Abridged from The History of the Reformation in the Time of Calvin, vol 6. Last month’s chapter told of several men who suffered persecution for their biblical faith.
The priests of Scotland redoubled their efforts to make a breach between James and his uncle, Henry VIII, and to ally their King with France. Henry received into his realm many of the exiles from Scotland and was troubled to see his nephew throw himself into the arms of the Roman pontiff. It was in England’s interest that Scotland should not take a course opposed to hers: the whole of Great Britain ought to cast off the Pope’s authority at the same time. Henry, impatient for this end, proposed to give his daughter Mary in marriage to the Scottish King. But the priests, especially Archbishop Beaton, got the proposals rejected, from which they anticipated nothing but evil.
Among the Scottish people there were earnest longings after the gospel, but the priesthood and the Government forcibly repressed them. The king, now the direct instrument of the clergy, required Parliament to check the progress which the Bible seemed to be making in Scotland. On June 8 this body, adding severity to the former laws, enacted that anyone who possessed a New Testament should deliver it to his bishop under pain of confiscation and imprisonment, and that all discussion about religious opinions was prohibited. It gave permission, however, to some churchmen to read that book, so that they might contend against its adherents more effectively. Many priests, monks and students therefore read the New Testament, but this reading produced a quite contrary effect, for it led them to receive and to defend the gospel. This could not but irritate the king and his priests. The conversion of a Churchman who had a family connection with the court especially attracted their attention.
On a small island in the Firth of Forth, not far from Edinburgh, stood the ancient abbey of St Colme, occupied by Augustinian canons. Distinguished among them was Thomas Forrest whose father managed King James IV’s stables. A quarrel had broken out between the Abbot and the canons, who seized the deeds of foundation of the monastery. The Abbot came in, scolded them sharply, recovered the volume and gave them in its place an old folio of Augustine, the Church Father. The canons scornfully turned their backs on the book and went back to their cells. Forrest, left alone, looked at the volume. A work of the great Augustine interested him. He took it into his cell, read it, and before long was able to say, with the Bishop of Hippo: “That which the dispensation of works commands is accomplished by the dispensation of grace”.
“O happy and blessed book!” he would often say, “God has made use of thee to enlighten my soul.” Augustine led Forrest to the gospel, and he was not long in making known to his brethren the treasure which he had found in his writings and in the New Testament. Aged men stopped their ears. “Alas,” said the son of the king’s master-stabler, “the old bottles will not receive the new wine.” The old canons complained to the Abbot, and the Abbot said to Forrest: “Look after your own salvation, but talk as other men do”.
“Before I will recant,” he replied, laying his hand on his breast, “this body shall be burnt and the wind shall scatter its ashes.” The Abbot, anxious to be rid of this innovator, gave him the parish of Dollar. Forrest was one of those who receive the grace which is offered them not only lovingly but with a vehement impetuosity. While many lay sleeping he was vigorously going forward to take the kingdom of God according to the saying: “The violent take it by force”. He used to study from 6 am till midday; he learned every day three chapters of the Bible; in the afternoon he instructed his parishioners, and endeavoured to bring souls to God. When he returned home in the evening, wearied with his labours, he used to make his servant sit down beside him and recite the three chapters of the Word of God which he had learned in the morning, hoping thus to fix them in his own memory and to impress them on the soul of his servant.
After a party of monks invaded his parish to sell indulgences, Forrest went into the pulpit and, like Luther, said, “You cannot receive pardon for your sins either from the Pope or from any created being in the world, but only by the blood of Jesus Christ”. His enemies hastened to denounce him to the Bishop of Dunkeld, calling on him to put a stop to conduct so strange. “My joy, Dean Thomas,” said the Bishop to him, “I am told that you preach every Sunday. That is too much. Take my advice, and don’t preach unless you find any good gospel or any epistle that setteth forth the liberty of Holy Church.” “My lord,” replied Forrest, “I would wish that your lordship preach also every Sunday.” “Nay, nay, Dean Thomas,” said the Bishop, alarmed, “let that be.”
“Whereas your lordship biddeth me preach,” continued Forrest, “when I find any good epistle, or a good gospel, truly, my lord, I have read the New Testament and the Old, all the Gospels, all the Epistles, and among them all I could never find an evil epistle or an evil gospel; but if your lordship will show me the good and the evil ones, I will preach the former and pass over the latter.” The Bishop, more and more affrighted, exclaimed with all his might, “Thank God, I never knew what the Old and New Testament was, and I will to know nothing but my portuese and my pontifical!”
A small prayer book. For the moment Forrest escaped death. The Bishop’s saying got abroad in Scotland, and people used for a long time to say to any ignorant person, “You are like the bishop of Dunkeld that knew neither new nor old law”. The discontent of the people with the clergy went on increasing and, at a provincial council which met at Edinburgh in March 1536, Sir James Hamilton demanded various reforms in the King’s name. The men of the kirk were indignant. The monks, in alarm, began to attack the Reformation from their pulpits. Bishop Barlow, the English envoy, thought the moment favourable for reform in Scotland. “If I may obtain the King’s licence,” he wrote to Thomas Cromwell, then first secretary of state to Henry VIII, “otherwise shall I not be suffered to preach; I will not spare for no bodily peril, boldly to publish the truth of God’s Word among them. Whereat though the clergy shall repine, yet many of the lay people will gladly give hearing.”
It seemed as if the hopes of the Anglican bishop were beginning to be realised. It was rumoured that the King of Scotland, offended at the reception which his demands had met in the council, was going to have a conference with his uncle. The prelates thought that, if this project were carried out, they were undone. James was willing and unwilling, but he yielded and the interview with Henry was given up. But the bishops were not yet freed from their alarm; they dreaded the influence of the English ambassadors and of the Queen Mother, and they feared that they might not be strong enough another time.
The clerical party were anxious to make the proposed union between Scotland and England for ever impossible and hinted to the young prince that to marry the eldest daughter of the King of France would be far more advantageous. This scheme pleased James, and he set sail on September 1 with six vessels, accompanied by 500 persons. In 10 days he reached Dieppe, and he asked for and obtained the hand of Madame Madeleine, who had been very carefully brought up by her aunt, Margaret of Valois. The Scottish priests were in high glee, because in their view this alliance with France tended to strengthen the papacy in Scotland; but their joy was premature.
Madeline’s health was frail, but her heart was virtuous and her soul was no stranger to the piety of her aunt. How great a gain for the Reformation if on the throne of Scotland there was a queen who loved the Word of God! James embarked with his young wife on a fleet of 17 ships. On reaching Leith, the Queen knelt down on the shore and implored God’s blessing on her beloved husband and on her new country. She was received at Edinburgh with great enthusiasm by the people and the nobles; but the churchmen, better informed than at first, were afraid that she would diffuse around her the evangelical opinions of Francis I’s sister. This happiness was not in store for Scotland; on 2 July 1537 the Queen breathed her last. All who had known her, except the priests, deeply regretted her passing.
The prelates began at once to negotiate another French marriage, but this time a Romish marriage. They did not intend to be taken in a second time. The ardent David Beaton, the primate’s nephew, who had accompanied the King to Paris, returned to France immediately after the death of the young Queen, in order to seek for James V a new alliance agreeable to the priests. David’s whole life was to be given up to a conflict with the gospel in Scotland. For this end he needed a fanatical queen, and it was not difficult to find one.
There was at that time at the court of France a family which was beginning to be known for its zeal for the papacy. Claude de Lorraine, Duke of Guise, who had married Antoinette de Bourbon, had distinguished himself on several occasions, and particularly at the battle of Mariguano. Surrounded by six sons and four daughters, he founded a powerful house, which at a later period was near taking the throne from the Valois and the Bourbons. Hence, the last word of Francis I to his son was this, “Beware of the Guises!” It appears that James, during his visit to France, had noticed the eldest of the Duke’s children, 23-year-old Mary, the widow of Louis of Orleans. To her Beaton addressed himself. The alliance was promptly concluded. The Scottish clergy triumphed; but the evangelical Christians saw with sorrow “this egg taken from the bloody nest of the Guises” and brought into their native land.
The young Queen arrived at St Andrews on 16 June 1538 and strove to gain the King’s affection. She failed to win the people’s favour, but the priests were enamoured of her. Feeling sure of victory, they began to set the authority of the Pope higher than ever in their discourses. He proposed an alliance between the European powers and Scotland for the invasion of England. James V, the slave at once of his wife and his bishops, seemed to be positively chained to the chariot of the Roman pontiff.