necessitate his return home? No, he must not go to the East, Lord Kew's
mother avowed; Kew had promised to stay with her during the summer at
Castellammare, and Mr. Newcome must come and paint their portraits there
--all their portraits. She would like to have an entire picture-gallery
of Kews, if her son would remain at home during the sittings.
At an early hour Lady Walham retired to rest, exacting Clive's promise to
come to Castellammare; and George Barnes disappeared to array himself in
an evening costume, and to pay his round of visits as became a young
diplomatist. This part of diplomatic duty does not commence until after
the opera at Naples; and society begins when the rest of the world has
gone to bed.
Kew and Clive sate till one o'clock in the morning, when the latter
returned to his hotel. Not one of those fine parties at Paestum, Sicily,
etc. was carried out. Clive did not go to the East at all, and it was J.
J, who painted Lord Kew's portrait that summer at Castellammare. The next
day Clive went for his passport to the embassy; and a steamer departing
direct for Marseilles on that very afternoon, behold Mr. Newcome was on
board of her; Lord Kew and his brother and J. J. waving their hats to him
as the vessel left the shore.
Away went the ship cleaving swiftly through the azure waters; but not
swiftly enough for Clive. J. J. went back with a sigh to his sketchbook
and easels. I suppose the other young disciple of Art had heard something
which caused him to forsake his sublime mistress for one who was much
more capricious and earthly.
CHAPTER XL
Returns from Rome to Pall Mall
One morning in the month of July, when there was actually sunshine in
Lamb Court, and the two gentlemen who occupied the third-floor chambers
there in partnership, were engaged, as their custom was, over their
pipes, and their manuscripts, and their Times newspaper, behold a fresh
sunshine burst into their room in the person of a young Clive, with a
bronzed face, and a yellow beard and mustachios, and those bright
cheerful eyes, the sight of which was always so welcome to both of us.
"What, Clive! What, the young one! What, Benjamin!" shout Pendennis and
Warrington. Clive had obtained a very high place indeed in the latter's
affections, so much so, that if I could have found it in my heart to be
jealous of such a generous brave fellow, I might have grudged him his
share of Warrington's regard. He blushed up with pleasure to see us
again. Pidgeon, our boy, introduced him with a jubilant countenance; and
Flanagan, the laundress, came smirking out of the bedroom, eager to get a
nod of recognition from him, and bestow a smile of welcome upon
everybody's favourite, Clive.
In two minutes an arm-chair full of magazines, slips of copy, and books
for review, was emptied over the neighbouring coal-scuttle, and Clive was
in the seat, a cigar in his mouth, as comfortable as if he had never been
away. When did he come? Last night. He was back in Charlotte Street, at
his old lodgings: he had been to breakfast in Fitzroy Square that
morning; James Binnie chirped for joy at seeing him. His father had
written to him desiring him to come back and see James Binnie; pretty
Miss Rosey was very well, thank you: and Mrs. Mack? Wasn't Mrs. Mackenzie
delighted to behold him? "Come, sir, on your honour and conscience,
didn't the widow give you a kiss on your return?" Clive sends an uncut
number of the Pall Mall Gazette flying across the room at the head of the
inquirer; but blushes as sweetly, that I have very little doubt some such
pretty meeting had taken place.
What a pity it is he had not been here a short while since for a marriage
in high life, to give away his dear Barnes, and sign the book, along with
the other dignitaries! We described that ceremony to him, and announced
the promotion of his friend, Florac, now our friend also, Director of the
Great Anglo-Gallic Railway, the Prince de Moncontour. Then Clive told us
of his deeds during the winter; of the good fun he had had at Rome, and
the jolly fellows he had met there. Was he going to astonish the world by
some grand pictures? He was not. The more he worked, the more
discontented he was with his performances somehow: but J. J. was coming
out very strong, J. J. was going to be a stunner. We turned with pride
and satisfaction to that very number of the Pall Mall Gazette which the
youth had flung at us, and showed him a fine article by F. Bayham, Esq.,
in which the picture sent home by J. J. was enthusiastically lauded by
the great critic.
So he was back amongst us, and it seemed but yesterday he had quitted us.
To Londoners everything seems to have happened but yesterday; nobody has
time to miss his neighbour who goes away. People go to the Cape, or on a
campaign, or on a tour round the world, or to India, and return with a
wife and two or three children, and we fancy it was only the other day
they left us, so engaged is every man in his individual speculations,
studies, struggles; so selfish does our life make us:--selfish but not
ill-natured. We are glad to see an old friend, though we do not weep when
he leaves us. We humbly acknowledge, if fate calls us away likewise, that
we are no more missed than any other atom.
After talking for a while, Mr. Clive must needs go into the City, whither
I accompanied him. His interview with Messrs. Jolly and Baines, at the
house in Fog Court, must have been very satisfactory; Clive came out of
the parlour with a radiant countenance. "Do you want any money, old boy?"
says he; "the dear old governor has placed a jolly sum to my account, and
Mr. Baines has told me how delighted Mrs. Baines and the girls will be to
see me at dinner. He says my father has made a lucky escape out of one
house in India, and a famous investment in another. Nothing could be more
civil; how uncommonly kind and friendly everybody is in London!
Everybody!" Then bestowing ourselves in a hansom cab, which had probably
just deposited some other capitalist in the City, we made for the West
End of the town, where Mr. Clive had some important business to transact
with his tailors. He discharged his outstanding little account with easy
liberality, blushing as he pulled out of his pocket a new chequebook,
page 1 of which he bestowed on the delighted artist. From Mr. B.'s shop
to Mr. Truefitt's. is but a step. Our young friend was induced to enter
the hairdresser's, and leave behind him a great portion of the flowing
locks and the yellow beard, which he had brought with him from Rome. With
his mustachios he could not be induced to part; painters and cavalry
officers having a right to those decorations. And why should not this
young fellow wear smart clothes, and a smart moustache, and look
handsome, and take his pleasure, and bask in his sun when it shone? Time
enough for flannel and a fire when the winter comes; and for grey hair
and cork-soled boots in the natural decline of years.
Then we went to pay a visit at a hotel in Jermyn Street to our friend
Florac who was now mag
nificently lodged there. A powdered giant lolling in
the hall, his buttons emblazoned with prodigious coronets, took our cards
up to the Prince. As the door of an apartment on the first floor opened,
we heard a cry as of joy; and that nobleman in a magnificent Persian
dressing-gown, rushing from the room, plunged down the stairs, and began
kissing Clive, to the respectful astonishment of the Titan in livery.
"Come that I present you, my friends," our good little Frenchman
exclaimed "to Madame la--to my wife!" We entered the drawing-room; a
demure little little lady, of near sixty years of age, was seated there,
and we were presented in form to Madame Princesse de Moncontour, nee
Higg, of Manchester. She made us a stiff little curtsey, but looked not
ill-natured; indeed, few women could look at Clive Newcome's gallant
figure and brave smiling countenance and keep a frown on their own very
long.
"I have 'eard of you from somebodys else besides the Prince," said the
lady, with rather a blush "Your uncle has spoke to me hoften about you,
Mr. Clive, and about your good father."
"C'est son Directeur," whispers Florac to me. I wondered which of the
firm of Newcome had taken that office upon him.
"Now you are come to England," the lady continued (whose Lancashire
pronunciation being once indicated, we shall henceforth, out of respect
to the Princess's rank generally pretermit),--"now you are come to
England we hope to see you often. Not here in this noisy hotel, which I
can't bear, but in the country. Our house is only three miles from
Newcome--not such a grand place as your uncle's; but I hope we shall see
you there a great deal, and your friend Mr Pendennis, if he is passing
that way." The invitation to Mr. Pendennis, I am bound to say, was given
in terms by no means so warm as those in which the Princess's hospitality
to Clive were professed.
"Shall we meet you at your Huncle 'Obson's?" the lady continued to Clive;
"his wife is a most charming, well-informed woman, has been most kind and
civil and we dine there to-day. Barnes and his wife is gone to spend the
honeymoon at Newcome. Lady Clara is a sweet dear thing, and her pa and ma
most affable, I am sure. What a pity Sir Brian couldn't attend the
marriage! There was everybody there in London, a'most. Sir Harvey Diggs
says he is mending very slowly. In life we are in death, Mr. Newcome!
Isn't it sad to think of him, in the midst of all his splendour and
prosperity, and he so infirm and unable to enjoy them! But let us hope
for the best, and that his health will soon come round!"
With these and similar remarks, in which poor Florac took but a very
small share (for he seemed dumb and melancholy in the company of the
Princess, his elderly spouse), the visit sped on. Mr. Pendennis, to whom
very little was said, having leisure to make his silent observations upon
the person to whom he had been just presented.
As there lay on the table two neat little packages, addressed "The
Princess de Moncontour"--an envelope to the same address, with "The
Prescription, No. 9396," further inscribed on the paper, and a sheet of
notepaper, bearing cabalistic characters, and the signature of that most
fashionable physician, Sir Harvey Diggs, I was led to believe that the
lady of Moncontour was, or fancied herself, in a delicate state of
health. By the side of the physic for the body was medicine for the soul
--a number of pretty little books in middle-age bindings, in antique type
many of theist, adorned with pictures of the German school, representing
demure ecclesiastics, with their heads on one side, children in long
starched nightgowns, virgins bearing lilies, and so forth, from which it
was to be concluded that the owner of the volumes was not so hostile to
Rome as she had been at an earlier period of her religious life; and that
she had migrated (in spirit) from Clapham to Knightsbridge--so many
wealthy mercantile families have likewise done in the body. A long strip
of embroidery, of the Gothic pattern, furthermore betrayed her present
inclinations; and the person observing these things, whilst nobody was
taking any notice of him, was amused when the accuracy of his conjectures
was confirmed by the reappearance of the gigantic footman, calling out
"'Oneyman," in a loud voice, and preceding that divine into the room.
"C'est le Directeur. Venez fumer dans ma chambre, Pen," growled Florac as
Honeyman came sliding over the carpet, his elegant smile changing to a
blush when he beheld Clive, his nephew, seated by the Princess's side.
This, then, was the uncle who had spoken about Clive and his father to
Madame de Florac. Charles seemed in the best condition. He held out two
bran-new lavender-coloured kid gloves to shake hands with his dear Clive;
Florac and Mr. Pendennis vanished out of the room as he appeared, so that
no precise account can be given of this affecting interview.
When I quitted the hotel, a brown brougham, with a pair of beautiful
horses, the harness and panels emblazoned with the neatest little ducal
coronets you ever saw, and a cypher under each crown as easy to read as
the arrow-headed inscriptions on one of Mr. Layard's Assyrian chariots,
was in waiting, and I presumed that Madame la Princesse was about to take
an airing.
Clive had passed the avuncular banking-house in the City, without caring
to face his relatives there. Mr. Newcome was now in sole command, Mr.
Barnes being absent at Newcome, the Baronet little likely ever to enter
bank-parlour again. But his bounden duty was to wait on the ladies; and
of course, only from duty's sake, he went the very first day and called
in Park Lane.
"The family was habsent ever since the marriage simminery last week," the
footman, who had accompanied the party to Baden, informed Clive when he
opened the door, and recognised that gentleman. "Sir Brian pretty well,
thank you, sir. The family was at Brighting. That is Miss Newcome is in
London staying with her grandmamma in Queen Street, Mayfear, sir." The
varnished doors closed upon Jeames within; the brazen knockers grinned
their familiar grin at Clive, and he went down the blank steps
discomfited. Must it be owned that he went to a Club, and looked in the
Directory for the number of Lady Kew's house in Queen Street? Her
ladyship had a furnished house for the season. No such noble name to be
found among the inhabitants of Queen Street.
Mr. Hobson was from home; that is, Thomas had orders not to admit
strangers on certain days, or before certain hours; so that Aunt Hobson
saw Clive without being seen by the young man. I cannot say how much he
regretted that mischance. His visits of propriety were thus all paid; and
he went off to dine dutifully with James Binnie, after which meal he came
to a certain rendezvous given to him by some bachelors friends for the
evening.
James Binnie's eyes lightened up with pleasure on beholding his young
Clive; the youth, obedient to his father's injunction, had hastened to
Fitzroy Square immediately after taking possession of his
old lodgings--
his, during the time of his absence. The old properties and carved
cabinets, the picture of his father looking melancholy out of the canvas,
greeted Clive strangely on the afternoon of his arrival. No wonder he was
glad to get away from a solitude peopled with a number of dismal
recollections, to the near hospitality of Fitzroy Square and his guardian
and friend there.
James had not improved in health during Clive's ten months' absence. He
had never been able to walk well, or take his accustomed exercise, after
his fall. He was no more used to riding than the late Mr. Gibbon, whose
person James's somewhat resembled, and of whose philosophy our Scottish
friend was an admiring scholar. The Colonel gone, James would have
arguments with Mr. Honeyman over their claret, bring down the famous XVth
and XVIth chapters of the Decline and Fall upon him, and quite get the
better of the clergyman. James, like many other sceptics, was very
obstinate, and for his part believed that almost all parsons had as much
belief as the Roman augurs in their ceremonies. Certainly, poor Honeyman,
in their controversies, gave up one article after another, flying from
James's assault; but the battle over, Charles Honeyman would pick up
these accoutrements which he had flung away in his retreat, wipe them
dry, and put them on again.
Lamed by his fall, and obliged to remain much within doors, where certain
society did not always amuse him, James Binnie sought excitement in the
pleasures of the table, partaking of them the more freely now that his
health could afford them the less. Clive, the sly rogue, observed a great
improvement in the commissariat since his good father's time, ate his
dinner with thankfulness, and made no remarks. Nor did he confide to us
for a while his opinion that Mrs. Mack bored the good gentleman most
severely; that he pined away under her kindnesses; sneaked off to bis
study-chair and his nap; was only too glad when some of the widow's
friends came, or she went out; seeming to breathe more freely when she
was gone, and drink his wine more cheerily when rid of the intolerable
weight of her presence.
I protest the great ills of life are nothing--the loss of your fortune is
a mere flea-bite; the loss of your wife--how many men have supported it
and married comfortably afterwards? It is not what you lose, but what you
have daily to bear that is hard. I can fancy nothing more cruel, after a
long easy life of bachelorhood, than to have to sit day after day with a
dull, handsome woman opposite; to have to answer her speeches about the
weather, housekeeping and what not; to smile appropriately when she is
disposed to be lively (that laughing at the jokes is the hardest part),
and to model your conversation so as to suit her intelligence, knowing
that a word used out of its downright signification will not be
understood by your fair breakfast-maker. Women go through this simpering
and smiling life, and bear it quite easily. Theirs is a life of
hypocrisy. What good woman does not laugh at her husband's or father's
jokes and stories time after time, and would not laugh at breakfast,
lunch, and dinner, if he told them? Flattery is their nature--to coax,
flatter and sweetly befool some one is every woman's business. She is
none if she declines this office. But men are not provided with such
powers of humbug or endurance--they perish and pine away miserably when
bored--or they shrink off to the club or public-house for comfort. I want
to say as delicately as I can, and never liking to use rough terms
regarding a handsome woman, that Mrs. Mackenzie, herself being in the
highest spirits and the best humour, extinguished her half-brother, James
Binnie, Esq.; that she was as a malaria to him, poisoning his atmosphere,
numbing his limbs, destroying his sleep--that day after day as he sate
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