Miss Blanche was somewhat jealous, and a good deal piqued
and curious about Fanny. Among the many confidential little
communications which Arthur made to Miss Amory In the
course of their delightful rural drives and their sweet evening
walks, it maybe supposed that our hero would not forget a
story so Interesting to himself and so likely to be interesting to
her, as that of the passion and care of the poor little Ariadne
of Shepherd's Inn. His own part In that drama he described,
289
to do him justice, "with becoming modesty; the moral which
he wished to draw from the tale being one in accordance with
his usual satirical mood, viz., that women get over their first
loves quite as easily as men do (for the fair Blanche, in their
intimes conversations, did not cease to twit Mr. Pen about his
notorious failure in his own virgin attachment to the Fother-
ingay), and, number one being withdrawn, transfer them-
selves to number two without much difficulty. And poor little
Fanny was ofiered up in sacrifice as an instance to prove this
theory. What griefs she had endured and surmounted, what
bitter pangs of hopeless attachment she had gone through,
what time it had taken to heal those wounds of the tender little
bleeding heart, Mr. Pen did not know, or perhaps did not
choose to know; for he was at once modest and doubtful about
his capabilities as a conqueror of hearts, and averse to believe
that he had executed any dangerous ravages on that particular
one , though his own instance and argument told against him-
self in this case; for if, as he said. Miss Fanny was by this
time in love with her surgical adorer, who had neither good
looks, nor good manners, nor wit, nor anything but ardour
and fidelity to recommend him , must she not in her first sick-
ness of the love-complaint, have had a serious attack, and
suffered keenly for a man, who had certainly a number of the
showy qualities which Mr. Huxter wanted?
"You wicked odious creature," Miss Blanche said, "I be-
lieve that you are enraged with Fanny for being so impudent
as to forget you, and that you are actually jealous of Mr.
Huxter." Perhaps Miss Amory was right, as the blush which
came in spite of himself and tingled upon Pendennis's cheek
(one of those blows with which a man's vanity is constantly
slapping his face), proved to Pen that he was angry to think
he had been superseded by such a rival. By such a fellow as
that I without any conceivable good quality 1 Oh, Mr. Pen-
Pendennis. III. 19
290
dennis! (althougli this remark does not apply to such a smart
fellow as you) if Nature had not made that provision for each
sex in the credulity of the other, which sees good qualities
where none exist, good looks in donkey's ears, wit in their
numskulls, and music in their bray, there would not have
been near so much marrying and giving in marriage as now
obtains, and as is necessary for the due propagation and con-
tinuance of the noble race to which we belong !
"Jealous or not," Pen said, "and, Blanche, I don't say
no , I should have liked Fanny to have come to a better end
than that. I don't like histories that end in that cynical way ;
and when we arrive at the conclusion of the story of a pretty
girl's passion, to find such a figure as Huxter's at the last page
of the tale. Is all life a compromise, my lady fair, and the
end of the battle of love an ignoble surrender? Is the search
for the Cupid which my poor little Psyche pursued in the
darkness — the god of her soul's longing — the god of the
blooming cheek and rainbow pinions, — to result in Huxter
smelling of tobacco and gallypots? I wish, though I don't see it
in life, that people could be like Jenny and Jessamy, or my lord
and lady Clementina in the story-books and fashionable novels,
and at once under the ceremony, and, as it were, at the par-
son's benediction, become perfectly handsome and good and
happy ever after."
"And don't you intend to be good and happy, pray, Mon-
sieur le Misanthrope — and are you very discontented with
your lot — and will your marriage be a compromise — (asked
the author of "Mes Larmes," with a charming luoue) — and
is your Psyche an odious vulgar wretch ? You wicked satirical
creature, I can't abide you! You take the hearts of young
things , play with them , and fling them away with scorn. You
ask for love and trample on it. You — you make me cry, that
you do , Arthur, and — and don't — and I worit be consoled
291
in that way — and I think Fanny was quite right in leaving
such a heartless creature."
"Again, I don't say no," said Pen, looking very gloomily
at Blanche, and not offering by any means to repeat the at-
tempt at consolation, which had elicited that sweet mono-
syllable "don't" from the young lady. "I don't think I have
much of what people call heart; but I don't profess it. I made
my venture when I was eighteen, and lighted my lamp and
went in search of Cupid. And what was my discovery of
love! — a vulgar dancing woman. I failed, as every body
does, almost every body; only it is luckier to fail before
marriage than after."
^^ Merci du choix , Monsieur!" said the Sylphide , making a
curtsey.
"Look, my little Blanche," said Pen, taking her hand,
and with his voice of sad good-humour; "at least I stoop to
no flatteries."
" Quite the contrary ," said Miss Blanche,
"And tell you no foolish lies , as vulgar men do. Why
should you and I, with our experience, ape romance and
dissemble passion? I do not believe Miss Blanche Amory to
be peerless among the beautiful, nor the greatest poetess, nor
the most surpassing musician, any more than I believe you to
be the tallest woman in the whole world — like the giantess
whose picture we saw as we rode through the fair yesterday.
But if I don't set you up as a heroine, neither do I offer you
your very humble servant as a hero. But I think you are —
well, there, I think you are very sufficiently good-looking,'*
"iP/em.'" Miss Blanche said with another curtsey.
"I think you sing charmingly. I 'm sure you 're clever.
I hope and believe that you are good-natured , and that you
will be companionable."
"And so provided I bring you a certain sum of money and
19"
292
a seat in Parliament, you condescend to fling to me your royal
pocket-handkerchief," said Blanche. ^''Que d'honneur! We
used to call your Highness the Prince of Fairoaks. What an
honour to think that I am to be elevated to the throne, and to
bring the seat in Parliament as backsheesh to the sultan ! I am
glad I am clever, and that I can play and sing to your liking ;
my songs will amuse my lord's leisure."
"And if thieves are about the house," said Pen, grimly
pursuing the simile, "forty besetting thieves in the shape of
lurking cares and enemies in ambush and passions in arras, my
Morgiana will dance round me with a tambourine, and kill all
my rogues and thieves with a smile. Won't she?" But Pen
looked as if he did not believe that she would. "Ah,
Blanche," he continued after a pause, " don't be angry; don't
be hurt at my truth-telling. Don't you see that I always take
you at your word? You say you will be a slave and dance — I
say, dance. You say, 'I take you with what you bring:'
I say, 'I take you with what you bring.' To the necessary
deceits and hypocrisies of our life, why add any that are use-
less and unnecessary? If I offer myself to you because I think
we have a fair chance of being happy together, and because
by your help I may get for both of us a good place and a not
undistinguished name, why ask me to feign raj)tures and
counterfeit romance, in which neither of us believe ? Do you
want me to come wooing in a Prince Prettyman's dress from
the masquerade warehouse, and to pay you compliments like
Sir Charles Grandison? Do you want me to make you verses
as in the days when we were — when we were children? I will
if you like , and sell them to Bacon and Bungay afterwards.
Shall I feed my pretty princess with bonbons?"
"Mais fado7'e les bonbons, moi,'^ said the little Sylphide,
with a queer piteous look.
"I can buy a hatfull at Fortnum and Mason's for a guinea.
293
And it shall have its bonbons, its pootty little sugar-plumo,
that it shall," Pen said with a bitter smile. "Nay, my dear,
nay my dearest little Blanche, don't cry. Dry the pretty
eyes, I can't bear that;" and he proceeded to offer that con-
solation which the circumstance required, and which the
tears, the genuine tears of vexation, which now sprang from
the angry eyes of the author of "Mes Larmes " demanded.
The scornful and sarcastic tone of Pendennis quite
frightened and overcame the girl. "I — I don't want your
consolation. I — I never was — so — spoken to bef — by any
of my — my — by any body " — she sobbed out, with much
simplicity.
'â– 'â– Any body!" shouted out Pen, with a savage burst of
laughter, and Blanche blushed one of the most genuine
blushes which her cheek had ever exhibited, and she cried out,
"O, Arthur, vous etes un homme tei^rible!" She felt bewil-
dered, frightened, oppressed, the worldly little flirt who had
been plapng at love for the last dozen years of her life, and
yet not displeased at meeting a master.
" Tell me , Arthur ," she said, after a pause in this strange
love-making, "why does Sir Francis Clavering give up his
seat in Parliament? "
" Aufait, why does he give it to me? " asked Arthur, now
blushing in his turn.
"You always mock me. Sir," she said. "If it is good to
be in Parliament, why does Sir Francis go out? "
"My uncle has talked him over. He always said that you
were not sufficiently provided for. In the — the family dis-
putes, when your Mamma paid his debts so liberally, it was
stipulated, I suppose, that you — that is, that I — that is,
upon my word, I don't know why he goes out of Parliament,"
Pen said, with rather a forced laugh. "You see, Blanche,
that you and I are two good little children, and that this
294
marriage has been arranged for us by our mammas and
uncles, and that we must be obedient, like a good little boy
and girl."
So, when Pen went to London, he sent Blanche a box of
bonbons , each sugar-plum of which was wrapped up in ready-
made French verses , of the most tender kind; and, besides,
dispatched to her some poems of his own manufacture , quite
as artless and authentic ; and it was no wonder that he did not
tell Warrington what his conversations with Miss Amory had
been, of so delicate a sentiment were they, and of a nature so
necessarily private.
And if, like many a worse and better man , Arthur Pen-
dennis, the widow's son, was meditating an apostasy, and
going to sell himself to — we all know whom, — at least the
renegade did not pretend to be a believer in the creed to
which he was ready to swear. And if every woman and man
in this kingdom, who has sold her or himself for money or
position, as Mr. Pendennis was about to do, would but
purchase a copy of his memoirs, what tons of volumes Messrs.
Bradbury and Evans would sell 1
CHAPTER XXI.
In which Pen begins his canvass.
Melancholy as the great house at Clavering Park had
been in the days before his marriage, when its bankrupt pro-
prietor was a refugee in foreign lands , it was not much more
cheerful now when Sir Francis Clavering came to inhabit it.
The greater part of the mansion was shut up, and the Baronet
only occupied a few of the rooms on the ground floor, where
his housekeeper and her assistant from the lodge gate waited
upon the luckless gentleman in his forced retreat, and cooked
a part of the game which he spent the dreary mornings in
295
shooting. Lightfoot, his man, had passed over to my Lady's
service ; and, as Pen was informed in a letter from Mr. Smirk,
who performed the ceremony, had executed his prudent in-
tention of marrying Mrs. Bonner, my Lady's woman, who,
in her mature years, was stricken with the charms of the
youth, and endowed him with her savings and her mature
person. To be landlord and landlady of the Clavering Arms
was the ambition of both of them; and it was agreed that they
were to remain in Lady Clavering's service until quarter-day
arrived, when they were to take possession of their hotel.
Pen graciously promised that he would give his election dinner
there, when the Baronet should vacate his seat in the young
man's favour; aud, as it had been agreed by his uncle, to
whom Clavering seemed to be able to refuse nothing, Arthur
came down in September on a visit to Clavering Park, the
owner of which was very glad to have a companion who would
relieve his loneliness, and perhaps would lend him a little
ready money.
Pen furnished his host with these desirable supplies a
couple of days after he had made his appearance at Clavering:
and no sooner were these small funds in Sir Francis's pocket,
than the latter found he had business at Chatteries and at the
neighbouring watering-places, of which — shire boasts many,
and went off to see to his affairs, which were transacted, as
might be supposed, at the county race-grounds and billiard-
rooms. Arthur could live alone well enough, having many
mental resources and amusements which did not require other
persons' company: he could walk with the game-keeper of a
morning, and for the evenings there was a plenty of books
and occupation for a literary genius like Mr, Arthur , and who
required but a cigar and a sheet of paper or two to make the
night pass away pleasantly. In truth , in two or three days he
had found the society of Sir Francis Clavering perfectly Into-
296
lerable ; and it was with a mischievous eagerness and satis-
faction that he offered Clavering the little pecuniary aid which
the latter according to his custom solicited; and supplied
him with the means of taking flight from his own house.
Besides, our ingenious friend had to ingratiate himself
with the towns-people of Clavering, and with the voters of the
borough which he hoped to represent; and he set himself to
this task with only the more eagerness , remembering how un-
popular he had before been in Clavering, and determined to
vanquish the odium which he had inspired amongst the simple
people there. His sense of humour made him delight in this
task. Naturally rather reserved and silent in public, he be-
came on a sudden as frank, easy, and jovial, as Captain
Strong. He laughed with everybody who would exchange a
laugh with him , shook hands right and left, with what may be
certainly called a dexterous cordiality ; made his appearance
at the market-day and the farmers' ordinary; and, in fine,
acted like a consummate hypocrite, antl as gentlemen of the
highest birth and most spotless integrity act when they wish to
make themselves agreeable to their constituents, and have
some end to gain of the country folks. How is it that we allow
ourselves not to be deceived, but to be ingratiated so readily
by a glib tongue, a ready laugh, and a frank manner? We
know, for the most part, that it is false coin, and we take it:
we know that it is flattery, which it costs nothing to distribute
to everybody, and we had rather have it than be without it.
Friend Pen went about at Clavering, laboriously simple and
adroitly pleased, and quite a different being from the scornful
and rather sulky young dandy whom the inhabitants remem-
bered ten years ago.
The Rectory was shut up. Doctor Portman was gone, with
his gout and his family, to Harrowgate, — an event which Pen
deplored very much in a letter to the Doctor, in which, in a
297
few kind and simple words, he expresed his regret at not
seeing his old friend, whose advice he wanted and whose aid
he might require some day: but Pen consoledhimsef for the
Doctor's absence by making acquaintance with Mr. Simcoe,
the opposition preacher, and with the two partners of the
cloth-factory at Chatteries, and with the Independent preacher
there, all of whom he met at the Clavering Athenaeum, which
the Liberal party had set up in accordance with the advanced
spirit of the age, and perhaps in opposition to the aristocratic
old reading-room , into which the Edinburgh Review had once
scarcely got an admission, and where no tradesmen were al-
lowed an entrance. He propitiated the younger partner of
the cloth-factory , by asking him to dine in a friendly way at
the Park; he complimented the Honourable Mrs. Simcoe
with hares and partridges from the same quarter, and a
request to read her husband's last sermon; and being a little
unwell one day, the rascal took advantage of the circumstance
to show his tongue to Mr. Huxter, who sent him medicines
and called the next morning. How delighted old Pendennis
would have been with his pupil ! Pen himself was amused
with the sport in which he was engaged , and his success in-
spired him with a wicked good-humour.
And yet, as he walked out of Clavering of a night, after
"presiding" at a meeting of the AthenaBum, or working
through an evening with Mrs. Simcoe, who, with her husband,
was awed by the young Londoner's reputation, and had heard
of his social successes; as he passed over the old familiar
bridge of the rushing Brawl, and heard that well-remembered
sound of waters beneath, and saw his own cottage of Fairoaks
among the trees, their darkling outlines clear against the
starlit sky, different thoughts no doubt came to the young
man's mind, and awakened pangs of grief and shame there.
There still used to be a light in the windows of the room which
298
he remembered so well, and in which the Saint who loved
him had passed so many hours of care and yearning and
prayer. He turned away his gaze from the faint light which
seemed to pursue him with its wan reproachful gaze, as though
it was his mother's spirit watching and warning. How clear
the night was 1 How keen the stars shone; how ceaseless the
rush of the flowing waters ; the old home trees whispered , and
waved gently their dark heads and branches over the cottage
roof. Yonder, in the faint starlight glimmer , was the terrace
where, as a boy, he walked of summer evenings, ardent and
trustful, unspotted, untried, ignorant of doubts or passions;
sheltered as yet from the world's contamination in the pure
and anxious bosom of love. . . . The clock of the near town
tolling midnight, with a clang, disturbs our wanderer's
reverie, and sends him onwards towards his night's resting-
place, through the lodge into Clavering avenue, and under
the dark arcades of the rustling limes.
When he sees the cottage the next time, it is smiling in
sunset; those bed-room windows are open where the light was
burning the night before; and Pen's tenant, Captain Stokes,
of the Bombay Artillery, (whose mother, old Mrs. Stokes,
lives in Clavering), receives his landlord's visit with great
cordiality : shows him over the grounds and the new pond he
has made in the back-garden from the stables; talks to him
confidentially about the roof and chimneys, and begs Mr.
Pendennis to name a day when he will do himself and Mrs.
Stokes the pleasure to, &c. Pen, who has been a fortnight in
the country, excuses himself for not having called sooner
upon the Captain by frankly owning that he had not the heart
to do it. "I understand you, Sir," the Captain says; and
Mrs. Stokes who had slipped away at the ring of the bell (how
odd it seemed to Pen to ring the bell!) comes down in her
best gown, surrounded by her children. The young ones
299
clamber about Stokes : the boy jumps into an arm-chair. It
was Pen's father's arm-chair; and Arthur remembers the days
when he would as soon have thought of mounting the king's
throne as of seating himself in that arm-chair. He asks if
Miss Stokes — she is the very image of her mamma — if she
can play? He should like to hear a tune on that piano. She
plays. He hears the notes of the old piano once more, en-
feebled by age , but he does not listen to the player. He is
listening to Laura singing as in the days of their youth, and
sees his mother bending and beating time over the shoulder of
the girl.
The dinner at Fairoaks given in Pen's honour by his
tenant, and at which old Mrs. Stokes, Captain Glanders,
Squire Hobnell, and the clergyman and his lady, from Tin ckle-
ton, were present, was very stupid and melancholy for Pen,
until the waiter from Clavering (who aided the captain's
stable-boy and Mrs. Stokes's butler) whom Pen remembered
as a street boy, and who was now indeed barber in that place,
dropped a plate over Pen's shoulder, on which Mr. Hobnell
(who also employed him) remarked, "I suppose, Hodson,
your hands are slippery with bear's-grease. He 's always
dropping the crockery about, that Hodson is — haw, hawl"
On which Hodson blushed, and looked so disconcerted, that
Pen burst out laughing; and good-humour and hilarity were
the order of the evening. For the second course, there was
a hare and partridges top and bottom, and when after the
withdrawal of the servants , Pen said to the Vicar of Tinckle-
ton, "I think, Mr. Stooks, you should have asked Hodson
to cut the hare^^ the joke was taken instantly by the clergy-
man, who was followed in the course of a few minutes by
Captains Stokes and Glanders, and by Mr. Hobnell, who
arrived rather late , but with an immense guffaw.
300
While Mr. Pen was engaged in the country in the above
schemes, it happened that the lady of his choice , if not of his
affections, came up to London from the Tunbridge villa
bound upon shopping expeditions or important business, and
in company of old Mrs. Bonner, her mother's maid, who
had lived and quarrelled with Blanche many times since she
was an infant, and who now being about to quit Lady Claver-
ing's service for the hymeneal state, was anxious like a good
soul to bestow some token of respectful kindness upon her old
and young mistress before she quitted them altogether, to
take her post as the wife of Lightfoot, and landlady of the
Clavering Arms.
The honest woman took the benefit of Miss Araory's taste
to make the purchase which she intended to offer her lady-
ship; and requested the fair Blanche to choose something for
herself that should be to her liking, and remind her of her old
nurse who had attended her through many a wakeful night,
and eventful teething, and childish fever, and who loved her
like a child of her own a'most. These purchases were made,
and as the nurse insisted on buying an immense Bible for
Blanche, the young lady suggested that Bonner should
purchase a large Johnson's Dictionary for her mamma. Each
of the two women might certainly profit by the present made
to her.
Then Mrs. Bonner invested money in some bargains in
linendrapery, which might be useful at the Clavering Arms,
and bought a red and yellow neck -handkerchief, which
Blanche could see at once was intended for Mr. Lightfoot.
Younger than herself by at least five-and-twenty years , Mrs.
Bonner regarded that youth with a fondness at once parental
and conjugal, and loved to lavish ornaments on his person,
which already glittered with pins, rings, shirt-studs, and
chains and seals , purchased at the good creature's expense.
301
It was in the Strand that Mrs. Bonner made her purchases,
aided by Miss Blanche, who liked the fun very well, and
when the old lady had bought every thing that she desired,
and was leaving the shop , Blanche , with a smiling face , and
a sweet bow to one of the shop, said, "Pray, Sir, will you
have the kindness to show us the way to Shepherd's Inn."
Shepherd's Inn was but a few score of yards off, Old
Castle Street was close by, the elegant young shopman pointed
out the turning which the young lady was to take , and she and
her companion walked off together.
"Shepherd's Inn! what can you want in Shepherd's Inn,
Miss Blanche?" Bonner inquired. "Mr. Strong lives there.
Do you want to go and see the Captain? "
"I should like to see the Captain very well. I like the
Captain ; but it is not him I want. I want to see a dear little
good girl, who was very kind to — to Mr. Arthur when he
was so ill last year, and saved his life almost; and I want to
thank her, and ask her if she would like anything. I looked
out several of my dresses on purpose this morning, Bonner! "
and she looked at Bonner as if she had a right to admiration,
and had performed an act of remarkable virtue. Blanche,
indeed, was very fond of sugar-plums; she would have fed
the poor upon them, when she had had enough, and given
a country girl a ball dress when she had worn it and was tired
of it.
"Pretty girl — pretty young woman I" mumbled Mrs.
Bonner. "I know / want no pretty young women come about