MR. SMELLIE'S DIPLOMACY
Mr. Smellie was not only a draper, but was the greatest in that line in
the parish of Drumsylie. His shop had the largest display of goods in
the village. Handkerchiefs, cravats, Paisley shawls, printed calicoes,
&c., streamed in every variety of colour from strings stretched across
the large window, dotted with hats and bonnets for male and female
customers. He was looked upon as a well-to-do, religious man, who
carefully made the most of both worlds. He was a bachelor, and lived in
a very small house, above his shop, which was reached by a screw stair.
A small charity boy, with a singularly sedate countenance--he may for
aught I know be now a rich merchant on the London Exchange--kept the
shop. I mention his name, Eben or Ebenezer Peat, to preserve for some
possible biographer the important part which the as yet great unknown
played in his early life. The only domestic was old Peggy; of whom,
beyond her name, I know nothing. She may have been great, and no doubt
was, if she did her duty with zeal and love to Peter Smellie. Peggy
inhabited the kitchen, and her master the parlour, attached to which was
a small bed-closet. The parlour was cold and stiff, like a cell for a
condemned Pharisee. There was little furniture in it save an old sofa
whose hard bony skeleton was covered by a cracked skin of black
haircloth, with a small round cushion of the same character, roughened
by rather bristly hairs, which lay in a recess at the end of it. A few
stuffed mahogany chairs were ranged along the wall; while a very
uncomfortable arm-chair beside the small fire, and a round table with a
dark wax-cloth cover, completed the furniture of the apartment. There
were besides, a few old books of theology--which guaranteed Mr.
Smellie's orthodoxy, if not his reading; a copy of _Buchan's Domestic
Medicine_; and a sampler which hung on the wall, sewed by his only
sister, long dead, on which was worked a rude symbol of Castle Bennock
with three swans floating under it, nearly as large as the castle, and
beneath what was intended to represent flowers were the symbols, "For P.
S. by M. S."
Mr. Smellie, near a small fire, that twinkled like a yellow cairngorm
amidst basalt, sat reading his newspaper, when a letter was laid upon
the table by Peggy without any remark except "A letter."
"From whom, Peggy?" asked Smellie.
"Dinna ken; was left on the coonter."
Mr. Smellie opened it. No sooner did he recognise the signature, than
he laid aside the paper--the _Edinburgh Courant_, even then best known
and long established.
He read the letter over and over again, very possibly a hundred times if
one might judge from the time it remained in his hands. At last he put
it down quietly, as if afraid it would make a noise, and stared at the
small embryo fire. He then paced across the room; lay down on the sofa;
resumed his seat at the fire; took up the letter, again perused it, and
again slowly laid it down. He alone could decipher his own thoughts
while doing all this. For a time he was confused and bewildered, as if
endeavouring to comprehend his altered position. It was to him as if
some one whom he had hanged or murdered had come to life again. What
was he to do now with reference to the Sergeant? This was what puzzled
him--what could be done to save himself? He had felt safe in the hands
of an honourable man--at a distance. He had in fact, during many years
of comparative ease as to worldly things, almost forgotten his old
attempt at cheating. He had long ago repented, as he thought, of his
crime; but that which was past had now risen from the dead, and God
seemed to require it at his hands!
Had not his own continued sinfulness thus restored the dead past to
life?
It was a great shock for him to learn for the first time that his enemy,
as he looked upon Adam, knew it all, and had him in his power. And then
to learn also that the Sergeant had never divulged the secret! What
could Smellie now do? Would he provoke Adam to blast his character, to
triumph over him, to expose him to the Kirk Session and the parish? nay,
to--to banish him? Or would he repent truly of all that false, hollow
past which was now being dimly revealed to him; confess his evil-doing
to the Sergeant, and ask his forgiveness, as well as that of God; trust
his mercy, bless him for his generosity, acknowledge that he was the
better man, and seek by a new and true life to imitate him? O Mr.
Smellie! this is indeed one of those moments in thy life in which a
single step to the right or left may lead thee to light or to darkness,
to heaven or to hell. Thy soul, of immeasurable littleness estimated by
the world, but of infinite greatness estimated by eternal truth and
righteousness, is now engaged in a battle in which its eternal destiny
is likely to be determined! Confront then the good and evil masters,
God and Mammon, who are contending for the mastery; serve the one and
despise the other, and even thou mayest yet be great because good. But
if not!--then in a few minutes mayest thou be irrecoverably on the road
to thine own place; and though this will be nothing to Drumsylie, it
will be everything to thee!
The battle went hard against Saul, and the Philistines of vanity, pride,
and a wicked consistency were pressing hard upon him! One thing only,
the easiest for the time, he determined to do, and that was to get out
of the scrape--as his bad angel soothingly suggested--as speedily and as
easily as possible. He must not keep up the quarrel longer with the
Sergeant; this at least seemed clear: for such a course was dangerous.
He must also immediately assure John Spence of obedience to his
commands. So, without delay, he wrote to the keeper, imploring him, as
he himself expected mercy from God, to be silent regarding the old
crime; assuring him that he had mistaken the part which he had taken as
an elder in this most painful case, as he called it, and promising him
to do all he could to deliver the Sergeant out of trouble, which would
be at once his duty and his pleasure. This letter, when written and
despatched, was a great relief to his mind: it delivered him, as he
hoped, from immediate danger at least, and enabled him to concentrate
his acute faculties on the carrying out of his plans for securing his
own safety.
His thoughts were for the moment broken by Eben announcing, as he was
wont to do, a superior customer whom it was expedient for the master
himself to serve. The customer on the present occasion was Miss
Thomasina Porteous, who had come to purchase some article for herself,
and a cheap shawl, out of the Session Charity Fund, for their poor,
persecuted, common friend, as she called Mrs. Craigie.
Mr. Smellie was unusually silent: he did not respond to the order for
Mrs. Craigie with his accustomed smile. After a little, Miss Thomasina
blandly remarked:--"Sergeant Mercer is very ill, and I have no doubt
from a bad conscience--there's no peace, you know, Mr. Smellie, to the
wicked."
"I am aware!" said Mr. Smellie, drily. "This cheap shawl," he added,
selecting and spreading out one before her, "is good enough, I suppose,
for a pauper?"
"Considering all she has suffered from that man, I think she should get
a better one, or something in addition, Mr. Smellie," said the lady.
"Eben!" said Smellie, "go up-stairs. I wish to speak to Miss Porteous
alone."
The boy disappeared.
"As a friend, Miss Porteous," whispered Smellie, "permit me to say, _in
strictest confidence_--you understand?--"
"Quite!" replied Miss Thomasina, with a look of intense curiosity.
"That I have learned some things about Mrs. Craigie," continued Mr.
Smellie, "which should make us _extremely_ cautious in helping or
trusting her."
"Indeed!" said Miss Thomasina.
"And as regards the Sergeant," said Mr. Smellie, "there is--rightly or
wrongly is not the question--a strong sympathy felt for him in the
parish. It is human nature to feel, you know, for the weak side, even
if it is the worst side; and from my profound respect for our excellent
minister, over whom you exercise such great and useful influence, I
would advise----"
"That he should yield, Mr. Smellie?" interrupted Miss Thomasina, with an
expression of wonder.
"No, no, Miss Porteous," replied the worthy Peter, "that may be
impossible; but that we should allow Providence to deal with Adam. He
is ill. The Doctor, I heard to-day, thinks it may come to typhus fever.
He is threatened, at least."
"And may die?" said the lady, interpreting the elder's thoughts. "But I
hope not, poor man, for his own sake. It would be a solemn judgment."
"I did not say die," continued Smellie; "but many things may occur--such
as repentance--a new mind, &c. Anyhow," he added with a smile, "he
should, in my very humble opinion, be dealt wi' charitably--nay, I would
say kindly. Our justice should be tempered wi' mercy, so that no enemy
could rejoice over us, and that we should feel a good conscience--the
best o' blessings," he said with a sigh--"as knowing that we had
exhausted every means o' bringing him to a right mind; for, between us
baith, and knowing your Christian principles, I do really houp that at
heart he is a good man. Forgie me for hinting it, as I would not
willingly pain you, but I really believe it. Now, if he dees, we'll
have no blame. So I say, or rather suggest, that, wi' your leave, we
should in the meantime let things alone, and say no more about this sad
business. I leave you to propose this to our worthy minister."
"I think _our_ kindness and charity, Mr. Smellie," replied Miss
Porteous, "are not required at present. On my word, no! My poor brother
requires both, not Mercer. See how _he_ is petted! Those upstart
Gordons have been sending him, I hear, all sorts of good things: wine
and grapes--grapes, that even I have only tasted once in my life, when
my mother died! And Mrs. Gordon called on him yesterday in her
carriage! It's absolutely ridiculous! I would even say an insult! tho'
I'm sure I don't wish the man any ill--not I; but only that we must not
spoil him, and make a fool of my brother and the Session, as if Mercer
was innocent. I assure you my brother feels this sort of mawkish
sympathy very much--very much. It's mean and cowardly!"
"It is quite natural that he should feel annoyed," replied Mr. Smellie;
"and so do I. But, nevertheless, I again say, we must be merciful; for
mercy rejoiceth over judgment. So I humbly advise to let things alone
for the present, and to withdraw our hand when Providence begins to
work;--in the meantime, in the meantime."
Miss Thomasina was not prepared for these new views on the part of the
high-principled, firm, and consistent elder. They crossed her purpose.
She had no idea of giving up the battle in this easy way. What had she
to do with Providence? To stand firm and fast to her principles was,
she had ever been taught, the one thing needful; and until the Sergeant
confessed his fault, it seemed to her, as she said, that "he should be
treated as a heathen and a publican!"
Mr. Smellie very properly put in the saving clause, "But no waur--no
waur, Miss Porteous." He also oiled his argument by presenting his
customer with a new pair of gloves out of a parcel just received from
Edinburgh, as evidence of his admiration for her high character.
The lady smiled and left the shop, and said she would communicate the
substance of their conversation to her brother.
"Kindly, kindly, as becomes your warm heart," said Mr. Smellie,
expressing the hope at the same time that the gloves would fit her
fingers as well as he wished his arguments would fit the mind of Mr.
Porteous.
Another diplomatic stroke of Mr. Smellie in his extremity was to obtain
the aid of his easy brother-elder, Mr. Menzies, to adjust matters with
the Sergeant, so as to enable Mr. Porteous, with some show of
consistency, to back out of the ecclesiastical mess in which the Session
had become involved: for "consistency" was a great idol in the Porteous
Pantheon.
"I hae been thinking, my good freen'," said Smellie to Menzies, as both
were seated beside the twinkling gem of a fire in the sanctum over the
draper's shop, "that possibly--possibly--we micht men' matters atween
the Session and Sergeant Mercer. He is verra ill, an' the thocht is
neither pleasant nor satisfactory to us that he should dee--a
providential event which _micht_ happen--an' wi' this scandal ower his
head. I am willin', for ane, to do whatever is reasonable in the case,
and I'm sure sae are ye; for ye ken, Mr. Menzies, there's nae man
perfec'--nane! The fac' is, I'm no' perfec' mysel'!" confessed Mr.
Smellie, with a look intended to express a humility of which he was
profoundly unconscious.
Mr. Menzies, though not at all prepared for this sudden outburst of
charity, welcomed it very sincerely. "I'm glad," said he, "to hear a man
o' your influence in the Session say sae." Menzies had himself
personally experienced to a large degree the _dour_ influence of the
draper over him; and though his better nature had often wished to rebel
against it, yet the logical meshes of his more astute and strong-willed
brother had hitherto entangled him. But now, with the liberty of speech
granted in so genial a manner by Smellie, Mr. Menzies said, "I wull
admit that Mr. Mercer was, until this unfortunate business happened, a
maist respectable man--I mean he was apparently, and I wad fain houp
sincerely--a quiet neebour, and a douce elder. I never had cause to
doot him till the day ye telt me in confidence that he had been ance a
poacher. But we mauna be ower hard, Mr. Smellie, on the sins o' youth,
or even o' riper years. Ye mind the paraphrase--
"'For while the lamp holds on to burn,
The greatest sinner may return'.
I wad do onything that was consistent to get him oot o' this job wi' the
minister an' the Session. But hoo can it be managed, Mr. Smellie?"
"I think," said Smellie, meditatively, "that if we could only get the
minister pleased, things wad richt themsel's."
"Between oorsel's, as his freen's," said Menzies, with a laugh, "he's
no' easy to please when he tak's a thraw! But maybe we're as muckle to
blame as him."
"That bird," remarked Smellie, as he poked up his almost extinguished
fire, "has played a' the mischief! Could we no' get it decently oot o'
the way yet, Mr. Menzies?"
"What d'ye mean, neebour?" asked Menzies, looking puzzled.
"Weel, I'll tell ye," replied the draper. "The Sergeant and me, ye ken,
cast oot; but you and him, as well as the wife, are freendly. Noo, what
do ye say to seeing them in a freendly way; and as the Sergeant is in
bed----"
"They say it's fivver," interrupted Menzies, "and may come to be verra
dangerous."
"Weel a-weel," said Smellie, "in that case what I propose micht be
easier dune: the wife micht gie you the bird, for peace' sake--for
conscience' sake--for her guidman's sake--and ye micht do awa' wi't, and
the Sergeant ken naething about it; for, ye see, being an auld sodger,
he's prood as prood can be; and Mr. Porteous wad be satisfied, and
maybe, for peace' sake, wad never speer hoo it was dune, and we wad hae
a guid excuse for sayin' nae mair about it in the Session. If the
Sergeant dee'd, nae hairm would be done; if he got weel, he wad be
thankfu' that the stramash was a' ower, and himsel' restored, wi'oot
being pit aboot for his bird. Eh?"
"I wadna like to meddle wi' the cratur," said Menzies, shaking his head.
"But, man, do ye no' see," argued Smellie, "that it wad stultify yersel'
tae refuse doing what is easier for you than for him? Hoo can ye, as a
member o' Session, blame him for no' killing a pet o' his dead bairn, if
ye wadna kill it as a strange bird?"
"Can _ye_ no' kill't then?" asked Menzies.
"I wad hae nae difficulty in doing that--nane," said Smellie, "but they
wadna trust me, and wadna lippen to me; but they wad trust _you_. It's
surely your duty, Mr. Menzies, to do this, and mair, for peace."
"Maybe," said Menzies. "Yet it's a cruel job. I'm sweir tae meddle
wi't. I'll think aboot it."
"Ay," said Smellie, putting his hand on his shoulder; "an' ye'll do't,
too, when ye get the opportunity--I dinna bid ye kill't, that needna be;
but jist tae let it flee awa'--that's the plan! Try't. I'm awfu' keen
to get this job by, and this stane o' offence oot o' the road. But
mind, ye'll never, never let on I bade ye, or it will blaw up the
mercifu' plan. Will ye keep a quiet sough aboot me, whatever ye do?
And, moreover, never breathe a word about the auld poaching business; I
hae reasons for this, Mr. Menzies--reasons."
Such was Smellie's "game", as it may be called. For his own ends he was
really anxious that Mr. Porteous should feel kindly towards the
Sergeant, so far at least as to retrace the steps he had taken in his
case. He was actuated by fear lest Adam, if crushed, should be induced
to turn against himself, and, in revenge, expose his former dishonest
conduct. He did not possess necessarily any gratitude for the generous
part which Adam had played towards him;--for nothing is more hateful to
a proud man, than to be under an obligation to one whom he has injured.
It was also very doubtful how far Mr. Porteous, from the strong and
public position he had taken in the case, would, or could yield, unless
there was opened up to him some such back-door of escape as Smellie was
contriving, to save his consistency. If this could be accomplished
without himself being implicated, Smellie saw some hope of ultimate
reconciliation, and the consequent removal on the Sergeant's part of the
temptation to "peach".
Mr. Menzies, however, was ill at ease. The work Smellie had assigned to
him was not agreeable, and he was only induced to attempt its
performance in the hope that the escape of the starling would lead
ultimately to the quashing of all proceedings against Adam.
With these feelings he went off to call upon Mrs. Mercer.