The Newcomes

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  "Sir, you are an old man, and my father's brother, or you know very well

  I would----"

  "You would what, Sir? Upon my word, Barnes Newcome" (here the Colonel's

  two hands and the bamboo cane came from the rear and formed in front),

  "but that you are my father's grandson, after a menace like that, I would

  take you out and cane you in the presence of your clerks. I repeat, sir,

  that I consider you guilty of treachery, falsehood, and knavery. And if I

  ever see you at Bays's Club, I will make the same statement to your

  acquaintance at the west end of the town. A man of your baseness ought to

  be known, sir; and it shall be my business to make men of honour aware of

  your character. Mr. Boltby, will you have the kindness to make out my

  account? Sir Barnes Newcome, for fear of consequences that I should

  deplore, I recommend you to keep a wide berth of me, sir." And the Colonel

  twirled his mustachios, and waved his cane in an ominous manner, and

  Barnes started back spontaneously out of its dangerous circle.

  What Mr. Boltby's sentiments may have been regarding this extraordinary

  scene in which his principal cut so sorry a figure;--whether he narrated

  the conversation to other gentlemen connected with the establishment of

  Hobson Brothers, or prudently kept it to himself, I cannot say, having no

  means of pursuing Mr. B.'s subsequent career. He speedily quitted his

  desk at Hobson Brothers; and let us presume that Barnes thought Mr. B.

  had old all the other clerks of the avuncular quarrel. That conviction

  will make us imagine Barnes still more comfortable. Hobson Newcome no

  doubt was rejoiced at Barnes's discomfiture; he had been insolent and

  domineering beyond measure of late to his vulgar good-natured uncle,

  whereas after the above interview with the Colonel he became very humble

  and quiet in his demeanour, and for a long, long time never said a rude

  word. Nay, I fear Hobson must have carried an account of the transaction

  to Mrs. Hobson and the circle in Bryanstone Square; for Sam Newcome, now

  entered at Cambridge, called the Baronet "Barnes" quite familiarly; asked

  after Clara and Ethel; and requested a small loan of Barnes.

  Of course the story did not get wind at Bays's; of course Tom Eaves did

  not know all about it, and say that Sir Barnes had been beaten

  black-and-blue. Having been treated very ill by the committee in a

  complaint which he made about the Club cookery, Sir Barnes Newcome never

  came to Bays's, and at the end of the year took off his name from the

  lists of the Club.

  Sir Barnes, though a little taken aback in the morning, and not ready

  with an impromptu reply to the Colonel and his cane, could not allow the

  occurrence to pass without a protest; and indited a letter which Thomas

  Newcome kept along with some others previously quoted by the compiler of

  the present memoirs.

  It is as follows:--

  Belgrave St., Feb. 15, 18--.

  "Colonel Newcome, C..B., private.

  "SIR--The incredible insolence and violence of your behaviour to-day

  (inspired by whatever causes or mistakes of your own), cannot be passed

  without some comment, on my part. I laid before a friend of your own

  profession, a statement of the words which you applied to me in the

  presence of my partner and one of my clerks this morning; and my adviser

  is of opinion, that considering the relationship unhappily subsisting

  between us, I can take no notice of insults for which you knew when you

  uttered them, I could not call you to account."

  "There is some truth in that," said the Colonel. "He couldn't fight, you

  know; but then he was such a liar I could not help speaking my mind."

  "I gathered from the brutal language which you thought fit to employ

  towards a disarmed man, the ground of one of your monstrous accusations

  against me, that I deceived you in stating that my relative, Lady Kew,

  was in the country, when in fact she was at her house in London.

  "To this absurd charge I at once plead guilty. The venerable lady in

  question was passing through London, where she desired to be free from

  intrusion. At her ladyship's wish I stated that she was out of town; and

  would, under the same circumstances, unhesitatingly make the same

  statement. Your slight acquaintance with the person in question did not

  warrant that you should force yourself on her privacy, as you would

  doubtless know were you more familiar with the customs of the society in

  which she moves.

  "I declare upon my honour as a gentleman, that I gave her the message

  which I promised to deliver from you, and also that I transmitted a

  letter with which you entrusted me; and repel with scorn and indignation

  the charges which you were pleased to bring against me, as I treat with

  contempt the language and the threats which you thought fit to employ.

  "Our books show the amount of xl. xs. xd. to your credit, which you will

  be good enough to withdraw at your earliest convenience; as of course all

  intercourse must cease henceforth between you and--Yours, etc.

  B. Newcome Newcome."

  "I think, sir, he doesn't make out a bad case," Mr. Pendennis remarked to

  the Colonel, who showed him this majestic letter.

  "It would be a good case if I believed a single word of it, Arthur,"

  replied my friend, placidly twirling the old grey moustache. "If you were

  to say so-and-so, and say that I had brought false charges against you, I

  should cry mea culpa and apologise with all my heart. But as I have a

  perfect conviction that every word this fellow says is a lie, what is the

  use of arguing any more about the matter? I would not believe him if he

  brought twenty as witnesses, and if he lied till he was black in the

  other liars' face. Give me the walnuts. I wonder who Sir Barnes's

  military friend was."

  Barnes's military friend was our gallant acquaintance General Sir George

  Tufto, K.C.B., who a short while afterwards talked over the quarrel with

  the Colonel, and manfully told him that (in Sir George's opinion) he was

  wrong. "The little beggar behaved very well, I thought, in the first

  business. You bullied him so, and in the front of his regiment, too, that

  it was almost past bearing; and when he deplored, with tears in his eyes,

  almost, the little humbug! that his relationship prevented him calling

  you out, ecod, I believed him! It was in the second affair that poor

  little Barnes showed he was a cocktail."

  "What second affair?" asked Thomas Newcome.

  "Don't you know? He! he! this is famous!" cries Sir George. "Why, sir,

  two days after your business, he comes to me with another letter and a

  face as long as my mare's, by Jove. And that letter, Newcome, was from

  your young 'un. Stop, here it is!" and from his padded bosom General Sir

  George Tufto drew a pocket-book, and from the pocket-book a copy of a

  letter, inscribed, "Clive Newcome, Esq., to Sir B. N. Newcome." "There's

  no mistake about your fellow, Colonel. No,----him!" and the man of war

  fired a volley of oaths as a salute to Clive.

  And the Colonel, on horseback, riding by the other cav
alry officer's side

  read as follows:--

  "George Street, Hanover Square, February 16.

  "SIR--Colonel Newcome this morning showed me a letter bearing your

  signature, in which you state--1. That Colonel Newcome has uttered

  calumnious and insolent charges against you. 2. That Colonel Newcome so

  spoke, knowing that you could take no notice of his charges of falsehood

  and treachery, on account of the relationship subsisting between you.

  "Your statements would evidently imply that Colonel Newcome has been

  guilty of ungentlemanlike conduct, and of cowardice towards you.

  "As there can be no reason why we should not meet in any manner that you

  desire, I here beg leave to state, on my own part, that I fully coincide

  with Colonel Newcome in his opinion that you have been guilty of

  falsehood and treachery, and that the charge of cowardice which you dare

  to make against a gentleman of his tried honour and courage, is another

  wilful and cowardly falsehood on your part.

  "And I hope you will refer the bearer of this note, my friend, Mr. George

  Warrington, of the Upper Temple, to the military gentleman whom you

  consulted in respect to the just charges of Colonel Newcome. Waiting a

  prompt reply, believe me, sir--Your obedient servant, Clive Newcome.

  "Sir Barnes Newcome Newcome, Bart., M. P., etc."

  "What a blunderhead I am!" cries the Colonel, with delight on his

  countenance, spite of his professed repentance. "It never once entered my

  head that the youngster would take any part in the affair. I showed him

  his cousin's letter casually, just to amuse him, I think, for he has been

  deuced low lately, about--about a young man's scrape that he has got

  into. And he must have gone off and despatched his challenge straightway.

  I recollect he appeared uncommonly brisk at breakfast the next morning.

  And so you say, General, the Baronet did not like the poulet?"

  "By no means; never saw a fellow show such a confounded white feather. At

  first I congratulated him, thinking your boy's offer must please him, as

  it would have pleased any fellow in our time to have a shot. Dammy! but I

  was mistaken in my man. He entered into some confounded long-winded story

  about a marriage you wanted to make with that infernal pretty sister of

  his, who is going to marry young Farintosh, and how you were in a rage

  because the scheme fell to the ground, and how a family duel might

  occasion unpleasantries to Miss Newcome; though I showed him how this

  could be most easily avoided, and that the lady's name need never appear

  in the transaction. 'Confound it, Sir Barnes,' says I, 'I recollect this

  boy, when he was a youngster throwing a glass of wine in your face! We'll

  put it upon that, and say it's an old feud between you.' He turned quite

  pale, and he said your fellow had apologised for the glass of wine."

  "Yes," said the Colonel, sadly, "my boy apologised for the glass of wine.

  It is curious how we have disliked that Barnes ever since we set eyes on

  him."

  "Well, Newcome," Sir George resumed, as his mettled charger suddenly

  jumped and curvetted, displaying the padded warrior's cavalry-seat to

  perfection. "Quiet, old lady!--easy, my dear! Well, when I found the

  little beggar turning tail in this way I said to him, 'Dash me, sir, if

  you don't want me, why the dash do you send for me, dash me? Yesterday

  you talked as if you would bite the Colonel's head off, and to-day, when

  his son offers you every accommodation, by dash, sir, you're afraid to

  meet him. It's my belief you had better send for a policeman. A 22 is

  your man, Sir Barnes Newcome.' And with that I turned on my heel and left

  him. And the fellow went off to Newcome that very night."

  "A poor devil can't command courage, General," said the Colonel, quite

  peaceably, "any more than he can make himself six feet high."

  "Then why the dash did the beggar send for me?" called out General Sir

  George Tufto, in a loud and resolute voice; and presently the two

  officers parted company.

  When the Colonel reached home, Mr. Warrington and Mr. Pendennis happened

  to be on a visit to Clive, and all three were in the young fellow's

  painting-room. We knew our lad was unhappy, and did our little best to

  amuse and console him. The Colonel came in. It was in the dark February

  days: we lighted the gas in the studio. Clive had made a sketch from some

  favourite verses of mine and George's: those charming lines of Scott's:--

  "He turned his charger as he spake,

  Beside the river shore;

  He gave his bridle-rein a shake,

  With adieu for evermore,

  My dear!

  Adieu for evermore!"

  Thomas Newcome held up a finger at Warrington, and he came up to the

  picture and looked at it; and George and I trolled out:

  "Adieu for evermore,

  My dear!

  Adieu for evermore!"

  From the picture the brave old Colonel turned to the painter, regarding

  his son with a look of beautiful inexpressible affection. And he laid his

  hand on his son's shoulder, and smiled, and stroked Clive's yellow

  moustache.

  "And--and did Barnes send no answer to that letter you wrote him?" he

  said, slowly.

  Clive broke out into a laugh that was almost a sob. He took both his

  father's hands. "My dear, dear old father!" says he, "what a--what an--

  old--trump you are!" My eyes were so dim I could hardly see the two men

  as they embraced.

  CHAPTER LIV

  Has a Tragical Ending

  Clive presently answered the question which his father put to him in the

  last chapter, by producing from the ledge of his easel a crumpled paper,

  full of Cavendish now, but on which was written Sir Barnes Newcome's

  reply to his cousin's polite invitation. Sir Barnes Newcome wrote, "that

  he thought a reference to a friend was quite unnecessary, in the most

  disagreeable and painful dispute in which Mr. Clive desired to interfere

  as a principal; that the reasons which prevented Sir Barnes from taking

  notice of Colonel Newcome's shameful and ungentlemanlike conduct applied

  equally, as Mr. Clive Newcome very well knew, to himself; that if further

  insult was offered, or outrage attempted, Sir Barnes should resort to the

  police for protection; that he was about to quit London, and certainly

  should not delay his departure on account of Mr. Clive Newcome's

  monstrous proceedings; and that he desired to take leave of an odious

  subject, as of an individual whom he had striven to treat with kindness,

  but from whom, from youth upwards, Sir Barnes Newcome had received

  nothing but insolence, enmity, and ill-will."

  "He is an ill man to offend," remarked Mr. Pendennis. "I don't think he

  has ever forgiven that claret, Clive."

  "Pooh! the feud dates from long before that," said Clive; "Barnes wanted

  to lick me when I was a boy, and I declined: in fact, I think he had

  rather the worst of it; but then I operated freely on his shins, and that

  wasn't fair in war, you know."

  "Heaven forgive me," cries the Colonel; "I have always felt the fe
llow

  was my enemy: and my mind is relieved now war is declared. It has been a

  kind of hypocrisy with me to shake his hand and eat his dinner. When I

  trusted him it was against my better instinct; and I have been struggling

  against it these ten years, thinking it was a wicked prejudice, and ought

  to be overcome."

  "Why should we overcome such instincts?" asks Mr. Warrington. "Why

  shouldn't we hate what is hateful in people and scorn what is mean? From

  what friend Pen has described to me, and from some other accounts which

  have come to my ears, your respectable nephew is about as loathsome a

  little villain as crawls on the earth. Good seems to be out of his

  sphere, and away from his contemplation. He ill-treats every one he comes

  near; or, if, gentle to them, it is that they may serve some base

  purpose. Since my attention has been drawn to the creature, I have been

  contemplating his ways with wonder and curiosity. How much superior

  Nature's rogues are, Pen, to the villains you novelists put into your

  books! This man goes about his life business with a natural propensity to

  darkness and evil--as a bug crawls, and stings, and stinks. I don't

  suppose the fellow feels any more remorse than a cat that runs away with

  a mutton-chop. I recognise the Evil Spirit, sir, and do honour to

  Ahrimanes, in taking off my hat to this young man. He seduced a poor girl

  in his father's country town--is it not natural? Deserted her and her

  children--don't you recognise the beast? married for rank--could you

  expect otherwise from him? invites my Lord Highgate to his house in

  consideration of his balance at the bank;--sir, unless somebody's heel

  shall crunch him on the way, there is no height to which this aspiring

  vermin mayn't crawl. I look to see Sir Barnes Newcome prosper more and

  more. I make no doubt he will die an immense capitalist, and an exalted

  Peer of this realm. He will have a marble monument, and a pathetic

  funeral sermon. There is a divine in your family, Clive, that shall

  preach it. I will weep respectful tears over the grave of Baron Newcome,

  Viscount Newcome, Earl Newcome; and the children whom he has deserted,

  and who, in the course of time, will be sent by a grateful nation to New

  South Wales, will proudly say to their brother convicts,--'Yes, the Earl

  was our honoured father.'"

  "I fear he is no better than he should be, Mr. Warrington," says the

  Colonel, shaking his head. "I never heard the story about the deserted

  children."

  "How should you, O you guileless man!" cries Warrington.

  "I am not in the ways of scandal-hearing myself much: but this tale I had

  from Sir Barnes Newcome's own country. Mr. Batters of the Newcome

  Independent is my esteemed client. I write leading articles for his

  newspaper, and when he was in town last spring he favoured me with the

  anecdote; and proposed to amuse the Member for Newcome by publishing it

  in his journal. This kind of writing is not much in my line: and, out of

  respect to you and your young one, I believe--I strove with Mr. Batters,

  and--entreated him and prevailed with him, not to publish the story. That

  is how I came to know it."

  I sate with the Colonel in the evening, when he commented on Warrington's

  story and Sir Barnes's adventures in his simple way. He said his brother

  Hobson had been with him the morning after the dispute, reiterating

  Barnes's defence of his conduct: and professing on his own part nothing

  but goodwill towards his brother. "Between ourselves the young Baronet

  carries matters with rather a high hand sometimes, and I am not sorry

  that you gave him a little dressing. But you were too hard upon him,

  Colonel--really you were." "Had I known that child-deserting story I

  would have given it harder still, sir," says Thomas Newcome, twirling his