5. Alexander Alesius
J H Merle d’Aubigné
That saying of Christian antiquity, “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church,” was perhaps never more strikingly verified than in the case of Patrick Hamilton. The report of his death ran over the whole land. Nobles and common people – even priests and monks – were on the point of being aroused by his martyrdom. For God’s work, a long and laborious life would have been of less service than were his trial, condemnation and execution, all accomplished on one day. By giving up his earthly life for one which is imperishable, he announced the end of the religion of the senses in Scotland and began worship in spirit and in truth. People everywhere wanted to know what was the cause for which this young noble had given his life, and everyone took the side of the victim.
“Just at the time”, said Knox, “when those cruel wolves had, as they supposed, clean devoured their prey, a great crowd surrounded them and demanded of them an account for the blood which they had shed.” “The faith for which Hamilton was burnt”, said many, “is that which we will have.” In vain did the guilty men, convicted by their own consciences and inflamed with wrath, utter proud threats; for the abuses and errors which up to that time had been venerated were everywhere called in question.
As the news spread, however, in foreign lands, very different feelings were aroused. The scholars of Louvain, wrote to the clergy of Scotland: “We are equally delighted with the work which you have done and with the way in which you have done it”. But a Christian man in England wrote to the Scottish nobles: “Hamilton is now living with Christ, whom he confessed before the
1Abridged from The History of the Reformation in the Time of Calvin, vol 6. Last month’s chapter gave an account of the martyrdom of Patrick Hamilton.
princes of this world, and the voice of his blood, like the blood of Abel, cries to heaven”.
Persecution attacked the evangelical Christians; men who might have helped their country perished on the scaffold. But the course pursued by the priests tended to defeat their own end. The nobles, exasperated by the tyranny of the bishops, began to feel the aversion for the Church of Rome which they felt for its leading men. It was not indeed from the Romish religion that they at first broke off, but only from an ambitious and merciless hierarchy. But before long we shall find the nobles, ever more and more provoked by the clergy, beginning to listen to the evangelical doctrine of those who opposed the clergy.
Before that moment arrived, the conquests of the Reformation in Scotland had begun. It counted already many humble but devout adherents in convents, parsonage houses and cottages. At the head of the canons of St Augustine at St Andrews was an immoral man, an enemy of the gospel, Prior Hepburn; nevertheless, it was among the canons that the awakening began. One of them, Alesius, had been confirmed in the faith of the gospel by the testimony which Hamilton had borne to the truth during his trial, and by the simple and heroic beauty of his death, which he had witnessed.
On returning to his priory he had felt more deeply the need of reformation. “How wretched”, he said, “is the state of the Church! Destitute of teachers competent to teach her, she finds herself kept far away from the Holy Scriptures, which would lead her into all truth.” Alesius gave utterance at the same time to the love which he felt even for the persecutors. “I do not hate the bishops,” he said; “I do not hate any of the religious orders; but I tremble to see Christ’s doctrine buried under thick darkness and pious folk subjected to horrible tortures. May all learn what power religion displays in men’s souls, by examining with care its divine sources.” The death of Hamilton was day after day the subject of the canons’ conversation, and Alesius steadily refused to condemn him.
The worthless Hepburn and his followers could not endure this. They denounced Alesius to the Archbishop as a man who had embraced the faith for which Hamilton had been burnt, and they added that other canons seemed likely to take the same path. In order to ascertain the sentiments of the young man, the primate resolved to lay a snare for him; when a provincial synod met at St Andrews, he appointed Alesius to preach the opening sermon. Alesius entered the pulpit, and, while avoiding anything which might uselessly offend his hearers, he brought forward the doctrines of the truth and boldly urged the clergy to give an example of holy living and not to be stumbling-blocks to the faithful by scandalous licentiousness.
As they went out of the church, many expressed approval. The Archbishop was grave and did not say a word. A proud, domineering and violent man whose shameless connections were known to everybody, he thought that Alesius meant to point him out and to excite his superiors against him, and he resolved to take vengeance on him. His fears were not unfounded. The discourse of Alesius had impressed the best men among the canons; convinced of the necessity of putting an end to public scandals, they joined together and decided to complain to the King about the Prior.
Hepburn was immediately informed of their purpose. Being constitutionally more fit to be a soldier than a churchman, he took some armed men and suddenly entered the hall in which the conference was held. “Seize that man!” said he to his soldiers, pointing to Alesius. The young canon begged the prior to keep his temper; but at these words the proud Hepburn, no longer master of himself, drew his sword, advanced towards Alesius and was going to attack him when two canons thrust themselves in front of their chief and turned the blow aside. The impetuous prelate, however, was not pacified. He called his men to help him and followed Alesius. The latter, in confusion and terror, finding himself within an inch of death, fell at the prior’s feet and implored him not to shed innocent blood. Hepburn in contempt kicked him with such force that the poor canon fainted away and lay on the floor before his enemy. When he came to himself, the Prior ordered the soldiers to take Alesius and other canons to prison, and they were all cast into a foul dungeon.
These deeds of violence were reported throughout the town, and men’s feelings were divided between contempt and horror. However, some of the nobles who had esteemed Hamilton were profoundly indignant, and they implored the King to check the intolerable tyranny of the Prior. When the King ordered all the canons to be set at liberty, the Prior obeyed but only in part; he had Alesius thrust into a place fouler still. Now that he was alone, Alesius saw only hostile faces. He knew that God was with him, but the sufferings inflicted on him by the cruel Prior – the filth, the bad smells, the vermin that began to prey on him, the perpetual night which filled that frightful sink – endangered his life. It was known in the city that he was ill; it was even reported one day that he was dead.
James V had the prior of St Augustine’s called before him, and commanded him to liberate Alesius. The hypocritical Prior swore by the saints that the canon was free; and returning immediately to the priory, he gave orders to bring out of the frightful dungeon the wretched man, who had languished there for 20 days. It was some comfort to Alesius to see the light of day once more. Some of the servants took off his filthy garments, washed him carefully and then put on him clean and even elegant clothes. Thus attired, the
victim was led before Hepburn, who forbade him to tell anyone how he had been treated. The Prior then summoned the city magistrates and, with an air of triumph, showed them Alesius, clean and well dressed. He said, “There is the man who is reported to be kept in prison by me, and even to be dead. Go, sirs, and give the lie to these calumnies.” To his cruelty, the wretch added falsehood, stratagem and shamelessness.
The magistrates then turned with kind looks to the prisoner and required him in the King’s name to tell the whole truth. When Alesius related the shameful treatment he had suffered, the embarrassed Prior could not deny the fact but assured the Provost and his colleagues that from then on the prisoner would remain free. The door had hardly closed behind the council before the enraged Prior reproached Alesius severely and ordered him back to prison. A year passed, and neither king nor magistrate had snatched from that savage beast the prey on which he set his mind. In vain was it that Alesius had his complaint laid before the Archbishop, who replied that he had noticed in his discourse a leaning to Lutheranism and that he deserved the penalty which had fallen on him. Deliverance seemed impossible.
One day, however, it became known in the monastery that the Prior would be away for several days. The canons immediately brought their friend out of the prison. By degrees his strength was restored; he took courage and one day [still making his way to the full light of Scripture truth] he undertook to perform the service at the altar. But this act of devotion was suddenly interrupted. The Prior came back sooner than he was expected; he entered the church and saw Alesius officiating, and the chapter around him. The blood rose to his face and, without the slightest hesitation about interrupting divine service, he ordered the prisoner to be again cast into his foul dungeon. The canons, scandalised at this order, rose from their stalls, and represented to their superior that it was not lawful to interrupt the worship. Hepburn then allowed Alesius to go on with the service; but as soon as it was finished, he had him confined again.
To prevent the canons taking such liberties again, the prior appointed as keeper of the prison one John Hay, a cruel, fanatical priest who would severely carry out his master’s orders. The canons – friends of Alesius – told one another that, if he did not escape immediately, his life would be taken. The same day, before dusk, a few of them made their way secretly to the dungeon. They succeeded, with difficulty, in reaching the prisoner and told him that Hay had been named his keeper and that consequently he had nothing to look for but horrible torture and certain death. He could therefore only save his life by taking flight and quitting Scotland. Alesius was amazed: to forsake his country and friends seemed to him an extreme course. “Leave the
country immediately, without a word to anybody,” the canons told him, “for as soon as the Prior finds that you are no longer in your dungeon, he will send horsemen to seize you.”
Alesius could not make up his mind to follow this advice. The thought of bidding adieu to Scotland, perhaps for ever, filled him with the keenest sorrow. His dream had been to consecrate all his energies to the salvation of his fellow-citizens and to do good even to those who wronged him; and now he was to be condemned never again to see Edinburgh, its lofty houses, its narrow streets, its castle, the fertile plains of Scotland or its hills. “What is there”, he asked, “more dear to souls happily born than their native land?” But soon he corrected himself: “Assuredly the name of one’s native land is very dear, but that of the Church is dearer still”. He perceived that if he did not go away, it was all over with him; and that if he did go away, he might contribute, even from afar, towards the triumph of the truth in the land of his fathers, and might possibly return at a later day. “Go!” repeated the canons, who would fain save at any cost a life so precious; “all honest people desire it.” “Well,” said Alesius, “I bend to the yoke of necessity; I will go.”
The canons immediately got him secretly out of the priory, conducted him beyond the town, and gave him the money he need for his voyage. Though less advanced than their friend in the knowledge of the Scriptures, these generous men perceived that by his departure they would lose an inestimable treasure; but they thought rather of him than of themselves. They strove to dissipate his gloom and reminded him of the saints who had been compelled to flee, like him, far from the wrath of tyrants. At length the solemn moment of farewell came, and all of them burst into tears, deeply affected at the thought that perhaps they would never meet again. As Calvin says, “the perfection of the faithful does not lie in throwing off every affection, but in cherishing them for worthy causes”.
It was midnight. Alesius had to go to Dundee, where a ship was on the point of sailing. He set out alone, and travelled on in the thick darkness. He directed his steps towards the Firth of Tay and arrived at Newport, opposite Dundee, where he had to take a boat to cross the Firth. During this night journey he was beset with the saddest thoughts: “What a life full of bitterness is offered me, to forsake one’s kinsfolk and one’s country; to be exposed to the greatest dangers till I reach the vessel; to flee into foreign lands where no hospitable roof is ready to receive me; to have in prospect all the ills of exile, where I have not a single friend!” His soul sank; but having lifted up his eyes to Christ with full trust, he was suddenly consoled and came victorious out of the trial.
His fears, however, were only too well founded. No sooner had the violent
Hepburn learned of the flight of the prisoner than he assembled some horsemen, set off in pursuit and reached Dundee, from where he knew that a vessel was sailing for Germany. Alesius was expecting every moment to see him appear. “How shameful in a dignitary of the Church,” said he, “is this man’s cruelty! What rage moved him when he drew his sword against me!” In the morning Alesius entered Dundee. Fearing that he would be arrested and fall into the hands of the Prior, he went immediately on board the ship, which was about to sail. The captain, who was a German and probably a Protestant, received him very kindly.
The Prior and the horsemen arrived a little later in Dundee and began to search for Alesius. He was nowhere to be found; the vessel had already cleared the port. The Prior, enraged to find that his prey had escaped him, must needs vent his wrath on someone. He told a citizen well known for his attachment to the Reformation: “It is you who furnished the canon with the means of escape”. This man denied the charge, and then the Provost, Sir James Scrymgeour, declared to the Prior that with all his heart he would have provided a vessel for Alesius. And he added: “I would have given him the necessary funds for the purpose of rescuing him from the perils to which your cruelty exposed him”. The Provost of Dundee was chief among the Scrymgeours, who formed a powerful family, connected with several other noble houses of the realm. Several distinguished families had from the first welcomed the Reformation. The Prior had not expected such a challenge and returned, annoyed and furious, to St Andrews.
While the ship on which Alesius had embarked sailed towards Europe, the refugee felt his own weakness, and found strength in the Lord. “O God,” he said, “Thou dost put the oil of Thy compassion only into the vessel of a steadfast and filial trust. I must assuredly have gone down to the gates of hell unless all my hope had been in Thy mercy alone.” The ship had not long been on her way when a westerly wind, blowing violently, carried her eastward, drove her towards Sweden and made it necessary to go ashore at Malmo for a refit. Alesius was lovingly welcomed there by the Scots who had settled in the town. At length he betook himself to Cologne, where he was received by Archbishop Hermann, Count of Wied.
You value grace above the gold of Ophir. How could you see the worth and lustre of this jewel if God’s Spirit had not opened your eyes? You desire to believe, and mourn that you cannot believe. Are these tears not the beginnings of faith? You desire Christ and cannot be satisfied without Him. This beating of the pulse evidences life. The iron could not move upwards if the lodestone [magnet] did not draw it. The heart could not ascend in holy desires for God if some heavenly lodestone had not been drawing it.
Thomas Watson