CHAPTER I.

HISTORY

OF THE

REFORMATION IN EUROPE

IN THE TIME OF CALVIN.

BY

J. H. MERLE D’AUBIGNE, D.D.

TRANSLATED BY

WILLIAM L. B. CATES,

JOINT AUTHOR OF WOODWARD AND CATES’S ‘ENCYCLOPÆDIA OF CHRONOLOGY,’

EDITOR OF ‘THE DICTIONARY OF GENERAL BIOGRAPHY,’ ETC.

‘Les choses de petite durée ont coutume de devenir fanées, quand

elles ont passé leur temps.

‘Au règne de Christ, il n’y a que le nouvel homme qui soit

florissant, qui ait de la vigueur, et dont il faille faire cas.’

CALVIN.

VOL. VI.

SCOTLAND, SWITZERLAND, GENEVA.

NEW YORK:

ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS,

530 BROADWAY

1877.

PREFACE.

The author of the _History of the Reformation in the Sixteenth Century_

died at Geneva, 21 October, 1872, when only a few chapters remained to

be written to complete his great work. Feeling, as he often said, that

_time was short for him now_ (he was not far from his eightieth year),

and stimulated by the near prospect of the end towards which he had

been incessantly straining for fifty years, he worked on with redoubled

ardor. ‘I count the minutes,’ he used to say; and he allowed himself no

rest. Unhappily the last minutes were refused him, and the work was not

finished. But only a small portion is wanting; and the manuscripts of

which the publication is continued in the present volume will bring the

narration almost to its close.

Ten volumes have appeared. It was the author’s intention to comprise

the remainder of his history in two additional volumes. He had sketched

his programme on a sheet of paper as follows:--

‘WITH GOD’S HELP.

‘Order of subjects, saving diminution or enlargement,

according to the extent of each.

‘Vol. XI. to the death of Luther.

‘Scotland down to 1546.

‘Denmark.

‘Sweden.

‘Bohemia and Moravia.

‘Poland.

‘Hungary.

‘Geneva, Switzerland, and Calvin.

‘Germany, to death of Luther, 1546.

‘Vol. XII. to the death of Calvin.

‘Netherlands, 1566.

‘Spain.

‘Italy.

‘Scotland down to 1560.

‘England, to the Articles of 1552.

‘Germany, 1556.

‘France, 1559.

‘Calvin and his work in Geneva and in Christendom to his death,

1564.

The numerous manuscripts left by M. MERLE D’AUBIGNÉ include

all the articles set out in the programme as intended to form Vol. XI.

(VI. of the second series), and three of the articles destined for Vol.

XII., the first two and the fifth.

The work will undoubtedly present important gaps. Nevertheless, the

great period, the period of origination, will have been described

almost completely. But there is one chapter which it is very much to be

regretted that he has not written. That is the last, relating to the

work and the influence of Calvin in Christendom. The man who for fifty

years had lived in close intercourse with Calvin, who had made his

writings, his works, and his person the objects of his continual study,

and had become impregnated with his spirit more, perhaps, than any one

in our age; the man who was the first to hold in his hand, to read

without intermission, and to analyze almost all the innumerable pieces

that proceeded from the pen of the reformer, would have been able to

trace for us with unrivalled authority the grand figure of his hero,

and to describe the immense influence which he had on the sixteenth

century, in distant regions as well as in his immediate circle. The

absence of this concluding chapter, which the author had projected

and which he long meditated but still delayed to write, remains an

irreparable loss.

The editors (M. le pasteur ADOLPHE DUCHEMIN, son-in-law of the

eminent historian, and M. E. BINDER, Professor of _Exegesis_

at the Theological College of Geneva, colleague and friend of M.

Merle d’Aubigné) have confined themselves to verifying the numerous

quotations scattered through the text, to testing the accuracy of

the references given in the notes, and to curtailing here and there

developments which the author would assuredly have removed if he had

edited the work himself. As the matters proposed to form Vol. XI. are

sufficient to form two volumes and even to commence a third, it has

been necessary to alter the arrangement indicated above.

The division of the narrative into chapters, and the titles given to

the chapters, are for the most part the work of the editors.

Two other volumes are to follow the one now presented to the public.

GENEVA _April, 1875_.

CONTENTS

OF

THE SIXTH VOLUME.

PAGE

INTRODUCTION v

BOOK X.

THE REFORMATION IN SCOTLAND.

CHAPTER I.

PREPARATION OF REFORM.

(FROM THE SECOND CENTURY TO THE YEAR 1522.)

Religion the Key to History--The same Life everywhere produced by

the Divine Spirit--Three successive Impulses: the Culdees,

Wickliffe, John Huss--Struggle between Royalty and the

Nobility--John Campbell, Laird of Cessnock--Charged with

Heresy--Acquitted by the King--Battle of Flodden--Death of

James IV.--Episcopal Election in Scotland--Alesius--Patrick

Hamilton--John Knox--Troubles during the Minority of the

King--Young Hamilton at the University of Paris--Becomes acquainted

with the Lutheran Reformation 1

CHAPTER II.

BEGINNING OF THE MOVEMENT OF REFORM.

(1522 TO APRIL 1527.)

John Mayor Professor at Glasgow--Patrick Hamilton at University of

St. Andrews--Luther’s Writings introduced into

Scotland--Prohibited by the Parliament--Character of the young

King--James V. declared of Age--Sides with the

Priests--The Clerical Party overcome--Tyndale’s New Testament

circulated--Evangelical Doctrines preached by Patrick

Hamilton--Renewed Influence of Archbishop Beatoun--Hamilton

declared a Heretic--Cited before the Archbishop--Escapes to the

Continent 18

CHAPTER III.

DEDICATION OF HAMILTON IN GERMANY TO THE REFORMATION

OF SCOTLAND.

(SPRING, SUMMER, AND AUTUMN, 1527.)

Hamilton at Marburg--His Introduction to Lambert

d’Avignon--University of Marburg--Science and Faith--Hamilton’s

Study of the Scriptures--Reason for his not visiting

Wittenberg--Luther’s Illness--The Plague at Wittenberg--Hamilton’s

Disputation at Marburg--His Theses--The Attack and the

Defence--Hamilton’s new Theses--The pith of Theology in

them--Hamilton’s Return to Scotland 30

CHAPTER IV.

EVANGELIZATION, TRIBULATIONS AND SUCCESS OF HAMILTON IN

SCOTLAND.

(END OF 1527 TO END OF FEBRUARY 1528.)

The New Testament proscribed--Hamilton’s Zeal--Reception of the

Gospel by his Kinsfolk--His Preaching near Kincavil--Eagerness

of Crowds to hear him--His Marriage--Plot of the Priests against

his Life--Summoned to St. Andrews by the Archbishop--His increased

Zeal--Snares laid for him by the Priests--His Disputation with

Alesius--Conversion of Alesius to the Truth--Hamilton betrayed

by Alexander Campbell--Hamilton’s Death determined on--The King

removed out of the Way--Attempt of Sir James Hamilton to save his

Brother--Armed Resistance of the Archbishop 42

CHAPTER V.

APPEARANCE, CONDEMNATION, MARTYRDOM OF HAMILTON.

(END OF FEBRUARY-MARCH 1, 1528.)

Hamilton’s Appearance before the Episcopal Council--His

Heresies--His Answer--Attempt of Andrew Duncan to rescue

him--Hamilton confined in the Castle--The Inquisitorial

Court--Hamilton in the Presence of his Judges--Debates--Insults--His

Sentence--Preparation of Execution--Hamilton at the Stake--Vexed and

insulted by Campbell--Hamilton’s Family and Native Land--Duration of

his Sufferings--The two Hamiltons 56

CHAPTER VI.

ALESIUS.

(FEBRUARY 1528 TO END OF 1531.)

The ‘Crowns of the Martyrs’--Various Feelings excited about the

Martyr--Escape of the King from his Keepers--The Reins of Government

seized by James V.--Victory of the Priests--Alesius confirmed by

death of Hamilton--His discourse before Provincial Synod--His

imprisonment in a Dungeon--Order of the King to liberate

him--Stratagem of Prior Hepburn--Removal of Alesius to a fouler

Dungeon--Plot of the Prior against his Life--Scheme of the Canons

for his Escape--His Flight by Night--Pursuit by the Prior--His

Flight to Germany 70

CHAPTER VII.

CONFESSORS OF THE GOSPEL AND MARTYRS MULTIPLIED IN

SCOTLAND.

(END OF 1531 TO 1534.)

Conspiracy of the Nobles against the Priests--Their Compact with

Henry VIII.--Intrigues of the Romish Party--Alexander Seaton,

Confessor to the King--His boldness--His Flight to England--Letter

of Alesius to the King--Reply of Cochlæus--Henry Forrest--His

Degradation--His Execution--David Straiton, of Lauriston--His

Conversion--His Trial--And Martyrdom--Trial of Catherine

Hamilton--Flight of Evangelicals from Scotland 84

CHAPTER VIII.

BREACH OF THE KING OF SCOTLAND WITH ENGLAND--ALLIANCE

WITH FRANCE AND THE GUISES.

(1534 TO 1539.)

Alliance of James V. sought by Henry VIII.--Failure--New attempts

of Henry VIII.--Thomas Forrest--His fidelity--His Interview with

the Bishop of Dunkeld--Discontent of the People--Negotiations at

Rome--Marriage of James V. with Madeleine of Valois--Death of the

young Queen--Second Marriage of the King with Mary of Lorraine 99

CHAPTER IX.

INFLUENCE OF DAVID BEATOUN PREDOMINANT--REVIVAL OF

PERSECUTION.

(1539.)

Cardinal David Beatoun--His complete Control of the King--War on

the Rich--The Ransom of Balkerley--Numerous

Imprisonments--Scotland watched by Henry VIII.--Killon’s

audacious Drama--Trial of Killon and Thomas Forrest--Their

Execution--Buchanan in Prison--His Escape--Kennedy and Jerome

Russel--Their Imprisonment--Trial--Courage--And Martyrdom 110

CHAPTER X.

TERGIVERSATIONS OF JAMES V.--NEGOTIATIONS WITH HENRY

VIII.--THEIR FAILURE.

(1540 TO 1542.)

Changed Inclination of the King of Scotland--His Censure of the

Bishops--Cleverness of the Cardinal--Colloquies of Bishops at St.

Andrews--Return of the King to the side of Rome--Birth of his

Son--Birth of a second Son--His Remorse--A Dream--Death of his two

Sons--Fresh Attempts of Henry VIII.--Project of an Interview at

York--Journey of the King of England to York--Efforts of the

Bishops to prevent the Interview--Absence of James V. from the

Rendezvous 124

CHAPTER XI.

WAR BETWEEN ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND.--DEATH OF JAMES V.

(1542.)

Anger of Henry VIII.--Skirmishes--Fears of James V.--Aim of Henry

VIII.--The Crown of Scotland--Invasion of Scotland by Duke of

Norfolk--Refusal of the Scottish Army to march--Proscription List

drawn up by the Bishops--Their Alliance with the King--Levy of a

new Army by Bishops--Oliver Sinclair named

Commander-in-Chief--Disgraceful Rout--Anxiety of James V.--His

Dejection--His Despair--Birth of Mary Stuart--Death of the King 136

CHAPTER XII.

REGENCY OF EARL OF ARRAN.--IMPRISONMENT OF BEATOUN.--TREATY

OF PEACE WITH ENGLAND.

(1542 TO MARCH 1543.)

Ambition of Beatoun--Pretended Will of the King--Assembly of the

Nobles--Earl of Arran proclaimed Regent--Evangelicals associated

with him--The two Chaplains--Projects of Henry

VIII.--Negotiations--Arrest of the Cardinal--Results of this

Act--Scotland laid under Interdict--Parliament of Edinburgh--The

Scriptures in the Vulgar Tongue--Debates on the Subject--Freedom

of the Scriptures--General Rejoicing--Treaty with

England--Confirmation of the Treaty 151

CHAPTER XIII.

LIBERATION OF BEATOUN--HIS SEIZURE OF POWER--BREACH OF

THE TREATY--FRESH PERSECUTIONS.

(MARCH 1543 TO SUMMER 1544.)

The Ultramontane Party--The Abbot of Paisley--Liberation of the

Cardinal--His Intrigues--Insults offered to the English

Ambassador--Refusal of the Regent to deliver the

Hostages--Armed Gatherings--Weakness of the Regent--His Abjuration

before the Cardinal--Coronation of Mary Stuart--Declaration of War

in Scotland by Henry VIII.--Earl of Lennox--Triumph of the

Cardinal--William Anderson, Hellen Stirke, James Raveleson, and

Robert Lamb--Sentence of death passed on them--Fruitless

Intercession--Affecting Death of Hellen Stirke--The English Fleet

at Leith--Landing of the English Army--Capture and Pillage of

Edinburgh--Plans of Henry VIII. postponed 166

CHAPTER XIV.

WISHART--HIS MINISTRY AND HIS MARTYRDOM.

(SUMMER OF 1544 TO MARCH 1546.)

Preaching of Wishart at Dundee--The Churches closed against

him--Open-air Preaching--The Plague of Dundee--Wishart’s Return

thither--Attempt of a Priest to Assassinate him--Snares laid for

him--His Announcement of his approaching Death--Wishart joined by

Knox--Approach of Wishart to Edinburgh--His redoubled

Zeal--Desertion of his Friends--His last Preaching--His

Arrest--Given up to the Cardinal--His Trial opposed by the

Regent--Persistence of the Cardinal--The Ecclesiastical Court--The

Accuser Lauder--Insults--Calumnies--Condemnation--Refusal of the

Sacrament--A true Supper--Wishart’s Address to the People--His

Martyrdom 185

CHAPTER XV.

CONSPIRACY AGAINST BEATOUN--HIS DEATH.

(MARCH TO MAY 1546.)

Triumph of the Cardinal--Conspiracy of his Enemies--Meeting of the

Conspirators at St. Andrews--Seizure of the Castle--The Cardinal’s

Servants driven away--Murder of Beatoun--Wishart’s Sentence--Siege

of the Castle--Capitulation of the Conspirators--Grounds of the

Triumph of the Reformation in Scotland--Two Kings and Two

Kingdoms--Priest and Pastor 207

BOOK XI.

CALVIN AND THE PRINCIPLES OF HIS REFORM.

CHAPTER I.

CALVIN AT GENEVA AND IN THE PAYS DE VAUD.

(1536.)

Geneva prepared for its Part--Calvin--His Desire for

Retirement--Reader in Holy Scripture--Calvin’s Teaching--Authorship

of Discipline--Application of Discipline before Calvin--Doctrine of

Jesus Christ the Soul of the Church--Calvin and the Huguenots--His

Engagement with the Council of Geneva--His Name not mentioned--The

Gospel in the Pays de Vaud--Viret at Lausanne--Images--Two Masses a

Week--Notice of a great Disputation--Prohibited by the

Emperor--Convoked by Council of Berne--Indecision of the Townsmen

of Lausanne 219

CHAPTER II.

THE DISPUTATION OF LAUSANNE.

(OCTOBER 1536.)

The Champions of the two Parties--Preparations of the two

Parties--Ten Theses of Farel--His Discourse--Opening of the

Disputation--Protest of the Canons--Farel’s Reply--Doctor

Blancherose--The Vicar Drogy--Justification by Faith--The Church

and the Scriptures--Caroli--The Real Presence--Testimony of the

Fathers--Calvin--His Statement of the Doctrine of the

Fathers--Christ’s Mortal Body and his Glorified Body--The Body and

the Blood--The Spiritual Presence of Christ--Conversion of Jean

Tandy--His Monastic Dress put off--The last Theses--The Trinity of

Doctor Blancherose--Lent--Ignorance of the Priests--Calvin and

Hildebrand--Closing Discourse by Farel--Jesus Christ and not the

Pope--Salvation not in Outward Things--Appeal to the

Priests--Address to the Lords of Berne 235

CHAPTER III.

EXTENSION OF THE REFORM IN THE PAYS DE VAUD.

(END OF 1536.)

Moral Reform at Lausanne--Images--Alarm of the Canons--Removal of

Images ordered by Berne--Success of the Disputation at

Lausanne--Reformation decreed at Lausanne--Caroli first

Pastor--Reformation at Vevey--At Lutry--Farel’s Search for

Evangelical Ministers--Ministers of the Pays de Vaud--Formula of

the Lords of Berne--Unworthy Ministers--Edict of

Reformation--Departure of Priests and Monks--Conference at

Geneva 260

CHAPTER IV.

THE REFORMATION AT GENEVA.--FORMULARY OF FAITH AND

DISCIPLINE.

(END OF 1536 TO 1537.)

Liberty and Authority--Calvin Pastor at Geneva--The Christian

Individual and the Christian Community--Analysis and

Synthesis--Division among the Huguenots--Catechism and Confession

of Faith--Calvin’s real Mind--Diversity of Religious Opinions--Need

of Unity--Presentation of the Confession to the

Council--Characteristics of the Confession--Its Authorship assigned

to Calvin--Frequent Communion--Discipline of Excommunication--The

true Beginning of a Church--Lay Intervention--Various

Regulations--Discipline approved by the Council--The Syndic

Porral--Distribution of the Confession--Its Acceptance required of

each Citizen--Assembly of the People at St. Peter’s Church--Swearing

of the Confession--Refusal of many to Swear it--The three Pastors of

Geneva--The Schools--Activity of the

Reformers--Discipline--Description of Geneva 274

CHAPTER V.

CALVIN’S CONTEST WITH FOREIGN DOCTORS--CHARGE OF ARIANISM

BROUGHT AGAINST HIM.

(JANUARY TO JUNE 1537.)

Arrived of the Spirituals at Geneva--Their System--Public

Disputation--Expulsion of the Spirituals--Caroli--His Ambition and

his Morals--Prayers for the Dead--Scholasticism--Consistory of

Lausanne--Charge of Arianism against Calvin--His Vindication

necessary--Calvin’s Reply--His view on the Trinity--Accusation of

Farel and Viret by Caroli--Convocation of a Synod resolved

on--Farel’s Anxiety--Synod at Lausanne--Another Debate on the

Trinity--Unmasking of Caroli by Calvin--The Divinity of Christ--The

Tyranny of Creeds rejected by Calvin--The so-called Athanasian

Creed--Condemnation of Caroli by the Synod--Appeal to

Berne--Agitation of Men’s Minds--Accusation of Caroli--His

Condemnation--His Flight to France 299

CHAPTER VI.

CALVIN AT THE SYNOD OF BERNE.

(SEPTEMBER 1537.)

Disputation on the Lord’s Supper--The Doctrine of Zwingli at

Berne--Acceptance of the Doctrine of Luther there--A patched-up

Peace--Synod of September--Opinions of Bucer--Attacks of

Megander--Growing Dissension--Intervention of Calvin--His Project

of a Formula of Concord--The Tumult allayed 323

CHAPTER VII.

THE CONFESSION OF FAITH SWORN TO AT ST. PETER’S.

(END OF 1537.)

Various Acts of Discipline--Parties at Geneva--Division amongst the

Huguenots--Coercion in matter of Faith--Requirement of Oath to the

Confession--Numerous Opponents--Decree of Banishment--Power of the

Malcontents--Imprudence of the Bernese Deputies--The General

Council--Discourse of the Syndics--The Leaders of Opposition

silenced--Violent Attack on the Syndics--Tumultuous Debate--Confused

Complaints--Growing Opposition--Vindication of the

Reformers--Accusation against them by Berne--Their Vindication at

Berne--Complete Justice done them 333

CHAPTER VIII.

TROUBLES AT GENEVA.

(BEGINNING OF 1538.)

Agitation--The Lord’s Supper--Nature of the Church--Communicants

and Hearers--The Supper open to all--Disorders--Louis du

Tillet--His Return to the Church of Rome--Parties face to face with

each other--Menaces--No Freedom without Religion--Election of new

Syndics--Their Hostility to Calvin--Moderation of their first

Measures--Misleading Effects of Party Spirit--Exclusion of

Evangelicals from the Councils--Censure of the Ministers by the

Councils--Resistance of the Reformers--‘I can do no otherwise’ 350

CHAPTER IX.

STRUGGLES AT BERNE.--SYNOD OF LAUSANNE.

(JANUARY 1538.)

Expulsion of Megander from Berne--Remonstrance of Country

Pastors--Pacification--Calvin’s Regret for the Banishment of

Megander--Hostility of Kunz to Calvin--Relations between Church and

State--Variety of Usages at Geneva and at Berne--Synod at

Lausanne--A strange Condition--Absence of Calvin and Farel from the

Synod--Adoption by the Synod of the usages of Berne--Fruitless

Conference--Letters from the Lords of Berne to Calvin and Farel and

to the Council of Geneva 366

CHAPTER X.

SUCCESS OF THE COUNTER-REFORMATION--REFUSAL OF CALVIN

AND FAREL TO ADMINISTER THE LORD’S SUPPER--PROHIBITION

OF THEIR PREACHING.

(MARCH AND APRIL 1538.)

The Pulpit interdicted to Courault--Adoption by the Council of the

Usages of Berne--Resistance of Calvin--Disorders in the

Streets--Indignation of Courault--His Sermon at St. Peter’s--His

Imprisonment--His Liberation demanded by the Reformers--Refusal of

the Council--Loud Complaints--The Pulpit interdicted to Calvin and

Farel--What to do?--General Confusion--Perplexity of the

Reformers--Indifference of Forms--The Supper a Feast of

Peace--Divisions and Violence of Parties--Administration of the

Supper given up--Determination of the Reformers to

preach--Heroism 376

CHAPTER XI.

PREACHING OF CALVIN AND FAREL IN DEFIANCE OF THE

PROHIBITION BY THE COUNCIL--THEIR BANISHMENT FROM

GENEVA.

(APRIL 1538.)

Great Distress of mind--Easter Sunday--Farel’s Preaching at St.

Gervais--Disorders in the Church--Calvin’s preaching at St.

Peter’s--Statement of his Motives--The Church a Holy Body--A quiet

Hearing given him--His Sermon at Rive--Great Disorder--Swords

drawn--Deliberation of the Councils--Proposal to expel the

Ministers--Denial of Justice--Expulsion voted by the General

Council--Calvin’s Reply--Farel’s Reply--Departure of the Ministers

from Geneva--A Prophecy of Bonivard--Journey of Farel and Calvin to

Berne--Joy and Sorrow 393

CHAPTER XII.

GREAT CONFUSION AT GENEVA--USELESS INTERVENTION OF

THE COUNCIL OF BERNE.

(END OF APRIL 1538.)

Ridicule and Sarcasm--The New Ministers--Their Incompetency--Arrival

of the Reformers at Berne--Their appearance before the

Council--Their Grievances--Excitement in the Council of

Berne--Letter of the Council to Geneva--Reply of the Council of

Geneva 412

CHAPTER XIII.

SYNOD OF ZURICH--CALVIN RECONDUCTED TO GENEVA BY

BERNESE AMBASSADORS--REFUSAL TO ADMIT HIM TO THE

TOWN.

(END OF APRIL TO END OF MAY 1538.)

Farel and Calvin at Zurich--Their Claims--Their Moderation--Their

Humility--The Justice of their Cause--Their approval by Synod of

Zurich--Letter of the Synod to Geneva--Hostility of Kunz--His

Wrath--His Accusations--Hesitation of Berne to intervene--Justice

prevails--Embassy from Berne--Excitement at Geneva--Stoppage of

Calvin and Farel at Genthod--The General Council--Favorable

Appearances--Treachery of Kunz--Pierre Vandel--Passionate

Excitement--Vote of the General Council--The Opponents--The

Minority 420

CHAPTER XIV.

BANISHMENT OF THE MINISTERS--THEIR SUCCESSORS AT

GENEVA.

(END OF 1538.)

Licentiousness--Journey of Calvin and Farel to Berne--Journey to

Basel--Their Reception there--Their Vindication--Hesitation as to

Choice of a Post--Rivalry between Basel and Strasburg in seeking

for Calvin--Farel called to Neuchâtel--Settlement of Calvin at

Strasburg--Death of Courault--Calvin’s Grief--The new Ministers of

Geneva--Calvin’s Opinion of them--Discontent--Accusations--The

Complaints not unfounded--Calvin’s Letter to Christians of

Geneva--His Advice--Farel’s Letter--His deep Sadness 439

CHAPTER XV.

STRASBURG AND GENEVA.

(END OF 1538 TO 1539.)

Calvin at Strasburg--Widening of his Horizon--Calvin a Pastor--His

spiritual Joy--Calvin a Doctor--Treatise on the Lord’s

Supper--Theological Debates--Calvin’s Poverty--Death of

Olivétan--Calvin’s Courage--Despotism at Geneva--Purification--The

Regents of the College--Their Banishment--Difficulty of finding

Substitutes--The Friends of the Reformers--Prosecutions--New

Syndics--Suppression of Disorders--Conference at Frankfort--Calvin

at Frankfort--His intercourse with Melanchthon--On the Supper and

on Discipline--On Ceremonies of Worship--Melanchthon called to

Henry VIII.--Calvin’s opinion of Henry VIII.--Calvin’s Return to

Strasburg 456

CHAPTER XVI.

CALVIN’S CORRESPONDENCE WITH SADOLETO.

(1539.)

Colloquy of Bishops at Lyons--Cardinal Sadoleto--His Letter to the

Genevese--Its Portraiture of the Reformers--Its Conclusion--Delivery

of his Letter to the Council--Immediate Consequences--An important

Step towards Rome--Two Martyrs in Savoy--Calvin’s Reply to

Sadoleto--Reason for his replying--Separation of the

Church--Christian Antiquity--Justification by Faith--The Judgment

Seat of God--Defence of Calvin--His first Faith--His Resistance--His

Conversion--Who tears to Pieces the Spouse of Christ--To whom

Dissensions are to be imputed--Luther’s Joy--Copy received at

Geneva--Caroli--His End 478

CHAPTER XVII.

CATHOLICISM AT GENEVA--MARRIAGE OF CALVIN AT STRASBURG.

(END OF 1539-1540.)

Citation of Priests before the Council--Their Attitude--The former

Syndic Balard--His Courage--His Abjuration--Calvin’s Thoughts on

Geneva--His household Cares--His Desire to Marry--Various

Projects--Hesitation--Idelette de Bure--Marriage--Catherine von

Bora and Idelette de Bure--Second Assembly at Hagenau--Nothing

done 499

CHAPTER XVIII.

GENEVA--DISSENSIONS AND SEVERITIES.

(1540.)

Conflict between Berne and Geneva--Treaty with Berne--The

_Articulants_--Refusal of Geneva to ratify the Treaty--Judgment

given at Lausanne--Indignation at Geneva--Prosecution of the

Articulants--Their Condemnation--Jean Philippe Captain-General--His

Irritation--Riot excited by him--His Defeat--His Arrest--His

Condemnation to Death--Death of Richardet--A Prediction of

Calvin--The Ways of God 512

HISTORY

OF THE

REFORMATION IN EUROPE

IN THE TIME OF CALVIN.

BOOK X.

THE REFORMATION IN SCOTLAND.

CHAPTER I.

PREPARATION OF REFORM.

(FROM THE 2ND CENTURY TO THE YEAR 1522.)

History is of various kinds. It may be literary, philosophical,

political, or religious; the last entering most deeply into the inmost

facts of our being. The political historian will sometimes disclose

the hidden mysteries of the cabinets of princes, will fathom their

counsels, unveil their intrigues, and snatch their secrets from a

Cæsar, a Charles V., a Napoleon, while human nature in its loftiest

aspects remains inaccessible to them. The inward power of conscience,

which not seldom impels a man to act in a way opposed to the rules of

policy and to the requirements of self-interest, the great spiritual

evolutions of humanity, the sacrifices of missionaries and of martyrs,

are for them covered with a veil. It is the Gospel alone which gives

us the key of these mysteries, so that there remain in history, even

for the most able investigators, enigmas which appear insoluble. How

is it that schemes conceived with indisputable cleverness fail? How is

it that enterprises which seem insane succeed? They cannot tell. No

matter, they keep on their way, they pass into other regions and leave

behind them territories which have not been explored.

This is to be regretted, for the historian ought to embrace in his

survey the whole field of human affairs. He must, of course, take

into consideration the earthly powers which bear sway in the world,

ambition, despotism, liberty; but he ought to mark also the heavenly

powers which religion reveals. The living God must not be excluded from

the world which He created. Man must not stop in his contemplations

at elementary molecules, nor even at political influences, but must

raise himself to this first principle, as Clement of Alexandria named

it,--this existence, the idea of which is immediate, original, springs

from no other, but is necessarily presupposed in all thought.

God, who renews the greenness of our pastures, who makes the corn come

forth out of the bosom of the earth, and covers the trees with blossoms

and with fruit, does not abandon the souls of men. The God of the whole

visible creation is much more the light and the strength of souls, for

one of these is more precious in his sight than all the universe. The

Creator, who every spring brings forth out of the winter’s ice and cold

a nature full of life, smiling with light and adorned with flowers, can

assuredly produce, when it pleases Him, a spiritual springtide in the

heart of a torpid and frozen humanity. The Divine Spirit is the sap

which infuses into barren souls the vivifying juices of heaven. The

world has not seldom been like a desert in which all life seemed to be

extinct; and yet, in those periods apparently so arid, subterranean

currents were yielding sustenance here and there to solitary plants;

and at the hour fixed by Divine providence the living water has gushed

forth abundantly to reanimate perishing humanity. Such was the case in

the two greatest ages of history, that of the Gospel and that of the

Reformation.

[Sidenote: THE SPIRITUAL SPRINGTIDE.]

Such epochs, the most important in human history, are for that reason

the worthiest to be studied. The new life which sprang up in the 16th

century was everywhere the same, but nevertheless it bore a certain

special character in each of the countries in which it appeared; in

Germany, in Switzerland, in England, in Scotland, in France, in Italy,

in the Netherlands, in Spain, and in other lands. At Wittenberg it

was to man that Christian thought especially attached itself, to

man fallen, but regenerated and justified by faith. At Geneva it

was to God, to His sovereignty and His grace. In Scotland it was to

Christ--Christ as expiatory victim, but above all Christ as king, who

governs and keeps his people independently of human power.

Scotland is peopled by a vigorous race, vigorous in their virtues

and vigorous, we may add, in their faults. Vigor is also one of the

distinguishing features of Scottish Christianity, and it is this

quality perhaps which led Scotland to attach itself particularly to

Christ as to the king of the Church, the idea of power being always

involved in the idea of king.

This country is now to be the subject of our narrative. It deserves to

be so; for although of small extent and situated on the confines of the

West, it has by nature and by faith a motive force which makes itself

felt to the ends of the earth.

Two periods are to be noted in the Scottish Reformation, that of

Hamilton and that of Knox. It is of the first of these only that we

are now to treat. The study of the beginnings of things attracts and

interests the mind in the highest degree. Faithful to our plan, we

shall ascend to the generative epoch of Caledonian reform, an epoch

which Scotland herself has perhaps too much slighted, and we shall

exhibit its simple beauty.

Before the days of the Reformation, Scotland received three great

impulses in succession from the Christian countries of the south.

The persecutions which at the close of the second century, during

the course of the third, and at the beginning of the fourth, fell on

the disciples of the Gospel who dwelt in the southern part of Great

Britain, drove a great number of them to take refuge in the country of

the Scots. These pious men built for themselves humble and solitary

hermitages, in green meadows or on steep mountains, and in narrow

valleys of the glens; and there, devoting themselves to the service of

God, they shed a soft gleam of light in the midst of the fogs of every

kind which encompassed them, teaching the ignorant and strengthening

the weak. They were called in the Gaelic tongue _gille De_, servants of

God, in Latin _cultores Dei_; and in these phrases we find the origin

of the name by which they are still known--_Culdees_. Such was the

respect which they inspired that, after their death, their cells were

often transformed into churches.[1] From them came the first impulse.

[Sidenote: THE CULDEES.]

Several centuries passed away; the feudal system was established in

Scotland. The mountainous nature of the country, which made of every

domain a sort of fortress, the fewness of the large towns, the absence

of any influential body of citizens, the institution of clans, the

limited number of the nobles,--all these circumstances combined to

make the power of the feudal lords greater than in any other European

country; and this power at a later period protected the Reformation

from the despotism of the kings. But the influence of the Culdees,

though really perceptible in the Middle Ages, was very feeble. It may

be said of the things of grace in Scotland as of the works of Creation,

that the sun did not come to scatter the mists which brooded over a

nature melancholy and monotonous, and that the influence of the winds

which, rushing forth from the neighboring seas, roared and raged over

the barren heaths or over the fertile plains of Caledonia, was not

softened by the breath divine which comes from heaven.

But in the days of the revival a sweet and subtile sound was heard,

and the surface of the lochs seemed to become animated. Wickliffe,

having given to England the Word of God, some of his followers, and

particularly John Resby, came into Scotland. ‘The pope is nothing,’

said Resby in 1407,[2] and he taught at the same time that Christ is

everything. He was burnt at Perth.... Thus it was from the disciples of

Wickliffe, the _Lollards_, that the second impulse came.

The _reveillé_ of Wickliffe was echoed in Eastern Europe by that of

John Huss. In 1421, a Bohemian, one Paul Crawar, arriving from Prague,

expounded at St. Andrews the Word of God, which he cited with a

readiness and accuracy that astonished his hearers.[3] When led away to

execution and bound to the stake, the bold Bohemian said to the priests

who stood round him, ‘Generation of Satan, you, like your fathers, are

enemies of the truth.’ The priests, not relishing such speeches in the

presence of the crowd, had a ball of brass put into his mouth,[4] and

the martyr thus silenced was burnt alive without any further protest on

his part.

However, Patrick Graham, archbishop of St. Andrews and primate of

Scotland, nephew of James I., and a man distinguished for his

abilities and his virtues, had heard Crawar. If the heart of the priest

had been hard as a stone the heart of the archbishop was like a fertile

field. The Word of the Lord took deep root in him. He formed the

project of reformation of the Church; but the clergy were indignant;

the primate was deprived, was condemned to imprisonment for life, and

died in prison.

Then began that struggle between royalty and the nobility which was

afterwards to become one of the characteristic features of the time of

reform. Kings, instigated by ambitious priests, sought to humble the

nobles; the latter were thus predisposed to promote the Reformation.

James II. (1437-1460) fought against the nobles both with the sword

and by severe laws. James III. (1460-1488) removed them with contempt

from his Court and gave himself up to unworthy favorites. James IV.

(1488-1503), a man of a nobler spirit, esteemed the aristocracy the

ornament of his Court and the strength of his kingdom. During the reign

of this prince appeared the first glimmerings of the Reformation.

Some pious men, dwellers most of them in the districts of Hill and

Cunningham, were enlightened by the Gospel, and, confronting the Roman

papacy, boldly declared that all true Christians receive every day

spiritually the body of Jesus Christ by faith; that the bread remains

bread after consecration, and that the natural body of Christ is not

present; that there is a universal priesthood, of which every man and

woman who believes in the Saviour is a member; that the pope, who

exalts himself above God, is against God; that it is not permissible to

take up arms for the things of faith; and that priests may marry.

[Sidenote: JOHN CAMPBELL, LAIRD OF CESSNOCK.]

Among the protectors of these brave folk was John Campbell, laird of

Cessnock, a man well grounded in the evangelical doctrine, modest

even to timidity, but abounding in works of mercy, and who received

with goodwill not only the Lollards but those even whose opinions

were opposed to his own. His partner, with a character of greater

decision than his own, was a woman well versed in the Bible, and

being thoroughly acquainted with the Scriptures was safe against

intimidation. Every morning the family and the servants assembled in a

room of the mansion, and a priest, the chaplain, opened in the midst

of them a New Testament, a very rare book at that period, and read

and explained it.[5] When this family worship and the first meal were

over, the Campbells would visit the poor and the sick. At the dinner

hour they called together some of their neighbors: monks as well as

gentlefolk would come and sit at their table. One day the conversation

turning on the conventual life and the habits of the priests, Campbell

spoke on the subject with moderation but also with freedom. The

monks, exasperated, put crafty questions to him, provoked him, and

succeeded in drawing from him words which in their eyes were heretical.

Forgetting the claims of hospitality they hastened to the house of the

bishop and denounced their host and the lady of the house. Inquiry was

set on foot; the crime of heresy was proved. Campbell saw the danger

which threatened him and appealed to the king.

James IV., who had married Margaret Tudor, daughter of Henry VII.,

was then reigning in Scotland. His life had not been spotless: he was

often tormented with remorse, and in his fits of melancholy he resolved

to make up for his sins by applying himself to the administration of

justice. He had the two parties appear before him; the monks cited

decisions of the Church sufficient to condemn the prisoner. The weak

and simple-minded Campbell was somewhat embarrassed;[6] his answers

were timid and inadequate. He could talk with widows and orphans, but

he could not cope with these monks. But his wife was full of decision

and courage. When requested by the king to speak, she took up one by

one the accusations of the monks, and setting them face to face with

the Holy Scriptures, showed their falsehood. Her speech was clear,

serious, and weighty with conviction. The king, persuaded by her

eloquence, declared to the monks that if they should again persecute

honest people in that way, they should be severely punished. And then,

touched by the piety of this eminent woman and wishing to give her

a token of his respect, he rose from his seat, went up to her and

embraced her.[7] Turning to her husband, ‘As for you,’ said he, ‘I give

you in fee such and such villages, and I intend them to be testimonies

for ever of my good will towards you.’ The husband and wife withdrew

full of joy, and the monks full of vexation and shame. Thirty other

evangelicals, professing the same doctrines as the laird of Cessnock,

were cited, but they were dismissed with the request to be satisfied

with the faith of the Church. This took place about the year 1512,

the year in which Zwingle began to search the Scriptures and in which

Luther on Pilate’s Staircase at Rome heard that word which went on

resounding in his heart, ‘The just shall live by faith.’ The brave

Scotchwoman had fought a battle at an outpost and sounded the prelude

to the Reformation.

[Sidenote: ELECTION OF A BISHOP IN SCOTLAND.]

Unhappily the accession of Henry VIII. to the throne of England turned

the thoughts of the King of Scotland in another direction. Henry

VII., as long as he lived, had striven to keep on good terms with

his son-in-law; but Henry VIII., a monarch haughty, sensitive, and

impatient, and who in mere wilfulness would quarrel with his neighbors,

was far less friendly with his sister’s husband. He even delayed for a

long time the payment of the legacy which her father had left her. The

frequent attacks of the English, and the necessity thereby imposed on

the Scots of constantly keeping watch on the borders, had given rise

to distrust and hatred between the two nations. At the same time the

ancient rivalry of France and England had thrown Scotland on the side

of the French. When the English eagle pounced on unguarded France,

‘the weasel Scot’ came sliding into its nest and devoured the royal

brood.[8] Henry VIII. revived those ancient traditions; and France

took advantage of them to enfeoff Scotland still further to herself

at the very moment when the Medici and the Guises were on the point

of seizing at Paris the reins of government. Insulted by Henry VIII.,

James IV. resolved, in spite of the wise remonstrance of the old earl

of Angus, to attack England. Scotland gave him the _élite_ of her

people. He fought at Flodden with intrepid courage, but hit by two

arrows and struck by a battle-axe he fell on the field, while round

him lay the corpses of twelve earls, thirteen lords, two bishops, two

mitred abbots, a great number of gentlemen, and more than ten thousand

soldiers. Several students, and among them one named Andrew Duncan, son

of the laird of Airdrie, whom we shall meet again, were either killed

or made prisoners on that fatal day.

The king’s son, James V. (afterwards father of Mary Stuart), was

scarcely two years old at the time of his father’s death. His mother,

sister of Henry VIII., assumed the regency, and during his minority

the nobles exercised an influence which was to be one day favorable

to liberty, and thereby to the Gospel. The king and the priests, both

driving at absolute power, the former in the State, the latter in the

Church, now made common cause against the nobles. Strange conflicts

then took place between the various powers of Scotland. One of these

conflicts had just disturbed the first city of the kingdom, St.

Andrews, and had mingled with the noise of the stormy sea, which roared

at the foot of the rocks, the voices of priests struggling around the

Cathedral, the cries of soldiers and the reverberations of cannon.

Alexander Stuart, archbishop of St. Andrews, primate of Scotland,

having fallen on the field of Flodden, three competitors appeared for

the possession of his primatial see. These were John Hepburn, prior

of St. Andrews, the candidate of the canons; Gavin Douglas, brother

of the earl of Angus, candidate of the nobles; and Andrew Forman,

bishop of Murray, candidate of the pope. Douglas had already been put

by the queen in possession of the castle of St. Andrews; but Hepburn,

an ambitious man of high spirit, with the aid of the canons, took it

by assault, fortified himself in it,[9] and then set out for Rome to

secure the pontifical investiture. Forman, the pope’s candidate, taking

advantage of his rival’s absence, seized the castle and the monastery,

and placed there a strong garrison. Hepburn was pacified by the gift

of a pension of 3,000 crowns; while Douglas, candidate of the nobles,

finding that there was neither money nor mitre for him, cannonaded and

captured the cathedral of Dunkeld.[10] In such fashion was the election

of a bishop made in Scotland before the Reformation.

The elections of priests were conducted after somewhat different

methods. The lesser benefices were put up to auction and sold by

wandering bards, diceplayers, or minions of the Court. The bishops, who

gave their illegitimate daughters to the nobles, kept the best places

in the Church for their bastards. These young worldlings, hurrying off

to their pleasures, abandoned their flocks to monks, who retailed in

the pulpit absurd legends of their saint, of his combats with the devil

and of his flagellations, or amused the people with low jesting. This

system, which passing for a representation of Christianity was merely

its parody, destroyed not only Christian piety and morality, but the

peace of families, the freedom of the people, and the prosperity of the

kingdom.[11]

While ambition, idleness and licentiousness thus prevailed among the

clergy, God was preparing ‘new vessels’ into which to pour the new wine

which the old vessels could no longer hold. Some simple-minded men were

on the point of achieving by their Christian faith and life a victory

over the rich, powerful, and worldly pontiffs. Three young men, born

almost with the century, were just beginning a career, the struggles

and trials of which were as yet unknown to them. These men were to

become the reformers of the Church of Scotland.

[Sidenote: BIRTH OF ALESIUS.]

On April 23, 1500, the wife of an honest citizen of Edinburgh gave

birth to a son who was afterwards called by some Alane, and by others

Ales, but who signed his own name Alesius, the form which we shall

adopt. Alexander--that was his baptismal name--was a child remarkable

for liveliness, and the anxiety of his devoted parents lest any

accident should befall him led them to hang round his neck, as a

safeguard against every danger, a paper on which a priest had written

some verses of St. John. Alesius was fond of going, with other boys of

his own age, to the heights which environ Edinburgh. The great rock

on the summit of which the castle stands, the beautiful Calton Hill,

and the picturesque hill called Arthur’s Seat, in turn attracted them.

One day--it was in 1512--Alexander and some friends, having betaken

themselves to the last-named hill, amused themselves by rolling over

and over down a slope which terminated in a precipice. Suddenly the

lad found himself on the brink: terror deprived him of his senses:

some hand grasped him and placed him in safety, but he never knew by

whom or by what he had been saved. The priests gave the credit of this

escape to the paper with which they had provided him, but Alexander

himself attributed it to God and his father’s prayers. ‘Ah!’ said he,

many years afterwards, ‘I never recall that event without a great

shudder through my whole body.’[12] Some time after he was sent to the

University of St. Andrews to complete his education.

Another young boy, of more illustrious birth, gave promise of an

eminent manhood; he belonged to the Hamilton family which, under

James III., had taken the highest position in Scotland. Born in the

county of Linlithgow, westward of Edinburgh, and somewhat younger than

Alesius, he was to inaugurate the Reformation. Linlithgow was at that

time the Versailles of the kingdom, and could boast of a more ancient

origin than the palace of Louis XIV. Its projecting porticoes, its

carvings in wood, its wainscot panelings, its massive balustrades, its

roofs over-hanging the street, produced the most picturesque effect.

The castle was at once palace, fortress, and prison; it was the

pleasure-house to which the Court used to retire for relaxation, and

within its walls Mary Stuart was born.

[Sidenote: PATRICK HAMILTON.]

Near Linlithgow was the barony of Kincavil, which had been given by

James IV., in 1498, to Sir Patrick Hamilton. Catherine Stuart, the wife

of the latter, was daughter of the duke of Albany, son of King James

II. Sir Patrick, on his side, was second son of Lord Hamilton, and,

according to trustworthy charters, of the princess Mary, countess of

Arran, also a daughter of James II.[13] Sir Patrick had two sons and

one daughter, James, Patrick, and Catherine.

Patrick, the young man of whom we speak, was therefore of the blood

royal, both by the father’s and the mother’s side. He was born probably

at the manor of Kincavil, and was there brought up. He grew up

surrounded with all the sweetnesses of a mother’s love, and from his

childhood the image of his mother was deeply engraven on his heart.

This tender mother, who afterwards engaged his latest thoughts on the

scaffold, observed with delight in her son a craving for superior

culture, a passion for science, a taste for the literature of Greece

and Rome, and above all, lively aspirations after all that is elevated,

and movements of the soul towards God.

As for his father, Sir Patrick, he had the reputation of being the

first knight of Scotland, and as cousin-german of King James IV. he had

frequent occasions for displaying his courage. One day a German knight

arriving in Scotland to challenge her lords and barons, Sir Patrick

encountered and overthrew him. At the marriage of Margaret of England

with the King of Scotland, it was once more Sir Patrick who most

distinguished himself at the tournament. And at a later time, when sent

ambassador to Paris with an elder brother, the earl of Arran, he won

fresh honors in London on his way.[14] People were fond of recounting

these exploits to his two boys, James and Patrick, and nothing

appeared to them more magnificent than the glittering armor of their

father hung upon the walls of the banqueting hall. Ambition awoke in

the heart of the younger of the sons; but he was destined to seek after

another glory, holier and more enduring.

The Hamiltons having many relations at Paris, Sir Patrick determined

to send thither his second son, and at the age of fourteen the lad

set out for that celebrated capital.[15] His father, who destined him

for the great offices of the Church, had already procured for him the

title and the revenues of abbot of Ferne, in the county of Ross, and

from that source the expenses of the young man’s journey and course

of studies were to be defrayed. It was the moment at which the fire

of the Reformation, which was just kindled on the Continent, began to

throw out sparks on all sides. One of these sparks was to light on the

soul of Patrick. But if Hamilton were destined to bring from Paris to

Scotland the first stone of the building, another Scotchman, one year

younger than he, was destined to bring the top-stone from Geneva.

[Sidenote: BIRTH OF JOHN KNOX.]

In one of the suburbs of Haddington, near Edinburgh, called

Gifford-gate, dwelt an honorable citizen, member of an ancient family

of Renfrewshire, named Knox, who had borne arms, like his father and

his grandfather, under the earl of Bothwell. Some members of this

family had died under the colors.[16] In 1505 Knox had a son who was

named John. The blood of warriors ran in the veins of the man who

was to become one of the most intrepid champions of Christ’s army.

John, after studying first at Haddington school, was sent at the age

of sixteen to Glasgow University.[17] He was active, bold, thoroughly

upright and perfectly honest, diligent in his duties, and full of

heartiness for his comrades. But he had in him also a firmness which

came near to obstinacy, an independence which was very much like pride,

a melancholy which bordered on prostration, a sternness which some

took for insensibility, and a passionate force sometimes mistakenly

attributed to a vindictive temper. An important place was reserved for

him in the history of his country and of Christendom.

While God was thus preparing these young contemporaries, Alesius,

Hamilton, and Knox, and others besides, to diffuse in Scotland the

light of the Gospel, ambitious nobles were engaged in conflict around

the throne of the king. The old earl of Angus, who had lost his two

sons at the battle of Flodden, and had not long survived them, had

left a grandson, a handsome young man, not very wise nor experienced,

but with plenty of ambition, cleverness, liveliness, and courage. The

widow of James IV., regent of the kingdom, married this youth, and by

this rash step displeased the nobles. In the fierce encounters which

took place between the Angus and Douglas parties on one side, and the

Hamiltons on the other, pillage, murder, and arson were not seldom

perpetrated. Another regency became necessary. John Stuart, duke of

Albany, who was born in France of a French mother, and was residing at

the court of Saint-Germain, but was the nearest relation of the King of

Scotland, was summoned. He banished Angus, who withdrew with the queen

to England. But Albany had soon to return to France, and Queen Margaret

and her husband went back to Edinburgh.

The old rivalries were not slow to reappear. When the parliament

assembled at Edinburgh in April 1520, the Hamiltons gathered in

great numbers in the palace of the primate Beatoun. The primate ran

hither and thither, armed from head to foot, brandishing the torch

of discord.[18] The bishop of Dunkeld entreated him to prevent a

collision. When the primate, laying his hand on his heart, said: ‘On

my conscience I am not able to prevent it,’ the sound of his coat mail

was heard. ‘Ah, my lord,’ exclaimed Dunkeld, ‘that noise tells me

that your conscience is not good.’ Sir Patrick Hamilton, the father

of the reformer, counselled peace; but Sir James Hamilton, a natural

son of the earl of Arran, a violent and cruel young man, cried out to

him: ‘You are afraid to fight for your friend.’ ‘Thou liest, impudent

bastard;’ retorted the haughty baron; ‘I will fight to-day in a place

in which thou wilt not dare to set thy foot.’ The speaker immediately

quitted the palace, and all the Hamiltons followed him.

The earl of Angus then occupied the High Street, and his men, drawn up

behind barricades, vigorously repulsed their adversaries with their

pikes. Sir Patrick, with the most intrepid of his followers, cleared

the entrenchments, threw himself into the High Street, and striking out

vigorously all round him with his sword, fell mortally wounded, while

the rash young man who had insulted him fled at full speed.

[Sidenote: PATRICK HAMILTON IN FRANCE.]

His son Patrick was no longer present in the manor-house of Kincavil,

to mingle his tears with those of his mother. Escaping from the gloomy

atmosphere of Caledonia, he had gone to enjoy in Paris the splendid

light of civilization, almost at the same time at which the famous

George Buchanan arrived there. ‘All hail!’ exclaimed these young

Scotchmen, as they landed in France; ‘all hail! oh, happy Gaul! kind

nurse of letters! Thou whose atmosphere is so healthful, whose soil is

so fertile, whose bountiful hospitality welcomes all the universe, and

who givest to the world in return the riches of thy spirit; thou whose

language is so elegant, thou who art the common country of all peoples,

who worshippest God in truth and without debasing thyself in outward

observances! Oh! shall I not love thee as a son? shall I not honor thee

all my life? All hail, oh, happy Gaul!’[19]

It is probable that Hamilton entered the Collège de Montaigu, the same

to which Calvin was admitted four or five years later. At the time

of Hamilton’s arrival Mayor (Major), who soon after removed to St.

Andrews, was teacher of philosophy there.

To a strong dislike of the writings of the sophists Hamilton joined a

great love for those of the true philosophers. But presently a light

more pure than that of Plato and Aristotle shone in his eyes. As early

as 1520 the writings of Luther were read with eager interest by the

students of the schools of Paris; some of whom took part with, others

against the Reformation. Hamilton was listening to these disputations

and reading the books which came from Germany, when suddenly he learnt

the tragical death of Sir Patrick. He was profoundly affected by the

tidings, and began to seek God with yet more ardor than before. He

was one more example of the well-known fact, that at the very moment

when all the sorrows of the earthly life overwhelm the soul, God

gives to it the heavenly life. Two great events--the death of Sir

Patrick, and the beginning of the Reformation in Paris--occurring

simultaneously--occasioned in the soul of the young Scotchman a

collision by which a divine spark was struck out. The fire once kindled

in his heart, nothing could thenceforth extinguish it.

Hamilton took the degree of Master of Arts about the close of 1520,

as still appears in the registers of the University. He may possibly

have visited Louvain, where Erasmus then dwelt; he returned to Scotland

probably in 1522.

CHAPTER II.

THE MOVEMENT OF REFORM BEGINS.

(1522 TO APRIL 1527.)

The Reformation seems to have begun in Scotland with the profession of

those principles, Catholic but antipapal, which had been maintained a

century earlier at the Council of Constance. There were doctors present

there who set out from the thought that from the age of the Apostles

there always had been, and that there always will be, a church one and

universal, capable of remedying by its own action all abuses in its

forms of worship, dissensions among its members, the hypocrisy of its

priests, and the despotic assumptions of the first of its pontiffs.

John Mayor had been recently called to Glasgow University. Among

his audience there John Knox distinguished himself by his passion

for study; and not far from him was another young Scotchman, of a

less serious turn, Buchanan. ‘The church universal,’--so were they

taught by the disciple of d’Ailly and of Gerson--‘when assembled in

council, is above the pope, and may rebuke, judge, and even depose

him. The Roman excommunications have no force at all if they are not

conformed to justice. The ambition, the avarice, the worldly luxury

of the Roman court and of the bishops are to be sharply censured.’ On

another occasion, the professor, passing from theology to politics,

avowed doctrines far in advance of his age. He taught that a people,

in its entirety, is above the monarch; that the power of the king is

derived from the people, and that if a prince acts in opposition to

the interests of his subjects, the latter have the right to dethrone

him. Mayor went further still, even to the blameworthy extreme of

asserting that in certain cases the king might be put to death.[20]

These political principles, professed by one who occupied a Roman

Catholic chair, thoroughly scholastic and superstitious, must have

influenced the convictions of Buchanan, who afterwards, in his

dialogue _De Jure Regni apud Scotos_, professed opinions which were

energetically controverted, even by Protestants. ‘In the beginning,’

said he, ‘we created legitimate kings, and we established laws binding

equally on them and on ourselves.’[21] These political heresies of the

sixteenth century are the truths of our days. The principles of Mayor

were certainly not received without exception by Knox, but they had

probably something to do with the firmness with which he maintained

the rights of the Word of God in the presence of Mary Stuart. For the

moment, Knox, disgusted with the barren theology of his master--a

stanch scholastic on many points--forsook the wilderness of the schools

and applied himself to the quest of the living fountains of the Word of

God. In 1523 Mayor removed from Glasgow to St. Andrews.

[Sidenote: PATRICK HAMILTON AT ST. ANDREWS.]

It was to St. Andrews that Patrick Hamilton betook himself on his

return from the Continent, after a visit to the bereaved family

of Kincavil. He was admitted on June 9 of the same year into the

University of the metropolitan city, and on October 3 of the following

year he was received member of the faculty of letters. St. Andrews

had powerful attractions for him. No other university in the kingdom

had on its staff so many enlightened men; and the college of St.

Leonard’s, which he entered, was the one whose teaching had the most

liberal tendencies. The studies which he had pursued, the knowledge

which he had acquired, and the rank which he held, gave him distinction

among his fellow-disciples. Buchanan, a severe judge, looked on him

as a ‘young man of great intellect and of astonishing learning.’[22]

Hamilton held the hypocrisy of the monks in such abomination that he

never would adopt either their dress or their way of life; and although

he was abbot of Ferne he never took up his residence in his monastery.

Skilled in the musical art, he composed a chant in parts, which was

performed in the cathedral, and delighted the hearers. He did more:

he dreamed, as all reformers do at the outset of their career, of

the transformation of the Catholic Church; he resolved to seek the

imposition of hands, ‘in order,’ says Fryth, ‘that he might preach the

pure Word of God.’ Hamilton did not, to be sure, preach at that time

with the boldness and the power of a Luther or a Farel. He loved the

weak; he felt himself weak; and being full of lowly-mindedness, he was

content to impart faithfully the truth which he had received.

About a year after the combat in which Sir Patrick was killed, the duke

of Albany returned, with the intention of bringing about an intimate

alliance between Scotland and France. Margaret Tudor, who wished for an

alliance with England, and who found herself deprived of power by the

arrival of Albany, wrote on September 13, 1523, to her brother Henry

VIII.: ‘The person and the kingdom of my son are exposed to very great

danger; come to our aid, come in all haste, or it is all over with my

son!’[23] It might perhaps have been all over with the Reformation

too--a far more important matter. But Albany, although he was at the

head of a fine army, fled on two occasions before the English, and

being despised by everybody, quitted Scotland forever at the close of

May 1524.[24]

[Sidenote: WRITINGS OF LUTHER PROSCRIBED.]

He had only just set sail when the cause of the Reformation, threatened

by his presence, received a powerful reinforcement. In 1524, and at

the beginning of 1525, some books of Luther and of other Reformers

were brought into Scotland by merchant-ships, and getting dispersed

over the country, produced there the same effect as they had in France

and in Italy. Gawin Dunbar, the old bishop of Aberdeen, was the first

to become aware of this. He discovered one day a volume of Luther

in his own town. He was in consternation when he saw that the fiery

darts hurled by the hand of the heretic were crossing the sea. As like

discoveries were made in Linlithgow, St. Andrews, and other places, the

affair was brought before Parliament. ‘Damnable heresies are spread

abroad in various countries,’ said the partisans of Rome. ‘This kingdom

of Scotland, its sovereigns and their subjects, have always stood fast

in the holy faith since they received it in the primitive age; attempts

are being made at this moment to turn them away from it. Let us take

all needful steps to repulse the attack.’ Consequently, on July 17,

1525, parliament enacted that no person arriving in any part of the

kingdom should introduce any book of Luther or of his disciples, or

should publish the opinions of that German except for the purpose of

refuting them, ‘Scotland having always bene clene of all filth and

vice.’[25]

This act was immediately published throughout the country, and

particularly at all ports, in order that no one might be able to

pretend ignorance of it. About four days after the closing of

parliament the sheriffs received orders from the king’s council to

set on foot without delay the necessary inquiries for the discovery

of persons who might possess any books of Luther, or who should

profess his errors. ‘You will confiscate their books,’ the order ran,

‘and transmit them to us.’ The Reformation, which till that time had

been almost unknown in those regions, became suddenly a public fact,

proclaimed by the highest body in the realm, and was on the point of

preoccupying all minds. The enemies of the truth were preparing its

triumph.

However, the question was whether the young king would lean towards the

side of Rome or the side of the Gospel. James V., in whose name the

decree against the Reformation had been issued, had in reality nothing

at all to do with it. Amiable and generous, but a weakling and lover of

pleasure, he was so backward in his learning that for want of knowing

English he could not read the letters of his uncle Henry VIII.[26] He

was a child under tutelage; he spoke to no one except in the presence

of some member of the council, and Angus took care to foster in him

the taste for pleasure in order to turn away his attention from public

affairs. That taste was moreover quite natural to the young prince. His

life was devoted to games, to arms, to the chase; he made request to

Henry VIII. to send him swords and bucklers, the armor made in London

being far more beautiful than that of Edinburgh. He sacrificed business

to pleasure all the more readily because those who were about him were

living in a state of entire disunion. The three chief personages of the

realm, archbishop Beatoun, head of the priests, Angus, leader of the

nobles, and the queen-mother who intrigued with both parties, were at

open war.[27] Margaret desired both to get a divorce from Angus and to

avenge herself on the archbishop who thwarted her in her projects.[28]

In the midst of all these ambitious ones the young king was like a prey

over which the vultures fight.

In May 1525, James having reached his fourteenth year, had been

declared of age, in conformity with the law of Scotland. It had been

a mere matter of form. Angus, supported by the most powerful of the

nobles and by the parliament, verified the fears of the queen; he gave

all places to the Douglases, and taking the Great Seal from archbishop

Beatoun, kept it himself. The queen-mother indignantly entreated her

very dear brother to secure the intervention of the pope on behalf of

her son.[29] All was useless: the authority of the bold and ambitious

Angus remained unimpaired.

[Sidenote: JAMES V. AND THE PRIESTS.]

The young prince, then, wearied with the yoke, threw himself, after the

tradition of his fathers, into the arms of the priests, and in order

to escape the aristocracy submitted himself to the clergy. This was a

grievous prognostic for Reform. At the end of the summer of 1526, the

queen, archbishop Beatoun, and other members of the priestly and royal

party, assembled at Stirling Castle, and a plan was there considered

and determined on which was to take away the chief power from the

nobles and give it to the bishops. John Stuart, earl of Lennox, a

friend of James V., set out from that fortress on September 4, at the

head of from ten to twelve thousand men, and marched on Edinburgh. But

Angus was already informed of what was in preparation, and Arran, who

had made his peace with him, was ready. The same day, in the morning,

the trumpet sounded in the capital, and the chief of the Douglases set

forth at the head of his army, dragging after him the young monarch.

The latter was in hope that the hour of his deliverance was come: he

advanced slowly in the rear of the army, in spite of the brutal threats

of Sir G. Douglas, his guardian. Presently the report of cannons was

heard: the king stopped. George Douglas, fancying that he would attempt

to escape, cried out, ‘Don’t think of running away, for if our enemies

had hold of you on one side and we on the other, we would pull you in

two rather than let you go.’ The King never forgot that word. Angus won

the day. Lennox had been killed by the savage James Hamilton, and the

father of the latter, when he heard it, had thrown his scarlet cloak

over the body of Lennox, exclaiming: ‘Here lies a man, the boldest,

the mightiest, and the wisest that Scotland ever possessed!’ At the

tidings of this great disaster all was confusion in Stirling Castle.

The queen fled in disguise and concealed herself: archbishop Beatoun

put off his pontifical robes, took the dress of a shepherd, and went

into retirement among the herdsmen of the Fifeshire hills, where for

nearly three months he kept a flock, no one the while suspecting that

he was the lord chancellor of the realm. Thus the anticipated triumph

of the primate and the priests, which would have been fatal to the

Reformation, was changed into a total rout, and greater religious

freedom was given to Scotland.[30]

But this was not enough. The reform of the Church by the Church itself

would not suffice; nor would reform by the writings of the reformers;

there was need of a mightier principle,--the Word of God. This Word

does not merely communicate a bare knowledge; it works a transformation

in the will and in the life of man, and as soon as such a change is

accomplished in two or three individuals in any place whatsoever, there

exists a church. The increased liberty enjoyed in Scotland after the

flight of the primate favored the introduction of this mighty Word,

to which it was reserved to effect the complete enfranchisement of the

nation.

[Sidenote: TYNDALE’S NEW TESTAMENTS IMPORTED.]

Early in the summer, merchants of Leith, Dundee, St. Andrews, Montrose,

and Aberdeen, sent out their ships laden with the productions of

Scotland to the ports of the Netherlands, Middelburg, Antwerp, and

other towns, there to procure commodities for which there was a demand

among the Scotch. At that time there was no prohibition against the

introduction of the New Testament into Scotland: only the books of

Luther and other reformers were proscribed. These good Scottish seamen

took advantage of this; and one day Hacket, who had received orders

from Henry VIII. to burn all the Testaments translated by Tyndale

(and this ‘for the preservation of the Christian faith’), learnt at

Berg-op-Zoom, where he then was, that the Scottish traders had put on

board many copies of the Gospels as they were on the point of setting

sail for Edinburgh and St. Andrews. He started with all speed for the

ports which had been named to him: ‘I will seize those books,’ said

he, ‘even though they be already on board the ships, and I will make

a good fire of them.’[31] He got there: but alas! no more Scottish

vessels; they had sailed one day before his arrival. ‘Fortune,’ said

he, ‘did not allow me to get there in time; ah, well, have patience.’

And he gave good instructions on the matter to M. de Bever, admiral of

Flanders, and to Mr. Moffit, conservator of the Scottish nation in that

country.[32]

It was during the time that archbishop Beatoun, arch-foe of the

Reformation, was feeding his sheep on the Fifeshire hills in September,

October, and November 1526, that the New Testaments arrived and were

distributed in the towns and neighboring districts. Scotland and

England received the Holy Scriptures from the same country and almost

at the same time. The citizens of Edinburgh and the canons of St.

Andrews were reading that astonishing book as well as the citizens of

London and the canons of Oxford. There were monks who declared that it

was a bad book ‘recently invented by Martin Luther,’ but the reading of

it was not forbidden. At St. Andrews especially these sacred writings

soon shed the evangelical light over the souls of men.[33]

[Sidenote: PATRICK HAMILTON’S PREACHING.]

There was in that town a young man who was already acquainted with

the great facts of salvation announced in this book, and who was well

qualified to circulate and explain it. Patrick Hamilton, gifted with

keen intelligence and a Christian heart, knew how to set forth in a

concise and natural manner the truths of which he was convinced. He

knew that there is in the Scriptures a wisdom superior to the human

understanding, and that in order to comprehend them there is need of

the illumination of the Holy Spirit. He believed that with the written

it is necessary to combine oral teaching; and that as Testaments were

come from the Netherlands, Scotland needed the spoken word which

should call restless and degenerate souls to seek in them the living

water which springs up unto life eternal. God was then preparing His

witnesses in Scotland, and the first was Patrick Hamilton. He laid

open the New Testament; he set forth the facts and the doctrines

contained in it; he defended the evangelical principles. His father,

the foremost of Scottish knights, had not broken so many lances in the

tournament as Patrick now broke in his college, at the university, with

the canons, and with all who set themselves against the truth.[34] At

the beginning of Lent 1527, he publicly preached in the cathedral and

elsewhere the doctrines (heresies, said his sentence) taught by Martin

Luther.[35] We have no further particulars of his preaching; but these

are sufficient to show us that at this period the people who gathered

together in the ancient churches of Scotland heard this faithful

minister announce that ‘it is not the law, that terrible tyrant, as

Luther said, that is to reign in the conscience, but the Son of God,

the king of justice and of peace, who, like a fruitful rain, descends

from heaven and fertilizes the most barren soil.’[36]

Circumstances were by no means favorable to the Reformation. Archbishop

Beatoun had soon thrown off his shepherd’s dress and left the flocks

which he was feeding in the solitary pastures of Bogrian in Fifeshire.

The simple, rude, and isolated life of the keeper of sheep was a

sufficiently severe chastisement for an ambitious, intriguing, and

worldly spirit: day and night, therefore, he was looking for some means

of deliverance. Although he was then sleeping on the ground, he had

plenty of gold and great estates: this wealth, the omnipotence of

which he knew well, would suffice, said he to himself, to ransom him

from the abject service to which a political reverse had reduced him.

Since the victory of Linlithgow, Angus had exercised the royal power

without opposition. It was needful then that Beatoun should gain over

that terrible conqueror. The queen-mother, who had also fled at first,

having ventured two months later to approach Edinburgh, her son had

received her and conducted her to Holyrood palace. This encouraged the

archbishop. His nephew, David Beatoun, abbot of Arbroath, was as clever

and as ambitious as his uncle, but he hated still more passionately all

who refused to submit to the Roman Church. The archbishop entreated him

to negotiate his return; the party of the nobles was hard to win; but

the abbot, having gained over the provost of Edinburgh, Sir Archibald

Douglas, uncle of Angus, the bargain was struck. The archbishop was

to pay two thousand Scottish marks to Angus, one thousand to George

Douglas, the king’s gaoler, one thousand to cruel James Hamilton, the

assassin of Lennox, and to make a present of the abbey of Kilwinning to

the earl of Arran. Beatoun, charmed, threw away his crook, started for

Edinburgh, and resumed his episcopal functions at St. Andrews.

[Sidenote: HAMILTON DECLARED A HERETIC.]

It was some time after the return of Beatoun that the king’s cousin

began to preach at St. Andrews the glad tidings of free salvation

through faith in Christ. Such doctrines could not be taught without

giving rise to agitation. The clergy took alarm, some priests and

monks went to the castle and prayed the archbishop to chastise the

young preacher. Beatoun ordered an inquiry: it was carried out very

precisely. The persons with whom Hamilton had engaged in discussion

were heard, and some of his hearers gave evidence as to the matter of

his discourses. He was declared a heretic. Beatoun was not cruel; he

would perhaps have been content with seeking to bring back by fatherly

exhortations the young and interesting Hamilton into the paths of

the Church. But the primate had by his side some fanatical spirits,

especially his nephew David, and they redoubled their urgency to such

a degree that the archbishop ordered Hamilton to appear before him to

give an account of his faith.[37]

The inquiry could not be made without this noble Christian hearing of

it. He perceived the fate that awaited him; his friends perceived it

too. If he should appear before the archbishop, it was all up with him.

Everyone was moved with compassion; some of his enemies even, touched

by his youth, the loveliness of his character, and his illustrious

birth, wished to see him escape death. There was no time to lose, for

the order of the archiepiscopal court was already signed; several

conjured him to fly. What should he do? All his desire was to show to

others the peace that filled his own soul; but at the same time he

knew how much was still wanting to him. Who could better enlighten and

strengthen him than the reformers of Germany? Who more able to put him

in a position to return afterwards to preach Christ with power? He

resolved to go. Two of his friends, Hamilton of Linlithgow and Gilbert

Wynram of Edinburgh, determined to accompany him. Preparations for

their departure were made with the greatest possible secrecy. Hamilton

took with him one servant, and the three young Scotchmen, finding their

way furtively to the coast, embarked on board a merchant-ship. It was

in the latter half of the month of April 1527. This unlooked-for escape

greatly provoked those who had set their minds on taking the life of

the evangelist. ‘He, of evil mind, as may be presumed, passed forth of

the realm,’[38] said the archbishop’s familiars. No: his intention was

to be instructed, to increase in spiritual life from day to day. He

landed at the beginning of May in one of the ports of the Netherlands.

CHAPTER III.

HAMILTON PREPARES HIMSELF IN GERMANY FOR THE REFORMATION OF SCOTLAND.

(SPRING, SUMMER, AUTUMN, 1527.)

At the time of Hamilton’s arrival on the Continent, the germ of the

Reformation of Scotland already lay in his heart. His association

with the doctors of Germany would prove the identity of this great

spiritual movement, which everywhere was overthrowing the same abuses,

and bringing anew to the surface the same truths. In which direction

should the young Christian hero of Scotland now turn his footsteps? All

his ambition was to go to Wittenberg, to hear Luther, Melanchthon, and

the other reformers; but circumstances led him to go first to Marburg.

This town lay on his way, and a renowned printer, Hans Luft, was then

publishing there the works of Tyndale. In fact, on May 8, 1527, at

the moment of Patrick’s arrival on the Continent, there appeared at

Marburg the _Parable of the Wicked Mammon_; and seven months later,

December 11, Luft published _The Veritable Obedience of a Christian

Man_. But Hamilton flattered himself that he should find at Marburg

something more than Tyndale’s writings--Tyndale himself. English

evangelical works had at that time to get printed in Germany, and, as

far as possible, under the eye of the author. The young Scotchman had

hopes then of meeting at Marburg the translator of the New Testament,

the reformer of England, and even Fryth, who might be with him. One

reason more positive still influenced Hamilton. He was aware that

Lambert d’Avignon, the one man of all the reformers whose views most

nearly approached those which prevailed afterwards in Scotland, had

been called to Marburg by the landgrave. Philip of Hesse himself was

the most determined, the most courageous of all the Protestant princes.

How many motives were there inclining him to stay in that town! An

extraordinary circumstance decided the young Scotchman. The landgrave,

defender of piety and of letters,[39] was about to found there the

first evangelical university, ‘for the restoration of the liberal

sciences.’[40] Its inauguration was fixed to take place on May 30.

Hamilton and his friends might arrive in time. They bent their course

towards Hesse, and reached the banks of the Lahn.

[Sidenote: UNIVERSITY OF MARBURG.]

At the time of their arrival the little town was full of unaccustomed

movement. Undiverted by this stir, Hamilton hastened to find out the

Frenchman whose name had been mentioned to him and other learned

men who were likely also to be at Marburg. He found the sprightly,

pious, and resolute Lambert, an opponent, like the landgrave, of

half-measures, and a man determined to take action in such wise that

the Reformation should not be checked halfway. The young abbot of the

North and the aged monk of the South thus met, understood each other,

and soon lived together in great familiarity.[41] Lambert said to him

that the hidden things had been revealed by Jesus Christ; that what

distinguishes our religion from all others is the fact that God has

spoken to us; that the Scriptures are sufficient to make us perfect. He

did not philosophize much, persuaded that by dint of philosophizing one

swerves from the truth. He set aside with equal energy the superstition

which invents a marvellous mythology, and the incredulity which denies

divine and supernatural action. ‘Everything which has been perverted

[_déformé_] must be reformed [_réformé_],’ said Lambert, ‘and all

reform which proceeds otherwise than according to the Word of God, is

nothing.[42] All the inventions of human reason are, in the matter of

religion, nothing but trifling and rubbish.’

The commotion which then prevailed amongst the population of Marburg

was occasioned by the approaching inauguration of the university

founded by the landgrave. On May 30 the chancellor presided at that

ceremony. No school of learning had ever been founded on such a basis;

one must suppose that the union which ought to exist between science

and faith was in this case unrecognized. There is nothing in Hamilton’s

writings to show that in this matter he shared the opinions of Lambert.

With great evangelical simplicity as to the faith, the Scotchman had

rather, in his manner of setting it forth, a metaphysical, speculative

tendency, which is a marked feature of the Scottish mind. The

principles which were to characterize the new university were these:

‘The Holy Scriptures,’ says a document of Marburg which has been

preserved, ‘ought to be purely and piously interpreted, and no one who

fails to do so is to teach in the school. From the science of law must

be cut off everything which is either unchristian or impious.[43] It is

not mere scholars who are to be appointed in the faculties of law, of

medicine, of the sciences, and of letters, but men who shall combine

with science the knowledge of the Holy Scriptures and piety.’

[Sidenote: SCIENCE AND FAITH.]

Thus we see that the opposition between science and faith was already

attracting attention, and the landgrave settled the question by

excluding science and those learned in it, since they were not in

agreement with the Scriptures; just as in other ages men would have

theology and theologians set aside, since they were not in agreement

with human learning. No one ought to teach in the schools of theology

except in conformity with the Scriptures of God, the supreme authority

in the Church. To disregard this principle is to take in hand to

destroy the flock of God. The fanaticism of the School, however,

cannot justify the fanaticism of the Church. It is a grave matter

to banish science on account of the dangers to which it exposes us.

To exclude the fire from the hearth for fear of conflagration would

not be reasonable; far better to take the precautions which good

sense points out for preventing the evil. If science and faith are

to advance together without peril, it can only be brought about by

the intervention of the moral principle. The existence of so-called

freethinkers arises from a moral decay; certain excesses of an

exaggerated orthodoxy may perhaps proceed from the same cause. A

presumptuous and passionate haste, affirming and denying to the first

comer, is a grave fault. How many times has it happened that some law,

some fact proclaimed by science at one period as sufficient to convict

the Scriptures of error, has had to be given up soon after by science

herself as a mistake. But let religious men be on their guard against

the indolence and the cowardice which would lead them to repulse

science, out of fear lest she should remain mistress of the field of

battle. By so doing they would deprive themselves of the weapons most

serviceable for the defence of their treasures as well as of the most

fitting occasions for spreading them abroad. Lambert did not go to such

a length; but he was persuaded that unless a breath divine, coming

from on high, give life to academical teaching, the university would

be nothing more than a dead mechanism, and that science, instead of

propagating a healthy and enlightened cultivation, would only darken

and pervert men’s minds. This is surely a very reasonable and very

practical thought, and it is to be regretted that it has not always

regulated public instruction.

After the delivery of the inaugural discourses, the rector, Montanus,

professor of Civil Law, opened the roll of the university, to enter in

it the names of its members. Professors, pastors, state functionaries,

nobles, foreigners, students, one hundred and ten persons in all,

gave their names. The first to sign was the rector, the second was

Lambert; then came Adam Crato, professor Ehrard Schnepf, one of

the first Germans converted by Luther, Enricius Cordus, who had

accompanied Luther to Worms, and Hermann von dem Busche, professor of

Poetry and Eloquence. In a little while three young men of foreign

aspect approached. The first of them signed his name thus: _Patricius

Hamilton, a Litgovien, Scotus, magister Parisiensis_;[44] his two

friends signed after him.

From that time the Frenchman and the Scotchman frequently studied the

Holy Scriptures together, and with interest always new. The large

acquaintance with the Word of God which Hamilton possessed, astonished

Lambert: the freshness of his thoughts and of his imagination charmed

him; the integrity of his character inspired a high esteem for him;

his profound remarks on the Gospel edified him. A short time after

this, the Frenchman, speaking to the landgrave Philip, said:--‘This

young man, of the illustrious family of the Hamiltons, which is

closely allied, by the ties of blood, to the king and the kingdom of

Scotland,[45] who although hardly twenty-three years of age, brings to

the study of Scripture a very sound judgment, and has a vast store of

knowledge, is come from the end of the world, from Scotland, to your

academy, in order to be more fully established in God’s truth. I have

hardly ever met a man who expresses himself with so much spirituality

and truth on the Word of the Lord.’ Such is the testimony given in

Germany, by a Frenchman, to the young reformer of Scotland.

[Sidenote: LUTHER’S ILLNESS.]

Will Hamilton remain at Marburg? Shall he not see Luther, Melanchthon,

and the other doctors of the Reformation? It has been generally

supposed that he did go to Wittenberg; but there is no evidence

of this, either in the University registers or in Luther’s or

Melanchthon’s letters. This tradition, therefore, appears to us to be

unfounded. As Hamilton had, however, formed the intention of visiting

Luther when he left Scotland, what motive led him to relinquish his

design? It was this. Early in July, at the very time when the young

Scotchman might have gone to Wittenberg, a report was spread abroad

that Luther had suddenly fallen ill. On July 7 he had lost the use of

his senses, his body lay motionless, the heart scarcely beating, while

his wife and his weeping friends stood round the bed, on which he was

stretched as if dead. He came to himself, however, and, persuaded that

he was at the point of death,[46] he resigned himself entirely to the

hand of God and prayed with much fervency. At the same time the report

ran in Germany that the plague was raging at Wittenberg. When Luther

had recovered a little strength, he wrote to Spalatin:--‘May the Lord

have pity on me and not forsake _his_ sinner!’[47] Soon after, he had

fresh attacks. ‘Ah,’ said he to his friends, ‘people fancy, because

joy usually brightens my countenance, that I walk on roses, but God

knows how rugged life is for me!’ One day, when Jonas had come to take

supper with him, Luther, feeling ill during the meal, suddenly rose,

and after taking a few steps fell in a fainting fit. ‘Water, water,’

cried he, ‘or I die.’ As he lay on the bed, he lifted up his eyes and

said: ‘O my beloved Lord, thou art master of life and of death, do

as it pleaseth thee. Only remember that it is thou who didst bid me

undertake this work, and that it is for thy truth, for thy Word, that I

have fought.’

On the following day, at six o’clock in the evening, as Jonas again

stood by the bedside of his friend, he heard him calling on the Lord,

sometimes in German, sometimes in Latin. The thought that he had not

done enough, nor suffered enough for his Saviour, distressed him.

‘Ah,’ said he, ‘I have not been judged worthy to shed my blood for

the love of Christ, as several of my brethren have done.’ Presently a

thought consoled him: ‘St. John the Evangelist also,’ said he, ‘had not

that honor--he who nevertheless wrote a book (Apocalypse) against the

papacy, far more severe than any that I could ever write.’[48] After

that he had his little John brought to him, and looking at the mother

of the boy, he said, ‘You have nothing; but God will provide for you.’

[Sidenote: THE PLAGUE AT WITTENBERG.]

The plague, as we have said, was at Wittenberg. Two persons died of it

in Melanchthon’s house; one of his sons was attacked, and one of the

sons of Jonas lost his life. Hans Luft, the printer of Marburg, who was

at Wittenberg on business, fell ill, and his mind wandered.[49] He was

removed to Marburg, where Hamilton was.

Terror became general at Wittenberg. All who could do so, and

especially the students, quitted the town; the university was

transferred to Jena. Luther pressed the elector to go thither with

his family, but, he added, in such calamities pastors must bide at

their post. He remained therefore, and Melanchthon, who was visiting

the churches in Saxony, received orders to go to Jena and resume his

lectures there. During this period Luther, having regained some little

strength, was visiting the sick and consoling the dying. In the course

of a few days he had about him eighteen dead, some of whom even expired

almost in his arms.[50] He received into his house the poor, widows,

orphans, and even the plague-stricken; his house become a hospital.[51]

His wife and his son were attacked. ‘What conflicts!’ cried he, ‘what

terrors! No matter; though the malady waste the body, the Word of

God saves the soul.’ He again fell ill himself, and thinking that he

was nigh to death, he wrote to Melanchthon: ‘Pray for me, vile and

miserable worm. I have only one glory, and that is that I have taught

purely the word of God.[52] He who has begun the work will complete it.

I seek only Him; I thirst for nothing but his grace.’

Such, doubtless, were the circumstances which detained Hamilton at

Marburg. On hearing that in consequence of the plague the courses of

lectures had partly at least been transferred to Jena, he gave up

Wittenberg; and thus is explained quite naturally the want of original

documents respecting his alleged sojourn at the Saxon university. A

very painful sacrifice was thus demanded of him. Lambert resolved

to turn the disappointment to good account. Having a high idea of

the faith, the judgment, and abilities of Hamilton, he begged him to

compose some _theses_ on the evangelical doctrine, and to defend them

publicly. Everyone supported this request; for an academical solemnity,

at which a foreign theologian belonging to the royal family of

Scotland should hold the chief place, could not fail to throw a certain

_éclat_ over the new university. Hamilton consented.[53] His subject

was quickly chosen. In his eyes a man’s religion was not sound unless

it had its source in the Word of God and in the inmost experience of

the soul which receives that Word, and is thereby led into the truth.

He deemed it necessary to present the doctrine in this practical

aspect, rather than to lose himself in the speculative theorems of an

obscure scholasticism.

On the appointed day Hamilton entered the great hall of the university,

in which were gathered professors, students, and a numerous audience

besides. He announced that he was about to establish a certain number

of truths respecting _the law and the Gospel_, and that he would

maintain them against all comers. These theses, all of a practical

character, had however somewhat of that dialectical spirit which

distinguished at a subsequent period the philosophical schools of

Scotland, and were drawn up in a pure and _lapidary_ style which

secures for this theologian of three-and-twenty a noteworthy place

among the doctors of the sixteenth century.

[Sidenote: HAMILTON’S THESES.]

‘There is a difference, and even an opposition, between the law and

the Gospel,’ said Hamilton. ‘The law showeth us our sin; the Gospel

showeth us remedy for it. The law showeth us our condemnation; the

Gospel showeth us our redemption. The law is the word of ire; the

Gospel is the word of grace. The law is the word of despair; the Gospel

is the word of comfort. The law is the word of unrest; the Gospel is

the word of peace.[54] The law saith, Pay thy debt; the Gospel saith,

Christ hath paid it. The law saith, Thou art a sinner--despair, and

thou shalt be damned; the Gospel saith, Thy sins are forgiven thee:

be of good comfort, thou shalt be saved. The law saith, Make amends

for thy sins; the Gospel saith, Christ hath made it for thee. The law

saith, The Father of heaven is angry with thee; the Gospel saith,

Christ hath pacified him with his blood. The law saith, Where is thy

righteousness, goodness, and satisfaction? the Gospel saith, Christ

is thy righteousness, thy goodness, thy satisfaction. The law saith,

Thou art bound and obliged to me, to the devil and to hell; the Gospel

saith, Christ hath delivered thee from them all.’[55]

The attack began, and the defence of the young Master of Arts was as

remarkable as his exposition. Even though he made use of the syllogism,

he shook off the dust of the school, and put something perspicuous

and striking in its place. When one opponent maintained that a man is

justified by the law, Hamilton replied by this syllogism:--

‘That which is the cause of condemnation cannot be the cause of

justification.

‘The law is the cause of condemnation.

‘Therefore the law is not the cause of justification.’

His phraseology, clear, concise, and salient--rare qualities in

Germany, except perhaps in Luther--his practical, transparent,

conscientious Christianity--struck the minds of his hearers. Certainly,

said Lambert, Hamilton has put forward thoroughly Christian axioms, and

has maintained them with a great deal of learning.[56]

Hamilton engaged in other public disputations besides this. As faith in

Christ and justification by faith is the principle which distinguishes

Protestantism from other Christian systems, he felt bound to establish

the nature, importance, and influence of that doctrine. He believed

that faith is born in a man’s heart when, as he hears or reads the

Word of God, the Holy Spirit bears witness in his heart to the main

truth which is found in it, and shows him with clear proof that Jesus

is really an almighty Saviour. Faith was for the young Scotchman a

divine work, which he carefully distinguished from a faith merely

human. On this subject he laid down and defended the following

propositions:--‘He who does not believe the Word of God, does not

believe God himself. Faith is the root of all that is good; unbelief is

the root of all evil. Faith makes friends of God and of man; unbelief

makes enemies of them. Faith lets us see in God a father full of

gentleness; unbelief presents him to us as a terrible judge. Faith sets

a man steadfast on a rock; unbelief leaves him constantly wavering and

tottering. To wish to be saved by works is to make a man’s self his

saviour, instead of Jesus Christ. Wouldst thou make thyself equal with

God? Wouldst thou refuse to accept the least thing from him without

paying him the value of it?’

Fryth, who doubtless took part in the discussion, was so much struck

with these theses that he translated them into English, and by that

means they have come down to us. ‘The truths which Hamilton expounded

are such,’ said he, ‘that the man who is acquainted with them has the

_pith_ of all divinity.’[57] ‘This little treatise is short,’ said

others who listened to him, ‘but in effect it comprehendeth matter able

to fill large volumes.’[58] Yes, Christ is the author of redemption, and

faith is the eye which sees and receives him. There are only these two

things: Christ sacrificed and the eye which contemplates him. The eye,

it is true, is not man’s only organ; we have besides hands to work,

feet to walk, ears to hear, and other members more for our service. But

none of all these members can see, but only the eye.[59]

[Sidenote: HAMILTON’S THESES.]

In the midst of all these labors, however, Hamilton was thinking of

Scotland. It was not of the benefices which had been conferred on him,

not of St. Andrews, nor of the misty lochs or picturesque glens; it was

not even of his family, or of his friends that he thought the most.

What occupied his mind night and day was the ignorance and superstition

in which his countrymen were living. What powerfully appealed to him

was the necessity of giving glory to God and of doing good to his own

people. And yet would it not be madness to return to them? Had he not

seen the animosity of the Scottish clergy? Did he not know well the

power of the primate Beatoun? Had he not, only six or seven months

before, left his country in all haste? Why then these thoughts of

returning? There was good reason for them. Hamilton had been fortified

in spirit during his sojourn at Marburg; his faith and his courage had

increased; by living with decided Christians, who were ready to give

their lives for the Gospel, he had been tempered like steel and had

become stronger. It could not be doubted that extreme peril awaited

him in Scotland; his two friends, John Hamilton and Wynram, did not

understand his impatience and were resolved to wait. But neither their

example nor the urgency of Lambert could quench the ardor of the young

hero. He felt the sorrow of parting with Lambert and of finally giving

up the hope of seeing Luther and Melanchthon; but he had heard God’s

call; his one duty was to answer to it. About the end of autumn 1527

he embarked with his faithful servant and sailed towards the shores of

Caledonia.

CHAPTER IV.

EVANGELIZATION, TRIBULATIONS, AND SUCCESS OF HAMILTON IN SCOTLAND.

(END OF 1527 TO THE END OF FEBRUARY 1528.)

The Church of Rome, in the sixteenth century, especially in Scotland,

was far from being apostolic, although it assumed that title: nothing

was less like St. John or St. Peter than its primates and its prelates,

worldlings and sometimes warriors as they were. The real successors

of the apostles were those reformers, who taught the doctrines of the

apostles, labored as they did, and like them were persecuted and put

to death. The theocratic and political elements combined in Rome have,

with certain exceptions, substituted the law, that is, outward worship,

ceremonial ordinances, pilgrimages and the exercises of ascetic

life for the Gospel. The Reformation was a powerful reaction of the

evangelical and moral element against the legal, sacerdotal, ascetic

and ritualistic elements which had invaded the Church. This reaction

was about to display its energy in Scotland, and Hamilton was to be at

first its principal organ.

Already, before his return, the sacred books had arrived in large

numbers in the principal ports of the kingdom. Attention had been

awakened; but at the same time ignorance, dishonesty, and fanaticism

had risen in revolt against the Evangelical Scriptures. The priests

said that the _Old_ Testament was the only true one, and pretended

that the _New_ had been recently invented by Martin Luther.[60]

Consequently, in August 1527, the earl of Angus, at the instigation of

Dunbar, bishop of Aberdeen, had confirmed the ordinance of 1525, and

had decreed that the king’s subjects who circulated the sacred books

should be visited with the same penalties as people from abroad. If,

therefore, a vessel arrived at Leith, Dundee, St. Andrews, or Aberdeen,

the king’s officers immediately went on board, and if any copies of

the _New_ Testament were found there, the ship and the cargo were

confiscated and the captain was imprisoned.

[Sidenote: HAMILTON’S ZEAL.]

Some time after this ordinance, the ship which carried Hamilton reached

port, and although this young Christian always had his New Testament

in his pocket, he landed without being arrested and went his way to

Kincavil. It was about the end of 1527. Patrick tenderly loved his

mother and his sister; everybody appreciated his amiable character;

the servants and all his neighbors were his friends. This gentleness

made his work easier. But his strength lay above all in the depth and

the sincerity of his Christian spirit. ‘Christ bare our sins on his

back and bought us with his blood’;[61] this was the master chord which

vibrated in his soul. In setting forth any subject he silenced his own

reasonings and let the Bible speak. No one had a clearer perception

of the analogies and the contrasts which characterize the evangelical

doctrine. With these intellectual qualities were associated eminent

moral virtues; he practised the principles which he held to be true

with immovable fidelity; he taught them with a touching charity; he

defended them with energetic decision. Whether he approached a laborer,

a monk, or a noble, it was with the desire to do him good, to lead

him to God. He taxed his ingenuity to devise all means of bearing

witness to the truth.[62] His courage was firm, his perseverance

unflagging, and in his dignified seriousness his youth was forgotten.

His social position added weight to his influence. We have seen that

the aristocracy played a far larger part in Scotland than in any other

European country. It would have seemed a strange thing to the Scots

for a man of the people to meddle with such a matter as reform of the

Church; but if the man that spoke to them belonged to an illustrious

family, the position which he took appeared to them legitimate, and

they were all inclined to listen to his voice. Such was the reformer

whom God gave to Scotland.

Patrick’s elder brother, Sir James Hamilton, on succeeding to the

estates and titles of his father, had been appointed sheriff of

Linlithgowshire. James had not the abilities of his brother, but he was

full of uprightness and humility. His wife, Isabella Sempill, belonged

to an ancient Scottish family, and ten young children surrounded this

amiable pair. Catherine, Patrick’s sister, bore some resemblance to

him; she had much simplicity of character, sense, and decision. But it

was most of all in the society of his mother, the widow of the valiant

knight, that Patrick sought and enjoyed the pure and keen delight

of domestic life. He opened his heart to all these beloved ones; he

made known to them the peace which he had found in the Gospel, and

by degrees his relations were brought to the faith, of which they

afterwards gave brilliant evidence.

[Sidenote: HAMILTON’S PREACHING.]

The zeal which was consuming him could not long be confined within the

limits of his own family. His love for the Gospel silenced within him

all fear and, full of courage, he was ready to endure the insults which

his faith might bring on him. ‘The bright beams of the true light,

which by God’s grace were planted in his heart, began most abundantly

to burst forth, as well in public as in secret.’[63] Hamilton went

about in the surrounding country, his name securing for him everywhere

a hearty welcome. When the young laird was seen approaching, laborers

left the field which they were cultivating, women came out of every

poor cottage, and all gathered about him respectfully and lent him an

attentive ear.[64] Priests, citizens from the neighboring town, women

of rank, lords quitting their castles, people of all classes, met

together there.[65] Patrick received them with a kindly smile and a

graceful bearing. He addressed to souls that first word of the Gospel,

_Be converted!_ but he also pointed out the errors of the Romish

Church.[66] His hearers returned, astonished at his knowledge of the

Scriptures, and the people touched by the salvation which he proclaimed

increased in number from day to day. Southward of the manor-house of

Kincavil extends a chain of rocky hills, whose lofty peaks and slopes,

dotted with clumps of trees, produced in the midst of that district a

most picturesque effect. There more than once he talked freely about

the Gospel with the country-folk, who in the heat of the day came to

rest under the shadow of the rocks. Sometimes he climbed the hills,

and from their tops contemplated the whole range of country in which

he announced the good news. That _Craig_ still exists, a picturesque

monument of Hamilton’s Gospel mission.[67]

He began soon to set forth the Gospel in the lowly churches of the

neighboring villages; then he grew bolder and preached even in the

beautiful sanctuary of St. Michael, at Linlithgow, in the midst of

numerous and rich altars. No sooner had the report of his preaching

begun to get abroad than everyone wanted to hear him. The name which

he bore, his gracious aspect, his learning, his piety, drew about

him day by day a larger number of hearers; for a long time such a

crowd had not been seen flocking into the church.[68] Linlithgow, the

favorite abode of the court, was sometimes bright with unaccustomed

splendor. The members of the royal family, and the most illustrious

nobles of the kingdom, came to unite with the citizens and the people

in the church. This fashionable auditory, whose looks were fixed on

the reformer of three-and-twenty, did not at all intimidate him; the

plainness, clearness, and conciseness which characterized Hamilton’s

style were better adapted to act on the minds of the great than pompous

declamation. ‘Knowest thou what this saying means,’ said he, ‘_Christ

died for thee_? Verily that thou shouldest have died perpetually: and

Christ, to deliver thee from death, died for thee, and changed thy

perpetual death into his own death; for thou madest the fault and He

suffered the pain.... He desireth nought of thee but that thou wilt

acknowledge what He hath done for thee and bear it in mind: and that

thou wouldst help others for his sake, even as He hath holpen thee for

nought and without reward.’[69]

[Sidenote: HIS MARRIAGE.]

Among his hearers was a young maiden of noble birth who with joy

received the good news of salvation. Hamilton recognized in her a soul

akin to his own. He had adopted the principles of Luther on marriage;

he was familiar with the conversations which the reformer had with his

friends on the subject and which were reported all over Germany. ‘My

father and mother,’ said Luther one day, ‘lived in the holy state of

marriage, even the patriarchs and prophets did the same; why should

not I do so? Marriage is the holiest state of all, and the celibacy of

priests has been the cause of abominable sins. We must marry and thus

defy the pope, and assert the liberty which God gives us and which Rome

presumes to steal away.’[70] However, to marry was a daring step for

Hamilton to take, considering _the present necessity_, as speaks the

apostle Paul. As abbot of Ferne, and connected with the first families

of Scotland, his marriage must needs excite to the highest degree the

wrath of the priests. Besides which, it would call for great decision

on the part of Patrick and genuine sympathy on the part of the young

Christian maiden, to unite themselves as it were in sight of the

scaffold. The marriage however took place, probably at the beginning

of 1528. ‘A little while before his death,’ says Alesius, ‘he married

a noble young maiden.’[71] It is possible that the knowledge of this

union did not pass beyond the family circle. It remained unknown to his

biographers till our own time.[72]

While Hamilton was preaching at Linlithgow, archbishop Beatoun was

at the monastery of Dunfermline, about four leagues distant, on the

other side of the Forth. The prelate, when he learnt the return of

the young noble who had so narrowly escaped him, saw clearly that a

missionary animated with Luther’s spirit, thoroughly familiar with the

manners of the people, and supported by the powerful family of the

Hamiltons, was a formidable adversary. News which crossed the Forth

or came from Edinburgh, did but increase the apprehensions of the

archbishop. Beatoun was a determined enemy of the Gospel.[73] Having

governed Scotland during the minority of the king, he was indignant

at the thought of the troubles with which Hamilton’s preaching menaced

the Church and the realm. The clergy shared the alarm of their head;

the city of St. Andrews, especially, which one Scottish historian has

called ‘the metropolis of the kingdom of darkness’,[74] was in a state

of great agitation. The dean Spence, the rector Weddel, the official

Simson, the canon Ramsay and the heads of various monasteries consulted

together and exclaimed that peril was imminent, and that it was

absolutely necessary to get rid of so dangerous an adversary.

The archbishop, therefore, took counsel with his nephew and some other

clerics as to the best means of making away with Hamilton. Great

prudence was needful. They must make sure of the inclinations of

Angus; they must divert the attention of the young king who, with his

generosity of character, might wish to save his relation; they must in

some way ensnare the evangelist, for Beatoun did not dream of sending

men-at-arms to seize Patrick at Kincavil in the house of his brother

the sheriff. So the archbishop resolved to have recourse to stratagem.

In pursuit of the scheme, Hamilton, only a few days after his marriage,

received an invitation to go to St. Andrews for the purpose of a

friendly conference with the archbishop concerning religion. The young

noble, who the year before had divined the perfidious projects of

the clergy, knew well the import of the interview which was proposed

to him, and he told those who were dear to him that in a few days

he should lose his life.[75] His mother, his wife, his brother, his

sister, exerted all their influence to keep him from going; but he was

determined not to flee a second time; and he asked himself whether the

moment was not come in which a great blow might be struck, and the

triumph of the Gospel be attained. He declared therefore that he was

ready to go to the Scottish Rome.

[Sidenote: HAMILTON AT ST. ANDREWS.]

On his arrival at St. Andrews the young reformer presented himself

before the archbishop, who gave him the most gracious reception. Is it

possible that these good graces were sincere, and not treacherous as

was generally supposed? Did Beatoun hope to win him back by such means

to the bosom of the Church? Every one in the palace testified respect

to Hamilton. The prelate had provided for him a lodging in the city, to

which he was conducted. Patrick, when he saw the respect with which he

was treated, felt still more encouraged to set forth frankly the faith

that was in his heart. He went back to the castle where the conference

with the archbishop and the other doctors was to be held. All of them

displayed a conciliatory spirit: all appeared to recognize the evils

in the church; some of them seemed even to share on some points the

sentiments of Hamilton. He left the castle full of hope. He thought

that he could see in the dense wall of Romish prejudices a small

opening which by the hand of God might soon be widened.

He lost no time. Left perfectly free he went and came whithersoever

he would, and was allowed to defend his opinions without any obstacle

being thrown in his way. This was part of the plot. If the archbishop

himself were capable of some kindly feeling, his nephew David and

several others were pitiless. They wished Hamilton to speak, and

to speak a good deal; he must be taken in the very fact, that they

might dare to put him to death. Among those who listened to him there

were present, without his being aware of it, some who took notes

of his sayings and immediately made their report. His enemies were

not satisfied with letting him move about freely in private houses,

but even the halls of the university were opened to him; he might

‘teach there and discuss there openly,’ as an eyewitness tells

us,[76] respecting the doctrines, the sacraments, the rites and the

administration of the Church. Many people were pleased to hear this

young noble announce, with the permission of the primate of Scotland,

dogmas so strange. ‘They err,’ said Hamilton to his audience, ‘whose

religion consists in men’s merits, in traditions, laws, canons, and

ceremonies, and who make little or no mention of the faith of Christ.

They err who make the Gospel to be a law, and Christ to be a Moses. To

put the law in the place of the Gospel is to put on a mourning gown

in the feast of a marriage.’[77] Then he repeated what he had already

asserted at Marburg, what Luther had said, what Jesus Christ had

said:--‘It is not good works which make a good man; but it is a good

man who makes good works.’[78] It was above all for this proposition,

so Christian, so clear, that he was to be attacked.

The enemies of the young reformer exulted when they heard him avow

principles so opposed to those of Rome; but desirous of compromising

him still further, they engaged him in private conversations, in

which they tried hard to draw him to the extreme of his anti-Romish

convictions. Nevertheless, there were among his hearers righteous men

who loved this young Scotchman, so full of love for God and for men,

who went to his house, confided to him their doubts, and desired his

guidance. He received them with kindliness, frequently invited them to

his table, and sought to do good to them all.

[Sidenote: HIS DISCUSSION WITH ALESIUS.]

Among the canons of St. Andrews was Alexander Alane, better known under

the Latin name of Alesius, who in his boyhood had narrowly escaped

death on Arthur’s Seat. This young man, of modest character, with a

tender heart, a moderate yet resolute spirit, and a fine intelligence

which had been developed by the study of ancient languages, had made

great progress in scholastic divinity, and had taken his place at an

early age among the adversaries of the Reformation.[79] His keenest

desire was to break a lance with Luther; controversy with the reformer

was at that time the great battle-field on which the doctors, young

and old, aspired to give proof of their valor. As he could not measure

himself personally with the man whom he named _arch-heretic_, Alesius

had refuted his doctrine in a public discussion held at the university.

The theologians of St. Andrews had covered him with applause.[80]

‘Assuredly,’ said they, ‘if Luther had been present, he would have

been compelled to yield.’ The fairest hopes, too, were entertained

respecting the young doctor. Alesius, alive to these praises, and a

sincere Catholic, thought that it would be an easy task for him to

convince young Hamilton of his errors. He had been acquainted with him

before his journey to Marburg; he loved him; and he desired to save him

by bringing him back from his wanderings.

With this purpose he visited the young noble. Conversation began.

Alesius was armed cap-à-pié, crammed with scholastic learning,[81]

and with all the formulæ _quomodo sit, quomodo non sit_. Hamilton

had before him nothing but the Gospel, and he replied to all the

reasonings of his antagonist with the clear, living, and profound

word of the Scriptures. It has happened more than once that sincere

men have embraced the truth a little while after having pronounced

against it. Alesius, struck and embarrassed, was silenced, and felt as

if ‘the morning-star were rising in his heart.’ It was not merely his

understanding that was convinced. The breath of a new life penetrated

his soul, and at the moment when the scaffolding of his syllogisms

fell to the ground, the truth appeared to him all radiant with glory.

He did not content himself with that first conference, but frequently

came again to see Hamilton, taking day by day more and more pleasure

in his discourse. His conscience was won, his mind was enlightened.

On returning to his priory cell, he pondered with amazement on the

way he had just gone. ‘The result of my visit has been contrary to

all my expectation,’ said he; ‘I thought that I should bring Hamilton

back to the doctrine of Rome, and instead of that he has brought me to

acknowledge my own error.’[82]

[Sidenote: ALEXANDER CAMPBELL.]

One day another speaker came to Hamilton. This was a young

ecclesiastic, Alexander Campbell, prior of the Dominicans, who

like Alesius had a fine genius, great learning,[83] and a kindly

disposition.[84] The archbishop, who knew his superiority, begged

him to visit Hamilton frequently, and to spare no efforts to win him

back to the Roman doctrine. Campbell obeyed his chief; but while

certain priests or monks craftily questioned the young doctor with

the intention of destroying him, the prior of the Dominicans had it

in mind to save him. It is a mistake to attribute to him from the

first any other intention. Campbell, like Alesius, was open to the

truth, but the love of the world and its favors prevailed in him, and

therein lay his danger. He frequently conversed with Hamilton on the

true sense of the Scriptures, and acknowledged the truth of Patrick’s

words. ‘Yes,’ said the prior, ‘the Church is in need of reformation

in many ways.’[85] Hamilton, pleased with this admission, hoped to

bring him to the faith, like Alesius, and having no fear of a friend

whom he already looked on almost as a brother, he kept back none of his

thoughts, and attached himself to him with all sincerity. But after

several interviews, Campbell received orders from the archbishop to

go to him to give an account of the result of his proceedings. This

request astonished and disturbed the prior; and when he stood before

Beatoun and his councillors, he was intimidated, overpowered by fear at

the thought of offending the primate, and of incurring the censures of

the Church. He would fain have obeyed at the same time both the Lord

and the bishop,--he would fain have served God and _sucked-in_ honors;

but he saw no means of reconciling the Gospel and the world. When he

saw all looks turned on him he was agitated, he wavered, and told

everything which the young noble of Kincavil had said to him in the

freedom of brotherly confidence. He appeared to condemn him, and even

consented to become one of his judges. Choosing ease, reputation, and

life rather than persecution, opprobrium, and death, Campbell turned

his back on the truth and abandoned Hamilton.

When the young reformer heard of Campbell’s treachery, it was a great

sorrow to him; but he was not disheartened. On the contrary, he went

on teaching with redoubled zeal, both at his own lodging and in the

university. He bore witness, ‘with hand and with foot,’ as used to be

said at that time (that is to say, with all his heart and with all

his might), to the Word of God. For making a beginning of the work of

reformation there was no place in the kingdom more important than St.

Andrews. Hamilton found there students and professors, priests, monks

of the orders of St. Augustine, St. Francis, and St. Dominic, canons,

deans, members of the ecclesiastical courts, nobles, jurisconsults,

and laymen of all classes. This was the wide and apparently favorable

field on which for one month he scattered plentifully the divine

seed.[86]

The adversaries of the New Testament, when they saw the success of

Hamilton’s teachings, grew more and more alarmed every day. There

must be no more delay, they thought; all compliance must cease, and

the great blow must be struck. Patrick was cited to appear at the

archiepiscopal palace, to make answer to a charge of heresy brought

against him. His friends in alarm conjured him to fly: it seemed that

even the archbishop would have been glad to see him set out once more

for Germany. Lord Hamilton, earl of Arran, was at once Patrick’s uncle

and the primate’s nephew by marriage. The primate would naturally show

some consideration for a young man whose family he respected;[87] but

the obstacle was to be raised on the part of Hamilton himself. When

he crossed the North Sea to return to Scotland, he had resolved to

lay down his life, if need be, if only by his death _Christ should be

magnified_. The joy of a good conscience was so firmly established in

his soul that no bodily suffering could take it away.

As Patrick was not minded to fly from the scaffold, his enemies

determined to rid themselves of so formidable an antagonist.

One obstacle, however, lay in their way. Would the king, feeble and

thoughtless, but still humane and generous, permit them to sacrifice

this young member of his family, who excited the admiration even of his

adversaries? James V. felt really interested in Patrick: he wished to

see him, and had urged him to be reconciled with the bishops.[88] If

at the last moment the Hamiltons should entreat his pardon, how could

he refuse it? To evade this difficulty, the Roman clergy resolved to

get the young monarch removed out of the way. His father, James IV.,

used to make a yearly pilgrimage to the chapel of St. Duthac, founded

by James III., in Ross-shire, in the north of Scotland. The bishops

determined to persuade this prince, then only seventeen, to undertake

this long journey although it was then the depth of winter.[89] The

king consented, either because he was artfully misled by the priests,

or because, seeing that they were determined to get rid of Hamilton, he

would rather let them alone, and wash his hands of it. He set out for

St. Duthac,[90] and the priests immediately applied themselves to their

task.

[Sidenote: HAMILTON’S DEATH RESOLVED ON.]

The tidings of the imminent danger which threatened Patrick brought

anxiety into the manor-house of Kincavil. His wife, his mother, and

his sister were deeply moved: Sir James was determined not to confine

himself to useless lamentation, but to snatch his brother out of the

hands of his enemies. As sheriff of Linlithgow and captain of one of

the king’s castles, he could easily assemble some men-at-arms, and he

set out for St. Andrews at the head of a small force, confident that

in case of success James V., on his return from Duthac, would grant

him a bill of indemnity.[91] But when he reached the shores of the

Forth, which had to be crossed on his way into Fifeshire, he found

the waters in agitation from a violent storm, so that he could not

possibly make the passage.[92] Sir James and his men-at-arms stopped

on the coast, watching the waves with mournful hearts, and listening

in anguish to the roar of the storm. When the archbishop heard of the

appearance of a troop on the other side the Forth, he collected a large

body of horsemen to repulse the attack.[93] Those who were bent on

rescuing Hamilton were as full of ardor as those who were bent on his

destruction. Which of the two parties would win the day?

CHAPTER V.

APPEARANCE, CONDEMNATION, MARTYRDOM.

(END OF FEBRUARY-MARCH 1, 1528.)

The Word of God, when heard among men, has a twofold effect. The

first, as we have seen, is to win souls for God by the charm of the

divine love which it reveals; but that is not all. It not only gives

but demands: it insists on a new heart and a new life. The pride of

man revolts against the commandments of God: the heart incensed is

bitter against those who announce them, and impels to persecution. The

evangelical word, like the creative, separates light from darkness,

those who are obedient from those who rebel. This is what was then

taking place in Scotland.

[Sidenote: HAMILTON BEFORE THE BISHOPS.]

Hamilton rose early on the day on which he was to appear before the

bishop’s council.[94] Calm and yet fervent in spirit, he burned

with desire to make confession of the truth in the presence of that

assembly. Without waiting for the hour which had been fixed, he left

his abode and presented himself unexpectedly at the archbishop’s

palace, between seven and eight o’clock not long after sunrise. Beatoun

was already at his task, wishing to confer with the members of his

council before the sitting. They went and told him that Hamilton was

come and was asking for him. The archbishop took good care not to

give him a private interview. The several heresies of which Hamilton

was accused had been formulated. All who took part in the affair were

agreed as to the heads of the indictment. Beatoun resolved at once to

take advantage of Hamilton’s eagerness, and to advance the sitting. The

archbishop directed the court to constitute itself: each member took

his place according to his rank, and they had the accused before them.

One of the members of the council was commissioned to unfold before

the young doctor the long catalogue of heresies laid to his charge.

Hamilton was brought in. He had expected to converse with Beatoun in

private, but he found himself suddenly before a tribunal of sombre and

inquisitorial aspect; the lion’s jaws were open before him. However, he

remained gentle and calm before the judges, although he knew that they

had resolved to take away his life.

‘You are charged,’ said the commissioner, ‘with teaching false

doctrines: 1st, that the corruption of sin remains in the child after

baptism; 2nd, that no man is able by mere force of free will to do any

good thing; 3rd, that no one continues without sins so long as he is

in this life; 4th, that every true Christian must know if he is in the

state of grace; 5th, that a man is not justified by works but by faith

alone; 6th, that good works do not make a good man, but that a good

man makes good works; 7th, that faith, hope and charity are so closely

united that he who has one of these virtues has also the others; 8th,

that it may be held that God is cause of sin in this sense, that when

he withholds his grace from a man, the latter cannot but sin; 9th,

that it is a devilish doctrine to teach that remission of sins can be

obtained by means of certain penances; 10th, that auricular confession

is not necessary to salvation; 11th, that there is no purgatory; 12th,

that the holy patriarchs were in heaven before the passion of Jesus

Christ; and 13th, that the pope is Antichrist, and that a priest has

just as much power as a pope.’[95]

The young reformer of Scotland had listened attentively to this long

series of charges, drawn up in somewhat scholastic terms. In the

official indictment of the priests were included some doctrines for

the maintenance of which Hamilton was willing to lay down his life;

others which, he admitted, were fair subjects for discussion; but

the primate’s theologians had, in their zeal, piled up all that they

could find, true or false, essential or accidental, and had flung

the confused mass at the young man in order to crush him. One of the

clergy, who had visited him for the purpose of catching him unawares

in some heresy, had given out that the reformers made God the author

of sin. Patrick had denied it, saying,--and this was matter of

reproach in the 8th article,--that a sinner may get to such a pitch

of obduracy that God leaves him because he will no longer hear him.

Hamilton, therefore, made a distinction between the various heads of

the indictment. ‘I declare,’ said he, ‘that I look on the first seven

articles as certainly true, and I am ready to attest them with a solemn

oath. As for the other points they are matter for discussion; but I

cannot pronounce them false until stronger reasons are given me for

rejecting them than any which I have yet heard.’

The doctors conferred with Hamilton on each point; and the thirteen

articles were then referred to the judgment of a commission of divines

nominated by the primate. A day or two later, the commissioners made

their report, and declared all the articles, without exception, to

be heretical. The primate then, in order that the judgment might be

invested with special solemnity, announced that sentence would be

delivered in the cathedral on the last day of February, before an

assembly of the clergy, the nobility, and the people.[96]

[Sidenote: ANDREW DUNCAN’S ATTEMPT.]

While the priests were making ready to put to death one of the members

of the illustrious family of the Hamiltons, some noble-hearted laymen

were preparing to rescue him. The men of Linlithgow were not the only

ones to stir in the matter. John Andrew Duncan, laird of Airdrie, who,

as we have seen, was taken prisoner by the English at the battle of

Flodden, had, during his captivity, found friends in England, whom he

gained for the Gospel. On his return to Scotland, he had opened his

house as an asylum for the gospellers, and had become intimate with

the Hamiltons. Hearing of the danger that beset Patrick, indignant

at the conduct of the bishops and burning with desire to save the

young reformer, Duncan had armed his tenants and his servants, and

then marching towards the metropolitan city, intended to enter it by

night, to carry off his friend and conduct him to England. But the

archbishop’s horsemen, warned of the enterprise, set out and surrounded

Duncan’s feeble troop, disarmed them and made Duncan prisoner. The life

of this noble evangelical Christian was spared at the intercession of

his brother-in-law, who was in command of the forces which captured

him, but he had once more to quit Scotland.[97]

This attempt had been frustrated just at the moment when the

commissioners presented their report on the alleged heresies of

Hamilton. There was no longer any need for hesitation on the part

of the archbishop; he therefore ordered the arrest of the young

evangelist. Wishing to prevent any resistance, the governor of the

castle of St. Andrews, who was to carry out the order, waited till

night; and then putting himself at the head of a well-armed body of

men, he silently surrounded the house in which Hamilton dwelt.[98]

According to one historian, he had already retired to rest; according

to others, he was in the society of pious and devoted friends and was

conversing with them. The young reformer, while he appreciated the

affection and the eagerness of his friend Duncan, had no wish that

force should be employed to save him. He knew that of whatever nature

the war is, such must the weapons be; that for a spiritual war the

weapons must be spiritual; that Christ’s soldiers must fight only with

the sword of the holy Word. He remained calm in the conviction that God

disposes all that befalls his children in such wise that what the world

thinks an evil turns out for good to them. At the very moment when

the soldiers were surrounding his house, he felt himself encompassed

with solid ramparts, knowing that God marshals his forces around his

people, as if for the defence of a fortress. At that moment there were

knocks at the door: it was the governor of the castle. Hamilton knew

what it meant. He rose, went forward accompanied by his friends, and

opening the door asked the governor whom he wanted;[99] the latter

having answered, Hamilton said, ‘It is I!’ and gave himself up. Then

pointing to his friends he added, ‘You will allow them to retire;’[100]

and he entreated them not to make any resistance to lawful authority.

But these ardent Christians could not bear the thought of losing their

friend. ‘Promise us,’ they said to the governor, ‘promise us to bring

him back safe and sound.’ The officer only replied by taking away his

prisoner. On the summit of huge rocks which rise perpendicularly from

the sea, and whose base is ceaselessly washed by the waves, stood at

that time the castle whose picturesque remains serve still as a beacon

to the mariner. It was within the walls of this feudal stronghold that

Hamilton was taken and confined.

[Sidenote: HAMILTON IN THE CASTLE.]

The last day of February at length arrived, the day fixed by the

archbishop for the solemn assembly at which sentence was to be

pronounced. The prelate, followed by a large number of bishops, abbots,

doctors, heads of religious orders, and the twelve commissioners,

entered the cathedral--a building some centuries old, which was to

be cast down in a day by a word of Knox, and whose magnificent ruins

still astonish the traveller.[101] Beatoun sat on the bench of the

inquisitorial court, and all the ecclesiastical judges took their

places round him. Among these was observed Patrick Hepburn, prior of

St. Andrews, son of the earl of Bothwell, a worthless and dissolute

man, who had eleven illegitimate children, and who gloried in bringing

distress and dishonor into families. This veteran of immorality--who

ought to have been on the culprit’s seat, but whose pride was greater

even than his licentiousness--took his place with a shameless

countenance on the judges’ bench. Not far from him was David Beatoun,

abbot of Arbroath, an ambitious young man, who was already coveting

his uncle’s dignity, and who, as if to prepare himself for a long work

of persecution, vigorously pressed on the condemnation of Patrick.

In the midst of these hypocrites and fanatics sat one man in a state

of agitation and distress--the prior of the Dominicans, Alexander

Campbell--with his countenance gloomy and fallen. A great crowd of

canons, priests, monks, nobles, citizens, and the common people, filled

the church; some of them greedy for the spectacle which was to be

presented to them, others sympathizing with Hamilton. ‘I was myself

present,’ said Alesius, ‘a spectator of that tragedy.’[102]

The tramp of horses was presently heard: the party of troops sent to

seek Hamilton were come. The young evangelist passed into the church,

and had to mount a lofty desk, from which he could be easily seen and

heard by the assembly. All eyes were turned towards him. ‘Ah,’ said

pious folk, ‘if this young Christian had been a worldling, and had

given himself up, like the other lords of the court, to a life of

dissipation and rioting,[103] he would doubtless have been loved by

everybody; and this flower of youth which we now look on would have

blown amidst flatteries and delights. But because to his rank he has

added piety and virtue, he must fall under the blows of the wicked.’

[Sidenote: THE TRIAL.]

The proceedings began. The commissioners presented their report to the

court, duly signed. Then Alexander Campbell rose, for the archbishop

had charged him to read the indictment, and the unfortunate man had

not dared to refuse the horrible task. Hamilton was affected at seeing

that man whom he took for his friend appear as his accuser. However,

he listened with calmness to the address. His quietude, his noble

simplicity, his frankness, his trust in the Lord, impressed every one.

‘Truly,’ said Alesius, ‘no man ever more fully realized that saying,

‘Trust in the Lord and do good.’[104] A contest began between the

prior of the Dominicans and the young reformer. The latter, determined

to defend his faith in the presence of that great assembly, pointed

out the sophistry of his accusers, and established the truth by the

testimony of the Holy Scriptures. Campbell replied; but Hamilton,

always armed with the Word of God, rejoined, and his adversary was

silenced. Campbell, unhappy and distressed, inwardly convinced of

the doctrine professed by his old friend, could do no more. He

approached the tribunal and asked for instructions. The bishops and

the theologians, having no mind for a public debate, directed Campbell

to enumerate with a loud voice certain errors which had not yet been

reduced to formal articles, and to call Hamilton _heretic_.[105] This

was putting the poor Dominican to fresh torture; but he must hold on to

the end. He turned therefore towards Hamilton and said aloud--‘Heretic!

thou hast said that all men have the right to read the Word of God.

Thou hast said that it is against the divine law to worship images.

Thou hast said that it is idle to invoke the saints and the Virgin.

Thou hast said that it is useless to celebrate masses to save souls

from purgatory....’ Here the unfortunate Campbell stopped. ‘Purgatory!’

exclaimed Patrick; ‘nothing purifies souls but the blood of Jesus

Christ.’[106] At these words, Campbell turned to the archbishop and

said, ‘My lords, you hear him; he despises the authority of our holy

father the pope.’ Then, as if he meant to stifle by insults the voice

of the noble and courageous Christian, ‘Heretic,’ cried he, ‘rebel!

detestable! execrable! impious!...’ Hamilton, turning towards him,

said, in accents full of kindness, ‘My brother, thou dost not in thy

very heart believe what thou art saying.’[107] This was too much. The

word of tender reproof pierced like a dart the soul of the unhappy

Dominican. To find himself treated with so much gentleness by the man

whose death he was urging rent his heart, and an accusing cry was

heard in the depths of his soul.[108] Campbell was embarrassed and

silenced. Hamilton’s charity had heaped coals of fire on his head.[109]

Then began the taking of votes. The members of the court unanimously

condemning the innocent man, the primate rose and said,--‘_Christi

nomine invocato_,--We, James, by the grace of God archbishop of St.

Andrews, primate of Scotland, sitting in judgment in our metropolitan

church, have found Patrick Hamilton infected with divers heresies of

Martin Luther, which have been already condemned by general councils.

We therefore declare the said Hamilton a heretic; we condemn him; we

deprive him of all dignities, orders, and benefices, and we deliver him

over to the secular arm to be punished.’[110]

Having thus spoken, the primate laid on the table the sentence which

he had just read, and the bishops, priors, abbots, and doctors present

came and signed the document one by one. The primate next, with the

view of investing the act with more authority, invited such persons

as had a certain rank in the university to set their hands likewise

to it. Young boys--the earl of Cassilis, for example, who was only

thirteen--were of the number. The priests persuaded them that they

thereby did God service, and this was very flattering to such children.

The court rose, and an escort of some thousands of armed men conducted

Hamilton back to the castle.[111]

This numerous escort showed the fears which the clergy entertained.

Duncan’s attempt had failed, but Sir James Hamilton was still at

the head of his soldiers, and many other persons in Scotland were

interested about this young man. But nothing short of the death

of their victim could pacify the priests. They decided that the

sentence should be executed the same day. The primate was sure of the

coöperation of the government. Angus offered no opposition to this

iniquitous proceeding. Thus condemnation had hardly been pronounced

when the executioner’s servants were seen before the gate of St.

Salvator’s College, raising the pile on which Hamilton was to be burnt.

[Sidenote: AT THE STAKE.]

While they were heaping up the wood and driving in the stake, Patrick

was taking his last meal in one of the rooms of the castle; he ate

moderately, as his custom was, but without the slightest agitation; his

countenance was perfectly serene. He was going to meet death with good

courage, because it would admit him into his Father’s house; he hoped,

too, that his martyrdom would be gain to the Church of God. The hour

of noon struck: it was the time appointed for the execution. Hamilton

bade them call the governor of the castle. That officer appeared; he

was deeply affected. Hamilton, without leaving the table, inquired

of him _whether all was ready_?[112] The governor, whose heart was

breaking to see such innocence and nobleness requited with a cruel

death, could not find courage to pronounce a single word which would

point to the scaffold, and he answered with emotion, _Dii meliora_,

‘God give you a better fate!’ Hamilton understood him, got up, took the

Gospel in one hand, grasped affectionately with the other the hand of

the sympathizing governor, and went like a lamb to execution.[113] He

was accompanied by a few friends, his faithful servant followed, and

a numerous guard escorted him. He set the cross of Christ, which he

then bore, above all the delights of life.[114] His soul was full of a

glorious and solid joy, which was worth more than the joy of the world.

He arrived at the spot. All was ready--wood, coal, powder, and other

combustible material. Standing before the pile, he uncovered his head,

and lifting up his eyes to heaven, remained motionless for some moments

in prayer.[115] Then he turned to his friends and handed to one of

them his copy of the Gospels. Next, calling his servant, he took off

his cloak, his coat, and his cap, and with his arms stretched out

presented them to him and said--‘Take these garments, they can do me no

service in the fire, and they may still be of use to thee. It is the

last gift thou wilt receive from me, except the example of my death,

the remembrance of which I pray thee to bear in mind. Death is bitter

for the flesh ... but it is the entrance into eternal life, which

none can possess who deny Jesus Christ.’[116] The archbishop, wishing

to ingratiate himself with the powerful family of the Hamiltons, had

ordered some of his clergy to offer the young reformer his life on

condition of his submitting to the absolute authority of the pope.

‘No,’ replied Hamilton, ‘your fire will not make me recant the faith

which I have professed. Better that my body should burn in your flames

for having confessed the Saviour, than that my soul should burn in hell

for having denied him. I appeal to God from the sentence pronounced

against me, and I commit myself to his mercy.’[117]

[Sidenote: INSULTS OF CAMPBELL.]

The executioners came to fulfil their part. They passed an iron chain

round the victim’s body, and thus fastened him to the stake which

rose above the pile. Conscious that acute pains might lead him to

err, Hamilton prayed to God that the flames might not extort from him

the least word which should grieve his divine master. ‘In the name of

Jesus,’ he added, ‘I give up my body to the fire, and commit my soul

into the hands of the Father.’ Three times the pile was kindled, and

three times the fire went out because the wood was green.[118] Suddenly

the powder placed among the faggots exploded, and a piece of wood shot

against Hamilton flayed part of his body; but death was not yet come.

Turning to the deathsman, he said mildly, ‘Have you no dry wood?’

Several men hastened to get some at the castle. Alexander Campbell

was present, struggling with his evil conscience, and in a state of

violent agitation which rose with his distress and misery. The servants

of the executioner brought some dry wood and quickened the fire.

‘Heretic,’ said Campbell, ‘be converted! recant! call upon Our Lady;

only say, _Salve Regina_.’ ‘If thou believest in the truth of what thou

sayest,’ replied Patrick, ‘bear witness to it by putting the tip only

of thy finger into the fire in which my whole body is burning.[119]’

The unhappy Dominican took good care to do no such thing. He began

to insult the martyr. Then Hamilton said to him, ‘Depart from me,

messenger of Satan.’ Campbell, enraged, stormed round the victim like

a roaring lion. ‘Submit to the pope,’ he cried; ‘there is no salvation

but in union with him.’ Patrick was broken-hearted with grief at seeing

to what a pitch of obduracy his old friend had come. ‘Thou wicked man,’

said he to him, ‘thou knowest the contrary well enough; thou hast

told me so thyself.’ This noble victim, then, chained to the post and

already half-burnt, feeling himself to be superior to the wretched man

who was vexing him, spoke as a judge, commanded as a king, and said

to the Dominican, ‘I appeal thee before the tribunal seat of Christ

Jesus.’[120] At these words Campbell, ceasing his outcries, remained

mute, and leaving the place, fled affrighted into his monastery. His

mind wandered; he was seized with madness; he was like one possessed by

a demon, and in a little while he died.[121]

The tenderest affections succeeded these most mournful emotions in

Hamilton’s heart. He was drawing near to the moment of heart-rending

separations: but his thoughts, though turning heavenward, were not

turned away from his home at Kincavil. He had cherished the hope of

becoming a father; and some time afterwards his wife gave birth to a

daughter who was named Issobel. She lived at court in later years, and

received on more than one occasion tokens of the royal favor.[122]

Hamilton, who had always felt the tenderest respect for his mother,

did not forget her at the stake, but commended her to the love of his

friends.[123] After his wife and his mother, he was mindful of his

native place. ‘O God,’ said he, ‘open the eyes of my fellow-citizens,

that they may know the truth!’

[Sidenote: HAMILTON’S DEATH.]

While the martyr’s heart was thus overflowing with love, several of

the wretches who stood round him aggravated his sufferings. A baker

took an armful of straw and threw it into the fire to increase its

intensity; at the same moment a gust of wind from the sea quickened

the flames, which rose above the stake. The chain round Patrick’s body

was red-hot, and had by this time almost burnt him in two.[124] One of

the bystanders, probably a friend of the Gospel, cried to him, ‘If

thou still holdest true the doctrine for which thou diest, make us a

sign.’ Two fingers of his hand were consumed; stretching out his arm,

he raised the other three, and held them motionless in sign of his

faith.[125] The torment had lasted from noon, and it was now nearly six

o’clock. Hamilton was burnt over a slow fire.[126] In the midst of the

tumult he was heard uttering this cry, ‘O God, how long shall darkness

cover this realm, how long wilt thou permit the tyranny of men to

triumph?’ The end was drawing nigh. The martyr’s arm began to fail: his

three fingers fell. He said, ‘Lord Jesus! receive my spirit.’ His head

drooped, his body sank down, and the flames completed their ravage and

reduced it to ashes.

The crowd dispersed, thrilled by this grand and mournful sight, and

never was the memory of this young reformer’s death effaced in the

hearts of those who had been eyewitnesses of it. It was deeply engraven

in the soul of Alesius. ‘I saw,’ said he, several years afterwards

in some town in Germany, ‘I saw in my native land the execution of

a high-born man, Patrick Hamilton.’[127] And he told the story in

brief and penetrating words. ‘How singular was the fate of the two

Hamiltons! Father and son both died a violent death: the former died

the death of a hero; the latter, that of a martyr. The father had been

in Scotland the last of the knights of the Middle Ages; the son was

in the same land the first of the soldiers of Christ in the new time.

The father brought honor to his family by winning many times the palm

of victory in tournaments and combats; the son,’ says an illustrious

man, Théodore Beza, ‘ennobled the royal race of the Hamiltons, sullied

afterwards by some of its members, and adorned it with that martyr’s

crown which is infinitely more precious than all kingly crowns.’[128]

CHAPTER VI.

ALESIUS.

(END OF FEBRUARY 1528 TO THE END OF 1531.)

[Sidenote: EFFECTS OF HAMILTON’S DEATH.]

That saying of Christian antiquity, ‘The blood of the martyrs is

the seed of the church,’ was perhaps never verified in a more

striking manner than in the case of Hamilton. The rumor of his death,

reverberating in loud echoes from the Highlands, ran over the whole

land. It was much the same as if the famous big cannon of Edinburgh

Castle, Mons Meg, had been fired and the report had been re-echoed from

the Borders to Pentland Frith. Nothing was more likely to win feudal

Scotland to the Reformation than the end, at once so holy and so cruel,

of a member of a family so illustrious. Nobles, citizens, and the

common people, nay, even priests and monks, were on the point of being

aroused by this martyrdom. Hamilton, who by his ministry was reformer

of Scotland, became still more so by his death. For God’s work, a

life long and laborious would have been of less service than were his

trial, condemnation, and execution, all accomplished on one day. By

giving up his earthly life for a life imperishable, he announced the

end of the religion of the senses, and began the worship in spirit and

in truth. The pile to which the priests had sent him became a throne,

his torture was a triumph, and when the _Crowns of the Martyrs_ were

celebrated in Scotland, voices were heard exclaiming:--

E cœlo alluxit primam Germania lucem,

Qua Lanus et vitreis qua fluit Albis aquis.

Intulit huic lucem nostræ Dux prævius oræ.

O felix terra! hoc si foret usa duce!

Dira superstitio grassata tyrannide in omnes,

Omniaque involvens Cimmeriis tenebris,

Illa nequit lucem hanc sufferre. Ergo omnis in unum,

Fraude, odiis, furiis, turba cruenta coit.

Igne cremant. Vivus lucis qui fulserat igne,

Par erat, ut moriens lumina ab igne daret.[129]

People everywhere wanted to know the cause for which this young

noble had given his life, and everyone took the side of the victim.

‘Just at the time when those cruel wolves,’ said Knox, ‘had, as they

supposed, clean devoured their prey, a great crowd surrounded them

and demanded of them an account for the blood which they had shed.’

‘The faith for which Hamilton was burnt,’ said many, ‘is that which we

will have.’ In vain was it that the guilty men, convicted by their own

consciences, were inflamed with wrath, and uttered proud threats;[130]

for everywhere the abuses and errors which up to that time had been

venerated were called in question.[131] Such were the happy results of

Hamilton’s death.

As the news spread, however, in foreign lands, very different feelings

were aroused. The doctors of Louvain, writing to the clergy of

Scotland, said, ‘We are equally delighted with the work which you

have done and with the way in which you have done it.’[132] Others

showed themselves not so much charmed with such hatred, stratagem,

and cruelty. A Christian man in England wrote to the Scottish nobles,

‘Hamilton is now living with Christ whom he confessed before the

princes of this world, and the voice of his blood, like the blood of

Abel, cries to heaven.’[133] Francis Lambert, especially his friend

and companion, was a prey to intense grief: he said to the landgrave,

‘Hamilton has offered up to God and to the Church, as a sacrifice, not

only the lustre of his rank, but also his youthful prime.’[134]

[Sidenote: JAMES V. FLIGHT.]

Some days after, the king returned from the north of Scotland, whither

the priests had sent him to worship some relics. Hamilton was no more.

What were the feelings of James V. when he learnt the death of this

noble scion of the royal house? We have no means of ascertaining them.

The young prince seemed to be more alive to the humiliation to which

the nobles subjected him than to the cruelty of the priests. Fretted

by the state of dependence in which Angus kept him, he made complaint

of it to Henry VIII.[135] Hunting was his only amusement, and for the

sake of enjoying it he had taken up his abode at Falkland Castle. On

a sudden, caring no more for hounds, foxes, or deer, he conceived

the project of regaining his freedom and his authority. This might

be fraught with grave consequences for the Reformation. If at a time

when the nobles kept a tight hand over the priestly party Hamilton had

been put to death, what might happen in Scotland when the priests, on

whom James leaned for support, should have once more seized the chief

power? The deliverance of the young king, however, was no easy matter.

A hundred men, selected by Angus, were about him night and day; and the

captain of his guards, the minister of the royal house and the lord

treasurer of the kingdom, had orders to keep their eyes constantly

upon him. He determined to resort to stratagem. He said one evening to

his courtiers, ‘We will rise very early to-morrow to go stag-hunting;

be ready.’ Everyone retired early to rest; but no sooner had the prince

entered his chamber than he called one of his pages in whom he had full

confidence. ‘Jockie,’ said he to him; ‘dost thou love me?’ ‘Better than

myself, Sire.’--‘Wilt thou run some risk for my sake?’ ‘Risk my life,

Sire.’ James explained to him his design; and then, disguising himself

as a groom, he went into his stables with the page and a valet. ‘We are

come to get the horses ready for the hunt to-morrow,’ said the three

grooms. Some moments elapsed; they went noiselessly out of the castle,

and set off at a gallop for Stirling Castle, where the queen-mother

was residing. The king arrived there in the early morning. ‘Draw up

the bridges,’ said he, so fearful was he of his pursuers. ‘Let down

the portcullises, set sentinels at all points.’ He was worn out with

fatigue, having been on horseback all night; but he refused to lie down

until the keys of all the gates had been placed under his pillow; then

he laid down his head upon them and went to sleep. On the morning after

this flight, Sir George Douglas, the king’s guardian, rose without

suspicion, thinking only of the hunt which James had appointed. While

he was taking certain precautions against the escape of the prince, a

stranger arrived and asked to speak to Sir George. It was the bailiff

of Abernethy. He entered the apartment of the royal gaoler, and

announced to him that in the course of the night the king had crossed

the bridge at Stirling. Sir George, startled at this unlooked-for news,

ran to the apartment of the king; he knocked, and as no one answered,

he had the door burst open. He looked round on all sides and exclaimed,

‘Treachery! the king is fled!’ He gave instant notice to his brother,

the earl of Angus, and sent messengers in all directions with orders

to arrest the king wheresoever he might be found. All was useless. The

tidings of this event being spread abroad, the enemies of the Douglases

hastened in crowds to Stirling. Without loss of time the king called

together the parliament and got a decree of banishment issued against

Angus. The latter, cast down suddenly from the height of greatness,

made his escape into England, passing safely through many difficulties

and dangers.

From that time James V. bore rule himself, so far at least as the

priests would allow him. In the character of this strange prince were

combined insatiable ambition and unparalleled feebleness, kindliness

full of affability and implacable resentment, a great regard for

justice and violent passions, an eager desire to protect the weak from

the oppression of the powerful and fits of rage which did not spare

even the lowly. The king reigned, but the clergy governed. As the

aim of James V. was to humble the nobles, a close alliance with the

clergy was a necessity for him, and once having taken the side of the

priests, he went to great lengths. The archbishops of St. Andrews and

Glasgow, the bishop of Dunkeld, and the abbot of Holyrood were placed

at the head of the government, and the most distinguished members

of the aristocracy were immediately imprisoned or sent into exile.

No Douglas, and no partisan even of that house, was allowed to come

within twelve miles of the court. Persecution attacked at the same

time the evangelical Christians; men who might have elevated their

country perished on the scaffold. The course pursued by the priests

tended to defeat their own end. The nobles, exasperated by the tyranny

of the bishops, began to feel the aversion for the Church of Rome

which they felt for its leading men. It was not indeed from the Romish

religion that they broke off, but only from an ambitious and merciless

hierarchy. But erelong we shall find the nobles, ever more and

more provoked by the clergy, beginning to lend a willing ear to the

evangelical doctrine of those who opposed the clergy.

[Sidenote: ALESIUS.]

Before that moment arrived, the conquests of the Reformation in

Scotland had begun. It counted already many humble but devout adherents

in convents, parsonage houses and cottages. At the head of the canons

of St. Augustine at St. Andrews was an immoral man, an enemy of the

Gospel, prior Hepburn; nevertheless, it was among them that the

awakening began. One of the canons, Alesius, had been confirmed in the

faith of the Gospel by the testimony which Hamilton had borne to the

truth during his trial, and by the simple and heroic beauty of his

death, which he had witnessed. On returning to his priory he had felt

more deeply the need of reformation. ‘Ah,’ said he, ‘how wretched is

the state of the Church! Destitute of teachers competent to teach her,

she finds herself kept far away from the Holy Scriptures,[136] which

would lead her into all truth.’ Alesius gave utterance at the same time

to the love which he felt even for the persecutors. ‘I do not hate the

bishops,’ he said; ‘I do not hate any of the religious orders; but

I tremble to see Christ’s doctrine buried under thick darkness, and

pious folk subjected to horrible tortures. May all learn what power

religion displays in men’s souls, by examining with care its divine

sources.’[137] The death of Hamilton was day after day the subject of

the canons’ conversation, and Alesius steadily refused to condemn him.

The worthless Hepburn and his satellites could not endure this. They

denounced Alesius to the archbishop as a man who had embraced the

faith for which Hamilton had been burnt, and they added that other

canons seemed likely to take the same path. In order to ascertain the

sentiments of the young man, the primate resolved to lay a snare for

him; and when a provincial synod met at St. Andrews, he appointed

Alesius to preach the sermon at its opening. Alesius entered the

pulpit, and, while avoiding anything which might uselessly offend his

hearers, he brought forward the doctrines of the truth, and boldly

urged the clergy to give an example of holy living, and not to be

stumbling-blocks to the faithful by scandalous licentiousness.

[Sidenote: HIS IMPRISONMENT.]

As they went out of the church, many expressed approval. The archbishop

was grave, and did not say a word; but Hepburn, a proud, violent, and

domineering man, whose shameless connexions, says Bayle,[138] were

known to everybody, thought that Alesius meant to point him out and to

excite his superiors against him, and he resolved to take vengeance

on him. His fears were not unfounded. The discourse of Alesius had

impressed the best men among the canons, and these, convinced of the

necessity of putting an end to public scandals, joined together, and

decided to carry to the king a complaint against the prior. Hepburn

was immediately informed of their purpose, and, being constitutionally

more fit for a soldier than for a canon, he took some armed men and

entered suddenly into the hall in which the conference was held, to the

great astonishment of the assembly. ‘Seize that man!’ said he to his

men-at-arms, pointing to Alesius. The young canon begged the prior to

keep his temper; but at these words the proud Hepburn, no longer master

of himself, drew his sword, advanced towards Alesius, and was going to

attack him, when two canons thrust themselves in front of their chief,

and turned the blow aside.[139] The impetuous prelate, however, was

not pacified, and, calling his men to his aid, he followed up Alesius,

in order to strike him. The latter, in confusion and terror, finding

himself within an inch of death, fell at the prior’s feet, and implored

him not to shed innocent blood. Hepburn, to show his contempt for him,

would not honor him so much as to pierce him with his sword, but gave

him several kicks, and this with such force that the poor canon fainted

away, and lay stretched on the floor before his enemy.[140] When he

came to himself, the fierce prior ordered the soldiers to take him to

prison, as well as the other canons; and they were all cast into a foul

and unwholesome dungeon.

These deeds of violence were noised abroad in the whole city, and

men’s feelings were divided between contempt and horror. Some of the

nobles, however, who had esteemed Hamilton, were profoundly indignant;

and they betook themselves to the king, and implored him to check the

intolerable tyranny of the prior. The young king gave orders that

all the canons should be set at liberty, and kindly added, that ‘he

would go himself and deliver them with his own hand if he did not

know that the place in which they were confined was infected with the

plague.’[141] The prior obeyed the royal command, but only in part; he

had Alesius thrust into a place that was fouler still.[142] And now he

was alone; had no longer a friend to clasp his hand; saw only hostile

faces. He knew that God was with him; but the sufferings inflicted on

him by the cruel prior, the filth, the bad smells, the vermin that

began to prey on him, the dark and perpetual night which filled that

frightful sink, endangered his life. It was known in the city that he

was ill; it was even reported one day that he was dead. James V. had

the prior of St. Augustine’s called before him, and commanded him

to liberate Alesius. The hypocritical prior swore by the saints that

the canon was free; and returning immediately to the priory, he gave

orders to bring out of the frightful dungeon the wretched man, who had

languished there for twenty days. Alesius came out, covered with filth,

and horrible to look on.[143] It was some comfort to him to once more

see the light of day. Some of the servants took him; they put off his

filthy garments, washed him carefully, and then put on him clean and

even elegant clothes.[144] Thus attired, the victim was led before

Hepburn, who forbade him to tell anyone how he had been treated. The

prior then summoned the city magistrates, and showing them, with an air

of triumph, Alesius, clean and well dressed, said--‘There is the man

who is reported to be kept in prison by me, and even to be dead. Go,

sirs, and give the lie to these calumnies.’ The wretch added to his

cruelty, falsehood, stratagem, and shamelessness.

The magistrates then turning with kind looks to the prisoner, required

him in the king’s name to tell the whole truth; and Alesius related

the shameful treatment which he had suffered. The prior, embarrassed,

could not deny the fact, but assured the provost and his colleagues

that from that moment the prisoner was and would remain free; on which

the council withdrew. The door had hardly closed before the enraged

prior loaded Alesius with reproaches, and ordered him to be taken

back to prison. A year passed, and neither king nor magistrate had

snatched from that savage beast the prey on which he set his mind. In

vain was it that Alesius had his complaint laid before the archbishop;

the latter replied that he had noticed in his discourse a leaning to

Lutheranism, and that he deserved the penalty which had fallen on him.

His deliverance seemed impossible.

[Sidenote: ALESIUS AGAIN IMPRISONED.]

One day, however, it became known in the monastery that the prior

was going out, and would be absent for several days. The canons,

immediately hastening to their unhappy friend, took him out of the

prison, conducted him into the open air, and paid him the most

affectionate attentions. By degrees his strength was restored; he took

courage, and one day he undertook to perform divine service at the

altar. But this act of devotion was suddenly interrupted. The prior

came back sooner than he was expected; he entered the church, and saw

Alesius officiating, and the chapter around him. The blood rose to his

face, and, without the slightest hesitation about interrupting divine

service, he ordered the prisoner to be carried off from the altar,

and again cast into his foul dungeon.[145] The canons, scandalized at

this order, rose from their stalls, and represented to their superior

that it was not lawful to interrupt the worship. Hepburn then allowed

Alesius to go on with the service; but as soon as it was finished,

he had him again confined in the place from which his colleagues had

rescued him.

In order to prevent the canons taking such liberties again, the prior

appointed as keeper of the prison one John Hay, a cruel and fanatical

priest, a man who would servilely carry out his master’s orders. The

canons, friends of Alesius, had no doubt that the prior had given the

office to that scoundrel with the intention of making away with the

prisoner. They said to one another, that if they did not bring about

his escape immediately, his life would be taken. The same day, before

Hay had entered upon his office, the first shades of night had scarcely

spread their veil over the ancient city when a few of them bent their

way secretly to the dungeon. They succeeded, though not without

difficulty, in penetrating to the place where the prisoner lay, and

told him that Hay had been named his keeper, and that consequently he

had nothing to look for but horrible tortures and certain death. They

added, that the king being absent, the opportunity would assuredly be

taken to get rid of him, as it had been in Hamilton’s case; and that

he could therefore only save his life by taking flight and quitting

Scotland.[146] Alesius was in amazement; to forsake his country and

his friends seemed to him an extreme course. He proposed to go first

to those with whom he was most closely connected, to take counsel with

them as to what he ought to do. ‘Take care not to do that,’ replied the

canons; ‘leave the country immediately without a word to anybody, for

as soon as the prior finds that you are no longer in your dungeon, he

will send horsemen to seize you on the road, or to carry you off from

your friends’ house.’

[Sidenote: HIS LOVE FOR SCOTLAND.]

Alesius could not make up his mind to follow this advice. The thought

of bidding adieu to Scotland, perhaps for ever, filled him with the

keenest sorrow.[147] His dream had been to consecrate all his energies

to the salvation of his fellow-citizens, and to do good even to those

who wronged him; and now he was to be condemned never again to see

Scottish faces, Edinburgh, its valleys, its lofty houses, its narrow

streets, its castle, Holyrood, the fertile plains of Caledonia, its

low hills covered with pasture, its heaths wrapped in mists, and its

marsh-lands, monotonous and yet poetic, which a gloomy sea environs

with its waters, now mournful and still, now agitated by the violence

of the winds. All these he must quit, though he had loved them from

childhood. ‘Ah!’ exclaimed he, ‘what is there more dear to souls

happily born than their native land?’[148] But presently he corrected

himself. ‘The Church,’ said he, ‘is the Christian’s country far more

than the place which gave him birth.[149] Assuredly the name of one’s

native land is very dear, but that of the Church is dearer still.’ He

perceived that if he did not go away, it was all over with him; and

that if he did go away, he might contribute, even from afar, towards

the triumph of the truth in the land of his fathers, and possibly might

return thither at a later day. ‘Go!’ repeated the noble canons, who

would fain save at any cost a life so precious; ‘all honest people

desire it.’ ‘Well,’ said Alesius, ‘I bend to the yoke of necessity;

I will go.’ The canons, who had everything ready, immediately got

him secretly out of the priory, conducted him beyond the city, and

gave him the money needful for his voyage. These generous men, less

advanced than their friend in knowledge of the Scriptures, perceived

that by his departure they would lose an inestimable treasure; but they

thought rather of him than of themselves--they strove to dissipate his

melancholy, and they called to his recollection the illustrious men

and the saints who had been compelled, like him, to fly far from the

wrath of tyrants. At length the solemn moment of farewell was come, and

all of them, deeply affected at the thought that perhaps they would

never meet again, burst into tears.[150] They paid the tribute due to

nature; for, as Calvin says, ‘The perfection of the faithful does not

lie in throwing off every affection, but in cherishing them for worthy

causes.’[151]

It was midnight. Alesius had to pass on foot across the north of

Fifeshire, then to cross the Firth of Tay and go on to Dundee, whence

a ship was on the point of sailing. He set out alone, and travelled

onwards in the thick darkness.[152] He directed his steps towards

the Tay, having the sea at a certain distance on his right; traversed

Leuchars, and arrived at Newport, opposite Dundee, where he had to

take a boat to cross the Firth. During this night-journey he was beset

with the saddest thoughts. ‘Oh!’ said he to himself, ‘what a life

full of bitterness is offered me--to forsake one’s kinsfolk and one’s

country;[153] to be exposed to the greatest dangers so long as the

vessel is not reached; to fly into foreign lands, where no hospitable

roof is ready to receive me; to have in prospect all the ills of exile;

to live among foreign peoples, where I have not a single friend; to

be called to converse with men speaking unknown languages; to wander

to and fro on the Continent at a time when so many vagabonds, driven

from their own country for fanatical or seditious opinions, are justly

looked on with suspicion. Oh! what anxieties, what griefs.’ His soul

sank within him; but having lifted up his eyes to Christ with full

trust, he was suddenly consoled, and after a rude conflict, he came

victorious out of the trial.[154]

His fears, however, were only too well founded. No sooner had the

violent Hepburn learnt the flight of the prisoner than he assembled

some horsemen, set off in pursuit of him,[155] and reached Dundee,

from which port he knew that a vessel was sailing for Germany. Alesius

was expecting every moment to see him appear. ‘How shameful in a

dignitary of the Church,’ said he, ‘is this man’s cruelty! What rage

moved him when he drew his sword against me! To what sufferings has he

exposed me, and with what perils has he threatened me! It is a complete

tragedy!...’

[Sidenote: FLIGHT OF ALESIUS.]

In the morning Alesius entered the town of Dundee. Fearing that, in

case of being arrested, he should fall into the hands of the prior, he

went immediately on board the ship, which was going to sail; and the

captain, who was a German and probably a Protestant, received him very

kindly.[156]

The prior and the horsemen, who had set out from St. Andrews, arrived

a little later at Dundee, and, alighting from their horses, began to

search for Alesius. He was nowhere to be found; the vessel had already

cleared the port. The prior, enraged to find that his prey had escaped

him, must needs vent his wrath on some one. ‘It is you,’ said he to a

citizen well known for his attachment to the Reformation, ‘it is you

who furnished the canon with the means of escape.’ This man denied

the charge, and then the provost or mayor, Sir James Scrymgeour of

Dornlope, avowed to the prior that he would with all his heart have

provided a vessel for Alesius; and, he added, ‘I would have given him

the necessary funds for the purpose of rescuing him from the perils to

which your cruelty exposed him.’ The Scrymgeours, whose chief was the

provost of Dundee, formed a numerous and powerful family, connected

with several other noble houses of the realm. They were not the only

family among the aristocracy which was favorable to the Gospel; several

illustrious houses had from the first welcomed the Reformation--the

Kirkaldys and the Melvilles of Fifeshire, the Scrymgeours and the

Erskines of Angus, the Forresters and Sandilands of Stirlingshire and

the Lothians, and others besides. The prior, who had not at all looked

for such a remonstrance as he had just received, went back, annoyed and

furious, to St. Andrews.

While the ship on which Alesius had embarked sailed towards France, the

refugee felt his own weakness, and found strength in the Lord. ‘O God,’

said he, ‘thou dost put the oil of thy compassion only into the vessel

of a steadfast and filial trust.[157] I must assuredly have gone down

to the gates of hell unless all my hope had been in thy mercy alone.’

The ship had not long been on her way when a westerly wind, blowing

violently, carried her eastward, drove her into the Sound, and made it

necessary to go ashore at Malmoe, in Sweden, in order to refit her.

Alesius was very lovingly welcomed there by the Scots who had settled

in the town.[158] At length he reached France, traversed part of the

coast of that kingdom,[159] then betook himself to Cologne, where he

was favorably received by archbishop Hermann, count of Wied.

CHAPTER VII.

CONFESSORS OF THE GOSPEL AND MARTYRS ARE MULTIPLIED IN SCOTLAND.

(END OF 1531 TO 1534.)

The bishops of Scotland appeared to triumph. Hamilton was dead, Alesius

in exile, and not one evangelical voice was any longer heard in the

realm. They now turned their thoughts to the destruction of that proud

aristocracy which assumed that the functions of the state belonged to

the nobles and not to the priests. The estates of the earl of Crawford

had already been confiscated; the earls of Argyle and Bothwell and

several others had been imprisoned, and insults had been offered

to the earl of Murray, Lord Maxwell, Sir James Hamilton, and their

friends.[160] The archbishop of Glasgow, chancellor of Scotland, went

still further; he deprived the nobles of their ancient jurisdiction,

and set up in its place a _College of Justice_, composed exclusively of

ecclesiastics. The nobles thought now only of delivering Scotland from

the yoke of the clergy, and determined to invite the aid of Henry VIII.

Some of them were beginning even to feel interested in those humble

evangelical believers who were, like themselves, the object of the

priests’ hatred. This interest was one day to contribute to the triumph

of the Reformation. It was resolved that the earl of Bothwell should

open negotiations with Henry VIII., and this at the very time that that

prince was separating from Rome. This alliance might lead a long way.

[Sidenote: BOTHWELL AND NORTHUMBERLAND.]

The earl of Northumberland was then at Newcastle, charged by the King

of England to watch over affairs in the north. It was to him that

Bothwell addressed himself. Northumberland having referred to Henry

on the subject, it was agreed that the two earls should meet by night

at Dilston, a place almost equally distant from Newcastle and from

the Scottish frontier. At the mid-hour of the long night of December

21, 1531, Bothwell, accompanied by three of his friends, arrived at

the appointed place, where Northumberland was awaiting him.[161] They

entered immediately on the conference. The English lord was struck

with the intelligence, the acquirements, and the refined manners of

Bothwell. ‘Verily,’ said he to Henry VIII., ‘I have never in my life

met a lord so agreeable and so handsome.’ Bothwell, angered by the

pride of the priests, reported their conduct with respect to Angus,

Argyle, and Murray. ‘They kept me, too, confined in Edinburgh Castle

for six months,’ said he, ‘and but for the intervention of my friends

they would have put me to death. I know that such a fate is still

impending over me.’ Bothwell added, that if the King of England would

deliver the Scottish nobles from the evils which they had reason to

dread, he himself (Bothwell) was ready to join Henry VIII. with one

thousand gentlemen and six thousand men-at-arms. ‘We will crown him

in a little while,’ he added, ‘in the town of Edinburgh.’[162] The

enraged nobles were actually giving themselves up to strange fancies:

according to their view, the only remedy for the ills of their country

was the union of Scotland with England under the sceptre of Henry VIII.

Scotland would in that case have submitted to a reform at the king’s

hand; but she was reserved for other destinies, and her reform was to

proceed from the people, and to be effected by the Word of God.

The King of England was in no lack of motives for intervention in

Scotland. James V. had just concluded an alliance for a hundred years

with Charles V., the mortal enemy of Henry VIII., and had even asked

for the hand of the emperor’s sister, the ex-queen of Hungary. This

princess had rejected the match, and the emperor had proposed to James

his niece Dorothea, daughter of the King of Denmark.

Bothwell was able even to tell Northumberland, in this

night-conference, of matters graver still. A secret ambassador from

Charles V., said he, Peter von Rosenberg, has recently been at

Edinburgh and, in a long conversation which he had with the king in

his private apartments, has promised him that the emperor would put

him in a position, before Easter, to assume the title of _prince of

England_ and duke of York.[163] The Roman party, despairing of Henry

VIII., were willing to transmit the crown to his nephew, the King

of Scotland. Bothwell added that James, as he left the conference,

met the chancellor of the kingdom and several nobles, and made haste

to communicate to them the magnificent promise of Charles V. The

chancellor contented himself with saying, ‘Pray God I may live to see

the day on which the Pope will confirm it.’ The king replied, ‘Only let

the emperor act; he will labor strenuously for us.’ It was not James

V., but his grandson, who was to ascend the throne of the Tudors.

The project formed by the Scottish nobles of placing Scotland under the

sceptre of England was not so easy to carry out as they imagined. The

priests, who supposed that they had surmounted the dangers proceeding

from reform, undertook to remove in like manner those with which they

were threatened by the nobility. But they were mistaken when they

believed that the fire kindled by the Word of God was extinguished.

Flames shot up suddenly even in places where it was least of all

expected to see them.

[Sidenote: ALEXANDER SEATON.]

A monk of the Dominican order, the order so devoted to the Inquisition,

Alexander Seaton, confessor to the king--a man of lofty stature,

downright, ready-witted and bold even to audacity[164]--was held in

great esteem at the court. The state of the Church profoundly grieved

him, and therefore, having been appointed to preach in Lent (1532)

in the cathedral of St. Andrews, he resolved courageously to avow in

that Scottish Rome the heavenly doctrine which was making exiles and

martyrs. Preaching before a large congregation, he said--‘Jesus Christ

is the end of the law, and no one is able by his works to satisfy

divine justice. A living faith which lays hold of the mercy of God in

Christ, can alone obtain for the sinner the remission of sins. But

for how many years has God’s law, instead of being faithfully taught,

been darkened by the tradition of men?’ People were astonished at this

discourse: some wondered why he did not say a word about pilgrimages

and other meritorious works; but the priests themselves were afraid to

lay a complaint against him. ‘He is confessor to the king,’ they said,

‘and enjoys the favor both of prince and people.’[165]

In the absence of Seaton, after Lent, the archbishop and the clergy

took courage, condemned the doctrine which he had preached, and

appointed another Dominican to refute him. Seaton immediately returned

from Dundee, whither he had gone, had the cathedral bells rung, and,

ascending the pulpit, repeated with more energy and clearness still

what he had previously said. Then, recalling to mind all that a bishop

ought to be according to St. Paul, he asked, where are such bishops to

be found in Scotland? The primate, when informed of this discourse,

summoned him before him, and rebuked him for having asserted that the

bishops were only dumb dogs. Seaton replied that it was an unfounded

accusation. ‘Your answer pleases me well,’ exclaimed Beatoun. But the

witnesses confirmed their deposition. ‘These are liars,’ said again the

king’s confessor to the archbishop; ‘consider what ears these asses

have, who cannot decern Paul, Isaiah, Zechariah and Malachi, and friar

Alexander Seaton. In very deed, my lord, I said that Paul says it

behoves a bishop to be a teacher. Isaiah said that they that fed not

the flock are _dumb dogs_. And Zechariah says, they are idle pastors.

I of my own head affirmed nothing, but declared what the Spirit of God

before had pronounced.’

[Sidenote: SEATON’S FLIGHT.]

Beatoun did not hesitate: this bold preacher was evidently putting to

his mouth the trumpet of Hamilton and Alesius. The primate undertook to

obtain authority from the king to proceed against his confessor, and it

was an easier task than he imagined. Seaton, like John the Baptist, had

no dread of incurring the king’s displeasure, and had rebuked him for

his licentiousness. James had said nothing at the time, thinking that

the confessor was only doing his duty. But when he saw the archbishop

denouncing Seaton, ‘Ah,’ said this young prince, who was given up to

a loose life,[166] ‘I know more than you do of his audacity;’ and

from that time he showed great coolness towards Seaton. The latter

perceiving what fate awaited him, quitted the kingdom, and took refuge

at Berwick. It was about two years after the Lent sermon preached by

him in 1532.

He did not remain idle. He had a last duty to discharge to his master

the king. ‘The bishops of your kingdom,’ he wrote to him, ‘oppose our

teaching the Gospel of Christ. I offer to present myself before your

majesty, and to convince the priests of error.’[167] As the king made

him no answer, Seaton went to London, where he became chaplain to the

duke of Suffolk, brother-in-law of Henry VIII., and preached eloquently

to large audiences.

The King of England liked well enough to receive the friends of the

Gospel who were banished from Scotland. One priest, more enlightened

than the rest, Andrew Charteris, had called his colleagues children of

the devil; and he said aloud--‘If anyone observes their cunning and

their falsehood, and accuses them of impurity, they immediately accuse

him of heresy. If Christ himself were in Scotland, our priestly fathers

would heap on him more ignominy than the Jews themselves in old time

did.’ Henry desired to see the man, talked with him at great length,

and was much pleased with him. ‘Verily,’ said the king to him, ‘it is a

great pity that you were ever made a priest.’[168]

The clergy had now got rid of Hamilton, Seaton, and Alesius; but they

were nevertheless disquieted because they knew that the Holy Scriptures

were in Scotland. Notice was therefore given in every parish that ‘it

is forbidden to sell or to read the New Testament.’ All copies found in

the shops were ordered to be burnt.[169] Alesius, who was in Germany at

that time, was greatly afflicted, and resolved to speak.

[Sidenote: LETTER OF ALESIUS.]

‘I hear, sire,’ he wrote to the king, ‘that the bishops are

driving souls away from the oracles of Christ. Could the Turks do

anything worse? Would morality exist in independence of the Holy

Scriptures?[170] Would religion itself be anything else than a certain

discipline of public manners? That is the doctrine of Epicurus; but

what will become of the Church if the bishops propagate Epicurean

dogmas? God ordains that we should hear the Son, not as a doctor who

philosophizes on the theory of morals, but as a prophet who reveals

holy things unknown to the world. If the bishops promote the infliction

of the severest penalties on those who hear his word, the knowledge of

Jesus Christ will become extinct, and the people will take up pagan

opinions.[171]

‘Most serene king, resist these impious counsels! Those who are in the

fulness of age, infancy, and the generation to come, unite in imploring

you to do so. We are punished, we are put to death.... Eurybiades of

Sparta, commander-in-chief, having in the course of a debate raised his

staff against Themistocles while forbidding him to speak, the Athenian

replied, “Strike, but hear!” We shall say the same. We shall speak, for

the Gospel alone can strengthen souls amidst the infinite perils of the

present time.’

Neither king nor priests replied to the _Letter of Alesius_; but a

famous German, Cochlæus, the opponent of Luther, undertook to induce

James V. to pay no attention to that discourse. ‘Sire,’ he wrote

to him, ‘the calamities which the New Testaments disseminated by

Luther have brought down upon Germany are so great, that the bishops,

in turning their sheep away from that deadly pasture, have shown

themselves to be faithful shepherds. Incalculable sums have been

thrown away on the printing of a hundred thousand copies of that book.

Now, what advantage have its readers drawn from it, unless it be an

advantage to be cast into prison, to be banished, and made to suffer

other tribulations? A decree is not enough, sire; it is necessary to

act. The bishop of Treves has had the New Testaments thrown into the

Rhine, and with them the booksellers who sold them. This example has

frightened others, and happily so, for that book is the Gospel of

Satan, and not of Jesus Christ.’[172] This was the model proposed to

King James.

At the same time the Romish party was endeavoring to embroil Scotland

with England, and James was already engaging in several skirmishes. One

day, under the pretext of the hunt, he threw himself, with ‘a small

company’ of _three hundred persons_, on the estates the possession of

which was disputed by his uncle.[173] Shortly afterwards, four hundred

Scots invaded the Marches (frontier districts) at sunrise, and were

carrying off what they found there. Northumberland repulsed them, and

put to death the prisoners which fell into his hands. The Scots took

and burnt some English towns; the English invaded Scotland, and ravaged

its towns and country districts. The King of Scotland, intimidated,

applied to the pope and the King of France, and cried out for aid

with all his might. And then, in order to please at the same time the

priests, the pope, and Francis I., he took the advice of Cochlæus; with

the exception, that in Scotland the fire at the stake was substituted

for the waters of the Rhine.

[Sidenote: HENRY FORREST.]

A young monk, named Henry Forrest, who was in the Benedictine

monastery at Linlithgow, a man equally quick in his sympathies and

his antipathies, had been touched by Hamilton’s words, and uttered

everywhere aloud his regret for the death of that young kinsman of the

king, calling him a martyr. This monk was presently convicted of a

crime more enormous still: he was a reader of the New Testament. The

archbishop had him imprisoned at St. Andrews. One day a friar (sent by

the prelate) came to him for the purpose, he said, of administering

consolation; and offering to confess him, he succeeded by crafty

questions in leading the young Benedictine to tell him all he thought

about Hamilton’s doctrines. Forrest was immediately condemned to be

delivered over to the secular authorities to be put to death, and a

clerical assembly was called together for the purpose of degrading

him. The young friend of the Gospel had hardly passed the door where

the assembly was sitting, when, discovering the archbishop and the

priests drawn up in a circle before him, he became aware of what

awaited him, and cried out with a voice full of contempt, ‘Fie on

falsehood! fie on false friars, revealers of confession!’[174] When one

of the clerks came up to him to degrade him, the Benedictine, weary of

so much perfidy, exclaimed, ‘Take from me not only your own orders

but also your own baptism.’ He meant by that, says an historian, the

superstitious practices which Rome has added to the institutions of the

Lord. These words provoked the assembly still more. ‘We must burn him,’

said the primate, ‘in order to terrify the others.’ A simple-minded

and candid man who was by the side of Beatoun said to him in a tone of

irony, ‘My lord, if you burn him, take care that it be done in a cave,

for the smoke of Hamilton’s pile infected with heresy all who caught

the scent of it.’

This advice was not taken. To the northward of St. Andrews, in the

counties of Forfar and Angus, there were a good many people who loved

the New Testament which was come from Germany. There still exist in

that district a village named _Luthermoor_, _Luther’s torrent_, which

falls into the North Esk, _Luther’s Bridge_, and _Luther’s Mill_.[175]

Forrest’s persecutors determined to erect his funeral pile in such

a situation that the population of Forfar and Angus might see the

flames,[176] and thus learn the danger which threatened them if they

should fall into Protestantism. The pile was therefore placed to the

north of the abbey church of St. Andrews, and the fire was visible in

those districts of the north which were afterwards to bear Luther’s

name. Henry Forrest was Scotland’s second martyr.

[Sidenote: DAVID STRAITON.]

In the same neighborhood there soon after appeared one who was to be

the third to lay down his life for the Reformation in Scotland. A small

country seat, situated on the sea-coast near the mouth of the North

Esk, was inhabited by one of the Straitons of Lauriston, a family which

had held the estate of that name from the sixth century. The members

of this family were for the most part distinguished for their tall

stature, their bodily strength, and their energy of character. David, a

younger son (the eldest resided in Lauriston Castle), a man worthy of

his ancestors, was of rude manners and obstinate temper. He displayed

great contempt for books, especially for religious books, and found his

chief pleasure in launching his boat on the sea, giving the sails to

the wind, casting his nets, and struggling hand to hand with the winds

and the waves. He had soon to engage in struggles of another kind. The

prior of St. Andrews, Patrick Hepburn, afterwards bishop of Murray,

a very avaricious man, hearing that David had great success in his

fishing, demanded tithe of his fish. ‘Tell your master,’ said the proud

gentleman, ‘that if he wants to have it, he may come and take it on the

spot.’ From that time, every day as he drew up his nets, he exclaimed

to the fishermen, ‘Pay the prior of St. Andrews his tithe,’ and the men

would straightway throw every tenth fish into the sea.

When the prior of St. Andrews heard of this strange method of

satisfying his claim, he ordered the vicar of Eglesgreg to go to take

the fish. The vicar went; but as soon as the rough gentleman saw the

priest and his men set to work without ceremony on their part, he

cast the fish to him, and so sharply that some of them fell into the

sea.[177]

The prior then instituted proceedings against Straiton for the _crime

of heresy_. Never had a council applied that name to a man’s method of

paying his tithe. No matter; the word _heretic_ at that time inspired

such terror that the stout-hearted gentleman began to give way; his

pride was humbled, and, confessing his sins, he felt the need of a

forgiving God. He sought out therefore all those who could tell him of

the Gospel or could read it to him, for he could not read himself.

Not far from his abode was Dun Castle, whose lord, John Erskine,

provost of Montrose, a descendant of the earls of Mar, had attended

several universities in Scotland and abroad, and had been converted to

the evangelical faith.

‘God,’ says Knox, ‘had _miraculously_ enlightened him.’ His castle,

in which the words of prophets and apostles were heard, was ever open to

those who were athirst for truth; and thus the evangelical Christians

of the neighborhood had frequent meetings there. Erskine detected the

change which was taking place in the soul of his rude neighbor; he went

to see him, conversed with him, and exhorted him to change his life.

Straiton soon became a regular attendant at the meetings in the castle,

‘and he was,’ says Knox, ‘transformed as by a miracle.’[178]

His nephew, the young baron of Lauriston, possessed a New Testament.

Straiton frequently went to the castle to hear portions of the Gospels

read. One day the uncle and his nephew went out together, wandered

about in the neighborhood, and then retired into a lonely place to read

the Gospels. The young laird chose the tenth chapter of St. Matthew.

Straiton listened as attentively as if it were to himself that the Lord

addressed the discourse which is there reported. When they came to

this declaration of Jesus Christ, ‘Whosoever shall deny me before men,

him will I also deny before my Father which is in heaven,’ Straiton,

affected and startled, fell on his knees, stretched his hands upwards,

and turned for a long time a humble and earnest gaze towards heaven,

but without speaking the while; he appeared to be in an ecstasy.[179]

At last, no longer able to restrain the feelings which crowded on

him, he exclaimed--‘I have been sinful, O Lord, and thou wouldst be

only just wert thou to withhold thy grace from me! Nevertheless, for

the sake of thy mercy, suffer not the dread of pain or of death to

lead me ever to deny thee or thy truth.’[180] Thenceforward he set

himself to serve zealously the master whose mighty love he had felt.

The world appeared to him like a vast sea, full of movement, on which

men are ever rudely tossed until they have entered into the haven of

the Gospel. The fisherman became a fisher of men. He exhorted his

friends and acquaintances to seek God, and he replied to the priests

with firmness. On one occasion, when they urged him to do some pious

works which deliver from purgatory, he answered, ‘I know of no other

purgatory than Christ’s passion and the tribulations of this life.’

Straiton was carried off to Edinburgh, and cast into prison.

There was another Scotchman, Norman Gourlay, who after taking holy

orders had travelled on the continent, and had there been enlightened

by the word of the Gospel. Convinced that ‘marriage is honorable in

all,’ Gourlay had married on his return to Scotland; and when a priest

reminded him of the prohibition by Rome, ‘The pope,’ replied he, ‘is no

bishop, but an Antichrist, and he has no jurisdiction in Scotland.’

On August 26, 1534, these two servants of God were led into a hall of

Holyrood Abbey. The judges were seated, and with them the king, who,

appareled in red from head to foot, seemed to be there for the purpose

of assisting them. James V. pressed these two confirmed Christians

to abjure their doctrines. ‘Recant; burn your bill,’[181] he said to

them; but Straiton and Gourlay chose rather to be burnt themselves. The

king, affected and giving way, would fain have pardoned them; but the

priests declared that he had no authority to do so, since these people

were condemned by the Church. In the afternoon of August 27 a huge pile

was lit on the summit of Calton Hill, in order that the flames might

be visible to a great distance; and the fire devoured these two noble

Christians. If the Reform was afterwards so strong in Scotland it was

because the seed was holy.

Enough however was not done yet. All these heresies, it was thought,

proceed from Hamilton; his family must therefore be extirpated from the

Scottish soil. But Sir James, a good-natured man, an upright magistrate

and a lover of the Gospel, was for all that not in the humor to let

himself be burnt like his brother. So, having received one day an order

to appear before the tribunal, he addressed himself immediately to the

king, who had him privately told not to appear. Sir James therefore

quitted the kingdom; he was then condemned, excommunicated, banished,

and deprived of his estates, and he lived for nearly ten years in

London in the utmost distress.

[Sidenote: TRIAL OF CATHERINE HAMILTON.]

His sister Catherine was both a warm-hearted Scotchwoman and a decided

Huguenot. She would not make her escape, but appeared at Holyrood in

the presence of the ecclesiastical tribunal and of the king himself.

‘By what means,’ they said to her, ‘do you expect to be saved?’--‘By

faith in the Saviour,’ she replied, ‘and not by works.’ Then one

of the canonists, Master John Spence, said at great length--‘It is

necessary to distinguish between various kinds of works. In the first

place, there are works of _congruity_, secondly, there are works of

_condignity_. The works of the just are of this latter category, and

they merit life _ex condigno_. There are also _pious_ works; then works

of _supererogation_;’ and he explained in scholastic terms what all

these expressions meant. These strange words sounded in Catherine’s

ears like the noise of a false-bass (_faux-bourdon_). Wearied with this

theological babbling, she got excited, and exclaimed--‘Works here,

works there.... What signify all the works?... There is one thing alone

which I know with certainty, and that is that no work can save me,

except the work of Christ my Saviour.’ The doctor sat amazed and made

no answer, while the king strove in vain to hide a fit of laughter. He

was anxious to save Catherine, and made a sign for her to come to him;

he then entreated her to declare to the tribunal that she respected the

Church. Catherine, who had never had a thought of setting herself in

rebellion against the higher powers, gave the king leave to say what he

wished, and withdrew first into England, then to France. She probably

entered the family of her husband,[182] who, during his lifetime, was a

French officer in the suite of the duke of Albany.

But these punishments and banishments did not put an end to the storm.

Several other evangelical Christians were also obliged at that time

to leave Scotland. Gawin Logie, a canon of St. Andrews, and principal

regent of St. Leonard’s College, at which Patrick Hamilton had

exercised so powerful an influence, had diffused scriptural principles

among the students to such an extent that people were accustomed to

say, when they would make you understand that anyone was an evangelical

Christian, ‘He has drunk at the well of St. Leonard’s.’ Logie quitted

Scotland in 1534. Johnston, an Edinburgh advocate, Fife, a friend of

Alesius, M’Alpine, and several others had to go into exile at the same

time. The last-named, known on the continent by the name of Maccabæus,

won the favor of the King of Denmark, and became a professor at the

university of Copenhagen.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE KING OF SCOTLAND BREAKS WITH ENGLAND, AND ALLIES HIMSELF WITH

FRANCE AND THE GUISES.

(1534-1539.)

[Sidenote: BREAK WITH ENGLAND.]

Notwithstanding the literary and liberal pretensions of Francis I.,

the ultramontane spirit seemed secure of a triumph in France. There

doubtless existed freer and holier aspirations, but certain of the

bishops were more popish than the pope, and kings found it convenient

to show themselves very indulgent to the licentiousness of the clergy,

provided that they in return would lend a hand in support of their

despotism. The priests of Scotland therefore redoubled their efforts to

make a breach between James and his uncle of England, and to ally him

with the eldest daughter of the papacy.

Henry VIII., who received into his realm many of the exiles who were

driven from their own country, was troubled at seeing his nephew throw

himself into the arms of the Roman pontiff. It was for the interest

of England that Scotland should not take a course opposed to her own:

the whole of Great Britain ought to cast off the authority of the pope

at the same time. The Tudor, impatient to reach this end, conceived

the project of giving his daughter Mary in marriage to the King of

Scotland; and in order to bring about by degrees a reconciliation,

he determined to send Lord William Howard to Scotland. To this

intent he had instructions drawn up in full detail to the effect

following:[183]--First after your arrival at the court of the king my

nephew, you will offer on our part the most friendly greetings, you

will thank him for his noble present of falcons, and you will assure

him that the ties of blood which unite us lead me to rejoice at every

piece of good fortune that befalls him. You will then practise with

the lord treasurer by some means to get you the measure of the king’s

person, and you will cause to be made for him the richest and most

elegant garments possible, by the tailor whom you will have at hand for

that intent. Then you will tell him that I am greatly desirous to have

conference with him.

Henry VIII., full of hatred for the papacy, and anxious to see other

kingdoms strengthen his position by following his example, urged

his nearest neighbors to found, as he had done, national churches

acknowledging no other head than the king. He had seen his endeavors

fail in France, and was all the more desirous of succeeding in

Scotland. As uncle to the king, the task seemed easy to him. To

accomplish it he was resolved to use all means, and among others he

sought to gain over the king by fine clothes made after the London

fashion. He sent to him at the same time some books against the usurped

authority of the pope.

[Sidenote: DR. BARLOW’S EMBASSY]

In October, Dr. Barlow, prior of Bisham, one of the king’s councillors,

‘a man sufficiently instructed,’ wrote Henry to James, ‘in the

specialities of certain great and weighty causes,’[184] arrived in

Scotland, and the queen-dowager Margaret procured him a private

conversation with her son.[185] The pope’s partisans at once took the

alarm, and conjured James not to read the books which Henry VIII.

had sent to him; they depicted the unheard-of dangers to which he

would expose his person, his crown, and his kingdom by following

his uncle’s example. They had the best of it, and James commanded a

reply to be written to Cromwell, that assuredly no means would be

neglected of strengthening the bonds of friendship between the two

sovereigns; but that, in Scotland, there could be no agreement with

the King of England ‘_in the opinions concerning the authority of the

pope and kirkmen_.’[186] ‘Here be,’ wrote Barlow to Cromwell, ‘plenty

of priests, sundry sorts of religions, multitudes of monks, flocking

companies of friars, yet among them all so many is there not a few, no

not one, that sincerely preacheth Christ.’

‘It shall be no more dyspleasant for me to depart,’ he wrote on May 23,

1536, ‘than it was for Lot to pass out of Sodom.’[187]

Henry was not discouraged, and he sent Lord William Howard a second

time, in February, 1535. At a solemn session which was held at Holyrood

with great pomp, Howard delivered to James V., at one and the same

time, the order of the Garter, which Charles V., Francis I., and

King Ferdinand had already received, and a declaration touching the

ecclesiastical supremacy. The king accepted the order with respect,

and handed over the declaration to his bishops to do what they wished

with it.[188] In vain had Henry given James a glimpse of the prospect

of sitting on the throne of England by marrying his daughter Mary;

the priests, and especially Beatoun, got the proposals rejected, from

which they anticipated nothing but evil. They represented to him the

risk which he would run if he went to London and put his head at the

disposal of so treacherous and cruel a prince; and what admiration

posterity would cherish for him, if at the time when all Europe was

threatening the Church, he should remain true to the faith of his

forefathers.

Among the Scottish people there were earnest aspirations after the

Gospel: but in that country, as in France, the priesthood and the

government forcibly repressed them. The more the state separated itself

from the pope in the south of Britain, the more it clung to him in

the north. The king, now become the direct instrument of the clergy,

required the parliament to check the progress which the Bible seemed to

be making in Scotland; and on June 8 this body, adding severity to the

former laws, enacted that whosoever possessed a New Testament should

deliver it to his bishop under pain of confiscation and imprisonment,

and that all _discussion_ about _religious opinions_ was prohibited.

It gave permission, however, to _clerks of the schools to read that

book, in order that they might the more efficiently contend against

its adherents_. Many priests, monks, and students therefore read the

New Testament; but this reading produced a quite contrary effect, for

it led them to receive and to defend the Gospel. This could not but

irritate the king and his priests, and make them feel still more the

necessity of an alliance with some ultramontane power. The conversion

of a Churchman who, through his family, was connected with the court,

especially attracted their attention.

[Sidenote: THOMAS FORREST.]

In a small island in the Firth of Forth, not far from Edinburgh,

stood the ancient abbey of St. Colme, occupied by Augustinian canons.

Distinguished among them was the son of the master of the stables

to King James IV. His name was Thomas Forrest, and he is not to be

confounded with the Benedictine, Henry Forrest, of whom we have already

spoken. A quarrel had broken out between the abbot and the canons;

the latter, in order to support their claims, seized the deeds of

foundation of the monastery. The abbot came in, scolded them sharply,

recovered the volume, and gave them in its place an old folio of St.

Augustine. The canons scornfully turned their backs on the book and

went back to their cells.

Forrest, left alone, looked at the volume. A work of the great

Augustine interested him. He took it into his cell, read it, and

ere long was able to say, with the bishop of Hippo--‘That which the

dispensation of works commands, is accomplished by the dispensation of

grace. O happy and blessed book!’ he would often say, ‘God has made

use of thee to enlighten my soul.’[189] St. Augustine led Forrest to

the Gospel, and he was not long in making known to his brethren the

treasure which he had found in the writings of this Father and in the

New Testament. Aged men stopped their ears. ‘Alas,’ said the son of the

king’s master-stabler, ‘the _old_ bottles will not receive the _new_

wine.’[190] The old canons complained to the abbot, and the abbot said

to Forrest, ‘Look after your own salvation, but talk as other men do.’

‘Before I will recant,’ he replied, laying his hand on his breast,

‘this body shall be burnt and the wind shall scatter its ashes.’ The

abbot, anxious to be rid of this innovator, gave him the parish of

Dollar.

Forrest was one of those men who receive the grace which is offered

them not only lovingly but with a vehement impetuosity. While many lay

sleeping he was vigorously going forward to take the kingdom of God.

There were in him those marvellous impulses, that grand earnestness,

which the Gospel denotes in the saying, ‘the violent take it by force.’

He used to study from six in the morning till midday: he learnt every

day three chapters of the Bible: in the afternoon visited families,

instructed his parishioners, and endeavored to bring souls to God. When

he returned in the evening to his vicarage, wearied with his labors, he

used to say to his servant, ‘Come, Andrew,’ and making him sit down

beside him, piously recited the three chapters of the Word of God which

he had learnt in the morning, hoping thus to fix them in his own memory

and to impress them on the soul of his servant.[191] A party of monks

having invaded his parish to sell indulgences there, Forrest went into

the pulpit and said, like Luther, ‘You cannot receive pardon for your

sins either from the pope or from any created being in the world, but

only by the blood of Jesus Christ.’

[Sidenote: FORREST AND THE BISHOP.]

His enemies hastened to denounce him to the bishop of Dunkeld, calling

upon him to put a stop to conduct so strange. ‘My joy dean Thomas,’

said the bishop to him, ‘I am told that you preach every Sunday. That

is too much. Take my advice, and don’t preach unless you find any

good gospel or any good epistle that setteth forth the liberty of

Holy Church.’--‘My lord,’ replied Forrest, ‘I would wish that your

lordship preach also every Sunday.’ ‘Nay, nay, dean Thomas,’ said

the bishop, alarmed, ‘let that be.’--‘Whereas your lordship biddeth

me preach,’ continued Forrest, ‘when I find any _good_ epistle, or a

_good_ gospel, truly, my lord, I have read the New Testament and the

Old, all the gospels, all the epistles, and among them all I could

never find an evil epistle or an evil gospel; but if your lordship

will shew me the good and the evil ones, I will preach the former and

pass over the latter.’ The bishop, more and more affrighted, exclaimed

with all his might,[192] ‘Thank God, I never knew what the Old and New

Testament was, and I will to know nothing but my _portuese_[193] and my

_pontifical_!’

For the moment Forrest escaped death. The bishop’s saying got abroad

in Scotland, and people used for a long time to say to any ignorant

person, ‘_Ye are like the bishop of Dunkeldene that knew neither new

nor old law_.’[194]

The discontent of the people with the clergy went on increasing, and

at a provincial council which met at Edinburgh in March, 1536, Sir

James Hamilton, in the king’s name, demanded various reforms. The men

of the kirk were indignant. ‘Never had they been so ill content,’ said

Angus.[195]

The monks, in alarm, began to attack the Reformation from their pulpits.

Bishop Barlow, the English envoy, thought the moment a favorable one

for reform in Scotland. ‘If I may obtain the king’s license,’ he wrote

to Cromwell, then first secretary of state to Henry VIII., ‘otherwise

shall I not be suffered to preach, I will not spare for no bodily

peril, boldly to publish the truth of God’s Word among them. Whereat

though the clergy shall repine, yet many of the lay people will gladly

give hearing. And until the Word of God be planted among them, I

suppose their feigned promises shall be finally found frustrate without

any faithful effect.’[196]

It seemed as if the hopes of the Anglican bishop were beginning to be

realized. It was rumored that the King of Scotland, offended at the

reception which his demands had met in the council, was going to have

a conference with his uncle. The prelates thought that if that project

were carried out they were undone. ‘Pray do not allow,’ they said to

the king, ‘a single word to be spoken by the King of England to induce

you to adopt his new constitutions of the Scripture.’[197] James was

willing and unwilling: but he yielded, and the interview with the

terrible Tudor was given up. But the bishops were not yet freed from

their alarm; they dreaded the influence of the English ambassadors, and

that of the queen-mother, and they feared that they might not be strong

enough another time. In order to confirm the prince in his resolution,

they conceived the plan of getting him to request a brief from the pope

to _forbid_ his holding intercourse with Henry VIII. Thompson, the

apostolic prothonotary, was secretly charged with this strange mission,

and the priests thought it a capital stroke to ask the King of England

to grant this agent a passport, taking good care to conceal from him

the object of the mission. Henry, not at all suspicious, agreed to

their request, and these cunning clerks could laugh together at their

paltry trick. But the queen-mother, when she became acquainted with

all these intrigues, sharply rebuked her son. Sensitive and violent,

as weak men frequently are, James forgot all respect, and accused his

mother of accepting gifts from the king her brother to betray the

king her son. Margaret indignantly declared that she would return to

London,[198] and the two English envoys hastened their departure from

Scotland. The Scottish clergy had been very much alarmed at the project

formed by Henry VIII. of giving his daughter Mary to his nephew; but

the daughter of Catherine of Aragon would not have been wanting in

submissiveness to the pope. The clerical party, having succeeded in

stirring up quarrels in the royal family, between the mother and the

son and between the uncle and the nephew, and anxious to make the

proposed union forever impossible, hinted to the young prince that the

eldest daughter of the King of France, the sister-in-law of Catherine

de’ Medici, would be for him a far more glorious and advantageous

alliance. This scheme pleased James, and when the rumor ran that the

emperor was on the point of invading France, the King of Scotland,

in order to win the favor of the father of the bride whom he desired,

offered to him the aid of his army.[199] Then he set sail, September

1, with six vessels, accompanied by a suite of five hundred persons,

all of noble or gentle birth. In ten days he reached Dieppe,[200] and

without consulting the opinion of his uncle, he asked for and obtained

the hand of Madame Madeleine, who had been very tenderly brought up

by her aunt, Margaret of Valois.[201] The Scottish priests were in

high glee, because in their view this alliance with France tended to

strengthen the papacy in Scotland; but their joy was premature. The

kings of France were beginning to assume an air of superiority towards

Scotland, which was offensive to a nation proud though small. It was

far worse afterwards, when Henry II., king of France, marrying his son

to Mary Stuart, required that princess to sign contracts which were

humiliating to ancient Caledonia.

[Sidenote: MADELEINE DE VALOIS.]

James had found in Madeleine an accomplished princess. Her health was

frail, but her heart was virtuous and her soul was no stranger to

the piety of her aunt. How great a gain for the Reformation if there

should be seated on the throne of Scotland a queen who was a lover

of the Word of God! James embarked with his young wife on a fleet of

seventeen sail. On reaching Leith, the amiable queen, who was of noble

bearing though of unhealthy aspect, set foot on land, knelt down on

the shore, and taking up a handful of the sand of Scotland, kissed it

with deep feeling, and implored God’s blessing on her beloved husband

and on her new country. Madeleine was received at Edinburgh with great

enthusiasm by the people and the nobles; but the churchmen, better

informed than they were at first, were disquieted, and were afraid that

this princess would diffuse around her the evangelical opinions of the

sister of Francis I. This happiness was not in store for Scotland.

The flower transplanted into that rough climate withered and fell.

On July 2 [1537] the queen breathed her last. All who had known her,

except the priests, deeply regretted her. Buchanan, struck with such

glory and such mourning, composed an epitaph on her in Latin verse,

to the following effect:--‘I was wife of a king, daughter of a king,

niece of a king, and, according to my wish and my hope, I was to become

mother of a king. But cruel death, unwilling that I should stand on the

highest pinnacle of honor that a mortal creature can attain to, has

laid me in this tomb before that bright day dawned.’[202]

[Sidenote: SECOND MARRIAGE OF JAMES V.]

The prelates began to bestir themselves immediately to negotiate

another French marriage, but one which should be at the same time what

the first had not been,--a Romish marriage. They did not intend to be

taken in a second time. The ardent David Beatoun, the primate’s nephew,

who had accompanied the king to Paris, returned to France immediately

after the death of the young queen, in order to seek for James V. a new

alliance agreeable to the priests. David, who was very well liked at

the court of St. Germain, was made bishop of Mirepoix, by Francis I.,

and through his intervention was afterwards created cardinal. His whole

life was to be consecrated to a conflict with the Gospel in Scotland.

Now for this end he needed a fanatical queen, and it was not difficult

to find one.

There was at that time at the court of France a family which was

beginning to be known for its zeal for the papacy. Claude de

Lorraine, Duke of Guise, who had married Antoinette de Bourbon, had

distinguished himself on several occasions, and particularly at the

battle of Marignano. Surrounded by six sons and four daughters, he

founded a powerful house, which at a later period was near taking

the throne from the Valois and the Bourbons. Hence, the last word of

Francis I. to his son was this, ‘Beware of the Guises!’ It appears

that James, during his visit to France, had seen and observed the

eldest of the duke’s children, Mary, a young woman of three-and-twenty,

widow of Louis of Orléans.[203] To her Beatoun addressed himself. The

alliance was promptly concluded. The Scottish clergy triumphed; but the

evangelical Christians saw with sorrow ‘this egg taken from the bloody

nest of the Guises’[204] brought into their native land.

The young queen, having arrived at St. Andrews on June 16, 1538, strove

to gain the affection of the king and of her mother-in-law. She failed

to win the favor of the people; but the priests were enamored of her,

and feeling themselves thenceforth sure of the victory, they began to

set the authority of the pope higher than ever in their discourses.[205]

The pope then, through cardinal Pole, proposed an alliance between

the emperor and the kings of France and Scotland for the invasion of

England; and at the same time he withdrew from Henry VIII. and his

successors the title of _Defender of the Faith_, and transferred it to

the crown of Scotland.

James V., the slave at once of his wife and his bishops, seemed to be

positively chained to the chariot of the Roman pontiff.

CHAPTER IX.

DAVID BEATOUN ESTABLISHES HIS INFLUENCE: PERSECUTION REVIVES.

(1539.)

[Sidenote: DAVID BEATOUN.]

A man with whom we have already made acquaintance was now for

eight years to play a prominent part in Scotland, and to contend

energetically against the Reformation. This was David Beatoun, one

of the members of the Fifeshire family, and nephew of archbishop

James. He belonged to the class of minds which take their place

with enthusiasm under an absolute government, and become its most

formidable instruments. Thoroughly at home and highly esteemed at the

court of France, it was he who had conducted the negotiations for the

king’s marriage, first with Madeleine of Valois, afterwards with Mary

of Lorraine. But his intent was to devote his life to a union more

sublime--that of Scotland and the papacy. Animated with hearty sympathy

for Gregory VII., Boniface VIII., and Innocent III., he believed, as

they did, that Rome, formerly mistress of the pagan world, should now

be mistress of the Christian world. In his eyes all authority emanated

from her, and he was resolved to consecrate to her his life, his

energies, and everything that he possessed. As he meant to fight with

carnal weapons, he must attain some dignity which would invest him with

authority to make use of them. He speedily attained his end. Paul III.,

alarmed at seeing the separation of England from Rome, and fearing lest

Scotland, as she had a nephew of Henry VIII. for her king, should

follow her example, was anxious to have in that country one man who

would be absolutely devoted to him. David Beatoun offered himself.

The pope created him cardinal in December 1538, and thenceforth the

_red_, a color thoroughly congenial with him, became his own, and as

it were his symbol. Not that he was by any means a religious fanatic;

he was versed neither in theology nor in moral philosophy. He was a

hierarchical fanatic. Two points above all were offensive to him in

evangelical Christians: one that they were not submissive to the pope;

the other, that they censured immorality in the clergy, for his own

licentiousness drew on himself similar rebukes. He aimed at being in

Scotland a kind of Wolsey, only with more violence and bloodshed. The

one thing of moment in his eyes was that everything in church and state

should bend under a twofold despotism. Endowed with large intelligence,

consummate ability, and indomitable energy, he had all the qualities

needed to insure success in the aim on which his mind was perpetually

bent without ever being diverted from it. Passionately eager for his

projects, he was insensible to the ills which must result from them.

One matter alone preoccupied him: the destruction of all liberty. The

papacy divined his character, and created him cardinal.

For the suppression of evangelical Christianity, which upheld the

supreme authority of the Divine Word in the presence of the tiara and

its oracles, Beatoun needed the royal support. His first step therefore

must be to make himself master of the king. This was not difficult. The

nobility had rights which they meant to make respected, and which the

crown wished to take away. The king and the cardinal were naturally

impelled to unite against the Gospellers and the nobles. In addition,

James V., a prince of good natural endowments both of body and of

mind, and of a frank and amiable disposition, was strongly inclined

to sensual pleasures. In order to keep him out of the way of state

affairs, the courtiers and the regent had fostered in him the taste for

intrigues and adventures of gallantry, a vice which he never got rid of

even after his marriage.[206] Dissolute as a man, prodigal as a king,

and superstitious as a Catholic, he could not but easily fall under the

sway of superior minds,[207] especially if they promised him money, and

that Beatoun could do.

Henry VIII., who, like his nephew, was habitually in want of money, had

sought it in the treasures of the monasteries and other ecclesiastical

institutions. The King of Scotland might be tempted to follow that

example. Beatoun, and the other ecclesiastical dignitaries who were

about the prince, discovered a certain means of preventing it. Instead

of taking the money of the clergy, they said, let the king take that of

the Gospellers; let the property of those who may be condemned to death

for their faith, and even that of those who, after having embraced

the Reform, may abjure it, be confiscated for his majesty’s benefit.

This scheme was all the more seductive in that, while it secured their

wealth to the clergy, it at the same time deprived the friends of the

Reformation of theirs. This was killing two birds with one stone. The

plan gives a special character to the Scottish persecutions. The cruel

Gardiner said in England, that when people went stag-hunting they

must fire at the leader of the herd, and that the same course must be

pursued in hunting the Gospellers. In Scotland it was agreed not to

harass those poor Christians who had nothing to leave at their death.

Why seize these lean sheep? The knife must be laid on the big fat

ones--on those which have a rich fleece. War on the rich! This was

the cry raised by the party of the persecutors. For about four years

the sword had not been drawn from its scabbard, and the horror excited

by the persecution of 1534 had, as it seemed, subsided. The Gospel

had reaped advantage from the lull: the number of those who confessed

Christ as their only Saviour had increased, and thus the irritation of

the priests was soon aroused again.

[Sidenote: WAR ON THE RICH.]

Martin Balkerley, a wealthy citizen of Edinburgh, was confined in the

castle at the time when David Beatoun was going to be made cardinal at

Rome. The latter had already acquired great influence. As coadjutor

to his uncle, the archbishop of St. Andrews, who was then advanced in

years and in ill health, and whom he was to succeed, the administration

of all ecclesiastical affairs was even then in his hands.[208]

Balkerley, who was imprisoned for reading the prohibited books,

complained as follows: ‘I have done nothing,’ said he, ‘but refuse to

give up my book of matins to the officer.’ The king sent him back to

Beatoun, who then referred the case to the privy council. The lords

composing the council promised the accused his liberty on condition of

his giving a ransom of one thousand pounds sterling, an enormous sum

according to the value of money at that period. This ransom was paid on

February 27, 1539, but Balkerley remained in prison. It was not enough.

Beatoun, who had then been cardinal for a month or two, demanded an

additional ransom of double the amount. Three rich Scotchmen offered

themselves as bail on March 7, pledging themselves that the prisoner

would do the king’s will. Five days later he was set at liberty. Thus

the sum of three thousand pounds, paid down, was at length thought

sufficient to expiate the crime of reading the New Testament.

Beatoun did not think it necessary thenceforward to have recourse to

the privy council. His arrogance had increased, and he assumed a

haughty air. As the consuls of ancient Rome had their lictors, who

bore the _fasces_ before them as the symbol of their power, so the

cardinal, whithersoever he went, had the cross carried before him; and

this symbol of the love of God, which signifies _pardon_, signified,

when it preceded Beatoun, _condemnation_, and spread terror everywhere.

The cardinal claimed to be master of souls, and to dispose of the

lives of men. The money which he had so shamefully acquired served

only to stimulate his desire to get more by the same means. Several

eminent and wealthy citizens--Walter Stewart, son of Lord Ochiltree,

Robert Forester, brother of the laird of Arngibbon, David Graham, John

Steward, son of Lord Methven, with others belonging to the _élite_ of

Scotland--were thrown into prison. In the castles, and in the towns of

Stirling, Edinburgh, Perth, and Dundee, numerous families were left

desolate.[209]

[Sidenote: MISSION OF THE DUKE OF NORFOLK.]

Henry VIII. saw in these acts of the government of his nephew the

signal of an impending attack, and he sent one of the greatest lords

of his court, the duke of Norfolk, to Berwick and to Carlisle to

watch Scotland. Norfolk attentively investigated the condition of

that country, and perceived there two opposite currents. ‘The clergy

of Scotland,’ he wrote to London, ‘be in such fear that their king

should do there as the king’s highness hath done in this realm, that

they do their best to bring their master to the war; and by many ways

I am advertised that a great part of the temporalty there would their

king should follow our example, which I pray God give him grace to

come unto.’[210] Presently Norfolk learnt that James V. was making his

cannon ready; that a proclamation was published at Edinburgh and in all

parts of Scotland, enjoining every man between the ages of sixteen and

sixty to be in readiness to set out; and that the fanatic cardinal was

gone to the continent to make sure of the aid which Scotland might hope

for, both from the king of France and from the pope. Norfolk ere long

saw with his own eyes the sad effects of the intrigues of the clergy.

Not a day passed but some gentlemen and priests, who were compelled to

flee the country because they had had the audacity to read the Holy

Scriptures in English, came to him to seek a refuge. ‘Ah,’ they to said

him, ‘if we should be captured we should be put to execution.’[211]

In the midst of these persecutions and preparations for war, James,

initiated in the art of Roman policy, feigned the most pacific

sentiments. ‘You may be sure,’ he said to one of the English agents,

‘that I shall never break with the king, my uncle.’ But Norfolk was not

deceived: he felt the greatest distrust of the influence of Mary of

Guise. ‘The young queen,’ he wrote to Cromwell, ‘is all papist.’[212]

That ill-starred marriage linked in his eyes the family and the realm

of the Stuarts with France and the papacy.

Norfolk was not wrong. The cardinal, having won over the king by

flattery and by the heavy fines extorted from the evangelical

Christians, was eager to take advantage of the circumstance for the

destruction of the Reform and the satisfaction of some grudges of

long standing. A monk named Killon, possessing some poetic talent,

had composed, after the fashion of the age, a tragedy on the death of

Christ. On the morning of Good Friday, probably in 1536, a numerous

audience had assembled at Stirling to hear it. The king himself and

the court were present. The piece presented a lively picture of the

spirit and the conduct of the Romish clergy. The action was animated,

the characters well marked, and the words vigorous and sometimes rude.

Fanatical priests and hard-hearted Pharisees instigated the people to

demand the death of Jesus, and procured from Pilate his condemnation.

The design of this work was so marked that the simplest folk said to

one another, ‘It is just the same with us: the bishops and the monks

get those persecuted who love Jesus Christ.’[213] The clergy abstained

for the moment from molesting Killon, but they took note of his daring

drama.

Another Gospeller had left very unpleasant memories in Beatoun’s mind.

This was the good dean Forrest, who had boldly said that he had never

found either a bad epistle or a bad gospel. The cardinal was only

waiting for an opportunity to arrest him, Killon, and others. He had

not long to wait. When the vicar of Tullybody, near Stirling, was

married, Forrest and Killon had attended the ceremony, as well as a

monk named Beverage, Sir Duncan Sympson, a priest, a gentleman named

Robin Forrester, and three or four other people of Stirling.[214]

At the marriage feast, at the beginning of Lent, they had eaten

flesh, according to that word of St. Paul, ‘Whatsoever is sold in

the shambles, that eat.’ On March 1, 1539, or according to some

authorities, on the last day of February,[215] they were all seized and

taken before the cardinal and the bishops of Glasgow and Dunkeld, who

indulged in practices far more criminal than the eating of what God

made for that purpose.

[Sidenote: PROSECUTION OF FORREST AND KILLON.]

The official accuser, John Lauder, one of Beatoun’s creatures,

addressing Forrest rudely, said to him--‘False heretic! thou sayest it

is not lawful to kirkmen to take their teinds [tithes] and offerings

and corpse presents.’ And the dean Forrest replied, ‘Brother, I said

not so: but I said it was not lawful to kirkmen to spend the patrimony

of the kirk as they do, as on riotous feasting and on fair women, and

at playing at cards and dice: and neither the kirk well maintained

nor the people instructed in God’s Word, nor the sacraments duly

administered to them as Christ commanded.’

_Accuser_: ‘Dare thou deny that which is openly known in the country?

that thou gave again to thy parishioners _the cow_ and the _upmost

cloths_, saying you had no right to them? ’

_Dean_: ‘I gave them again to them that had more mister [need] than I’

_Accuser_: ‘Thou false heretic! thou learned all thy parishioners to

say the Paternoster, the creed, and the Ten Commandments _in English_.’

_Dean_: ‘Brother, my people are so rude and ignorant they understand

no Latin, so that my conscience provoked me to learn them the words

of their salvation in English, and the Ten Commandments which are the

law of God, whereby they might observe the same. I teached the belief,

whereby they might know their faith in God and Jesus Christ his Son,

and of his death and resurrection. Moreover I teached them and learned

them the Lord’s own prayer in the mother-tongue, to the effect that

they might know how they should pray.’

_Accuser_: ‘Why did you that? By our acts and ordinances of our holy

father the pope?’

_Dean_: ‘I follow the acts of our master and Saviour Jesus Christ, and

of the apostle Paul, who saith that he had rather speak five words to

the understanding and edifying of his people than ten thousand in a

strange tongue which they understand not.’

_Accuser_: ‘Where finds thou that?’

_Dean_: ‘In my book here, in my sleeve.’

At these words the accuser, rushing at a bound on the dean, snatched

from his hands the New Testament, and holding it up, said with a loud

voice, ‘Behold, sirs, he has the book of heresy in his sleeve that

makes all the din and play in our kirk.’

_Dean_: ‘Brother, ye could say better if ye pleased, nor to call the

book of the Evangel of Jesus Christ the book of heresy.’

‘It is enough to burn thee for,’ said the accuser, coolly.[216]

Five of these pious men were immediately condemned to death and were

taken the same day to the castle hill, where the piles were ready; and

the king, following the example of Francis I., was present with his

court at this cruel execution.[217] Those who went first to the stake

piously and wonderfully consoled those who were to follow them. ‘At

the beginning of 1539,’ says Buchanan, ‘many suspected of Lutheranism

were arrested; five were burnt at the end of February, nine recanted,

and others were sentenced to banishment.’[218] The same day orders

were issued to confiscate the property of those who had been declared

heretics.[219] The king, the cardinals, and their subordinates took

their reward out of the penalties.

[Sidenote: GEORGE BUCHANAN.]

The illustrious Buchanan was himself in prison at that time. He was

thirty-two years of age, and after a residence at the university of

Paris, he had returned to Scotland and had been named preceptor to

the earl of Murray, a natural son of James V. He was a poet as well

as a historian, and his genius grew and developed itself under the

influence of the classical poetry which charmed his leisure hours.

There was something sharp and biting in his temperament, peculiarly

apt for satire; and he had not spared the clergy in his _Somnium_, his

_Palinode_, and above all in his satire against the _Franciscans_. It

was for this last poem he was imprisoned. The companies of monks had

keenly resented his sarcasm, and there was not a man in all Scotland

whose death was more eagerly desired by the Romish party. It was said

that the cardinal offered the king a considerable sum of money in

order to compass it. However that may be, Buchanan was at that time

a prisoner and was carefully watched in the prison of St. Andrews,

some of the guards even spending the night in his room. The young man,

already an illustrious writer, knew that they were seeking his life;

the death of five martyrs showed him clearly enough the fate which

awaited himself. One night he perceived that his keepers had fallen

asleep.[220] He went on tiptoe towards the window, and climbing up

the walls, succeeded, although with difficulty, in getting out. He

then passed on and surmounted other obstacles as great;[221] and thus

by the aid of God, and stimulated by the desire of saving his life,

‘he escaped the rage of those that sought his blood.’[222] He betook

himself to France, taught for several years in the Collège de Guienne

at Bordeaux, and afterwards in a college at Paris. Henry Stephens,

when he published at Paris the first edition of Buchanan’s Paraphrase

of the Psalms, calls him on the title-page of the book, ‘Poetarum

nostri sæculi facile princeps.’ His escape took place, as nearly as we

can learn, in March 1539. Many Gospellers, as we have said, followed

the example of Buchanan that same month. As for himself, he appears

at that period of his life to have been nothing more than one of the

numerous poets and prose-writers who were then attacking the vices and

the follies of the Romish clergy. But while attacking superstition,

Buchanan did not fall as many did into infidelity: he adhered heartily

at a later period to the evangelical reform, and Knox bears noble

witness to him.[223]

Beatoun, while sacrificing many victims, had lit a fire on elevated

ground, ‘to the effect that the rest of the bischoppes myght schaw

thame selfis no less fervent to suppress the light of God.’[224] That

signal was not made in vain. In the town of Ayr, in the midst of

the rich plains of that fertile county, was a young gentleman named

Kennedy, about eighteen years of age, who had received a liberal

education, and had tasted of the Gospel, without however attaining a

well-grounded faith; a state sufficiently accounted for by his years.

Gifted with some poetic faculty he had not spared the ignorance of the

priests. Kennedy was seized and cast into prison.

In the same diocese, that of Glasgow, there lived in a convent of the

Cordeliers one of those enlightened and pious monks who shone like

stars in the deep night of the age. His name was Jerome Russel; his

character was good, his wit ready, and his mind enriched with literary

acquirements. Wharton, writing to Lord Cromwell in November 1538,

speaks of a friar John, a well-informed man who was imprisoned at

Dumfries at the instance of the bishops, and who had been loaded with

chains because he professed respecting the law of God the same opinions

which were held in England.[225] It is not to be doubted that he speaks

of Russel. Dumfries is not far from Ayr.

The archbishop of Glasgow, Gawin Dunbar, was not of so persecuting a

spirit as Beatoun, and as lord chancellor he was invested with the

highest authority in the state. It was then the summer of 1539, and as

Beatoun, although named cardinal, had not yet received the pontifical

act which conferred on him that dignity, he could not have dared to

appear in the diocese of Glasgow with his cross borne before him. But

it was not enough for him to know that the learned Russel and the young

Kennedy were in prison, he must get them burnt. Consequently he sent to

Glasgow his favorite agent Lauder, who could affect insinuating manners

and put on exaggerated pretensions to compass his ends. The clever

notary Andrew Oliphant and the ardent monk Mortman accompanied him,

charged to obtain from the archbishop the promise ‘that he would imbrue

his hands in the blood of the friends of God.’ Knox therefore calls

these three men _Satan’s sergeants_.

[Sidenote: TRIAL OF KENNEDY AND RUSSEL.]

Having reached Glasgow the three men got round the chancellor-prelate,

and demanded of him far more than he could lawfully grant: he was not

only to have the two evangelical Christians examined, he must put them

to death. What reproaches he would incur if he protected heretics! what

praises would he not win if he were ardent in serving the Church! Gawin

yielded, and Russel and Kennedy were put on their trial. They appeared

before the court, over which the archbishop himself presided, and the

proceedings began. Thanks to the inventive zeal of Lauder and his

colleagues, numerous charges were brought forward against the accused.

Kennedy had an upright soul, but had rather an inclination to the faith

than faith itself. The imposing display of judicial pomp, the gravity

of the accusations, the severity of the punishment which was preparing,

and the horrible agony which was to precede it, all disturbed the young

man; he was distressed, and being sharply pressed to retract what he

had written, he was intimidated and went astray.

Russel, on the other hand, whose faith, the fruit of close examination

of the Word of God, was developed and established by long-continued

studies, appeared full of decision. He replied with wisdom to his

accusers, defended by powerful proofs the doctrines which he professed,

and repulsed with calmness, dignity, and intrepidity the false

accusations of his enemies. His words had an unlooked-for result: they

reawakened the conscience of his young companion. The Spirit of God,

the Spirit of all consolation, worked in him. The Christian life, which

had scarcely begun in his heart, now expanded itself. ‘He felt himself

as it were a new creature; his mind was changed;’ a living faith filled

his heart; he was confirmed in his resolution.[226] From that time he

no longer hesitated to give up his life for the truth. The happiness

which he had lost came back to him; his countenance brightened, his

tongue was loosed, there was a radiance in his whole person; and,

falling on his knees, he exclaimed with joy--‘O eternal God, how

wondrous is that love and mercy that thou bearest unto mankind, and

unto me the most caitiff and miserable wretch above all others; for

even now, when I would have denied thee and thy Son, our Lord Jesus

Christ, my only Saviour, and so have casten myself in everlasting

damnation, thou by thine own hand hast pulled me from the very bottom

of hell, and makest me to feel that heavenly comfort which takes from

me that ungodly fear wherewith before I was oppressed. Now I defy

death.’ Then, rising, he turned towards his persecutors and said, ‘Do

what ye please; I praise God I am ready.’[227]

The prayer of Kennedy touched the archbishop of Glasgow. He was

disturbed. ‘It is better to spare these men,’ said he; ‘executions

such as those which have taken place only do harm to the cause which

they are meant to serve.’ The cardinal’s agents resolved to frighten

the prelate, whose weakness they well knew, and they cried out

lustily--‘Take care what ye are doing, my lord. Will ye condemn all

that my lord cardinal and the other bishops and we have done? If so ye

do, ye show yourself enemy to the kirk.’ Fear fell on the archbishop.

Repressing the pity which had touched him, and silencing his conscience

for the sake of preserving his reputation and his comfortable and easy

life, he gave way.

[Sidenote: THEIR MARTYRDOM.]

Russel had remained calm till then, but exasperated by the calumnies of

his enemies, indignant at the weakness of the archbishop, and confident

in his own innocence, he said with dignity--‘This is your hour and

power of darkness; now sit ye as judges, we stand wrongously accused,

and more wrongously to be condemned; but the day shall come when our

innocency shall appear, and that ye shall see your own blindness, to

your everlasting confusion. Go forward, and fulfil the measure of

your iniquity.’ Russel and Kennedy, condemned to the flames, were

immediately handed over to the secular power.

The day following, as they passed to the place of execution, Russel

thought that he perceived some apprehension in his friend. ‘Brother,’

said he, ‘fear not: more potent is he that is in us than is he that

is in the world. The pain that we shall suffer is short and shall be

light, but our joy and our consolation shall never have end.’ They who

heard it were wonderfully affected. When the two martyrs arrived at

the pile, they fell on their knees and prayed; then, rising, they were

bound to the stake without uttering a word, and supported the fire with

patience, making no sign of fear. ‘They won the victory over death,

looking with faith,’ says a historian, ‘for everlasting habitations.’

CHAPTER X.

TERGIVERSATIONS OF KING JAMES V.--NEGOTIATIONS WITH HENRY VIII.--THEY

FAIL.

(1540-JANUARY, 1542.)

The Romish party was not yet satisfied. ‘These cruel beasts,’ says

Knox, ‘did intend nothing but murder in all quarters of the realm.’

James was surrounded with men who urged him on in that direction.

Many of his courtiers, associates of his dissipation, instigated

him to persecution because they were pensioners to priests for that

purpose.[228] Oliver Sinclair was the foremost of these secret tools

of the clergy. The cardinal’s influence was increased by circumstances

which occurred at this time. Archbishop James Beatoun died in the

autumn of 1539, after having attended as a witness at the baptism of

the king’s eldest son. By his last will he left his archbishopric of

St. Andrews to his nephew David, who, when confirmed by the king, was

thenceforth both cardinal and primate of Scotland.

[Sidenote: JAMES V. AND HIS BISHOPS.]

Henry VIII. was induced by these changes to take fresh steps towards

gaining over his nephew. He was acquainted with the cardinal, and knew

his relations with France and the papacy. At the beginning of 1540

Sir R. Sadler was sent to Scotland.[229] The moment was well chosen.

James V. was just then fully disposed to make peace with his uncle.

The Lords Murray, Huntley, and Bothwell were in disgrace, and James

wrote to Henry VIII. as his ‘dearest brother and uncle,’ and commended

himself to him in his most hearty and affectionate manner. Henry sent

him presents and the most gracious messages, inquiring earnestly after

his health; and all this courtesy James received in the most amiable

manner imaginable. Henry however meant to go to the main point, and

Thomas Eure, one of his envoys, strove to discover what were the

purposes of the King of Scotland respecting the bishop of Rome and the

Reformation. One of the councillors, Ballenden, replied to him with

great politeness, ‘The King of Scottes himself, with all his temporall

counsaile, was gretely geven to the reformation of the mysdemeanors of

busshops, religious personnes, and priests within the realme.’[230]

James gave even then some proofs of this disposition. On the day of

the Epiphany, January 6, 1540, there was a grand feast at the court,

and a dramatic spectacle was given in the palace of Linlithgow. The

king, the queen, and all the councillors spiritual and temporal were

present; and the purport of the piece was to exhibit the presumption of

the bishops, the iniquities of the courts spiritual, the evil ways of

the priests, and in one word, the ‘noughtines’ of such religion as then

existed. Perhaps the king was minded to let the bishops hear a sermon

in that shape. It is very unlikely that anyone would have dared to give

such a spectacle without his authority. However that may be, James was

struck with it; and when the piece was finished, he had the archbishop

in Glasgow, chancellor of the realm, called to him, as well as the

other bishops, whose thoughts and fears during the representation may

be imagined. ‘I exhort you,’ said the king to them, ‘to reform your

fashions and manners of living. If you do not, I will send six of the

proudest of you unto my uncle of England,[231] and after he has put

them in order, I will do the same with the rest if they will not

amend.’ The chancellor, in consternation, humbly answered, ‘One word

of your grace’s mouth shall suffice them to be at commandment.’ James

rejoined immediately and angrily, ‘I shall gladly bestow any words of

my mouth that can amend them,’ The notion of applying to Henry VIII.

to set his bishops right was original; and the prelates of Scotland,

knowing that that preceptor did not spare the rod nor even the sword,

trembled to the very marrow of their bones. Ballenden, in confirmation

of these new intentions of James, said to Thomas Eure, ‘The king is

fully minded to expel all spiritual men from having any authority by

office under his grace, either in household or elsewhere.’ It appears

that the author of the drama, author also in part of the change wrought

in the prince, was Sir David Lyndsay, who had been the king’s guardian

and companion during his minority. This bold man of letters composed

many satires against the superstitions of the age, and above all

against the ignorance and licentiousness of the clergy; but the king

never allowed the cardinal to lift a finger to harm him.

The convictions of James were not very deep, and his own life was not

such as to give him the right to criticise the lives of the bishops. So

long as this liberal humor of the prince lasted, the cardinal seems to

have abstained from demonstrations hostile to the reform of the Church.

He was sure of getting him to change his mind, and he did not trouble

himself about comedies to which he was bent on replying by tragedies.

He was not long in showing his inflexibility, and the capricious humor

of the king again bent under his immovable firmness. Other men have

been named great, just, or well-bred. Beatoun deserved to be called

persecutor. This surname, which history inflicts on him as a disgrace,

he seems to have aspired to as a glory.

[Sidenote: SIR JOHN BORTHWICK.]

Beatoun assembled at St. Andrews the prelates and the nobles who

enjoyed his confidence. An elevated seat was provided for him in the

cathedral, and he sat there in his twofold character of primate and of

cardinal. The earls of Huntley, Arran, and Montrose, the earl Marshall,

and Lords Erskine, Lyndsay, Fleming, Seaton, and many other barons and

men of rank, Gawin, archbishop of Glasgow and chancellor, the bishops

of Aberdeen, Galloway, and others besides, abbots and priors, deans

and doctors of theology, were around him. David Beatoun, proud to see

beneath him that illustrious and brilliant assembly, began to speak.

He set forth with warm feeling the dangers to which the multiplication

of heretics was exposing the Roman faith: the audacity with which they

avowed their opinions, even at the court, where they found too much

support, he added, alluding thus to the famous dramatic representation

with which James had been so struck. Then impatient to show the serious

import of his words, he announced that he had cited before that

assembly Sir John Borthwick, brother of the lord of the same name,

provost of Linlithgow, who had probably had a hand in the satirical

drama. ‘This heretic gives out,’ he said, ‘that the pope has no more

authority than other bishops, that his indulgences have no other

effect than to deceive the people, that the religious orders ought to

be abolished, that all ecclesiastics are at liberty to marry, and in

short, that the Scots, blinded by their clergy, do not profess the true

faith. He reads and circulates the New Testament in English, and divers

treatises of Melanchthon, Œcolampadius, and Erasmus, and refuses to

submit to the see of Rome.’

Borthwick, instead of going to St. Andrews, set out in all haste for

England, where he was well received by Henry VIII., and was afterwards

employed by him as one of his commissioners to the princes of Germany.

But although Beatoun could not send the lamb to the slaughter, he could

at least find the way to possess himself of the fleece. On May 28 the

confiscation of Sir John’s property was pronounced and his effigy was

burnt, first at St. Andrews and two days after at Edinburgh. The fire

did him no great harm, but it served to give a certain point to the

cardinal’s discourse.[232]

The king had now again returned, under the influence of the cardinal,

to the side of Rome. This prince, so thoughtless, hasty, violent, and

unprincipled, bent before every breeze and changed his opinion and his

will at a word from those who were about him. Money he wanted, and

he would have received it from one party as readily as from another,

from the nobles as well as from the priests: but the latter were more

persevering and more skilful in finding out the crowns of which he had

need. ‘They are always at the king’s ear,’ said Sadler, one of the

envoys of Henry VIII. Sir James Hamilton, his treasurer, was at his

left ear, and Beatoun, the cardinal, at his right. The treasurer had

at that time received large sums from the cardinal for the king, and

James, won by that argument, pronounced himself against the friends

of the Reformation with the passion which he had before shown towards

the prelates. Sir James Hamilton, brother of the earl of Arran, a

man of dishonorable character, cruel, and the murderer of the earl

of Lennox, was then invested by command of the king with functions

resembling those of an inquisitor. ‘I charge you,’ said James, ‘to

seize all persons suspected of heresy, and to inflict on them after

judgment such penalties as they have deserved.’ In the excess of his

popish zeal he exclaimed, ’Not a man of that sort shall find any mercy

at my hands, not even my own son, if it were proved that he was in the

number of the guilty.’ This declaration alarmed many. It was plain

that an inquisitorial court was to be set up, and Hamilton was already

preparing everything for that end. But on a sudden he was himself

thrown into the prison in which he meant to confine the friends of the

Reformation. Accused either justly or unjustly of treason, even of a

conspiracy against the life of the king, he was arrested, and James, in

his wrath, had him put to death in August 1540.

[Sidenote: BIRTH OF A SON TO JAMES.]

James spoke of his son. He had indeed a son, but one not old enough to

excite any fears with respect to what he called heresy. The child was

born on May 22, 1540, and had been named James after his father. ‘He is

fair and lively,’ wrote the king to his uncle Henry VIII., ‘and will

succeed to us and this our realm.’[233] Very proud of this son and of

having an heir, he felt his crown to be more secure than ever,[234] and

began to contemn the nobles. ‘They will no longer dare,’ said he, ‘to

attempt anything against my house.’

The baptism of the boy took place May 28, and on the next day the king

embarked on some voyage. Nobody could give an explanation of this

abrupt departure. Some said that the king was going to France, others

said to Ireland, where the leading men, it was reported, would take

him for their king.[235] ‘I am only going to visit the isles, to put

everything in order,’ he wrote to Henry VIII. The cardinal and the

prelates resolved to take advantage of his absence. The king, they saw,

was in ill humor with the nobles, and all those who were suspected in

the matter of doctrine must be got rid of. But one discreet man, James

Kirkcaldy of Grange, the lord treasurer, having received information

of this project, made it known to the king, and set before him all the

calamities to which he would expose himself if he gave his support

to the conspiracy. James, once more turning about, was enraged at

this intrigue hatched in his absence. The cardinal, attended by many

bishops, came to Holyrood palace to greet him, and presented to

him a paper on which were inscribed the names of nobles suspected

of heresy and of whom it would be well to get rid. He dwelt even on

the gain which would flow to the crown from that course. James said

sharply--‘Pack, you jefwellis![236] Get ye to your charges and reform

your own lives: be not instruments of discord betwixt my nobility and

me: or else I vow to God I shall reform you by sharp whingers if ever I

hear such motion of you again.’

The prelates, astounded at this rebuke, withdrew in confusion, and gave

up their scheme for a time.

[Sidenote: SCOTT OF PITGORNO.]

A second son was born to James in the town of Stirling in April 1541,

and this event both heightened his joy and increased his pride. His

happiness however was frequently disturbed. Certain people were

incessantly endeavoring to deceive him. Hateful informers denounced

to him one or other of his earls, his barons, and other subjects, as

bent on taking his life, and thus threw him into a state of great

alarm. In another direction some of his favorites were leading him

to blameworthy acts. He had to pay dearly for his errors, and was

punished by his very crimes. His mind was often in a state of gloomy

reverie. Thomas Scott of Pitgorno, a courtier who had enjoyed his

good graces and had been named by him lord of Lefries, and afterwards

promoted to a higher office in the administration of justice,[237] had

been guilty of many misdeeds. He was accused, among other things, of

having plundered pretended Lutherans, and it was added that the king

had gained something by it. Remorse tormented these two wretched men.

One night, while James was at Linlithgow, he dreamed that he saw Scott

coming towards him surrounded by a company of devils, and that he

heard him say in a sepulchral tone--‘Woe to the day that ever I knew

thee or thy service. For, for serving of thee against God, against

his servants, and against justice I am adjudged to endless torment.’

The king awoke in terror. With a loud voice he called for torches (it

was midnight), and he made all who were in the palace get up, and

said to them--‘Thomas Scott is dead! He has appeared to me.’ He then

related his horrible dream. That same night Thomas Scott, then at

Edinburgh, was stricken with a terrible agony. ‘I am damned,’ said he,

‘I am damned! It is by the just judgment of God--_justo Dei judicio

condemnatus sum_.’ He died in the midst of these torments. James heard

of this death the next morning and was still more terrified. Such is

the tale of the chroniclers and historians of Scotland.[238] It is

certainly wonderful, but stranger coincidences have been known.

James had yet other causes of uneasiness. His sleepless nights were

disturbed, gloomy, and agitated; and even the light of morning did not

disperse his inward darkness. The death of Hamilton, whose execution

he had hastily ordered on mere suspicion, frequently gave him bitter

pain. That unfortunate lord had done for the prince all that he had

wished; and the latter now asked himself whether he had done well to

deprive himself of so devoted a secretary. Perhaps he was innocent.

He might have been calumniated. One night, at Linlithgow, James saw

Hamilton in a dream, with his sword drawn, rush upon him and cut off

first his right then his left arm,[239] saying to him, ‘Take that!

while thou receive a final payment for all thine impiety.’ James

awoke trembling, and asked himself what this dream could mean. His

imagination was impressed by it. He mused mournfully on the strange

vision, and expected that some heavy blow was about to fall on him. It

was in this state of mind that a message reached him from Stirling that

his son Arthur has just died. Shortly after, another message came from

St. Andrews to announce to him that his son James was dead. These two

young princes, his hope, his joy, and his glory, were no more. Within

twenty-four hours of each other (some say at the same hour), they had

been taken from him. He now comprehended his dream. His two arms were

already cut off: it only remained for him to lose his own life, and all

would be accomplished. Nothing could divert this prince, who was guilty

at once of profligacy and of persecution: nothing could beguile his

grief. His heart was broken, his mind was disordered.

He shut himself up, and the only person whom he would see was his

mother. Unhappy father! unhappy king! The queen-dowager did all she

could to console her son and her daughter-in-law. ‘I am never from

them,’ she wrote to her brother, Henry VIII., May 12, 1541, ‘but ever

in their company.’ It appears that by this large sorrow the natural

affections were reawakened in the king. He wrote to his uncle that he

desired to see good will and the most perfect friendship and peace

prevail between them.[240]

[Sidenote: PROGRESS OF THE REFORMATION.]

While James was thus taken up with his sorrows alone, the doctrine of

the Reformation made progress, and, if only liberty were accorded to

it, its triumph in Scotland appeared to be at hand. A great multitude

of the common people, both in the country districts and in the towns,

held meetings more or less secretly at which they heard the Holy Word

read and even explained. By 1540 many eminent men had received the

evangelical doctrine. The earls of Errol and of Glencairn, the Lords

Ruthven and Kilmaurs and their children, Sir David Lyndsay, Sir James

Sandilands, Melville of Raith, and a large number of other influential

persons appeared to be attached to the Gospel by genuine conviction.

Henry VIII., when informed of this state of things, thought that he

ought to avail himself of it for his own advantage. His favorite notion

was to engage the King of Scotland to make his country independent

of Rome, and as James was his nephew he did not despair of success.

As long ago as 1535 he had sent Barlow to him with books against the

authority of the pope. That measure failed. Next he had despatched Lord

Howard to James, who was still unmarried, to offer to him the hand of

his daughter Mary, and with her the prospect of the crown of England,

if he would establish the royal supremacy in the Church. Another

failure. In 1540 Henry had charged Sir Ralph Sadler to set before James

the advantages which he would obtain from a Reformation, and to propose

an interview with him. Sadler, in order to counteract beforehand the

cardinal’s influence, communicated to the King of Scotland some letters

from that prelate to the pope, which had been intercepted by the

English, and from which it was manifest that Beatoun’s aim was to place

the state in subjection to the Romish Church. The prince answered with

a smile that the cardinal had already shown him those letters.[241]

All the endeavors of the English envoy had proved futile. At bottom,

the end which Beatoun was pursuing was the ruin of Henry VIII.; and in

order the more surely to attain it, he was ambitious to be appointed

legate _a latere_, a dignity which would invest him in Scotland

with the extraordinary powers which he did actually obtain. He did

everything to conduct to a happy issue the alliance against England

which had been previously projected by the pope. The English Council of

the North wrote to Cromwell--‘We think that the cardinal of Scotland

intendeth to take his journey towards Rome in Lent next coming, and

we think it should appear by the schedule of instructions herein

inclosed, which was taken on a ship lost at Bamborough, that the Scots

intend some mystery with some of their allies.’[242] Henry, alarmed

at this news, caused fresh entreaties to be pressed on his nephew.

His ambassadors promised James that if he would go to York to confer

with his uncle, the meeting would have the happiest consequences for

him, and would afford him the most unanswerable proof of the love

which Henry bore him.[243] It appears even that one of them, speaking

of the feeble health of prince Edward, held before the eyes of James

Stuart the brilliant prospect of the crown of England, leaving Mary

and Elizabeth entirely out of sight. The nobles of Scotland, natural

enemies of the priests, urged the king to agree to the interview with

his uncle. Articles were drawn up at the beginning of December 1541,

by the commissioners of Scotland and England. They purported that King

James would meet his dear uncle, the King of England, on January 15,

1542, at the city of York, for the purpose of mutual communications

tending to increase their cordial love, to draw closer the ties of

blood, and to promote the prosperity of their kingdoms.[244] These

articles raised Henry to the summit of his wishes, and he took measures

immediately for imparting to this interview extraordinary solemnity

and brilliancy. This conference of the two kings made a great noise in

Scotland, and preparations were also made there. Henry VIII. set out

and went to York full of hope. Uncle and nephew were at last to see

each other, and to talk together, and every one saw that this meeting

would have weighty consequences. Never was Scotland nearer having a

reform after the fashion of Henry VIII.

[Sidenote: PROJECTED INTERVIEW AT YORK.]

No one understood this better than Beatoun. What he feared more than

all besides was that the power of the Romish hierarchy would be

abolished, and the Gospel be put in its place. The cardinal, for the

first time in his life, had been anticipated, surpassed in cleverness

and in influence. He did not however lose courage, but with all the

adherents of his party applied himself to the task with all his soul.

They sowed hatred between the king and the nobles. They employed all

imaginable means to dissuade the king from the fatal meeting. At first

they sought to alarm him. ‘By going to York,’ said the cardinal to him,

‘you will expose yourself to the suspicions of the emperor, you will

make an enemy of your old ally the King of France, and you will bring

down on yourself the disgrace of the pope. In short’ (and it was this

which most terrified James), ‘you will expose yourself to the greatest

dangers. This treacherous king will keep you prisoner in England as

James I. was kept in former days.’ James replied that he had given

his word, and that the king was awaiting him, that to absent himself

from the _rendezvous_ would lead to war with England, and that he

had not the means of carrying it on. The cardinal was amazed at this

independence of the king, for he was not accustomed to it. Discerning

more and more clearly the greatness of the peril, his bishops and he

agreed that there was but one means available for inducing James to

renounce his purpose. As this prince was always in want of money, they

sought to gain him by gifts of large sums.[245] This argument did not

miss the mark. They then appealed to him anew and said--‘Sire, there is

a good deal of money in Scotland, and it is easy to get possession of

it. If war should break out, the clergy will give you thirty thousand

crowns per annum, and you will be able to get a hundred thousand more

by confiscating the property of heretics, if you will only authorize

proceedings against them by a judge whom we will name to you and who

is well qualified for the purpose. Will you spare this wicked people?

Do they not read the Old and New Testaments? Are they not in rebellion

against the authority of the pope and against the king’s majesty?

Have they not, by new and detestable errors, troubled the churches,

destroyed piety, and overthrown institutions established for many

centuries? They refuse to the priests whom God has consecrated all

obedience and respect. But there must be no delay.’ James yielded. He

conceded to the bishops the inquisition which they claimed, and sent

Sir James Learmont, one of the officers of his court, to offer his

excuses to his uncle. Of all James’s proceedings this was the most

perilous.

CHAPTER XI.

WAR BETWEEN ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND--DEATH OF JAMES V.

(1542.)

[Sidenote: PREPARATIONS FOR WAR.]

It is easy to imagine the wrath of Henry VIII. when he found himself

alone at York. He had made an agreement with his nephew; he had left

London to have a conference with him; he had made great preparations;

he had gone to the north; and then the young man was missing at the

_rendezvous_! He was beside himself with anger. His sister, the mother

of James, had died at the end of November 1541. But even if she had

lived it was hardly likely that her influence would have appeased the

rage of the king. He was provoked not only because his favorite project

broke down just at the moment when he expected to see it carried out,

but still more by the intolerable affront which the King of Scotland

had just offered him. He could not endure it, and he swore that he

would wash his name and his memory of that insult by a startling act of

vengeance. He wrote to James letters full of the sharpest reproaches

and the most violent menaces. ‘I have still in my hand,’ said he,

‘the very rod which chastised your father.’ That rod was the duke of

Norfolk, who while earl of Surrey had commanded at Flodden, where James

IV. was killed. Henry immediately authorized piratical expeditions

by sea, and invasions on the Scottish borders; but these pirates and

marauders were only the precursors of the chastisements which he was

preparing.

James was frightened; and as it was to please his prelates that he had

failed to keep his promise, it was his wish that the expenses of the

war should fall on them. He told them that, thanks to them, he was

going to war with the King of England, and demanded the subsidies which

they had promised. ‘If you do not furnish me with them,’ he added,

‘I shall have no choice but to confer with my uncle and satisfy his

wishes.’ This menace terrified the prelates; ‘for rather would they

have gone to hell.’[246] What would France say? What would the pope

say? thought the cardinal. The bishops promised mountains of gold.

After deliberation on the matter, they agreed to give the king fifty

thousand crowns a year so long as the war lasted. They added, that

their servants and other dependents who were exempt from military

service would take up arms. These promises filled the heart of the

rash young monarch with confidence and pride. Troops were sent to

Jedburgh and to Kelso, and the priests and all their party were pluming

themselves on their wealth and their power, and talking of nothing

but their victory. They were mad with joy, and were already dreaming

of again bringing England under the papal sway. It was possible for

an instant to suppose that they were right. The parliament of England

had not shown itself so forward as the clergy of Scotland; its members

had closed their ears to Henry’s demands for money. This slackened

his preparations for war. There were, however, some troops on the

frontier, and they formed the design of seizing Jedburgh. The earl

Angus and Sir George Douglas, his brother, who had been banished from

Scotland for some years, joined these troops, which numbered four

thousand men. But the Scots had taken their measures. Lord Huntley, at

the head of a large force, encountered the English troops at Halidon

on August 24. The fight was already begun, when another Scottish party

appeared. The English, perceiving that they were in danger of being

surrounded, retreated. Only a few were killed, but very many were taken

prisoners.[247]

There was no longer any limit to the joy of prelate and priest. They

encouraged the king; they vaunted themselves as if they had in person

gained a victory. In bishops’ palaces, in the parsonages of priests,

and in the convents of monks, nothing was heard but shouts of triumph.

‘All is ours,’ said they; ‘they are but heretics. If we be a thousand

and they ten thousand, they dare not fight. France shall enter the

one part and we the other, and so shall England be conquered within a

year.’[248]

[Sidenote: PROJECTS OF HENRY VIII.]

James, notwithstanding his imprudence, did not indulge in these foolish

illusions. He knew that Henry VIII. was much stronger than himself.

The blow which the wrath of his uncle had inflicted on him made him

turn from left to right. He wished to take advantage of the petty

victory of Halidon for making peace with England. Persecution ceased in

Scotland, and liberty of conscience was more liberally granted. On the

day after the engagement, and before James was informed of the result,

he had already written to Henry, and had asked him for passports for

his plenipotentiaries. On September 1 he wrote to him again: ‘We assure

you, dearest uncle,’ said he, ‘there is within our realm neither of

spiritual nor temporal state that may or shall change our favor and

kindness toward you.’[249] But Henry was not of such an easy temper:

he bore in mind the affront at York, and he intended to avenge it.

He forbade the ambassadors of his nephew to pass beyond that city.

During this time he was collecting all kinds of munitions of war, and

in very large quantities. He assembled an army such as Scotland had

not for a long time seen at her borders, and gave the command of it to

that duke of Norfolk who was to defeat the son as he had defeated the

father. The King of England wanted also to be the king of Scotland,

and wished that the whole of Great Britain should belong to the same

prince. This dream was one day to be realized, but with this great

difference, that it would not be the King of England who should become

king of Scotland, but the King of Scotland who should become king of

England. We find in the State Papers the following despatch, addressed

by the English privy council to the archbishop of York:--‘Minding to

have the king’s majesty’s title to the realm of Scotland more fully,

plainly, and clearly set forth to all the world, that the justness of

our quarrel and demand may appear, we have appointed certain learned

men to travail in the same. And for because we knew that your lordship

in times past hath taken some pains in the same thing, we pray you not

only to cause all your old registers and ancient places to be sought,

where you think anything may be found for the more clear declaration

to the world of his majesty’s title to that realm, and so what shall

be found to certify us thereof accordingly; but also to signify unto

us what ancient charters and monuments for that purpose you have seen,

and where the same are to be sought for.’ For having failed to make the

promised visit, James must lose his crown. Once let the King of England

have possessed himself of Scotland (thanks to his soldiers, without

doubt, more than to his charters and muniments), he would banish popery

and establish his own bishops in its place, and above all his own

papacy.

Henry published a manifesto in which he declared that his nephew had

been the aggressor. He claimed for the Tudors the crown of the Stuarts.

He resented as bitterly as ever the wound received at York; and the

vengeance which he reckoned on taking was to be cruel, memorable,

and revolutionary. The energy of the uncle was as conspicuous as

the feebleness of the nephew; and when James wrote again with all

_naïveté_, ‘I love you,’ Henry replied savagely, ‘I hate you.’

Norfolk, impatient to avenge the retreat from Halidon, determined to

make an inroad into Scotland before the whole of the army was mustered.

He therefore marched from Berwick, at the northeastern extremity of

England, ravaged the country districts, took several unimportant

places, got himself into various scrapes, and announced that he should

immediately appear at Edinburgh. But within eight or ten days after

passing the Borders he withdrew. He had merely paid an unceremonious

visit, preliminary to one official and in state.

[Sidenote: MUTINY OF THE SCOTS.]

Meanwhile James was putting himself into a position to receive that

visit gallantly, and was assembling his army before Edinburgh. He had

there about twenty thousand men, besides ten thousand more on the

frontier, under the command of the earl of Huntley. But dissension

prevailed in his camp. There were some who cared little for the old

doctrine, but who were eager above everything to break the iron yoke

of the cardinal. Others there were, attached to the Douglases and the

Anguses, who were in the English army, and who had no mind to fight

against them. Others, again, feeling the inferiority of the Scottish

army, steadily insisted that they ought to remain strictly on the

defensive. On a sudden, the Scots encamped at Fala learnt that for want

of supplies the English were retreating on the Tweed. James, who was

easily excited, immediately called together his lords, and exclaimed,

‘Forward! follow me into England!’ His words were received in a gloomy

silence. ‘We are ready, sire,’ said some of the lords to him, ‘to risk

life and whatsoever we have to defend your person and your realm,

but we do not see any sufficient reason for invading England. Our

provisions are spent, our horses wearied; and as for ourselves, we

have so long been absent from our homes, that we think it high time to

return.’

James dissembled his chagrin, and even assumed an air of approval

of the discretion of his lords. But he trembled to see his kingly

authority trampled under foot by his subjects. He was plainly master

no longer. His subservience to the priests had ruined him. The nobles

and the common soldiers, instead of falling upon the English, returned

every man to his own home, and the king, abandoned and left almost

alone, consumed by the profound vexation which was gradually wearing

him away, returned mournfully to Edinburgh.

It was now November 2 or 3. He immediately convoked a council at

Holyrood palace. But in his rage against the nobles, he summoned only

the bishops, the priests, and their partisans; all those who made a

trade of pandering to the passions of the prince and who had no other

aim but to secure the triumph of the clergy. When they saw the king’s

discouragement, and his anger against the nobles, they persuaded

themselves that the moment was come for them to make an end of their

enemies. That, they thought, would not be very difficult. These men,

branded by public opinion, did not care to furnish evidence in support

of their denunciations. The only trouble they took was to deprive

the innocent of all means of clearing themselves. They thought that

it would for the moment suffice them to obtain a hearing, to accuse

some noble of heresy and to call as witnesses certain men of infamous

character in their own pay. With one accord, therefore, they all strove

to inflame the king against the Reformation and its friends. Oliver

Sinclair, among the laymen, distinguished himself in these proceedings,

and among the churchmen, Beatoun. ‘The cardinal and the priests,’ it

was said, ‘cast fagots in the fire with all their force.’[250] They

drew up a list containing the names of all of whom they wished to be

rid. There were the names of about one hundred nobles, among whom were

Lord Hamilton, the first person of the realm after the king, the earls

of Cassilis and Glencairn, the earl Marshal, and other nobles, all well

disposed towards the Word of God.[251] This fact shows what progress

the Reformation had made in Scotland. The majority of these _suspects_,

to be sure, were not decided evangelical Christians, but they had

leanings that way. Once already James had refused to accept such a

list. But the case was different now, and he accepted it at once, and

expressed to the prelates his regret that he had so long set their

counsels aside. ‘I see clearly at this moment that you are right,’

he said; ‘the nobles neither desire my honor nor my continuance; for

they would not ride a mile for my pleasure to follow enemies. Will

ye therefore find me the means that I may have raid made in England

without their knowledge and consent, that may be known to be my own

raid, and I shall bind me to your counsel forever.’

[Sidenote: A PROSCRIPTION LIST.]

The joy of the cardinal and his friends was unbounded. They

congratulated each other, they clapped their hands;[252] the game was

won. They made promises one to another of diligent service, discretion,

and fidelity. They encountered however some few difficulties. The king

required before all else an invasion, and he wanted to be able to say

to the nobles, ‘Where you fell back I advanced and have conquered.’ How

proceed so as to insure success in the enterprise? They resolved to

select as the battle-field not the east, in the direction of Berwick,

where the forces of Henry VIII. lay, but the northwestern quarter,

which was stripped, left without an army, almost without a garrison.

Carlisle would presently be taken, and James would triumph at the same

time over the nobles and the king of England.

He attached the utmost importance to this deed of arms. The royal

banner was secretly brought out, letters were addressed to the men

selected by the priests, inviting them to meet the king on such a

day, at such a place. The bishops undertook to bear the expenses of

this affair. The cardinal and the earl of Arran, by way of diversion,

went eastward, as if the Scots purposed to pass the frontier in that

quarter, where frequent combats had taken place between them and

the English. The king, satisfied with all these preparations, and

entertaining no doubt of success, accepted the fatal list presented by

the cardinal and put it into his pocket. Immediately after his triumph

and in the very midst of his glory, all those suspected should be

seized and executed. The Reformation should be extinguished, and Rome

should definitively reign. Everything was to be done with the strictest

secrecy.

On the night before the day appointed for setting out, James slept at

Lochmaben,[253] where stood one of the royal castles. There, without

incurring any danger, he was as near as possible to the scene of the

exploits all the honor of which he wished to reap. Troops arrive from

all sides, without any knowledge of what was wanted with them. On the

day fixed, at midnight, the trumpets sound, the companies are formed,

and the command is given to march forward ‘in the suite of the king,’

who was supposed to be with the expedition. At daybreak begins the

campaign which is to deliver up Scotland into the cruel hands of the

cardinal. The Scots approach the territory of England and pass the

water without meeting any resistance. They set fire to the houses and

corn fields which lie on their way, and the poor dwellers in those

country places, starting out of their sleep, see before them to their

great amazement an army of ten thousand men, and flames shooting up on

all sides. They tremble with fright and resign themselves to despair,

wondering in themselves how such an army could possibly have advanced

so far without their having the faintest suspicion of it. Whence comes

it? Whither is it going? Is it come from the abyss of hell?

[Sidenote: ROUT OF THE SCOTS.]

Everything about this expedition was indeed extraordinary, and even the

Scots themselves did not know who was in command. Lord Maxwell, warden

of the western marches, was present, and to him that office naturally

belonged; but neither he nor the troops knew anything at all about the

matter. At ten o’clock an unexpected event occurred. The Scots finding

themselves on English ground at Solway, the trumpets were sounded,

the army halted, and the royal flag was displayed and floated in the

midst of them. The wretched Oliver Sinclair mounted on a kind of shield

formed by lances which rested on the shoulders of some of the soldiers.

He presented letters which had been sent him by the king. This prince,

in the belief that this worthless courtier was a great captain, had

named him commander-in-chief. These letters were read to the army, and

the favorite had himself proclaimed lieutenant-general, with orders to

render obedience to him as to the king himself. By what the courtiers

said, to put Sinclair at the head of the army was to make victory

certain. James would not rely upon any of his nobles. Not one of them

was to have the glory of the expedition; it was to be the achievement

of James, to whom the command belonged. Maxwell was present at that

ceremony, seeing everything, hearing everything, and he was astounded

at it, ‘but he thought more than he spoke.’[254] Other lords who were

present did the same. No sooner had the proclamation been read than

murmurs, discouragement, and disorder spread through the army. At the

same time the English took up arms in all haste, ten in one company,

twenty in another. Carlisle closed its gates, and shortly after about

five hundred horsemen appeared on the neighboring heights for the

purpose of reconnoitring the Scottish force.[255] The Scots took these

horsemen for the advance guard of the army of the duke of Norfolk, and

being seized with a panic terror, many of them broke from the ranks.

Some wanted to fight, others wanted to fly. Everything was disorder and

confusion. The troops disbanded and took to flight in all directions.

Lord Maxwell, who had foreseen from the first moment the end of this

mad business, alighted from his horse and spoke to some friends. ‘To

horse and fly,’ they said to him. ‘Nay,’ replied he, ‘I will rather

abide here the chance that it shall please God to send me than to go

home and then be hanged.’[256] The Scots, both horse and foot, threw

away their arms and ran with all their might. A great number of them

were taken prisoners by the soldiers of Henry VIII., and some were

captured by Scottish adventurers and sold to the English.[257] To such

a degree had James’s soldiers lost heart, that those who did not fall

into the hands of men rushed into houses and surrendered themselves

to women.[258] The water had to be recrossed: the tide was high, the

river deep. Many were drowned, and a good number of those who escaped

the river perished in the marshes. Oliver Sinclair, who was ‘fleeing

full manfully,’[259] was captured without having struck a single

blow. The most distinguished among the Scottish nobles, the earls of

Cassilis and Glencairn, the Lords Somerville, Grey, and Oliphant, were

seen laying down their arms. Maxwell found thus the fate which he had

desired. These lords and gentlemen were sent to London and committed

to the Tower. Two days after, Henry commanded that they should pass

through the streets of London on foot, exposed thus as a spectacle to

the populace,[260] like the captives who adorned the triumphs of Roman

generals. When they arrived at the palace, they were received there by

the Lord Chancellor, who addressed to them severe rebukes, accused them

of having violated the faith of treaties, and extolled the goodness and

clemency of Henry VIII., who assigned them various houses for their

abode.

[Sidenote: MURDER OF AN ENGLISH ENVOY.]

During the battle, if such a word is to be used, James, who took good

care to keep out of it, was concealed in his castle at Lochmaben,

northeast of Dumfries.[261] There he was awaiting the issue of that

famous expedition which was to be his title to glory. He had made

sure of taking at the first blow the town of Carlisle, situated at

a distance of some miles from the frontier, and formerly one of the

principal military posts of the Romans, at which the wall of Hadrian

terminated, and which had been more than once besieged and taken.

Thence he hoped to pass on and reach York, and pay an _armed_ visit

to his dear uncle there. He was expecting the tidings of his triumph,

when some of the fugitives made known to him the total rout of his

army. Overwhelmed with sudden fear and astonishment, he could hardly

utter a word. It was night when he heard of his defeat, and not daring

to venture before daylight into unknown, untrodden ways, he retired to

bed, but without finding the least repose. His distress was unbounded.

He experienced the most acute pangs, could hardly breathe, and only

uttered some vague cries. The manner in which his unworthy favorite

had deceived his expectation, his defeat and flight, disturbed him as

much as the victory of the English. He got up, paced up and down in

his chamber, uttered lamentations, and cried out--‘Oh, fled Oliver? Is

Oliver taken? Oh, fled Oliver?’[262] He was attacked with a kind of

catalepsy. The constant contemplation of that extraordinary defeat and

of the conduct of that despicable man on whom he had rested his hopes

had in some degree suspended sensation in him, and he lay as in a long

and painful trance until his death, continually repeating, ‘Oh, fled

Oliver?’

The next morning, November 25, 1542, the king returned to Edinburgh.

He could hardly conceal his disgrace in his splendid palace; and there

a new disgrace was reported to him which still further heightened

his grief. On November 14, two envoys from the duke of Norfolk had

arrived there with a letter addressed to the king. The cardinal had

replied that he was gone a-hunting in Fifeshire. Ten days later, on

the fatal day of Solway, towards evening, when the English envoys on

their return were approaching Dunbar, one of them, J. Ponds, Somerset

herald, was attacked by two men and assassinated. James, when he

heard of this on his return, was in consternation. It might seriously

aggravate the crisis which was already so alarming. Notwithstanding the

painful state in which he then was, he wrote immediately to his uncle:

‘Be assured that punishment shall thereafter follow according to the

quality of the crime, and that there is no prince now living who could

be more afflicted than we are that such an odious crime should remain

unpunished.’ He offered to send ambassadors and heralds to explain the

criminal deed.[263] That was probably the last letter written by the

king.

James had a painful interview with the cardinal, who might now

understand to what a condition his hatred of the Reformation and his

ambition had reduced the king and the realm. James, who believed

himself pursued by a fatal destiny, took account sorrowfully, when

left alone, of his treasures and his jewels; and then, full of shame

and melancholy, and afraid to show himself to anyone whomsoever in his

capital, set out secretly for Fifeshire. He stopped at Hallyards, where

he was warmly received by the lady of Grange, a respectable and pious

woman, whose husband was absent at the time. This Christian woman,

observing at supper that the prince was plunged in melancholy, sought

to comfort him, and exhorted him to bow with resignation to the will of

God. ‘My portion of this world is short,’ sorrowfully answered James;

‘in fifteen days I shall be with you no more.’ Some time afterwards one

of the officers of his court having said to him, ‘Sire, Christmas is

nigh; where will your majesty wish to celebrate that festival?’ James

replied with a scornful smile, ‘I cannot tell: choose ye the place. But

this I can tell you, on Yule day ye will be masterless, and the realm

without a king.’

[Sidenote: LAST HOURS OF JAMES V.]

Haunted by these thoughts, the king went thence to Carney castle,

and next to his palace at Falkland, where he took to his bed. It

would have been natural for him to go to Linlithgow, to his queen,

who was on the point of giving birth to a child. He chose rather to

be at a distance from her. Loose living is incompatible with domestic

happiness. No symptom showed that his death was near. James, however,

was always repeating the words, ‘Before such a day I shall be dead.’

His courtiers, astonished and afflicted, said to one another that if

the queen gave him a son, the happiness so much desired would restore

him; but on December 8, 1542, she gave birth to a girl--the celebrated

Mary Stuart. On learning that the newborn infant was a girl, James,

wounded afresh in his dearest wish, turned to the wall, away from those

who had brought him the sad tidings. ‘The devil go with it,’ he said;

‘it will end as it began; it came with a lass, and it will go with a

lass.’[264] He saw his family extinct, his crown lost. Other Stuarts,

however, bore it after Mary. Both Scotland and England, unhappily, knew

that to their cost. But this circumstance--the hope frustrated of a son

to take the place of the two which he had lost--was a fresh and fatal

blow for the unfortunate James:

De douleur en douleur il traversait la vie.

The cardinal presented himself at the castle. His visit was natural at

that moment. But the ambitious prelate, supposing the king to be near

death, came not to console him, but to secure his own position. As the

king in his present dangerous state could only hear with difficulty,

the primate cried in his ear--‘Take order, sir, with the realm. Who

shall rule during the minority of your daughter? Ye have known my

service; what will ye have done? Shall there not be four regents

chosen, and shall not I be principal of them?’ The clever prelate

succeeded in getting a document prepared which was in his favor. The

king was sinking. But the memory of Solway ran continually in his

head, and disturbed his last moments. ‘Fie,’ cried he; ‘fled is Oliver?

is Oliver taken? All is lost.’ On December 14, 1542, at the age of

thirty-two, six days after the birth of Mary Stuart, James V. died.

When disrobing him, they found in his pocket the famous proscription

list. What was to come of that now?

James was buried at Holyrood January 8, and the cardinal who had driven

him along that fatal path in which he was to meet death presided at the

ceremony. This prince, thus taken away in the flower of his age, died

not so much of disease as of a broken heart.[265] ‘The sorrow of the

world worketh death.’ He had understanding, but it was uncultivated; he

was moderate in respect to the pleasures of the table, but he had been

thrown in his youth into other irregularities, from which he never got

free. He might be seen in the bitterest winter weather, on horseback

night and day, endeavoring to surprise the freebooters in their

retreats; and poor men had always easy access to him. But for want of

thoughtfulness and solid principles he was incessantly tossed to and

fro between the nobles and the priests, and whichever of these two was

the most adroit easily took the upper hand. He sinned much, but perhaps

he was still more ‘sinned against.’

CHAPTER XII.

REGENCY OF THE EARL OF ARRAN.--IMPRISONMENT OF BEATOUN.--TREATY OF

PEACE WITH ENGLAND.

(1542-MARCH 1543.)

[Sidenote: GENERAL DEPRESSION.]

The political and religious events in the midst of which James V. had

been taken from Scotland were of so grave a character that the wisest

heads felt some alarm, and expected to see a storm break forth such as

no one had ever seen the like.[266] An unexpected blow, considering the

youthful years of the prince, had fallen on the nation. With eyes fixed

on the future, nobles and people talked together of their fears and the

faintness of their hopes.[267] In the Lowlands, in the heart of the

Highlands, at Edinburgh, at Glasgow, at Stirling, and in other towns

of Scotland, men with pale faces and a restless air were questioning

one another in distress of mind about the fate in reserve for their

country. The shameful defeat at Solway, which had given the king his

death-blow, had filled the people with mourning and dread. The most

illustrious lords of Scotland, taken prisoners by the English, had been

exposed to the gaze of the citizens of London. Those who still remained

in Scotland were divided by implacable hatred, and by religious views

diametrically opposed to each other; and it was anticipated that

dissensions long suppressed by the fear of the king would now burst

forth. The cardinal and the bishops, giving themselves up without

restraint to their passion for dominion, were going to take advantage

of the death of James to bring the people into subjection. Henry VIII.,

glorying in the unexpected victory which he had just won, did not fail,

now that his nephew was no more, to turn to account (and in what a

fashion!) his pretensions to Scotland. For maintaining order in the

country there was a queen eight days old. The next heir to the crown

after her, Hamilton, earl of Arran, was not fitted by his virtues, or

his intelligence, or his courage to rule the people. Many destructive

agencies were at work in Scotland; loud lamentations were heard. One

thing alone could save the country--the Gospel.

[Sidenote: ALLEGED WILL OF JAMES V.]

The king being dead, it appeared to Beatoun that the public troubles

offered him a favorable opportunity for becoming master, for securing

the triumph of the French party, for abolishing the Reformation, and

establishing the supremacy of the clergy. Since Scotland was abased,

he was to be exalted. It was needful to act quickly. The nobles who

were recently made prisoners, and those who had for a long time lived

in exile in England, were about to return. The cardinal knew well that

they detested his subservience to the pope, his ambition, and his

arrogance; and he had no doubt that they would vigorously oppose him.

The earl of Arran, next heir after Mary to the crown, was it is true

in Scotland, and seemed to be called to make head against him; but the

haughty cardinal made little account of that. The earl is unambitious,

said he; he has no energy, and all his wish is to have nothing to do.

Besides, Arran was his near relation, a son of one of his aunts.[268]

The king had scarcely breathed his last when the cardinal went boldly

to the queen-mother at Linlithgow, fortified with the document on

which he assumed to found his pretensions. ‘Welcome, my lord,’ said

the queen, who as yet knew nothing more than the serious illness of

her husband; ‘is not the king dead?’ Mary of Guise supposed that the

first prelate of the kingdom was come solely to announce to her the

sovereign’s death. But Beatoun had another end in view in this visit.

Without loss of time he produced the king’s testament containing the

nomination of a regency composed of the cardinal and the earls of

Argyle, Huntley, and Murray, the first-named to be president of the

council and guardian to the royal infant. This document was generally

considered to have been extorted from the dying king. Many persons

even believed that the cardinal’s agent had guided the hand of the

dead king, and obtained a signature in blank which the cardinal

had afterwards filled up at his own will. Buchanan states that the

cardinal, having gained over a certain priest named Balfour, had with

his assistance forged a false testament. Knox, Sadler, and Lesley

also speak in the same way.[269] At the market-cross at Edinburgh the

cardinal had proclamation made, on the Monday after the king’s death,

of the alleged deed which made him the first personage in the realm.

Many of the Scots were indignant at this proceeding, and said openly

that both the regency and the guardianship of the infant Mary belonged

to Hamilton, earl of Arran, who, as next heir to the crown through his

grandmother, the daughter of James II., would be king, it was said,

if the little princess should chance to die. Had not her two brothers

died in their infancy? The general hatred of the cardinal, and the

horror felt at the thought of living under the government of a priest,

impelled a large number of people to support the cause of Hamilton.

‘Occasion offers herself to you,’ they said to him; ‘do not let her

pass.’ The laird of Grange especially urged this noble to maintain his

rights. But Arran, for want of spirit, was ready to abandon them. It

was at last determined to call together the nobility of the realm, that

they might decide to whose hands the government should be intrusted

during the minority. The nobles met on the appointed day. The cardinal

and his partisans resisted with all their might the proposal to commit

the government of the realm to the earl of Arran. ‘The Hamiltons,’ said

they, ‘are cruel murderers, oppressors of innocents, proud, avaricious,

double and false, and finally, the pestilence in this commonwealth.’

Arran had, indeed, given himself up to the domination of dishonorable

men. However, he remained calm, and contemned these insults. ‘Call me

what you please,’ replied he, ‘but defraud me not of my right. Whatever

my friends have been, yet unto this day has no man cause to complain

upon me. Neither yet am I minded to flatter my friends in their evil

doing, but by God’s grace shall be forward to correct their enormities.

Therefore yet again, my lord, in God’s name I crave that ye do me no

wrong, nor defraud me of my just title before ye have experience of my

government.’ This appeal touched the hearers, and all cried out that

unless the fear of God and his righteousness were trampled under foot,

the claim of Arran could not be rejected. He was therefore proclaimed

governor of Scotland, in spite of Beatoun; and the king’s palace, his

treasures, his jewels, and other chattels of the crown were delivered

up to him by the officials who had charge of them. This took place on

January 10, a few days after the cardinal’s proclamation.

[Sidenote: ARRAN PROCLAIMED REGENT.]

Arran, it is true, was not distinguished for his virtues nor for his

intelligence, but he was very generally liked, as weak men often are.

‘The earl of Arran,’ wrote Lord Lisle to Henry VIII., ‘is himself a

good soft God’s man, and loveth well to look on the Scripture, but he

hath many that ruleth about him of his kin which be shrewd and evil

men.’[270] Never had any regent been received with so much liking and

hope, and this was the case especially because people were glad to be

delivered from the cardinal. It was thought that he would reform all

that went wrong in the church or state, and his first acts corresponded

with this hope.[271] That Arran should thus get possession of power

was astonishing, for he was as weak as Beatoun was strong, and the

weakest, they say, always goes to the wall. In this case the reverse

happened. But many people thought that the arrangement would be only

temporary. Arran was the earthen pot of the fable, Beatoun the iron

pot, and it was not difficult to foresee which of the two would break

the other. It was not long before Arran gave a proof of his too easy

temper. Instead of adopting measures for withdrawing the realm from

the influence of Beatoun, as soon as the latter claimed to be made

chancellor of Scotland, Arran committed that office to his hands, in

order to alleviate the disgrace to which the assembly of the nobles had

just subjected him.[272] The ambitious cardinal, however, did not long

keep that post of influence.

Many eminent and pious men supported the cause of the earl of Arran.

One of his first acts was to appoint as his chaplains, on the

recommendation of those supporters, two ministers who preached the

pure Gospel. A former Dominican, Thomas Guillaume (or Williams), who

had been very eminent in his order, having been converted by the Word

of God, had thrown off his cowl. He was called to preach at Edinburgh.

The soundness of his judgment, the purity of his doctrine, the force

of his eloquence, and the clearness of his exposition of Scripture,

together with a certain moderation in controversy, attracted a crowd

to his preaching. The regent associated with him another evangelical

minister, John Rough. He had entered a convent at seventeen years of

age, had twice visited Rome, and having been painfully shocked by what

he had seen there, he had embraced the Reformation. Less of a scholar

than Guillaume, he was more simple-minded, and more ardent against

superstition and impiety, and against the authority of the pope. Arran,

urged on by his evangelical friends, sent his faithful ministers into

various parts of the kingdom. Among their numerous hearers was Knox,

and it was while listening to Guillaume that the great reformer began

to be acquainted with the beauty of evangelical truth.[273]

But while those who had their hearts opened to the truth received with

joy the words of the two chaplains, the monks, the priests, and all

the friends of the papacy attacked them vehemently. ‘Heresy! heresy!’

cried a Franciscan named Scot; ‘Guillaume and Rough will carry the

governor unto the devil.’ And all the monks and sacristans took up

the cry, ‘Heresy!’ A man named Watson, of the household of the bishop

of Dunkeld, composed a satirical ballad against the chaplains and the

regent which had a great vogue. The cardinal on his part was moving

heaven and earth, and worried Arran to silence the two preachers. ‘All

these men,’ says Knox, ‘roupit [croaked] as they had been ravens, yea

rather they yelled and roared as devils in hell.’ For the moment, these

cries were futile. The divine Word prevailed.

[Sidenote: PROPOSAL OF HENRY VIII.]

While these things were passing in Scotland, Henry VIII. was fully

occupied in England. The death of James had startled him, and his

first thought had been that the succession must fall to him. He would

unite the two kingdoms, and it would be an immense advantage to Great

Britain to be all under one government, and that his own. To this end a

marriage should be concluded between his son Edward, aged five years,

and the young Queen of Scotland, aged a few days. He lost no time

in sending for the most notable of the Scottish captives to Hampton

Court palace, where he was then residing. The earls of Cassilis and

Glencairn, and the Lords Maxwell, Fleming, and Grey, men who only a

few days before had been made a spectacle to the populace of London,

appeared before him. He stated to them his project. ‘God,’ said he,

‘now offers you a most favorable occasion for establishing agreement

and peace in Great Britain. Let a contract be concluded between your

queen and my son. I offer to set you at liberty if you will pledge

yourselves to do all you can to get the consent of the regent and of

the other nobles of Scotland to this marriage.’ The project highly

pleased the lords, for they saw in it a certain means of obtaining not

only liberty for themselves, but a lasting peace for their country.

Agreement was made that the Queen Mary should marry the prince Edward

when she was ten years old. After this conference the noble prisoners

set out, December 29, on their way to Scotland, to secure the success

of their scheme.

Henry, however, did not yet feel himself secure, and he wanted to have

the young queen in his own hands and some others with her. He had no

confidence in Scotland, knowing how easily she might tack about: and he

was afraid of the cardinal’s cleverness. Consequently, on January 9 he

wrote to viscount Lisle, then lord warden of the military frontiers of

England. ‘It is essential,’ said he, ‘to get the child, the person of

the cardinal, and of such as be chief lettes of our purpose, and also

of the chief holds and fortresses into our hands.’[274] Henry’s fears

were not without foundation. At the moment of James’s death everyone

foreboded a war with the powerful King of England. But the Scottish

lords whom Henry had set at liberty arrived on January 24. They were

accompanied by the earl of Angus and his brother, Sir George Douglas,

who had long endured the life of exiles in England. These lords

hastened to fulfil the commission of Henry VIII. On their admission to

the council, of which the regent was president, they laid before it the

proposal of marriage between the heirs of the two crowns. The earl of

Arran and the great majority of the members of the council appeared to

be favorable to it; but the cardinal, supported by the queen-mother,

strenuously opposed it. In their judgment nothing was more dangerous

for Scotland, nothing could be more offensive to France and to Rome.

Now Mary of Guise and Beatoun were the representatives of these powers.

The more chance there seemed to be of the adoption of the proposal

by the council, the more Beatoun struggled and the more vehement the

resistance he offered to it. He incessantly interrupted the debate: he

put questions to other members: he thus hindered them from speaking

and made the taking of votes altogether impossible.[275] The majority

of the council revolted against conduct so unparliamentary, which did

not allow them the free exercise of their right. The other members, and

especially the Scots who were just come from England, were indignant.

The latter conceived a bold design which did not occur to anyone else.

They would turn the cardinal’s insolence to account in getting him

wholly set aside. It was proposed that Beatoun should be excluded

from the assembly and confined in an apartment of the palace until

the votes had been collected. This plan was at once voted and carried

out.[276] What a blow for this proud priest! He, primate, cardinal,

legate of Rome, the most important personage of the realm, as he

thought, to find himself excluded from the council and treated as a

prisoner! He was not even to regain his liberty very soon. Never,

perhaps, had any assembly struck so unlooked for a blow. The Scottish

lords had arrived January 24, and the discussion and exclusion of the

cardinal certainly took place on the 25th or 26th. The prelate was

removed to the prison at Dalkeith.[277] The earls of Huntley, Murray,

and Bothwell demanded his liberation and offered themselves as his

bail, but they did not succeed in obtaining it. The voting resulted in

a resolution in favor of the marriage and of the union with England; it

only remained for parliament to confirm it.

[Sidenote: RESULTS OF BEATOUN’S ARREST.]

The Scottish lords who had returned from England, above all the earl

of Angus and his brother, had learnt during their sojourn in London

not to spare the cardinals and other Romish dignitaries. The stormy

presumption of the cardinal in the council had been the occasion of

the measure adopted against him; but these lords perfectly understood

that unless the cardinal were kept in confinement there could be no

religious nor even civil liberty in the land. ‘It is not possible,’

says Calvin, ‘to deprive an able and powerful tyrant of his supremacy

except by first taking away his arms and bringing against him a

force superior to his own. He will never quit his post of his own

accord.’[278] Sir George Douglas, brother of Angus, went to Berwick

where Lord Lisle was stationed, and pointed out to him that in sending

the cardinal to prison they had given him certain proof of their

activity. Lisle immediately reported it to the Duke of Suffolk,

brother-in-law of Henry VIII.[279] All the friends of the Gospel, and

even the Scottish political party, looked on that measure as a great

deliverance. Beatoun, however, was not surrendered to Henry VIII., as

he had required him to be.

It is hardly possible to imagine the effect produced in Scotland by

this bold deed. The bishops and the priests as soon as they heard of

the extraordinary proceeding were beside themselves. All the clergy,

struck with horror, at once adopted the same course as they would have

done if Scotland were laid under an interdict by the pope. The churches

were closed, religious services were suspended, and the priests refused

to discharge any of their functions. One might have conjectured that

some appalling crime had been committed, and that the whole nation was

excommunicated. A funereal veil hung over Scotland. The Romish clergy

accused those who had laid hands on the cardinal not only of injustice

but of sacrilege. The people, submissive in some places to the bidding

of their priests, and even many lords, cried out with the others.

Argyle left Edinburgh, retired to his estates, and assembled his clan.

Lord Lisle wrote to London, February 1, ‘Since the cardinal was seized,

no one in Scotland can get a priest to sing masse, to christen or

bury.’[280]

[Sidenote: PARLIAMENT AT EDINBURGH.]

The Scottish Parliament was to open at Easter, and the moment

was approaching. Instead of one there would be (so to speak) two

parliaments. The party of the opposition, the earls of Huntley, Argyle,

Murray, and Bothwell, a very great number of barons, knights, bishops,

and abbots, met at Perth a week before the day of convocation, and

having drawn up certain articles, they sent them to the regent and his

council by the hands of the bishop of Orkney and Sir John Campbell,

uncle to the earl of Argyle. Let the cardinal, they said, be set at

liberty; let the New Testament be interdicted; let the regent confer

with us on all affairs of the realm, and let other ambassadors be

sent to the King of England, charged with a quite different mission

from that which has been determined on. The regent by the advice of

his council declined to accede to ‘demands so unreasonable.’ The next

step, immediately taken, was to send a herald-at-arms to Perth, to

summon the lords who were there to Edinburgh, under penalty of treason,

to discharge their duties. This citation took effect. The earl of

Murray, the bishops, and abbots arrived on the eve of the opening of

parliament. The other lords presented themselves later. Argyle alone

remained on his estates. His two uncles, however, offered excuse for

him, on the ground of ill health.[281]

Parliament opened on Monday, March 12. The assembly was numerous,

for the gravity of the occasion was universally understood. ‘This

parliament,’ said the earl of Angus, ‘is the most _substantial_ that

was ever seen in Scotland; the three estates are present in great

force, and the multitude of on-lookers is so great that no more

could find lodging in the two towns of Edinburgh and Leith.’ The

first resolution of this important assembly approved the marriage of

prince Edward and the little Queen Mary, and empowered ambassadors to

negotiate it with England.[282] The second resolution (Tuesday) was the

confirmation of the earl of Arran in the office of regent. On Wednesday

the earl of Angus and his brother were reinstated in the honors and the

estates of which they had been deprived during their fifteen years’

exile. On Thursday the most important of all the resolutions of this

body was to be presented and debated.

Lord Maxwell, whom the folly of James V. had deprived of the command in

the affair at Solway, was generally known as ‘a man of good intentions

with respect to the Word of God.’ He had not openly professed the

evangelical doctrine so long as the cardinal was in possession of the

supreme power; but his sojourn in England, though short, had induced

him to take a more decisive course. He rose and introduced a bill

providing ‘that all the subjects of the kingdom might read the Holy

Scriptures in their mother-tongue.’ The debate began immediately.

Dunbar, archbishop of Glasgow, who since the imprisonment of the

cardinal had become chancellor of the realm, declared that he would

oppose the motion in his own name and in the name of all the prelates,

at least until the period when a provincial council of all the clergy

of Scotland should have decided the question. ‘Wherefore,’ answered

the friends of the Scriptures, ‘should it not be lawful to men that

understood no Latin, to use this word of their salvation in the tongue

they understand, as it was for Latin men to have it in Latin, Grecians

and Hebrews to have it in their tongues.’ ‘The kirk,’ replied the

priests, ‘had forbidden all kind of tongues but these three.’ ‘When was

that inhibition given?’ retorted the friends of the Gospel. ‘Christ

has commanded his word to be preached to all nations. Now if it ought

to be preached to all nations, it must be preached in the tongue they

understand. Now if it be lawful to preach it in all tongues, why shall

it not be lawful to read it and to hear it read in all tongues? To the

end that the people may try the spirits according to the commandment of

the apostle.’[283]

[Sidenote: FREEDOM TO READ THE BIBLE.]

The prelates finding themselves beaten admitted that the Holy

Scripture might indeed be read in the vulgar tongue, provided that the

translation were true. Some of the members of the assembly then handed

to the priests some copies of the Holy Scriptures which they drew from

their pockets, and begged them to point out any faults they could find

in them. The prelates, in great embarrassment, began to make search,

turned over the leaves of the book, opening it at the beginning, at the

end, and in all parts, taking infinite pains to find some mistake. But

nothing could be found. At last, ‘Here,’ said one of them, ‘here is

a passage to be reprehended; love is put in the place of _charity_.’

‘What difference is there,’ it was replied, ‘betwixt the one and the

other? It seems you do not understand the Greek term ἀγάπη.’ Before the

Greek word the priests stood dumb.[284]

The deputies of the burgesses and a part of the nobles then required

that the reading asked for should be permitted; as well as the reading

of Christian treatises, until such time as the clergy should give a

better translation of the Bible. The prelates still stood out; but at

length, reduced to silence, they submitted, and it was enacted by Act

of Parliament that ‘all men and women should be free to read the Holy

Scriptures in their own tongue or in the English tongue, and that all

acts passed to the contrary should be abolished.’ This bill, which

passed on March 15, was promulgated on the 19th, and sent into all

parts of the kingdom by order of the regent. The priests immediately

began to cry out with one voice against him as the promoter of

heresy.[285]

This was the first public Act passed in Scotland in favor of religious

liberty. The victory, says Knox, which Christ Jesus then won over

the enemies of his truth was of no little importance. The trumpet of

the Gospel gave at once a certain sound, from Wigton to Inverness,

from south to north. No small comfort was given to the souls, to the

families, who till then durst not read the Lord’s Prayer or the Ten

Commandments in English through fear of being accused of heresy. The

Bible, which had long lain hidden in some out-of-the-way corner, was

now openly placed on the tables of pious and well-informed men. The

New Testament was indeed already widely circulated, but many of those

who possessed it had shown themselves unworthy of it, never having read

ten sentences in it through fear of men.

Now they brought out their New Testaments, and ‘they would chop their

familiars on the cheek with it.’[286] ‘Here,’ said they, ‘this book has

lain hid under my bed feet these ten years.’ Others, on the contrary,

exclaimed with joy, ‘Oh, how often have I been in danger for this

book! how secretly have I stolen away from my wife at midnight to read

upon it in that lonely silent hour!’ Some, who were minded to turn

everything to account, made a great parade of their joy, on purpose

to pay court to the regent, who was then esteemed the most fervent

Protestant in all Europe. ‘But in general,’ add the historians, ‘the

knowledge of God was wonderfully increased by the perusal of the sacred

writings, and the Holy Spirit was given in great abundance to simple

men.’ Many works were also published at the same time in Scotland,

which were intended to disclose the abuses of the Romish Church, and

others of the same character were brought from England. That important

Act of the Scottish parliament was never repealed.

[Sidenote: MISSION OF SIR R. SADLER.]

While these wholesome measures were being adopted, the alliance of the

country with England appeared to be growing stronger; and even if a

purely evangelical reformation was not to be looked for, the ties which

bound Scotland to Rome must certainly be broken. On Sunday afternoon,

March 18, the day after the closing of the session of parliament,

arrived Sir Ralph Sadler, an envoy from Henry VIII. He betook himself

that very evening to Holyrood, and there learnt from the regent the

resolutions which had just been taken. Sadler was charged with the duty

of concluding the marriage contract between Edward and Mary, as well as

the project of a perpetual alliance between the two countries.[287]

Sadler, who acted in the business with his utmost energy, soon found

that the Scots were not prepared to go to the same length as his

master. ‘In my opinion,’ he wrote (March 27), ‘they had lever suffer

extremity than come to the obedience and subjection of England: they

will have their realm free and live within themselves after their own

laws and customs.... I think assuredly all the nobles and the whole

temporality of this realm desire the marriage and to join with us

in perfect friendship: in which case I think also they will utterly

abandon France.’ This was not what Henry was aiming at. After the death

of the young princess, the Tudors, in his view, were to inherit her

kingdom.

The alliance, nevertheless, was concluded. On July 1 the earl of

Glencairn, Sir George Douglas, Learmont, and Balnaves, the Scottish

envoys, signed at Greenwich the treaty of marriage and of peace. This

treaty was solemnly read, August 25, in Holyrood abbey, and was there

signed, sealed, and approved by the regent and the nobles. The queen

was to remain in Scotland until she should be ten years old, and then

be taken into England to be educated. Three Scottish lords should be

given as hostages to Henry; and in confirmation of the alliance a

consecrated wafer, according to a Romish usage, was broken between

the regent and Sir R. Sadler, the representative of Henry VIII. Each

of them received and ate half of it, in token of their unity and as a

pledge of their fidelity,--a strange method of cementing an alliance

which had for its end the destruction of Romish superstitions. The

treaty was published everywhere as a basis of perpetual agreement; but

the union of the two nations had still many a storm to encounter.

CHAPTER XIII.

BEATOUN IS LIBERATED AND RECOVERS HIS POWER.--BREACH OF THE

TREATY.--FRESH PERSECUTION.

(MARCH, 1543.-SUMMER OF 1544.)

At present everything was getting on well in Scotland, and the

continuance of this well-being was all that was desired. The severest

eye could find nothing to censure in the court of the regent; and he

acted with so much moderation in the government that not a single

complaint was heard of his administration. Arran was as much respected

and obeyed as any king could have been. All men were promising

themselves a quiet life, when a sudden gust upset everything.

There was one party which was full of wrath at the recent changes.

The alliance of Scotland with England, the imprisonment of the

cardinal, the regency of Arran, the freedom conferred on the Holy

Scriptures,--all these things filled the friends of the papacy with

excitement and horror, whether at Rome, in France, or in Scotland. The

earl of Lennox had arrived from Paris for the purpose of giving his

support to the French party in Scotland; and he flattered himself that

he should be appointed regent, and even that he should marry the queen

dowager. The pope had sent the legate Marco Grimani into Scotland, with

orders to join the cardinal, the earl of Lennox, and all the other

adversaries of Arran; to fulminate anathemas, and to use all other

means which he could devise for effecting the fall of the regent and

the elevation of the cardinal.[288] Grimani and Lennox expected to

find the material all ready, so that it would be an easy task for them

to set fire to it. They were not entirely mistaken. The ultramontanes

of Scotland were in a rage with the regent and with the lords who were

on his side.[289] Their scheme was to liberate the cardinal, who should

then go with his adherents to Linlithgow, get possession of the young

queen and depose the regent.

[Sidenote: THE ABBOT OF PAISLEY.]

Lennox and Grimani had not come from the continent alone. Two Scottish

priests, who had lived for a long time in France and had there become

imbued with Roman Catholicism of the deepest dye, landed in Scotland

in the month of April. These men were likely to do, perhaps, more than

all others towards the restoration of ultramontanism. They were John

Hamilton, abbot of Paisley, a natural brother of the regent, and Master

David Panter,[290] who was afterwards bishop of Ross. Their learning,

their lowliness, and their religion were much talked of, and people

thought that their coming would prove a great comfort to the Church of

God.[291] ‘They will soon,’ it was said, ‘go into the pulpit and truly

preach Jesus Christ.’

The abbot of Paisley was admitted to intimacy with the regent. He

might converse with him at any time, and he undertook to break down

bit by bit the evangelical views of Arran and to sunder his connexion

with England. First of all, it was necessary to get rid of the two

evangelical chaplains. The two priests therefore began, immediately

after their arrival, to disparage the preaching of Williams and Rough.

The abbot of Paisley had always some fault to find. ‘Their sermons,’

said he to his brother, ‘are heretical and scandalous.’ The latter,

naturally weakminded, let himself be caught. Williams was ordered to

put an end to his preaching, and he set out for England. Rough was

sent to preach in Kyle, where for some time there had been lovers of

the Bible. This was not enough. The men of sound judgment and genuine

piety who were about the regent, and who had contributed to the general

prosperity and peace, must also be removed out of the way. What

terrors, what promises, ‘what boxes full of enchantments,’ says Knox,

these two priests had brought with them from France, no one could tell.

Be it as it may, some were got rid of by crafty expedients, others by

false insinuations. ‘If you remain, your life is at stake,’ they said

to them. At the same time the partisans of the clergy, who had till

then held themselves aloof from the court, winged their way thither

like ravens to the carrion.[292]

One day when there was a great gathering at Holyrood, and the regent

saw around him at the same moment both the faithful attendants who

had deserved well of their country and the fanatical supporters of

the cardinal, one of the latter cried out in a voice loud enough for

Arran and all present to hear him, ‘My lord governor and his friends

will never be at ease nor quietness till that a dozen of these knaves

that abuse his grace be hanged.’[293] After that, people saw the men

whose labors had been so useful to Scotland,--Durham, Borthwick,

Bothwell, the laird of Grange, Balnaves, Ballanden[294] and Sir David

Lyndsay,--withdraw from the court, while he who had threatened them

with the gallows received a pension for his insolent speech.

The liberation of the cardinal could be no longer deferred. He was

imprisoned at Dalkeith on January 26, was removed thence to Seaton,

next to Blackness castle on the Forth, and finally to St. Andrews, the

seat of his archbishopric. There he was set at liberty at the request,

especially, of the queen-mother, who had never ceased her intercession

for him.[295] Once free, this arrogant man, exasperated by the affront

which had been offered him, thought only of recovering his own power

and of reëstablishing the cause of the papacy.

[Sidenote: INTRIGUES OF BEATOUN.]

He now had frequent communication with Mary of Guise, and shared her

indignation at the favors granted to the Scottish nobles just returned

from England, who had passed from exile to the most influential

positions. They resolved to do their utmost to reëstablish the alliance

with Francis I. and the pope. The cardinal completely won over the earl

of Bothwell, and the Lords Home, Buccleugh, and others. He induced

such of them as were on the frontier to make inroads on the English

territory. He assembled at St. Andrews, on July 6, the earls of Lennox,

Argyle, Huntley, and Bothwell, Lord Home, and the other noblemen and

gentlemen who were favorable to the pope; and at this conference they

determined to oppose the regent, who instead of executing their designs

was only bent on promoting heretical opinions.[296]

Meanwhile Beatoun found opportunities for secret interviews with

the regent’s brother, who had everything in his own hands; for this

bastard was as remarkable for force of character as his legitimate

brother was for the want of it. The cardinal did not confine himself to

intrigues in high places, but he had it at heart to win the multitude,

and he tried all imaginable schemes in order to succeed.[297] When

he thought that he had at last secured his position, both above and

below, he convoked the clergy at St. Andrews. The bishop, abbot, and

primate unfolded before this assembly all the dangers which were then

impending over Scotland. ‘In order to avert them,’ said he, ‘contribute

generously from your purses, and urge all your friends to do the same.

Tell them that their property and their lives are at stake. Nay, more

than that,’ he exclaimed, ‘our task is to prevent the ruin which

is threatening the universal church of the pope.’[298] The clergy

declared that they would place all their resources at his disposal, and

determined to set on foot a general subscription. ‘The cardinal,’ wrote

the ambassador Sadler to Lord Parr, brother of the Queen of England,

‘the cardinal here hath not only stirred almost this whole realm

against the governor, but also hath procured the earl Bothwell [and

others] to stir all the mischief and trouble they can on the Borders,

and to make roads and incursions into England, only of intent to break

the peace and to breed contention and breach between both realms.’[299]

At the same time the monks were preaching passionately against the

union with England; and the population, excited by them, was in

agitation and ready to revolt, threatening those who were opposed to

the Church of Rome, and even insulting the English ambassador. Jesters

used to assail both him and his suite with insolent speeches. But the

envoy of Henry VIII., knowing that the one matter of moment for his

master was to succeed, took these indignities patiently, through fear

of hastening a rupture.

[Sidenote: THE HOSTAGES REFUSED.]

As Scotland was under obligation to give hostages to England as

security for the execution of the treaties, the cardinal set himself

strenuously against the measure, not only with those of his own

faction, but also with those of the other side. He was prodigal of

promises to the relations and the friends of the intended hostages,

in the hope of inducing them to oppose their delivery to England. The

same influences were brought to bear on the regent. On the day fixed

for giving up the lords to the English ambassador, the latter went

to the regent, and after making complaint of the insults to which

he was exposed, demanded the hostages. The regent promised that the

perpetrators of the outrages of which Sadler complained should be

punished. ‘As for the hostages,’ he added, ‘the authority with which I

am invested is of such a nature that, while I have rights as against

the queen’s subjects, they also have their rights as against me. You

are yourself a witness of the immense agitation stirred up by the

cardinal.[300] All my plans are upset, and, carried away by the force

of popular passion, I can no longer answer for anything.’[301] Arran

was indeed wanting in the strength to stand against such a storm as

was conjured up by the cardinal. Weakminded himself, he bent before

the violence of those who had powerful convictions. Sadler, indignant

at his refusal, called upon the Scots who had been captives in England

to return to their confinement, as they had pledged themselves to do

in case the treaty should be violated. Kennedy, earl of Cassilis, was

the only one who kept his word. He set out for London, in spite of the

pressing entreaties of his own circle.[302] Henry, touched by this

act of good faith, generously sent him back to Scotland with his two

brothers who had remained as hostages.

The clerical reaction was steadily gathering fresh force. In pursuance

of the colloquy of July 6, the nobles hostile to the regent assembled

some troops; and on July 21 they arrived, at the head of ten thousand

men, at Leith, the port of Edinburgh. At the same moment Arran, the

earl of Angus, Lord Maxwell, and their friends were at Edinburgh, at

the head of their armed force. There was equal animation on both sides.

They might have been likened to two electric clouds, whose lightning

was ready to burst forth with violence. However, the two opposed bodies

of troops remained motionless for five or six days. ‘What will be the

end of this,’ wrote Sadler to Lord Parr, ‘I cannot tell; but my opinion

is that they will not fight for all their bragges.’[303] In fact, they

did not fight.

[Sidenote: IRRESOLUTION OF ARRAN.]

The two queens were at Linlithgow palace, in which the young Mary was

born. The regent and the cardinal each gave out that the queens were

on his side, but all the sympathies of the queen-mother were with the

cardinal. The latter, accompanied by the earls of Argyle, Huntley,

and Bothwell, and by many bishops, went to Linlithgow. Supposing that

the princesses were not safe there, he persuaded them to go with him

to Stirling, which they did. These lords talked without reserve among

themselves, and with the queen, of deposing the regent, on the ground

of disobedience to their holy mother the Church. This greatly alarmed

Arran, who at that same time was persecuted by the abbot of Paisley,

his natural brother. ‘Consider,’ said the latter, ‘the danger to

which you expose yourself by allowing the authority of the pope to be

impaired. It is the authority on which your own rests.’ As Arran was in

dread of the anger of Henry VIII., the abbot exalted to the utmost the

power of the King of France, and the great advantages of an alliance

with him. But above everything else he insisted on the obligation of

making peace with the Church, ‘out of whose pale,’ he repeated, ‘there

is no salvation.’ The poor regent, weak, inconstant, and not at all

grounded in the faith of the Gospel, halted between the wish to follow

the advice of his brother and the shame involved in abandoning his

party and giving the precedence to the cardinal. He wavered between

the pope and the Gospel, between France and England. His irresolution

was torture to him; he endured bitter pangs. The abbot never wearied

of repeating the question, ‘What will ye do? will you then destroy

yourself and your house for ever?’[304] He hesitated no longer. Beaten

on all sides by contending waves; conscious that his forces were

inferior to those of his adversaries; hemmed in by the snares of the

cardinal, who chose rather to gain him by terror than to subdue him

by arms; abandoned by many of the nobles; no longer in favor with the

people, who were offended by his weakness; lowered in the esteem of

his own friends, and disgraced in the eyes of the English, the unhappy

man at last took the fatal leap. Nine days after the ratification of

the alliance with England, and only six days after he had published

a proclamation against the cardinal, Arran secretly stole away from

Holyrood palace, betook himself to Stirling on September 3, and threw

himself into the arms of his cousin Beatoun.

This was not all. He was resolved also to throw himself into the arms

of the pope; desirous only of doing so without too much ostentation,

and fancying, says Buchanan, that he could thus lessen the infamy of

this base deed. For this purpose the convent of the Franciscans was

chosen.[305] The queen-mother attended. For a Guise the scene was one

of exquisite enjoyment such as Mary would not willingly lose. Some of

the courtiers who were devoted to Rome were also present. There, in the

dim light of the chapel, that weak man, to whom people had been looking

for the triumph of the Reformation in Scotland, fondly fancying that

he was performing a secret action, knelt down before the altar, humbly

confessed his errors, trampled under foot the oaths which he had taken

to his own country and to England, renounced the evangelical profession

of Jesus Christ, submitted to the pope, and received absolution of

the cardinal.[306] The spectators exulted in Arran’s humiliation. The

wretched man continued indeed to be regent in name, but from that hour

he possessed nothing more than the phantom of authority, having for his

own governor the lord cardinal. He therefore fell into contempt, and

those even for whom he had sacrificed everything had no respect for

him. ‘He who will save his life shall lose it.’

The report of his perjury spread rapidly abroad. Few were surprised

to hear it, but a great many were angry. The English ambassador wrote

to him as follows: ‘Forasmuch as I do hear sundry reports of your

sudden departure to Stirling, which if they were true in part ... might

highly touch your honor: ... I cannot well satisfy myself without

the address of these my letters unto your lordship, only to require

of your goodness to signify unto me how you do remain towards the

king’s majesty and the accomplishment of your oath and promise afore

expressed. I beseech your lordship to let me know the truth by your

own advertisement, to the intent that I may undelayedly write the same

to the king’s majesty before he shall receive any sinister or wrong

informations in that behalf, which might percase alter his highness’

affection and good opinion conceived towards you. Whereof for my part I

would be right loath.’[307]

[Sidenote: CORONATION OF MARY STUART.]

Another ceremony followed that of the abjuration. It was the coronation

of the little queen, which took place on September 9, with great

pomp. The alliance between Scotland and France was renewed, and fresh

promises were made to Francis I. The cardinal thus brilliantly opened

his reign, and by placing the crown on the head of a little girl, he

said to himself that at least he had no need to fear that the child

would take it into her head to thwart his schemes.[308]

Henry VIII. was in consternation. The abjuration of the regent and the

political revolution which accompanied it upset his most cherished

plans. But the ratification of the treaty with him was so recent

that the question might be raised whether the whole of this Stirling

business was anything more than a transient mistake, the fruit of

Arran’s weakness. He therefore enjoined his ambassador to use his

utmost endeavors to recall the regent to his first intentions. It

appeared to Henry impossible that Arran should act in a manner so

foolish, so dishonorable, so cruel, so pitiless for Scotland, as not

only to throw away all the advantages offered to himself, but still

more to give up his country to fire and sword and to all the calamities

of a terrible war. All these considerations urged by Sadler were

fruitless. At length, indignant at the perjury and the insult, Henry

recalled his ambassador, declared war on Scotland, ordered the seizure

of the numerous Scottish ships which lay in his ports, threw into

prison the seamen and the merchants, and sent a herald to announce to

the Scots ‘that they had covenanted with a prince of honor that would

not suffer their disloyalty unpunished and unrevenged, whose power and

puissance, by God’s grace, is and shall be sufficient against them to

make them know and feel their own faults and offences. Fear,’ said he,

‘the hand of God over you.’ It was war, war with all its horrors of

fire and sword, that Henry in his wrath had determined to wage with

Scotland. ‘You shall beat down and overthrow the castle of Edinburgh,

burn and sack the capital, with Holyrood and Leith and the villages

around, putting man, woman, and child to the sword without exception.

To overthrow St. Andrews so as the upper stone may be the nether, and

not one stick stand by another.’[309] The wrath of Henry was terrible;

but nothing could alarm the presumptuous cardinal. When he heard of the

imprisonment of the Scottish merchants and seamen, he smiled and said

jestingly, ‘When we have conquered England we will make compensation to

the merchants.’

[Sidenote: THE EARL OF LENNOX.]

When the cardinal came out of prison, his eyes had fallen on two men

who stood in his way. One of these was the regent, and he had got rid

of him by becoming his master. The other was the earl of Lennox, a man

formidable by his rank and his pretensions, who had even supposed it

possible that he might marry the queen-mother. But Mary of Guise, like

all her kindred, was a fanatical devotee of Rome, and at the instance

of the cardinal she prayed the King of France to recall Lennox on any

specious pretext, adding that his residence in Scotland might lead to

a disturbance of peace. Lennox saw that they were trifling with him.

He was quite as versatile as Arran but more capable, and seeing that

he had lost the favor of France, he offered his services to the King

of England, who eagerly accepted them. Lennox was then looked upon as

the head of Scottish Protestantism. The two foremost lords of Scotland

had performed a feat of what is vulgarly called _chassé-croisée_. The

leader of the Protestants had become a papist, and the man of the

court of Francis I. had turned Protestant. Instead of the daughter of

the Guises, he married Lady Margaret Douglas, a niece of Henry VIII.

That is how men of the world manage matters. Evangelical religion

had not lost much in losing Arran. Neither had it gained more by

acquiring Lennox. These men were only moved by political interests, and

Scottish Protestantism more than any other was to reject these shameful

combinations of Christ and Baal, and was to have one king alone, Jesus

Christ.

The cardinal, victorious along the whole line, set himself immediately

to the work which he had most at heart,--to crush the Reformation. The

law which authorized the reading of Holy Scripture had borne its fruit,

and ‘in sundry parts of Scotland,’ says the chronicler, ‘thereby were

opened the eyes of the elect of God to see the truth and abhor the

papistical abominations.’[310] This abhorrence might possibly drive

them to deplorable excesses, an instance of which we are soon to see.

There were at Perth, on the left bank of the pleasant river Tay, some

friends of the Reformation. Endowed for the most part with genuine

piety, they held meetings, read the Holy Scriptures together, searched

out their meaning, and gave or listened to the exposition of them.[311]

They had also at times simple social meals together. Certain priests

of the town, with whom they were connected, and whose character

they esteemed without sharing their opinions, were invited to these

gatherings. The churchmen ate, drank, and talked with them, and thought

themselves fortunate to be invited to these honest men’s houses.[312]

This circumstance shows a large-heartedness among these Christian folk

of Perth, which could see and appreciate whatever good qualities their

adversaries possessed. They did not, however, tie themselves down

to the Roman rules about meat-days and fish-days, rules from which

exemption may be had for a little money: and one Friday it happened

that a goose appeared on their table.

Three of these people, Robert Lamb, William Anderson, and James

Raveleson, daring characters and given to raillery, were among those

who were taken up with Reform on its negative side. They were disgusted

at the abuses of the monastic life, and the Franciscans most of all

offended them. The sight of one of these mendicant friars in the

street, with his brown frock, his girdle of cord, his cowl, and his

bare feet, excited in them the keenest aversion. ‘These monks,’ as has

been said by a very distinguished Catholic priest, ‘feign chastity, but

they know what voluptuousness is, and they often outdo men of the world

in luxurious indulgence.’[313] And yet these monks pretend that all

that is needed for salvation is to put on a frock of their order at the

moment of death. In the judgment of Anderson and of his two friends,

the founder of that order, who was nevertheless a better man than

most of his successors, must have been the devil himself. They took

therefore an image of Francis of Assisi, nailed rams’ horns on the head

and hung a cow’s tail behind, and having thus given to it the semblance

of a demon, they hung it. The Scots are not jesters by nature. They are

on the contrary earnest and energetic towards those whom they oppose;

and this blameworthy execution was carried out by these three men with

imperturbable gravity.[314]

[Sidenote: RAVELESON AND LAMB.]

Among these reformed Christians of Perth there were some manifestations

of opinion characterized by simplicity and decision, which however

occasionally took a strange shape. One of the women who frequented the

evangelical meetings, Hellen Stirke, was near her confinement, and in

her hour of travail, when surrounded by female friends and neighbors,

all of them fervent worshippers of the Virgin Mary, she called upon

God and upon God alone in the name of Jesus Christ. The women said

to her--‘You ought to call upon the Virgin. Is not Mary immaculate

as Christ is, and even above him as first source of redemption? Is

she not the queen of heaven, the head of the church?’ The Franciscan

friars were continually impressing on the minds of these good women

the notion that no one could obtain a blessing from God ‘except by the

dispensation of his pious mother.’[315] Hellen revered Mary as a holy

and blessed woman, but she held her to be of the same nature as other

women, and she told her neighbors so. It was of his mercy, as Mary

herself said, that God had looked upon the low estate of his servant.

That her friends might better understand her meaning, she boldly added,

‘If I had lived in the days of the Virgin, God might have looked

likewise to my humility and base estate, as he did to the Virgin’s,

and might have made me the mother of Christ.’[316] The women about her

could not believe their own ears, and her words, reported in the town

by her neighbors, were counted execrable in the judgment of the clergy

and of the multitude.

If St. Francis was Anderson’s nightmare, the pope was Raveleson’s.

But the latter gave expression to his sentiments in a less insulting

fashion. When he had built a house of four stories, he placed at the

top of his staircase, by way of ornament, over the last baluster and

the supporting tablet which masked it, the triple diadem of the pope,

carved in wood. This was not a very criminal act: a good papist might

have done the like. But Raveleson, doubtless, meant to show thereby

that in his house the pope was consigned to the top story. Be that as

it may, he paid dear for it.

These Protestants of Perth were certainly originals, of which not many

copies were to be found. There were some of them, however, who were

free from these eccentricities while displaying no less courage. On one

occasion, when a monk named Spence very loudly asserted in the church

that ‘prayer made to saints is so necessary that without it there could

be no hope of salvation to man,’ Robert Lamb rose and accused him

before the whole assembly of teaching false doctrines. ‘In the name of

God,’ said he, ‘I adjure you to speak the truth.’ The friar, stricken

with fear, promised to do so; but there was so much excitement and

tumult in the church that the monk could not make himself heard, and

Robert, at the peril of his life, barely escaped the violence of the

people. The women, above all, uttered piercing screams, and urged on

the multitude to the most cruel actions.[317]

[Sidenote: THE PERTH PROTESTANTS.]

The cardinal, in January, 1544, seeing that his authority was firmly

established, thought that the time was come for suppressing the

Reformation and glorifying the pope. Having heard of what was going on

at Perth, he set out for that place, taking with him the regent, some

of the chief lords, bishops, and judges. When he reached Perth on St.

Paul’s day, January 19, he ordered the seizure of Robert Lamb, William

Anderson, James Hunter, James Raveleson, James Finlason, and Hellen

Stirke his wife,[318] and had them imprisoned the same evening in the

Spay Tower.

On the following morning the prisoners appeared before their judge.

They were accused on several grounds, and particularly of having met

together to hear the Holy Scriptures read. A special charge was made

against Lamb of having interrupted a friar. ‘It is the duty of no

man,’ he answered, ‘who understands and knows the truth to hear the

same impugned without contradiction. There are sundry here present in

judgment who, while they know what is true, are consenting to what is

false; but they will have to bear the burden in God’s presence.’[319]

The six prisoners were condemned to death, and were cruelly treated.

Many of the inhabitants of Perth were deeply interested in their case,

and appealed to the regent to save their lives. But when Arran spoke

a word to the cardinal in their behalf, the latter replied, ‘If you

refuse to take part in the execution of this sentence, I will depose

you.’ Arran trembled, and held his peace.

The friends of the victims, then, remembering that certain priests in

the town had frequently sat at the tables of the accused, entreated

them to bear in mind their old friends who were then in misfortune, and

to intercede with the cardinal in their behalf. But these poor priests

were terrified at the thought that the cardinal might hear of their

former relations with the condemned, and they answered that they would

much rather see them dead than living. That was their way of showing

their gratitude. So the chronicler, whose phrase is not always elegant,

adds, ‘So cruel are these beasts, from the lowest to the highest.’

Agitation was increasing in the town. The cardinal had ready a great

band of armed men, who were charged to conduct the victims to the place

of execution. Robert Lamb, standing at the foot of the gallows, said to

the people, ‘Fear God, and forsake the pope.’ Then he announced that

calamity and ruin would not be slow to light upon the cardinal.[320]

The five Christians comforted one another with the hope ‘that they

should sup together in the kingdom of heaven that night.’

Hellen desired earnestly to die with her husband, but this was not

permitted her. At the moment of their parting she gave him a kiss

and said, ‘Husband, rejoice, for we have lived together many joyful

days; but this day in which we must die ought to be most joyful unto

us both, because we must have joy forever. Therefore I will not bid

you good-night, for we shall suddenly meet with joy in the kingdom

of heaven.’ She was then taken to a pond to be drowned. She was

holding her infant in her arms and giving it suck for the last time.

But this pathetic incident did not touch the pitiless hearts of her

executioners. She had entreated her neighbors to take care of her

children. She took the ‘sucking bairn’ from her breast and gave it

to the nurse, and was then flung into the water. The cardinal was

satisfied.[321]

From Perth the cardinal passed into Forfarshire, always dragging along

with him the unhappy regent. Many inhabitants of that region appeared

before him for having committed the hateful crime of reading the New

Testament. Among them was a Dominican named John Rogers, a man of piety

and learning, who, by preaching Christ in Forfarshire, had led many

souls into peace. He was confined with others in the castle of St.

Andrews, and a few days later his dead body was found at the foot of

the walls. It was very generally believed that the cardinal had ordered

him to be put to death in his dungeon, and to be thrown over the

walls. A report was then circulated that the prisoner, in attempting

to escape, had fallen on the rocks and been killed. A considerable

number of Scots, among them Sir Henry Elder, John Elder, Walter Piper,

Lawrence Pullar, and others were banished, merely on suspicion of

having read the Gospel.[322]

[Sidenote: THE ENGLISH FLEET AT LEITH.]

The cardinal now returned to Edinburgh, and took the regent with him.

He was perfectly satisfied with his campaign, and was meditating

fresh exploits of the same kind, when, at the very moment of his

saying ‘Peace and security,’ a fleet appeared at sea. Messengers came

suddenly to announce to the regent and the cardinal that a multitude of

vessels were entering the Firth of Forth, and were making for Leith and

Edinburgh. ‘It is the English,’ said most people, ‘and it is greatly to

be feared that they will land.’ The cardinal dissembled his anxiety,

affected to smile and to jest, and said, with a contemptuous air, ‘It

is but the island fleet; they are come to make us a show and to put

us in fear. I shall lodge the men-of-war in my eye that shall land in

Scotland.’[323] Then he went to his dinner-table, and talked with every

one as though no danger were threatening. All Edinburgh was eager to

gaze on the wonderful vessels, and great crowds assembled for that

purpose on the castle hill and on the heights near the town. ‘But what

then can it all mean?’ people said to one another. By a little after

six o’clock in the evening more than two hundred ships had cast anchor

in Leith roads. The admiral had a ship’s boat launched, which began

carefully to take soundings from Granton craigs to East Leith. All

sensible men understood what it meant, but if any one of them uttered

what he thought, the clerics shrugged their shoulders. All men went to

bed, just as if those ships had brought their broadsides to bear for

the defence of the sleepers.

At daybreak on Sunday, May 4, Lord Lisle, who was in command of the

fleet, ordered the disembarkation. The pinnaces and other small vessels

approached as near as they could to the shore, while the larger vessels

discharged their men into the long-boats, and so they got to land.

By ten o’clock the operation was completed, and the spectators from

Edinburgh beheld, to their great astonishment, more than ten thousand

men under arms. The cardinal and the regent, dropping their false show

of calmness, appeared now very much alarmed, and, forgetting their

ridiculous bluster and bragging, jumped into a carriage and fled as

fast as their horses could carry them. They did not halt till they

had put twenty miles of country between them and the danger which

frightened them. Before starting they had given orders, for the purpose

of pacifying the English, that the earl of Angus, Sir George Douglas,

and two other lords, advocates of the English alliance, who had been

cast into prison at Blackness, should be set at liberty. This was done

that night, and Sir George said, merrily, ‘I thank King Henry and my

gentle masters of England.’[324]

The troops which had landed entered Leith, under the command of

the earl of Hertford, between twelve and one o’clock, after having

dispersed a small body of men which resisted them. As they found dinner

ready in all the houses, and the tables loaded with wines and victuals,

they sat down and refreshed themselves. On Monday, May 5, two thousand

English horsemen came from Berwick to reinforce the infantry, and the

whole army, after taking one day’s rest, forced the gates of Edinburgh

on Wednesday and entered the town. People called to mind the terrible

threats of Henry VIII. The town was first pillaged and then burnt. The

palace of Holyrood, Leith and the environs shared the same fate. The

English were not able to take the castle, and after having satiated

themselves with pillage, burning, and eating, they carried off their

plunder to the ships. The English army returned to their own country

by way of Berwick, sacking and burning Haddington and Dunbar, castles,

country seats, and all the districts through which they passed. The

army had lost only forty men.[325]

Henry VIII. had entertained the vastest projects. His aims were that

Scotland should renounce the French alliance; that the queen should be

placed in his own household; that the title of elector of the kingdom

should be given to him; that Lennox should be named regent in the place

of Arran; and that the Word of God should be preached, of course in his

own way. This appears from the instructions given by himself to the

governors of the marches.[326] But he felt it necessary to postpone his

scheme, and to content himself with the chastisement inflicted on the

capital. We have to encounter facts such as these in the history of

every people and of all ages. It is impossible to narrate or to read

them without horror. Happily, Scotland at this epoch offers to our

notice facts of a quite different kind, which are within the province

of Christian civilization.

CHAPTER XIV.

WISHART: HIS MINISTRY AND HIS MARTYRDOM.

(SUMMER OF 1544-MARCH, 1546.)

[Sidenote: GEORGE WISHART.]

In the summer of 1544, shortly after the events of which we have

just spoken, a pious man, George Wishart, returned from England to

Scotland. He was a brother of the laird of Pittarow, in the county of

Mearns. While at Montrose, in 1538, he had read the Greek New Testament

with several youths whom he was educating, and had been cited by the

bishop of Brechin to appear before him. Wishart had then retired to

Cambridge, and there he devoted himself to study for six years. In

1544, the Scottish commissioners who came into England respecting

the treaty with Henry VIII. took him back with them, to Scotland. He

went first to Montrose, his old abode, and thence to Dundee, where he

wished to preach the Word of God. His personal appearance was entirely

prepossessing. He was amiable, unassuming, polite. His chief delight

was to learn and to teach. He was tall; his black hair was cut short,

his beard was long. His physiognomy was indicative of a somewhat

melancholy temperament. He wore a French cap of the best material, a

gown which fell to his heels, and a black doublet. There was about

his whole person an air of decorum and grace. He spoke with modesty

and with great seriousness. He slept on straw, and his charity had

no end, night nor day. He loved all men. He gave gifts, consolation,

assistance: he was studious of all means of doing good to all and hurt

to none. He distributed periodically among the poor various articles

of clothing, always ‘saving his French cap, which he kept the whole

year of my being with him,’ says the Cambridge student who drew this

portrait of Wishart just before the latter set out for Scotland.[327]

Wishart’s reputation having preceded him, a multitude of hearers

gathered about him at Dundee. He expounded in a connected series of

discourses the doctrine of salvation, according to the Epistle to the

Romans, and his knowledge and eloquence excited general admiration.

But the priests declared everywhere that if he were allowed to go on,

the Roman system must inevitably fall to the ground. They therefore

sought the assistance of an influential layman, Robert Mill, who had

once professed the truth, but had since forsaken it. One day, just

as Wishart was finishing his discourse, Mill rose in the church and

forbade him in the queen’s name and the regent’s to trouble them any

more. Wishart was silent for awhile, with his eyes turned heavenward,

and then looking sorrowfully on the assembly he said--‘God is witness

that I never minded [intended] your trouble, but your comfort. But I am

assured that to refuse God’s Word and to chase from you his messenger

shall not preserve you from trouble, but shall bring you into it. I

have offered unto you the word of salvation, and with the hazard of

my life I have remained among you. But and [if] trouble unlooked for

apprehend you, turn to God, for He is merciful. But if ye turn not at

the first he will visit you with fire and sword.’ When he had thus

spoken, he came down from the pulpit and went away at once into the

western part of Scotland.[328]

[Sidenote: HIS PREACHING.]

Having arrived at Ayr, he preached there to large numbers of people

who gladly received his words. Dunbar, bishop of Glasgow, as soon

as he was informed of it, hastened to the town with a body of men

and took possession of the church in order to prevent Wishart from

preaching. The reformer’s friends were indignant at this step. The earl

of Glencairn, the laird of Loch Norris,[329] and several gentlemen of

Kyle went to Wishart and offered to get possession of the church and

to place him in the pulpit. ‘No,’ said the evangelist, wisely, ‘the

bishop’s sermon will not much hurt: let us go to the market-cross.’

They did so, and he there preached with so much energy and animation

that some of his hearers, who were enemies of the truth till that day,

received it gladly. Meanwhile the bishop was in the church with a very

small audience. There was hardly anyone to hear him but some vestry

attendants and some poor dependents. They were expecting a sermon, but

he had forgotten to put one in his pocket. He made them the best excuse

he could. ‘Hold us still for your bishop,’ he said, ‘and we shall

provide better the next time.’ He then with haste departed from the

town, not a little ashamed of his enterprise.[330]

Wishart persevered in his work, and his reputation spread all around.

The men of Mauchlin came and asked him to preach the Gospel to them

on the following Sunday. But the sheriff of Ayr heard of it, and sent

a body of men in the night to post themselves about the church. ‘We

will enter by force,’ said Hugh Campbell to Wishart. ‘Brother,’ replied

the evangelist, ‘it is the word of peace which God sends by me; the

blood of no man shall be shed this day for the preaching of it. I find

that Christ Jesus oftener preached in the desert, at the seaside, and

other places judged profane, than he did in the temple of Jerusalem.’

He then withdrew to the country, saying to the people who followed him

that the Saviour was ‘as potent upon the fields as in the kirk.’ He

climbed up a dike raised on the edge of the moorland, and there, in the

fair warm day, preached for more than three hours. One man present,

Lawrence Ranken, laird of Shield, who had previously led a wicked life,

was impressed by what he heard. ‘The tears ran from his eyes in such

abundance that all men wondered.’[331] Converted by that discourse,

the laird of Shield gave evidence in his whole after-life that his

conversion was genuine. Wishart preached with like success in the whole

district. The harvest was great, says one historian.

The reformer heard on a sudden that the plague had broken out at Dundee

four days after he left the town, and that it was raging cruelly. He

resolved instantly to go there. ‘They are now in trouble and they need

comfort,’ he said to those who would fain hold him back: ‘perchance

this hand of God will make them now to magnify and reverence that word

which before, for the fear of men, they set at light part.’

He reached Dundee in August, 1544, and announced the same morning that

he would preach. It was necessary to keep apart the plague-stricken

from those who were in health, and for that purpose he took his station

at the east gate of the town. Those who were in health had their

place within the city, and those who were sick remained without. Such

a distribution of an audience was surely never seen before! Wishart

opened the Bible and read these words--‘He sent his word and healed

them.’ (Ps. cvii. 20.) ‘The mercy of God,’ said he, ‘is prompt to fall

on all such as truly turn to Him, and the malice of men can neither eik

nor pair [add to nor diminish] his gentle visitation.’[332]--‘We do not

fear death,’ said some of his hearers; ‘nay, we judge them more happy

that should depart, than such as should remain behind.’ That east gate

of Dundee (Cowgate) was left standing in memory of Wishart when the

town walls were taken down at the close of the eighteenth century, and

it is still carefully preserved.

Wishart was not satisfied with speech alone, he personally visited the

sick, fearlessly exposing himself to infection in the most extreme

cases. He took care that the sick should have what they needed, and the

poor were as well provided for as the rich.

The town was in great distress lest the mouth from which so much

sweetness flowed should be closed.

[Sidenote: ATTEMPT TO MURDER WISHART.]

Nevertheless, at the cardinal’s instigation, says Knox, a priest named

Wighton took a sword, and concealing it under his gown mixed with the

crowd as if he were a mere hearer, and stood waiting at the foot of the

steps by which Wishart must come down. The discourse was finished, the

people dispersed. Wishart, whose glance was keen and whose judgment was

swift, noticed as he came down the steps a priest who kept his hand

under his gown, and as soon as he came near him he said, ‘My friend,

what would ye do?’ At the same moment he laid hold of the priest’s hand

and snatched the weapon from him. The assassin fell at his feet and

confessed his fault. Swiftly ran the report that a priest had attempted

to kill the reformer, and the sick who heard it turned back and cried,

‘Deliver the traitor to us, or else we will take him by force.’ And so

indeed they rushed on him. But Wishart put his arms round the assassin.

‘Whosoever troubles him,’ said he, ‘shall trouble me, for he has hurt

me in nothing.’ His friends however insisted that for the future one of

them, in arms, should accompany him whithersoever he went.[333]

When the plague had ceased at Dundee, Wishart thought that, as God had

put an end to that battle, he called him to another. It was indeed

proposed that he should hold a public disputation. He inquired of the

bishops where he should be heard. But first he went to Montrose ‘to

salute the kirk there,’ and although sometimes preaching the Gospel,

he was ‘most part in secret meditation, in the which he was so earnest

that night and day he would continue in it.’[334]

[Sidenote: HIS NIGHT OF PRAYER.]

While there he received a letter purporting to be written by his friend

the laird of Kynneir, who being sick desired him to come to him.[335]

It was a trick of the cardinal. Sixty armed horsemen were lying in

wait behind a hill to take him prisoner. He set out unsuspecting,

but when he had gone some distance, he suddenly stopped in the midst

of the friends who were accompanying him and seemed absorbed in deep

musing. Then he turned and went back. What mean you?’ said his friends,

wondering. ‘I will go no further,’ he replied: ‘I am forbidden of

God. I am assured there is treason.’ Pointing to the hill he added,

‘Let some of you go to yon place, and tell me what they find.’ These

brave men reported with all speed what they saw. ‘I know,’ said he,

‘that I shall end my life in that bloodthirsty man’s hands, but it

will not be of this manner.’ Shortly after, he set out for Edinburgh

in spite of the entreaties of the laird of Dundee, and went to lodge

at Innergowrie at the house of a Christian man named James Watson. A

little after midnight two men of good credit who were in the house,

William Spalding and John Watson, heard him open his door and go down

stairs. They followed him secretly, and saw him go into the garden and

walk for some time up and down an alley. Wishart, persuaded that he was

drawing near to his end, and thinking of the horrors of martyrdom and

of his own weakness, was greatly agitated and felt the need of calling

upon God that he might not fail in the midst of the conflict. He was

heard sighing and groaning, and just as day began to dawn, he was seen

to fall on his knees and afterwards on his face. For a whole hour his

two friends heard confused sounds of his prayer, interrupted now and

then by his tears. At length he seemed to grow quiet and to have found

rest for his soul. He rose and went quietly back to his chamber. In

the morning his anxious friends began to ask him where he had been.

He evaded the question. ‘Be plain with us,’ they said, ‘for we heard

your groans, yea, we heard your mourning, and saw you both upon your

knees and upon your face.’--‘I had rather ye had been in your beds,’

said he, ‘for I was scarce well occupied.’ And as they urged him, he

spoke to them of his approaching death and of his need of God’s help.

They were much saddened and wept. Wishart said to them--‘God shall

send you comfort after me. This realm shall be illuminated with the

light of Christ’s Evangel as clearly as ever was any realm since the

days of the apostles. The house of God shall be built into it: yea, it

shall not want, whatsoever the enemy imagine to the contrary, the very

cape-stone’ [top-stone].[336] Meaning, adds Knox, that the house of God

should there be brought to full perfection. Wishart went on--‘Neither

shall this be long to; there shall not many suffer after me, till

that the glory of God shall evidently appear and shall once triumph

in despite of Satan. But alas! if the people shall be afterwards

unthankful, then fearful and terrible shall the plagues be that after

shall follow.’ Wishart soon after went into the Lothians, i. e. into

the shires of Linlithgow, Edinburgh, and Haddington.

A man like Wishart assuredly belongs to the history of the Reformation.

But there is another motive leading us to narrate these circumstances.

The great reformer of Scotland was trained in the school of Wishart.

Among those who followed the latter from place to place as he preached

the Gospel was John Knox. He had left St. Andrews because he could not

endure either the superstition of the Romish system or the cardinal’s

despotism, and having betaken himself to the south of Scotland he had

been for some time tutor in the family of Douglas of Langniddrie. He

had openly professed the evangelical doctrine, and the clergy in their

wrath had declared him a heretic and deprived him of the priesthood.

Knox, attracted by the preaching and the life of Wishart, attached

himself to him and became his beloved disciple. In addition to his

public discourses, to which he listened with eager attention, he

received also instructions in private. He undertook for Wishart a duty

which was full of danger, but which he discharged joyfully. During

Wishart’s evangelical excursions he kept watch for the safety of his

person, and bore the sword which his friends had provided after the

attempt of the Dundee priest to assassinate him. Knox was soon to bear

another sword, the sword of the Spirit, like his master.

[Sidenote: HIS PREACHING.]

The earl of Cassilis and some other friends of Wishart had appointed to

meet him at Leith, and as that town is very near Edinburgh, they had

advised him not to show himself until their arrival. After awaiting

them for a day or two he fell into a deep melancholy. ‘What differ I

from a dead man,’ said he, ‘except that I eat and drink? To this time

God has used my labors to the disclosing of darkness, and now I lurk as

a man that was ashamed and durst not show himself before men.’--‘You

know,’ said his friends, ‘the danger wherein ye stand.’ ‘Let my God,’

he replied, ‘provide for me as best pleases him.’ On the following

Sunday, fifteen days before Christmas, he preached on the parable

of the sower.[337] From Leith he went to Brownston, Langniddrie and

Ormiston, and preached on the Sunday both morning and afternoon at

Inveresk to a large concourse of people. Two Franciscan friars came and

stood by the church door, and whispered something to those who were

going in to turn them back. Wishart observing this said to some who

were near the pulpit, ‘I heartily pray you to make room to these two

men; it may be that they be come to learn.’ Then addressing the monks

he said, ‘Come near, for I assure you ye shall hear the word of verity,

which shall either seal unto you this same day your salvation or your

condemnation.’ He continued his discourse, but the two friars, who had

taken up their places, did not cease whispering right and left, and

troubling all that stood near them. Wishart turned sharply to them and

said--‘O sergeants of Satan, and deceivers of the souls of men, will ye

neither hear God’s truth nor suffer others to hear it? Depart, and take

this for your portion; God shall shortly confound and disclose your

hypocrisy within this realm; ye shall be abominable unto men, and your

places and habitations shall be desolate.’ He then resumed his sermon,

and preached with so much power that Sir George Douglas, brother of the

earl of Angus, who was present at the meeting, said publicly after the

sermon, ‘I know that my lord governor and my lord cardinal shall hear

that I have been at this preaching (for they were then in Edinburgh).

Say unto them that I will avow it, and will not only maintain the

doctrine that I have heard, but also the person of the teacher to the

uttermost of my power.’ Those who were present greatly rejoiced at

these words, spoken by so influential a man. As for Wishart, it was

enough for him to know that God keeps his own people for the end to

which he calls them.[338] He preached in other places to large numbers,

and with all the more fervor for his persuasion and assertion that the

day of his death was at hand.

After Christmas he passed into Haddingtonshire. The cardinal, hearing

of his purpose, had informed the earl of Bothwell, who immediately

let it be known, both in the town and in the country, that no one

was to go and hear that heretic under pain of his displeasure. The

prohibition of this powerful lord had its effect. The first day there

was a large gathering to hear Wishart, but the next day his audience

was very small. A new trial now came to afflict him. His friends in

western Scotland had promised to come to Edinburgh to discuss with him

the means of advancing the cause of the Gospel. Now on the third day

after his arrival in Haddingtonshire, when he had already entered the

church and was about to go into the pulpit, a messenger approached and

handed him a letter. He opened it. His friends at Ayr and other places

wrote to tell him that certain obstacles prevented them from fulfilling

their promises. Struck with sorrow, ‘he called for John Knox, who had

waited upon him carefully from the time he came to Lothian.’[339] ‘I

am wearied of the world,’ said he, ‘for I perceive that men begin

to be weary of God.’ Knox wondered that Wishart should enter into

conversation with him before sermon, which he was never accustomed to

do, and said to him, ‘Sir, the time of sermon approaches, I will leave

you for the present to your meditations.’ He then took the letter and

withdrew.

[Sidenote: HIS LAST SERMON.]

Wishart, left to himself, began to walk about slowly at the back of the

high altar. He paced to and fro, sadness depicted on his countenance,

and everything about him revealing the deep grief that was in his soul.

This lasted about half an hour. At length he passed into the pulpit.

The audience was small, as it had been the day before. He had not power

to treat the subject which he had proposed: his heart was too full,

and he must needs unburden it before God. ‘O Lord,’ said he, ‘how long

shall it be that thy holy Word shall be despised and men shall not

regard their own salvation? I have heard of thee, Haddington, that in

thee would have been at a vain clerk-play two or three thousand people,

and now to hear the messenger of the eternal God, of all the town or

parish cannot be numbered one hundred persons. Sore and fearful shall

the plagues be that shall ensue this thy contempt, with fire and sword

shalt thou be plagued. And that because ye have not known nor will

not know the time of God’s merciful visitation.’ After saying these

words he made a short paraphrase of the second table of the law. He

exhorted to patience, to the fear of God, and to works of mercy; and

impressed by the presentiment that this was the last time he should

publicly preach, he made (so to speak) his last testament, declaring

that the spirit of truth and judgment were both in his heart and on his

lips.[340]

He quitted the church, bade farewell to his friends, and then prepared

to leave the town. ‘I will not leave you alone,’ said Knox to him.

But Wishart, who had his approaching end constantly before his eyes,

said--‘Nay, return to your bairns [his pupils], and God bless you. One

is sufficient for a sacrifice.’ He then compelled Knox to give up the

sword, and parted with him. The laird of Ormiston, who was at the time

with Wishart, had invited him to his house in the country. They set

out on their journey with several gentlemen of the neighborhood. The

cold was severe, and they therefore travelled on foot. While at supper

Wishart spoke of the death of God’s children. Then he said with a

cheerful smile--‘Methinks that I desire earnestly to sleep. We’ll sing

a psalm.’ He chose Psalm li., and struck up the tune himself:--‘Have

mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness.’ As soon as the

psalm was ended, he went to his chamber and to bed.

[Sidenote: ARREST OF WISHART.]

A little before midnight a troop of armed men silently approached,

surrounded the house that no one might escape, and demanded Wishart.

But neither promises nor threats could induce Ormiston to deliver up

his guest. They then went for the earl of Bothwell, the most powerful

lord of that region. Bothwell came, and said to the laird--‘It is

but vain to make him to hold his house, for the governor and the

cardinal with all their power are coming. But and if you will deliver

the man unto me, I will promise upon my honor that he shall be safe

and sound, and that it shall pass the power of the cardinal to do

him any harm or scathe.’ Ormiston, confiding in this promise, told

Wishart what had occurred. ‘Open the gates,’ replied he, immediately;

‘the blessed will of my God be done.’ Bothwell entered, with several

gentlemen who accompanied him. Wishart said to him, ‘I praise my God

that so honorable a man as you, my lord, receives me this night in

the presence of these noblemen; for now I am assured that, for your

honor’s sake, ye will suffer nothing to be done unto me besides the

order of law.’ The earl replied--‘I shall preserve your body from all

violence, neither shall the governor nor cardinal have their will over

you: but I shall retain you in my own hands till that either I shall

make you free or else restore you in the same place where I receive

you.’ Immediately after giving this promise, the earl set out with

Wishart for Elphinston. The cardinal, bent on getting possession of

Wishart’s friends, sent five hundred horsemen to Ormiston to seize the

laird, together with the lairds of Brownston and Calder. Brownston

fled through the woods, but the other two were carried off to Edinburgh

castle. Wishart was removed to the strong castle of Hailes on the banks

of the Tyne, the principal mansion of Bothwell in the Lothians.[341]

That did not satisfy the cardinal, who wanted Wishart more than all.

The queen-mother, Mary of Guise, who was not on friendly terms with

Bothwell, promised him her support if he would give up the evangelist.

The cardinal, on his part, ‘gave gold, and that largely.’ ‘Gold and

women have corrupted all worldly and fleshly men from the beginning,’

says Knox.[342] The earl raised some objections: ‘but an effeminate

man,’ adds Knox, ‘cannot long withstand the assaults of a gracious

queen.’ Wishart was first taken to Edinburgh castle, and at the end of

January, 1546, the regent gave him up to the cardinal, who confined

him at St. Andrews, in the sea tower. The assistance of a civil judge

was, it seems, necessary to give validity to the judgment. The cardinal

requested one of Arran, but one of the regent’s councillors, Hamilton

of Preston, said to him--‘What, will you deliver up to wicked men those

whose uprightness is acknowledged even by their enemies? Will you put

to death those who are guilty of no more crime than that of preaching

the Gospel of Christ? What ingratitude towards God!’

The regent consequently wrote to the cardinal that he would not

consent that any hurt should be done to that man without a careful

investigation of his cause. The cardinal, on receiving this letter,

flew into a violent passion. ‘It was only for civility’s sake,’ said

he, ‘that I made the request. I and my clergy have the power in

ourselves to inflict on Wishart the chastisement which he deserves.’

He invited the archbishop of Glasgow, and all bishops and other

dignitaries of the Church, to assemble at St. Andrews on February 27

to consult on the matter, although it was already decided in his own

mind.’[343]

The next day the dean of St. Andrews went to the prison where Wishart

was confined, and summoned him in the cardinal’s name to appear before

the judges on the morrow. ‘What needed,’ replied the prisoner, ‘my

lord cardinal to summon me to answer for my doctrine openly before

him, under whose power and dominion I am thus straitly bound in irons?

May not my lord compel me to answer to his extorted power?’ On March

1 the cardinal ordered all the household servants of his palace to

put themselves under arms. The civil power, it is remembered, had

refused to take part in the proceedings, and therefore Beatoun took

its place. His men at once equipped themselves with lances, swords,

axes, knapsacks, and other warlike array. It might have been thought

that some military action was in hand, rather than a gathering of

priests who assumed to busy themselves about God’s Church. These armed

champions, putting themselves in marching order, first escorted the

bishops with great ceremony to the abbey church, and then went for

Wishart. The governor of the castle put himself at the head of the

band, and so they led the prisoner ‘like a lamb to sacrifice.’ As he

entered the door of the abbey church he threw his purse to a poor

infirm man lying there, and at length he stood in the presence of the

numerous and brilliant assembly. To invest the proceedings with due

formality, Beatoun had caused two platforms to be erected, facing

each other. Wishart was set on one of them, and the accuser, Lauder,

took his place on the other. The dean, Winryme,[344] then appeared in

the pulpit. This worthy churchman, who was charged to deliver the

customary sermon, was secretly a friend to the Gospel. He read the

parable of the ‘good seed’ and the tares (Matt. xiii. 24-30), and set

forth various pious considerations which told more against the judges

than against the accused, and which the latter heard with pleasure.

Winryme concluded, however, by saying that the tares were heresy,

and that heretics ought to be put down in this life by the civil

magistrate; yet in the passage he was treating stood the words, ‘Let

both grow together until the harvest.’ It remained to ascertain which

were heretics, the judges or the accused.[345]

[Sidenote: PREPARATIONS FOR HIS TRIAL.]

When the sermon was ended, the bishops ordered Wishart to stand up

on his platform to hear the accusation. Then rose the accuser, John

Lauder, a priest whom the chronicler calls a monster, and, facing

Wishart, unrolled a long paper full of threatenings and devilish

maledictions, and, addressing the guiltless evangelist in cruel words,

hurled pitilessly at him all the thunders of the papacy. The ignorant

crowd who heard him, expected to see the earth open and swallow the

unhappy reformer; but he remained quiet, and listened with great

patience and without a change of countenance to the violent accusations

of his adversary. When Lauder had finished reading at the top of his

voice the threatening indictment, he turned to Wishart, his face ‘all

running down with sweat,’ says the chronicler, ‘and frothing at the

mouth like a boar, he spat at Mr. George’s face, saying, What answerest

thou to these sayings, thou renegade, traitor, and thief, which we have

duly proved by sufficient witness against thee?’[346]

Wishart knelt down and prayed for the help of God. Then rising, he made

answer with all sweetness--‘My lords, I pray you quietly to hear me,

so that instead of condemning me unjustly, to the great peril of your

souls, you may know that I have taught the pure Word of God, and that

you may receive it yourselves as the source from which health and life

shall spring forth for you. In Dundee I taught the Epistle of St. Paul

to the Romans, and shall show your discretions faithfully what fashion

and manner I used when I taught, without any human dread....’

At these words the accuser interrupted him, and cried with all his

might, ‘Thou heretic, renegade, traitor, and thief, it was not lawful

for thee to preach, ... and we forethink that thou hast been a preacher

too long.’ Then all the prelates, terrified at the thought that he was

going to set before that vast audience the very substance and pith

of his teaching, said one to another, ‘He is so crafty, and in Holy

Scriptures so exercised, that he will persuade the people to his own

opinion and raise them against us.’ Wishart, perceiving that he had no

chance of a fair hearing before that ecclesiastical court, said, ‘I

appeal from my lord cardinal to my lord the governor.’ ‘What,’ replied

Lauder, ‘is not my lord cardinal the second person within this realm,

chancellor of Scotland, archbishop of St. Andrews, bishop of Mirepoix

[in Languedoc], commendator of Arbroath, _legatus natus, legatus a

latere_...?’ He recited so many titles, says the chronicler, that

you might have laden a ship with them, much sooner an ass.[347] ‘Whom

desirest thou to be thy judge?’ cried Lauder.

[Sidenote: THE TRIAL.]

Wishart replied with meekness, ‘I refuse not my lord cardinal, but

I desire the Word of God to be my judge, and the temporal estate,

with some of your lordships mine auditory; because I am here my lord

governor’s prisoner.’ But the priests mocked him, saying, ‘Such

man, such judge!’ According to them, the laymen who might have been

appointed his judges were heretics also, like him.

The cardinal, without further delay, was going to have sentence of

condemnation passed; but some who stood by counselled him to read the

articles of accusation, and to permit Wishart to answer to them, in

order that the people might not be able to say that he was condemned

without a hearing.

Lauder therefore began--‘Thou, false heretic, renegade, traitor, and

thief, deceiver of the people, despisest the holy Church’s, and in like

case contemnest my lord governor’s authority; for when thou preachedst

in Dundee, and wert charged by my lord governor’s authority to desist,

thou wouldst not obey, but perseveredst in the same. Therefore the

bishop of Brechin cursed thee, and delivered thee into the hands of the

devil, and gave thee in commandment that thou shouldst preach no more;

yet notwithstanding thou didst continue obstinately.’

_Wishart_: ‘My lords, I have read in the Acts of the Apostles that it

is not lawful for the threatenings and menaces of men to desist from

the preaching of the Evangel.’

_Lauder_: ‘Thou, false heretic, didst say that a priest standing at the

altar saying mass was like a fox wagging his tail in July.’[348]

_Wishart_: ‘My lords, I said not so. These were my sayings: the moving

of the body outward, without the inward moving of the heart, is nought

else but the playing of an ape, and not the true serving of God.’

_Lauder_: ‘Thou false heretic, traitor, and thief, thou saidst that the

sacrament of the altar was but a piece of bread baken upon the ashes.’

_Wishart_: ‘I once chanced to meet with a Jew when I was sailing upon

the water of the Rhine. By prophecies and many other testimonies of the

Scriptures I approved that the Messiah was come, the which they called

Jesus of Nazareth. He answered, You adore and worship a piece of bread

baken upon the ashes, and say that is your God. I have rehearsed here

but the sayings of the Jew, which I never affirmed to be true.’ At

these words the bishops shook their heads, spitting on the ground and

crying out, and showed in all ways that they would not hear him.

_Lauder_: ‘Thou, false heretic and renegade, hast said that every

layman is a priest, and that the pope hath no more power than another

man.’

_Wishart_: ‘I have read in some places of St. John and St. Peter, of

the which one sayeth, He hath made us kings and priests; the other

sayeth, He hath made us the kingly priesthood. Wherefore I have

affirmed any man, being cunning and perfect in the Word of God and the

true faith of Jesus Christ, to have his power given him of God. And

again I say, any unlearned man, and not exercised in the Word of God,

nor yet constant in his faith, whatsoever estate or order he be of,

hath no power to bind nor to loose.’[349]

These words greatly amused the assembly; the reverends and the most

reverends burst out laughing, mocking Wishart, and calling him an

imbecile. The notion that a layman should have a power which the holy

father had not seemed to them the very height of madness. ‘Laugh ye,

my lords?’ said the messenger of Christ. ‘Though that these my sayings

appear scornful and worthy of derision to your lordships, nevertheless

they are very weighty unto me and of great value, because they stand

not only upon my life but also the honor and glory of God.’

Some pious men who were in the assembly were indignant at the madness

of the prelates and affected by the invincible patience of Wishart.

But others cried aloud, ‘Wherefore let we him speak any further?’ A

man named John Scot, who stood behind Lauder, said to him. ‘Tarry not

upon his witty and godly answers, for we may not abide them, no more

nor the devil may abide the sign of the cross when it is named.’[350]

There was no due form of trial, nor any freedom of discussion, says

Buchanan, but a great din of voices, shouts of disapprobation, and

hateful speeches. The accuser thundered from his platform, but that was

all.[351] The bishops unanimously pronounced that the pious Wishart

must be burnt. Falling on his knees, Wishart prayed and said--‘O

immortal God, how long shalt thou suffer the wodness [madness] and

great cruelty of the ungodly to exercise their fury upon thy servants

which do further thy Word in this world. O Lord, we know surely that

thy true servants must needs suffer persecution for thy name’s sake,

affliction and troubles in this present life which is but a shadow; but

yet we desire thee, merciful Father, that thou defend thy congregation

which thou hast chosen before the beginning of the world.’

[Sidenote: THE SENTENCE.]

The sentence must be pronounced, but the bishops were afraid to

pronounce it before the people. They therefore gave orders to have the

church cleared, and this could only be done slowly, as many of the

people who had a wish to hear Wishart were removed with difficulty.

At length, when the prelates and their colleagues found themselves

almost alone, sentence of death was passed on Wishart, and the cardinal

ordered his guards to take him back to the castle. Confined in the

governor’s room, he spent the greater part of the night in prayer.

The next morning the bishops sent to him two friars who asked him if

he did not want a confessor. ‘I will make no confession unto you,’ he

answered; ‘go and fetch me yonder man that preached yesterday, and I

will make my confession unto him.’ When Winryme was come, they talked

together for some time. Then the dean said, ‘Have you a wish to

receive the sacrament of the supper?’ ‘Assuredly,’ replied Wishart, ‘if

it be administered according to the institution of the Lord, with the

bread and the wine.’ Winryme then went to the cardinal and declared to

him that the man was innocent. Beatoun, inflamed with anger, said, ‘And

you, we have long known what you are!’ Winryme having inquired if he

might give the sacrament to the prisoner. ‘No,’ replied the cardinal,

‘it is not fitting to grant any of the benefits of the Church to a

heretic.’[352]

The next morning at nine o’clock the governor of the castle informed

Wishart that the communion was refused him. Then, as he was going to

breakfast with his dependents and servants, he invited Wishart to join

them at the meal. ‘Right willingly,’ he answered, ‘especially because I

know that you and yours are good men and are united with me in the same

body of Christ.’[353]

When the table was spread and the members of the household had taken

their places, Wishart said to the governor, ‘Give me leave, for

the Saviour’s sake, to make a brief exhortation.’ It was to him an

opportunity of celebrating the true Supper. He reminded his hearers

of the institution of the sacred feast, and of the Lord’s death. He

exhorted those who sat at table with him to lay aside all hatred, to

love one another and to lead a holy life. After this he gave thanks,

and then took the bread and brake it, and gave of it to such as he knew

were willing to communicate, and bade them feed spiritually on Christ.

Taking a cup, he spoke of the blood shed for the remission of sins,

drank of it and gave them to drink. ‘I shall no more drink of this

cup,’ said he, ‘no more eat of this bread in this life; a bitterer

draught is reserved for me, because I have preached Christ. Pray that

I may take that cup with patience, as the Lord’s appointment.’ He

concluded with further giving of thanks and then retired to his chamber.

[Sidenote: FINAL PREPARATIONS.]

On a plot of ground to the west of the castle and not far from the

priory, men were already busily engaged, some in preparing the pile,

others erecting the gallows. The place of execution was surrounded by

soldiers, and the gunners had their cannon in position and stood beside

them ready to fire. One would have thought that preparations were

making for a siege. The cardinal had ordered these measures fearing

lest Wishart’s many friends should take him away, and perhaps still

more for the sake of making a display of his own power. Meanwhile

the windows in the castle-yard were adorned with hangings, silken

draperies, and velvet cushions, that the cardinal and the prelates

might enjoy at their ease the spectacle of the pile and of the tortures

which they were going to inflict on that righteous man.[354]

When all was ready, two of the deathsmen entered Wishart’s prison. One

of them brought and put on him a coat of black cloth, the other tied

small bags of powder to various parts of his body. Next they bound his

hands firmly behind him, put a rope round his neck and a chain about

his waist, and led him forth in the midst of a party of soldiers. When

he came to the pile he knelt down and prayed. Then he rose and said

to the people--‘Christian brethren and sisters, be not offended in

the Word of God for the affliction and torments which ye see already

prepared for me; but I exhort you that you love the Word of God, and

suffer patiently and with a comfortable heart, for the Word’s sake

which is your undoubted salvation and everlasting comfort. My doctrine

was no old wives’ fable after the constitutions made by men. But for

the true evangely, which was given to me by the grace of God, I suffer

this day by men, not sorrowfully, but with a glad heart and mind. For

this cause I was sent: that I should suffer this fire, for Christ’s

sake. This grim fire I fear not. Some have said of me that I taught

that the soul of man should sleep until the last day. But I know surely

and my faith is such that my soul shall sup with my Saviour Christ this

night (ere it be six hours), for whom I suffer this.’[355] Then he

prayed--‘I beseech thee, Father of heaven! to forgive them that have of

any ignorance or else have of any evil mind forged any lies upon me: I

forgive them with all my heart. I beseech Christ to forgive them that

have condemned me to death this day ignorantly.’ The hangman fell on

his knees before him and said, ‘I pray you forgive me.’ ‘Come hither

to me,’ replied Wishart; and he kissed him, and added, ‘Lo, here is

a token that I forgive thee. My heart, do thine office.’ He was then

bound with ropes to the stake, and said, ‘Saviour of the world, have

mercy on me! Father of heaven, into thy hands I commit my spirit.’ The

executioner lighted the fire. The cardinal and his accomplices beheld

from the windows the martyr and the fire which was consuming him. The

governor of the castle watching the flames exclaimed, ‘Take courage.’

Wishart answered, ‘This fire torments my body, but noways abates my

spirit.’ Then catching sight of the cardinal at the window with his

courtiers, he added, ‘He who in such state, from that high place,

feedeth his eyes with my torments, within few days shall be hanged out

at the same window to be seen with as much ignominy as he now leaneth

there in pride.’[356] Some authors consider these words, reported by

Buchanan, to be an instance of that _second sight_ with which they

allege the Scots to be endowed. Wishart, however, did not need an

extraordinary revelation to teach him that ‘the wicked goeth away in

his wickedness.’ He had hardly uttered those words when the rope was

tightened about his neck, so that he lost the power of speaking. The

fire reduced his body to ashes; and the bishops, full of steadfast

hatred of this servant of God, caused an order to be published that

same evening through all the town, that no one should pray for their

victim under the severest penalties. They knew what respect was felt

for him by many even of the Catholics themselves.

There are people who say that religion is a fable. A life and a death

such as those of Wishart show that it is a great reality.

CHAPTER XV.

CONSPIRACY AGAINST BEATOUN.--HIS DEATH.

(MARCH TO MAY 1546.)

[Sidenote: FEELING CONCERNING WISHART’S DEATH.]

The death of Wishart excited in Scotland feelings of very diverse

character. The bishops and their adherents extolled to the skies the

cardinal who, without troubling himself about the regent’s authority,

and suppressing the insolence of the people, had constituted himself

the defender of Rome and of the priesthood. ‘Ah,’ said they, ‘if the

Church had formerly had such champions, she would keep all things under

her dominion by the very force and weight of her majesty.’

Simple-hearted Christians lamented the martyrdom without a thought of

revenge. But one part of the people, and with them several of the most

eminent men, condemned aloud at table and everywhere the cardinal’s

cruelty, and declared that the blood which had been shed called for

vengeance. Even those who, without sharing Wishart’s views, were

actuated by just and generous sentiments, asked themselves what hope

they could have of preserving their liberties under the most cruel of

tyrants; under a prelate who made war alike on men and on God; who

pursued with his enmity every one that possessed wealth or was animated

by piety, and sacrificed them to his caprice like beasts taken from

the stall;[357] who gave his sanction to connections with worthless

mistresses, and dissolved lawful marriages at his pleasure; who in his

own house wallowed in debauchery with prostitutes, and out of doors, in

his wrath, revelled in the slaughter of innocent men and in the blood

of heretics.[358] Such is the portrait of Beatoun drawn by Buchanan.

The cardinal, who could not remain ignorant of these speeches, was

desirous of strengthening his power by means of new alliances. He

therefore gave one of his daughters, Margaret Beatoun--whose mother

was Mary, daughter of Sir James Ogilvy--in marriage to David Lindsay,

son of the earl of Crawford, with a portion of four thousand marks.

The nuptials were celebrated with a magnificence almost royal. That a

priest could celebrate with so much parade the nuptials of his daughter

showed that he was destitute even of that honorable shame which is

excited by the dread of anything that violates decency. He believed

himself to be stronger than all Scotland, and by his despotic measures

he was constantly adding to the number of his enemies.

[Sidenote: CONSPIRACY AGAINST BEATOUN.]

Among those who had served him with the utmost devotion was Norman

Lesley, brother of the earl of Rothes. On occasion of Lesley’s

reminding the cardinal of certain promises which he had made to him,

they got to high words and parted bitter foes.[359] Thenceforth

Lesley was head of the disaffected, and by setting before his friends

the intolerable pride of the cardinal he induced them to join in a

conspiracy against his life.[360] His uncle, John Lesley, did not

shrink from saying before them all, clapping his right hand at the

same time on his sword, ‘This hand shall draw this old sword, and they

two shall be the cardinal’s confessors,’ meaning thereby that they

should dismiss him into the other world. The saying was reported to

Beatoun, but he made light of it, fancying himself perfectly safe in

the blockhouse--a kind of fortress--which he had built. ‘I laugh at all

that noise,’ said he, ‘and I would not give a button for such bragging.

Is not my lord governor mine? Witness his eldest son their pledge at

my table. Have I not the queen at my own devotion? Is not France my

friend, and am not I friend to France? What danger should I fear?’

Nevertheless Beatoun, for the purpose of cutting off those who troubled

him, ordered all his creatures, gentlemen of Fifeshire, to meet him at

Falkland on Monday, May 31. The Lesleys and a certain number of their

friends were to be taken prisoners and put to death. On the other side,

Lesley and his accomplices had no embarrassing scruples at all. The

right of the strongest was still frequently appealed to in that half

barbarian age. A _coup d’état_, with deeds of violence, was a quite

familiar occurrence. These nobles looked on Wishart’s death, without

the concurrence of the civil judges, which the lawful government

had refused, as a murder; and they considered that as Beatoun was a

murderer he ought to be himself put to death. They did not reflect

that they were making themselves guilty of the very crime which Beatoun

had committed, that of putting themselves in the place of the regular

judges. The right of war between feudal lords, which had not yet ceased

to be recognized, sufficed to justify them in their own eyes. It was

arranged that Norman Lesley, with his brother and four of his friends,

should go to St. Andrews, where the cardinal was residing, and that

they should take up their lodging in the hostelry at which they were

accustomed to stay, so as not to awaken any suspicion. They entered the

town accordingly, and without fear, although the place swarmed with the

friends, dependents, and creatures of the mighty primate. Some of the

inhabitants who shared their views held themselves in readiness at the

first signal to give them assistance. They agreed to seize the castle

at early morning, before the household were up.

[Sidenote: SEIZURE OF THE CASTLE.]

On Friday, May 28, in the evening, Norman Lesley arrived at St.

Andrews, where he found William Kirkaldy of Grange awaiting him. John

Lesley, on whom the cardinal’s suspicions chiefly fell, came last. The

conspirators took counsel in the night, and on Saturday, May 29, at

three o’clock in the morning, started on their enterprise, the capture

of a strong castle which was held by more than a hundred men prepared

for resistance. They came by various ways, and met in the churchyard of

the abbey, not far from the castle. Beatoun, well knowing the feelings

of indignation which his proceedings had aroused in the country, even

amongst his own flatterers, had determined to turn his place of abode

into a citadel fit to stand a siege.[361] The works were in progress,

and this circumstance facilitated the daring attempt now to be made

by his enemies. The primate pressed the work on so urgently that it

hardly ceased by day or by night. Consequently the gates were open

early in the morning, and the drawbridge was let down for the workmen

to bring in stone, mortar, and other necessary building materials. The

Lesleys, who with some of their companions were concealed in a small

house near the gates, had sent thence William Kirkaldy and six others.

These having passed the gates hailed the porter, and said to him, ‘Is

my lord cardinal waking?’ ‘No,’ replied he. Mary Ogilvy, the mother of

Margaret and of two sons, David and Alexander Beatoun, had spent the

night at the castle. She was seen going away early in the morning by

the private postern.[362] The cardinal, at the moment of the arrival

of the Lesleys and their friends, was in a sound sleep. While William

Kirkaldy was talking to the porter, and the latter was about to show

him the way, Norman and John Lesley came up one after the other with

arms. The porter, in alarm, would have put himself on the defensive;

but one of the conspirators broke his head, got possession of his

keys, and threw his body into the fosse. At that moment the workmen,

numbering more than a hundred, fled through the wicket-gate at full

speed, and William Kirkaldy took possession of the private postern,

‘fearing that the fox should have escaped.’ As the assailants were

only sixteen, they felt the need of proceeding with great caution. The

leaders sent four of their company, among whom were Peter Carmichael, a

tall, stout-hearted gentleman, and James Melville of Cumbec, to guard

the cardinal’s door and see that no one gave him warning of his danger.

Others of the company, who had some acquaintance with the place and the

people, were set to watch the bedrooms of the officers and servants of

the cardinal. Distributing themselves in small groups, they entered

the rooms successively, found the occupants half asleep, and said to

them, ‘If you utter the faintest cry you are dead men!’[363] Those men

therefore, in their fright, dressed themselves hastily and were led out

of the castle, no violence being done to any of them and no noise made.

The only person whom they left in the castle was the regent’s eldest

son. John Lesley, alone in this vast abode, knocked loudly at the

cardinal’s door. ‘What means that noise?’ said he. ‘That Norman Lesley

has taken the castle,’ was the reply; ‘open.’ At these words Beatoun

ran towards the postern, but seeing that it was guarded, he returned

straightway into his room, seized his two-handed sword, and bade his

valet barricade the door. ‘Open,’ they cried again. The cardinal

answered, ‘Who calls?’--‘My name is Lesley.’--‘Is that Norman?’--‘Nay,

my name is John.’ The cardinal, remembering John’s words, cried, ‘I

will have Norman, for he is my friend.’--‘Content yourself with such as

are here, for other shall ye get none,’ replied John. While the knocks

at the door grew louder, the cardinal seized a box of gold and hid it

in a corner. Then he said, ‘Will ye save my life?’--‘It may be that we

will,’--said John.--‘Nay,’ replied Beatoun, ‘swear unto me by God’s

wounds, and I shall open to you.’

Then John Lesley cried out, ‘Fire! fire!’ The door was too strong to

burst open, and they brought a grate full of burning coals. Just as

it was ready the cardinal ordered the door to be opened. Lesley and

his companions rushed into the chamber and found Beatoun seated on a

chair. Lesley threw himself violently upon him. ‘I am a priest! I am a

priest!’ exclaimed the cardinal. ‘Ye will not slay me!’

But Lesley struck him with his sword, and Carmichael, full of wrath,

did the same. Melville, a man of gentle and serious character, says

Knox,[364] seeing his comrades in so great a rage, checked them. He

said, ‘This work and judgment of God, although it be secret, yet ought

to be done with greater gravity.’ Melville and others, by reason of

the ignorance and the prejudices of the age, sincerely believed in

the legal virtue of the Mosaic system, abolished by the Gospel, which

conferred on certain persons the right of killing a murderer, but which

founded at the same time the cities of refuge in which the guilty man

should be safe from the vengeance of the pursuer.[365]

[Sidenote: MURDER OF BEATOUN.]

Melville forgot that there was no city of refuge for Beatoun. Regarding

him as a murderer, and not supposing that by killing him he did himself

incur the guilt of murder, he presented to him the point of his sword,

and said gravely to him, ‘Repent thee of thine former wicked life, but

especially of the shedding of the blood of that notable instrument of

God, Mr. George Wishart; which albeit the flame of fire consumed before

men, yet cries it a vengeance upon thee, and we from God are sent to

revenge it. Here before my God I protest that neither the hatred of thy

person, the love of thy riches, or the fear of any trouble thou couldst

have done to me in particular, moved or moveth me to strike thee.’ And

he struck him with his sword.

The cardinal fell under repeated blows, without a word heard out of his

mouth except these, ‘I am a priest! I am a Priest! Fie, fie! All is

gone!’[366]

It was very soon known all over the city that the castle had been

taken. The friends and the creatures of the cardinal rose very quietly

from their beds, says Buchanan, armed themselves, and presently

appeared in a crowd about the fosse. They shouted with all their might,

uttered threats and insults, and demanded shells and all the necessary

means for making the assault. ‘You are making much noise to little

purpose,’ said those in the castle to them; ‘the best it were to you to

return to your own houses.’

The crowd answered, ‘What have ye done with my lord cardinal? Let us

see my lord cardinal!’--‘The man that you call the cardinal,’ it was

replied, ‘has received his reward, and in his own person will trouble

the world no more.’ But his partisans only cried the louder, ‘We shall

never depart till we see him,’ still persuaded that he was alive. Then

one or two men took up the body, and bearing it to the very window

at which a little while before Beatoun had sat to contemplate with

gladness, and as if in triumph, the execution of the pious Wishart,

exposed it there to the gaze of all.[367] Beatoun’s friends and the

populace, struck with amazement and terror by the unexpected sight, and

remembering Wishart’s prediction, dispersed in gloom and consternation.

The tidings of this murder were speedily spread over all the land, and,

while some angrily denounced it, others welcomed it as an event which

restored their country to liberty. There were indeed some who, like

James Melville, reckoned it a lawful act. But even among the enemies of

the cardinal there were men wise and moderate, who looked on the murder

with horror. It is remarked by one historian that of those who took

part in it few escaped the judgment of God, who punishes transgressors

by smiting them with the same stroke with which they have smitten

others.[368]

The Lesleys and their friends remained masters of the castle, and

they kept with them James, Lord Hamilton, afterwards earl of Arran,

the regent’s eldest son, whom Beatoun had detained as his hostage,

and who now became theirs. One of the conspirators, who believed that

in delivering Scotland from the tyrant they had done a praiseworthy

deed, William Kirkaldy, went to London. He obtained from Henry VIII.,

who considered the taking of the castle and the events which had

accompanied it to be a lawful revolution, a declaration that he was

prepared to take the party under his protection, on condition, however,

that the marriage contract between Edward and Mary should be carried

out. As communication by sea was easy between the castle and London,

English ships conveyed thither all supplies that were needful.

[Sidenote: OPINIONS ON THE MURDER.]

Hamilton, a bastard brother of the regent, was named by him archbishop

of St. Andrews, and was confirmed by Pope Paul III. This energetic

prelate immediately pressed on his brother the duty of besieging the

castle and of punishing all those who had taken it. He was strongly

supported by others. On August 23, 1546, the main body of the army

set out from Edinburgh to form the siege; but at the end of July,

1547,[369] the capture of the fortress being evidently hopeless, terms

were made with the besieged advantageous to them, but which neither

side had any intention of observing. This period forms an important

epoch, and we must suspend for a while the course of our narrative.

We have now traced the history of the ministry and the martyrdom of

Patrick Hamilton and George Wishart. We shall have by-and-by to trace,

_Deo adjuvante_, the mighty action of the third and greatest of the

Scottish reformers, John Knox.

The period, the history of which we have just gone over, was one of

active persecution. It remains for us to recount the events of the

contest with the papacy, into which the Scottish nobility energetically

entered, and the victory of the Reformation. Without entering at

present upon the narrative of facts, we shall cast a glance forward

in order to point out what was to give the victory to evangelical

Christianity. Assuredly it was not such actions as the capture of the

castle and the violent death of the persecutor. Such things are more

likely to ruin a cause than to save it. The Christian life and death

of Wishart contributed far more powerfully than the death of Beatoun

to the advancement of the kingdom of God. The history of the Scottish

Reformation serves to show the untruth of one assertion frequently made

by the enemies of the Reform.

According to them, the Reform could triumph only in those countries in

which it had the protection of princes. This is a serious error. It was

not the bloodthirsty Philip II. who established the Reformation in the

United Provinces of the Netherlands. It was neither the feeble James

V. nor the popish Mary Stuart who secured its triumph in Scotland.

That worthy niece of the Guises sought only to crush it. A stronger

arm than theirs fought against those mighty ones and gave the victory

to the weak. The enemies of the Reformation made use in Scotland of

the very weapons which in Italy, in Spain, and elsewhere arrested the

movement of regeneration. The reformers were burnt also in Scotland,

but the Reform arose out of their ashes. It was neither to their

character nor to their strength that the Scots attributed the triumph.

They knew that Jesus is the king of the Church, and that it is he who

saves it. This is the feature which more than any other, as we shall

see, characterized the Scottish Reformation. Andrew Melville said to

James VI., ‘Sire, there are two kings and two kingdoms in Scotland.

There is King James, the head of the state, and there is Jesus Christ

who is head of the Church.’[370] To the king enthroned at Rome, the

Scottish Reformation opposed the king enthroned in heaven, and to him

it attributed the victory.

[Sidenote: PRIEST AND PASTOR.]

But in proclaiming this supreme authority, the reformation in Scotland

also established the duties and the rights of Christians. The charge

of leading the Church in conformity with the law of God was there

intrusted to general assemblies elected by the free choice of a

Christian people.[371] The clergy had ruled in Scotland throughout

the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and during the first part of

the sixteenth. The Reformation rescued the country from that clerical

domination, and gave to it the first of all liberties, the freedom of

faith. For centuries three powers had existed there,--the king, the

nobles, and the priests, and the last had kept the upper hand. After

the Reformation, two of these still remained, the king and the nobles;

but the people took the place of the clergy. It was under a popular

form, that of Presbyterianism, that the Church of Scotland constituted

itself. The feudal castles had for some time still a marked influence

on the destinies of the country; but the tide of national and Christian

life was steadily rising all round their walls and soon overflowed the

ancient battlements which crowned the summits of those old fortresses.

Laymen, the deputies of the people, obtained a voice in the presbytery,

in the synod, and in the general assembly. Thus, by successive steps,

the voice of the people became, through the influence of Reform, the

expression of the main force of the country.

It is a grave error to attribute, as some have done, to the Protestant

pastors of Scotland an incomprehensible domination, ‘an authority

nowise inferior to that which they had exercised as Catholic priests,’

and to represent them as ‘the most effectual obstacle to popular

progress.’[372] Nothing has in fact been less like the haughty Catholic

prelates of St. Andrews, Glasgow, and other dioceses, than a Scottish

minister. The Reformation gave to Scotland not only Christian truth,

but religious and political liberty besides. There, as everywhere,

it took from the priesthood its magic and its supremacy, which had

been its two main attributes in the Middle Ages. The ministers, whom

it substituted for the priests, having no longer the marvellous power

of transforming a bit of bread into God the Creator,--these disciples

of Jesus, no longer seated on the despotic throne of the confessional

to give pardon for sins, became simple heralds of the divine Word.

This holy Word has its place in every family and reigns supreme in

the Church. Thus, ministers have ceased to be masters and have become

servants. The real offence of these Scottish pastors, in the sight of

their detractors, is that they have always been a great obstacle, not

to the progress of the people and of civilization, as some have said,

but to the progress of unbelief and materialism. Now these mischievous

doctrines are mortal enemies to the freedom and prosperity of nations.

BOOK XI.

CALVIN, AND THE PRINCIPLES OF HIS REFORM.

CHAPTER I.

CALVIN AT GENEVA AND IN THE PAYS DE VAUD.

(1536.)

For years, and even for centuries, persistent and perilous endeavors

had been made at Geneva for a firm establishment of freedom. We have

already described some of the impressive scenes which marked the

successful close of these efforts at the beginning of the sixteenth

century, the noble principles and the mighty words of the energetic

laborers in this great enterprise.[373] It would certainly be going too

far to consider their labors and the truths which they announced as the

source whence our modern liberties have sprung. But it is impossible to

study the events of that epoch without emotion, or without recognizing

aspirations, principles, sacrifices, and actions worthy of admiration,

which were in fact the first great burst of light, the first noteworthy

manifestation of the politics and the virtues which must determine the

existence and make the prosperity of nations.[374]

That small town was, however, to give to the world a higher lesson

still. It was to do for religion what it had first done for politics,

and to render to faith the service which it had rendered to freedom.

These two achievements are closely related to each other; and it is

one of the characteristics of this history, that while it attributes

transcendent importance to Christian truth and life, it recognizes

at the same time all that is great and salutary in freedom. If the

author, as some have thought, had erred in assigning too high a place

to the heroic struggles to which Geneva owed her independence, he would

assuredly regret that he had not more skilfully handled the pen of

the historian for the purpose of immortalizing the great men and the

heroic actions of which the smallest and humblest of states afforded

the spectacle. But he would count himself fortunate if he should,

nevertheless, have contributed to bring into clear light the great

maxim, that political freedom and Christian truth must advance hand

in hand for the salvation of nations and the salvation of souls. Of

course, a blind demagogy, the formidable rock of our age, is at once

contrary to freedom and hostile to religion.

Geneva was fitted by various concurring conditions to play a part from

which the small extent of her territory seemed inevitably to shut her

out. Situated as this town was between Italy, France, and Germany, its

position formed the central point of the three great nations who were

distinguished in the first half of the sixteenth century for their new

or newly awakened love of letters, philosophy, and the arts. On several

occasions Frenchmen, Italians, and Germans came in large numbers to

settle at Geneva. By the reception of these three diverse elements into

her bosom she seemed to be called to blend them with each other and to

harmonize their opposing qualities. If any spark from the evangelical

fire which was then kindled should chance to escape from either of

those countries and to fall on the materials thus prepared at the foot

of the Alps, it might kindle a great fire, and might make Geneva a

hearth from which light, radiating far and wide, should contribute to

scatter the humiliating darkness which Rome and those princes whose

power was at her service then made to weigh heavily on the nations.

[Sidenote: JOHN CALVIN.]

This is what actually came to pass. To convert the spark into a pure,

vivid, dazzling light, there was need of an intellect of vast depth, a

will of vast energy, and a faith of vast power.

God sent the man that was needed.

A young stranger, a native of Picardie, had lately arrived at Geneva.

It had not occurred to him nor to his friends that he could be the

organ by whose agency and means God would bring about such great ends.

After his arrival Farel still continued to hold the first place in

the city. This young man, John Calvin, was naturally timid, and was

possessed by a dread of publicity which had already shown itself at

Basel and which led him to shun every occasion that would draw public

attention to himself. He was fond of study and of writing: and in that

path he believed that it was appointed for him to contribute to the

diffusion in the world of a truth which was already dearer to him than

life. He purposed to turn to account that one talent in retirement,

without quitting his study. That is what he was then doing at Geneva.

He was steadily engaged in translating into French his ‘_little book_,’

the _Institution Chrétienne_, which he hoped ere long to send to his

friends in France.[375] The letter mentioned in the note shows clearly

that the _Institution Chrétienne_ was first written in Latin.

Farel wished for more: he desired Calvin to become, at Geneva,

pastor, preacher, and doctor. The young man refused this threefold

function. The office of pastor would have required him to take part

in the government of the Church, and he was not willing to do so. As

to the office of preacher, we have the most positive testimony of his

contemporaries and of his most intimate friends that, in the fresh

glow of his faith, he had simply undertaken the task of an evangelist

in some districts of France. But the post which was offered to him at

Geneva would have compelled him to mix more or less in public affairs

and in the debates of the councils. He trembled at the thought, and

wished rather to confine himself strictly within the bounds of that

literary and theological life which he loved so well. He consented

therefore to dwell in the city, not for the purpose of preaching, but

to read in theology.[376] He went even further. ‘I would not,’ he said,

‘bind myself to undertake an official charge.’[377] He consented to

make trial of teaching, but without any title or any engagement, and

thus reserved to himself perfect liberty. Probably no one ever entered

as he did on a career at once painful and brilliant without suspecting

its results, and even rejecting it with his utmost energy.

[Sidenote: CHURCH DISCIPLINE.]

Calvin commenced his work as Reader in the Holy Scriptures at Geneva,

or, as he styles himself, Professor of Sacred Literature in the

Genevese Church. His lectures were delivered not in any house or in

any academic hall, but in the cathedral itself, a circumstance which

invested his teaching with an importance of which Calvin had certainly

not dreamed. The doors were opened for this novel service in the

afternoon, and the Genevese, who felt the need of substantial teaching,

crowded to hear the young doctor. He expounded several books of the

New Testament, particularly the Epistles. One characteristic of his

manner of teaching at Geneva from the first was the combination of

simplicity and solidity. A new light was then rising. It was not,

to be sure, the sun in its brightness. The timidity and the shyness

which Calvin attributes to himself may well have shown themselves in

his first attempts. The _Commentaries_ on the New Testament, which he

published at a later period, have a completeness which his earliest

expositions could not attain. But they are a sufficiently faithful

representation of the kind of teaching which he adopted at St. Peter’s

church. It was not grammatical and etymological explanation of the

text; nor was it, on the other hand, a pathetic discourse. Calvin set

forth in clear light everything in the Scriptures which characterizes

the Christian doctrine and life. He first meditated on his subject,

then delivered his lectures extempore; and the animated and powerful

individuality of the master imparted to them an influence which carried

away and multiplied his hearers. It was not in his nature to do a

merely intellectual task. He consoled, he exhorted, he censured. But

his chief aim was to illustrate the labor of love which Jesus Christ

had accomplished, and to make known its necessity and grandeur. Two

points in the Christian doctrine especially struck him, the one dark

and mournful, the other bright like sunshine. ‘Our souls,’ said he,

‘are an abyss of iniquity, so that we are compelled to have recourse to

the fountain of all good, which is Jesus Christ.’[378]

[Sidenote: CHURCH DISCIPLINE.]

The exposition, defence, and application of the great facts of

Christianity formed the substance of Calvin’s work at Geneva and in

Christendom. It is a mistake to suppose that his principal business was

the introduction and the maintenance of discipline in the Church. It is

not to be doubted that he wished for order: that he wished absolutely

for a Christian way of life; but it was not he who, as some believe,

first introduced measures of discipline, nor was the maintenance of

those measures the task of his life. Speaking of them,[379] he defends

himself from the charge of being their author. ‘I observe and do

whatsoever I have found,’ said he, ‘as one who takes no pleasure in

making any innovation.’ It was the magistrate, who, being in Geneva

head both of the Church and of the state, prescribed and enforced the

laws of discipline. Before Calvin’s arrival at Geneva, we have seen how

De la Rive was sentenced to banishment for having his child baptized

by a priest. The year before some men, women, and magistrates had

been condemned to the _crotton_ (black hole) for immorality. At the

moment at which this stranger, whose name even was hardly known, had

just crossed the threshold of the city--on the eve of the day on which

Farel was to introduce him to the magistrate (Monday, September 4,

1536)--a remarkable scene was taking place in the Council of the Two

Hundred, which seems placed at that epoch as if on purpose to resolve

distinctly the question which engages our attention. ‘Gentlemen,’ said

the syndics, ‘we have all pledged ourselves in public council to live

according to the Gospel, and nevertheless there are some here who do

not go to preaching.’ At these words the councillor and former syndic

Richardet, a fine, tall, and powerful man, but very passionate, rose

in wrath and exclaimed with loud voice, ‘Nobody shall lord it over my

conscience; and I will not go to sermon at the bidding of a Syndic

Porral.’[380] Porral, a man of highly cultivated mind and a very

active magistrate, had declared himself decisively for the Reform,

and he was even charged to prosecute certain classes of delinquents.

It had been enacted, on July 24, that those who refused to go to the

preaching must quit the city in ten days. Richardet was not alone in

his resolution. The question having been put to J. Philippe and two

other councillors whether they would attend the preaching of the Word

of God, ‘We will not be compelled,’ they said, ‘but will live in our

liberty.’ These citizens were right in maintaining their liberty, and

the magistrates were in the wrong. Calvin was far away from Geneva on

July 24; and, generally speaking, he was not of so peremptory a temper

as some imagine. There was a certain sphere in which he maintained

liberty, and maintained it even against powerful adversaries. ‘Touching

ceremonies,’ thus he wrote to the formidable lords of Berne, ‘they are

things indifferent, and the churches are free to adopt a diversity of

them.’[381] Still, we cannot deny it, Calvin thought--and these are his

own words--that since there is no house, however small it be, which

can be maintained in its proper state without discipline, it is much

more requisite in the Church, which ought to be better ordered than

any house. He went further. He asserted that the state has the right

and is bound to take notice of matters of discipline, and to punish

transgressors. It is to be regretted that the fine genius of Calvin did

not make an exception in this case to the rule adopted ten centuries

earlier by all Christendom, and that he did not convince the state that

its heavy hand must not intervene in matters of religion. It is however

fair to ask ourselves whether, in the sixteenth century, such an effort

would not have been a superhuman task.

Calvin himself made known to us his own thought when he said, ‘THE

DOCTRINE OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST IS THE SOUL OF THE CHURCH.’[382]

He set forth that doctrine in the church of St. Peter just as it is

found in Scripture, and so diffused it in the world. Certainly it was

not by discipline that he made his conquests. He bore the torch of

truth. Devoid of ambition, having no designs reaching beyond Geneva,

without any secret policy such as the Jesuits are skilled in, and

armed with one weapon only, the truth, he triumphed over the greatest

difficulties. Farel, Viret, Beza would not have sufficed. In this man

of feeble constitution and humble aspect there were an unquenchable

resolution, an energetic will. _He held fast, as seeing him who is

invisible._ Established in this small town, he became God’s instrument,

first for the spread of the Reformation in the West, then for defending

it against the attacks of Rome and Loyola and Philip II. A new time was

born for the world.

Nevertheless it was not Calvin alone, as some appear to believe,

who effected this great revolution. Had he come into the midst of a

people indolent and effeminate, such victories would not have been

won. But the Genevese had been preparing for centuries, by means of

the struggles which they had gone through, for the maintenance of

their liberty. A life of toil, incessant industry, and rude combats

had inured them to blows. Their souls had been elevated. They were

naturally keen and decisive; but that iron, already brilliant, had

acquired by tempering an inflexible hardness. The heroism of the

Huguenots of Geneva became one of the elements which contributed to

the triumph of the Reformation. The character of those strong men was

as essential to the work as coal is for the conversion of iron into

steel. It was not Calvin the individual, it was Geneva in its entirety,

that vanquished Rome. The energy of the Bertheliers, the Lévriers,

and of many others, was one of the ingredients of the moral energy

of which Geneva became the hearth, and which had almost disappeared

from history. The most earnest of the Genevese Huguenots joined the

reformer; the masses supported him; and some Frenchmen who had passed

through the sieve of persecution, worthy also to be called Huguenots,

gave the hand to the sons of Geneva. And when, after achieving its

triumph, the Reformation found itself attacked by a numerous and

powerful army, assembled under the banners of kings, of Ignatius

Loyola, and the pope, Geneva and the men of her school, who were found

in all parts of Christendom, were able to resist the hostile force, and

to say to it, ‘No further shalt thou go!’

[Sidenote: CALVIN RETAINED AT GENEVA.]

There was, indeed, in the struggle for the renewal of Christendom, one

will which conceived, one personality which acted, one voice which

resounded with a force till then almost unknown, and in a thousand

directions: it was, next to Luther’s, that of Calvin. But while a great

general is indispensable in the day of battle, so also is an army

trained by him for energetic conflict. The part which Geneva played

in the sixteenth century is not explained by the character of one man

alone, but by many concurrent circumstances both moral and political.

That army, created by a vivifying breath from on high, was soon in

action wherever a struggle became necessary. Those soldiers went forth

into the world, braved danger, displayed their colors, and proclaimed

salvation, until at length Rome gave them the martyr’s death, and

God gave them the crown of immortality. CALVIN and the HUGUENOTS, that

is the great motto of the sixteenth century.

Farel, as we have seen, had taken on himself the responsibility

of enrolling the young doctor and of opening to him the church of

St. Peter. Charmed with Calvin’s method of exposition of the Holy

Scriptures, that veteran champion of the Reformation expressed his

opinion on the subject to the magistrates. On Tuesday, September 5,

1536, the day after the famous altercation respecting religious liberty

had taken place in the Council of the Two Hundred, William Farel

appeared before the council and gave an account of the teaching of the

young foreigner, which some of the members of that body had probably

attended, and added--‘The lectures which this Frenchman[383] has begun

at St. Peter’s are very necessary. I therefore entreat you to retain

him and to make provision for his maintenance.’ The council determined

to advise that the stranger, whose name was not even uttered, should be

retained. Many had seen him. The pale countenance, the spare form, the

modest bearing, the timorous air of this refugee of twenty-seven, had

not given the impression of his being a person of note. The council did

not even make him a present of a dress or anything of the kind, as it

was customary to do. It waited, no doubt, to see whether it was worth

while. The man whose name was shortly to fill the city and the whole

Christian world, entered almost _incognito_ into Geneva. Every one was

at that time thinking of Farel. On September 8 that reformer, ‘having

addressed a remonstrance to the council,’ it was resolved ‘that since

the writings of the aforesaid Guillaume _are so divine_, he should

preach at six o’clock in the morning in the church of St. Germain, and

that the councillors should be bound to attend there, and pass thence,

at seven, into the council.’[384]

Calvin’s lectures were soon interrupted. At the end of September,

Farel with his young friend as his assistant quitted Geneva to go to

Lausanne, whither an urgent duty called them. An important assembly was

going to be held in the chief city of the Pays de Vaud.

Farel, Viret, and other evangelists, as already related, had introduced

the Reformation into such parts of that country as were subject to

the Swiss cantons; but the other parishes of that fair land had

still remained subject to the pope. Meanwhile Luther’s writings were

everywhere circulated, the eyes of the people began to be opened,

and several evangelists, particularly Jean Lecomte, a gentleman of

Picardie, had preached the Gospel in various places. The occupation

of the country by the Bernese, on occasion of the expedition which

delivered Geneva in 1536, hastened the fall of Roman Catholicism. When

the Bernese had taken Yverdon with the sword, they transformed the

church of that town in a somewhat soldierly fashion. They bluntly put

an end to the exercise of the Romish religion; appointed Malingre to

be minister; on March 15 had their religious ordinances published;

burnt, March 17, the images out of the churches in the market-place,

and ordered the ministers to preach in temples cleared of those

abominations. Lecomte, Tissot, Meige, and other evangelists introduced

the Reform, but by the spiritual means of preaching, at Cossonay,

Montagny, Yvonand, Sainte-Croix, and other places. Avenches and Lutry

showed themselves decidedly Catholic, and they determined that if by

any chance a minister should go there, they would not go to hear him.

[Sidenote: THE GOSPEL IN THE PAYS DE VAUD.]

In March 1536, as Viret and Fabry were passing near Yverdon during the

siege of that town by the Bernese army, some Lausannese officers who

were serving in it and who were acquainted with Viret, stopped him and

said, ‘When Yverdon is taken, we shall go to Lausanne: come with us

and preach the Gospel there in spite of the bishop.’ They did so. The

amiable and discreet Viret would have been ill pleased to see Lausanne

reformed by the military method, like Yverdon. He preferred the sword

of the Spirit to that of the Bernese soldiery. He would choose that, in

the sloping streets of that city and within its beautiful cathedral,

the still small voice should be heard, and not the hissing of the

tempest and the crash of thunder. He preached therefore the ‘glad

tidings of great joy,’ and preached them with success, in the church

of the convent of St. Francis. The Canons complained bitterly to the

council. ‘A strange thing this,’ they said, ‘to see in Lausanne _two_

preachers at a time! A whole multitude of do-nothing monks, well and

good! But two preachers of Jesus Christ, what useless waste!’ ‘The less

preaching there is the better,’ said the friends of Rome. ‘The more

preaching the better,’ said the friends of the Gospel. If the Canons

did their duty, remarked some one, instead of two preachers we should

have thirty.[385] The burgesses, as usual, took a middle course which

must fail to satisfy either one party or the other. They resolved that

the evangelists should preach in the church of Mary Magdalene, but

without removing the altars, the fonts, the organs, the images, and

other decorations, ‘which did no harm to anybody,’ said the burgesses;

and that the friars of the Dominican order should also celebrate in the

same church the Roman Catholic service in the usual way.[386] That is

what the great Saxon reformer called ‘trying to bring together Luther

and the pope.’

[Sidenote: IMAGE WORSHIP.]

Viret therefore preached in that church. But when Lent was come, the

Dominican Monbouson began to discourse in the cathedral, and maintained

their Romish traditions with violence and plenty of lying. Viret was

informed of it, and as he thought that the best way to refute the

papal doctrine was to make it distinctly known, he put in writing the

assertions of the friar and called upon him publicly to defend them,

announcing that he was prepared to reply to him. Monbouson felt strong

enough to maintain his thesis when he stood surrounded by a whole

phalanx of scholastic doctors and had nobody to contradict him, but he

grew pale in the presence of the young Viret. ‘Ah,’ said he, ‘I would

gladly do what you propose at Avignon, at Paris, or at Dôle; but at

Lausanne there is nobody capable of judging of the matter.’--‘You ought

then to preach only at Dôle, Paris, or Avignon,’ replied Viret; ‘but

since you have lied at Lausanne, it is at Lausanne that satisfaction

is due.’ Then the friar, anxious to get out of his embarrassment,

withdrew in the quietest manner and disappeared.[387] The reformed

Christians did not think, with those gentlemen of Lausanne, that

images, altars, etc., did nobody any harm. They believed that the

paintings did harm. They believed that the people, thanks to the

images, made for themselves many minor gods before which they bent

their knees in order to obtain this or that favor, or the healing of

this or that malady: that the visible made them forget the invisible:

that it was frightful to think that, every time some simple soul

came to worship God in his temple, those figures of saints became

occasions of falling or of scandal. ‘Alas!’ they said, ‘how many

poor creatures called to be children of God have been made by those

images children of the devil!’ Those, therefore, of the reformed of

Lausanne, in whose judgment the pictures of saints and angels seduced

and almost inevitably led astray the weak, began to stir in the matter.

Commencing with the church of the Magdalene, they removed the images

and the altars and broke or burnt them. Then betaking themselves

to the church of St. Francis, they did the same there, and counted

themselves happy in thus keeping the commandment, _Thou shalt have

no other gods before me_. The old folk of Lausanne, who were already

disconsolate at being left without a bishop, were still more distressed

when they found themselves deprived of their images and their masses;

and they sent deputies to Berne to complain of it. The Bernese council

listened to them with all politeness, and dismissed them with good

words. Lausanne then sent another deputation, consisting of twelve

persons of distinction. At Berne they were asked, ‘What is it that you

want?’ ‘Two masses weekly,’ they replied, according to a Lausannese

manuscript.[388] If the statement is true, the request was certainly

very moderate for zealous Catholics. The concession was made to

them, but it was coupled with the condition that they should provide

ministers for all the churches that asked for them. At the same time

they gave them to understand that it would be well to hold at Lausanne

a great disputation on religion, in order to decide between Rome and

Reform. That was a good deal to ask for the two masses which were

granted them.

The Bernese, indeed, were anxious that the Vaudois, whose country they

had recently conquered, should attach themselves to the Reformation.

It was no doubt partly from a regard to political interests that they

wished this, but they did not overlook the interest of religion.

Be that as it may, the reformation of religion in that country was

a source of great prosperity both temporal and spiritual. The Pays

de Vaud was to offer the stranger, at a later time, not only those

beauties of nature which excite our admiration, but still more,

numerous examples of sincere and vital piety, which is far sweeter

and pleasanter than its lakes, and more sublime than its peaks and

glaciers. The seed which was scattered at the epoch of the Reformation,

in its valleys and on its mountains, was truly the Word of God; and one

cannot but see there the fulfilment of that ancient oracle, _He that

soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap everlasting life_.

The conversion of Yverdon had been somewhat checked by the siege which

the town had sustained. The lords of Berne wished in general to employ,

like Viret, evangelical means; to reveal to their new subjects the

grosser superstitions under whose yoke they had been held, and to give

them the knowledge of the truth. For that end they resolved to appoint

first a public disputation such as had been held at Zurich, Berne,

and Geneva. As soon as the report was circulated in the country that

a great assembly for discussion on matters of faith was to be held at

Lausanne, the priests and their friends were alarmed. The excitement

extended to all the villages. The friends of the papacy expected to see

black clouds gathering on the horizon, and a violent storm presently

burst on the old ship which had carried their fathers, and make it

founder, thus engulfing in the depths of the sea all the traditions of

their doctrine and all the pomps of their worship. They determined to

do everything in their power to oppose such an assembly, and they wrote

to the bishop and to the council at Friburg, to the pope and to the

emperor.

[Sidenote: A DISPUTATION APPOINTED.]

The cry of distress which they uttered was heard. The council of

Friburg sent a deputation to Berne to oppose the projected meeting.

Charles V., who was then in Italy, addressed a letter to the council

of _his imperial city_, requiring it ‘to prevent that disputation as

well as any change in matters of faith, to restore everything to its

former state, to allow nothing contrary to the tenor of his edicts, and

to await quietly the council.’ This missive was dated from Savigliano,

July 3, 1536.[389]

It was evident that the country had arrived at a critical pass, and

that it was necessary to find some way of escape. The remedy proposed

by the priests and the monks was,--to draw back. They assailed the

Reformation from the pulpit, and they hurried from house to house and

circulated in the streets the most outrageous reports against the

reformed and the Reformation. Some of them opposed the disputation by

asserting that ‘the ministers are magicians who have in their service

a multitude of demons by means of which they bewitch their hearers.’

Other priests made up their mind to put a good face on the matter.

They blustered a good deal; they bragged of having already won many

a victory over their adversaries. ‘Let them only give us permission

to contend with them in a regular discussion,’ they said, ‘and we are

strong enough to beat them.’[390]

The council of Berne no longer hesitated. Without awaiting the possible

decision of the emperor, they issued, July 16, an edict in opposition

to the orders of Charles. ‘We desire,’ the edict ran, ‘that the people

of our territories, (which by the grace of God we have justly acquired

by conquest,) should walk with all their hearts in the way which our

Lord has commanded. Nevertheless that has not been done, and even gross

insults have been offered to the preachers and to those who wished to

follow the Gospel. Desirous of putting in order all these confused

affairs, we enjoin all priests and monks, as well as the preachers,

to present themselves at Lausanne, on October 1 next, for the purpose

of proving what they believe, freely and frankly, by argument on the

grounds of Holy Scripture. We address this appeal not only to those

of our own territories, but to all comers and goers, of whatsoever

nation they be, and we promise them safe-keeping. We further order that

our priests and preachers attend the assembly from its opening to its

close, without default, and under pain of our indignation.’[391]

A few days after the edict of Berne, some Savoyard ambassadors, on

their way to the diet of Berne, delivered the emperor’s letter to

the council of Lausanne. That body having laid on the table side by

side the epistle of his Catholic majesty and the edict of the lords

of Berne, found themselves, to their great dismay, placed between the

anvil and the hammer. Pressed thus by the two conflicting parties,

they foresaw nothing but calamity whether they resisted the one or

the other. The imperial document was read to the general council July

23. Its members, the majority of whom were attached to the Romish

Church, thought that the wisest plan was to obey the most powerful,

and therefore, sheltering themselves under the order of the great

potentate, they enacted that the parties should live peaceably

together, but that no innovation should be made until after the

decision of the council. At the same time a deputation set out for

Berne in order to prevent the disputation. But all was useless. Berne

was stronger than the Emperor Charles V. That prince was in Italy, and

the absent are in the wrong.