Evan Harrington — Complete - George Meredith

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inspect them suddenly, as if she had lent him her eyes. He put them by, till the gold should recover its natural shine, saying: 'By the way, mother, I 've written the half of a History of Portugal.'

      'Have you?' said Mrs. Mel. 'For Louisa?'

      'No, mother, of course not: to sell it. Albuquerque! what a splendid fellow he was!'

      Informing him that he knew she abominated foreign names, she said: 'And your prospects are, writing Histories of Portugal?'

      'No, mother. I was going to tell you, I expect a Government appointment. Mr. Jocelyn likes my work—I think he likes me. You know, I was his private secretary for ten months.'

      'You write a good hand,' his mother interposed.

      'And I'm certain I was born for diplomacy.'

      'For an easy chair, and an ink-dish before you, and lacqueys behind. What's to be your income, Van?'

      Evan carelessly remarked that he must wait and see.

      'A very proper thing to do,' said Mrs. Mel; for now that she had fixed him to some explanation of his prospects, she could condescend in her stiff way to banter.

      Slightly touched by it, Evan pursued, half laughing, as men do who wish to propitiate common sense on behalf of what seems tolerably absurd: 'It 's not the immediate income, you know, mother: one thinks of one's future. In the diplomatic service, as Louisa says, you come to be known to Ministers gradually, I mean. That is, they hear of you; and if you show you have some capacity—Louisa wants me to throw it up in time, and stand for Parliament. Andrew, she thinks, would be glad to help me to his seat. Once in Parliament, and known to Ministers, you—your career is open to you.'

      In justice to Mr. Evan Harrington, it must be said, he built up this extraordinary card-castle to dazzle his mother's mind: he had lost his right grasp of her character for the moment, because of an undefined suspicion of something she intended, and which sent him himself to take refuge in those flimsy structures; while the very altitude he reached beguiled his imagination, and made him hope to impress hers.

      Mrs. Mel dealt it one fillip. 'And in the meantime how are you to live, and pay the creditors?'

      Though Evan answered cheerfully, 'Oh, they will wait, and I can live on anything,' he was nevertheless floundering on the ground amid the ruins of the superb edifice; and his mother, upright and rigid, continuing, 'You can live on anything, and they will wait, and call your father a rogue,' he started, grievously bitten by one of the serpents of earth.

      'Good heaven, mother! what are you saying?'

      'That they will call your father a rogue, and will have a right to,' said the relentless woman.

      'Not while I live!' Evan exclaimed.

      'You may stop one mouth with your fist, but you won't stop a dozen, Van.'

      Evan jumped up and walked the room.

      'What am I to do?' he cried. 'I will pay everything. I will bind myself to pay every farthing. What more can I possibly do?'

      'Make the money,' said Mrs. Mel's deep voice.

      Evan faced her: 'My dear mother, you are very unjust and inconsiderate. I have been working and doing my best. I promise—what do the debts amount to?'

      'Something like £5000 in all, Van.'

      'Very well.' Youth is not alarmed by the sound of big sums. 'Very well—I will pay it.'

      Evan looked as proud as if he had just clapped down the full amount on the table.

      'Out of the History of Portugal, half written, and the prospect of a Government appointment?'

      Mrs. Mel raised her eyelids to him.

      'In time-in time, mother!'

      'Mention your proposal to the creditors when you meet them this day week,' she said.

      Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Then Evan came close to her, saying:

      'What is it you want of me, mother?'

      'I want nothing, Van—I can support myself.'

      'But what would you have me do, mother?'

      'Be honest; do your duty, and don't be a fool about it.'

      'I will try,' he rejoined. 'You tell me to make the money. Where and how can I make it? I am perfectly willing to work.'

      'In this house,' said Mrs. Mel; and, as this was pretty clear speaking, she stood up to lend her figure to it.

      'Here?' faltered Evan. 'What! be a——'

      'Tailor!' The word did not sting her tongue.

      'I? Oh, that's quite impossible!' said Evan. And visions of leprosy, and Rose shrinking her skirts from contact with him, shadowed out and away in his mind.

      'Understand your choice!' Mrs. Mel imperiously spoke. 'What are brains given you for? To be played the fool with by idiots and women? You have £5000 to pay to save your father from being called a rogue. You can only make the money in one way, which is open to you. This business might produce a thousand pounds a-year and more. In seven or eight years you may clear your father's name, and live better all the time than many of your bankrupt gentlemen. You have told the creditors you will pay them. Do you think they're gaping fools, to be satisfied by a History of Portugal? If you refuse to take the business at once, they will sell me up, and quite right too. Understand your choice. There's Mr. Goren has promised to have you in London a couple of months, and teach you what he can. He is a kind friend. Would any of your gentlemen acquaintance do the like for you? Understand your choice. You will be a beggar—the son of a rogue—or an honest man who has cleared his father's name!'

      During this strenuously uttered allocution, Mrs. Mel, though her chest heaved but faintly against her crossed hands, showed by the dilatation of her eyes, and the light in them, that she felt her words. There is that in the aspect of a fine frame breathing hard facts, which, to a youth who has been tumbled headlong from his card-castles and airy fabrics, is masterful, and like the pressure of a Fate. Evan drooped his head.

      'Now,' said Mrs. Mel, 'you shall have some supper.'

      Evan told her he could not eat.

      'I insist upon your eating,' said Mrs. Mel; 'empty stomachs are foul counsellors.'

      'Mother! do you want to drive me mad?' cried Evan.

      She looked at him to see whether the string she held him by would bear the slight additional strain: decided not to press a small point.

      'Then go to bed and sleep on it,' she said—sure of him—and gave her cheek for his kiss, for she never performed the operation, but kept her mouth, as she remarked, for food and speech, and not for slobbering mummeries.

      Evan returned to his solitary room. He sat on the bed and tried to think, oppressed by horrible sensations of self-contempt, that caused whatever he touched to sicken him.

      There were the Douglas and the Percy on the wall. It was a happy and a glorious time, was it not, when men lent each other blows that killed outright; when to be brave and cherish noble feelings brought honour; when strength of arm and steadiness of heart won fortune; when the fair stars of earth—sweet women—wakened and warmed the love of squires of low degree. This legacy of the dead man's hand! Evan would have paid it with his blood; but to be in bondage all his days to it; through it to lose all that was dear to him; to wear the length of a loathed existence!—we should pardon a young man's wretchedness at the prospect, for it was in a time before our joyful era of universal equality. Yet he never cast a shade of blame upon his father.

      The hours moved on, and he found himself staring at his small candle, which struggled more and more faintly with the morning light, like his own flickering ambition against the facts of life.

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