CHAPTER XXV. Contains both Love and Jealousy
Our readers have already heard Sir Francis Clavering's candid opinionof the lady who had given him her fortune and restored him to his nativecountry and home, and it must be owned that the Baronet was not farwrong in his estimate of his wife, and that Lady Clavering was not thewisest or the best educated of women. She had had a couple of years'education in Europe, in a suburb of London, which she persisted incalling Ackney to her dying day, whence she had been summoned to joinher father at Calcutta at the age of fifteen. And it was on her voyagethither, on board the Ramchunder East Indiaman, Captain Bragg, in whichship she had two years previously made her journey to Europe, that sheformed the acquaintance of her first husband, Mr. Amory, who was thirdmate of the vessel in question.
We are not going to enter into the early part of Lady Clavering'shistory, but Captain Bragg, under whose charge Miss Snell went out toher father, who was one of the Captain's consignees, and part ownerof the Ramchunder and many other vessels, found reason to put therebellious rascal of a mate in irons, until they reached the Cape, wherethe Captain left his officer behind; and finally delivered his ward toher father at Calcutta, after a stormy and perilous voyage in which theRamchunder and the cargo and passengers incurred no small danger anddamage.
Some months afterwards Amory made his appearance at Calcutta, havingworked his way out before the mast from the Cape--married the richAttorney's daughter in spite of that old speculator--set up asindigo-planter and failed--set up as agent and failed again--set up aseditor of the Sunderbund Pilot and failed again--quarrelling ceaselesslywith his father-in-law and his wife during the progress of all thesemercantile transactions and disasters, and ending his career finallywith a crash which compelled him to leave Calcutta and go to New SouthWales. It was in the course of these luckless proceedings, that Mr.Amory probably made the acquaintance of Sir Jasper Rogers, the respectedJudge of the Supreme Court of Calcutta, who has been mentioned before:and, as the truth must out, it was by making an improper use of hisfather-in-law's name, who could write perfectly well, and had no need ofan amanuensis, that fortune finally forsook Mr. Amory and caused him toabandon all further struggles with her.
Not being in the habit of reading the Calcutta law-reports veryassiduously, the European public did not know of these facts as wellas people did in Bengal, and Mrs. Amory and her father finding herresidence in India not a comfortable one, it was agreed that the ladyshould return to Europe, whither she came with her little daughter Betsyor Blanche, then four years old. They were accompanied by Betsy'snurse, who has been presented to the reader in the last chapter as theconfidential maid of Lady Clavering, Mrs. Bonner: and Captain Braggtook a house for them in the near neighbourhood of his residence inPocklington Street.
It was a very hard bitter summer, and the rain it rained every dayfor some time after Mrs. Amory's arrival. Bragg was very pompous anddisagreeable, perhaps ashamed, perhaps anxious, to get rid of the Indianlady. She believed that all the world in London was talking abouther husband's disaster, and that the King and Queen and the Court ofDirectors were aware of her unlucky history. She had a good allowancefrom her father; she had no call to live in England; and shedetermined to go abroad. Away she went, then, glad to escape the gloomysurveillance of the odious bully, Captain Bragg. People had no objectionto receive her at the continental towns where she stopped, and at thevarious boarding-houses, where she royally paid her way. She calledHackney Ackney, to be sure (though otherwise she spoke English witha little foreign twang, very curious and not unpleasant); she dressedamazingly; she was conspicuous for her love of eating and drinking,and prepared curries and pillaws at every boarding-house which shefrequented; but her singularities of language and behaviour only gave azest to her society, and Mrs. Amory was deservedly popular. She wasthe most good-natured, jovial, and generous of women. She was up to anyparty of pleasure by whomsoever proposed. She brought three times morechampagne and fowl and ham to the picnics than anyone else. She tookendless boxes for the play, and tickets for the masked balls, andgave them away to everybody. She paid the boarding-house people monthsbeforehand; she helped poor shabby mustachiod bucks and dowagers whoseremittances had not arrived, with constant supplies from her purse; andin this way she tramped through Europe, and appeared at Brussels, atParis, at Milan, at Naples, at Rome, as her fancy led her. News ofAmory's death reached her at the latter place, where Captain Claveringwas then staying, unable to pay his hotel bill, as, indeed, was hisfriend, the Chevalier Strong; and the good-natured widow married thedescendant of the ancient house of Clavering--professing, indeed, noparticular grief for the scapegrace of a husband whom she had lost. Wehave brought her thus up to the present time when she was mistressof Clavering Park, in the midst of which Mr. Pinckney, the celebratedpainter, pourtrayed her with her little boy by her side.
Missy followed her mamma in most of her peregrinations, and so learned adeal of life. She had a governess for some time; and after her mother'ssecond marriage, the benefit of Madame de Caramel's select pension inthe Champs Elysees. When the Claverings came to England, she of coursecame with them. It was only within a few years, after the death of hergrandfather, and the birth of her little brother, that she began tounderstand that her position in life was altered, and that Miss Amory,nobody's daughter, was a very small personage in a house compared withMaster Francis Clavering, heir to an ancient baronetcy and a nobleestate. But for little Frank, she would have been an heiress, in spiteof her father: and though she knew, and cared not much about money,of which she never had any stint, and though she was a romantic littleMuse, as we have seen, yet she could not reasonably be grateful to thepersons who had so contributed to change her condition: nor, indeed,did she understand what the latter really was, until she had made somefurther progress, and acquired more accurate knowledge in the world.
But this was clear, that her stepfather was dull and weak: that mammadropped her H's, and was not refined in manners or appearance; and thatlittle Frank was a spoiled quarrelsome urchin, always having his way,always treading upon her feet, always upsetting his dinner on herdresses, and keeping her out of her inheritance. None of these, as shefelt, could comprehend her: and her solitary heart naturally pinedfor other attachments, and she sought around her where to bestow theprecious boon of her unoccupied affection.
This dear girl, then, from want of sympathy, or other cause, madeherself so disagreeable at home, and frightened her mother and bored herstepfather so much, that they were quite as anxious as she could be thatshe should settle for herself in life; and hence Sir Francis Clavering'sdesire expressed to his friend, in the last chapter, that Mrs. Strongshould die, and that he would take Blanche to himself as a second Mrs.Strong.
But as this could not be, any other person was welcome to win her: anda smart young fellow, well-looking and well educated like our friendArthur Pendennis, was quite free to propose for her if he had a mind,and would have been received with open arms by Lady Clavering as ason-in-law, had he had the courage to come forward as a competitor forMiss Amory's hand.
Mr. Pen, however, besides other drawbacks, chose to entertain an extremediffidence about himself. He was ashamed of his late failures, of hisidle and nameless condition, of the poverty which he had brought on hismother by his folly, and there was as much of vanity as remorse in hispresent state of doubt and distrust. How could he ever hope for sucha prize as this brilliant Blanche Amory, who lived in a fine park andmansion, and was waited on by a score of grand domestics, whilst amaid-servant brought in their meagre meal at Fairoaks, and his motherwas obliged to pinch and manage to make both ends meet? Obstaclesseemed for him insurmountable, which would have vanished had he marchedmanfully upon them: and he preferred despairing, or dallying withhis wishes,--or perhaps he had not positively shaped them as yet,--toattempting to win gallantly the object of his desire. Many a youngman fails by that species of vanity called shyness, who might, for theasking have his will.
But we do not pretend to say that Pen
had, as yet, ascertained his: orthat he was doing much more than thinking about falling in love. MissAmory was charming and lively. She fascinated and cajoled him by athousand arts or natural graces or flatteries. But there were lurkingreasons and doubts, besides shyness and vanity, withholding him. Inspite of her cleverness, and her protestations, and her fascinations,Pen's mother had divined the girl, and did not trust her. Mrs. Pendennissaw Blanche light-minded and frivolous, detected many wants in her whichoffended the pure and pious-minded lady; a want of reverence for herparents, and for things more sacred, Helen thought: worldliness andselfishness couched under pretty words and tender expressions. Laura andPen battled these points strongly at first with the widow--Laura beingas yet enthusiastic about her new friend, and Pen not far-gone enough inlove to attempt any concealment of his feelings. He would laugh at theseobjections of Helen's, and say, "Psha, mother! you are jealous aboutLaura--all women are jealous."
But when, in the course of a month or two, and by watching the pairwith that anxiety with which brooding women watch over their sons'affections--and in acknowledging which, I have no doubt there is asexual jealousy on the mother's part, and a secret pang--when Helen sawthat the intimacy appeared to make progress, that the two young peoplewere perpetually finding pretexts to meet, and that Miss Blanche was atFairoaks or Mr. Pen at the Park every day, the poor widow's heart beganto fail her--her darling project seemed to vanish before her; and,giving way to her weakness, she fairly told Pen one day what her viewsand longings were; that she felt herself breaking, and not long for thisworld, and that she hoped and prayed before she went, that she might seeher two children one. The late events, Pen's life and career and formerpassion for the actress, had broken the spirit of this tender lady. Shefelt that he had escaped her, and was in the maternal nest no more; andshe clung with a sickening fondness to Laura, Laura who had been left toher by Francis in Heaven.
Pen kissed and soothed her in his grand patronising way. He had seensomething of this, he had long thought his mother wanted to make thismarriage--did Laura know anything of it? (Not she,--Mrs. Pendennissaid--not for worlds would she have breathed a word of it toLaura)--"Well, well, there was time enough, his mother wouldn't die,"Pen said, laughingly: "he wouldn't hear of any such thing, and as forthe Muse, she is too grand a lady to think about poor little me--and asfor Laura, who knows that she would have me? She would do anything youtold her, to be sure. But am I worthy of her?"
"O, Pen, you might be," was the widow's reply; not that Mr. Penever doubted that he was; and a feeling of indefinable pleasure andself-complacency came over him as he thought over this proposal, andimaged Laura to himself, as his memory remembered her for years past,always fair and open, kindly and pious, cheerful, tender and true. Helooked at her with brightening eyes as she came in from the garden atthe end of this talk, her cheeks rather flushed, her looks frank andsmiling--a basket of roses in her hand.
She took the finest of them and brought it to Mrs. Pendennis, who wasrefreshed by the odour and colour of these flowers; and hung over herfondly and gave it to her.
"And I might have this prize for the asking!" Pen thought with a thrillof triumph, as he looked at the kindly girl. "Why, she is as beautifuland as generous as her roses." The image of the two women remained forever after in his mind, and he never recalled it but the tears came intohis eyes.
Before very many weeks' intimacy with her new acquaintance, however,Miss Laura was obliged to give in to Helen's opinion, and own that theMuse was selfish, unkind, and inconstant. Of course Blanche confided toher bosom friend all the little griefs and domestic annoyances; how thefamily could not comprehend her and she moved among them an isolatedbeing; how her poor mamma's education had been neglected, and she wasforced to blush for her blunders; how Sir Francis was a weak persondeplorably unintellectual, and only happy when smoking his odiouscigars; how, since the birth of her little brother, she had seen hermother's precious affection, which she valued more than anything inlife, estranged from her once darling daughter; how she was alone,alone, alone in the world.
But these griefs, real and heart-rending though they might be to a younglady of exquisite sensibility, did not convince Laura of the proprietyof Blanche's conduct in many small incidents of life. Little Frank, forinstance, might have deprived Blanche of her mamma's affection, butthis was no reason why Blanche should box the child's ears because heupset a glass of water over her drawing, and why she should call himmany opprobrious names in the English and French language; and thepreference accorded to little Frank was certainly no reason why Blancheshould give herself imperial airs of command towards the boy'sgoverness, and send that young lady upon messages through the house tobring her book or to fetch her pocket-handkerchief. When a domesticperformed an errand for honest Laura, she was always thankful andpleased; whereas she could not but perceive that the little Muse had notthe slightest scruple in giving her commands to all the world roundabout her, and in disturbing anybody's ease or comfort, in order toadminister to her own. It was Laura's first experience in friendship;and it pained the kind creature's heart to be obliged to give up asdelusions, one by one, those charms and brilliant qualities in which herfancy had dressed her new friend, and to find that the fascinatinglittle fairy was but a mortal, and not a very amiable mortal after all.What generous person is there that has not been so deceived in histime?--what person, perhaps, that has not so disappointed others in histurn?
After the scene with little Frank, in which that refractory son and heirof the house of Clavering had received the compliments in French andEnglish, and the accompanying box on the ear from his sister, MissLaura who had plenty of humour, could not help calling to mind some verytouching and tender verses which the Muse had read to her out of MesLarmes, and which began, "My pretty baby brother, may angels guard thyrest," in which the Muse, after complimenting the baby upon the stationin life which it was about to occupy, and contrasting it with her ownlonely condition, vowed nevertheless that the angel boy would neverenjoy such affection as hers was, or find in the false world before himanything so constant and tender as a sister's heart. "It may be," theforlorn one said, "it may be, you will slight it, my pretty baby sweet,You will spurn me from your bosom, I'll cling around your feet! O letme, let me, love you! the world will prove to you As false as 'tis toothers, but I am ever true." And behold the Muse was boxing the darlingbrother's ears instead of kneeling at his feet, and giving Miss Lauraher first lesson in the Cynical philosophy--not quite her first,however,--something like this selfishness and waywardness, somethinglike this contrast between practice and poetry, between grand versifiedaspirations and everyday life, she had witnessed at home in the personof our young friend Mr. Pen.
But then Pen was different. Pen was a man. It seemed natural somehowthat he should be self-willed and should have his own way. And under hiswaywardness and selfishness, indeed there was a kind and generous heart.O it was hard that such a diamond should be changed away against such afalse stone as this. In a word, Laura began to be tired of her admiredBlanche. She had assayed her and found her not true; and her formeradmiration and delight, which she had expressed with her accustomedgenerous artlessness, gave way to a feeling, which we shall not callcontempt, but which was very near it; and which caused Laura to adopttowards Miss Amory a grave and tranquil tone of superiority, which wasat first by no means to the Muse's liking. Nobody likes to be found out,or, having held a high place, to submit to step down.
The consciousness that this event was impending did not serve toincrease Miss Blanche's good-humour, and as it made her peevish anddissatisfied with herself, it probably rendered her even less agreeableto the persons round about her. So there arose, one fatal day, abattle-royal between dearest Blanche and dearest Laura, in which thefriendship between them was all but slain outright. Dearest Blanche hadbeen unusually capricious and wicked on this day. She had been insolentto her mother; savage with little Frank; odiously impertinent in herbehaviour to the boy's governess; and intolerably cruel to Pincott, herat
tendant. Not venturing to attack her friend (for the little tyrant wasof a timid feline nature, and only used her claws upon those who wereweaker than herself), she maltreated all these, and especially poorPincott, who was menial, confidante, companion (slave always), accordingto the caprice of her young mistress.
This girl, who had been sitting in the room with the young ladies, beingdriven thence in tears, occasioned by the cruelty of her mistress, andraked with a parting sarcasm as she went sobbing from the door, Laurafairly broke out into a loud and indignant invective--wondered how oneso young could forget the deference owing to her elders as well as toher inferiors in station; and professing so much sensibility of her own,could torture the feelings of others so wantonly. Laura told her friendthat her conduct was absolutely wicked, and that she ought to ask pardonof Heaven on her knees for it. And having delivered herself of a hotand voluble speech whereof the delivery astonished the speaker as muchalmost as her auditor, she ran to her bonnet and shawl, and went homeacross the park in a great flurry and perturbation, and to the surpriseof Mrs. Pendennis, who had not expected her until night.
Alone with Helen, Laura gave an account of the scene, and gave up herfriend henceforth. "O Mamma," she said, "you were right; Blanche, whoseems so soft and so kind, is, as you have said, selfish and cruel. Shewho is always speaking of her affections can have no heart. No honestgirl would afflict a mother so, or torture a dependant; and--and, I giveher up from this day, and I will have no other friend but you."
On this the two ladies went through the osculatory ceremony which theywere in the habit of performing, and Mrs. Pendennis got a great secretcomfort from the little quarrel--for Laura's confession seemed to say,"That girl can never be a wife for Pen, for she is light-minded andheartless, and quite unworthy of our noble hero. He will be sure to findout her unworthiness for his own part, and then he will be saved fromthis flighty creature, and awake out of his delusion."
But Miss Laura did not tell Mrs. Pendennis, perhaps did not acknowledgeto herself, what had been the real cause of the day's quarrel. Being ina very wicked mood, and bent upon mischief everywhere, the little wickedMuse of a Blanche had very soon begun her tricks. Her darling Laurahad come to pass a long day; and as they were sitting in her own roomtogether, had chosen to bring the conversation round to the subject ofMr. Pen.
"I am afraid he is sadly fickle," Miss Blanche observed; "Mrs. Pybus,and many more Clavering people, have told us all about the actress."
"I was quite a child when it happened, and I don't know anything aboutit," Laura answered, blushing very much.
"He used her very ill," Blanche said, wagging her little head. "He wasfalse to her."
"I am sure he was not," Laura cried out; "he acted most generously byher; he wanted to give up everything to marry her. It was she that wasfalse to him. He nearly broke his heart about it: he----"
"I thought you didn't know anything about the story, dearest,"interposed Miss Blanche.
"Mamma has said so," said Laura.
"Well, he is very clever," continued the other little dear, "What asweet poet he is! Have you ever read his poems?"
"Only the 'Fisherman and the Diver,' which he translated for us, and hisPrize Poem, which didn't get the prize; and, indeed, I thought it verypompous and prosy," Laura said, laughing.
"Has he never written you any poems, then, love?" asked Miss Amory.
"No, my dear," said Miss Bell.
Blanche ran up to her friend, kissed her fondly, called her my dearestLaura at least three times, looked her archly in the face, noddedher head, and said, "Promise to tell no-o-body, and I will show yousomething."
And tripping across the room daintily to a little mother-of-pearl inlaiddesk, she opened it with a silver key, and took out two or three paperscrumpled and rather stained with green, which she submitted to herfriend. Laura took them and read them. They were love-verses sureenough--something about Undine--about a Naiad--about a river. She lookedat them for a long time; but in truth the lines were not very distinctbefore her eyes.
"And you have answered them, Blanche?" she asked, putting them back.
"O no! not for worlds, dearest," the other said: and when her dearestLaura had quite done with the verses, she tripped back and popped themagain into the pretty desk.
Then she went to her piano, and sang two or three songs of Rossini,whose flourishes of music her flexible little voice could execute toperfection, and Laura sate by, vaguely listening as she performed thesepieces. What was Miss Bell thinking about the while? She hardly knew;but sate there silent as the songs rolled by. After this concert theyoung ladies were summoned to the room where luncheon was served; andwhither they of course went with their arms round each other's waists.
And it could not have been jealousy or anger on Laura's part which hadmade her silent; for, after they had tripped along the corridor anddescended the steps, and were about to open the door which leads intothe hall, Laura paused, and looking her friend kindly and frankly in theface, kissed her with a sisterly warmth.
Something occurred after this--Master Frank's manner of eating,probably, or mamma's blunders, or Sir Francis smelling of cigars--whichvexed Miss Blanche, and she gave way to that series of naughtinesseswhereof we have spoken, and which ended in the above little quarrel.
The History of Pendennis Page 27
