CHAPTER LXVIII. In which the Major is bidden to Stand and Deliver
Any gentleman who has frequented the Wheel of Fortune public-house,where it may be remembered that Mr. James Morgan's Club was held, andwhere Sir Francis Clavering had an interview with Major Pendennis,is aware that there are three rooms for guests upon the ground floor,besides the bar where the landlady sits. One is a parlour frequented bythe public at large; to another room gentlemen in livery resort; andthe third apartment, on the door of which "Private" is painted, is thathired by the Club of "The Confidentials," of which Messrs Morgan andLightfoot were members.
The noiseless Morgan had listened to the conversation between Strong andMajor Pendennis at the latter's own lodgings, and had carried away fromit matter for much private speculation; and a desire of knowledgehad led him to follow his master when the Major came to the Wheel ofFortune, and to take his place quietly in the Confidential room, whilstPendennis and Clavering had their discourse in the parlour. There wasa particular corner in the Confidential room from which you could hearalmost all that passed in the next apartment; and as the conversationbetween the two gentlemen there was rather angry, and carried on in ahigh key, Morgan had the benefit of overhearing almost the whole ofit and what he heard, strengthened the conclusions which his mind hadpreviously formed.
"He knew Altamont at once, did he, when he saw him in Sydney? Claveringain't no more married to my Lady than I am! Altamont's the man:Altamont's a convict; young Harthur comes into Parlyment, and theGov'nor promises not to split. By Jove, what a sly old rogue it is, thatold Gov'nor! No wonder he's anxious to make the match between Blancheand Harthur: why, she'll have a hundred thousand if she's a penny, andbring her man a seat in Parlyment into the bargain." Nobody saw, but aphysiognomist would have liked to behold, the expression of Mr. Morgan'scountenance, when this astounding intelligence was made clear to him."But for my hage, and the confounded preudices of society," he said,surveying himself in the glass, "dammy, James Morgan, you might marryher yourself." But if he could not marry Miss Blanche and her fortune,Morgan thought he could mend his own by the possession of thisinformation, and that it might be productive of benefit to him from verymany sources. Of all the persons whom the secret affected, the greaternumber would not like to have it known. For instance, Sir FrancisClavering, whose fortune it involved, would wish to keep it quiet;Colonel Altamont, whose neck it implicated, would naturally be desirousto hush it: and that young hupstart beast, Mr. Harthur, who was forgetting' into Parlyment on the strenth of it, and was as proud as ifhe was a duke with half a millium a year (such, we grieve to say, wasMorgan's opinion of his employer's nephew), would pay anythink soonerthan let the world know that he was married to a convick's daughter, andhad got his seat in Parlyment by trafficking with this secret. As forLady C., Morgan thought, if she's tired of Clavering, and wants to getrid of him, she'll pay: if she's frightened about her son, and fondof the little beggar, she'll pay all the same: and Miss Blanche willcertainly come down handsome to the man who will put her into herrights, which she was unjustly defrauded of them, and no mistake."Dammy," concluded the valet, reflecting upon this wonderful hand whichluck had given him to play, "with such cards as these, James Morgan, youare a made man. It may be a reg'lar enewity to me. Every one of 'em mustsusscribe. And with what I've made already, I may cut business, givemy old Gov'nor warning, turn gentleman, and have a servant of my own,begad." Entertaining himself with calculations such as these, that werenot a little likely to perturb a man's spirit, Mr. Morgan showed a verygreat degree of self-command by appearing and being calm, and by notallowing his future prospects in any way to interfere with his presentduties.
One of the persons whom the story chiefly concerned, Colonel Altamont,was absent from London when Morgan was thus made acquainted with hishistory. The valet knew of Sir Francis Clavering's Shepherd's Inn haunt,and walked thither an hour or two after the Baronet and Pendennishad had their conversation together. But that bird was flown; ColonelAltamont had received his Derby winnings, and was gone to the Continent.The fact of his absence was exceedingly vexatious to Mr. Morgan. "He'lldrop all that money at the gambling-shops on the Rhind," thought Morgan,"and I might have had a good bit of it. It's confounded annoying tothink he's gone and couldn't have waited a few days longer." Hope,triumphant or deferred, ambition or disappointment, victory or patientambush, Morgan bore all alike, with similar equable countenance. Untilthe proper day came, the Major's boots were varnished and his hair wascurled, his early cup of tea was brought to his bedside, his oaths,rebukes, and senile satire borne, with silent, obsequious fidelity. Whowould think, to see him waiting upon his master, packing and shoulderinghis trunks, and occasionally assisting at table, at the country-houseswhere he might be staying, that Morgan was richer than his employer, andknew his secrets and other people's? In the profession Mr. Morgan wasgreatly respected and admired, and his reputation for wealth and wisdomgot him much renown at most supper-tables: the younger gentlemen votedhim stoopid, a feller of no idears, and a fogey, in a word: but not oneof them would not say amen to the heartfelt prayer which some of themost serious-minded among the gentlemen uttered, "When I die may I cutup as well as Morgan Pendennis!"
As became a man of fashion, Major Pendennis spent the autumn passingfrom house to house of such country friends as were at home to receivehim; and if the Duke happened to be abroad, the Marquis in Scotland,condescending to sojourn with Sir John or the plain Squire. To say thetruth, the old gentleman's reputation was somewhat on the wane: many ofthe men of his time had died out, and the occupants of their halls andthe present wearers of their titles knew not Major Pendennis: and littlecared for his traditions of "the wild Prince and Poins," and of theheroes of fashion passed away. It must have struck the good man withmelancholy as he walked by many a London door, to think how seldom itwas now opened for him, and how often he used to knock at it--to whatbanquets and welcome he used to pass through it--a score of years back.He began to own that he was no longer of the present age, and dimly toapprehend that the young men laughed at him. Such melancholy musingsmust come across many a Pall Mall philosopher. The men, thinks he,are not such as they used to be in his time: the old grand manner andcourtly grace of life are gone: what is Castlewood House and the presentCastlewood, compared to the magnificence of the old mansion and owner?The late lord came to London with four postchaises and sixteen horses:all the North Road hurried out to look at his cavalcade: the people inLondon streets even stopped as his procession passed them. The presentlord travels with five bagmen in a railway carriage, and sneaks awayfrom the station, smoking a cigar in a brougham. The late lord in autumnfilled Castlewood with company, who drank claret till midnight: thepresent man buries himself in a hut on a Scotch mountain, and passesNovember in two or three closets in an entresol at Paris, where hisamusements are a dinner at a cafe and a box at a little theatre. What acontrast there is between his Lady Lorraine, the Regent's Lady Lorraine,and her little ladyship of the present era! He figures to himself thefirst, beautiful, gorgeous, magnificent in diamonds and velvets,daring in rouge, the wits of the world (the old wits, the old polishedgentlemen--not the canaille of to-day with their language of thecabstand, and their coats smelling of smoke) bowing at her feet; andthen thinks of to-day's Lady Lorraine--a little woman in a black silkgown, like a governess, who talks astronomy, and labouring classes,and emigration, and the deuce knows what, and lurks to church at eighto'clock in the morning. Abbots-Lorraine, that used to be the noblesthouse in the county, is turned into a monastery--a regular La Trappe.They don't drink two glasses of wine after dinner, and every other manat table is a country curate, with a white neckcloth, whose talk isabout Polly Higson's progress at school, or widow Watkins's lumbago."And the other young men, those lounging guardsmen and great lazydandies--sprawling over sofas and billiard-tables, and stealing off tosmoke pipes in each other's bedrooms, caring for nothing, reverencingnothing, not even an old gentleman who has known their fathers and theirbetters, not even a pretty woman--wh
at a difference there is betweenthese men, who poison the very turnips and stubble-fields with theirtobacco, and the gentlemen of our time!" thinks the Major; "the breedis gone--there's no use for 'em; they're replaced by a parcel of damnedcotton-spinners and utilitarians, and young sprigs of parsons withtheir hair combed down their barks. I'm getting old: they're gettingpast me: they laugh at us old boys," thought old Pendennis. And he wasnot far wrong; the times and manners which he admired were pretty nearlygone--the gay young men "larked" him irreverently, whilst the seriousyouth had a grave pity and wonder at him; which would have been evenmore painful to bear, had the old gentleman been aware of its extent.But he was rather simple: his examination of moral questions had neverbeen very deep; it had never struck him perhaps, until very lately, thathe was otherwise than a most respectable and rather fortunate man. Isthere no old age but his without reverence? Did youthful folly neverjeer at other bald pates? For the past two or three years, he had begunto perceive that his day was well-nigh over, and that the men of the newtime had begun to reign.
After a rather unsuccessful autumn season, then, during which he wasfaithfully followed by Mr. Morgan, his nephew Arthur being engaged, aswe have seen, at Clavering, it happened that Major Pendennis came backfor a while to London, at the dismal end of October, when the fogs andthe lawyers come to town. Who has not looked with interest at thoseloaded cabs, piled boxes, and crowded children, rattling through thestreets on the dun October evenings; stopping at the dark houses,where they discharge nurse and infant, girls, matron and father, whoseholidays are over? Yesterday it was France and sunshine, or Broadstairsand liberty; to-day comes work and a yellow fog; and, ye gods! what aheap of bills there lies in Master's study! And the clerk has broughtthe lawyer's papers from Chambers; and in half an hour the literary manknows that the printer's boy will be in the passage; and Mr. Smithwith that little account (that particular little account) has calledpresentient of your arrival, and has left word that he will callto-morrow morning at ten. Who amongst us has not said Good-bye to hisholiday; returned to dun London, and his fate; surveyed his laboursand liabilities laid out before him, and been aware of that inevitablelittle account to settle? Smith and his little account in the morning,symbolise duty, difficulty, struggle, which you will meet, let us hope,friend, with a manly and honest heart.--And you think of him, as thechildren are slumbering once more in their own beds, and the watchfulhousewife tenderly pretends to sleep.
Old Pendennis had no special labours or bills to encounter on themorrow, as he had no affection at home to soothe him. He had alwaysmoney in his desk sufficient for his wants; and being by nature andhabit tolerably indifferent to the wants of other people, these latterwere not likely to disturb him. But a gentleman may be out of temperthough he does not owe a shilling and though he may be ever so selfish,he must occasionally feel dispirited and lonely. He had had two or threetwinges of gout in the country-house where he had been staying: thebirds were wild and shy, and the walking over the ploughed fields hadfatigued him deucedly: the young men had laughed at him, and he had beenpeevish at table once or twice: he had not been able to get his whistof an evening: and, in fine, was glad to come away. In all his dealingswith Morgan, his valet, he had been exceedingly sulky and discontented.He had sworn at him and abused him for many days past. He had scaldedhis mouth with bad soup at Swindon. He had left his umbrella in therailroad carriage: at which piece of forgetfulness, he was in such arage, that he cursed Morgan more freely than ever. Both, the chimneyssmoked furiously in his lodgings; and when he caused the windows to beflung open, he swore so acrimoniously, that Morgan was inclined to flinghim out of window too, through that opened casement. The valet sworeafter his master, as Pendennis went down the street on his way to theClub.
Bays's was not at all pleasant. The house had been new painted, andsmelt of varnish and turpentine, and a large streak of white paintinflicted itself on the back of the old boy's fur-collared surtout. Thedinner was not good: and the three most odious men in all London--oldHawkshaw, whose cough and accompaniments are fit to make any manuncomfortable; old Colonel Gripley, who seizes on all the newspapers;and that irreclaimable old bore Jawkins, who would come and dine at thenext table to Pendennis, and describe to him every inn-bill which he hadpaid in his foreign tour: each and all of these disagreeable personagesand incidents had contributed to make Major Pendennis miserable; and theClub waiter trod on his toe as he brought him his coffee. Never aloneappear the Immortals. The Furies always hunt in company: they pursuedPendennis from home to the Club, and from the Club home.
Whilst the Major was absent from his lodgings, Morgan had been seatedin the landlady's parlour, drinking freely of hot brandy-and-water, andpouring out on Mrs. Brixham some of the abuse which he had received fromhis master upstairs. Mrs. Brixham was Mr. Morgan's slave. He was hislandlady's landlord. He had bought the lease of the house which sherented; he had got her name and her son's to acceptances, and a bill ofsale which made him master of the luckless widow's furniture. The youngBrixham was a clerk in an insurance office, and Morgan could put himinto what he called quod any day. Mrs. Brixham was a clergyman's widow,and Mr. Morgan, after performing his duties on the first floor, had apleasure in making the old lady fetch him his bootjack and his slippers.She was his slave. The little black profiles of her son and daughter;the very picture of Tiddlecot Church, where she was married, and herpoor dear Brixham lived and died, was now Morgan's property, as ithung there over the mantelpiece of his back-parlour. Morgan sate in thewidow's back-room, in the ex-curate's old horse-hair study-chair, makingMrs. Brixham bring supper for him, and fill his glass again and again.
The liquor was bought with the poor woman's own coin, and hence Morganindulged in it only the more freely; and he had eaten his supper and wasdrinking a third tumbler, when old Pendennis returned from the Club, andwent upstairs to his rooms. Mr. Morgan swore very savagely at him andhis bell, when he heard the latter, and finished his tumbler of brandybefore he went up to answer the summons.
He received the abuse consequent on this delay in silence, nor did theMajor condescend to read in the flushed face and glaring eyes ofthe man, the anger under which he was labouring. The old gentleman'sfoot-bath was at the fire; his gown and slippers awaiting him there.Morgan knelt down to take his boots off with due subordination: and asthe Major abused him from above, kept up a growl of maledictions belowat his feet. Thus, when Pendennis was crying "Confound you, sir, mindthat strap--curse you, don't wrench my foot off," Morgan sotto vocebelow was expressing a wish to strangle him, drown him, and punch hishead off.
The boots removed, it became necessary to divest Mr. Pendennis of hiscoat: and for this purpose the valet had necessarily to approach verynear to his employer; so near that Pendennis could not but perceivewhat Mr. Morgan's late occupation had been; to which he adverted in thatsimple and forcible phraseology which men are sometimes in the habit ofusing to their domestics; informing Morgan that he was a drunken beast,and that he smelt of brandy.
At this the man broke out, losing patience, and flinging up allsubordination, "I'm drunk, am I? I'm a beast, am I? I'm d----d, am I?you infernal old miscreant. Shall I wring your old head off, anddrownd yer in that pail of water? Do you think I'm a-goin' to bear yourconfounded old harrogance, you old Wigsby! Chatter your old hivories atme, do you, you grinning old baboon! Come on, if you are a man, and canstand to a man. Ha! you coward, knives, knives!"
"If you advance a step, I'll send it into you," said the Major, seizingup a knife that was on the table near him. "Go downstairs, you drunkenbrute, and leave the house; send for your book and your wages in themorning, and never let me see your insolent face again. This d----dimpertinence of yours has been growing for some months past. You havebeen growing too rich. You are not fit for service. Get out of it, andout of the house."
"And where would you wish me to go, pray, out of the 'ouse?" asked theman, "and won't it be equal convenient to-morrow mornin'?--tootyfay mameshose, sivvaplay, munseer?"
"Silence, you b
east, and go!" cried out the Major.
Morgan began to laugh, with rather a sinister laugh. "Look yere,Pendennis," he said, seating himself; "since I've been in this roomyou've called me beast, brute, dog: and d----d me, haven't you? How doyou suppose one man likes that sort of talk from another? How many yearshave I waited on you, and how many damns and cusses have you given me,along with my wages? Do you think a man's a dog, that you can talk tohim in this way? If I choose to drink a little, why shouldn't I? I'veseen many a gentleman drunk form'ly, and peraps have the abit from them.I ain't a-goin' to leave this house, old feller, and shall I tell youwhy? The house is my house, every stick of furnitur' in it is mine,excep' your old traps, and your shower-bath, and your wigbox. I'vebought the place, I tell you, with my own industry and perseverance.I can show a hundred pound, where you can show a fifty, or your damnedsupersellious nephew either. I've served you honourable, done everythinkfor you these dozen years, and I'm a dog, am I? I'm a beast, am I?That's the language for gentlemen, not for our rank. But I'll bear it nomore. I throw up your service; I'm tired on it; I've combed your oldwig and buckled your old girths and waistbands long enough, I tell you.Don't look savage at me, I'm sitting in my own chair, in my own room,a-telling the truth to you. I'll be your beast, and your brute, and yourdog, no more, Major Pendennis Alf Pay."
The fury of the old gentleman, met by the servant's abrupt revolt,had been shocked and cooled by the concussion, as much as if a suddenshower-bath or a pail of cold water had been flung upon him. That effectproduced, and his anger calmed, Morgan's speech had interested him, andhe rather respected his adversary, and his courage in facing him; as ofold days, in the fencing-room, he would have admired the opponent whohit him.
"You are no longer my servant," the Major said, "and the house may beyours; but the lodgings are mine, and you will have the goodness toleave them. To-morrow morning, when we have settled our accounts, Ishall remove into other quarters. In the meantime, I desire to go tobed, and have not the slightest wish for your further company."
"We'll have a settlement, don't you be afraid," Morgan said, getting upfrom his chair. "I ain't done with you yet; nor with your family, norwith the Clavering family, Major Pendennis; and that you shall know."
"Have the goodness to leave the room, sir--I'm tired," said the Major.
"Hah! you'll be more tired of me afore you've done," answered the man,with a sneer, and walked out of the room; leaving the Major to composehimself as best he might, after the agitation of this extraordinaryscene.
He sate and mused by his fireside over the past events, and theconfounded impudence and ingratitude of servants; and thought how heshould get a new man: how devilish unpleasant it was for a man of hisage, and with his habits, to part with a fellow to whom he had beenaccustomed: how Morgan had a receipt for boot-varnish, which wasincomparably better and more comfortable to the feet than any he hadever tried: how very well he made mutton-broth, and tended him when hewas unwell. "Gad, it's a hard thing to lose a fellow of that sort: buthe must go," thought the Major. "He has grown rich, and impudent sincehe has grown rich. He was horribly tipsy and abusive to-night. We mustpart, and I must go out of the lodgings. Dammy, I like the lodgings;I'm used to 'em. It's very unpleasant, at my time of life, to change myquarters." And so on, mused the old gentleman. The shower-bath had donehim good: the testiness was gone: the loss of the umbrella, the smellof paint at the Club, were forgotten under the superior excitement."Confound the insolent villain!" thought the old gentleman. "Heunderstood my wants to a nicety: he was the best servant in England."He thought about his servant as a man thinks of a horse that has carriedhim long and well, and that has come down with him, and is safe nolonger. How the deuce to replace him? Where can he get such anotheranimal?
In these melancholy cogitations the Major, who had donned his owndressing-gown and replaced his head of hair (a little grey had beenintroduced into the coiffure of late by Mr. Truefitt, which had giventhe Major's head the most artless and respectable appearance); in thesecogitations, we say, the Major, who had taken off his wig and put on hisnight-handkerchief, sate absorbed by the fireside, when a feeble knockcame at his door, which was presently opened by the landlady of thelodgings.
"God bless my soul, Mrs. Brixham!" cried out the Major, startled thata lady should behold him in the simple appareil of his night-toilet."It--it's very late, Mrs. Brixham."
"I wish I might speak to you, sir," said the landlady, very piteously.
"About Morgan, I suppose? He has cooled himself at the pump. Can't takehim back, Mrs. Brixham. Impossible. I'd determined to part with himbefore, when I heard of his dealings in the discount business--I supposeyou've heard of them, Mrs. Brixham? My servant's a capitalist, begad."
"Oh, sir," said Mrs. Brixham, "I know it to my cost. I borrowed fromhim a little money five years ago; and though I have paid him many timesover, I am entirely in his power. I am ruined by him, sir. Everything Ihad is his. He's a dreadful man."
"Eh, Mrs. Brixham? tout pis--dev'lish sorry for you, and that I mustquit your house after lodging here so long: there's no help for it. Imust go."
"He says we must all go, sir," sobbed out the luckless widow. "He camedownstairs from you just now--he had been drinking, and it always makeshim very wicked--and he said that you had insulted him, sir, and treatedhim like a dog, and spoken to him unkindly; and he swore he would berevenged, and--and I owe him a hundred and twenty pounds, sir--and hehas a bill of sale of all my furniture--and says he will turn me out ofmy house, and send my poor George to prison. He has been the ruin of myfamily, that man."
"Dev'lish sorry, Mrs. Brixham; pray take a chair. What can I do?"
"Could you not intercede with him for us? George will give half hisallowance; my daughter can send something. If you will but stay on, sir,and pay a quarter's rent in advance----"
"My good madam, I would as soon give you a quarter in advance as not, ifI were going to stay in the lodgings. But I can't; and I can't affordto fling away twenty pounds, my good madam. I'm a poor half-pay officer,and want every shilling I have, begad. As far as a few pounds goes--sayfive pounds--I don't say--and shall be most happy, and that sort ofthing: and I'll give it you in the morning with pleasure: but--but it'sgetting late, and I have made a railroad journey."
"God's will be done, sir," said the poor woman, drying her tears. I mustbear my fate."
"And a dev'lish hard one it is, and most sincerely I pity you, Mrs.Brixham. I--I'll say ten pounds, if you will permit me. Good night."
"Mr. Morgan, sir, when he came downstairs, and when--when I besought himto have pity on me, and told him he had been the ruin of my family,said something which I did not well understand--that he would ruinevery family in the house--that he knew something would bring you downtoo--and that you should pay him for your--your insolence to him. I--Imust own to you, that I went down on my knees to him, sir; and he said,with a dreadful oath against you, that he would have you on your knees."
"Me?--by Gad, that is too pleasant! Where is the confounded fellow?"
"He went away, sir. He said he should see you in the morning. Oh, praytry and pacify him, and save me and my poor boy." And the widow wentaway with this prayer, to pass her night as she might, and look for thedreadful morrow.
The last words about himself excited Major Pendennis so much, that hiscompassion for Mrs. Brixham's misfortunes was quite forgotten in theconsideration of his own case.
"Me on my knees?" thought he, as he got into bed: "confound hisimpudence! Who ever saw me on my knees? What the devil does the fellowknow? Gad, I've not had an affair these twenty years. I defy him." Andthe old compaigner turned round and slept pretty sound, being ratherexcited and amused by the events of the day--the last day in BuryStreet, he was determined it should be. "For it's impossible to stay onwith a valet over me, and a bankrupt landlady. What good can I do thispoor devil of a woman? I'll give her twenty pound--there's Warrington'stwenty pound, which he has just paid--but what's the use? She'll wantmore, and more, and more, a
nd that cormorant Morgan will swallow all.No, dammy, I can't afford to know poor people; and to-morrow I'll sayGood-bye--to Mrs. Brixham and Mr. Morgan."