On the 4th of March, 1583, died Bernard Gilpin. He was born at Kentmire,
in Westmoreland, 1517, sent to Queen’s college, Oxford, in 1553, read
the writings of Erasmus, excelled in logic and philosophy, and studied
Greek and Hebrew; being a Catholic he held a public disputation against
John Hooper, the Protestant, who was martyred at the stake under Henry
VIII. Appointed to hold a disputation against Peter Martyr, another
eminent reformer, who read the divinity lecture in Oxford, he diligently
studied the scriptures and the writings of the early fathers, and “was
not sorry to be overcome by the truth.” Cuthbert Tunstall, bishop of
Durham, gave him a living, which he shortly afterwards resigned, because
he desired to travel, and could not hold it while absent with peace of
conscience. “But,” saith the bishop, “thou mayst hold it with a
dispensation, and thou shalt be dispensed withal.” To this Gilpin
answered, that when he should be called on for an account of his
stewardship, he feared it would not serve his turn to answer, that he
had been “dispensed withal.” Whereupon the bishop admired, and “Father’s
soul!” said he, “Gilpin will die a beggar.” He afterwards went to
Lovaine and Paris, from whence he returned to England in the days of
queen Mary; and bishop Tunstall gave him the rectory of Essingdon, by
which he became archdeacon of Durham, and preached on scriptural
authority against the vices in the church. Those who hated his
integrity and feared his talents, sought his blood by insnaring
controversy. He avoided vain jangling, and beat his adversaries in solid
argument. At one of these disputations, carried on in an undertone with
bishop Tunstall’s chaplains, and close behind the bishop, who was
sitting before the fire, the bishop, leaning his chair somewhat
backwards, hearkened to what was said; and when they had done, turning
to his chaplains, “Father’s soul!” said the bishop, “let him alone, for
he hath more learning than you all.” He was twice accused of heresy to
Tunstall, who abhorred to shed blood; but information being given
against him to Bonner, bishop of London, an order was issued for his
apprehension. Gilpin had intelligence of the danger, yet he only
provided against it by ordering William Airy, his house steward, to
provide a long garment, that he might go the more comely to the stake.
The sudden death of Mary cleared off the impending storm. Not long
afterwards, bishop Tunstall presented Gilpin to the rectory of Houghton,
a large parish with fourteen villages, which he laboriously served. He
built a grammar school, from whence he sent students almost daily to the
university, and maintained them there at his own cost. Honoured by the
wise, and respected by the noble, the earl of Bedford solicited from
queen Elizabeth the vacant bishopric of Carlisle for Gilpin. A _congé
d’élire_ was accordingly issued, but Gilpin resisted the dignity against
all entreaties. “If I had been chosen to a bishopric elsewhere,” he
said, “I would not have refused it; but in Carlisle I have many friends
and kindred, at whom I must connive in many things, not without hurt to
myself, or else deny them many things, not without hurt to them, which
difficulties I have avoided by the refusal of that bishopric.” He was
chosen provost of his own (Queen’s) college in Oxford, but this
advancement he also declined. Yet he did the office and work of a
bishop, by preaching, taking care of the poor, providing for the
necessities of other churches, erecting schools, encouraging learned
men, and keeping open house to all that needed. Cecil, lord Burleigh,
the queen’s secretary, having visited Gilpin at Houghton, on his return
towards Durham, when he came to Rainton-hill, reflected his eye upon the
open country he had passed, and looking earnestly upon Gilpin’s house,
said, “I do not blame this man for refusing a bishopric. What doth he
want that a bishopric could more enrich him withal? besides that he is
free from the great weight of cares.” Gilpin annually visited the people
of Ridsdale and Tindale, and was “little else than adored by that half
barbarous and rustic people.” When at Rothbury, in these parts, “there
was a pestilent faction among some of them who were wont to resort to
the church; the men being bloodily minded, practised a bloody manner of
revenge, termed by them a _deadly feud_:” if one faction came to the
church the other kept away, inasmuch as they could not meet without
bloodshed. It so happened that when Gilpin was in the pulpit both
parties came to the church; one party stood in the chancel, the other in
the body of the church. Each body was armed with swords and javelins,
and their weapons making a clashing sound, Gilpin, unaccustomed to such
a spectacle, was somewhat moved, yet he proceeded with his sermon. A
second time the weapons clashed; the one side drew near to the other;
and they were about to commence battle in the church. Gilpin descended,
stepped to the leaders on each side, appeased the tumult, and laboured
to establish peace between them; but he could only obtain from these
rude borderers, that they would not break the peace while Mr. Gilpin
remained. On this he once more ascended the pulpit, and spent the
allotted time in inveighing against this unchristian and savage custom,
and exhorting them to forego it for ever. Another incident, further
illustrating the manners of the people, will be mentioned below; it may
be added here, however, that afterwards, when he revisited these parts,
any one who dreaded a deadly foe, found himself safer in Gilpin’s
presence than with armed guards. In his younger years, while on a ride
to Oxford, Gilpin overtook a youth who was one while walking, and at
another time running. He found that the lad came from Wales, knew Latin,
had a smattering of Greek, and was bound for Oxford, with intent to be a
scholar. “Wilt thou,” said Gilpin, “be contented to go with me? I will
provide for thee.” The youth assented, Gilpin took him first to Oxford,
afterwards to Houghton, where he improved him exceedingly in Greek and
Hebrew, and sent him at last to Oxford. This youth was the learned Hugh
Broughton; he is said to have requited this protection and care by
something worse than inconstancy. Gilpin’s nature was kind and
charitable, he visited sick chambers and prisons, and dispensed large
bounties. He was firm in rectitude; and hence, on one occasion, when
bishop Tunstall had inclined to his enemies, and insisted on Gilpin’s
preaching, sorely against the good man’s petitions to be excused, and
repeated refusals, he at length mounted the pulpit, and concluded his
discourse by denouncing the enormities in the bishop’s diocese; looking
at Tunstall, he said “Lest your lordship should make answer, that you
had no notice of these things given you, behold, I bring them to your
knowledge. Let not your lordship say these crimes have been committed by
the faults of others, without your knowledge; for whatsoever either
yourself shall do in person, or suffer through your connivance to be
done by others, is wholly your own. Therefore,” thundered forth the
faithful preacher, “in presence of God, his angels and man, I pronounce
your fatherhood to be the author of all these evils; yea, and, in that
strict day of the general account, I shall be a witness to testify
against you, that all these things have come to your knowledge by my
means: and all these men shall bear witness thereof, who have heard me
speaking unto you this day.” Gilpin’s adherents, terrified at this
unexpected and bold address, apprehended the worst consequences from the
bishop’s power. “You have,” said they, “put a sword into his hand to
slay you. If heretofore he hath been offended with you without a cause,
what may you now expect from him who, being provoked, shall make use of
his own power to injure you by right or wrong.” Gilpin answered, “Be not
afraid; the Lord God over-ruleth us all; so that the truth may be
propagated, and God glorified, God’s will be done concerning me.” After
dinner, Gilpin waited on the bishop to take leave of him, and return
home. “It shall not be so,” said the bishop, “for I will bring you to
your house.” When they arrived at Mr. Gilpin’s house, and had entered
the parlour, the bishop on a sudden caught Mr. Gilpin by the hand, and
addressed him in these words:--“Father Gilpin, I acknowledge you are
fitter to be bishop of Durham, than myself to be parson of this church
of yours; I ask forgiveness for errors past; forgive me, father. I know
you have hatched up some chickens that now seek to pick out your eyes;
but so long as I shall live bishop of Durham, be secure: no man shall
injure you.” Thus the fearless integrity of Gilpin, by which it was
conceived he had jeopardized his life, saved him from his enemies and
advanced him beyond the reach of their further hate.
After a life excellent for kindness, charity, and faithful dealing
towards the people intrusted to his care, he died at the age of
sixty-six worn out by labour in well doing.
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