Poor Mrs. Hobson Newcome had reason to be sulky at the neglect which
all the Richmond party showed her, for nobody, not even Major Pendennis,
as we have seen, would listen to her intellectual conversation; nobody,
not even Lord Highgate, would drive back to town in her carriage, though
the vehicle was large and empty, and Lady Clara's barouche, in which his
lordship chose to take a place, had already three occupants within it:--
but in spite of these rebuffs and disappointments the virtuous lady of
Bryanstone Square was bent upon being good-natured and hospitable; and I
have to record, in the present chapter, yet one more feast of which Mr.
and Mrs. Pendennis partook at the expense of the most respectable Newcome
family.
Although Mrs. Laura here also appeared, and had the place of honour in
her character of bride, I am bound to own my opinion that Mrs. Hobson
only made us the pretext of her party, and that in reality it was given
to persons of a much more exalted rank. We were the first to arrive, our
good old Major, the most punctual of men, bearing us company. Our hostess
was arrayed in unusual state and splendour; her fat neck was ornamented
with jewels, rich bracelets decorated her arms, and this Bryanstone
Square Cornelia had likewise her family jewels distributed round her,
priceless male and female Newcome gems, from the King's College youth,
with whom we have made a brief acquaintance, and his elder sister, now
entering into the world, down to the last little ornament of the nursery,
in a prodigious new sash, with ringlets hot and crisp from the tongs of a
Marylebone hairdresser, We had seen the cherub faces of some of these
darlings pressed against the drawing-room windows as our carriage drove
up to the door; when, after a few minutes' conversation, another vehicle
arrived, away they dashed to the windows again, the innocent little dears
crying out, "Here's the Marquis;" and in sadder tones, "No, it isn't the
Marquis," by which artless expressions they showed how eager they were to
behold an expected guest of a rank only inferior to Dukes in this great
empire.
Putting two and two together, as the saying is, it was not difficult for
me to guess who the expected Marquis was--and, indeed, the King's College
youth set that question at once to rest, by wagging his head at me, and
winking his eye, and saying, "We expect Farintosh."
"Why, my dearest children," Matronly Virtue exclaimed, "this anxiety to
behold the young Marquis of Farintosh, whom we expect at our modest
table, Mrs. Pendennis, to-day? Twice you have been at the window in your
eagerness to look for him. Louisa, you silly child, do you imagine that
his lordship will appear in his robes and coronet? Rodolf, you absurd
boy, do you think that a Marquis is other than a man? I have never
admired aught but intellect, Mrs. Pendennis; that, let us be thankful, is
the only true title to distinction in our country nowadays."
"Begad, sir," whispers the old Major to me, "intellect may be a doosid
fine thing, but in my opinion, a Marquisate and eighteen or twenty
thousand a year--I should say the Farintosh property, with the Glenlivat
estate and the Roy property in England, must be worth nineteen thousand a
year at the very lowest figure and I remember when this young man's
father was only Tom Roy, of the 42nd, with no hope of succeeding to the
title, and doosidly out at elbows too--I say what does the bankeress mean
by chattering about intellect? Hang me, a Marquis is a Marquis; and Mrs.
Newcome knows it as well as I do." My good Major was growing old, and was
not unnaturally a little testy at the manner in which his hostess
received him. Truth to tell, she hardly took any notice of him and cut
down a couple of the old gentleman's stories before he had been five
minutes in the room.
To our party presently comes the host in a flurried countenance, with a
white waistcoat, holding in his hand an open letter, towards which his
wife looks with some alarm. "How dy' doo, Lady Clara, how dy' doo,
Ethel?" he says, saluting those ladies, whom the second carriage had
brought to us. "Sir Barnes is not coming, that's one place vacant; that,
Lady Clara, you won't mind, you see him at home: but here's a
disappointment for yon, Miss Newcome, Lord Farintosh can't come."
At this, two of the children cry out "Oh! oh!" with such a melancholy
accent that Miss Newcome and Lady Clara burst out laughing.
"Got a dreadful toothache," said Mr. Hobson; "here's his letter."
"Hang it, what a bore!" cries artless young King's College.
"Why a bore, Samuel? A bore, as you call it, for Lord Farintosh, I grant;
but do you suppose that the high in station are exempt from the ills of
mortality? I know nothing more painful than a toothache," exclaims a
virtuous matron, using the words of philosophy, but showing the
countenance of anger.
"Hang it, why didn't he have it out?" says Samuel.
Miss Ethel laughed. "Lord Farintosh would not have that tooth out for the
world, Samuel," she cried, gaily. "He keeps it in on purpose, and it
always aches when be does not want to go out to dinner."
"I know one humble family who will never ask him again," Mrs. Hobson
exclaims, rustling in all her silks, and tapping her fan and her foot.
The eclipse, however, passes off her countenance and light is restored;
when at this moment, a cab having driven up during the period of
darkness, the door is flung open, and Lord Highgate is announced by a
loud-voiced butler.
My wife, being still the bride on this occasion, had the honour of being
led to the dinner-table by our banker and host. Lord Highgate was
reserved for Mrs. Hobson, who, in an engaging manner, requested poor
Clive to conduct his cousin Maria to dinner, handing over Miss Ethel to
another guest. Our Major gave his arm to Lady Clara, and I perceived that
my wife looked very grave as he passed the place where she sat, and
seated Lady Clara in the next chair to that which Lord Highgate chanced
to occupy. Feeling himself en vein, and the company being otherwise
rather mum and silent, my uncle told a number of delightful anecdotes
about the beau-monde of his time, about the Peninsular war, the Regent,
Brummell, Lord Steyne, Pea Green Payne, and so forth. He said the evening
was very pleasant, though some others of the party, as it appeared to me,
scarcely seemed to think so. Clive had not a word for his cousin Maria,
but looked across the table at Ethel all dinner-time. What could Ethel
have to say to her partner, old Colonel Sir Donald M'Craw, who gobbled
and drank, as his wont is, and if he had a remark to make, imparted it to
Mrs. Hobson, at whose right hand he was sitting, and to whom, during the
whole course, or courses, of the dinner, my Lord Highgate scarcely
uttered one single word?
His lordship was whispering all the while into the ringlets of Lady
Clara; they were talking a jargon which their hostess scarcely
understood, of people only known to her by her study of the Peerage. When
we joined the ladies after dinner, Lord Highgate ag
ain made way towards
Lady Clara, and at an order from her, as I thought, left her ladyship,
and strove hard to engage in a conversation with Mrs. Newcome. I hope he
succeeded in smoothing the frowns in that round little face. Mrs. Laura,
I own, was as grave as a judge all the evening; very grave even and
reserved with my uncle, when the hour for parting came, and we took him
home.
"He, he!" said the old man, coughing, and nodding his old head and
laughing in his senile manner, when I saw him on the next day; "that was
a pleasant evening we had yesterday; doosid pleasant, and I think my two
neighbours seemed to be uncommonly pleased with each other; not an
amusing fellow, that young painter of yours, though he is good-looking
enough, but there's no conversation in him. Do you think of giving a
little dinner, Arthur, in return for these hospitalities? Greenwich, hey,
or something of that sort? I'll go you halves, sir, and we'll ask the
young banker and bankeress--not yesterday's Amphitryon nor his wife; no,
no, hang it! but Barnes Newcome is a devilish clever, rising man, and
moves in about as good society as any in London. We'll ask him and Lady
Clara and Highgate, and one or two more, and have a pleasant party."
But to this proposal, when the old man communicated it to her, in a very
quiet, simple, artful way, Laura, with a flushing face said No quite
abruptly, and quitted the room, rustling in her silks, and showing at
once dignity and indignation.
Not many more feasts was Arthur Pendennis, senior, to have in this world.
Not many more great men was he to flatter, nor schemes to wink at, nor
earthly pleasures to enjoy. His long days were well-nigh ended: on his
last couch, which Laura tended so affectionately, with his last breath
almost, he faltered out to me. "I had other views for you, my boy, and
once hoped to see you in a higher position in life; but I begin to think
now, Arthur, that I was wrong; and as for that girl, sir, I am sure she
is an angel."
May I not inscribe the words with a grateful heart? Blessed he--blessed
though maybe undeserving--who has the love of a good woman.
CHAPTER L
Clive in New Quarters
My wife was much better pleased with Clive than with some of his
relatives to whom I had presented her. His face carried a recommendation
with it that few honest people could resist. He was always a welcome
friend in our lodgings, and even our uncle the Major signified his
approval of the lad as a young fellow of very good manners and feelings,
who, if he chose to throw himself away and be a painter, ma foi, was rich
enough no doubt to follow his own caprices. Clive executed a capital head
of Major Pendennis, which now hangs in our drawing-room at Fairoaks, and
reminds me of that friend of my youth. Clive occupied ancient lofty
chambers in Hanover Square now. He had furnished them in an antique
manner, with hangings, cabinets, carved work, Venice glasses, fine
prints, and water-colour sketches of good pictures by his own and other
hands. He had horses to ride, and a liberal purse full of paternal money.
Many fine equipages drew up opposite to his chambers: few artists had
such luck as young Mr. Clive. And above his own chambers were other three
which the young gentleman had hired, and where, says he, "I hope ere very
long my dear old father will be lodging with me. In another year he says
he thinks he will be able to come home; when the affairs of the Bank are
quite settled. You shake your head! why? The shares are worth four times
what we gave for them. We are men of fortune, Pen, I give you my word.
You should see how much they make of me at Baynes and Jolly's, and how
civil they are to me at Hobson Brothers'! I go into the City now and
then, and see our manager, Mr. Blackmore. He tells me such stories about
indigo, and wool, and copper, and sicca rupees, and Company's rupees. I
don't know anything about the business, but my father likes me to go and
see Mr. Blackmore. Dear cousin Barnes is for ever asking me to dinner; I
might call Lady Clara Clara if I liked, as Sam Newcome does in Bryanstone
Square. You can't think how kind they are to me there. My aunt reproaches
me tenderly for not going there oftener--it's not very good fun dining in
Bryanstone Square, is it? And she praises my cousin Maria to me--you
should hear my aunt praise her! I have to take Maria down to dinner; to
sit by the piano and listen to her songs in all languages. Do you know
Maria can sing Hungarian and Polish, besides your common German, Spanish,
and Italian? Those I have at our other agents', Baynes and Jolly's--
Baynes's that is in the Regent's Park, where the girls are prettier and
just as civil to me as at Aunt Hobson's." And here Clive would amuse us
by the accounts which he gave us of the snares which the Misses Baynes,
those young sirens of Regent's Park, set for him; of the songs which they
sang to enchant him, the albums in which they besought him to draw--the
thousand winning ways which they employed to bring him into their cave in
York Terrace. But neither Circe's smiles nor Calypso's blandishments had
any effect on him; his ears were stopped to their music, and his eyes
rendered dull to their charms by those of the flighty young enchantress
with whom my wife had of late made acquaintance.
Capitalist though he was, our young fellow was still very affable. He
forgot no old friends in his prosperity; and the lofty antique chambers
would not unfrequently be lighted up at nights to receive F. B. and some
of the old cronies of the Haunt, and some of the Gandishites, who, if
Clive had been of a nature that was to be spoiled by flattery, had
certainly done mischief to the young man. Gandish himself, when Clive
paid a visit to that illustrious artist's Academy, received his former
pupil as if the young fellow had been a sovereign prince almost,
accompanied him to his horse; and would have held his stirrup as he
mounted; whilst the beautiful daughters of the house waved adieus to him
from the parlour-window. To the young men assembled in his Gandish
studio, was never tired of talking about Clive. The Professor would take
occasion to inform them that he had been to visit his distinguished young
friend, Mr. Newcome, son of Colonel Newcome; that last evening he had
been present at an elegant entertainment at Mr. Newcome's news
apartments. Clive's drawings were hung up in Gandish's gallery, and
pointed out to visitors by the worthy Professor. On one or two occasions,
I was allowed to become a bachelor again, and participate in these jovial
meetings. How guilty my coat was on my return home; how haughty the looks
of the mistress of my house, as she bade Martha carry away the obnoxious
garment! How grand F. B. used to be as president of Clive's
smoking-party, where he laid down the law, talked the most talk, sang the
jolliest song, and consumed the most drink of all the jolly talkers and
drinkers! Clive's popularity rose prodigiously; not only youngsters, but
old practitioners of the fine arts, lauded his talents. What a sham
e that
his pictures were all refused this year at the Academy! Alfred Smee,
Esq., R.A., was indignant at their rejection, but J. J. confessed with a
sigh, and Clive owned good-naturedly, that he had been neglecting his
business, and that his pictures were not so good as those of two years
before. I am afraid Mr. Clive went to too many balls and parties, to
clubs and jovial entertainments, besides losing yet more time in that
other pursuit we wot of. Meanwhile J. J. went steadily on with his work,
no day passed without a line: and Fame was not very far off, though this
he heeded but little; and Art, his sole mistress, rewarded him for his
steady and fond pursuit of her.
"Look at him," Clive would say with a sigh. "Isn't he the mortal of all
others the most to be envied! He is so fond of his art that in all the
world there is no attraction like it for him. He runs to his easel at
sunrise, and sits before it caressing his picture all day till nightfall.
He takes leave of it sadly when dark comes, spends the night in a Life
Academy, and begins next morning da capo. Of all the pieces of good
fortune which can befall a man, is not this the greatest: to have your
desire, and then never tire of it? I have been in such a rage with my own
shortcomings that I have dashed my foot through the canvases, and vowed I
would smash my palette and easel. Sometimes I succeed a little better in
my work, and then it will happen for half an hour that I am pleased, but
pleased at what? pleased at drawing Mr. Muggins's head rather like Mr.
Muggins. Why, a thousand fellows can do better, and when one day I reach
my very best, yet thousands will be able to do better still. Ours is a
trade for which nowadays there is no excuse unless one can be great in
it: and I feel I have not the stuff for that. No. 666. 'Portrait of
Joseph Muggins, Esq., Newcome, Great George Street.' No. 979. 'Portrait
of Mrs. Muggins, on her grey pony, Newcome.' No. 579. 'Portrait of Joseph
Muggins Esq.'s dog Toby, Newcome'--this is--what I'm fit for. These are the
victories I have set myself on achieving. Oh, Mrs. Pendennis, isn't it
humiliating? Why isn't there a war? Why can't I go and distinguish myself
somewhere and be a general? Why haven't I a genius? I say, Pen, sir, why
haven't I a genius? There is a painter who lives hard by, and who sends
sometimes, to beg me to come and look at his work. He is in the Muggins
line too. He gets his canvases with a good light upon them: excludes the
contemplation of all other objects, stands beside his pictures in an
attitude himself, and thinks that he and they are masterpieces.
Masterpieces! Oh me, what drivelling wretches we are! Fame!--except that
of just the one or two--what's the use of it? I say, Pen, would you feel
particularly proud now if you had written Hayley's poems? And as for a
second place in painting, who would care to be Caravaggio or Caracci? I
wouldn't give a straw to be Caracci or Caravaggio. I would just as soon
be yonder artist who is painting up Foker's Entire over the public-house
at the corner. He will have his payment afterwards, five shillings a day,
and a pot of beer. Your head a little more to the light, Mrs. Pendennis,
if you please. I am tiring you, I dare say, but then, oh, I am doing it
so badly!"
I, for my part, thought Clive was making a very pretty drawing of my
wife, and having affairs of my own to attend to, would often leave her at
his chambers as a sitter, or find him at our lodgings visiting her. They
became the very greatest friends. I knew the young fellow could have no
better friend than Laura; and not being ignorant of the malady under
which he was labouring, concluded naturally and justly that Clive grew so
fond of my wife, not for her sake entirely, but for his own, because he
could pour his heart out to her, and her sweet kindness and compassion
would soothe him in his unhappy condition.
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