CHAPTER IX. In which the Major opens the Campaign
Let those who have a real and heartfelt relish for London society andthe privilege of an entree into its most select circles, admit thatMajor Pendennis was a man of no ordinary generosity and affection,in the sacrifice which he now made. He gave up London in May,--hisnewspapers and his mornings--his afternoons from club to club, hislittle confidential visits to my Ladies, his rides in Rotten Row, hisdinners, and his stall at the Opera, his rapid escapades to Fulham orRichmond on Saturdays and Sundays, his bow from my Lord Duke or my LordMarquis at the great London entertainments, and his name in the MorningPost of the succeeding day,--his quieter little festivals, more select,secret, and delightful--all these he resigned to lock himself into alone little country house, with a simple widow and a greenhorn of a son,a mawkish curate, and a little girl of ten years of age.
He made the sacrifice, and it was the greater that few knew the extentof it. His letters came down franked from town, and he showed theinvitations to Helen with a sigh. It was beautiful and tragical tosee him refuse one party after another--at least to those who couldunderstand, as Helen didn't, the melancholy grandeur of his self-denial.Helen did not, or only smiled at the awful pathos with which the Majorspoke of the Court Guide in general: but young Pen looked with greatrespect at the great names upon the superscriptions of his uncle'sletters, and listened to the Major's stories about the fashionable worldwith constant interest and sympathy.
The elder Pendennis's rich memory was stored with thousands of thesedelightful tales, and he poured them into Pen's willing ear withunfailing eloquence. He knew the name and pedigree of everybody in thePeerage, and everybody's relations. "My dear boy," he would say, with amournful earnestness and veracity, "you cannot begin your genealogicalstudies too early; I wish to Heavens you would read in Debrett everyday. Not so much the historical part (for the pedigrees, betweenourselves, are many of them very fabulous, and there are few familiesthat can show such a clear descent as our own) as the account of familyalliances, and who is related to whom. I have known a man's career inlife blasted by ignorance on this important, this all-important subject.Why, only last month, at dinner at my Lord Hobanob's, a young man, whohas lately been received among us, young Mr. Suckling (author of awork, I believe), began to speak lightly of Admiral Bowser's conduct forratting to Ministers, in what I must own is the most audacious manner.But who do you think sate next and opposite to this Mr. Suckling?Why--why, next to him was Lady Grampound Bowser's daughter, and oppositeto him was Lord Grampound Bowser's son-in-law. The infatuated young manwent on cutting his jokes at the Admiral's expense, fancying thatall the world was laughing with him, and I leave you to imagine LadyHobanob's feelings--Hobanob's!--those of every well-bred man, as thewretched intru was so exposing himself. He will never dine again inSouth Street. I promise you that."
With such discourses the Major entertained his nephew, as he paced theterrace in front of the house for his two hours' constitutional walk, oras they sate together after dinner over their wine. He grieved that SirFrancis Clavering had not come down to the park, to live in it since hismarriage, and to make a society for the neighbourhood. He mourned thatLord Eyrie was not in the country, that he might take Pen and presenthim to his lordship. "He has daughters," the Major said. "Who knows?you might have married Lady Emily or Lady Barbara Trehawk; but all thosedreams are over; my poor fellow, you must lie on the bed which you havemade for yourself."
These things to hear did young Pendennis seriously incline. They arenot so interesting in print as when delivered orally; but the Major'sanecdotes of the great George, of the Royal Dukes, of the statesmen,beauties, and fashionable ladies of the day, filled young Pen's soulwith longing and wonder; and he found the conversations with hisguardian, which sadly bored and perplexed poor Mrs. Pendennis, for hisown part never tedious.
It can't be said that Mr. Pen's new guide, philosopher, and frienddiscoursed him on the most elevated subjects, or treated the subjectswhich he chose in the most elevated manner. But his morality, such as itwas, was consistent. It might not, perhaps, tend to a man's progressin another world, but it was pretty well calculated to advance hisinterests in this; and then it must be remembered that the Major neverfor one instant doubted that his views were the only views practicable,and that his conduct was perfectly virtuous and respectable. He was aman of honour, in a word: and had his eyes, what he called, open. Hetook pity on this young greenhorn of a nephew, and wanted to open hiseyes too.
No man, for instance, went more regularly to church when in the countrythan the old bachelor. "It don't matter so much in town, Pen," he said,"for there the women go and the men are not missed. But when a gentlemanis sur ses terres, he must give an example to the country people: andif I could turn a tune, I even think I should sing. The Duke of SaintDavid's, whom I have the honour of knowing, always sings in the country,and let me tell you, it has a doosed fine effect from the family pew.And you are somebody down here. As long as the Claverings are away youare the first man in the parish: and as good as any. You might representthe town if you played your cards well. Your poor dear father would havedone so had he lived; so might you.--Not if you marry a lady, howeveramiable, whom the country people won't meet.--Well, well: it's a painfulsubject. Let us change it, my boy." But if Major Pendennis changed thesubject once he recurred to it a score of times in the day: and themoral of his discourse always was, that Pen was throwing himself away.Now it does not require much coaxing or wheedling to make a simple boybelieve that he is a very fine fellow.
Pen took his uncle's counsels to heart. He was glad enough, we havesaid, to listen to his elder's talk. The conversation of CaptainCostigan became by no means pleasant to him, and the idea of that tipsyold father-in-law haunted him with terror. He couldn't bring that man,unshaven and reeking of punch, to associate with his mother. Even aboutEmily--he faltered when the pitiless guardian began to question him."Was she accomplished?" He was obliged to own, no. "Was she clever?"Well, she had a very good average intellect: but he could not absolutelysay she was clever. "Come, let us see some of her letters." So Penconfessed that he had but those three of which we have made mention--andthat they were but trivial invitations or answers.
"She is cautious enough," the Major said, drily. "She is older thanyou, my poor boy;" and then he apologised with the utmost frankness andhumility, and flung himself upon Pen's good feelings, begging the lad toexcuse a fond old uncle, who had only his family's honour in view--forArthur was ready to flame up in indignation whenever Miss Costigan'shonesty was doubted, and swore that he would never have her namementioned lightly, and never, never would part from her.
He repeated this to his uncle and his friends at home, and also, it mustbe confessed, to Miss Fotheringay and the amiable family, at Chatteris,with whom he still continued to spend some portion of his time. MissEmily was alarmed when she heard of the arrival of Pen's guardian, andrightly conceived that the Major came down with hostile intentions toherself. "I suppose ye intend to leave me, now your grand relation hascome down from town. He'll carry ye off, and you'll forget your poorEmily, Mr. Arthur!"
Forget her! In her presence, in that of Miss Rouncy, the Columbineand Milly's confidential friend of the Company, in the presence of theCaptain himself, Pen swore he never could think of any other woman buthis beloved Miss Fotheringay; and the Captain, looking up at his foilswhich were hung as a trophy on the wall of the room where Pen and heused to fence, grimly said, he would not advoise any man to meddlerashly with the affections of his darling child; and would never believehis gallant young Arthur, whom he treated as his son, whom he calledhis son, would ever be guilty of conduct so revolting to every idaya ofhonour and humanity.
He went up and embraced Pen after speaking. He cried, and wiped hiseye with one large dirty hand as he clasped Pen with the other.Arthur shuddered in that grasp, and thought of his uncle at home.His father-in-law looked unusually dirty and shabby; the odour ofwhisky-and-water was even more decided than in common.
How was he tobring that man and his mother together? He trembled when he thought thathe had absolutely written to Costigan (enclosing to him a sovereign, theloan of which the worthy gentleman had need), and saying that one dayhe hoped to sign himself his affectionate son, Arthur Pendennis. Hewas glad to get away from Chatteris that day; from Miss Rouncy theconfidante; from the old toping father-in-law; from the divine Emilyherself. "O, Emily, Emily," he cried inwardly, as he rattled homewardson Rebecca, "you little know what sacrifices I am making for you!--foryou who are always so cold, so cautious, so mistrustful;" and he thoughtof a character in Pope to whom he had often involuntarily compared her.
Pen never rode over to Chatteris upon a certain errand, but the Majorfound out on what errand the boy had been. Faithful to his plan, MajorPendennis gave his nephew no let or hindrance; but somehow the constantfeeling that the senior's eye was upon him, an uneasy shame attendantupon that inevitable confession which the evening's conversation wouldbe sure to elicit in the most natural simple manner, made Pen go lessfrequently to sigh away his soul at the feet of his charmer than he hadbeen wont to do previous to his uncle's arrival. There was no use tryingto deceive him; there was no pretext of dining with Smirke, or readingGreek plays with Foker; Pen felt, when he returned from one of hisflying visits, that everybody knew whence he came, and appeared quiteguilty before his mother and guardian, over their books or their game atpicquet.
Once having walked out half a mile, to the Fairoaks Inn, beyond theLodge gates, to be in readiness for the Competitor coach, which changedhorses there, to take a run for Chatteris, a man on the roof touched hishat to the young gentleman: it was his uncle's man, Mr. Morgan, who wasgoing on a message for his master, and had been took up at the Lodge, ashe said. And Mr. Morgan came back by the Rival, too; so that Pen had thepleasure of that domestic's company both ways. Nothing was said at home.The lad seemed to have every decent liberty; and yet he felt himselfdimly watched and guarded, and that there were eyes upon him even in thepresence of his Dulcinea.
In fact, Pen's suspicions were not unfounded, and his guardian hadsent forth to gather all possible information regarding the lad andhis interesting young friend. The discreet and ingenious Mr. Morgan, aLondon confidential valet, whose fidelity could be trusted, had beento Chatteris more than once, and made every inquiry regarding thepast history and present habits of the Captain and his daughter. Hedelicately cross-examined the waiters, the ostlers, and all the inmatesof the bar at the George, and got from them what little they knewrespecting the worthy Captain. He was not held in very great regardthere, as it appeared. The waiters never saw the colour of his money,and were warned not to furnish the poor gentleman with any liquor forwhich some other party was not responsible. He swaggered sadly about thecoffee-room there, consumed a toothpick, and looked over the paper, andif any friend asked him to dinner he stayed. Morgan heard at the Georgeof Pen's acquaintance with Mr. Foker, and he went over to Baymouth toenter into relations with that gentleman's man; but the young studentwas gone to a Coast Regatta, and his servant, of course, travelled incharge of the dressing-case.
From the servants of the officers at the barracks Mr. Morgan found thatthe Captain had so frequently and outrageously inebriated himselfthere, that Colonel Swallowtail had forbidden him the messroom. Theindefatigable Morgan then put himself in communication with some of theinferior actors at the theatre, and pumped them over their cigars andpunch, and all agreed that Costigan was poor, shabby, and given to debtand to drink. But there was not a breath upon the reputation of MissFotheringay: her father's courage was reported to have displayed itselfon more than one occasion towards persons disposed to treat his daughterwith freedom. She never came to the theatre but with her father: in hismost inebriated moments, that gentleman kept a watch over her; finallyMr. Morgan, from his own experience added that he had been to see heract, and was uncommon delighted with the performance, besides thinkingher a most splendid woman.
Mrs. Creed, the pew-opener, confirmed these statements to DoctorPortman, who examined her personally, and threatened her with theterrors of the Church one day after afternoon service. Mrs. Creed hadnothing unfavourable to her lodger to divulge. She saw nobody; onlyone or two ladies of the theatre. The Captain did intoxicate himselfsometimes, and did not always pay his rent regularly, but he did whenhe had money, or rather Miss Fotheringay did. Since the young gentlemanfrom Clavering had been and took lessons in fencing, one or two more hadcome from the barracks; Sir Derby Oaks, and his young friend, Mr.Foker, which was often together; and which was always driving over fromBaymouth in the tandem. But on the occasions of the lessons, Miss F. wasvery seldom present, and generally came downstairs to Mrs. Creed's ownroom.
The Doctor and the Major consulting together as they often did, groanedin spirit over that information. Major Pendennis openly expressed hisdisappointment; and, I believe, the Divine himself was ill pleased atnot being able to jack a hole in poor Miss Fotheringay's reputation.
Even about Pen himself, Mrs. Creed's reports were desperatelyfavourable. "Whenever he come," Mrs. Creed said, "She always have meor one of the children with her. And Mrs. Creed, marm, says she, ifyou please, marm, you'll on no account leave the room when that younggentleman's here. And many's the time I've seen him a lookin' as ifhe wished I was away, poor young man: and he took to coming inservice-time, when I wasn't at home, of course: but she always had oneof the boys up if her Pa wasn't at home, or old Mr. Bowser with her ateaching of her her lesson, or one of the young ladies of the theayter."
It was all true: whatever encouragements might have been given himbefore he avowed his passion, the prudence of Miss Emily was prodigiousafter Pen had declared himself: and the poor fellow chafed against herhopeless reserve, which maintained his ardour as it excited his anger.
The Major surveyed the state of things with a sigh. "If it were but atemporary liaison," the excellent man said, "one could bear it. A youngfellow must sow his wild oats, and that sort of thing. But a virtuousattachment is the deuce. It comes of the d----d romantic notions boysget from being brought up by women."
"Allow me to say, Major, that you speak a little too like a man of theworld," replied the Doctor. "Nothing can be more desirable for Penthan a virtuous attachment for a young lady of his own rank and witha corresponding fortune--this present infatuation, of course, I mustdeplore as sincerely as you do. If I were his guardian I should commandhim to give it up."
"The very means, I tell you, to make him marry to-morrow. We have gottime from him, that is all, and we must do our best with that.
"I say, Major," said the Doctor, at the end of the conversation in whichthe above subject was discussed--"I am not, of course, a play-goingman--but suppose, I say, we go and see her."
The Major laughed--he had been a fortnight at Fairoaks, and strange tosay, had not thought of that. "Well," he said, "why not? After all, itis not my niece, but Miss Fotheringay the actress, and we have as gooda right as any other of the public to see her if we pay our money." Soupon a day when it was arranged that Pen was to dine at home, and passthe evening with his mother, the two elderly gentlemen drove over toChatteris in the Doctor's chaise, and there, like a couple of jollybachelors, dined at the George Inn, before proceeding to the play.
Only two other guests were in the room,--an officer of the regimentquartered at Chatteris, and a young gentleman whom the Doctor thought hehad somewhere seen. They left them at their meal, however, and hastenedto the theatre. It was Hamlet over again. Shakspeare was Article XL.of stout old Doctor Portman's creed, to which he always made a point oftestifying publicly at least once in a year.
We have described the play before, and how those who saw MissFotheringay perform in Ophelia saw precisely the same thing on onenight as on another. Both the elderly gentlemen looked at her withextraordinary interest, thinking how very much young Pen was charmedwith her.
"Gad," said the Major, between his teeth, as he surveyed her whenshe was called forward as usual, and swept her curtsies to the scantyaudience, "th
e young rascal has not made a bad choice."
The Doctor applauded her loudly and loyally. "Upon my word," said he,"She is a very clever actress; and I must say, Major, she is endowedwith very considerable personal attractions."
"So that young officer thinks in the stage-box," Major Pendennisanswered, and he pointed out to Doctor Portman's attention the youngdragoon of the George Coffee-room, who sate in the box in question, andapplauded with immense enthusiasm. She looked extremely sweet upon himtoo, thought the Major: but that's their way--and he shut up his nattyopera-glass and pocketed it, as if he wished to see no more that night.Nor did the Doctor, of course, propose to stay for the after-piece, sothey rose and left the theatre; the Doctor returning to Mrs. Portman,who was on a visit at the Deanery, and the Major walking home full ofthought towards the George, where he had bespoken a bed.