Apropos of the inexpressibles, Mr. Richard did not forget to provide his
nephew with a much larger wardrobe than could have been thrust into Dr.
Riccabocca's knapsack. There was a very good tailor in the town, and the
clothes were very well made. And, but for an air more ingenuous, and a
cheek that, despite study and night vigils, retained much of the
sunburnt bloom of the rustic, Leonard Fairfield might now have almost
passed, without disparaging comment, by the bow-window at White's.
Richard burst into an immoderate fit of laughter when he first saw the
watch which the poor Italian had bestowed upon Leonard; but, to atone
for the laughter, he made him a present of a very pretty substitute, and
bade him "lock up his turnip." Leonard was more hurt by the jeer at his
old patron's gift than pleased by his uncle's. But Richard Avenel had no
conception of sentiment. It was not for many days that Leonard could
reconcile himself to his uncle's manner. Not that the peasant could
pretend to judge of its mere conventional defects; but there is an ill
breeding to which, whatever our rank and nurture, we are almost equally
sensitive--the ill breeding that comes from want of consideration for
others. Now, the Squire was as homely in his way as Richard Avenel, but
the Squire's bluntness rarely hurt the feelings: and when it did so, the
Squire perceived and hastened to repair his blunder. But Mr. Richard,
whether kind or cross, was always wounding you in some little delicate
fibre--not from malice, but from the absence of any little delicate
fibres of his own. He was really, in many respects, a most excellent man
and certainly a very valuable, citizen. But his merits wanted the fine
tints and fluent curves that constitute beauty of character. He was
honest, but sharp in his practice, and with a keen eye to his interests.
He was just, but as a matter of business. He made no allowances, and did
not leave to his justice the large margin of tenderness and mercy. He
was generous, but rather from an idea of what was due to himself than
with much thought of the pleasure he gave to others; and he even
regarded generosity as capital put out to interest. He expected a great
deal of gratitude in return, and, when he obliged a man, considered that
he had bought a slave. Every needy voter knew where to come, if he
wanted relief or a loan; but woe to him if he had ventured to express
hesitation when Mr. Avenel told him how he must vote.
In this town Richard had settled after his return from America, in which
country he had enriched himself--first, by spirit and industry--lastly,
by bold speculation and good luck. He invested his fortune in
business--became a partner in a large brewery--soon bought out his
associates--and then took a principal share in a flourishing corn-mill.
He prospered rapidly--bought a property of some two or three hundred
acres, built a house, and resolved to enjoy himself, and make a figure.
He had now become the leading man of the town, and the boast to Audley
Egerton that he could return one of the members, perhaps both, was by no
means an exaggerated estimate of his power. Nor was his proposition,
according to his own views, so unprincipled as it appeared to the
statesman. He had taken a great dislike to both the sitting members--a
dislike natural to a sensible man of modern politics, who had something
to lose. For Mr. Slappe, the active member--who was head-over-ears in
debt--was one of the furious democrats rare before the Reform Bill--and
whose opinions were held dangerous even by the mass of a Liberal
constituency; while Mr. Sleekie, the gentleman member, who laid by L5000
every year from his dividends in the Funds, was one of those men whom
Richard justly pronounced to be "humbugs"--men who curry favor with the
extreme party by voting for measures sure not to be carried; while, if
there were the least probability of coming to a decision that would
lower the money-market, Mr. Sleekie was seized with a well-timed
influenza. Those politicians are common enough now. Propose to march to
the Millennium, and they are your men. Ask them to march a quarter of a
mile, and they fall to feeling their pockets, and trembling for fear of
the foot-pads. They are never so joyful as when there is no chance of a
victory. Did they beat the Minister, they would be carried out of the
house in a fit.
Richard Avenel--despising both these gentlemen, and not taking kindly to
the Whigs since the great Whig leaders were Lords--looked with a
friendly eye to the Government as it then existed, and especially to
Audley Egerton, the enlightened representative of commerce. But in
giving Audley and his colleagues the benefit of his influence, through
conscience, he thought it all fair and right to have a _quid pro quo_,
and, as he had so frankly confessed, it was his whim to rise up "Sir
Richard." For this worthy citizen abused the aristocracy much on the
same principle as the fair Olivia depreciated Squire Thornhill--he had a
sneaking affection for what he abused. The society of Screwstown was
like most provincial capitals, composed of two classes--the commercial
and the exclusive. These last dwelt chiefly apart, around the ruins of
an old abbey; they affected its antiquity in their pedigrees, and had
much of its ruin in their finances. Widows of rural thanes in the
neighborhood--genteel spinsters--officers retired on half-pay--younger
sons of rich squires, who had now become old bachelors--in short, a very
respectable, proud, aristocratic set--who thought more of themselves
than do all the Gowers and Howards, Courtenays and Seymours, put
together. It had early been the ambition of Richard Avenel to be
admitted into this sublime coterie, and, strange to say, he had
partially succeeded. He was never more happy than when he was asked to
their card-parties, and never more unhappy than when he was actually
there. Various circumstances combined to raise Mr. Avenel into this
elevated society. First, he was unmarried, still very handsome, and in
that society there was a large proportion of unwedded females. Secondly,
he was the only rich trader in Screwstown who kept a good cook, and
professed to give dinners, and the half-pay captains and colonels
swallowed the host for the sake of the venison. Thirdly, and
principally, all these exclusives abhorred the two sitting members, and
"idem nolle idem velle de republica, ea firma amicitia est;" that is,
congeniality in politics pieces porcelain and crockery together better
than the best diamond cement. The sturdy Richard Avenel--who valued
himself on American independence--held these ladies and gentlemen in an
awe that was truly Brahminical. Whether it was that in England, all
notions, even of liberty, are mixed up historically, traditionally,
socially, with that fine and subtle element of aristocracy which, like
the press, is the air we breathe; or whether Richard imagined that he
really became magnetically imbued with the virtues of these silver
pennies and gold seven-shilling pieces, distinct from the vulgar coinage
in popular use, it is hard to say. But the truth must be told--Richard
Avenel was a notable tuft-hunter. He had a great longing to marry out of
this society; but he had not yet seen any one sufficiently high-born and
high-bred to satisfy his aspirations. In the mean while, he had
convinced himself that his way would be smooth could he offer to make
his ultimate choice "My Lady;" and he felt that it would be a proud hour
in his life when he could walk before stiff Colonel Pompley to the sound
of "Sir Richard." Still, however disappointed at the ill-success of his
bluff diplomacy with Mr. Egerton, and however yet cherishing the most
vindictive resentment against that individual--he did not, as many would
have done, throw up his political convictions out of personal spite. He
resolved still to favor the ungrateful and undeserving Administration;
and as Audley Egerton had acted on the representations of the mayor and
deputies, and shaped his bill to meet their views, so Avenel and the
Government rose together in the popular estimation of the citizens of
Screwstown.
But duly to appreciate the value of Richard Avenel, and in just
counterpoise to all his foibles, one ought to have seen what he had
effected for the town. Well might he boast of "new blood;" he had done
as much for the town as he had for his fields. His energy, his quick
comprehension of public utility, backed by his wealth, and bold,
bullying, imperious character, had sped the work of civilization as if
with the celerity and force of a steam-engine.
If the town were so well paved and so well lighted--if half-a-dozen
squalid lanes had been transformed into a stately street--if half the
town no longer depended on tanks for their water--if the poor-rates were
reduced one-third--praise to the brisk new blood which Richard Avenel
had infused into vestry and corporation. And his example itself was so
contagious! "There was not a plate-glass window in the town when I came
into it," said Richard Avenel; "and now look down the High-street!" He
took the credit to himself, and justly; for, though his own business did
not require windows of plate-glass, he had awakened the spirit of
enterprise which adorns a whole city.
Mr. Avenel did not present Leonard to his friends for more than a
fortnight. He allowed him to wear off his rust. He then gave a grand
dinner, at which his nephew was formally introduced, and, to his great
wrath and disappointment, never opened his lips. How could he, poor
youth, when Miss Clarina Mowbray only talked upon high life, till proud
Colonel Pompley went in state through the history of the siege of
Seringapatam.