Manitou Gear Box Serie C+ Repair Manual 647020EN

Manitou Gear Box Serie C+ Repair Manual 647020EN

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Manitou Gear Box Serie C+ Repair Manual 647020EN
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Part Number: 647020EN
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of A History of
Pendennis, Volume 1
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Title: A History of Pendennis, Volume 1

Author: William Makepeace Thackeray

Release date: January 11, 2011 [eBook #34922]

Most recently updated: January 7, 2021

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HISTORY OF

PENDENNIS, VOLUME 1 ***
THE HISTORY OF PENDENNIS.
HIS FORTUNES AND
MISFORTUNES, HIS FRIENDS
AND HIS GREATEST ENEMY.
 BY
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS ON WOOD BY THE AUTHOR.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS
329 & 331 PEARL STREET,
FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1858.
 TO DR. JOHN ELLIOTSON.
My Dear Doctor,
Thirteen months ago, when it seemed likely that this story
had come to a close, a kind friend brought you to my
bedside, whence, in all probability, I never should have risen
but for your constant watchfulness and skill. I like to recall
your great goodness and kindness (as well as many acts of
others, showing quite a surprising friendship and sympathy)
at that time, when kindness and friendship were most
needed and welcome.

And as you would take no other fee but thanks, let me

record them here in behalf of me and mine, and subscribe
myself,
Yours, most sincerely and gratefully,
W. M. THACKERAY.
 CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
1.—SHOWS HOW FIRST LOVE MAY INTERRUPT BREAKFAST 9
2.—A PEDIGREE AND OTHER FAMILY MATTERS 14
3.—IN WHICH PENDENNIS APPEARS AS A VERY YOUNG MAN
30
INDEED
4.—MRS. HALLER 41
5.—MRS. HALLER AT HOME 49
6.—CONTAINS BOTH LOVE AND WAR 62
7.—IN WHICH THE MAJOR MAKES HIS APPEARANCE 73
8.—IN WHICH PEN IS KEPT WAITING AT THE DOOR, WHILE
81
THE READER IS INFORMED WHO LITTLE LAURA WAS
9.—IN WHICH THE MAJOR OPENS THE CAMPAIGN 92
10.—FACING THE ENEMY 99
11.—NEGOTIATION 105
12.—IN WHICH A SHOOTING MATCH IS PROPOSED 114
13.—A CRISIS 122
14.—IN WHICH MISS FOTHERINGAY MAKES A NEW
130
ENGAGEMENT
15.—THE HAPPY VILLAGE 137
16.—MORE STORMS IN THE PUDDLE 147
17.—WHICH CONCLUDES THE FIRST PART OF THIS HISTORY 158
18.—ALMA MATER 169
19.—PENDENNIS OF BONIFACE 178
20.—RAKE'S PROGRESS 191
21.—FLIGHT AFTER DEFEAT 201
22.—PRODIGAL'S RETURN 209
23.—NEW FACES 217
24.—A LITTLE INNOCENT 233
25.—CONTAINS BOTH LOVE AND JEALOUSY 243
26.—A HOUSE FULL OF VISITORS 253
27.—CONTAINS SOME BALL PRACTICING 265
28.—WHICH IS BOTH QUARRELSOME AND SENTIMENTAL 274
29.—BABYLON 287
30.—THE KNIGHTS OF THE TEMPLE 297
31.—OLD AND NEW ACQUAINTANCES 306
32.—IN WHICH THE PRINTER'S DEVIL COMES TO THE DOOR 317
33.—WHICH IS PASSED IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD OF
329
LUDGATE HILL
34.—IN WHICH THE HISTORY STILL HOVERS ABOUT FLEET
339
STREET
35.—A DINNER IN THE ROW 345
36.—THE PALL MALL GAZETTE 355
37.—WHERE PEN APPEARS IN TOWN AND COUNTRY 361
38.—IN WHICH THE SYLPH REAPPEARS 376
39.—IN WHICH COLONEL ALTAMONT APPEARS AND
384
DISAPPEARS
 PREFACE.
If this kind of composition, of which the two years' product is now
laid before the public, fail in art, as it constantly does and must, it at
least has the advantage of a certain truth and honesty, which a work
more elaborate might lose. In his constant communication with the
reader, the writer is forced into frankness of expression, and to
speak out his own mind and feelings as they urge him. Many a slip
of the pen and the printer, many a word spoken in haste, he sees
and would recall as he looks over his volume. It is a sort of
confidential talk between writer and reader, which must often be
dull, must often flag. In the course of his volubility, the perpetual
speaker must of necessity lay bare his own weaknesses, vanities,
peculiarities. And as we judge of a man's character, after long
frequenting his society, not by one speech, or by one mood or
opinion, or by one day's talk, but by the tenor of his general bearing
and conversation; so of a writer, who delivers himself up to you
perforce unreservedly, you say, Is he honest? Does he tell the truth
in the main? Does he seem actuated by a desire to find out and
speak it? Is he a quack, who shams sentiment, or mouths for effect?
Does he seek popularity by clap-traps or other arts? I can no more
ignore good fortune than any other chance which has befallen me. I
have found many thousands more readers than I ever looked for. I
have no right to say to these, You shall not find fault with my Art, or
fall asleep over my pages; but I ask you to believe that this person
writing strives to tell the truth. If there is not that, there is nothing.
Perhaps the lovers of "excitement" may care to know, that this
book began with a very precise plan, which was entirely put aside.
Ladies and gentlemen, you were to have been treated, and the
writer's and the publishers' pocket benefited, by the recital of the
most active horrors. What more exciting than a ruffian (with many
admirable virtues) in St. Giles's, visited constantly by a young lady
from Belgravia? What more stirring than the contrasts of society? the
mixture of slang and fashionable language? the escapes, the battles,
the murders? Nay, up to nine o'clock this very morning, my poor
friend, Colonel Altamont, was doomed to execution, and the author
only relented when his victim was actually at the window.
The "exciting" plan was laid aside (with a very honorable
forbearance on the part of the publishers), because, on attempting
it, I found that I failed, from want of experience of my subject; and
never having been intimate with any convict in my life, and the
manners of ruffians and jail-birds being quite unfamiliar to me, the
idea of entering into competition with M. Eugène Sue was
abandoned. To describe a real rascal, you must make him so horrible
that he would be too hideous to show; and unless the painter paints
him fairly, I hold he has no right to show him at all.
Even the gentlemen of our age—this is an attempt to describe one
of them, no better nor worse than most educated men—even these
we can not show as they are, with the notorious foibles and
selfishness of their lives and their education. Since the author of
Tom Jones was buried, no writer of fiction among us has been
permitted to depict, to his utmost power, a Man. We must drape him,
and give him a certain conventional simper. Society will not tolerate
the Natural in our Art. Many ladies have remonstrated, and
subscribers left me, because, in the course of the story, I described
a young man resisting and affected by temptation. My object was to
say, that he had the passions to feel, and the manliness and
generosity to overcome them. You will not hear—it is best to know it
—what moves in the real world, what passes in society, in the clubs,
colleges, newsrooms—what is the life and talk of your sons. A little
more frankness than is customary has been attempted in this story;
with no bad desire on the writer's part, it is hoped, and with no ill
consequence to any reader. If truth is not always pleasant; at any
rate truth is best, from whatever chair—from those whence graver
writers or thinkers argue, as from that at which the story-teller sits
as he concludes his labor, and bids his kind reader farewell.
Kensington, Nov. 26th, 1850.
PENDENNIS.
 CHAPTER I.
SHOWS HOW FIRST LOVE MAY INTERRUPT
BREAKFAST.

One fine morning in the full London season,

Major Arthur Pendennis came over from his
lodgings, according to his custom, to breakfast at a
certain club in Pall Mall, of which he was a chief
ornament. As he was one of the finest judges of
wine in England, and a man of active, dominating,
and inquiring spirit, he had been very properly
chosen to be a member of the committee of this club and indeed
was almost the manager of the institution; and the stewards and
waiters bowed before him as reverentially as to a duke or a field-
marshal.
At a quarter past ten the major invariably made his appearance in
the best blacked boots in all London, with a checked morning cravat
that never was rumpled until dinner time, a buff waistcoat which
bore the crown of his sovereign on the buttons, and linen so spotless
that Mr. Brummel himself asked the name of his laundress, and
would probably have employed her, had not misfortunes compelled
that great man to fly the country. Pendennis's coat, his white gloves,
his whiskers, his very cane, were perfect of their kind as specimens
of the costume of a military man en retraite. At a distance, or seeing
his back merely, you would have taken him to be not more than
thirty years old: it was only by a nearer inspection that you saw the
factitious nature of his rich brown hair, and that there were a few
crows'-feet round about the somewhat faded eyes of his handsome
mottled face. His nose was of the Wellington pattern. His hands and
wristbands were beautifully long and white. On the latter he wore
handsome gold buttons given to him by his Royal Highness the Duke
of York, and on the others more than one elegant ring, the chief and
largest of them being emblazoned with the famous arms of
Pendennis.
He always took possession of the same table in the same corner
of the room, from which nobody ever now thought of ousting him.
One or two mad wags and wild fellows had in former days, and in
freak or bravado, endeavored twice or thrice to deprive him of this
place; but there was a quiet dignity in the major's manner as he
took his seat at the next table, and surveyed the interlopers, which
rendered it impossible for any man to sit and breakfast under his
eye; and that table—by the fire and yet near the window—became
his own. His letters were laid out there in expectation of his arrival,
and many was the young fellow about town who looked with wonder
at the number of those notes, and at the seals and franks which
they bore. If there was any question about etiquette, society, who
was married to whom, of what age such and such a duke was,
Pendennis was the man to whom every one appealed.
Marchionesses used to drive up to the club, and leave notes for him
or fetch him out. He was perfectly affable. The young men liked to
walk with him in the Park or down Pall Mall; for he touched his hat
to every body, and every other man he met was a lord.
The major sate down at his accustomed table then, and while the
waiters went to bring him his toast and his hot newspaper, he
surveyed his letters through his gold double eye-glass. He carried it
so gayly, you would hardly have known it was spectacles in disguise,
and examined one pretty note after another, and laid them by in
order. There were large solemn dinner cards, suggestive of three
courses and heavy conversation; there were neat little confidential
notes, conveying female entreaties; there was a note on thick official
paper from the Marquis of Steyne, telling him to come to Richmond
to a little party at the Star and Garter, and speak French, which
language the major possessed very perfectly; and another from the
Bishop of Ealing and Mrs. Trail, requesting the honor of Major
Pendennis's company at Ealing House, all of which letters Pendennis
read gracefully, and with the more satisfaction, because Glowry, the
Scotch surgeon, breakfasting opposite to him, was looking on, and
hating him for having so many invitations, which nobody ever sent
to Glowry.
These perused, the major took out his pocket-book to see on what
days he was disengaged, and which of these many hospitable calls
he could afford to accept or decline.
He threw over Cutler, the East India Director, in Baker-street, in
order to dine with Lord Steyne and the little French party at the Star
and Garter—the bishop he accepted, because, though the dinner
was slow he liked to dine with bishops—and so went through his list
and disposed of them according to his fancy or interest. Then he
took his breakfast and looked over the paper, the gazette, the births
and deaths, and the fashionable intelligence, to see that his name
was down among the guests at my Lord So-and-so's fête, and in the
intervals of these occupations carried on cheerful conversation with
his acquaintances about the room.
Among the letters which formed Major Pendennis's budget for that
morning there was only one unread, and which lay solitary and apart
from all the fashionable London letters, with a country postmark and
a homely seal. The superscription was in a pretty, delicate female
hand, and though marked "Immediate" by the fair writer, with a
strong dash of anxiety under the word, yet the major had, for
reasons of his own, neglected up to the present moment his humble
rural petitioner, who to be sure could hardly hope to get a hearing
among so many grand folks who attended his levee. The fact was,
this was a letter from a female relative of Pendennis, and while the
grandees of her brother's acquaintance were received and got their
interview, and drove off, as it were, the patient country letter
remained for a long time waiting for an audience in the ante-
chamber under the slop-basin.
At last it came to be this letter's turn, and the major broke a seal
with "Fairoaks" engraved upon it, and "Clavering St. Mary's" for a
post-mark. It was a double letter, and the major commenced
perusing the envelope before he attacked the inner epistle.
"Is it a letter from another Jook?" growled Mr. Glowry, inwardly,
"Pendennis would not be leaving that to the last, I'm thinking."
"My dear Major Pendennis," the letter ran, "I beg and implore you
to come to me immediately"—very likely, thought Pendennis, and
Steyne's dinner to-day—"I am in the very greatest grief and
perplexity. My dearest boy, who has been hitherto every thing the
fondest mother could wish, is grieving me dreadfully. He has formed
—I can hardly write it—a passion, an infatuation,"—the major
grinned—"for an actress who has been performing here. She is at
least twelve years older than Arthur—who will not be eighteen till
next February—and the wretched boy insists upon marrying her."
"Hay! What's making Pendennis swear now?"—Mr. Glowry asked
of himself, for rage and wonder were concentrated in the major's
open mouth, as he read this astounding announcement.
"Do, my dear friend," the grief-stricken lady went on, "come to me
instantly on the receipt of this; and, as Arthur's guardian, entreat,
command, the wretched child to give up this most deplorable
resolution." And, after more entreaties to the above effect, the writer
concluded by signing herself the major's "unhappy affectionate
sister, Helen Pendennis."
"Fairoaks, Tuesday"—the major concluded, reading the last words
of the letter—"A d—d pretty business at Fairoaks, Tuesday; now let
us see what the boy has to say;" and he took the other letter, which
was written in a great floundering boy's hand, and sealed with the
large signet of the Pendennises, even larger than the major's own,
and with supplementary wax sputtered all round the seal, in token of
the writer's tremulousness and agitation.
The epistle ran thus—
"Fairoaks, "Monday, Midnight.
"My dear Uncle,
"In informing you of my engagement with Miss Costigan,
daughter of J. Chesterfield Costigan Esq., of Costiganstown,
but, perhaps, better known to you under her professional
name of Miss Fotheringay, of the Theaters Royal Drury Lane
and Crow-street, and of the Norwich and Welsh Circuit, I am
aware that I make an announcement which can not,
according to the present prejudices of society, at least, be
welcome to my family. My dearest mother, on whom, God
knows I would wish to inflict no needless pain, is deeply
moved and grieved, I am sorry to say, by the intelligence
which I have this night conveyed to her. I beseech you, my
dear sir, to come down and reason with her, and console her.
Although obliged by poverty to earn an honorable
maintenance by the exercise of her splendid talents, Miss
Costigan's family is as ancient and noble as our own. When
our ancestor, Ralph Pendennis, landed with Richard II. in
Ireland, my Emily's forefathers were kings of that country. I
have the information from Mr. Costigan, who, like yourself, is
a military man.
"It is in vain I have attempted to argue with my dear
mother, and prove to her that a young lady of irreproachable
character and lineage, endowed with the most splendid gifts
of beauty and genius, who devotes herself to the exercise of
one of the noblest professions, for the sacred purpose of
maintaining her family, is a being whom we should all love
and reverence, rather than avoid;—my poor mother has
prejudices which it is impossible for my logic to overcome,
and refuses to welcome to her arms one who is disposed to
be her most affectionate daughter through life.
"Although Miss Costigan is some years older than myself,
that circumstance does not operate as a barrier to my
affection, and I am sure will not influence its duration. A
love like mine, sir, I feel, is contracted once and for ever. As
 I never had dreamed of love until I saw her—I feel now that
I shall die without ever knowing another passion. It is the
fate of my life. It was Miss C.'s own delicacy which
suggested that the difference of age, which I never felt,
might operate as a bar to our union. But having loved once,
I should despise myself, and be unworthy of my name as a
gentleman, if I hesitated to abide by my passion: if I did not
give all where I felt all, and endow the woman who loves
me fondly with my whole heart and my whole fortune.
"I press for a speedy marriage with my Emily—for why, in
truth, should it be delayed? A delay implies a doubt, which I
cast from me as unworthy. It is impossible that my
sentiments can change toward Emily—that at any age she
can be any thing but the sole object of my love. Why, then,
wait? I entreat you, my dear uncle, to come down and
reconcile my dear mother to our union, and I address you as
a man of the world, qui mores hominum multorum vidit et
urbes, who will not feel any of the weak scruples and fears
which agitate a lady who has scarcely ever left her village.
"Pray come down to us immediately. I am quite confident
that—apart from considerations of fortune—you will admire
and approve of my Emily.
"Your affectionate Nephew.
"ARTHUR PENDENNIS, Jr."
When the major had concluded the perusal of this letter, his
countenance assumed an expression of such rage and horror that
Glowry the surgeon-official, felt in his pocket for his lancet, which he
always carried in his card-case, and thought his respected friend was
going into a fit. The intelligence was indeed sufficient to agitate
Pendennis. The head of the Pendennises going to marry an actress
ten years his senior—a headstrong boy going to plunge into
matrimony. "The mother has spoiled the young rascal," groaned the
major inwardly, "with her cursed sentimentality and romantic
rubbish. My nephew marry a tragedy queen! Gracious mercy, people
will laugh at me so that I shall not dare show my head!" And he
thought with an inexpressible pang that he must give up Lord
Steyne's dinner at Richmond, and must lose his rest and pass the
night in an abominable tight mail-coach, instead of taking pleasure,
as he had promised himself, in some of the most agreeable and
select society in England.
And he must not only give up this but all other engagements for
some time to come. Who knows how long the business might detain
him. He quitted his breakfast table for the adjoining writing-room,
and there ruefully wrote off refusals to the marquis, the earl, the
bishop, and all his entertainers; and he ordered his servant to take
places in the mail-coach for that evening, of course charging the
sum which he disbursed for the seats to the account of the widow
and the young scapegrace of whom he was guardian.