POLYERI, GUNPOWDER PLOT. — A conspiracy to blow up, on 5 Nov. 1605, the English Parliament and, with its members, King James I. The motive was the long and intolerable persecutions suffered by Catholics since Henry VIII, which had resumed under James I despite his promise, upon ascending the throne, to put an end to them.
Among the conspirators were several English nobles led by Robert Catesby, initially joined by John Wright and Robert Winter, later by Guy Fawkes, Thomas Winter, Francis Tresham, Thomas Percy, Everard Digby, Ambrose Rookwood, Robert Keyes, and John Grant. On 11 Dec. 1604, after renting a house near the Palace of Westminster, they began digging a tunnel toward a main wall of Parliament, piercing it halfway; then, abandoning this work to exploit a cellar directly beneath a parliamentary chamber, they smuggled in 36 barrels of gunpowder, concealing them under a pile of wood and coal. Once the deed was done, the conspirators dispersed, awaiting the opening of Parliament, which was postponed until 5 Nov. 1605.
On 28 Oct., Lord Monteagle was warned by one of the plotters, Francis Tresham (his relative), not to attend Parliament on 5 Nov. to avoid serious danger. Tresham likely sought thereby to spare himself conviction and buy time for the conspirators to escape. The government, informed of the warning, took no action and did not order a search until 4 Nov. In the night of 4–5 Nov., Fawkes was arrested near the cellar with a fuse in his pocket; his accomplices fled to Holbeche, where they were pursued and, on 8 Nov., Catesby, Percy, and Wright were killed in a skirmish. The rest were captured, brought to London, tried, and executed—some on 30 Jan., others on 31 Jan. 1606.
The first official news of the discovered plot did not appear until 7 Nov., in a report by Robert Cecil, later revised and expanded and reissued two days later under the title *A True and Perfect Relation of the Whole Proceedings against the late and Barbarous Traitors*. This account, augmented by the king’s speech to Parliament, testimony from the conspirators, and further alterations, appeared in a third edition the following March as *The King’s Book*. The government’s “true and perfect relation,” however, contains glaring contradictions and falsehoods; even learned Protestants beyond suspicion (cf. *Encyclopaedia Britannica*, 11th ed., vol. 12, 1910, p. 729) have noted its implausibilities (e.g., the transport of excavated material and 36 barrels of gunpowder without detection; the absence of any trace of the mine driven underground, etc.). It is now widely held that the government had long been aware of the plot and deliberately allowed it to proceed, so that its discovery would be more dramatic and its exploitation more effective for its persecutory aims. The report, with its tendentiousness, skillful falsification of details and signatures, arbitrary additions and alterations, ultimately sought to implicate the Papacy, described as “mysterium iniquitatis” and its “cursed doctrines.” Rome and its priests were portrayed as instigators of the plot; according to the indictment of 26 Jan. 1606, three Jesuits—Henry Garnet (provincial), Oswald Greenway, and John Gerard—were named as accomplices. Their names had surfaced only during the trial of Thomas Bates, who offered no evidence resembling an accusation; yet the government thereafter insisted that priests and the Pope had long been involved.
Arrest warrants for the three Jesuits were issued on 15 Jan. 1606, but only Garnet was captured on 30 Jan.; the other two had fled to the Continent. The charges against them are historically baseless. Gerard had merely celebrated Mass and given communion to the conspirators, who, in another room, had sworn secrecy among themselves; Greenway had learned of the plotters’ intentions from Catesby during confession, consulted Garnet with the penitent’s permission, but always under the seal of the sacrament. Garnet, deeply troubled by the Catholics’ mounting impatience, had repeatedly warned Rome and sought clarification; he strove to prevent rebellion and procured from Rome a letter to himself and the archpriest Blackwell urging every means to dissuade Catholics from revolt. Catesby, informed of this, initially objected, remarking that had the Pope known the true state of affairs he would have spoken differently; he eventually agreed not to act until the Pope, informed by a trusted messenger, could decide how best to end the persecution. The messenger, a certain Oswald Baiamano, delayed, and matters came to a head. The only reproach that can be made against Garnet is that, despite Catesby’s assurances, he might—and should—have warned the government in general terms of the danger of violent action, based on what he and others knew outside the sacramental seal. Indeed, only days before his execution—he was hanged for high treason at Tyburn on 3 May 1606—Garnet realized he should have acted more decisively and wrote to the king asking forgiveness for this single failing.
Yet the government’s narrative disregarded truth in its zeal to oppress Catholics and suppress the Roman Church; persecution grew fiercer and legislation more draconian, swelling the ranks of the martyrs.
In sum, the essential features of the “true relation” contain some truth (cf. O. Pfülf, *Die Controverse über die Pulververschwörung*, in *Stimmen aus Maria Laach*, 56 [1899], pp. 41–57, 142–57, 286–99): there was indeed a Catholic intention to blow up Parliament, and an attempt was made to carry it out. How far the conspirators progressed, however, may remain forever a mystery.