If you have been around here for a while, you know that my reading habits are unpredictable and random. Grazing might be a good word to describe it.
So the other day, I was grazing at the Gutenberg Canada site – up in arms at the moment because of copyright extensions, it seems – and I ran across this mid-19th century travel account called Sand and Canvas; A Narrative of Adventures in Egypt, with a Sojourn Among the Artists in Rome.
Now, I love a good vintage travel account, so I thought I would take a look. One of the aspects I always dig into in these kinds of books is what the writer says about Catholic Things. I find that reading what contemporary travelers say about their encounters with Catholic popular traditions, liturgies, figures and cultures is illuminating, more helpful in regard to helping me understand Catholics of the past than many academic historical studies.
This author only mentions Catholic Things once, but it’s fascinating. He has landed in Malta, and, as are all the other travelers, is required to quarantine for time before entering the country. The place of quarantine in the harbor there – as well as around the world at the time, was called a lazaretto. There’s one, for example, outside of Philadelphia, built to protect the city from yellow fever.
Here’s what he sees on Sunday:
On the Sabbath we attended Divine service in the church attached to the Fort, two clergymen of our party officiating alternately, but for our Catholic attendants there was no place of worship, from the fact, I suppose, that no priest could be found sufficiently zealous to devote himself to a perpetual quarantine. Morning mass, however, was not to be neglected, and our good Catholics resorted to the only means within their reach to secure its enjoyment. Rising one day somewhat earlier than usual, I was surprised to observe a number of persons kneeling on the stones at the end of the open corridor, extending along the front of the building we occupied.
As they simultaneously made the sign of the cross, and appeared all to direct their attention to one particular object, I soon discovered that their altar and officiating priest were at least a good half-mile off on the opposite shore. Waiting until the ceremony was over, I fetched my glass, and could then remark a small chapel in the side of the rock, wherein the service had been conducted, and from which the priest and a little crowd of devotees were now departing. This was, indeed, silent worship, yet doubtless as acceptable as though it had been offered in a gorgeous temple, and accompanied with all the pomp and ceremony of the most elaborate Catholic mass.
After I did my text search for “Catholic” and found this, I popped back and started reading from the beginning – and…I’m hooked. It is absolutely delightful – this Englishman has lost his job in London, answers an advertisement “for service in a foreign country, a gentleman of business-habits and good address,” with no idea, even after he’s been hired, what he’s supposed to do – and we’re off.
More:
Thanks to a Facebook commentor for sharing this:
John Henry Newman – then an Anglican – was quarantined at the lazaretto at Malta over Christmas 1832. Writing to his sister Harriett he bemoaned the fact that he could not assist at worship that day and how he felt shamed by the example of a Catholic who participated in the Mass at as distance from his place in quarantine:
“I do think, that deprived of the comfort and order of an Established Church, it is one’s duty almost as Paul and Silas to sing praises in prison, so that others may hear. But all such cases, as befal one, are cases of degree — and St Paul was absolute and unlimited in his ministerial authority. This morning we saw a poor fellow in the Lazaretto close to us, cut off from the ordinances of his Church, saying his prayers towards the house of God which lay in his sight over the water — and it is a confusion of face indeed that the humble Romanist testified to his Savior in a way in which I, a minister, do not — yet I do what I can, and shall try to do more — for I am very spiteful.” JHN to Harriett 25 Dec 1832.
Charlotte was Both 