JOINT POTENTATES.
Among all the houses in a Scottish parish the homeliest and kindliest
is the manse, for to its door some time in the year comes every
inhabitant, from the laird to the cottar woman. Within the familiar
and old-fashioned study, where the minister's chair and writing-table
could not be changed without discomposing the parish, and where there
are fixed degrees of station, so that the laird has his chair and the
servant lass hers, the minister receives and does his best for all the
folk committed to his charge. Here he consults with the factor about
some improvement in the arrangements of the little commonwealth, he
takes counsel with a farmer about his new lease and promises to say a
good word to his lordship, he confirms the secret resolution of some
modest gifted lad to study for the holy ministry, he hears the
shamefaced confession of some lassie whom love has led astray, he gives
good advice to a son leaving the Glen for the distant dangerous world,
he comforts the mother who has received bad news from abroad.
Generations have come in their day to this room, and generations still
unborn will come in their joys and sorrows, with their trials and their
affairs, while the manse stands and human life runs its old course.
And when, as was the case with Dr. Davidson in Drumtochty, the minister
is ordained to the parish in his youth, and, instead of hurrying hither
and thither, preaching in vacancies, scheming and intriguing, he dwells
all his days among his own people, he himself knows three generations,
and accumulates a store of practical wisdom for the help of his people.
What may be the place of the clergyman in an English parish, and what
associations of sympathy and counsel the rectory may have for the
English farm-labourer, it is not permitted to a northern man to know,
but it is one good thing at least in our poor land that the manse is
another word for guidance and good cheer, so that Jean advises Jock in
their poor little perplexity about a new place to "slip doon an' see
the Doctor," and Jock, although appearing to refuse, does "gie a cry at
the manse," and comes home to the gude-wife mightily comforted.
The manse builders of the ancient days were men of a shrewd eye and
much wisdom. If anywhere the traveller in the north country sees a
house of moderate size peeping from among a clump of trees in the lap
of a hill where the north-easter cannot come and the sun shines full
and warm, then let him be sure that is the manse, with the kirk and
God's acre close beside, and that the fertile little fields around are
the glebe, which the farmers see are ploughed and sown and reaped first
in the parish. Drumtochty Manse lay beneath the main road, so that the
cold wind blowing from the north went over its chimneys, and on the
east it was sheltered by the Tochty woods. Southwards it overlooked
the fields that sloped towards the river, and westwards, through some
ancient trees, one study window had a peep of the west, although it was
not given to the parish manse to lie of an evening in the glory of the
setting sun, as did the Free Kirk. Standing at the gate and looking
down beneath the beeches that stood as sentinels on either side of the
little drive, one caught a pleasant glimpse of the manse garden, with
its close-cut lawn and flower-beds and old summer-house and air of
peace. No one troubled the birds in that place, and they had grown
shameless in their familiarity with dignities--a jackdaw having once
done his best to steal the Doctor's bandana handkerchief and the robins
settling on his hat. Irreverence has limits, and in justice to a
privileged friend it ought to be explained that the Doctor wore on
these occasions an aged wide-awake and carried no gold-headed stick.
His dog used to follow him step by step as he fed the birds and
pottered among the flowers, and then it always ended in the old man
sitting down on a seat at the foot of the lawn, with Skye at his feet,
and looking across the Glen where he had been born and where for nearly
half a century he had ministered. Kate caught him once in this
attitude, and was so successful in her sketch that some have preferred
it to the picture in oils that was presented to the Doctor by the
Presbytery of Muirtown, and was painted by an R. A. who spent a
fortnight at the manse and departed with some marvellous heads, still
to be identified in certain councillors and nobles of the past. Both
are hanging in the same house now, far from Drumtochty, and there they
call one "Public Capaucity" and the other "Private Capaucity," and you
require to have seen both to know our kindly, much-loved Moderate.
[Illustration: "Private Capaucity."]
As John grew old with his master and mellowed, he would make believe to
work close by, so that at times they might drop into talk, recalling
names that had died out of the Glen, shrewd sayings that fell from lips
now turned to dust, curious customs that had ceased forever, all in
great charity. Then there would come a pause, and John would say, "Ay,
ay," and go away to the bees. Under the influence of such
reminiscences John used to become depressed, and gently prepare Rebecca
for the changes that were not far off, when Drumtochty would have a new
minister and a new beadle.
"The Doctor's failin', Becca, an' it's no tae be expeckit that a 'll be
lang aifter him; it wudna be fittin', an' a 'm no wantin' 't. Aifter
ye 've carried the bukes afore ae minister for five and thirty year,
ye're no anxious for a change; naebody 'll ever come doon the kirkyaird
like the Doctor, an' a' cudna brak ma step; na, na, there's no mony
things a' michtna learn, but a' cudna brak ma step."
Rebecca went on with her dinner in silence; even capable men had
weaknesses somewhere, and she was accustomed to those moralisings.
"A 'm the auldest beadle in the Presbytery o' Muirtown--though a' say
it as sudna--an' the higher the place the mair we 'll hae tae answer
for, Becca. Nae man can hold the poseetion a 'm in withoot anxieties.
Noo there wes the 'Eruption' in '43"--it could not be ignorance which
made John cling to this word, and so we supposed that the word was
adopted in the spirit of historical irony--"that wes a crisis. Did a'
ever tell ye, Rebecca, that there wes juist ae beadle left the next
morning tae cairry on the Presbytery of Muirtown?"
"Ay, forty times an' mair," replied that uncompromising woman, "an' it
wud set ye better tae be servin' the Doctor's lunch than sittin'
haverin' an' blawin' there."
No sane person in Drumtochty would have believed that any human being
dared to address John after this fashion, and it is still more
incredible that the great man should have risen without a word and gone
about his duty. Such a surprising and painful incident suggests the
question whether a beadle or any other person in high position ought to
be married, and so be exposed to inevitable familiarities. Hillocks
took this view strongly in the kirkyard at the time of John's
marriage--although neither he nor any one knew with how much
reason--and he impressed the fathers powerfully.
"Becca cam frae Kilspindie Castle near thirty year syne, and John's
took the bukes aboot the same time; they've agreed no that ill for sic
a creetical poseetion a' that time, him oot an' her in, an' atween them
the Doctor's no been that ill-servit; they micht hae lat weel alane.
"She 's no needin' a man tae keep her," and Hillocks proceeded to
review the situation, "for Becca's hed a gude place, an' she disna
fling awa' her siller on dress. As for John, a' canna mak him oot, for
he gets his stockin's darned and his white stock dune as weel an' maybe
better than if he wes mairried."
The kirkyard could see no solution of the problem, and Hillocks grew
pessimistic.
"It 'll be a doon-come tae him, a 'm judgin', an' 'll no be for the
gude o' the parish. He 's never been crossed yet, an' he 'll no tak
weel wi' contradickin' . . ."
"She wudna daur," broke in Whinny, "an' him the beadle."
"Ye ken little aboot weemen," retorted Hillocks, "for yir gude-wife is
by hersel' in the pairish, an' micht be a sanct; the maist o' them are
a camsteary lot. A 'm no sayin'," he summed up, "that Becca 'll gie
the beadle the word back or refuse to dae his biddin', but she 'll be
pittin' forrit her ain opeenions, an' that's no what he 's been
accustomed tae in Drumtochty."
They were married one forenoon in the study, with Drumsheugh and Domsie
for witnesses--the address given by the Doctor could hardly be
distinguished from an ordination charge--and John announced his
intention of accompanying his master that afternoon to the General
Assembly, while Rebecca remained in charge of the manse.
"It wudna be wise-like for us twa," exclaimed the beadle, "tae be
stravagin' ower the country for three or fower days like wild geese,
but the pairish micht expect something. Noo, a 've hed ma share o' a
Presbytery an' a Synod, tae say naethin' o' Kirk Sessions, but a 've
never seen an Assembly.
"Gin you cud get a place, a' wud spend ma time considering hoo the
officer comes in, and hoo he lays doon the buke an' sic-like; a' micht
get a hint," said John, with much modesty.
So John went alone for his wedding tour, and being solemnly introduced
to Thomas, the chief of all beadles, discussed mysteries with him unto
great edification; but he was chiefly impressed by the Clerk of the
Free Kirk Assembly--into which he had wandered on an errand of
exploration--who was a fiery-faced old gentleman with a stentorian
voice and the heart of a little child.
"Ye never heard him cry, 'Officer, shut the door,' afore a vote?" he
inquired of the Doctor. "Weel, ye 've missed a real pleesure, sir; gin
ye stude on Princes Street, wi' the wind frae the richt airt, ye micht
hear him. A' never heard onything better dune; hoo ony man wi' sic a
face and voice cud be content ootside the Auld Kirk passes me."
John was so enamoured of this performance that after much cogitation he
unburdened his mind to the Doctor, and showed how such a means of grace
might be extended to Drumtochty.
"Noo, if there wes nae objection in order, aifter ye hed settled in the
pulpit, an' hed yir first snuff, ye micht say, 'Officer, shut the
door.' Then a' wud close the kirk door deleeberately in sicht o' the
hale congregation an' come back tae ma place, an' Peter Rattray himsel'
wudna daur tae show his face aifter that. Ye hae the voice an' the
manner, Doctor, an' it's no richt tae wyste them."
In public John defended the Doctor's refusal as a proof of his
indulgence to the prodigals of the parish, but with his intimates he
did not conceal his belief that the opportunity had been lost of
bringing the service in Drumtochty Kirk to absolute perfection. John's
own mind still ran on the mighty utterance, and so it came to pass that
the question of mastery in the kitchen of the manse under the new
_régime_ was settled within a week after his ecclesiastical honeymoon.
"Rebecca"--this with a voice of thunder from the fireplace, where the
beadle was reading the _Muirtown Advertiser_--"shut the door."
The silence was so imperative that John turned round, and saw his
spouse standing with a half-dried dish in her hand.
[Illustration: Standing with a half-dried dish in her hand.]
"Ma name is Rebecca," as she recovered her speech, "an' there 's nae
ither wumman in the hoose, but a 'm judgin' ye werena speakin' tae me
or"--with awful severity--"ye 've made a mistak', an' the suner it's
pit richt the better for baith you an' me an' the manse o' Drumtochty.
"For near thirty year ye 've gane traivellin' in an' oot o' this
kitchen withoot cleanin' yir feet, and ye 've pit yir shoon on the
fender, an' hung up yir weet coat on the back o' the door, an'
commandit this an' that as if ye were the Doctor himsel', an' a' cud
dae naethin', for ye were beadle o' Drumtochty.
"So a' saw there wes nae ither wy o't but tae mairry ye an' get some
kind of order in the hoose; noo ye 'll understand the poseetion an' no
need anither tellin'; ootside in the kirk an' pairish ye 're maister,
an' a 'll never conter ye, for a' ken ma place as a kirk member an' yir
place as beadle; inside in this hoose a 'm maister, an' ye 'll dae what
ye 're bid, always in due submission tae the Doctor, wha 's maister
baith in an' oot. Tak yir feet aff that steel bar this meenut"--this
by way of practical application; and when after a brief pause, in which
the fate of an empire hung in the balance, John obeyed, the two chief
officials in the parish had made their covenant.
Perhaps it is unnecessary to add that they carefully kept their bounds,
so that Becca would no more have thought of suggesting a new attitude
to John as he stood at the foot of the pulpit stair waiting for the
Doctor's descent than John would have interfered with the cooking of
the Doctor's dinner. When the glass was set at fair, they even
exchanged compliments, the housekeeper expressing her sense of
unworthiness as she saw John in his high estate, while he would
indicate that the Doctor's stock on Sacrament Sabbath reached the
highest limits of human attainment. The Doctor being left to the
freedom of his own will, laboured at a time to embroil the powers by
tempting them to cross one another's frontiers, but always failed,
because they foresaw the consequences with a very distinct imagination.
If he asked Rebecca to convey a message to Drumsheugh, that cautious
woman would send in John to receive it from the Doctor's own lips, and
if the Doctor gave some directions regarding dinner to John, Rebecca
would appear in a few minutes to learn what the Doctor wanted. It was
an almost complete delimitation of frontiers, and the Doctor used to
say that he never quite understood the Free Kirk theory of the relation
between Church and State till he considered the working agreement of
his two retainers. It was, he once pleasantly said to the minister of
Kildrummie, a perfect illustration of "co-ordinate jurisdiction with
mutual subordination." It is just possible that some one may not fully
grasp those impressive words, in which case let him appreciate other
people's accomplishments and mourn his ignorance, for they were common
speech in Drumtochty, and were taught at their porridge to the Free
Kirk children.
It is an unfortunate circumstance, however, that even a scientific
frontier wavers at places, and leaves a piece of doubtful territory
that may at any moment become a cause of war. Surely there is not on
the face of the Scottish earth a more unoffending, deferential,
conciliatory person than a "probationer," who on Saturdays can be seen
at every country junction, bag in hand, on his patient errand of
"supply," and yet it was over his timid body the great powers of the
manse twice quarrelled disastrously. As a guest in the manse, to be
received on Saturday evening, to be conducted to his room, to be fed
and warmed, to go to his bed at a proper hour--ten on Saturday and
ten-thirty on Sabbath--to be sent away on Monday morning in good time
for the train, he was within the province of Rebecca. As a minister to
be examined, advised, solemnised, encouraged, to be got ready on
Sabbath morning and again disrobed, to be edified with suitable
conversation and generally made as fit as possible for his work, he was
evidently within John's sphere of influence. It was certainly the
beadle's business to visit the dining-room on Saturday evening, where
the young man was supposed to be meditating against the ordeal of the
morrow, to get the Psalms for the precentor, to answer strictly
professional questions, and generally to advise the neophyte about the
sermon that would suit Drumtochty, and the kind of voice to be used.
One thing John knew perfectly well he ought not to do, and that was to
invite a probationer to spend the evening in the Doctor's study, for on
this point Rebecca was inexorable.
"A' dinna say that they wud read the Doctor's letters, an' a' dinna say
they wud tak a buke as a keepsake, but a' can never forget ane o'
them--he hed a squint and red hair--comin' oot frae the cupboard as a'
opened the door.
"'There 's juist ae wy oot o' the room, an' it's by the door ye cam in
at,' a' said; 'maybe ye wud like tae come an' sit in the dinin'-room;
ye 'll be less distrackit.'" And Rebecca charged John that no
probationer should in future be allowed to enter the Doctor's sanctum
on any consideration.
John's excuse for his solitary fault was that the lad thought that he
could study his sermon better with books round him, and so Rebecca
found the young gentleman seated in the Doctor's own chair and working
with the Doctor's own pen, unblushing and shameless.
"Gin ye want Cruden's _Concordance_"--this was when Rebecca had led him
out a chastened man--"or Matthew Henry tae fill up yir sermon, the
books 'll be brocht by the church officer."
Rebecca's intrusion, in turn, into John's sphere was quite without
excuse, and she could only explain her conduct by a general reference
to the foolishness of the human heart. It came out through the
ingenuousness of the probationer, who mentioned casually that he was
told Drumtochty liked four heads in the sermon.
"May I ask the name of yir adviser?" said the beadle, with awful
severity. "The hoosekeeper? A' thocht so, an' a' wud juist gie ye due
intimation that the only person qualified an' entitled tae gie ye
information on sic subjects is masel', an' ony ither is unjustified an'
unwarranted.
"Fower heads? Three an' an application is the Doctor's invariable
rule, an' gin a probationer gied oot a fourth, a' winna undertake tae
say what michtna happen. Drumtochty is no a pairish tae trifle wi',
an' it disna like new-fangled wys. Power!" and the scorn for this
unorthodox division was withering.
Rebecca realised the gravity of the situation in the kitchen, and
humbled herself greatly.
"It wes as a hearer that he askit ma opinion, an' no as an authority.
He said that the new wy wes tae leave oot heads, an' a' saw a' the hay
spread oot across the field, so a' told him tae gither it up intae
'coles' (hay-cocks), an' it wud be easier lifted. Maybe a' mentioned
fower--a 'll no deny it; but it's the first time a' ever touched on
heads, an' it 'll be the laist."
Upon those terms of penitence, John granted pardon, but it was noticed
on Sabbath that when Becca got in the way of the retiring procession to
the manse, the beadle was heard in the kirkyard, "Oot o' ma road,
wumman," in a tone that was full of judgment, and that Rebecca withdrew
to the grass as one justly punished.
This excellent woman once accomplished her will, however, in spite of
John, and had all her days the pleasant relish of a secret triumph.
Her one unfulfilled desire was to see the Doctor in his court dress
which he wore as Moderator of the Kirk of Scotland during the Assembly
time, and which had lain ever since in a box with camphor and such
preservatives amid the folds. It was aggravating to hear Drumsheugh
and Hillocks--who had both gone to the Assembly that year for the sole
purpose of watching the Doctor enter and bow to the standing
house--enlarging on his glory in velvet and lace and silver buckles,
and growing in enthusiasm with the years.
"It's little better than a sin," she used to insist, "tae see the
bonnie suit gien the Doctor by the Countess o' Kilspindie, wi' dear
knows hoo much o' her ain auld lace on 't, lyin' useless, wi' naebody
tae get a sicht o't on his back. Dinna ye think, man"--this with much
persuasiveness--"that ye cud get the Doctor tae pit on his velvets on
an occasion, maybe a Saicrament? The pairish wud be lifted; an' ye wud
look weel walkin' afore him in his lace."
"Dinna plead wi' me, wumman; a' wud gie a half-year's wages tae see him
in his grandeur; but it 's offeecial, div ye no see, an' canna be used
except by a Moderator. Na, na, ye can dust and stroke it, but ye 'll
never see yon coat on the Doctor."
This was little less than a challenge to a woman of spirit, and Rebecca
simply lived from that day to clothe the Doctor in embroidered
garments. Her opportunity arrived when Kate's birthday came round, and
the Doctor insisted on celebrating it by a party of four. By the
merest accident his housekeeper met Miss Carnegie on the road, and
somehow happened to describe the excellent glory of the Doctor's full
dress, whereupon that wilful young woman went straight to the manse,
nor left till the Doctor had promised to dine in ruffles, in which case
she pledged herself that the General would come in uniform, and she
would wear the family jewels, so that everything would be worthy of the
Doctor's dinner.
"Hoo daur ye," began John, coming down from the Doctor's room, where
the suit was spread upon the bed; but his wife did not allow him to
continue, explaining that the thing was none of her doing, and that it
was only becoming that honour should be shown to Miss Carnegie when she
dined for the first time at the manse of Drumtochty.