Dec. 25.
A few days before this date, the Earl of Mar was married at Alloa to Mary, the second daughter of the late Duke of Lennox and sister of the Countess of Huntly. The king honoured the marriage with his presence, and spent his Christmas with the newly wedded pair. It is rather surprising to find Mar, who had always been on the ultra-Protestant side, allying himself to a daughter of the papist Lennox; but tradition informs us that the god of love had in this case overcome that of politics—if there be such a deity. There were also some natural obstructions, for the earl was a widower of five-and-thirty, while the bride was little more than a girl. The story is, that his lordship, finding the young lady scornful, became low-spirited to such a degree as to alarm his old school-fellow, the king, for his life. Learning what was the matter, James told him in his characteristic familiar style: ‘By ——, ye shanna die, Jock,[193] for ony lass in a’ the land!’ He then used his influence as virtual guardian of the Lennox family, and soon brought about the match. From this pair have descended some of the most remarkable patriots, lawyers, statesmen, and divines, to which our country has given birth.[194]
1592.
In the midst of the festivities at Alloa, the king was unpleasantly disturbed by intelligence of the capture of George Ker, adverted to in the next article.
Dec. 27. 1592-3.
Jan. 9.
In the latter part of this year, the king was nearly on as bad terms with the clergy as ever. They openly reproached him in their pulpits with slackness of justice against the enemies of religion. One maintained that he might very properly be excommunicated, if he resisted their behests. The king told the provost to pull them out of their pulpits when they spoke so against him; but this the provost plainly said he could not do—he preferred God before men. Things were in this ticklish state when George Ker was taken with sundry letters from Catholics at home to Catholics abroad, and three blank letters from Huntly, Errol, and Angus, believed to be the foundation of a conspiracy with Spain against the Protestant religion. The brethren met in Mr Robert Bruce’s gallery to devise measures, and a huge deputation went down to Holyroodhouse, to confer with the king. He received them in the great hall, and was at first very angry with them for their thus meeting unauthorisedly, saying, ‘“he knew not of it till all the wives in the kail-mercat knew of it.” Yet in the end, to mitigate them in some measure, he said he liked weel their zeal, for he knew they did it for love of the good cause.’—Cal. So began a sort of civil war, which lasted two or three years, and ended in the banishment of the three Catholic nobles, as already related.
Mr Tytler attributes these new troubles to the persecuting spirit of the Presbyterian divines. ‘The principle of toleration,’ he says, ‘divine as it assuredly is in its origin, yet so late in its recognition even amongst the best men, was then utterly unknown to either party, Reformed or Catholic. The permission even of a single case of Catholic worship, however secret; the attendance of a solitary individual at a single mass, in the remotest district of the land, in the most secluded chamber, and where none could come but such as knelt before the altar for conscience’ sake, and in all sincerity of soul; such worship and its permission for an hour, was considered an open encouragement of Antichrist and idolatry. To extinguish the mass for ever, to compel its supporters to embrace what the kirk considered to be the purity of presbyterian truth, and this under the penalties of life and limb, or in its mildest form of treason, banishment and forfeiture, was considered not merely praiseworthy, but a high point of religious duty; and the whole apparatus of the kirk, the whole inquisitorial machinery of detection and persecution, was brought to bear upon the accomplishment of these great ends.’
The king, whether from his natural disposition, or views of policy, was averse to harassing the papists. He one day spoke privately to Lord Hamilton of his unhappy position. ‘“You see, my lord, how I am used, and have no man in whom I may trust more than in Huntly, &c. If I receive him, the ministers cry out that I am an apostate from the religion; if not, I am left desolate.” “If he and the rest be not enemies to the religion,” said the Lord Hamilton, “ye may receive them; otherwise not.” “I cannot tell,” saith the king, “what to make of that; but the ministry hold them for enemies. Always, I would think it good that they enjoyed liberty of conscience.” Then the Lord Hamilton crying aloud, said: “Sir, then we are all gone, then we are all gone, then we are all gone! If there were no moe to withstand, I will withstand.” When the king perceived his servants to approach, he smiled and said: “My lord, I did this to try your mind.”‘—Cal. Few things could better illustrate the sanctity in which the principle of intolerance was then held, than to find a contemporary historian relating this anecdote as one simply illustrative of the infirm adherence of King James to the presbyterian cause.