The History of Pendennis

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER XLVIII. A Visit of Politeness

  Costigan never roused Pen from his slumbers; there was no hostilemessage from Mr. Huxter to disturb him; and when Pen woke, it was witha brisker and more lively feeling than ordinarily attends that moment inthe day of the tired and blase London man. A City man wakes up to careand consols, and the thoughts of 'Change and the counting-house takepossession of him as soon as sleep flies from under his night-cap; alawyer rouses himself with the early morning to think of the case thatwill take him all his day to work upon, and the inevitable attorneyto whom he has promised his papers ere night. Which of us has not hisanxiety instantly present when his eyes are opened, to it and to theworld, after his night's sleep? Kind strengthener that enables usto face the day's task with renewed heart! Beautiful ordinance ofProvidence that creates rest as it awards labour!

  Mr. Pendennis's labour, or rather his disposition, was of that sort thathis daily occupations did not much interest him, for the excitement ofliterary composition pretty soon subsides with the hired labourer, andthe delight of seeing one's-self in print only extends to the first twoor three appearances in the magazine or newspaper page. Pegasus putinto harness, and obliged to run a stage every day, is as prosaic asany other hack, and won't work without his whip or his feed of corn.So, indeed, Mr. Arthur performed his work at the Pall Mall Gazette (andsince his success as a novelist with an increased salary), but withoutthe least enthusiasm, doing his best or pretty nearly, and sometimeswriting ill and sometimes well. He was a literary hack, naturally fastin pace, and brilliant in action.

  Neither did society, or that portion which he saw, excite or amuse himover much. In spite of his brag and boast to the contrary, he was tooyoung as yet for women's society, which probably can only be had inperfection when a man has ceased to think about his own person, and hasgiven up all designs of being a conqueror of ladies; he was too youngto be admitted as an equal amongst men who had made their mark in theworld, and of whose conversation he could scarcely as yet expect to bemore than a listener. And he was too old for the men of pleasure of hisown age; too much a man of pleasure for the men of business; destiniedin a word to be a good deal alone. Fate awards this lot of solitude tomany a man; and many like it from taste, as many without difficulty bearit. Pendennis, in reality, suffered it very equanimously; but in words,and according to his wont, grumbled over it not a little.

  "What a nice little artless creature that was," Mr. Pen thought at thevery instant of waking after the Vauxhall affair; "what a pretty naturalmanner she has; how much pleasanter than the minauderies of the youngladies in the ballrooms" (and here he recalled to himself some instancesof what he could not help seeing was the artful simplicity of MissBlanche, and some of the stupid graces of other young ladies in thepolite world); "who could have thought that such a pretty rose couldgrow in a porter's lodge, or bloom in that dismal old flower-pot ofa Shepherd's Inn? So she learns to sing from old Bows? If her singingvoice is as sweet as her speaking voice, it must be pretty. I like thoselow voilees voices. 'What would you like me to call you?' indeed, poorlittle Fanny! It went to my heart to adopt the grand air with her andtell her to call me, 'Sir.' But we'll have no nonsense of that sort--noFaust and Margaret business for me. That old Bows! So he teaches her tosing, does he? He's a dear old fellow, old Bows: a gentleman in thoseold clothes: a philosopher, and with a kind heart, too. How good he wasto me in the Fotheringay business. He, too, has had his griefs and hissorrows. I must cultivate old Bows. A man ought to see people of allsorts. I am getting tired of genteel society. Besides, there's nobodyin town. Yes, I'll go and see Bows, and Costigan too; what a richcharacter! begad, I'll study him, and put him into a book." In this wayour young anthropologist talked with himself, and as Saturday was theholiday of the week, the Pall Mall Gazette making its appearance uponthat day, and the contributors to that journal having no further callsupon their brains or ink-bottles, Mr. Pendennis determined he would takeadvantage of his leisure, and pay a visit to Shepherd's Inn--of courseto see old Bows.

  The truth is, that if Arthur had been the most determined roue andartful Lovelace who ever set about deceiving a young girl, he couldhardly have adopted better means for fascinating and overcoming poorlittle Fanny Bolton than those which he had employed on the previousnight. His dandified protecting air, his conceit, generosity, andgood-humour, the very sense of good and honesty which had enabled himto check the tremulous advances of the young creature, and not to takeadvantage of that little fluttering sensibility,--his faults and hisvirtues at once contributed to make her admire him; and if we could peepinto Fanny's bed (which she shared in a cupboard, along with thosetwo little sisters to whom we have seen Mr. Costigan administeringgingerbread and apples), we should find the poor little maid tossingupon her mattress, to the great disturbance of its other two occupants,and thinking over all the delights and events of that delightful,eventful night, and all the words, looks, and actions of Arthur, itssplendid hero. Many novels had Fanny read, in secret and at home, inthree volumes and in numbers. Periodical literature had not reachedthe height which it has attained subsequently, and the girls of Fanny'sgeneration were not enabled to purchase sixteen pages of excitement fora penny, rich with histories of crime, murder, oppressed virtue, and theheartless seductions of the aristocracy; but she had had the benefitof the circulating library which, in conjunction with her school and asmall brandy-ball and millinery business, Miss Minifer kept,--and Arthurappeared to her at once as the type and realisation of all the heroes ofall those darling greasy volumes which the young girl had devoured. Mr.Pen, we have seen, was rather a dandy about shirts and haberdashery ingeneral. Fanny had looked with delight at the fineness of his linen,at the brilliancy of his shirt-studs, at his elegant cambricpocket-handkerchief and white gloves, and at the jetty brightness of hischarming boots. The Prince had appeared and subjugated the poor littlehandmaid. His image traversed constantly her restless slumbers; the toneof his voice, the blue light of his eyes, the generous look, halflove, half pity,--the manly protecting smile, the frank, winninglaughter,--all these were repeated in the girl's fond memory. She feltstill his arm encircling her, and saw him smiling so grand as he filledup that delicious glass of champagne. And then she thought of the girls,her friends, who used to sneer at her--of Emma Baker, who was so proud,forsooth, because she was engaged to a cheesemonger, in a white apron,near Clare Market; and of Betsy Rodgers, who make such a to-do about heryoung man--an attorney's clerk, indeed, that went about with a bag!

  So that, at about two o'clock in the afternoon--the Bolton family havingconcluded their dinner (and Mr. B., who besides his place of porter ofthe Inn, was in the employ of Messrs. Tressler, the eminent undertakersof the Strand, being absent in the country with the Countess ofEstrich's hearse), when a gentleman in a white hat and white trousersmade his appearance under the Inn archway, and stopped at the porter'swicket, Fanny was not in the least surprised, only delightful, onlyhappy, and blushing beyond all measure. She knew it could be no otherthan He. She knew He'd come. There he was; there was His Royal Highnessbeaming upon her from the gate. She called to her mother, who was busyin the upper apartment, "Mamma, mamma," and ran to the wicket at once,and opened it, pushing aside the other children. How she blushed as shegave her hand to him! How affably he took off his white hat as he camein; the children staring up at him! He asked Mrs. Bolton if she hadslept well, after the fatigues of the night, and hoped she had noheadache; and he said that as he was going that way, he could not passthe door without asking news of his little partner.

  Mrs. Bolton was perhaps rather shy and suspicious about these advances;but Mr. Pen's good-humour was inexhaustible, he could not see that hewas unwelcome. He looked about the premises for a seat, and none beingdisengaged, for a dish-cover was on one, a workbox on the other, and soforth, he took one of the children's chairs, and perched himself uponthat uncomfortable eminence. At this, the children began laughing, thechild Fanny louder than all--at least, she was more amused than any ofthem, and amazed at Hi
s Royal Highness's condescension. He to sit downin that chair--that little child's chair!--Many and many a time after,she regarded it: haven't we almost all, such furniture in our rooms,that our fancy peoples with dear figures, that our memory fills withsweet smiling faces, which may never look on us more?

  So Pen sate down and talked away with great volubility to Mrs. Bolton.He asked about the undertaking business, and how many mutes went downwith Lady Estrich's remains; and about the Inn, and who lived there. Heseemed very much interested about Mr. Campion's cab and horse, and hadmet that gentleman in society. He thought he should like shares in thePolwheedle and Tredyddlum; did Mrs. Bolton do for those chambers? Werethere any chambers to let in the Inn? It was better than the Temple: heshould like to come to live in Shepherd's Inn. As for Captain Strong,and--Colonel Altamont--was his name? he was deeply interested in themtoo. The Captain was an old friend at home. He had dined with him atchambers here, before the Colonel came to live with him. What sort ofman was the Colonel? Wasn't he a stout man, with a large quantity ofjewellery, and a wig and large black whiskers--very black (here Penwas immensely waggish, and caused hysteric giggles of delight from theladies)--very black indeed; in fact, blue black; that is to say, a richgreenish purple? That was the man; he had met him, too, at Sir Fr---- inSociety.

  "Oh, we know," said the ladies, "Sir F---- is Sir F. Clavering he'soften here: two or three times a week with the Captain. My little boyhas been out for bill-stamps for him. O Lor! I beg pardon, I shouldn'thave mentioned no secrets," Mrs. Bolton blurted out, being talkedperfectly into good-nature by this time. "But we know you to be agentleman, Mr. Pendennis, for I'm sure you have shown that you canbeayve as such. Hasn't Mr. Pendennis, Fanny?"

  Fanny loved her mother for that speech. She cast up her dark eyes to thelow ceiling and said, "Oh, that he has, I'm sure, Ma," with a voice fullof feeling.

  Pen was rather curious about the bill-stamps, and concerning thetransactions in Strong's chambers. And he asked, when Altamont came andjoined the Chevalier, whether he too was out for bill-stamps, who hewas, whether he saw many people, and so forth. These questions, putwith considerable adroitness by Pen who was interested about Sir FrancisClavering's doings from private motives of his own, were artlesslyanswered by Mrs. Bolton, and to the utmost of her knowledge and ability,which, in truth, were not very great.

  These questions answered, and Pen being at a loss for more, luckilyrecollected his privilege as a member of the Press, and asked the ladieswhether they would like any orders for the play? The play was theirdelight, as it is almost always the delight of every theatrical person.When Bolton was away professionally (it appeared that of late the porterof Shepherd's Inn had taken a serious turn, drank a good deal, andotherwise made himself unpleasant to the ladies of his family), theywould like of all things to slip out and go to the theatre--littleBarney, their son, keeping the lodge; and Mr. Pendennis's most generousand most genteel compliment of orders was received with boundlessgratitude by both mother and daughter.

  Fanny clapped her hands with pleasure: her faced beamed with it. Shelooked and nodded, and laughed at her mamma, who nodded and laughed inher turn. Mrs. Bolton was not superannuated for pleasure yet, or byany means too old for admiration, she thought. And very likelyMr. Pendennis, in his conversation with her, had insinuated somecompliments, or shaped his talk so as to please her. At first againstPen, and suspicious of him, she was his partisan now, and almost asenthusiastic about him as her daughter. When two women get together tolike a man, they help each other on--each pushes the otherforward--and the second, out of sheer sympathy, becomes as eager as theprincipal:--at least, so it is said by philosophers who have examinedthis science.

  So the offer of the play-tickets, and other pleasantries; put allparties into perfect good-humour, except for one brief moment, when oneof the younger children, hearing the name of 'Astley's' pronounced, cameforward and stated that she should like very much to go, too; on which,Fanny said, "Don't bother!" rather sharply; and Mamma said, "Git-long,Betsy-Jane, do now, and play in the court:" so that the two little ones,namely, Betsy-Jane and Ameliar--Ann, went away in their little innocentpinafores, and disported in the courtyard on the smooth gravel, roundabout the statue of Shepherd the Great.

  And here, as they were playing, they very possibly communicated with anold friend of theirs and dweller in the Inn; for while Pen was makinghimself agreeable to the ladies at the lodge, who were laughingdelighted at his sallies, an old gentleman passed under the archway fromthe Inn-square, and came and looked in at the door of the lodge.

  He made a very blank and rueful face when he saw Mr. Arthur seated upona table, like Macheath in the play, in easy discourse with Mrs. Boltonand her daughter.

  "What! Mr. Bows? How d'you do, Bows?" cried out Pen, in a cheery, loudvoice. "I was coming to see you, and was asking your address of theseladies."

  "You were coming to see me, were you, sir?" Bows said, and came inwith a sad face, and shook hands with Arthur. "Plague on that old man!"somebody thought in the room: and so, perhaps, some one else besidesher.