The History of Pendennis

  CHAPTER XXII. Prodigal's Return

  Such a letter as the Major wrote of course, sent Doctor Portman toFairoaks, and he went off with that alacrity which a good man shows whenhe has disagreeable news to communicate. He wishes the deed were done, anddone quickly. He is sorry, but que voulez-vous? the tooth must be takenout, and he has you in the chair, and it is surprising with what courageand vigour of wrist he applies the forceps. Perhaps he would not bequite so active or eager if it were his tooth; but, in fine, it is yourduty to have it out. So the doctor, having read the epistle out to Myraand Mrs. Portman, with many damnatory comments upon the young scapegracewho was going deeper and deeper into perdition, left those ladies tospread the news through the Clavering society, which they did with theiraccustomed accuracy and despatch, and strode over to Fairoaks to breakthe intelligence to the widow.

  She had the news already. She had read Pen's letter, and it had relievedher somehow. A gloomy presentiment of evil had been hanging over her formany, many months past. She knew the worst now, and her darling boy wascome back to her repentant and tender-hearted. Did she want more?All that the Rector could say (and his remarks were both dictated bycommon-sense, and made respectable by antiquity) could not bring Helento feel any indignation or particular unhappiness, except that the boyshould be unhappy. What was this degree that they made such an outcryabout, and what good would it do Pen? Why did Doctor Portman and hisuncle insist upon sending the boy to a place where there was so muchtemptation to be risked, and so little good to be won? Why didn't theyleave him at home with his mother? As for his debts, of course they mustbe paid;--his debts!--wasn't his father's money all his, and hadn't hea right to spend it? In this way the widow met the virtuous Doctor, andall the arrows of his indignation somehow took no effect upon her gentlebosom.

  For some time past, an agreeable practice, known since times everso ancient, by which brothers and sisters are wont to exhibit theiraffection towards one another, and in which Pen and his little sisterLaura had been accustomed to indulge pretty frequently in their childishdays, had been given up by the mutual consent of those two individuals.Coming back from college after an absence from home of some months, inplace of the simple girl whom he had left behind him, Mr. Arthur founda tall, slim, handsome young lady, to whom he could not somehow profferthe kiss which he had been in the habit of administering previously, andwho received him with a gracious curtsey and a proffered hand, and witha great blush which rose up to the cheek, just upon the very spot whichyoung Pen had been used to salute.

  I am not good at descriptions of female beauty; and, indeed, do not carefor it in the least (thinking that goodness and virtue are, of course,far more advantageous to a young lady than any mere fleeting charms ofperson and face), and so shall not attempt any particular delineationof Miss Laura Bell at the age of sixteen years. At that age she hadattained her present altitude of five feet four inches, so that she wascalled tall and gawky by some, and a Maypole by others, of her own sex,who prefer littler women. But if she was a Maypole, she had beautifulroses about her head, and it is a fact that many swains were disposed todance round her. She was ordinarily pale, with a faint rose tinge inher cheeks; but they flushed up in a minute when occasion called,and continued so blushing ever so long, the roses remaining after theemotion had passed away which had summoned those pretty flowers intoexistence. Her eyes have been described as very large from her earliestchildhood, and retained that characteristic in later life. Good-naturedcritics (always females) said that she was in the habit of making playwith those eyes, and ogling the gentlemen and ladies in her company; butthe fact is, that Nature had made them so to shine and to look, and theycould no more help so looking and shining than one star can help beingbrighter than another. It was doubtless to mitigate their brightnessthat Miss Laura's eyes were provided with two pairs of veils in theshape of the longest and finest black eyelashes, so that, when sheclosed her eyes, the same people who found fault with those orbs, saidthat she wanted to show her eyelashes off; and, indeed, I daresay thatto see her asleep would have been a pretty sight.

  As for her complexion, that was nearly as brilliant as Lady Mantrap's,and without the powder which her ladyship uses. Her nose must be left tothe reader's imaginaton: if her mouth was rather large (as Miss Piminyavers, who, but for her known appetite, one would think could notswallow anything larger than a button) everybody allowed that her smilewas charming, and showed off a set of pearly teeth, whilst her voicewas so low and sweet, that to hear it was like listening to sweet music.Because she is in the habit of wearing very long dresses, people ofcourse say that her feet are not small: but it may be that they areof the size becoming her figure, and it does not follow, because Mrs.Pincher is always putting her foot out, that all other ladies should beperpetually bringing theirs on the tapis. In fine, Miss Laura Bell atthe age of sixteen, was a sweet young lady. Many thousands of such areto be found, let us hope, in this country where there is no lack ofgoodness, and modesty, and purity, and beauty.

  Now Miss Laura, since she had learned to think for herself (and in thepast two years her mind and her person had both developed themselvesconsiderably) had only been half pleased with Pen's general conduct andbearing. His letters to his mother at home had become of late veryrare and short. It was in vain that the fond widow urged how constantArthur's occupations and studies were and how many his engagements."It is better that he should lose a prize" Laura said "than forget hismother; and indeed, mamma, I don't see that he gets many prizes. Whydoesn't he come home and stay with you, instead of passing his vacationsat his great friends' fine houses? There is nobody there will love himhalf so much as--as you do." "As I do only, Laura?" sighed out Mrs.Pendennis. Laura declared stoutly that she did not love Pen a bit, whenhe did not do his duty to his mother nor would she be convinced by anyof Helen's fond arguments, that the boy must make his way in theworld; that his uncle was most desirous that Pen should cultivate theacquaintance of persons who were likely to befriend him in life; thatmen had a thousand ties and calls which women could not understand,and so forth. Perhaps Helen no more believed in these excuses than heradopted daughter did; but she tried to believe that she believed them,and comforted herself with the maternal infatuation. And that is a pointwhereon I suppose many a gentleman has reflected, that, do what we will,we are pretty sure of the woman's love that once has been ours; and thatthat untiring tenderness and forgiveness never fail us.

  Also, there had been that freedom, not to say audacity, in Arthur'slatter talk and ways, which had shocked and displeased Laura. Not thathe ever offended her by rudeness, or addressed to her a word whichshe ought not to hear, for Mr. Pen was a gentleman, and by nature andeducation polite to every woman high and low; but he spoke lightly andlaxly of women in general; was less courteous in his actions than in hiswords--neglectful in sundry ways, and in many of the little offices oflife. It offended Miss Laura that he should smoke his horrid pipes inthe house; that he should refuse to go to church with his mother, oron walks or visits with her, and be found yawning over his novel in hisdressing-gown, when the gentle widow returned from those duties. Thehero of Laura's early infancy, about whom she had passed so many, manynights talking with Helen (who recited endless stories of the boy'svirtues, and love, and bravery, when he was away at school), was avery different person from the young man whom now she knew; boldand brilliant, sarcastic and defiant, seeming to scorn the simpleoccupations or pleasures, or even devotions, of the women with whom helived, and whom he quitted on such light pretexts.

  The Fotheringay affair, too, when Laura came to hear of it (which shedid first by some sarcastic allusions of Major Pendennis, when on avisit to Fairoaks, and then from their neighbours at Clavering, whohad plenty of information to give her on this head), vastly shocked andoutraged Miss Laura. A Pendennis fling himself away on such a woman asthat! Helen's boy galloping away from home, day after day, to fall onhis knees to an actress, and drink with her horrid father! A good sonwant to bring such a man and such a woman into his h
ouse, and set herover his mother! "I would have run away, mamma; I would, if I had had towalk barefoot through the snow," Laura said.

  "And you would have left me too, then?" Helen answered; on which, ofcourse, Laura withdrew her previous observation, and the two womenrushed into each other's embraces with that warmth which belonged toboth their natures, and which characterises not a few of their sex.Whence came all the indignation of Miss Laura aboutArthur's passion? Perhaps she did not know, that, if men throwthemselves away upon women, women throw themselves away upon men,too; and that there is no more accounting for love, than for any otherphysical liking or antipathy: perhaps she had been misinformed by theClavering people and old Mrs. Portman, who was vastly bitter againstPen, especially since his impertinent behaviour to the Doctor and sincethe wretch had smoked cigars in church-time: perhaps, finally, she wasjealous; but this is a vice in which it is said the ladies very seldomindulge.

  Albeit she was angry with Pen, against his mother she had no suchfeeling; but devoted herself to Helen with the utmost force of hergirlish affection--such affection as women, whose hearts are disengaged,are apt to bestow upon the near female friend. It was devotion--it waspassion--it was all sorts of fondness and folly; it was a profusion ofcaresses, tender epithets and endearments, such as it does not becomesober historians with beards to narrate. Do not let us men despise theseinstincts because we cannot feel them. These women were made for ourcomfort and delectation, gentlemen,--with all the rest of the minoranimals.

  But as soon as Miss Laura heard that Pen was unfortunate and unhappy,all her wrath against him straightway vanished, and gave place to themost tender and unreasonable compassion. He was the Pen of old daysonce more restored to her, the frank and affectionate, the generous andtender-hearted. She at once took side with Helen against Doctor Portman,when he outcried at the enormity of Pen's transgressions. Debts? whatwere his debts? they were a trifle; he had been thrown into expensivesociety by his uncle's order, and of course was obliged to live inthe same manner as the young gentlemen whose company he frequented.Disgraced by not getting his degree? the poor boy was ill when he wentin for the examinations: he couldn't think of his mathematics and stuffon account of those very debts which oppressed him; very likely some ofthe odious tutors and masters were jealous of him, and had favourites oftheir own whom they wanted to put over his head. Other people dislikedhim, and were cruel to him, and were unfair to him, she was very sure.And so, with flushing cheeks and eyes bright with anger, this youngcreature reasoned; and she went up and seized Helen's hand, and kissedher in the Doctor's presence, and her looks braved the Doctor, andseemed to ask how he dared to say a word against her darling mother'sPen?

  When that divine took his leave, not a little discomfited and amazed atthe pertinacious obstinacy of the women, Laura repeated her embraces andarguments with tenfold fervour to Helen, who felt that there was agreat deal of cogency in most of the latter. There must be some jealousyagainst Pen. She felt quite sure that he had offended some of theexaminers, who had taken a mean revenge of him--nothing more likely.Altogether, the announcement of the misfortune vexed these two ladiesvery little indeed. Pen, who was plunged in his shame and grief inLondon, and torn with great remorse for thinking of his mother's sorrow,would have wondered, had he seen how easily she bore the calamity.Indeed, calamity is welcome to women if they think it will bring truantaffection home again: and if you have reduced your mistress to a crust,depend upon it that she won't repine, and only take a very little bit ofit for herself, provided you will eat the remainder in her company.

  And directly the Doctor was gone, Laura ordered fires to be lightedin Mr. Arthur's rooms, and his bedding to be aired; and had thesepreparations completed by the time Helen had finished a most tenderand affectionate letter to Pen: when the girl, smiling fondly, took hermamma by the hand, and led her into those apartments where the fireswere blazing so cheerfully, and there the two kind creatures sate downon the bed, and talked about Pen ever so long. Laura added a postscriptto Helen's letter, in which she called him her dearest Pen, and bade himcome home instantly, with two of the handsomest dashes under the word,and be happy with his mother and his affectionate sister Laura.

  In the middle of the night--as these two ladies, after reading theirbibles a great deal during the evening, and after taking just a lookinto Pen's room as they passed to their own--in the middle of the night,I say, Laura, whose head not unfrequently chose to occupy that pillowwhich the nightcap of the late Pendennis had been accustomed to press,cried out suddenly, "Mamma, are you awake?"

  Helen stirred and said, "Yes, I'm awake." The truth is, though she hadbeen lying quite still and silent, she had not been asleep one instant,but had been looking at the night-lamp in the chimney, and had beenthinking of Pen for hours and hours.

  Then Miss Laura (who had been acting with similar hypocrisy, and lying,occupied with her own thoughts, as motionless as Helen's brooch, withPen's and Laura's hair in it, on the frilled white pincushion on thedressing-table) began to tell Mrs. Pendennis of a notable plan whichshe had been forming in her busy little brains; and by which all Pen'sembarrassments would be made to vanish in a moment, and without theleast trouble to anybody.

  "You know, mamma," this young lady said, "that I have been living withyou for ten years, during which time you have never taken any of mymoney, and have been treating me just as if I was a charity girl. Now,this obligation has offended me very much, because I am proud and do notlike to be beholden to people. And as, if I had gone to school--only Iwouldn't--it must have cost me at least fifty pounds a year, it is clearthat I owe you fifty times ten pounds, which I know you have put in thebank at Chatteris for me, and which doesn't belong to me a bit. Now,to-morrow we will go to Chatteris, and see that nice old Mr. Rowdy, withthe bald head, and ask him for it,--not for his head, but for the fivehundred pounds: and I dare say he will send you two more, which we willsave and pay back; and we will send the money to Pen, who can pay allhis debts without hurting anybody and then we will live happy everafter."

  What Helen replied to this speech need not be repeated, as the widow'sanswer was made up of a great number of incoherent ejaculations,embraces, and other irrelative matter. But the two women slept wellafter that talk; and when the night-lamp went out with a splutter, andthe sun rose gloriously over the purple hills, and the birds beganto sing and pipe cheerfully amidst the leafless trees and glisteningevergreens on Fairoaks lawn, Helen woke too, and as she looked at thesweet face of the girl sleeping beside her, her lips parted with asmile, blushes on her cheeks, her spotless bosom heaving and fallingwith gentle undulations, as if happy dreams were sweeping over it--Pen'smother felt happy and grateful beyond all power of words, save such aspious women offer up to the Beneficent Dispenser of love and mercy--inWhose honour a chorus of such praises is constantly rising up all roundthe world.

  Although it was January and rather cold weather, so sincere was Mr.Pen's remorse, and so determined his plans of economy, that he would nottake an inside place in the coach, but sate up behind with his friendthe Guard, who remembered his former liberality, and lent him plenty ofgreat-coats. Perhaps it was the cold that made his knees tremble as hegot down at the lodge-gate, or it may be that he was agitated at thenotion of seeing the kind creature for whose love he had made so selfisha return. Old John was in waiting to receive his master's baggage, buthe appeared in a fustian jacket, and no longer wore his livery of draband blue. "I'se garner and stable man, and lives in the ladge now," thisworthy man remarked, with a grin of welcome to Pen, and something of ablush; but instantly as Pen turned the corner of the shrubbery andwas out of eye-shot of the coach, Helen made her appearance, her facebeaming with love and forgiveness--for forgiving is what some women lovebest of all.

  We may be sure that the widow, having a certain other object in view,had lost no time in writing off to Pen an account of the noble, themagnanimous, the magnificent offer of Laura, filling up her letter witha profusion of benedictions upon both her children. It was probably the
knowledge of this money-obligation which caused Pen to blush very muchwhen he saw Laura, who was in waiting in the hall, and who this time,and for this time only, broke through the little arrangement of which wehave spoken, as having subsisted between her and Arthur for the last fewyears; but the truth is, there has been a great deal too much said aboutkissing in the present chapter.

  So the Prodigal came home, and the fatted calf was killed for him, andhe was made as happy as two simple women could make him. No allusionswere made to the Oxbridge mishap, or questions asked as to his fartherproceedings, for some time. But Pen debated these anxiously in his ownmind, and up in his own room, where he passed much time in cogitation.

  A few days after he came home, he rode to Chatteris on his horse, andcame back on the top of the coach. He then informed his mother that hehad left the horse to be sold; and when that operation was effected, hehanded her over the cheque, which she, and possibly Pen himself,thought was an act of uncommon virtue and self-denial, but which Laurapronounced to be only strict justice.

  He rarely mentioned the loan which she had made, and which, indeed,had been accepted by the widow with certain modifications; but once ortwice, and with great hesitation and stammering, he alluded to it, andthanked her; but it evidently pained his vanity to be beholden to theorphan for succour. He was wild to find some means of repaying her.

  He left off drinking wine, and betook himself, but with greatmoderation, to the refreshment of whisky-and-water. He gave upcigar-smoking; but it must be confessed that of late years he had likedpipes and tobacco as well or even better, so that this sacrifice was nota very severe one.

  He fell asleep a great deal after dinner when he joined the ladiesin the drawing-room, and was certainly very moody and melancholy. Hewatched the coaches with great interest, walked in to read the papersat Clavering assiduously, dined with anybody who would ask him (and thewidow was glad that he should have any entertainment in their solitaryplace), and played a good deal at cribbage with Captain Glanders.

  He avoided Dr. Portman, who, in his turn, whenever Pen passed, gave himvery severe looks from under his shovel-hat. He went to church with hismother, however, very regularly, and read prayers for her at home to thelittle household. Always humble, it was greatly diminished now: a coupleof maids did the work of the house of Fairoaks: the silver dish-coversnever saw the light at all.

  John put on his livery to go to church, and assert his dignity onSundays, but it was only for form's sake. He was gardener and out-doorman, vice Upton, resigned. There was but little fire in Fairoakskitchen, and John and the maids drank their evening beer there by thelight, of a single candle. All this was Mr. Pen's doing, and the stateof things did not increase his cheerfulness.

  For some time Pen said no power on earth could induce him to go back toOxbridge again, after his failure there; but one day Laura said to him,with many blushes, that she thought, as some sort of reparation, ofpunishment on himself for his--for his idleness, he ought to go back andget his degree, if he could fetch it by doing so; and so back Mr. Penwent.

  A plucked man is a dismal being in a university; belonging to no set ofmen there, and owned by no one. Pen felt himself plucked indeed ofall the fine feathers which he had won during his brilliant years, andrarely appeared out of his college; regularly going to morning chapel,and shutting himself up in his rooms of nights, away from the noise andsuppers of the undergraduates. There were no duns about his door, theywere all paid--scarcely any cards were left there. The men of hisyear had taken their degrees, and were gone. He went into a secondexamination, and passed with perfect ease. He was somewhat more easy inhis mind when he appeared in his bachelor's gown.

  On his way back from Oxbridge he paid a visit to his uncle in London;but the old gentleman received him with very cold looks, and wouldscarcely give him his forefinger to shake. He called a second time, butMorgan, the valet, said his master was from home.

  Pen came back to Fairoaks, and to his books and to his idleness, andloneliness and despair. He commenced several tragedies, and wrote manycopies of verses of a gloomy cast. He formed plans of reading and brokethem. He thought about enlisting--about the Spanish legion--about aprofession. He chafed against his captivity, and cursed the idlenesswhich had caused it. Helen said he was breaking his heart, and was sadto see his prostration. As soon as they could afford it, he should goabroad--he should go to London--he should be freed from the dull societyof two poor women. It was dull--very, certainly. The tender widow'shabitual melancholy seemed to deepen into a sadder gloom; and Laurasaw with alarm that the dear friend became every year more languid andweary, and that her pale cheek grew more wan.