CHAPTER XXII.
PRODIGAL'S RETURN.
Such a letter as the major wrote, of course sent Doctor Portman, toFairoaks, and he went off with that alacrity which a good man shows whenhe has disagreeable news to communicate. He wishes the deed were done,and done quickly. He is sorry, but _que voulez-vous?_ the tooth must betaken out, and he has you into the chair, and it is surprising with whatcourage and vigor of wrist he applies the forceps. Perhaps he would notbe quite so active or eager if it were _his_ tooth; but, in fine, it isyour duty to have it out. So the doctor, having read the epistle outto Mira and Mrs. Portman, with many damnatory comments upon the youngscapegrace who was going deeper and deeper into perdition, left thoseladies to spread the news through the Clavering society, which they didwith their accustomed accuracy and dispatch, and strode over to Fairoaksto break the intelligence to the widow.
She had the news already. She had read Pen's letter, and it had relievedher somehow. A gloomy presentiment of evil had been hanging over her formany, many months past. She knew the worst now, and her darling boy wascome back to her repentant and tender-hearted. Did she want more? Allthat the rector could say (and his remarks were both dictated by commonsense, and made respectable by antiquity) could not bring Helen to feelany indignation or particular unhappiness, except that the boy should beunhappy. What was this degree that they made such an outcry about, andwhat good would it do Pen? Why did Doctor Portman and his uncle insistupon sending the boy to a place where there was so much temptation to berisked, and so little good to be won? Why didn't they leave him at homewith his mother? As for his debts, of course they must be paid;--hisdebts!--wasn't his father's money all his, and hadn't he a right tospend it. In this way the widow met the virtuous doctor, and all thearrows of his indignation somehow took no effect upon her gentle bosom.
For some time past, an agreeable practice, known since times everso ancient, by which brothers and sisters are wont to exhibit theiraffection toward one another, and in which Pen and his little sisterLaura had been accustomed to indulge pretty frequently in their childishdays, had been given up by the mutual consent of those two individuals.Coming back from college after an absence from home of some months, inplace of the simple girl whom he had left behind him, Mr. Arthur founda tall, slim, handsome young lady, to whom he could not somehow profferthe kiss which he had been in the habit of administering previously, andwho received him with a gracious courtesy and a proffered hand, and witha great blush which rose up to the cheek, just upon the very spot whichyoung Pen had been used to salute.
I am not good at descriptions of female beauty; and, indeed, do not carefor it in the least (thinking that goodness and virtue are, of course,far more advantageous to a young lady than any mere fleeting charms ofperson and face), and so shall not attempt any particular delineationof Miss Laura Bell at the age of sixteen years. At that age she hadattained her present altitude of five feet four inches, so that she wascalled tall and gawky by some, and a Maypole by others, of her own sex,who prefer littler women. But if she was a Maypole, she had beautifulroses about her head, and it is a fact that many swains were disposedto dance round her. She was ordinarily pale, with a faint rose tingein her cheeks; but they flushed up in a minute when occasion called,and continued so blushing ever so long, the roses remaining after theemotion had passed away which had summoned those pretty flowers intoexistence. Her eyes have been described as very large from her earliestchildhood, and retained that characteristic in later life. Good-naturedcritics (always females) said that she was in the habit of making playwith those eyes, and ogling the gentlemen and ladies in her company; butthe fact is, that nature had made them so to shine and to look, and theycould no more help so looking and shining than one star can help beingbrighter than another. It was doubtless to mitigate their brightnessthat Miss Laura's eyes were provided with two pairs of vails in theshape of the longest and finest black eyelashes, so that, when sheclosed her eyes, the same people who found fault with those orbs, saidthat she wanted to show her eyelashes off; and, indeed, I dare say thatto see her asleep would have been a pretty sight.
As for her complexion, that was nearly as brilliant as Lady Mantrap's,and without the powder which her ladyship uses. Her nose must be left tothe reader's imagination: if her mouth was rather large (as Miss Piminyavers, who, but for her known appetite, one would think could notswallow any thing larger than a button) every body allowed that hersmile was charming, and showed off a set of pearly teeth, while hervoice was so low and sweet, that to hear it was like listening to sweetmusic. Because she is in the habit of wearing very long dresses, peopleof course say that her feet are not small: but it may be, that they areof the size becoming her figure, and it does not follow, because Mrs.Pincher is always putting _her_ foot out, that all other ladies shouldbe perpetually bringing theirs on the tapis. In fine, Miss Laura Bell,at the age of sixteen, was a sweet young lady. Many thousands of suchare to be found, let us hope, in this country, where there is no lack ofgoodness, and modesty, and purity, and beauty.
Now, Miss Laura, since she had learned to think for herself (and in thepast two years her mind and her person had both developed themselvesconsiderably), had only been half pleased with Pen's general conductand bearing. His letters to his mother at home had become of late veryrare and short. It was in vain that the fond widow urged how constantArthur's occupations and studies were, and how many his engagements."It is better that he should lose a prize," Laura said, "than forgethis mother: and indeed, mamma, I don't see that he gets many prizes. Whydoesn't he come home and stay with you, instead of passing his vacationsat his great friends' fine houses? There is nobody there will love himhalf so much as--as you do." "As _I_ do only, Laura," sighed out Mrs.Pendennis. Laura declared stoutly that she did not love Pen a bit, whenhe did not do his duty to his mother: nor would she be convinced byany of Helen's fond arguments, that the boy must make his way in theworld; that his uncle was most desirous that Pen should cultivate theacquaintance of persons who were likely to befriend him in life; thatmen had a thousand ties and calls which women could not understand,and so forth. Perhaps Helen no more believed in these excuses than heradopted daughter did; but she tried to believe that she believed them,and comforted herself with the maternal infatuation. And that is a pointwhereon, I suppose, many a gentleman has reflected, that, do what wewill, we are pretty sure of the woman's love that once has been ours;and that that untiring tenderness and forgiveness never fail us.
Also, there had been that freedom, not to say audacity, in Arthur'slatter talk and ways, which had shocked and displeased Laura. Not thathe ever offended her by rudeness, or addressed to her a word whichshe ought not to hear, for Mr. Pen was a gentleman, and by nature andeducation polite to every woman, high and low; but he spoke lightly andlaxly of women in general; was less courteous in his actions than in hiswords--neglectful in sundry ways, and in many of the little offices oflife. It offended Miss Laura that he should smoke his horrid pipes inthe house; that he should refuse to go to church with his mother, or onwalks or visits with her, and be found yawning over his novel in hisdressing-gown, when the gentle widow returned from those duties. Thehero of Laura's early infancy, about whom she had passed so many, manynights talking with Helen (who recited endless stories of the boy'svirtues, and love, and bravery, when he was away at school), was avery different person from the young man whom now she knew; bold andbrilliant, sarcastic and defiant, seeming to scorn the simple occupationsor pleasures, or even devotions, of the women with whom he lived, andwhom he quitted on such light pretexts.
The Fotheringay affair, too, when Laura came to hear of it (which shedid first by some sarcastic allusions of Major Pendennis, when on avisit to Fairoaks, and then from their neighbors at Clavering, who hadplenty of information to give her on this head), vastly shocked andoutraged Miss Laura. A Pendennis fling himself away on such a woman asthat! Helen's boy galloping away from home, day after day, to fall onhis knees to an actress, and drink with her horrid father! A good sonwant to
bring such a man and such a woman into his house, and set herover his mother! "I would have run away, mamma; I would, if I had hadto walk barefoot through the snow," Laura said.
"And _you_ would have left me too, then?" Helen answered; on which,of course, Laura withdrew her previous observation, and the two womenrushed into each other's embraces, with that warmth which belonged toboth their natures, and which characterizes not a few of their sex.Whence came all this indignation of Miss Laura about Arthur's passion?Perhaps she did not know, that, if men throw themselves away upon women,women throw themselves away upon men, too; and that there is no moreaccounting for love, than for any other physical liking or antipathy:perhaps she had been misinformed by the Clavering people and old Mrs.Portman, who was vastly bitter against Pen, especially since hisimpertinent behavior to the doctor, and since the wretch had smokedcigars in church-time: perhaps, finally, she was jealous: but this isa vice in which, it is said, the ladies very seldom indulge.
Albeit she was angry with Pen; against his mother she had no suchfeeling; but devoted herself to Helen with the utmost force of hergirlish affection--such affection as women, whose hearts are disengaged,are apt to bestow upon the near female friend. It was devotion--it waspassion--it was all sorts of fondness and folly; it was a profusion ofcaresses, tender epithets and endearments, such as it does not becomesober historians with beards to narrate. Do not let us men despise theseinstincts because we can not feel them. These women were made for ourcomfort and delectation, gentlemen--with all the rest of the minoranimals.
But as soon as Miss Laura heard that Pen was unfortunate and unhappy,all her wrath against him straightway vanished, and gave place to themost tender and unreasonable compassion. He was the Pen of old daysonce more restored to her, the frank and affectionate, the generous andtender-hearted. She at once took side with Helen against Doctor Portman,when he outcried at the enormity of Pen's transgressions. Debts? whatwere his debts? they were a trifle; he had been thrown into expensivesociety by his uncle's order, and of course was obliged to live inthe same manner as the young gentlemen whose company he frequented.Disgraced by not getting his degree? the poor boy was ill when he wentin for the examinations; he couldn't think of his mathematics and stuffon account of those very debts which oppressed him; very likely some ofthe odious tutors and masters were jealous of him, and had favoritesof their own whom they wanted to put over his head. _Other_ peopledisliked him, and were cruel to him, and were unfair to him, she wasvery sure. And so, with flushing cheeks and eyes bright with anger, thisyoung creature reasoned; and she went up and seized Helen's hand, andkissed her in the doctor's presence, and her looks braved the doctor,and seemed to ask how he dared to say a word against her darlingmother's Pen?
When that divine took his leave, not a little discomfited and amazed atthe pertinacious obstinacy of the women, Laura repeated her embracesand arguments with tenfold fervor to Helen, who felt that there was agreat deal of cogency in most of the latter. There must be some jealousyagainst Pen. She felt quite sure that he had offended some of theexaminers, who had taken a mean revenge of him--nothing more likely.Altogether, the announcement of the misfortune vexed these two ladiesvery little indeed. Pen, who was plunged in his shame and grief inLondon, and torn with great remorse, for thinking of his mother'ssorrow, would have wondered, had he seen how easily she bore thecalamity. Indeed, calamity is welcome to women if they think it willbring truant affection home again: and if you have reduced your mistressto a crust, depend upon it that she won't repine, and only take a verylittle bit of it for herself, provided you will eat the remainder in hercompany.
And directly the doctor was gone, Laura ordered fires to be lightedin Mr. Arthur's rooms, and his bedding to be aired; and had thesepreparations completed by the time Helen had finished a most tender andaffectionate letter to Pen: when the girl, smiling fondly, took hermamma by the hand, and led her into those apartments where the fireswere blazing so cheerfully, and there the two kind creatures sate downon the bed, and talked about Pen ever so long. Laura added a postscriptto Helen's letter, in which she called him her dearest Pen, and bade himcome home _instantly_, with two of the handsomest dashes under the word,and be happy with his mother and his affectionate sister Laura.
In the middle of the night--as these two ladies, after reading theirBibles a great deal during the evening, and after taking just a lookinto Pen's room as they passed to their own--in the middle of the night,I say, Laura, whose head not unfrequently chose to occupy that pillowwhich the nightcap of the late Pendennis had been accustomed to press,cried out, suddenly, "Mamma, are you awake?"
Helen stirred and said, "Yes, I'm awake." The truth is, though she hadbeen lying quite still and silent, she had not been asleep one instant,but had been looking at the night-lamp in the chimney, and had beenthinking of Pen for hours and hours.
Then Miss Laura (who had been acting with similar hypocrisy, and lying,occupied with her own thoughts, as motionless as Helen's brooch, withPen's and Laura's hair in it, on the frilled white pincushion on thedressing-table) began to tell Mrs. Pendennis of a notable plan whichshe had been forming in her busy little brains; and by which all Pen'sembarrassments would be made to vanish in a moment, and without theleast trouble to any body.
"You know, mamma," this young lady said, "that I have been living withyou for ten years, during which time you have never taken any of mymoney, and have been treating me just as if I was a charity girl. Now,this obligation has offended me very much, because I am proud, and donot like to be beholden to people. And as, if I had gone to school--onlyI wouldn't--it must have cost me at least fifty pounds a year, it isclear that I owe you fifty times ten pounds, which I know you have putinto the bank at Chatteries for me, and which doesn't belong to me abit. Now, to-morrow we will go to Chatteries, and see that nice old Mr.Rowdy, with the bald head and ask him for it--not for his head, but forthe five hundred pounds: and I dare say he will send you two more, whichwe will save and pay back; and we will send the money to Pen, who canpay all his debts without hurting any body, and then we will live happyever after."
What Helen replied to this speech need not be repeated, as the widow'sanswer was made up of a great number of incoherent ejaculations,embraces, and other irrelative matter. But the two women slept wellafter that talk; and when the night-lamp went out with a splutter, andthe sun rose gloriously over the purple hills, and the birds beganto sing and pipe cheerfully amidst the leafless trees and glisteningevergreens on Fairoaks lawn, Helen woke too, and, as she looked at thesweet face of the girl, sleeping beside her, her lips parted with asmile, blushes on her cheeks, her spotless bosom heaving and fallingwith gentle undulations, as if happy dreams were sweeping over it--Pen'smother felt happy and grateful beyond all power of words, save such aspious women offer up to the Beneficent Dispenser of love and mercy--inwhose honor a chorus of such praises is constantly rising up all roundthe world.
Although it was January, and rather cold weather, so sincere was Mr.Pen's remorse, and so determined his plans of economy, that he would nottake an inside place in the coach, but sate up behind with his friendthe guard, who remembered his former liberality, and lent him plenty ofgreat coats. Perhaps it was the cold that made his knees tremble as hegot down at the lodge gate, or it may be that he was agitated at thenotion of seeing the kind creature for whose love he had made so selfisha return. Old John was in waiting to receive his master's baggage, buthe appeared in a fustian jacket, and no longer wore his livery of draband blue. "I'se garner and stable man, and lives in the ladge now," thisworthy man remarked, with a grin of welcome to Pen, and something ofa blush; but instantly as Pen turned the corner of the shrubbery andwas out of eye-shot of the coach, Helen made her appearance, her facebeaming with love and forgiveness--for forgiving is what some women lovebest of all.
We may be sure that the widow, having a certain other object in view,had lost no time in writing off to Pen an account of the noble, themagnanimous, the magnificent offer of Laura, filling up her letter witha profus
ion of benedictions upon both her children. It was probably theknowledge of this money-obligation which caused Pen to blush very muchwhen he saw Laura, who was in waiting in the hall, and who this time,and for this time only, broke through the little arrangement of which wehave spoken, as having subsisted between her and Arthur for the last fewyears; but the truth is, there has been a great deal too much said aboutkissing in the present chapter.
* * * * *
So the prodigal came home, and the fatted calf was killed for him, andhe was made as happy as two simple women could make him. No allusionswere made to the Oxbridge mishap, or questions asked as to his fartherproceedings, for some time. But Pen debated these anxiously in his ownmind and up in his own room, where he passed much time in cogitation.
A few days after he came home, he rode to Chatteries on his horse, andcame back on the top of the coach. He then informed his mother that hehad left the horse to be sold; and when that operation was effected, hehanded her over the check, which she, and possibly Pen himself, thoughtwas an act of uncommon virtue and self-denial, but which Laurapronounced to be only strict justice.
He had rarely mentioned the loan which she had made, and which, indeed,had been accepted by the widow with certain modifications; but once ortwice, and with great hesitation and stammering, he alluded to it, andthanked her; but it evidently pained his vanity to be beholden to theorphan for succor. He was wild to find some means of repaying her.
He left off drinking wine, and betook himself, but with greatmoderation, to the refreshment of whisky-and-water. He gave up cigarsmoking; but it must be confessed that of late years he had liked pipesand tobacco as well or even better, so that this sacrifice was not avery severe one.
He fell asleep a great deal after dinner, when he joined the ladiesin the drawing-room, and was certainly very moody and melancholy. Hewatched the coaches with great interest, walked in to read the papers atClavering assiduously, dined with any body who would ask him (and thewidow was glad that he should have any entertainment in their solitaryplace), and played a good deal at cribbage with Captain Glanders.
He avoided Dr. Portman, who, in his turn, whenever Pen passed, gave himvery severe looks from under his shovel-hat. He went to church with hismother, however, very regularly, and read prayers for her at home to thelittle household. Always humble, it was greatly diminished now: a coupleof maids did the work of the house of Fairoaks; the silver dish-coversnever saw the light at all. John put on his livery to go to church, andassert his dignity on Sundays, but it was only for form's sake. He wasgardener and out-door man, vice Upton resigned. There was but littlefire in Fairoaks kitchen, and John and the maids drank their eveningbeer there by the light of a single candle. All this was Mr. Pen's doing,and the state of things did not increase his cheerfulness.
For some time Pen said no power on earth could induce him to go backto Oxbridge again after his failure there; but one day, Laura said tohim with many blushes, that she thought as some sort of reparation, ofpunishment on himself for his--for his idleness, he ought to go back andget his degree, if he could fetch it by doing so; and so back Mr. Penwent.
A plucked man is a dismal being in a University; belonging to no setof men there, and owned by no one. Pen felt himself plucked indeed ofall the fine feathers which he had won during his brilliant years, andrarely appeared out of his college; regularly going to morning chapel,and shutting himself up in his rooms of nights, away from the noise andsuppers of the undergraduates. There were no duns about his door, theywere all paid--scarcely any cards were left there. The men of hisyear had taken their degrees, and were gone. He went into a secondexamination, and passed with perfect ease. He was somewhat more easyin his mind when he appeared in his bachelor's gown.
On his way back from Oxbridge he paid a visit to his uncle in London;but the old gentleman received him with very cold looks, and wouldscarcely give him his fore-finger to shake. He called a second time,but Morgan, the valet, said his master was from home.
Pen came back to Fairoaks, and to his books and to his idleness, andloneliness and despair. He commenced several tragedies, and wrote manycopies of verses of a gloomy cast. He formed plans of reading, and brokethem. He thought about enlisting--about the Spanish legion--about aprofession. He chafed against his captivity, and cursed the idlenesswhich had caused it. Helen said he was breaking his heart, and was sadto see his prostration. As soon as they could afford it, he should goabroad--he should go to London--he should be freed from the dull societyof two poor women. It _was_ dull--very, certainly. The tender widow'shabitual melancholy seemed to deepen into a sadder gloom; and Laura sawwith alarm that the dear friend became every year more languid andweary, and that her pale cheek grew more wan.
A History of Pendennis, Volume 1 Page 24
