Clive. I never had a mother; but you seem like one.
Madame de F. Mon fils! Oh, mon fils!
CHAPTER XLVIII
In which Benedick is a Married Man
We have all heard of the dying French Duchess, who viewed her coming
dissolution and subsequent fate so easily, because she said she was
sure that Heaven must deal politely with a person of her quality;--I
suppose Lady Kew had some such notions regarding people of rank: her
long-suffering towards them was extreme; in fact, there were vices which
the old lady thought pardonable, and even natural, in a young nobleman of
high station, which she never would have excused in persons of vulgar
condition.
Her ladyship's little knot of associates and scandal-bearers--elderly
roues and ladies of the world, whose business it was to know all sorts of
noble intrigues and exalted tittle-tattle; what was happening among the
devotees of the exiled court at Frobsdorf; what among the citizen princes
of the Tuileries; who was the reigning favourite of the Queen Mother at
Aranjuez; who was smitten with whom at Vienna or Naples; and the last
particulars of the chroniques scandaleuses of Paris and London;--Lady
Kew, I say, must have been perfectly aware of my Lord Farintosh's
amusements, associates, and manner of life, and yet she never, for one
moment, exhibited any anger or dislike towards that nobleman. Her amiable
heart was so full of kindness and forgiveness towards the young prodigal
that, even without any repentance on his part, she was ready to take him
to her old arms, and give him her venerable benediction. Pathetic
sweetness of nature! Charming tenderness of disposition! With all his
faults and wickednesses, his follies and his selfishness, there was no
moment when Lady Kew would not have received the young lord, and endowed
him with the hand of her darling Ethel.
But the hopes which this fond forgiving creature had nurtured for one
season, and carried on so resolutely to the next, were destined to be
disappointed yet a second time, by a most provoking event, which occurred
in the Newcome family. Ethel was called away suddenly from Paris by her
father's third and last paralytic seizure. When she reached her home, Sir
Brian could not recognise her. A few hours after her arrival, all the
vanities of the world were over for him: and Sir Barnes Newcome, Baronet,
reigned in his stead. The day after Sir Brian was laid in his vault at
Newcome--a letter appeared in the local papers addressed to the
Independent Electors of that Borough, in which his orphan son, feelingly
alluding to the virtue, the services, and the political principles of the
deceased, offered himself as a candidate for the seat in Parliament now
vacant. Sir Barnes announced that he should speedily pay his respects in
person to the friends and supporters of his lamented father. That he was
a staunch friend of our admirable constitution need not be said. That he
was a firm, but conscientious upholder of our Protestant religion, all
who knew Barnes Newcome must be aware. That he would do his utmost to
advance the interests of this great agricultural, this great
manufacturing county and borough, we may be sure he avowed; as that he
would be (if returned to represent Newcome in Parliament) the advocate of
every rational reform, the unhesitating opponent of every reckless
innovation. In fine, Barnes Newcome's manifesto to the Electors of
Newcome was as authentic a document and gave him credit for as many
public virtues, as that slab over poor Sir Brian's bones in the chancel
of Newcome church, which commemorated the good qualities of the defunct,
and the grief of his heir.
In spite of the virtues, personal and inherited, of Barnes, his seat for
Newcome was not got without a contest. The dissenting interest and the
respectable Liberals of the borough wished to set up Samuel Higg, Esq.;
against Sir Barnes Newcome: and now it was that Barnes's civilities of
the previous year, aided by Madame de Moncontour's influence over her
brother, bore their fruit. Mr. Higg declined to stand against Sir Barnes
Newcome, although Higg's political principles were by no means those of
the honourable Baronet; and the candidate from London, whom the Newcome
extreme Radicals set up against Barnes, was nowhere on the poll when the
day of election came. So Barnes had the desire of his heart; and, within
two months after his father's demise, he sate in Parliament as Member for
Newcome.
The bulk of the late Baronet's property descended, of course, to his
eldest son: who grumbled, nevertheless, at the provision made for his
brothers and sisters, and that the town-house should have been left to
Lady Anne, who was too poor to inhabit it. But Park Lane is the best
situation in London, and Lady Anne's means were greatly improved by the
annual produce of the house in Park Lane, which, as we all know, was
occupied by a foreign minister for several subsequent seasons. Strange
mutations of fortune: old places; new faces; what Londoner does not see
and speculate upon them every day? Coelia's boudoir, who is dead with the
daisies over her at Kensal Green, is now the chamber where Delia is
consulting Dr. Locock, or Julia's children are romping: Florio's
dining-tables have now Pollio's wine upon them: Calista, being a widow,
and (to the surprise of everybody who knew Trimalchio, and enjoyed his
famous dinners) left but very poorly off, lets the house, and the rich,
chaste, and appropriate planned furniture, by Dowbiggin, and the proceeds
go to keep her little boys at Eton. The next year, as Mr. Clive Newcome
rode by the once familiar mansion (whence the hatchment had been removed,
announcing that there was in Coelo Quies for the late Sir Brian Newcome,
Bart.), alien faces looked from over the flowers in the balconies. He got
a card for an entertainment from the occupant of the mansion, H.E. the
Bulgarian minister; and there was the same crowd in the reception-room
and on the stairs, the same grave men from Gunter's distributing the
refreshments in the dining-room, the same old Smee, R. A. (always in the
room where the edibles were), cringing and flattering to the new
occupants; and the same effigy of poor Sir Brian, in his
deputy-lieutenant's uniform, looking blankly down from over the
sideboard, at the feast which his successors were giving. A dreamy old
ghost of a picture. Have you ever looked at those round George IV.'s
banqueting-hall at Windsor? Their frames still hold them, but they smile
ghostly smiles, and swagger in robes and velvets which are quite faint
and faded: their crimson coats have a twilight tinge: the lustre of their
stars has twinkled out: they look as if they were about to flicker off
the wall and retire to join their originals in limbo.
* * * * * *
Nearly three years had elapsed since the good Colonel's departure for
India, and during this time certain changes had occurred in the lives of
the principal actors and the writer of this history. As regards the
latter, it must be sta
ted that the dear old firm of Lamb Court had been
dissolved, the junior member having contracted another partnership. The
chronicler of these memoirs was a bachelor no longer. My wife and I had
spent the winter at Rome (favourite resort of young married couples); and
had heard from the artists there Clive's name affectionately repeated;
and many accounts of his sayings and doings, his merry supper-parties,
and the talents of young Ridley, his friend. When we came to London in
the spring, almost our first visit was to Clive's apartments in Charlotte
Street, whither my wife delightedly went to give her hand to the young
painter.
But Clive no longer inhabited that quiet region. On driving to the house
we found a bright brass plate, with the name of Mr. J. J. Ridley on the
door, and it was J. J.'s hand which I shook (his other being engaged with
a great palette, and a sheaf of painting-brushes) when we entered the
well-known quarters. Clive's picture hung over the mantelpiece, where his
father's head used to hang in our time--a careful and beautifully
executed portrait of the lad in a velvet coat and a Roman hat, with that
golden beard which was sacrificed to the exigencies of London fashion. I
showed Laura the likeness until she could become acquainted with the
original. On her expressing her delight at the picture, the painter was
pleased to say, in his modest blushing way, that he would be glad to
execute my wife's portrait too, nor, as I think, could any artist find a
subject more pleasing.
After admiring others of Mr. Ridley's works, our talk naturally reverted
to his predecessor. Clive had migrated to much more splendid quarters.
Had we not heard? he had become a rich man, a man of fashion. "I fear he
is very lazy about the arts," said J. J., with regret on his countenance;
"though I begged and prayed him to be faithful to his profession. He
would have done very well in it, in portrait-painting especially. Look
here, and here, and here!" said Ridley, producing fine vigorous sketches
of Clive's. "He had the art of seizing the likeness, and of making all
his people look like gentlemen, too. He was improving every day, when
this abominable bank came in the way, and stopped him."
What bank? I did not know the new Indian bank of which the Colonel was a
director. Then, of course, I was aware that the mercantile affair in
question was the Bundelcund Bank, about which the Colonel had written to
me from India more than a year since, announcing that fortunes were to be
made by it, and that he had reserved shares for me in the company. Laura
admired all Clive's sketches, which his affectionate brother-artist
showed to her with the exception of one representing the reader's humble
servant; which, Mrs. Pendennis considered, by no means did justice to the
original.
Bidding adieu to the kind J. J., and leaving him to pursue his art, in
that silent serious way in which he daily laboured at it, we drove to
Fitzroy Square hard by, where I was not displeased to show the good old
hospitable James Binnie the young lady who bore my name. But here, too,
we were disappointed. Placards wafered in the windows announced that the
old house was to let. The woman who kept it brought a card in Mrs.
Mackenzie's frank handwriting, announcing Mr. James Binnie's address was
"Poste-restante, Pau, in the Pyrenees," and that his London agents were
Messrs. So-and-so. The woman said she believed the gentleman had been
unwell. The house, too, looked very pale, dismal, and disordered. We
drove away from the door, grieving to think that ill-health, or any other
misfortunes, had befallen good old James.
Mrs. Pendennis drove back to our lodgings, Brixham's, in Jermyn Street,
while I sped to the City, having business in that quarter. It has been
said that I kept a small account with Hobson Brothers, to whose bank I
went, and entered the parlour with that trepidation which most poor men
feel on presenting themselves before City magnates and capitalists. Mr.
Hobson Newcome shook hands most jovially and good-naturedly,
congratulated me on my marriage, and so forth, and presently Sir Barnes
Newcome made his appearance, still wearing his mourning for his deceased
father.
Nothing could be more kind, pleasant, and cordial than Sir Barnes's
manner. He seemed to know well about my affairs; complimented me on every
kind of good fortune; had heard that I had canvassed the borough in which
I lived; hoped sincerely to see me in Parliament and on the right side;
was most anxious to become acquainted with Mrs. Pendennis, of whom Lady
Rockminster said all sorts of kind things; and asked for our address, in
order that Lady Clara Newcome might have the pleasure of calling on my
wife. This ceremony was performed soon afterwards; and an invitation to
dinner from Sir Barnes and Lady Clara Newcome speedily followed it.
Sir Barnes Newcome, Bart., M.P., I need not say, no longer inhabited the
small house which he had occupied immediately after his marriage: but
dwelt in a much more spacious mansion in Belgravia, where he entertained
his friends. Now that he had come into his kingdom, I must say that
Barnes was by no means so insufferable as in the days of his
bachelorhood. He had sown his wild oats, and spoke with regret and
reserve of that season of his moral culture. He was grave, sarcastic,
statesmanlike; did not try to conceal his baldness (as he used before his
father's death, by bringing lean wisps of hair over his forehead from the
back of his head); talked a great deal about the House; was assiduous in
his attendance there and in the City; and conciliating with all the
world. It seemed as if we were all his constituents, and though his
efforts to make himself agreeable were rather apparent, the effect
succeeded pretty well. We met Mr. and Mrs. Hobson Newcome, and Clive, and
Miss Ethel looking beautiful in her black robes. It was a family party,
Sir Barnes said, giving us to understand, with a decorous solemnity in
face and voice, that no large parties as yet could be received in that
house of mourning.
To this party was added, rather to my surprise, my Lord Highgate, who
under the sobriquet of Jack Belsize has been presented to the reader of
this history. Lord Highgate gave Lady Clara his arm to dinner, but went
and took a place next Miss Newcome, on the other side of her; that
immediately by Lady Clara being reserved for a guest who had not as yet
made his appearance.
Lord Highgate's attentions to his neighbour, his laughing and talking,
were incessant; so much so that Clive, from his end of the table, scowled
in wrath at Jack Belsize's assiduities: it was evident that the youth,
though hopeless, was still jealous and in love with his charming cousin.
Barnes Newcome was most kind to all his guests: from Aunt Hobson to your
humble servant, there was not one but the of master the house had an
agreeable word for him. Even for his cousin Samuel Newcome, a gawky youth
with an eruptive countenance, Barnes had appropriate words of
conversation, and talked
about King's College, of which the lad was an
ornament, with the utmost affability. He complimented that institution
and young Samuel, and by that shot knocked not only over Sam but his
mamma too. He talked to Uncle Hobson about his crops; to Clive about his
pictures; to me about the great effect which a certain article in the
Pall Mall Gazette had produced in the House, where the Chancellor of the
Exchequer was perfectly livid with fury, and Lord John bursting out
laughing at the attack: in fact, nothing could be more amiable than our
host on this day. Lady Clara was very pretty--grown a little stouter
since her marriage; the change only became her. She was a little silent,
but then she had Uncle Hobson on her left-hand side, between whom and her
ladyship there could not be much in common, and the place at the right
hand was still vacant. The person with whom she talked most freely was
Clive, who had made a beautiful drawing of her and her little girl, for
which the mother and the father too, as it appeared, were very grateful.
What had caused this change in Barnes's behaviour? Our particular merits
or his own private reform? In the two years over which this narrative has
had to run in the course of as many chapters, the writer had inherited a
property so small that it could not occasion a banker's civility; and I
put down Sir Barnes Newcome's politeness to a sheer desire to be well
with me. But with Lord Highgate and Clive the case was different, as you
must now hear.
Lord Highgate, having succeeded to his father's title and fortune, had
paid every shilling of his debts, and had sowed his wild oats to the very
last corn. His lordship's account at Hobson Brothers was very large.
Painful events of three years' date, let us hope, were forgotten--
gentlemen cannot go on being in love and despairing, and quarrelling for
ever. When he came into his funds, Highgate behaved with uncommon
kindness to Rooster, who was always straitened for money: and when the
late Lord Dorking died and Rooster succeeded to him, there was a meeting
at Chanticlere between Highgate and Barnes Newcome and his wife, which
went off very comfortably. At Chanticlere the Dowager Lady Kew and Miss
Newcome were also staying, when Lord Highgate announced his prodigious
admiration for the young lady; and, it was said, corrected Farintosh, as
a low-minded, foul-tongued young cub, for daring to speak disrespectfully
of her. Nevertheless, vous concevez, when a man of the Marquis's rank was
supposed to look with the eyes of admiration upon a young lady, Lord
Highgate would not think of spoiling sport, and he left Chanticlere
declaring that he was always destined to be unlucky in love. When old
Lady Kew was obliged to go to Vichy for her lumbago, Highgate said to
Barnes, "Do ask your charming sister to come to you in London; she will
bore herself to death with the old woman at Vichy, or with her mother at
Rugby" (whither Lady Anne had gone to get her boys educated), and
accordingly Miss Newcome came on a visit to her brother and sister, at
whose house we have just had the honour of seeing her.
When Rooster took his seat in the House of Lords, he was introduced by
Highgate and Kew, as Highgate had been introduced by Kew previously. Thus
these three gentlemen all rode in gold coaches; had all got coronets on
their heads; as you will, my respected young friend, if you are the
eldest son of a peer who dies before you. And now they were rich, they
were all going to be very good boys, let us hope. Kew, we know, married
one of the Dorking family, that second Lady Henrietta Pulleyn, whom we
described as frisking about at Baden, and not in the least afraid of him.
How little the reader knew, to whom we introduced the girl in that chatty
offhand way, that one day the young creature would be a countess! But we
knew it all the while--and, when she was walking about with the
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