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RABBI SAUNDERSON
by
IAN MACLAREN
With Twelve Illustrations by A. S. Boyd
London: Hodder and Stoughton
27 Paternoster Row
1898
To
Mrs. Williamson
OF GLENOGIL
WHO HAS INHERITED
THE GIFT OF WITTY SPEECH
AND HAS LAID IT OUT AT USURY
TO THE JOY OF HER FRIENDS
AND THE
GLADDENING OF LIFE
Contents
A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN
KILBOGIE MANSE
THE RABBI AS CONFESSOR
THE FEAR OF GOD
THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND
LIGHT AT EVENTIDE
Illustrations
He put Jamie's ecclesiastical history into a state
of thorough repair
The farmers carted the new minister's furniture
from the nearest railway station
Searching for a lost note
The suddenness of his fall
"Some suitable sum for our brother here who is
passing through adversity"
"We shall not meet again in this world"
When Carmichael gave him the cup in the sacrament
"Shall . . . not . . . the . . . Judge . . . of all the
earth . . . do . . . right?"
"You have spoken to me like a father: surely that is enough"
Then arose a self-made man
He watched the dispersion of his potatoes with dismay
He signed for her hand, which he kept to the end
A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN
Jeremiah Saunderson had remained in the low estate of a "probationer" for
twelve years after he left the Divinity Hall, where he was reported so
great a scholar that the Professor of Apologetics spoke to him
deprecatingly, and the Professor of Dogmatics openly consulted him on
obscure writers. He had wooed twenty-three congregations in vain, from
churches in the black country, where the colliers rose in squares of
twenty, and went out without ceremony, to suburban places of worship,
where the beadle, after due consideration of the sermon, would take up
the afternoon notices and ask that they be read at once for purposes of
utility, which that unflinching functionary stated to the minister with
accuracy and much faithfulness. Vacant congregations desiring a list of
candidates, made one exception, and prayed that Jeremiah should not be
let loose upon them, till at last it came home to the unfortunate scholar
himself that he was an offence and a by-word. He began to dread the
ordeal of giving his name, and, as is still told, declared to a
household, living in the fat wheatlands and without any imagination, that
he was called Magor Missabib. When a stranger makes a statement of this
kind to his host with a sad seriousness, no one judges it expedient to
offer any remark; but it was skilfully arranged that Missabib's door
should be locked from the outside, and one member of the household sat up
all night. The sermon next day did not tend to confidence--having seven
quotations in unknown tongues--and the attitude of the congregation was
one of alert vigilance; but no one gave any outward sign of uneasiness,
and six able-bodied men, collected in a pew below the pulpit, knew their
duty in an emergency.
Saunderson's election to the Free Church of Kilbogie was therefore an
event in the ecclesiastical world, and a consistent tradition in the
parish explained its inwardness on certain grounds, complimentary both to
the judgment of Kilbogie and the gifts of Mr. Saunderson. On Saturday
evening he was removed from the train by the merest accident, and left
the railway station in such a maze of meditation that he ignored the road
to Kilbogie altogether, although its sign-post was staring him in the
face, and continued his way to Drumtochty. It was half-past nine when
Jamie Soutar met him on the high road through our glen, still travelling
steadily west, and being arrested by his appearance, beguiled him into
conversation, till he elicited that Saunderson was minded to reach
Kilbogie. For an hour did the wanderer rest in Jamie's kitchen, during
which he put Jamie's ecclesiastical history into a state of thorough
repair--making seven distinct parallels between the errors that had
afflicted the Scottish Church and the early heretical sects,--and then
Jamie gave him in charge of a ploughman who was courting in Kilbogie, and
was not averse to a journey that seemed to illustrate the double meaning
of charity. Jeremiah was handed over to his anxious hosts at a quarter
to one in the morning, covered with mud, somewhat fatigued, but in great
peace of soul, having settled the place of election in the prophecy of
Habakkuk as he came down with his silent companion through Tochty woods.
[Illustration: HE PUT JAMIE'S ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY INTO A STATE OF
THOROUGH REPAIR]
Nor was that all he had done. When they came out from the shadow and
struck into the parish of Kilbogie--whose fields, now yellow unto
harvest, shone in the moonlight--his guide broke silence and enlarged on
a plague of field-mice which had quite suddenly appeared, and had sadly
devastated the grain of Kilbogie. Saunderson awoke from study and became
exceedingly curious, first of all demanding a particular account of the
coming of the mice, their multitude, their habits, and their
determination. Then he asked many questions about the moral conduct and
godliness of the inhabitants of Kilbogie, which his companion, as a
native of Drumtochty, painted in gloomy colours, although indicating as
became a lover that even in Kilbogie there was a remnant. Next morning
the minister rose at daybreak, and was found wandering through the fields
in such a state of excitement that he could hardly be induced to look at
breakfast. When the "books" were placed before him, he turned promptly
to the ten plagues of Egypt, which he expounded in order as preliminary
to a full treatment of the visitations of Providence.
"He cowes (beats) a' ye ever saw or heard," the farmer of Mains explained
to the elders at the gate. "He gaed tae his room at half twa and wes oot
in the fields by four, an' a'm dootin' he never saw his bed. He's lifted
abune the body a'thegither, an' can hardly keep himsel awa frae the
Hebrew at his breakfast. Ye'll get a sermon the day, or ma name is no
Peter Pitillo." Mains also declared his conviction that the invasion of
mice would be dealt with after a scriptural and satisfying fashion. The
people went in full of expectation, and to this day old people recall
Jeremiah Saunderson's trial sermon with lively admiration. Experienced
critics were suspicious of candidates who read lengthy chapters from both
Testaments and prayed at length for the Houses of Parliament, for it was
justly held that no man would take refuge in such obvious devices for
filling up the time unless he was short of sermon material. One
unfortunate, indeed, ruined his chances at once by a long petition for
those in danger on the sea--availing himself with some eloquence of the
sympathetic imagery of the one hundred and seventh Psalm--for this effort
was regarded as not only the most barefaced padding, but also as evidence
of an almost incredible blindness to circumstances. "Did he think
Kilbogie wes a fishing-village?" Mains inquired of the elders afterwards,
with pointed sarcasm. Kilbogie was not indifferent to a well-ordered
prayer--although its palate was coarser in the appreciation of felicitous
terms and allusions than that of Drumtochty--and would have been
scandalised if the Queen had been omitted; but it was by the sermon the
young man must stand or fall, and Kilbogie despised a man who postponed
the ordeal.
Saunderson gave double pledges of capacity and fulness before he opened
his mouth in the sermon, for he read no Scripture at all that day, and
had only one prayer, which was mainly a statement of the Divine Decrees
and a careful confession of the sins of Kilbogie; and then, having given
out his text from the prophecy of Joel, he reverently closed the Bible
and placed it on the seat behind him. His own reason for this proceeding
was a desire for absolute security in enforcing his subject, and a
painful remembrance of the disturbance in a south country church when he
landed a Bible--with clasps--on the head of the precentor in the heat of
a discourse defending the rejection of Esau. Our best and simplest
actions--and Jeremiah was as simple as a babe--can be misconstrued, and
the only dissentient from Saunderson's election insisted that the Bible
had been deposited on the floor, and asserted that the object of this
profanity was to give the preacher a higher standing in the pulpit. This
malignant reading of circumstances might have wrought mischief--for
Saunderson's gaunt figure did seem to grow in the pulpit--had it not been
for the bold line of defence taken up by Mains.
"Gin he wanted tae stand high, wes it no tae preach the word? an' gin he
wanted a soond foundation for his feet, what better could he get than the
twa Testaments? Answer me that."
It was seen at once that no one could answer that, and the captious
objector never quite recovered his position in the parish; while it is
not the least of Kilbogie's boasting, in which the Auld Kirk will even
join against Drumtochty, that they have a minister who not only does not
read his sermons and does not need to quote his texts, but carries the
whole Bible in at least three languages in his head, and once, as a proof
thereof, preached with it below his feet.
Much was to be looked for from such a man; but even Mains, whetted by
intercourse with Saunderson, was astonished at the sermon. It was a
happy beginning to draw a parallel between the locusts of Joel and the
mice of Kilbogie, and gave the preacher an opportunity of describing the
appearance, habits, and destruction of the locusts, which he did solely
from Holy Scripture, translating various passages afresh, and combining
lights with marvellous ingenuity. This brief preface of half an hour,
which was merely a stimulant for the Kilbogie appetite, led up to a
thorough examination of physical judgments, during which both Bible and
Church history were laid under liberal contribution. At this point the
minister halted, and complimented the congregation on the attention they
had given to the facts of the case, which were his first head, and
suggested that before approaching the doctrine of visitations they might
refresh themselves with a Psalm. The congregation were visibly
impressed, and many made up their minds while singing
"That man hath perfect blessedness";
and while others thought it due to themselves to suspend judgment till
they had tasted the doctrine, they afterwards confessed their full
confidence. It goes without saying that he was immediately beyond the
reach of the ordinary people on the second head, and even veterans in
theology panted after him in vain, so that one of the elders, nodding
assent to an exposure of the Manichaean heresy, suddenly blushed as one
who had played the hypocrite. Some professed to have noticed a doctrine
that had not been touched upon, but they never could give it a name, and
it excited just admiration that a preacher, starting from a plague of
mice, should have made a way by strictly scientific methods into the
secret places of theology. Saunderson allowed his hearers a brief rest
after the second head, and cheered them with the assurance that what was
still before them would be easy to follow. It was the application of all
that had gone before to the life of Kilbogie, and the preacher proceeded
to convict the parish under each of the ten commandments--with the plague
of mice ever in reserve to silence excuses--till the delighted
congregation could have risen in a body and taken Saunderson by the hand
for his fearlessness and faithfulness. Perhaps the extent and
thoroughness of this monumental sermon can be best estimated by the fact
that Claypots, father of the present tenant, who always timed his rest to
fifty minutes exactly, thus overseeing both the introduction and
application of the sermon, had a double portion, and even a series of
supplementary dozes, till at last he sat upright through sheer satiety.
It may also be offered as evidence that the reserve of peppermint held by
mothers for their bairns was pooled, doles being furtively passed across
pews to conspicuously needy families, and yet the last had gone before
Saunderson finished.
Mains reported to the congregational meeting that the minister had been
quiet for the rest of the day, but had offered to say something about
Habakkuk to any evening gathering, and had cleared up at family worship
some obscure points in the morning discourse. He also informed the
neighbours that he had driven his guest all the way to Muirtown, and put
him in an Edinburgh carriage with his own hands, since it had emerged
that Saunderson, through absence of mind, had made his down journey by
the triangular route of Dundee. It was quite impossible for Kilbogie to
conceal their pride in electing such a miracle of learning, and their
bearing in Muirtown was distinctly changed; but indeed they did not boast
vainly about Jeremiah Saunderson, for his career was throughout on the
level of that monumental sermon. When the Presbytery in the gaiety of
their heart examined Saunderson to ascertain whether he was fully
equipped for the work of the ministry, he professed the whole Old
Testament in Hebrew, and MacWheep of Pitscowrie, who always asked the
candidate to read the twenty-third Psalm, was beguiled by Jeremiah into
the Book of Job, and reduced to the necessity of asking questions by
indicating verbs with his finger. His Greek examination led to an
argument between Jeremiah and Dr. Dowbiggin on the use of the aorist,
from which the minister-elect of Kilbogie came out an easy first; and his
sermons were heard to within measurable distance of the second head by an
exact quorum of the exhausted court, who were kept by the clerk sitting
at the door, and preventing MacWheep escaping. His position in the court
was assured from the beginning, and fulfilled the function of an
Encyclopaedia, with occasional amazing results, as when information was
asked about some Eastern sect for whose necessities the Presbytery were
asked to collect, and to whose warm piety affecting allusion was made,
and Jeremiah showed clearly, with the reporters present, that the
Cappadocians were guilty of a heresy beside which Morisonianism was an
unsullied whiteness. His work as examiner-in-general for the court was a
merciful failure, and encouraged the students of the district to return
to their district court, who, on the mere rumour of him, had transferred
themselves in a body to a Highland Presbytery, where the standard
question in Philosophy used to be, "How many horns has a dilemma, and
distinguish the one from the other." No man knew what the minister of
Kilbogie might not ask--the student was only perfectly certain that it
would be beyond his knowledge; but as Saunderson always gave the answer
himself in the end, and imputed it to the student, anxiety was reduced to
a minimum. Saunderson, indeed, was in the custom of passing all
candidates and reporting them as marvels of erudition, whose only fault
was a becoming modesty--which, however, had not concealed from his keen
eye hidden treasures of learning. Beyond this sphere the good man's
services were not used by a body of shrewd ecclesiastics, as the
inordinate length of an ordination sermon had ruined a dinner prepared
for the court by "one of our intelligent and large-hearted laymen," and
it is still pleasantly told how Saunderson was invited to a
congregational soirée--an ancient meeting, where the people ate oranges,
and the speaker rallied the minister on being still unmarried--and
discoursed, as a carefully chosen subject, on the Jewish feasts,--with
illustrations from the Talmud,--till some one burst a paper-bag and
allowed the feelings of the people to escape. When this history was
passed round Muirtown Market, Kilbogie thought still more highly of their
minister, and indicated their opinion of the other parish in severely
theological language.
Standing at his full height he might have been six feet, but, with much
poring over books and meditation, he had descended some two inches. His
hair was long, not because he made any conscious claim to genius, but
because he forgot to get it cut, and, with his flowing, untrimmed beard,
was now quite grey. Within his clothes he was the merest skeleton, being
so thin that his shoulder-blades stood out in sharp outline, and his
hands were almost transparent. The redeeming feature in Saunderson was
his eyes, which were large and eloquent, of a trustful, wistful hazel,
the beautiful eyes of a dumb animal. Whether he was expounding doctrines
charged with despair of humanity, or exalting, in rare moments, the
riches of a Divine love in which he did not expect to share, or humbly
beseeching his brethren to give him information on some point in
scholarship no one knew anything about except himself, or stroking the
hair of some little child sitting upon his knee, those eyes were ever
simple, honest, and most pathetic. Young ministers coming to the
Presbytery full of self-conceit and new views were arrested by their
light shining through the glasses, and came in a year or two to have a
profound regard for Saunderson, curiously compounded of amusement at his
ways, which for strangeness were quite beyond imagination, admiration for
his knowledge, which was amazing for its accuracy and comprehensiveness,
respect for his honesty, which feared no conclusion, however repellent to
flesh and blood, but chiefly of love for the unaffected and shining
goodness of a man in whose virgin soul neither self nor this world had
any part. For years the youngsters of the Presbytery knew not how to
address the minister of Kilbogie, since any one who had dared to call him
Saunderson, as they said "Carmichael," and even "MacWheep," though he was
elderly, would have been deposed, without delay, from the ministry--so
much reverence at least was in the lads--and "Mister" attached to this
personality would be like a silk hat on the head of an Eastern sage.
Jenkins of Pitrodie always considered that he was inspired when he one
day called Saunderson "Rabbi," and unto the day of his death Kilbogie was
so called. He made protest against the title as being forbidden in the
Gospels, but the lads insisted that it must be understood in the sense of
scholar, whereupon Saunderson disowned it on the ground of his slender
attainments. The lads saw the force of this objection, and admitted that
the honourable word belonged by rights to MacWheep, who was a "gude
body," but it was their fancy to assign it to Saunderson--whereat
Saunderson yielded, only exacting a pledge that he should never be so
called in public, lest all concerned be condemned for foolishness. When
it was announced that the University of Edinburgh had resolved to confer
the degree of D.D. on him for his distinguished learning and great
services to theological scholarship, Saunderson, who was delighted when
Dowbiggin of Muirtown got the honour for being an ecclesiastic, would
have refused it for himself had not his boys gone out in a body and
compelled him to accept. They also purchased a Doctor's gown and hood,
and invested him with them in the name of Kilbogie two days before the
capping. One of them saw that he was duly brought to the Tolbooth Kirk,
where the capping ceremonial in those days took place. Another sent a
list of Saunderson's articles to British and foreign theological and
philological reviews, which filled half a column of the _Caledonian_, and
drew forth a complimentary article from that exceedingly able and caustic
paper, whose editor lost all his hair through sympathetic emotion the
morning of the Disruption, and ever afterwards pointed out the faults of
the Free Kirk with much frankness. The fame of Rabbi Saunderson was so
spread abroad that a great cheer went up as he came in with the other
Doctors elect, in which he cordially joined, considering it to be
intended for his neighbour, a successful West-End clergyman, the author
of a Life of Dorcas and other pleasing booklets. For some time after his
boys said "Doctor" in every third sentence, and then grew weary of a too
common title, and fell back on "Rabbi," by which he was known until the
day of his death, and which is now engraved on his tombstone.
Saunderson's reputation for unfathomable learning and saintly simplicity
was built up out of many incidents, and grew with the lapse of years to a
solitary height in the big strath, so that no man would have dared to
smile had the Free Kirk minister of Kilbogie appeared in Muirtown in his
shirt-sleeves, and Kilbogie would only have been a trifle more conceited.
Truly he was an amazing man, and, now that he is dead and gone, the last
of his race, I wish some man of his profession had written his life, for
the doctrine he taught and the way he lived will not be believed by the
new generation. The arrival of his goods was more than many sermons to
Kilbogie, and I had it from Mains' own lips. It was the kindly fashion
of those days that the farmers carted the new minister's furniture from
the nearest railway station, and as the railway to Kildrummie was not yet
open, they had to go to Stormont Station on the north line; and a
pleasant procession they made passing through Pitscowrie, ten carts in
their best array, and drivers with a semi-festive air. Mr. Saunderson
was at the station, having reached it, by some miracle, without mistake,
and was in a condition of abject nervousness about the handling and
conveyance of his belongings.
[Illustration: THE FARMERS CARTED THE NEW MINISTER'S FURNITURE FROM THE
NEAREST RAILWAY STATION]
"You will be careful--exceeding careful," he implored; "if one of the
boxes were allowed to descend hurriedly to the ground, the result to what
is within would be disastrous. I am much afraid that the weight is
considerable, but I am ready to assist"; and he got ready.
"Dinna pit yirsel intae a feery-farry (commotion)"--but Mains was
distinctly pleased to see a little touch of worldliness, just enough to
keep the new minister in touch with humanity. "It'll be queer stuff oor
lads canna lift, an' a'll gie ye a warranty that the'll no be a cup o'
the cheeny broken"; and then Saunderson conducted his congregation to the
siding.
"Dod, man," remarked Mains to the station-master, examining a truck with
eight boxes; "the manse 'ill no want for dishes at ony rate. But let's
start on the furniture; whar hae ye got the rest o' the plenishing?
"Naething mair? havers, man, ye dinna mean tae say they pack beds an'
tables in boxes; a' doot there's a truck missin'." Then Mains went over
where the minister was fidgeting beside his possessions.
"No, no," said Saunderson, when the situation was put before him, "it's
all here. I counted the boxes, and I packed every box myself. That top
one contains the fathers--deal gently with it; and the Reformation
divines are just below it. Books are easily injured, and they feel it.
I do believe there is a certain life in them, and . . . and . . . they
don't like being ill-used"; and Jeremiah looked wistfully at the
ploughmen.
"Div ye mean tae say," as soon as Mains had recovered, "that ye've brocht
naethin' for the manse but bukes, naither bed nor bedding? Keep's a',"
as the situation grew upon him, "whar are ye tae sleep, and what are ye
tae sit on? An' div ye never eat? This croons a';" and Mains gazed at
his new minister as one who supposed that he had taken Jeremiah's measure
and had failed utterly.
"_Mea culpa_--it's . . . my blame," and Saunderson was evidently humbled
at this public exposure of his incapacity; "some slight furnishing will
be expedient, even necessary, and I have a plan for book-shelves in my
head; it is ingenious and convenient, and if there is a worker in
wood . . ."
"Come awa' tae the dog-cart, sir," said Mains, realizing that even
Kilbogie did not know what a singular gift they had obtained, and that
discussion on such sublunary matters as pots and pans was useless, not to
say profane. So eight carts got a box each; one, Jeremiah's ancient kist
of moderate dimensions; and the tenth--that none might be left
unrecognised--a hand-bag that had been on the twelve years' probation
with its master. The story grew as it passed westwards, and when it
reached us we were given to understand that the Free Kirk minister of
Kilbogie had come to his parish with his clothing in a paper parcel and
twenty-four packing-cases filled with books, in as many languages--half
of them dating from the introduction of printing, and fastened by silver
clasps--and that if Drumtochty seriously desired to hear an intellectual
sermon at a time, we must take our way through Tochty woods.
Mrs. Pitillo took the minister into her hands, and compelled him to
accompany her to Muirtown, where she had him at her will for some time,
so that she equipped the kitchen (fully), a dining-room (fairly), a spare
bedroom (amply), Mr. Saunderson's own bedroom (miserably), and secured a
table and two chairs for the study. This success turned her head. Full
of motherly forethought, and having a keen remembrance that probationers
always retired in the afternoon at Mains to think over the evening's
address, and left an impress of the human form on the bed when they came
down to tea, Mrs. Pitillo suggested that a sofa would be an admirable
addition to the study. As soon as this piece of furniture, of a size
suitable for his six feet, was pointed out to the minister, he took
fright, and became quite unmanageable. He would not have such an article
in his study on any account, partly because it would only feed a tendency
to sloth--which, he explained, was one of his besetting sins--and partly
because it would curtail the space available for books, which, he
indicated, were the proper furniture of any room, but chiefly of a study.
So great was his alarm, that he repented of too early concessions about
the other rooms, and explained to Mrs. Pitillo that every inch of space
must be rigidly kept for the overflow from the study, which he
expected--if he were spared--would reach the garrets. Several times on
their way back to Kilbogie, Saunderson looked wistfully at Mrs. Pitillo,
and once opened his mouth as if to speak, from which she gathered that he
was grateful for her kindness, but dared not yield any further to the
luxuries of the flesh.
What this worthy woman endured in securing a succession of reliable
house-keepers for Mr. Saunderson and over-seeing the interior of that
remarkable home she was never able to explain to her own satisfaction,
though she made many honest efforts, and one of her last intelligible
utterances was a lamentable prophecy of the final estate of the Free
Church manse of Kilbogie. Mr. Saunderson himself seemed at times to have
some vague idea of her painful services, and once mentioned her name to
Carmichael of Drumtochty in feeling terms. There had been some delay in
providing for the bodily wants of the visitor after his eight miles' walk
from the glen, and it seemed likely that he would be obliged to take his
meal standing for want of a chair.
"While Mrs. Pitillo lived, I have a strong impression, almost amounting
to certainty, that the domestic arrangements of the manse were better
ordered; she had the episcopal faculty in quite a conspicuous degree, and
was, I have often thought, a woman of sound judgment.
"We were not able at all times to see eye to eye, as she had an
unfortunate tendency to meddle with my books and papers, and to arrange
them after an artificial fashion. This she called tidying, and, in its
most extreme form, cleaning.
"With all her excellences, there was also in her what I have noticed in
most women, a certain flavour of guile, and on one occasion, when I was
making a brief journey through Holland and France in search of comely
editions of the fathers, she had the books carried out to the garden and
dusted. It was the space of two years before I regained mastery of my
library again, and unto this day I cannot lay my hands on the
service-book of King Henry VIII., which I had in the second edition, to
say nothing of an original edition of Rutherford's _Lex Rex_.
"It does not become me, however, to reflect on the efforts of that worthy
matron, for she was by nature a good woman, and if any one could be saved
by good works, her place is assured. I was with her before she died, and
her last words to me were, 'Tell Jean tae dust yir bukes aince in the sax
months, and for ony sake keep ae chair for sittin' on.' It was not
perhaps quite the testimony one would have desired in the circumstances,
but yet, Mr. Carmichael, I have often thought that there was a spirit
of . . . of unselfishness, in fact, that showed the working of grace."
Later in the same evening Mr. Saunderson's mind returned to his friend's
spiritual state, for he entered into a long argument to show that while
Mary was more spiritual, Martha must also have been within the Divine
Election.
KILBOGIE MANSE
Ministers there were in the great strath so orderly that they kept
their sealing-wax in one drawer and their string in another, while
their sermons were arranged under the books of the Bible, and tied with
green silk. Dr. Dowbiggin, though a dull man and of a heavy carriage,
could find in an instant the original draft of a motion on instrumental
music he made in the Presbytery of Muirtown in the year '59, and could
also give the exact page in the blue-books for every word he had
uttered in the famous case when he showed that the use of an harmonium
to train MacWheep's choir was a return to the bondage of Old Testament
worship. His collection of pamphlets was supposed to be unique, and
was a terror to controversialists, no man knowing when a rash utterance
on the bottomless mystery of "spiritual independence" might not be
produced from the Doctor's coat-tail pocket. He retired to rest at
10.15, and rose at six, settling the subject of his next sermon on
Sabbath evening, and finishing the first head before breakfast on
Monday morning. He had three hats--one for funerals, one for
marriages, one for ordinary occasions--and has returned from the
Presbytery door to brush his coat. Morning prayers in Dr. Dowbiggin's
house were at 8.5, and the wrath of the Doctor was so dangerous that
one probationer staying at the manse, and not quite independent of
influence, did not venture to undress, but snatched a fearful doze
sitting upright on a cane-bottomed chair, lest he should not be in at
the psalm. Young ministers of untidy habits regarded Dr. Dowbiggin's
study with despair, and did not recover their spirits till they were
out of Muirtown. Once only did this eminent man visit the manse of
Kilbogie, and in favourable moments after dinner he would give his
choicer experiences.
"It is my invariable custom to examine the bed to see that everything
is in order, and any one sleeping in Kilbogie Manse will find the good
of such a precaution. I trust that I am not a luxurious person--it
would ill become one who came out in '43--but I have certainly become
accustomed to the use of sheets. When I saw there were none on the
bed, I declined to sleep without them, and I indicated my mind very
distinctly on the condition of the manse.
"Would you believe it?" the Doctor used to go on. "Saunderson
explained, as if it were a usual occurrence, that he had given away all
the spare linen in his house to a girl that had to marry in . . .
urgent circumstances, and had forgotten to get more. And what do you
think did he offer as a substitute for sheets?" No one could even
imagine what might not occur to the mind of Saunderson.
"Towels, as I am an honourable man; a collection of towels, as he put
it, 'skilfully attached together, might make a pleasant covering.'
That is the first and last time I ever slept in the Free Church Manse
of Kilbogie. As regards Saunderson's study, I will guarantee that the
like of it cannot be found within Scotland;" and at the very thought of
it that exact and methodical ecclesiastic realized the limitations of
language.
His boys boasted of the Rabbi's study as something that touched genius
in its magnificent disorderliness, and Carmichael was so proud of it
that he took me to see it as to a shrine. One whiff of its atmosphere
as you entered the door gave an appetite and raised the highest
expectations. For any bookman can estimate a library by scent--if an
expert he could even write out a catalogue of the books and sketch the
appearance of the owner. Heavy odour of polished mahogany, Brussels
carpets, damask curtains, and tablecloths; then the books are kept
within glass, consist of sets of standard works in half calf, and the
owner will give you their cost wholesale to a farthing. Faint
fragrance of delicate flowers, and Russia leather, with a hint of
cigarettes; prepare yourself for a marvellous wall-paper, etchings,
bits of oak, limited editions, and a man in a velvet coat. Smell of
paste and cloth binding and general newness means yesterday's books and
a reviewer racing through novels with a paper-knife. Those are only
book-rooms by courtesy, and never can satisfy any one who has breathed
the sacred air. It is a rich and strong spirit, not only filling the
room, but pouring out from the door and possessing the hall, redeeming
an opposite dining-room from grossness, and a more distant drawing-room
from frivolity, and even lending a goodly flavour to bedrooms on upper
floors. It is distilled from curious old duodecimos packed on high
shelves out of sight, and blows over folios, with large clasps, that
once stood in monastery libraries, and gathers a subtle sweetness from
parchments that were illuminated in ancient scriptoriums that are now
grass-grown, and it is fortified with good old musty calf. The wind
was from the right quarter on the first day I visited Kilbogie Manse,
and as we went up the garden walk the Rabbi's library already bade us
welcome, and assured us of our reward for a ten-miles' walk.
Saunderson was perfectly helpless in all manner of mechanics--he could
not drive a tack through anything except his own fingers, and had given
up shaving at the suggestion of his elders--and yet he boasted, with
truth, that he had got three times as many books into the study as his
predecessor possessed in all his house. For Saunderson had shelved the
walls from the floor to the ceiling, into every corner, and over the
doors and above the windows, as well as below them. The wright had
wished to leave the space clear above the mantelpiece.
"Ye'll be hanging Dr. Chalmers there, or maybe John Knox, and a bit
clock'll be handy for letting ye ken the 'oors on Sabbath."
The Rabbi admitted that he had a Knox, but was full of a scheme for
hanging him over his own history, which he considered both appropriate
and convenient. As regards time, it was the last thing of which that
worthy man desired to be reminded--going to bed when he could no longer
see for weariness, and rising as soon as he awoke, taking his food when
it was brought to him, and being conducted to church by the beadle
after the last straggler was safely seated. He even cast covetous eyes
upon the two windows, which were absurdly large, as he considered, but
compromised matters by removing the shutters and filling up the vacant
space with slender works of devotion. It was one of his conceits that
the rising sun smote first on an À'Kempis, for this he had often
noticed as he worked of a morning.
Book-shelves had long ago failed to accommodate Rabbi's treasures, and
the floor had been bravely utilised. Islands of books, rugged and
perpendicular, rose on every side; long promontories reached out from
the shore, varied by bold headlands; and so broken and varied was that
floor that the Rabbi was pleased to call it the Aegean Sea, where he
had his Lesbos and his Samos. It is absolutely incredible, but it is
all the same a simple fact, that he knew every book and its location,
having a sense of the feel as well as the shape of his favourites.
This was not because he had the faintest approach to orderliness, for
he would take down twenty volumes and never restore them to the same
place by any chance. It was a sort of motherly instinct by which he
watched over them all, and even loved prodigals who wandered over all
the study and then set off on adventurous journeys into distant rooms.
The restoration of an emigrant to his lawful home was celebrated by a
feast, in which, by a confusion of circumstances, the book played the
part of the fatted calf, being read afresh from beginning to end.
During his earlier and more agile years the Rabbi used to reach the
higher levels of his study by wonderful gymnastic feats, but after two
falls--one with three Ante-Nicene fathers in close pursuit--he
determined to call in assistance. This he did after an impressive
fashion. When he attended the roup at Pitfoodles--a day of historical
prices--and purchased in open competition, at three times its value, a
small stack ladder, Kilbogie was convulsed, and Mains had to offer
explanations.
"He's cuttit aff seevin feet, and rins up it tae get his tapmaist
bukes, but that's no' a'," and then Mains gave it to be understood that
the rest of the things the minister had done with that ladder were
beyond words. For in order that the rough wood might not scar the
sensitive backs of the fathers, the Rabbi had covered the upper end
with cloth, and for that purpose had utilised a pair of trousers. It
was not within his ability in any way to reduce or adapt his material,
so that those interesting garments remained in their original shape,
and, as often as the ladder stood reversed, presented a very impressive
and diverting spectacle. It was the inspiration of one of Carmichael's
most successful stories--how he had done his best to console a woman on
the death of her husband, and had not altogether failed, till she
caught sight of the deceased's nether garments waving disconsolately on
a rope in the garden, when she refused to be comforted. "Toom (empty)
breeks tae me noo," and she wept profusely, "toom breeks tae me."
One of the great efforts of the Rabbi's life was to seat his visitors,
since, beyond the one chair, accommodation had to be provided on the
table, wheresoever there happened to be no papers, and on the ledges of
the bookcases. It was pretty to see the host suggesting from a long
experience those coigns of vantage he counted easiest and safest,
giving warnings also of unsuspected danger in the shape of restless
books that might either yield beneath one's feet or descend on one's
head. Carmichael, however, needed no such guidance, for he knew his
way about in the marvellous place, and at once made for what the boys
called the throne of the fathers. This was a lordly seat, laid as to
its foundation in mediaeval divines of ponderous content, but
excellently finished with the Benedictine edition of St. Augustine,
softened by two cushions, one for a seat and another for a back. Here
Carmichael used to sit in great content, smoking and listening while
the Rabbi hunted an idea through Scripture with many authorities, or
defended the wildest Calvinism with strange, learned arguments; from
this place he would watch the Rabbi searching for a lost note on some
passage of Holy Writ amid a pile of papers two feet deep, through which
he burrowed on all-fours, or climbing for a book on the sky-line, to
forget his errand and to expound some point of doctrine from the top of
the ladder.
[Illustration: SEARCHING FOR A LOST NOTE]
"You're comfortable, John, and you do not want to put off your boots
after all that travelling to and fro? Then I will search for Barbara,
and secure some refreshment for our bodies"; and Carmichael watched the
Rabbi depart with pity, for he was going on a troublous errand.
Housekeepers are, after beadles, the most wonderful functionaries in
the ecclesiastical life of Scotland, and every species could be found
within a day's journey of Drumtochty. Jenkins, indeed, suggested that
a series of papers on Church institutions read at the clerical club
should include one on housekeepers, and offered to supply the want,
which was the reason why Dr. Dowbiggin refused to certify him to a
vacancy, speaking of him as "frivolous and irresponsible." The class
ranged from Sarah of Drumtochty, who could cook and knew nothing about
ecclesiastical affairs, to that austere damsel, Margaret Meiklewham of
Pitscowrie, who had never prepared an appetising meal in her life, but
might have sat as an elder in the Presbytery.
Among all her class, Barbara MacCluckie stood an easy worst, being the
most incapable, unsightly, evil-tempered, vexatious woman into whose
hands an unmarried man had ever been delivered. MacWheep had his own
trials, but his ruler saw that he had sufficient food and some comfort,
but Barbara laid herself out to make the Rabbi's life a misery. He
only obtained his meals as a favour, and an extra blanket had to be won
by a week's abject humiliation. Fire was only allowed him at times,
and he secured oil for his lamp by stratagem. Latterly he was glad to
send strange ministers to Mains, and his boys alone forced lodgment in
the manse. The settlement of Barbara was the great calamity of the
Rabbi's life, and was the doing of his own good-nature. He first met
her when she came to the manse one evening to discuss the unlawfulness
of infant baptism and the duty of holding Sunday on Saturday, being the
Jewish Sabbath. His interest deepened on learning that she had been
driven from twenty-nine situations through the persecution of the
ungodly; and on her assuring him that she had heard a voice in a dream
bidding her take charge of Kilbogie Manse, the Rabbi, who had suffered
many things at the hands of young girls given to lovers, installed
Barbara, and began to repent that very day. A tall, bony, forbidding
woman, with a squint, and a nose turning red as she stated from chronic
indigestion, let it be said for her that she did not fall into the sins
of her predecessors. It was indeed a pleasant jest in Kilbogie for
four Sabbaths that she allowed a local Romeo, who knew not that his
Juliet was gone, to make his adventurous way to her bedroom window, and
then showed such an amazing visage that he was laid up for a week
through the suddenness of his fall. What the Rabbi endured no one
knew, but his boys understood that the only relief he had from
Barbara's tyranny was on Sabbath evening when she stated her objections
to his sermons, and threatened henceforward to walk into Muirtown in
order to escape from unsound doctrine. On such occasions the Rabbi
laid himself out for her instruction with much zest, and he knew when
he had produced an impression, for then he went supperless to bed.
Between this militant spirit and the boys there was an undying feud,
and Carmichael was not at all hurt to hear her frank references to
himself.
[Illustration: THE SUDDENNESS OF HIS FALL]
"What need he come stravagin' doon frae Drumtochty for? it wud set him
better tae wait on his ain fouk. A licht-headed fellow, they say as
kens; an' as for his doctrine--weel, maybe it'll dae for Drumtochty.
"Tea? Did ye expect me tae hae biling water at this 'oor o' the nicht?
My word, the money wud flee in this hoose gin a' wesna here. Milk'll
dae fine for yon birkie: he micht be gled tae get onything, sorning on
a respectable manse every ither week."
"You will pardon our humble provision"--this is how the Rabbi prepared
Carmichael; "we have taken my worthy Abigail unawares, and she cannot
do for us what in other circumstances would be her desire. She has a
thorn in the flesh which troubles her, and makes her do what she would
not, but I am convinced that her heart is right."
That uncompromising woman took no notice of Drumtochty, but busied
herself in a search for the Rabbi's bag, which he insisted had been
brought home from Muirtown that morning, and which was at last found
covered with books.
"Do not open it at present, Barbara; you can identify the contents
later if it be necessary, but I am sure they are all right"; and the
Rabbi watched Barbara's investigations with evident anxiety.
"Maybe ye hae brocht back what ye started wi', but gin ye hev, it's the
first time a' can mind. Laist sacrament at Edinburgh ye pickit up twal
books, ae clothes-brush, an' a crochet cover for a chair, an' left
a'thing that belonged tae ye."
"It was an inadvertence; but I obtained a drawer for my own use this
time, and I was careful to pack its contents into the bag, leaving
nothing." But the Rabbi did not seem over-confident.
"There's nae question that ye hev filled the pack," said Barbara, with
much deliberation and an ominous calmness; "but whether wi' yir ain
gear or some ither body's, a'll leave ye tae judge yirsel. A'll juist
empty the bag on the bukes"; and Barbara selected a bank of Puritans
for the display of her master's spoil.
"Ae slipbody (bodice), weel hemmed and gude stuff--ye didna tak' that
wi' ye, at ony rate; twa pillow-slips--they'll come in handy, oor ain
are wearin' thin; ae pair o' sheets--'ll just dae for the next trimmie
that ye want tae set up in her hoose; this'll be a bolster-slip, a'm
judgin'----"
"It must be the work of Satan," cried the poor Rabbi, who constantly
saw the hand of the great enemy in the disorder of his study. "I
cannot believe that my hands packed such garments in place of my own."
"Ye'll be satisfied when ye read the name; it's plain eneuch; ye needna
gang dodderin' aboot here and there lookin' for yir glasses; there's
twa pair on your head already"; for it was an hour of triumph to
Barbara's genial soul.
"It's beyond understanding," murmured the Rabbi. "I must have mistaken
one drawer for another in the midst of meditation"; and then, when
Barbara had swept out of the room with the varied linen on her arm,
"This is very humiliating, John, and hard to bear."
"Nonsense, Rabbi; it's one of the finest things you have ever done.
Half a dozen journeys of that kind would refurnish the manse; it's just
a pity you can't annex a chair"; but he saw that the good man was
sorely vexed.
"You are a good lad, John, and it is truly marvellous what charity I
have received at the hands of young men who might have scorned and
mocked me. God knows how my heart has been filled with gratitude, and
I . . . have mentioned your names in my unworthy prayers, that God may
do to you all according to the kindness ye have shown unto me."
It was plain that this lonely, silent man was much moved, and
Carmichael did not speak.
"People consider that I am ignorant of my failings and weaknesses, and
I can bear witness with a clear conscience that I am not angry when
they smile and nod the head; why should I be? But, John, it is known
to myself only, and Him before whom all hearts are open, how great is
my suffering in being among my neighbours as a sparrow upon the
house-top.
"May you never know, John, what it is to live alone and friendless till
you lose the ways of other men and retire within yourself, looking out
on the multitude passing on the road as a hermit from his cell, and
knowing that some day you will die alone, with none to . . . give you a
draught of water!"
"Rabbi, Rabbi,"--for Carmichael was greatly distressed at the woe in
the face opposite him, and his heart was tender that night,--"why
should you have lived like that? Do not be angry, but . . . did God
intend . . . it cannot be wrong . . . I mean . . . God did give Eve to
Adam."
"Laddie, why do ye speak with fear and a faltering voice? Did I say
aught against that gracious gift or the holy mystery of love, which is
surely the sign of the union betwixt God and the soul, as is set forth
after a mystical shape in the Song of Songs? But it was not for
me--no, not for me. I complain not, neither have I vexed my soul. He
doeth all things well."
"But, dear Rabbi"--and Carmichael hesitated, not knowing where he stood.