When the time arrived
for the execution of the bitterest part of his sentence, God, in his
providence, interposed to save the life of his servant. He had familiarized his
mind with all the circumstances of a premature and appalling death; the gibbet,
the ladder, and the halter, had lost much of their terrors; he had even studied the
sermon he would then have preached to the concourse of spectators. At this critical
time, the king's coronation took place, on April 23, 1661. To garnish this grand
ceremony, the king had ordered the release of numerous prisoners of certain
classes, and within that description of offenses was that for which Bunyan was
confined. The proclamation allowed twelve months' time to sue out the pardon
under the great seal, but without this expensive process thousands of vagabonds
and thieves were set at liberty, while, alas, an offense against the church was
not to be pardoned upon such easy terms. Bunyan and his friends were too
simple, honest, and virtuous, to understand why such a distinction should be
made. The assizes being held in August, he determined to seek his liberty by petitioning the judges. The court sat at the Swan Inn, and as every incident in
the life of this extraordinary man excites our interest, we are gratified to
have it in our power to exhibit the state of this celebrated inn at that time.
Having written his petition, and made some fair copies of it, his modest, timid wife determined to present them to the judges. Her heroic achievements—for such they deserve to be called—on behalf of her husband, are admirably narrated by Bunyan, the whole of which is reprinted in our first volume, and deserves a most attentive perusal. Want of space prevents us from repeating it here, or even making extracts from it. She had previously traveled to London with a petition to the House of Lords, and entrusted it to Lord Barkwood, who conferred with some of the peers upon it, and informed her that they could not interfere, the king has committed the release of the prisoners to the judges. When they came the circuit and the assizes were held at Bedford; Bunyan in vain sought the local authorities that he might have the liberty to appear in person and plead for his release.
This reasonable request was denied, and, as a last resource, he committed his cause to an affectionate wife. Several times she appeared before the judges; love for her husband, a stern sense of duty, and a conviction of the gross injustice practiced upon one to whom she was most tenderly attached, overcame her delicate, modest, retiring habits, and forced her upon this strange duty. Well did she support the character of an advocate? This delicate, courageous, high-minded woman appeared before Judge Hale, who was much affected by her earnest pleading for one so dear to her, and whose life was so valuable to his children. It was the triumph of love, duty, and piety, over bashful timidity. Her energetic appeals were in vain. She returned to the prison with a heavy heart, to inform her husband that, while felons, malefactors, and men guilty of misdemeanors were, without any recantation or promise of amendment, to be let loose upon society to grace the coronation, the poor prisoners for conscience' sake were to undergo their unjust and savage sentences. Or, in plain words, that refusing to go to church to hear the Common Prayer was an unpardonable crime, not to be punished in any milder mode than recantation, or transportation, or the halter.
With what bitter feelings must she have returned
to the prison, believing it would be her beloved husband's tomb! How
natural for the distressed, insulted wife to have written harsh things against
the judge! She could not have conceived that, under the stately robes of Hale,
there was a heart affected by Divine love. And when the nobleman afterward met
the despised tinker and his wife, on terms of perfect equality, clothed in more
glorious robes in the mansions of the blessed, how inconceivable their
surprise! It must have been equally so with the learned judge, when, in the
pure atmosphere of heaven, he found that the illiterate tinker, harassed by
poverty and imprisonment, produced books, the admiration of the world. As Dr.
Cheever eloquently writes—'How little could he dream, that from that narrow
cell in Bedford jail a glory would shine out, illustrating the grace of God,
and doing more good to man, than all the prelates and judges of the kingdom
would accomplish.'