CHAPTER LX. Explanations
Almost a year, as the reader will perceive, has passed since an eventdescribed a few pages back. Arthur's black coat is about to be exchangedfor a blue one. His person has undergone other more pleasing andremarkable changes. His wig has been laid aside, and his hair, thoughsomewhat thinner, has returned to public view. And he has had the honourof appearing at Court in the uniform of a Cornet of the Clavering troopof the ----shire Yeomanry Cavalry, being presented to the Sovereign bythe Marquis of Steyne.
This was a measure strongly and pathetically urged by Arthur's uncle.The Major would not hear of a year passing before this ceremony ofgentlemanhood was gone through. The old gentleman thought thathis nephew should belong to some rather more select Club thanthe Megatherium; and has announced everywhere in the world hisdisappointment that the young man's property has turned out not by anymeans as well as he could have hoped, and is under fifteen hundred ayear.
That is the amount at which Pendennis's property is set down inthe world--where his publishers begin to respect him much more thanformerly, and where even mammas are by no means uncivil to him. For ifthe pretty daughters are, naturally, to marry people of very differentexpectations--at any rate, he will be eligible for the plain ones: andif the brilliant and fascinating Myra is to hook an Earl, poor littleBeatrice, who has one shoulder higher than the other, must hang on tosome boor through life, and why should not Mr. Pendennis be her support?In the very first winter after the accession to his mother's fortune,Mrs. Hawxby in a country-house caused her Beatrice to learn billiardsfrom Mr. Pendennis and would be driven by nobody but him in the ponycarriage, because he was literary and her Beatrice was literary too,and declared that the young man, under the instigation of his horrid olduncle, had behaved most infamously in trifling with Beatrice's feelings.The truth is the old gentleman, who knew Mrs. Hawxby's character, andhow desperately that lady would practise upon unwary young men, had cometo the country-house in question and carried Arthur out of the dangerof her immediate claws, though not out of the reach of her tongue. Theelder Pendennis would have had his nephew pass a part of the Christmasat Clavering, whither the family had returned; but Arthur had not theheart for that. Clavering was too near poor old Fairoaks; and that wastoo full of sad recollections for the young man.
We have lost sight of the Claverings, too, until their reappearanceupon the Epsom race-ground, and must give a brief account of them in theinterval. During the past year, the world has not treated any memberof the Clavering family very kindly; Lady Clavering, one of thebest-natured women that ever enjoyed a good dinner, or made a slip ingrammar, has had her appetite and good-nature sadly tried by constantfamily grievances, and disputes such as make the efforts of the bestFrench cook unpalatable, and the most delicately-stuffed sofa-cushionhard to lie on. "I'd rather have a turnip, Strong, for dessert, thanthat pineapple, and all them Muscatel grapes, from Clavering," says poorLady Clavering, looking at her dinner-table, and confiding her grief toher faithful friend, "if I could but have a little quiet to eat it with.Oh, how much happier I was when I was a widow and before all this moneyfell in to me!"
The Clavering family had indeed made a false start in life, and had gotneither conduct, nor position, nor thanks for the hospitalities whichthey administered, nor a return of kindness from the people whom theyentertained. The success of their first London season was doubtful; andtheir failure afterwards notorious. "Human patience was not greatenough to put up with Sir Francis Clavering," people said. "He was toohopelessly low, dull, and disreputable. You could not say what, butthere was a taint about the house and its entourages. Who was the Begum,with her money, and without her h's, and where did she come from? Whatan extraordinary little piece of conceit the daughter was, with herGallicised graces and daring affectations, not fit for well-bred Englishgirls to associate with! What strange people were those they assembledround about them! Sir Francis Clavering was a gambler, livingnotoriously in the society of blacklegs and profligates. Hely Clinker,who was in his regiment, said that he not only cheated at cards, butshowed the white feather. What could Lady Rockminster have meant bytaking her up? After the first season, indeed, Lady Rockminster, who hadtaken up Lady Clavering, put her down; the great ladies would not taketheir daughters to her parties; the young men who attended them behavedwith the most odious freedom and scornful familiarity; and poor LadyClavering herself avowed that she was obliged to take what she called'the canal' into her parlour, because the tip-tops wouldn't come."
She had not the slightest ill-will towards "the canal," the poor dearlady, or any pride about herself, or idea, that she was better than herneighbour; but she had taken implicitly the orders which on her entryinto the world her social godmother had given her: she had been willingto know whom they knew, and ask whom they asked. The "canal," in fact,was much pleasanter than what is called "society;" but, as we saidbefore, that to leave a mistress is easy, while, on the contrary, to beleft by her is cruel: so you may give up society without any great pang,or anything but a sensation of relief at the parting; but severe are themortifications and pains you have if society gives up you.
One young man of fashion we have mentioned, who at least it might havebeen expected would have been found faithful amongst the faithless, andHarry Foker, Esq., was indeed that young man. But he had not managedmatters with prudence, and the unhappy passion at first confided to Penbecame notorious and ridiculous to the town, was carried to the ears ofhis weak and fond mother; and finally brought under the cognisance ofthe bald-headed and inflexible Foker senior.
When Mr. Foker learned this disagreeable news, there took place betweenhim and his son a violent and painful scene, which ended in the poorlittle gentleman's banishment from England for a year, with a positiveorder to return at the expiration of that time and complete his marriagewith his cousin, or to retire into private life and three hundred a yearaltogether, and never see parent or brewery more. Mr. Henry Foker wentaway then, carrying with him that grief and care which passes free atthe strictest Custom-houses, and which proverbially accompanies theexile; and with this crape over his eyes, even the Parisian Boulevardlooked melancholy to him, and the sky of Italy black.
To Sir Francis Clavering, that year was a most unfortunate one. Theevents described in the last chapter came to complete the ruin of theyear. It was that year of grace in which, as our sporting readers mayremember, Lord Harrowhill's horse (he was a classical young nobleman,and named his stud out of the Iliad)--when Podasokus won the Derby, tothe dismay of the knowing ones, who pronounced the winning horse's namein various extraordinary ways, and who backed Borax, who was nowhere inthe race. Sir Francis Clavering, who was intimate with some of themost rascally characters of the turf, and, of course, had "valuableinformation," had laid heavy odds against the winning horse, and backedthe favourite freely, and the result of his dealings was, as his soncorrectly stated to poor Lady Clavering, a loss of seven thousandpounds.
Indeed, it was a cruel blow upon the lady, who had discharged herhusband's debts many times over; who had received as many times hisoaths and promises of amendment; who had paid his money-lenders andhorse-dealers; who had furnished his town and country houses, and whowas called upon now instantly to meet this enormous sum, the penalty ofher cowardly husband's extravagance.
It has been described in former pages how the elder Pendennis had becomethe adviser of the Clavering family, and, in his quality of intimatefriend of the house, had gone over every room of it, and even seen thatugly closet which we all of us have, and in which, according to theproverb, the family skeleton is locked up. About the Baronet's pecuniarymatters, if the Major did not know, it was because Clavering himself didnot know them, and hid them from himself and others in such a hopelessentanglement of lies that it was impossible for adviser or attorney orprincipal to get an accurate knowledge of his affairs. But, concerningLady Clavering, the Major was much better informed; and when the unluckymishap of the Derby arose, he took upon himself to become completely andthoroughly acqu
ainted with all her means, whatsoever they were; and wasnow accurately informed of the vast and repeated sacrifices which thewidow Amory had made in behalf of her present husband.
He did not conceal--and he had won no small favour from Miss Blanche byavowing it--his opinion, that Lady Clavering's daughter had been hardlytreated at the expense of her son, by her second marriage: and in hisconversations with Lady Clavering had fairly hinted that he thoughtMiss Blanche ought to have a better provision. We have said that he hadalready given the widow to understand that he knew all the particularsof her early and unfortunate history, having been in India at the timewhen--when the painful circumstances occurred which had ended in herparting from her first husband. He could tell her where to find theCalcutta newspaper which contained the account of Amory's trial, andhe showed, and the Begum was not a little grateful to him for hisforbearance, how, being aware all along of this mishap which hadbefallen her, he had kept all knowledge of it to himself, and beenconstantly the friend of her family.
"Interested motives, my dear Lady Clavering," he said, "of course I mayhave had. We all have interested motives, and mine, I don't conceal fromyou, was to make a marriage between my nephew and your daughter." Towhich Lady Clavering, perhaps with some surprise that the Major shouldchoose her family for a union with his own, said she was quite willingto consent.
But frankly he said, "My dear lady, my boy has but five hundred a year,and a wife with ten thousand pounds to her fortune would scarcely betterhim. We could do better for him than that, permit me to say, and he isa shrewd, cautious young fellow who has sown his wild oats now--who hasvery good parts and plenty of ambition--and whose object in marrying isto better himself. If you and Sir Francis chose--and Sir Francis, takemy word for it, will refuse you nothing--you could put Arthur in a wayto advance very considerably in the world, and show the stuff which hehas in him. Of what use is that seat in Parliament to Clavering, whoscarcely ever shows his face in the House, or speaks a word there? I'mtold by gentlemen who heard my boy at Oxbridge, that he was famous asan orator, begad!--and once put his foot into the stirrup and mount him,I've no doubt he won't be the last of the field, ma'am. I've testedthe chap, and know him pretty well, I think. He is much too lazy, andcareless, and flighty a fellow, to make a jog-trot journey, and arrive,as your lawyers do, at the end of their lives! but give him a start andgood friends, and an opportunity, and take my word for it, he'll makehimself a name that his sons shall be proud of. I don't see any way fora fellow like him to parvenir, but by making a prudent marriage--notwith a beggarly heiress--to sit down for life upon a miserable fifteenhundred a year--but with somebody whom he can help, and who can help himforward in the world, and whom he can give a good name and a station inthe country, begad, in return for the advantages which she brings him.It would be better for you to have a distinguished son-in-law, than tokeep your husband on in Parliament, who's of no good to himself or toanybody else there, and that's, I say, why I've been interested aboutyou, and offer you what I think a good bargain for both."
"You know I look upon Arthur as one of the family almost now," said thegood-natured Begum; "he comes and goes when he likes; and the moreI think of his dear mother, the more I see there's few people sogood--none so good to me. And I'm sure I cried when I heard of herdeath, and would have gone into mourning for her myself, only blackdon't become me. And I know who his mother wanted him to marry--Laura,I mean--whom old Lady Rockminster has taken such a fancy to, and,no wonder. She's a better girl than my girl. I know both. And myBetsy--Blanche, I mean--ain't been a comfort to me, Major. It's LauraPen ought to marry.
"Marry on five hundred a year! My dear good soul, you are mad!" MajorPendennis said. "Think over what I have said to you. Do nothing in youraffairs with that unhappy husband of yours without consulting me; andremember that old Pendennis is always your friend."
For some time previous, Pen's uncle had held similar language to MissAmory. He had pointed out to her the convenience of the match which hehad at heart, and was bound to say, that mutual convenience was of allthings the very best in the world to marry upon--the only thing. "Lookat your love-marriages, my dear young creature. The love-match peopleare the most notorious of all for quarrelling afterwards; and a girl whoruns away with Jack to Gretna Green, constantly runs away with Tom toSwitzerland afterwards. The great point in marriage is for people toagree to be useful to one another. The lady brings the means, and thegentleman avails himself of them. My boy's wife brings the horse, andbegad Pen goes in and wins the plate. That's what I call a sensibleunion. A couple like that have something to talk to each other aboutwhen they come together. If you had Cupid himself to talk to--if Blancheand Pen were Cupid and Psyche, begad--they'd begin to yawn after a fewevenings, if they had nothing but sentiment to speak on."
As for Miss Amory, she was contented enough with Pen as long as therewas nobody better. And how many other young ladies are like her?--andhow many love-marriages carry on well to the last?--and how sentimentalfirms do not finish in bankruptcy?--and how many heroic passions don'tdwindle down into despicable indifference, or end in shameful defeat?
These views of life and philosophy the Major was constantly, accordingto his custom, inculcating to Pen, whose mind was such that he couldsee the right on both sides of many questions, and, comprehending thesentimental life which was quite out of the reach of the honest Major'sintelligence, could understand the practical life too, and accommodatehimself, or think he could accommodate himself, to it. So it came topass that during the spring succeeding his mother's death he became agood deal under the influence of his uncle's advice, and domesticatedin Lady Clavering's house; and in a measure was accepted by Miss Amorywithout being a suitor, and was received without being engaged. Theyoung people were extremely familiar, without being particularlysentimental, and met and parted with each other in perfect good-humour."And I," thought Pendennis, "am the fellow who eight years ago had aGrand passion, and last year was raging in a fever about Briseis!"
Yes, it was the same Pendennis, and time had brought to him, as to therest of us, its ordinary consequences, consolations, developments.We alter very little. When we talk of this man or that woman being nolonger the same person whom we remember in youth, and remark (of courseto deplore) changes in our friends, we don't, perhaps, calculate thatcircumstance only brings out the latent defect or quality, and does notcreate it. The selfish languor and indifference of to-day's possessionis the consequence of the selfish ardour of yesterday's pursuit: thescorn and weariness which cries vanitas vanitatum is but the lassitudeof the sick appetite palled with pleasure: the insolence of thesuccessful parvenu is only the necessary continuance of the career ofthe needy struggler: our mental changes are like our grey hairs or ourwrinkles--but the fulfilment of the plan of mortal growth and decay:that which is snow-white now was glossy black once; that which issluggish obesity to-day was boisterous rosy health a few years back;that calm weariness, benevolent, resigned, and disappointed, wasambition, fierce and violent, but a few years since, and has onlysettled into submissive repose after many a battle and defeat. Lucky hewho can bear his failure so generously, and give up his broken swordto Fate the Conqueror with a manly and humble heart! Are you notawestricken, you, friendly reader, who, taking the page up fora moment's light reading, lay it down, perchance, for a graverreflection,--to think how you, who have consummated your success oryour disaster, may be holding marked station, or a hopeless and namelessplace, in the crowd--who have passed through how many struggles ofdefeat, success, crime, remorse, to yourself only known!--who may haveloved and grown cold, wept and laughed again, how often!--to think howyou are the same, You, whom in childhood you remember, before the voyageof life began? It has been prosperous, and you are riding into port, thepeople huzzaing and the guns saluting,--and the lucky captain bows fromthe ship's side, and there is a care under the star on his breast whichnobody knows of: or you are wrecked, and lashed, hopeless, to a solitaryspar out at sea:--the sinking man and the successful one are thinkingeach
about home, very likely, and remembering the time when they werechildren; alone on the hopeless spar, drowning out of sight; alone inthe midst of the crowd applauding you.
CHAPTER LXI. Conversations
The History of Pendennis Page 62