CHAPTER XV. The happy Village
Until the enemy had retired altogether from before the place, MajorPendennis was resolved to keep his garrison in Fairoaks. He did notappear to watch Pen's behaviour or to put any restraint on his nephew'sactions, but he managed nevertheless to keep the lad constantly underhis eye or those of his agents, and young Arthur's comings and goingswere quite well known to his vigilant guardian.
I suppose there is scarcely any man who reads this or any other novelbut has been baulked in love some time or the other, by fate andcircumstance, by falsehood of women, or his own fault. Let that worthyfriend recall his own sensations under the circumstances, and applythem as illustrative of Mr. Pen's anguish. Ah! what weary nights andsickening fevers! Ah! what mad desires dashing up against some rockof obstruction or indifference, and flung back again from theunimpressionable granite! If a list could be made this very night inLondon of the groans, thoughts, imprecations of tossing lovers, what acatalogue it would be! I wonder what a percentage of the male populationof the metropolis will be lying awake at two or three o'clock to-morrowmorning, counting the hours as they go by knelling drearily, and rollingfrom left to right, restless, yearning and heart-sick? What a pangit is! I never knew a man die of love certainly, but I have knowna twelve-stone man go down to nine-stone five under a disappointedpassion, so that pretty nearly quarter of him may be said to haveperished: and that is no small portion. He has come back to his oldsize subsequently; perhaps is bigger than ever: very likely some newaffection has closed round his heart and ribs and made them comfortable,and young Pen is a man who will console himself like the rest of us. Wesay this lest the ladies should be disposed to deplore him prematurely,or be seriously uneasy with regard to his complaint. His mother was, butwhat will not a maternal fondness fear or invent? "Depend on it, my dearcreature," Major Pendennis would say gallantly to her, "the boy willrecover. As soon as we get her out of the country we will take himsomewhere, and show him a little life. Meantime make yourself easy abouthim. Half a fellow's pangs at losing a woman result from vanity morethan affection. To be left by a woman is the deuce and all, to be sure;but look how easily we leave 'em."
Mrs. Pendennis did not know. This sort of knowledge had by no means comewithin the simple lady's scope. Indeed she did not like the subject orto talk of it: her heart had had its own little private misadventure andshe had borne up against it and cured it: and perhaps she had not muchpatience with other folk's passions, except, of course, Arthur's, whosesufferings she made her own, feeling indeed very likely in many of theboy's illnesses and pains a great deal more than Pen himself endured.And she watched him through this present grief with a jealous silentsympathy; although, as we have said, he did not talk to her of hisunfortunate condition.
The Major must be allowed to have had not a little merit andforbearance, and to have exhibited a highly creditable degree of familyaffection. The life at Fairoaks was uncommonly dull to a man who had theentree of half the houses in London, and was in the habit of makinghis bow in three or four drawing-rooms of a night. A dinner with DoctorPortman or a neighbouring Squire now and then; a dreary rubber atbackgammon with the widow, who did her utmost to amuse him; these werethe chief of his pleasures. He used to long for the arrival of thebag with the letters, and he read every word of the evening paper. Hedoctored himself too, assiduously,--a course of quiet living would suithim well, he thought, after the London banquets. He dressed himselflaboriously every morning and afternoon: he took regular exercise upand down the terrace walk. Thus with his cane, his toilet, hismedicine-chest, his backgammon-box, and his newspaper, this worthy andworldly philosopher fenced himself against ennui; and if he did notimprove each shining hour, like the bees by the widow's garden wall,Major Pendennis made one hour after another pass as he could, andrendered his captivity just tolerable. After this period it was remarkedthat he was fond of bringing round the conversation to the American war,the massacre of Wyoming and the brilliant actions of Saint Lucie, thefact being that he had a couple of volumes of the 'Annual Register' inhis bedroom, which he sedulously studied. It is thus a well-regulatedman will accommodate himself to circumstances, and show himself calmlysuperior to fortune.
Pen sometimes took the box at backgammon of a night, or would listen tohis mother's simple music of summer evenings--but he was very restlessand wretched in spite of all: and has been known to be up before theearly daylight even; and down at a carp-pond in Clavering Park, adreary pool with innumerable whispering rushes and green alders, wherea milkmaid drowned herself in the Baronet's grandfather's time, and herghost was said to walk still. But Pen did not drown himself, as perhapshis mother fancied might be his intention. He liked to go and fishthere, and think and think at leisure, as the float quivered in thelittle eddies of the pond, and the fish flapped about him. If he got abite he was excited enough: and in this way occasionally brought homecarps, tenches, and eels, which the Major cooked in the Continentalfashion.
By this pond, and under a tree, which was his favourite resort, Pencomposed a number of poems suitable to his circumstances over whichverses he blushed in after days, wondering how he could ever haveinvented such rubbish. And as for the tree, why it is in a hollow ofthis very tree, where he used to put his tin-box of ground-bait, andother fishing commodities, that he afterwards--but we are advancingmatters. Suffice it to say, he wrote poems and relieved himself verymuch. When a man's grief or passion is at this point, it may be loud,but it is not very severe. When a gentleman is cudgelling his brain tofind any rhyme for sorrow, besides borrow and to-morrow, his woes arenearer at an end than he thinks for. So were Pen's. He had his hotand cold fits, his days of sullenness and peevishness, and of blankresignation and despondency, and occasional mad paroxysms of rage andlonging, in which fits Rebecca would be saddled and galloped fiercelyabout the country, or into Chatteris, her rider gesticulating wildly onher back, and astonishing carters and turnpikemen as he passed, cryingout the name of the false one.
Mr. Foker became a very frequent and welcome visitor at Fairoaks duringthis period, where his good spirits and oddities always amused the Majorand Pendennis, while they astonished the widow and little Laura not alittle. His tandem made a great sensation in Clavering market-place;where he upset a market stall, and cut Mrs. Pybus's poodle over theshaven quarters, and drank a glass of raspberry bitters at the ClaveringArms. All the society in the little place heard who he was, and lookedout his name in their Peerages. He was so young, and their books so old,that his name did not appear in many of their volumes; and his mamma,now quite an antiquated lady, figured amongst the progeny of the Earlof Rosherville, as Lady Agnes Milton still. But his name, wealth, andhonourable lineage were speedily known about Clavering, where you may besure that poor Pen's little transaction with the Chatteris actress wasalso pretty freely discussed.
Looking at the little old town of Clavering St. Mary from the Londonroad as it runs by the lodge at Fairoaks, and seeing the rapid andshining Brawl winding down from the town and skirting the woods ofClavering Park, and the ancient church tower and peaked roofs of thehouses rising up amongst trees and old walls, behind which swells afair background of sunshiny hills that stretch from Clavering westwardstowards the sea--the place looks so cheery and comfortable that many atraveller's heart must have yearned towards it from the coach-top, andhe must have thought that it was in such a calm friendly nook he wouldlike to shelter at the end of life's struggle. Tom Smith, who used todrive the Alacrity coach, would often point to a tree near the river,from which a fine view of the church and town was commanded, and informhis companion on the box that "Artises come and take hoff the Churchfrom that there tree--It was a Habby once, sir:"--and indeed a prettyview it is, which I recommend to Mr. Stanfield or Mr. Roberts, for theirnext tour.
Like Constantinople seen from the Bosphorus; like Mrs. Rougemont viewedin her box from the opposite side of the house; like many an objectwhich we pursue in life, and admire before we have attained it;Clavering is rather prettier at a distance than it
is on a closeracquaintance. The town so cheerful of aspect a few furlongs off, looksvery blank and dreary. Except on market days there is nobody in thestreets. The clack of a pair of pattens echoes through half the place,and you may hear the creaking of the rusty old ensign at the ClaveringArms, without being disturbed by any other noise. There has not been aball in the Assembly Rooms since the Clavering volunteers gave one totheir Colonel, the old Sir Francis Clavering; and the stables whichonce held a great part of that brilliant, but defunct regiment, are nowcheerless and empty, except on Thursdays, when the farmers put up there,and their tilted carts and gigs make a feeble show of liveliness in theplace, or on Petty Sessions, when the magistrates attend in what used tobe the old card-room.
On the south side of the market rises up the church, with its great greytowers, of which the sun illuminates the delicate carving; deepening theshadows of the huge buttresses, and gilding the glittering windows andflaming vanes. The image of the Patroness of the Church was wrenched outof the porch centuries ago: such of the statues of saints as were withinreach of stones and hammer at that period of pious demolition, aremaimed and headless, and of those who were out of fire, only DoctorPortman knows the names and history, for his curate, Smirke, is notmuch of an antiquarian, and Mr. Simcoe (husband of the Honourable Mrs.Simcoe), incumbent and architect of the Chapel of Ease in the lowertown, thinks them the abomination of desolation.
The Rectory is a stout broad-shouldered brick house, of the reign ofAnne. It communicates with the church and market by different gates, andstands at the opening of Yew-tree Lane, where the Grammar School(Rev. ---- Wapshot) is; Yew-tree Cottage (Miss Flather); the butchers'slaughtering-house, an old barn or brew-house of the Abbey times, andthe Misses Finucane's establishment for young ladies. The two schoolshad their pews in the loft on each side of the organ, until theAbbey Church getting rather empty, through the falling-off of thecongregation, who were inveigled to the Heresy-shop in the lower town,the Doctor induced the Misses Finucane to bring their pretty littleflock downstairs; and the young ladies' bonnets make a tolerable showin the rather vacant aisles. Nobody is in the great pew of the Claveringfamily, except the statues of defunct baronets and their ladies: thereis Sir Poyntz Clavering, Knight and Baronet, kneeling in a squarebeard opposite his wife in a ruff: a very fat lady, the Dame RebeccaClavering, in alto-relievo, is borne up to Heaven by two littleblue-veined angels, who seem to have a severe task--and so forth. Howwell in after life Pen remembered those effigies, and how often in youthhe scanned them as the Doctor was grumbling the sermon from thepulpit, and Smirke's mild head and forehead curl peered over the greatprayer-book in the desk!
The Fairoaks folks were constant at the old church; their servants hada pew, so had the Doctor's, so had Wapshot's, and those of MissesFinucane's establishment, three maids and a very nice-looking young manin a livery. The Wapshot Family were numerous and faithful. Glanders andhis children regularly came to church: so did one of the apothecaries.Mrs. Pybus went, turn and turn about, to the Low Town church, and to theAbbey: the Charity School and their families of course came; Wapshot'sboys made a good cheerful noise, scuffling with their feet as theymarched into church and up the organ-loft stair, and blowing their nosesa good deal during the service. To be brief, the congregation looked asdecent as might be in these bad times. The Abbey Church was furnishedwith a magnificent screen, and many hatchments and heraldic tombstones.The Doctor spent a great part of his income in beautifying his darlingplace; he had endowed it with a superb painted window, bought in theNetherlands, and an organ grand enough for a cathedral.
But in spite of organ and window, in consequence of the latter verylikely, which had come out of a Papistical place of worship andwas blazoned all over with idolatry, Clavering New Church prosperedscandalously in the teeth of Orthodoxy; and many of the Doctor'scongregation deserted to Mr. Simcoe and the honourable woman his wife.Their efforts had thinned the very Ebenezer hard by them, which buildingbefore Simcoe's advent used to be so full, that you could see the backsof the congregation squeezing out of the arched windows thereof. Mr.Simcoe's tracts fluttered into the doors of all the Doctor's cottages,and were taken as greedily as honest Mrs. Portman's soup, with thequality of which the graceless people found fault. With the folks at theRibbon Factory situated by the weir on the Brawl side, and round whichthe Low Town had grown, Orthodoxy could make no way at all. QuietMiss Myra was put out of court by impetuous Mrs. Simcoe and her femaleaides-de-camp. Ah, it was a hard burthen for the Doctor's lady tobear, to behold her husband's congregation dwindling away; to givethe precedence on the few occasions when they met to a notoriouslow-churchman's wife who was the daughter of an Irish Peer; to know thatthere was a party in Clavering, their own town of Clavering, on whichher Doctor spent a great deal more than his professional income, whoheld him up to odium because he played a rubber at whist; and pronouncedhim to be a Heathen because he went to the play. In her grief shebesought him to give up the play and the rubber,--indeed they couldscarcely get a table now, so dreadful was the outcry against thesport,--but the Doctor declared that he would do what he thought right,and what the great and good George the Third did (whose Chaplain he hadbeen): and as for giving up whist because those silly folks cried outagainst it, he would play dummy to the end of his days with his wife andMyra, rather than yield to their despicable persecutions.
Of the two families, owners of the Factory (which had spoiled the Brawlas a trout-stream and brought all the mischief into the town), thesenior partner, Mr. Rolt, went to Ebenezer; the junior, Mr. Barker,to the New Church. In a word, people quarrelled in this little placea great deal more than neighbours do in London; and in the Book Club,which the prudent and conciliating Pendennis had set up, and which oughtto have been a neutral territory, they bickered so much that nobodyscarcely was ever seen in the reading-room, except Smirke, who, thoughhe kept up a faint amity with the Simcoe faction, had still a taste formagazines and light worldly literature; and old Glanders, whose whitehead and grizzly moustache might be seen at the window; and of course,little Mrs. Pybus, who looked at everybody's letters as the Post broughtthem (for the Clavering Reading-room, as every one knows, used to beheld at Baker's Library, London Street, formerly Hog Lane), and readevery advertisement in the paper.
It may be imagined how great a sensation was created in this amiablelittle community when the news reached it of Mr. Pen's love-passages atChatteris. It was carried from house to house, and formed the subject oftalk at high-church, low-church, and no-church tables; it was canvassedby the Misses Finucane and their teachers, and very likely debated bythe young ladies in the dormitories for what we know; Wapshot's big boyshad their version of the story, and eyed Pen curiously as he sate in hispew at church, or raised the finger of scorn at him as he passed throughChatteris. They always hated him and called him Lord Pendennis, becausehe did not wear corduroys as they did, and rode a horse, and gavehimself the airs of a buck.
And if the truth must be told, it was Mrs. Portman herself who was thechief narrator of the story of Pen's loves. Whatever tales this candidwoman heard, she was sure to impart them to her neighbours; and aftershe had been put into possession of Pen's secret by the little scandalat Chatteris, poor Doctor Portman knew that it would next day be aboutthe parish of which he was the Rector. And so indeed it was; the wholesociety there had the legend--at the news-room, at the milliner's, atthe shoe-shop, and the general warehouse at the corner of the market; atMrs. Pybus's, at the Glanders's, at the Honourable Mrs. Simcoe's soiree,at the Factory; nay, through the mill itself the tale was current in afew hours, and young Arthur Pendennis's madness was in every mouth.
All Dr. Portman's acquaintances barked out upon him when he walked thestreet the next day. The poor divine knew that his Betsy was the authorof the rumour, and groaned in spirit. Well, well,--it must have comein a day or two, and it was as well that the town should have the realstory. What the Clavering folks thought of Mrs. Pendennis for spoilingher son, and of that precocious young rascal of an Arthur for
daringto propose to a play-actress, need not be told here. If pride existsamongst any folks in our country, and assuredly we have enough of it,there is no pride more deep-seated than that of twopenny old gentlewomenin small towns. "Gracious goodness," the cry was, "how infatuated themother is about that pert and headstrong boy who gives himself theairs of a lord on his blood-horse, and for whom our society is not goodenough, and who would marry an odious painted actress off a booth, wherevery likely he wants to rant himself. If dear good Mr. Pendennis hadbeen alive this scandal would never have happened."
No more it would, very likely, nor should we have been occupied innarrating Pen's history. It was true that he gave himself airs to theClavering folks. Naturally haughty and frank, their cackle and smalltalk and small dignities bored him, and he showed a contempt which hecould not conceal. The Doctor and the Curate were the only people Pencared for in the place--even Mrs. Portman shared in the general distrustof him, and of his mother, the widow, who kept herself aloof from thevillage society, and was sneered at accordingly, because she tried,forsooth, to keep her head up with the great County families. She,indeed! Mrs. Barker at the Factory has four times the butcher's meatthat goes up to Fairoaks, with all their fine airs.
Etc. etc. etc.: let the reader fill up these details according to hisliking and experience of village scandal. They will suffice to showhow it was that a good woman occupied solely in doing her duty to herneighbour and her children, and an honest, brave lad, impetuous, andfull of good, and wishing well to every mortal alive found enemies anddetractors amongst people to whom they were superior, and to whom theyhad never done anything like harm. The Clavering curs were yelping allround the house of Fairoaks, and delighted to pull Pen down.
Doctor Portman and Smirke were both cautious of informing the widow ofthe constant outbreak of calumny which was pursuing poor Pen, thoughGlanders, who was a friend of the house, kept him au courant. It may beimagined what his indignation was: was there any man in the villagewhom he could call to account? Presently some wags began to chalkup 'Fotheringay for ever!' and other sarcastic allusions to latetransactions, at Fairoaks' gate. Another brought a large playbill fromChatteris, and wafered it there one night. On one occasion Pen, ridingthrough the Lower Town, fancied he heard the Factory boys jeer him; andfinally going through the Doctor's gate into the churchyard, where someof Wapshot's boys were lounging, the biggest of them, a young gentlemanabout twenty years of age, son of a neighbouring small Squire, who livedin the doubtful capacity of parlour-boarder with Mr. Wapshot, flunghimself into a theatrical attitude near a newly-made grave, and beganrepeating Hamlet's verses over Ophelia, with a hideous leer at Pen.The young fellow was so enraged that he rushed at Hobnell Major with ashriek very much resembling an oath, cut him furiously across the facewith the riding-whip which he carried, flung it away, calling upon thecowardly villain to defend himself, and in another minute knocked thebewildered young ruffian into the grave which was just waiting for adifferent lodger.
Then with his fists clenched, and his face quivering with passion andindignation, he roared out to Mr. Hobnell's gaping companions, to knowif any of the blackguards would come on? But they held back with agrowl, and retreated as Doctor Portman came up to his wicket, and Mr.Hobnell, with his nose and lip bleeding piteously, emerged from thegrave.
Pen, looking death and defiance at the lads, who retreated towardtheir side of the churchyard, walked back again through the Doctor'swicket, and was interrogated by that gentleman. The young fellow wasso agitated he could scarcely speak. His voice broke into a sob as heanswered. "The ------ coward insulted me, sir," he said; and the Doctorpassed over the oath, and respected the emotion of the honest sufferingyoung heart.
Pendennis the elder, who like a real man of the world had a proper andconstant dread of the opinion of his neighbour, was prodigiously annoyedby the absurd little tempest which was blowing in Chatteris, and tossingabout Master Pen's reputation. Doctor Portman and Captain Glanders hadto support the charges of the whole Chatteris society against the youngreprobate, who was looked upon as a monster of crime. Pen did notsay anything about the churchyard scuffle at home; but went over toBaymouth, and took counsel with his friend Harry Foker, Esq., who droveover his drag presently to the Clavering Arms, whence he sent Stoopidwith a note to Thomas Hobnell, Esq., at the Rev. J. Wapshot's, and acivil message to ask when he should wait upon that gentleman.
Stoopid brought back word that the note had been opened by Mr. Hobnell,and read to half a dozen of the big boys, on whom it seemed to make agreat impression; and that after consulting together, and laughing, Mr.Hobnell said he would send an answer "arter arternoon school, which thebell was a-ringing: and Mr. Wapshot he came out in his Master's gownd."Stoopid was learned in academical costume, having attended Mr. Foker atSt. Boniface.
Mr. Foker went out to see the curiosities of Clavering meanwhile; butnot having a taste for architecture, Doctor Portman's fine church didnot engage his attention much and he pronounced the tower to be asmouldy as an old Stilton cheese. He walked down the street and lookedat the few shops there; he saw Captain Glanders at the window of theReading-room, and having taken a good stare at that gentleman, he waggedhis head at him in token of satisfaction; he inquired the price of meatat the butcher's with an air of the greatest interest, and asked "whenwas next killing day?" he flattened his little nose against MadameFribsby's window to see if haply there was a pretty workwoman in herpremises; but there was no face more comely than the doll's or dummy'swearing the French cap in the window, only that of Madame Fribsbyherself, dimly visible in the parlour, reading a novel. That object wasnot of sufficient interest to keep Mr. Foker very long in contemplation,and so having exhausted the town and the inn stables, in which therewere no cattle, save the single old pair of posters that earned a scantylivelihood by transporting the gentry round about to the county dinners,Mr. Foker was giving himself up to ennui entirely, when a messenger fromMr. Hobnell was at length announced.
It was no other than Mr. Wapshot himself, who came with an air of greatindignation, and holding Pen's missive in his hand, asked Mr. Foker "howdared he bring such an unchristian message as a challenge to a boy ofhis school?"
In fact Pen had written a note to his adversary of the day before,telling him that if after the chastisement which his insolence richlydeserved, he felt inclined to ask the reparation which was usually givenamongst gentlemen, Mr. Arthur Pendennis's friend, Mr. Henry Foker, wasempowered to make any arrangements for the satisfaction of Mr. Hobnell.
"And so he sent you with the answer--did he, sir?" Mr. Foker said,surveying the Schoolmaster in his black coat and clerical costume.
"If he had accepted this wicked challenge, I should have flogged him,"Mr. Wapshot said, and gave Mr. Foker a glance which seemed to say, "andI should like very much to flog you too."
"Uncommon kind of you, sir, I'm sure," said Pen's emissary. "I told myprincipal that I didn't think the other man would fight," he continuedwith a great air of dignity. "He prefers being flogged to fighting,sir, I dare say. May I offer you any refreshment, Mr.? I haven't theadvantage of your name."
"My name is Wapshot, sir, and I am Master of the Grammar School of thistown, sir," cried the other: "and I want no refreshment, sir, I thankyou, and have no desire to make your acquaintance, sir."
"I didn't seek yours, sir, I'm sure," replied Mr. Foker. "In affairsof this sort, you see, I think it is a pity that the clergy should becalled in, but there's no accounting for tastes, sir."
"I think it's a pity that boys should talk about committing murder, sir,as lightly as you do," roared the Schoolmaster; "and if I had you in myschool----"
"I dare say you would teach me better, sir," Mr. Foker said, with a bow."Thank you, sir. I've finished my education, sir, and ain't a-going backto school, sir--when I do, I'll remember your kind offer, sir. John,show this gentleman downstairs--and, of course, as Mr. Hobnell likesbeing thrashed, we can have no objection, sir, and we shall be veryhappy to accommodate him, whenever he comes our way
."
And with this, the young fellow bowed the elder gentleman out of theroom, and sate down and wrote a note off to Pen, in which he informedthe latter that Mr. Hobnell was not disposed to fight, and proposed toput up with the caning which Pen had administered to him.
The History of Pendennis Page 17
