CHAPTER XXIX.
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, isaware that there are three rooms for guests upon the ground floor,besides the bar where the landlady sits. One is a parlor frequented bythe public at large; to another room gentlemen in livery resort; andthe third apartment, on the door of which "Private" is painted, isthat hired by the Club of "The Confidentials," of which Messrs. Morganand Lightfoot were members.
The noiseless Morgan had listened to the conversation between Strongand Major Pendennis at the latter's own lodgings, and had carried awayfrom it 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, whilePendennis and Clavering had their discourse in the parlor. There was aparticular 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 Sidney?Clavering ain't no more married to my lady than I am! Altamont's theman: Altamont's a convick; young Harthur comes into Parlyment, and theGov'nor promises not to split. By Jove, what a sly old rogue it is,that old Gov'nor! No wonder he's anxious to make the match betweenBlanche and Harthur; why, she'll have a hundred thousand if she's apenny, and bring her man a seat in Parlyment into the bargain." Nobodysaw, but a physiognomist would have liked to behold, the expression ofMr. Morgan's countenance, when this astounding intelligence was madeclear to him. "But for my hage, and the confounded prejudices ofsociety," he said, surveying himself in the glass, "dammy, JamesMorgan, you might marry her yourself," But if he could not marry MissBlanche and her fortune, Morgan thought he could mend his own by thepossession of this information, and that it might be productive ofbenefit to him from very many sources. Of all the persons whom thesecret affected, the greater number would not like to have it known.For instance, Sir Francis Clavering, whose fortune it involved, wouldwish to keep it quiet; Colonel Altamont, whose neck it implicated,would naturally be desirous to hush it; and that young hupstart beast,Mr. Harthur, who was for gettin' into Parlyment on the strenth of it,and was as proud as if he was a duke with half a million a year (such,we grieve to say, was Morgan's opinion of his employer's nephew),would pay any think sooner than let the world know that he was marriedto a convick's daughter, and had got his seat in Parlyment bytrafficking with this secret. As for Lady C., Morgan thought, if she'stired of Clavering, and wants to get rid of him, she'll pay: if she'sfrightened about her son, and fond of the little beggar, she'll payall the same: and Miss Blanche will certainly come down handsome tothe man who will put her into her rights, which she was unjustlydefrauded of them, and no mistake. "Dammy," concluded the valet,reflecting upon this wonderful hand which luck had given him to play,"with such cards as these, James Morgan, you are a made man. It may bea reg'lar enewity to me. Every one of 'em must susscribe. And withwhat I've made already, I may cut business, give my old Gov'norwarning, turn gentleman, and have a servant of my own, begad."Entertaining himself with calculations such as these, that were not alittle 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 hispresent duties.
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 Innhaunt, and walked thither an hour or two after the baronet andPendennis had had their conversation together. But that bird wasflown; Colonel Altamont had received his Derby winnings and was goneto the Continent. The fact of his absence was exceedingly vexatious toMr. Morgan. "He'll drop all that money at the gambling-shops on theRhind," thought Morgan, "and I might have had a good bit of it. It'sconfounded annoying to think he's gone and couldn't have waited a fewdays longer." Hope, triumphant or deferred, ambition ordisappointment, victory or patient ambush, Morgan bore all alike, withsimilar equable countenance. Until the proper day came, the major'sboots were varnished and his hair was curled, his early cup of tea wasbrought to his bedside, his oaths, rebukes, and senile satire borne,with silent, obsequious fidelity. Who would think, to see him waitingupon his master, packing and shouldering his trunks, and occasionallyassisting at table, at the country-houses where he might be staying,that Morgan was richer than his employer, and knew his secrets andother people's? In the profession Mr. Morgan was greatly respected andadmired, and his reputation for wealth and wisdom got him much renownat most supper-tables: the younger gentlemen voted him stoopid, afeller of no idears, and a fogey, in a word: but not one of them wouldnot say amen to the heartfelt prayer which some of the mostserious-minded among the gentlemen uttered, "When I die may I cut upas 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, or the marquis inScotland, condescending to sojourn with Sir John or the plain squire.To say the truth, the old gentleman's reputation was somewhat on thewane: many of the men of his time had died out, and the occupants oftheir halls and the present wearers of their titles knew not MajorPendennis: and little cared for his traditions "of the wild Prince andPoyns," and of the heroes of fashion passed away. It must have struckthe good man with melancholy as he walked by many a London door, tothink how seldom it was now opened for him, and how often he used toknock at it--to what banquets and welcome he used to pass throughit--a score of years back. He began to own that he was no longer ofthe present age, and dimly to apprehend that the young men laughed athim. Such melancholy musings must come across many a Pall Mallphilosopher. The men, thinks he, are not such as they used to be inhis time: the old grand manner and courtly grace of life are gone:what is Castlewood House and the present Castlewood, compared to themagnificence of the old mansion and owner? The late lord came toLondon with four post-chaises and sixteen horses: all the North Roadhurried out to look at his cavalcade: the people in London streetseven stopped as his procession passed them. The present lord travelswith five bagmen in a railway carriage, and sneaks away from thestation, smoking a cigar in a brougham. The late lord in autumn filledCastlewood with company, who drank claret till midnight: the presentman buries himself in a hut on a Scotch mountain, and passes Novemberin two or three closets in an entresol at Paris, where his amusementsare a dinner at a cafe and a box at a little theatre. What a contrastthere is between _his_ Lady Lorraine, the Regent's Lady Lorraine, andher 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 thecab-stand, 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 laboring classes, andemigration, 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 offto smoke pipes in each other's bedrooms, caring for nothing,reverencing nothing, not even an old gentleman who has known theirfathers and their betters, not
even a pretty woman--what a differencethere is between these men who poison the very turnips andstubble-fields with their tobacco, and the gentlemen of our time!"thinks the major; "the breed is gone--there's no use for 'em; they'rereplaced by a parcel of damned cotton-spinners and utilitarians, andyoung sprigs of parsons with their hair combed down their backs. I'mgetting old: they're getting past me: they laugh at us old boys,"thought old Pendennis. And he was not far wrong; the times and mannerswhich he admired were pretty nearly gone--the gay young men 'larked'him irreverently, while the serious youth had a grave pity and wonderat him, which would have been even more painful to bear, had the oldgentleman been aware of its extent. But he was rather simple: hisexamination of moral questions had never been very deep; it had neverstruck him perhaps, until very lately, that he was otherwise than amost respectable and rather fortunate man. Is there no old age but hiswithout reverence? Did youthful folly never jeer at other bald pates?For the past two or three years, he had begun to perceive that his daywas well nigh over, and that the men of the new time had begunto 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 awhile 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,whose holidays are over? Yesterday it was France and sunshine, orBroadstairs and liberty; to-day comes work and a yellow fog; and, yegods! what a heap of bills there lies in master's study. And the clerkhas brought the lawyer's papers from Chambers; and in half an hour theliterary man knows that the printer's boy will be in the passage; andMr. Smith with that little account (that particular little account)has called presentient of your arrival, and has left word that he willcall to-morrow morning at ten. Who among us has not said good-by tohis holiday; returned to dun London, and his fate; surveyed his laborsand liabilities laid out before him, and been aware of that inevitablelittle account to settle? Smith and his little account, in themorning, symbolize duty, difficulty, struggle, which you will meet,let us hope, friend, with a manly and honest heart. And you think ofhim, as the children are slumbering once more in their own beds, andthe watchful housewife tenderly pretends to sleep.
Old Pendennis had no special labors 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 soselfish, he must occasionally feel dispirited and lonely. He had hadtwo or three twinges of gout in the country-house where he had beenstaying: the birds were wild and shy, and the walking over the plowedfields had fatigued him deucedly: the young men had laughed at him,and he had been peevish at table once or twice: he had not been ableto get his whist of an evening: and, in fine, was glad to come away.In all his dealings with Morgan, his valet, he had been exceedinglysulky and discontented. He had sworn at him and abused him for manydays past. He had scalded his mouth with bad soup at Swindon. He hadleft his umbrella in the rail-road carriage: at which piece offorgetfulness, he was in such a rage, that he cursed Morgan morefreely than ever. Both the chimneys smoked furiously in his lodgings;and when he caused the windows to be flung open, he swore soacrimoniously, that Morgan was inclined to fling him out of window,too, through that opened casement. The valet swore after his master,as Pendennis went down the street on his way to the Club.
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.The dinner was not good: and the three most odious men in all London--old Hawkshaw, 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 atthe next table to Pendennis, and describe to him every inn-bill whichhe had paid in his foreign tour: each and all of these disagreeablepersonages and incidents had contributed to make Major Pendennismiserable; and the Club waiter trod on his toe as he brought him hiscoffee. Never alone appear the Immortals. The Furies always hunt incompany: they pursued Pendennis from home to the Club, and from theClub home.
While the major was absent from his lodgings, Morgan had been seatedin the landlady's parlor, drinking freely of hot brandy-and-water,and pouring out on Mrs. Brixham some of the abuse which he hadreceived from his master up-stairs. Mrs. Brixham was Morgan's slave.He was his landlady's landlord. He had bought the lease of the housewhich she rented; he had got her name and her son's to acceptances,and a bill of sale which made him master of the luckless widow'sfurniture. The young Brixham was a clerk in an insurance office, andMorgan could put him into what he called quod any day. Mrs. Brixhamwas a clergyman's widow, and Mr. Morgan, after performing his dutieson the first floor, had a pleasure in making the old lady fetch himhis boot-jack and his slippers. She was his slave. The little blackprofiles of her son and daughter; the very picture of Tiddlecotchurch, where she was married, and her poor dear Brixham lived anddied, was now Morgan's property, as it hung there over themantle-piece of his back-parlor. Morgan sate in the widow's back-room,in the ex-curate's old horse-hair study-chair, making Mrs. Brixhambring 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 andwas drinking a third tumbler, when old Pendennis returned from theClub, and went up-stairs to his rooms. Mr. Morgan swore very savagelyat him and his bell, when he heard the latter, and finished histumbler of brandy before 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 of theman, the anger under which he was laboring. 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 voce_below was expressing a wish to strangle him, drown him, and punchhis head 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 inthat simple and forcible phraseology which men are sometimes in thehabit of using to their domestics; informing Morgan that he was adrunken 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 bearyour confounded old harrogance, you old Wigsby! Chatter your oldhivories at me, do you, you grinning old baboon! Come on, if you are aman, and can stand to a man. Ha! you coward, knives, knives!"
"If you advance a step, I'll send it into you," said the major,seizing up a knife that was on the table near him. "Go down stairs,you drunken brute, and leave the house; send for your book and yourwages in the morning, and never let me see your insolent face again.This d----d impertinence of yours has been growing for some monthspast. You have been growing too rich. You are not fit for service. Getout of it, and out 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'?--_tooty-faymame shose, sivvaplay, munseer?_"
"Silence, you beast, 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 manyyears have I waited on you, and how many damns and cusses have yougiven me, along with my wages? Do you think a man's a dog, that youcan talk to him in this way? If I choose to drink a little, whyshouldn't I? I've seen many a gentleman drunk formly, and peraps havethe abit from them. I ain't a-goin' to leave this house, old feller,and shall I tell you why? The house is my house, every stick offurnitur' in it is mine, excep' _your_ old traps, and yourshower-bath, and your wig-box. I've bought the place, I tell you, withmy own industry and perseverance. I can show a hundred pound, whereyou can show a fifty, or your damned supersellious nephew either. I'veserved you honorable, done every thing for you these dozen years, andI'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 no more. I throw up your service;I'm tired on it; I've combed your old wig and buckled your old girthsand waistbands long enough, I tell you. Don't look savage at me, I'msitting in my own chair, in my own room, a-telling the truth toyou. I'll be your beast, and your brute, and your dog, no more, MajorPendennis AlfPay."
The fury of the old gentleman, met by the servant's abrupt revolt, hadbeen shocked and cooled by the concussion, as much as if a suddenshower-bath or a pail of cold water had been flung upon him. Thateffect produced, and his anger calmed, Morgan's speech had interestedhim, and he rather respected his adversary, and his courage in facinghim, as of old days, in the fencing-room, he would have admired theopponent who hit 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 mean time, I desire to go tobed, and have not the slightest wish for your farther company."
"_We'll_ have a settlement, don't you be afraid," Morgan said, gettingup from his chair. "I ain't done with you yet; nor with your family,nor with the Clavering family, Major Pendennis; and that youshall know."
"Have the goodness to leave the room, sir;--I'm tired," said themajor.
"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 fire-side 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 thine: to lose a fellow of that sort:but he must go," thought the major. "He has grown rich, and impudentsince he has grown rich. He was horribly tipsy and abusive tonight. Wemust part, and I must go out of the lodgings. Dammy, I like thelodgings; I'm used to 'em. It's very unpleasant, at my time of life,to change my quarters." And so on, mused the old gentleman. Theshower-bath had done him good: the testiness was gone: the loss of theumbrella, the smell of paint at the Club, were forgotten under thesuperior excitement. "Confound the insolent villain!" thought the oldgentleman. "He understood my wants to a nicety: he was the bestservant in England." He thought about his servant as a man thinks of ahorse that has carried him long and well, and that has come down withhim, and is safe no longer. How the deuce to replace him? Where can heget such another animal?
In these melancholy cogitations the major, who had donned his owndressing gown and replaced his head of hair (a little gray had beenintroduced into the _coiffure_ of late by Mr. Truefitt, which hadgiven the major's head the most artless and respectable appearance);in these cogitations, we say, the major, who had taken off his wig andput on his night-handkerchief, sate absorbed by the fire-side, when afeeble knock came at his door, which was presently opened by thelandlady of the lodgings.
"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'ttake him back, Mrs. Brixham. Impossible. I'd determined to part withhim before, when I heard of his dealings in the discount business--Isuppose you've heard of them, Mrs. Brixham? My servant's acapitalist, begad."
"O sir," said Mrs. Brixham, "I know it to my cost. I borrowed from hima 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. Every thingI had is his. He's a dreadful man." "Eh, Mrs. Brixham? _tantpis_--dev'lish sorry for you, and that I must quit your house afterlodging here so long: there's no help for it. I must go."
"He says we must all go, sir," sobbed out the luckless widow. "He camedown stairs from you just now--he had been drinking, and it alwaysmakes him very wicked--and he said that you had insulted him, sir, andtreated him like a dog, and spoken to him unkindly; and he swore hewould be revenged, and--and I owe him a hundred and twenty pounds,sir--and he has a bill of sale of all my furniture--and says he willturn me out of my house, and send my poor George to prison. He hasbeen the ruin of my family, 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,if I were going to stay in the lodgings. But I can't; and I can'tafford to fling away twenty pounds, my good madam. I'm a poor half-payofficer, and want every shilling I have, begad. As far as a few poundsgoes--say five pounds--I don't say--and shall be most happy, and thatsort of thing: and I'll give it you in the morning with pleasure:but--but it's getting late, and I have made a railroad journey."
"God's will be done, sir," said the poor woman, drying her tears. "Imust bear 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 down stairs, and when--when I besoughthim to have pity on me, and told him he had been the ruin of myfamily, said something which I did not well understand--that he wouldruin every family in the house--that he knew something would bring youdown too--and that you should pay him for your--your insolence to him.I--I must own to you, that I went down on my knees to him, sir; and hesaid, with a dreadful oath against you, that he would have you onyour 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. O, 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 forthe dreadful 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 campaigner turned round and slept pretty sound, being ratherexcited and amused by the events of the day--the last day inBury-street, he was determined it should be. "For it's impossible tostay on with a valet over me and a bankrupt landlady. What good can Ido this poor devil of a woman? I'll give her twenty pound--there'sWarrington's twenty pound, which he has just paid--but what's theuse? She'll want more, and more, and more, and that cormorant
Morganwill swallow all. No, dammy, I can't afford to know poor people; andto-morrow I'll say good-by--to Mrs. Brixham and Mr. Morgan."
The History of Pendennis, Volume 2 Page 29