Kenelm Chillingly | Page 6

which had got ruffled.
"You may go now, Nurse," said Sir Peter.
CHAPTER IV.
"I AGREE with Mr. Shandy," said Sir Peter, resuming his stand on the
hearthstone, "that among the responsibilities of a parent the choice of
the name which his child is to bear for life is one of the gravest. And
this is especially so with those who belong to the order of baronets. In
the case of a peer his Christian name, fused into his titular designation,
disappears. In the case of a Mister, if his baptismal be cacophonous or
provocative of ridicule, he need not ostentatiously parade it: he may
drop it altogether on his visiting cards, and may be imprinted as Mr.
Jones instead of Mr. Ebenezer Jones. In his signature, save where the
forms of the law demand Ebenezer in full, he may only use an initial
and be your obedient servant E. Jones, leaving it to be conjectured that
E. stands for Edward or Ernest,--names inoffensive, and not suggestive
of a Dissenting Chapel, like Ebenezer. If a man called Edward or
Ernest be detected in some youthful indiscretion, there is no indelible
stain on his moral character: but if an Ebenezer be so detected he is set
down as a hypocrite; it produces that shock on the public mind which is
felt when a professed saint is proved to be a bit of a sinner. But a

baronet never can escape from his baptismal: it cannot lie /perdu/; it
cannot shrink into an initial, it stands forth glaringly in the light of day;
christen him Ebenezer, and he is Sir Ebenezer in full, with all its
perilous consequences if he ever succumb to those temptations to
which even baronets are exposed. But, my friends, it is not only the
effect that the sound of a name has upon others which is to be
thoughtfully considered: the effect that his name produces on the man
himself is perhaps still more important. Some names stimulate and
encourage the owner; others deject and paralyze him: I am a
melancholy instance of that truth. Peter has been for many generations,
as you are aware, the baptismal to which the eldest-born of our family
has been devoted. On the altar of that name I have been sacrificed.
Never has there been a Sir Peter Chillingly who has, in any way,
distinguished himself above his fellows. That name has been a dead
weight on my intellectual energies. In the catalogue of illustrious
Englishmen there is, I think, no immortal Sir Peter, except Sir Peter
Teazle, and he only exists on the comic stage."
MISS SIBYL.--"Sir Peter Lely?"
SIR PETER CHILLINGLY.--"That painter was not an Englishman. He
was born in Westphalia, famous for hams. I confine my remarks to the
children of our native land. I am aware that in foreign countries the
name is not an extinguisher to the genius of its owner. But why? In
other countries its sound is modified. Pierre Corneille was a great man;
but I put it to you whether, had he been an Englishman, he could have
been the father of European tragedy as Peter Crow?"
MISS SIBYL.--"Impossible!"
MISS SALLY.--"He! he!"
MISS MARGARET.--"There is nothing to laugh at, you giddy child!"
SIR PETER.--"My son shall not be petrified into Peter."
MR. CHILLINGLY GORDON.--"If a man is such a fool--and I don't
say your son will not be a fool, Cousin Peter--as to be influenced by the

sound of his own name, and you want the booby to turn the world
topsy-turvy, you had better call him Julius Caesar or Hannibal or Attila
or Charlemagne."
SIR PETER, (who excels mankind in imperturbability of temper).--"On
the contrary, if you inflict upon a man the burden of one of those names,
the glory of which he cannot reasonably expect to eclipse or even to
equal, you crush him beneath the weight. If a poet were called John
Milton or William Shakspeare, he could not dare to publish even a
sonnet. No: the choice of a name lies between the two extremes of
ludicrous insignificance and oppressive renown. For this reason I have
ordered the family pedigree to be suspended on yonder wall. Let us
examine it with care, and see whether, among the Chillinglys
themselves or their alliances, we can discover a name that can be borne
with becoming dignity by the destined head of our house--a name
neither too light nor too heavy."
Sir Peter here led the way to the family tree--a goodly roll of parchment,
with the arms of the family emblazoned at the top. Those arms were
simple, as ancient heraldic coats are,--three fishes /argent/ on a field
/azure/; the crest a mermaid's head. All flocked to inspect the pedigree
except Mr. Gordon, who resumed the "Times" newspaper.
"I never could quite make