The Newcomes

by William Makepeace Thackeray

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.