CHAPTER IV.
SIR CHRISTOPHER.
At the mere remembrance of Sir Christopher, I am fain to lay downmy pen and to weep, as for one whose goodness was unsurpassed, andwhose end was undeserved. Good works, I know, are rags, and mencannot deserve the mercy of God by any merits of their own; but agood man--a man whose heart is full of justice, mercy, virtue, andtruth--is so rare a creature, that when there is found such a one,his salvation seems assured. Is it not wonderful that there areamong us so many good Christians, but so few good men? I am, indeed,in private duty bound to acknowledge Sir Christopher's goodnessto me and to mine. He was, as I have said, the mainstay of ourhousehold. Had we depended wholly on my mother's work, we shouldsometimes have fared miserably indeed. Nay, he did more. Though aJustice of the Peace, he invited my father every Sunday evening tothe Manor House for spiritual conversation, not only for his ownprofit, but knowing that to expound was to my father the breathof his nostrils, so that if he could not expound he must die. Inperson, Sir Christopher was tall; after the fashion (which I love)of the days when he was a young man he wore his own hair, which,being now white and long, became his venerable face much betterthan any wig--white, black, or brown. He was generally dressed, asbecame his station of simple country gentleman, in a plush coat withsilver buttons, and for the most part he wore boots, being of anactive habit and always walking about his fields or in his gardensamong his flowers and his fruit-trees. He was so good a sportsmanthat with his rod, his gun, and his hawk he provided his table witheverything except beef, mutton, and pork. In religion he inclinedto Independency, being above all things an upholder of privatejudgment; in politics, he denied the Divine right, and openly saidthat a Challis might be a King as well as a Stuart; he abhorredthe Pope and all his works; and though he was now for a Monarchy,he would have the King's own power limited by the Parliament. Inhis manners he was grave and dignified; not austere, but one wholoved a cheerful companion. He rode once a week, on market day, toSherborne, where he dined with his brother Justices, hearing anddiscussing the news, though news comes but slowly from London tothese parts--it was fourteen days after the landing of the Kingin the year 1660 that the bells of Sherborne Minster rang for thatevent. Sometimes a copy of the _London Gazette_ came down by theExeter coach, or some of the company had lately passed a night wherethe coach stopped, and conversed with travellers from London andheard the news. For the rest of the week, his Honour was at home.For the most part he sat in the hall. In the middle stands the greatoak table where all the household sit at meals together. There waslittle difference between the dishes served above and those belowthe salt, save that those above had each a glass of strong ale orof wine after dinner and supper. One side of the hall was hung witharras worked with representations of herbs, beasts and birds. On theother side was the great chimney, where in the winter a noble firewas kept up all day long. On either side of it hung fox skins, otterskins, pole-cat skins, with fishing-rods, stags' heads, horns andother trophies of the chase. At the end was a screen covered withold coats of mail, helmets, bucklers, lances, pikes, pistols, gunswith match-locks, and a trophy of swords arranged in form of a star.Below the cornice hung a row of leathern jerkins, black and dusty,which had formerly been worn in place of armour by the common sort.In the oriel window was a sloping desk, having on one side the Bibleand on the other Foxe's 'Book of Martyrs.' Below was a shelf withother books, such as Vincent Wing's Almanack, King Charles's 'GoldenRules,' 'Glanville on Apparitions,' the 'Complete Justice,' and the'Book of Farriery.' There was also in the hall a great side-board,covered with Turkey work, pewter, brass, and fine linen. In thecupboard below was his Honour's plate, reported to be worth a greatdeal of money.
Sir Christopher sat in a high chair, curiously carved, with armsand a triangular seat. It had belonged to the family for manygenerations. Within reach of the chair was the tobacco-jar, hispipe, and his favourite book--namely, 'The Gentleman's Academie:or the Book of St. Albans, being a Work on Hunting, Hawking, andArmorie,' by Dame Juliana Berners, who wrote it two hundred andfifty years ago. Sir Christopher loved especially to read aloudthat chapter in which it is proved that the distinction betweengentleman and churl began soon after the Creation, when Cain provedhimself a churl, and Seth was created Gentleman and Esquire orArmiger by Adam, his father. This distinction was renewed after theFlood by Noah himself, a gentleman by lineal descent from Seth. Inthe case of his sons, Ham was the churl, and the other two were thegentlemen. I have sometimes thought that, according to this author,all of us who are descended from Shem or Japhet should be gentlemen,in which case there would be no churl in Great Britain at all. Butcertainly there are many; so that, to my poor thinking, Dame JulianaBerners must be wrong.
There is, in addition to the great hall, the best parlour. Butas this was never wanted, the door of it was never opened exceptat cleaning time. Then, to be sure, one saw a room furnishedvery grand, with chairs in Turkey work, and hung round withfamily portraits. The men were clad in armour, as if they had allbeen soldiers or commanders; the women were mostly dressed asshepherdesses, with crooks in their hands and flowing robes. In thegarden was a long bowling green, where in summer Sir Christophertook great pleasure in that ancient game: below the garden was abroad fishpond, made by damming the stream: above and below the pondthere were trout, and in the pond were carp and jack. A part of thegarden was laid out for flowers, a part for the still-room, and apart for fruit. I have never seen anywhere a better ordered gardenfor the still-room. Everything grew therein that the housewifewants: sweet cicely, rosemary, burnet, sweet basil, chives, dill,clary, angelica, lipwort, tarragon, thyme and mint; there were, asLord Bacon, in his 'Essay on Gardens,' would have, 'whole alleys ofthem to have the pleasure when you walk or tread.' There were thickhedges to keep off the east wind in spring, so that one would enjoythe sun when that cold wind was blowing. But in Somerset that windhath not the bitterness that it possesses along the eastern shoresof the land.
Every morning Sir Christopher sat in his Justice's chair under thehelmets and the coats of armour. Sometimes gipsies would be broughtbefore him, charged with stealing poultry or poisoning pigs; or arogue and vagabond would stray into the parish; these gentry werevery speedily whipped out of it. As for our own people, there isnowhere a more quiet and orderly village; quarrels there are withthe clothiers' men, who will still try to beat down the value of thewomen's work, and bickerings sometimes between the women themselves.Sir Christopher was judge for all. Truly he was a patriarch likeunto Abraham, and a father to his people. Never was sick mansuffered to want for medicines and succour; never was aged mansuffered to lack food and fire; did any youth show leanings towardssloth, profligacy, or drunkenness, he was straightway admonished,and that right soundly, so that his back and shoulders would remindhim for many days of his sin. By evildoers Sir Christopher wasfeared as much as he was beloved by all good men and true. This alsois proper to one in high station and authority.
In the evening he amused himself in playing backgammon with theboys, or chess with his son-in-law, Mr. Boscorel: but the latterwith less pleasure, because he was generally defeated in the game.He greatly delighted in the conversation and society of that learnedand ingenious gentleman, though on matters of religion and ofpolitics his son-in-law belonged to the opposite way of thinking.
I do not know why Mr. Boscorel took upon himself holy orders. Godforbid that I should speak ill of any in authority, and especiallyof one who was kind and charitable to all, and refused to becomea persecutor of those who desired freedom of conscience and ofspeech. But if the chief duty of a minister of the Gospel is topreach, then was Mr. Boscorel little better than a dog who cannotbark. He did not preach; that is to say, he could not, like myfather, mount the pulpit, Bible in hand, and teach, admonish,argue, and convince without a written word. He read every Sundaymorning a brief discourse, which might, perhaps, have instructedOxford scholars, but would not be understood by the commonpeople. As for arguments on religion, spiritual conversation, orpersonal experience
of grace, he would never suffer such talk inhis presence, because it argued private judgment and caused, hesaid, the growth of spiritual pride. And of those hot Gospellerswhose zeal brings them to prison and the pillory, he spoke withcontempt. His conversation, I must acknowledge, was full of delightand instruction, if the things which one learned of him were notvanities. He had travelled in Italy and in France, and he lovedto talk of poetry, architecture, statuary, medals and coins,antiquities and so forth--things harmless and, perhaps, laudablein themselves, but for a preacher of the Gospel who ought to thinkof nothing but his sacred calling they are surely superfluities.Or he would talk of the manners and customs of strange countries,and especially of the Pope. This person, whom I have been taughtto look upon as from the very nature of his pretensions the mostwicked of living men, Mr. Boscorel regarded with as much tolerationas he bestowed upon an Independent. Then he would tell us of Londonand the manners of the great; of the King, whom he had seen, andthe Court, seeming to wink at things which one ought to hold inabhorrence. He even told us of the playhouse, which, according tomy father, is the most subtle engine ever invented by the Devil forthe destruction of souls. Yet Mr. Boscorel sighed to think that hecould no longer visit that place of amusement. He loved also music,and played movingly upon the violoncello; and he could make pictureswith pen, pencil, or brush. I have some of his paintings still,especially a picture which he drew of Humphrey playing the fiddle,his great eyes looking upwards as if the music was drawing his soulto Heaven. I know not why he painted a halo about his face. Mr.Boscorel also loved poetry, and quoted Shakspeare and Ben Jonsonmore readily than the Word of God.
In person he was of a goodly countenance, having clear-cut features:a straight nose, rather long; soft eyes, and a gentle voice. Hewas dainty in his apparel, loving fine clean linen and lacedneckerchiefs, but was not a gross feeder; he drank but littlewine, but would discourse upon fine wines, such as the Tokay ofHungary, Commandery wine from Cyprus, and the like, and he seemedbetter pleased to watch the colour of the wine in the glass, and tobreathe its perfume, than to drink it. Above all things he hatedcoarse speech and rude manners. He spoke of men as if he stood on aneminence watching them, and always with pity, as if he belonged to anobler creation. How could such a man have such a son?
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