CHAPTER VI.
CONTAINS BOTH LOVE AND WAR.
Cicero and Euripides did not occupy Mr. Pen much for some time afterthis, and honest Mr. Smirke had a very easy time with his pupil. Rebeccawas the animal who suffered most in the present state of Pen's mind for,besides those days when he could publicly announce his intention ofgoing to Chatteries to take a fencing-lesson, and went thither with theknowledge of his mother, whenever he saw three hours clear before him,the young rascal made a rush for the city, and found his way to Prior'sLane. He was as frantic with vexation when Rebecca went lame, as Richardat Bosworth, when his horse was killed under him: and got deeply intothe books of the man who kept the hunting stables at Chatteries for thedoctoring of his own, and the hire of another animal.
Then, and perhaps once in a week, under pretense of going to read aGreek play with Smirke, this young reprobate set off so as to be in timefor the Competitor down coach, staid a couple of hours in Chatteries,and returned on the Rival which left for London at ten at night.Once his secret was nearly lost by Smirke's simplicity, of whom Mrs.Pendennis asked whether they had read a great deal the night before,or a question to that effect. Smirke was about to tell the truth, thathe had never seen Mr. Pen at all, when the latter's boot-heel camegrinding down on Mr. Smirke's toe under the table, and warned the curatenot to betray him.
They had had conversations on the tender subject of course. It is goodsport (if you are not yourself engaged in the conversation) to hear twomen in love talk. There must be a confidant and depositary somewhere.When informed, under the most solemn vows of secrecy, of Pen's conditionof mind, the curate said, with no small tremor, "that he hoped it was nounworthy object--no unlawful attachment, which Pen had formed"--for ifso, the poor fellow felt it would be his duty to break his vow andinform Pen's mother, and then there would be a quarrel, he felt, withsickening apprehension, and he would never again have a chance of seeingwhat he most liked in the world.
"Unlawful, unworthy!" Pen bounced out at the curate's question. "She isas pure as she is beautiful; I would give my heart to no other woman.I keep the matter a secret in my family, because--because--there arereasons of a weighty nature which I am not at liberty to disclose. Butany man who breathes a word against her purity insults both her honorand mine, and--and dammy, I won't stand it."
Smirke, with a faint laugh, only said, "Well, well, don't call me out,Arthur, for you know I can't fight;" but by this compromise the wretchedcurate was put more than ever into the power of his pupil, and the Greekand mathematics suffered correspondingly.
If the reverend gentleman had had much discernment, and looked into thepoet's corner of the County Chronicle, as it arrived in the Wednesday'sbag, he might have seen "Mrs. Haller," "Passion and Genius," "Linesto Miss Fotheringay, of the Theater Royal," appearing every week; andother verses of the most gloomy, thrilling, and passionate cast. Butas these poems were no longer signed NEP. by their artful composer, butsubscribed EROS; neither the tutor nor Helen, the good soul, who cut allher son's verses out of the paper, knew that Nep. was no other than thatflaming Eros, who sang so vehemently the character of the new actress.
"Who is the lady," at last asked Mrs. Pendennis, "whom your rival isalways singing in the County Chronicle. He writes something like you,dear Pen, but yours is much the best. Have you seen Miss Fotheringay?"
Pen said yes, he had; that night he went to see the "Stranger," sheacted Mrs. Haller. By the way she was going to have a benefit, andwas to appear in Ophelia--suppose we were to go--Shakspeare you know,mother--we can get horses from the Clavering Arms. Little Laura sprangup with delight, she longed for a play.
Pen introduced "Shakspeare you know," because the deceased Pendennis,as became a man of his character, professed an uncommon respect for thebard of Avon, in whose works he safely said there was more poetry thanin all "Johnson's Poets" put together. And though Mr. Pendennis did notmuch read the works in question, yet he enjoined Pen to peruse them, andoften said what pleasure he should have, when the boy was of a properage, in taking him and his mother to see some good plays of the immortalpoet.
The ready tears welled up in the kind mother's eyes as she rememberedthese speeches of the man who was gone. She kissed her son fondly, andsaid she would go. Laura jumped for joy. Was Pen happy?--was he ashamed?As he held his mother to him, he longed to tell her all, but he kept hiscounsel. He would see how his mother liked her; the play should be thething, and he would try his mother like Hamlet's.
Helen, in her good humor, asked Mr. Smirke to be of the party. Thatecclesiastic had been bred up by a fond parent at Clapham, who had anobjection to dramatic entertainments, and he had never yet seen a play.But, Shakspeare!--but to go with Mrs. Pendennis in her carriage, andsit a whole night by her side!--he could not resist the idea of so muchpleasure, and made a feeble speech, in which he spoke of temptation andgratitude, and finally accepted Mrs. Pendennis's most kind offer. As hespoke he gave her a look, which made her exceedingly uncomfortable. Shehad seen that look more than once, of late, pursuing her. He became morepositively odious every day in the widow's eyes.
* * * * *
We are not going to say a great deal about Pen's courtship ofMiss Fotheringay, for the reader has already had a specimen of herconversation, much of which need surely not be reported. Pen sate withher hour after hour, and poured forth all his honest boyish soul to her.Every thing he knew, or hoped, or felt, or had read, or fancied, he toldto her. He never tired of talking and longing. One after another, ashis thoughts rose in his hot eager brain, he clothed them in words, andtold them to her. Her part of the _tete-a-tete_ was not to talk, but toappear as if she understood what Pen talked (a difficult matter, for theyoung fellow blurted out no small quantity of nonsense), and to lookexceedingly handsome and sympathizing. The fact is, while he was makingone of his tirades--and delighted, perhaps, and wondering at his owneloquence, the lad would go on for twenty minutes at a time--the lovelyEmily, who could not comprehend a tenth part of his talk, had leisure tothink about her own affairs, and would arrange, in her own mind how theyshould dress the cold mutton, or how she would turn the black satin,or make herself out of her scarf a bonnet like Miss Thackthwaite's newone, and so forth. Pen spouted Byron and Moore; passion and poetry: herbusiness was to throw up her eyes, or fixing them for a moment on hisface, to cry, "Oh, 'tis beautiful! Ah, how exquisite! Repeat thoselines again." And off the boy went, and she returned to her own simplethoughts about the turned gown, or the hashed mutton.
In fact Pen's passion was not long a secret from the lovely Emily orher father. Upon his second visit, his admiration was quite evidentto both of them, and on his departure the old gentleman said to hisdaughter, as he winked at her over his glass of grog, "Faith, Millydarling, I think ye've hooked that chap."
"Pooh, 'tis only a boy, papa dear," Milly remarked. "Sure he's buta child." Pen would have been very much pleased if he had heard thatphrase--he was galloping home wild with pleasure, and shouting out hername as he rode.
"Ye've hooked 'um any how," said the captain, "and let me tell ye he'snot a bad fish. I asked Tom at the George, and Flint, the grocer, wherehis mother dales--fine fortune--drives in her chariot--splendid park andgrounds--Fairoaks Park--only son--property all his own at twenty-one--yemight go further and not fare so well, Miss Fotheringay."
"Them boys are mostly talk," said Milly, seriously. "Ye know at Dublinhow ye went on about young Poldoody, and I've a whole desk full ofverses he wrote me when he was in Trinity College; but he went abroad,and his mother married him to an Englishwoman."
"Lord Poldoody was a young nobleman; and in them it's natural: and yeweren't in the position in which ye are now, Milly dear. But ye mustn'tencourage this young chap too much, for, bedad, Jack Costigan wont haveany thrifling with his daughter."
"No more will his daughter, papa, you may be sure of _that_," Millysaid. "A little sip more of the punch--sure, 'tis beautiful. Ye needn'tbe afraid about the young chap--I think I'm old enough
to take care ofmyself, Captain Costigan."
So Pen used to come day after day, rushing in and galloping away, andgrowing more wild about the girl with every visit. Sometimes the captainwas present at their meetings; but having a perfect confidence in hisdaughter, he was more often inclined to leave the young couple tothemselves, and cocked his hat over his eye, and strutted off on someerrand when Pen entered. How delightful these interviews were! Thecaptain's drawing-room was a low wainscoted room, with a large windowlooking into the dean's garden. There Pen sate and talked--and talkedto Emily, looking beautiful as she sate at her work--looking beautifuland calm, and the sunshine came streaming in at the great windows, andlighted up her superb face and form. In the midst of the conversation,the great bell would begin to boom, and he would pause, smiling, and besilent until the sound of the vast music died away--or the rooks in thecathedral elms would make a great noise toward sunset--or the sound ofthe organ and the choristers would come over the quiet air, and gentlyhush Pen's talking.
By the way, it must be said, that Miss Fotheringay, in a plain shawland a close bonnet and vail, went to church every Sunday of her life,accompanied by her indefatigable father, who gave the responses ina very rich and fine brogue, joined in the psalms and chanting, andbehaved in the most exemplary manner.
Little Bows, the house-friend of the family, was exceedingly wroth atthe notion of Miss Fotheringay's marriage with a stripling seven oreight years her junior. Bows, who was a cripple, and owned that he wasa little more deformed even than Bingley the manager, so that he couldnot appear on the stage, was a singular wild man of no small talents andhumor. Attracted first by Miss Fotheringay's beauty he began to teachher how to act. He shrieked out in his cracked voice the parts, andhis pupil learned them from his lips by rote, and repeated them in herfull rich tones. He indicated the attitudes, and set and moved thosebeautiful arms of hers. Those who remember this grand actress on thestage can recall how she used always precisely the same gestures, looks,and tones: how she stood on the same plank of the stage in the sameposition, rolled her eyes at the same instant and to the same degree,and wept with precisely the same heart-rending pathos, and over the samepathetic syllable. And after she had come out trembling with emotionbefore the audience, and looking so exhausted and tearful that youfancied she would faint with sensibility, she would gather up her hairthe instant she was behind the curtain, and go home to a mutton chop anda glass of brown stout; and the harrowing labors of the day over, shewent to bed and snored as resolutely and as regularly as a porter.
Bows then, was indignant at the notion that his pupil should throw herchances away in life by bestowing her hand upon a little country squire.As soon as a London manager saw her, he prophesied that she would geta London engagement, and a great success. The misfortune was that theLondon managers had seen her. She had played in London three yearsbefore, and failed from utter stupidity. Since then it was that Bowshad taken her in hand and taught her part after part. How he workedand screamed, and twisted, and repeated lines over and over again, andwith what indomitable patience and dullness she followed him! She knewthat he made her: and let herself be made. She was not grateful, orungrateful, or unkind, or ill-humored. She was only stupid; and Penwas madly in love with her.
The post-horses from the Clavering Arms arrived in due time, and carriedthe party to the theater at Chatteries, where Pen was gratified inperceiving that a tolerably large audience was assembled. The younggentlemen from Baymouth had a box, in the front of which sate Mr. Fokerand his friend Mr. Spavin splendidly attired in the most full-blownevening costume. They saluted Pen in a cordial manner, and examined hisparty, of which they approved, for little Laura was a pretty littlered-cheeked girl with a quantity of shining brown ringlets, and Mrs.Pendennis, dressed in black velvet with the diamond cross which shesported on great occasions, looked uncommonly handsome and majestic.Behind these sate Mr. Arthur, and the gentle Smirke, with the curlreposing on his fair forehead, and his white tie in perfect order.He blushed to find himself in such a place--but how happy was he tobe there. He and Mrs. Pendennis brought books of "Hamlet" with themto follow the tragedy, as is the custom of honest country-folks whogo to a play in state. Samuel, coachman, groom, and gardener to Mr.Pendennis took his place in the pit, where Mr. Foker's man was alsovisible. It was dotted with non-commissioned officers of the Dragoons,whose band, by kind permission of Colonel Swallowtail, were as usualin the orchestra; and that corpulent and distinguished warrior himself,with his Waterloo medal and a number of his young men, made a handsomeshow in the boxes.
"Who is that odd-looking person bowing to you, Arthur?" Mrs. Pendennisasked of her son.
Pen blushed a great deal. "His name is Captain Costigan, ma'am," hesaid--a "Peninsular officer." In fact, it was the captain in a newshoot of clothes, as he called them, and with a large pair of whitekid gloves, one of which he waved to Pendennis, while he laid the othersprawling over his heart and coat buttons. Pen did not say any more.And how was Mrs. Pendennis to know that Mr. Costigan was the fatherof Miss Fotheringay?
Mr. Hornbull, from London, was the Hamlet of the night, Mr. Bingleymodestly contenting himself with the part of Horatio, and reserving hischief strength for William in "Black-Eyed Susan," which was the secondpiece.
We have nothing to do with the play: except to say, that Ophelia lookedlovely, and performed with admirable wild pathos: laughing, weeping,gazing wildly, waving her beautiful white arms, and flinging about hersnatches of flowers and songs with the most charming madness. What anopportunity her splendid black hair had of tossing over her shoulders!She made the most charming corpse ever seen; and while Hamlet andLaertes were battling in her grave, she was looking out from the backscenes with some curiosity toward Pen's box, and the family partyassembled in it.
There was but one voice in her praise there. Mrs. Pendennis was inecstasies with her beauty. Little Laura was bewildered by the piece,and the Ghost, and the play within the play (during which, as Hamletlay at Ophelia's knee, Pen felt that he would have liked to strangle Mr.Hornbull), but cried out great praises of that beautiful young creature.Pen was charmed with the effect which she produced on his mother--andthe clergyman, for his part, was exceedingly enthusiastic.
When the curtain fell upon that group of slaughtered personages,who are dispatched so suddenly at the end of "Hamlet," and whosedemise astonished poor little Laura not a little, there was an immenseshouting and applause from all quarters of the house; the intrepidSmirke, violently excited, clapped his hands, and cried out "Bravo,Bravo," as loud as the Dragoon officers themselves. These were greatlymoved--_ils s'agitaient sur leurs bancs_--to borrow a phrase from ourneighbors. They were led cheering into action by the portly Swallowtail,who waved his cap--the non-commissioned officers in the pit, of course,gallantly following their chiefs. There was a roar of bravos rangthrough the house: Pen bellowing with the loudest, "Fotheringay,Fotheringay!" and Messrs. Spavin and Foker giving the view halloofrom their box. Even Mrs. Pendennis began to wave about herpocket-handkerchief, and little Laura danced, laughed, clapped, andlooked up at Pen with wonder.
Hornbull led the _beneficiaire_ forward amidst bursts of enthusiasm--andshe looked so handsome and radiant, with her hair still over hershoulders, that Pen hardly could contain himself for rapture; and heleaned over his mother's chair and shouted, and hurrayed and waved hishat. It was all he could do to keep his secret from Helen, and not say,"Look! That's the woman! Isn't she peerless? I tell you I love her." Buthe disguised these feelings under an enormous bellowing and hurraying.
As for Miss Fotheringay and her behavior, the reader is referred to aformer page for an account of that. She went through precisely the samebusiness. She surveyed the house all round with glances of gratitude;and trembled, and almost sank with emotion, over her favorite trap-door.She seized the flowers (Foker discharged a prodigious bouquet at her,and even Smirke made a feeble shy with a rose, and blushed dreadfullywhen it fell into the pit). She seized the flowers and pressed them toher swelling heart--&
c. &c.--in a word--we refer the reader to page 46.Twinkling in her breast poor old Pen saw a locket which he had bought ofMr. Nathan in High-street, with the last shilling he was worth and asovereign borrowed from Smirke.
"Black-Eyed Susan" followed, at which sweet story our gentle-heartedfriends were exceedingly charmed and affected: and in which Susan, witha russet gown and a pink ribbon in her cap, looked to the full as lovelyas Ophelia. Bingley was great in William. Goll, as the admiral, lookedlike the figure-head of a seventy-four; and Garbetts, as CaptainBoldweather, a miscreant who forms a plan for carrying off Black-eyedSusan, and, waving an immense cocked hat, says, "Come what may, he_will_ be the ruin of her"--all these performed their parts with theiraccustomed talent; and it was with a sincere regret that all our friendssaw the curtain drop down and end that pretty and tender story.
If Pen had been alone with his mother in the carriage as they went home,he would have told her all that night; but he sate on the box in themoonshine smoking a cigar by the side of Smirke, who warmed himself witha comforter. Mr. Foker's tandem and lamps whirled by the sober oldClavering posters, as they were a couple of miles on their road home,and Mr. Spavin saluted Mrs. Pendennis's carriage with some considerablevariations of Rule Britannia on the key-bugle.
* * * * *
It happened two days after the above gayeties that Mr. Dean ofChatteries entertained a few select clerical friends at dinner at hisDeanery House. That they drank uncommonly good port wine, and abused thebishop over their dessert, are very likely matters; but with such wehave nothing at present to do. Our friend Doctor Portman, of Clavering,was one of the dean's guests, and being a gallant man, and seeing fromhis place at the mahogany, the dean's lady walking up and down thegrass, with her children sporting around her, and her pink parasol overher lovely head--the doctor stepped out of the French windows of thedining-room into the lawn, which skirts that apartment, and left theother white neckcloths to gird at my lord bishop. Then the doctor wentup and offered Mrs. Dean his arm, and they sauntered over the ancientvelvet lawn, which had been mowed and rolled for immemorial deans, inthat easy, quiet, comfortable manner, in which people of middle age andgood temper walk after a good dinner, in a calm golden summer evening,when the sun has but just sunk behind the enormous cathedral-towers, andthe sickle-shaped moon is growing every instant brighter in the heavens.
Now at the end of the dean's garden, there is, as we have stated, Mrs.Creed's house, and the windows of the first-floor room were open toadmit the pleasant summer air. A young lady of six-and-twenty, whoseeyes were perfectly wide open, and a luckless boy of eighteen, blindwith love and infatuation, were in that chamber together; in whichpersons, as we have before seen them in the same place, the readerwill have no difficulty in recognizing Mr. Arthur Pendennis and MissCostigan.
The poor boy had taken the plunge. Trembling with passionate emotion,his heart beating and throbbing fiercely, tears rushing forth in spiteof him, his voice almost choking with feeling, poor Pen had said thosewords which he could withhold no more, and flung himself and his wholestore of love, and admiration, and ardor, at the feet of this maturebeauty. Is he the first who has done so? Have none before or afterhim staked all their treasure of life, as a savage does his land andpossessions against a draught of the fair-skins' fire-water, or a coupleof bauble eyes?
"Does your mother know of this, _Arthur_?" said Miss Fotheringay,slowly. He seized her hand madly, and kissed it a thousand times.She did not withdraw it. "_Does_ the old lady know it?" Miss Costiganthought to herself "well, perhaps she may," and then she remembered whata handsome diamond cross Mrs. Pendennis had on the night of the play,and thought, "sure 'twill go in the family."
"Calm yourself, dear Arthur," she said, in her low rich voice, andsmiled sweetly and gravely upon him. Then, with her disengaged hand,she put the hair lightly off his throbbing forehead. He was in such arapture and whirl of happiness that he could hardly speak. At last hegasped out, "My mother has seen you, and admires you beyond measure.She will learn to love you soon: who can do otherwise? She will loveyou because I do."
"'Deed then, I think you do," said Miss Costigan, perhaps with a sortof pity for Pen.
Think he did! Of course here Mr. Pen went off into a rhapsody throughwhich, as we have perfect command over our own feelings, we have noreason to follow the lad. Of course, love, truth, and eternity wereproduced; and words were tried but found impossible to plumb thetremendous depth of his affection. This speech, we say, is no businessof ours. It was most likely not very wise, but what right have we tooverhear? Let the poor boy fling out his simple heart at the woman'sfeet, and deal gently with him. It is best to love wisely, no doubt; butto love foolishly is better than not to be able to love at all. Some ofus can't; and are proud of our impotence too.
At the end of his speech Pen again kissed the imperial hand withrapture--and I believe it was at this very moment, and while Mrs. Deanand Doctor Portman were engaged in conversation, that young MasterRidley Roset, her son, pulled his mother by the back of her capaciousdress, and said--
"I say, ma! look up there"--and he waggled his innocent head.
That was, indeed, a view from the dean's garden such as seldom is seenby deans--or is written in chapters. There was poor Pen performing asalute upon the rosy fingers of his charmer, who received the embracewith perfect calmness and good humor. Master Ridley looked up andgrinned, little Miss Rosa looked at her brother, and opened the mouthof astonishment. Mrs. Dean's countenance defied expression, and as forDr. Portman, when he beheld the scene, and saw his prime favorite anddear pupil Pen, he stood mute with rage and wonder.
Mrs. Haller spied the party below at the same moment, and gave a startand a laugh. "Sure there's somebody in the dean's garden," she criedout; and withdrew with perfect calmness, while Pen darted away with hisface glowing like coals. The garden party had re-entered the house whenhe ventured to look out again. The sickle moon was blazing bright inthe heavens then, the stars were glittering, the bell of the cathedraltolling nine, the dean's guests (all save one, who had called for hishorse Dumpling, and ridden off early) were partaking of tea and butteredcakes in Mrs. Dean's drawing-room--when Pen took leave of Miss Costigan.
* * * * *
Pen arrived at home in due time afterward; and was going to slip off tobed, for the poor lad was greatly worn and agitated, and his high-strungnerves had been at almost a maddening pitch--when a summons came to himby John, the old footman, whose countenance bore a very ominous look,that his mother must see him below.
On this he tied on his neckcloth again, and went down stairs to thedrawing-room. There sate not only his mother, but her friend, theReverend Doctor Portman. Helen's face looked very pale by the light ofthe lamp--the doctor's was flushed, on the contrary, and quivering withanger and emotion.
Pen saw at once that there was a crisis, and that there had been adiscovery. "Now for it," he thought.
"Where have you been, Arthur?" Helen said, in a trembling voice.
"How can you look that--that dear lady, and a Christian clergyman in theface, sir?" bounced out the doctor, in spite of Helen's pale, appealinglooks. "Where has he been? Where his mother's son should have beenashamed to go. For your mother's an angel, sir, an angel. How dare youbring pollution into her house, and make that spotless creature wretchedwith the thoughts of your crime?"
"Sir!" said Pen.
"Don't deny it, sir," roared the doctor. "Don't add lies, sir, to yourother infamy. I saw you myself, sir. I saw you from the dean's garden.I saw you kissing the hand of that infernal painted--"
"Stop," Pen said, clapping his fist on the table, till the lampflickered up and shook, "I am a very young man, but you will please toremember that I am a gentleman--I will hear no abuse of that lady."
"Lady, sir," cried the doctor, "_that_ a lady--you--you--you stand inyour mother's presence and call that--that woman a lady!--"
"In any body's presence," shouted out Pen. "She is worthy of
any place.She is as pure as any woman. She is as good as she is beautiful. If anyman but you insulted her, I would tell him what I thought; but as youare my oldest friend, I suppose you have the privilege to doubt of myhonor."
"No, no, Pen, dearest Pen," cried out Helen in an excess of joy. "Itold, I told you, doctor, he was not--not what you thought;" and thetender creature coming trembling forward flung herself on Pen'sshoulder.
Pen felt himself a man, and a match for all the doctors in doctordom.He was glad this explanation had come. "You saw how beautiful she was,"he said to his mother, with a soothing, protecting air, like Hamletwith Gertrude in the play. "I tell you, dear mother, she is as good.When you know her you will say so. She is of all, except you, thesimplest, the kindest, the most affectionate of women. Why should shenot be on the stage?--She maintains her father by her labor."
"Drunken old reprobate," growled the doctor, but Pen did not hear orheed.
"If you could see, as I have, how orderly her life is, how pure andpious her whole conduct, you would--as I do--yes, as I do"--(with asavage look at the doctor)--"spurn the slanderer who dared to do herwrong. Her father was an officer, and distinguished himself in Spain.He was a friend of His Royal Highness the Duke of Kent, and isintimately known to the Duke of Wellington, and some of the firstofficers of our army. He has met my uncle Arthur at Lord Hill's, hethinks. His own family is one of the most ancient and respectable inIreland, and indeed is as good as our own. The--the Costigans, werekings of Ireland."
"Why, God bless my soul," shrieked out the doctor, hardly knowingwhether to burst with rage or laughter, "you don't mean to say youwant to _marry_ her?"
Pen put on his most princely air. "What else, Dr. Portman," he said,"do you suppose would be my desire?"
Utterly foiled in his attack, and knocked down by this sudden lunge ofPen's, the doctor could only gasp out, "Mrs. Pendennis, ma'am, send forthe major."
"Send for the major? with all my heart," said Arthur, Prince ofPendennis and Grand Duke of Fairoaks, with a most superb wave of thehand. And the colloquy terminated by the writing of those two letterswhich were laid on Major Pendennis's breakfast-table, in London, atthe commencement of Prince Arthur's most veracious history.