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]