THE CONFERENCE IN THE MANSE
The manse inhabited by Mr. Porteous, like most of its parochial
companions at that time--for much improvement in this as in other
buildings has taken place since those days--was not beautiful, either in
itself or in its surroundings. Its three upper windows stared day and
night on a blank hill, whose stupid outline concealed the setting, and
never welcomed the rising sun. The two lower windows looked into a
round plot of tawdry shrubs, surrounded by a neglected boxwood border
which defended them from the path leading from the small green gate to
the door; while twenty yards beyond were a few formal ugly-looking trees
that darkened the house, and separated it from the arable land of the
glebe. No blame to the minister for his manse or its belongings! On
L200 per annum, he could not keep a gardener, or afford any expensive
ornaments. And for the same reason he had never married, although his
theory as to "feelings" may have possibly hindered him from taking this
humanising step. And who knows what effect the small living and the
bachelor life may have had on his "principles"!
His sister lived with him. To many a manse in Scotland the minister's
sister has been a very angel in the house, a noble monument of devoted
service and of self-sacrificing love--only surpassed by that paragon of
excellence, if excellent at all, the minister's wife. But with all
charity, Miss Porteous--Thomasina she was called by her father, after
his brother in the West Indies, from whom money was expected, but who
had left her nothing--was not in any way attractive, and never gave one
the impression of self-sacrifice. She evidently felt her position to be
a high one. Being next to the Bishop, she evidently considered herself
an Archdeacon, Dean, or other responsible ecclesiastical personage. She
was not ugly, for no woman is or can be that; but yet she was not
beautiful. Being about fifty, as was guessed by the most charitable,
her looks were not what they once were, nor did they hold out any hope
of being improved, like wine, by age. Her hair was rufous, and the
little curls which clustered around her forehead suggested, to those who
knew her intimately, the idea of screws for worming their way into
characters, family secrets, and similar private matters. She was,
unfortunately, the minister's newspaper, his remembrancer, his spiritual
detective and confidential informant as to all that belonged to the
parish and its passing history.
Miss Thomasina Porteous, in the absence of the servant, who was "on
leave" for a day or two, opened the door to the Sergeant. Mr. Porteous
was in his study, popularly so called,--a small room, with a book-press
at one end, and a table in the centre, with a desk on it, a volume of
_Matthew Henry's Commentary_, _Cruden's Concordance_, an _Edinburgh
Almanac_, and a few _Reports_. Beside the table, and near the fire, was
an arm-chair, in which the minister sat reading a volume of sermons. No
sooner was the Sergeant announced than Mr. Porteous rose, looked over
his spectacles, hesitated, and at last shook hands, as if with an
icicle, or in conformity with Act of Parliament. Then, motioning Mr.
Mercer to a seat, he begged to inquire to what he owed this call,
accompanying the questioning with a hint to Thomasina to leave the room.
The Sergeant's first feeling was that he had made a great mistake, and
he wished he had never left the army.
"Well, Mr. Mercer?" inquired the minister, as he sat opposite to the
Sergeant.
"I am sorry to disturb you, sir," replied the Sergeant, "but I wished to
say that I think I was too hot and hasty this afternoon in the Session."
"Pray don't apologise to _me_, Mr. Mercer," said the minister.
"Whatever you have to say on that point, had better be said publicly
before the Kirk Session. Anything else?"
The Sergeant wavered, as military historians would say, before this
threatened opposition, as if suddenly met by a square of bristling
bayonets.
"Well, then," he at last said, "I wish to tell you frankly, and in as
few words as possible, what no human being kens but my wife. I never
blame ignorance, and I'm no gaun to blame yours, Mr. Porteous, but----"
"_My_ ignorance!" exclaimed the minister. "It's come to a pretty pass
indeed, if _you_ are to blame it, or remove it! Ignorance of what,
pray?"
"Your ignorance, Mr. Porteous," continued the Sergeant, "on a point
which I should have made known to you, and for which I alone and not you
are in faut."
The minister seemed relieved by this admission.
The Sergeant forthwith told the story of the starling as the playmate of
his child, the history of whose sickness and death was already known to
Mr. Porteous; and having concluded, he said, "That's the reason, sir,
why I couldna kill the bird. I wadna tell this to ony man but to
yersel', for it's no' my fashion tae sen' the drum aboot the toon for
pity or for sympathy; but I wish _you_, sir, to ken what's fac, for yer
ain guidance and the guidance o' the Session."
"I remember your boy well," remarked Mr. Porteous, handing his snuff-box
in a very kindly way to his visitor.
The Sergeant nodded. "Ye did _your_ duty, minister, to us on that
occasion, or I wadna have come here the nicht. I kent ye wad like
onything Charlie was fond o'."
"I quite understand your feelings, Sergeant, and sympathise with them."
The Sergeant smiled, and nodded, and said, "I hope ye do, sir; I was
sure ye would. I'm thankfu' I cam', and sae will Katie be." The burden
was lifting off his heart.
"But," said Mr. Porteous, after a pause and a long snuff, "I must be
faithful with you, Adam: '_First_ pure, _then_ peaceable,' you know."
"And I hope, sir," said Adam, "'easy to be entreated.'"
"_That,_" replied Mr. Porteous, "depends on circumstances. Let us,
therefore, look at the whole aspects of the case. There is to be
considered, for example, your original delinquency, mistake, or call it
by what name you please; then there is to be taken into account my full
explanation, given ministerially in your own house, of the principles
which guided my conduct and ought to guide yours; then there is also the
matter of the Kirk Session--the fact that they have taken it up, which
adds to its difficulty--a difficulty, however, let me say, Mr. Mercer,
which has not been occasioned by me. Now, review all these--especially
that with which you have personally most to do--the _origo mali_, so to
speak--the fact that a bird endeared to you by very touching
associations was, let me admit it, accidentally, and
unintentionally,--let this also be granted for the sake of
argument,--made by you the occasion of scandal. We are agreed on this
point at least?"
"It was on that point," interrupted the Sergeant, "I thought you doubted
my honour."
"No!" said Mr. Porteous; "I only declared that 'honour' was a worldly,
not a Christian phrase, and unfit therefore for a Church court."
The Sergeant was nonplussed. Thinking his ignorance sinful, he bowed,
and said no more.
"I am glad you acquiesce so far," continued Mr. Porteous. "But
further:--carefully observe," and he leant forward, with finger and
thumb describing an argumentative enclosure out of which Adam could not
escape--"observe that the visible, because notorious, _fact_ of scandal
demands some reparation by a fact equally visible and notorious; you
see? What kind of reparation I demanded, I have already told you. I
smile at its amount, in spite of all you have said, and said so well, in
explaining your difficulties in not at once making it; nay I sympathise
with your kindly, though, permit me to say, your weak _feeling_, Adam.
But, is feeling principle?" Here Mr. Porteous paused with a complacent
smile to witness the telling effect of his suggestive question. "Were
our Covenanting forefathers," he went on to say, "guided by feeling in
giving their testimony for truth by the sacrifice of their very lives?
Were the martyrs of the early Church guided by feeling? But I will not
insult an elder of mine by any such arguments, as if he were either
ignorant of them, or insensible to their importance. Let me just add,"
concluded the minister, in a low, emphatic, and solemn voice, laying one
hand on Adam's knee, "what would your dear boy _now_ think--supposing
him to be saved--if he knew that his father was willing to lose, or even
to weaken his influence for good in the parish--to run the risk of being
suspended, as you now do, from the honourable position of an elder--and
all for what?" asked the minister, throwing himself back in his chair,
and spreading out his hands--"all for what! a toy, a plaything, a bird!
and because of your _feeling_--think of it, Adam--your _feeling_! All
must yield but you: neighbours must yield, Session must yield, and I
must yield!--no sacrifice or satisfaction will you make, not even of
this bird; and all because _your_ feelings, forsooth, would suffer!
_That's_ your position, Adam. I say it advisedly. And finally, as I
also hinted to you, what would the Dissenters say if we were less pure
in our discipline than themselves? Tell it not in Gath, proclaim it not
in the streets of Askelon--the Philistines would rejoice! Take any view
of the case you please, it is bad--very bad." And the minister struck
his thigh, turned round in his chair, and looked at the roof of the
room.
Adam at that moment felt as if he was the worst man in the parish, and
given over to the power of evil.
"I dinna understand," he said, bending down his head, and scratching his
whisker.
"I thought you did not, Adam--I thought you did not," said Mr. Porteous,
turning towards him again; "but I am glad if you are beginning to see it
at last. Once you get a hold of a principle, all becomes clear."
"It's a sharp principle, minister; it's no' easy seen. It has a fine
edge, but cuts deep--desperate deep," remarked Adam, in an undertone.
"That is the case with most principles, Adam," replied Mr. Porteous.
"They have a fine edge, but one which, nevertheless, separates between a
lie and truth, light and darkness. But if you have it--hold it fast."
The minister's principles seemed unanswerable; Adam's sense of right
unassailable. Like two opposing armies of apparently equal strength
they stood, armed, face to face, and a battle was unavoidable. Could
both be right, and capable of reconciliation? Could right principle and
right feeling, or logical deductions from sound principles, ever be
really opposed to the strongest instincts of the heart, the moral
convictions of a true and loving nature? A confused medley of questions
in casuistry tortured Adam's simple conscience, until they became like a
tangled thread, the more knotted the more he tried to disentangle the
meshes.
The Sergeant rose to depart, saying, "I have a small Sabbath class which
meets in my house, and I must not be too late for it; besides, there's
nae use o' my waiting here langer: I have said my say, and can say nae
mair."
"You will return to your class with more satisfaction," said Mr.
Porteous, "after this conversation. But, to prevent all misunderstanding
or informality, you will of course be waited upon by your brethren; and
when they understand, as I do, that you will cheerfully comply with our
request, and when they report the same, no more will be said of the
matter, unless Mr. Gordon foolishly brings it up. And if--let me
suggest, though I do not insist--if, next Sunday, you should hang the
cage where it was this morning when it gave rise to such scandal, but
without the bird in it, the neighbours would, I am sure, feel gratified,
as I myself would, by such an unmistakable sign of your good-will to all
parties."
The Sergeant had once or twice made an effort to "put in a word", but at
last thought it best to hear the minister to the end. Then, drawing
himself up as if on parade, he said, "I fear you have ta'en me up wrang,
Mr. Porteous. My silence wasna consent. Had my auld Colonel--ane o' the
best and kindest o' men--ordered me to march up to a battery, I wad hae
done't, though I should hae been blawn the next moment up to the moon;
but if he had ordered me, for example, tae strike a bairn, or even tae
kill my bird, I wad hae refused, though I had been shot the next minute
for't. There are things I canna do, and winna do, for mortal man, as
long as God gies me my heart: and this is ane o' them--I'll never kill
'Charlie's bairn'. That's my last word--and ye can do as you and the
Session please."
The minister stood aghast with astonishment. The Sergeant saluted him
soldier-fashion, and walked out of the room, followed by Mr. Porteous to
the front door. As he passed out, the minister said, "Had you shot
fewer birds, sir, in your youth, you might have escaped the consequences
of refusing to shoot this one now. 'Be sure your sin will find you
out'," he added, in a louder voice, as he shut the door with extra
force, and with a grim smile upon his face.
Smellie had informed him that forenoon of Mercer's poaching days.
"Capital!" exclaimed Miss Thomasina, as she followed him into the study
out of a dark corner in the lobby near the door, where she had been
ensconced, listening to the whole conversation. "Let his proud spirit
take that! I wonder you had such patience with the upsetting, petted
fellow. Him and his bird, forsooth, to be disturbing the peace of the
parish!"
"Leave him to me," quietly replied Mr. Porteous; "I'll work him."