The History of Pendennis | Page 9

Brawl, and on the other
side were the plantations and woods (as much as were left of them) of
Clavering Park, Sir Francis Clavering, Bart. The park was let out in
pasture and fed down by sheep and cattle, when the Pendennises came
first to live at Fairoaks. Shutters were up in the house; a splendid

freestone palace, with great stairs, statues, and porticos, whereof you
may see a picture in the 'Beauties of England and Wales.' Sir Richard
Clavering, Sir Francis's-grandfather, had commenced the ruin of the
family by the building of this palace: his successor had achieved the
ruin by living in it. The present Sir Francis was abroad somewhere; nor
could anybody be found rich enough to rent that enormous mansion,
through the deserted rooms, mouldy clanking halls, and dismal
galleries of which, Arthur Pendennis many a time walked trembling
when he was a boy. At sunset, from the lawn of Fairoaks, there was a
pretty sight: it and the opposite park of Clavering were in the habit of
putting on a rich golden tinge, which became them both wonderfully.
The upper windows of the great house flamed so as to make your eyes
wink; the little river ran off noisily westward, and was lost in a sombre
wood, behind which the towers of the old abbey church of Clavering
(whereby that town is called Clavering St. Mary's to the present day)
rose up in purple splendour. Little Arthur's figure and his mother's, cast
long blue shadows over the grass; and he would repeat in a low voice
(for a scene of great natural beauty always moved the boy, who
inherited this sensibility from his mother) certain lines beginning,
"These are thy glorious works, Parent of Good; Almighty! thine this
universal frame," greatly to Mrs. Pendennis's delight. Such walks and
conversation generally ended in a profusion of filial and maternal
embraces; for to love and to pray were the main occupations of this
dear woman's life; and I have often heard Pendennis say in his wild
way, that he felt that he was sure of going to heaven, for his mother
never could be happy there without him.
As for John Pendennis, as the father of the family, and that sort of thing,
everybody had the greatest respect for him: and his orders were obeyed
like those of the Medes and Persians. His hat was as well brushed,
perhaps, as that of any man in this empire. His meals were served at the
same minute every day, and woe to those who came late, as little Pen, a
disorderly little rascal, sometimes did. Prayers were recited, his letters
were read, his business dispatched, his stables and garden inspected, his
hen-houses and kennel, his barn and pigstye visited, always at regular
hours. After dinner he always had a nap with the Globe newspaper on
his knee, and his yellow bandanna handkerchief on his face (Major

Pendennis sent the yellow handkerchiefs from India, and his brother
had helped in the purchase of his majority, so that they were good
friends now). And so, as his dinner took place at six o'clock to a minute,
and the sunset business alluded to may be supposed to have occurred at
about half-past seven, it is probable that he did not much care for the
view in front of his lawn windows or take any share in the poetry and
caresses which were taking place there.
They seldom occurred in his presence. However frisky they were
before, mother and child were hushed and quiet when Mr. Pendennis
walked into the drawing-room, his newspaper under his arm. And here,
while little Pen, buried in a great chair, read all the books of which he
could lay hold, the Squire perused his own articles in the 'Gardener's
Gazette,' or took a solemn hand at picquet with Mrs. Pendennis, or an
occasional friend from the village.
Pendennis usually took care that at least one of his grand dinners
should take place when his brother, the Major, who, on the return of his
regiment from India and New South Wales, had sold out and gone upon
half-pay, came to pay his biennial visit to Fairoaks. "My brother, Major
Pendennis," was a constant theme of the retired Doctor's conversation.
All the family delighted in my brother the Major. He was the link
which bound them to the great world of London, and the fashion. He
always brought down the last news of the nobility, and was in the
constant habit of dining with lords and great folks. He spoke of such
with soldierlike respect and decorum. He would say, "My Lord
Bareacres has been good enough to invite me to Bareacres for the
pheasant shooting," or, "My Lord Steyne is so kind as to wish for my
presence at Stillbrook