we had a quick glass of organic ale (Whistable Bay) in a local hostelry before going our separate ways.