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
a 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 footpads. 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.