CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE PALL-MALL GAZETTE.
Considerable success at first attended the new journal. It was generallystated, that an influential political party supported the paper; andgreat names were cited among the contributors to its columns. Was thereany foundation for these rumors? We are not at liberty to say whetherthey were well or ill-founded; but this much we may divulge, that anarticle upon foreign policy, which was generally attributed to a noblelord, whose connection with the Foreign Office is very well known, wasin reality composed by Captain Shandon, in the parlor of the Bear andStaff public-house near Whitehall Stairs, whither the printer's boyhad tracked him, and where a literary ally of his, Mr. Bludyer, had atemporary residence; and that a series of papers on finance questions,which were universally supposed to be written by a great statesman ofthe House of Commons, were in reality composed by Mr. George Warringtonof the Upper Temple.
That there may have been some dealings between the "Pall-Mall Gazette"and this influential party, is very possible. Percy Popjoy (whosefather, Lord Falconet, was a member of the party) might be seen notunfrequently ascending the stairs to Warrington's chambers; and someinformation appeared in the paper which gave it a character, and couldonly be got from very peculiar sources. Several poems, feeble inthought, but loud and vigorous in expression, appeared in the "Pall-MallGazette," with the signature of "P. P.," and it must be owned that hisnovel was praised in the new journal in a very outrageous manner.
In the political department of the paper Mr. Pen did not take any share;but he was a most active literary contributor. The "Pall-Mall Gazette"had its offices, as we have heard, in Catherine-street, in the Strand,and hither Pen often came with his manuscripts in his pocket, and witha great deal of bustle and pleasure; such as a man feels at the outsetof his literary career, when to see himself in print is still a novelsensation, and he yet pleases himself to think that his writings arecreating some noise in the world.
Here it was that Mr. Jack Finucane, the sub-editor, compiled with pasteand scissors the Journal of which he was supervisor. With an eagle eyehe scanned all the paragraphs of all the newspapers which had any thingto do with the world of fashion over which he presided. He didn't let adeath or a dinner-party of the aristocracy pass without having the eventrecorded in the columns of his Journal: and from the most reconditeprovincial prints, and distant Scotch and Irish newspapers, he fishedout astonishing paragraphs and intelligence regarding the upper classesof society. It was a grand, nay, a touching sight, for a philosopher, tosee Jack Finucane, Esquire, with a plate of meat from the cookshop, anda glass of porter from the public-house, for his meal, recounting thefeasts of the great, as if he had been present at them; and in tatteredtrowsers and dingy shirt sleeves, cheerfully describing and arrangingthe most brilliant _fetes_ of the world of fashion. The incongruityof Finucane's avocation, and his manners and appearance, amused hisnew friend Pen. Since he left his own native village, where his rankprobably was not very lofty, Jack had seldom seen any society but suchas used the parlor of the taverns which he frequented, whereas from hiswriting you would have supposed that he dined with embassadors, and thathis common lounge was the bow-window of White's. Errors of description,it is true, occasionally slipped from his pen; but the "BallinafadSentinel," of which he was own correspondent, suffered by these, not the"Pall-Mall Gazette," in which Jack was not permitted to write much, hisLondon chiefs thinking that the scissors and the paste were betterwielded by him than the pen.
Pen took a great deal of pains with the writing of his reviews, andhaving a pretty fair share of desultory reading, acquired in the earlyyears of his life, an eager fancy and a keen sense of fun, his articlespleased his chief and the public, and he was proud to think that hedeserved the money which he earned. We may be sure that the "Pall-MallGazette" was taken in regularly at Fairoaks, and read with delight bythe two ladies there. It was received at Clavering Park, too, where weknow there was a young lady of great literary tastes; and old DoctorPortman himself, to whom the widow sent her paper after she had got herson's articles by heart, signified his approval of Pen's productions,saying that the lad had spirit, taste, and fancy, and wrote, if not likea scholar, at any rate like a gentleman.
And what was the astonishment and delight of our friend Major Pendennis,on walking into one of his clubs, the Regent, where Wenham, LordFalconet, and some other gentlemen of good reputation and fashion wereassembled, to hear them one day talking over a number of the "Pall-MallGazette," and of an article which appeared in its columns, making somebitter fun of a book recently published by the wife of a celebratedmember of the opposition party. The book in question was a Book ofTravels in Spain and Italy, by the Countess of Muffborough, in which itwas difficult to say which was the most wonderful, the French or theEnglish, in which languages her ladyship wrote indifferently, and uponthe blunders of which the critic pounced with delighted mischief. Thecritic was no other than Pen: he jumped and danced round about hissubject with the greatest jocularity and high spirits: he showed up thenoble lady's faults with admirable mock gravity and decorum. There wasnot a word in the article which was not polite and gentlemanlike; andthe unfortunate subject of the criticism was scarified and laughed atduring the operation. Wenham's bilious countenance was puckered up withmalign pleasure as he read the critique. Lady Muffborough had not askedhim to her parties during the last year. Lord Falconet giggled andlaughed with all his heart; Lord Muffborough and he had been rivals eversince they began life; and these complimented Major Pendennis, who untilnow had scarcely paid any attention to some hints which his Fairoakscorrespondence threw out of "dear Arthur's constant and severe literaryoccupations, which I fear may undermine the poor boy's health," and hadthought any notice of Mr. Pen and his newspaper connections quite belowhis dignity as a major and a gentleman.
But when the oracular Wenham praised the boy's production; when LordFalconet, who had had the news from Percy Popjoy, approved of the geniusof young Pen; when the great Lord Steyne himself, to whom the majorreferred the article, laughed and sniggered over it, swore it wascapital, and that the Muffborough would writhe under it, like a whaleunder a harpoon, the major, as in duty bound, began to admire his nephewvery much, said, "By gad, the young rascal had some stuff in him, andwould do something; he had always said he would do something;" and witha hand quite tremulous with pleasure, the old gentleman sate down towrite to the widow at Fairoaks all that the great folks had said inpraise of Pen; and he wrote to the young rascal, too, asking when hewould come and eat a chop with his old uncle, and saying that he wascommissioned to take him to dinner at Gaunt House, for Lord Steyne likedany body who could entertain him, whether by his folly, wit, or byhis dullness, by his oddity, affectation, good spirits, or any otherquality. Pen flung his letter across the table to Warrington: perhaps hewas disappointed that the other did not seem to be much affected by it.
The courage of young critics is prodigious: they clamber up to thejudgment-seat, and, with scarce a hesitation, give their opinionupon works the most intricate or profound. Had Macaulay's History orHerschel's Astronomy been put before Pen at this period, he would havelooked through the volumes, meditated his opinion over a cigar, andsignified his august approval of either author, as if the critic hadbeen their born superior and indulgent master and patron. By the helpof the Biographie Universelle or the British Museum, he would be ableto take a rapid _resume_ of a historical period, and allude to names,dates, and facts, in such a masterly, easy way, as to astonish hismamma at home, who wondered where her boy could have acquired such aprodigious store of reading; and himself, too, when he came to read overhis articles two or three months after they had been composed, and whenhe had forgotten the subject and the books which he had consulted. Atthat period of his life Mr. Pen owns, that he would not have hesitated,at twenty-four hours' notice, to pass an opinion upon the greatestscholars, or to give a judgment upon the Encyclopaedia. Luckily he hadWarrington to laugh at him and to keep down his impertinence by aconstant and wholesome ri
dicule, or he might have become conceitedbeyond all sufferance; for Shandon liked the dash and flippancy of hisyoung _aid-de-camp_, and was, indeed, better pleased with Pen's lightand brilliant flashes, than with the heavier metal which his eldercoadjutor brought to bear.
But though he might justly be blamed on the score of impertinence and acertain prematurity of judgment, Mr. Pen was a perfectly honest critic;a great deal too candid for Mr. Bungay's purposes, indeed, who grumbledsadly at his impartiality. Pen and his chief, the captain, had a disputeupon this subject one day. "In the name of common sense, Mr. Pendennis,"Shandon asked, "what have you been doing--praising one of Mr. Bacon'sbooks? Bungay has been with me in a fury this morning, at seeing alaudatory article upon one of the works of the odious firm over theway."
Pen's eyes opened with wide astonishment. "Do you mean to say," heasked, "that we are to praise no books that Bacon publishes: or that,if the books are good, we are to say they are bad?"
"My good young friend--for what do you suppose a benevolent publisherundertakes a critical journal, to benefit his rival?" Shandon inquired.
"To benefit himself certainly, but to tell the truth too," Pensaid--"_ruat caelum_, to tell the truth."
"And my prospectus," said Shandon, with a laugh and a sneer; "do youconsider that was a work of mathematical accuracy of statement?"
"Pardon me, that is not the question," Pen said; "and I don't think youvery much care to argue it. I had some qualms of conscience about thatsame prospectus, and debated the matter with my friend Warrington. Weagreed, however," Pen said, laughing, "that because the prospectus wasrather declamatory and poetical, and the giant was painted upon theshow-board rather larger than the original, who was inside the caravan;we need not be too scrupulous about this trifling inaccuracy, but mightdo our part of the show, without loss of character or remorse ofconscience. We are the fiddlers, and play our tunes only; you are theshowman."
"And leader of the van," said Shandon. "Well I am glad that yourconscience gave you leave to play for us."
"Yes, but," said Pen, with a fine sense of the dignity of his position,"we are all party men in England, and I will stick to my party like aBriton. I will be as good-natured as you like to our own side; he is afool who quarrels with his own nest; and I will hit the enemy as hard asyou like--but with fair play, captain, if you please. One can't tell allthe truth, I suppose; but one can tell nothing but the truth; and Iwould rather starve, by Jove, and never earn another penny by my pen"(this redoubted instrument had now been in use for some six weeks,and Pen spoke of it with vast enthusiasm and respect) "than strike anopponent an unfair blow, or, if called upon to place him, rank him belowhis honest desert."
"Well, Mr. Pendennis, when we want Bacon smashed, we must get some otherhammer to do it," Shandon said with fatal good-nature; and very likelythought within himself, "A few years hence perhaps the young gentlemanwon't be so squeamish." The veteran Condottiere himself was no longer soscrupulous. He had fought and killed on so many a side for many a yearpast, that remorse had long left him. "Gad," said he, "you've a tenderconscience, Mr. Pendennis. It's the luxury of all novices, and I mayhave had one once myself; but that sort of bloom wears off with therubbing of the world, and I'm not going to the trouble myself of puttingon an artificial complexion, like our pious friend Wenham, or our modelof virtue, Wagg."
"I don't know whether some people's hypocrisy is not better, captain,than others' cynicism."
"It's more profitable, at any rate," said the captain, biting hisnails. "That Wenham is as dull a quack as ever quacked: and you seethe carriage in which he drove to dinner. 'Faith, it'll be a long timebefore Mrs. Shandon will take a drive in her own chariot. God helpher, poor thing!" And Pen went away from his chief, after their littledispute and colloquy, pointing his own moral to the captain's tale,and thinking to himself, "Behold this man, stored with genius, wit,learning, and a hundred good natural gifts: see how he has wrecked them,by paltering with his honesty, and forgetting to respect himself. Wiltthou remember thyself, O Pen? thou art conceited enough. Wilt thousell thy honor for a bottle? No, by heaven's grace, we will be honest,whatever befalls, and our mouths shall only speak the truth when theyopen."
A punishment, or, at least, a trial, was in store for Mr. Pen. In thevery next Number of the "Pall-Mall Gazette," Warrington read out, withroars of laughter, an article which by no means amused Arthur Pendennis,who was himself at work with a criticism for the next week's number ofthe same journal; and in which the Spring Annual was ferociouslymaltreated by some unknown writer. The person of all most cruelly mauledwas Pen himself. His verses had not appeared with his own name in theSpring Annual, but under an assumed signature. As he had refused toreview the book, Shandon had handed it over to Mr. Bludyer, withdirections to that author to dispose of it. And he had done soeffectually. Mr. Bludyer, who was a man of very considerable talent, andof a race which, I believe, is quite extinct in the press of our time,had a certain notoriety in his profession, and reputation for savagehumor. He smashed and trampled down the poor spring flowers with no moremercy than a bull would have on a parterre; and having cut up the volumeto his heart's content, went and sold it at a book-stall, and purchased apint of brandy with the proceeds of the volume.
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