Sed quae praeclara et prospera tanti,
Ut rebus laetis par sit mensura malornm?--JUVENAL.
["But what excellence or prosperity so great that there should be
an equal measure of evils for our joys?"]
We are now transported to a father and a son of a very different
stamp.
It was about the hour of one p.m., when the door of Mr. Vavasour
Mordaunt's study was thrown open, and the servant announced Mr. Brown.
"Your servant, sir; your servant, Mr. Henry," said the itinerant,
bowing low to the two gentlemen thus addressed. The former, Mr.
Vavasour Mordaunt, might be about the same age as Linden's father. A
shrewd, sensible, ambitious man of the world, he had made his way from
the state of a younger brother, with no fortune and very little
interest, to considerable wealth, besides the property he had acquired
by law, and to a degree of consideration for general influence and
personal ability, which, considering he had no official or
parliamentary rank, very few of his equals enjoyed. Persevering,
steady, crafty, and possessing, to an eminent degree, that happy art
of "canting" which opens the readiest way to character and
consequence, the rise and reputation of Mr. Vavasour Mordaunt appeared
less to be wondered at than envied; yet, even envy was only for those
who could not look beyond the surface of things. He was at heart an
anxious and unhappy man. The evil we do in the world is often paid
back in the bosom of home. Mr. Vavasour Mordaunt was, like Crauford,
what might be termed a mistaken utilitarian: he had lived utterly and
invariably for self; but instead of uniting self-interest with the
interest of others, he considered them as perfectly incompatible ends.
But character was among the greatest of all objects to him; so that,
though he had rarely deviated into what might fairly be termed a
virtue, he had never transgressed what might rigidly be called a
propriety. He had not the aptitude, the wit, the moral audacity of
Crauford: he could not have indulged in one offence with impunity, by
a mingled courage and hypocrisy in veiling others; he was the slave of
the forms which Crauford subjugated to himself. He was only so far
resembling Crauford as one man of the world resembles another in
selfishness and dissimulation: he could be dishonest, not villanous,--
much less a villain upon system. He was a canter, Crauford a
hypocrite: his uttered opinions were, like Crauford's, different from
his conduct; but he believed the truth of the former even while
sinning in the latter; he canted so sincerely that the tears came into
his eyes when he spoke. Never was there a man more exemplary in
words: people who departed from him went away impressed with the idea
of an excess of honour, a plethora of conscience. "It was almost a
pity," said they, "that Mr. Vavasour was so romantic;" and thereupon
they named him as executor to their wills and guardian to their sons.
None but he could, in carrying the lawsuit against Mordaunt, have lost
nothing in reputation by success. But there was something so
specious, so ostensibly fair in his manner and words, while he was
ruining Mordaunt, that it was impossible not to suppose he was
actuated by the purest motives, the most holy desire for justice; not
for himself, he said, for he was old, and already rich enough, but for
his son! From that son came the punishment of all his offences,--the
black drop at the bottom of a bowl seemingly so sparkling. To him, as
the father grew old and desirous of quiet, Vavasour had transferred
all his selfishness, as if to a securer and more durable firm. The
child, when young, had been singularly handsome and intelligent; and
Vavasour, as he toiled and toiled at his ingenious and graceful
cheateries, pleased himself with anticipating the importance and
advantages the heir to his labours would enjoy. For that son he
certainly had persevered more arduously than otherwise he might have
done in the lawsuit, of the justice of which he better satisfied the
world than his own breast; for that son he rejoiced as he looked
around the stately halls and noble domain from which the rightful
possessor had been driven; for that son he extended economy into
penuriousness, and hope into anxiety; and, too old to expect much more
from the world himself, for that son he anticipated, with a wearing
and feverish fancy, whatever wealth could purchase, beauty win, or
intellect command.
But as if, like the Castle of Otranto, there was something in Mordaunt
Court which contained a penalty and a doom for the usurper, no sooner
had Vavasour possessed himself of his kinsman's estate, than the
prosperity of his life dried and withered away, like Jonah's gourd, in
a single night. His son, at the age of thirteen, fell from a
scaffold, on which the workmen were making some extensive alterations
in the old house, and became a cripple and a valetudinarian for life.
But still Vavasour, always of a sanguine temperament, cherished a hope
that surgical assistance might restore him: from place to place, from
professor to professor, from quack to quack, he carried the unhappy
boy, and as each remedy failed he was only the more impatient to
devise a new one. But as it was the mind as well as person of his son
in which the father had stored up his ambition; so, in despite of this
fearful accident and the wretched health by which it was followed,
Vavasour never suffered his son to rest from the tasks and tuitions
and lectures of the various masters by whom he was surrounded. The
poor boy, it is true, deprived of physical exertion and naturally of a
serious disposition, required very little urging to second his
father's wishes for his mental improvement; and as the tutors were all
of the orthodox university calibre, who imagine that there is no
knowledge (but vanity) in any other works than those in which their
own education has consisted, so Henry Vavasour became at once the
victor and victim of Bentleys and Scaligers, word-weighers and metre-
scanners, till, utterly ignorant of everything which could have
softened his temper, dignified his misfortunes, and reconciled him to
his lot, he was sinking fast into the grave, soured by incessant pain
into moroseness, envy, and bitterness; exhausted by an unwholesome and
useless application to unprofitable studies; an excellent scholar (as
it is termed), with the worst regulated and worst informed mind of
almost any of his contemporaries equal to himself in the advantages of
ability, original goodness of disposition, and the costly and profuse
expenditure of education.
But the vain father, as he heard, on all sides, of his son's talents,
saw nothing sinister in their direction; and though the poor boy grew
daily more contracted in mind and broken in frame, Vavasour yet hugged
more and more closely to his breast the hope of ultimate cure for the
latter and future glory for the former. So he went on heaping money
and extending acres, and planting and improving and building and
hoping and anticipating, for one at whose very feet the grave was
already dug!
But we left Mr. Brown in the study, making his bow and professions of
service to Mr. Vavasour Mordaunt and his son.
"Good day, honest Brown," said the former, a middle-sized and rather
stout man, with a well-powdered head, and a sharp, shrewd, and very
sallow countenance; "good day; have you brought any of the foreign
liqueurs you spoke of, for Mr. Henry?"
"Yes, sir, I have some curiously fine eau d'or and liqueur des files,
besides the marasquino and curacoa. The late Lady Waddilove honoured
my taste in these matters with her especial approbation."
"My dear boy," said Vavasour, turning to his son, who lay extended on
the couch, reading not the "Prometheus" (that most noble drama ever
created), but the notes upon it, "my dear boy, as you are fond of
liqueurs, I desired Brown to get some peculiarly fine; perhaps--"
"Pish!" said the son, fretfully interrupting him, "do, I beseech you,
take your hand off my shoulder. See now, you have made me lose my
place. I really do wish you would leave me alone for one moment in
the day."
"I beg your pardon, Henry," said the father, looking reverently on the
Greek characters which his son preferred to the newspaper. "It is
very vexatious, I own; but do taste these liqueurs. Dr. Lukewarm said
you might have everything you liked--"
"But quiet!" muttered the cripple.
"I assure you, sir," said the wandering merchant, "that they are
excellent; allow me, Mr. Vavasour Mordaunt, to ring for a corkscrew.
I really do think, sir, that Mr. Henry looks much better. I declare
he has quite a colour."
"No, indeed!" said Vavasour, eagerly. "Well, it seems to me, too,
that he is getting better. I intend him to try Mr. E----'s patent
collar in a day or two; but that will in some measure prevent his
reading. A great pity; for I am very anxious that he should lose no
time in his studies just at present. He goes to Cambridge in
October."
"Indeed, sir! Well, he will set the town in a blaze, I guess, sir!
Everybody says what a fine scholar Mr. Henry is,--even in the
servants' hall!"
"Ay, ay," said Vavasour, gratified even by this praise, "he is clever
enough, Brown; and, what is more" (and here Vavasour's look grew
sanctified), "he is good enough. His principles do equal honour to
his head and heart. He would be no son of mine if he were not as much
the gentleman as the scholar."
The youth lifted his heavy and distorted face from his book, and a
sneer raised his lip for a moment; but a sudden spasm of pain seizing
him, the expression changed, and Vavasour, whose eyes were fixed upon
him, hastened to his assistance.
"Throw open the window, Brown, ring the bell, call--"
"Pooh, Father," cried the boy, with a sharp, angry voice, "I am not
going to die yet, nor faint either; but it is all your fault. If you
will have those odious, vulgar people here for your own pleasure, at
least suffer me, another day, to retire."
"My son, my son!" said the grieved father, in reproachful anger, "it
was my anxiety to give you some trifling enjoyment that brought Brown
here: you must be sensible of that!"
"You tease me to death," grumbled the peevish unfortunate.
"Well, sir," said Mr. Brown, "shall I leave the bottles here? or do
you please that I shall give them to the butler? I see that I am
displeasing and troublesome to Mr. Henry; but as my worthy friend and
patroness, the late Lady--"
"Go, go, honest Brown!" said Vavasour (who desired every man's good
word), "go, and give the liqueurs to Preston. Mr. Henry is extremely
sorry that he is too unwell to see you now; and I--I have the heart of
a father for his sufferings."
Mr. Brown withdrew. "'Odious and vulgar,'" said he to himself, in a
little fury,--for Mr. Brown peculiarly valued himself on his
gentility,--"'odious and vulgar!' To think of his little lordship
uttering such shameful words! However, I will go into the steward's
room, and abuse him there. But, I suppose, I shall get no dinner in
this house,--no, not so much as a crust of bread; for while the old
gentleman is launching out into such prodigious expenses on a great
scale,--making heathenish temples, and spoiling the fine old house
with his new picture gallery and nonsense,--he is so close in small
matters, that I warrant not a candle-end escapes him; griping and
pinching and squeezing with one hand, and scattering money, as if it
were dirt, with the other,--and all for that cross, ugly, deformed,
little whippersnapper of a son. 'Odious and vulgar,' indeed! What
shocking language! Mr. Algernon Mordaunt would never have made use of
such words, I know. And, bless me, now I think of it, I wonder where
that poor gentleman is. The young heir here is not long for this
world, I can see; and who knows but what Mr. Algernon may be in great
distress; and I am sure, as far as four hundred pounds, or even a
thousand, go, I would not mind lending it him, only upon the post-
obits of Squire Vavasour and his hopeful. I like doing a kind thing;
and Mr. Algernon was always very good to me; and I am sure I don't
care about the security, though I think it will be as sure as
sixpence; for the old gentleman must be past sixty, and the young one
is the worse life of the two. And when he's gone, what relation so
near as Mr. Algernon? We should help one another; it is but one's
duty: and if he is in great distress he would not mind a handsome
premium. Well, nobody can say Morris Brown is not as charitable as
the best Christian breathing; and, as the late Lady Waddilove very
justly observed, 'Brown, believe me, a prudent risk is the surest
gain!' I will lose no time in finding the late squire out."
Muttering over these reflections, Mr. Brown took his way to the
steward's room.