I
When I was a small boy at the beginni ng of the century
I remember an old man who wore knee-breeches and
worsted stockings, and who used to hobble about the
street of our village with the help of a stick. He must have
been getting on for eigh ty in the year 1807, earlier than
which date I suppose I can hardly remember hi m, for I
was born in 1802. A few white lock s hung about his ears,
his shoulders were bent and his knees feebl e, b ut he was
still hale, and was much respected in our little world of
Paleham. His name was Pontifex.
His wife wa s said to be his ma ster; I have been told she
brought hi m a li ttle money, but it cannot have been
much. She was a tall, square-shouldered p erson (I have
heard my father call her a Gothic woman) who had
insisted on being married to Mr Pontifex whe n he was
young and too good -natured to say nay to any woman
who wooed him. The pair had lived not unhappily
together, for Mr Pontifex?s temper was easy an d he soon
learned to bow before his wife?s more stormy moods.
Mr Pontifex was a carp enter by trade; he was also a t
one time parish clerk; when I remember him, however,
he had so far risen in life as to be no longer compelled to
2 of 736
The Way of A ll Flesh
work with his own hands. In his earlier days he had taught
himself to draw. I do not sa y he drew well, but it was
surprising he should draw as well as he did. My father,
who took the living of Paleham about the year 1797,
became possessed of a g ood ma ny of old Mr Pontifex?s
drawings, which were always of local subjects, and so
unaffectedly painstaking that they might have passed for
the work of some good earl y master. I remember them as
hanging up framed and glazed in the study at the Rectory,
and tinted, as all else in the room was tinted, with the
green reflec ted from the frin ge of ivy leaves that grew
around the windows. I wonder how they will actuall y
cease and come to an end as drawing s, and into what new
phases of being they will then enter.
Not conten t with bein g an artist, Mr Pontifex must
needs also be a musician . He built th e organ in the church
with his ow n hands, and made a smaller one which he
kept in his own house. He could play as much as he coul d
draw, not very well according to professional standards,
but much b etter than could have been expected. I myself
showed a taste for music at an early age, and old Mr
Pontifex on finding it out, as he soon did, became partial
to me in consequence.
3 of 736
The Way of A ll Flesh
It may be thought that with so many irons in the fire
he could hardly be a very thriving man, but thi s was not
the case. His father had been a day labourer, and he had
himself begun life with no other capital than his good
sense and good constitution; now, however, th ere was a
goodly show of timber about his y ard, and a look of solid
comfort ove r his whole establishment. Towards the close
of the eighteenth century and not l ong before my father
came to Pal eham, he had taken a farm of about ninety
acres, thus making a considerable rise in life. Along with
the farm there w ent an old- fashioned but comfortable
house with a charming garden and an orchard. The
carpenter?s business was now carried on in one of the
outhouses that had once been part of some conventual
buildings, the remains of which co uld be seen in what was
called the Abbey Close. The house itself, embosomed in
honeysuckle s and creepi ng roses, was an ornament to the
whole village, nor were its internal arrangements less
exemplary than its outside was ornamental. Re port said
that Mrs Pontifex starched th e sheets for her best bed, and
I can well believe it.
How well do I remember her parlo ur half filled with
the organ which her husband had built, and scented with a
withered apple or two from th e pyr us japonica that grew
4 of 736
The Way of A ll Flesh
outside the house; the pictu re of the prize ox over the
chimney-piece, which Mr Pont ifex himself had painted;
the transpar ency of the man comi ng to show light to a
coach upon a snowy night, also by Mr Pontifex; the little
old man and little old woman who told the weather; the
china shepherd and shepherdess; the jars of feathery
flowering grasses wi th a peacock?s feather or two among
them to set them off, and the chi na b owls full of dead rose
leaves dried with bay salt. All has long since vanished and
become a memory, faded but still fragrant to myself.
Nay, but her kitchen?and the glimpses into a
cavernous cellar beyond it, wherefrom came gleams from
the pale surfaces of milk cans, or it may be of the arms and
face of a milkmaid skimming the cream; or again her
storeroom, where among other treasures she kept the
famous lipsalve which was one of he r especial glories, and
of which she would present a s hape yearly to those whom
she delighted to honour . She wr ote out the recipe for this
and gave it to my moth er a year or two before she died,
but we could never ma ke it as she did. When we were
children she used sometimes to send her respects to my
mother, and ask leave for us to come and take tea with
her. Right well she used to ply u s. As for her temper, we
never met such a delightful old lady in our lives; whatever
5 of 736
The Way of A ll Flesh
Mr Pontifex may have had to put up with, w e had no
cause for complaint, and then Mr Pontifex would play to
us upon the organ, and we would stand round him open-
mouthed and think him the most w onderfully clever man
that ever wa s born, except of course our papa.
Mrs Pontifex had no sense of humour, at least I can cal l
to mind no signs of this, but her husband had plenty of fun
in him, though few would have guessed it from his
appearance. I remember my fat her once sent me down to
his workshi p to get some glue, and I happened to come
when old Pontifex was in the act of scolding his boy. He
had got the lad?a pudding-headed fellow?by the ear
and was saying, ?What? Lost again?smothered o? wit.? (I
believe it was the boy who was himself supposed to be a
wandering s oul, and who was thus addressed as lost.)
?Now, look here, my la d,? he continued, ?some boys are
born stupid, and thou art one of them; some achieve
stupidity? that?s thee again, Jim?thou wast b oth born
stupid and hast greatly increased thy birthright?and some?
(and here came a climax during which the boy?s head and
ear were swayed from side to side) ?have stupidity thrust
upon them, which, if it pleas e the Lord, shall not be thy
case, my lad, for I will thrust stupidi ty from thee, though I
have to box thine ears in doin g so,? but I did not see that
6 of 736
The Way of A ll Flesh
the old man really did box Jim? s ears, or do more than
pretend to frighten him, for the two under stood one
another perfectly well. Anoth er ti me I remember hearing
him call the village rat-catcher by saying, ?Come hither,
thou three-days-and- three-nights, thou,? alluding, as I
afterwards learned, to the rat- catcher?s periods of
intoxication; but I will tell no more of such trifles. My
father?s face would always brighten when old Pontifex?s
name was mentioned. ?I tell y ou, Edward,? he would say
to me, ?old Pontifex was not only an able man, but he was
one of the very ablest men that ever I knew.?
This was more than I as a young man was prep ared to
stand. ?My dear father,? I answered, ?what did he do? He
could draw a little, but could he to save his life have got a
picture into the Royal Academ y exhibition? He built two
organs and could play the Minuet in Samson on one and
the March in Scipio on the other; he was a good carpenter
and a bit of a wag; he was a good old fellow enough, but
why make him out so much abler than he was??
?My boy,? returned my father, ?you must not judge by
the work, but by the work in connecti on with the
surroundings. Could Giotto or Filippo Lippi, think you,
have got a picture into the Exh ibition? Would a single one
of those frescoes we went to see when we were at Padua
7 of 736
The Way of A ll Flesh
have the remotest chance of bein g hung, if it were sent in
for exhibition now? Why, the Acade my people would be
so outraged that they would not even write to poor
Giotto to tell him to come and take his fresco away .
Phew!? continued he, waxing warm, ?if old Pontifex had
had Cromwell?s chances he would have done all tha t
Cromwell did, and have done it better; if he had had
Giotto?s chances he would have done all that Giotto did,
and done it no worse; as it wa s, he was a village carpenter,
and I will undertake to say he never scamped a job in the
whole course of his life.?
?But,? said I, ?we cannot judge people with so many
?ifs.? If old Pontifex had lived in Giotto?s time he might
have been another Giotto, but he di d not live in Giotto? s
time.?
?I tell you, Edward,? said my father with some severity,
?we must judge men no t so much by what they do, as by
what they make us feel t hat they have it in them to do. If
a man has d one enough either in painting, music or the
affairs of life, to make me feel that I might trust him in an
emergency he has done enough. It is not by w hat a man
has actually put upon his canvas, nor yet by the acts which
he has set d own, so to spea k, upon the canvas of his life
that I will judge him, but by what he makes me feel that
8 of 736
The Way of A ll Flesh
he felt and aimed at. If he has mad e me feel that he fel t
those things to be loveable which I h old loveable myself I
ask no more; his grammar may have been imperfect, but
still I have understood him; he and I are en rappo rt; and I
say again, Edward, that old Pontifex was not only an able
man, but one of the v ery ablest men I ever knew.
Against this there was no more to be said, and my
sisters eyed me to silen ce. Somehow or other my sisters
always did eye me to silenc e when I differed from my
father.
?Talk of his successful son,? snorted my father, whom I
had fairly roused. ?He is not fi t to bl ack hi s fathe r?s boots.
He has hi s thousand s of pounds a year, while his father had
perhaps three thousand shillings a year towards the end of
his life. He IS a successful man; but his father, hobbling
about Paleham Street in his g rey worsted stockings, broad
brimmed hat and brown swallow-tailed coat was worth a
hundred of George Pontifexes, for all his carriages and
horses and the airs he gives himself.?
?But yet,? he added, ?George P ontifex is no fool either.?
And this b rings us to the secon d generation of the
Pontifex family with whom we need concern ourselves.
9 of 736
The Way of A ll Flesh
Diese Website benutzt Google Analytics um seinen Nutzen zu messen. Durch die Nutzung dieser Webseite erklären Sie sich damit einverstanden, dass Cookies gesetzt werden.
Mehr erfahren