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The ‘amewsing’ story of Paston’s cat

The Last Supper by Domenico Ghirlandaio (c. 1486)

Religious chronicles are an art form, a savant mélange of erudition, rhetoric, and narrative-fashioning to guide readers towards the desired response, usually admiration, compassion, and the desire to emulate the chaste and saintly lives of the nuns depicted. To achieve those goals, some rely more or less heavily upon narratives of supernatural occurrences, such as miraculous cures, or raptures and visions; others prefer to emphasize the regularity, fortitude, and obedience of Sisters who humbly found their perfect fulfilment in a life of prayer, silence and service. Yet others choose to highlight the noble and exemplary lineage of the Religious, underlining the suffering of their ancestors, particularly during the Elizabethan persecution of Catholic families. Upon reading the Chronicles of the Benedictine nuns at Brussels, it becomes quite clear that the editor of this 19th-century volume was seeking to foreground the continuity of Catholic feeling in the families of the nuns who entered; many anecdotes recount the hardships endured by the nuns’ ancestors but one stands out as another amusing occurrence which was deemed (rightly or wrongly is not for me to tell) miraculous at the time. The episode of Paston’s cat, not unlike that of imprisoned Jane Wiseman and Topcliffe’s horse, involves the thwarting of persecutors through what we are given to understand was divine intervention, via the means of a domesticated animal.

In Elizabeth Paston’s notice, readers learn that her father, Edward Paston, Esq. of Thorpe Hall (Norfolk) used to house priests in one of the properties he owned. Close to a wood, and surrounded by its own moat, this dwelling was ideal to harbour missionaries with all the discretion necessary. It was staffed by a servant, and some (unknown) members of his family, although Edward Paston himself did not share the priest’s dwelling, probably to avoid the sanctions he would have incurred were he to be found in the house with a priest in the event of a raid. Having been informed that a priest lived there, a group of pursuivants surrounded the house and demanded to be admitted. The servant met them at the gate, then went to call her master who, using well-know delaying tactics, refused to let the officers enter unless they could show him their commission. During that time, all trace of Catholic activity was duly hidden: books, Mass equipment, sacramentals, and the priest himself were secreted away into their hiding place in a wall. Disgruntled at their failure to find anything, the officers called for a large blood hound, which immediately located the hiding place and started to sniff intently at the precise section of the wall. Things apparently went very quickly, the dog’s flair was remarkable and all looked lost for both the priest and his harbourers.

Detail from Portrait of Cleophea Krieg von Bellikon by Hans Asper (1538

But God had other plans, as the Chronicles indicate, since at that precise moment and before the pursuivants could notice the dog’s excitement, ‘out came the cat of the house’, and immediately started a rather violent fight with the massive hound; undeterred by the bulk of its opponent, this fiery feline fell upon it time and time again, spitting and scratching, creating havoc. Faced with such a scene, the officers struggled to recall their incensed dog; feeling they had wasted their time, they decided to leave the premises.  And thus was a humble mouser the instrument of God’s divine Providence, and the vector of a holy miracle, through which the life of a priest was spared to toil on the mission another day, and the freedom of the members of the household saved from imprisonment. The story does not say if the cat was given a treat for its valiant efforts.

From Anon.,Chronicles of the First Monastery Founded at Brussels for English Benedictine Nuns A.D. 1597 (Saint Mary’s Abbey, Bergholt, 1898), pp. 92-93.


OpenEdition suggests that you cite this post as follows:
Laurence Lux-Sterritt (August 20, 2024). The ‘amewsing’ story of Paston’s cat. Early Modern English Nuns in Exile. Retrieved February 12, 2025 from https://doi.org/10.58079/126mv