CHAPTER XII.
THE HAPPY VILLAGE AGAIN.
Early in this history, we have had occasion to speak of the littletown of Clavering, near which Pen's paternal home of Fairoaks stood,and of some of the people who inhabited the place, and as the societythere was by no means amusing or pleasant, our reports concerning itwere not carried to any very great length. Mr. Samuel Huxter, thegentleman whose acquaintance we lately made at Vauxhall, was one ofthe choice spirits of the little town, when he visited it during hisvacations, and enlivened the tables of his friends there, by the witof Bartholomew's and the gossip of the fashionable London circleswhich he frequented.
Mr. Hobnell, the young gentleman whom Pen had thrashed, in consequenceof the quarrel in the Fotheringay affair, was, while a pupil at theGrammar-school at Clavering, made very welcome at the tea-table ofMrs. Huxter, Samuel's mother, and was free of the surgery, where heknew the way to the tamarind-pots, and could scent his pocket-handkerchiefwith rose-water. And it was at this period of his life that he formed anattachment for Miss Sophy Huxter, whom, on his father's demise, hemarried, and took home to his house of the Warren, at a few miles fromClavering.
The family had possessed and cultivated an estate there for many yearsas yeomen and farmers. Mr. Hobnell's father pulled down the oldfarm-house; built a flaring new white-washed mansion, with capaciousstables; and a piano in the drawing-room; kept a pack of harriers; andassumed the title of Squire Hobnell. When he died, and his son reignedin his stead, the family might be fairly considered to be establishedas county gentry. And Sam Huxter, at London, did no great wrong inboasting about his brother-in-law's place, his hounds, horses, andhospitality, to his admiring comrades at Bartholomew's. Every year, ata time commonly when Mrs. Hobnell could not leave the increasingduties of her nursery, Hobnell came up to London for a lark, had roomsat the Tavistock, and indulged in the pleasures of the town together.Ascott, the theaters, Vauxhall, and the convivial taverns in thejoyous neighborhood of Covent Garden, were visited by the vivacioussquire, in company with his learned brother. When he was in London, ashe said, he liked to do as London does, and to "go it a bit," and whenhe returned to the west, he took a new bonnet and shawl to Mrs.Hobnell, and relinquished for country sports and occupations, duringthe next eleven months, the elegant amusements of London life.
Sam Huxter kept up a correspondence with his relative, and suppliedhim with choice news of the metropolis, in return for the baskets ofhares, partridges, and clouted cream which the squire and hisgood-natured wife forwarded to Sam. A youth more brilliant anddistinguished they did not know. He was the life and soul of theirhouse, when he made his appearance in his native place. His songs,jokes, and fun kept the Warren in a roar. He had saved their eldestdarling's life, by taking a fish-bone out of her throat; in fine, hewas the delight of their circle.
As ill-luck would have it, Pen again fell in with Mr. Huxter, onlythree days after the rencounter at Vauxhall. Faithful to his vow, hehad not been to see little Fanny. He was trying to drive her from hismind by occupation, or other mental excitement. He labored, though notto much profit, incessantly in his rooms; and, in his capacity ofcritic for the "Pall Mall Gazette," made woeful and savage onslaughton a poem and a romance which came before him for judgment. Theseauthors slain, he went to dine alone at the lonely club of thePolyanthus, where the vast solitudes frightened him, and made him onlythe more moody. He had been to more theaters for relaxation. The wholehouse was roaring with laughter and applause, and he saw only anignoble farce that made him sad. It would have damped the spirits ofthe buffoon on the stage to have seen Pen's dismal face. He hardlyknew what was happening; the scene, and the drama passed before himlike a dream or a fever. Then he thought he would go to theBack-Kitchen, his old haunt with Warrington--he was not a bit sleepyyet. The day before he had walked twenty miles in search after rest,over Hampstead Common and Hendon lanes, and had got no sleep at night.He would go to the Back-Kitchen. It was a sort of comfort to him tothink he should see Bows. Bows was there, very calm, presiding at theold piano. Some tremendous comic songs were sung, which made the roomcrack with laughter. How strange they seemed to Pen! He could only seeBows. In an extinct volcano, such as he boasted that his breast was,it was wonderful how he should feel such a flame! Two days' indulgencehad kindled it; two days' abstinence had set it burning in fury. So,musing upon this, and drinking down one glass after another, asill-luck would have it, Arthur's eyes lighted upon Mr. Huxter, who hadbeen to the theater, like himself, and, with two or three comrades,now entered the room, Huxter whispered to his companions, greatly toPen's annoyance. Arthur felt that the other was talking about him.Huxter then worked through the room, followed by his friends, and cameand took a place opposite to Pen, nodding familiarly to him, andholding him out a dirty hand to shake.
Pen shook hands with his fellow townsman. He thought he had beenneedlessly savage to him on the last night when they had met. As forHuxter, perfectly at good humor with himself and the world, it neverentered his mind that he could be disagreeable to any body; and thelittle dispute, or "chaff," as he styled it, of Vauxhall, was a triflewhich he did not in the least regard.
The disciple of Galen having called for "four stouts," with which heand his party refreshed themselves, began to think what would be themost amusing topic of conversation with Pen, and hit upon that preciseone which was most painful to our young gentleman.
"Jolly night at Vauxhall--wasn't it?" he said, and winked in a veryknowing way.
"I'm glad you liked it," poor Pen said, groaning in spirit.
"I was dev'lish cut--uncommon--been dining with some chaps atGreenwich. That was a pretty bit of muslin hanging on your arm--whowas she?" asked the fascinating student.
The question was too much for Arthur. "Have I asked you any questionsabout yourself, Mr. Huxter?" he said.
"I didn't mean any offense--beg pardon--hang it, you cut up quitesavage," said Pen's astonished interlocutor.
"Do you remember what took place between us the other night?" Penasked, with gathering wrath. "You forget? Very probably. You weretipsy, as you observed just now, and very rude."
"Hang it, sir, I asked your pardon," Huxter said, looking red.
"You did certainly, and it was granted with all my heart, I am sure.But if you recollect I begged that you would have the goodness to omitme from the list of your acquaintance for the future; and when we metin public, that you would not take the trouble to recognize me. Willyou please to remember this hereafter; and as the song is beginning,permit me to leave you to the unrestrained enjoyment of the music."
He took his hat, and making a bow to the amazed Mr. Huxter, left thetable, as Huxter's comrades, after a pause of wonder, set up such aroar of laughter at Huxter, as called for the intervention of thepresident of the room; who bawled out, "Silence, gentlemen; do havesilence for the Body Snatcher!" which popular song began as Pen leftthe Back-Kitchen. He flattered himself that he had commanded histemper perfectly. He rather wished that Huxter had been pugnacious. Hewould have liked to fight him or somebody. He went home. The day'swork, the dinner, the play, the whisky-and-water, the quarrel--nothing soothed him. He slept no better than on the previous night.
A few days afterward, Mr. Sam Huxter wrote home a letter to Mr.Hobnell in the country, of which Mr. Arthur Pendennis formed theprincipal subject. Sam described Arthur's pursuits in London, and hisconfounded insolence of behavior to his old friends from home. Hesaid he was an abandoned criminal, a regular Don Juan, a fellow who,when he _did_ come into the country, ought to be kept out of _honestpeople's houses_. He had seen him at Vauxhall, dancing with aninnocent girl in the lower ranks of life, of whom he was making avictim. He had found out from an Irish gentleman (formerly in thearmy), who frequented a club of which he, Huxter, was member, who thegirl was, on whom this _conceited humbug_ was practicing his infernalarts; and he thought he should warn her father, &c., &c.,--the letterthen touched on general news, conveyed the writer's thanks for thelast parcel and the rabbits, and hinted his
extreme readiness forfurther favors.
About once a year, as we have stated, there was occasion for achristening at the Warren, and it happened that this ceremony tookplace a day after Hobnell had received the letter of hisbrother-in-law in town. The infant (a darling little girl) waschristened Myra-Lucretia, after its two godmothers, Miss Portman andMrs. Pybus of Clavering, and as of course Hobnell had communicatedSam's letter to his wife, Mrs. Hobnell imparted its horrid contents toher two gossips. A pretty story it was, and prettily it was toldthroughout Clavering in the course of that day.
Myra did not--she was too much shocked to do so--speak on the matterto her mamma, but Mrs. Pybus had no such feelings of reserve. Shetalked over the matter not only with Mrs. Portman, but with Mr. andthe Honorable Mrs. Simcoe, with Mrs. Glanders, her daughters being tothat end ordered out of the room, with Madame Fribsby, and, in a word,with the whole of the Clavering society. Madam Fribsby lookingfurtively up at her picture of the dragoon, and inwards into her ownwounded memory, said that men would be men, and as long as they weremen would be deceivers; and she pensively quoted some lines fromMarmion, requesting to know where deceiving lovers should rest? Mrs.Pybus had no words of hatred, horror, contempt, strong enough for avillain who could be capable of conduct so base. This was what came ofearly indulgence, and insolence, and extravagance, and aristocraticairs (it is certain that Pen had refused to drink tea with Mrs.Pybus), and attending the corrupt and horrid parties in the dreadfulmodern Babylon! Mrs. Portman was afraid that she must acknowledge thatthe mother's fatal partiality had spoiled this boy, that his literarysuccesses had turned his head, and his horrid passions had made himforget the principles which Dr. Portman had instilled into him inearly life. Glanders, the atrocious Captain of Dragoons, when informedof the occurrence by Mrs. Glanders, whistled and made jocularallusions to it at dinner time; on which Mrs. Glanders called him abrute, and ordered the girls again out of the room, as the horridcaptain burst out laughing. Mr. Simcoe was calm under theintelligence; but rather pleased than otherwise; it only served toconfirm the opinion which he had always had of that wretched youngman: not that he knew any thing about him--not that he had read oneline of his dangerous and poisonous works; Heaven forbid that heshould: but what could be expected from such a youth, and suchfrightful, such lamentable, such deplorable want of seriousness? Penformed the subject for a second sermon at the Clavering chapel ofease: where the dangers of London, and the crime of reading andwriting novels, were pointed out on a Sunday evening to a large andwarm congregation. They did not wait to hear whether he was guilty ornot. They took his wickedness for granted: and with these admirablemoralists, it was who should fling the stone at poor Pen.
The next day Mrs. Pendennis, alone and almost fainting with emotionand fatigue, walked or rather ran to Dr. Portman's house, to consultthe good doctor. She had had an anonymous letter; some Christian hadthought it his or her duty to stab the good soul who had never donemortal a wrong--an anonymous letter with references to Scripture,pointing out the doom of such sinners, and a detailed account of Pen'scrime. She was in a state of terror and excitement pitiable towitness. Two or three hours of this pain had aged her already. In herfirst moment of agitation she had dropped the letter, and Laura hadread it. Laura blushed when she read it; her whole frame trembled, butit was with anger. "The cowards," she said. "It isn't true. No,mother, it isn't true."
"It _is_ true, and you've done it, Laura," cried out Helen fiercely."Why did you refuse him when he asked you? Why did you break my heartand refuse him? It is you who led him into crime. It is you who flunghim into the arms of this--this woman. Don't speak to me. Don't answerme. I will never forgive you, never. Martha, bring me my bonnet andshawl. I'll go out. I won't have you come with me. Go away. Leave me,cruel girl; why have you brought this shame on me?" And bidding herdaughter and her servants keep away from her, she ran down the road toClavering.
Doctor Portman, glancing over the letter, thought he knew the handwriting, and, of course, was already acquainted with the charge madeagainst poor Pen. Against his own conscience, perhaps (for the worthydoctor, like most of us, had a considerable natural aptitude forreceiving any report unfavorable to his neighbors), he strove toconsole Helen; he pointed out that the slander came from an anonymousquarter, and therefore must be the work of a rascal; that the chargemight not be true--was not true, most likely--at least, that Pen mustbe heard before he was condemned; that the son of such a mother wasnot likely to commit such a crime, &c., &c.
Helen at once saw through his feint of objection and denial. "Youthink he has done it," she said, "you know you think he has done it,Oh, why did I ever leave him, Doctor Portman, or suffer him away fromme? But he can't be dishonest--pray God, not dishonest--you don'tthink that, do you? Remember his conduct about that other--person--how madly he was attached to her. He was an honest boy then--he isnow. And I thank God--yes, I fall down on my knees and thank God hepaid Laura. You said he was good--you did yourself. And now--if thiswoman loves him--and you know they must--if he has taken her from herhome, or she tempted him, which is most likely-why still, she must behis wife and my daughter. And he must leave the dreadful world andcome back to me--to his mother, Doctor Portman. Let us go away andbring him back--yes--bring him back--and there shall be joy forthe--the sinner that repenteth. Let us go now, directly, dearfriend--this very--"
Helen could say no more. She fell back and fainted. She was carried toa bed in the house of the pitying doctor, and the surgeon was calledto attend her. She lay all night in an alarming state. Laura came toher, or to the rectory rather; for she would not see Laura. And DoctorPortman, still beseeching her to be tranquil, and growing bolder andmore confident of Arthur's innocence as he witnessed the terriblegrief of the poor mother, wrote a letter to Pen warning him of therumors that were against him, and earnestly praying that he wouldbreak off and repent of a connection so fatal to his best interestsand his soul's welfare.
And Laura?--was her heart not wrung by the thought of Arthur's crimeand Helen's estrangement? Was it not a bitter blow for the innocentgirl to think that at one stroke she should lose _all_ the love whichshe cared for in the world?