The Newcomes

by William Makepeace Thackeray

them. He behaves with splendid courtesy to Miss Quigley, the governess,

  and makes a point of taking wine with her, and of making a most profound

  bow during that ceremony. Miss Quigley cannot help thinking Colonel

  Newcome's bow very fine. She has an idea that his late Majesty must have

  bowed in that way: she flutteringly imparts this opinion to Lady Anne's

  maid; who tells her mistress, who tells Miss Ethel, who watches the

  Colonel the next time he takes wine with Miss Quigley, and they laugh,

  and then Ethel tells him; so that the gentleman and the governess have to

  blush ever after when they drink wine together. When she is walking with

  her little charges in the Park, or in that before-mentioned paradise nigh

  to Apsley House, faint signals of welcome appear on her wan cheeks. She

  knows the dear Colonel amongst a thousand horsemen. If Ethel makes for

  her uncle purses, guard-chains, antimacassars, and the like beautiful and

  useful articles, I believe it is in reality Miss Quigley who does

  four-fifths of the work, as she sits alone in the schoolroom, high, high

  up in that lone house, when the little ones are long since asleep, before

  her dismal little tea-tray, and her little desk containing her mother's

  letters and her mementos of home.

  There are, of course, numberless fine parties in Park Lane, where the

  Colonel knows he would be very welcome. But if there be grand assemblies,

  he does not care to come. "I like to go to the club best," he says to

  Lady Anne. "We talk there as you do here about persons, and about Jack

  marrying, and Tom dying, and so forth. But we have known Jack and Tom all

  our lives, and so are interested in talking about them. Just as you are

  in speaking of your own friends and habitual society. They are people

  whose names I have sometimes read in the newspaper, but whom I never

  thought of meeting until I came to your house. What has an old fellow

  like me to say to your young dandies or old dowagers?"

  "Mamma is very odd and sometimes very captious, my dear Colonel," said

  Lady Anne, with a blush; "she suffers so frightfully from tic that we are

  all bound to pardon her."

  Truth to tell, old Lady Kew had been particularly rude to Colonel Newcome

  and Clive. Ethel's birthday befell in the spring, on which occasion she

  was wont to have a juvenile assembly, chiefly of girls of her own age and

  condition; who came, accompanied by a few governesses, and they played

  and sang their little duets and choruses together, and enjoyed a gentle

  refection of sponge-cakes, jellies, tea, and the like.--The Colonel, who

  was invited to this little party, sent a fine present to his favourite

  Ethel; and Clive and his friend J. J. made a funny series of drawings,

  representing the life of a young lady as they imagined it, and drawing

  her progress from her cradle upwards: now engaged with her doll, then

  with her dancing-master; now marching in her back-board; now crying over

  her German lessons: and dressed for her first ball finally, and bestowing

  her hand upon a dandy, of preternatural ugliness, who was kneeling at her

  feet as the happy man. This picture was the delight of the laughing happy

  girls; except, perhaps, the little cousins from Bryanstone Square, who

  were invited to Ethel's party, but were so overpowered by the prodigious

  new dresses in which their mamma had attired them, that they could admire

  nothing but their rustling pink frocks, their enormous sashes, their

  lovely new silk stockings.

  Lady Kew coming to London attended on the party, and presented her

  granddaughter with a sixpenny pincushion. The Colonel had sent Ethel a

  beautiful little gold watch and chain. Her aunt had complimented her with

  that refreshing work, Alison's History of Europe, richly bound.--Lady

  Kew's pincushion made rather a poor figure among the gifts, whence

  probably arose her ladyship's ill-humour.

  Ethel's grandmother became exceedingly testy when, the Colonel arriving,

  Ethel ran up to him and thanked him for the beautiful watch, in return

  for which she gave him a kiss, which, I dare say, amply repaid Colonel

  Newcome; and shortly after him Mr. Clive arrived, looking uncommonly

  handsome, with that smart little beard and mustachio with which nature

  had recently gifted him. As he entered, all the girls, who had been

  admiring his pictures, began to clap their hands. Mr. Clive Newcome

  blushed, and looked none the worse for that indication of modesty.

  Lady Kew had met Colonel Newcome a half-dozen times at her daughter's

  house: but on this occasion she had quite forgotten him, for when the

  Colonel made her a bow, her ladyship regarded him steadily, and beckoning

  her daughter to her, asked who the gentleman was who has just kissed

  Ethel? Trembling as she always did before her mother, Lady Anne

  explained. Lady Kew said "Oh!" and left Colonel Newcome blushing and

  rather embarrasse de sa personne--before her.

  With the clapping of hands that greeted Clive's arrival, the Countess was

  by no means more good-humoured. Not aware of her wrath, the young fellow,

  who had also previously been presented to her, came forward presently to

  make her his compliments. "Pray, who are you?" she said, looking at him

  very earnestly in the face. He told her his name.

  "Hm," said Lady Kew, "I have heard of you, and I have heard very little

  good of you."

  "Will your ladyship please to give me your informant?" cried out Colonel

  Newcome.

  Barnes Newcome, who had condescended to attend his sister's little fete,

  and had been languidly watching the frolics of the young people, looked

  very much alarmed.

  CHAPTER XXI

  Is Sentimental, but Short

  Without wishing to disparage the youth of other nations, I think a

  well-bred English lad has this advantage over them, that his bearing is

  commonly more modest than theirs. He does not assume the tail-coat and

  the manners of manhood too early: he holds his tongue, and listens to his

  elders: his mind blushes as well as his cheeks: he does not know how to

  make bows and pay compliments like the young Frenchman: nor to contradict

  his seniors as I am informed American striplings do. Boys, who learn

  nothing else at our public schools, learn at least good manners, or what

  we consider to be such; and with regard to the person at present under

  consideration, it is certain that all his acquaintances, excepting

  perhaps his dear cousin Barnes Newcome, agreed in considering him as a

  very frank, manly, modest, and agreeable young fellow.--My friend

  Warrington found a grim pleasure in his company; and his bright face,

  droll humour, and kindly laughter were always welcome in our chambers.

  Honest Fred Bayham was charmed to be in his society; and used

  pathetically to aver that he himself might have been such a youth, had he

  been blest with a kind father to watch, and good friends to guide, his

  early career. In fact, Fred was by far the most didactic of Clive's

  bachelor acquaintances, pursued the young man with endless advice and

  sermons, and held himself up as a warning to Clive, and a touching

  example of the evil consequences
of early idleness and dissipation.

  Gentlemen of much higher rank in the world took a fancy to the lad.

  Captain Jack Belsize introduced him to his own mess, as also to the Guard

  dinner at St. James's; and my Lord Kew invited him to Kewbury, his

  lordship's house in Oxfordshire, where Clive enjoyed hunting, shooting,

  and plenty of good company. Mrs. Newcome groaned in spirit when she heard

  of these proceedings; and feared, feared very much that that unfortunate

  young man was going to ruin; and Barnes Newcome amiably disseminated

  reports amongst his family that the lad was plunged in all sorts of

  debaucheries: that he was tipsy every night: that he was engaged, in his

  sober moments, with dice, the turf, or worse amusements: and that his

  head was so turned by living with Kew and Belsize, that the little

  rascal's pride and arrogance were perfectly insufferable. Ethel would

  indignantly deny these charges; then perhaps credit a few of them; and

  she looked at Clive with melancholy eyes when he came to visit his aunt;

  and I hope prayed that Heaven might mend his wicked ways. The truth is,

  the young fellow enjoyed life, as one of his age and spirit might be

  expected to do; but he did very little harm, and meant less; and was

  quite unconscious of the reputation which his kind friends were making

  for him.

  There had been a long-standing promise that Clive and his father were to

  go to Newcome at Christmas: and I dare say Ethel proposed to reform the

  young prodigal, if prodigal he was, for she busied herself delightedly in

  preparing the apartments which they were to inhabit during their stay--

  speculated upon it in a hundred pleasant ways, putting off her visit to

  this pleasant neighbour, or that pretty scene in the vicinage, until her

  uncle should come and they should be enabled to enjoy the excursion

  together. And before the arrival of her relatives, Ethel, with one of her

  young brothers, went to see Mrs. Mason; and introduced herself as Colonel

  Newcome's niece; and came back charmed with the old lady, and eager once

  more in defence of Clive (when that young gentleman's character happened

  to be called in question by her brother Barnes), for had she not seen the

  kindest letter, which Clive had written to old Mrs. Mason, and the

  beautiful drawing of his father on horseback and in regimentals, waving

  his sword in front of the gallant the Bengal Cavalry, which the lad had

  sent down to the good old woman? He could not be very bad, Ethel thought,

  who was so kind and thoughtful for the poor. His father's son could not

  be altogether a reprobate. When Mrs. Mason, seeing how good and beautiful

  Ethel was, and thinking in her heart nothing could be too good or

  beautiful for Clive, nodded her kind old head at Miss Ethel, and said she

  should like to find a husband for her, Miss Ethel blushed, and looked

  handsomer than ever; and at home, when she was describing the interview,

  never mentioned this part of her talk with Mrs. Mason.

  But the enfant terrible, young Alfred, did: announcing to all the company

  at dessert, that Ethel was in love with Clive--that Clive was coming to

  marry her--that Mrs. Mason, the old woman at Newcome, had told him so.

  "I dare say she has told the tale all over Newcome!" shrieked out Mr.

  Barnes. "I dare say it will be in the Independent next week. By Jove,

  it's a pretty connexion--and nice acquaintances this uncle of ours brings

  us!" A fine battle ensued upon the receipt and discussion of this

  intelligence: Barnes was more than usually bitter and sarcastic: Ethel

  haughtily recriminated, losing her temper, and then her firmness, until,

  fairly bursting into tears, she taxed Barnes with meanness and malignity

  in for ever uttering stories to his cousin's disadvantage, and pursuing

  with constant slander and cruelty one of the very best of men. She rose

  and left the table in great tribulation--she went to her room and wrote a

  letter to her uncle, blistered with tears, in which she besought him not

  to come to Newcome.--Perhaps she went and looked at the apartments which

  she had adorned and prepared for his reception. It was for him and for

  his company that she was eager. She had met no one so generous and

  gentle, so honest and unselfish, until she had seen him.

  Lady Anne knew the ways of women very well; and when Ethel that night,

  still in great indignation and scorn against Barnes, announced that she

  had written a letter to her uncle, begging the Colonel not to come at

  Christmas, Ethel's mother soothed the wounded girl, and treated her with

  peculiar gentleness and affection; and she wisely gave Mr. Barnes to

  understand, that if he wished to bring about that very attachment, the

  idea of which made him so angry, he could use no better means than those

  which he chose to employ at present, of constantly abusing and insulting

  poor Clive, and awakening Ethel's sympathies by mere opposition. And

  Ethel's sad little letter was extracted from the post-bag: and her mother

  brought it to her, sealed, in her own room, where the young lady burned

  it: being easily brought by Lady Anne's quiet remonstrances to perceive

  that it was best no allusion should take place to the silly dispute which

  had occurred that evening; and that Clive and his father should come for

  the Christmas holidays, if they were so minded. But when they came, there

  was no Ethel at Newcome. She was gone on a visit to her sick aunt, Lady

  Julia. Colonel Newcome passed the holidays sadly without his young

  favourite, and Clive consoled himself by knocking down pheasants with Sir

  Brian's keepers: and increased his cousin's attachment for him by

  breaking the knees of Barnes's favourite mare out hunting. It was a

  dreary entertainment; father and son were glad enough to get away from

  it, and to return to their own humbler quarters in London.

  Thomas Newcome had now been for three years in the possession of that

  felicity which his soul longed after; and had any friend of his asked him

  if he was happy, he would have answered in the affirmative no doubt, and

  protested that he was in the enjoyment of everything a reasonable man

  could desire. And yet, in spite of his happiness, his honest face grew

  more melancholy: his loose clothes hung only the looser on his lean

  limbs: he ate his meals without appetite: his nights were restless: and

  he would sit for hours silent in the midst of his family, so that Mr.

  Binnie first began jocularly to surmise that Tom was crossed in love;

  then seriously to think that his health was suffering and that a doctor

  should be called to see him; and at last to agree that idleness was not

  good for the Colonel, and that he missed the military occupation to which

  he had been for so many years accustomed.

  The Colonel insisted that he was perfectly happy and contented. What

  could he want more than he had--the society of his son, for the present;

  and a prospect of quiet for his declining days? Binnie vowed that his

  friend's days had no business to decline as yet; that a sober man of

  fifty ought to be at his best; and that Newcome had grown older in three

  years in Europe, than in a quarter of a cent
ury in the East--all which

  statements were true, though the Colonel persisted in denying them.

  He was very restless. He was always finding business in distant quarters

  of England. He must go visit Tom Barker who was settled in Devonshire, or

  Harry Johnson who had retired and was living in Wales. He surprised Mrs.

  Honeyman by the frequency of his visits to Brighton, and always came away

  much improved in health by the sea air, and by constant riding with the

  harriers there. He appeared at Bath and at Cheltenham, where, as we know,

  there are many old Indians. Mr. Binnie was not indisposed to accompany

  him on some of these jaunts--"provided," the civilian said, "you don't

  take young Hopeful, who is much better without us; and let us two old

  fogies enjoy ourselves together."

  Clive was not sorry to be left alone. The father knew that only too well.

  The young man had occupations, ideas, associates, in whom the elder could

  take no interest. Sitting below in his blank, cheerless bedroom, Newcome

  could hear the lad and his friends talking, singing, and making merry

  overhead. Something would be said in Clive's well-known tones, and a roar

  of laughter would proceed from the youthful company. They had all sorts

  of tricks, bywords, waggeries, of which the father could not understand

  the jest nor the secret. He longed to share in it, but the party would be

  hushed if he went in to join it--and he would come away sad at heart, to

  think that his presence should be a signal for silence among them; and

  that his son could not be merry in his company.

  We must not quarrel with Clive and Clive's friends, because they could

  not joke and be free in the presence of the worthy gentleman. If they

  hushed when he came in, Thomas Newcome's sad face would seem to look

  round--appealing to one after another of them, and asking, "Why don't you

  go on laughing?" A company of old comrades shall be merry and laughing

  together, and the entrance of a single youngster will stop the

  conversation--and if men of middle age feel this restraint with our

  juniors, the young ones surely have a right to be silent before their

  elders. The boys are always mum under the eyes of the usher. There is

  scarce any parent, however friendly or tender with his children, but must

  feel sometimes that they have thoughts which are not his or hers; and

  wishes and secrets quite beyond the parental control: and, as people are

  vain, long after they are fathers, ay; or grandfathers, and not seldom

  fancy that mere personal desire of domination is overweening anxiety and

  love for their family, no doubt that common outcry against thankless

  children might often be shown to prove, not that the son is disobedient,

  but the father too exacting. When a mother (as fond mothers often will)

  vows that she knows every thought in her daughter's heart, I think she

  pretends to know a great deal too much; nor can there be a wholesomer

  task for the elders, as our young subjects grow up, naturally demanding

  liberty and citizen's rights, than for us gracefully to abdicate our

  sovereign pretensions and claims of absolute control. There's many a

  family chief who governs wisely and gently, who is loth to give the power

  up when he should. Ah, be sure, it is not youth alone that has need to

  learn humility! By their very virtues, and the purity of their lives,

  many good parents create flatterers for themselves, and so live in the

  midst of a filial court of parasites--and seldom without a pang of

  unwillingness, and often not at all, will they consent to forgo their

  autocracy, and exchange the tribute they have been wont to exact of love

  and obedience for the willing offering of love and freedom.

  Our good Colonel was not of the tyrannous, but of the loving order of

  fathers: and having fixed his whole heart upon this darling youth, his

  son, was punished, as I suppose such worldly and selfish love ought to be