CHAPTER V.

HOW MARTIN'S SON, AUGUSTINE, BEGAN TO IMITATE HIS UNCLE PETER.

It is now my duty, in a few words, to make you acquainted with the state of Martin's family. Martin, as you know, had acted as chaplain to Squire Bull ever since Peter was sent about his business, with the exception of the short period during which red-nosed Noll the brewer held forcible possession of the Squire's house. Noll had a mortal hatred to Martin, (who, it must be allowed, reciprocated the sentiment with extreme cordiality,) and wanted to dispossess him for ever of his benefice and vicarage, in favour of any drunken serjeant who had a taste for theology and ale. However, when the Squire came back to his own estate, Martin returned with him, and has remained chaplain up to the present day without any hindrance or molestation. At times some of the household have grumbled because Martin has a place at the upper servants' table; but the complaint was never made by any except such pestilent rogues as wished in their hearts to see the Squire deprived of his lawful authority, and the whole of Bullockshatch thrown into a state of anarchy and confusion.

Martin was as excellent a man as ever stepped upon neat's leather. He did his duty to the poor honourably and conscientiously, kept his church in good repair, looked after the parish schools, and was, in short, a comfort and a credit to all who knew him. He was also a married man, a circumstance whereof Peter tried to make the most; abusing him, forsooth, because he did not follow his own example of getting the girls into a corner to tell him about their little indiscretions and secret thoughts--a pastime to which that hoary old sinner was especially addicted;--or of worming himself into some private gentleman's family, and then frightening the lady of the house into fits by threatening to put her into a brick-kiln or red-hot oven, of which Peter pretended to keep the key, if she did not divulge to him the whole of her husband's secrets, and hand over the children in private to be stamped with Peter's mark. Many a once happy household had the old villain brought to misery by those scandalous intrigues; for the truth is, that he stuck at nothing which might tend to his own advancement, however infamous were the means. Had Martin been a reprobate like himself, he might possibly have endured him: as it was, his good character and decent habits were so many arguments for Peter to abuse him wherever he went.

Martin had a son, who in due time was appointed his curate, and had a chapel to himself. This young, man, whose name was Augustine, was by no means so discreet a person as his father. He was of a moping and melancholy habit, very much addicted to the study of architecture, which he carried to such an excess that you could not be five minutes in his company without hearing him discourse about mullions, brackets, architraves, and flying buttresses, in a way that would have bewildered a stone mason. He got his chapel fitted up in such a style that it exactly resembled one of Peter's; and this he did, as he openly avowed, from a regard to the customs of antiquity. When Martin was told of this, he shook his head, caught up his walking cane, and stepped over to the chapel, where he found Augustine superintending the erection of a new oriel window, the design of which was gorgeous enough to eclipse the glories of the most brilliant butterfly of Brazil.

"What's here to do?" quoth Martin, walking up the chancel. "Mighty handsome this, son Augustine, to be sure; but--don't it strike you that the effect is a little too Peterish? Mind, I do not object in the least to your making the chapel neat and tidy. I never thought, as brother Jack used to do, (though he is now becoming more sensible on those points,) that a church ought as nearly as possible to resemble a barn. On the contrary, I like to see everything in its proper place. But what's this?" continued he, tapping with his cane a kind of ornamented basin with a slab. "I don't remember ever having seen any thing of this kind before."

"Indeed, sir!" replied Augustine; "you surprise me very much. I thought everyone must be acquainted with the Piscina and Finistella. Those, I can assure you, are accurate copies from ancient drawings of the church of Saint Ethelred, which was burned by the Danes about the beginning of the tenth century."

"That may be," quoth Martin, "but I can't for the life of me see the use of them now. And what may you call this?"

"That, sir? Why, that's the credence table. There is a splendid specimen of that style of architecture in the cathedral remains of St Ninian."

"And that carved wood-work up there near the gallery?"

"That, sir, is the rood-loft, constructed on mediæval principles, after the designs of Hubert the Confessor."

"I'll tell you what it is, son Augustine," said Martin, "all this is very pretty; and if you and your people wish to have it, there may be no positive reason why I should interfere. Thank heaven, sound doctrine does not depend upon stone and lime; and so long as your principles are firm, it may not matter much that you are a little absurd or so about this architectural hobby of yours. But, mark me well, my dear boy," continued the good gentleman, with tears in his eyes; "no trafficking or colleaguing with Peter! That old miscreant has ever been a bitter enemy of me and mine, and of the Squire to boot; and if it should come to pass that my own flesh and blood were to desert me for that impious rascal, I would be fain to carry my grey hairs in sorrow to the grave! Think well of this, I beseech you, and on no account whatever have anything to say to that arch-deceiver!"

You might reasonably suppose that Augustine was much moved by this remonstrance. Not a whit of it. He was much too conceited to take counsel from any one; and in his secret heart began to look upon his father as no better than an uncharitable bigot.

"Holy Saint Pancras!" he would say, for he had a queer habit of invoking the names of dead people, "what can it matter to any one whether I bow to my uncle Peter or not? People tell me I am rather like him in complexion; and I daresay, after all, there is a strong family resemblance. What have I to do with old family feuds, which had far better be forgotten? As to the nine-and-thirty points of doctrine to which I have set my name, some of them may be good, and others heterodox; but I presume I am not compelled to accept them in the literal sense. Why should they be made a stumbling-block in the way of a proper reconciliation between myself and my uncle, who no doubt has fallen into questionable practices, though in the main he is quite as like to be right as my father Martin?"

Augustine, however, did not venture to hold this kind of talk openly for some time, knowing that, if it came to the ears of Martin, he would inevitably be disinherited on the spot, and turned out of his cure. In the discourses which he delivered from the pulpit, he was wont to express great sorrow and anxiety for the backslidings of his "venerable relative," as he now termed Peter, "towards whom his bowels yearned with an almost unspeakable affection. It would ill become him to forget what Peter had done for the family long ago, and indeed for the whole of Bullockshatch; and although he was now, no doubt, cast out for his sins, he, Augustine, could not prevail upon himself to speak harshly of a gentleman who had such excellent grounds for styling himself the head of the whole house." Then he would go on to insinuate that there were two sides to every question--that his own father Martin might possibly have behaved more roughly to Peter than there was any occasion for--and that Peter had many good points about him for which he did not receive sufficient credit. Having thus talked over his congregation, who were willing enough to go along with him a certain length, he began in public to wear a dress as nearly approaching to that of Peter's retainers as he durst. He turned his back upon people, just as the others did, and dressed up the charity-boys in white gowns, to look, as he said, like acolytes. One, winter's morning, when the parishioners arrived at church, they were petrified at seeing two huge candlesticks placed upon the table, such articles of furniture having been for a long time disused in the churches throughout Bullockshatch. Augustine, however, had discovered from some old musty pamphlet that they were not strictly forbidden; so he got a pair of new ones made, (after the mediæval fashion, of course,) and preached a long sermon for the purpose of demonstrating their advantages and mystical meaning. Three Sundays afterwards, the weather being rather dark and hazy, they were fitted with lighted wax-candles; and Augustine, having once got so far, took care that this pious practice should not be discontinued even in the height of summer. Another Sunday he would put himself at the head of the charity-boys, and walk through the church in procession, bowing and making genuflexions in evident imitation of Peter; and at last the poor young man was so far left to himself, that he would not read the service properly, but twanged it through his nose in a kind of sing-song fashion, which he called intoning, but which had simply this effect, that nobody was able to follow the meaning of the words.

These things were, as you may suppose, very annoying to Martin, who, over and over again, entreated him to take care what he was doing. But, in answer to every remonstrance, Augustine would whip out the musty pamphlet aforesaid, lay it open before his father, and request him to point out any special clause condemnatory of the practices which he followed. "If such a clause exists," quoth he, "I knock under, as in duty bound. If not, I apprehend that I am merely pursuing a course which has been sanctioned from all antiquity." Martin tried to convince him that a great many things might be wrong, or at all events injudicious, which were not actually expressly set down as forbidden; but no argument would avail with Augustine, who said he was determined to stand by the rubric, and, moreover, to interpret that rubric according to his own lights and inspiration.

This was bad enough. However, had it been all, no great mischief might have ensued. But curious stories became current presently regarding Augustine's walk and conversation. It was said that he was in the habit of holding secret colloquies for hours with the Bishop of Timbuctoo and others, notorious emissaries of Peter; that he wore hair cloth under his shirt, kept vigils and fasts, and had an oratory fitted up in his bedroom--with crucifixes and I wot not what, clean contrary to the commands of Martin. This much is certain, that he framed a callendar of his own out of some of the books from Peter's discarded library, and never wrote to his broker to buy him some shares in a railway, or to his grocer for a fresh supply of split-peas, without dating his note "Festival of Saint Balderdash," or "Eve of Saint Rowena, V. and M.," instead of specifying the day of the month, like an ordinary orthodox Christian. Then there were rumours current about private confessions, to which the young ladies, among whom Augustine (being unmarried) was always a favourite, were invited; of pilgrimages to holy wells; and of other similar junketings--which made many people look upon Augustine as no better than an innocent Peter. And they were perfectly right. He was innocent of any bad design, and I really believe as virtuous a creature as ever breathed. He was kind to the poor, and would any day have given half his stipend for their assistance and relief. But he was weak in intellect, puffed up with vanity, obstinate as a team of mules, and credulous to the last degree.

Novelties, as we all know, have a prodigious attraction for many people. In point of plain sense and doctrine, there was no manner of comparison between Martin and his son. If you wished for nothing more than devotional exercise, and an excellent sermon, you might search the world over without finding the equal of Martin. But if your tastes led you to indulge in qualified Peterisms, or to listen to revivals of antiquated notions, Augustine was your man. A great many people, and among others the Juggler, were vastly tickled by Augustine's newfangled methods. They could not enough admire his ingenuity in volunteering to fight Peter with his own weapons; and they were ready, whenever he wished it, to contribute their money towards the expenses of festivals, or anything else which Augustine might choose to recommend. Even the Juggler, though fond of his cash, gave something towards the continuance of these ceremonies--a fact which you will do well to bear in mind when you come to read some of the later passages of this history.

I am sorry, however, to say, that many of Augustine's original congregation pursued a different course. The innuendos against Martin, and the hints which they had received as to the possible comparative innocence of Peter, had taken deep root in their minds. They became, moreover, so used to a ceremonial, which differed little from that patronised by Peter, except in being less gorgeous, that they acquired a secret hankering for the entire undiluted ritual; and their nostrils thirsted for a whiff of frankincense, which even Augustine, refused to allow them. The consequence was that they began, in imitation of their pastor, to hold interviews with Peter's emissaries, who, you may suppose, were ready to meet them half-way; and from little to more, matters grew to such a head, that many of Augustine's most sincere disciples turned their back upon him, and went over bodily to Peter! This was an awful blow and discomfiture to Augustine, who certainly had meditated nothing of the sort; but it had not the effect of curing him. He still went on maundering about his Uncle Peter, as if that venerable individual had been as much sinned against as sinning; and, in spite of all that Martin could say, he would not abate one jot of his observances. Peter's emissaries, in the mean time, were as active as ferrets in a rabbit warren. They never emerged from their holes without fetching out a new victim, whom they paraded to the whole world as a pattern of docility and virtue. They wrote long letters to Peter, glorifying themselves on their success; and stating that the time had now arrived when all Bullockshatch was prepared to throw itself at his feet. But in this they reckoned entirely without their host. They took it for granted that the proceedings in Augustine's chapel were approved of by the whole tenantry on the estate; whereas the fact was, that nine out of ten of them looked to Martin as their spiritual guide and counsellor, and entertained an intense contempt for Augustine, which they only refrained from expressing in broad set terms, by reason of his relationship to their pastor. Peter, however, was very glad to receive news of this kind; and swallowed it, without making too minute an inquiry. Long experience had taught him that it was always best to assume a victory, without being particular as to the details; and, as those who were intrusted with the superintendence of Squire Bull's estate, had latterly shown themselves exceedingly amenable to his jurisdiction, and quite hostile to the pretensions of Martin, and of poor Patrick, whom he longed in the first instance to subjugate, he had some grounds for supposing that the present was by no means a bad opportunity for reviving his old claim of dominion over the whole territory of Bullockshatch. These letters from his emissaries had reached him before his interview with Mat-o'-the-Mint--a circumstance which perhaps may afford a clue to the nature of his conversation with that singularly acute individual.