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.
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.
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]
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.
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.
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]
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.
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.
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]
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.
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.’
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.
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]
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!’
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.)
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]
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.
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.
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.
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.’
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!...’
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.