The Romanists, encouraged by the hope of success, began now to put forth strenuous exertions, both military and controversial, to recover their lost ground; but the rising of the Earl of Huntly in the north was put down by the vigour of Lord James Stuart, who was now known as the Earl of Murray; and the success of the abbot of Crossraguel, in debate with Knox, was not such as to encourage others to follow in his footsteps. That dignitary, in his chapel in Kirkoswald, had, on August 30th, 1562, read a series of articles on the mass and kindred subjects, which he offered to defend against all comers; and on the following Sunday Knox, who happened to be in the neighbourhood and heard of the challenge, came to the church to meet him. But though he had courteously intimated to the abbot that he would be present, that dignitary did not put in an appearance, and Knox himself preached in the chapel. At the close of the service a letter from the abbot was put into his hand; and, after negotiations, they met on the 28th of September in the house of the provost of Maybole, where forty persons on each side were admitted as witnesses. The debate lasted for three days, and strangely enough was made by the abbot to turn mainly on the significance of the act of Melchizedek in bringing forth bread and wine when he went out to meet Abraham returning from his victories over the five kings, which Knox averred "appertained nothing to the purpose." At the end of the third day Knox, on the ground of the scanty accommodation at Maybole, proposed that they should adjourn to Ayr to finish the discussion; but this was declined by the abbot, who promised to come to Edinburgh and resume it there if the Queen would permit. But he never came to the metropolis, though Knox alleges that he himself had applied to the Privy Council for the necessary permission. As usual in such cases, the victory was claimed for each by his own partisans; but to counteract the false reports that were circulated, Knox prepared and published the curious tract, purporting to be an accurate account of the debate, which Dr. Laing has reprinted in the sixth volume of the Reformer's works; and though the discussion itself was on an entirely irrelevant issue, Knox dealt with the very heart of the question in the prologue of his pamphlet, which is written in his most vigorous and trenchant style. One extract will show how sarcastic he could sometimes be, and with what grim humour he could occasionally treat even the most sacred subjects. He has been comparing the making of the "wafer-god" to that of the idols so witheringly described by Isaiah in the 40th and 41st chapters of his prophecies, and then proceeds as follows: "These are the artificers and workmen that travail in making of this god, I think as many in number as the prophet reciteth to have travailed in making of the idols; and if the power of both shall be compared, I think they shall be found in all things equal, except that the god of bread is subject unto more dangers than were the idols of the Gentiles. Men made them: men make it. They were deaf and dumb: it cannot speak, hear, or see. Briefly, in infirmity they wholly agree, except that (as I have said) the poor god of bread is most miserable of all other idols; for according to their matter whereof they are made, they will remain without corruption for many years; but within one year that god will putrefy, and then he must be burned. They can abide the vehemency of the wind, frost, rain, or snow; but the wind will blow that god to sea, the rain or the snow will make it dough again; yea, which is most of all to be feared, that god is a prey (if he be not well kept) to rats and mice; for they will desire no better dinner than white round gods enow. But, oh then, what becometh of Christ's natural body? By miracle it flies to heaven again, if the papists teach truly; for how soon soever the mouse takes hold, so soon flieth Christ away, and letteth her gnaw the bread. A bold and puissant mouse! but a feeble and miserable god! Yet would I ask a question: 'Whether hath the priest or the mouse greater power?' By his words it is made a god; by her teeth it ceaseth to be a god: let them advise and answer." Truly there is a ring of honest old Hugh Latimer in all this; and if there were many such passages in Knox's sermons, it is not difficult to explain how it was that "the common people heard him gladly."
In the May of the following year (1563), Knox was sent for by Mary to Loch Leven, where she was at the time residing, and treated to another "interview," in which she endeavoured to induce him to use his influence to put a stop to the prosecution of certain parties for their celebration or countenancing of the mass. But nothing of importance resulted, though from his own showing it is apparent that on this occasion he was very nearly thrown off his guard by the skill of her acting and the "glamour" of her presence.
In this same month Parliament met for the first time since Mary's arrival in Scotland, and Knox confidently expected that the Treaty of Leith would be ratified, and the establishment of religion by the Parliament of 1560 would be put beyond all question by its action. But he was doomed to disappointment. The "holy water of the court" had not been without effect; the Protestant leaders had slackened in their enthusiasm, and what he regarded as a great opportunity was lost. He expostulated with many of the principal men of the party on the subject, but his efforts were in vain; and the "contention" between him and Murray over it was "so sharp" that there was a breach of friendship between them which lasted for more than a year. The effect of all this upon him was exceeding depressing; and on a Sunday before the dissolution of Parliament he took occasion to unburden his soul to his congregation. He expressed his sadness at the thought that those who had in their hands the opportunity to establish God's cause had actually betrayed it; he affirmed that the Parliament by which the Protestant Confession was adopted and the Church reformed was as free and lawful as any ever held in Scotland; and as reports of the Queen's marriage were now in circulation, he warned them of the consequences that would ensue if she should marry a papist. His words gave great offence to many Protestants as well as Romanists; and when the Queen heard of them he was again summoned into her presence. This was the occasion on which the much talked of "tears" were so plentifully shed, and therefore we may reproduce the account of it given by McCrie, which is itself only a condensation into the language of to-day of the narrative given by Knox in his History.
"Her Majesty received him in a very different manner from what she had done at Loch Leven. Never had prince been handled (she passionately exclaimed) as she was: she had borne with him in all his rigorous speeches against herself and her uncles; she had offered unto him audience whenever he pleased to admonish her. 'And yet,' said she, 'I cannot be quit of you. I vow to God I shall be once revenged.' On pronouncing these words with great violence she burst into a flood of tears which interrupted her speech. When the Queen had composed herself, he proceeded calmly to make his defence. Her grace and he had (he said) at different times been engaged in controversy, and he never before perceived her offended with him. When it should please God to deliver her from the bondage of error in which she had been trained, through want of instruction in the truth, he trusted that her Majesty would not find the liberty of his tongue offensive. Out of the pulpit, he thought, few had occasion to be offended with him; but there he was not master of himself, but bound to obey Him who commanded him to speak plainly, and to flatter no flesh on the face of the earth.
"'But what have you do with my marriage?' said the Queen. He was proceeding to state the extent of his commission as a preacher, and the reasons which led him to touch on that delicate subject; but she interrupted him by repeating her question: 'What have ye to do with my marriage? Or what are you in this commonwealth?' 'A subject born within the same, madame,' replied the Reformer, piqued by the last question, and the contemptuous tone in which it was proposed. 'And albeit I be neither earl, lord, nor baron in it, yet has God made me (how abject that ever I be in your eyes) a profitable member within the same. Yea, madame, to me it appertains no less to forewarn of such things as may hurt it, if I foresee them, than it doth to any of the nobility; for both my vocation and conscience requires plainness of me. And therefore, madame, to yourself I say that which I spake in public place: whensoever the nobility of this realm shall consent that ye be subject to an unfaithful husband, they do as much as in them lieth to renounce Christ, to banish His truth from them, to betray the freedom of this realm, and perchance shall in the end do small comfort to yourself.' At these words the Queen began again to weep and sob with great bitterness. The superintendent (Erskine of Dun, who was present), who was a man of mild and gentle spirit, tried to mitigate her grief and resentment: he praised her beauty and her accomplishments, and told her that there was not a prince in Europe who would not reckon himself happy in gaining her hand. During this scene, the severe and inflexible mind of the Reformer displayed itself. He continued silent, and with unaltered countenance, until the Queen had given vent to her feelings. He then protested that he never took delight in the distress of any creature; it was with great difficulty that he could see his own boys weep when he corrected them for their faults, far less could he rejoice in her Majesty's tears; but seeing he had given her no just reason of offence, and had only discharged his duty, he was constrained, though unwillingly, to sustain her tears, rather than hurt his conscience and betray the commonwealth through his silence.
"This apology inflamed the Queen still more: she ordered him immediately to leave her presence, and wait the signification of her pleasure in the adjoining room. There he stood as 'one whom men had never seen'; all his friends (Lord Ochiltree excepted) being afraid to show him the smallest countenance. In this situation he addressed himself to the court ladies, who sat in their richest dress in the chamber. 'O fair ladies, how pleasing were this life of yours, if it should ever abide, and then, in the end, that we might pass to heaven with all this gay gear! But fie upon that knave Death, that will come whether we will or not!' Having engaged them in a conversation, he passed the time till Erskine came and informed him that he was allowed to go home until her Majesty had taken further advice. The Queen insisted to have the judgment of the Lords of Articles, whether the words he had used in the pulpit were not actionable; but she was persuaded to desist from a prosecution. 'And so that storm quieted in appearance, but never in the heart.'"[[1]]
At this time, when many of his friends were cold toward him, an effort was made by some of his enemies to blacken his moral character by accusing him of a vile offence, but the lie had nothing in it to make it formidable. It was "a lie that was all a lie," and so it could be "met and fought with outright." The vindication was so complete that now very few remember that the allegation was ever made, and we refer to it here only to show that he too was made an illustration of the poet's words: "Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny."
Much more serious was the attempt made about this same time to convict him of high treason. During the absence of Mary in Stirling, and on the day of the observance of the communion in the Protestant churches, her servants at Holyrood had taken measures for having the mass celebrated with more than usual publicity and splendour. The result was a scene of confusion and "brawling," almost indeed of riot, which was caused by the interference of some Protestants who were present. Two of these were afterwards indicted for their offence, which was called in the technical language of the country and the time, "forethought felony, hame-sucken, and invasion of the palace." Knox had been empowered by a general commission from the Church to ask the presence of the Protestant leaders in Edinburgh for consultation and assistance in any emergency which in his judgment might require the same; and believing that the prosecution of these men might issue in very serious consequences, he drew up under the advice of the friends with whom he usually acted a circular letter, which he sent to the principal gentlemen of the "congregation," stating the circumstances, and asking them without fail to come to Edinburgh for the trial. A copy of this letter found its way into the hands of Mary, who laid it before the Privy Council, by whom it was pronounced to be treasonable. The Queen was exultant. Now was her opportunity, and she resolved to turn it to the best advantage. An extraordinary meeting of the councillors and other noblemen was convened to be held at Edinburgh about the middle of December, 1563, to try the cause. Some urged Knox to acknowledge that he had done wrong, and cast himself on the Queen's mercy, but that he absolutely refused to do, because he did not believe that he had committed an offence; and when Secretary Maitland and Murray called upon him, and somewhat ungenerously sought to get out of him the nature of the defence which he meant to set up, he very wisely put an end to the conversation with them, and resolved to keep his own counsel until he was actually called to vindicate his conduct.
When the day came, he stood forth as the champion of the liberty of assembly, as before he had appeared in vindication of free speech; and so admirably did he plead his cause that he was acquitted, if not unanimously at least nem. con., of the charge which had been brought against him.
Much has been said of the bearing of Knox towards Queen Mary, and said, as we believe, most unjustly, for though he felt himself constrained to oppose her course, and would not yield to her wishes, yet he was never rude, or irreverent, or ungentlemanly. As Carlyle says, "he was never in the least ill-tempered with her Majesty;" and most of those who accuse him in this matter, we shrewdly suspect, have never read the accounts of his interviews with her, but have simply accepted the common babblement which has been so long current regarding them. No candid student of the rehearsal of these interviews in Knox's History, we are sure, could refuse to endorse the accuracy of Carlyle's statement of the case when he says "Mary often enough bursts into tears, oftener than once into passionate long continued fits of weeping, Knox standing with mild and pitying visage, but without the least hair's-breadth of recanting or recoiling, waiting till the fit pass, and then with all softness but with all inexorability taking up his theme again."