EXPLANATIONS.
[Illustration]
Almost a year, as the reader will perceive, has passed since an event
described a few pages back. Arthur's black coat is about to be
exchanged for a blue one. His person has undergone other more pleasing
and remarkable changes. His wig has been laid aside, and his hair,
though somewhat thinner, has returned to public view. And he has had
the honor of appearing at court in the uniform of a cornet of the
Clavering troop of the----shire Yeomanry Cavalry, being presented to
the sovereign by the 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 of
gentlemanhood was gone through. The old gentleman thought that his
nephew should belong to some rather more select club than the
Megatherium; and has announced every where in the world his
disappointment that the young man's property has turned out not by any
means as well as he could have hoped, and is under fifteen hundred
a year.
That is the amount at which Pendennis's property is set down in the
world, where his publishers begin to respect him much more than
formerly, and where even mammas are by no means uncivil to him. For if
the pretty daughters are, naturally, to marry people of very different
expectations, at any rate, he will be eligible for the plain ones; and
if the brilliant and fascinating Myra is to hook an earl, poor little
Beatrice, who has one shoulder higher than the other, must hang on to
some 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
billiards from Mr. Pendennis, and would be driven by nobody but him in
the pony carriage, because he was literary and her Beatrice was
literary too, and declared that the young man, under the instigation
of his horrid old uncle, had behaved most infamously in trifling with
Beatrice's feelings. The truth is, the old gentleman, who knew Mrs.
Hawxby's character, and how desperately that lady would practice upon
unwary young men, had come to the country-house in question and
carried Arthur out of the danger of her immediate claws, though not
out of the reach of her tongue. The elder Pendennis would have had his
nephew pass a part of the Christmas at Clavering, whither the family
had returned; but Arthur had not the heart for that. Clavering was too
near poor old Fairoaks; and that was too full of sad recollections for
the young man.
We have lost sight of the Claverings, too, until their reappearance
upon the Epsom race-ground, and must give a brief account of them in
the interval. During the past year, the world has not treated any
member of the Clavering family very kindly. Lady Clavering, one of the
best-natured women that ever enjoyed a good dinner, or made a slip in
grammar, has had her appetite and good-nature sadly tried by constant
family grievances, and disputes such as make the efforts of the best
French cook unpalatable, and the most delicately-stuffed sofa-cushion
hard to lie on. "I'd rather have a turnip, Strong, for dessert, than
that pineapple, and all them Muscatel grapes, from Clavering," says
poor Lady Clavering, looking at her dinner-table, and confiding her
griefs to her 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 money fell in to me!"
The Clavering family had indeed made a false start in life, and had
got neither comfort, nor position, nor thanks for the hospitalities
which they administered, nor a return of kindness from the people whom
they entertained. The success of their first London season was
doubtful; and their failure afterward notorious. "Human patience was
not great enough to put up with Sir Francis Clavering," people said.
"He was too hopelessly low, dull, and disreputable. You could not say
what, but there 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? What an extraordinary little piece of conceit the daughter
was, with her Gallicised graces and daring affectations, not fit for
well-bred English girls to associate with! What strange people were
those they assembled round about them! Sir Francis Clavering was a
gambler, living notoriously in the society of blacklegs and
profligates. Hely Clinker, who was in his regiment, said that he not
only cheated at cards, but showed the white feather. What could Lady
Rockminster have meant by taking her up?" After the first season,
indeed, Lady Rockminster, who had taken up Lady Clavering, put her
down; the great ladies would not take their daughters to her parties;
the young men who attended them behaved with the most odious freedom
and scornful familiarity; and poor Lady Clavering herself avowed that
she was obliged to take what she called "the canal" into her parlor,
because the tiptops wouldn't come.
She had not the slightest ill-will toward "the canal," the poor, dear
lady, or any pride about herself, or idea that she was better than her
neighbor; but she had taken implicitly the orders which, on her entry
into the world, her social godmother had given her: she had been
willing to know whom they knew, and ask whom they asked. The "canal,"
in fact, was much pleasanter than what is called "society;" but, as we
said before, that to leave a mistress is easy, while, on the contrary,
to be left by her is cruel; so you may give up society without any
great pang, or any thing but a sensation of relief at the parting; but
severe are the mortifications and pains you have if society gives
up you.
One young man of fashion we have mentioned, who at least, it might
have been expected, would have been found faithful among the
faithless, and Harry Foker, Esq., was indeed that young man. But he
had not managed matters with prudence, and the unhappy passion at
first confided to Pen became notorious and ridiculous to the town, was
carried to the ears of his weak and fond mother, and finally brought
under the cognizance of the bald-headed and inflexible Foker senior.
When Mr. Foker learned this disagreeable news, there took place
between him and his son a violent and painful scene which ended in the
poor little gentleman's banishment from England for a year, with a
positive order to return at the expiration of that time and complete
his marriage with his cousin, or to retire into private life and three
hundred a year altogether, and never see parent or brewery more. Mr.
Henry Foker went away, then, carrying with him that grief and care
which passes free at the strictest custom-houses, and which
proverbially accompanies the exile, and with this crape over his eyes,
even the Parisian Boulevard looked melancholy to him, and the sky of
Italy black.
To Sir Francis Clavering, that year was a most unfortunate one. The
events described in the last chapter came to complete the ruin of the
year. It was that year of grace in which, as our sporting readers may
remember, Lord Harrowhill's horse (he was a classical young nobleman,
and named his stud out of the Iliad)--when Podasokus won the "Derby,"
to the dismay of the knowing ones, who pronounced the winning horse's
name in various extraordinary ways, and who backed Borax, who was
nowhere in the race. Sir Francis Clavering, who was intimate with some
of the most rascally characters of the turf, and, of course, had
valuable "information," had laid heavy odds against the winning horse,
and backed the favorite freely, and the result of his dealings was, as
his son correctly stated to poor Lady Clavering, a loss of seven
thousand pounds.
Indeed, it was a cruel blow upon the lady, who had discharged her
husband's debts many times over; who had received as many times his
oaths and promises of amendment; who had paid his money-lenders and
horse-dealers; who had furnished his town and country houses, and who
was called upon now instantly to meet this enormous sum, the penalty
of her cowardly husband's extravagance. It has been described in
former pages how the elder Pendennis had become the adviser of the
Clavering family, and, in his quality of intimate friend of the house,
had gone over every room of it, and even seen that ugly closet which
we all of us have, and in which, according to the proverb, the family
skeleton is locked up. About the baronet's pecuniary matters, if the
major did not know, it was because Clavering himself did not know
them, and hid them from himself and others in such a hopeless
entanglement of lies that it was impossible for adviser or attorney or
principal to get an accurate knowledge of his affairs. But, concerning
Lady Clavering, the major was much better informed; and when the
unlucky mishap of the "Derby" arose, he took upon himself to become
completely and thoroughly acquainted with all her means, whatsoever
they where; and was now accurately informed of the vast and repeated
sacrifices which the widow Amory had made in behalf of her
present husband.
He did not conceal--and he had won no small favor from Miss Blanche by
avowing it--his opinion, that Lady Clavering's daughter had been
hardly treated at the expense of her son by her second marriage: and
in his conversations with Lady Clavering had fairly hinted that he
thought Miss Blanche ought to have a better provision. We have said
that he had already given the widow to understand that he knew _all_
the particulars of her early and unfortunate history, having been in
India at the time when--when the painful circumstances occurred which
had ended in her parting from her first husband. He could tell her
where to find the Calcutta newspaper which contained the account of
Amory's trial, and he showed, and the Begum was not a little grateful
to him for his forbearance, how being aware all along of this mishap
which had befallen her, he had kept all knowledge of it to himself,
and been constantly the friend of her family.
"Interested motives, my dear Lady Clavering," he said, "of course I
may have had. We all have interested motives, and mine I don't conceal
from you, was to make a marriage between my nephew and your daughter."
To which Lady Clavering, perhaps with some surprise that the major
should choose her family for a union with his own, said she was quite
willing to 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 better him. We could do better for him than that, permit me
to say, and he is a shrewd, cautious young fellow who has sown his
wild oats now--who has very good parts and plenty of ambition--and
whose object in marrying is to better himself. If you and Sir Francis
chose--and Sir Francis, take my word for it, will refuse you
nothing--you could put Arthur in a way to advance very considerably in
the world, and show the stuff which he has in him. Of what use is that
seat in Parliament to Clavering, who scarcely ever shows his face in
the House, or speaks a word there? I'm told by gentlemen who heard my
boy at Oxbridge, that he was famous as an 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 tested the chap, and know him pretty
well, I think. He is much too lazy, and careless, 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 and good friends, and an
opportunity, and take my word for it, he'll make himself a name that
his sons shall be proud of. I don't see any way for a fellow like him
to _parvenir_, but by making a prudent marriage--not with a beggerly
heiress--to sit down for life upon a miserable fifteen hundred a
year--but with somebody whom he can help, and who can help him forward
in the world, and whom he can give a good name and a station in the
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 to
keep your husband on in Parliament, who's of no good to himself or to
any body else there, and that's, I say, why I've been interested about
you, 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
the good-natured Begum; "he comes and goes when he likes; and the more
I think of his dear mother, the more I see there's few people so
good--none so good to me. And I'm sure I cried when I heard of her
death, and would have gone into mourning for her myself, only black
don'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 my
Betsy--Blanche, I mean--ain't been a comfort to me, major. It's Laura
Penn ought to marry."
"Marry on five hundred a year! My dear good soul, you are mad!" Major
Pendennis said. "Think over what I have said to you. Do nothing in
your affairs with that unhappy husband of yours without consulting me;
and remember that old Pendennis is always your friend."
For some time previous, Pen's uncle had held similar language to Miss
Amory. He had pointed out to her the convenience of the match which he
had at heart, and was bound to say, that mutual convenience was of all
things the very best in the world to marry upon--the only thing. "Look
at your love-marriages, my dear young creature. The love-match people
are the most notorious of all for quarreling, afterward; and a girl
who runs away with Jack to Gretna Green, constantly runs away with Tom
to Switzerland afterward. The great point in marriage is for people to
agree to be useful to one another. The lady brings the means, and the
gentleman avails himself of them. My boy's wife brings the horse, and
begad, Pen goes in and wins the plate. That's what I call a sensible
union. A couple like that have something to talk to each other about
when they come together. If you had Cupid himself to talk to--if
Blanche and Pen were Cupid and Psyche, begad--they'd begin to yawn
after a few evenings, if they had nothing but sentiment to speak on."
As for Miss Amory, she was contented enough with Pen as long as there
was nobody better. And how many other young ladies are like
her?--and how many love marriages carry on well to the last?--and how
many sentimental firms do not finish in bankruptcy?--and how many
heroic passions don't dwindle down into despicable indifference, or
end in shameful defeat?
These views of life and philosophy the major was constantly, according
to his custom, inculcating to Pen, whose mind was such that he could
see the right on both sides of many questions, and comprehending the
sentimental life which was quite out of the reach of the honest
major's intelligence, could understand the practical life too, and
accommodate himself, or think he could accommodate himself to it. So
it came to pass that during the spring succeeding his mother's death
he became a good deal under the influence of his uncle's advice, and
domesticated in Lady Clavering's house; and in a measure was accepted
by Miss Amory without being a suitor, and was received without being
engaged. The young people were extremely familiar, without being
particularly sentimental, and met and parted with each other in
perfect good-humor. "And I," thought Pendennis, "am the fellow who
eight years ago had a grand 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 the
rest of us, its ordinary consequences, consolations, developments. We
alter very little. When we talk of this man or that woman being no
longer the same person whom we remember in youth, and remark (of
course to deplore) changes in our friends, we don't, perhaps,
calculate that circumstance only brings out the latent defect or
quality, and does not create it. The selfish languor and indifference
of to-day's possession is the consequence of the selfish ardor of
yesterday's pursuit: the scorn and weariness which cries _vanitas
vanitatum_ is but the lassitude of the sick appetite palled with
pleasure: the insolence of the successful _parvenu_ is only the
necessary continuance of the career of the needy struggler: our mental
changes are like our gray hairs or our wrinkles--but the fulfillment
of the plan of mortal growth and decay: that which is snow-white now
was glossy black once; that which is sluggish obesity to-day was
boisterous rosy health a few years back; that calm weariness,
benevolent, resigned, and disappointed, was ambition, fierce and
violent, but a few years since, and has only settled into submissive
repose after many a battle and defeat. Lucky he who can bear his
failure so generously, and give up his broken sword to Fate the
Conqueror with a manly and humble heart! Are you not awe-stricken,
you, friendly reader, who, taking the page up for a moment's light
reading, lay it down, perchance, for a graver reflection--to think how
you, who have consummated your success or your disaster, may be
holding marked station, or a hopeless and nameless place, in the
crowds who have passed through how many struggles of defeat, success,
crime, remorse, to yourself only known!--who may have loved and grown
cold, wept and laughed again, how often!--to think how you are the
same, _You_, whom in childhood you remember, before the voyage of life
began? It has been prosperous, and you are riding into port, the
people huzzaing and the guns saluting,--and the lucky captain bows
from the ship's side, and there is a care under the star on his breast
which no body knows of: or you are wrecked, and lashed, hopeless, to a
solitary spar out at sea:--the sinking man and the successful one are
thinking each about home, very likely, and remembering the time when
they were children; alone on the hopeless spar, drowning out of sight;
alone in the midst of the crowd applauding you.