The Wisest Fool

by Nigel Tranter

  When the playwright had bowed himself out, Heriot was hustled to the hidden garderobe behind the tapestry, with much shushing and adjurations as to no coughing, sneezing, or coming out until he, James, came for him. Then the door was shut, and he was left in darkness save for the dusty lances of light coming through from the gallery windows opposite.

  Sighing—not audibly, he hoped—the man sat on the bench, immured in the cause of duty.

  He had not long to wait, at any rate. In only a minute or two the Privy Councillors came trooping into the gallery—and the King was proved right about a watcher being able to hear clearly as well as see, for Heriot was promptly regaled by the sight and sound of the highest in England's church, state and court manoeuvring and squabbling over precedency and who was to occupy the best seats round the table. Clearly, the Howards and Cecils were most adept at this endeavour. The head of the table was just opposite Heriot's squint-holes, but the rightmost aperture was so aligned that he could see the bottom also, where two secretaries sat. James's throne-like seat at the head was flanked by two lesser chairs, whereon sat the Lord Chancellor Ellesmere and the Principal Secretary of State, with the new Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Richard Bancroft, on the former's right and Thomas Howard, Earl of Suffolk, Lord Chamberlain and Treasurer, on the latter's left. When the King had sat down, all others did likewise, save for Salisbury, who, hunched and crooked of back, addressed His Majesty and Council. They were met together, he declared, not for any normal meeting but at His Majesty's command, to hear certain views and assertions put forward by prominent members of Christ's Church in Scotland, which views impinged upon and affected the processes of government in the state. Admittedly that state was the realm of Scotland; but since their kingdoms were now in measure united, in the person of their gracious and respected monarch, and would, it was to be expected, be further united hereafter; and moreover their Church of England was concerned—it was deemed proper that these views should be heard by the Council, from the mouths of spokesmen of the Presbyterian persuasion, in particular Master Andrew Melville, Principal and Rector of the University of St Andrews. Master Melville and his colleagues had already been given opportunity to address sundry assemblies and parties, including some of their Spiritual lordships here present This occasion was for a general exchange of views on policies, all attending entitled to hear and question the Scotchmen. With His Majesty's permission, he would call them in.

  Yeomen of the Guard had barely got the door open when eight black-garbed figures strode in, as though to battle, heads high, led by a white-haired and bearded man of noble features, stern expression and flashing eye. He, and they all, were dressed in ordinary clothing, not Geneva gowns but noticeably plain and all black, relieved only by deep white linen collars—very different from the rich and colourful dress of the Privy Councillors—the few Puritan lords thereof had not been summoned, naturally— and the splendid canonicals and rochets worn by the bishops. Their leader marched half way up the chamber and then halted, to jerk his head towards the throne, in what would better be described as a curt nod rather than any bow. His colleagues did not even do as much. They were all men of middle years.

  "Aye, Maister Andra—it's yoursel’," the King greeted genially. "And you, Maister Jamie. Yon's his nephew, wi' the big belly," he added, for the benefit of the assembled councillors. "I dinna mind a' the names o' the rest. But come up a bittie further, Andra—so's I can have a right sight o' you, man." James darted a quick glance towards the important tapestry to ensure that all would be within its range. "Aye, then—that'll do, that'll do."

  "Sire—before aught else, I hereby do mak protest!" Andrew Melville cried strongly, in a clear but rich and powerful voice that contrasted notably with the monarch's thick and wetly conversational delivery. "We have been subjected to notable folly and intolerable affront We have been forced to attend and listen to nae fewer than four sermons in what they ca' your Chapel Royal, a right scandalous place filled wi' shamefu' Popish mummery, altars, idols and superstitious imagery. Aye, sermons of a puerility and extravagance and inordinate length, submitted by men as lacking in a' knowledge o' God's revealed Word and purpose as, it appears, they were in any decent education! And this, we were told, on Your Grace's direct command."

  James's voice rose somewhat squeakily above the gasps and exclamations of his outraged councillors—but not in any evident disapprobation. "I wouldna have thought that you would object to sermons, Andra—or the length o' them! I've had to listen to some right dingers frae yoursel', man. Hours and hours, aye—at St Giles and Holyrood. I jaloused they'd put you a' at ease—your ain coin o' exchange, just. Moreover, fas est et ab hoste doceri, eh ? Aye, and it was fitting that you should be informed on the doctrines o' the supremacy o' the Crown and the rights o' the Episcopate, which we're a' here to decide on. I'd no' have you ignorant o' the case contrar to your ain, Maister Andra."

  "Doctrines ! Yon werena doctrines—they were sacrilegious encroachments on the prerogatives o' Almighty God, sir! The mouthings o' vain and uninformed profaners... !"

  "Sire!" Archbishop Bancroft of Canterbury jumped to his feet. 'This is beyond all bearing ! This, this ranting demagogue must be silenced! To abuse Your Majesty and the leaders of Christ's Church in this fashion is utterly without precedent, and, and..." His voice was drowned in the angry agreement of the rest of the Privy Council.

  "No' exactly without precedent, my lord Archbishop—no' for Maister Melville! I've heard him at it before—ooh, aye. And you mauna ca' him a ranting demagogue, mind—for he's the Principal o' a great university, and former Moderator o' the General Assembly. And no' only in Scotland, forby—he was Professor o' the Humanities at Geneva, one time. Is that not so, Andra?" James was smiling happily—as well he might

  Melville drew breath, as well he might—for he was far from a fool, and could be playing into the King's hands. "I have made my protest, Sire," he answered, more quietly, "as I was in duty bound. On a matter of principle. Liberavi animam meam. As Your Grace will agree is wise."

  "Ooh, aye. But principles can be mistaken, man. Homints est errare. And again, graviora quaedam sunt remedia periculis! Eh, my lords ?" The King looked around him, beaming.

  The Privy Councillors considered each other, at a loss, and stirred and coughed uncomfortably in their seats.

  "Aye well, Andra—we'll let thae fleas stick to the wa', meantime. But there's some points need clearing up, see you. In matters o' policy, no' principle. You and your like refuse and deny the office o' bishop. Yet you found a' on the Word, the Word o' God as revealed in Holy Writ. Is that no' so? Well, then—tell you me any place in Holy Writ where the presbyter or presbytery is named without above it a bishop? Tell me that, Andra Melville!"

  "The word bishop, She, is not such as you interpret it. In Holy Writ The word bishop and angel were aye interchangeable in the early Church. And angel but means messenger. Messengers we'd accept 1" Melville actually smiled, if thinly. "But would you ? I dinna see even your prelatical friends genuflecting before the Archangel Richard, here"

  That at least exchanged grins for frowns on some non-ecclesiastical faces.

  James hooted. "I'll mind that one, Andra I But you're wrang, man—wrang! Angel and bishop are the same, aye—but the angels o' the New Testament were no' just messengers. They were men in high authority in the Church. In the Blessed Revelation didna John write to the Angels o' the Seven Churches in Asia ? The Angel o' the Church in Sardis, the Angel o' the Church in Thyatha, the Angel o' the Church in Philadelphia and so on. They were the men in authority ower those churches. Bishops. John didna write to the Presbytery o' Sardis, nor yet the General Assembly o' Philadelphia! Is Holy Writ, and John wrang thea?"

  "Holy Writ is never wrong. Only the interpretation o' it."

  "And your interpretation is the only right one? A' else wrang? Have I no' the finest scholars in Europe, some frae Scotland, working on Holy Writ to mak it intelligible to a' men? Even my lords, here! And you claim misinterpretation, Andra
Melville!"

  "I spoke of interpretation,- no' translation, Sire. There is a difference. Name me Your Grace's authority to create and impose bishops in Holy Writ."

  "Guidsakes, man—you question my divine right as the Lord's Anointed! God's Vice-Regent here on earth in these kingdoms?"

  "In matters secular, no. In such, I am your subject. But in matters divine and religious—yes! I have said before, and to your face, that there are two kings and two kingdoms. There is King James, the heid o' this Commonwealth, and there is Christ Jesus the King o' His Kirk and people, whose subject James is, and of whose kingdom he is not a king, nor a lord, nor a head, but a member, God's vassal! I say..."

  There was a great outcry from the Council, drowning out that thundered assertion, led by the prelates. James allowed the uproar ample scope, licking his lips and toying with his cod-piece.

  He raised a hand, at length. "Aye, well—you've heard Maister Andra's interpretation o' Holy Writ as applied to the Lord's Anointed, my lords. But even he grants me some small authority, in matters secular just. I ask him, then, as relevant to our discussion and exercitation, whether the assembling together o' my subjects, in one o' my burghs o' regality, contrar to my royal command, is or isna' lawfu' ?"

  Melville shot a quick glance at his nephew. Both knew what was coming, and perceived the trap sent for them.

  "A court of Christ's Kirk may meet where it will on Christ's earth, Sire," the nephew said reasonably. James Melville was a thick-set man of around fifty, plump, with rubicund features and of a more gentle disposition than his fiery uncle—but of proved equal determination.

  "When the courts o' Christ's Kirk are made up o' subjects o' mine, sir, they are bound to obey my express commands in matters secular—that you'll no' deny? I commanded that they didna meet in General Assembly in my royal burgh o' Aberdeen a year past—but meet they did. And you, James Melville, led them in that defiance 1 Do you say that Assembly, therefore, was lawfu' or unlawfu' ?"

  "In God's law, lawful, sir."

  "You claim, then, to ken God's law better than do I, His Anointed?" "I do."

  Into the rumble from the Council, his uncle raised his tremendous voice. "We all do. We are the ordained ministers o' Almighty God!"

  James pointed a finger. "And you rate ordination higher than anointing, man?" "We do. We must. Or the Gospel is meaningless." "You will note that, my lords—note well," James said, glancing round. "We are right notably instructed this day o' Our Lord! Maister Melville declares that any minister, any ordained minister soever, rates above the King! You heard him? That means every minister soever—Catholic priest, Puritan preacher, vicar, curate and Dissenter, in this land or other, is above the King's Majesty. And above the realm's law. A' he needs to do, mind, is to interpret God's law otherwise, and he is supreme, safe. Ower me! Ower your lordships, too. Aye, and over the General Assembly o' the Kirk o' Scotland, likewise! Think on it, my friends—think on it."

  Uproar filled the Hampton Court gallery. James too the opportunity to cast a triumphant glance in the direction of the tapestry.

  Andrew Melville's lion-like roar eventually brought quiet. "She—I do protest!" he cried. "I made no sic like claim. My claim is that the highest court o' the Kirk, the Assembly, must be free to mak its ain decisions. In the light o' God's laws. The civil power isna inferior but irrelevant thereto..."

  More clamour. Archbishop Bancroft got to his feet again. 'Your Majesty—this is both open heresy and lese-majesty, if not highest treason ! Must your Privy Council sit here and listen to both Your Majesty and its members being insulted and decried? I say it is too much... !"

  "If I can thole it, so can you, Bancroft man! We asked these guid presbyters here that we might be informed. Well, we're being informed, are we no' ? Right fully and remarkably! You'll no' deny that?"

  "I have received sufficient information, Sire, to assure myself that these men have no other thought in them but arrogantly to declare their own rectitude and to abuse Your Majesty's generosity and mercy. I myself see no advantage to be gained by further hearing them. I urge you, therefore, to dismiss them, Sire. And thereafter to make this Master Andrew Melville pay for his unlawful statements and..."

  "Unlawfu', sirrah!" Melville interrupted powerfully. 'You, a churchman, change me with unlawfu' speech! I was summoned here to explain why bishops shouldna be imposed upon Christ's Kirk in Scotland. I have done so. If you canna bear the truth when you hear it, then I chairge you—aut non tentaris aut perfice!"

  'Truth—from your prejudiced and proud lips, sir? You, Melville, who are so fond of Latin, heed this simple Latinity— scandalum magnatum! Do you know what that means, sir? For I do hereby charge you with it, before His Majesty and this high Council"

  Melville raised both hands, and snapped his fingers twice, thrice. "That for your scandalum magnatum. The miscalling and denigration o' magnates. It isna possible to misca' and denigrate such as you, sirrah! For it would imply lowering you frae a standard to which you havena yet risen"

  "How dare you, you insolent profaner! Your Majesty—I demand your royal protection from the outrageous attacks upon me by this, this..."

  "Profaner, you name me? You! You, who of a' men profane the Sabbath, silence faithfu' ministers o' the Gospel encourage Popery! You, the very fount o' superstition in this land 1" Beside himself, Melville strode forward to the Archbishop—and though Bancroft was a bigger man, he shrank back before the sheer fury of the burning-eyed Scot. Grabbing the lace-edged sleeves of the archiepiscopal rochet, Melville shook them and their owner vigorously, violently, and went on shaking. "You are... a foe o' Christ Crucified!" he panted. 'The capital enemy... o' a' the Reformed Churches in Christendom! You ... you whited sepulchre! You and yours, I will oppose ... to the last drop o' my blood—so help me God!"

  By the time that he reached the Deity's name, half-a-dozen councillors had leapt up and rushed to the help of the unfortunate Primate, and were dragging Melville off. Practically all there in the gallery were standing now, in vehement outcry, shouting for the guard, demanding dire judgment and the wrath of Heaven. Only King James sat still, fingering his wispy beard, a half-smile about his slack mouth. He uttered not a word.

  The Lord Chancellor took charge, as was his duty. 'Take him away!" he commanded. "Away! Attacking a member of this Council! Intimidating the lieges. Brawling and violence in the presence of the King. All indictable offences against the realm. Off with him, to ward. The guard to hold him close."

  James let them hustle his straggling countryman to the end of the room, before holding up his hand. "Bide a wee, bide a wee," he ordered. "Man, Andra—yon was injudicious " he complained, shaking his head. "Right precipitate and no' seemly, at a'. We canna have this sort o' behaviour in our royal presence. Och, man —what are we to do wi' you? What'll they say at St, Andra's, man?"

  The Archbishop, collapsed in his chair, babbled something incoherent, Ellesmere signed to him to be quiet

  "Sire—this man may be a dignitary in his own country but he has broken the laws of England, here before all, and cannot be excused. I..."

  "Cannot, my lord Chancellor—cannot? Who says cannot to the King?"

  "Your pardon, She—a slip of the tongue. Should not, is better. More seemly. Master Melville should be punished, or the law becomes a mockery. Your law."

  "Aye, maybe. But he's an auld man getting. And learned, mind. Fu' o' years and learning. Eh, Andra ?"

  "She—then he should be taught to join wisdom and gravity-aye, and some modesty and discretion—to his years and learning !" the Chancellor declared—and had the loud support of almost all present "I say that he should be sent to the Tower!"

  "Na, na—no' the Tower, man. No' yet, leastways. Have you no regard for siller hairs, my lord ? You'll have some o' your ain soon enough I Andra'll do fine in the chairge o' the Dean o' St Paul's, meantime, decent man. See you to it, my lord. The Dean o' St. Paul's. To be kept close until I say otherwise. Tak him awa'."

  Protesting angrily
, Andrew Melville was led out

  James turned to the nephew and his colleagues, who stood looking appalled and at a loss. "Aye, Maister Jamie—a bad business, eh?" he sympathised. "Och, that was fell untoward. Aye, untoward and intempestive. But never heed—you're a man o' mair sense, I'm thinking ?"

  James Melville took a deep breath. "I agree with all that my uncle said, Sire—if not the way he said it" he declared.

  The King held up a hand to still the noise from the now thoroughly roused Council. "Is that so? I'm right sorry about that, man. I was hoping for better things frae a mair reasonable duel the likes o' yoursel'. We'll maybe win some guid out o' this day yet, though."

  The other looked unhappy and unsure—for he was indeed a more reasonable man. "I would wish it also, Your Grace," he admitted.

  "Aye. I was thinking you'd maybe mak a fair bishop yoursel’, Jamie. Dunkeld is vacant. How would you like to be Bishop o' Dunkeld, Jamie Melville? And help wi' the bringing together o' the warring factions in the Kirk? As is but your simple duty, forby."

  James Melville swallowed audibly. He raised his head high. "I... no, Sire." "No? You'll no' be Bishop o' Dunkeld?" "No,Sire-I will not."

  "Gie me a guid reason why not—a guid reason, mind. Nane o' your uncle's ranting havers!"

  "Very well, Sire. There are, I say, three sorts of bishops— divine, human and devilish. Of these, I am already, by the grace of God, one of the first..."

  He got no further before the outrage of the English bishops drowned his words.

  But James was interested. "Quiet you, my lords," he ordered. "We'll hear what the other sort o' bishops are—to our edification, nae doubt Proceed, Maister Jamie. The second sort... ?"

  "The second sort are those set up by human, not divine authority, Sire. These daily incline to the third, the devilish and satanical, with which in substance they are at one ..."