The religious character of Peter Faneuil, and the present whereabouts of this public benefactor, will be determined, by different individuals, according to the respective indications of their spiritual thermometers.
I have already ventured an opinion, that the mantle of charity, which covereth a multitude of sins, should be extended, for Peter’s behoof, over that little affair with Peter Baynton, touching the duties, on those four hogsheads of brandy. But there is another matter, over which, I am aware, that some very worthy people will doubt, if the mantle of charity, can be stretched, without serious danger of lesion—I refer to the importation, about the same time with the prayer books, of that enormous quantity—six gross—of “the very best King Henry’s cards.” I have often marvelled, how the name of the Defender of the Faith ever came to be connected, with such pestilent things.
I am well aware, how closely, in the opinions of some learned divines, cards are associated with the idea of eternal damnation. If it be so; and a single pack is enough to send the proprietor to the bottomless pit, it is truly grievous to reflect how much deeper Peter, our great public benefactor, has gone, with the oppressive weight of six gross of the very best, upon his soul. Now-a-days, there seem to be very few, the Romanists excepted, who believe in purgatory; and it is pretty generally agreed, that all, who attempt the bridge of Al Sirat, will surely arrive, either at Paradise, or Pandemonium.
How delightful it would be, to have the opinion of good old André Le Mercier, in a case like this. Though Peter no longer waited upon Le Mercier’s ministrations; but, for several years, before the dissolution of the French Church, had settled down, under brother Addington Davenport, first, as the assistant at King’s Chapel, and, afterwards, as the Rector of Trinity; yet Le Mercier could not forget the nephew of his benefactor, Andrew Faneuil. He was, doubtless, at Peter’s funeral, who died one and twenty years, before the holy man was summoned to his account, in 1764. Yes, he was there.
I have heard of a man, who accounted, for the dryness of his eyes, when all around him wept, at a pathetic discourse, on the ground, that he belonged to another parish. I have known Christian ministers—very—not many, thank heaven—who were influenced, to such a degree, by that spirit, which may be supposed to govern the proprietors of opposition omnibuses, as to consider the chord of human sympathy cut, through and through, and forever, between themselves, and a parishioner, who, for any cause, elected to receive his spiritual treasures out of some other earthen vessel, albeit of the very same denomination of crockery ware.
Poverty, and disease, and death, and misery, in every type, might stalk in, and upon, and over that homestead, and hearth, where these Christian ministers had been warmed, and refreshed, and fostered—but it was no longer a concern of theirs. No visit of condolence—no kind inquiry—not one, cheap word of consolation had they, for such, as had ceased to receive their ideas of damnation from them—enough—these individuals had sold their pews—“crimen difficile expiandum”—they belonged to another parish!
André Le Mercier, was not a man of this description. He was not a holy huckster of spiritual things, having not one crumb of comfort, for any, but his regular customers. André was a man, whose neighbor’s ubiquity was a proverb.
But what he would say, about these six gross of King Henry’s cards, I am by no means, certain. He was a man of a tolerant spirit; but on certain points, the most tolerant are, occasionally, found to be imbued, with unalterable prejudices. On page 85, of his Church History of Geneva, which I have read with pleasure, he quotes approvingly, the maxim of “a doctor of the church.” “In necessariis rebus sit unitas, in dubiis libertas, in omnibus charitas.” This breathes the spirit of toleration:—what are dubia, what necessaria are not quite so readily settled, however.
On page 100, I find a passage, not quite so favorable for Peter, in this matter of the six gross. Referring to Calvin’s return to Geneva, in 1536, after his banishment, Le Mercier says—“And then Balls and Dances and profane songs were forbidden, by the magistrates. And that form of Discipline remains entire, to the present Time, notwithstanding the repeated Attempts, that have been made by wicked People to overset it. King Henry’s cards, I fear, even of the very best quality, would, undoubtedly, fall into this category, of things Calvinized on earth, in the opinion of André Le Mercier.”
The meaning of the words, “profane songs,” may not be universally intelligible. It undoubtedly meant, as used by the Council, all songs not sacred. Calvin, undoubtedly, adopted the commendation of Scripture, to such, as were merry, to sing psalms. It appears, however, that certain persons entertained conservative notions, in those early days; even beyond the dictum of holy writ; for, on page 101, Le Mercier states, that Sebastian Castalio, a preacher, and professor, in the College of Geneva, “condemned Solomon’s Songs, as being profane and immodest;” the very charge, as the reader is aware, which has been so often urged, against the songs of Tom Moore. Moore, at last, betook himself to sacred melodies. Solomon, had his life been spared, would, probably, have done the same thing, to the entire satisfaction of Sebastian Castalio.