CHAPTER LXX. In which Pendennis counts his Eggs
Our friend had arrived in London on that day only, though but for abrief visit; and having left some fellow-travellers at an hotel to whichhe had convoyed them from the West, he hastened to the Chambers in LambCourt, which were basking in as much sun as chose to visit that drearybut not altogether comfortless building. Freedom stands in lieu ofsunshine in chambers; and Templars grumble, but take their ease in theirInn. Pen's domestic announced to him that Warrington was in Chamberstoo, and, of course, Arthur ran up to his friend's room straightway,and found it, as of old, perfumed with the pipe, and George once more atwork with his newspapers and reviews. The pair greeted each other withthe rough cordiality which young Englishmen use one to another: andwhich carries a great deal of warmth and kindness under its rudeexterior. Warrington smiled and took his pipe out of his mouth, andsaid, "Well, young one!" Pen advanced and held out his hand, and said,"How are you, old boy?" And so this greeting passed between two friendswho had not seen each other for months. Alphonse and Frederic wouldhave rushed into each other's arms and shrieked Ce bon coeur! ce cherAlphonse! over each other's shoulders. Max and Wilhelm would havebestowed half a dozen kisses, scented with Havannah, upon each other'smustachios. "Well, young one!" "How are you, old boy?" is what twoBritons say: after saving each other's lives, possibly, the day before.To-morrow they will leave off shaking hands, and only wag their heads atone another as they come to breakfast. Each has for the other the verywarmest confidence and regard: each would share his purse with theother: and hearing him attacked would break out in the loudest and mostenthusiastic praise of his friend; but they part with a mere Good-bye,they meet with a mere How-d'you-do? and they don't write to each otherin the interval. Curious, modesty, strange stoical decorum of Englishfriendship! "Yes, we are not demonstrative like those confoundedforeigners," says Hardman: who not only shows no friendship, but neverfelt any all his life long.
"Been in Switzerland?" says Pen.
"Yes," says Warrington.
"Couldn't find a bit of tobacco fit to smoke till we came to Strasburg,where I got some caporal." The man's mind is full, very likely, of thegreat sights which he has seen, of the great emotions with which thevast works of nature have inspired it. But his enthusiasm is too coy toshow itself, even to his closest friend, and he veils it with a cloud oftobacco. He will speak more fully of confidential evenings, however,and write ardently and frankly about that which he is shy of saying. Thethoughts and experience of his travel will come forth in his writings;as the learning, which he never displays in talk, enriches his stylewith pregnant allusion and brilliant illustration, colours his generouseloquence, and points his wit.
The elder gives a rapid account of the places which he has visited inhis tour. He has seen Switzerland, North Italy, and the Tyrol--he hascome home by Vienna, and Dresden, and the Rhine. He speaks about theseplaces in a shy sulky voice, as if he had rather not mention them atall, and as if the sight of them had rendered him very unhappy. Theoutline of the elder man's tour thus gloomily sketched out, theyoung one begins to speak. He has been in the country--very muchbored--canvassing uncommonly slow--he is here for a day or two, andgoing on to--to the neighbourhood of Tunbridge Wells, to some friendsthat will be uncommonly slow, too. How hard it is to make an Englishmanacknowledge that he is happy!
"And the seat in Parliament, Pen? Have you made it all right?" asksWarrington.
"All right,--as soon as Parliament meets and a new writ can be issued,Clavering retires, and I step into his shoes," says Pen.
"And under which king does Bezonian speak or die?" asked Warrington. "Dowe come out as Liberal Conservative, or as Government man, or on our ownhook?"
"Hem! There are no politics now; every man's politics, at least,are pretty much the same. I have not got acres enough to make me aProtectionist; nor could I be one, I think, if I had all the land in thecounty. I shall go pretty much with Government, and in advance of themupon some social questions which I have been getting up during thevacation;--don't grin, you old cynic, I have been getting up theBlue Books, and intend to come out rather strong on the Sanitary andColonisation questions."
"We reserve to ourselves the liberty of voting against Government,though we are generally friendly. We are, however, friends of the peopleavant tout. We give lectures at the Clavering Institute, and shake handswith the intelligent mechanics. We think the franchise ought to be veryconsiderably enlarged; at the same time we are free to accept officesome day, when the House has listened to a few crack speeches from us,and the Administration perceives our merit."
"I am not Moses," said Pen, with, as usual, somewhat of melancholy inhis voice. "I have no laws from Heaven to bring down to the people fromthe mountain. I don't belong to the mountain at all, or set up to be aleader and reformer of mankind. My faith is not strong enough for that;nor my vanity, nor my hypocrisy, great enough. I will tell no lies,George, that I promise you; and do no more than coincide in those whichare necessary and pass current, and can't be got in without recallingthe whole circulation. Give a man at least the advantage of hissceptical turn. If I find a good thing to say in the House, I will sayit; a good measure, I will support it; a fair place, I will take it, andbe glad of my luck. But I would no more flatter a great man than a mob;and now you know as much about my politics as I do. What call have I tobe a Whig? Whiggism is not a divine institution. Why not vote with theLiberal Conservatives? They have done for the nation what the Whigswould never have done without them. Who converted both?--the Radicalsand the country outside. I think the Morning Post is often right, andPunch is often wrong. I don't profess a call, but take advantage of achance. Parlons d'autre chose."
"The next thing at your heart, after ambition is love, I suppose?"Warrington said. "How have our young loves prospered? Are we going tochange our condition, and give up our chambers? Are you going to divorceme, Arthur, and take unto yourself a wife?"
"I suppose so. She is very good-natured and lively. She sings, andshe don't mind smoking. She'll have a fair fortune--I don't know howmuch--but my uncle augurs everything from the Begum's generosity, andsays that she will come down very handsomely. And I think Blanche isdev'lish fond of me," said Arthur, with a sigh.
"That means that we accept her caresses and her money."
"Haven't we said before that life was a transaction?" Pendennis said. "Idon't pretend to break my heart about her. I have told her pretty fairlywhat my feelings are--and--and have engaged myself to her. And since Isaw her last, and for the last two months especially, whilst I have beenin the country, I think she has been growing fonder and fonder of me;and her letters to me, and especially to Laura, seem to show it. Minehave been simple enough--no raptures, nor vows, you understand--butlooking upon the thing as an affaire faite; and not desirous to hastenor defer the completion."
"And Laura? how is she?" Warrington asked frankly.
"Laura, George," said Pen, looking his friend hard in the face--"byheaven, Laura is the best, and noblest, and dearest girl the sun evershone upon." His own voice fell as he spoke: it seemed as if he couldhardly utter the words: he stretched out his hand to his comrade, whotook it and nodded his head.
"Have you only found out that now, young un?" Warrington said after apause.
"Who has not learned things too late, George?" cried Arthur, in hisimpetuous way, gathering words and emotion as he went on. "Whose life isnot a disappointment? Who carries his heart entire to the grave withouta mutilation? I never knew anybody who was happy quite: or who has nothad to ransom himself out of the hands of Fate with the payment of somedearest treasure or other. Lucky if we are left alone afterwards, whenwe have paid our fine, and if the tyrant visits us no more. Suppose Ihave found out that I have lost the greatest prize in the world, nowthat it can't be mine--that for years I had an angel under my tent, andlet her go?--am I the only one--ah, dear old boy, am I the only one? Anddo you think my lot is easier to bear because I own that I deserve it?She's gone from us. God's blessing be wit
h her! She might have stayed,and I lost her; it's like Undine: isn't it, George?"
"She was in this room once," said George.
He saw her there--he heard the sweet low voice--he saw the sweet smileand eyes shining so kindly--the face remembered so fondly--thought of inwhat night-watches--blest and loved always--gone now! A glass that hadheld a nosegay--a bible with Helen's handwriting--were all that wereleft him of that brief flower of his life. Say it is a dream: say itpasses: better the recollection of a dream than an aimless waking from ablank stupor.
The two friends sate in silence a while, each occupied with his ownthoughts and aware of the other's. Pen broke it presently, by sayingthat he must go and seek for his uncle, and report progress to the oldgentleman. The Major had written in a very bad humour; the Major wasgetting old. "I should like to see you in Parliament, and snugly settledwith a comfortable house and an heir to the name before I make my bow.Show me these," the Major wrote, "and then, let old Arthur Pendennismake room for the younger fellows; he has walked the Pall Mall pave longenough."
"There is a kindness about the old heathen," said Warrington. "He caresfor somebody besides himself, at least for some other part of himselfbesides that which is buttoned into his own coat;--for you and yourrace. He would like to see the progeny of the Pendennises multiplyingand increasing, and hopes that they may inherit the land. The oldpatriarch blesses you from the Club window of Bays's, and is carriedoff and buried under the flags of St. James's Church, in sight ofPiccadilly, and the cabstand, and the carriages going to the levee. Itis an edifying ending."
"The new blood I bring into the family," mused Pen, "is rather tainted.If I had chosen, I think my father-in-law Amory would not have been theprogenitor I should have desired for my race; nor my grandfather-in-lawSnell; nor our Oriental ancestors. By the way, who was Amory? Amory waslieutenant of an Indiaman. Blanche wrote some verses about him, aboutthe storm, the mountain wave, the seaman's grave, the gallant father,and that sort of thing. Amory was drowned commanding a country shipbetween Calcutta and Sydney; Amory and the Begum weren't happy together.She has been unlucky in her selection of husbands, the good old lady,for, between ourselves, a more despicable creature than Sir FrancisClavering, of Clavering Park, Baronet, never----" "Never legislated forhis country," broke in Warrington; at which Pen blushed rather.
"By the way, at Baden," said Warrington, "I found our friend theChevalier Strong in great state, and wearing his orders. He told me thathe had quarrelled with Clavering, of whom he seemed to have almost asbad an opinion as you have, and in fact, I think, though I will notbe certain, confided to me his opinion, that Clavering was an utterscoundrel. That fellow Bloundell, who taught you card-playing atOxbridge, was with Strong; and time, I think, has brought out hisvaluable qualities, and rendered him a more accomplished rascal thanhe was during your undergraduateship. But the king of the place was thefamous Colonel Altamont, who was carrying all before him, giving fliesto the whole society, and breaking the bank, it was said."
"My uncle knows something about that fellow--Clavering knows somethingabout him. There's something louche regarding him. But come! I mustgo to Bury Street, like a dutiful nephew." And, taking his hat, Penprepared to go.
"I will walk, too," said Warrington. And they descended the stairs,stopping, however, at Pen's chambers, which, as the reader has beeninformed, were now on the lower story.
Here Pen began sprinkling himself with eau-de-Cologne, and carefullyscenting his hair and whiskers with that odoriferous water.
"What is the matter? You've not been smoking. Is it my pipe that haspoisoned you?" growled Warrington.
"I am going to call upon some women," said Pen. "I'm--I'm going to dinewith 'em. They are passing through town, and are at an hotel in JermynStreet."
Warrington looked with good-natured interest at the young fellowdandifying himself up to a pitch of completeness; and appearing atlength in a gorgeous shirt-front and neckcloth, fresh gloves, andglistening boots. George had a pair of thick high-lows, and his oldshirt was torn about the breast, and ragged at the collar, where hisblue beard had worn it.
"Well, young un," said he, simply, "I like you to be a buck; somehow.When I walk about with you, it is as if I had a rose in my button-hole.And you are still affable. I don't think there is any young fellow inthe Temple turns out like you; and I don't believe you were ever ashamedof walking with me yet."
"Don't laugh at me, George." said Pen.
"I say, Pen," continued the other, sadly, "if you write--if you write toLaura, I wish you would say 'God bless her' from me."
Pen blushed; and then looked at Warrington; and then--and then burstinto an uncontrollable fit of laughing.
"I'm going to dine with her," he said. "I brought her and LadyRockminster up from the country to-day--made two days of it--slept lastnight at Bath--I say, George, come and dine, too. I may ask any one Iplease, and the old lady is constantly talking about you."
George refused. George had an article to write. George hesitated; andoh, strange to say! at last he agreed to go. It was agreed that theyshould go and call upon the ladies; and they marched away in highspirits to the hotel in Jermyn Street. Once more the dear face shoneupon him; once more the sweet voice spoke to him, and the tender handpressed a welcome.
There still wanted half an hour to dinner. "You will go and see youruncle now, Mr. Pendennis," old Lady Rockminster said. "You will notbring him to dinner-no--his old stories are intolerable; and I wantto talk to Mr. Warrington; I daresay he will amuse us. I think we haveheard all your stories. We have been together for two whole days, and Ithink we are getting tired of each other."
So, obeying her ladyship's orders, Arthur went downstairs and walked tohis uncle's lodgings.