The Newcomes

by William Makepeace Thackeray

foot, and he has drawn my friend, Mr. Binnie, who lives with me. We have

  scores of his drawings at my lodgings; and if you will favour us by

  dining with us to-day, and these gentlemen, you shall see that you are

  not the only person caricatured by Clive here."

  "I just took some little dinner upstairs, sir. I am a moderate man, and

  can live, if need be, like a Spartan; but to join such good company I

  will gladly use the knife and fork again. You will excuse the traveller's

  dress? I keep a room here, which I use only occasionally, and am at

  present lodging--in the country."

  When Honeyman was ready, the Colonel, who had the greatest respect for

  the Church, would not hear of going out of the room before the clergyman,

  and took his arm to walk. Bayham then fell to Mr. Pendennis's lot, and

  they went together. Through Hill Street and Berkeley Square their course

  was straight enough; but at Hay Hill, Mr. Bayham made an abrupt tack

  larboard, engaging in a labyrinth of stables, and walking a long way

  round from Clifford Street, whither we were bound. He hinted at a cab,

  but Pendennis refused to ride, being, in truth, anxious to see which way

  his eccentric companion would steer. "There are reasons," growled Bayham,

  "which need not be explained to one of your experience, why Bond Street

  must be avoided by some men peculiarly situated. The smell of Truefitt's

  pomatum makes me ill. Tell me, Pendennis, is this Indian warrior a rajah

  of large wealth? Could he, do you think, recommend me to a situation in

  the East India Company? I would gladly take any honest post in which

  fidelity might be useful, genius might be appreciated, and courage

  rewarded. Here we are. The hotel seems comfortable. I never was in it

  before."

  When we entered the Colonel's sitting-room at Nerot's, we found the

  waiter engaged in extending the table. "We are a larger party than I

  expected," our host said. "I met my brother Brian on horseback leaving

  cards at that great house in ------ Street."

  "The Russian Embassy," says Mr. Honeyman, who knew the town quite well.

  "And he said he was disengaged, and would dine with us," continues the

  Colonel.

  "Am I to understand, Colonel Newcome," says Mr. Frederick Bayham, "that

  you are related to the eminent banker, Sir Brian Newcome, who gives such

  uncommonly swell parties in Park Lane?"

  "What is a swell party?" asks the Colonel, laughing. "I dined with my

  brother last Wednesday; and it was a very grand dinner certainly. The

  Governor-General himself could not give a more splendid entertainment.

  But, do you know, I scarcely had enough to eat? I don't eat side dishes;

  and as for the roast beef of Old England, why, the meat was put on the

  table and whisked away like Sancho's inauguration feast at Barataria. We

  did not dine till nine o'clock. I like a few glasses of claret and a cosy

  talk after dinner; but--well, well"--(no doubt the worthy gentleman was

  accusing himself of telling tales out of school and had come to a timely

  repentance). "Our dinner, I hope, will be different. Jack Binnie will

  take care of that. That fellow is full of anecdote and fun. You will meet

  one or two more of our service; Sir Thomas de Boots, who is not a bad

  chap over a glass of wine; Mr. Pendennis's chum, Mr. Warrington, and my

  nephew, Barnes Newcome--a dry fellow at first, but I dare say he has good

  about him when you know him; almost every man has," said the good-natured

  philosopher. "Clive, you rogue, mind and be moderate with the champagne,

  sir!"

  "Champagne's for women," says Clive. "I stick to claret."

  "I say, Pendennis," here Bayham remarked, "it is my deliberate opinion

  that F. B. has got into a good thing."

  Mr. Pendennis seeing there was a great party was for going home to his

  chambers to dress. "Hm!" says Mr. Bayham, "don't see the necessity. What

  right-minded man looks at the exterior of his neighbour? He looks here,

  sir, and examines there," and Bayham tapped his forehead, which was

  expansive, and then his heart, which he considered to be in the right

  place.

  "What is this I hear about dressing?" asks our host. "Dine in your frock,

  my good friend, and welcome, if your dress-coat is in the country."

  "It is at present at an uncle's," Mr. Bayham said, with great gravity,

  "and I take your hospitality as you offer it, Colonel Newcome, cordially

  and frankly."

  Honest Mr. Binnie made his appearance a short time before the appointed

  hour for receiving the guests, arrayed in a tight little pair of

  trousers, and white silk stockings and pumps, his bald head shining like

  a billiard-ball, his jolly gills rosy with good-humour. He was bent on

  pleasure. "Hey, lads!" says he; "but we'll make a night of it. We haven't

  had a night since the farewell dinner off Plymouth."

  "And a jolly night it was, James," ejaculates the Colonel.

  "Egad, what a song that Tom Norris sings!"

  "And your 'Jock o' Hazeldean' is as good as a play, Jack."

  "And I think you beat iny one I iver hard in 'Tom Bowling,' yourself,

  Tom!" cries the Colonel's delighted chum. Mr. Pendennis opened the eyes

  of astonishment at the idea of the possibility of renewing these

  festivities, but he kept the lips of prudence closed. And now the

  carriages began to drive up, and the guests of Colonel Newcome to arrive.

  CHAPTER XIII

  In which Thomas Newcome sings his Last Song

  The earliest comers were the first mate and the medical officer of the

  ship in which the two gentlemen had come to England. The mate was a

  Scotchman: the doctor was a Scotchman; of the gentlemen from the Oriental

  Club, three were Scotchmen.

  The Southrons, with one exception, were the last to arrive, and for a

  while we stood looking out of the windows awaiting their coming. The

  first mate pulled out a penknife and arranged his nails. The doctor and

  Mr. Binnie talked of the progress of medicine. Binnie had walked the

  hospitals of Edinburgh before getting his civil appointment to India. The

  three gentlemen from Hanover Square and the Colonel had plenty to say

  about Tom Smith of the Cavalry, and Harry Hall of the Engineers: how

  Topham was going to marry poor little Bob Wallis's widow; how many lakhs

  Barber had brought home, and the like. The tall grey-headed Englishman,

  who had been in the East too, in the King's service, joined for a while

  in this conversation, but presently left it, and came and talked with

  Clive; "I knew your father in India," said the gentleman to the lad;

  "there is not a more gallant or respected officer in that service. I have

  a boy too, a stepson, who has just gone into the army; he is older than

  you, he was born at the end of the Waterloo year, and so was a great

  friend of his and mine, who was at your school, Sir Rawdon Crawley."

  "He was in Gown Boys, I know," says the boy; "succeeded his uncle Pitt,

  fourth Baronet. I don't know how his mother--her who wrote the hymns, you

  know, and goes to Mr. Honeyman's chapel--comes to be Rebecca, Lady

  Crawley. His father, Colonel Rawdon Crawley, died at Coventry Island, in

  August, 182-, and his uncle
, Sir Pitt, not till September here. I

  remember, we used to talk about it at Grey Friars, when I was quite a

  little chap; and there were bets whether Crawley, I mean the young one,

  was a Baronet or not."

  "When I sailed to Rigy, Cornel," the first mate was speaking--nor can any

  spelling nor combination of letters of which I am master, reproduce this

  gentleman's accent when he was talking his best--"I racklackt they used

  always to sairve us a drem before denner. And as your frinds are kipping

  the denner, and as I've no watch to-night, I'll jist do as we used to do

  at Rigy. James, my fine fellow, jist look alive and breng me a small

  glass of brandy, will ye? Did ye iver try a brandy cocktail, Cornel? Whin

  I sailed on the New York line, we used jest to make bits before denner

  and--thank ye, James:" and he tossed off a glass of brandy.

  Here a waiter announces, in a loud voice, "Sir Thomas de Boots," and the

  General enters, scowling round the room according to his fashion, very

  red in the face, very tight in the girth, splendidly attired with a

  choking white neckcloth, a voluminous waistcoat, and his orders on.

  "Stars and garters, by jingo!" cries Mr. Frederick Bayham; "I say,

  Pendennis, have you any idea, is the Duke coming? I wouldn't have come in

  these Bluchers if I had known it. Confound it, no--Hoby himself, my own

  bootmaker, wouldn't have allowed poor F. B. to appear in Bluchers, if he

  had known that I was going to meet the Duke. My linen's all right,

  anyhow;"

  F. B. breathed a thankful prayer for that. Indeed, who but the very

  curious could tell that not F. B.'s, but C. H.'s--Charles Honeyman's--was

  the mark upon that decorous linen?

  Colonel Newcome introduced Sir Thomas to every one in the room, as he had

  introduced us all to each other previously, and as Sir Thomas looked at

  one after another, his face was kind enough to assume an expression which

  seemed to ask, "And who the devil are you, sir?" as clearly as though the

  General himself had given utterance to the words. With the gentleman in

  the window talking to Clive he seemed to have some acquaintance, and said

  not unkindly, "How d'you do, Dobbin?"

  The carriage of Sir Brian Newcome now drove up, from which the Baronet

  descended in state, leaning upon the arm of the Apollo in plush and

  powder, who closed the shutters of the great coach, and mounted by the

  side of the coachman, laced and periwigged. The Bench of Bishops has

  given up its wigs; cannot the box, too, be made to resign that insane

  decoration? Is it necessary for our comfort, that the men who do our work

  in stable or household should be dressed like Merry-Andrews? Enter Sir

  Brian Newcome, smiling blandly: he greets his brother affectionately, Sir

  Thomas gaily; he nods and smiles to Clive, and graciously permits Mr.

  Pendennis to take hold of two fingers of his extended right hand. That

  gentleman is charmed, of course, with the condescension. What man could

  be otherwise than happy to be allowed a momentary embrace of two such

  precious fingers? When a gentleman so favours me, I always ask, mentally,

  why he has taken the trouble at all, and regret that I have not had the

  presence of mind to poke one finger against his two. If I were worth ten

  thousand a year, I cannot help inwardly reflecting, and kept a large

  account in Threadneedle Street, I cannot help thinking he would have

  favoured me with the whole palm.

  The arrival of these two grandees has somehow cast a solemnity over the

  company. The weather is talked about: brilliant in itself, it does not

  occasion very brilliant remarks among Colonel Newcome's guests. Sir Brian

  really thinks it must be as hot as it is in India. Sir Thomas de Boots,

  swelling in his white waistcoat, in the armholes of which his thumbs are

  engaged, smiles scornfully, and wishes Sir Brian had ever felt a good

  sweltering day in the hot winds in India. Sir Brian withdraws the

  untenable proposition that London is as hot as Calcutta. Mr. Binnie looks

  at his watch, and at the Colonel. "We have only your nephew, Tom, to wait

  for," he says; "I think we may make so bold as to order the dinner,"--a

  proposal heartily seconded by Mr. Frederick Bayham.

  The dinner appears steaming, borne by steaming waiters. The grandees take

  their places, one on each side of the Colonel. He begs Mr. Honeyman to

  say grace, and stands reverentially during that brief ceremony, while de

  Boots looks queerly at him from over his napkin. All the young men take

  their places at the farther end of the table, round about Mr. Binnie; and

  at the end of the second course Mr. Barnes Newcome makes his appearance.

  Mr. Barnes does not show the slightest degree of disturbance, although he

  disturbs all the company. Soup and fish are brought for him, and meat,

  which he leisurely eats, while twelve other gentlemen are kept waiting.

  We mark Mr. Binnie's twinkling eyes, as they watch the young man. "Eh,"

  he seems to say, "but that's just about as free-and-easy a young chap as

  ever I set eyes on." And so Mr. Barnes was a cool young chap. That dish

  is so good, he must really have some more. He discusses the second supply

  leisurely; and turning round simpering to his neighbour, says, "I really

  hope I'm not keeping everybody waiting."

  "Hem!" grunts the neighbour, Mr. Bayham; "it doesn't much matter, for we

  had all pretty well done dinner." Barnes takes a note of Mr. Bayham's

  dress--his long frock-coat, the ribbon round his neck; and surveys him

  with an admirable impudence. "Who are these people," thinks he, "my uncle

  has got together?" He bows graciously to the honest Colonel, who asks him

  to take wine. He is so insufferably affable, that every man near him

  would like to give him a beating.

  All the time of the dinner the host was challenging everybody to drink

  wine, in his honest old-fashioned way, and Mr. Binnie seconding the chief

  entertainer. Such was the way in England and Scotland when they were

  young men. And when Binnie, asking Sir Brian, receives for reply from the

  Baronet--"Thank you, no, my dear sir. I have exceeded already, positively

  exceeded," the poor discomfited gentleman hardly knows whither to apply:

  but, luckily, Tom Norris, the first mate, comes to his rescue, and cries

  out, "Mr. Binnie, I've not had enough, and I'll drink a glass of anything

  ye like with ye." The fact is, that Mr. Norris has had enough. He has

  drunk bumpers to the health of every member of the company; his glass has

  been filled scores of times by watchful waiters. So has Mr. Bayham

  absorbed great quantities of drink; but without any visible effect on

  that veteran toper. So has young Clive taken more than is good for him.

  His cheeks are flushed and burning; he is chattering and laughing loudly

  at his end of the table. Mr. Warrington eyes the lad with some curiosity;

  and then regards Mr. Barnes with a look of scorn, which does not scorch

  that affable young person.

  I am obliged to confess that the mate of the Indiaman, at an early period

  of the dessert, and when nobody had asked him for any such public

  expression of his opinion, insisted on rising a
nd proposing the health of

  Colonel Newcome, whose virtues he lauded outrageously, and whom he

  pronounced to be one of the best of mortal men. Sir Brian looked very

  much alarmed at the commencement of this speech, which the mate delivered

  with immense shrieks and gesticulation: but the Baronet recovered during

  the course of the rambling oration, and at its conclusion gracefully

  tapped the table with one of those patronising fingers; and lifting up a

  glass containing at least a thimbleful of claret, said, "My dear brother,

  I drink your health with all my heart, I'm su-ah." The youthful Barnes

  had uttered many "Hear, hears!" during the discourse, with an irony

  which, with every fresh glass of wine he drank, he cared less to conceal.

  And though Barnes had come late he had drunk largely, making up for lost

  time.

  Those ironical cheers, and all his cousin's behaviour during dinner, had

  struck young Clive, who was growing very angry. He growled out remarks

  uncomplimentary to Barnes. His eyes, as he looked towards his kinsman,

  flashed out challenges, of which we who were watching him could see the

  warlike purport. Warrington looked at Bayham and Pendennis with glances

  of apprehension. We saw that danger was brooding, unless the one young

  man could be restrained from his impertinence, and the other from his

  wine.

  Colonel Newcome said a very few words in reply to his honest friend the

  chief mate, and there the matter might have ended: but I am sorry to say

  Mr. Binnie now thought it necessary to rise and deliver himself of some

  remarks regarding the King's service, coupled with the name of

  Major-General Sir Thomas de Boots, K.C.B., etc.--the receipt of which

  that gallant officer was obliged to acknowledge in a confusion amounting

  almost to apoplexy. The glasses went whack whack upon the hospitable

  board; the evening set in for public speaking. Encouraged by his last

  effort, Mr. Binnie now proposed Sir Brian Newcome's health; and that

  Baronet rose and uttered an exceedingly lengthy speech, delivered with

  his wine-glass on his bosom.

  Then that sad rogue Bayham must get up, and call earnestly and

  respectfully for silence and the chairman's hearty sympathy, for the few

  observations which he had to propose. "Our armies had been drunk with

  proper enthusiasm--such men as he beheld around him deserved the applause

  of all honest hearts, and merited the cheers with which their names had

  been received. ('Hear, hear!' from Barnes Newcome sarcastically. 'Hear,

  hear, HEAR!' fiercely from Clive.) But whilst we applauded our army,

  should we forget a profession still more exalted? Yes, still more

  exalted, I say in the face of the gallant General opposite; and that

  profession, I need not say, is the Church. (Applause.) Gentlemen, we have

  among us one who, while partaking largely of the dainties on this festive

  board, drinking freely of the sparkling wine-cup which our gallant

  hospitality administers to us, sanctifies by his presence the feast of

  which he partakes, inaugurates with appropriate benedictions, and graces

  it, I may say, both before and after meat. Gentlemen, Charles Honeyman

  was the friend of my childhood, his father the instructor of my early

  days. If Frederick Bayham's latter life has been chequered by misfortune,

  it may be that I have forgotten the precepts which the venerable parent

  of Charles Honeyman poured into an inattentive ear. He too, as a child,

  was not exempt from faults; as a young man, I am told, not quite free

  from youthful indiscretions. But in this present Anno Domini, we hail

  Charles Honeyman as a precept and an example, as a decus fidei and a

  lumen ecclesiae (as I told him in the confidence of the private circle

  this morning, and ere I ever thought to publish my opinion in this