CHAPTER XIX. Pendennis of Boniface
Our friend Pen was not sorry when his Mentor took leave of the younggentleman on the second day after the arrival of the pair in Oxbridge,and we may be sure that the Major on his part was very glad to havedischarged his duty, and to have the duty over. More than three monthsof precious time had that martyr of a Major given up to his nephew--Wasever selfish man called upon to make a greater sacrifice? Do you knowmany men or Majors who would do as much? A man will lay down his head,or peril his life for his honour, but let us be shy how we ask him togive up his ease or his heart's desire. Very few of us can bear thattrial. Say, worthy reader, if thou hast peradventure a beard, wouldstthou do as much? I will not say that a woman will not. They are used toit: we take care to accustom them to sacrifices but, my good sir, theamount of self-denial which you have probably exerted through life, whenput down to your account elsewhere, will not probably swell the balanceon the credit side much. Well, well, there is no use in speaking of suchugly matters, and you are too polite to use a vulgar to quoque. ButI wish to state once for all that I greatly admire the Major for hisconduct during the past quarter, and think that he has quite a right tobe pleased at getting a holiday. Foker and Pen saw him off in the coach,and the former young gentleman gave particular orders to the coachmanto take care of that gentleman inside. It pleased the elder Pendennis tohave his nephew in the company of a young fellow who would introduce himto the best set of the university. The Major rushed off to London andthence to Cheltenham, from which Watering-place he descended upon someneighbouring great houses, whereof the families were not gone abroad,and where good shooting and company was to be had.
A quarter of the space which custom has awarded to works styled theSerial Nature, has been assigned to the account of one passage in Pen'scareer, and it is manifest that the whole of his adventures cannot betreated at a similar length, unless some descendant of the chroniclerof Pen's history should take up the pen at his decease, and continue thenarrative for the successors of the present generation of readers. Weare not about to go through the young fellow's academical career with,by any means, a similar minuteness. Alas, the life of such boys does notbear telling altogether. I wish it did. I ask you, does yours? As longas what we call our honour is clear, I suppose your mind is pretty easy.Women are pure, but not men. Women are unselfish, but not men. And Iwould not wish to say of poor Arthur Pendennis that he was worse thanhis neighbours, only that his neighbours are bad for the most part.Let us have the candour to own as much at least. Can you point out tenspotless men of your acquaintance? Mine is pretty large, but I can'tfind ten saints in the list.
During the first term of Mr. Pen's academical life, he attendedclassical and mathematical lectures with tolerable assiduity; butdiscovering before very long time that he had little taste or geniusfor the pursuing of the exact sciences, and being perhaps rather annoyedthat one or two very vulgar young men, who did not even use straps totheir trousers so as to cover the abominably thick and coarse shoes andstockings which they wore, beat him completely in the lecture-room, hegave up his attendance at that course, and announced to his fond parentthat he proposed to devote himself exclusively to the cultivation ofGreek and Roman Literature.
Mrs. Pendennis was, for her part, quite satisfied that her darling boyshould pursue that branch of learning for which he had the greatestinclination; and only besought him not to ruin his health by too muchstudy, for she had heard the most melancholy stories of young studentswho, by over-fatigue, had brought on brain-fevers and perished untimelyin the midst of their university career. And Pen's health, which wasalways delicate, was to be regarded, as she justly said, beyond allconsiderations or vain honours. Pen, although not aware of any lurkingdisease which was likely to end his life, yet kindly promised his mammanot to sit up reading too late of nights, and stuck to his word in thisrespect with a great deal more tenacity of resolution than he exhibitedupon some other occasions, when perhaps he was a little remiss.
Presently he began too to find that he learned little good in theclassical lecture. His fellow-students there were too dull, as inmathematics they were too learned for him. Mr. Buck, the tutor, was nobetter a scholar than many a fifth-form boy at Grey Friars; might havesome stupid humdrum notions about the metre and grammatical constructionof a passage of Aeschylus or Aristophanes, but had no more notion of thepoetry than Mrs. Binge, his bed-maker; and Pen grew weary of hearing thedull students and tutor blunder through a few lines of a play, which hecould read in a tenth part of the time which they gave to it. After all,private reading, as he began to perceive, was the only study which wasreally profitable to a man; and he announced to his mamma that he shouldread by himself a great deal more, and in public a great deal less. Thatexcellent woman knew no more about Homer than she did about Algebra, butshe was quite contented with Pen's arrangements regarding his course ofstudies, and felt perfectly confident that her dear boy would get theplace which he merited.
Pen did not come home until after Christmas, a little to the fondmother's disappointment, and Laura's, who was longing for him to make afine snow fortification, such as he had made three winters before. Buthe was invited to Logwood, Lady Agnes Foker's, where there were privatetheatricals, and a gay Christmas party of very fine folks, some ofthem whom Major Pendennis would on no account have his nephew neglect.However, he stayed at home for the last three weeks of the vacation,and Laura had the opportunity of remarking what a quantity of finenew clothes he brought with him, and his mother admired his improvedappearance and manly and decided tone.
He did not come home at Easter; but when he arrived for the longvacation, he brought more smart clothes; appearing in the morning inwonderful shooting jackets, with remarkable buttons; and in the eveningin gorgeous velvet waistcoats, with richly-embroidered cravats, andcurious linen. And as she pried about his room, she saw, oh, such abeautiful dressing-case, with silver mountings, and a quantity of lovelyrings and jewellery. And he had a new French watch and gold chain, inplace of the big old chronometer, with its bunch of jingling seals,which had hung from the fob of John Pendennis, and by the second-hand ofwhich the defunct doctor had felt many a patient's pulse in his time.It was but a few months back Pen had longed for this watch, which hethought the most splendid and august timepiece in the world; and justbefore he went to college, Helen had taken it out of her trinket-box(where it had remained unwound since the death of her husband) and givenit to Pen with a solemn and appropriate little speech respecting hisfather's virtues and the proper use of time. This portly and valuablechronometer Pen now pronounced to be out of date, and, indeed, madesome comparisons between it and a warming-pan, which Laura thoughtdisrespectful, and he left the watch in a drawer, in the company ofsoiled primrose gloves, cravats which had gone out of favour, and ofthat other school watch which has once before been mentioned in thishistory. Our old friend, Rebecca, Pen pronounced to be no long up to hisweight, and swapped her away for another and more powerful horse, forwhich he had to pay rather a heavy figure. Mr. Pendennis gave the boythe money for the new horse; and Laura cried when Rebecca was fetchedaway.
Also Pen brought a large box of cigars branded Colorados, Afrancesados,Telescopios, Fudson Oxford Street, or by some such strange titles, andbegan to consume these not only about the stables and green-houses,where they were very good for Helen's plants, but in his own study, ofwhich practice his mother did not at first approve. But he was at workupon a prize-poem, he said, and could not compose without his cigar, andquoted the late lamented it Lord Byron's lines in favour of the customof smoking. As he was smoking to such good purpose, his mother could notof course refuse permission: in fact, the good soul coming into the roomone day in the midst of Pen's labours (he was consulting a novel whichhad recently appeared, for the cultivation of the light literatureof his own country as well as of foreign nations became everystudent)--Helen, we say, coming into the room and finding Pen on thesofa at this work, rather than disturb him went for a light-box and hiscigar-case to his bedroom w
hich was adjacent, and actually put thecigar into his mouth and lighted the match at which he kindled it. Penlaughed, and kissed his mother's hand as it hung fondly over the back ofthe sofa. "Dear old mother," he said, "if I were to tell you to burn thehouse down, I think you would do it." And it is very likely that Mr. Penwas right, and that the foolish woman would have done almost as much forhim as he said.
Besides the works of English "light literature" which this diligentstudent devoured, he brought down boxes of the light literature of theneighbouring country of France: into the leaves of which when Helendipped, she read such things as caused her to open her eyes with wonder.But Pen showed her that it was not he who made the books, though itwas absolutely necessary that he should keep up his French by anacquaintance with the most celebrated writers of the day, and that itwas as clearly his duty to read the eminent Paul de Kock, as to studySwift or Moliere. And Mrs. Pendennis yielded with a sigh of perplexity.But Miss Laura was warned off the books, both by his anxious mother, andthat rigid moralist Mr. Arthur Pendennis himself, who, however he mightbe called upon to study every branch of literature in order to form hismind and to perfect his style, would by no means prescribe such a courseof reading to a young lady whose business in life was very different.
In the course of this long vacation Mr. Pen drank up the bin of claretwhich his father had laid in, and of which we have heard the sonremark that there was not a headache in a hogshead; and this winebeing exhausted, he wrote for a further supply to "his wine merchants,"Messrs. Binney and Latham of Mark Lane, London: from whom, indeed, oldDoctor Portman had recommended Pen to get a supply of port and sherryon going to college. "You will have, no doubt, to entertain your youngfriends at Boniface with wine-parties," the honest rector had remarkedto the lad. "They used to be customary at college in my time, and Iwould advise you to employ an honest and respectable house in London foryour small stock of wine, rather than to have recourse to the Oxbridgetradesmen, whose liquor, if I remember rightly, was both deleterious inquality and exorbitant in price." And the obedient young gentleman tookthe Doctor's advice, and patronised Messrs. Binney and Latham at therector's suggestion.
So when he wrote orders for a stock of wine to be sent down to thecellars at Fairoaks, he hinted that Messrs. B. and L. might send in hisuniversity account for wine at the same time with the Fairoaks bill.The poor widow was frightened at the amount. But Pen laughed at herold-fashioned views, said that the bill was moderate, that everybodydrank claret and champagne now, and, finally, the widow paid, feelingdimly that the expenses of her household were increasing considerably,and that her narrow income would scarce suffice to meet them. Butthey were only occasional. Pen merely came home for a few weeks at thevacation. Laura and she might pinch when he was gone. In the brief timehe was with them, ought they not to make him happy?
Arthur's own allowances were liberal all this time; indeed, much moreso than those of the sons of far more wealthy men. Years before, thethrifty and affectionate John Pendennis, whose darling project it hadever been to give his son a university education, and those advantagesof which his own father's extravagance had deprived him, had begunlaying by a store of money which he called Arthur's Education Fund. Yearafter year in his book his executors found entries of sums vested as A.E. F., and during the period subsequent to her husband's decease, andbefore Pen's entry at college, the widow had added sundry sums tothis fund, so that when Arthur went up to Oxbridge it reached noinconsiderable amount. Let him be liberally allowanced, was MajorPendennis's maxim. Let him make his first entree into the world as agentleman, and take his place with men of good rank and station: aftergiving it to him, it will be his own duty to hold it. There is no suchbad policy as stinting a boy--or putting him on a lower allowance thanhis fellows. Arthur will have to face the world and fight for himselfpresently. Meanwhile we shall have procured for him good friends,gentlemanly habits, and have him well backed and well trained againstthe time when the real struggle comes. And these liberal opinions theMajor probably advanced both because they were just, and because he wasnot dealing with his own money.
Thus young Pen, the only son of an estated country gentleman, with agood allowance, and a gentlemanlike bearing and person, looked to bea lad of much more consequence than he was really; and was held by theOxbridge authorities, tradesmen, and undergraduates, as quite a youngbuck and member of the aristocracy. His manner was frank, brave, andperhaps a little impertinent, as becomes a high-spirited youth. He wasperfectly generous and free-handed with his money, which seemedpretty plentiful. He loved joviality, and had a good voice for a song.Boat-racing had not risen in Pen's time to the fureur which, as we aregiven to understand, it has since attained in the university; and ridingand tandem-driving were the fashions of the ingenuous youth. Pen rodewell to hounds, appeared in pink, as became a young buck, and, notparticularly extravagant in equestrian or any other amusement, yetmanaged to run up a fine bill at Nile's, the livery-stable keeper, andin a number of other quarters. In fact, this lucky young gentleman hadalmost every taste to a considerable degree. He was very fond of booksof all sorts: Doctor Portman had taught him to like rare editions, andhis own taste led him to like beautiful bindings. It was marvellouswhat tall copies, and gilding, and marbling, and blind-tooling, thebooksellers and binders put upon Pen's bookshelves. He had a veryfair taste in matters of art, and a keen relish for prints of a highschool--none of your French Opera Dancers, or tawdry Racing Prints, suchas had delighted the simple eyes of Mr. Spicer, his predecessor--butyour Stranges, and Rembrandt etchings, and Wilkies before the letter,with which his apartments were furnished presently in the most perfectgood taste, as was allowed in the university, where this young fellowgot no small reputation. We have mentioned that he exhibited a certainpartiality for rings, jewellery, and fine raiment of all sorts; andit must be owned that Mr. Pen, during his time at the university, wasrather a dressy man, and loved to array himself in splendour. He and hispolite friends would dress themselves out with as much care in order togo and dine at each other's rooms, as other folks would who were goingto enslave a mistress. They said he used to wear rings over hiskid gloves, which he always denies; but what follies will not youthperpetrate with its own admirable gravity and simplicity? That he tookperfumed baths is a truth; and he used to say that he took them aftermeeting certain men of a very low set in hall.
In Pen's second year, when Miss Fotheringay made her chief hit inLondon, and scores of prints were published of her, Pen had one of thesehung in his bedroom, and confided to the men of his set how awfully, howwildly, how madly, how passionately, he had loved that woman. He showedthem in confidence the verses that he had written to her, and his browwould darken, his eyes roll, his chest heave with emotion as he recalledthat fatal period of his life, and described the woes and agonies whichhe had suffered. The verses were copied out, handed about, sneered at,admired, passed from coterie to coterie. There are few things whichelevate a lad in the estimation of his brother boys, more than to havea character for a great and romantic passion. Perhaps there is somethingnoble in it at all times--among very young men it is consideredheroic--Pen was pronounced a tremendous fellow. They said he had almostcommitted suicide: that he had fought a duel with a baronet about her.Freshmen pointed him out to each other. As at the promenade time at twoo'clock he swaggered out of college, surrounded by his cronies, he wasfamous to behold. He was elaborately attired. He would ogle the ladieswho came to lionise the university, and passed before him on the armsof happy gownsmen, and give his opinion upon their personal charms, ortheir toilettes, with the gravity of a critic whose experience entitledhim to speak with authority. Men used to say that they had been walkingwith Pendennis, and were as pleased to be seen in his company as some ofus would be if we walked with a duke down Pall Mall. He and the Proctorcapped each other as they met, as if they were rival powers, and the menhardly knew which was the greater.
In fact, in the course of his second year, Arthur Pendennis had becomeone of the men of fashion in the university. It
is curious to watchthat facile admiration, and simple fidelity of youth. They hang rounda leader; and wonder at him, and love him, and imitate him. Nogenerous boy ever lived, I suppose, that has not had some wonderment ofadmiration for another boy; and Monsieur Pen at Oxbridge had his school,his faithful band of friends and his rivals. When the young men heardat the haberdashers' shops that Mr. Pendennis, of Boniface, had justordered a crimson satin-cravat, you would see a couple of dozen crimsonsatin cravats in Main Street in the course of the week--and Simon, theJeweller, was known to sell no less than two gross of Pendennis pins,from a pattern which the young gentleman had selected in his shop.
Now if any person with an arithmetical turn of mind will take thetrouble to calculate what a sum of money it would cost a young man toindulge freely in all the above propensities which we have said Mr. Penpossessed, it will be seen that a young fellow, with such liberal tastesand amusements, must needs in the course of two or three years spend orowe a very handsome sum of money. We have said our friend Pen had not acalculating turn. No one propensity of his was outrageously extravagant;and it is certain that Paddington's tailor's account; Guttlebury'scook's bill for dinners; Dillon Tandy's bill with Finn, the printseller, for Raphael-Morgheus and Landseer proofs, and Wormall's dealingswith Parkton, the great bookseller, for Aldine editions, black-letterfolios, and richly illuminated Missals of the XVI. Century; andSnaffle's or Foker's score with Nile the horsedealer, were, each and allof them, incomparably greater than any little bills which Mr. Pen mightrun up with the above-mentioned tradesmen. But Pendennis of Bonifacehad the advantage over all these young gentlemen, his friends andassociates, of a universality of taste: and whereas young LordPaddington did not care twopence for the most beautiful print, or tolook into any gilt frame that had not a mirror within it; and Guttleburydid not mind in the least how he was dressed, and had an aversion forhorse exercise, nay a terror of it; and Snaffle never read any printedworks but the 'Racing Calendar' or 'Bell's Life,' or cared for anymanuscript except his greasy little scrawl of a betting-book:--ourCatholic-minded young friend occupied himself in every one of thebranches of science or pleasure above-mentioned, and distinguishedhimself tolerably in each.
Hence young Pen got a prodigious reputation in the university, and washailed as a sort of Crichton; and as for the English verse prize, incompetition for which we have seen him busily engaged at Fairoaks, Jonesof Jesus carried it that year certainly, but the undergraduates thoughtPen's a much finer poem, and he had his verses printed at hisown expense, and distributed in gilt morocco covers amongst hisacquaintance. I found a copy of it lately in a dusty corner of Mr. Pen'sbookcases, and have it before me this minute, bound up in a collectionof old Oxbridge tracts, university statutes, prize-poems by successfuland unsuccessful candidates, declamations recited in the college chapel,speeches delivered at the Union Debating Society, and inscribed byArthur with his name and college, Pendennis--Boniface; or presentedto him by his affectionate friend Thompson or Jackson, the author. Howstrange the epigraphs look in those half-boyish hands, and what a thrillthe sight of the documents gives one after the lapse of a few lustres!How fate, since that time, has removed some, estranged others, dealtawfully with all! Many a hand is cold that wrote those kindly memorials,and that we pressed in the confident and generous grasp of youthfulfriendship. What passions our friendships were in those old days, howartless and void of doubt! How the arm you were never tired of havinglinked in yours under the fair college avenues or by the river side,where it washes Magdalen Gardens, or Christ Church Meadows, or windsby Trinity and King's, was withdrawn of necessity, when you enteredpresently the world, and each parted to push and struggle for himselfthrough the great mob on the way through life! Are we the same men nowthat wrote those inscriptions--that read those poems? that delivered orheard those essays and speeches so simple, so pompous, so ludicrouslysolemn; parodied so artlessly from books, and spoken with smug chubbyfaces, and such an admirable aping of wisdom and gravity? Here is thebook before me: it is scarcely fifteen years old. Here is Jack moaningwith despair and Byronic misanthropy, whose career at the universitywas one of unmixed milk-punch. Here is Tom's daring Essay in defence ofsuicide and of republicanism in general, apropos of the death ofRoland and the Girondins--Tom's, who wears the starchest tie in all thediocese, and would go to Smithfield rather than eat a beefsteak on aFriday in Lent. Here is Bob of the ---- Circuit, who has made a fortunein Railroad Committees, and whose dinners are so good--bellowing outwith Tancred and Godfrey, "On to the breach, ye soldiers of the cross,Scale the red wall and swim the choking foss. Ye dauntless archers,twang your cross-bows well; On, bill and battle-axe and mangonel! Plybattering-ram and hurtling catapult, Jerusalem is ours--id Deus vult."After which comes a mellifluous description of the gardens of Sharonand the maids of Salem, and a prophecy that roses shall deck the entirecountry of Syria, and a speedy reign of peace be established--all inundeniably decasyllabic lines, and the queerest aping of sense andsentiment and poetry. And there are Essays and Poems along with thesegrave parodies, and boyish exercises (which are at once so frank andfalse and mirthful, yet, somehow, so mournful) by youthful hands, thatshall never write more. Fate has interposed darkly, and the young voicesare silent, and the eager brains have ceased to work. This one hadgenius and a great descent, and seemed to be destined for honours whichnow are of little worth to him: that had virtue, learning, genius--everyfaculty and endowment which might secure love, admiration, and worldlyfame: an obscure and solitary churchyard contains the grave of many fondhopes, and the pathetic stone which bids them farewell--I saw the sunshining on it in the fall of last year, and heard the sweet villagechoir raising anthems round about. What boots whether it be Westminsteror a little country spire which covers your ashes, or if, a few dayssooner or later, the world forgets you?
Amidst these friends, then, and a host more, Pen passed more than twobrilliant and happy years of his life. He had his fill of pleasure andpopularity. No dinner- or supper-party was complete without him; andPen's jovial wit, and Pen's songs, and dashing courage and frank andmanly bearing, charmed all the undergraduates, and even disarmed thetutors who cried out at his idleness, and murmured about his extravagantway of life. Though he became the favourite and leader of young men whowere much his superiors in wealth and station, he was much too generousto endeavour to propitiate them by any meanness or cringing on his ownpart, and would not neglect the humblest man of his acquaintance inorder to curry favour with the richest young grandee in the university.His name is still remembered at the Union Debating Club, as one of thebrilliant orators of his day. By the way, from having been an ardentTory in his freshman's year, his principles took a sudden turnafterwards, and he became a liberal of the most violent order. He avowedhimself a Dantonist, and asserted that Louis the Sixteenth was servedright. And as for Charles the First, he vowed that he would chop offthat monarch's head with his own right hand were he then in the room atthe Union Debating Club, and had Cromwell no other executioner for thetraitor. He and Lord Magnus Charters, the Marquis of Runnymede's son,before-mentioned, were the most truculent republicans of their day.
There are reputations of this sort made, quite independent of thecollegiate hierarchy, in the republic of gownsmen. A man may be famousin the Honour-lists and entirely unknown to the undergraduates: whoelect kings and chieftains of their own, whom they admire and obey, asnegro-gangs have private black sovereigns in their own body, to whomthey pay an occult obedience, besides that which they publicly professfor their owners and drivers. Among the young ones Pen became famousand popular: not that he did much, but there was a general determinationthat he could do a great deal if he chose. "Ah, if Pendennis of Bonifacewould but try," the men said, "he might do anything." He was backed forthe Greek Ode won by Smith of Trinity; everybody was sure he would havethe Latin hexameter prize which Brown of St. John's, however, carriedoff, and in this way one university honour after another was lost byhim, until, after two or three failures, Mr. Pen ceased to compete. Buthe got a declama
tion prize in his own college, and brought home tohis mother and Laura at Fairoaks a set of prize-books begilt with thecollege arms, and so big, well-bound, and magnificent, that these ladiesthought there had been no such prize ever given in a college beforeas this of Pen's, and that he had won the very largest honour whichOxbridge was capable of awarding.
As vacation after vacation and term after term passed away without thedesired news that Pen had sate for any scholarship or won any honour,Doctor Portman grew mightily gloomy in his behaviour towards Arthur,and adopted a sulky grandeur of deportment towards him, which the ladreturned by a similar haughtiness. One vacation he did not call upon theDoctor at all, much to his mother's annoyance, who thought that it wasa privilege to enter the Rectory-house at Clavering, and listened to Dr.Portman's antique jokes and stories, though ever so often repeated, withunfailing veneration. "I cannot stand the Doctor's patronising air", Pensaid. "He's too kind to me, a great deal fatherly. I have seen in theworld better men than him, and am not going to bore myself by listeningto his dull old stories and drinking his stupid old port wine." Thetacit feud between Pen and the Doctor made the widow nervous, so thatshe too avoided Portman, and was afraid to go to the Rectory when Arthurwas at home.
One Sunday in the last long vacation, the wretched boy pushed hisrebellious spirit so far as not to go to church, and he was seen atthe gate of the Clavering Arms smoking a cigar, in the face of thecongregation as it issued from St. Mary's. There was an awful sensationin the village society, Portman prophesied Pen's ruin after that, andgroaned in spirit over the rebellious young prodigal.
So did Helen tremble in her heart, and little Laura--Laura had grownto be a fine young stripling by this time, graceful and fair, clinginground Helen and worshipping her, with a passionate affection. Bothof these women felt that their boy was changed. He was no longer theartless Pen of old days, so brave, so artless, so impetuous, and tender.His face looked careworn and haggard, his voice had a deeper sound,and tones more sarcastic. Care seemed to be pursuing him; but he onlylaughed when his mother questioned him, and parried her anxious querieswith some scornful jest. Nor did he spend much of his vacations at home;he went on visits to one great friend or another, and scared the quietpair at Fairoaks by stories of great houses whither he had been invited;and by talking of lords without their titles.
Honest Harry Foker, who had been the means of introducing ArthurPendennis to that set of young men at the university, from whose societyand connexions Arthur's uncle expected that the lad would get somuch benefit; who had called for Arthur's first song at his firstsupper-party; and who had presented him at the Barmecide Club, wherenone but the very best men of Oxbridge were admitted (it consisted inPen's time of six noblemen, eight gentlemen-pensioners, and twelve ofthe most select commoners of the university), soon found himself leftfar behind by the young freshman in the fashionable world of Oxbridge,and being a generous and worthy fellow, without a spark of envy inhis composition, was exceedingly pleased at the success of his youngprotege, and admired Pen quite as much as any of the other youth did. Itwas he who followed Pen now, and quoted his sayings; learned his songs,and retailed them at minor supper-parties, and was never weary ofhearing them from the gifted young poet's own mouth--for a good deal ofthe time which Mr. Pen might have employed much more advantageouslyin the pursuit of the regular scholastic studies, was given up to thecomposition of secular ballads, which he sang about at parties accordingto university wont.
It had been as well for Arthur if the honest Foker had remained for sometime at college, for, with all his vivacity, he was a prudent youngman, and often curbed Pen's propensity to extravagance: but Foker'scollegiate career did not last very long after Arthur's entrance atBoniface. Repeated differences with the university authorities causedMr. Foker to quit Oxbridge in an untimely manner. He would persist inattending races on the neighbouring Hungerford Heath, in spite of theinjunctions of his academic superiors. He never could be got to frequentthe chapel of the college with that regularity of piety which Alma Materdemands from her children; tandems, which are abominations in the eyesof the heads and tutors, were Foker's greatest delight, and so recklesswas his driving and frequent the accidents and upsets out of his drag,that Pen called taking a drive with him taking the "Diversions ofPurley;" finally, having a dinner-party at his rooms to entertain somefriends from London, nothing would satisfy Mr. Foker but painting Mr.Buck's door vermilion, in which freak he was caught by the proctors; andalthough young Black Strap, the celebrated negro fighter, who was one ofMr. Foker's distinguished guests, and was holding the can of paint whilethe young artist operated on the door, knocked down two of the proctor'sattendants and performed prodigies of valour, yet these feats ratherinjured than served Foker, whom the proctor knew very well and who wastaken with the brush in his hand, and who was summarily convened andsent down from the university.
The tutor wrote a very kind and feeling letter to Lady Agnes on thesubject, stating that everybody was fond of the youth; that he nevermeant harm to any mortal creature; that he for his own part would havebeen delighted to pardon the harmless little boyish frolic, had not itsunhappy publicity rendered it impossible to look the freak over, andbreathing the most fervent wishes for the young fellow's welfare--wishesno doubt sincere, for Foker, as we know, came of a noble family on hismother's side, and on the other was heir to a great number of thousandpounds a year.
"It don't matter," said Foker, talking over the matter with Pen,--"alittle sooner or a little later, what is the odds? I should have beenplucked for my little-go again, I know I should--that Latin I cannotscrew into my head, and my mamma's anguish would have broke out nextterm. The Governor will blow like an old grampus, I know he will,--well,we must stop till he gets his wind again. I shall probably go abroad andimprove my mind with foreign travel. Yes, parly-voo's the ticket. It'ly,and that sort of thing. I'll go to Paris and learn to dance and completemy education. But it's not me I'm anxious about, Pen. As long as peopledrink beer I don't care,--it's about you I'm doubtful, my boy. You'regoing too fast, and can't keep up the pace, I tell you. It's not thefifty you owe me,--pay it or not when you like,--but it's the every-daypace, and I tell you it will kill you. You're livin' as if there was noend to the money in the stockin' at home. You oughtn't to give dinners,you ought to eat 'em. Fellows are glad to have you. You oughtn't to owehorse bills, you ought to ride other chaps' nags. You know no more aboutbetting than I do about Algebra: the chaps will win your money as sureas you sport it. Hang me if you are not trying everything. I saw you sitdown to ecarte last week at Trumpington's, and taking your turn with thebones after Ringwood's supper. They'll beat you at it, Pen, my boy, evenif they play on the square, which I don't say they don't, nor which Idon't say they do, mind. But I won't play with 'em. You're no match for'em. You ain't up to their weight. It's like little Black Strap standingup to Tom Spring,--the Black's a pretty fighter but, Law bless you, hisarm ain't long enough to touch Tom,--and I tell you, you're going itwith fellers beyond your weight. Look here--If you'll promise me neverto bet nor touch a box nor a card, I'll let you off the two ponies."
But Pen, laughingly, said, "that though it wasn't convenient to him topay the two ponies at that moment, he by no means wished to be let offany just debts he owed;" and he and Foker parted, not without many darkforebodings on the latter's part with regard to his friend, who Harrythought was travelling speedily on the road to ruin.
"One must do at Rome as Rome does," Pen said, in a dandified manner,jingling some sovereigns in his waistcoat-pocket. "A little quiet playat ecarte can't hurt a man who plays pretty well--I came away fourteensovereigns richer from Ringwood's supper, and, gad! I wanted themoney."--And he walked off, after having taken leave of poor Foker, whowent away without any beat of drum, or offer to drive the coach out ofOxbridge, to superintend a little dinner which he was going to give athis own rooms in Boniface, about which dinners, the cook of the college,who had a great respect for Mr. Pendennis, always took especial painsfor his young favourite.
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