Chapter I: Preparation of Reform

(FROM THE 2ND CENTURY TO THE YEAR 1522.)

History is of various kinds. It may be literary, philosophical, political, or religious; the last entering most deeply into the inmost facts of our being. The political historian will sometimes disclose the hidden mysteries of the cabinets of princes, will fathom their counsels, unveil their intrigues, and snatch their secrets from a Cæsar, a Charles V., a Napoleon, while human nature in its loftiest aspects remains inaccessible to them. The inward power of conscience, which not seldom impels a man to act in a way opposed to the rules of policy and to the requirements of self-interest, the great spiritual evolutions of humanity, the sacrifices of missionaries and of martyrs, are for them covered with a veil. It is the Gospel alone which gives us the key of these mysteries, so that there remain in history, even for the most able investigators, enigmas which appear insoluble. How is it that schemes conceived with indisputable cleverness fail? How is it that enterprises which seem insane succeed? They cannot tell. No matter, they keep on their way, they pass into other regions and leave behind them territories which have not been explored.

This is to be regretted, for the historian ought to embrace in his survey the whole field of human affairs. He must, of course, take into consideration the earthly powers which bear sway in the world, ambition, despotism, liberty; but he ought to mark also the heavenly powers which religion reveals. The living God must not be excluded from the world which He created. Man must not stop in his contemplations at elementary molecules, nor even at political influences, but must raise himself to this first principle, as Clement of Alexandria named it,--this existence, the idea of which is immediate, original, springs from no other, but is necessarily presupposed in all thought.

God, who renews the greenness of our pastures, who makes the corn come forth out of the bosom of the earth, and covers the trees with blossoms and with fruit, does not abandon the souls of men. The God of the whole visible creation is much more the light and the strength of souls, for one of these is more precious in his sight than all the universe. The Creator, who every spring brings forth out of the winter’s ice and cold a nature full of life, smiling with light and adorned with flowers, can assuredly produce, when it pleases Him, a spiritual springtide in the heart of a torpid and frozen humanity. The Divine Spirit is the sap which infuses into barren souls the vivifying juices of heaven. The world has not seldom been like a desert in which all life seemed to be extinct; and yet, in those periods apparently so arid, subterranean currents were yielding sustenance here and there to solitary plants; and at the hour fixed by Divine providence the living water has gushed forth abundantly to reanimate perishing humanity. Such was the case in the two greatest ages of history, that of the Gospel and that of the Reformation.

[Sidenote: THE SPIRITUAL SPRINGTIDE.]

Such epochs, the most important in human history, are for that reason the worthiest to be studied. The new life which sprang up in the 16th century was everywhere the same, but nevertheless it bore a certain special character in each of the countries in which it appeared; in Germany, in Switzerland, in England, in Scotland, in France, in Italy, in the Netherlands, in Spain, and in other lands. At Wittenberg it was to man that Christian thought especially attached itself, to man fallen, but regenerated and justified by faith. At Geneva it was to God, to His sovereignty and His grace. In Scotland it was to Christ--Christ as expiatory victim, but above all Christ as king, who governs and keeps his people independently of human power.

Scotland is peopled by a vigorous race, vigorous in their virtues and vigorous, we may add, in their faults. Vigor is also one of the distinguishing features of Scottish Christianity, and it is this quality perhaps which led Scotland to attach itself particularly to Christ as to the king of the Church, the idea of power being always involved in the idea of king.

This country is now to be the subject of our narrative. It deserves to be so; for although of small extent and situated on the confines of the West, it has by nature and by faith a motive force which makes itself felt to the ends of the earth.

Two periods are to be noted in the Scottish Reformation, that of Hamilton and that of Knox. It is of the first of these only that we are now to treat. The study of the beginnings of things attracts and interests the mind in the highest degree. Faithful to our plan, we shall ascend to the generative epoch of Caledonian reform, an epoch which Scotland herself has perhaps too much slighted, and we shall exhibit its simple beauty.

Before the days of the Reformation, Scotland received three great impulses in succession from the Christian countries of the south.

The persecutions which at the close of the second century, during the course of the third, and at the beginning of the fourth, fell on the disciples of the Gospel who dwelt in the southern part of Great Britain, drove a great number of them to take refuge in the country of the Scots. These pious men built for themselves humble and solitary hermitages, in green meadows or on steep mountains, and in narrow valleys of the glens; and there, devoting themselves to the service of God, they shed a soft gleam of light in the midst of the fogs of every kind which encompassed them, teaching the ignorant and strengthening the weak. They were called in the Gaelic tongue _gille De_, servants of God, in Latin _cultores Dei_; and in these phrases we find the origin of the name by which they are still known--_Culdees_. Such was the respect which they inspired that, after their death, their cells were often transformed into churches.[1] From them came the first impulse.

[Sidenote: THE CULDEES.]

Several centuries passed away; the feudal system was established in Scotland. The mountainous nature of the country, which made of every domain a sort of fortress, the fewness of the large towns, the absence of any influential body of citizens, the institution of clans, the limited number of the nobles,--all these circumstances combined to make the power of the feudal lords greater than in any other European country; and this power at a later period protected the Reformation from the despotism of the kings. But the influence of the Culdees, though really perceptible in the Middle Ages, was very feeble. It may be said of the things of grace in Scotland as of the works of Creation, that the sun did not come to scatter the mists which brooded over a nature melancholy and monotonous, and that the influence of the winds which, rushing forth from the neighboring seas, roared and raged over the barren heaths or over the fertile plains of Caledonia, was not softened by the breath divine which comes from heaven.

But in the days of the revival a sweet and subtile sound was heard, and the surface of the lochs seemed to become animated. Wickliffe, having given to England the Word of God, some of his followers, and particularly John Resby, came into Scotland. ‘The pope is nothing,’ said Resby in 1407,[2] and he taught at the same time that Christ is everything. He was burnt at Perth.... Thus it was from the disciples of Wickliffe, the _Lollards_, that the second impulse came.

The _reveillé_ of Wickliffe was echoed in Eastern Europe by that of John Huss. In 1421, a Bohemian, one Paul Crawar, arriving from Prague, expounded at St. Andrews the Word of God, which he cited with a readiness and accuracy that astonished his hearers.[3] When led away to execution and bound to the stake, the bold Bohemian said to the priests who stood round him, ‘Generation of Satan, you, like your fathers, are enemies of the truth.’ The priests, not relishing such speeches in the presence of the crowd, had a ball of brass put into his mouth,[4] and the martyr thus silenced was burnt alive without any further protest on his part.

However, Patrick Graham, archbishop of St. Andrews and primate of Scotland, nephew of James I., and a man distinguished for his abilities and his virtues, had heard Crawar. If the heart of the priest had been hard as a stone the heart of the archbishop was like a fertile field. The Word of the Lord took deep root in him. He formed the project of reformation of the Church; but the clergy were indignant; the primate was deprived, was condemned to imprisonment for life, and died in prison.

Then began that struggle between royalty and the nobility which was afterwards to become one of the characteristic features of the time of reform. Kings, instigated by ambitious priests, sought to humble the nobles; the latter were thus predisposed to promote the Reformation. James II. (1437-1460) fought against the nobles both with the sword and by severe laws. James III. (1460-1488) removed them with contempt from his Court and gave himself up to unworthy favorites. James IV. (1488-1503), a man of a nobler spirit, esteemed the aristocracy the ornament of his Court and the strength of his kingdom. During the reign of this prince appeared the first glimmerings of the Reformation. Some pious men, dwellers most of them in the districts of Hill and Cunningham, were enlightened by the Gospel, and, confronting the Roman papacy, boldly declared that all true Christians receive every day spiritually the body of Jesus Christ by faith; that the bread remains bread after consecration, and that the natural body of Christ is not present; that there is a universal priesthood, of which every man and woman who believes in the Saviour is a member; that the pope, who exalts himself above God, is against God; that it is not permissible to take up arms for the things of faith; and that priests may marry.

[Sidenote: JOHN CAMPBELL, LAIRD OF CESSNOCK.]

Among the protectors of these brave folk was John Campbell, laird of Cessnock, a man well grounded in the evangelical doctrine, modest even to timidity, but abounding in works of mercy, and who received with goodwill not only the Lollards but those even whose opinions were opposed to his own. His partner, with a character of greater decision than his own, was a woman well versed in the Bible, and being thoroughly acquainted with the Scriptures was safe against intimidation. Every morning the family and the servants assembled in a room of the mansion, and a priest, the chaplain, opened in the midst of them a New Testament, a very rare book at that period, and read and explained it.[5] When this family worship and the first meal were over, the Campbells would visit the poor and the sick. At the dinner hour they called together some of their neighbors: monks as well as gentlefolk would come and sit at their table. One day the conversation turning on the conventual life and the habits of the priests, Campbell spoke on the subject with moderation but also with freedom. The monks, exasperated, put crafty questions to him, provoked him, and succeeded in drawing from him words which in their eyes were heretical. Forgetting the claims of hospitality they hastened to the house of the bishop and denounced their host and the lady of the house. Inquiry was set on foot; the crime of heresy was proved. Campbell saw the danger which threatened him and appealed to the king.

James IV., who had married Margaret Tudor, daughter of Henry VII., was then reigning in Scotland. His life had not been spotless: he was often tormented with remorse, and in his fits of melancholy he resolved to make up for his sins by applying himself to the administration of justice. He had the two parties appear before him; the monks cited decisions of the Church sufficient to condemn the prisoner. The weak and simple-minded Campbell was somewhat embarrassed;[6] his answers were timid and inadequate. He could talk with widows and orphans, but he could not cope with these monks. But his wife was full of decision and courage. When requested by the king to speak, she took up one by one the accusations of the monks, and setting them face to face with the Holy Scriptures, showed their falsehood. Her speech was clear, serious, and weighty with conviction. The king, persuaded by her eloquence, declared to the monks that if they should again persecute honest people in that way, they should be severely punished. And then, touched by the piety of this eminent woman and wishing to give her a token of his respect, he rose from his seat, went up to her and embraced her.[7] Turning to her husband, ‘As for you,’ said he, ‘I give you in fee such and such villages, and I intend them to be testimonies for ever of my good will towards you.’ The husband and wife withdrew full of joy, and the monks full of vexation and shame. Thirty other evangelicals, professing the same doctrines as the laird of Cessnock, were cited, but they were dismissed with the request to be satisfied with the faith of the Church. This took place about the year 1512, the year in which Zwingle began to search the Scriptures and in which Luther on Pilate’s Staircase at Rome heard that word which went on resounding in his heart, ‘The just shall live by faith.’ The brave Scotchwoman had fought a battle at an outpost and sounded the prelude to the Reformation.

[Sidenote: ELECTION OF A BISHOP IN SCOTLAND.]

Unhappily the accession of Henry VIII. to the throne of England turned the thoughts of the King of Scotland in another direction. Henry VII., as long as he lived, had striven to keep on good terms with his son-in-law; but Henry VIII., a monarch haughty, sensitive, and impatient, and who in mere wilfulness would quarrel with his neighbors, was far less friendly with his sister’s husband. He even delayed for a long time the payment of the legacy which her father had left her. The frequent attacks of the English, and the necessity thereby imposed on the Scots of constantly keeping watch on the borders, had given rise to distrust and hatred between the two nations. At the same time the ancient rivalry of France and England had thrown Scotland on the side of the French. When the English eagle pounced on unguarded France, ‘the weasel Scot’ came sliding into its nest and devoured the royal brood.[8] Henry VIII. revived those ancient traditions; and France took advantage of them to enfeoff Scotland still further to herself at the very moment when the Medici and the Guises were on the point of seizing at Paris the reins of government. Insulted by Henry VIII., James IV. resolved, in spite of the wise remonstrance of the old earl of Angus, to attack England. Scotland gave him the _élite_ of her people. He fought at Flodden with intrepid courage, but hit by two arrows and struck by a battle-axe he fell on the field, while round him lay the corpses of twelve earls, thirteen lords, two bishops, two mitred abbots, a great number of gentlemen, and more than ten thousand soldiers. Several students, and among them one named Andrew Duncan, son of the laird of Airdrie, whom we shall meet again, were either killed or made prisoners on that fatal day.

The king’s son, James V. (afterwards father of Mary Stuart), was scarcely two years old at the time of his father’s death. His mother, sister of Henry VIII., assumed the regency, and during his minority the nobles exercised an influence which was to be one day favorable to liberty, and thereby to the Gospel. The king and the priests, both driving at absolute power, the former in the State, the latter in the Church, now made common cause against the nobles. Strange conflicts then took place between the various powers of Scotland. One of these conflicts had just disturbed the first city of the kingdom, St. Andrews, and had mingled with the noise of the stormy sea, which roared at the foot of the rocks, the voices of priests struggling around the Cathedral, the cries of soldiers and the reverberations of cannon. Alexander Stuart, archbishop of St. Andrews, primate of Scotland, having fallen on the field of Flodden, three competitors appeared for the possession of his primatial see. These were John Hepburn, prior of St. Andrews, the candidate of the canons; Gavin Douglas, brother of the earl of Angus, candidate of the nobles; and Andrew Forman, bishop of Murray, candidate of the pope. Douglas had already been put by the queen in possession of the castle of St. Andrews; but Hepburn, an ambitious man of high spirit, with the aid of the canons, took it by assault, fortified himself in it,[9] and then set out for Rome to secure the pontifical investiture. Forman, the pope’s candidate, taking advantage of his rival’s absence, seized the castle and the monastery, and placed there a strong garrison. Hepburn was pacified by the gift of a pension of 3,000 crowns; while Douglas, candidate of the nobles, finding that there was neither money nor mitre for him, cannonaded and captured the cathedral of Dunkeld.[10] In such fashion was the election of a bishop made in Scotland before the Reformation.

The elections of priests were conducted after somewhat different methods. The lesser benefices were put up to auction and sold by wandering bards, diceplayers, or minions of the Court. The bishops, who gave their illegitimate daughters to the nobles, kept the best places in the Church for their bastards. These young worldlings, hurrying off to their pleasures, abandoned their flocks to monks, who retailed in the pulpit absurd legends of their saint, of his combats with the devil and of his flagellations, or amused the people with low jesting. This system, which passing for a representation of Christianity was merely its parody, destroyed not only Christian piety and morality, but the peace of families, the freedom of the people, and the prosperity of the kingdom.[11]

While ambition, idleness and licentiousness thus prevailed among the clergy, God was preparing ‘new vessels’ into which to pour the new wine which the old vessels could no longer hold. Some simple-minded men were on the point of achieving by their Christian faith and life a victory over the rich, powerful, and worldly pontiffs. Three young men, born almost with the century, were just beginning a career, the struggles and trials of which were as yet unknown to them. These men were to become the reformers of the Church of Scotland.

[Sidenote: BIRTH OF ALESIUS.]

On April 23, 1500, the wife of an honest citizen of Edinburgh gave birth to a son who was afterwards called by some Alane, and by others Ales, but who signed his own name Alesius, the form which we shall adopt. Alexander--that was his baptismal name--was a child remarkable for liveliness, and the anxiety of his devoted parents lest any accident should befall him led them to hang round his neck, as a safeguard against every danger, a paper on which a priest had written some verses of St. John. Alesius was fond of going, with other boys of his own age, to the heights which environ Edinburgh. The great rock on the summit of which the castle stands, the beautiful Calton Hill, and the picturesque hill called Arthur’s Seat, in turn attracted them. One day--it was in 1512--Alexander and some friends, having betaken themselves to the last-named hill, amused themselves by rolling over and over down a slope which terminated in a precipice. Suddenly the lad found himself on the brink: terror deprived him of his senses: some hand grasped him and placed him in safety, but he never knew by whom or by what he had been saved. The priests gave the credit of this escape to the paper with which they had provided him, but Alexander himself attributed it to God and his father’s prayers. ‘Ah!’ said he, many years afterwards, ‘I never recall that event without a great shudder through my whole body.’[12] Some time after he was sent to the University of St. Andrews to complete his education.

Another young boy, of more illustrious birth, gave promise of an eminent manhood; he belonged to the Hamilton family which, under James III., had taken the highest position in Scotland. Born in the county of Linlithgow, westward of Edinburgh, and somewhat younger than Alesius, he was to inaugurate the Reformation. Linlithgow was at that time the Versailles of the kingdom, and could boast of a more ancient origin than the palace of Louis XIV. Its projecting porticoes, its carvings in wood, its wainscot panelings, its massive balustrades, its roofs over-hanging the street, produced the most picturesque effect. The castle was at once palace, fortress, and prison; it was the pleasure-house to which the Court used to retire for relaxation, and within its walls Mary Stuart was born.

[Sidenote: PATRICK HAMILTON.]

Near Linlithgow was the barony of Kincavil, which had been given by James IV., in 1498, to Sir Patrick Hamilton. Catherine Stuart, the wife of the latter, was daughter of the duke of Albany, son of King James II. Sir Patrick, on his side, was second son of Lord Hamilton, and, according to trustworthy charters, of the princess Mary, countess of Arran, also a daughter of James II.[13] Sir Patrick had two sons and one daughter, James, Patrick, and Catherine.

Patrick, the young man of whom we speak, was therefore of the blood royal, both by the father’s and the mother’s side. He was born probably at the manor of Kincavil, and was there brought up. He grew up surrounded with all the sweetnesses of a mother’s love, and from his childhood the image of his mother was deeply engraven on his heart. This tender mother, who afterwards engaged his latest thoughts on the scaffold, observed with delight in her son a craving for superior culture, a passion for science, a taste for the literature of Greece and Rome, and above all, lively aspirations after all that is elevated, and movements of the soul towards God.

As for his father, Sir Patrick, he had the reputation of being the first knight of Scotland, and as cousin-german of King James IV. he had frequent occasions for displaying his courage. One day a German knight arriving in Scotland to challenge her lords and barons, Sir Patrick encountered and overthrew him. At the marriage of Margaret of England with the King of Scotland, it was once more Sir Patrick who most distinguished himself at the tournament. And at a later time, when sent ambassador to Paris with an elder brother, the earl of Arran, he won fresh honors in London on his way.[14] People were fond of recounting these exploits to his two boys, James and Patrick, and nothing appeared to them more magnificent than the glittering armor of their father hung upon the walls of the banqueting hall. Ambition awoke in the heart of the younger of the sons; but he was destined to seek after another glory, holier and more enduring.

The Hamiltons having many relations at Paris, Sir Patrick determined to send thither his second son, and at the age of fourteen the lad set out for that celebrated capital.[15] His father, who destined him for the great offices of the Church, had already procured for him the title and the revenues of abbot of Ferne, in the county of Ross, and from that source the expenses of the young man’s journey and course of studies were to be defrayed. It was the moment at which the fire of the Reformation, which was just kindled on the Continent, began to throw out sparks on all sides. One of these sparks was to light on the soul of Patrick. But if Hamilton were destined to bring from Paris to Scotland the first stone of the building, another Scotchman, one year younger than he, was destined to bring the top-stone from Geneva.

[Sidenote: BIRTH OF JOHN KNOX.]

In one of the suburbs of Haddington, near Edinburgh, called Gifford-gate, dwelt an honorable citizen, member of an ancient family of Renfrewshire, named Knox, who had borne arms, like his father and his grandfather, under the earl of Bothwell. Some members of this family had died under the colors.[16] In 1505 Knox had a son who was named John. The blood of warriors ran in the veins of the man who was to become one of the most intrepid champions of Christ’s army. John, after studying first at Haddington school, was sent at the age of sixteen to Glasgow University.[17] He was active, bold, thoroughly upright and perfectly honest, diligent in his duties, and full of heartiness for his comrades. But he had in him also a firmness which came near to obstinacy, an independence which was very much like pride, a melancholy which bordered on prostration, a sternness which some took for insensibility, and a passionate force sometimes mistakenly attributed to a vindictive temper. An important place was reserved for him in the history of his country and of Christendom.

While God was thus preparing these young contemporaries, Alesius, Hamilton, and Knox, and others besides, to diffuse in Scotland the light of the Gospel, ambitious nobles were engaged in conflict around the throne of the king. The old earl of Angus, who had lost his two sons at the battle of Flodden, and had not long survived them, had left a grandson, a handsome young man, not very wise nor experienced, but with plenty of ambition, cleverness, liveliness, and courage. The widow of James IV., regent of the kingdom, married this youth, and by this rash step displeased the nobles. In the fierce encounters which took place between the Angus and Douglas parties on one side, and the Hamiltons on the other, pillage, murder, and arson were not seldom perpetrated. Another regency became necessary. John Stuart, duke of Albany, who was born in France of a French mother, and was residing at the court of Saint-Germain, but was the nearest relation of the King of Scotland, was summoned. He banished Angus, who withdrew with the queen to England. But Albany had soon to return to France, and Queen Margaret and her husband went back to Edinburgh.

The old rivalries were not slow to reappear. When the parliament assembled at Edinburgh in April 1520, the Hamiltons gathered in great numbers in the palace of the primate Beatoun. The primate ran hither and thither, armed from head to foot, brandishing the torch of discord.[18] The bishop of Dunkeld entreated him to prevent a collision. When the primate, laying his hand on his heart, said: ‘On my conscience I am not able to prevent it,’ the sound of his coat mail was heard. ‘Ah, my lord,’ exclaimed Dunkeld, ‘that noise tells me that your conscience is not good.’ Sir Patrick Hamilton, the father of the reformer, counselled peace; but Sir James Hamilton, a natural son of the earl of Arran, a violent and cruel young man, cried out to him: ‘You are afraid to fight for your friend.’ ‘Thou liest, impudent bastard;’ retorted the haughty baron; ‘I will fight to-day in a place in which thou wilt not dare to set thy foot.’ The speaker immediately quitted the palace, and all the Hamiltons followed him.

The earl of Angus then occupied the High Street, and his men, drawn up behind barricades, vigorously repulsed their adversaries with their pikes. Sir Patrick, with the most intrepid of his followers, cleared the entrenchments, threw himself into the High Street, and striking out vigorously all round him with his sword, fell mortally wounded, while the rash young man who had insulted him fled at full speed.

[Sidenote: PATRICK HAMILTON IN FRANCE.]

His son Patrick was no longer present in the manor-house of Kincavil, to mingle his tears with those of his mother. Escaping from the gloomy atmosphere of Caledonia, he had gone to enjoy in Paris the splendid light of civilization, almost at the same time at which the famous George Buchanan arrived there. ‘All hail!’ exclaimed these young Scotchmen, as they landed in France; ‘all hail! oh, happy Gaul! kind nurse of letters! Thou whose atmosphere is so healthful, whose soil is so fertile, whose bountiful hospitality welcomes all the universe, and who givest to the world in return the riches of thy spirit; thou whose language is so elegant, thou who art the common country of all peoples, who worshippest God in truth and without debasing thyself in outward observances! Oh! shall I not love thee as a son? shall I not honor thee all my life? All hail, oh, happy Gaul!’[19]

It is probable that Hamilton entered the Collège de Montaigu, the same to which Calvin was admitted four or five years later. At the time of Hamilton’s arrival Mayor (Major), who soon after removed to St. Andrews, was teacher of philosophy there.

To a strong dislike of the writings of the sophists Hamilton joined a great love for those of the true philosophers. But presently a light more pure than that of Plato and Aristotle shone in his eyes. As early as 1520 the writings of Luther were read with eager interest by the students of the schools of Paris; some of whom took part with, others against the Reformation. Hamilton was listening to these disputations and reading the books which came from Germany, when suddenly he learnt the tragical death of Sir Patrick. He was profoundly affected by the tidings, and began to seek God with yet more ardor than before. He was one more example of the well-known fact, that at the very moment when all the sorrows of the earthly life overwhelm the soul, God gives to it the heavenly life. Two great events--the death of Sir Patrick, and the beginning of the Reformation in Paris--occurring simultaneously--occasioned in the soul of the young Scotchman a collision by which a divine spark was struck out. The fire once kindled in his heart, nothing could thenceforth extinguish it.

Hamilton took the degree of Master of Arts about the close of 1520, as still appears in the registers of the University. He may possibly have visited Louvain, where Erasmus then dwelt; he returned to Scotland probably in 1522.