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The History of Pendennis, Vol. 2

W >> William Makepeace Thackeray >> The History of Pendennis, Vol. 2




Yes, Pen used to brag and talk in his impetuous way to Warrington. "I
was in love so fiercely in my youth, that I have burned out that flame
forever, I think, and if ever I marry, it will be a marriage of reason
that I will make, with a well-bred, good-tempered, good-looking person
who has a little money, and so forth, that will cushion our carriage
in its course through life. As for romance, it is all done; I have
spent that out, and am old before my time--I'm proud of it."

"Stuff!" growled the other, "you fancied you were getting bald the
other day, and bragged about it, as you do about every thing. But you
began to use the bear's-grease pot directly the hair-dresser told you;
and are scented like a barber ever since."

"You are Diogenes," the other answered, "and you want every man to
live in a tub like yourself. Violets smell better than stale tobacco,
you grizzly old cynic." But Mr. Pen was blushing while he made this
reply to his unromantical friend, and indeed cared a great deal more
about himself still than such a philosopher perhaps should have done.
Indeed, considering that he was careless about the world, Mr. Pen
ornamented his person with no small pains in order to make himself
agreeable to it, and for a weary pilgrim as he was, wore very tight
boots and bright varnish.

It was in this dull season of the year then, of a shining Friday night
in autumn, that Mr. Pendennis, having completed at his newspaper
office a brilliant leading article--such as Captain Shandon himself
might have written, had the captain been in good humor, and inclined
to work, which he never would do except under compulsion--that Mr.
Arthur Pendennis having written his article, and reviewed it
approvingly as it lay before him in its wet proof-sheet at the office
of the paper, bethought him that he would cross the water, and regale
himself with the fire-works and other amusements of Vauxhall. So he
affably put in his pocket the order which admitted "Editor of Pall
Mall Gazette and friend" to that place of recreation, and paid with
the coin of the realm a sufficient sum to enable him to cross Waterloo
Bridge. The walk thence to the Gardens was pleasant, the stars were
shining in the skies above, looking down upon the royal property,
whence the rockets and Roman candles had not yet ascended to outshine
the stars.

Before you enter the enchanted ground, where twenty thousand
additional lamps are burned every night as usual, most of us have
passed through the black and dreary passage and wickets which hide the
splendors of Vauxhall from uninitiated men. In the walls of this
passage are two holes strongly illuminated, in the midst of which you
see two gentlemen at desks, where they will take either your money as
a private individual, or your order of admission if you are provided
with that passport to the Gardens. Pen went to exhibit his ticket at
the last-named orifice, where, however, a gentleman and two ladies
were already in parley before him.

The gentleman, whose hat was very much on one side, and who wore a
short and shabby cloak in an excessively smart manner, was crying out
in a voice which Pen at once recognized, "Bedad, sir, if ye doubt me
honor, will ye obleege me by stipping out of that box, and--"

"Lor, Capting!" cried the elder lady.

"Don't bother me," said the man in the box.

"And ask Mr. Hodgen himself, who's in the gyardens, to let these
leedies pass. Don't be froightened, me dear madam, I'm not going to
quarl with this gintleman, at any reet before leedies. Will ye go,
sir, and desoire Mr. Hodgen (whose orther I keem in with, and he's me
most intemate friend, and I know he's goan to sing the 'Body Snatcher'
here to-noight), with Captain Costigan's compliments, to stip out and
let in the leedies; for meself, sir, oi've seen Vauxhall, and I
scawrun any interfayrance on moi account: but for these leedies, one
of them has never been there, and oi should think ye'd harly take
advantage of me misfartune in losing the tickut, to deproive her of
her pleasure."

"It ain't no use, captain. I can't go about your business," the
checktaker said; on which the captain swore an oath, and the elder
lady said, "Lor, ow provokin!"

As for the young one, she looked up at the captain, and said, "Never
mind, Captain Costigan, I'm sure I don't want to go at all. Come away,
mamma." And with this, although she did not want to go at all, her
feelings overcame her, and she began to cry.

"Me poor child!" the captain said. "Can ye see that, sir, and will ye
not let this innocent creature in?"

"It ain't my business," cried the door-keeper, peevishly, out of the
illuminated box. And at this minute Arthur came up, and recognizing
Costigan, said, "Don't you know me, captain? Pendennis!" And he took
off his hat and made a bow to the two ladies. "Me dear boy! Me dear
friend!" cried the captain, extending toward Pendennis the grasp of
friendship; and he rapidly explained to the other what he called "a
most unluckee conthratong." He had an order for Vauxhall, admitting
two, from Mr. Hodgen, then within the Gardens, and singing (as he did
at the Back Kitchen and the nobility's concerts the "Body Snatcher,"
the "Death of General Wolfe," the "Banner of Blood," and other
favorite melodies); and, having this order for the admission of two
persons, he thought that it would admit three, and had come
accordingly to the Gardens with his friends. But, on his way, Captain
Costigan had lost the paper of admission--it was not forthcoming at
all; and the leedies must go back again, to the great disappointment
of one of them, as Pendennis saw.

Arthur had a great deal of good nature for everybody, and sympathized
with the misfortunes of all sorts of people: how could he refuse his
sympathy in such a case as this? He had seen the innocent face as it
looked up to the captain, the appealing look of the girl, the piteous
quiver of the mouth, and the final outburst of tears. If it had been
his last guinea in the world, he must have paid it to have given the
poor little thing pleasure. She turned the sad imploring eyes away
directly they lighted upon a stranger, and began to wipe them with her
handkerchief. Arthur looked very handsome and kind as he stood before
the women, with his hat off, blushing, bowing, generous, a
gentleman. "Who are they?" he asked of himself. He thought he had seen
the elder lady before.

"If I can be of any service to you, Captain Costigan," the young man
said, "I hope you will command me; is there any difficulty about
taking these ladies into the garden? Will you kindly make use of my
purse? And--I have a ticket myself which will admit two--I hope,
ma'am, you will permit me?"

The first impulse of the Prince of Fairoaks was to pay for the whole
party, and to make away with his newspaper order as poor Costigan had
done with his own ticket. But his instinct, and the appearance of the
two women told him that they would be better pleased if he did not
give himself the airs of a _grand seigneur_, and he handed his purse
to Costigan, and laughingly pulled out his ticket with one hand, as he
offered the other to the elder of the ladies--ladies was not the
word--they had bonnets and shawls, and collars and ribbons, and the
youngest showed a pretty little foot and boot under her modest gray
gown, but his Highness of Fairoaks was courteous to every person who
wore a petticoat, whatever its texture was, and the humbler the
wearer, only the more stately and polite in his demeanor.

"Fanny, take the gentleman's arm," the elder said; "since you will be
so very kind; I've seen you often come in at our gate, sir, and go in
to Captain Strong's, at No. 4."

Fanny made a little courtesy, and put her hand under Arthur's arm. It
had on a shabby little glove, but it was pretty and small. She was
not a child, but she was scarcely a woman as yet; her tears had dried
up, and her cheek mantled with youthful blushes, and her eyes
glistened with pleasure and gratitude, as she looked up into Arthur's
kind face.

Arthur, in a protecting way, put his other hand upon the little one
resting on his arm. "Fanny's a very pretty little name," he said, "and
so you know me, do you?"

"We keep the lodge, sir, at Shepherd's Inn," Fanny said, with a
courtesy; "and I've never been at Vauxhall, sir, and Pa didn't like me
to go--and--and--O--O--law, how beautiful!" She shrank back as she
spoke, starting with wonder and delight as she saw the Royal Gardens
blaze before her with a hundred million of lamps, with a splendor such
as the finest fairy tale, the finest pantomime she had ever witnessed
at the theater, had never realized. Pen was pleased with her pleasure,
and pressed to his side the little hand which clung so kindly to him.
"What would I not give for a little of this pleasure?" said the
_blasé_ young man.

"Your purse, Pendennis, me dear boy," said the captain's voice behind
him. "Will ye count it? it's all roight--no--ye thrust in old Jack
Costigan (he thrusts me, ye see, madam). Ye've been me preserver, Pen
(I've known um since choildhood, Mrs. Bolton; he's the proproietor of
Fairoaks Castle, and many's the cooper of clart I've dthrunk there
with the first nobilitee of his native countee)--Mr. Pendennis,
ye've been me preserver, and oi thank ye; me daughtther will thank ye:
Mr. Simpson, your humble servant, sir."

If Pen was magnificent in his courtesy to the ladies, what was his
splendor in comparison to Captain Costigan's bowing here and there,
and crying bravo to the singers?

A man, descended like Costigan, from a long line of Hibernian kings,
chieftains, and other magnates and sheriffs of the county, had of
course too much dignity and self-respect to walk arrum-in-arrum (as
the captain phrased it) with a lady who occasionally swept his room
out, and cooked his mutton chops. In the course of their journey from
Shepherd's Inn to Vauxhall Gardens, Captain Costigan had walked by the
side of the two ladies, in a patronizing and affable manner pointing
out to them the edifices worthy of note, and discoursing, according to
his wont, about other cities and countries which he had visited, and
the people of rank and fashion with whom he had the honor of an
acquaintance. Nor could it be expected, nor, indeed, did Mrs. Bolton
expect, that, arrived in the royal property, and strongly illuminated
by the flare of the twenty thousand additional lamps, the captain
would relax from his dignity, and give an arm to a lady who was, in
fact, little better than a housekeeper or charwoman.

But Pen, on his part, had no such scruples. Miss Fanny Bolton did not
make his bed nor sweep his chambers; and he did not choose to let go
his pretty little partner. As for Fanny, her color heightened, and her
bright eyes shone the brighter with pleasure, as she leaned for
protection on the arm of such a fine gentleman as Mr. Pen. And she
looked at numbers of other ladies in the place, and at scores of other
gentlemen under whose protection they were walking here and there; and
she thought that her gentleman was handsomer and grander looking than
any other gent in the place. Of course there were votaries of pleasure
of all ranks there--rakish young surgeons, fast young clerks and
commercialists, occasional dandies of the guard regiments, and the
rest. Old Lord Colchicum was there in attendance upon Mademoiselle
Caracoline, who had been riding in the ring; and who talked her native
French very loud, and used idiomatic expressions of exceeding strength
as she walked about, leaning on the arm of his lordship.

Colchicum was in attendance upon Mademoiselle Caracoline, little Tom
Tufthunt was in attendance upon Lord Colchicum; and rather pleased,
too, with his position. When Don Juan scales the wall, there's never a
want of a Leporello to hold the ladder. Tom Tufthunt was quite happy
to act as friend to the elderly viscount, and to carve the fowl, and
to make the salad at supper. When Pen and his young lady met the
viscount's party, that noble peer only gave Arthur a passing leer of
recognition as his lordship's eyes passed from Pen's face under the
bonnet of Pen's companion. But Tom Tufthunt wagged his head very
good-naturedly at Mr. Arthur, and said, "How are you, old boy?" and
looked extremely knowing at the god-father of this history.

"That is the great rider at Astley's; I have seen her there," Miss
Bolton said, looking after Mademoiselle Caracoline; "and who is that
old man? is it not the gentleman in the ring?"

"That is Lord Viscount Colchicum, Miss Fanny," said Pen, with an air
of protection. He meant no harm; he was pleased to patronize the young
girl, and he was not displeased that she should be so pretty, and that
she should be hanging upon his arm, and that yonder elderly Don Juan
should have seen her there.

Fanny was very pretty; her eyes were dark and brilliant; her teeth
were like little pearls; her mouth was almost as red as Mademoiselle
Caracoline's when the latter had put on her vermilion. And what a
difference there was between the one's voice and the other's, between
the girl's laugh and the woman's! It was only very lately, indeed,
that Fanny, when looking in the little glass over the Bows-Costigan
mantle-piece as she was dusting it, had begun to suspect that she was
a beauty. But a year ago, she was a clumsy, gawky girl, at whom her
father sneered, and of whom the girls at the day-school (Miss
Minifer's, Newcastle-street, Strand; Miss M., the younger sister, took
the leading business at the Norwich circuit in 182-; and she herself
had played for two seasons with some credit T.R.E.O., T.R.S.W.,
until she fell down a trap-door and broke her leg); the girls at
Fanny's school, we say, took no account of her, and thought her a
dowdy little creature as long as she remained under Miss Minifer's
instruction. And it was unremarked and almost unseen in the dark
porter's lodge of Shepherd's Inn, that this little flower bloomed
into beauty.

So this young person hung upon Mr. Pen's arm, and they paced the
gardens together. Empty as London was, there were still some two
millions of people left lingering about it, and among them, one or two
of the acquaintances of Mr. Arthur Pendennis.

Among them, silent and alone, pale, with his hands in his pockets, and
a rueful nod of the head to Arthur as they met, passed Henry Foker,
Esq. Young Henry was trying to ease his mind by moving from place to
place, and from excitement to excitement. But he thought about Blanche
as he sauntered in the dark walks; he thought about Blanche as he
looked at the devices of the lamps. He consulted the fortune-teller
about her, and was disappointed when that gipsy told him that he was
in love with a dark lady who would make him happy; and at the concert,
though Mr. Momus sang his most stunning comic songs, and asked his
most astonishing riddles, never did a kind smile come to visit Foker's
lips. In fact he never heard Mr. Momus at all.

Pen and Miss Bolton were hard by listening to the same concert, and
the latter remarked, and Pen laughed at, Mr. Foker's woe-begone face.

Fanny asked what it was that made that odd-looking little man so
dismal? "I think he is crossed in love!" Pen said. "Isn't that enough
to make any man dismal, Fanny?" And he looked down at her, splendidly
protecting her, like Egmont at Clara in Goethe's play, or Leicester at
Amy in Scott's novel.

"Crossed in love is he? poor gentleman," said Fanny with a sigh, and
her eyes turned round toward him with no little kindness and pity--but
Harry did not see the beautiful dark eyes.

[Illustration]

"How-dy-do, Mr. Pendennis!"--a voice broke in here--it was that of a
young man in a large white coat with a red neckcloth, over which a
dingy short collar was turned, so as to exhibit a dubious neck--with a
large pin of bullion or other metal, and an imaginative waistcoat with
exceedingly fanciful glass buttons, and trowsers that cried with a
loud voice, "Come look at me and see how cheap and tawdry I am; my
master, what a dirty buck!" and a little stick in one pocket of his
coat, and a lady in pink satin on the other arm--"How-dy-do--Forget
me, I dare say? Huxter--Clavering."

"How do you do, Mr. Huxter," the Prince of Fairoaks said, in his most
princely manner, "I hope you are very well." "Pretty bobbish,
thanky." And Mr. Huxter wagged his head. "I say, Pendennis, you've
been coming it uncommon strong since we had the row at Wapshot's,
don't you remember. Great author, hay? Go about with the swells. Saw
your name in the Morning Post. I suppose you're too much of a swell to
come and have a bit of supper with an old friend?--Charterhouse-lane
to-morrow night--some devilish good fellows from Bartholomew's, and
some stunning gin punch. Here's my card." And with this Mr. Huxter
released his hand from the pocket where his cane was, and pulling off
the top of his card case with his teeth produced thence a visiting
ticket, which he handed to Pen.

"You are exceedingly kind, I am sure," said Pen: "but I regret that I
have an engagement which will take me out of town to-morrow night."
And the Marquis of Fairoaks wondering that such a creature as this
could have the audacity to give him a card, put Mr. Huxter's card into
his waistcoat pocket with a lofty courtesy. Possibly Mr. Samuel Huxter
was not aware that there was any great social difference between Mr.
Arthur Pendennis and himself. Mr. Huxter's father was a surgeon and
apothecary at Clavering, just as Mr. Pendennis's papa had been a
surgeon and apothecary at Bath. But the impudence of some men is
beyond all calculation.

"Well, old fellow, never mind," said Mr. Huxter, who, always frank and
familiar, was from vinous excitement even more affable than usual. "If
ever you are passing, look up at our place--I'm mostly at home
Saturdays; and there's generally a cheese in the cupboard. Ta, Ta.
There's the bell for the fire-works ringing. Come along, Mary." And he
set off running with the rest of the crowd in the direction of the
fireworks.

So did Pen presently, when this agreeable youth was out of sight,
begin to run with his little companion; Mrs. Bolton following after
them, with Captain Costigan at her side. But the captain was too
majestic and dignified in his movements to run for friend or enemy,
and he pursued his course with the usual jaunty swagger which
distinguished his steps, so that he and his companion were speedily
distanced by Pen and Miss Fanny.

Perhaps Arthur forgot, or perhaps he did not choose to remember, that
the elder couple had no money in their pockets, as had been proved by
their adventure at the entrance of the gardens; howbeit, Pen paid a
couple of shillings for himself and his partner, and with her hanging
close on his arm, scaled the staircase which leads to the fire-work
gallery. The captain and mamma might have followed them if they liked,
but Arthur and Fanny were too busy to look back. People were pushing
and squeezing there beside and behind them. One eager individual
rushed by Fanny, and elbowed her so, that she fell back with a little
cry, upon which, of course, Arthur caught her adroitly in his arms,
and, just for protection, kept her so defended until they mounted the
stair, and took their places.

Poor Foker sate alone on one of the highest benches, his face illuminated
by the fire-works, or in their absence by the moon. Arthur
saw him, and laughed, but did not occupy himself about his friend
much. He was engaged with Fanny. How she wondered! how happy she was!
how she cried O, O, O, as the rockets soared into the air, and
showered down in azure, and emerald, and vermilion. As these wonders
blazed and disappeared before her, the little girl thrilled and
trembled with delight at Arthur's side--her hand was under his arm
still, he felt it pressing him as she looked up delighted.

[Illustration]

"How beautiful they are, sir!" she cried.

"Don't call me sir, Fanny," Arthur said.

A quick blush rushed up into the girl's face. "What shall I call you?"
she said, in a low voice, sweet and tremulous. "What would you wish me
to say, sir?"

"Again, Fanny? Well, I forgot; it is best so, my dear," Pendennis
said, very kindly and gently. "I may call you Fanny?"

"O yes!" she said, and the little hand pressed his arm once more very
eagerly, and the girl clung to him so that he could feel her heart
beating on his shoulder.

"I may call you Fanny, because you are a young girl, and a good girl,
Fanny, and I am an old gentleman. But you mustn't call me any thing
but sir, or Mr. Pendennis, if you like; for we live in very different
stations, Fanny; and don't think I speak unkindly; and--and why do you
take your hand away, Fanny? Are you afraid of me? Do you think I would
hurt you? Not for all the world, my dear little girl. And--and look
how beautiful the moon and stars are, and how calmly they shine when
the rockets have gone out, and the noisy wheels have done hissing and
blazing. When I came here to-night, I did not think I should have had
such a pretty little companion to sit by my side, and see these fine
fire-works. You must know I live by myself, and work very hard. I
write in books and newspapers, Fanny; and I was quite tired out, and
expected to sit alone all night; and--don't cry, my dear, dear, little
girl." Here Pen broke out, rapidly putting an end to the calm oration
which he had begun to deliver; for the sight of a woman's tears always
put his nerves in a quiver, and he began forthwith to coax her and
soothe her, and to utter a hundred-and-twenty little ejaculations of
pity and sympathy, which need not be repeated here, because they would
be absurd in print. So would a mother's talk to a child be absurd in
print; so would a lover's to his bride. That sweet, artless poetry
bears no translation; and is too subtle for grammarian's clumsy
definitions. You have but the same four letters to describe the salute
which you perform on your grandmother's forehead, and that which you
bestow on the sacred cheek of your mistress; but the same four
letters, and not one of them a labial. Do we mean to hint that Mr.
Arthur Pendennis made any use of the monosyllable in question? Not so.
In the first place it was dark: the fire-works were over, and nobody
could see him; secondly, he was not a man to have this kind of secret,
and tell it; thirdly and lastly, let the honest fellow who has kissed
a pretty girl, say what would have been his own conduct in such a
delicate juncture?

Well, the truth is, that however you may suspect him, and whatever you
would have done under the circumstances, or Mr. Pen would have liked
to do, he behaved honestly, and like a man. "I will not play with this
little girl's heart," he said within himself, "and forget my own or
her honor. She seems to have a great deal of dangerous and rather
contagious sensibility, and I am very glad the fire-works are over,
and that I can take her back to her mother. Come along, Fanny; mind
the steps, and lean on me. Don't stumble, you heedless little thing;
this is the way, and there is your mamma at the door."

And there, indeed, Mrs. Bolton was, unquiet in spirit, and grasping
her umbrella. She seized Fanny with maternal fierceness and eagerness,
and uttered some rapid abuse to the girl in an under tone. The
expression in Captain Costigan's eye--standing behind the matron and
winking at Pendennis from under his hat--was, I am bound to say,
indefinably humorous.

It was so much so, that Pen could not refrain from bursting into a
laugh. "You should have taken my arm, Mrs. Bolton," he said, offering
it. "I am very glad to bring Miss Fanny back quite safe to you. We
thought you would have followed us up into the gallery. We enjoyed the
fire-works, didn't we?"

"Oh, yes!" said Miss Fanny, with rather a demure look.

"And the bouquet was magnificent," said Pen. "And it is ten hours
since I had any thing to eat, ladies, and I wish you would permit me
to invite you to supper."

"Dad," said Costigan, "I'd loike a snack, tu; only I forgawt me purse,
or I should have invoited these leedies to a colleetion."

Mrs. Bolton, with considerable asperity, said, she ad an eadache, and
would much rather go home.

"A lobster salad is the best thing in the world for a headache," Pen
said, gallantly, "and a glass of wine I'm sure will do you good. Come,
Mrs. Bolton, be kind to me, and oblige me. I shan't have the heart to
sup without you, and upon my word, I have had no dinner. Give me your
arm: give me the umbrella. Costigan, I'm sure you'll take care of Miss
Fanny; and I shall think Mrs. Bolton angry with me, unless she will
favor me with her society. And we will all sup quietly, and go back in
a cab together."

The cab, the lobster salad, the frank and good-humored look of
Pendennis, as he smilingly invited the worthy matron, subdued her
suspicions and her anger. Since he _would_ be so obliging, she thought
she could take a little bit of lobster, and so they all marched away
to a box; and Costigan called for a waither with such a loud and
belligerent voice, as caused one of those officials instantly to
run to him.

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