Well, sir, and what profession are you meant for? asked my uncle. Not the army, I fear?
I have never thought of the subject, uncle.
Thank Heaven, said Captain Roland, we have never yet had a lawyer in the family, nor a stockbroker, nor a tradesmanahem!
I saw that my great ancestor the printer suddenly rose up in that hem.
Why, uncle, there are honorable men in all callings.
Certainly, sir. But in all callings honor is not the first principle of action.
But it may be, sir, if a man of honor pursue it! There are some soldiers who have been great rascals!
My uncle looked posed, and his black brows met thoughtfully. You are right, boy, I dare say, he answered, somewhat mildly. But do you think that it ought to give me as much pleasure to look on my old ruined tower if I knew it had been bought by some herring-dealer, like the first ancestor of the Poles, as I do now, when I know it was given to a knight and gentleman (who traced his descent from an Anglo-Dane in the time of King Alfred) for services done in Aquitaine and Gascony, by Henry the Plantagenet? And do you mean to tell me that I should have been the same man if I had not from a boy associated that old tower with all ideas of what its owners were, and should be, as knights and gentlemen? Sir, you would have made a different being of me if at the head of my pedigree you had clapped a herring-dealer,though, I dare say, the herring-dealer might have been as good a man as ever the Anglo-Dane was, God rest him!
And for the same reason I suppose, sir, that you think my father never would have been quite the same being he is if he had not made that notable discovery touching our descent from the great William Caxton, the printer.
My uncle bounded as if he had been shot,bounded so incautiously, considering the materials of which one leg was composed, that he would have fallen into a strawberry-bed if I had not caught him by the arm.
Why, youyouyou young jackanapes! cried the Captain, shaking me off as soon as he had regained his equilibrium. You do not mean to inherit that infamous crotchet my brother has got into his head? You do not mean to exchange Sir William de Caxton, who fought and fell at Bosworth, for the mechanic who sold black-letter pamphlets in the Sanctuary at Westminster?
That depends on the evidence, uncle!
No, sir; like all noble truths, it depends upon faith. Men, nowadays, continued my uncle, with a look of ineffable disgust, actually require that truths should be proved.
It is a sad conceit on their part, no doubt, my dear uncle; but till a truth is proved, how can we know that it is a truth?
I thought that in that very sagacious question I had effectually caught my uncle. Not I. He slipped through it like an eel.
Sir, said he, whatever in Truth makes a mans heart warmer and his soul purer, is a belief, not a knowledge. Proof, sir, is a handcuff; belief is a wing! Want proof as to an ancestor in the reign of King Richard? Sir, you cannot even prove to the satisfaction of a logician that you are the son of your own father. Sir, a religious man does not want to reason about his religion; religion is not mathematics. Religion is to be felt, not proved. There are a great many things in the religion of a good man which are not in the catechism. Proof! continued my uncle, growing violentProof, sir, is a low, vulgar, levelling, rascally Jacobin; Belief is a loyal, generous, chivalrous gentleman! No, no; prove what you please, you shall never rob me of one belief that has made me
The finest-hearted creature that ever talked nonsense, said my father, who came up, like Horaces deity, at the right moment. What is it you must believe in, brother, no matter what the proof against you?
My uncle was silent, and with great energy dug the point of his cane into the gravel.
He will not believe in our great ancestor the printer, said I, maliciously.
My fathers calm brow was overcast in a moment. Brother, said the Captain, loftily, you have a right to your own ideas; but you should take care how they contaminate your child.
Contaminate! said my father, and for the first time I saw an angry sparkle flash from his eyes; but he checked himself on the instant. Change the word, my dear brother.
No, sir, I will not change it! To belie the records of the family!
Records! A brass plate in a village church against all the books of the College of Arms!
To renounce your ancestor, a knight who died in the field!
For the worst cause that man ever fought for!
On behalf of his king!
Who had murdered his nephews!
A knight! with our crest on his helmet.
And no brains underneath it, or he would never have had them knocked out for so bloody a villain!
A rascally, drudging, money-making printer!
The wise and glorious introducer of the art that has enlightened a world. Prefer for an ancestor, to one whom scholar and sage never name but in homage, a worthless, obscure, jolter-headed booby in mail, whose only record to men is a brass plate in a church in a village!
My uncle turned round perfectly livid. Enough, sir! enough! I am insulted sufficiently. I ought to have expected it. I wish you and your son a very good day.
My father stood aghast. The Captain was hobbling off to the iron gate; in another moment he would have been out of our precincts. I ran up and hung upon him. Uncle, it is all my fault. Between you and me, I am quite of your side; pray forgive us both. What could I have been thinking of, to vex you so? And my father, whom your visit has made so happy! My uncle paused, feeling for the latch of the gate. My father had now come up, and caught his hand. What are all the printers that ever lived, and all the books they ever printed, to one wrong to thy fine heart, brother Roland? Shame on me! A bookmans weak point, you know! It is very true, I should never have taught the boy one thing to give you pain, brother Roland,though I dont remember, continued my father, with a perplexed look, that I ever did teach it him, either! Pisistratus, as you value my blessing, respect as your ancestor Sir William de Caxton, the hero of Bosworth. Come, come, brother!
I am an old fool, said Uncle Roland, whichever way we look at it. Ah, you young dog, you are laughing at us both!
I have ordered breakfast on the lawn, said my mother, coming out from the porch, with her cheerful smile on her lips; and I think the devil will be done to your liking to-day, brother Roland.
We have had enough of the devil already, my love, said my father, wiping his forehead.
So, while the birds sang overhead or hopped familiarly across the sward for the crumbs thrown forth to them, while the sun was still cool in the east, and the leaves yet rustled with the sweet air of morning, we all sat down to our table, with hearts as reconciled to each other, and as peaceably disposed to thank God for the fair world around us, as if the river had never run red through the field of Bosworth, and that excellent Mr. Caxton had never set all mankind by the ears with an irritating invention a thousand times more provocative of our combative tendencies than the blast of the trumpet and the gleam of the banner!