CHAPTER XXXI.
IN WHICH PENDENNIS COUNTS HIS EGGS.
Our friend had arrived in London on that day only,though but for a brief visit, and having left some fellow-travelers atan hotel to which he had conveyed them from the West, he hastened tothe Chambers in Lamb-court, which were basking in as much sun as choseto visit that dreary but not altogether comfortless building. Freedomstands in lieu of sunshine in Chambers; and Templars grumble, but taketheir ease in their Inn. Pen's domestic announced to him thatWarrington was in Chambers too, and, of course, Arthur ran up to hisfriend's room straightway, and found it, as of old, perfumed with thepipe, and George once more at work at his newspapers and reviews. Thepair greeted each other with the rough cordiality which youngEnglishmen use one to another: and which carries a great deal ofwarmth and kindness under its rude exterior. Warrington smiled andtook his pipe out of his mouth, and said, "Well, young one!" Penadvanced and held out his hand, and said, "How are you, old boy?" Andso this greeting passed between two friends who had not seen eachother for months. Alphonse and Frederic would have rushed into eachother's arms and shrieked _Ce bon coeur! ce cher Alphonse!_ over eachother's shoulders. Max and Wilhelm would have bestowed half a dozenkisses, scented with Havanna, upon each other's mustaches. "Well,young one!" "How are you, old boy?" is what two Britons say: aftersaving each other's lives, possibly, the day before. To-morrow theywill leave off shaking hands, and only wag their heads at one anotheras they come to breakfast. Each has for the other the very warmestconfidence and regard: each would share his purse with the other; andhearing him attacked would break out in the loudest and mostenthusiastic praise of his friend; but they part with a mere Good-by,they meet with a mere How-d'you-do: and they don't write to each otherin the interval. Curious modesty, strange stoical decorum of Englishfriendship! "Yes, we are not demonstrative like those confoundedforeigners," says Hardman; who not only shows no friendship, butnever felt any all his life long.
"Been in Switzerland?" says Pen. "Yes," says Warrington. "Couldn'tfind a bit of tobacco fit to smoke till we came to Strasburg, where Igot some caporal." The man's mind is full, very likely, of the greatsights which he has seen, of the great emotions with which the vastworks of nature have inspired it. But his enthusiasm is too coy toshow itself, even to his closest friend, and he veils it with a cloudof tobacco. He will speak more fully of confidential evenings,however, and write ardently and frankly about that which he is shy ofsaying. The thoughts and experience of his travel will come forth inhis writings; as the learning, which he never displays in talk,enriches his style with pregnant allusion and brilliant illustration,colors his generous eloquence, and points his wit.
The elder gives a rapid account of the places which he has visited inhis tour. He has seen Switzerland, North Italy, and the Tyrol--he hascome home by Vienna, and Dresden, and the Rhine. He speaks about theseplaces in a shy, sulky voice, as if he had rather not mention them atall, and as if the sight of them had rendered him very unhappy. Theoutline of the elder man's tour thus gloomily sketched out, the youngone begins to speak. He has been in the country--very muchbored--canvassing--uncommonly slow--he is here for a day or two, andgoing on to--to the neighborhood of Tunbridge Wells, to somefriends--that will be uncommonly slow, too. How hard it is to make anEnglishman acknowledge that he is happy!
"And the seat in Parliament, Pen? Have you made it all right?" asksWarrington.
"All right--as soon as Parliament meets and a new writ can be issued,Clavering retires, and I step into his shoes," says Pen.
"And under which king does Bezonian speak or die?" asked Warrington."Do we come out as Liberal Conservative, or as Government man, or onour own hook?"
"Hem! There are no politics now; every man's politics, at least, arepretty much the same. I have not got acres enough to make me aProtectionist; nor could I be one, I think, if I had all the land inthe county. I shall go pretty much with Government, and in advance ofthem upon some social questions which I have been getting up duringthe vacation; don't grin, you old Cynic, I _have_ been getting up theBlue Books, and intend to come out rather strong on the Sanitary andColonization questions."
"We reserve to ourselves the liberty of voting againstGovernment, though, we are generally friendly. We are, however,friends of the people _avant tout_. We give lectures at the ClaveringInstitute, and shake hands with the intelligent mechanics. We thinkthe franchise ought to be very considerably enlarged; at the same timewe are free to accept office some day, when the House has listened toa few crack speeches from us, and the Administration perceivesour merit."
"I am not Moses," said Pen, with, as usual, somewhat of melancholy inhis voice. "I have no laws from Heaven to bring down to the peoplefrom the mountain. I don't belong to the mountain at all, or set up tobe a leader and reformer of mankind. My faith is not strong enough forthat; nor my vanity, nor my hypocrisy, great enough. I will tell nolies, George, that I promise you: and do no more than coincide inthose which are necessary and pass current, and can't be got inwithout recalling the whole circulation. Give a man at least theadvantage of his skeptical turn. If I find a good thing to say in theHouse, I will say it; a good measure, I will support it; a fair place,I will take it, and be glad of my luck. But I would no more flatter agreat man than a mob; and now you know as much about my politics as Ido. What call have I to be a Whig? Whiggism is not a divineinstitution. Why not vote with the Liberal Conservatives? They havedone for the nation what the Whigs would never have done without them.Who converted both?--the Radicals and the country outside. I think the_Morning Post_ is often right, and _Punch_ is often wrong. I don'tprofess a call, but take advantage of a chance. _Parlonsd'autre chose_."
"The next thing at your heart, after ambition, is love, I suppose?"Warrington said. "How have our young loves prospered? Are we going tochange our condition, and give up our chambers? Are you going todivorce me, Arthur, and take unto yourself a wife?"
"I suppose so. She is very good-natured and lively. She sings, and shedon't mind smoking. She'll have a fair fortune--I don't know howmuch--but my uncle augurs every thing from the Begum's generosity, andsays that she will come down very handsomely. And I think Blanche isdevilish fond of me," said Arthur, with a sigh.
"That means that we accept her caresses and her money."
"Haven't we said before that life was a transaction?" Pendennis said."I don't pretend to break my heart about her. I have told her prettyfairly what my feelings are--and--and have engaged myself to her. Andsince I saw her last, and for the last two months especially, while Ihave been in the country, I think she has been growing fonder andfonder of me; and her letters to me, and especially to Laura, seem toshow it. Mine have been simple enough--no raptures nor vows, youunderstand--but looking upon the thing as an _affaire faite_; and notdesirous to hasten or defer the completion."
"And Laura? how is she?" Warrington asked frankly.
"Laura, George," said Pen, looking his friend hard in the face; "byHeaven, Laura is the best, and noblest, and dearest girl the sun evershone upon." His own voice fell as he spoke: it seemed as if hecould hardly utter the words: he stretched out his hand to hiscomrade, who took it and nodded his head.
"Have you only found out that now, young un?" Warrington said after apause.
"Who has not learned things too late, George?" cried Arthur, in hisimpetuous way, gathering words and emotion as he went on. "Whose lifeis not a disappointment? Who carries his heart entire to the gravewithout a mutilation? I never knew any body who was happy quite: orwho has not had to ransom himself out of the hands of Fate with thepayment of some dearest treasure or other. Lucky if we are left aloneafterward, when we have paid our fine, and if the tyrant visits us nomore. Suppose I have found out that I have lost the greatest prize inthe world, now that it can't be mine--that for years I had an angelunder my tent, and let her go?--am I the only one--ah, dear old boy,am I the only one? And do you think my lot is easier to bear because Iown that I deserve if? She's gone from us. God's blessing be with her!She migh
t have staid, and I lost her; it's like Undine: isn'tit, George?"
"She was in this room once," said George.
He saw her there--he heard the sweet low voice--he saw the sweet smileand eyes shining so kindly--the face remembered so fondly--thought ofin what night-watches--blest and loved always--gone now! A glass thathad held a nosegay--a Bible with Helen's hand-writing--were all thatwere left him of that brief flower of his life. Say it is a dream: sayit passes: better the recollection of a dream than an aimless wakingfrom a blank stupor.
The two friends sate in silence awhile, each occupied with his ownthoughts and aware of the other's. Pen broke it presently, by sayingthat he must go and seek for his uncle, and report progress to the oldgentleman. The major had written in a very bad humor; the major wasgetting old. "I should like to see you in Parliament, and snuglysettled with a comfortable house and an heir to the name before I makemy bow. Show me these," the major wrote, "and then, let old ArthurPendennis make room for the younger fellows: he has walked the PallMall _pave_ long enough."
"There is a kindness about the old heathen," said Warrington. "Hecares for somebody besides himself, at least for some other part ofhimself besides that which is buttoned into his own coat;--for you andyour race. He would like to see the progeny of the Pendennisesmultiplying and increasing, and hopes that they may inherit the land.The old patriarch blesses you from the Club window of Bays's, and iscarried off and buried under the flags of St. James's Church, in sightof Piccadilly, and the cab-stand, and the carriages going to thelevee. It is an edifying ending."
"The new blood I bring into the family," mused Pen, "is rathertainted. If I had chosen, I think my father-in-law, Amory, would nothave been the progenitor I should have desired for my race; nor mygrandfather-in-law Snell; nor our Oriental ancestors. By the way, whowas Amory? Amory was lieutenant of an Indiaman. Blanche wrote someverses about him, about the storm, the mountain wave, the seaman'sgrave, the gallant father, and that sort of thing. Amory was drownedcommanding a country ship between Calcutta and Sydney; Amory and theBegum weren't happy together. She has been unlucky in her selection ofhusbands, the good old lady, for, between ourselves, a more despicablecreature than Sir Francis Clavering, of Clavering Park, Baronet,never--" "Never legislated for his country," broke in Warrington; atwhich Pen blushed rather.
"By the way, at Baden," said Warrington, "I found our friend theChevalier Strong in great state, and wearing his orders. He told methat he had quarreled with Clavering, of whom he seemed to have almostas bad an opinion as you have, and in fact, I think, though I will notbe certain, confided to me his opinion, that Clavering was an utterscoundrel. That fellow Bloundell, who taught you card-playing atOxbridge, was with Strong; and time, I think, has brought out hisvaluable qualities, and rendered him a more accomplished rascal thanhe was during your undergraduateship. But the king of the place wasthe famous Colonel Altamont, who was carrying all before him, givingfetes to the whole society, and breaking the bank, it was said."
"My uncle knows something about that fellow--Clavering knows somethingabout him. There's something _louche_ regarding him. But come! I mustgo to Bury-street, like a dutiful nephew." And, taking his hat, Penprepared to go.
"I will walk, too," said Warrington. And they descended the stairs,stopping, however, at Pen's chambers, which, as the reader has beeninformed, were now on the lower story.
Here Pen began sprinkling himself with Eau-de-Cologne, and carefullyscenting his hair and whiskers with that odoriferous water.
"What is the matter? You've not been smoking. Is it my pipe that haspoisoned you?" growled Warrington.
"I am going to call upon some women," said Pen. "I'm--I'm going todine with 'em. They are passing through town, and are at an hotel inJermyn-street."
Warrington looked with good-natured interest at the young fellowdandifying himself up to a pitch of completeness; and appearing atlength in a gorgeous shirt-front and neckcloth, fresh gloves, andglistening boots. George had a pair of thick high-lows, and his oldshirt was torn about the breast, and ragged at the collar, where hisblue beard had worn it.
"Well, young un," said he, simply, "I like you to be a buck, somehow.When I walk about with you, it is as if I had a rose in mybutton-hole. And you are still affable. I don't think there is anyyoung fellow in the Temple turns out like you; and I don't believe youwere ever ashamed of walking with me yet."
"Don't laugh at me, George," said Pen.
"I say, Pen," continued the other, sadly, "if you write--if you writeto Laura, I wish you would say 'God bless her' for me." Pen blushed;and then looked at Warrington; and then--and then burst into anuncontrollable fit of laughing.
"I'm going to dine with her," he said. "I brought her and LadyRockminster up from the country to-day--made two days of it--sleptlast night at Bath--I say, George, come and dine, too. I may ask anyone I please, and the old lady is constantly talking about you."
George refused. George had an article to write. George hesitated; andoh, strange to say! at last he agreed to go. It was agreed that theyshould go and call upon the ladies; and they marched away in highspirits to the hotel in Jermyn-street. Once more the dear face shoneupon him; once more the sweet voice spoke to him, and the tender handpressed a welcome.
There still wanted half-an-hour to dinner, "You will go and see youruncle now, Mr. Pendennis," old Lady Rockminster said. "You will notbring him to dinner--no--his old stories are intolerable; and I wantto talk to Mr. Warrington; I daresay he will amuse us. I think we haveheard all your stories. We have been together for two whole days, andI think we are getting tired of each other."
So obeying her ladyship's orders, Arthur went down stairs and walkedto his uncle's lodgings.