1546. Cardinal Beaton was on this day assassinated in Scotland. He was
primate of that kingdom, over which he exercised almost sovereign sway.
Just before his death he got into his power George Wishart, a gentleman
by birth, who preached against Romish superstitions, and caused him to
be condemned to the stake for heresy. The cardinal refused the sacrament
to his victim, on the ground that it was not reasonable to allow a
spiritual benefit to an obstinate heretic, condemned by the church.
Wishart was tied to a tree in the castle-yard of St. Andrew’s, with bags
of gunpowder fastened about his body. The cardinal and prelates were
seated on rich cushions with tapestry hangings before them, from whence
they viewed the execution of their sentence. The gunpowder having
exploded without ending Wishart’s bodily sufferings, the inflexible
reformer exclaimed from the fire, “This flame hath scorched my body, yet
hath it not daunted my spirit: but he who from yonder high place
beholdeth me with such pride, shall within a few days lie in the same as
ignominiously as now he is seen proudly to rest himself.” After these
words, the cord that went about his neck was drawn by one of the
executioners to stop his breath, the fire was increased, his body was
consumed to ashes, and the cardinal caused proclamation to be made that
none should pray for the heretic under pain of the heaviest
ecclesiastical censures. If the church, said the priests, had found such
a protector in former times, she had maintained her authority; but the
cardinal’s cruelty struck the people with horror, and John Lesly,
brother to the earl of Rothes, with Normand Lesly, the earl of Rothes’
son, (who was disgusted on account of some private quarrel,) and other
persons of birth and quality, openly vowed to avenge Wishart’s death.
Early in the morning they entered the cardinal’s palace at St. Andrews,
which he had strongly fortified; though they were not above sixteen
persons, they thrust out a hundred tradesmen and fifty servants, whom
they seized separately, before any suspicion arose of their intentions;
and having shut the gates, they proceeded very deliberately to execute
their purpose on the cardinal. Beaton alarmed with the noise which he
heard in the castle, barricadoed the door of his chamber: but finding
that they had brought fire in order to force their way, and having
obtained, as is believed, a promise of life, he opened the door; and
reminding them that he was a priest, he conjured them to spare him. Two
of them rushed upon him with drawn swords, but a third, James Melvil,
stopped their career, and bade them reflect that this work was the work
and judgment of God, and ought to be executed with becoming deliberation
and gravity. Then turning the point of his sword towards Beaton, he
called to him, “Repent thee, thou wicked cardinal, of all thy sins and
iniquities, especially of the murder of Wishart, that instrument of God
for the conversion of these lands: it is his death which now cries
vengeance upon thee: we are sent by God to inflict the deserved
punishment. For here, before the Almighty, I protest, that it is neither
hatred of thy person, nor love of thy riches, nor fear of thy power,
which moves me to seek thy death: but only because thou hast been, and
still remainest, an obstinate enemy to Christ Jesus, and his holy
gospel.” Having spoken these words, without giving Beaton time to finish
that repentance to which he exhorted him, he thrust him through the
body, and the cardinal fell dead at his feet. Upon a rumour that the
castle was taken, a great tumult arose in the city; and several
partisans of the cardinal armed themselves with intent to scale the
walls. When they were told of his death, they desisted, and the people
insisting upon a sight of the cardinal’s body, his corpse was exposed to
their view from the very same place wherein he sat to behold the
execution of George Wishart.
The sanguinary spirit of these times has disappeared, and we look upon
what remains to us of the individuals who suffered, or acted under its
influence, as memorials of such crimes and criminals as we in a milder
age dare not imagine our country can be again afflicted with. The sight
of cardinal Beaton’s house in the Cowgate, at Edinburgh, may have
induced useful reflections on past intolerance, and increased charitable
dispositions in some whose persuasions widely differ. If this be so, a
representation of it in this sheet may not be less agreeable to the
moralist than to the lover of antiquities. The drawing from whence the
engraving on the next page is taken, was made on the spot in 1824.
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