The History of Pendennis, Volume 2

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER IX.

  A VISIT OF POLITENESS.

  Costigan never roused Pen from his slumbers; there was no hostilemessage from Mr. Huxter to disturb him; and when Pen woke, it was witha brisker and more lively feeling than ordinarily attends that momentin the day of the tired and _blase_ London man. A city man wakes upto care and consols, and the thoughts of 'Change and thecounting-house take possession of him as soon as sleep flies fromunder his nightcap; a lawyer rouses himself with the early morning tothink of the case that will take him all his day to work upon, and theinevitable attorney to whom he has promised his papers ere night.Which of us has not his anxiety instantly present when his eyes areopened, to it and to the world, after his night's sleep? Kindstrengthener that enables us to face the day's task with renewedheart! Beautiful ordinance of Providence that creates rest as itawards labor.

  Mr. Pendennis's labor, or rather his disposition, was of that sortthat his daily occupations did not much interest him, for theexcitement of literary composition pretty soon subsides with the hiredlaborer, and the delight of seeing one's self in print only extends tothe first two or three appearances in the magazine or newspaper page.Pegasus put into harness, and obliged to run a stage every day, is asprosaic as any other hack, and won't work without his whip or his feedof corn. So, indeed Mr. Arthur performed his work at the Pall MallGazette (and since his success as a novelist with an increasedsalary), but without the least enthusiasm, doing his best or prettynearly, and sometimes writing ill and sometimes well. He was aliterary hack, naturally fast in pace, and brilliant in action.Neither did society, or that portion which he saw, excite or amuse himovermuch. In spite of his brag and boast to the contrary, he was tooyoung as yet for women's society, which probably can only be had inperfection when a man has ceased to think about his own person, andhas given up all designs of being a conqueror of ladies; he was tooyoung to be admitted as an equal among men who had made their mark inthe world, and of whose conversation he could scarcely as yet expectto be more than a listener. And he was too old for the men of pleasureof his own age; too much a man of pleasure for the men of business;destined, in a word, to be a good deal alone. Fate awards this lot ofsolitude to many a man; and many like it from taste, as many withoutdifficulty bear it. Pendennis, in reality, suffered it veryequanimously; but in words, and according to his wont, grumbled overit not a little.

  "What a nice little artless creature that was," Mr. Pen thought at thevery instant of waking after the Vauxhall affair; "what a prettynatural manner she has; how much pleasanter than the minanderies ofthe young ladies in the ball-rooms" (and here he recalled to himselfsome instances of what he could not help seeing was the artfulsimplicity of Miss Blanche, and some of the stupid graces of otheryoung ladies in the polite world); "who could have thought that such apretty rose could grow in a porter's lodge, or bloom in that dismalold flower-pot of a Shepherd's Inn? So she learns to sing from oldBows? If her singing voice is as sweet as her speaking voice, it mustbe pretty. I like those low _voilees_ voices. 'What would you like meto call you?' indeed. Poor little Fanny! It went to my heart to adoptthe grand air with her, and tell her to call me 'sir.' But we'll haveno nonsense of that sort--no Faust and Margaret business for me. Thatold Bows! So he teaches her to sing, does he? He's a dear old fellow,old Bows: a gentleman in those old clothes: a philosopher, and with akind heart, too. How good he was to me in the Fotheringay business.He, too, has had his griefs and his sorrows. I must cultivate oldBows. A man ought to see people of all sorts. I am getting tired ofgenteel society. Besides, there's nobody in town. Yes, I'll go and seeBows, and Costigan, too; what a rich character! begad, I'll study him,and put him into a book." In this way our young anthropologist talkedwith himself: and as Saturday was the holiday of the week, the "PallMall Gazette" making its appearance upon that day, and thecontributors to that journal having no further calls upon their brainsor ink-bottles, Mr. Pendennis determined he would take advantage ofhis leisure, and pay a visit to Shepherd's Inn--of course to seeold Bows.

  The truth is, that if Arthur had been the most determined _roue_ andartful Lovelace who ever set about deceiving a young girl, he couldhardly have adopted better means for fascinating and overcoming poorlittle Fanny Bolton than those which he had employed on the previousnight. His dandyfied protecting air, his conceit, generosity, and goodhumor, the very sense of good and honesty which had enabled him tocheck the tremulous advances of the young creature, and not to takeadvantage of that little fluttering sensibility--his faults and hisvirtues at once contributed to make her admire him; and if we couldpeep into Fanny's bed (which she shared in a cupboard, along withthose two little sisters to whom we have seen Mr. Costiganadministering ginger-bread and apples), we should find the poor littlemaid tossing upon her mattress, to the great disturbance of its othertwo occupants, and thinking over all the delights and events of thatdelightful, eventful night, and all the words, looks, and actions ofArthur, its splendid hero. Many novels had Fanny read, in secret andat home, in three volumes and in numbers. Periodical literature hadnot reached the height which it has attained subsequently, and thegirls of Fanny's generation were not enabled to purchase sixteen pagesof excitement for a penny, rich with histories of crime, murder,oppressed virtue, and the heartless seductions of the aristocracy; butshe had had the benefit of the circulating library which, inconjunction with her school and a small brandy-ball and millinerybusiness, Miss Minifer kept--and Arthur appeared to her at once as thetype and realization of all the heroes of all those darling, greasyvolumes which the young girl had devoured. Mr. Pen, we have seen, wasrather a dandy about shirts and haberdashery in general. Fanny hadlooked with delight at the fineness of his linen, at the brilliancy ofhis shirt studs, at his elegant cambric pocket-handkerchief and whitegloves, and at the jetty brightness of his charming boots. The princehad appeared and subjugated the poor little handmaid. His imagetraversed constantly her restless slumbers; the tone of his voice, theblue light of his eyes, the generous look, half love half pity--themanly protecting smile, the frank, winning laughter--all these wererepeated in the girl's fond memory. She felt still his arm encirclingher, and saw him smiling so grand as he filled up that delicious glassof Champagne. And then she thought of the girls, her friends, who usedto sneer at her--of Emma Baker, who was so proud, forsooth, becauseshe was engaged to a cheesemonger, in a white apron, near ClareMarket; and of Betsy Rodgers, who made such a to-do about _her_young man--an attorney's clerk, indeed, that went about with a bag!

  So that, at about two o'clock in the afternoon--the Bolton familyhaving concluded, their dinner (and Mr. B., who besides his place ofporter of the Inn, was in the employ of Messrs. Tressler, the eminentundertakers of the Strand, being absent in the country with theCountess of Estrich's hearse), when a gentleman in a white hat andwhite trowsers made his appearance under the Inn archway, and stoppedat the porter's wicket, Fanny was not in the least surprised, onlydelighted, only happy, and blushing beyond all measure. She knew itcould be no other than He. She knew He'd come. There he was: there wasHis Royal Highness beaming upon her from the gate. She called to hermother, who was busy in the upper apartment, "Mamma, mamma," and ranto the wicket at once, and opened it, pushing aside the otherchildren. How she blushed as she gave her hand to him! How affably hetook off his white hat as he came in; the children staring up at him!He asked Mrs. Bolton if she had slept well, after the fatigues of thenight, and hoped she had no headache: and he said that as he wasgoing that way, he could not pass the door without asking news of hislittle partner.

  Mrs. Bolton was, perhaps, rather shy and suspicious about theseadvances; but Mr. Pen's good humor was inexhaustible, he could not seethat he was unwelcome. He looked about the premises for a seat, andnone being disengaged, for a dish-cover was on one, a work-box on theother, and so forth, he took one of the children's chairs, and perchedhimself upon that uncomfortable eminence. At this, the children beganlaughing, the child Fanny louder than all; at least, she was moreamused than any of them, and amazed at his Roya
l Highness'scondescension. _He_ to sit down in that chair--that little child'schair! Many and many a time after she regarded it: haven't we almostall, such furniture in our rooms, that our fancy peoples with dearfigures, that our memory fills with sweet, smiling faces, which maynever look on us more?

  So Pen sate down, and talked away with great volubility to Mrs.Bolton. He asked about the undertaking business, and how many muteswent down with Lady Estrich's remains; and about the Inn, and wholived there. He seemed very much interested about Mr. Campion's caband horse, and had met that gentleman in society. He thought he shouldlike shares in the Polwheedle and Pontydiddlum; did Mrs. Bolton do forthose chambers? Were there any chambers to let in the Inn? It wasbetter than the Temple: he should like to come to live in Shepherd'sInn. As for Captain Strong and--Colonel Altamont was his name? he wasdeeply interested in them, too. The captain was an old friend at home.He had dined with him at chambers here, before the colonel came tolive with him. What sort of man was the colonel? Wasn't he a stoutman, with a large quantity of jewelry, and a wig, and large blackwhiskers, _very_ black (here Pen was immensely waggish, and causedhysteric giggles of delight from the ladies), very black, indeed; infact, blue-black; that is to say, a rich greenish purple? That was theman; he had met him, too, at Sir F----in society.

  "O, we know!" said the ladies; "Sir F----is Sir F. Clavering; he'soften here: two or three times a week with the captain. My little boyhas been out for bill stamps for him. Oh, Lor! I beg pardon, Ishouldn't have mentioned no secrets," Mrs. Bolton blurted out, beingtalked perfectly into good-nature by this time. "But we know you to bea gentleman, Mr. Pendennis, for I'm sure you have shown that you can_beayve_ as such. Hasn't Mr. Pendennis, Fanny?"

  Fanny loved her mother for that speech. She cast up her dark eyes tothe low ceiling, and said, "O, that he has, I'm sure, ma," with avoice full of feeling.

  Pen was rather curious about the bill stamps, and concerning thetransactions in Strong's chambers. And he asked, when Altamont cameand joined the chevalier, whether he, too, sent out for bill stamps,who he was, whether he saw many people, and so forth. These questions,put with considerable adroitness by Pen, who was interested about SirFrancis Clavering's doings from private motives of his own, wereartlessly answered by Mrs. Bolton. and to the utmost of her knowledgeand ability, which, in truth, were not very great.

  These questions answered, and Pen being at a loss for more, luckilyrecollected his privilege as a member of the press, and asked theladies whether they would like any orders for the play? The play wastheir delight, as it is almost always the delight of every theatricalperson. When Bolton was away professionally (it appeared that of latethe porter of Shepherd's Inn had taken a serious turn, drank a gooddeal, and otherwise made himself unpleasant to the ladies of hisfamily), they would like of all things to slip out and go to thetheater, little Barney their son, keeping the lodge; and Mr.Pendennis's most generous and most genteel compliment of orders wasreceived with boundless gratitude by both mother and daughter.

  Fanny clapped her hands with pleasure: her face beamed with it. Shelooked, and nodded, and laughed at her mamma, who nodded and laughedin her turn. Mrs. Bolton was not superannuated for pleasure yet, or byany means too old for admiration, she thought. And very likely Mr.Pendennis, in his conversation with her, had insinuated somecompliments, or shaped his talk so as to please her. At first againstPen, and suspicious of him, she was his partisan now, and almost asenthusiastic about him as her daughter. When two women get together tolike a man, they help each other on; each pushes the other forward,and the second, out of sheer sympathy, becomes as eager as theprincipal: at least, so it is said by philosophers who have examinedthis science.

  So the offer of the play tickets, and other pleasantries, put allparties into perfect good-humor, except for one brief moment, when oneof the younger children, hearing the name of "Astley's" pronounced,came forward and stated that she should like very much to go, too; onwhich Fanny said, "Don't bother!" rather sharply; and mamma said,"Git-long, Betsy Jane, do now, and play in the court:" so that the twolittle ones, namely, Betsy Jane and Ameliar Ann, went away in theirlittle innocent pinafores, and disported in the court-yard on thesmooth gravel, round about the statue of Shepherd the Great.

  And here, as they were playing, they very possibly communicated withan old friend of theirs and dweller in the Inn; for while Pen wasmaking himself agreeable to the ladies at the lodge, who werelaughing, delighted at his sallies, an old gentleman passed under thearchway from the Inn-square, and came and looked in at the door ofthe lodge.

  He made a very blank and rueful face when he saw Mr. Arthur seatedupon a table, like Macheath in the play, in easy discourse with Mrs.Bolton and her daughter.

  "What! Mr. Bows? How d'you do, Bows!" cried out Pen, in a cheery, loudvoice. "I was coming to see you, and was asking your address ofthese ladies."

  "You were coming to see _me_, were you, sir?" Bows said, and came inwith a sad face, and shook hands with Arthur. "Plague on that oldman!" somebody thought in the room: and so, perhaps, some one elsebesides her.