156
upon his mother, whose wounded bosom yearned with love
towards him, though there was a secret between them, and an
anguish or rage almost on the mother's part, to think that she
was dispossessed somehow of her son's heart, or that there
were recesses in it which she must not or dared not enter. She
sickened as she thought of the sacred days of boyhood when it
had not been so — when her Arthur's heart had no secrets,
and she was his all in all: when he poured his hopes and plea-
sures, his childish griefs, vanities, triumphs into her willing
and tender embrace; when her home was his nest still; and
before fate, selfishness, nature, had driven him forth on
wayward wings — to range on his own flight — to sing his own
song — and to seek his own home and his own mate. Watching
this devouring care and racking disappointment in her friend,
Laura once said to Helen, "If Pen had loved me as you
wished, I should have gained him, but I should have lost you.
Mamma, I know I should; and I like you to love me best.
Men do not know what it is to love as we do, I think," — and
Helen, sighing, agreed to this portion of the young lady's
speech, though she protested against the former part. For
my part I suppose Miss Laura was right in both statements,
and with regard to the latter assertion especially, that it is an
old and received truism — love is an hour with us : it is all
night and all day with a woman. Damon has taxes , sermon,
parade, tailor's bills, parliamentary duties, and the deuce
knows what to think of; Delia has to think about Damon —
Damon is the oak (or the post), and stands up, and Delia is
the ivy or the honeysuckle whose arms twine about him. Is it
not so, Delia? Is it not your nature to creep about his feet and
kiss them, to twine round his trunk and hang there; and Da-
mon's to stand like aBritish man with his hands in his breeches
pocket, while the pretty fond parasite clings round him?
157
Old Pendennis had only accompanied our friends to the
water's edge, and left them on board the boat, giving the
chief charge of the little expedition to Warrington. He him-
self was bound on a brief visit to the house of a great man,
a friend of his , after which sojourn he proposed to join his
sister-in-law at the German watering-place , whither the party
was bound. The Major himself thought that his long at-
tentions to his sick family had earned for him a little re-
laxation — and though the best of the partridges were thinned
off, the pheasants were still to be shot at Stillbrook, where
the noble owner still was ; old Pendennis betook himself to
that hospitable mansion and disported there with great com-
fort to himself. A royal Duke, some foreigners of note, some
illustrious statesmen, and some pleasant people visited it: it
did the old fellow's heart good to see his name in the "Morn-
ing Post" amongst the list of the distinguished company which
the Marquis of Steyne was entertaining at his country house
at Stillbrook. He was a very useful and pleasant personage
in a country house. He entertained the young men with queer
little anecdotes and grivoises stories on their shooting parties
or in their smoking-room , where they laughed at him and with
him. He was obsequious with the ladles of a morning, in the
rooms dedicated to them. He walked the new arrivals about
the park and gardens , and showed them the carte du pays,
and where there was the best view of the mansion , and where
the most favourable point to look at the lake: he showed
where the timber was to be felled, and where the old road
went before the new bridge was built, and the hill cut down;
and where the place in the wood was where old Lord Lynx
discovered Sir Phellm O'Neal on his knees before her lady-
ship , &c. &c. ; he called the lodge keepers and gardeners by
their names ; he knew the number of domestics that sat down
in the housekeeper's room, and how many dined in the ser-
158
vants' hall; he had a word for everybody, and about every-
body, and a little against everybody. He was invaluable in a
country house , in a word : and richly merited and enjoyed his
vacation after his labours. And perhaps whilst he was thus
deservedly enjoying himself with his country friends, the
Major was not ill-pleased at transferring to Warrington the
command of the family expedition to the Continent, and thus
perforce keeping him in the service of the ladies, — a servi-
tude which George was only too willing to undergo, for his
friend's sake, and for that of a society which he found daily
more delightful. Warrington was a good German scholar,
and was willing to give Miss Laura lessons in the language,
who was very glad to improve herself, though Pen, for his
part, was too weak or lazy now to resume his German studies.
Warrington acted as courier and interpreter; Warrington saw
the baggage in and out of ships, inns, and carriages, managed
the money matters, and put the little troop into marching
order. Warrington found out where the English church was,
and, if Mrs. Pendennis and Miss Laura were inclined to go
thither, walked with great decorum along with them. War-
rington walked by Mrs. Pendennis's donkey, when that. lady
went out on her evening excursions; or took carriages for
her; or got "Gallgnani" for her; or devised comfortable
seats under the lime trees for her, when the guests paraded
after dinner, and the Kursaal band at the bath, where our
tired friends stopped, performed their pleasant music under
the trees. Many a fine whiskered Prussian or French dandy,
come to the bath for the ^'•Trente et quarante,'" oast glances
of longing towards the pretty fresh-coloured English girl who
accompanied the pale widow, and would have longed to take
a turn with her at the galop or the waltz. But Laura did not
appear in the ball-room, except once or twice, when Pen
vouchsafed to walk with her; and as for Warrington, that
159
rough diamond had not had the polish of a dancing-master,
and he did not know how to waltz, — though he would have
liked to learn, if he could have had such a partner as Laura. —
Such a partner! psha, what had a stiff bachelor to do with
partners and waltzing? what was he about, dancing at-
tendance here ? drinking in sweet pleasure at a risk he knows
not of what after sadness, and regret, and lonely longing?
But yet he staid on. You would have said he was the widow's
son, to watch his constant care and watchfulness of her; or
that he was an adventurer, and wanted to marry her fortune,
or, at any rate, that he wanted some very great treasure or
benefit from her, — and very likely he did, — for ours, as the
reader has possibly already discovered, is a Selfish Story,
and almost every person , according to his nature , more or
less generous than George, and according to the way of the
world as it seems to us, is occupied about Number One. So
Warrington selfishly devoted himself to Helen, who selfishly
devoted herself to Pen, who selfishly devoted himself to him-
self at this present period, having no other personage or
object to occupy him, except, indeed, his mother's health,
which gave him a serious and real disquiet; but though they
sate together, they did not talk much, and the cloud was
always between them.
Every day Laura looked for Warrington, and received
him with more frank and eager welcome. He found himself
talking to her as he didn't know himself that he could talk.
He found himself performing acts of gallantry which
astounded him after the performance : he found himself look-
ing blankly in the glass at the crow's-feet round his eyes, and
at some streaks of white in his hair, and some intrusive silver
bristles in his grim , blue beard. He found himself looking at
the young bucks at the bath — at the blond, tight- waisted
Germans — at the capering Frenchmen, with their lacquered
160
moustacliios and trim varnished boots — at the English dan-
dies, Pen amongst them, with their calm domineering air,
and insolent languor: and envied each one of these some
excellence or quality of youth, or good looks, which he
possessed, and of which Warrington felt the need. And
every night, as the night came, he quitted the little circle
with greater reluctance; and, retiring to his own lodging in
their neighbourhood, felt himself the more lonely and un-
happy. The widow could not help seeing his attachment. She
understood , now, why Major Pendennis (always a tacit enemy
of her darling project) had been so eager that Warrington
should be of their party. Laura frankly owned her great, her
enthusiastic, regard for him: and Arthur would make no
movement. Arthur did not choose to see what was going on ;
or did not care to prevent, or actually encouraged, it. She
remembered his often having said that he could not under-
stand how a man proposed to a woman twice. She was in
torture — at secret feud with her son, of all objects in the
world the dearest to her — in doubt, which she dared not
express to herself, about Laura — averse to Warrington, the
good and generous. No wonder that the healing waters of
Rosenbad did not do her good, or that Doctor von Glauber,
the bath physician, when he came to visit her, found that the
poor lady made no progress to recovery. Meanwhile Pen got
well rapidly; slept with immense perseverance twelve hours
out of the twenty-four ; ate huge meals ; and, at the end of a
couple of months, had almost got back the bodily strength
and weight which he had possessed before his illness.
After they had passed some fifteen days at their place of
rest and refreshment, a letter came from Major Pendennis
announcing his speedy arrival at Rosenbad, and, soon after
the letter, the Major himself made his appearance accom-
panied bv Morgan his faithful valet, without whom the old
161
gentleman could not move. When the Major travelled he
wore a jaunty and juvenile travelling costume ; to see his back
still you would have taken him for one of the young fellows
whose slim waist and youthful appearance Warrington was
beginning to envy. It was not until the worthy man began to
move , that the observer remarked that Time had weakened
his ancient knees , and had unkindly interfered to impede the
action of the natty little varnished boots in which the gay old
traveller still pinched his toes. There were magnates both
of our own country and of foreign nations present that autumn
atRosehbad. The elder Pendennis read over the strangers'
list with great gratification on the night of his arrival, was
pleased to find several of his acquaintances among the great
folks, and would have the honour of presenting his nephew
to a German Grand Duchess, a Russian Princess, and an
English Marquis , before many days were over : nor was Pen
by any means averse to making the acquaintance of these
great personages, having a liking for polite life, and all the
splendours and amenities belonging to it. That very evening
the resolute old gentleman, leaning on his nephew's arm,
made his appearance in the halls of the Kursaal, and lost or
won a napoleon or two at the table of Trente et quarante. He
did not play to lose, he said, or to win, but he did as other
folks did, and betted his napoleon and took his luck as it
came. He pointed out the Russians and Spaniards gambling
for heaps of gold, and denounced their eagerness as some-
thing sordid and barbarous; an English gentleman should
play where the fashion is play, but should not elate or depress
himself at the sport; and he told how he had seen his friend
the Marquis of Steyne, when Lord Gaunt, lose eighteen
thousand at a sitting, and break the bank three nights running
at Paris, without ever showing the least emotion at his defeat
or victory — "And that *s what I call being an English gentle-
Pendennis. III. 11
162
man, Pen, my dear boy," the old gentleman said, warming
as he prattled about his recollections — " what I call the great
manner only remains with us and with a few families in
France." And as Russian Princesses passed him, whose
reputation had long ceased to be doubtful, and damaged
English ladies, who are constantly seen in company of their
faithful attendant for the time being in these gay haunts of dis-
sipation, the old Major, with eager garrulity and mischievous
relish, told his nephew wonderful particulars regarding the
lives of these heroines ; and diverted the young man with a
thousand scandals. Egad, he felt himself quite young again,
he remarked to Pen, as, rouged and grinning, her enormous
chasseur behind her bearing her shawl, the Princess Ob-
stropski smiled and recognised and accosted him. He remem-
bered her rn '14 when she was an actress of the Paris Boule-
vard, and the Emperor Alexander's aide-de-camp Obstropski
(a man of great talents, who knew a good deal about the Em-
peror Paul's death, and was a devil to play) married her. He
most courteously and respectfully asked leave to call upon the
Princess , and to present to her his nephew, Mr. Arthur Pen-
dennis; and he pointed out to the latter a half-dozen of other
personages whose names were as famous , and whose histories
were as edifying. What would poor Helen have thought,
could she have heard those tales, or known to what kind of
people her brother-in-law was presenting her son? Only
once, leaning on Arthur's arm, she had passed through the
room where the green tables were prepared for play, and the
croaking croupiers were calling out their fatal words of Rouge
gagne and Couleur perd. She had shrunk terrified out of the
pandemonium, imploring Pen, extorting from him a promise,
on his word of honour, that he would never play at those
tables; and the scene which so frightened the simple widow,
only amused the worldly old veteran , and made him young
163
again I He could breathe the air cheerfully which stifled her.
Her right was not his right : his food was her poison. Human
creatures are constituted thus differently, and with this variety
the marvellous world is peopled. To the credit of Mr. Pen,
let it be said, that he kept honestly the promise made to his
mother, and stoutly told his uncle of his intention to abide
by it.
When the Major arrived, his presence somehow cast a
damp upon at least three of the persons of our little party —
upon Laura, who had anything but respect for him; upon
Warrington, whose manner towards him showed an In-
voluntary haughtiness and contempt; and upon the timid and
alarmed widow, who dreaded lest he should interfere with
her darling, though almost desperate, projects for her boy.
And, Indeed, the Major, unknown to himself, was the bearer
of tidings which were to bring about a catastrophe in the
affairs of all our friends.
Pen with his two ladles had apartments in the town of
Rosenbad; honest Warrington had lodgings hard by; the
Major, on arrival at Rosenbad, had, as befitted his dignity,
taken up his quarters at one of the great hotels , at the Roman
Emperor or the Four Seasons, where two or three hundred
gamblers , pleasure-seekers, or invalids, sate down and over-
ate themselves daily at the enormous table d'hote. To this
hotel Pen went on the morning after the Major's arrival , duti-
fully to pay his respects to his uncle, and found the latter's
sitting-room duly prepared and arranged by Mr. Morgan,
with the Major's hats brushed, and his coats laid out: his
dispatch-boxes and umbrella-cases, his guide-books, pass-
ports, maps, and other elaborate necessaries of the English
traveller, all as trim and ready as they could be in their
master's own room in Jermyn-street. Everything was ready,
from the medicine-bottle fresh filled from the pharmacien's,
11*
164
down to the old fellow's prayer-book, without which he never
travelled , for he made a point of appearing at the English
church at every place which he honoured with a stay. "Every-
body did it," he said; "every English gentleman did it," and
this pious man would as soon have thought of not calling upon
the English ambassador in a continental town, as of not
showing himself at the national place of worship.
The old gentleman had been to take one of the baths for
which Rosenbad is famous, and which everybody takes, and
his after-bath toilet was not yet completed when Fen arrived.
The elder called out to Arthur in a cheery voice from the
inner apartment, in which he and Morgan were engaged, and
the valet presently came in, bearing a little packet to Pen's
address — Mr. Arthur's letters and papers, Morgan said,
which he had brought from Mr. Arthur's chambers in London,
and which consisted chiefly of numbers of the "Pall-Mall
Gazette," which our friend Mr. Finucane thought his collabo-
rateur would like to see. The papers were tied together: the
letters in an envelope, addressed to Pen, in the last-named
gentleman's handwriting.
Amongst the letters there was a little note addressed , as a
former letter we have heard of had been, to "Arther Pen-
dennis. Esquire," which Arthur opened with a start and a
blush, and read with a very keen pang of interest, and sorrow,
and regard. She had come to Arthur's house, Fanny Bolton
said — and found that he was gone — gone away to Germany
without ever leaving a word for her — or answer to her last
letter, in which she prayed but for one word of kindness — or
the books which he had promised her in happier times , before
he was ill, and which she should like to keep in remembrance
of him. She said she would not reproach those who had
found her at his bedside when he was in the fever, and knew
nobody, and who had turned the poor girl away without a
165
word. She tliought she should have died, she said, of that,
but Doctor Goodenough had kindly tended her, and kep her
life, when, perhaps, the keeping of it was of no good, and
she forgave everybody: and as for Arthur, she would pray
for him for ever. And when he was so ill, and they cut off his
hair, she had made so free as to keep one little lock for her-
self, and that she owned. And might she still keep it, or
would his mamma order that that should be gave up too ? She
was willing to obey him in all things, and couldn't but re-
member that once he was so kind, oh I so good and kind! to
his poor Fanny.
When Major Pendennis, fresh and smirking from his toilet,
came out of his bed-room to his sitting-room, he found Arthur,
with this note before him, and an expression of savage anger
on his face, which surprised the elder gentleman. "What
news from London, my boy?" he rather faintly asked; "are
the duns at you that you look so glum? "
"Do you know anything about this letter. Sir?" Arthur
asked.
"What letter, my good Sir?" said the other drily, at
once perceiving what had happened.
"You know what I mean — about, about Miss — about
Fanny Bolton — the poor dear little girl," Arthur broke out.
" When was she in my room? Was she there when I was de-
lirious — I fancied she was — was she? Who sent her out of
ray chambers? Who intercepted her letters to me? Who
dared to do it? Did you do it, uncle?"
"It 's not my practice to tamper with gentlemen's letters, or
to answer damned impertinent questions," Major Pendennis
cried out, in a great tremor of emotion and indignation.
" There was a girl in your rooms when I came up at great per-
sonal inconvenience , daymy — and to meet with a return of
166
this kind for my affection to you, is not pleasant, by Gad,
Sir — not at all pleasant."
"That 's not the question. Sir,'* Arthur said hotly —
"and — and, I beg your pardon, uncle. You were, you
always have been, most kind to me : but I say again, did you
say anything harsh to this poor girl? Did you send her away
from me?"
"Inever spoke a word to the girl," the uncle said, "and I
never sent her away from you, and know no more about her,
and wish to know no more about her, than about the man in
the moon."
"Then it's my mother that did it," Arthur broke out.
"Did my mother send that poor child away ? "
"I repeat I know nothing about it, Sir," the elder said
testily. "Let 's change the subject, if you please."
" I '11 never forgive the person who did it ,*' said Arthur,
bouncing up and seizing his hat.
The Major cried out, "Stop, Arthur, for God's sake,
stop;" but before he had uttered his sentence Arthur had
rushed out of the room, and at the next minute the Major
saw him striding rapidly down the street that led towards his
home.
"Get breakfast!" said the old fellow to Morgan, and he
wagged his head and sighed as he looked out of the window.
"Poor Helen — poor soul ! There '11 be a row. I knew there
would : and begad all the fat 's in the fire."
When Pen reached home he only found Warrington in the
ladies' drawing-room, waiting their arrival in order to con-
duct them to the room where the little English colony at
Rosenbad held their Sunday church. Helen and Laura had
not appeared as yet; the former was ailing, and her daughter
was with her. Pen's wrath was so great that he could not
defer expressing it. He flung Fanny's letter across the table
167
to his friend. "Look there, Warrington," he said; "she
tended me in my illness, she rescued me out of the jaws of
death, and this is the way they have treated the dear little
creature. They have kept her letters from me; they have
treated me like a child, and her like a dog, poor thing! My
mother has done this."
"If she has , you must remember it is your mother," War-
rington interposed.
"It only makes the crime the greater, because it is she who
has done it," Pen answered. "She ought to have been the
poor girl's defender, not her enemy: she ought to go down
on her knees and ask pardon of her. I ought! I will! I am
shocked at the cruelty which has been shown her. What?
She gave me her all, and this is her return! She sacrifices
everything for me, and they spurn her."
"Hush!" said Warrington, "they can hear you from the
next room,"
"Hear; let them hear!" Pen cried out, only so much
the louder. " Those may overhear my talk who intercept my
letters. I say this poor girl has been shamefully used, and I
will do my best to right her ; I will."
The door of the neighbouring room opened, and Laura
came forth with pale and stern face. She looked at Pen with
glances from which beamed pride , defiance, aversion. "Ar-
thur, yourmotheris very ill," she said; "it is a pity that you
should speak so loud as to disturb her."
"It is a pity that 1 should have been obliged to speak at
all," Pen answered. "And I have more to say before I have
done."
"I should think what you have to say will hardly be fit for
me to hear," Laura said, haughtily.
"You are welcome to hear it or not, as you like," said
Mr. Pen. "I shall go in now and speak to my mother."
168
Laura came rapidly forward, so that she should not be
overheard by her friend within. "Not now, Sir," she said to
Pen. "You may kill her if you do. Your conduct has gone
far enough to make her wretched."
"What conduct?" cried outPen, inafury. "Who dares
impugn it? Who dares meddle with me? Is it you who are
the instigator of this persecution?"
"I said before it was a subject of which it did not become
me to hear or to speak," Laura said. "But as for mamma, if she
had acted otherwise than she did with regard to — to the person
about whom you seem to take such an interest, it would have
been I that must have quitted your house , and not that — that
person."
"By heavens I this is too much," Pen cried out, with a
violent execration.
"Perhaps that is what you wished," Laura said, tossing
her head up. "No more of this, if you please; I am not ac-
customed to hear such subjects spoken of in such language;"
and with a stately curtsey the young lady passed to her friend's
room, looking her adversary full in the face as she retreated
and closed the door upon him.
Pen was bewildered with wonder, perplexity, fury, at
this monstrous and unreasonable persecution. He burst out
into a loud and bitter laugh as Laura quitted him, and with
sneers and revilings, as a man who jeers under an operation,
ridiculed at once his own pain and his persecutor's anger. The
laugh, which was one of bitter humour, and no unmanly or
unkindly expression of suffering under most cruel and un-
merited torture , was heard in the next apartment, as some of
his unlucky previous expressions had been, and, like them,
entirely misinterpreted by the hearers. It struck like a dagger
into the wounded and tender heart of Helen ; it pierced Laura,
and inflamed the high-spirited girl with scorn and anger.
169
"And it was to this hardened libertine," she thought — "to