CHAPTER XXI.
EXPLANATIONS.
Almost a year, as the reader will perceive, has passed since an eventdescribed a few pages back. Arthur's black coat is about to beexchanged for a blue one. His person has undergone other more pleasingand remarkable changes. His wig has been laid aside, and his hair,though somewhat thinner, has returned to public view. And he has hadthe honor of appearing at court in the uniform of a cornet of theClavering troop of the----shire Yeomanry Cavalry, being presented tothe sovereign by the Marquis of Steyne.
This was a measure strongly and pathetically urged by Arthur's uncle.The major would not hear of a year passing before this ceremony ofgentlemanhood was gone through. The old gentleman thought that hisnephew should belong to some rather more select club than theMegatherium; and has announced every where in the world hisdisappointment that the young man's property has turned out not by anymeans as well as he could have hoped, and is under fifteen hundreda year.
That is the amount at which Pendennis's property is set down in theworld, where his publishers begin to respect him much more thanformerly, and where even mammas are by no means uncivil to him. For ifthe pretty daughters are, naturally, to marry people of very differentexpectations, at any rate, he will be eligible for the plain ones; andif the brilliant and fascinating Myra is to hook an earl, poor littleBeatrice, who has one shoulder higher than the other, must hang on tosome boor through life, and why should not Mr. Pendennis be hersupport? In the very first winter after the accession to his mother'sfortune, Mrs. Hawxby in a country-house caused her Beatrice to learnbilliards from Mr. Pendennis, and would be driven by nobody but him inthe pony carriage, because he was literary and her Beatrice wasliterary too, and declared that the young man, under the instigationof his horrid old uncle, had behaved most infamously in trifling withBeatrice's feelings. The truth is, the old gentleman, who knew Mrs.Hawxby's character, and how desperately that lady would practice uponunwary young men, had come to the country-house in question andcarried Arthur out of the danger of her immediate claws, though notout of the reach of her tongue. The elder Pendennis would have had hisnephew pass a part of the Christmas at Clavering, whither the familyhad returned; but Arthur had not the heart for that. Clavering was toonear poor old Fairoaks; and that was too full of sad recollections forthe young man.
We have lost sight of the Claverings, too, until their reappearanceupon the Epsom race-ground, and must give a brief account of them inthe interval. During the past year, the world has not treated anymember of the Clavering family very kindly. Lady Clavering, one of thebest-natured women that ever enjoyed a good dinner, or made a slip ingrammar, has had her appetite and good-nature sadly tried by constantfamily grievances, and disputes such as make the efforts of the bestFrench cook unpalatable, and the most delicately-stuffed sofa-cushionhard to lie on. "I'd rather have a turnip, Strong, for dessert, thanthat pineapple, and all them Muscatel grapes, from Clavering," sayspoor Lady Clavering, looking at her dinner-table, and confiding hergriefs to her faithful friend, "if I could but have a little quiet toeat it with. Oh, how much happier I was when I was a widow, and beforeall this money fell in to me!"
The Clavering family had indeed made a false start in life, and hadgot neither comfort, nor position, nor thanks for the hospitalitieswhich they administered, nor a return of kindness from the people whomthey entertained. The success of their first London season wasdoubtful; and their failure afterward notorious. "Human patience wasnot great enough to put up with Sir Francis Clavering," people said."He was too hopelessly low, dull, and disreputable. You could not saywhat, but there was a taint about the house and its _entourages_. Whowas the Begum, with her money, and without her h's, and where did shecome from? What an extraordinary little piece of conceit the daughterwas, with her Gallicised graces and daring affectations, not fit forwell-bred English girls to associate with! What strange people werethose they assembled round about them! Sir Francis Clavering was agambler, living notoriously in the society of blacklegs andprofligates. Hely Clinker, who was in his regiment, said that he notonly cheated at cards, but showed the white feather. What could LadyRockminster have meant by taking her up?" After the first season,indeed, Lady Rockminster, who had taken up Lady Clavering, put herdown; the great ladies would not take their daughters to her parties;the young men who attended them behaved with the most odious freedomand scornful familiarity; and poor Lady Clavering herself avowed thatshe was obliged to take what she called "the canal" into her parlor,because the tiptops wouldn't come.
She had not the slightest ill-will toward "the canal," the poor, dearlady, or any pride about herself, or idea that she was better than herneighbor; but she had taken implicitly the orders which, on her entryinto the world, her social godmother had given her: she had beenwilling to know whom they knew, and ask whom they asked. The "canal,"in fact, was much pleasanter than what is called "society;" but, as wesaid before, that to leave a mistress is easy, while, on the contrary,to be left by her is cruel; so you may give up society without anygreat pang, or any thing but a sensation of relief at the parting; butsevere are the mortifications and pains you have if society givesup you.
One young man of fashion we have mentioned, who at least, it mighthave been expected, would have been found faithful among thefaithless, and Harry Foker, Esq., was indeed that young man. But hehad not managed matters with prudence, and the unhappy passion atfirst confided to Pen became notorious and ridiculous to the town, wascarried to the ears of his weak and fond mother, and finally broughtunder the cognizance of the bald-headed and inflexible Foker senior.
When Mr. Foker learned this disagreeable news, there took placebetween him and his son a violent and painful scene which ended in thepoor little gentleman's banishment from England for a year, with apositive order to return at the expiration of that time and completehis marriage with his cousin, or to retire into private life and threehundred a year altogether, and never see parent or brewery more. Mr.Henry Foker went away, then, carrying with him that grief and carewhich passes free at the strictest custom-houses, and whichproverbially accompanies the exile, and with this crape over his eyes,even the Parisian Boulevard looked melancholy to him, and the sky ofItaly black.
To Sir Francis Clavering, that year was a most unfortunate one. Theevents described in the last chapter came to complete the ruin of theyear. It was that year of grace in which, as our sporting readers mayremember, Lord Harrowhill's horse (he was a classical young nobleman,and named his stud out of the Iliad)--when Podasokus won the "Derby,"to the dismay of the knowing ones, who pronounced the winning horse'sname in various extraordinary ways, and who backed Borax, who wasnowhere in the race. Sir Francis Clavering, who was intimate with someof the most rascally characters of the turf, and, of course, hadvaluable "information," had laid heavy odds against the winning horse,and backed the favorite freely, and the result of his dealings was, ashis son correctly stated to poor Lady Clavering, a loss of seventhousand pounds.
Indeed, it was a cruel blow upon the lady, who had discharged herhusband's debts many times over; who had received as many times hisoaths and promises of amendment; who had paid his money-lenders andhorse-dealers; who had furnished his town and country houses, and whowas called upon now instantly to meet this enormous sum, the penaltyof her cowardly husband's extravagance. It has been described informer pages how the elder Pendennis had become the adviser of theClavering family, and, in his quality of intimate friend of the house,had gone over every room of it, and even seen that ugly closet whichwe all of us have, and in which, according to the proverb, the familyskeleton is locked up. About the baronet's pecuniary matters, if themajor did not know, it was because Clavering himself did not knowthem, and hid them from himself and others in such a hopelessentanglement of lies that it was impossible for adviser or attorney orprincipal to get an accurate knowledge of his affairs. But, concerningLady Clavering, the major was much better informed; and when theunlucky mishap of the "Derby" arose, he took upon himself to becomecompletely and thoroughly a
cquainted with all her means, whatsoeverthey where; and was now accurately informed of the vast and repeatedsacrifices which the widow Amory had made in behalf of herpresent husband.
He did not conceal--and he had won no small favor from Miss Blanche byavowing it--his opinion, that Lady Clavering's daughter had beenhardly treated at the expense of her son by her second marriage: andin his conversations with Lady Clavering had fairly hinted that hethought Miss Blanche ought to have a better provision. We have saidthat he had already given the widow to understand that he knew _all_the particulars of her early and unfortunate history, having been inIndia at the time when--when the painful circumstances occurred whichhad ended in her parting from her first husband. He could tell herwhere to find the Calcutta newspaper which contained the account ofAmory's trial, and he showed, and the Begum was not a little gratefulto him for his forbearance, how being aware all along of this mishapwhich had befallen her, he had kept all knowledge of it to himself,and been constantly the friend of her family.
"Interested motives, my dear Lady Clavering," he said, "of course Imay have had. We all have interested motives, and mine I don't concealfrom you, was to make a marriage between my nephew and your daughter."To which Lady Clavering, perhaps with some surprise that the majorshould choose her family for a union with his own, said she was quitewilling to consent.
But frankly he said, "My dear lady, my boy has but five hundred ayear, and a wife with ten thousand pounds to her fortune wouldscarcely better him. We could do better for him than that, permit meto say, and he is a shrewd, cautious young fellow who has sown hiswild oats now--who has very good parts and plenty of ambition--andwhose object in marrying is to better himself. If you and Sir Francischose--and Sir Francis, take my word for it, will refuse younothing--you could put Arthur in a way to advance very considerably inthe world, and show the stuff which he has in him. Of what use is thatseat in Parliament to Clavering, who scarcely ever shows his face inthe House, or speaks a word there? I'm told by gentlemen who heard myboy at Oxbridge, that he was famous as an orator, begad!--and once puthis foot into the stirrup and mount him, I've no doubt he won't be the last of the field ma'am. I've tested the chap, and know him prettywell, I think. He is much too lazy, and careless, and flighty afellow, to make a jog-trot journey, and arrive, as your lawyers do, atthe end of their lives! but give him a start and good friends, and anopportunity, and take my word for it, he'll make himself a name thathis sons shall be proud of. I don't see any way for a fellow like himto _parvenir_, but by making a prudent marriage--not with a beggerlyheiress--to sit down for life upon a miserable fifteen hundred ayear--but with somebody whom he can help, and who can help him forwardin the world, and whom he can give a good name and a station in thecountry, begad, in return for the advantages which she brings him. Itwould be better for you to have a distinguished son-in-law, than tokeep your husband on in Parliament, who's of no good to himself or toany body else there, and that's, I say, why I've been interested aboutyou, and offer you what I think a good bargain for both."
"You know I look upon Arthur as one of the family almost now," saidthe good-natured Begum; "he comes and goes when he likes; and the moreI think of his dear mother, the more I see there's few people sogood--none so good to me. And I'm sure I cried when I heard of herdeath, and would have gone into mourning for her myself, only blackdon't become me. And I know who his mother wanted him to marry--Laura, I mean--whom old Lady Rockminster has taken such a fancy to,and no wonder. She's a better girl than my girl. I know both, And myBetsy--Blanche, I mean--ain't been a comfort to me, major. It's LauraPenn ought to marry."
"Marry on five hundred a year! My dear good soul, you are mad!" MajorPendennis said. "Think over what I have said to you. Do nothing inyour affairs with that unhappy husband of yours without consulting me;and remember that old Pendennis is always your friend."
For some time previous, Pen's uncle had held similar language to MissAmory. He had pointed out to her the convenience of the match which hehad at heart, and was bound to say, that mutual convenience was of allthings the very best in the world to marry upon--the only thing. "Lookat your love-marriages, my dear young creature. The love-match peopleare the most notorious of all for quarreling, afterward; and a girlwho runs away with Jack to Gretna Green, constantly runs away with Tomto Switzerland afterward. The great point in marriage is for people toagree to be useful to one another. The lady brings the means, and thegentleman avails himself of them. My boy's wife brings the horse, andbegad, Pen goes in and wins the plate. That's what I call a sensibleunion. A couple like that have something to talk to each other aboutwhen they come together. If you had Cupid himself to talk to--ifBlanche and Pen were Cupid and Psyche, begad--they'd begin to yawnafter a few evenings, if they had nothing but sentiment to speak on."
As for Miss Amory, she was contented enough with Pen as long as therewas nobody better. And how many other young ladies are likeher?--and how many love marriages carry on well to the last?--and howmany sentimental firms do not finish in bankruptcy?--and how manyheroic passions don't dwindle down into despicable indifference, orend in shameful defeat?
These views of life and philosophy the major was constantly, accordingto his custom, inculcating to Pen, whose mind was such that he couldsee the right on both sides of many questions, and comprehending thesentimental life which was quite out of the reach of the honestmajor's intelligence, could understand the practical life too, andaccommodate himself, or think he could accommodate himself to it. Soit came to pass that during the spring succeeding his mother's deathhe became a good deal under the influence of his uncle's advice, anddomesticated in Lady Clavering's house; and in a measure was acceptedby Miss Amory without being a suitor, and was received without beingengaged. The young people were extremely familiar, without beingparticularly sentimental, and met and parted with each other inperfect good-humor. "And I," thought Pendennis, "am the fellow whoeight years ago had a grand passion, and last year was raging in afever about Briseis!"
Yes, it was the same Pendennis, and time had brought to him, as to therest of us, its ordinary consequences, consolations, developments. Wealter very little. When we talk of this man or that woman being nolonger the same person whom we remember in youth, and remark (ofcourse to deplore) changes in our friends, we don't, perhaps,calculate that circumstance only brings out the latent defect orquality, and does not create it. The selfish languor and indifferenceof to-day's possession is the consequence of the selfish ardor ofyesterday's pursuit: the scorn and weariness which cries _vanitasvanitatum_ is but the lassitude of the sick appetite palled withpleasure: the insolence of the successful _parvenu_ is only thenecessary continuance of the career of the needy struggler: our mentalchanges are like our gray hairs or our wrinkles--but the fulfillmentof the plan of mortal growth and decay: that which is snow-white nowwas glossy black once; that which is sluggish obesity to-day wasboisterous rosy health a few years back; that calm weariness,benevolent, resigned, and disappointed, was ambition, fierce andviolent, but a few years since, and has only settled into submissiverepose after many a battle and defeat. Lucky he who can bear hisfailure so generously, and give up his broken sword to Fate theConqueror with a manly and humble heart! Are you not awe-stricken,you, friendly reader, who, taking the page up for a moment's lightreading, lay it down, perchance, for a graver reflection--to think howyou, who have consummated your success or your disaster, may beholding marked station, or a hopeless and nameless place, in thecrowds who have passed through how many struggles of defeat, success,crime, remorse, to yourself only known!--who may have loved and growncold, wept and laughed again, how often!--to think how you are thesame, _You_, whom in childhood you remember, before the voyage of lifebegan? It has been prosperous, and you are riding into port, thepeople huzzaing and the guns saluting,--and the lucky captain bowsfrom the ship's side, and there is a care under the star on his breastwhich no body knows of: or you are wrecked, and lashed, hopeless, to asolitary spar out at sea:--the sinking man and the successful one arethin
king each about home, very likely, and remembering the time whenthey were children; alone on the hopeless spar, drowning out of sight;alone in the midst of the crowd applauding you.