27 Chapter 27.The Reformation under Henry VIII.A.D. 1510-1531.

Chapter 27. The Reformation under Henry VIII.

A.D. 1510-1531. The work of the Reformation in England, in so far as the State was concerned, did not begin, strictly speaking, till the latter half of the sixteenth century. As Ludwig Hausser justly observes, "What was attempted by Henry VIII. was not in anywise a reformation, but a wanton experiment of autocratic absolutism." He shook off the allegiance of the pope in the year 1514; suppressed the mendicant orders in the year following; and followed up this act by plundering the monasteries, the revenues of which he appropriated to his own use. The motive power with Henry in this specious kind of reformation was anger, arising from the pope’s refusal to grant him a divorce from Catherine of Arragon. A reformation thus begun could scarcely be expected to stand.

Yet a real work of God was going on, a work indeed which had never ceased since the days of Wickliffe, and every year new light was coming into the country from the Continent. Of this we will now speak more particularly. In the very year of the king’s accession, the popish bishop of London, Richard Fitzjames, began a persecution in his diocese, a fact which shews that the truth was already making itself felt in some quarters; and between the years 1510 and 1527 some forty Christians of both sexes suffered in various ways for their faith. The charges against them were various, and, for the most part, extremely petty. One would not reverence the crucifix, or acknowledge that the pope had power to give pardons; another spoke against pilgrimages and praying to saints; a third denied the carnal and corporal presence of the Lord’s body and blood in the sacrament of the altar. Others were found guilty of reading certain forbidden books, as, for example, the Four Gospels, Wickliffe’s Wicket, the Ten Commandments of Almighty God, and sundry of the Epistles; and others were convicted of the supreme sin of speaking against the pope’s holiness, and against his blessed martyr Thomas à Becket.

One of the martyrs of this period was John Brown, the nature of whose offence is thus given. Seated upon a Gravesend barge one day, he fell into conversation with a certain priest, who, becoming heated in their talk, delivered himself in this fashion: "Dost thou know who I am? thou sittest too near me, thou sittest on my clothes." "No, sir," said John Brown; "I know not who you are." "I tell thee I am a priest." "What, sir, are you a parson, or vicar, or a lady’s chaplain?" "No," quoth the priest, "I am a soul-priest; I sing for a soul." "Do you so, sir?" said Master Brown, "that is well done: I pray you, sir, where find you the soul when you go to mass?" "I cannot tell thee," said the priest. "I pray you, sir," said Master Brown, "where do you leave it when the mass is done?" The priest returned the same answer. "Then," said Brown, "you can neither tell me where you find it when you go to mass, nor where you leave it when the mass is done, how can you then save the soul?" "Go thy ways," quoth the priest, "thou art a heretic, and I will be even with thee." Three days after, the bold speaker was arrested in his own home, and brought fast-bound to Canterbury. During his confinement here, efforts were made to induce him to recant; and to this end his feet were horribly tortured over a fire, until the bones were laid bare. But John Brown was not to be moved; and when the priests found that he was firm in his confession, they sent him to the stake. In the neighbourhood of Lincoln, also, there was not a little persecution, and the bishop of the diocese, protected by a letter from the king, instituted a rigorous search for heretics, with whom he dealt with characteristic cruelty when they were brought before him. Those who were found guilty of a first offence, and abjured their opinions, were, for the most part, incarcerated in the monasteries, where they were retained for life; but relapsed heretics were handed over to the secular arm, to be burnt alive. In the case of John Scrivener, his own children were compelled to light the faggots at his burning; and in like manner, the daughter of William Tilsworth was made to fire the wood at her father’s martyrdom. But while Wolsey’s creature, bishop Longland, was busy in his diocese of Lincoln, other Englishmen, with objects of a nobler and purer kind, were not less busy in other parts. In the year 1520, William Tyndal left the university of Cambridge, and commenced his eventful career.

We hear of him first at Gloucester, where he was tutor in the family of a knight named Welsh, in whose mansion he frequently reasoned and disputed with the abbots, deans, archdeacons, and other beneficed men who met around his patron’s board. Being thus engaged on one occasion, he was informed by his opponent, who had lost his temper in the heat of controversy, that "It were better to be without God’s laws than the pope’s." Tyndal, swelling with indignation, exclaimed, "I defy the pope and all his laws!" and to this he added, "that if God spared his life, ere many years he would cause a boy that drives a plough to know more of the scriptures than he did." On the whole the Cambridge scholar does not seem to have been at all popular in the Gloucestershire knight’s household; indeed, his place was much preferred to his company, and the priests of those parts discovered him to be an heretic in sophistry, an heretic in logic, and an heretic in divinity."

Proceeding afterwards to London, he waited upon the then bishop, Cuthbert Tonstall, and endeavoured to obtain a place in his household, but his efforts were unsuccessful. To nestle down under the sheltering wing of patronage was not to be the lot of Master Tyndal. He was to be a servant of the Lord in perilous times, and for that it was necessary that he should pass through a severer school than was to be found in any bishop’s household. For awhile, however, he was comfortably lodged in the house of one Humphrey Monmouth, a worthy citizen of London, who had a sincere respect for his guest, and was himself interested not a little in the new teaching. But as the opinions of Tyndal became known (and he was not one to hide his light under a bushel) the dangers of his situation increased, and his friends advised him to retire to the Continent.

Besides, a new work was now occupying his attention — the translation of the Bible — and for this he needed all the quiet that could possibly be had. London was not likely to afford him much of that. The call for such a work he had often insisted on, but he also felt the need of it for his own soul. "I hunger for the word of God," he said, "and will translate it, whatever they may say or do. God will never suffer me to perish. He never made a mouth but he made food for it, nor a body but He made raiment also." With such a hunger oppressing him, no wonder that Tyndal thought lightly of his bodily needs, and, content with his meagre fare of boiled meat and small beer, refused the delicacies of Humphrey Monmouth’s table. But persecution was waxing hot, and while those around him were being condemned merely for reading portions of the word of God, it was not likely that he would long escape who was translating the whole Bible. "Alas," he sighed, "is there no place where I can translate the Bible? It is not the bishop’s house alone that is closed against me, but all England." The complaint was but too just, and within a few days of quitting Humphrey Monmouth’s sheltering roof, Tyndal was on his way to Germany.*

{*Humphrey Monmouth was afterwards imprisoned in the Tower for sheltering the reformer, and only escaped the forfeiture of his goods and other heavy penalties, by some dexterous excuses and a degrading abjuration.} On arriving in that country he called upon several of the reformers, and then passed into Saxony, where he had a conference with Luther; and having continued in those parts a certain season he proceeded to the Netherlands, and finally took up his abode in Antwerp. Others have traced his progress first to Hamburg, and thence to Cologne, to which city he was followed by his busy enemy Cochlaeus, who is said to have made the printers drunk, in order to get from them the secret of his work. Finding himself in danger here, he moved on to Worms, and there completed the first portion of his work, the translation of the New Testament. In the spring of 1526, copies of the translation had reached England, and were being circulated far and wide. The Romish priests in England were now in somewhat evil case, and began to ask each other what was to be done. The foundations of the Papacy were being sapped, and the whole fabric seemed in danger of a collapse. To condemn the book was easy enough, and this was presently done, but to purge the country of the new doctrines which it so clearly taught, and to prevent the influx of further copies, was quite another matter. It was useless for Henry to storm, and for Tonstall to preach it down; the Book had got a hold of people’s hearts and consciences, as well as of their minds, and neither the king’s clamour nor the bishop’s sermons could destroy its influence. Copies of the translation were publicly burnt at Oxford, Cambridge, and London; and in some instances not only the books, but the readers of them were committed to the flames: yet the work went on just the same, for God was in it.

Meanwhile, Tyndal was busy upon the Old Testament, and by the year 1528 had finished the Pentateuch; but while on his way to Hamburg to get it printed he suffered shipwreck, and the MS. was lost. He continued his journey directly he was able, however, and on reaching Hamburg recommenced his arduous task, being now assisted by his brother reformer, Miles Coverdale, whose own translation of the scriptures was published a few years later. But a period was soon to be put to the labours of the brave reformer, and a martyr’s crown had been decreed to him. While at Antwerp, and lodging in the house of an Englishman named Pointz, he was betrayed into the hands of the papists by one who had shared his confidence, and after languishing in prison eighteen months (during which time he was instrumental in the conversion of the gaoler, and others of the gaoler’s household) he was condemned to the stake. It was his lot to be strangled before being burned; and the sentence was carried out in the town of Vilvorden A.D. 1536. His last words, uttered with a loud voice, were a prayer for his benighted country — "Lord! open the eyes of the King of England." But Tyndal was not the only Englishman of exceptional learning and ability, who laboured for the public good during these troublous times. What he was doing in a silent way as a translator of the scriptures, Dr. Latimer of Cambridge was doing in a more public manner by his sermons. Indeed the two men, taken together, may be said to represent the Luther of the English Reformation.

Hugh Latimer was the son of a farmer, and was born at Thurcaston, in the county of Leicester, in the year 1491. His remarkable precocity, added to a sharp and ready wit, induced his father to send him to the University, and he was received at Cambridge in the same year that Luther entered the Augustine convent. Some four years later, his mind received a serious bent, and the gay and witty student became an intensely devoted and superstitious disciple of the Romish Church. About the same time he was made a fellow of Clare Hall, and applied himself to the study of the classics with considerable diligence. Later on, he began the study of divinity, and wasted many precious hours poring over the works of Duns Scotus, Aquinas, and other learned doctors of the Middle Ages; whose Summa Theologiae, Commentaries on Aristotle, and such like metaphysical abstractions, he was wise enough to put aside in after years as useless and lumbersome. He had meanwhile taken his Master’s degree, and was now, to use his own words, "as obstinate a papist as any in England." His zeal against the new doctrines which were being publicly taught in one of the Halls by Master Stafford, expressed itself in witty sarcasms and biting orations, and so delighted the clergy that they conferred upon him the dignity of cross-bearer to the University. In truth, as the fame of his preaching continued to spread, the prelates and friars began to rub their hands, and to stimulate one another with the thought that, even Luther had found his match at last. But they were giving expression to their thoughts too soon. In the University with Master Latimer was one of quite another way of thinking, a scholar, named Thomas Bilney, who watched with not less interest, though with motives altogether different, the movements of the witty and zealous preacher. "Ah!" sighed Bilney, "if I could only win this eloquent priest to our side, that would indeed be a triumph for the cause! If I could only lead him to the Saviour’s feet, a revival of true religion would certainly follow!" This was a consummation devoutly to be wished, but how was it to be brought about? Humanly speaking, the task was impossible; but Bilney was a man of faith, and he felt that this was a time when faith should be in exercise.

One day Master Latimer, in his character of priestly confessor, was waited upon in his room by a penitent upon whom he gazed in no little astonishment. It was Master Bilney."What is this?" thought the priest, "Bilney here! The heretic confessing to the catholic — this is strange. But maybe my Latin sermon against Melanchthon has convinced him of his error, and he has come to seek restoration to the communion of the Church!" While he was thus reasoning, Bilney began to pour into the confessor’s ears the artless story of his own conversion to God; and the words, applied by the Holy Ghost, went home to the heart and conscience of the unsuspecting priest. Then and there he surrendered himself to God; and, abandoning from that time the specious divinity of the schools, he became not only an earnest student of the true divinity, but a teacher of the reformed doctrines. In the words of Foxe, "He was not satisfied with his own conversion only, but, like a true disciple of the blessed Samaritan, pitied the misery of others, and therefore became both a public preacher, and also a private instructor to the rest of his brethren within the University, for the space of three years, spending his time partly in the Latin tongue among the learned, and partly amongst the simple people in the English language." But his plain preaching and ruthless exposures of the Romish fallacies were not likely to be relished by the proud doctors of the University, or the self-righteous priests and friars; and ere long their wrath began to shew itself in covert threats and passionate invectives. Yet Latimer was not the man to be cowed by threats or disconcerted by clamour, and he went on preaching with all boldness. His caustic wit, lively sallies, and, above all, the deep earnestness of his manner, overcame all opposition, while his heart was continually cheered by the most signal proofs of the divine blessing. Long after he had left the University, there was a saying current in those parts:"When Master Stafford read,And Master Latimer preached,Then was Cambridge blessed."

After awhile, the ordinary of Cambridge (the Bishop of Ely) tried softer measures with the intrepid preacher, but with no greater success. He complimented him on his wonderful gifts, declared himself ready to kiss his feet, and then advised him, as a sure way to put down heresy, to preach against Luther. Latimer, who had too much common sense to be deceived by such evident flattery, returned, "If Luther preaches the word of God, I cannot oppose him. But if he teaches the contrary, I am ready to attack him." "Well, well, Master Latimer," said the bishop, "I perceive that you smell somewhat of the pan. One day or another you will repent of that merchandise."

Abuses, threats, and honeyed speeches having failed, the bishop now turned from words to deeds, and closed the pulpits of the University against the preacher. But Latimer had not long to wait before another door was opened to him, and Robert Barnes, the prior of the Augustinian friars at Cambridge, whose heart the Lord had touched, invited him to preach in the church belonging to that order. Later still, he was cited to appear before Wolsey, to answer to a charge of heresy; but the hand of an overruling Providence was again seen, and the event only turned out for the furtherance of the Gospel. Contrary to all expectations, Latimer was acquitted; and the inhibition of the bishop of Ely was overruled.

About the Christmas of 1529 he delivered his famous Sermons on the Card, which roused much discussion, and were used to the enlightening of many souls. "I promise you," he said, in the course of his second sermon on this subject, "if you build a hundred churches, give as much as you can make to gilding of saints, and honouring of the church; and if thou go as many pilgrimages as thy body can well suffer, and offer as great candles as oaks; if thou leave the works of mercy and the commandments undone, these works shall nothing avail thee." Referring to the Magdalene in the Pharisee’s house, and the Lord’s reply to Simon’s bickerings, he said, "So this proud Pharisee had an answer to delay his pride: and think you not but that there be amongst us a great number of these proud Pharisees, which think themselves worthy to bid Christ to dinner; which will perk, and presume to sit by Christ in the church, and have a disdain for this poor woman Magdalene, their poor neighbour, with a high, disdainous, and solemn countenance? And being always desirous of climbing highest in the church, reckoning themselves more worthy to sit there than another, I fear me poor Magdalene under the board, and in the belfrey, hath more forgiven of Christ than they have; for it is like that those Pharisees do less know themselves and their offences, whereby they less love God, and so they be less forgiven." The controversy which these sermons revived was stopped by a letter from the king’s almoner, in which the contending parties were bound over to silence until the king’s pleasure should be known. But the king’s pleasure was that Latimer should go on preaching. He had been meanwhile informed that the eloquent gospeller had favoured his cause in the question of the divorce from Catherine of Aragon, and that was a sure way to the royal favour. In the following year, we find him preaching before the court at Windsor, when the king was so pleased with his earnest, fearless eloquence, that he made him his chaplain. In the year 1531 a further mark of the royal favour was conferred upon him, and he was presented to the rectory of West Kington, in Wiltshire. But the papists would not let him rest, and on being summoned before the bishop of London on a further charge of heresy, he was excommunicated, and thrown into prison. He makes some allusion to his examination before the bishop, in a sermon preached at Stamford in the year 1550, from which we may gather some curious facts concerning the honesty of his judges. "I was once," he says, "in examination before five or six bishops, where I had much vexation: every week I came thrice to examinations, and many snares and traps were laid to entangle me. Now God knoweth that I was ignorant of the laws, but that God gave me answer and wisdom what I should speak; it was God indeed, for else I had never escaped them. At the last I was brought forth to be examined into a chamber hung with arras, where I was wont to be examined: but now at this time the chamber was somewhat altered. For whereas before there was wont ever to be a fire in the chimney, now the fire was taken away, and an arras hanged over the chimney, and the table stood near the chimney’s end. There was amongst the bishops that examined me one with whom I had been very familiar, and took him for my great friend, an aged man, and he sat next the end of the table. Then, amongst all other questions, he put forth one, a very subtle and crafty one, such, indeed, as I could not think so great danger in. And when I should have made answer, ’I pray you, Master Latimer,’ said one, ’speak out; I am very thick of hearing, and here be many that sit far off.’ I marvelled at this, that I was bidden speak out, and began to suspect, and gave an ear to the chimney, and there I heard a pen writing in the chimney behind the cloth. They had appointed one there to write all mine answers; for they made sure that I should not start from them: there was no starting from them. God was my good Lord, and gave me answer, I could never else have escaped it." So much for the rector of West Kington and his experience in the bishop of London’s court. We will now leave him in his prison, while we take up with other matters.