CHAPTER V.
MRS. HALLER AT HOME.
Without slackening her pace, Rebecca the mare galloped on to Baymouth,where Pen put her up at the inn stables, and ran straightway to Mr.Foker's lodgings, which he knew from the direction given to him by thatgentleman on the previous day. On reaching these apartments, which wereover a chemist's shop whose stock of cigars and soda-water went offrapidly by the kind patronage of his young inmates, Pen only found Mr.Spavin, Foker's friend, and part owner of the tandem which the latterhad driven into Chatteries, who was smoking, and teaching a little dog,a friend of his, tricks with a bit of biscuit.
Pen's healthy red face fresh from the gallop, compared oddly, with thewaxy, debauched little features of Foker's chum; the latter remarked it."Who's that man?" he thought, "he looks as fresh as a bean, _His_ handdon't shake of a morning, I'd bet five to one."
Foker had not come home at all. Here was a disappointment!--
Mr. Spavin could not say when his friend would return. Sometimes hestopped a day, sometimes a week. Of what college was Pen? Would he haveany thing? There was a very fair tap of ale. Mr. Spavin was enabled toknow Pendennis's name, on the card which the latter took out and laiddown (perhaps Pen in these days was rather proud of having a card)--andso the young men took leave.
Then Pen went down the rock, and walked about on the sand, biting hisnails by the shore of the much sounding sea. It stretched before himbright and immeasurable. The blue waters came rolling into the bay,foaming and roaring hoarsely: Pen looked them in the face, with blankeyes, hardly regarding them. What a tide there was pouring into thelad's own mind at the time, and what a little power had he to check it!Pen flung stones into the sea, but it still kept coming on. He was ina rage at not seeing Foker. He wanted to see Foker. He must see Foker."Suppose I go on--on the Chatteries road, just to see if I can meethim," Pen thought. Rebecca was saddled in another half hour, andgalloping on the grass by the Chatteries road. About four miles fromBaymouth, the Clavering road branches off, as every body knows, and themare naturally was for taking that turn, but, cutting her over theshoulder, Pen passed the turning, and rode on to the turnpike withoutseeing any sign of the black tandem and red wheels.
As he was at the turnpike, he might as well go on: that was quite clear.So Pen rode to the George, and the hostler told him that Mr Foker wasthere sure enough, and that "he'd been a making a tremendous row thenight afore, a drinkin and a singin, and wanting to fight Tom thepost-boy: which I'm thinking he'd have the worst of it," the man added,with a grin.--"Have you carried up your master's hot water to shavewith?" he added, in a very satirical manner, to Mr. Foker's domestic,who here came down the yard bearing his master's clothes, mostbeautifully brushed and arranged. "Show Mr. Pendennis up to 'un," andPen followed the man at last to the apartment, where, in the midst ofan immense bed, Mr. Harry Foker lay reposing.
The feather bed and bolsters swelled up all round Mr. Foker, so that youcould hardly see his little sallow face and red silk night-cap.
"Hullo!" said Pen.
"Who goes there? brother, quickly tell!" sang out the voice from thebed. "What! Pendennis again? Is your mamma acquainted with your absence?Did you sup with us last night? No--stop--who supped with us last night,Stoopid?"
"There was the three officers, sir, and Mr. Bingley, sir, and Mr.Costigan, sir," the man answered, who received all Mr. Foker's remarkswith perfect gravity.
"Ah yes: the cup and merry jest went round. We chanted: and I rememberI wanted to fight a post-boy. Did I thrash him, Stoopid?"
"No, sir. Fight didn't come off, sir," said Stoopid, still with perfectgravity. He was arranging Mr. Foker's dressing-case--a trunk, the giftof a fond mother, without which the young fellow never traveled. Itcontained a prodigious apparatus in plate; a silver dish, a silver mug,silver boxes and bottles for all sorts of essences, and a choice ofrazors ready against the time when Mr. Foker's beard should come.
"Do it some other day," said the young fellow, yawning and throwing uphis little lean arms over his head. "No, there was no fight; but therewas chanting. Bingley chanted, I chanted, the general chanted--CostiganI mean.--Did you ever hear him sing 'The Little Pig under the Bed,'Pen?"
"The man we met yesterday," said Pen, all in a tremor, "the father of--"
"Of the Fotheringay--the very man. Ain't she a Venus, Pen?"
"Please sir, Mr. Costigan's in the sittin-room, sir, and says, sir, youasked him to breakfast, sir. Called five times, sir; but wouldn't wakeyou on no account; and has been year since eleven o'clock, sir--"
"How much is it now?"
"One, sir."
"What would the best of mothers say," cried the little sluggard, "if shesaw me in bed at this hour? She sent me down here with a grinder. Shewants me to cultivate my neglected genus.--He he! I say, Pen, this isn'tquite like seven o'clock school--is it, old boy?"--and the young fellowburst out into a boyish laugh of enjoyment. Then he added--"Go in andtalk to the general whilst I dress. And I say, Pendennis, ask him tosing you 'The Little Pig under the Bed;' it's capital." Pen went off ingreat perturbation, to meet Mr. Costigan, and Mr. Foker commenced histoilet.
Of Mr. Foker's two grandfathers, the one from whom he inherited afortune, was a brewer; the other was an earl, who endowed him with themost doting mother in the world. The Fokers had been at the Cistercianschool, from father to son; at which place, our friend whose name couldbe seen over the play-ground wall, on a public-house sign, under which"Foker's Entire" was painted, had been dreadfully bullied on account ofhis trade, his uncomely countenance, his inaptitude for learning andcleanliness, his gluttony and other weak points. But those who know howa susceptible youth, under the tyranny of his schoolfellows becomessilent and a sneak, may understand how, in a very few months after hisliberation from bondage, he developed himself as he had done; and becamethe humorous, the sarcastic, the brilliant Foker, with whom we have madeacquaintance. A dunce he always was, it is true; for learning can not beacquired by leaving school and entering at college as a fellow commoner;but he was now (in his own peculiar manner) as great a dandy as hebefore had been a slattern, and when he entered his sitting-room to joinhis two guests, arrived scented and arrayed in fine linen, and perfectlysplendid in appearance.
General or Captain Costigan--for the latter was the rank which hepreferred to assume--was seated in the window with the newspaper heldbefore him at arm's length. The captain's eyes were somewhat dim; andhe was spelling the paper with the help of his lips as well as of thoseblood-shot eyes of his, as you see gentlemen do to whom reading is arare and difficult occupation. His hat was cocked very much on one ear;and as one of his feet lay up in the window-seat, the observer of suchmatters might remark, by the size and shabbiness of the boots which thecaptain wore that times did not go very well with him. Poverty seemsas if it were disposed, before it takes possession of a man entirely,to attack his extremities first: the coverings of his head, feet, andhands, are its first prey. All these parts of the captain's person wereparticularly rakish and shabby. As soon as he saw Pen he descended fromthe window-seat and saluted the new comer, first in a military manner,by conveying a couple of his fingers (covered with a broken black glove)to his hat, and then removing that ornament altogether. The captain wasinclined to be bald, but he brought a quantity of lank iron-gray hairover his pate, and had a couple of wisps of the same falling down oneach side of his face. Much whisky had spoiled what complexion Mr.Costigan may have possessed in his youth. His once handsome face had nowa copper tinge. He wore a very high stock, scarred and stained in manyplaces; and a dress-coat tightly buttoned up in those parts where thebuttons had not parted company from the garment.
"The young gentleman to whom I had the honor to be introjuiced yesterdayin the Cathadral Yard," said the captain, with a splendid bow and waveof his hat. "I hope I see you well, sir. I marked ye in the thayaterlast night during me daughter's perfawrumance; and missed ye on myreturn. I did but conduct her home, sir, for Jack Costigan, though poor,is a gentleman; and when I reinter
ed the house to pay me respects to mejoyous young friend Mr. Foker--ye were gone. We had a jolly night ofut, sir--Mr. Foker, the three gallant young dragoons, and your 'umbleservant. Gad, sir, it put me in mind of one of our old nights when Ibore His Majesty's commission in the Foighting Hundtherd and Third."And he pulled out an old snuff-box, which he presented with a statelyair to his new acquaintance.
Arthur was a great deal too much flurried to speak. This shabby-lookingbuck was--was her father. The captain was perfumed with the recollectionsof the last night's cigars, and pulled and twisted the tuft on his chinas jauntily as any young dandy.
"I hope, Miss F----, Miss Costigan is well sir," Pen said, flushing up."She--she gave me greater pleasure, than--than I--I--I ever enjoyed ata play. I think, sir--I think she's the finest actress in the world,"he gasped out.
"Your hand, young man! for ye speak from your heart," cried thecaptain. "Thank ye, sir, an old soldier and a fond father thanks ye.She _is_ the finest actress in the world. I've seen the Siddons, sir,and the O'Nale.--They were great, but what were they compared to MissFotheringay? I do not wish that she should ashume her own name whileon the stage. Me family, sir, are proud people; and the Costigans ofCostiganstown think that an honest man who has borne Her Majesty'scolors in the Hundred and Third, would demean himself, by permittinghis daughter to earn her old father's bread."
"There can not be a more honorable duty, surely," Pen said.
"Honorable! Bedad, sir, I'd like to see the man who said Jack Costiganwould consent to any thing dishonorable. I have a heart, sir, thoughI am poor; I like a man who has a heart. You have; I read it in yourhonest face and steady eye. And would you believe it?" he added, aftera pause, and with a pathetic whisper, "that that Bingley, who has madehis fortune by me child, gives her but two guineas a week, out of whichshe finds herself in dresses, and which, added to me own small meansmakes our all?"
Now the captain's means were so small as to be, it may be said, quiteinvisible. But nobody knows how the wind is tempered to shorn Irishlambs, and in what marvelous places they find pasture. If CaptainCostigan, whom I had the honor to know, would but have told his history,it would have been a great moral story. But he neither would have toldit if he could, nor could if he would; for the captain was not onlyunaccustomed to tell the truth--he was unable even to think it--andfact and fiction reeled together in his muzzy, whiskified brain.
He began life rather brilliantly with a pair of colors, a fine personand legs, and one of the most beautiful voices in the world. To hislatest day he sang, with admirable pathos and humor, those wonderfulIrish ballads which are so mirthful and so melancholy: and was alwaysthe first himself to cry at their pathos. Poor Cos! he was at once braveand maudlin, humorous and an idiot; always good-natured, and sometimesalmost trustworthy. Up to the last day of his life he would drink withany man, and back any man's bill: and his end was in a spunging-house,where the sheriff's officer who took him, was fond of him.
In his brief morning of life, Cos formed the delight of regimentalmesses, and had the honor of singing his songs, bacchanalian andsentimental, at the tables of the most illustrious generals andcommanders-in-chief, in the course of which period he drank threetimes as much claret as was good for him, and spent his doubtfulpatrimony. What became of him subsequently to his retirement from thearmy, is no affair of ours. I take it, no foreigner understands the lifeof an Irish gentleman without money, the way in which he manages to keepafloat--the wind-raising conspiracies, in which he engages with heroesas unfortunate as himself--the means by which he contrives, during mostdays of the week, to get his portion of whisky-and-water: all these aremysteries to us inconceivable: but suffice it to say, that through allthe storms of life Jack had floated somehow, and the lamp of his nosehad never gone out.
Before he and Pen had had a half hour's conversation, the captainmanaged to extract a couple of sovereigns from the young gentleman fortickets for his daughter's benefit, which was to take place speedily,and was not a _bona fide_ transaction such as that of the last year,when poor Miss Fotheringay had lost fifteen shillings by her venture,but was an arrangement with the manager, by which the lady was to havethe sale of a certain number of tickets, keeping for herself a largeportion of the sum for which they were sold.
Pen had but two pounds in his purse, and he handed them over to thecaptain for the tickets; he would have been afraid to offer more, lesthe should offend the latter's delicacy. Costigan scrawled him an orderfor a box, lightly slipped the sovereigns into his waistcoat, andslapped his hand over the place where they lay. They seemed to warm hisold sides.
"Faith, sir," said he, "the bullion's scarcer with me than it used tobe, as is the case with many a good fellow. I won six hundthred of 'emin a single night, sir, when me kind friend, His Royal Highness the Dukeof Kent, was in Gibralther." And he straightway poured out to Pen aseries of stories regarding the claret drunk, the bets made, the racesridden by the garrison there, with which he kept the young gentlemanamused until the arrival of their host and his breakfast.
Then it was good to see the captain's behavior before the deviled turkeyand the mutton-chops! His stories poured forth unceasingly, and hisspirits rose as he chatted to the young men. When he got a bit ofsunshine, the old lazarone basked in it; he prated about his own affairsand past splendor, and all the lords, generals, and lord-lieutenants hehad ever known. He described the death of his darling Bessie, the lateMrs. Costigan, and the challenge he had sent to Captain Shanty Clancy,of the Slashers, for looking rude at Miss Fotheringay as she was on herkyar in the Phaynix; and then he described how the captain apologized,gave a dinner at the Kildare-street, where six of them drank twinty-onebottles of claret, &c. He announced that to sit with two such noble andgenerous young fellows was the happiness and pride of an old soldier'sexistence; and having had a second glass of Curacoa, was so happy thathe began to cry. Altogether we should say that the captain was not a manof much strength of mind, or a very eligible companion for youth; butthere are worse men, holding much better places in life, and moredishonest, who have never committed half so many rogueries as he.They walked out, the captain holding an arm of each of his dear youngfriends, and in a maudlin state of contentment. He winked at one ortwo tradesmen's shops, where, possibly, he owed a bill, as much as tosay--"See the company I am in--sure I'll pay you, my boy"--and theyparted finally with Mr. Foker at a billiard-room, where the latter hada particular engagement with some gentlemen of Colonel Swallowtail'sregiment.
Pen and the shabby captain still walked the streets together; thecaptain, in his sly way, making inquiries about Mr. Foker's fortuneand station in life. Pen told him how Foker's father was a celebratedbrewer, and his mother was Lady Agnes Milton, Lord Rosherville'sdaughter. The captain broke out into a strain of exaggerated complimentand panegyric about Mr. Foker, whose "native aristocracie," he said,"could be seen with the twinkling of an oi--and only served to adawrunother qualities which he possessed--a foin intellect and a generousheart"--in not one word of which speech did the captain accuratelybelieve.
Pen walked on, listening to his companion's prate, wondering, amused,and puzzled. It had not as yet entered into the boy's head to disbelieveany statement that was made to him; and being of a candid naturehimself, he took naturally for truth what other people told him.Costigan had never had a better listener, and was highly flattered bythe attentiveness and modest bearing of the young man.
So much pleased was he with the young gentleman, so artless, honest,and cheerful did Pen seem to be, that the captain finally made him aninvitation, which he very seldom accorded to young men, and asked Pen ifhe would do him the fevor to enter his humble abode, which was near athand, where the captain would have the honor of inthrojuicing his youngfriend to his daughther, Miss Fotheringay?
Pen was so delightfully shocked at this invitation, and was so strickendown by the happiness thus suddenly offered to him, that he thought heshould have dropped from the captain's arm at first, and trembled lestthe other should discover his emotion. He
gasped out a few incoherentwords, indicative of the high gratification he should have in beingpresented to the lady for whose--for whose talents he had conceived suchan admiration--such an extreme admiration, and followed the captain,scarcely knowing whither that gentleman led him. He was going to seeher! He was going to see her! In her was the center of the universe.She was the kernel of the world for Pen. Yesterday, before he knew her,seemed a period ever so long ago--a revolution was between him and thattime, and a new world about to begin.
* * * * *
The captain conducted his young friend to that quiet little street inChatteries, which is called Prior's Lane, which lies in the ecclesiasticalquarter of the town, close by Dean's Green and the canons' houses, andis overlooked by the enormous towers of the cathedral; there the captaindwelt modestly in the first floor of a low gabled house, on the doorof which was the brass-plate of "Creed, Tailor and Robe-maker." Creedwas dead, however. His widow was a pew-opener in the cathedral hardby; his eldest son was a little scamp of a choir-boy, who playedtoss-halfpenny, led his little brothers into mischief, and had a voiceas sweet as an angel. A couple of the latter were sitting on thedoor-step, down which you went into the passage of the house; and theyjumped up with great alacrity to meet their lodger, and plunged wildly,and rather to Pen's surprise, at the swallow-tails of the captain'sdress-coat; for the truth is, that the good-natured gentleman, when hewas in cash, generally brought home an apple or a piece of gingerbreadfor these children--"Whereby the widdy never pressed me for rint whennot convanient," as he remarked afterward to Pen, winking knowingly,and laying a finger on his nose.
Pen tumbled down the step, and as he followed his companion up thecreaking old stair, his knees trembled under him. He could hardly seewhen he entered, following the captain, and stood in the room--in herroom. He saw something black before him, and waving as if making acourtesy, and heard, but quite indistinctly, Costigan making a speechover him, in which the captain, with his usual magniloquence, expressedto "me child" his wish to make her known to "his dear and admirableyoung friend, Mr. Awther Pindinnis, a young gentleman of property in theneighborhood, a person of refoined moind, and emiable manners, a sincarelover of poethry, and a man possest of a feeling and affectionateheart."
"It is very fine weather," Miss Fotheringay said, in an Irish accent,and with a deep, rich, melancholy voice.
"Very," said Mr. Pendennis. In this romantic way their conversationbegan, and he found himself seated on a chair, and having leisure tolook at the young lady.
She looked still handsomer off the stage than before the lamps. All herattitudes were naturally grand and majestical. If she went and stood upagainst the mantle-piece her robe draped itself classically round her;her chin supported itself on her hand, the other lines of her formarranged themselves in full harmonious undulations: she looked like amuse in contemplation. If she sate down on a cane-bottomed chair, herarm rounded itself over the back of the seat, her hand seemed as ifit ought to have a scepter put into it, the folds of her dress fellnaturally round her in order, like ladies of honor round a throne,and she looked like an empress. All her movements were graceful andimperial. In the morning you could see her hair was blue-black, hercomplexion of dazzling fairness, with the faintest possible blushflickering, as it were, in her cheek. Her eyes were gray, withprodigious long lashes; and as for her mouth, Mr. Pendennis has givenme subsequently to understand, that it was of a staring red color, withwhich the most brilliant geranium, sealing-wax, or guardsman's coat,could not vie.
"And very warm," continued this empress and Queen of Sheba.
Mr. Pen again assented, and the conversation rolled on in this manner.She asked Costigan whether he had had a pleasant evening at the George,and he recounted the supper and the tumblers of punch. Then the fatherasked her how she had been employing the morning.
"Bows came," said she, "at ten, and we studied Ophalia. It's for thetwenty-fourth, when I hope, sir, we shall have the honor of seeing ye."
"Indeed, indeed, you will," Mr. Pendennis cried, wondering that sheshould say "Ophalia," and speak with an Irish inflection of voicenaturally, who had not the least Hibernian accent on the stage.
"I've secured 'um for your benefit, dear," said the captain, tapping hiswaistcoat pocket, wherein lay Pen's sovereigns, and winking at Pen withone eye, at which the boy blushed.
"Mr. ---- the gentleman's very obleging," said Mrs. Haller.
"My name is Pendennis," said Pen, blushing. "I--I--hope you'll--you'llremember it." His heart thumped so as he made this audaciousdeclaration, that he almost choked in uttering it.
"Pendennis," she answered slowly, and looking him full in the eyes, witha glance so straight, so clear, so bright, so killing, with a voice sosweet, so round, so low, that the word and the glance shot Pen throughand through, and perfectly transfixed him with pleasure.
"I never knew the name was so pretty before," Pen said.
"'Tis a very pretty name," Ophelia said. "Pentweazle's not a prettyname. Remember, papa, when we were on the Norwich Circuit, YoungPentweazle, who used to play second old men, and married Miss Rancy, theColumbine; they're both engaged in London now, at the Queen's, and getfive pounds a week. Pentweazle wasn't his real name. 'Twas Judkin gaveit him, I don't know why. His name was Harrington; that is, his realname was Potts; fawther a clergyman, very respectable. Harrington was inLondon, and got in debt. Ye remember, he came out in Falkland, to Mrs.Bunce's Julia."
"And a pretty Julia she was," the captain interposed; "a woman of fifty,and a mother of ten children. 'Tis you ought to have been Julia, or myname's not Jack Costigan."
"I didn't take the leading business then," Miss Fotheringay said,modestly; "I wasn't fit for't till Bows taught me."
"True for you, my dear," said the captain: and bending to Pendennis, headded, "Rejuced in circumstances, sir, I was for some time a fencingmaster in Dublin (there's only three men in the empire could touch mewith the foil once, but Jack Costigan's getting old and stiff now, sir);and my daughter had an engagement at the thayater there; and 'twas therethat my friend, Mr. Bows, who saw her capabilities, and is an uncommon'cute man, gave her lessons in the dramatic art, and made her what yesee. What have ye done since Bows went, Emily?"
"Sure, I've made a pie," Emily said, with perfect simplicity. She,pronounced it "poy."
"If ye'll try it at four o'clock, sir, say the word," said Costigan,gallantly. "That girl, sir, makes the best veal and ham pie in England,and I think I can promise ye a glass of punch of the right flavor."
Pen had promised to be at home to dinner at six o'clock, but the rascalthought he could accommodate pleasure and duty in this point, and wasonly too eager to accept this invitation. He looked on with delight andwonder while Ophelia busied herself about the room, and prepared for thedinner. She arranged the glasses, and laid and smoothed the littlecloth, all which duties she performed with a quiet grace and good humor,which enchanted her guest more and more. The "poy" arrived from thebaker's, in the hands of one of the little choir-boy's brothers, at theproper hour: and at four o'clock, Pen found himself at dinner--actuallyat dinner with the greatest tragic actress in the world, and herfather--with the handsomest woman in all creation--with his first andonly love, whom he had adored ever since when?--ever since yesterday,ever since forever. He ate a crust of her making, he poured her out aglass of beer, he saw her drink a glass of punch--just one wine-glassfull--out of the tumbler which she mixed for her papa. She was perfectlygood-natured, and offered to mix one for Pendennis too. It wasprodigiously strong; Pen had never in his life drunk so much spirits andwater. Was it the punch, or the punch-maker who intoxicated him?
During dinner, when the captain, whom his daughter treated mostrespectfully, ceased prattling about himself and his adventures, Pentried to engage the Fotheringay in conversation about poetry and abouther profession. He asked her what she thought of Ophelia's madness, andwhether she was in love with Hamlet or not? "In love with such a littleojous wretch as that stunted ma
nager of a Bingley?" She bristled withindignation at the thought. Pen explained it was not of her he spoke,but of Ophelia of the play. "Oh, indeed; if no offense was meant, nonewas taken; but as for Bingley, indeed, she did not value him--not thatglass of punch." Pen next tried her on Kotzebue. "Kotzebue? who washe?"--"The author of the play in which she had been performing soadmirably." "She did not know that--the man's name at the beginningof the book was Thompson," she said. Pen laughed at her adorablesimplicity. He told her of the melancholy fate of the author of theplay, and how Sand had killed him. It was for the first time in her lifethat Miss Costigan had ever heard of Mr. Kotzebue's existence, but shelooked as if she was very much interested, and her sympathy sufficed forhonest Pen.
And in the midst of this simple conversation, the hour and a quarterwhich poor Pen could afford to allow himself, passed away only tooquickly; and he had taken leave, he was gone, and away on his rapid roadhomeward on the back of Rebecca. She was called upon to show her mettlein the three journeys which she made that day.
"What was that he was talking about, the madness of Hamlet, and thetheory of the great German critic on the subject?" Emily asked of herfather.
"'Deed then I don't know, Milly dear," answered the captain. "We'll askBows when he comes."
"Anyhow, he's a nice, fair-spoken, pretty young man," the lady said:"how many tickets did he take of you?"
"'Fait, then, he took six, and gev me two guineas, Milly," the captainsaid, "I suppose them young chaps is not too flush of coin."
"He's full of book-learning," Miss Fotheringay continued. "Kotzebue! He,he, what a droll name indeed, now; and the poor fellow killed by Sand,too! Did ye ever hear such a thing? I'll ask Bows about it, papa, dear."
"A queer death, sure enough," ejaculated the captain, and changedthe painful theme. "'Tis an elegant mare the young gentleman rides,"Costigan went on to say; "and a grand breakfast, intirely, that youngMister Foker gave us."
"He's good for two private boxes, and at least twenty tickets, I shouldsay," cried the daughter, a prudent lass, who always kept her fine eyeson the main chance.
"I'll go bail of that," answered the papa; and so their conversationcontinued awhile, until the tumbler of punch was finished; and theirhour of departure soon came, too; for at half past six Miss Fotheringaywas to appear at the theater again, whither her father alwaysaccompanied her; and stood, as we have seen, in the side-scene watchingher, and drank spirits-and-water in the green-room with the companythere.
"How beautiful she is," thought Pen, cantering homeward. "How simple andhow tender! How charming it is to see a woman of her commanding geniusbusying herself with the delightful, though humble, offices of domesticlife, cooking dishes to make her old father comfortable, and brewingdrink for him with her delicate fingers! How rude it was of me to beginto talk about professional matters, and how well she turned theconversation! By-the-way, she talked about professional matters herself;but then with what fun and humor she told the story of her comrade,Pentweazle, as he was called! There is no humor like Irish humor. Herfather is rather tedious, but thoroughly amiable; and how fine of him,giving lessons in fencing after he quitted the army, where he was thepet of the Duke of Kent! Fencing! I should like to continue my fencing,or I shall forget what Angelo taught me. Uncle Arthur always liked meto fence--he says it is the exercise of a gentleman. Hang it. I'll takesome lessons of Captain Costigan. Go along, Rebecca--up the hill, oldlady. Pendennis, Pendennis--how she spoke the word! Emily, Emily! howgood, how noble, how beautiful, how perfect, she is!"
Now the reader, who has had the benefit of overhearing the entireconversation which Pen had with Miss Fotheringay, can judge for himselfabout the powers of her mind, and may perhaps be disposed to think thatshe has not said any thing astonishingly humorous or intellectual in thecourse of the above interview. She has married, and taken her positionin the world as a most spotless and irreproachable lady since, and Ihave had the pleasure of making her acquaintance: and must certainlyown, against my friend Pen's opinion, that his adored Emily is not aclever woman. The truth is, she had not only never heard of Kotzebue,but she had never heard of Farquhar, or Congreve, or any dramatist inwhose plays she had not a part: and of these dramas she only knew thatpart which concerned herself. A wag once told her that Dante was bornat Algiers: and asked her--which Dr. Johnson wrote first, "Irene," or"Every Man in his Humor." But she had the best of the joke, for she hadnever heard of Irene, or Every Man in his Humor, or Dante, or perhapsAlgiers. It was all one to her. She acted what little Bows toldher--where he told her to sob, she sobbed--where he told her to laugh,she laughed. She gave the tirade or the repartee without the slightestnotion of its meaning. She went to church and goes every Sunday, with areputation perfectly intact, and was (and is) as guiltless of sense asof any other crime.
But what did our Pen know of these things? He saw a pair of brighteyes, and he believed in them--a beautiful image, and he fell downand worshiped it. He supplied the meaning which her words wanted; andcreated the divinity which he loved. Was Titania the first who fell inlove with an ass, or Pygmalion the only artist who has gone crazy abouta stone? He had found her; he had found what his soul thirsted after. Heflung himself into the stream and drank with all his might. Let thosesay who have been thirsty once how delicious that first draught is. Ashe rode down the avenue toward home, Pen shrieked with laughter, as hesaw the Reverend Mr. Smirke once more coming demurely away from Fairoakson his pony. Smirke had dawdled and staid at the cottages on the way,and then dawdled with Laura over her lessons--and then looked at Mrs.Pendennis's gardens and improvements until he had perfectly bored outthat lady: and he had taken his leave at the very last minute withoutthat invitation to dinner which he fondly expected.
Pen was full of kindness and triumph. "What, picked up and sound?" hecried out, laughing. "Come along back, old fellow, and eat my dinner--Ihave had mine: but we will have a bottle of the old wine and drink herhealth, Smirke."
Poor Smirke turned the pony's head round, and jogged along with Arthur.His mother was charmed to see him in such high spirits, and welcomed Mr.Smirke for his sake, when Arthur said he had forced the curate back todine. He gave a most ludicrous account of the play of the night before,and of the acting of Bingley the Manager, in his ricketty Hessians, andthe enormous Mrs. Bingley as the Countess, in rumpled green satin and aPolish cap: he mimicked them, and delighted his mother and little Laura,who clapped her hands with pleasure.
"And Mrs. Haller?" said Mrs. Pendennis.
"She's a stunner, ma'am," Pen said, laughing, and using the words of hisreverend friend, Mr. Foker.
"A _what_, Arthur?" asked the lady.
"What _is_ a stunner, Arthur?" cried Laura, in the same voice.
So he gave them a queer account of Mr. Foker, and how he used to becalled Vats and Grains, and by other contumelious names at school, andhow he was now exceedingly rich, and a Fellow Commoner at St. Boniface.But gay and communicative as he was, Mr. Pen did not say one syllableabout his ride to Chatteries that day, or about the new friends whom hehad made there.
When the two ladies retired, Pen, with flashing eyes, filled up twogreat bumpers of Madeira, and looking Smirke full in the face said,"Here's to her!"
"Here's to her," said the curate with a sigh, lifting the glass: andemptying it, so that his face was a little pink when he put it down.
Pen had even less sleep that night than on the night before. Inthe morning, and almost before dawn, he went out and saddled thatunfortunate Rebecca himself, and rode her on the Downs like mad.Again Love had roused him--and said, "Awake Pendennis, I am here."That charming fever--that delicious longing--and fire, and uncertainty;he hugged them to him--he would not have lost them for all the world.
A History of Pendennis, Volume 1 Page 7
