John Knox Part 6

At St. Andrews Knox was free from personal danger, and resumed the work of preaching. In the pulpit of the parish church he discoursed almost regularly, with a vigour which triumphed for the time over his physical weakness. We have a most graphic portrait of him at this time from the pen of James Melville who was then a student at the University, and who writes thus in his diary: (We are constrained to modernize the words that they may be generally understood by English and American readers, but we know how much they must lose thereby in expressiveness, to those who understand the vernacular) "Of all the benefits that I had that year (1571), was the coming of that most notable prophet and apostle of our nation, Mr. John Knox, to St. Andrews, who by the faction of the Queen occupying the castle and town of Edinburgh, was compelled to remove therefrom, with a number of the best, and chose to come to St.

Andrews. I heard him teach there the prophecies of Daniel that summer and the winter following. I had my pen and my little {192} book, and took away such things as I could comprehend. In the opening up of his text he was moderate for the s.p.a.ce of half an hour; but when he entered on application, he made me so to shudder (_scottice_, 'grue') and tremble, that I could not hold my pen to write. He was very weak. I saw him every day of his teaching, go slowly and warily, with a fur of martens about his neck, a staff in the one hand, and good, G.o.dly Richard Ballantyne, his servant, holding up the other armpit (_scottice_, 'oxter'), from the abbey to the parish kirk, and by the said Robert and another servant lifted up to the pulpit, where he behoved to lean at his first entrance; but before he had done with his sermon, he was so active and vigorous, that it seemed as if he would beat the pulpit in pieces (_scottice_, 'ding the pulpit in blads') and fly out of it." Nor must we omit this other trait, evincing as it does the interest taken by the aged warrior in the young soldiers who were then just girding on their armour. "He would sometimes come in and rest in our college yard, and call us scholars unto him, and bless us, and exhort us to know G.o.d, and His work in our country, and stand by the good cause, to use our time well, and learn the good instructions and follow the good example of our masters."

In St. Andrews too, at this time, he published his "Answer to the Letter of a Jesuit named Tyrie," which was the last work that he gave to the world. It had been composed years before, in the haste which was incident to his numerous occupations, but it was now {193} revised and enlarged, and gives expression in a vigorous manner to his maturest views on faith, religion, and the Catholic, or true and Universal Church. Here is a nugget from it, not without its pertinence to some popular notions current in the days in which we live. "We find that Christ sends not His afflicted Church to seek a lineal succession of any persons, before He will receive them; but He with all gentleness calleth His sheep unto Himself, saying, 'Come unto Me all ye that labour and are laden, and I will ease you.'" Truly a golden sentence, touching the very quick of all Church controversies, and emphasizing the principle never to be forgotten, that we must find our way to the Church through Christ, and not to Christ through the Church.

In public questions he did not cease to take an interest, although the state of his health unfitted him for active leaders.h.i.+p. Still, that he was no unconcerned spectator of what was going forward is apparent from the following statement, which, because of its faithfulness and fairness, we take from the article by Dr. Mitch.e.l.l on "The Last Days of John Knox."[1] "In March, 1572, the General a.s.sembly was held in St.

Andrews, in the schools of St. Leonard's College. This place was no doubt chosen, in part at least, for the convenience of the aged Reformer, whose counsel in that time of trouble was specially needed.

It was the last a.s.sembly at which he was able to be present, and probably the first witnessed by Davidson and Melville. 'There,' the {194} latter narrates, 'was motioned the making of bishops, to the which Mr. Knox opposed himself directly and zealously.' ... Some months before this a convention at Leith had given its sanction to a sort of mongrel episcopacy, nominally to secure the t.i.thes more completely to the Church, but really to secure the bulk of them by a more regular t.i.tle to certain covetous n.o.blemen, who sought in this way to reimburse themselves for their services in the cause." (The n.o.blemen presented to the bishoprics men who had first covenanted to give by far the larger portion of the revenues to the patrons, and with a truly Scottish humour, the people called these dignitaries "tulchan bishops,"

a "tulchan" being the name which was given to a calf's skin stuffed with straw, which was set up to make the cow give her milk more willingly.) "First among these n.o.blemen was the Earl of Morton, then one of the chief supporters of the young prince, and soon after Regent of the kingdom. Having secured a presentation to the Archbishopric of St. Andrews, for Mr. John Douglas, he came over to the city, had him elected in terms of the convention, and on the 10th of February inaugurated into his office. This was performed by Winram, superintendent of Fife, according to the order followed in the admission of superintendents, save that the Bishops of Caithness, the Superintendent of Lothian, and Mr. David Lindsay, who sat beside Douglas, laid their hands on his head. Knox had preached that day as usual, but, as Ballantyne is careful to tell us, "had {195} refused to inaugurate the said bishop"; and, as others add, had denounced "anathema to the giver, and anathema to the receiver," who, as rector and princ.i.p.al, "had already far more to do than such an aged man could hope to overtake." In the face of such a fact, it is idle for historians to insinuate, as Burton does, that Knox gave in his closing days even a _quasi_ sanction to episcopacy.

In the month of July, 1572, a cessation of hostilities for a time was agreed upon between the Regent's party and that of the Queen, so that the city of Edinburgh was again delivered from annoyance, either at the hands of the garrison or of "the lewd fellows of the baser sort" who made its streets unsafe. As Melville says, "the good and honest men thereof returned to their homes, and earnestly implored their pastor, if he could without injury of his health, to do the same; and so Mr.

Knox and his family pa.s.sed home to Edinburgh," where he arrived on the 23rd of August. On the following Sunday he preached in his old pulpit; but as in his weakness he could not make himself heard in the large cathedral, the western part of the nave, known as the Tolbooth Church, was fitted up for his use; and that was the scene of his latest ministrations. He preached as often as he was able, delivering a course of sermons on the Redeemer's Pa.s.sion, which he had always wished to be the theme of his last discourses. But in his debilitated condition, his ancient power had well-nigh departed. Only once during this period of decadence {196} did the "wonted fires" flame forth out of "their ashes." When he heard of the ma.s.sacre of St. Bartholomew he had himself a.s.sisted into the pulpit, and there, moved at once by the tender recollections of the many friends of his own who had been among the victims, and by his life-long antagonism to the system which was identified with that horrible cruelty, he thundered forth the vengeance of Heaven against "that cruel murderer the king of France;" and turning to Le Croc, the French amba.s.sador, he said, like another Elijah: "Go tell your master that sentence is p.r.o.nounced against him; that the Divine vengeance shall never depart from him or from his house, except they repent; but his name shall remain an execration to posterity, and none proceeding from his loins shall enjoy his kingdom in peace."

His closing work was the installation of his own successor. During his absence from Edinburgh, Mr. John Craig, his colleague, had gone to another sphere of labour, and his flock had now no other shepherd than himself. He was, therefore, very naturally anxious to see some true and earnest man set over them in the Lord, and accordingly obtained permission from the General a.s.sembly to induct any minister who might be chosen by himself, the Superintendent of Lothian, and the Church of Edinburgh, to take his place. They agreed to nominate James Lawson, of Aberdeen, who, being urged by Knox to repair immediately to Edinburgh, in a touching letter, with a still more touching postscript,--"Haste, lest ye come too late!"--came to {197} the metropolis, gave such evidence of his gifts as satisfied all parties concerned, and was installed on the 9th of November. Knox preached the sermon on the occasion in the Tolbooth Church, and after that removed with the congregation to the larger area of the cathedral, where he went through the form of admission by proposing the usual questions, and giving exhortation first to the pastor and then to the people. He concluded with prayer and the benediction; "then leaning upon his staff and the arm of an attendant, he crept down the street, which was lined with the audience, who, as if anxious to take the last sight of their beloved pastor, followed him until he entered his house, from which he never again came out alive."

The next day he was seized with a violent cough, and he gradually declined until the 24th of November, when, at the age of sixty-seven, he breathed his last. His faithful servant, Richard Ballantyne, has left a minute description of his death-bed experiences and sayings, which Dr. McCrie has reproduced the main features of in his biography.

We select those which seem to us to give most insight into the character of the man. Visited, a few days after his last sickness began, by two of his personal friends, he "for their cause came to the table," for it was the hour of dinner, and caused an hogshead of wine in the cellar to be pierced for their entertainment, at the same time playfully desiring one of them to send for some of it as long as it lasted, for he would not tarry until it was all drunk." To the elders of his Church who {198} came in a body to his room at his request, he said, "I profess before G.o.d and His holy angels that I never made merchandise of the sacred word of G.o.d; never studied to please men; never indulged my own private pa.s.sions or those of others, but faithfully distributed the talents entrusted to me for the edification of the Church over which I watched. Whatever obloquy wicked men may cast upon me respecting this point, I rejoice in the testimony of a good conscience." As they were leaving, he detained his colleague and the minister of Leith to give them a message to Kirkaldy of Grange, adding to it these words: "That man's soul is dear to me, and I would not have it perish, if I could save it." When they returned and told him that they had met with a rude reception, he was much grieved, and said, "that he had been earnest in prayer for that man, and still trusted that his soul would be saved, although his body should come to a miserable end." Such pet.i.tions as these dropped from his lips at intervals, "Come, Lord Jesus. Be merciful to Thy Church which Thou hast redeemed. Give peace to this afflicted commonwealth. Raise up faithful pastors who will take the charge of Thy Church. Grant us, Lord, the perfect hatred of sin, both by the evidences of Thy wrath and mercy." To his friend Fairley, of Braid, he said: "Every one bids me good-night, but when will you do it? I have been greatly indebted to you, for which I shall never be able to recompense you, but I commit you to one who can, to the eternal G.o.d." To Campbell of Kingzeancleugh {199} he said, "I must leave the care of my wife and children to you, to whom you must be a husband in my room." A few hours before his death he said to his wife, "Go read where I first cast my anchor," and she understanding his reference, read to him the 17th chapter of John's Gospel, and afterwards a part of Calvin's "Sermons on the Ephesians."

Shortly after, seeing that death was fast approaching, and when he was unable to speak, his servant said to him, "Now, sir, the time that you have long called to G.o.d for, the end of your battle, is come; and seeing all natural power now fails you, remember the comfortable promises of our Saviour Jesus Christ, which ofttimes you have shown us.

And that we may understand and know that you hear us, give us some sign." And "so he lifted up one of his hands, and incontinent thereafter rendered up his spirit, apparently without pain or movement, so that he seemed rather to fall asleep than to die."

He was buried on the 26th of November, his body being accompanied to the grave by a large concourse of people, among whom were the Earl of Morton, newly-appointed Regent, and other n.o.blemen. According to the rubric of his own Book of Common Order, there was no religious service at the funeral, but when the body was lowered to its place Calderwood tells us that the Regent Morton uttered these words: "HERE LIETH A MAN WHO IN HIS LIFE NEVER FEARED THE FACE OF MAN; WHO HATH BEEN OFTEN THREATENED WITH DAGGE AND DAGGER, BUT YET HATH ENDED HIS DAYS IN PEACE {200} AND HONOUR." The precise site of his grave cannot now be identified. It was in the churchyard of St. Giles, which extended from the church down the slope of the hill till it reached the Colgate, and was wholly obliterated in 1633 when the Parliament House and other buildings were erected. If any stone ever marked the spot, it was probably then removed or destroyed. Tradition points out as the place that which is now marked with the letters "I.K., 1572," a few feet to the west of the statue of Charles II. in the Parliament Square. What Charles ever did for Scotland to deserve any such memorial, it would puzzle the wisest man to say, unless perhaps on the principle that it was his intolerance which most of all provoked the Revolution; but many will agree with Dr. Laing in thinking, that "a more appropriate monument for such a locality would be a statue of the great Reformer."

Knox, we are told, was of small stature, and his const.i.tution never recovered from the effects of the exposure to which he was subjected in the French galleys, so that his frame was not well fitted for hards.h.i.+p and fatigue. He too had his "thorn in the flesh," and that he did so much in spite of that is a proof of the dominating power of his spiritual earnestness over his physical weakness. Of the five portraits reproduced and criticised so characteristically by Carlyle in his "Brochure" on the subject, we give our verdict in favour of that which he calls the Somerville portrait, and of which he says that it is "the only probable likeness anywhere known to {201} exist." It is that of a true Scottish face--sharp, wedge-like in its contour, surmounted by a bald dome-like head fringed with scanty hair, the beard short and not very profuse, the lips firmly set, with the slightest curl of scorn in their expression, and the eyes small, clear, penetrating, and quick; altogether "a physiognomy worth looking at," and far more in keeping with the character and history of the Reformer, than the long-bearded timber-looking figure-head, surmounted by a Genevan cap, which has been made so long to represent him to posterity, and which Carlyle has shown to have no claim to authenticity.

His children were five in number. His two sons by his first wife became students in St. John's College, Cambridge, where Nathanael, the elder, died in 1580. Eleazar, the younger, after finis.h.i.+ng his studies, became Vicar of Clacton Magna, and died in 1591. He too was buried at Cambridge; and, by the death of both, the family of the Reformer in the male line became extinct. His three daughters by his second wife were Martha, Margaret, and Elizabeth. Martha became the wife of Alexander Fairley, eldest son of Robert Fairley, of Braid, whom we have just seen at the Reformer's death-bed. Margaret married Zachary Pont, one of the Lords of Session, and latterly minister of St.

Cuthbert's, Edinburgh. Elizabeth wedded John Welsh, best known as Minister of Ayr, who was banished for the part which he took in the holding of the General a.s.sembly at Aberdeen in July, 1605, and spent many years as pastor of a {202} Protestant Church in France. It is of this daughter that the well-known story is told to the effect that when her husband's health failed she came over to London, and, having through the influence of friends obtained audience of King James I., requested the royal permission for his return to his native land.

After some coa.r.s.e pleasantry, which need not here be repeated, the king told her that if she would persuade her husband to submit to the bishops he would allow him to go back to Scotland, whereupon, lifting her ap.r.o.n and holding it out toward the king, she answered, like a true daughter of her father, "Please your Majesty, I'd rather kep his head (_i.e._ receive it from the block) there!"

Of the writings of Knox we have spoken incidentally in the course of our narrative, and need not therefore enter now into any minute criticism of their character and merits. They were struck out of him almost extemporaneously by emergencies that arose, and, like all similar productions, they were mainly ephemeral in their nature, so that they are studied now, for the most part, only by those who wish to gain some insight into the man, his times, and his work. He was not what might properly be called literary. He would not have described himself as another of his countrymen did, as "a writer of books." On the contrary, in the preface to the only sermon which he published, he affirmed that "he considered himself rather called of {203} G.o.d to instruct the ignorant, comfort the sorrowful, confirm the weak, and rebuke the proud by tongue and living voice in these most corrupt times, than to compose books for the age to come; seeing that so much is written (and that by men of most singular condition) and yet so little well observed, he decreed to contain himself within the bounds of that vocation whereunto he felt himself specially called." An exception to this may perhaps be found in his "History of the Reformation in Scotland," to which throughout we have been so much indebted, and which is one of the raciest, clearest, and most trustworthy records of the heroic struggle in which he was virtually the leader of the victorious side. It has been stigmatized by Burton as egotistical; but Carlyle more justly notices how on one occasion, when his personal merit far excelled all possible description, "he hardly names himself at all"; and where he could not be truthful without speaking of himself, he invariably does so in the third person, and without any attempt to glorify the work of which he might have said, "_cujus pars magna fui_." For the rest, as Carlyle says, "His account of every event he was present in is that of a well-discerning eye-witness. Things he did not himself see, but had reasonable cause and abundant means to inquire into--battles even, and sieges--are described with something of a Homeric vigour and simplicity." It is unfortunate for modern readers that it is written in the old Scottish dialect; but if some competent scholar would only honestly modernize and faithfully edit it, a {204} great boon would be conferred upon the present generation, for it has in it many elements of popular interest.

His special vocation was that of the preacher rather than of the author. The pulpit was the throne of his peculiar and pre-eminent power. Other men might equal or surpa.s.s him elsewhere, but _there_ he was supreme. Different excellences might come out in himself on different occasions; but in the pulpit all his abilities were conspicuous, and there they were always at their best. It was the gla.s.s which focussed all his powers into a point, and quickened their exercise into a burning intensity which kindled everything it touched.

It brightened his intellect, enlivened his imagination, clarified his judgment, inflamed his courage, and gave fiery energy to his utterance.

He was never elsewhere so great in any one of these particulars, as he was, when in the pulpit, in them all; for there, over and above the "_praefervidum ingenium_" which he had in common with so many of his countrymen, and the glow of animation which fills the soul of the orator when he looks upon an audience, he had the feeling that he was called of G.o.d to be faithful, and that made him almost like another Paul. Behind him was the cross of his Lord; before him was the throne at which he was to be accountable, and between these two he stood "watching for souls as one that must give account." He began his discourse most commonly with Biblical exposition, and spent a little time in calmly, clearly, and fully explaining the meaning of the pa.s.sage on which he was engaged. In this {205} portion of his sermon, if we may judge from the published tracts which were apparently founded on pulpit utterances, he was clear, simple, convincing; not making a parade of learning, yet bringing out withal the true significance of the sacred text. Then having cleared away all doubt from that, he made it the foundation of a battery, whereon he erected a swivel gun, and with that he swept the whole horizon, firing at every evil which came within his view. Nor were the shots mere random things. They were deliberately aimed, and they commonly did most effective work. No matter who might be the evil-doer, the exposure was sure to be made, and the expostulation, usually ending in denunciation, unless the sinner should repent, was sure to follow. Whatever he might do elsewhere, he could neither shut his eyes nor keep back his utterance when he was, as he called it, "in public place." He was "set as a watchman" to the people of Scotland, and he would watch with wakeful vigilance, and give honest warning of everything which he saw wrong; for the wrong with him was always fraught with danger, and the wrongness was enough to evoke his protest. He used no soft words. He was no maker of polite phrases. He spoke in order to be understood, and therefore he "called a fig a fig, and a spade a spade." He went into the pulpit not because he had to say something, but because there was something in him which was compelling itself to be said. He spoke because he "could not but" speak. That irrepressibility gave {206} volcanic energy to his manner and fiery force to his words, so that the effects produced by his sermons were not merely superficial. Like those modern missiles which burst in the wounds which they have made, his words exploded within the hearts of those who had received them, and set them on fire with convictions that flamed forth in their conduct. It was apparently impossible for any one to listen to him without being deeply moved, either to antagonism, or to enthusiastic agreement, or--for he could be tender also--to tears.

It may be said indeed that he allowed himself too great liberty in commenting on public men and national affairs; and we may readily admit that in ordinary times, and especially in our altered circ.u.mstances, it would be unwise in most preachers to use the pulpit precisely as he did. But we have to bear in mind that the crisis through which his country was pa.s.sing at the time, was as much religious as political, and that the pulpit was the only organ at his command. To his credit be it recorded, that he was, if not the first, at least one of the very first to perceive the importance of making and guiding public opinion aright. He saw that the people were to be the virtual rulers in the coming time; nay, he recognised in them the ultimate arbiters for the decision of the great matters which were then in debate, and therefore he would not take time to go to royal closets or n.o.blemen's studies, but made his appeal to the people as a body, and the pulpit was the only place in which he could do that. The daily press was not then born; the {207} public meeting had not yet come into vogue; but what is now done by our editors in their columns, and by our statesmen in Midlothian campaigns, and such like, he did by his five weekly sermons in Edinburgh, and by his various preaching journeys in the south and west and north divisions of the kingdom. He informed and aroused public opinion. He appealed to the people, speaking to them as one under oath to the King of kings the while; and when we put the matter in that light, we have at once the defence of his procedure and the explanation of his success.

He was not always wise; neither was he always discriminating in his utterances. Who is? who especially when surrounded by the difficulties with which he had to contend? and we may well forgive him his occasional indiscretions, when we think of the work which, in spite of these, he was honoured to accomplish. By that work he has earned the grat.i.tude of posterity, and deserved a place among the men who are most worthy to be remembered in these times. By that work the entire face and future of Scotland were changed. She has made great progress in many directions since his day, and outgrown many of the limitations within which he would have restricted her; but the success of his work made it possible for her to become what she is to-day. The liberty, the literature, the philosophy, as well as the religion of Scotland, could not have developed into what they became without the Reformation; and without Knox, humanly speaking, the Reformation would not {208} have been at all, or at least would not have been what it actually became. He had not the lyric thrill of genius that vibrates in the songs of Robert Burns; but in his own way and to his own tune he sang, "A man's a man for a' that," two hundred years before the Ayrs.h.i.+re bard was born. He laid the foundation of that national popular education which has made Scotland at home so intelligent, and carried Scotsmen with honour abroad into all the countries under heaven; and though he would have protested very vehemently against the scepticism of Hume and others, yet the men who have made the Scottish school of philosophy ill.u.s.trious, received, consciously or unconsciously, much of their impulse from his work. Add to this, that wherever Presbyterianism has found a foothold, its votaries name Knox side by side with Calvin, as one of its foremost leaders and organizers. But when we consider the shortness of the time within which Knox did his work for Scotland, the greatness of the man becomes still more conspicuous. He was forty-two years of age when he was called to preach in the Castle of St. Andrews, and he died at sixty-seven. Within these twenty-five years therefore his reformation work was done; and yet of these nearly two were spent as a galley-slave in French captivity, five were pa.s.sed in England, three on the continent, and for the last year and a half of his life he was disabled by paralysis, so that his active labours in his native land were virtually condensed within little more than fourteen years.

During these, also, he had to contend, save in the brief season {209} of Murray's regency, with the greatest difficulties, but through them all he held on, and over them all he secured an ultimate triumph. His energy was consuming, his zeal untiring, and his vigilance unslumbering. With the eye of a statesman he looked into the future, while at the same time he keenly scrutinized the movements of the present. He had the near sight which sees what is closest to it with admirable distinctness, and the far sight which descries with equal accuracy what is distant, and with these he combined the philosophic spirit which marked very correctly the connection between the two. He was a true patriot, and ever willing to sacrifice himself in the welfare of his country. And all these qualities in him were raised to the white heat of enthusiasm, and fused into the unity of holiness by his devotion to the G.o.d and Father of his Saviour the Lord Jesus Christ. He spoke, and wrote, and acted as ever in His sight. This was the secret of his courage, the root of his inflexibility, and the source of his power. As a Reformer he had in him the boldness of Luther, combined with some of the qualities of Calvin, and though as a whole he was inferior to both, yet more than either he reminds us of a Hebrew prophet. When we see him before Queen Mary, we think at once of Elijah before Ahab, and more appropriately perhaps than any other man in modern history he might have taken for the motto of his life the oft-repeated a.s.severation of the Tishbite, "As the Lord G.o.d of Israel liveth, _before whom I stand_."

{210}

And yet, though sternly uttering in the highest places what he believed to be the word of G.o.d, there were not wanting in his character other traits of gentleness and geniality. As Carlyle has truly said, "Tumult was not his element, it was the tragic feature of his life that he was forced to dwell in that." He too, like the granite mountains of his native land, had in him fountains of tenderness, and valleys laughing with cheerfulness. He was not the heartless Stoic that many have ignorantly painted him, for have we not seen him weeping with those who were "sobbing unto G.o.d"? And though it may seem strange to those who have not made themselves acquainted with his history, there was in him a vein of humour, yea even, as Carlyle says, of "drollery," that makes him excellent company. This humour of his, as the writer just named has admirably diagnosed it, was "not mockery, scorn, bitterness, alone, though there is enough of that too, but a true, loving, illuminating laugh mounts up over the earnest visage; not a loud laugh; you would say a laugh in the _eyes_ most of all."

But now our task is done. We have tried to show honestly the man as he was, and to describe dispa.s.sionately the work which he did. He is, if not pre-eminently the Scotchman of history,--though we think a good claim might be established for him as such,--yet certainly one of "the three mightiest," or of "the first three" of his nation; and like the vine whose branches spread over the wall, his influence has gone in blessing to other lands, for in his work we have the root of the English {211} Revolution, and some of the seeds that were carried westward in the _Mayflower_, and sown in New England fields, had fallen from his hands. It is not inappropriate therefore that one whose labours in the ministry of the gospel have closely connected him alike with Scotland, England, and America, should pay this willing tribute to his name and work.

[1] "Catholic Presbyterian," vol. vi. p. 265.