Читать книгу Quintus Servinton - Henry Savery - Страница 10

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"Yea, this man's brow, like to a title leaf,

Foretels the nature of a tragic volume."

SHAKESPEARE

Notwithstanding that Mr. Servinton's name had many years stood in the Commission of the Peace, he seldom or never attended to Public business, greatly disliking every thing connected with pomp or parade; but it so happened that about a year and a half after the commencement of this narrative, he was at the county town, at the time the Sessions were held, when he one morning entered the Court, and took his seat upon the Bench, at the right of the Chairman.

Among the prisoners for trial, were a man and woman, charged with stealing poultry. The evidence for the prosecution, seemed clear and decisive; and the Chairman having addressed them, enquiring what they had to say in their defence, the man sullenly replied, "Nothing;" but the woman, raising her voice, exclaimed, "That bonny Gentleman on the your right, your Worship, kens that we are peaceable, honest folks, and will give us a character."

All eyes were immediately directed towards Mr. Servinton, who being so pointedly appealed to, looked at the prisoners with more attention than he had before paid them, and presently recognised the Gipsy acquaintance, who had told his fortune.

So sudden and unexpected an appeal, threw him for the moment, off his usual composure, and he scarcely knew what reply to make the Chairman, who, in the easy and familiar style, that one Gentleman uses in addressing another, had enquired if he knew any thing of these people? To recount what had really passed, might not be very agreeable, as it was calculated to excite merriment at his expense, in a Public Court; and to relate that he had given a troop of vagrants, permission to sojourn in his neighbourhood, might possibly subject him to an implied censure, which, as a Magistrate, he would rather have avoided. The Chairman, interpreting his hesitation of reply, unfavorably to the prisoners, asked the woman rather sharply, what she meant by singling out a Gentleman on the Bench, to speak to her character, who it was quite clear knew nothing about her?

"A'nt please your Honor's Worship," replied the woman, "the Gentleman kens me well enough—and he kens how true I told his Honor's fortune last year."

"Told the Gentleman's fortune!" said the Chairman, rather enjoying his brother Magistrate's increased confusion—"When and where, did you see this Gentleman? and what has it to do with the present case?"

"Last summer twelvemonth, your Honor's Worship, we met the Gentleman on Middleton moorside, and I told him his fortune for letting us stay a day or two in the woods near his Honor's house."

"And pray what fortune did you predict for the Gentleman? and how is it, that you could not at the same time foresee your own, and have kept out of this scrape? for I have heard nothing yet, which at all leads me to think you can escape punishment."

"His Honor kens well enough how true I told his fortune. Did I not say—"

"Sweets and sours—more sours than sweets— A new-born Son, your Honor greets;"

"And has he not found it so? Has not what he has since done, brought more sours than sweets already; and will it not do so hereafter? Has not one more of the eighteen bairns already been born? and is not another expected? The Gentleman, your Honor, kens me well enough, and if he will but speak out, he will say, that I am a woman who speaks the truth, and that your Honor may believe me, when I tell your Honor's Worship, that we are innocent of what we are charged with."

So appealed to, Mr. Servinton briefly explained the incident that had befallen him, but unfortunately for the prisoners, could say nothing more in their favor, than that, he knew neither good nor harm of them—that as no charge had been made against them, he had not refused to comply with the dictates of humanity, and as both themselves and their horse, appeared in a very miserable condition, he had allowed them to stay a day or two in his neighbourhood. So far therefore as his testimony went, it had no influence upon the verdict of the Jury, which, being returned guilty, they were sentenced to three month's imprisonment; but, as regarded himself, the adventure served for years afterwards, as a standing joke with some of his friends, and upon each future addition to his family, "Success to the Gipsy's prophecy," was a kind of toast or watchword, as the best bin was resorted to, or the barrel of strong beer tapped, to drink health and increasing honors to the founders of the feast; and when, in process of time, the birth of the ninth daughter, completed the sybilick number of eighteen, Sam, who by that time had became grey in his Master's service, said, with a knowing expression, when descanting upon the subject to his fellow-servants, "I knew 'twould be so—I knew 'twould be so, and though Master was very angry about Margaret Bousfield, I'd as lief marry the devil, as marry her or any body else, after my fortune had been told as it was—I knew 'twould be so, and as for Master Quintus, whoever lives to see it, will see a good deal. Poor little Gentleman, he is the quietest and best of 'em all. He has none of the tricks of t'other young Masters, who are always in mischief, but all his delight is in reading, or in being with William the gardener. Ah! poor lad! he little thinks what he's born to; but long before his troubles begin, old Sam's will be ended—but he'll never want friends."

If the accidental meeting of the Gipsy at Durham, had not renewed in Mr. Servinton's mind, some of its original impressions, Quintus might have passed through the early stages of his life, and excepting when the subject was now and then introduced by such conversations as this between the servants, the prediction that had attended his birth, would have been altogether forgotten; the reminiscence so excited, was however, but transient, and although the affair was still occasionally mentioned, it merely served to create fun and laughter, entirely losing any tendency to reflection.

In the mean time, Quintus, after leaving his nurse's arms, went through the several gradations of childhood, much as usual in large families. His mother was one of those good Ladies, who, as before said, pay the most scrupulous attention to the conduct of their servants with respect to children; nor perhaps, could an objection be taken to her general system, unless it be that, it embraced a more rigid confinement to the precincts of the nursery, than by some, is thought advisable. Once only each day were they admitted to the parlour, which was always immediately that the cloth was removed after dinner, when the whole troop, nicely washed and combed, marched in full procession, forming steps similar to those of a staircase—the rear being invariably brought up by the head nurse, with the infant in arms, for the time-being.

With all the excellent qualities of head and heart possessed by his parents, there were many points connected with the management of their children, wherein they differed from certain maxims that have lately obtained, sanctioned by such authorities as Miss Edgeworth, Madame de Genlis, and others. Mrs. Servinton was a kind and attentive mother, and the children were much and deservedly attached to her. She took great pains to personally instruct them in all the rudiments of education, but followed one course rather too indiscriminately, and adopted the same system of discipline with one and all the little ones; not perhaps, paying quite sufficient regard to age, temper, and general disposition. As to Mr.

Servinton, he was beloved by his neighbours and tenants, esteemed by his friends, and regarded with much affection by all his relatives, but he did not understand how to treat children; a slight fault, would produce anger, which it would have been thought could not have had its seat in his breast—this often made the child look at him with fear and apprehension, and rather to rejoice at his absence, than presence; but these flashes were of short duration, and, as if he felt that he had sometimes spoken or acted too harshly, he not unfrequently let them be succeeded by extraordinary marks of kindness.

The infant mind, is however, too tender and susceptible, to understand, or to safely receive these sudden transitions. It may generally be moulded at will, by mild treatment, accompanied by temperate firmness; but the instances are very rare, where severity, softened of some of its painful effects by subsequent indulgence, does not produce many more bad, than good consequences.

As Quintus advanced towards his fourth or fifth year, he evinced considerable aptness at learning, and little books, containing tales and stories, were his chief delight. He was inclined at times to be rather petulant, but was nevertheless much liked by his elder sisters, on account of his general docility; and they accordingly took pains in giving him such instruction as was suitable to his age. His elder brothers were of a different disposition—quite as quick at learning, to say the least—but much more prone to mischief—ever ready at boyish roguishness—nothing pleasing them so much as to witness any ludicrous disaster, occasioned by their waggish tricks and contrivances. It sometimes happened, that when complaints of their misbehaviour reached their father, all the boys were included in the summary punishment awarded for the offence of one; and thus Quintus, more than once, came in for a dose of birch, rather in anticipation of what he might do wrong hereafter, than for any misdeed already committed.

As one consequence of such discipline, before he had attained his eight year, he had imbibed a fear and alarm at the presence of his father, that induced him to adopt a habit of concealment, which afterwards increased with his growth. Having been often punished undeservedly, he endeavoured to escape by cunningly invented stories, when it was really merited; but, as a proof that this was rather acquired, than natural, he would always readily acknowledge every thing to the sisters who possessed his love and confidence, and who by this means, were enabled to counteract much of its injurious effects.

At this period, the mode of education adopted for Mr. Servinton's sons, was by a private tutor, resident at the hall; but experience had not recommended its being continued, and it had been determined to substitute for it, public schools for the elder boys, and a good private seminary at the neighbouring town of D——, for Quintus; purposing, after a year or two, that he also should follow the example, set in the instance of his brothers.

The arrangements consequent upon this change, being perfected, Quintus was inducted as one of the Rev. Mr. Knowall's pupils, with very little regret on his part; as even at an early age, the restlessness of the human mind, is shewn in numberless instances; ever fancying, what is in anticipation, will be more agreeable than that, already possessed.

It had been settled that as Mr. Servinton's town residence was a short distance from the school, and was under the charge of an old and trusty house-keeper, Quintus should be what is called a day boarder; so as to be constantly under the eye of his father, or whoever else of the family happened from time to time, to be in town.

In this manner, he spent his two or three succeeding years, making very tolerable progress in his education, and growing in favouritism with his preceptors, who took considerable pains to improve the naturally good abilities he manifested. But this plan was objectionable in one respect, however good it might have appeared in others; for it drove a boy of tender age, to the alternative, either of spending a considerable portion of his time in absolute solitude, or of seeking such society as was inconsistent with his parents' station in life; and it would have been no wonder, if, in process of time, the evil had become apparent.

But it fortunately happened, that before any ill consequences were in this case matured, other circumstances arose, which affected Mr. Servinton's arrangements for his boys, and greatly removed the latent mischief attending the course hitherto pursued with respect to Quintus. His eldest brother had just attained his twentieth year; and, upon leaving College, it was Mr. Servinton's anxious desire to have him instructed in business, with the view of qualifying him to become a partner in the Bank. Two objects, upon each of which he had strongly set his heart, were connected with this plan—the one, to preserve to his family a preponderating influence in a concern which had, hitherto, fully answered all its original expectations; and the other, that he might himself devote less time to occupations he disliked, and return to those, rendered by long habit more congenial to his inclination. But Horace Servinton had imbibed different notions from his childhood. From the very moment he could run alone, he had been told, that all the family honors, whatever they might be, would centre in him. Some valuable heir-looms of ancient date were considered so much his own, that his other brothers scarcely dared look at them; and, when a mere child, he was taught to ride the little pony, which afterwards, reverted to the next in turn in exchange for a larger horse; he had ever been accustomed to play the young dragoon, and in his air and manner, to deport himself as if he had really been one of the cap-a-pee figures represented in the old family pictures. He had besides, formed acquaintances with some young men of high birth at College; and he cherished the hope of again meeting them in the pursuit of military glory, to which they had severally proposed to devote themselves; and as he was tall and well-proportioned, of handsome features, and agreeable manners, he was by no means inclined to relinquish all his expected importance and anticipated conquests as a dragoon officer, for a seat behind the desk of a country bank. He therefore, at once, firmly refused the proposed arrangement; reminded his father that, long before the bank was thought of, he had been promised a cornetcy in the Guards; and at last succeeded, although with great reluctance on the part of his parents, in obtaining a commission in the Queen's Dragoons, then quartered at a distant part of the kingdom. Mr. Servinton found his two next sons, equally averse to the course he had successively planned for them; and he saw clearly that it was necessary, if he hoped to be more fortunate with the younger branches, not to defer taking such measures, as might give their minds a bias, different to that which had influenced the elder ones.

Full of reflection arising from these repeated disappointments, he was one day sitting alone in his library, when his friend Mr. Briefless was announced; who, being in all cases, where his own affairs were not concerned, a shrewd, sensible man, could not have arrived at a more opportune moment.

"I'll tell you what 'tis Briefless," said Mr. Servinton, "these boys of mine, give me a great deal of trouble, and I don't know what to do with them."

"I can assure you, my dear friend I sincerely feel for your disappointments; but in trying to remedy the future, let us look a little at the past. Your sons have all been educated with too high notions—much too high—they have each thought themselves an only son of a rich Country Gentleman, instead of being one of nine Brothers; and there is besides, a counter-interest at work to oppose their adapting themselves to be men of business, even if they had more inclination than they evince to become such; and which must be met."

"How! what do you mean?—What counter-interest can interfere with the introduction of my Sons into the Bank?"

"Why, if they stick to business, there will be no room for others, whose chance is contingent only, and wholly depending upon the failure of your views. Cannot you now see the drift of many parts of Craft's conduct, which you must have observed? or at least, others have. How do you understand the sedulous attention he has invariably paid to your sons, but as an endeavour to enhance in their minds a self-importance they had adready amply exhibited? What so likely to lead them to view commercial pursuits as derogatory to their dignity, as an increase of this foolish pride? or what think you of the assistance he gave Horace's taste for extravagance and dissipation, by the loans he made, but as part of his plan to encourage him to the very course he has taken?"

"I cannot exactly see how Craft's interest can be promoted by encouraging the dislike my boys shew to business; he will still remain Cashier, as a matter of course—he is very clever in that way, and neither of my boys were intended to have interfered with him."

"As you do not seem to comprehend the affair, I will endeavour to explain my view of it:—If you do not succeed in establishing one of your sons in the Bank, you will, as a matter of course, have to seek for a managing partner to take the fag of the business, which, latterly—owing to one circumstance or another—has much more devolved upon you than was originally intended. If this be the result of things, who so likely to be selected as a man, a thorough adept at his business, and whose obliging manners have rendered him a general favourite among your connexion? but, if your sons were to turn out as you wish, what occasion would there be for Craft's admission as a partner?—on the other hand, is there not at once a bar to it?"

"I'll tell ye what 'tis—Craft is a great rascal, and I'll write him a letter of dismissal immediately."

"Softly, my good friend, softly—not quite so fast; I do not know that the worldly wisdom thus suspected of Craft—for mind you, it is no more than suspicion—deserves quite so severe an epithet as rascal; but if it be so, perhaps an easier method may be discovered of curing the evil than by depriving yourself of a valuable assistant; at all events, it's worth trying."

"You advise me well, Briefless, as I have ever found you; but what plan do you propose?"

"To yield to the storm you cannot control, and to endeavour to avoid encountering such in future. In other words, it is best to let Edward and William enter the navy as they wish; to admit Craft as a partner while you can easily do so upon advantageous terms, and before he fully knows his importance; and to turn over a new leaf with the younger boys, so as to break the neck of their family pride, by removing them to some school at a distance, and letting them spend their vacations there for a year or two, thus avoiding collision with those who do them no good."

The advice Mr. Briefless thus gave, was to a certain extent, forthwith acted upon. Nevertheless, Mr. Servinton did not at all like being forced into arrangements, differing so materially, from those he had long contemplated. With regard to Quintus, it was settled, that so soon as a good school at a distance of not less than a hundred miles, could be found, he should be removed thither, and meanwhile, be kept as closely to his studies as Mr. Knowall's arrangements permitted, during the ensuing vacation.

Shortly after these measures, two of Mr. Servinton's daughters were married, one to a country Gentleman, and the other, to an eminent Merchant residing at a distant outport.

Although the motive, which had formerly induced Mr. Servinton to enter upon business, had hitherto been fully attained, his income having been materially increased, he frequently had occasion to recollect the Gipsy's words, and indeed often found, that the sours too much preponderated. If his yearly means were more abundant, so was his expenditure increased nearly in proportion. A town house was not maintained excepting at a heavy charge, and an extended visiting acquaintance entailed many expenses, that had been previously unknown.

But an incident now arose, that proved indeed, a heavy blow upon the almost uninterrupted tranquillity, which had hitherto marked Mr. Servinton's path through life—compared with what he was now called upon to endure, all his previous little disappointments, were as atoms in the balance; he was now destined to be visited by the afflicting hand of Providence in earnest; and although his life was prolonged many years, it became, from this period, a series of troubles and vexations, under which, many minds would have sunk. With him however, they lost much of their severity, by the natural buoyancy or cheerfulness of his disposition, and by the spirit of resignation that displayed itself under all his disappointments; leading him, as well as his truly religious and excellent wife, to view them as dispensations of some wise and good, although inscrutable purpose, and ever to kiss the rod by which they were chastened, bowing submissively to the will of God.

Mr. Servinton had been quietly enjoying a few days retirement at Lathingham, and was rambling one morning accompanied by some of his children, in the grounds near the house, when he saw a horseman turn off from the road, and advance through the lane that led to the Hall. Both horse and rider bore evident marks of haste, and Mr. Servinton was revolving in his mind, who it could be, the appearence of the Gentleman not seeming altogether unknown to him, when in one moment, the turn of a corner enabled him to discern that it was his partner, Mr. Craft, and a certain indescribable misgiving entered his mind, that a something connected with the bank was not right; nor were his forebodings likely to be relieved by the expression of Craft's countenance, which displayed by the transient glance he obtained of it as he entered the shrubbery, anxiety and alarm, in their most fearful colours.

Mr. Craft lost little time, and showed little consideration, in opening his budget of intelligence, saying, almost before he was within a speaking distance, "I am the messenger of bad news, Sir."

"So I perceived, Craft," calmly replied the worthy Gentleman, "but whatever are your tidings, keep them, till we are together in the Library," at the same moment, gently leading the way to the side entrance to the house.

Mr. Servinton was one of those temperaments, that frequently take fire at mere trifles, but are perfectly calm and composed upon great occasions. Had either of the children or servants, committed some slight fault, he would probably have been much more excited, than by what had now happened; and although he was not by any means indifferent, as to the nature of the communication he was to receive, he had sufficient self-command to subdue his feelings, until there should be none to witness his sorrow, save only him by whom it was to be imparted.

Shutting the room door, so soon as Craft and he had entered, he said, "Well, tell me, what has happened?"

"This letter, Sir, which arrived by to day's London Post, will tell you every thing," handing him as he spoke, an open letter.

London, March 16, 1782. GENTLEMEN, Messrs. Discount and Co., the Bankers, finding themselves unable to meet their coming engagements, have adopted the determination of suspending payment until their afairs can be submitted to their Creditors, for which purpose, a Meeting will take place at my ofice, on the 23rd Instant, at which you are requested to attend. I am, Gentlemen, your most obedient Servant, GEORGE PLAINT. Messrs. SERVINTON and Co.

"This is bad news," said Mr. Servinton, as he finished reading the letter, "but we must try to meet it—what is the amount we have in their hands?"

"Unfortunately, it is unusually large," replied his partner, astonished at his composure. "It is £48,764 17s. 8d., including their unpaid acceptances of our drafts, which we shall of course now have to provide for."

"Indeed, this is a fearful sum!—ah! my poor wife and children, what will become of you!—however, Craft, we must see what's to be done.—I tell ye what 'tis, as soon as you have had a little refreshment, and I've told Mrs. Servinton this dismal news, I'll go with you to town, for whatever is to happen, we shall do no good by staying here."

Accordingly, ringing the bell, he ordered the carriage to be made ready, and then proceeded to communicate the distressing intelligence to his wife.

There is a certain instinctive feeling, that ever possesses us, upon the eve of any event materially affecting our good or ill fortune. It shews itself in producing an uneasy restlessness—a heaviness which impedes our general operations—an indescribable something, known to most of us by our own sensations, at some particular moment of our lives, but which, he who perhaps has most felt, is least able to describe.

Such was Mrs. Servinton's case, when she heard that Mr. Craft had arrived, apparently in great haste, from D——; and when a message from her husband imparted his desire to see her, she felt certain, that something dreadful awaited her.

Assuming as much composure as she was able for the interview, she joined her husband, who said to her in the most affectionate manner, "Would to Heaven, my Charlotte, we had been contented with our moderate fortune, and had not embarked in business. Craft has brought sad news, as the London bankers have failed, and I fear we are ruined."

"It was done for the best," replied his wife, "and if the blessing of God has not attended the endeavour, we must not repine; and, perhaps, it may not turn out so badly as you apprehend; but, under all circumstances, we must remember, that we are not the controllers of our own destinies, and I can only say, I feel happy that the loss of fortune is the worst that has befallen us; all we have to do is, to live according to our means."

"Spoken like yourself, my Charlotte; I propose to go immediately to D——, and shall probably proceed without delay to London. I will acquaint you with every thing as it occurs.—Whatever we may hereafter do, any change at present would be premature; but something will certainly have to be thought of hereafter."

In this manner was intelligence of so important, so interesting a nature to a numerous young family, received by this excellent couple. They each viewed it as the work of an overruling Providence, and each seemed determined to support the other, under the trial they were called upon to endure.