The Newcomes

by William Makepeace Thackeray

benefactor. Only after her sleep, or when the sun warmed her and the old

  wine with which he supplied her, was the good old woman able to recognise

  her Colonel. She mingled father and son together in her mind. A lady who

  now often came in to her, thought she was wandering in her talk, when the

  poor old woman spoke of a visit she had had from her boy; and then the

  attendant told Miss Newcome that such a visit had actually taken place,

  and that but yesterday Clive and his father had been in that room, and

  occupied the chair where she sat. "The young lady was taken quite ill,

  and seemed ready to faint almost," Mrs. Mason's servant and spokeswoman

  told Colonel Newcome when that gentleman arrived shortly after Ethel's

  departure, to see his old nurse. "Indeed! he was very sorry." The maid

  told many stories about Miss Newcome's goodness and charity; how she was

  constantly visiting the poor now; how she was for ever engaged in good

  works for the young, the sick, and the aged. She had had a dreadful

  misfortune in love; she was going to be married to a young marquis;

  richer even than Prince de Moncontour down at Rosebury; but it was all

  broke off on account of that dreadful affair at the Hall.

  Was she very good to the poor? did she come often to see her

  grandfather's old friend? it was no more than she ought "to do," Colonel

  Newcome said; without, however, thinking fit to tell his informant that

  he had himself met his niece Ethel, five minutes before he had entered

  Mrs. Mason's door.

  The poor thing was in discourse with Mr. Harris, the surgeon, and talking

  (as best she might, for no doubt the news which she had just heard had

  agitated her), talking about blankets, and arrowroot, wine, and

  medicaments for her poor, when she saw her uncle coming towards her. She

  tottered a step or two forwards to meet him; held both her hands out, and

  called his name; but he looked her sternly in the face, took off his hat

  and bowed, and passed on. He did not think fit to mention the meeting

  even to his son, Clive; but we may be sure Mr. Harris, the surgeon, spoke

  of the circumstance that night after the lecture, at the club, where a

  crowd of gentlemen were gathered together, smoking their cigars, and

  enjoying themselves according to their custom, and discussing Sir Barnes

  Newcome's performance.

  According to established usage in such cases, our esteemed representative

  was received by the committee of the Newcome Athenaeum, assembled in

  their committee-room, and thence marshalled by the chairman and

  vice-chairman to his rostrum in the lecture-hall, round about which the

  magnates of the institution and the notabilities of the town were rallied

  on this public occasion. The Baronet came in some state from his own

  house, arriving at Newcome in his carriage with four horses, accompanied

  by my lady his mother, and Miss Ethel his beautiful sister, who now was

  mistress at the Hall. His little girl was brought--five years old now;

  she sate on her aunt's knee, and slept during a greater part of the

  performance. A fine bustle, we may be sure, was made on the introduction

  of these personages to their reserved seats on the platform, where they

  sate encompassed by others of the great ladies of Newcome, to whom they

  and the lecturer were especially gracious at this season. Was not

  Parliament about to be dissolved, and were not the folks at Newcome

  Park particularly civil at that interesting period? So Barnes Newcome

  mounts his pulpit, bows round to the crowded assembly in acknowledgment

  of their buzz of applause or recognition, passes his lily-white

  pocket-handkerchief across his thin lips, and dashes off into his lecture

  about Mrs. Hemans and the poetry of the affections. A public man, a

  commercial man as we well know, yet his heart is in his home, and his joy

  in his affections; the presence of this immense assembly here this

  evening; of the industrious capitalists; of the intelligent middle class;

  of the pride and mainstay of England, the operatives of Newcome; these,

  surrounded by their wives and their children (a graceful bow to the

  bonnets to the right of the platform), show that they too have hearts to

  feel, and homes to cherish; that they, too, feel the love of women, the

  innocence of children, the love of song! Our lecturer then makes a

  distinction between man's poetry and woman's poetry, charging

  considerably in favour of the latter. We show that to appeal to the

  affections is after all the true office of the bard; to decorate the

  homely threshold, to wreathe flowers round the domestic hearth, the

  delightful duty of the Christian singer. We glance at Mrs. Hemans's

  biography, and state where she was born, and under what circumstances she

  must have at first, etc. etc. Is this a correct account of Sir Barnes

  Newcome's lecture? I was not present, and did not read the report. Very

  likely the above may be a reminiscence of that mock lecture which

  Warrington delivered in anticipation of the Baronet's oration.

  After he had read for about five minutes, it was remarked the Baronet

  suddenly stopped and became exceedingly confused over his manuscript:

  betaking himself to his auxiliary glass of water before he resumed his

  discourse, which for a long time was languid, low, and disturbed in tone.

  This period of disturbance, no doubt, must have occurred when Sir Barnes

  saw before him F. Bayham and Warrington seated in the amphitheatre; and,

  by the side of those fierce scornful countenances, Clive Newcome's pale

  face.

  Clive Newcome was not looking at Barnes. His eyes were fixed upon the

  lady seated not far from the lecturer--upon Ethel, with her arm round her

  little niece's shoulder, and her thick black ringlets drooping down over

  a face paler than Clive's own.

  Of course she knew that Clive was present. She was aware of him as she

  entered the hall; saw him at the very first moment; saw nothing but him,

  I dare say, though her eyes were shut and her head was turned now towards

  her mother, and now bent down on the little niece's golden curls. And the

  past and its dear histories, and youth and its hopes and passions, and

  tones and looks for ever echoing in the heart, and present in the memory

  --these, no doubt, poor Clive saw and heard as he looked across the great

  gulf of time, and parting, and grief, and beheld the woman he had loved

  for many years. There she sits; the same, but changed: as gone from him

  as if she were dead; departed indeed into another sphere, and entered

  into a kind of death. If there is no love more in yonder heart, it is but

  a corpse unburied. Strew round it the flowers of youth. Wash it with

  tears of passion. Wrap it and envelop it with fond devotion. Break heart,

  and fling yourself on the bier, and kiss her cold lips and press her

  hand! It falls back dead on the cold breast again. The beautiful lips

  have never a blush or a smile. Cover them and lay them in the ground, and

  so take thy hatband off, good friend, and go to thy business. Do you

  suppose you are the only man who has had to attend such a funeral? You

  will find some men smiling and at work the day after
. Some come to the

  grave now and again out of the world, and say a brief prayer, and a "God

  bless her!" With some men, she gone, and her viduous mansion your heart

  to let, her successor, the new occupant, poking in all the drawers and

  corners, and cupboards of the tenement, finds her miniature and some of

  her dusty old letters hidden away somewhere, and says--Was this the face

  he admired so? Why, allowing even for the painter's flattery, it is quite

  ordinary, and the eyes certainly do not look straight. Are these the

  letters you thought so charming? Well, upon my word, I never read

  anything more commonplace in my life! See, here's a line half blotted

  out. Oh, I suppose she was crying then--some of her tears, idle tears--

  Hark, there is Barnes Newcome's eloquence still plapping on like water

  from a cistern--and our thoughts, where have they wandered? far away from

  the lecture--as far away as Clive's almost. And now the fountain ceases

  to trickle; the mouth from which issued that cool and limpid flux ceases

  to smile; the figure is seen to bow and retire; a buzz, a hum, a whisper,

  a scuffle, a meeting of bonnets and wagging of feathers and rustling of

  silks ensues. "Thank you! delightful, I am sure!" "I really was quite

  overcome;" "Excellent;" "So much obliged," are rapid phrases heard

  amongst the polite on the platform. While down below, "Yaw! quite enough

  of that;" "Mary Jane, cover your throat up, and don't kitch cold, and

  don't push me, please, sir;" "Arry! coom along and ave a pint a ale,"

  etc., are the remarks heard, or perhaps not heard, by Clive Newcome, as

  he watches at the private entrance of the Athenaeum, where Sir Barnes's

  carriage is waiting with its flaming lamps, and domestics in state

  liveries. One of them comes out of the building bearing the little girl

  in his arms, and lays her in the carriage. Then Sir Barnes, and Lady

  Anne, and the Mayor; then Ethel issues forth, and as she passes under the

  lamps, beholds Clive's face as pale and sad as her own.

  Shall we go visit the lodge-gates of Newcome Park the moon shining on

  their carving? Is there any pleasure in walking by miles of grey paling,

  and endless palisades of firs? Oh, you fool, what do you hope to see

  behind that curtain? Absurd fugitive, whither would you run? Can you

  burst the tether of fate: and is not poor dear little Rosey Mackenzie

  sitting yonder waiting for you by the stake? Go home, sir; and don't

  catch cold. So Mr. Clive returns to the King's Arms, and goes up to his

  bedroom, and he hears Mr. F. Bayham's deep voice as he passes by the

  Boscawen Room, where the Jolly Britons are as usual assembled.

  CHAPTER LXVII

  Newcome and Liberty

  We have said that the Baronet's lecture was discussed in the

  midnight senate assembled at the King's Arms, where Mr. Tom Potts

  showed the orator no mercy. The senate of the King's Arms was hostile

  to Sir Barnes Newcome. Many other Newcomites besides were savage and

  inclined to revolt against the representative of their borough. As these

  patriots met over their cups, and over the bumper of friendship uttered

  the sentiments of freedom, they had often asked of one another, where

  should a man be found to rid Newcome of its dictator? Generous hearts

  writhed under the oppression: patriotic eyes scowled when Barnes Newcome

  went by: with fine satire, Tom Potts at Brown the hatter's shop, who made

  the hats for Sir Barnes Newcome's domestics, proposed to take one of the

  beavers--a gold-laced one with a cockade and a cord--and set it up in the

  market-place and bid all Newcome come bow to it, as to the hat of

  Gessler. "Don't you think, Potts," says F. Bayham, who of course was

  admitted into the King's Arms club, and ornamented that assembly by his

  presence and discourse, "Don't you think the Colonel would make a good

  William Tell to combat against that Gessler?" Ha! Proposal received with

  acclamation--eagerly adopted by Charles Tucker, Esq., Attorney-at-Law,

  who would not have the slightest objection to conduct Colonel Newcome's,

  or any other gentleman's electioneering business in Newcome or elsewhere.

  Like those three gentlemen in the plays and pictures of William Tell, who

  conspire under the moon, calling upon liberty and resolving to elect Tell

  as their especial champion--like Arnold, Melchthal, and Werner--Tom

  Potts, Fred Bayham, and Charles Tucker, Esqs., conspired round a

  punch-bowl, and determined that Thomas Newcome should be requested to

  free his country. A deputation from the electors of Newcome, that is to

  say, these very gentlemen waited on the Colonel in his apartment the very

  next morning, and set before him the state of the borough; Barnes

  Newcome's tyranny, under which it groaned; and the yearning of all honest

  men to be free from that usurpation. Thomas Newcome received the

  deputation with great solemnity and politeness, crossed his legs, folded

  his arms, smoked his cheroot, and listened moat decorously, as now Potts,

  now Tucker, expounded to him; Bayham giving the benefit of his emphatic

  "hear, hear," to their statements, and explaining dubious phrases to the

  Colonel in the most affable manner.

  Whatever the conspirators had to say against Barnes, Colonel Newcome was

  only too ready to believe. He had made up his mind that that criminal

  ought to be punished and exposed. The lawyer's covert innuendoes, who was

  ready to insinuate any amount of evil against Barnes which could safely

  be uttered, were by no means strong enough for Thomas Newcome. "'Sharp

  practice! exceedingly alive to his own interests--reported violence of

  temper and tenacity of money'--say swindling at once, sir--say falsehood

  and rapacity--say cruelty and avarice," cries the Colonel. "I believe,

  upon my honour and conscience, that unfortunate young man to be guilty of

  every one of those crimes."

  Mr. Bayham remarks to Mr. Potts that our friend the Colonel, when he does

  utter an opinion, takes care that there shall be no mistake about it.

  "And I took care there should be no mistake before I uttered it at all,

  Bayham!" cries F. B.'s patron. "As long as I was in any doubt about this

  young man, I gave the criminal the benefit of it, as a man who admires

  our glorious constitution should do, and kept my own counsel, sir."

  "At least," remarks Mr. Tucker, "enough is proven to show that Sir Barnes

  Newcome Newcome, Baronet, is scarce a fit person to represent this great

  borough in Parliament."

  "Represent Newcome in Parliament! It is a disgrace to that noble

  institution the English House of Commons, that Barnes Newcome should sit

  in it. A man whose word you cannot trust; a man stained with every

  private crime. What right has he to sit in the assembly of the

  legislators of the land, sir?" cries the Colonel, waving his hand as if

  addressing a chamber of deputies.

  "You are for upholding the House of Commons?" inquires the lawyer.

  "Of course, sir, of course."

  "And for increasing the franchise, Colonel Newcome, I should hope?"

  continues Mr. Tucker.

  "Every man who can read and write ought to have a vote, sir; that is my

&nb
sp; opinion!" cries the Colonel.

  "He's a Liberal to the backbone," says Potts to Tucker.

  "To the backbone!" responds Tucker to Potts. "The Colonel will do for us,

  Potts."

  "We want such a man, Tucker; the Independent has been crying out for such

  a man for years past. We ought to have a Liberal as second representative

  of this great town--not a sneaking half-and-half Ministerialist like Sir

  Barnes, a fellow with one leg in the Carlton and the other in Brookes's.

  Old Mr. Bunce we can't touch. His place is safe; he is a good man of

  business: we can't meddle with Mr. Bunce--I know that, who know the

  feeling of the country pretty well."

  "Pretty well! Better than any man in Newcome, Potts!" cries Mr. Tucker.

  "But a good man like the Colonel,--a good Liberal like the Colonel,--a

  man who goes in for household suffrage----"

  "Certainly, gentlemen."

  "And the general great Liberal principles--we know, of course--such a man

  would assuredly have a chance against Sir Barnes Newcome at the coming

  election! could we find such a man! a real friend of the people!"

  "I know a friend of the people if ever there was one," F. Bayham

  interposes.

  "A man of wealth, station, experience; a man who has fought for his

  country; a man who is beloved in this place as you are, Colonel Newcome:

  for your goodness is known, sir--You are not ashamed of your origin, and

  there is not a Newcomite old or young, but knows how admirably good you

  have been to your old friend, Mrs.--Mrs. What-d'-you-call'-em."

  "Mrs. Mason," from F. B.

  "Mrs. Mason. If such a man as you, sir, would consent to put himself in

  nomination at the next election, every true Liberal in this place would

  rush to support you; and crush the oligarchy who rides over the liberties

  of this borough!"

  "Something of this sort, gentlemen, I own to you had crossed my mind,"

  Thomas Newcome remarked. "When I saw that disgrace to my name, and the

  name of my father's birthplace, representing the borough in Parliament, I

  thought for the credit of the town and the family, the Member for Newcome

  at least might be an honest man. I am an old soldier; have passed all my

  life in India; and am little conversant with affairs at home" (cries of

  "You are, you are"). "I hoped that my son, Mr. Clive Newcome, might have

  been found qualified to contest this borough against his unworthy cousin,

  and possibly to sit as your representative in Parliament. The wealth I

  have had the good fortune to amass will descend to him naturally, and at

  no very distant period of time, for I am nearly seventy years of age,

  gentlemen."

  The gentlemen are astonished at this statement.

  "But," resumed the Colonel; "my son Clive, as my friend Bayham knows, and

  to my own regret and mortification, as I don't care to confess to you,

  declares he has no interest or desire in politics, or for public

  distinction--prefers his own pursuits--and even these I fear do not

  absorb him--declines the offer which I made him, to present himself in

  opposition to Sir Barnes Newcome. It becomes men in a certain station, as

  I think, to assert that station; and though a few years back I never

  should have thought of public life at all, and proposed to end my days in

  quiet as a retired dragoon officer, since--since it has pleased Heaven to

  increase very greatly my pecuniary means, to place me, as a director and

  manager of an important banking company, in a station of great public

  responsibility, I and my brother-directors have thought it but right that

  one of us should sit in Parliament, if possible, and I am not a man to

  shirk from that or from any other duty."

  "Colonel, will you attend a meeting of electors which we will call, and

  say as much to them and as well?" cries Mr. Potts. "Shall I put an

  announcement in my paper to the effect that you are ready to come