Books: The History of Pendennis

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When the grand company began to fill the house at Clavering Park, the
Chevalier Strong, who, as his patron said, was never in the way or out of
it, seldom intruded himself upon its society, but went elsewhere to seek
his relaxation. "I've seen plenty of grand dinners in my time," he said,
"and dined, by Jove, in a company where there was a king and royal duke
at top and bottom, and every man along the table had six stars on his
coat; but dammy, Glanders, this finery don't suit me; and the English
ladies with their confounded buckram airs, and the squires with their
politics after dinner, send me to sleep--sink me dead if they don't. I
like a place where I can blow my cigar when the cloth is removed, and
when I'm thirsty, have my beer in its native pewter." So on a gala-day at
Clavering Park, the Chevalier would content himself with superintending
the arrangements of the table, and drilling the major-domo and servants;
and having looked over the bill-of-fare with Monsieur Mirobolant, would
not care to take the least part in the banquet. "Send me up a cutlet and
a bottle of claret to my room," this philosopher would say, and from the
windows of that apartment, which commanded the terrace and avenue, he
would survey the company as they arrived in their carriages, or take a
peep at the ladies in the hall through an oeil-de-boeuf which commanded
it from his corridor. And the guests being seated, Strong would cross the
park to Captain Glanders's cottage at Clavering, or to pay the landlady a
visit at the Clavering Arms, or to drop in upon Madame Fribsby over her
novel and tea. Wherever the Chevalier went he was welcome, and whenever
he came away a smell of hot brandy-and-water lingered behind him.

The Butcher Boy--not the worst horse in Sir Francis's stable--was
appropriated to Captain Strong's express use; and the old Campaigner
saddled him or brought him home at all hours of the day or night, and
drove or rode him up and down the country. Where there was a public-house
with a good tap of beer--where there was a tenant with a pretty daughter
who played on the piano--to Chatteris, to the play, or the barracks--to
Baymouth, if any fun was on foot there; to the rural fairs or races, the
Chevalier and his brown horse made their way continually; and this worthy
gentleman lived at free quarters in a friendly country. The Butcher Boy
soon took Pen and the Chevalier to Baymouth. The latter was as familiar
with the hotel and landlord there as with every other inn round about;
and having been accommodated with a bedroom to dress, they entered the
ballroom. The Chevalier was splendid. He wore three little gold crosses
in a brochette on the portly breast of his blue coat, and looked like a
foreign field-marshal.

The ball was public and all sorts of persons were admitted and encouraged
to come, young Pynsent having views upon the county and Lady Rockminster
being patroness of the ball. There was a quadrille for the aristocracy at
one end, and select benches for the people of fashion. Towards this end
the Chevalier did not care to penetrate far (as he said he did not care
for the nobs); but in the other part of the room he knew everybody--the
wine-merchants', innkeepers', tradesmen's, solicitors', squire-farmers'
daughters, their sires and brothers, and plunged about shaking hands.

"Who is that man with the blue ribbon and the three-pointed star?" asked
Pen. A gentleman in black with ringlets and a tuft stood gazing fiercely
about him, with one hand in the arm-hole of his waistcoat and the other
holding his claque.

"By Jupiter, it's Mirobolant!" cried Strong, bursting out laughing. "Bon
jour, Chef!--Bon jour, Chevalier!"

"De la croix de Juillet, Chevalier!" said the Chef, laying his hand on
his decoration.

"By Jove, here's some more ribbon!" said Pen, amused.

A man with very black hair and whiskers, dyed evidently with the purple
of Tyre, with twinkling eyes and white eyelashes, and a thousand wrinkles
in his face, which was of a strange red colour, with two under-vests, and
large gloves and hands, and a profusion of diamonds and jewels in his
waistcoat and stock, with coarse feet crumpled into immense shiny boots,
and a piece of parti-coloured ribbon in his button-hole, here came up and
nodded familiarly to the Chevalier.

The Chevalier shook hands. "My friend Mr. Pendennis," Strong said.
"Colonel Altamont, of the bodyguard of his Highness the Nawaub of
Lucknow." That officer bowed to the salute of Pen; who was now looking
out eagerly to see if the person wanted had entered the room.

Not yet. But the band began presently performing 'See the Conquering Hero
comes,' and a host of fashionables--Dowager Countess of Rockminster, Mr.
Pynsent and Miss Bell, Sir Francis Clavering, Bart., of Clavering Park,
Lady Clavering and Miss Amory, Sir Horace Fogey, Bart., Lady Fogey,
Colonel and Mrs. Higgs Wagg, Esq. (as the county paper afterwards
described them), entered the room.

Pen rushed by Blanche, ran up to Laura, and seized her hand. "God bless
you!" he said, "I want to speak to you--I must speak to you--Let me dance
with you." "Not for three dances, dear Pen," she said, smiling: and he
fell back, biting his nails with vexation, and forgetting to salute
Pynsent.

After Lady Rockminster's party, Lady Clavering's followed in the
procession.

Colonel Altamont eyed it hard, holding a most musky pocket-handkerchief
up to his face, and bursting with laughter behind it.

"Who's the gal in green along with 'em, Cap'n?" he asked of Strong.

"That's Miss Amory, Lady Clavering's daughter," replied the Chevalier.

The Colonel could hardly contain himself for laughing.

CHAPTER XXVII

Contains some Ball-practising

Under some calico draperies in the shady embrasure of a window, Arthur
Pendennis chose to assume a very gloomy and frowning countenance, and to
watch Miss Bell dance her first quadrille with Mr. Pynsent for a partner.
That gentleman was as solemn and severe as Englishmen are upon such
occasions, and walked through the dance as he would have walked up to his
pew in church, without a smile upon his face, or allowing any outward
circumstance to interfere with his attention to the grave duty in which
he was engaged. But Miss Laura's face was beaming with pleasure and
good-nature. The lights and the crowd and music excited her. As she
spread out her white robes, and performed her part of the dance, smiling
and happy, her brown ringlets flowing back over her fair shoulders from
her honest rosy face, more than one gentleman in the room admired and
looked after her; and Lady Fogey, who had a house in London and gave
herself no small airs of fashion when in the country, asked of Lady
Rockminster who the young person was, mentioned a reigning beauty in
London whom, in her ladyship's opinion, Laura was rather like, and
pronounced that she would "do."

Lady Rockminster would have been very much surprised if any protegee of
hers would not "do," and wondered at Lady Fogey's impudence in judging
upon the point at all. She surveyed Laura with majestic glances through
her eyeglass. She was pleased with the girl's artless looks, and gay
innocent manner. Her manner is very good, her ladyship thought. Her arms
are rather red, but that is a defect of her youth. Her tone is far better
than that of the little pert Miss Amory, who is dancing opposite to her.

Miss Blanche was, indeed, the vis-a-vis of Miss Laura, and smiled most
killingly upon her dearest friend, and nodded to her and talked to her,
when they met during the quadrille evolutions, and patronised her a great
deal. Her shoulders were the whitest in the whole room: and they were
never easy in her frock for one single instant: nor were her eyes, which
rolled about incessantly: nor was her little figure:--it seemed to say to
all the people, "Come and look at me--not at that pink, healthy, bouncing
country lass, Miss Bell, who scarcely knew how to dance till I taught
her. This is the true Parisian manner--this is the prettiest little foot
in the room, and the prettiest little chaussure too. Look at it, Mr.
Pynsent. Look at it, Mr. Pendennis, you who are scowling behind the
curtain--I know you are longing to dance with me."

Laura went on dancing, and keeping an attentive eye upon Mr. Pen in the
embrasure of the window. He did not quit that retirement during the first
quadrille, nor until the second, when the good-natured Lady Clavering
beckoned to him to come up to her to the dais or place of honour where
the dowagers were,--and whither Pen went blushing and exceedingly
awkward, as most conceited young fellows are. He performed a haughty
salutation to Lady Rockminster, who hardly acknowledged his bow, and then
went and paid his respects to the widow of the late Amory, who was
splendid in diamonds, velvet, lace, feathers, and all sorts of millinery
and goldsmith's ware.

Young Mr. Fogey, then in the fifth form at Eton, and ardently expecting
his beard and his commission in a dragoon regiment, was the second
partner who was honoured with Miss Bell's hand. He was rapt in admiration
of that young lady. He thought he had never seen so charming a creature.
"I like you much better than the French girl" (for this young gentleman
had been dancing with Miss Amory before), he candidly said to her. Laura
laughed, and looked more good-humoured than ever; and in the midst of her
laughter caught a sight of Pen, and continued to laugh as he, on his
side, continued to look absurdly pompous and sulky. The next dance was a
waltz, and young Fogey thought, with a sigh, that he did not know how to
waltz, and vowed he would have a master the next holidays.

Mr. Pynsent again claimed Miss Bell's hand for this dance; and Pen beheld
her, in a fury, twirling round the room, her waist encircled by the arm
of that gentleman. He never used to be angry before when, on summer
evenings, the chairs and tables being removed, and the governess called
downstairs to play the piano, he and the Chevalier Strong (who was a
splendid performer, and could dance a British hornpipe, a German waltz,
or a Spanish fandango, if need were), and the two young ladies, Blanche
and Laura, improvised little balls at Clavering Park. Laura enjoyed this
dancing so much, and was so animated, that she even animated Mr. Pynsent.
Blanche, who could dance beautifully, had an unlucky partner, Captain
Broadfoot, of the Dragoons, then stationed at Chatteris. For Captain
Broadfoot, though devoting himself with great energy to the object in
view, could not get round in time: and, not having the least ear for
music, was unaware that his movements were too slow.

So, in the waltz as in the quadrille, Miss Blanche saw that her dear
friend Laura had the honours of the dance, and was by no means pleased
with the latter's success. After a couple of turns with the heavy
dragoon, she pleaded fatigue, and requested to be led back to her place,
near her mamma, to whom Pen was talking; and she asked him why he had not
asked her to waltz, and had left her for the mercies of that great odious
man in spurs and a red coat?

"I thought spurs and scarlet were the most fascinating objects in the
world to young ladies," Pen answered. "I never should have dared to put
my black coat in competition with that splendid red jacket."

"You are very unkind and cruel and sulky and naughty," said Miss Amory,
with another shrug of the shoulders. "You had better go away. Your cousin
is looking at us over Mr. Pynsent's shoulder."

"Will you waltz with me?" said Pen.

"Not this waltz. I can't, having just sent away that good Captain
Broadfoot. Look at Mr. Pynsent, did you ever see such a creature? But I
will dance the next waltz with you, and the quadrille too. I am promised,
but I will tell Mr. Poole that I had forgotten my engagement to you."

"Women forget very readily," Pendennis said.

"But they always come back, and are very repentant and sorry for what
they've done," Blanche said. "See, here comes the Foker, and dear Laura
leaning on him. How pretty she looks!"

Laura came up, and put out her hand to Pen, to whom Pynsent made a sort
of bow, appearing to be not much more graceful than that domestic
instrument to which Miss Amory compared him.

But Laura's face was full of kindness. "I am so glad to have come, dear
Pen," she said. "I can speak to you now. How is mamma? The three dances
are over, and I am engaged to you for the next, Pen."

"I have just engaged myself to Miss Amory," said Pen; and Miss Amory
nodded her head, and made her usual little curtsey. "I don't intend to
give him up, dearest Laura," she said.

"Well, then, he'll waltz with me, dear Blanche," said the other. "Won't
you, Pen?"

"I promised to waltz with Miss Amory."

"Provoking!" said Laura, and making a curtsey in her turn she went and
placed herself under the ample wing of Lady Rockminster.

Pen was delighted with his mischief. The two prettiest girls in the room
were quarrelling about him. He flattered himself he had punished Miss
Laura. He leaned in a dandified air, with his elbow over the wall, and
talked to Blanche: he quizzed unmercifully all the men in the room--the
heavy dragoons in their tight jackets--the country dandies in their queer
attire--the strange toilettes of the ladies. One seemed to have a bird's
nest in her head; another had six pounds of grapes in her hair, besides
her false pearls. "It's a coiffure of almonds and raisins," said Pen "and
might be served up for dessert." In a word, he was exceedingly satirical
and amusing.

During the quadrille he carried on this kind of conversation with
unflinching bitterness and vivacity, and kept Blanche continually
laughing, both at his wickedness and jokes, which were good, and also
because Laura was again their vis-a-vis, and could see and hear how merry
and confidential they were.

"Arthur is charming to-night," she whispered to Laura, across Cornet
Perch's shell-jacket, as Pen was performing cavalier seul before them,
drawling through that figure with a thumb in the pocket of each
waistcoat.

"Who?" said Laura.

"Arthur," answered Blanche, in French. "Oh, it's such a pretty name!" And
now the young ladies went over to Pen's side, and Cornet Perch performed
a pas seul in his turn. He had no waistcoat pocket to put his hands into,
and they looked large and swollen as they hung before him depending from
the tight arms in the jacket.

During the interval between the quadrille and the succeeding waltz, Pen
did not take any notice of Laura, except to ask her whether her partner,
Cornet Perch, was an amusing youth, and whether she liked him so well as
her other partner, Mr. Pynsent. Having planted which two daggers in
Laura's gentle bosom, Mr. Pendennis proceeded to rattle on with Blanche
Amory, and to make jokes good or bad, but which were always loud. Laura
was at a loss to account for her cousin's sulky behaviour, and ignorant
in what she had offended him; however, she was not angry in her turn at
Pen's splenetic mood, for she was the most good-natured and forgiving of
women, and besides, an exhibition of jealousy on a man's part is not
always disagreeable to a lady.

As Pen would not dance with her, she was glad to take up with the active
Chevalier Strong, who was a still better performer than Pen; and being
very fond of dancing, as every brisk and innocent young girl should be,
when the waltz music began she set off, and chose to enjoy herself with
all her heart. Captain Broadfoot on this occasion occupied the floor in
conjunction with a lady of proportions scarcely inferior to his own; Miss
Roundle, a large young woman in a strawberry-ice coloured crape dress,
the daughter of the lady with the grapes in her head, whose bunches Pen
had admired.

And now taking his time, and with his fair partner Blanche hanging
lovingly on the arm which encircled her, Mr. Arthur Pendennis set out
upon his waltzing career, and felt, as he whirled round to the music,
that he and Blanche were performing very brilliantly indeed. Very likely
he looked to see if Miss Bell thought so too; but she did not or would
not see him, and was always engaged with her partner Captain Strong. But
Pen's triumph was not destined to last long; and it was doomed that poor
Blanche was to have yet another discomfiture on that unfortunate night.
While she and Pen were whirling round as light and brisk as a couple of
opera-dancers, honest Captain Broadfoot and the lady round whose large
waist he was clinging, were twisting round very leisurely according to
their natures, and indeed were in everybody's way. But they were more in
Pendennis's way than in anybody's else, for he and Blanche, whilst
executing their rapid gyrations, came bolt up against the heavy dragoon
and his lady, and with such force that the centre of gravity was lost by
all four of the circumvolving bodies; Captain Broadfoot and Miss Roundle
were fairly upset, as was Pen himself, who was less lucky than his
partner Miss Amory, who was only thrown upon a bench against a wall.

But Pendennis came fairly down upon the floor, sprawling in the general
ruin with Broadfoot and Miss Roundle. The Captain, though heavy, was
good-natured, and was the first to burst out into a loud laugh at his own
misfortune, which nobody therefore heeded. But Miss Amory was savage at
her mishap; Miss Roundle placed on her seant, and looking pitifully
round, presented an object which very few people could see without
laughing; and Pen was furious when he heard the people giggling about
him. He was one of those sarcastic young fellows that did not bear a
laugh at his own expense, and of all things in the world feared ridicule
most.

As he got up Laura and Strong were laughing at him; everybody was
laughing; Pynsent and his partner were laughing; and Pen boiled with
wrath against the pair, and could have stabbed them both on the spot. He
turned away in a fury from them, and began blundering out apologies to
Miss Amory. It was the other couple's fault--the woman in pink had done
it--Pen hoped Miss Amory was not hurt--would she not have the courage to
take another turn?

Miss Amory in a pet said she was very much hurt indeed, and she would not
take another turn; and she accepted with great thanks a glass of water
which a cavalier, who wore a blue ribbon and a three-pointed star, rushed
to fetch for her when he had seen the deplorable accident. She drank the
water, smiled upon the bringer gracefully, and turning her white shoulder
at Mr. Pen in the most marked and haughty manner, besought the gentleman
with the star to conduct her to her mamma; and she held out her hand in
order to take his arm.

The man with the star trembled with delight at this mark of her favour;
he bowed over her hand, pressed it to his coat fervidly, and looked round
him with triumph.

It was no other than the happy Mirobolant whom Blanche had selected as an
escort. But the truth is, that the young lady had never fairly looked in
the artist's face since he had been employed in her mother's family, and
had no idea but it was a foreign nobleman on whose arm she was leaning.
As she went off, Pen forgot his humiliation in his surprise, and cried
out, "By Jove, it's the cook!"

The instant he had uttered the words, he was sorry for having spoken
them--for it was Blanche who had herself invited Mirobolant to escort
her, nor could the artist do otherwise than comply with a lady's command.
Blanche in her flutter did not hear what Arthur said; but Mirobolant
heard him, and cast a furious glance at him over his shoulder, which
rather amused Mr. Pen. He was in a mischievous and sulky humour; wanting
perhaps to pick a quarrel with somebody; but the idea of having insulted
a cook, or that such an individual should have any feeling of honour at
all, did not much enter into the mind of this lofty young aristocrat, the
apothecary's son.

It had never entered that poor artist's head, that he as a man was not
equal to any other mortal, or that there was anything in his position so
degrading as to prevent him from giving his arm to a lady who asked for
it. He had seen in the fetes in his own country fine ladies, not
certainly demoiselles (but the demoiselle Anglaise he knew was a great
deal more free than the spinster in France), join in the dance with
Blaise or Pierre; and he would have taken Blanche up to Lady Clavering,
and possibly have asked her to dance too, but he heard Pen's exclamation,
which struck him as if it had shot him, and cruelly humiliated and
angered him. She did not know what caused him to start, and to grind a
Gascon oath between his teeth.

But Strong, who was acquainted with the poor fellow's state of mind,
having had the interesting information from our friend Madame Fribsby,
was luckily in the way when wanted, and saying something rapidly in
Spanish, which the other understood, the Chevalier begged Miss Amory to
come and take an ice before she went back to Lady Clavering. Upon which
the unhappy Mirobolant relinquished the arm which he had held for a
minute, and with a most profound and piteous bow, fell back. "Don't you
know who it is?" Strong asked of Miss Amory, as he led her away. "It is
the chef Mirobolant."

"How should I know?" asked Blanche. "He has a croix; he is very
distingue; he has beautiful eyes."

"The poor fellow is mad for your beaux yeux, I believe," Strong said. "He
is a very good cook, but he is not quite right in the head."

"What did you say to him in the unknown tongue?" asked Miss Blanche.

"He is a Gascon, and comes from the borders of Spain," Strong answered.
"I told him he would lose his place if he walked with you."

"Poor Monsieur Mirobolant!" said Blanche.

"Did you see the look he gave Pendennis?"--Strong asked, enjoying the
idea of the mischief--"I think he would like to run little Pen through
with one of his spits."

"He is an odious, conceited, clumsy creature, that Mr. Pen," said
Blanche.

"Broadfoot looked as if he would like to kill him too, so did Pynsent,"
Strong said. "What ice will you have--water ice or cream ice?"

"Water ice. Who is that odd man staring at me--he is decore too."

"That is my friend Colonel Altamont, a very queer character, in the
service of the Nawaub of Lucknow. Hallo! what's that noise? I'll be back
in an instant," said the Chevalier, and sprang out of the room to the
ballroom, where a scuffle and a noise of high voices was heard.

The refreshment-room, in which Miss Amory now found herself, was a room
set apart for the purposes of supper, which Mr. Rincer the landlord had
provided for those who chose to partake, at the rate of five shillings
per head. Also, refreshments of a superior class were here ready for the
ladies and gentlemen of the county families who came to the ball; but the
commoner sort of persons were kept out of the room by a waiter who stood
at the portal, and who said that was a select room for Lady Clavering and
Lady Rockminster's parties, and not to be opened to the public till
supper-time, which was not to be until past midnight. Pynsent, who danced
with his constituents' daughters, took them and their mammas in for their
refreshment there. Strong, who was manager and master of the revels
wherever he went, had of course the entree--and the only person who was
now occupying the room was the gentleman with the black wig and the
orders in his button--hole; the officer in the service of his Highness
the Nawaub of Lucknow.

This gentleman had established himself very early in the evening in this
apartment, where, saying he was confoundedly thirsty, he called for a
bottle of champagne. At this order the waiter instantly supposed that he
had to do with a grandee, and the Colonel sate down and began to eat his
supper and absorb his drink, and enter affably into conversation with
anybody who entered the room.

Sir Francis Clavering and Mr. Wagg found him there, when they left the
ballroom, which they did pretty early--Sir Francis to go and smoke a
cigar, and look at the people gathered outside the ballroom on the shore,
which he declared was much better fun than to remain within; Mr. Wagg to
hang on to a Baronet's arm, as he was always pleased to do on the arm of
the greatest man in the company. Colonel Altamont had stared at these
gentlemen in so odd a manner, as they passed through the 'Select' room,
that Clavering made inquiries of the landlord who he was, and hinted a
strong opinion that the officer of the Nawaub's service was drunk.

Mr. Pynsent, too, had had the honour of a conversation with the servant
of the Indian potentate. It was Pynsent's cue to speak to everybody
(which he did, to do him justice, in the most ungracious manner); and he
took the gentleman in the black wig for some constituent, some merchant
captain, or other outlandish man of the place. Mr. Pynsent, then, coming
into the refreshment-room with a lady, the wife of a constituent, on his
arm, the Colonel asked him if he would try a glass of Sham? Pynsent took
it with great gravity, bowed, tasted the wine, and pronounced it
excellent, and with the utmost politeness retreated before Colonel
Altamont. This gravity and decorum routed and surprised the Colonel more
than any other kind of behaviour probably would: he stared after Pynsent
stupidly, and pronounced to the landlord over the counter that he was a
rum one. Mr. Rincer blushed, and hardly knew what to say. Mr. Pynsent was
a county Earl's grandson, going to set up as a Parliament man. Colonel
Altamont on the other hand, wore orders and diamonds, jingled sovereigns
constantly in his pocket, and paid his way like a man; so not knowing
what to say, Mr. Rincer said, "Yes, Colonel--yes, ma'am, did you say tea?
Cup a tea for Mr. Jones, Mrs. R.," and so got off that discussion
regarding Mr. Pynsent's qualities, into which the Nizam's officer
appeared inclined to enter.