CHAPTER XXXVII.
WHERE PEN APPEARS IN TOWN AND COUNTRY.
Let us be allowed to pass over a few months of the history of Mr. ArthurPendennis's lifetime, during the which, many events may have occurredwhich were more interesting and exciting to himself, than they would belikely to prove to the reader of his present memoirs. We left him, inhis last chapter, regularly entered upon his business as a professionalwriter, or literary hack, as Mr. Warrington chooses to style himself andhis friend; and we know how the life of any hack, legal or literary, ina curacy, or in a marching regiment, or at a merchant's desk, is dull ofroutine, and tedious of description. One day's labor resembles anothermuch too closely. A literary man has often to work for his breadagainst time, or against his will, or in spite of his health, or of hisindolence, or of his repugnance to the subject on which he is calledto exert himself, just like any other daily toiler. When you want tomake money by Pegasus (as he must, perhaps, who has no other salableproperty), farewell poetry and aerial flights: Pegasus only rises nowlike Mr. Green's balloon, at periods advertised beforehand, and whenthe spectator's money has been paid. Pegasus trots in harness, over thestony pavement, and pulls a cart or a cab behind him. Often Pegasus doeshis work with panting sides and trembling knees, and not seldom gets acut of the whip from his driver.
Do not let us, however, be too prodigal of our pity upon Pegasus. Thereis no reason why this animal should be exempt from labor, or illness,or decay, any more than any of the other creatures of God's world. If hegets the whip, Pegasus very often deserves it, and I for one am quiteready to protest with my friend, George Warrington, against the doctrinewhich some poetical sympathizers are inclined to put forward, viz., thatmen of letters, and what is called genius, are to be exempt from theprose duties of this daily, bread-wanting, tax-paying life, and are notto be made to work and pay like their neighbors.
Well, then, the "Pall Mall Gazette" being duly established, and ArthurPendennis's merits recognized as a flippant, witty, and amusing critic,he worked away hard every week, preparing reviews of such works as cameinto his department, and writing his reviews with flippancy certainly,but with honesty, and to the best of his power. It might be that ahistorian of three-score, who had spent a quarter of a century incomposing a work of which our young gentleman disposed in the courseof a couple of days' reading at the British Museum, was not altogetherfairly treated by such a facile critic; or that a poet, who had beenelaborating sublime sonnets and odes until he thought them fit for thepublic and for fame, was annoyed by two or three dozen pert lines inMr. Pen's review, in which the poet's claims were settled by the critic,as if the latter were my lord on the bench, and the author a miserablelittle suitor trembling before him. The actors at the theaterscomplained of him woefully, too, and very likely he was too hard uponthem. But there was not much harm done after all. It is different now,as we know; but there were so few great historians, or great poets, orgreat actors, in Pen's time, that scarce any at all came up for judgmentbefore his critical desk. Those who got a little whipping, got what inthe main was good for them; not that the judge was any better or wiserthan the persons whom he sentenced, or indeed ever fancied himselfso. Pen had a strong sense of humor and justice, and had not thereforean overweening respect for his own works; besides, he had his friendWarrington at his elbow--a terrible critic if the young man was disposedto be conceited, and more savage over Pen than ever he was to those whomhe tried at his literary assize.
By these critical labors, and by occasional contributions to leadingarticles of the journal, when, without wounding his paper, this eminentpublicist could conscientiously speak his mind, Mr. Arthur Pendennisgained the sum of four pounds four shillings weekly, and with no smallpains and labor. Likewise he furnished magazines and reviews witharticles of his composition, and is believed to have been (though onthis score he never chooses to speak) London correspondent of theChatteris Champion, which at that time contained some very brilliantand eloquent letters from the metropolis. By these labors the fortunateyouth was enabled to earn a sum very nearly equal to four hundred poundsa year; and on the second Christmas after his arrival in London, heactually brought a hundred pounds to his mother, as a dividend upon thedebt which he owed to Laura. That Mrs. Pendennis read every word of herson's works, and considered him to be the profoundest thinker and mostelegant writer of the day; that she thought his retribution of thehundred pounds an act of angelic virtue; that she feared he was ruininghis health by his labors, and was delighted when he told her of thesociety which he met, and of the great men of letters and fashion whomhe saw, will be imagined by all readers who have seen son-worship amongmothers, and that charming simplicity of love with which women in thecountry watch the career of their darlings in London. If John has heldsuch and such a brief; if Tom has been invited to such and such a ball;or George has met this or that great and famous man at dinner; whata delight there is in the hearts of mothers and sisters at home inSomersetshire! How young Hopeful's letters are read and remembered! Whata theme for village talk they give, and friendly congratulation! In thesecond winter, Pen came for a very brief space, and cheered the widow'sheart, and lightened up the lonely house at Fairoaks. Helen had her sonall to herself; Laura was away on a visit to old Lady Rockminster; thefolks of Clavering Park were absent; the very few old friends of thehouse, Dr. Portman at their head, called upon Mr. Pen, and treated himwith marked respect; between mother and son, it was all fondness,confidence, and affection. It was the happiest fortnight of the widow'swhole life; perhaps in the lives of both of them. The holiday was goneonly too quickly; and Pen was back in the busy world, and the gentlewidow alone again. She sent Arthur's money to Laura: I don't know whythis young lady took the opportunity of leaving home when Pen was comingthither, or whether he was the more piqued or relieved by her absence.
He was by this time, by his own merits and his uncle's introductions,pretty well introduced into London, and known both in literary andpolite circles. Among the former his fashionable reputation stood himin no little stead; he was considered to be a gentleman of good presentmeans and better expectations, who wrote for his pleasure, than whichthere can not be a greater recommendation to a young literary aspirant.Bacon, Bungay, and Co., were proud to accept his articles; Mr. Wenhamasked him to dinner; Mr. Wagg looked upon him with a favorable eye;and they reported how they met him at the houses of persons of fashion,among whom he was pretty welcome, as they did not trouble themselvesabout his means, present or future; as his appearance and address weregood; and as he had got a character for being a clever fellow. Finally,he was asked to one house because he was seen at another house; andthus no small varieties of London life were presented to the young man:he was made familiar with all sorts of people, from Paternoster Row toPimlico, and was as much at home at Mayfair dining-tables as at thosetavern boards where some of his companions of the pen were accustomedto assemble.
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Full of high spirits and curiosity, easily adapting himself to all whomhe met, the young fellow pleased himself in this strange variety andjumble of men, and made himself welcome, or at ease at least, where-everhe went. He would breakfast, for instance, at Mr. Plover's of a morning,in company with a peer, a bishop, a parliamentary orator, two blueladies of fashion, a popular preacher, the author of the last new novel,and the very latest lion imported from Egypt or from America: and wouldquit this distinguished society for the back room at the newspaperoffice, where pens and ink and the wet proof-sheets were awaiting him.Here would be Finucane, the sub-editor, with the last news from the Row:and Shandon would come in presently, and giving a nod to Pen, wouldbegin scribbling his leading article at the other end of the table,flanked by the pint of sherry, which, when the attendant boy beheldhim, was always silently brought for the captain: or Mr. Bludyer'sroaring voice would be heard in the front room, where that truculentcritic would impound the books on the counter in spite of the timidremonstrances of Mr. Midge, the publisher, and after looking throughthe volumes would sell t
hem at his accustomed book-stall, and havingdrunken and dined upon the produce of the sale in a tavern box, wouldcall for ink and paper, and proceed to "smash" the author of his dinnerand the novel. Toward evening Mr. Pen would stroll in the direction ofhis club, and take up Warrington there for a constitutional walk. Thisexercise freed the lungs, and gave an appetite for dinner, after whichPen had the privilege to make his bow at some very pleasant houses whichwere opened to him; or the town, before him for amusement. There was theOpera; or the Eagle Tavern; or a ball to go to in May Fair; or a quietnight with a cigar and a book and a long talk with Warrington; or awonderful new song at the Back Kitchen; at this time of his life Mr.Pen beheld all sorts of places and men; and very likely did not knowhow much he enjoyed himself until long after, when balls gave him nopleasure, neither did farces make him laugh; nor did the tavern jokeproduce the least excitement in him; nor did the loveliest dancer thatever showed her ankles cause him to stir from his chair after dinner.At his present mature age all these pleasures are over: and the timeshave passed away too. It is but a very few years since--but the time isgone, and most of the men. Bludyer will no more bully authors or cheatlandlords of their score. Shandon, the learned and thriftless, the wittyand unwise, sleeps his last sleep. They buried honest Doolan the otherday: never will he cringe or flatter, never pull long-bow or emptywhisky-noggin any more.
* * * * *
The London season was now blooming in its full vigor, and thefashionable newspapers abounded with information regarding the grandbanquets, routs, and balls, which were enlivening the polite world. Ourgracious sovereign was holding levees and drawing-rooms at St. James's:the bay-windows of the clubs were crowded with the heads of respectable,red-faced, newspaper-reading gentlemen: along the Serpentine trailedthousands of carriages: squadrons of dandy horsemen trampled over RottenRow: every body was in town in a word; and, of course, Major ArthurPendennis, who was somebody, was not absent.
With his head tied up in a smart bandana handkerchief, and his meagercarcass enveloped in a brilliant Turkish dressing-gown, the worthygentleman sate on a certain morning by his fire-side, letting his feetgently simmer in a bath, while he took his early cup of tea, and perusedhis "Morning Post." He could not have faced the day without his twohours' toilet, without his early cup of tea, without his "Morning Post."I suppose nobody in the world except Morgan, not even Morgan's masterhimself, knew how feeble and ancient the major was growing, and whatnumberless little comforts he required.
If men sneer, as our habit is, at the artifices of an old beauty, ather paint, perfumes, ringlets; at those innumerable, and to us unknownstratagems, with which she is said to remedy the ravages of time, andreconstruct the charms whereof years have bereft her; the ladies, itis to be presumed, are not on their side altogether ignorant that menare vain as well as they, and that the toilets of old bucks are to thefull as elaborate as their own. How is it that old Blushington keepsthat constant little rose-tint on his cheeks; and where does old Blondelget the preparation which makes his silver hair pass for golden? Haveyou ever seen Lord Hotspur get off his horse when he thinks nobody islooking? Taken out of his stirrups, his shiny boots can hardly totter upthe steps of Hotspur House. He is a dashing young nobleman still as yousee the back of him in Rotten Row; when you behold him on foot what anold, old fellow! Did you ever form to yourself any idea of Dick Lacy(Dick has been Dick these sixty years) in a natural state, and withouthis stays? All these men are objects whom the observer of human lifeand manners may contemplate with as much profit as the most elderlyBelgravian Venus, or inveterate Mayfair Jezebel. An old reprobatedaddy-long-legs, who has never said his prayers (except perhaps inpublic) these fifty years: an old buck who still clings to as many ofthe habits of youth as his feeble grasp of health can hold by: who hasgiven up the bottle, but sits with young fellows over it, and tellsnaughty stories upon toast and water--who has given up beauty, butstill talks about it as wickedly as the youngest _roue_ in company--suchan old fellow, I say, if any parson in Pimlico or St. James's were toorder the beadles to bring him into the middle aisle, and there set himin an arm-chair, and make a text of him, and preach about him to thecongregation, could be turned to a wholesome use for once in his life,and might be surprised to find that some good thoughts came out of him.But, we are wandering from our text, the honest major, who sits all thiswhile with his feet cooling in the bath: Morgan takes them out of thatplace of purification, and dries them daintily, and proceeds to set theold gentleman on his legs, with waistband and wig, starched cravat, andspotless boots and gloves.
It was during these hours of the toilet that Morgan and his employer hadtheir confidential conversations, for they did not meet much at othertimes of the day--the major abhorring the society of his own chairs andtables in his lodgings; and Morgan, his master's toilet over and lettersdelivered, had his time very much on his own hands.
This spare time the active and well-mannered gentleman bestowed amongthe valets and butlers of the nobility, his acquaintance; and MorganPendennis, as he was styled, for, by such compound names, gentlemen'sgentlemen are called in their private circles, was a frequent andwelcome guest at some of the very highest tables in this town. He was amember of two influential clubs in Mayfair and Pimlico; and he was thusenabled to know the whole gossip of the town, and entertain his mastervery agreeably during the two hours' toilet conversation. He knew ahundred tales and legends regarding persons of the very highest _ton_,whose valets canvass their august secrets, just, my dear madam, as ourown parlor-maids and dependents in the kitchen discuss our characters,our stinginess and generosity, our pecuniary means or embarrassments,and our little domestic or connubial tiffs and quarrels. If I leave thismanuscript open on my table, I have not the slightest doubt Betty willread it, and they will talk it over in the lower regions to-night; andto-morrow she will bring in my breakfast with a face of such entireimperturbable innocence, that no mortal could suppose her guilty ofplaying the spy. If you and the captain have high words upon anysubject, which is just possible, the circumstances of the quarrel,and the characters of both of you, will be discussed with impartialeloquence over the kitchen tea-table; and if Mrs. Smith's maid shouldby chance be taking a dish of tea with yours, her presence will notundoubtedly act as a restraint upon the discussion in question; heropinion will be given with candor; and the next day her mistress willprobably know that Captain and Mrs. Jones have been a-quarreling asusual. Nothing is secret. Take it as a rule that John knows every thing:and as in our humble world so in the greatest: a duke is no more a heroto his _valet-de-chambre_ than you or I; and his grace's man at hisclub, in company doubtless with other men of equal social rank, talksover his master's character and affairs with the ingenuous truthfulnesswhich befits gentlemen who are met together in confidence. Who is aniggard and screws up his money-boxes: who is in the hands of themoney-lenders, and is putting his noble name on the back of bills ofexchange: who is intimate with whose wife: who wants whom to marry herdaughter, and which he won't, no not at any price: all these factsgentlemen's confidential gentlemen discuss confidentially, and areknown and examined by every person who has any claim to rank in genteelsociety. In a word, if old Pendennis himself was said to know everything, and was at once admirably scandalous and delightfully discreet,it is but justice to Morgan to say, that a great deal of his master'sinformation was supplied to that worthy man by his valet, who went outand foraged knowledge for him. Indeed, what more effectual plan is thereto get a knowledge of London society, than to begin at thefoundation--that is, at the kitchen floor?
So Mr. Morgan and his employer conversed as the latter's toiletproceeded. There had been a drawing-room on the day previous, andthe major read among the presentations that of Lady Clavering by LadyRockminster, and of Miss Amory by her mother Lady Clavering; and in afurther part of the paper their dresses were described, with a precisionand in a jargon which will puzzle and amuse the antiquary of futuregenerations. The sight of these names carried Pendennis back to thecountr
y.
"How long have the Claverings been in London?" he asked: "pray, Morgan,have you seen any of their people?"
"Sir Francis have sent away his foring man, sir," Mr. Morgan replied;"and have took a friend of mine as own man, sir. Indeed, he applied onmy reckmendation. You may recklect Towler, sir--tall, red-aired man--butdyes his air. Was groom of the chambers in Lord Levant's famly, till hislordship broke hup. It's a fall for Towler, sir; but pore men can't beparticklar," said the valet, with a pathetic voice.
"Devilish hard on Towler, by gad!" said the major, amused, "and notpleasant for Lord Levant--he, he!"
"Always knew it was coming, sir. I spoke to you of it Michaelmas wasfour years: when her ladyship put the diamonds in pawn. It was Towler,sir, took 'em in two cabs to Dobree's; and a good deal of the plate wentthe same way. Don't you remember seeing of it at Blackwall, with theLevant arms and coronick, and Lord Levant settn oppsit to it at theMarquis of Steyne's dinner? Beg your pardon; did I cut you, sir?"
Morgan was now operating upon the major's chin; he continued thetheme while stropping the skillful razor. "They've took a house inGrosvenor-place, and are coming out strong, sir. Her ladyship's goingto give three parties, besides a dinner a week, sir. Her fortune won'tstand it--can't stand it."
"Gad, she had a devilish good cook when I was at Fairoaks," the majorsaid, with very little compassion for the widow Amory's fortune.
"Mirobblan was his name, sir; Mirobblan's gone away, sir," Morgan said;and the major, this time, with hearty sympathy said, "he was devilishsorry to lose him."
"There's been a tremenjuous row about that Mosseer Mirobblan," Morgancontinued. "At a ball at Baymouth, sir, bless his impadence, hechallenged Mr. Harthur to fight a jewel, sir, which Mr. Harthur was verynear knocking him down, and pitchin' him out awinder, and serve himright; but Chevalier Strong, sir, came up and stopped the shindy--I begpardon, the holtercation, sir--them French cooks has as much pride andhinsolence as if they was real gentlemen."
"I heard something of that quarrel," said the major; "but Mirobolant wasnot turned off for that?"
"No, sir; that affair, sir, Mr. Harthur forgave it him, and beaved mosthandsome, was hushed hup: it was about Miss Hamory, sir, that he ad hisdismissal. Those French fellers, they fancy every body is in love with'em; and he climbed up the large grape vine to her winder, sir, and wasa trying to get in, when he was caught, sir; and Mr. Strong came out,and they got the garden-engine and played on him, and there was no endof a row, sir."
"Confound his impudence! You don't mean to say Miss Amory encouragedhim," cried the major, amazed at a peculiar expression in Mr. Morgan'scountenance.
Morgan resumed his imperturbable demeanor. "Know nothing about it, sir.Servants don't know them kind of things the least. Most probbly therewas nothing in it--so many lies is told about families--Marobblan wentaway, bag and baggage, saucepans, and piano, and all--the feller ad apianna, and wrote potry in French, and he took a lodging at Clavering,and he hankered about the primises, and it was said that Madam Fribsby,the milliner, brought letters to Miss Hamory, though I don't believe aword about it; nor that he tried to pison hisself with charcoal, whichit was all a humbug betwigst him and Madam Fribsby; and he was nearlyshot by the keeper in the park."
In the course of that very day, it chanced that the major had stationedhimself in the great window of Bays's Club, in St. James's-street, atthe hour in the afternoon when you see a half score of respectable oldbucks similarly recreating themselves (Bays's is rather an old-fashionedplace of resort now, and many of its members more than middle-aged; butin the time of the prince regent, these old fellows occupied the samewindow, and were some of the very greatest dandies in this empire);Major Pendennis was looking from the great window, and spied his nephewArthur walking down the street in company with his friend Mr. Popjoy.
"Look!" said Popjoy to Pen, as they passed, "did you ever pass Bays'sat four o'clock, without seeing that collection of old fogies? It's aregular museum. They ought to be cast in wax, and set up at MadameTussaud's--"
"--In a chamber of old horrors by themselves," Pen said, laughing.
"--In the chamber of horrors! Gad, doosid good!" Pop cried. "They_are_ old rogues, most of 'em, and no mistake. There's old Blondel;there's my Uncle Colchicum, the most confounded old sinner in Europe;there's--hullo! there's somebody rapping the window, and nodding at us."
"It's my uncle, the major," said Pen. "Is he an old sinner, too?"
"Notorious old rogue," Pop said, wagging his head. ("Notowious oldwogue," he pronounced the words, thereby rendering them much moreemphatic.) "He's beckoning you in; he wants to speak to you."
"Come in too," Pen said.
"--Can't," replied the other. "Cut uncle Col. two years ago, aboutMademoiselle Frangipane--Ta, ta," and the young sinner took leaveof Pen, and the club of the elder criminals, and sauntered intoBlacquiere's, an adjacent establishment, frequented by reprobates ofhis own age.
Colchicum, Blondel, and the senior bucks had just been conversing aboutthe Clavering family, whose appearance in London had formed the subjectof Major Pendennis's morning conversation with his valet. Mr. Blondel'shouse was next to that of Sir Francis Clavering, in Grosvenor-place:giving very good dinners himself, he had remarked some activity in hisneighbor's kitchen. Sir Francis, indeed, had a new chef, who had come inmore than once, and dressed Mr. Blondel's dinner for him; that gentlemanhaving only a remarkably expert female artist permanently engaged in hisestablishment, and employing such chiefs of note as happened to be freeon the occasion of his grand banquets. "They go to a devilish expenseand see devilish bad company as yet, I hear," Mr. Blondel said; "theyscour the streets, by gad, to get people to dine with 'em. Champignonsays it breaks his heart to serve up a dinner to their society. What ashame it is that those low people should have money at all," cried Mr.Blondel, whose grandfather had been a reputable leather-breeches maker,and whose father had lent money to the princes.
"I wish I had fallen in with the widow myself," sighed Lord Colchicum,"and not been laid up with that confounded gout at Leghorn. I would havemarried the woman myself. I'm told she has six hundred thousand poundsin the Threes."
"Not _quite_ so much as that. I knew her family in India," MajorPendennis said. "I knew her family in India; her father was anenormously rich old indigo-planter; know all about her: Clavering hasthe next estate to ours in the country. Ha! there's my nephew walkingwith--"
"With mine: the infernal young scamp!" said Lord Colchicum, glowering atPopjoy out of his heavy eyebrows; and he turned away from the window asMajor Pendennis tapped upon it.
The major was in high good-humor. The sun was bright, the air brisk andinvigorating. He had determined upon a visit to Lady Clavering on thatday, and bethought him that Arthur would be a good companion for thewalk across the Green Park to her ladyship's door. Master Pen was notdispleased to accompany his illustrious relative, who pointed out adozen great men in their brief transit through St. James's-street, andgot bows from a duke, at a crossing, a bishop (on a cob), and a cabinetminister with an umbrella. The duke gave the elder Pendennis the fingerof a pipe-clayed glove to shake, which the major embraced with greatveneration; and all Pen's blood tingled, as he found himself in actualcommunication, as it were, with this famous man (for Pen had possessionof the major's left arm, while that gentleman's other wing was engagedwith his grace's right), and he wished all Gray Friar's School, allOxbridge University, all Paternoster Row and the temple, and Laura andhis mother at Fairoaks, could be standing on each side of the street,to see the meeting between him and his uncle and the most famous dukein Christendom.
"How do, Pendennis? fine day," were his grace's remarkable words, andwith a nod of his august head he passed on--in a blue frock coat andspotless white duck trowsers, in a white stock, with a shining bucklebehind.
Old Pendennis, whose likeness to his grace has been remarked, began toimitate him unconsciously, after they had parted, speaking with curtsentences, after the manner of the great man. We have all of
us, nodoubt, met with more than one military officer who has so imitated themanner of a certain great captain of the age; and has, perhaps, changedhis own natural character and disposition, because Fate had endowed himwith an aquiline nose. In like manner have we not seen many another manpride himself on having a tall forehead and a supposed likeness to Mr.Canning? many another go through life swelling with self-gratificationon account of an imagined resemblance (we say "imagined," because thatany body should be _really_ like that most beautiful and perfect of menis impossible) to the great and revered George IV.: many third parties,who wore low necks to their dresses because they fancied that Lord Byronand themselves were similar in appearance: and has not the grave closedlately upon poor Tom Bickerstaff, who having no more imaginationthan Mr. Joseph Hume, looked in the glass and fancied himself likeShakspeare? shaved his forehead so as farther to resemble the immortalbard, wrote tragedies incessantly, and died perfectly crazy--actuallyperished of his forehead! These or similar freaks of vanity most peoplewho have frequented the world must have seen in their experience. Penlaughed in his roguish sleeve at the manner in which his uncle began toimitate the great man from whom they had just parted: but Mr. Pen was asvain in his own way, perhaps, as the elder gentleman, and strutted, witha very consequential air of his own, by the major's side.
"Yes, my dear boy," said the old bachelor, as they sauntered throughthe Green Park, where many poor children were disporting happily, anderrand boys were playing at toss-halfpenny, and black sheep weregrazing in the sunshine, and an actor was learning his part on a bench,and nursery maids and their charges sauntered here and there, andseveral couples were walking in a leisurely manner; "yes, depend on it,my boy, for a poor man, there is nothing like having good acquaintances.Who were those men, with whom you saw me in the bay-window at Bays's?Two were peers of the realm. Hobananob _will_ be a peer as soon as hisgrand-uncle dies, and he has had his third seizure; and of the otherfour, not one has less than his seven thousand a year. Did you see thatdark blue brougham, with that tremendous stepping horse, waiting at thedoor of the club? You'll know it again. It is Sir Hugh Trumpington's;he was never known to walk in his life; never appears in the streets onfoot--never; and if he is going two doors off, to see his mother, theold dowager (to whom I shall certainly introduce you, for she receivessome of the best company in London), gad, sir, he mounts his horse atNo. 23, and dismounts again at No. 25 A. He is now up-stairs, at Bays's,playing piquet with Count Punter: he is the second-best player inEngland: as well he may be; for he plays every day of his life, exceptSundays (for Sir Hugh is an uncommonly religious man), from half-pastthree to half-past seven, when he dresses for dinner."
"A very pious manner of spending his time," Pen said, laughing, andthinking that his uncle was falling into the twaddling state.
"Gad, sir, that is not the question. A man of his estate may employhis time as he chooses. When you are a baronet, a county member, withten thousand acres of the best land in Cheshire, and such a place asTrumpington (though he never goes there), you may do as you like."
"And so that was his brougham, sir, was it?" the nephew said, withalmost a sneer.
"His brougham--O ay, yes!--and that brings me back to my point--revenonsa nos moutons. Yes, begad! revenons a nos moutons. Well, that broughamis mine, if I choose, between four and seven. Just as much mine as if Ijobbed it from Tilbury's, begad, for thirty pound a month. Sir Hugh isthe best-natured fellow in the world; and if it hadn't been so fine anafternoon as it is, you and I would have been in that brougham at thisvery minute, on our way to Grosvenor-place. That is the benefit ofknowing rich men: I dine for nothing, sir; I go into the country, andI'm mounted for nothing. Other fellows keep hounds and gamekeepers forme. _Sic vos non vobis_, as we used to say at Gray Friars, hey? I'm ofthe opinion of my old friend Leech, of the Forty-fourth; and a devilishgood shrewd fellow he was, as most Scotchmen are. Gad, sir, Leech usedto say, 'He was so poor that he couldn't afford to know a poor man.'"
"You don't act up to your principles, uncle," Pen said, good-naturedly.
"Up to my principles; how, sir?" the major asked, rather testily.
"You would have cut me in Saint James's-street, sir," Pen said, "wereyour practice not more benevolent than your theory; you who live withdukes and magnates of the land, and would take no notice of a poor devillike me." By which speech we may see that Mr. Pen was getting on in theworld, and could flatter as well as laugh in his sleeve.
Major Pendennis was appeased instantly, and very much pleased. He tappedaffectionately his nephew's arm on which he was leaning, and said,"You, sir, you are my flesh and blood! Hang it, sir, I've been veryproud of you and very fond of you, but for your confounded folliesand extravagancies, and wild oats, sir, which I hope you've sown. Yes,begad! I hope you've sown 'em; I hope you've sown 'em, begad! My object,Arthur, is to make a man of you, to see you well placed in the world,as becomes one of your name and my own, sir. You have got yourself alittle reputation by your literary talents, which I am very far fromundervaluing, though in my time, begad, poetry and genius and that sortof thing were devilish disreputable. There was poor Byron, for instance,who ruined himself, and contracted the worst habits by living withpoets and newspaper-writers, and people of that kind. But the times arechanged now--there's a run upon literature--clever fellows get into thebest houses in town, begad! _Tempora mutantur_, sir; and by Jove, Isuppose whatever is is right, as Shakspeare says."
Pen did not think fit to tell his uncle who was the author who had madeuse of that remarkable phrase, and here descending from the Green Park,the pair made their way into Grosvenor-place, and to the door of themansion occupied there by Sir Francis and Lady Clavering.
The dining-room shutters of this handsome mansion were freshly gilded;the knockers shone gorgeous upon the newly-painted door; the balconybefore the drawing-room bloomed with a portable garden of the mostbeautiful plants, and with flowers, white, and pink, and scarlet; thewindows of the upper room (the sacred chamber and dressing-room of mylady, doubtless), and even a pretty little casement of the third story,which keen-sighted Mr. Pen presumed to belong to the virgin bed-room ofMiss Blanche Amory, were similarly adorned with floral ornaments, andthe whole exterior face of the house presented the most brilliant aspectwhich fresh new paint, shining plate glass, newly cleaned bricks, andspotless mortar, could offer to the beholder.
"How Strong must have rejoiced in organizing all this splendor," thoughtPen. He recognized the chevalier's genius in the magnificence beforehim.
"Lady Clavering is going out for her drive," the major said. "Weshall only have to leave our pasteboards, Arthur." He used the word"pasteboards," having heard it from some of the ingenuous youth ofthe nobility about town, and as a modern phrase suited to Pen's tenderyears. Indeed, as the two gentlemen reached the door, a landau drove up,a magnificent yellow carriage, lined with brocade or satin of a faintcream color, drawn by wonderful gray horses, with flaming ribbons, andharness blazing all over with crests: no less than three of theseheraldic emblems surmounted the coats of arms on the panels, and theseshields contained a prodigious number of quarterings, betokening theantiquity and splendor of the house of Clavering and Snell. A coachmanin a tight silver wig surmounted the magnificent hammer-cloth (whereonthe same arms were worked in bullion), and controlled the prancinggrays--a young man still, but of a solemn countenance, with a lacedwaistcoat and buckles in his shoes--little buckles, unlike those whichJohn and Jeames, the footmen, wear, and which we know are large, andspread elegantly over the foot.
One of the leaves of the hall door was opened, and John--one of thelargest of his race--was leaning against the door pillar, with hisambrosial hair powdered, his legs crossed; beautiful, silk-stockinged;in his hand his cane, gold-headed, _dolichoskion_. Jeames was invisible,but near at hand, waiting in the hall, with the gentleman who does notwear livery, and ready to fling down the roll of hair-cloth over whichher ladyship was to step to her carriage. These things and men, thewhich to tell of demands time, are seen in the
glance of a practicedeye: and, in fact, the major and Pen had scarcely crossed the street,when the second _battant_ of the door flew open; the horse-hair carpettumbled down the door-steps to those of the carriage; John was openingit on one side of the emblazoned door, and Jeames on the other, and twoladies, attired in the highest style of fashion, and accompanied by athird, who carried a Blenheim spaniel, yelping in a light blue ribbon,came forth to ascend the carriage.
Miss Amory was the first to enter, which she did with aerial lightness,and took the place which she liked best. Lady Clavering next followed,but her ladyship was more mature of age and heavy of foot, and one ofthose feet, attired in a green satin boot, with some part of a stocking,which was very fine, whatever the ankle might be which it encircled,might be seen swaying on the carriage-step, as her ladyship leaned forsupport on the arm of the unbending Jeames, by the enraptured observerof female beauty who happened to be passing at the time of this imposingceremonial.
The Pendennises, senior and junior, beheld those charms as they cameup to the door--the major looking grave and courtly, and Pen somewhatabashed at the carriage and its owners; for he thought of sundry littlepassages at Clavering, which made his heart beat rather quick.
At that moment Lady Clavering, looking round, saw the pair--she was onthe first carriage-step, and would have been in the vehicle in anothersecond, but she gave a start backward (which caused some of the powderto fly from the hair of ambrosial Jeames), and crying out, "Lor, if itisn't Arthur Pendennis and the old major!" jumped back to terra firmadirectly, and holding out two fat hands, encased in tight orange-coloredgloves, the good-natured woman warmly greeted the major and his nephew.
"Come in both of you. Why haven't you been before? Get out, Blanche,and come and see your old friends. O, I'm so glad to see you. We've beenwaitin and waitin for you ever so long. Come in, luncheon ain't gonedown," cried out this hospitable lady, squeezing Pen's hand in both hers(she had dropped the major's after a brief wrench of recognition), andBlanche, casting up her eyes toward the chimneys, descended from thecarriage presently, with a timid, blushing, appealing look, and gave alittle hand to Major Pendennis.
The companion with the spaniel looked about irresolute, and doubtingwhether she should not take Fido his airing; but she too turned rightabout face and entered the house, after Lady Clavering, her daughter,and the two gentlemen. And the carriage, with the prancing grays, wasleft unoccupied, save by the coachman in the silver wig.