Royal Edinburgh: Her Saints, Kings, Prophets and Poets

The little garrison of St. Andrews was taken, as everybody knows, by the French, and carried away to prison and the galleys; but no blood was shed to avenge the blood of Beatoun, a point which ought to be put to their credit. John Knox suffered all these misfortunes with a steadfast soul, still declaring to all who surrounded him, in the extremity of suffering, hardship, and sickness, that he should again preach in that Church of St. Andrews from which he had been taken. This is the first of the many prophecies completely verified afterwards with which he is credited. He escaped after about three years of captivity and misery in France, during which he would seem to have been actually employed in the galleys, and came to England, where it is to be supposed the story of his influence and power with the Scotch Reformers had preceded him, otherwise the advancement to which he reached, and which might have been greater but for his dissatisfaction with the imperfectly Reformed Church there, and the bondage of ceremonials and traditions still left in it, would have been still more extraordinary. He was one of the chaplains to the boy-king Edward, for whom he had the amiable prejudice common to those who secure the favour of very young princes, expecting from him everything that was great and good. At the death of the young King, however, Knox removed hurriedly to the Continent with many others, knowing that under the reign of Mary there would be little acceptance for men of his views. During his stay in England he had met with a pair of ladies who were henceforward to be very closely connected with his life—Marjory Bowes, his future wife, and to all appearance still more important her mother, Mrs. Bowes, to whom, contrary to the ordinary idea of that relationship, he seems to have given much regard and affection, notwithstanding that she was a melancholy woman, depressed and despondent, sometimes overwhelmed with religious terrors, and requiring continued support and encouragement in the faith. One cannot help feeling a sort of compassion for the silent Marjory, of whom nothing is ever heard, between her solemn lover of fifty and her sad mother. But she is voiceless, and though there are letters of religious counsel addressed to her under the title of "weill belovit sister," there is not among them all, so strange is the abstract effect of religious exhortation thus applied, one gleam of anything like individual character, or which can throw any light upon what she was; which, considering the marked individuality of the writer, is curious exceedingly. We must hope that on other occasions, notwithstanding his mature years, there were letters calculated to give more satisfaction to a young woman than these expositions and addresses.

For the next two years Knox, now it is evident universally known wherever the Reformation had penetrated, filled the place of minister to a congregation of exiles assembled at Geneva, most of them refugees from England, who had fled, as he himself had done, at the accession of Mary. But his heart was in his own land, where in the meantime the progress of the new Reformed faith was arrested, and silence and discouragement had fallen over the country. The leaders were dispersed or destroyed, the preachers silenced, and there was no one to gather together the many groups of believers all over the country in whose hearts the seed had sprung up strongly, but who as yet had made no public profession. In 1555 Knox suddenly reappeared in Scotland, brought thither at once by urgent letters and by the eagerness of his own heart. When he arrived in Edinburgh he found that many who "had a zeal to godliness" still attended mass, probably finding it more difficult to break the continual habit of their lives than the bonds of doctrine—and that the outer structure of the Church remained much as it had been, without any such shattering and falling asunder as had taken place in regions more advanced. That this arose from no want of zeal was proved as soon as the preacher appeared: for his arrival was no sooner known than the house in which he had alighted from his journey was filled by a stream of inquirers, whom he "began to exhort secretly." One night he was called to supper with the Laird of Dun, the well-known John Erskine, who was one of the most earnest of the Reforming party, and in the grave company he found there—among whom were one or two ministers and the young but already promising and eminent William Maitland of Lethington—the question was fully discussed, Was it lawful to conform while holding a faith not only different but hostile? was it permissible to bow down in the house of Rimmon? To this Knox answered No, with all the uncompromising and stern sincerity of his soul. "Nowise was it lawful." The question was very fully defended from the other point of view. "Nothing was omitted that might make for the temporiser"; even the example of Paul, who went up into the Temple to pay his vow by the advice of the Apostle James, which step, however, Knox pronounced at once, notwithstanding his absolute reverence for Holy Writ, to have been wrong, and not of God—a mistake of both the Apostles, and manifestly bringing no blessing with it. His bold and assured argument cut the ground from under the feet of the hesitating Reformers, to whom no doubt it was very difficult thus to break away from all the traditions of their lives.

This scene throws a strange and in some respects new light upon the more human side of the great movement. It is easier perhaps to us who are acquainted with all that followed to understand the fiery zeal which flamed against every accessory of what they conceived to be idolatry—the saintly image, which was nothing but a painted board, and the "round clipped god" upon the altar which was blasphemously asserted to be the very Lord Himself—than to remember that these men had also many links of use and wont, of attachment and habit, to the churches in which they had been christened, and the position, with all its needs and simple duties, to which they had been born. To see them standing there for a moment reluctant, with the tremendous breach that must be made in life gaping before them, and the sense of universal disruption and tearing asunder which must follow, is to me more touching than the stern conviction which never pauses nor fears. They were so thoroughly convinced, however, of the necessity which he reasoned out with such remorseless logic, that Erskine first, and after him many gentlemen through Scotland, craved the help of the preacher to put the crown upon their convictions, and spread in their halls and private chambers, no church being attainable, what was now for the first time called the Table of the Lord. Knox went to Dun in Forfarshire across the great firths of Forth and Tay, and to Calder, the house of Sir James Sandilands, afterwards Lord Torphichen, in Lothian, where many gathered to hear him. But it would seem to have been in the West, always the most strenuous in doctrine, that he first celebrated the new rite, the holy feast as yet unknown in Scotland. During the eventful winter of 1555-56 he pervaded the country thus, setting forth the special bond of evangelical religion, uniting those different groups by the sacred seal of the bread and wine—who can doubt received with a profound and tremulous awe by lips to which the wafer had been hitherto the only symbol of that act of closest communion?

This would seem to have been the chief work of Knox during the visit which, in the midst of his Geneva ministry, he paid to his native land: and it is easy to perceive that it was of supreme importance as identifying and separating the converts into a definite community, bound together by that sacrament of fealty, an oath more binding than any expressed only in words. Hitherto the preaching and teaching of the Word, which was itself a discovery, and came with all the freshness of a new revelation, had been the only sacred office carried on by the Reformers. The Sacraments were all in the hands of ecclesiastics, who had been for generations past losing the confidence and respect of the nation—though one cannot but believe there must still have been here and there a humble curate, a parish priest like Chaucer's Parsoune, to strengthen the hold of the accustomed ordinances upon men's minds, who, however strongly they might turn against the miracle of transubstantiation, could not cast aside the only means of partaking in the great mystery of the body and blood of Christ. To all such here was now the answer set forth, and the hope—the holy Table, the communion of saints, the bread and wine of the great and ceaseless commemoration. It would be doing the greatest wrong to these small devout assemblies, and to the fervent preacher, devoured with eagerness to make them all, not almost but altogether such men as himself, to call this an act of policy. Yet that it was so, and that a bond was thus established to consolidate the party, more sacred, more binding than any other, there can be no reasonable doubt.

While travelling on this solemn mission from place to place and house to house of the religious gentry of Scotland, Knox would seem to have made Edinburgh his headquarters, and preached there from time to time, not always secretly. He had here "a greater audience than ever before" in "the Bishop of Dunkeld's great lodging," that ancient habitation from which Gawin Douglas, the poet-bishop, had watched and waited while the fight went on within the gates of the Nether Bow, and from which he rushed out to rescue the other prelate whose corslet rang under his rochet. Strange association, yet not inappropriate; for the mild Bishop of Dunkeld had also found many potent words to say against the abuses of the Church, though the new presbyter who now took his place was rather of Beatoun's warlike mettle than of Douglas's. The nobles who came thither to hear the preacher were so "weill contented" with his doctrine—which is his own moderate version of what was no doubt an enthusiasm of grave approbation—that they seem to have imagined, in that solemn simplicity which belongs to fresh conviction, that he might perchance, could she but hear him, move the Regent Queen herself, Mary of Guise, an unlikely convert no doubt. He was accordingly exhorted by three gentlemen, specified as the Earl of Glencairn, the Earl Marischal, and Harye Drummond, to write a letter to the Queen, which Knox, always eager for the pen, and full of matter boiling to have utterance, immediately did. It is difficult not to think of the sancta simpilicitas, which rarely belongs to such a group of men, when we think of the grave trio of advisers, and the still graver but fiery prophet-preacher, making this wonderful appeal. It was less wonderful in him who loved nothing so much as to write when he could not be preaching, to set forth those high-handed arraignments before the visionary tribunal of the one true and only faith, of whomsoever he could address, queen or peasant; but it is strange that men of the world, and of the society of their time, should have thus thought it possible to convert a lady so full of policy and cares of government, so entirely occupied with the most important matters of statesmanship, not to say so determined a Catholic, as the daughter of the Guises, the sister of the Cardinal.

The attempt, as was natural, failed completely. "Which letter," resumes Knox, "when she had read within a day or two she delivered it to the proud prelate, Beatoun, Bishop of Glasgow, and said in mockage, 'Please you, my lord, to read a pasquill?'" It is against the perfection of the prophet, but not the character of the man, that this scorn stung him as no persecution could have done. He made certain additions to the letter, and published it in Geneva on his return there. We are not told which part of the letter these additions are, but what he tells us seems to indicate that the threatening prophesies, of which he says in his Historie, "lett those very flatterers see what hath failed," had been added to the original text. We forgive him his ready wrath, and even the "threatenings" which he always considered himself at liberty to launch at those who, in his own language, "withstood the truth": but we could have wished that Knox had been more magnanimous, and could have forgotten the offence after the passage of years. Mary's careless speech would have been but "ane merry boord" had it been directed against one of his enemies.

When Knox went back to Geneva after this winter's work to resume his pastorate there, he left the growing cause of Reform in Scotland with a constitution and organisation sanctified by the most sacred rites of religion, an advantage quite inestimable in the circumstances, and placing the cause as in an ark of safety. And when he returned to Edinburgh two years later, the scattered groups to whom in country houses and castles he had administered the Lord's Supper had become the Congregation, an army existing in all quarters of Scotland, ready to rally to the aid of any portion of the body, or eminent individual, who might be attacked: and headed by a phalanx of Scots nobility, Lords of the Congregation, the heads of a new party in the State, as well as of a new Church, an altogether novel development of national life. It would have been difficult to have spoken more boldly than Knox had done in his letter to the Queen Regent three years before, but the Congregation in its established position as a national party took stronger ground, and pressed their claims to a hearing with a force of petitioners too strong to be gainsaid. Knox had called upon Mary herself in her own person to hear the Word and abjure her errors, but the body of Reformers asked for measures more comprehensive and still more subversive of the established order of things. In their first address to Mary they upbraided themselves, with a manly penitence which must have been bewildering to royal ears, that they had permitted their brethren in the faith to be destroyed by "faggot fyre and sword" without resistance. "We acknowledge it," said these strange petitioners, "to have been our bounden duty before God either to have defended our brethren from those cruel murtherers (seeing we are a part of that power which God hath established in this realm) or else to have given open testification of our faith with them." This, however, being no longer in their power, they besought the Queen to make such horrible accidents impossible in the future, and to grant to them permission to establish their worship; to meet publicly or privately to make their common prayer, and read the Scriptures in the vulgar tongue; to have the assistance of "qualified persons in knowledge" to expound to them "any hard places of Scripture," and to have the Sacraments administered "in the vulgar tongue," and the Lord's Supper in both kinds. Last of all they desired of the Queen that "the wicked, scandalous, and detestable life of prelates and of the State Ecclesiastical" should be reformed, stating at the same time their wish to have the case between themselves and the priests tried not only by the rules of the New Testament, but by the writings of the ancient Fathers. In all this there was no intolerance, but a wholly just and reasonable prayer, suggesting harm to no one, not even the persecutors from whom they had suffered; altogether a claim of justice and native right magnanimously as well as forcibly made, with dignified recollection of their own position as "a part of that power which God hath established in this realm," to which it would have been difficult for any reasonable sovereign to return a discourteous or imperious answer.

Mary of Guise did no such thing. She did not receive the address of the Congregation as she had done the letter of Knox. But she did what was worse, she gave no answer at all save fair words and delay. It would have been perhaps too much to expect that even those moderate and manly petitioners should have taken into consideration the complicated circumstances by which she was surrounded, or the difficulties of her position, with the "State Ecclesiastical" so strong and wealthy, arbiters for the moment of her faith, and France and her kindred expectant of impossible things from her, and Rome itself regarding with a watchful eye what a Princess of so Catholic a family—defender of the faith in a distant but at this moment exceedingly important field—should do. Mary temporised, which was perhaps the best thing possible for the Reformers if not for herself, and promised to take order, to regulate matters for their advantage so soon as it was possible, when she should have concluded various matters of more importance that were in hand, such, for instance, as that of awarding the crown matrimonial to her daughter's husband the young King of France, to whom all earthly distinctions were soon to matter so little. During this period of delay the Reformers were left unmolested to multiply and mature, so that when her other business was despatched, and the Queen could no longer avoid some action in the matter, the Congregation had attained both numbers and power. When the preachers were summoned to appear before her to plead their own cause "it was concluded by the whole brethren that the gentlemen of every county should accompany their preachers to the day and place appointed." This was a proceeding entirely sanctioned by Scotch custom, of which there were many historical examples, but it was not perhaps calculated to promote the ends of peaceful discussion; for the gentlemen thus described were accompanied by their households at least, if not by a stout following of retainers, and the result was the assemblage of "such a multitude" that even the leaders considered it likely to have "given fear" to the Queen, although this multitude was, as the record says, with a gleam of grim humour, "without armour as peciable men, minding only to give confession with their preachers." Mary wisely interposed another period of delay when she was warned what the "peaceable" escort was with which the preachers were obeying her call.

It was, however, as little safe to let loose such an army of confessors through the country which had to be traversed before they could reach their homes, as to receive them in Stirling where the appointment had been. For, mild as was their purpose and godly their intentions, it proved too much for the sense and moderation even of that religious crowd when they found themselves on their way northward masters of St. Johnstone (or Perth, as moderns call it) with the fumes of a sermon of Knox's still in their brain, and a report about that the Queen meant to put the preachers "to the horn," for all so softly spoken as she was. Knox's sermon had been "vehement against idolatrie," though preached in a church still wealthy and bright with all the adornments of the ancient faith, and in which, as the crowd dispersed, a priest appeared in his vestments to say his mass. It gives us a curious impression of the chaos that reigned, to hear that in the town, which was full to overflowing of this Protestant crowd, and in the very church which still rang with the echoes of Knox's vehement oratory, he who had no words strong enough to denounce that idolatrous rite—there should come forth in the calm of use and wont a nameless humble priest with his acolyte to say the mass, which was his bounden duty whatever obstacles might be in his way. The manner in which it is recorded, with the violent antagonism of the time, is this—"That a priest in contempt would go to the masse; and to declare his malignant presumption he would open up ane glorious tabernacle which stood upon the Hie altar." On the other side no doubt the tale would be, that with the faith and courage of a holy martyr this venerable confessor ascended the steps of the altar to give his life, if needful, for the holy mysteries, and fulfil his sacred office whoever might oppose. And which was the more true version who can tell? On neither side would it be believed, what was probably the fact, that it was a simple brother taking little thought of the commotions round him, who, as soon as the clamour of the preaching was over, concerned with nothing but his mass which had to be said during canonical hours, had come in without other intention to perform his daily duty.

But in any case, the sight of the glorious tabernacle filled with a fury of excitement the dregs of the crowd who still lingered there. A child's outcry, more "malapert" than the priest, called the attention of the lingerers, and before any one knew, the passion of destruction had seized like a frenzy upon the people. They flung themselves upon the "glorious tabernacle," and all the statues and adornments, and laid them in swift and sudden ruin. The rumour flew through the town, along with the shouts and crash of metal and stone; and the remainder of the lately-dispersed multitude came rushing back to the church which was the scene of the outbreak, a mob "not of the gentlemen, neither of them that were earnest professors, but of the rasckall multitude," which finding nothing to do in the stripped walls and chapels, hurried on, led, no doubt, by the first of the iconoclasts, who had become intoxicated with the frenzy of destruction, to the convents of the Grey and the Black Friars. Their violence grew as they passed on, from one scene of destruction to another, many of them finding substantial inducements in the shape of booty, in the well-filled meal-girnels and puncheons of salt beef in the larders of the monks. By the time they came to these it may be presumed that the special rage against idolatry had been assuaged; but the demon of destruction had taken its place. And when the excited multitude reached the noble Charterhouse with all its picturesque buildings, "the fairest abbaye and best biggit of any within the realm of Scotland," surrounded by pleasant gardens and noble trees, every restraint was thrown aside. It had been founded by James I., and there lay the remains of his murdered body along with those of many other royal victims of the stormy and tumultuous past. So much conscience was left that the terrified monks, or at least the Prior who is specially mentioned, was allowed to take away with him as much silver and gold as he was able to carry. The rest was beaten down into indiscriminating ruin, and "within two days these three great places, monuments of idolatrie, to wit the Grey and Black thieves and Charterhouse monks (a building of a wondrous cost and greatness), were so destroyed that the walls only did remain of all these great edifications."

That this was in no way the doing of Knox and his colleagues is evident; but it is equally evident that they treated it as a mere accident and outrage of the mob, without consequence so far as the greater question was concerned. When the Queen, exasperated, threatened in her anger on the receipt of the news to destroy St. Johnstone, and began to collect an army to march upon the offenders, the Congregation assembled in Perth professed astonishment and incredulity, treating her threats as the mere utterances of passion, and thinking "such cruelty" impossible. There is not a word in the letters to the Queen's Majestie, to the Nobilitie of Scotland, and the fierce address to the priests in which they afterwards stated their case, of any wrong on their own side or provocation given. The Congregation takes at once the highest tone. They declare that, faithful servants of the realm as they have always been, if this unjust tyranny is carried out they will be constrained to take up the sword of just defence, notifying at the same time their innocence not only to "the King of France, to our Mistress and to her husband, but also to the Princes and Council of everie Christian realm, declaring unto them that this cruel, unjust, and most tyrannical murther intended against towns and multitudes, was and is the only cause of our revolt from our accustomed obedience." Thus they treat the threatened attack throughout as wholly directed against their religion and religious freedom, without the least reference to the just cause of offence given by riots so alarming and destructive, and by the ruin of a national monument so important as the Charterhouse. All these are as completely ignored as if the population of St. Johnstone had been the most tranquil and law-abiding in the world. And they do this with such evident good faith that it is impossible not to believe that what had happened was to themselves an unimportant incident: though it was something like what the destruction of Westminster Abbey would have been in England. In these respects, however, the state of feeling produced by the Reformation followed no ordinary laws; the fervour of hatred and contempt which the priesthood called forth in Scotland being beyond all example or comparison, except, indeed, in some parts of France, where Farel and his followers had set the example of destruction.