Part 39 (1/2)
”Haven't been there. I have been,” said Archer, with an air of mystery, ”where I was wanted. Get me some supper, John--something substantial. I hate your grandees who give you nothing to eat. If it had been at Apsley House, it would have been quite different. The Duke knows what I like, and says to the Groom of the Chambers, 'Martin, you will have some cold beef, not too much done, and a pint bottle of pale ale, and some brown sherry, ready in my study as usual;--Archer is coming here this evening.' The Duke doesn't eat supper himself, but he likes to see a man enjoy a hearty meal, and he knows that I dine early. A man can't live upon air, be hanged to him.”
”Let me introduce you to my friend, Mr. Pendennis,” Warrington said, with great gravity. ”Pen, this is Mr Archer, whom you have heard me talk about. You must know Pen's uncle, the Major, Archer, you who know everybody?”
”Dined with him the day before yesterday at Gaunt House,” Archer said.
”We were four--the French Amba.s.sador, Steyne, and we two commoners.”
”Why, my uncle is in Scot----” Pen was going to break out, but Warrington pressed his foot under the table as a signal for him to be quiet.
”It was about the same business that I have been to the palace to-night,” Archer went on simply, ”and where I've been kept four hours, in an anteroom, with nothing but yesterday's Times, which I knew by heart, as I wrote three of the leading articles myself; and though the Lord Chamberlain came in four times, and once holding the royal teacup and saucer in his hand, he did not so much as say to me, 'Archer, will you have a cup of tea?'”
”Indeed! what is in the wind now?” asked Warrington--and turning to Pen, added, ”You know, I suppose, that when there is anything wrong at Court they always send for Archer.”
”There is something wrong,” said Mr. Archer, ”and as the story will be all over the town in a day or two I don't mind telling it. At the last Chantilly races, where I rode Brian Boru for my old friend the Duke de Saint Cloud--the old King said to me, Archer, I'm uneasy about Saint Cloud. I have arranged his marriage with the Princess Marie Cunegonde; the peace of Europe depends upon it--for Russia will declare war if the marriage does not take place, and the young fool is so mad about Madame Ma.s.sena, Marshal Ma.s.sena's wife, that he actually refuses to be a party to the marriage. Well, Sir, I spoke to Saint Cloud, and having got him into pretty good humour by winning the race, and a good bit of money into the bargain, he said to me, 'Archer, tell the Governor I'll think of it.'”
”How do you say Governor in French?” asked Pen, who piqued himself on knowing that language.
”Oh, we speak in English--I taught him when we were boys, and I saved his life at Twickenham, when he fell out of a punt,” Archer said. ”I shall never forget the Queen's looks as I brought him out of the water.
She gave me this diamond ring, and always calls me Charles to this day.”
”Madame Ma.s.sena must be rather an old woman, Archer,” Warrington said.
”Dev'lish old--old enough to be his grandmother; I told him so,” Archer answered at once. ”But those attachments for old women are the deuce and all. That's what the King feels: that's what shocks the poor Queen so much. They went away from Paris last Tuesday night, and are living at this present moment at Jaunay's Hotel.”
”Has there been a private marriage, Archer?” asked Warrington.
”Whether there has or not I don't know,” Mr. Archer replied, ”all I know is that I was kept waiting for four hours at the palace; that I never saw a man in such a state of agitation as the King of Belgium when he came out to speak to me, and that I'm devilish hungry--and here comes some supper.”
”He has been pretty well to-night,” said Warrington, as the pair went home together: ”but I have known him in much greater force, and keeping a whole room in a state of wonder. Put aside his archery practice, that man is both able and honest--a good man of business, an excellent friend, admirable to his family as husband, father, and son.”
”What is it makes him pull the long bow in that wonderful manner?”
”An amiable insanity,” answered Warrington. ”He never did anybody harm by his talk, or said evil of anybody. He is a stout politician too, and would never write a word or do an act against his party, as many of us do.”
”Of us! Who are we?” asked Pen. ”Of what profession is Mr. Archer?”
”Of the Corporation of the Goosequill--of the Press, my boy,” said Warrington; ”of the fourth estate.”
”Are you, too, of the craft, then?” Pendennis said.
”We will talk about that another time,” answered the other. They were pa.s.sing through the Strand as they talked, and by a newspaper office, which was all lighted up and bright. Reporters were coming out of the place, or rus.h.i.+ng up to it in cabs; there were lamps burning in the editors' rooms, and above where the compositors were at work: the windows of the building were in a blaze of gas.
”Look at that, Pen,” Warrington said. ”There she is--the great engine--she never sleeps. She has her amba.s.sadors in every quarter of the world--her couriers upon every road. Her officers march along with armies, and her envoys walk into statesmen's cabinets. They are ubiquitous. Yonder journal has an agent, at this minute, giving bribes at Madrid; and another inspecting the price of potatoes in Covent Garden. Look! here comes the Foreign Express galloping in. They will be able to give news to Downing Street to-morrow: funds will rise or fall, fortunes be made or lost; Lord B. will get up, and, holding the paper in his hand, and seeing the n.o.ble marquis in his place, will make a great speech; and--and Mr. Doolan will be called away from his supper at the Back Kitchen; for he is foreign sub-editor, and sees the mail on the newspaper sheet before he goes to his own.”
And so talking, the friends turned into their chambers, as the dawn was beginning to peep.
CHAPTER x.x.xII. In which the Printer's Devil comes to the Door
Pen, in the midst of his revels and enjoyments, humble as they were, and moderate in cost if not in kind, saw an awful sword hanging over him which must drop down before long and put an end to his frolics and feasting. His money was very nearly spent. His club subscription had carried away a third part of it. He had paid for the chief articles of furniture with which he had supplied his little bedroom: in fine, he was come to the last five-pound note in his pocket-book, and could think of no method of providing a successor: for our friend had been bred up like a young prince as yet, or as a child in arms whom his mother feeds when it cries out.