The Newcomes

by William Makepeace Thackeray

Stenio to M. de Florac, who was standing by and witnessed the scene. "Is

  he simply bete, or is he poltron as well? I believe him to be both."

  "Silence, Victor!" cried Florac, seizing his arm, and drawing him away.

  "You know me, and that I am neither one or the other. Believe my word,

  that my Lord Kew wants neither courage nor wit!"

  "Will you be my witness, Florac?" continues the other.

  "To take him your excuses? yes. It is you who have insulted--"

  "Yes, parbleu, I have insulted!" says the Gascon.

  "--A man who never willingly offended soul alive. A man full of heart:

  the most frank: the most loyal. I have seen him put to the proof, and

  believe me he is all I say."

  "Eh! so much the better for me!" cried the Southron. "I shall have the

  honour of meeting a gallant man: and there will be two on the field."

  "They are making a tool of you, my poor Gascon," said M. de Florac, who

  saw Madame d'Ivry's eyes watching the couple. She presently took the arm

  of the noble Count de Punter, and went for fresh air into the adjoining

  apartment, where play was going on as usual; and Lord Kew and his friend

  Lord Rooster were pacing the room apart from the gamblers.

  My Lord Rooster, at something which Kew said, looked puzzled, and said,

  "Pooh, stuff, damned little Frenchman! Confounded nonsense!"

  "I was searching you, milor!" said Madame d'Ivry, in a most winning tone,

  tripping behind him with her noiseless little feet. "Allow me a little

  word. Your arm! You used to give it me once, mon filleul! I hope you

  think nothing of the rudeness of M. de Castillonnes; he is a foolish

  Gascon: he must have been too often to the buffet this evening."

  Lord Kew said, No, indeed, he thought nothing of de Castillonnes'

  rudeness.

  "I am so glad! These heroes of the salle-d'armes have not the commonest

  manners. These Gascons are always flamberge au vent. What would the

  charming Miss Ethel say, if she heard of the dispute?"

  "Indeed there is no reason why she should hear of it," said Lord Kew,

  "unless some obliging friend should communicate it to her."

  "Communicate it to her--the poor dear! who would be so cruel as to give

  her pain?" asked the innocent Duchesse. "Why do you look at me so,

  Frank?"

  "Because I admire you," said her interlocutor, with a bow. "I have never

  seen Madame la Duchesse to such advantage as to-day."

  "You speak in enigmas! Come back with me to the ballroom. Come and dance

  with me once more. You used to dance with me. Let us have one waltz more,

  Kew. And then, and then, in a day or two I shall go back to Monsieur le

  Duc, and tell him that his filleul is going to marry the fairest of all

  Englishwomen and to turn hermit in the country, and orator in the Chamber

  of Peers. You have wit! ah si--you have wit!" And she led back Lord Kew,

  rather amazed himself at what he was doing, into the ballroom; so that

  the good-natured people who were there, and who beheld them dancing,

  could not refrain from clapping their hands at the sight of this couple.

  The Duchess danced as if she was bitten by that Neapolitan spider which,

  according to the legend, is such a wonderful dance-incentor. She would

  have the music quicker and quicker. She sank on Kew's arm, and clung on

  his support. She poured out all the light of her languishing eyes into

  his face. Their glances rather confused than charmed him. But the

  bystanders were pleased; they thought it so good-hearted of the Duchesse,

  after the little quarrel, to make a public avowal of reconciliation!

  Lord Rooster looking on, at the entrance of the dancing-room, over

  Monsieur de Florac's shoulder, said, "It's all right! She's a clipper to

  dance, the little Duchess."

  "The viper!" said Florac, "how she writhes!"

  "I suppose that business with the Frenchman is all over," says Lord

  Rooster. "Confounded piece of nonsense."

  "You believe it finished? We shall see!" said Florac, who perhaps knew

  his fair cousin better. When the waltz was over, Kew led his partner to a

  seat, and bowed to her; but though she made room for him at her side,

  pointing to it, and gathering up her rustling robes so that he might sit

  down, he moved away, his face full of gloom. He never wished to be near

  her again. There was something more odious to him in her friendship than

  her hatred. He knew hers was the hand that had dealt that stab at him and

  Ethel in the morning. He went back and talked with his two friends in the

  doorway. "Couch yourself, my little Kiou," said Florac. "You are all

  pale. You were best in bed, mon garcon!"

  "She has made me promise to take her in to supper," Kew said, with a

  sigh.

  "She will poison you," said the other. "Why have they abolished the roue

  chez nous? My word of honour they should retabliche it for this woman."

  "There is one in the next room," said Kew, with a laugh, "Come, Vicomte,

  let us try our fortune," and he walked back into the play-room.

  That was the last night on which Lord Kew ever played a gambling game. He

  won constantly. The double zero seemed to obey him; so that the croupiers

  wondered at his fortune. Florac backed it; saying with the superstition

  of a gambler, "I am sure something goes to arrive to this boy." From time

  to time M. de Florac went back to the dancing-room, leaving his mise

  under Kew's charge. He always found his heaps increased; indeed the

  worthy Vicomte wanted a turn of luck in his favour. On one occasion he

  returned with a grave face, saying to Lord Rooster, "She has the other

  one in hand. We are going to see." "Trente-six encor! et rouge gagne,"

  cried the croupier with his nasal tone, Monsieur de Florac's pockets

  overflowed with double Napoleons, and he stopped his play, luckily, for

  Kew putting down his winnings, once, twice, thrice, lost them all.

  When Lord Kew had left the dancing-room, Madame d'Ivry saw Stenio

  following him with fierce looks, and called back that bearded bard. "You

  were going to pursue M. de Kew," she said: "I knew you were. Sit down

  here, sir," and she patted him down on her seat with her fan.

  "Do you wish that I should call him back, madame?" said the poet, with

  the deepest tragic accents.

  "I can bring him when I want him, Victor," said the lady.

  "Let us hope others will be equally fortunate," the Gascon said, with one

  hand in his breast, the other stroking his moustache.

  "Fi, monsieur, que vous sentez le tabac! je vous le defends,

  entendez-vous, monsieur?"

  "Pourtant, I have seen the day when Madame la Duchesse did not disdain a

  cigar," said Victor. "If the odour incommodes, permit that I retire."

  "And you also would quit me, Stenio? Do you think I did not mark your

  eyes towards Miss Newcome? your anger when she refused you to dance? Ah!

  we see all. A woman does not deceive herself, do you see? You send me

  beautiful verses, Poet. You can write as well of a statue or a picture,

  of a rose or a sunset, as of the heart of a woman. You were angry just

  now because I danced with M. de Kew. Do you think in a woman's eyes

  jealousy is unpardonable?"

  "You know how to provoke it, madame," conti
nued the tragedian.

  "Monsieur," replied the lady, with dignity, "am I to render you an

  account of all my actions, and ask your permission for a walk?"

  "In fact, I am but the slave, madame," groaned the Gascon, "I am not the

  master."

  "You are a very rebellious slave, monsieur," continues the lady, with a

  pretty moue, and a glance of the large eyes artfully brightened by her

  rouge. "Suppose--suppose I danced with M. de Kew, not for his sake--

  Heaven knows to dance with him is not a pleasure--but for yours. Suppose

  I do not want a foolish quarrel to proceed. Suppose I know that he is ni

  sot ni poltron as you pretend. I overheard you, sir, talking with one of

  the basest of men, my good cousin, M. de Florac: but it is not of him I

  speak. Suppose I know the Comte de Kew to be a man, cold and insolent,

  ill-bred, and grossier, as the men of his nation are--but one who lacks

  no courage--one who is terrible when roused; might I have no occasion to

  fear, not for him, but----"

  "But for me! Ah, Marie! Ah, madame! Believe you that a man of my blood

  will yield a foot to any Englishman? Do you know the story of my race? do

  you know that since my childhood I have vowed hatred to that nation?

  Tenez, madame, this M. Jones who frequents your salon, it was but respect

  for you that has enabled me to keep my patience with this stupid

  islander. This Captain Blackball, whom you distinguish, who certainly

  shoots well, who mounts well to horse, I have always thought his manners

  were those of the marker of a billiard. But I respect him because he has

  made war with Don Carlos against the English. But this young M. de Kew,

  his laugh crisps me the nerves; his insolent air makes me bound; in

  beholding him I said to myself, I hate you; think whether I love him

  better after having seen him as I did but now, madame!" Also, but this

  Victor did not say, he thought Kew had laughed at him at the beginning of

  the evening, when the blanche Miss had refused to dance with him.

  "Ah, Victor, it is not him, but you that I would save," said the Duchess.

  And the people round about, and the Duchess herself, afterwards said,

  yes, certainly, she had a good heart. She entreated Lord Kew; she

  implored M. Victor; she did everything in her power to appease the

  quarrel between him and the Frenchman.

  After the ball came the supper, which was laid at separate little tables,

  where parties of half a dozen enjoyed themselves. Lord Kew was of the

  Duchess's party, where our Gascon friend had not a seat. But being one of

  the managers of the entertainment, his lordship went about from table to

  table, seeing that the guests at each lacked nothing. He supposed too

  that the dispute with the Gascon had possibly come to an end; at any

  rate, disagreeable as the other's speech had been, he had resolved to put

  up with it, not having the least inclination to drink the Frenchman's

  blood, or to part with his own on so absurd a quarrel. He asked people in

  his good-natured way to drink wine with him; and catching M. Victor's eye

  scowling at him from a distant table, he sent a waiter with a

  champagne-bottle to his late opponent, and lifted his glass as a friendly

  challenge. The waiter carried the message to M. Victor, who, when he

  heard it, turned up his glass, and folded his arms in a stately manner.

  "M. de Castillonnes dit qu'il refuse, milor," said the waiter, rather

  scared. "He charged me to bring that message to milor." Florac ran across

  to the angry Gascon. It was not while at Madame d'Ivry's table that Lord

  Kew sent his challenge and received his reply; his duties as steward had

  carried him away from that pretty early.

  Meanwhile the glimmering dawn peered into the windows of the

  refreshment-room, and behold, the sun broke in and scared all the

  revellers. The ladies scurried away like so many ghosts at cock-crow,

  some of them not caring to face that detective luminary. Cigars had been

  lighted ere this; the men remained smoking them with those sleepless

  German waiters still bringing fresh supplies of drink. Lord Kew gave the

  Duchesse d'Ivry his arm, and was leading her out; M. de Castillonnes

  stood scowling directly in their way, upon which, with rather an abrupt

  turn of the shoulder, and a "Pardon, monsieur," Lord Kew pushed by, and

  conducted the Duchesse to her carriage. She did not in the least see what

  had happened between the two gentlemen in the passage; she ogled, and

  nodded, and kissed her hands quite affectionately to Kew as the fly drove

  away.

  Florac in the meanwhile had seized his compatriot, who had drunk

  champagne copiously with others, if not with Kew, and was in vain

  endeavouring to make him hear reason. The Gascon was furious; he vowed

  that Lord Kew had struck him. "By the tomb of my mother," he bellowed, "I

  swear I will have his blood!" Lord Rooster was bawling out, "D--- him,

  carry him to bed, and shut him up;" which remarks Victor did not

  understand, or two victims would doubtless have been sacrificed on his

  mamma's mausoleum.

  When Kew came back (as he was only too sure to do), the little Gascon

  rushed forward with a glove in his hand, and having an audience of

  smokers round about him, made a furious speech about England, leopards,

  cowardice, insolent islanders, and Napoleon at St. Helena; and demanded

  reason for Kew's conduct during the night. As he spoke, he advanced

  towards Lord Kew, glove in hand, and lifted it as if he was actually

  going to strike.

  "There is no need for further words," said Lord Kew, taking his cigar out

  of his mouth. "If you don't drop that glove, upon my word I will pitch

  you out of the window. Ha!--Pick the man up, somebody. You'll bear

  witness, gentlemen, I couldn't help myself. If he wants me in the

  morning, he knows where to find me."

  "I declare that my Lord Kew has acted with great forbearance, and under

  the most brutal provocation--the most brutal provocation, entendez-vows,

  M. Cabasse?" cried out M. de Florac, rushing forward to the Gascon, who

  had now risen; "monsieur's conduct has been unworthy of a Frenchman and a

  gallant homme."

  "D--- it, he has had it on his nob, though," said Lord Viscount Rooster,

  laconically.

  "Ah, Roosterre! ceci n'est pas pour rire," Florac cried sadly, as they

  both walked away with Lord Kew; "I wish that first blood was all that was

  to be shed in this quarrel"

  "Gaw! how he did go down!" cried Rooster, convulsed with laughter.

  "I am very sorry for it," said Kew, quite seriously; "I couldn't help it.

  God forgive me." And he hung down his head. He thought of the past, and

  its levities, and punishment coming after him pede claudo. It was with

  all his heart the contrite young man said "God forgive me." He would take

  what was to follow as the penalty of what had gone before.

  "Pallas te hoc vulnere, Pallas immolat, mon pauvre Kiou," said his French

  friend. And Lord Rooster, whose classical education had been much

  neglected, turned round and said, "Hullo, mate, what ship's that?"

  Viscount Rooster had not been two hours in bed, when the Count de Punter
r />   (formerly of the Black Jaegers) waited upon him upon the part of M. de

  Castillonnes and the Earl of Kew, who had referred him to the Viscount to

  arrange matters for a meeting between them. As the meeting must take

  place out of the Baden territory, and they ought to move before the

  police prevented them, the Count proposed that they should at once make

  for France; where, as it was an affair of honneur, they would assuredly

  be let to enter without passports.

  Lady Anne and Lady Kew heard that the gentlemen after the ball had all

  gone out on a hunting-party, and were not alarmed for four-and-twenty

  hours at least. On the next day none of them returned; and on the day

  after, the family heard that Lord Kew had met with rather a dangerous

  accident; but all the town knew he had been shot by M. de Castillonnes on

  one of the islands on the Rhine, opposite Kehl, where he was now lying.

  CHAPTER XXXV

  Across the Alps

  Our discursive muse must now take her place in the little britzska in

  which Clive Newcome and his companions are travelling, and cross the Alps

  in that vehicle, beholding the snows on St. Gothard, and the beautiful

  region through which the Ticino rushes on its way to the Lombard lakes,

  and the corn-covered great plains of the Milanese; and that royal city,

  with the cathedral for its glittering crown, only less magnificent than

  the imperial dome of Rome. I have some long letters from Mr. Clive,

  written during this youthful tour, every step of which, from the

  departure at Baden, to the gate of Milan, he describes as beautiful; and

  doubtless, the delightful scenes through which the young man went, had

  their effect in soothing any private annoyances with which his journey

  commenced. The aspect of nature, in that fortunate route which he took,

  is so noble and cheering, that our private affairs and troubles shrink

  away abashed before that serene splendour. O sweet peaceful scene of

  azure lake, and snow-crowned mountain, so wonderfully lovely is your

  aspect, that it seems like heaven almost, and as if grief and care could

  not enter it! What young Clive's private cares were I knew not as yet in

  those days; and he kept them out of his letters; it was only in the

  intimacy of future life that some of these pains were revealed to me.

  Some three months after taking leave of Miss Ethel, our young gentleman

  found himself at Rome, with his friend Ridley still for a companion. Many

  of us, young or middle-aged, have felt that delightful shock which the

  first sight of the great city inspires. There is one other place of which

  the view strikes one with an emotion even greater than that with which we

  look at Rome, where Augustus was reigning when He saw the day, whose

  birthplace is separated but by a hill or two from the awful gates of

  Jerusalem. Who that has beheld both can forget that first aspect of

  either? At the end of years the emotion occasioned by the sight still

  thrills in your memory, and it smites you as at the moment when you first

  viewed it.

  The business of the present novel, however, lies neither with priest nor

  pagan, but with Mr. Clive Newcome, and his affairs and his companions at

  this period of his life. Nor, if the gracious reader expects to hear of

  cardinals in scarlet, and noble Roman princes and princesses, will he

  find such in this history. The only noble Roman into whose mansion our

  friend got admission was the Prince Polonia, whose footmen wear the

  liveries of the English royal family, who gives gentlemen and even

  painters cash upon good letters of credit; and, once or twice in a

  season, opens his transtiberine palace and treats his customers to a

  ball. Our friend Clive used jocularly to say, he believed there were no

  Romans. There were priests in portentous hats; there were friars with