I DO NOT THINK THAT, TAKING THEM all round, the Cathedral dignitaries
of Broadminster can be accused of assuming a greater importance than
is due to their position; but a story is told about a Canon, lately
deceased, which goes far to prove that he at least did not shrink
from putting forward what he believed to be a reasonable claim to
distinction--relative distinction. It is said that he was in the
one bookseller's shop which is still to be found in the town. It was
Saturday evening, when a stranger entered and, after buying a book,
inquired of the proprietor who was the best preacher in the place: he
explained that he was staying over Sunday and was anxious to hear the
best.
This was too delicate a question for the bookseller (with a clergyman
at his elbow) to answer at a moment's notice; so he thought he would do
well to evade the responsibility by referring the stranger to the Canon.
“This gentleman is a stranger to the town, sir,” he said, “and he wishes
to know who is the best preacher. I thought that perhaps you, sir----”
“I hope you will pardon me, sir,” said the stranger. “I am staying here
till Monday, and I ventured to inquire who is the best preacher.”
“The best preacher, sir?” said the Canon, looking up from the book which
he was sampling. “The best preacher? I am the best preacher, sir: I am
Canon Hillman.”
The stranger was slightly startled.
“Thank you very much, sir,” he said quickly. “And who do you consider
the next best?”
“The next best is my brother, sir, the Reverend Theophilus Hillman.”
The stranger raised his hat and hurried away.
This Canon Hillman had a reputation for that sort of frankness suggested
by the story which I have ventured to repeat as it was told to me, and
which I have no difficulty in believing, from the example I had of his
manner several years ago. I was sojourning at an hotel between Nice and
Beaulieu, and he appeared one night at table d'hôte dinner. It was
the custom for the proprietor, who, curiously enough, did not speak or
understand English, though he was a Swiss, to stand at the entrance
to the _salle à manger_, bowing out his guests as they passed into the
spacious lounge after dinner, and in returning his courtesy, people said
a word or two in commendation of his cuisine, to which he responded with
further bows.
It so happened upon this particular night, however, that one or two
little mistakes had occurred to mar the harmony of the repast as a
whole--they were quite trifles--the _pré salé_ being underdone and
a jelly not having set with that rigidity which is expected in such
comestibles, but which is not always to be found in them.
While we were filing out of the room I was almost immediately behind
Canon Hillman, and I heard him grumbling to a man who had been at his
table, but who did not seem to sympathise with him; and this went on
until they had reached the bowing proprietor, when the Canon stopped.
“I wish to tell you, sir, that I have never eaten a worse dinner at any
hotel in my life,” he said. “There was not a dish that any one could
eat--I consider it simply outrageous.”
Not one word did the man understand, for the Canon had spoken in
English. The proprietor smiled and bowed most placidly, saying--“_Je
vous remercie mille fois, m'sieur--votre compliment est très
distingué--très gracieux; je suis heureux--merci!_”
He had too hastily assumed that the clergyman had offered him the usual
congratulations upon his cuisine, and he had replied with more than his
customary politeness, the visitor having shown himself to be much more
enthusiastic than the ordinary run of people had time to be, considering
that most of them were counting the moments until they should be in the
Casino at Monte Carlo.
I did not know who the very frank clergyman was at that time; but four
or five years later I recognised him at Broadminster.
His brother, the second best preacher, assuming the correctness of the
Canon's judgment, though perhaps it might have been reversed on appeal,
was rector of one of the parishes, and it was rumoured that he was
not disposed at any time to take too humble a view of his claims to
distinction, however slow other people might be to admit their validity.
It is said that upon one occasion, on his return from a visit to the
Holy Land, he preached a sermon giving some striking examples of the
fulfilment of prophecy in connection with the topography of Palestine.
“My dear friends,” he said, “I was particularly struck with the accuracy
of some of the details of the prophecies, when one day I was among the
ruins of one of those cities referred to in the Sacred Writings. I had
the Book in my hand, and I read that the land should be in heaps: I
looked up, and there were heaps on every side. I read that the bittern
should cry there: I looked up, and, lo, a bittern was standing there in
its loneliness. I read that the minister of the Lord should mourn there.
My dear friends, _I was that minister_.”