CHAPTER LII. Which had very nearly been the last of the Story
Doctor Portman's letter was sent off to its destination in London, andthe worthy clergyman endeavoured to soothe down Mrs. Pendennis into somestate of composure until an answer should arrive, which the Doctor triedto think, or at any rate persisted in saying, would be satisfactory asregarded the morality of Mr. Pen. At least Helen's wisdom of moving uponLondon and appearing in person to warn her son of his wickedness, wasimpracticable for a day or two. The apothecary forbade her movingeven so far as Fairoaks for the first day, and it was not until thesubsequent morning that she found herself again back on her sofa athome, with the faithful, though silent, Laura nursing at her side.
Unluckily for himself and all parties, Pen never read that homily whichDoctor Portman addressed to him, until many weeks after the epistle hadbeen composed; and day after day the widow waited for her son's replyto the charges against him; her own illness increasing with every day'sdelay. It was a hard task for Laura to bear the anxiety; to witnessher dearest friend's suffering; worst of all, to support Helen'sestrangement, and the pain caused to her by that averted affection. Butit was the custom of this young lady to the utmost of her power, and bymeans of that gracious assistance which Heaven awarded to her pure andconstant prayers, to do her duty. And; as that duty was performedquite noiselessly,--while the supplications, which endowed her withthe requisite strength for fulfilling it, also took place in her ownchamber, away from all mortal sight,--we, too, must be perforce silentabout these virtues of hers, which no more bear public talking about,than a flower will bear to bloom in a ballroom. This only we willsay--that a good woman is the loveliest flower that blooms under heaven;and that we look with love and wonder upon its silent grace, its purefragrance, its delicate bloom of beauty. Sweet and beautiful!--thefairest and the most spotless!--is it not pity to see them bowed down ordevoured by Grief or Death inexorable--wasting in disease--pining withlong pain--or cut off by sudden fate in their prime? We may deservegrief--but why should these be unhappy?--except that we know that Heavenchastens those whom it loves best; being pleased, by repeated trials, tomake these pure spirits more pure.
So Pen never got the letter, although it was duly posted and faithfullydischarged by the postman into his letter-box in Lamb Court, and thencecarried by the laundress to his writing-table with the rest of hislordship's correspondence; into which room, have we not seen a pictureof him, entering from his little bedroom adjoining, as Mrs. Flanagan,his laundress, was in the act of drinking his gin?
Those kind readers who have watched Mr. Arthur's career hitherto, andhave made, as they naturally would do, observations upon the moralcharacter and peculiarities of their acquaintance, have probablydiscovered by this time what was the prevailing fault in Mr. Pen'sdisposition, and who was that greatest enemy, artfully indicated in thetitle-page, with whom he had to contend. Not a few of us, my belovedpublic, have the very same rascal to contend with: a scoundrel who takesevery opportunity of bringing us into mischief, of plunging us intoquarrels, of leading us into idleness and unprofitable company, and whatnot. In a word, Pen's greatest enemy was himself: and as he had beenpampering, and coaxing, and indulging that individual all his life,the rogue grew insolent, as all spoiled servants will be; and atthe slightest attempt to coerce him, or make him do that which wasunpleasant to him, became frantically rude and unruly. A person who isused to making sacrifices--Laura, for instance, who had got such a habitof giving up her own pleasure for others--can do the business quiteeasily; but Pen, unaccustomed as he was to any sort of self-denial,suffered woundily when called on to pay his share, and savagely grumbledat being obliged to forgo anything he liked.
He had resolved in his mighty mind then that he would not see Fanny; andhe wouldn't. He tried to drive the thoughts of that fascinatinglittle person out of his head, by constant occupation, by exercise, bydissipation and society. He worked then too much; he walked and rode toomuch; he ate, drank, and smoked too much: nor could all the cigars andthe punch of which he partook drive little Fanny's image out ofhis inflamed brain, and at the end of a week of this discipline andself-denial our young gentleman was in bed with a fever. Let the readerwho has never had a fever in chambers pity the wretch who is bound toundergo that calamity.
A committee of marriageable ladies, or of any Christian personsinterested in the propagation of the domestic virtues, should employ aCruikshank or a Leech, or some other kindly expositor of the folliesof the day, to make a series of designs representing the horrors of abachelor's life in chambers, and leading the beholder to think of betterthings, and a more wholesome condition. What can be more uncomfortablethan the bachelor's lonely breakfast?--with the black kettle in thedreary fire in midsummer; or, worse still, with the fire gone outat Christmas, half an hour after the laundress has quitted thesitting-room? Into this solitude the owner enters shivering, and has tocommence his day by hunting for coals and wood; and before he begins thework of a student, has to discharge the duties of a housemaid, vice Mrs.Flanagan, who is absent without leave. Or, again, what can form a finersubject for the classical designer than the bachelor's shirt--thatgarment which he wants to assume just at dinner-time, and which he findswithout any buttons to fasten it? Then there is the bachelor's returnto chambers, after a merry Christmas holiday, spent in a cosycountry-house, full of pretty faces, and kind welcomes and regrets.He leaves his portmanteau at the barber's in the Court: he lights hisdismal old candle at the sputtering little lamp on the stair: he entersthe blank familiar room, where the only tokens to greet him, that showany interest in his personal welfare, are the Christmas bills, which arelying in wait for him, amiably spread out on his reading-table. Add tothese scenes an appalling picture of bachelor's illness, and the rentsin the Temple will begin to fall from the day of the publication of thedismal diorama. To be well in chambers is melancholy, and lonely andselfish enough; but to be ill in chambers--to pass long nights of painand watchfulness--to long for the morning and the laundress--to serveyourself your own medicine by your own watch--to have no other companionfor long hours but your own sickening fancies and fevered thoughts: nokind hand to give you drink if you are thirsty, or to smooth the hotpillow that crumples under you,--this, indeed, is a fate so dismaland tragic, that we shall not enlarge upon its horrors, and shall onlyheartily pity those bachelors in the Temple, who brave it every day.
This lot befell Arthur Pendennis after the various excesses which wehave mentioned, and to which he had subjected his unfortunate brains.One night he went to bed ill, and the next day awoke worse. His onlyvisitor that day, besides the laundress, was the Printer's Devil, fromthe Pall Mall Gazette office, whom the writer endeavoured, as best hecould, to satisfy. His exertions to complete his work rendered his feverthe greater: he could only furnish a part of the quantity of "copy"usually supplied by him; and Shandon being absent, and Warrington notin London to give a help, the political and editorial columns of theGazette looked very blank indeed; nor did the sub-editor know how tofill them.
Mr. Finucane rushed up to Pen's chambers, and found that gentleman soexceedingly unwell, that the good-natured Irishman set to work to supplyhis place, if possible, and produced a series of political and criticalcompositions, such as no doubt greatly edified the readers of theperiodical in which he and Pen were concerned. Allusions to thegreatness of Ireland, and the genius and virtue of the inhabitants ofthat injured country, flowed magnificently from Finucane's pen; andShandon, the Chief of the paper, who was enjoying himself placidly atBoulogne-sur-Mer, looking over the columns of the journal, which wasforwarded to him, instantly recognised the hand of the great Sub-editor,and said, laughing, as he flung over the paper to his wife, "Look here,Mary, my dear, here is Jack at work again." Indeed, Jack was a warmfriend, and a gallant partisan, and when he had the pen in hand, seldomlet slip an opportunity of letting the world know that Rafferty was thegreatest painter in Europe, and wondering at the petty jealousy ofthe Academy, which refused to make him an R.A.: of stating that it w
asgenerally reported at the West End, that Mr. Rooney, M.P., was appointedGovernor of Barataria; or of introducing into the subject in hand,whatever it might be, a compliment to the Round Towers, or the Giant'sCauseway. And besides doing Pen's work for him, to the best of hisability, his kind-hearted comrade offered to forgo his Saturday'sand Sunday's holiday, and pass those days of holiday and rest asnurse-tender to Arthur, who, however, insisted, that the other shouldnot forgo his pleasure, and thankfully assured him that he could bearbest his malady alone.
Taking his supper at the Back Kitchen on the Friday night, after havingachieved the work of the paper, Finucane informed Captain Costigan ofthe illness of their young friend in the Temple; and remembering thefact two days afterwards, the Captain went to Lamb Court and paid avisit to the invalid on Sunday afternoon.
He found Mrs. Flanagan, the laundress, in tears in the sitting-room,and got a bad report of the poor dear young gentleman within. Pen'scondition had so much alarmed her, that she was obliged to have recourseto the stimulus of brandy to enable her to support the grief whichhis illness occasioned. As she hung about his bed, and endeavoured tominister to him, her attentions became intolerable to the invalid, andhe begged her peevishly not to come near him. Hence the laundress'stears and redoubled grief, and renewed application to the bottle, whichshe was accustomed to use as an anodyne. The Captain rated thewoman soundly for her intemperance, and pointed out to her the fatalconsequences which must ensue if she persisted in her imprudent courses.
Pen, who was by this time in a very fevered state, yet was greatlypleased to receive Costigan's visit. He heard the well-known voice in hissitting-room, as he lay in the bedroom within, and called the Captaineagerly to him, and thanked him for coming, and begged him to take achair and talk to him. The Captain felt the young man's pulse withgreat gravity--(his own tremulous and clammy hand growing steady for theinstant while his finger pressed Arthur's throbbing vein)--the pulsewas beating very fiercely--Pen's face was haggard and hot--his eyes werebloodshot and gloomy; his "bird," as the Captain pronounced the word,afterwards giving a description of his condition, had not been shavedfor nearly a week. Pen made his visitor sit down, and, tossing andturning in his comfortless bed, began to try and talk to the Captain ina lively manner, about the Back Kitchen, about Vauxhall and when theyshould go again, and about Fanny--how was little Fanny?
Indeed how was she? We know how she went home very sadly on theprevious Sunday evening, after she had seen Arthur light his lamp in hischambers, whilst he was having his interview with Bows. Bows came backto his own rooms presently, passing by the lodge door, and looking intoMrs. Bolton's, according to his wont, as he passed, but with avery melancholy face. She had another weary night that night. Herrestlessness wakened her little bedfellows more than once. She daren'tread more of 'Walter Lorraine:' Father was at home, and would suffer nolight. She kept the book under her pillow, and felt for it in the night.She had only just got to sleep, when the children began to stir with themorning, almost as early as the birds. Though she was very angry withBows, she went to his room at her accustomed hour in the day, and therethe good-hearted musician began to talk to her.
"I saw Mr. Pendennis last night, Fanny," he said.
"Did you? I thought you did," Fanny answered, looking fiercely at themelancholy old gentleman.
"I've been fond of you ever since we came to live in this place," hecontinued. "You were a child when I came; and you used to like me,Fanny, until three or four days ago: until you saw this gentleman."
"And now, I suppose, you are going to say ill of him," said Fanny. "Do,Mr. Bows--that will make me like you better."
"Indeed I shall do no such thing," Bows answered; "I think he is a verygood and honest young man."
"Indeed! you know that if you said a word against him, I would neverspeak a word to you again--never!" cried Miss Fanny; and clenched herlittle hand, and paced up and down the room. Bows noted, watched, andfollowed the ardent little creature with admiration and gloomy sympathy.Her cheeks flushed, her frame trembled; her eyes beamed love, anger,defiance. "You would like to speak ill of him," she said; "but youdaren't--you know you daren't!"
"I knew him many years since," Bows continued, "when he was almost asyoung as you are, and he had a romantic attachment for our friend theCaptain's daughter--Lady Mirabel that is now."
Fanny laughed. "I suppose there was other people, too, that had romanticattachments for Miss Costigan," she said: "I don't want to hear about'em."
"He wanted to marry her; but their ages were quite disproportionate: andtheir rank in life. She would not have him because he had no money.She acted very wisely in refusing him; for the two would have been veryunhappy, and she wasn't a fit person to go and live with his family, orto make his home comfortable. Mr. Pendennis has his way to make in theworld, and must marry a lady of his own rank. A woman who loves a manwill not ruin his prospects, cause him to quarrel with his family, andlead him into poverty and misery for her gratification. An honest girlwon't do that, for her own sake, or for the man's."
Fanny's emotion, which but now had been that of defiance and anger,here turned to dismay and supplication. "What do I know about marrying,Bows?" she said. "When was there any talk of it? What has there beenbetween this young gentleman and me that's to make people speak socruel? It was not my doing; nor Arthur's--Mr. Pendennis's--that I methim at Vauxhall. It was the Captain took me and Ma there. We neverthought of nothing wrong, I'm sure. He came and rescued us, and he wasso very kind. Then he came to call and ask after us: and very, very goodit was of a such grand gentleman to be so polite to humble folks likeus! And yesterday Ma and me just went to walk in the Temple Gardens,and--and"--here she broke out with that usual, unanswerable femaleargument of tears--and cried, "Oh! I wish I was dead! I wish I was laidin my grave; and had never, never seen him!"
"He said as much himself, Fanny," Bows said; and Fanny asked through hersobs, Why, why should he wish he had never seen her? Had she everdone him any harm? Oh, she would perish rather than do him any harm.Whereupon the musician informed her of the conversation of the dayprevious, showed her that Pen could not and must not think of her as awife fitting for him, and that she, as she valued her honest reputation,must strive too to forget him. And Fanny, leaving the musician,convinced, but still of the same mind, and promising that she wouldavoid the danger which menaced her, went back to the porter's lodge, andtold her mother all. She talked of her love for Arthur, and bewailed, inher artless manner, the inequality of their condition, that set barriersbetween them. "There's the 'Lady of Lyons,'" Fanny said; "Oh, Ma! howI did love Mr. Macready when I saw him do it; and Pauline, for beingfaithful to poor Claude, and always thinking of him; and he coming backto her, an officer, through all his dangers! And if everybody admiresPauline--and I'm sure everybody does, for being so true to a poorman--why should a gentleman be ashamed of loving a poor girl? Not thatMr. Arthur loves me--Oh no, no! I ain't worthy of him; only a princessis worthy of such a gentleman as him. Such a poet!--writing sobeautifully, and looking so grand! I am sure he's a nobleman, and ofancient family, and kep' out of his estate. Perhaps his uncle has it.Ah, if I might, oh, how I'd serve him, and work for him, and slave forhim, that I would. I wouldn't ask for more than that, Ma, just to beallowed to see him of a morning; and sometimes he'd say 'How d'you,Fanny?' or 'God bless you, Fanny!' as he said on Sunday. And I'd work,and work; and I'd sit up all night, and read, and learn, and make myselfworthy of him. The Captain says his mother lives in the country, and isa grand lady there. Oh, how I wish I might go and be her servant, Ma!I can do plenty of things, and work very neat; and--and sometimes he'dcome home, and I should see him!"
The girl's head fell on her mother's shoulder, as she spoke, and shegave way to a plentiful outpouring of girlish tears, to which thematron, of course, joined her own. "You mustn't think no more of him,Fanny," she said. "If he don't come to you, he's a horrid, wicked man."
"Don't call him so, Mother," Fanny replied. "He's the best of men, thebest and the kind
est. Bows says he thinks he is unhappy at leaving poorlittle Fanny. It wasn't his fault, was it, that we met?--and it ain'this that I mustn't see him again. He says I mustn't--and I mustn't,Mother. He'll forget me, but I shall never forget him. No! I'll prayfor him, and love him always--until I die--and I shall die, I know Ishall--and then my spirit will always go and be with him."
"You forget your poor mother, Fanny, and you'll break my heart by goinon so," Mrs. Bolton said. "Perhaps you will see him. I'm sure you'll seehim. I'm sure he'll come to-day. If ever I saw a man in love, that manis him. When Emily Budd's young man first came about her, he wassent away by old Budd, a most respectable man, and violoncello in theorchestra at the Wells; and his own family wouldn't hear of it neither.But he came back. We all knew he would. Emily always said so; and hemarried her; and this one will come back too; and you mark a mother'swords, and see if he don't, dear."
At this point of the conversation Mr. Bolton entered the lodge for hisevening meal. At the father's appearance, the talk between mother anddaughter ceased instantly. Mrs. Bolton caressed and cajoled the surlyundertaker's aide-de-camp, and said, "Lor, Mr. B. who'd have thought tosee you away from the Club of a Saturday night. Fanny, dear, get your pasome supper. What will you have, B.? The poor gurl's got a gatheringin her eye, or somethink in it--I was lookin at it just now as you camein." And she squeezed her daughter's hand as a signal of prudence andsecrecy; and Fanny's tears were dried up likewise; and by that wondroushypocrisy and power of disguise which women practise, and with whichweapons of defence nature endows them, the traces of her emotiondisappeared; and she went and took her work, and sate in the corner sodemure and quiet, that the careless male parent never suspected thatanything ailed her.
Thus, as if fate seemed determined to inflame and increase the poorchild's malady and passion, all circumstances and all parties roundabout her urged it on. Her mother encouraged and applauded it; and thevery words which Bows used in endeavouring to repress her flame onlyaugmented this unlucky fever. Pen was not wicked and a seducer: Pen washigh-minded in wishing to avoid her. Pen loved her: the good and thegreat, the magnificent youth, with the chains of gold and the scentedauburn hair! And so he did: or so he would have loved her five yearsback perhaps, before the world had hardened the ardent and recklessboy--before he was ashamed of a foolish and imprudent passion, andstrangled it as poor women do their illicit children, not on account ofthe crime, but of the shame, and from dread that the finger of the worldshould point to them.
What respectable person in the world will not say he was quite rightto avoid a marriage with an ill-educated person of low degree, whoserelations a gentleman could not well acknowledge, and whose mannerswould not become her new station?--and what philosopher would not tellhim that the best thing to do with these little passions if they springup, is to get rid of them, and let them pass over and cure them: that noman dies about a woman or vice versa: and that one or the otherhaving found the impossibility of gratifying his or her desire in theparticular instance, must make the best of matters, forget each other,look out elsewhere, and choose again? And yet, perhaps, there may besomething said on the other side. Perhaps Bows was right in admiringthat passion of Pen's, blind and unreasoning as it was, that made himready to stake his all for his love; perhaps if self-sacrifice is alaudable virtue, mere worldly self-sacrifice is not very much to bepraised;--in fine, let this be a reserved point to be settled by theindividual moralist who chooses to debate it.
So much is certain, that with the experience of the world which Mr. Pennow had, he would have laughed at and scouted the idea of marrying apenniless girl out of a kitchen. And this point being fixed in his mind,he was but doing his duty as an honest man, in crushing any unluckyfondness which he might feel towards poor little Fanny.
So she waited and waited in hopes that Arthur would come. She waited fora whole week, and it was at the end of that time that the poor littlecreature heard from Costigan of the illness under which Arthur wassuffering.
It chanced on that very evening after Costigan had visited Pen, thatArthur's uncle the excellent Major arrived in town from Buxton, wherehis health had been mended, and sent his valet Morgan to make inquiriesfor Arthur, and to request that gentleman to breakfast with the Majorthe next morning. The Major was merely passing through London on his wayto the Marquis of Steyne's house of Stillbrook, where he was engaged toshoot partridges.
Morgan came back to his master with a very long face. He had seen Mr.Arthur; Mr. Arthur was very bad indeed; Mr. Arthur was in bed with afever. A doctor ought to be sent to him; and Morgan thought his casemost alarming.
Gracious goodness! this was sad news indeed. He had hoped that Arthurcould come down to Stillbrook: he had arranged that he should go, andprocured an invitation for his nephew from Lord Steyne. He mustgo himself; he couldn't throw Lord Steyne over: the fever might becatching: it might be measles: he had never himself had the measles;they were dangerous when contracted at his age. Was anybody with Mr.Arthur?
Morgan said there was somebody a-nussing of Mr. Arthur.
The Major then asked, had his nephew taken any advice? Morgan said hehad asked that question, and had been told that Mr. Pendennis had had nodoctor.
Morgan's master was sincerely vexed at hearing of Arthur's calamity. Hewould have gone to him, but what good could it do Arthur that he, theMajor, should catch a fever? His own ailments rendered it absolutelyimpossible that he should attend to anybody but himself. But the youngman must have advice--the best advice; and Morgan was straightwaydespatched with a note from Major Pendennis to his friend DoctorGoodenough, who by good luck happened to be in London and at home, andwho quitted his dinner instantly, and whose carriage was in half an hourin Upper Temple Lane, near Pen's chambers.
The Major had asked the kind-hearted physician to bring him news of hisnephew at the Club where he himself was dining, and in the course of thenight the Doctor made his appearance. The affair was very serious: thepatient was in a high fever: he had had Pen bled instantly: and wouldsee him the first thing in the morning. The Major went disconsolateto bed with this unfortunate news. When Goodenough came to see himaccording to his promise the next day, the Doctor had to listen for aquarter of an hour to an account of the Major's own maladies, before thelatter had leisure to hear about Arthur.
He had had a very bad night--his--his nurse said: at one hour he hadbeen delirious. It might end badly: his mother had better be sent forimmediately. The Major wrote the letter to Mrs. Pendennis withthe greatest alacrity, and at the same time with the most politeprecautions. As for going himself to the lad, in his state it wasimpossible. "Could I be of any use to him, my dear Doctor?" he asked.
The Doctor, with a peculiar laugh, said, No: he didn't think the Majorcould be of any use: that his own precious health required the mostdelicate treatment, and that he had best go into the country and stay:that he himself would take care to see the patient twice a day, and doall in his power for him.
The Major declared upon his honour, that if he could be of any use hewould rush to Pen's chambers. As it was, Morgan should go and see thateverything was right. The Doctor must write to him by every post toStillbrook: it was but forty miles distant from London, and if anythinghappened he would come up at any sacrifice.
Major Pendennis transacted his benevolence by deputy and by post. "Whatelse could he do," as he said? "Gad, you know, in these cases, it's bestnot disturbing a fellow. If a poor fellow goes to the bad, why, Gad, youknow he's disposed of. But in order to get well (and in this, my dearDoctor, I'm sure that you will agree with me), the best way is to keephim quiet--perfectly quiet."
Thus it was the old gentleman tried to satisfy his conscience and hewent his way that day to Stillbrook by railway (for railways havesprung up in the course of this narrative, though they have not quitepenetrated into Pen's country yet), and made his appearance in his usualtrim order and curly wig, at the dinner-table of the Marquis of Steyne.But we must do the Major the justice to say, that he was very unhappyand gloomy in
demeanour. Wagg and Wenham rallied him about his lowspirits; asked whether he was crossed in love? and otherwise divertedthemselves at his expense. He lost his money at whist after dinner, andactually trumped his partner's highest spade. And the thoughts of thesuffering boy, of whom he was proud, and whom he loved after his manner,kept the old fellow awake half through the night, and made him feverishand uneasy.
On the morrow he received a note in a handwriting which he did not know:it was that of Mr. Bows, indeed, saying that Mr. Arthur Pendennis hadhad a tolerable night; and that as Dr. Goodenough had stated that theMajor desired to be informed of his nephew's health, he, R. B., had senthim the news per rail.
The next day he was going out shooting, about noon, with some of thegentlemen staying at Lord Steyne's house; and the company, waiting forthe carriages, were assembled on the terrace in front of the house, whena fly drove up from the neighbouring station, and a grey-headed, rathershabby old gentleman jumped out, and asked for Major Pendennis. Itwas Mr. Bows. He took the Major aside and spoke to him; most of thegentlemen round about saw that something serious had happened, from thealarmed look of the Major's face.
Wagg said, "It's a bailiff come down to nab the Major," but nobodylaughed at the pleasantry.
"Hullo! What's the matter, Pendennis?" cried Lord Steyne, with hisstrident voice;--"anything wrong?"
"It's--it's--my boy that's dead," said the Major, and burst into asob--the old man was quite overcome.
"Not dead, my Lord; but very ill when I left London," Mr. Bows said, ina low voice.
A britzka came up at this moment as the three men were speaking.The Peer looked at his watch. "You've twenty minutes to catch themail-train. Jump in, Pendennis; and drive like h---, sir, do you hear?"
The carriage drove off swiftly with Pendennis and his companions, andlet us trust that the oath will be pardoned to the Marquis of Steyne.
The Major drove rapidly from the station to the Temple, and found atravelling carriage already before him, and blocking up the narrowTemple Lane. Two ladies got out of it, and were asking their way of theporters; the Major looked by chance at the panel of the carriage, andsaw the worn-out crest of the Eagle looking at the Sun, and the motto,"Nec tenui penna," painted beneath. It was his brother's old carriage,built many, many years ago. It was Helen and Laura that were askingtheir way to Pen's room.
He ran up to them; hastily clasped his sister's arm and kissed herhand; and the three entered into Lamb Court, and mounted the long gloomystair.
They knocked very gently at the door, on which Arthur's name waswritten, and it was opened by Fanny Bolton.