The Newcomes

by William Makepeace Thackeray

forward?"

  "I am prepared to do so, my good sir."

  And presently this solemn palaver ended.

  Besides the critical article upon the Baronet's lecture, of which Mr.

  Warrington was the author, there appeared in the leading columns of the

  ensuing number of Mr. Potts' Independent, some remarks of a very smashing

  or hostile nature, against the Member for Newcome. "This gentleman has

  shown such talent in the lecturing business," the Independent said, "that

  it is a great pity he should not withdraw himself from politics, and

  cultivate what all Newcome knows are the arts which he understands best;

  namely, poetry and the domestic affections. The performance of our

  talented representative last night was so pathetic as to bring tears into

  the eyes of several of our fair friends. We have heard, but never

  believed until now, that Sir Barnes Newcome possessed such a genius for

  making women cry. Last week we had the talented Miss Noakes, from

  Slowcome, reading Milton to us; how far superior was the eloquence of Sir

  Barnes Newcome Newcome, Bart., even to that of the celebrated jestress!

  Bets were freely offered in the room last night that Sir Barnes would

  beat any woman,--bets which were not taken, as we scarcely need say, so

  well do our citizens appreciate the character of our excellent, our

  admirable representative.--Let the Baronet stick to his lectures, and let

  Newcome relieve him of his political occupations. He is not fit for them,

  he is too sentimental a man for us; the men of Newcome want a sound

  practical person; the Liberals of Newcome have a desire to be

  represented. When we elected Sir Barnes, he talked liberally enough, and

  we thought he would do, but you see the honourable Baronet is so

  poetical! we ought to have known that, and not to have believed him. Let

  us have a straightforward gentleman. If not a man of words, at least let

  us have a practical man. If not a man of eloquence, one at any rate whose

  word we can trust, and we can't trust Sir Barnes Newcome's; we have tried

  him, and we can't really. Last night when the ladies were crying, we

  could not for the souls of us help laughing. We hope we know how to

  conduct ourselves as gentlemen. We trust we did not interrupt the harmony

  of the evening; but Sir Barnes Newcome, prating about children and

  virtue, and affection and poetry, this is really too strong.

  "The Independent, faithful to its name, and ever actuated by principles

  of honour, has been, as our thousands of readers know, disposed to give

  Sir Barnes Newcome Newcome, Bart., a fair trial. When he came forward

  after his father's death, we believed in his pledges and promises, as a

  retrencher and reformer, and we stuck by him. Is there any man in

  Newcome, except, perhaps, our twaddling old contemporary the Sentinel,

  who believes in Sir B. N. any more? We say no, and we now give the

  readers of the Independent, and the electors of this borough, fair

  notice, that when the dissolution of Parliament takes place, a good man,

  a true man, a man of experience, no dangerous Radical, or brawling tap

  orator--Mr. Hicks's friends well understand whom we mean--but a gentleman

  of Liberal principles, well-won wealth, and deserved station and honour,

  will ask the electors of Newcome whether they are, or are not

  discontented with their present unworthy Member. The Independent for one,

  says, we know good men of your family, we know in it men who would do

  honour to any name; but you, Sir Barnes Newcome Newcome, Bart., we trust

  no more."

  In the electioneering matter, which had occasioned my unlucky

  interference, and that subsequent little coolness upon the good Colonel's

  part, Clive Newcome had himself shown that the scheme was not to his

  liking; had then submitted as his custom was: and doing so with a bad

  grace, as also was to be expected, had got little thanks for his

  obedience. Thomas Newcome was hurt at his son's faint-heartedness, and of

  course little Rosey was displeased at his hanging back. He set off in his

  father's train, a silent, unwilling partisan. Thomas Newcome had the

  leisure to survey Clive's glum face opposite to him during the whole of

  their journey, and to chew his mustachios, and brood upon his wrath and

  wrongs. His life had been a sacrifice for that boy! What darling schemes

  had he not formed in his behalf, and how superciliously did Clive meet

  his projects! The Colonel could not see the harm of which he had himself

  been the author. Had he not done everything in mortal's power for his

  son's happiness, and how many young men in England were there with such

  advantages as this moody, discontented, spoiled boy? As Clive backed out

  of the contest, of course his father urged it only the more vehemently.

  Clive slunk away from committees and canvassing, and lounged about the

  Newcome manufactories, whilst his father, with anger and bitterness in

  his heart, remained at the post of honour, as he called it, bent upon

  overcoming his enemy and carrying his point against Barnes Newcome. "If

  Paris will not fight, sir," the Colonel said, with a sad look following

  his son, "Priam must." Good old Priam believed his cause to be a

  perfectly just one, and that duty and his honour called upon him to draw

  the sword. So there was difference between Thomas Newcome and Clive his

  son. I protest it is with pain and reluctance I have to write that the

  good old man was in error--that there was a wrong-doer, and that Atticus

  was he.

  Atticus, be it remembered, thought himself compelled by the very best

  motives. Thomas Newcome, the Indian banker, was at war with Barnes, the

  English banker. The latter had commenced the hostilities by a sudden and

  cowardly act of treason. There were private wrongs to envenom the

  contest, but it was the mercantile quarrel on which the Colonel chose to

  set his declaration of war. Barnes's first dastardly blow had

  occasioned it, and his uncle was determined to carry it through. This I

  have said was also George Warrington's judgment, who, in the ensuing

  struggle between Sir Barnes and his uncle, acted as a very warm and

  efficient partisan of the latter. "Kinsmanship!" says George, "what has

  old Tom Newcome ever had from his kinsman but cowardice and treachery? If

  Barnes had held up his finger, the young one might have been happy; if he

  could have effected it, the Colonel and his bank would have been ruined.

  I am for war, and for seeing the old boy in Parliament. He knows no more

  about politics than I do about dancing the polka; but there are five

  hundred wiseacres in that assembly who know no more than he does, and an

  honest man taking his seat there, in place of a confounded little rogue,

  at least makes a change for the better."

  I dare say Thomas Newcome, Esq. would by no means have concurred in the

  above estimate of his political knowledge, and thought himself as well

  informed as another. He used to speak with the greatest gravity about our

  constitution as the pride and envy of the world, though he surprised you

  as much by the latitudinarian reforms, which he was eager to press

  forward, as by the most singular old
Tory opinions which he advocated on

  other occasions. He was for having every man to vote; every poor man to

  labour short time and get high wages; every poor curate to be paid double

  or treble; every bishop to be docked of his salary, and dismissed from

  the House of Lords. But he was a staunch admirer of that assembly, and a

  supporter of the rights of the Crown. He was for sweeping off taxes from

  the poor, and as money must be raised to carry on government, he opined

  that the rich should pay. He uttered all these opinions with the greatest

  gravity and emphasis, before a large assembly of electors, and others

  convened in the Newcome Town Hall, amid the roars of applause of the

  non-electors, and the bewilderment and consternation of Mr. Potts, of the

  Independent, who had represented the Colonel in his paper as a safe and

  steady reformer. Of course the Sentinel showed him up as a most dangerous

  radical, a sepoy republican, and so forth, to the wrath and indignation

  of Colonel Newcome. He a republican! he scorned the name! He would die as

  he had bled many a time for his sovereign. He an enemy of our beloved

  Church! He esteemed and honoured it, as he hated and abhorred the

  superstitions of Rome. (Yells, from the Irish in the crowd.) He an enemy

  of the House of Lords! He held it to be the safeguard of the constitution

  and the legitimate prize of our most illustrious, naval, military, and--

  and--legal heroes (ironical cheers). He repelled with scorn the dastard

  attacks of the journal which had assailed him; he asked, laying his hands

  on his heart, if as a gentleman, an officer bearing Her Majesty's

  commission, he could be guilty of a desire to subvert her empire and to

  insult the dignity of her crown?

  After this second speech at the Town Hall, it was asserted by a

  considerable party in Newcome, that Old Tom (as the mob familiarly called

  him) was a Tory, while an equal number averred that he was a Radical. Mr.

  Potts tried to reconcile his statements, a work in which I should think

  the talented editor of the Independent had no little difficulty. "He

  knows nothing about it," poor Clive said with a sigh; "his politics are

  all sentiment and kindness; he will have the poor man paid double wages,

  and does not remember that the employer would be ruined: you have heard

  him, Pen, talking in this way at his own table, but when he comes out

  armed cap-a-pied, and careers against windmills in public, don't you see

  that as Don Quixote's son I had rather the dear brave old gentleman was

  at home?"

  So this faineant took but little part in the electioneering doings,

  holding moodily aloof from the meetings, and councils, and public-houses,

  where his father's partisans were assembled.

  CHAPTER LXVIII

  A Letter and a Reconciliation

  Miss Ethel Newcome to Mrs. Pendennis:

  "Dearest Laura,--I have not written to you for many weeks past. There

  have been some things too trivial, and some too sad, to write about; some

  things I know I shall write of if I begin, and yet that I know I had best

  leave; for of what good is looking to the past now? Why vex you or myself

  by reverting to it? Does not every day bring its own duty and task, and

  are these not enough to occupy one? What a fright you must have had with

  my little goddaughter! Thank heaven she is well now, and restored to you.

  You and your husband I know do not think it essential, but I do, most

  essential, and am very grateful that she was taken to church before her

  illness.

  "Is Mr. Pendennis proceeding with his canvass? I try and avoid a certain

  subject, but it will come. You know who is canvassing against us here. My

  poor uncle has met with very considerable success amongst the lower

  classes. He makes them rambling speeches at which my brother and his

  friends laugh, but which the people applaud. I saw him only yesterday, on

  the balcony of the King's Arms, speaking to a great mob, who were

  cheering vociferously below. I had met him before. He would not even stop

  and give his Ethel of old days his hand. I would have given him I don't

  know what, for one kiss, for one kind word; but he passed on and would

  not answer me. He thinks me--what the world thinks me, worldly and

  heartless; what I was. But at least, dear Laura, you know that I always

  truly loved him, and do now, although he is our enemy, though he believes

  and utters the most cruel things against Barnes, though he says that

  Barnes Newcome, my father's son, my brother, Laura, is not an honest man.

  Hard, selfish, worldly, I own my poor brother to be, and pray Heaven to

  amend him; but dishonest! and to be so maligned by the person one loves

  best in the world! This is a hard trial. I pray a proud heart may be

  bettered by it.

  "And I have seen my cousin; once at a lecture which poor Barnes gave, and

  who seemed very much disturbed on perceiving Clive; once afterwards at

  good old Mrs. Mason's, whom I have always continued to visit for uncle's

  sake. The poor old woman, whose wits are very nearly gone, held both our

  hands, and asked when we were going to be married? and laughed, poor old

  thing! I cried out to her that Mr. Clive had a wife at home, a young dear

  wife, I said. He gave a dreadful sort of laugh, and turned away into the

  window. He looks terribly ill, pale, and oldened.

  "I asked him a great deal about his wife, whom I remember a very pretty,

  sweet-looking girl indeed, at my Aunt Hobson's, but with a not agreeable

  mother as I thought then. He answered me by monosyllables, appeared as

  though he would speak, and then became silent. I am pained, and yet glad

  that I saw him, I said, not very distinctly, I dare say, that I hoped the

  difference between Barnes and uncle would not extinguish his regard for

  mamma and me, who have always loved him; when I said loved him, he give

  one of his bitter laughs again; and so he did when I said I hoped his

  wife was well. You never would tell me much about Mrs. Newcome; and I

  fear she does not make my cousin happy. And yet this marriage was of my

  uncle's making: another of the unfortunate marriages in our family. I am

  glad that I paused in time, before the commission of that sin; I strive

  my best, and to amend my temper, my inexperience, my shortcomings, and

  try to be the mother of my poor brother's children. But Barnes has never

  forgiven me my refusal of Lord Farintosh. He is of the world still,

  Laura. Nor must we deal too harshly with people of his nature, who cannot

  perhaps comprehend a world beyond. I remember in old days, when we were

  travelling on the Rhine, in the happiest days of my whole life, I used to

  hear Clive and his friend Mr. Ridley, talk of art and of nature in a way

  that I could not understand at first, but came to comprehend better as my

  cousin taught me; and since then, I see pictures, landscapes, and

  flowers, with quite different eyes, and beautiful secrets as it were, of

  which I had no idea before. The secret of all secrets, the secret of the

  other life, and the better world beyond ours, may not this be unrevealed

  to some? I pray for them all, dearest Laura, for those nearest and

/>   dearest to me, that the truth may lighten their darkness, and Heaven's

  great mercy defend them in the perils and dangers of their night.

  "My boy at Sandhurst has done very well indeed; and Egbert, I am happy to

  say, thinks of taking orders; he has been very moderate at College. Not

  so Alfred; but the Guards are a sadly dangerous school for a young man; I

  have promised to pay his debts, and he is to exchange into the line.

  Mamma is coming to us at Christmas with Alice; my sister is very pretty

  indeed, I think, and I am rejoiced she is to marry young Mr. Mumford, who

  has a tolerable living, and who has been attached to her ever since he

  was a boy at Rugby School.

  "Little Barnes comes on bravely with his Latin; and Mr. Whitestock, a

  most excellent and valuable person in this place, where there is so

  much Romanism and Dissent, speaks highly of him. Little Clara is so like

  her unhappy mother in a thousand ways and actions, that I am shocked

  often; and see my brother starting back and turning his head away, as if

  suddenly wounded. I have heard the most deplorable accounts of Lord and

  Lady Highgate. Oh, dearest friend and sister!-save you, I think I scarce

  know any one that is happy in the world: I trust you may continue so-you

  who impart your goodness and kindness to all who come near you-you in

  whose sweet serene happiness I am thankful to be allowed to repose

  sometimes. You are the island in the desert, Laura! and the birds sing

  there, and the fountain flows; and we come and repose by you for a little

  while, and to-morrow the march begins again, and the toil, and the

  struggle, and the desert. Good-bye, fountain! Whisper kisses to my

  dearest little ones from their affectionate Aunt Ethel.

  "A friend of his, a Mr. Warrington, has spoken against us several times

  with extraordinary ability, as Barnes owns. Do you know Mr. W.? He wrote

  a dreadful article in the Independent, about the last poor lecture, which

  was indeed sad, sentimental, commonplace: and the critique is terribly

  comical. I could not help laughing, remembering some passages in it, when

  Barnes mentioned it: and my brother became so angry! They have put up a

  dreadful caricature of B. in Newcome: and my brother says he did it, but

  I hope not. It is very droll, though: he used to make them very funnily.

  I am glad he has spirits for it. Good-bye again.--E. N."

  "He says he did it!" cries Mr. Pendennis, laying the letter down. "Barnes

  Newcome would scarcely caricature himself, my dear?"

  "'He' often means--means Clive--I think," says Mrs. Pendennis, in an

  offhand manner.

  "Oh! he means Clive, does he, Laura?"

  "Yes--and you mean goose, Mr. Pendennis!" that saucy lady replies.

  It must have been about the very time when this letter was written, that

  a critical conversation occurred between Clive and his father, of which

  the lad did not inform me until much later days; as was the case--the

  reader has been more than once begged to believe--with many other

  portions of this biography.

  One night the Colonel, having come home from a round of electioneering

  visits, not half satisfied with himself; exceedingly annoyed (much more

  than he cared to own) with the impudence of some rude fellows at the

  public-houses, who had interrupted his fine speeches with odious hiccups

  and familiar jeers, was seated brooding over his cheroot by the

  chimney-fire; friend F. B. (of whose companionship his patron was

  occasionally tired) finding much better amusement with the Jolly Britons

  in the Boscawen Room below. The Colonel, as an electioneering business,

  had made his appearance in the club. But that ancient Roman warrior had

  frightened those simple Britons. His manners were too awful for them: so

  were Clive's, who visited them also under Mr. Pott's introduction; but

  the two gentlemen, each being full of care and personal annoyance at the