The Newcomes

by William Makepeace Thackeray

after life, care and thought subdued her pride, and she learned to look

  at society more good-naturedly; but at this time, and for some years

  after, she was impatient of commonplace people, and did not choose to

  conceal her scorn. Lady Clara was very much afraid of her. Those timid

  little thoughts, which would come out, and frisk and gambol with pretty

  graceful antics, and advance confidingly at the sound of Jack Belsize's

  jolly voice, and nibble crumbs out of his hand, shrank away before Ethel,

  severe nymph with the bright eyes, and hid themselves under the thickets

  and in the shade. Who has not overheard a simple couple of girls, or of

  lovers possibly, pouring out their little hearts, laughing at their own

  little jokes, prattling and prattling away unceasingly, until mamma

  appears with her awful didactic countenance, or the governess with her

  dry moralities, and the colloquy straightway ceases, the laughter stops,

  the chirp of the harmless little birds is hushed. Lady Clara being of a

  timid nature, stood in as much awe of Ethel as of her father and mother;

  whereas her next sister, a brisk young creature of seventeen, who was of

  the order of romps or tomboys, was by no means afraid of Miss Newcome,

  and indeed a much greater favourite with her than her placid elder

  sister.

  Young ladies may have been crossed in love, and have had their

  sufferings, their frantic moments of grief and tears, their wakeful

  nights, and so forth; but it is only in very sentimental novels that

  people occupy themselves perpetually with that passion: and, I believe,

  what are called broken hearts are very rare articles indeed. Tom is

  jilted--is for a while in a dreadful state--bores all his male

  acquaintance with his groans and his frenzy--rallies from the complaint--

  eats his dinner very kindly--takes an interest in the next turf event,

  and is found at Newmarket, as usual, bawling out the odds which he will

  give or take. Miss has her paroxysm and recovery--Madame Crinoline's new

  importations from Paris interest the young creature--she deigns to

  consider whether pink or blue will become her most--she conspires with

  her maid to make the spring morning dresses answer for the autumn--she

  resumes her books, piano, and music (giving up certain songs perhaps that

  she used to sing)--she waltzes with the Captain--gets a colour--waltzes

  longer, better, and ten times quicker than Lucy, who is dancing with the

  Major--replies in an animated manner to the Captain's delightful remarks

  --takes a little supper--and looks quite kindly at him before she pulls

  up the carriage windows.

  Clive may not like his cousin Barnes Newcome, and many other men share in

  that antipathy, but all ladies do not. It is a fact that Barnes, when he

  likes, can make himself a very pleasant fellow. He is dreadfully

  satirical, that is certain; but many persons are amused by those dreadful

  satirical young men: and to hear fun made of our neighbours, even of some

  of our friends, does not make us very angry. Barnes is one of the very

  best waltzers in all society, that is the truth; whereas it must be

  confessed Some One Else was very heavy and slow, his great foot always

  crushing you, and he always begging your pardon. Barnes whirls a partner

  round a room ages after she is ready to faint. What wicked fun he makes

  of other people when he stops! He is not handsome, but in his face there

  is something odd-looking and distinguished. It is certain he has

  beautiful small feet and hands.

  He comes every day from the City, drops in, in his quiet unobtrusive way,

  and drinks tea at five o'clock; always brings a budget of the funniest

  stories with him, makes mamma laugh, Clara laugh, Henrietta, who is in

  the schoolroom still, die of laughing. Papa has the highest opinion of

  Mr. Newcome as a man of business: if he had had such a friend in early

  life his affairs would not be where they now are, poor dear kind papa! Do

  they want to go anywhere, is not Mr. Newcome always ready? Did he not

  procure that delightful room for them to witness the Lord Mayor's show;

  and make Clara die of laughing at those odd City people at the Mansion

  House ball? He is at every party, and never tired though he gets up so

  early: he waltzes with nobody else: he is always there to put Lady Clara

  in the carriage: at the drawing-room he looked quite handsome in his

  uniform of the Newcome Hussars, bottle-green and silver lace: he speaks

  Politics so exceedingly well with papa and gentlemen after dinner: he is

  a sound conservative, full of practical good sense and information, with

  no dangerous new-fangled ideas, such as young men have. When poor dear

  Sir Brian Newcome's health gives way quite, Mr. Newcome will go into

  Parliament, and then he will resume the old barony which has been in

  abeyance in the family since the reign of Richard the Third. They had

  fallen quite, quite low. Mr. Newcome's grandfather came to London with a

  satchel on his back, like Whittington. Isn't it romantic?

  This process has been going on for months. It is not in one day that poor

  Lady Clara has been made to forget the past, and to lay aside her

  mourning. Day after day, very likely, the undeniable faults and many

  peccadilloes of--of that other person, have been exposed to her. People

  around the young lady may desire to spare her feelings, but can have no

  interest in screening Poor Jack from condign reprobation. A wild

  prodigal--a disgrace to his order--a son of old Highgate's leading such a

  life, and making such a scandal! Lord Dorking believes Mr. Belsize to be

  an abandoned monster and fiend in human shape; gathers and relates all

  the stories that ever have been told to the young man's disadvantage, and

  of these be sure there are enough, and speaks of him with transports of

  indignation. At the end of months of unwearied courtship, Mr. Barnes

  Newcome is honestly accepted, and Lady Clara is waiting for him at Baden,

  not unhappy to receive him; when walking on the promenade with her

  father, the ghost of her dead love suddenly rises before her, and the

  young lady faints to the ground.

  When Barnes Newcome thinks fit he can be perfectly placable in his

  demeanour and delicate in his conduct. What he said upon this painful

  subject was delivered with the greatest propriety. He did not for one

  moment consider that Lady Clara's agitation arose from any present

  feeling in Mr. Belsize's favour, but that she was naturally moved by the

  remembrance of the past, and the sudden appearance which recalled it.

  "And but that a lady's name should never be made the subject of dispute

  between men," Newcome said to Lord Dorking, with great dignity, "and that

  Captain Belsize has opportunely quitted the place, I should certainly

  have chastised him. He and another adventurer, against whom I have had to

  warn my own family, have quitted Baden this afternoon. I am glad that

  both are gone, Captain Belsize especially; for my temper, my lord, is

  hot, and I do not think I should have commanded it."

  Lord Kew, when the elder lord informed him of this admirable speech of

  Barnes Newcome's, upon whose character, p
rudence, and dignity the Earl of

  Dorking pronounced a fervent eulogium, shook his head gravely, and said,

  "Yes, Barnes was a dead shot, and a most determined fellow:" and did not

  burst out laughing until he and Lord Dorking had parted. Then to be sure

  he took his fill of laughter, he told the story to Ethel, he complimented

  Barnes on his heroic self-denial; the joke of the thundering big stick

  was nothing to it. Barnes Newcome laughed too; he had plenty of humour,

  Barnes. "I think you might have whopped Jack when he came out from his

  interview with the Dorkings," Kew said: "the poor devil was so bewildered

  and weak, that Alfred might have thrashed him. At other times you would

  find it more difficult, Barnes my man." Mr. B. Newcome resumed his

  dignity; said a joke was a joke, and there was quite enough of this one;

  which assertion we may be sure he conscientiously made.

  That meeting and parting between the old lovers passed with a great deal

  of calm and propriety on both sides. Miss's parents of course were

  present when Jack at their summons waited upon them and their daughter,

  and made his hang-dog bow. My Lord Dorking said (poor Jack in the anguish

  of his heart had poured out the story to Clive Newcome afterwards), "Mr.

  Belsize, I have to apologise for words which I used in my heat yesterday,

  and which I recall and regret, as I am sure you do that there should have

  been any occasion for them."

  Mr. Belsize looking at the carpet said he was very sorry.

  Lady Dorking here remarked, that as Captain Belsize was now at Baden, he

  might wish to hear from Lady Clara Pulleyn's own lips that the engagement

  into which she had entered was formed by herself, certainly with the

  consent and advice of her family. "Is it not so, my dear?"

  Lady Clara said, "Yes, mamma," with a low curtsey.

  "We have now to wish you good-bye, Charles Belsize," said my lord, with

  some feeling. "As your relative, and your father's old friend, I wish you

  well. I hope your future course in life may not be so unfortunate as the

  past year. I request that we may part friends. Good-bye, Charles. Clara,

  shake hands with Captain Belsize. My Lady Dorking, you will please to

  give Charles your hand. You have known him since he was a child; and--

  and--we are sorry to be obliged to part in this way." In this wise Mr.

  Jack Belsize's tooth was finally extracted; and for the moment we wish

  him and his brother-patient a good journey.

  Little lynx-eyed Dr. Von Finck, who attends most of the polite company at

  Baden, drove ceaselessly about the place that day, with the real version

  of the fainting-fit story, about which we may be sure the wicked and

  malicious, and the uninitiated, had a hundred absurd details. Lady Clara

  ever engaged to Captain Belsize? Fiddle-de-dee! Everybody knew the

  Captain's affairs, and that he could no more think of marrying than

  flying. Lady Clara faint at seeing him! she fainted before he came up;

  she was always fainting, and had done so thrice in the last week to his

  knowledge. Lord Dorking had a nervous affection of his right arm, and was

  always shaking his stick. He did not say Villain, he said William;

  Captain Belsize's name is William. It is not so in the Peerage? Is he

  called Jack in the Peerage? Those Peerages are always wrong. These candid

  explanations of course had their effect. Wicked tongues were of course

  instantaneously silent. People were entirely satisfied; they always are.

  The next night being Assembly night, Lady Clara appeared at the rooms and

  danced with Lord Kew and Mr. Barnes Newcome. All the society was as

  gracious and good-humoured as possible, and there was no more question of

  fainting than of burning down the Conversation-house. But Madame de

  Cruchecassee, and Madame de Schlangenbad, and those horrid people whom

  the men speak to, but whom the women salute with silent curtseys,

  persisted in declaring that there was no prude like an English prude; and

  to Dr. Finck's oaths, assertions, explanations, only replied, with a

  shrug of their bold shoulders, "Taisez-vous, Docteur, vous n'ete qu'une

  vieille bete."

  Lady Kew was at the rooms, uncommonly gracious. Miss Ethel took a few

  turns of the waltz with Lord Kew, but this nymph looked more farouche

  than upon ordinary days. Bob Jones, who admired her hugely, asked leave

  to waltz with her, and entertained her with recollections of Clive

  Newcome at school. He remembered a fight in which Clive had been engaged,

  and recounted that action to Miss Newcome, who seemed to be interested.

  He was pleased to deplore Clive's fancy for turning artist, and that Miss

  Newcome recommended him to have his likeness taken, for she said his

  appearance was exceedingly picturesque. He was going on with further

  prattle, but she suddenly cut Mr. Jones short, making him a bow, and

  going to sit down by Lady Kew. "And the next day, sir," said Bob, with

  whom the present writer had the happiness of dining at a mess dinner at

  the Upper Temple, "when I met her on the walk, sir, she cut me as dead as

  a stone. The airs those swells give themselves is enough to make any man

  turn republican."

  Miss Ethel indeed was haughty, very haughty, and of a difficult temper.

  She spared none of her party except her kind mother, to whom Ethel always

  was kind, and her father, whom, since his illnesses, she tended with much

  benevolence and care. But she did battle with Lady Kew repeatedly, coming

  to her Aunt Julia's rescue, on whom her mother as usual exercised her

  powers of torturing. She made Barnes quail before her by the shafts of

  contempt which she flashed at him; and she did not spare Lord Kew, whose

  good-nature was no shield against her scorn. The old queen-mother was

  fairly afraid of her; she even left off beating Lady Julia when Ethel

  came in, of course taking her revenge in the young girl's absence, but

  trying in her presence to soothe and please her. Against Lord Kew the

  young girl's anger was most unjust, and the more cruel because the kindly

  young nobleman never spoke a hard word of any one mortal soul, and,

  carrying no arms, should have been assaulted by none. But his very

  good-nature seemed to make his young opponent only the more wrathful; she

  shot because his honest breast was bare; it bled at the wounds which she

  inflicted. Her relatives looked at her surprised at her cruelty, and the

  young man himself was shocked in his dignity and best feelings by his

  cousin's wanton ill-humour.

  Lady Kew fancied she understood the cause of this peevishness, and

  remonstrated with Miss Ethel. "Shall we write a letter to Lucerne, and

  order Dick Tinto back again?" said her ladyship. "Are you such a fool,

  Ethel, as to be hankering after that young scapegrace, and his yellow

  beard? His drawings are very pretty. Why, I think he might earn a couple

  of hundred a year as a teacher, and nothing would be easier than to break

  your engagement with Kew, and whistle the drawing-master back again."

  Ethel took up the whole heap of Clive's drawings, lighted a taper,

  carried the drawings to the fireplace, and set them in a blaze. "A very

  pretty pie
ce of work," says Lady Kew, "and which proves satisfactorily

  that you don't care for the young Clive at all. Have we arranged a

  correspondence? We are cousins, you know; we may write pretty cousinly

  letters to one another." A month before the old lady would have attacked

  her with other arms than sarcasm, but she was scared now, and dared to

  use no coarser weapons. "Oh!" cried Ethel in a transport, "what a life

  ours is, and how you buy and sell, and haggle over your children! It is

  not Clive I care about, poor boy. Our ways of life are separate. I cannot

  break from my own family, and I know very well how yon would receive him

  in it. Had he money, it would be different. You would receive him, and

  welcome him, and hold out your hands to him; but he is only a poor

  painter, and we forsooth are bankers in the City; and he comes among us

  on sufferance, like those concert-singers whom mamma treats with so much

  politeness, and who go down and have supper by themselves. Why should

  they not be as good as we are?"

  "M. de C----, my dear, is of a noble family," interposed Lady Kew; "when

  he has given up singing and made his fortune, no doubt he can go back

  into the world again."

  "Made his fortune, yes," Ethel continued, "that is the cry. There never

  were, since the world began, people so unblushingly sordid! We own it,

  and are proud of it. We barter rank against money, and money against

  rank, day after day. Why did you marry my father to my mother? Was it for

  his wit? You know he might have been an angel and you would have scorned

  him. Your daughter was bought with papa's money as surely as ever Newcome

  was. Will there be no day when this mammon-worship will cease among us?"

  "Not in my time or yours, Ethel," the elder said, not unkindly; perhaps

  she thought of a day long ago before she was old herself.

  "We are sold," the young girl went on, "we are as much sold as Turkish

  women; the only difference being that our masters may have but one

  Circassian at a time. No, there is no freedom for us. I wear my green

  ticket, and wait till my master comes. But every day as I think of our

  slavery, I revolt against it more. That poor wretch, that poor girl whom

  my brother is to marry, why did she not revolt and fly? I would, if I

  loved a man sufficiently, loved him better than the world, than wealth,

  than rank, than fine houses and titles,--and I feel I love these best,--I

  would give up all to follow him. But what can I be with my name and my

  parents? I belong to the world like all the rest of my family. It is you

  who have bred us up; you who are answerable for us. Why are there no

  convents to which we can fly? You make a fine marriage for me; you

  provide me with a good husband, a kind soul, not very wise, but very

  kind; you make me what you call happy, and I would rather be at the

  plough like the women here."

  "No, you wouldn't, Ethel," replies the grandmother, drily. "These are the

  fine speeches of schoolgirls. The showers of rain would spoil your

  complexion--you would be perfectly tired in an hour, and come back to

  luncheon--you belong to your belongings, my dear, and are not better than

  the rest of the world:--very good-looking, as you know perfectly well,

  and not very good-tempered. It is lucky that Kew is. Calm your temper, at

  least before marriage; such a prize does not fall to a pretty girl's lot

  every day. Why, you sent him away quite seared by your cruelty; and if he

  is not playing at roulette, or at billiards, I dare say he is thinking

  what a little termagant you are, and that he had beat pause while it is

  yet time. Before I was married, your poor grandfather never knew I had a

  temper; of after-days I say nothing; but trials are good for all of us,

  and he bore his like an angel."

  Lady Kew, too, on this occasion at least, was admirably good-humoured.

  She also when it was necessary could put a restraint on her temper, and,