The Newcomes

by William Makepeace Thackeray

now, it is by no means crowded. Gaps are in the pews: there is not the

  least difficulty in getting a snug place near the pulpit, whence the

  preacher can look over his pocket-handkerchief and see Lord Dozeley no

  more: his lordship has long gone to sleep elsewhere and a host of the

  fashionable faithful have migrated too. The incumbent can no more cast

  his fine eyes upon the French bonnets of the female aristocracy and see

  some of the loveliest faces in Mayfair regarding his with expressions of

  admiration. Actual dowdy tradesmen of the neighbourhood are seated with

  their families in the aisles: Ridley and his wife and son have one of the

  very best seats. To be sure Ridley looks like a nobleman, with his large

  waistcoat, bald head, and gilt book: J. J. has a fine head; but Mrs.

  Ridley! cook and housekeeper is written on her round face. The music is

  by no means of its former good quality. That rebellious and

  ill-conditioned basso Bellew has seceded, and seduced the four best

  singing boys, who now perform glees at the Cave of Harmony. Honeyman has

  a right to speak of persecution, and to compare himself to a hermit in so

  far that he preaches in a desert. Once, like another hermit, St. Hierome,

  he used to be visited by lions. None such come to him now. Such lions as

  frequent the clergy are gone off to lick the feet of other ecclesiastics.

  They are weary of poor Honeyman's old sermons.

  Rivals have sprung up in the course of these three years--have sprung up

  round about Honeyman and carried his flock into their folds. We know how

  such simple animals will leap one after another, and that it is the

  sheepish way. Perhaps a new pastor has come to the church of St. Jacob's

  hard by--bold, resolute, bright, clear, a scholar and no pedant: his

  manly voice is thrilling in their ears, he speaks of life and conduct, of

  practice as well as faith; and crowds of the most polite and most

  intelligent, and best informed, and best dressed, and most selfish people

  in the world come and hear him twice at least. There are so many

  well-informed and well-dressed etc. etc. people in the world that the

  succession of them keeps St. Jacob's full for a year or more. Then, it

  may be, a bawling quack, who has neither knowledge, nor scholarship, nor

  charity, but who frightens the public with denunciations and rouses them

  with the energy of his wrath, succeeds in bringing them together for a

  while till they tire of his din and curses. Meanwhile the good quiet old

  churches round about ring their accustomed bell: open their Sabbath

  gates: receive their tranquil congregations and sober priest, who has

  been busy all the week, at schools and sick-beds, with watchful teaching,

  gentle counsel, and silent alms.

  Though we saw Honeyman but seldom, for his company was not altogether

  amusing, and his affectation, when one became acquainted with it, very

  tiresome to witness, Fred Bayham, from his garret at Mrs. Ridley's, kept

  constant watch over the curate, and told us of his proceedings from time

  to time. When we heard the melancholy news first announced, of course the

  intelligence damped the gaiety of Clive and his companion; and F. B.,

  conducted all the affairs of life with great gravity, telling Tom Sarjent

  that he had news of importance for our private ear, Tom with still more

  gravity than F. B.'s, said, "Go, my children, you had best discuss this

  topic in a separate room, apart from the din and fun of a convivial

  assembly;" and ringing the bell he bade Betsy bring him another glass of

  rum-and-water, and one for Mr. Desborough, to be charged to him.

  We adjourned to another parlour then, where gas was lighted up: and F. B.

  over a pint of beer narrated poor Honeyman's mishap. "Saving your

  presence, Clive," said Bayham, "and with every regard for the youthful

  bloom of your young heart's affections, your uncle Charles Honeyman, sir,

  is a bad lot. I have known him these twenty years, when I was at his

  father's as a private tutor. Old Miss Honeyman is one of those cards

  which we call trumps--so was old Honeyman a trump; but Charles and his

  sister----"

  I stamped on F. B.'s foot under the table. He seemed to have forgotten

  that he was about to speak of Clive's mother.

  "Hem! of your poor mother, I--hem--I may say vidi tantum. I scarcely knew

  her. She married very young: as I was when she left Borhambury. But

  Charles exhibited his character at a very early age--and it was not a

  charming one--no, by no means a model of virtue. He always had a genius

  for running into debt. He borrowed from every one of the pupils--I don't

  know how he spent it except in hardbake and alycompaine--and even from

  old Nosey's groom,--pardon me, we used to call your grandfather by that

  playful epithet (boys will be boys, you know),--even from the doctor's

  groom he took money, and I recollect thrashing Charles Honeyman for that

  disgraceful action.

  "At college, without any particular show, he was always in debt and

  difficulties. Take warning by him, dear youth! By him and by me, if you

  like. See me--me, F. Bayham, descended from the ancient kings that long

  the Tuscan sceptre swayed, dodge down a street to get out of sight of a

  boot-shop, and my colossal frame tremble if a chap puts his hand on my

  shoulder, as you did, Pendennis, the other day in the Strand, when I

  thought a straw might have knocked me down! I have had my errors, Clive.

  I know 'em. I'll take another pint of beer, if you please. Betsy, has

  Mrs. Nokes any cold meat in the bar? and an accustomed pickle? Ha! Give

  her my compliments, and say F. B. is hungry. I resume my tale. Faults F.

  B. has, and knows it. Humbug he may have been sometimes; but I'm not such

  a complete humbug as Honeyman."

  Clive did not know how to look at this character of his relative, but

  Clive's companion burst into a fit of laughter, at which F. B. nodded

  gravely, and resumed his narrative. "I don't know how much money he has

  had from your governor, but this I can say, the half of it would make F.

  B. a happy man. I don't know out of how much the reverend party has

  nobbled his poor old sister at Brighton. He has mortgaged his chapel to

  Sherrick, I suppose you know, who is master of it, and could turn him out

  any day. I don't think Sherrick is a bad fellow. I think he's a good

  fellow; I have known him do many a good turn to a chap in misfortune. He

  wants to get into society: what more natural? That was why you were asked

  to meet him the other day, and why he asked you to dinner. I hope you had

  a good one. I wish he'd ask me.

  "Then Moss has got his bills, and Moss's brother-in-law in Cursitor

  Street has taken possession of his revered person. He's very welcome. One

  Jew has the chapel, another Hebrew has the clergyman. It's singular,

  ain't it? Sherrick might turn Lady Whittlesea into a synagogue and have

  the Chief Rabbi into the pulpit, where my uncle the Bishop has given out

  the text.

  "The shares of that concern ain't at a premium. I have had immense fun

  with Sherrick about it. I like the Hebrew, sir. He maddens with rage when

  F. B. goes and asks him whether any more
pews are let overhead. Honeyman

  begged and borrowed in order to buy out the last man. I remember when the

  speculation was famous, when all the boxes (I mean the pews) were taken

  for the season, and you couldn't get a place, come ever so early. Then

  Honeyman was spoilt, and gave his sermons over and over again. People got

  sick of seeing the old humbug cry, the old crocodile! Then we tried the

  musical dodge. F. B. came forward, sir, there. That was a coup: I did it,

  sir. Bellew wouldn't have sung for any man but me--and for two-and-twenty

  months I kept him as sober as Father Mathew. Then Honeyman didn't pay

  him: there was a row in the sacred building, and Bellew retired. Then

  Sherrick must meddle in it. And having heard a chap out Hampstead way who

  Sherrick thought would do, Honeyman was forced to engage him, regardless

  of expense. You recollect the fellow, sir? The Reverend Simeon Rawkins,

  the lowest of the Low Church, sir--a red-haired dumpy man, who gasped at

  his h's and spoke with a Lancashire twang--he'd no more do for Mayfair

  than Grimaldi for Macbeth. He and Honeyman used to fight like cat and dog

  in the vestry: and he drove away a third part of the congregation. He was

  an honest man and an able man too, though not a sound Churchman" (F. B.

  said this with a very edifying gravity): "I told Sherrick this the very

  day I heard him. And if he had spoken to me on the subject I might have

  saved him a pretty penny--a precious deal more than the paltry sum which

  he and I had a quarrel about at that time--a matter of business, sir--a

  pecuniary difference about a small three months' thing which caused a

  temporary estrangement between us. As for Honeyman, he used to cry about

  it. Your uncle is great in the lachrymatory line, Clive Newcome. He used

  to go with tears in his eyes to Sherrick, and implore him not to have

  Rawkins, but he would. And I must say for poor Charles that the failure

  of Lady Whittlesea's has not been altogether Charles's fault; and that

  Sherrick has kicked down that property.

  "Well, then, sir, poor Charles thought to make it all right by marrying

  Mrs. Brumby;--and she was very fond of him and the thing was all but

  done, in spite of her sons, who were in a rage as you may fancy. But

  Charley, sir, has such a propensity for humbug that he will tell lies

  when there is no earthly good in lying. He represented his chapel at

  twelve hundred a year, his private means as so-and-so; and when he came

  to book up with Briggs the lawyer, Mrs. Brumby's brother, it was found

  that he lied and prevaricated so, that the widow in actual disgust would

  have nothing more to do with him. She was a good woman of business, and

  managed the hat-shop for nine years, whilst poor Brumby was at Dr.

  Tokelys. A first-rate shop it was, too. I introduced Charles to it. My

  uncle the Bishop had his shovels there: and they used for a considerable

  period to cover this humble roof with tiles," said F. B., tapping his

  capacious forehead; "I am sure he might have had Brumby," he added, in

  his melancholy tones, "but for those unlucky lies. She didn't want money.

  She had plenty. She longed to get into society, and was bent on marrying

  a gentleman.

  "But what I can't pardon in Honeyman is the way in which he has done poor

  old Ridley and his wife. I took him there, you know, thinking they would

  send their bills in once a month: that he was doing a good business: in

  fact, that I had put 'em into a good thing. And the fellow has told me a

  score of times that he and the Ridleys were all right. But he has not

  only not paid his lodgings, but he has had money of them: he has given

  dinners: he has made Ridley pay for wine. He has kept paying lodgers out

  of the house, and he tells me all this with a burst of tears, when he

  sent for me to Lazarus's to-night, and I went to him, sir, because he was

  in distress--went into the lion's den, sir!" says F. B., looking round

  nobly. "I don't know how much he owes them: because of course you know

  the sum he mentions ain't the right one. He never does tell the truth--

  does Charles. But think of the pluck of those good Ridleys never saying a

  single word to F. B. about the debt! 'We are poor, but we have saved some

  money and can lie out of it. And we think Mr. Honeyman will pay us,' says

  Mrs. Ridley to me this very evening. And she thrilled my heart-strings,

  sir; and I took her in my arms, and kissed the old woman," says Bayham;

  "and I rather astonished little Miss Cann, and young J. J., who came in

  with a picture under his arm. But she said she had kissed Master

  Frederick long before J. J. was born--and so she had: that good and

  faithful servant--and my emotion in embracing her was manly, sir, manly."

  Here old Betsy came in to say that the supper was a-waitin' for Mr.

  Bayham and it was a-getting' very late; and we left F. B. to his meal;

  and bidding adieu to Mrs. Nokes, Clive and I went each to our habitation.

  CHAPTER XXVI

  In which Colonel Newcome's Horses are sold

  At an hour early the next morning I was not surprised to see Colonel

  Newcome at my chambers, to whom Clive had communicated Bayham's important

  news of the night before. The Colonel's object, as any one who knew him

  need scarcely be told, was to rescue his brother-in-law; and being

  ignorant of lawyers, sheriffs'-officers, and their proceedings, he

  bethought him that he would apply to Lamb Court for information, and in

  so far showed some prudence, for at least I knew more of the world and

  its ways than my simple client, and was enabled to make better terms for

  the unfortunate prisoner, or rather for Colonel Newcome, who was the real

  sufferer, than Honeyman's creditors might otherwise have been disposed to

  give.

  I thought it would be more prudent that our good Samaritan should not see

  the victim of rogues whom he was about to succour; and left him to

  entertain himself with Mr. Warrington in Lamb Court, while I sped to the

  lock-up house, where the Mayfair pet was confined. A sickly smile played

  over his countenance as he beheld me when I was ushered to his private

  room. The reverent gentleman was not shaved; he had partaken of

  breakfast. I saw a glass which had once contained brandy on the dirty

  tray whereon his meal was placed: a greasy novel from a Chancery Lane

  library lay on the table: but he was at present occupied in writing one

  or more of those great long letters, those laborious, ornate, eloquent

  statements, those documents so profusely underlined, in which the

  machinations of villains are laid bare with italic fervour; the coldness,

  to use no harsher phrase, of friends on whom reliance might have been

  placed; the outrageous conduct of Solomons; the astonishing failure of

  Smith to pay a sum of money on which he had counted as on the Bank of

  England; finally, the infallible certainty of repaying (with what

  heartfelt thanks need not be said) the loan of so many pounds next

  Saturday week at farthest. All this, which some readers in the course of

  their experience have read no doubt in many handwritings, was duly set

  forth by poor Honeyman. There was a wafer in a wine-glass
on the table,

  and the bearer no doubt below to carry the missive. They always sent

  these letters by a messenger, who is introduced in the postscript; he is

  always sitting in the hall when you get the letter, and is "a young man

  waiting for an answer, please."

  No one can suppose that Honeyman laid a complete statement of his affairs

  before the negotiator who was charged to look into them. No debtor does

  confess all his debts, but breaks them gradually to his man of business,

  factor or benefactor, leading him on from surprise to surprise; and when

  he is in possession of the tailor's little account, introducing him to

  the bootmaker. Honeyman's schedule I felt perfectly certain was not

  correct. The detainees against him were trifling. "Moss of Wardour

  Street, one hundred and twenty--I believe I have paid him thousands in

  this very transaction," ejaculates Honeyman. "A heartless West End

  tradesman hearing of my misfortune--all these people a linked together,

  my dear Pendennis, and rush like vultures upon their prey!--Waddilove,

  the tailor, has another writ out for ninety-eight pounds; a man whom I

  have made by my recommendations! Tobbins, the bootmaker, his neighbour in

  Jermyn Street, forty-one pounds more, and that is all--I give you my

  word, all. In a few months, when my pew-rents will be coming in, I should

  have settled with those cormorants; otherwise, my total and irretrievable

  ruin, and the disgrace and humiliation of a prison attends me. I know it;

  I can bear it; I have been wretchedly weak, Pendennis: I can say mea

  culpa, mea maxima culpa, and I can--bear--my--penalty." In his finest

  moments he was never more pathetic. He turned his head away, and

  concealed it in a handkerchief not so white as those which veiled his

  emotions at Lady Whittlesea's.

  How by degrees this slippery penitent was induced to make other

  confessions; how we got an idea of Mrs. Ridley's account from him, of his

  dealings with Mr. Sherrick, need not be mentioned here. The conclusion to

  which Colonel Newcome's ambassador came was, that to help such a man

  would be quite useless; and that the Fleet Prison would be a most

  wholesome retreat for this most reckless divine. Ere the day was out,

  Messrs. Waddilove and Tobbins had conferred with their neighbour in St.

  James's, Mr. Brace; and there came a detainer from that haberdasher for

  gloves, cravats, and pocket-handkerchiefs, that might have done credit to

  the most dandified young Guardsman. Mr. Warrington was on Mr. Pendennis's

  side, and urged that the law should take its course. "Why help a man,"

  said he, "who will not help himself? Let the law sponge out the fellow's

  debts; set him going again with twenty pounds when he quits the prison,

  and get him a chaplaincy in the Isle of Man."

  I saw by the Colonel's grave kind face that these hard opinions did not

  suit him. "At all events, sir, promise us," we said, "that you will pay

  nothing yourself--that you won't see Honeyman's creditors, and let

  people, who know the world better, deal with him." "Know the world, young

  man!" cries Newcome; "I should think if I don't know the world at my age,

  I never shall." And if he had lived to be as old as Jahaleel, a boy could

  still have cheated him.

  "I do not scruple to tell you," he said, after a pause during which a

  plenty of smoke was delivered from the council of three, "that I have--a

  fund--which I had set aside for mere purposes of pleasure, I give you my

  word, and a part of which I shall think it my duty to devote to poor

  Honeyman's distresses. The fund is not large. The money was intended, in

  fact:--however, there it is. If Pendennis will go round to these

  tradesmen, and make some composition with them, as their prices have been

  no doubt enormously exaggerated, I see no harm. Besides the tradesfolk,

  there is good Mrs. Ridley and Mr. Sherrick--we must see them; and, if we

  can, set this luckless Charles again on his legs. We have read of other