In Hamburg he diligently applied his whole time to translating, but on being interrupted he moved to Cologne about the first of May, 1525, where he put his translation into the hands of the printer. Not only was the entire sacred text then translated, but his prologue was composed before he began to print. At this time John Cochlæus, dean of Frankfort, the “watchdog of Romanism,” was at Cologne, an exile from his own city on account of uprisings of the peasants against the clergy. He was occupied at Cologne printing a book. In consequence of this he became acquainted with the printers of Cologne, whom he heard confidently boasting over their cups that whether the king and cardinal would or not all England in a short time would be furnished the New Testament in English. He heard that there was “an Englishman there, learned, skilled in languages, eloquent, whom, however, he never could see or converse with.” Inviting, therefore, some printers to his lodging, and, after exciting them with wine, one of them disclosed to him that the New Testament had been translated into the English language; that it was then in the hands of the printers, who were then printing an edition of three thousand copies; and that the expenses were being met by English merchants, who were to convey it secretly to England and dispense it widely throughout the realm before the king or the cardinal could discover or prohibit it.
Though mentally distracted between fear and wonder, Cochlæus disguised his grief in a cheerful manner; and after having considered sadly the magnitude of the danger, he deliberated with himself how he might conveniently obstruct “these very wicked attempts.” So he went to Herman Rinck, a Senator of Cologne, and a knight, well known both to the Emperor and the King of England, to whom he made known the whole affair. On hearing this Rinck went to the Senate of Cologne, and procured an order interdicting the printers from proceeding further with the work. Tyndale contrived, however, to procure the printed sheets, and sailed up the Rhine to Worms about October, 1525; but Rinck and Cochlæus wrote at once to the king and cardinal and the Bishop of Rochester to take the utmost precaution in all the seaports of England, lest that “most pernicious article of merchandise should be introduced.” Apparently nothing could have been more complete than the triumph of Cochlæus. He had not only interrupted the printing of the New Testament at Cologne, but had disclosed the secret of Tyndale’s intentions to those who were most able to take effectual steps to prevent the introduction of the work in England, if he should ever succeed in getting it printed at all.
This interruption, though felt most keenly at the time by Tyndale, only inflamed his zeal, and the remarkable result was that two editions were issued by him in the same period in which he had contemplated only one. Thus the hostility of Cochlæus, which, as we have seen, threatened to arrest the progress of the work, only delayed its completion for a time and enabled Tyndale to issue six thousand copies of his translation instead of three thousand. “Early in 1526 both editions were sent into England in cases, in barrels, in bales of cloth, in sacks of flour, and in every other secret way that could be thought of.” The reception in England was remarkable. They were eagerly bought and read to the inexpressible joy and comfort of thousands who had long walked in darkness, and as eagerly proscribed and sought out for destruction. Sir Thomas More fiercely attacked the translation as ignorant, dishonest and heretical. In the autumn Tunstal and Warham issued mandates for the collection and surrender of copies. Tunstal attacked it in a sermon at St. Paul’s, and professed to have found three thousand errors in it. So the cardinal and all the bishops decided that the book should be burned, which was vigorously carried out. But this was all in vain, for the tide was fairly flowing and it could not be checked. A formidable organization was ready in England to welcome and circulate the books. In proportion to the violence with which the clergy condemned the books was the esteem in which they were held by those in England to whom the light was breaking.
BISHOP OF LONDON SUPPLIES MONEY TO PRINT BIBLES
In 1529 Bishop Tunstal went to Antwerp to seize Tyndale’s Testaments, and by a singular coincident Tyndale also was there and so it happened that one Parkington, who favored Tyndale, was at Antwerp at the same time. On being informed by the bishop that he would be glad to buy the Testaments, Parkington told him that, as he knew those who had them for sale, he could buy “every book of them that is imprinted and is here unsold.” The bargain was made, and as has been said by the quaint chronicler:
The bishop, thinking he had God by the toe, when indeed he had, as after he thought, the devil by the fist, said: “Gentle Mr. Parkington, do your diligence and get them; and with all my heart I will pay for them whatsoever they cost you, for the books are erroneous and nought, and I intend surely to destroy them all, and to burn them at Paul’s Cross.” Augustus Parkington came to William Tyndale, and said: “William, I know that thou art a poor man, and hast a heap of New Testaments and books by thee, for which thou hast both endangered thy friends and beggared thyself; and I have now gotten thee a merchant, which, with ready money, shall dispatch thee of all thou hast, if thou think it so profitable for yourself.” “Who is this merchant?” said Tyndale. “The Bishop of London,” said Parkington. “Oh, that is because he will burn them,” said Tyndale. “Yea, marry,” quoth Parkington. “I am the gladder,” said Tyndale, “for these two benefits shall come thereof: I shall get money to bring myself out of debt, and the whole world will cry out against the burning of God’s Word; and the overplus of the money that shall remain to me shall make me more studious to correct the New Testament, and so newly to imprint the same once again, and I trust the second will much better like you than ever did the first.” And so went forward the bargain; the bishop had the books; Parkington had the thanks, and Tyndale had the money.
After this, Tyndale corrected the same New Testament, and caused them to be newly imprinted, so that they came thick and threefold over into England. When the bishop perceived that, he sent for Parkington, and said to him: “How cometh this, that there are so many New Testaments abroad? You promised me that you would buy them all.” Then said Parkington: “Surely, I bought all that were to be had, but I perceive they have printed more since. I see it will never be better so long as they have letters and stamps; wherefore you were best to buy the stamps, too, and so you shall be sure.” At which the bishop smiled and so the matter ended.
It so happened that shortly after this that George Constantine was apprehended by Sir Thomas More, suspected of certain heresies. During the time he was in custody, More said to him: “There are beyond the sea Tyndale, Joyce, and a great many of you, I know they can not live without help, and I pray thee tell me who they are that help them thus?” “My lord,” quoth Constantine, “I will tell you truly, it is the Bishop of London that hath helped us, for he hath bestowed among us a great deal of money upon New Testaments to burn them; and that hath been, and yet is, our only succor and comfort.” “Now my troth,” quoth More, “I think even the same, for so much I told the bishop before he went about it.”
BETRAYED AND MURDERED
Tyndale’s enemies endeavored to decoy him into England, but he was too wary to be so easily entrapped, for he well knew what displeasure Henry VIII felt at his tract, called “The Practice of Prelates,” and what penalty the royal indignation would speedily inflict. But his enemies in England, whose power had been shaken by the wide circulation of the English New Testament, were the more enraged against him, and conspired to seize him on the Continent, in the name of the Emperor, and through the treachery of one Henry Philips, a smooth, treacherous villain, in the employ of Stephen Gardiner, after having invited Tyndale to dine with him, had him arrested and had him put in the State prison of the Castle of Vivorde, twenty-three miles from Antwerp, May 23, 1535. The English merchants aggrieved by the loss of an esteemed friend, and by this treacherous assault of their rights and privileges, made every effort to secure his release, but all in vain. The neighboring University of Louvain thirsted for his blood. He was speedily condemned, and on Friday, October 6, 1536, he was strangled at the stake and his body then burned to ashes. At the stake, with a fervent zeal and a loud voice, he cried: “Lord, open the King of England’s eyes.”
As an apostle of liberty, Tyndale stands foremost among the writers of his day, whose heroic fortitude and invincible love of the truth were heard with a force superior to royal and ecclesiastical injunctions; and “the very flames to which fanaticism and tyranny consigned his writings burnt them into the very hearts of the people, and made them powerful instruments in attacking and converting multitudes to the principles of the Reformation. It is not exaggeration to say that the noble sentiments of William Tyndale, uttered in pure, strong, Saxon English, and steeped in the doctrines of the Gospel, gave shape to the views of the most conspicuous promoters of the great movement, who, like himself, sealed their convictions with their blood.”