The Newcomes

by William Makepeace Thackeray

time, acted like wet blankets upon the Britons--whereas F. B. warmed them

  and cheered them, affably partook of their meals with them, and

  graciously shared their cups. So the Colonel was alone, listening to the

  far-off roar of the Britons' choruses by an expiring fire, as he sate by

  a glass of cold negus and the ashes of his cigar.

  I dare say he may have been thinking that his fire was well-nigh out,--

  his cup of the dregs, his pipe little more now than dust and ashes--when

  Clive, candle in hand, came into their sitting-room.

  As each saw the other's face, it was so very sad and worn and pale, that

  the young man started back; and the elder, with quite the tenderness of

  old days, cried, "God bless me, my boy, how ill you look! Come and warm

  yourself--look, the fire's out. Have something, Clivy!"

  For months past they had not had a really kind word. The tender old voice

  smote upon Clive, and he burst into sudden tears. They rained upon his

  father's trembling old brown hand, and stooped down and kissed it.

  "You look very ill too, father," says Clive.

  "Ill? not I!" cries the father, still keeping the boy's hand under both

  his own on the mantelpiece. "Such a battered old fellow as I am has a

  right to look the worse for wear; but you, boy; why do you look so pale?"

  "I have seen a ghost, father," Clive answered. Thomas, however, looked

  alarmed and inquisitive as though the boy was wandering in his mind.

  "The ghost of my youth, father, the ghost of my happiness, and the best

  days of my life," groaned out the young man. "I saw Ethel to-day. I went

  to see Sarah Mason, and she was there."

  "I had seen her, but I did not speak of her," said the father. I thought

  it was best not to mention her to you, my poor boy. And are--are you fond

  of her still, Clive?"

  "Still! once means always in these things, father, doesn't it? Once means

  to-day, and yesterday, and forever and ever."

  "Nay, my boy, you mustn't talk to me so, or even to yourself so. You have

  the dearest little wife at home, a dear little wife and child."

  "You had a son, and have been kind enough to him, God knows. You had a

  wife: but that doesn't prevent other--other thoughts. Do you know you

  never spoke twice in your life about my mother? You didn't care for her."

  "I--I did my duty by her; I denied her nothing. I scarcely ever had a

  word with her, and I did my best to make her happy," interposed the

  Colonel.

  "I know, but your heart was with the other. So is mine. It's fatal; it

  runs in the family, father."

  The boy looked so ineffably wretched that the father's heart melted still

  more. "I did my best, Clive," the Colonel gasped out. "I went to that

  villain Barnes and offered him to settle every shilling I was worth on

  you--I did--you didn't know that--I'd kill myself for your sake, Clivy.

  What's an old fellow worth living for? I can live upon a crust and a

  cigar. I don't care about a carriage, and only go in it to please Rosey.

  I wanted to give up all for you, but he played me false, that scoundrel

  cheated us both; he did, and so did Ethel."

  "No, sir; I may have thought so in my rage once, but I know better now.

  She was the victim and not the agent. Did Madame de Florac play you false

  when she married her husband? It was her fate, and she underwent it. We

  all bow to it, we are in the track and the car passes over us. You know

  it does, father." The Colonel was a fatalist: he had often advanced this

  Oriental creed in his simple discourses with his son and Clive's friends.

  "Besides," Clive went on, "Ethel does not care for me. She received me

  to-day quite coldly, and held her hand out as if we had only parted last

  year. I suppose she likes that marquis who jilted her--God bless her! How

  shall we know what wins the hearts of women? She has mine. There was my

  Fate. Praise be to Allah! It is over."

  "But there's that villain who injured you. His isn't over yet," cried the

  Colonel, clenching his trembling hand.

  "Ah, father! Let us leave him to Allah too! Suppose Madame de Florac had

  a brother who insulted you. You know you wouldn't have revenged yourself.

  You would have wounded her in striking him."

  "You called out Barnes yourself, boy," cried the father.

  "That was for another cause, and not for my quarrel. And how do you know

  I intended to fire? By Jove, I was so miserable then that an ounce of

  lead would have done me little harm!"

  The father saw the son's mind more clearly than he had ever done

  hitherto. They had scarcely ever talked upon that subject which the

  Colonel found was so deeply fixed in Clive's heart. He thought of his own

  early days, and how he had suffered, and beheld his son before him

  racked with the same cruel pangs of enduring grief. And he began to own

  that he had pressed him too hastily in his marriage; and to make an

  allowance for an unhappiness of which he had in part been the cause.

  "Mashallah! Clive, my boy," said the old man, "what is done is done."

  "Let us break up our camp before this place, and not go to war with

  Barnes, father," said Clive. "Let us have peace--and forgive him if we

  can."

  "And retreat before this scoundrel, Clive?"

  "What is a victory over such a fellow? One gives a chimney-sweep the

  wall, father."

  "I say again--What is done is done. I have promised to meet him at the

  hustings, and I will. I think it is best: and you are right: and you act

  like a high-minded gentleman--and my dear old boy--not to meddle in the

  quarrel--though I didn't think so--and the difference gave me a great

  deal of pain--and so did what Pendennis said--and I'm wrong--and thank

  God I am wrong--and God bless you, my own boy!" the Colonel cried out in

  a burst of emotion; and the two went to their bedrooms together, and were

  happier as they shook hands at the doors of their adjoining chambers than

  they had been for many a long day and year.

  CHAPTER LXIX

  The Election

  Having thus given his challenge, reconnoitred the enemy, and pledged

  himself to do battle at the ensuing election, our Colonel took leave of

  the town of Newcome, and returned to his banking affairs in London. His

  departure was as that of a great public personage; the gentlemen of the

  Committee followed him obsequiously down to the train. "Quick," bawls out

  Mr. Potts to Mr. Brown, the station-master, "Quick, Mr. Brown, a carriage

  for Colonel Newcome!" Half a dozen hats are taken off as he enters into

  the carriage, F. Bayham and his servant after him, with portfolios,

  umbrellas, shawls, despatch-boxes. Clive was not there to act as his

  father's aide-de-camp. After their conversation together the young man

  had returned to Mrs. Clive and his other duties in life.

  It has been said that Mr. Pendennis was in the country, engaged in a

  pursuit exactly similar to that which occupied Colonel Newcome. The

  menaced dissolution of Parliament did not take place so soon as we

  expected. The Ministry still hung together, and by consequence, Sir

  Barnes Newcome kept the seat in the House of Commons, from which his

  elder kinsman was
eager to oust him. Away from London, and having but few

  correspondents, save on affairs of business, I heard little of Clive and

  the Colonel, save an occasional puff of one of Colonel Newcome's

  entertainments in the Pall Mall Gazette, to which journal F. Bayham still

  condescended to contribute; and a satisfactory announcement in a certain

  part of that paper, that on such a day, in Hyde Park Gardens, Mrs. Clive

  Newcome had presented her husband with a son. Clive wrote to me

  presently, to inform me of the circumstance, stating at the same time,

  with but moderate gratification on his own part, that the Campaigner,

  Mrs. Newcome's mamma, had upon this second occasion made a second

  lodgment in her daughter's house and bedchamber, and showed herself

  affably disposed to forget the little unpleasantries which had clouded

  over the sunshine of her former visit.

  Laura, with a smile of some humour, said she thought now would be the

  time when, if Clive could be spared from his bank, he might pay us that

  visit at Fairoaks which had been due so long, and hinted that change of

  air and a temporary absence from Mrs. Mackenzie might be agreeable to my

  old friend.

  It was, on the contrary, Mr. Pendennis's opinion that his wife artfully

  chose that period of time when little Rosey was, perforce, kept at home

  and occupied with her delightful maternal duties, to invite Clive to see

  us. Mrs. Laura frankly owned that she liked our Clive better without his

  wife than with her, and never ceased to regret that pretty Rosey had not

  bestowed her little hand upon Captain Hoby, as she had been very well

  disposed at one time to do. Against all marriages of interest this

  sentimental Laura never failed to utter indignant protests; and Clive's

  had been a marriage of interest, a marriage made up by the old people, a

  marriage which the young man had only yielded out of good-nature and

  obedience. She would apostrophise her unconscious young ones, and inform

  those innocent babies that they should never be made to marry except for

  love, never--an announcement which was received with perfect indifference

  by little Arthur on his rocking-horse, and little Helen smiling and

  crowing in her mother's lap.

  So Clive came down to us, careworn in appearance, but very pleased and

  happy, he said, to stay for a while with the friends of his youth. We

  showed him our modest rural lions; we got him such sport and company as

  our quiet neighbourhood afforded, we gave him fishing in the Brawl, and

  Laura in her pony-chaise drove him to Baymouth, and to Clavering Park and

  town, and visit the famous cathedral at Chatteris, where she was pleased

  to recount certain incidents of her husband's youth.

  Clive laughed at my wife's stories; he pleased himself in our home; he

  played with our children, with whom he had became a great favourite; he

  was happier, he told me with a sigh, than he had been for many a day. His

  gentle hostess echoed the sigh of the poor young fellow. She was sure

  that his pleasure was only transitory, and was convinced that many deep

  cares weighed upon his mind.

  Ere long my old schoolfellow made me sundry confessions, which showed

  that Laura's surmises were correct. About his domestic affairs he did not

  treat much; the little boy was said to be a very fine little boy; the

  ladies had taken entire possession of him. "I can't stand Mrs. Mackenzie

  any longer, I own," says Clive; "but how resist a wife at such a moment?

  Rosa was sure she would die, unless her mother came to her, and of course

  we invited Mrs. Mack. This time she is all smiles and politeness with the

  Colonel: the last quarrel is laid upon me, and in so far I am easy, as

  the old folks get on pretty well together." To me, considering these

  things, it was clear that Mr. Clive Newcome was but a very secondary

  personage indeed in his father's new fine house which he inhabited, and

  in which the poor Colonel had hoped they were to live such a happy

  family.

  But it was about Clive Newcome's pecuniary affairs that I felt the most

  disquiet when he came to explain these to me. The Colonel's capital and

  that considerable sum which Mrs. Clive had inherited from her good old

  uncle, were all involved in a common stock, of which Colonel Newcome took

  the management. "The governor understands business so well, you see,"

  says Clive; "is a most remarkable head for accounts: he must have

  inherited that from my grandfather, you know, who made his own fortune:

  all the Newcomes are good at accounts, except me, a poor useless devil

  who knows nothing but to paint a picture, and who can't even do that." He

  cuts off the head of a thistle as he speaks, bites his tawny mustachios,

  plunges his hands into his pockets and his soul into reverie.

  "You don't mean to say," asks Mr. Pendennis, "that your wife's fortune

  has not been settled upon herself?"

  "Of course it has been settled upon herself; that is, it is entirely her

  own--you know the Colonel has managed all the business, he understands it

  better than we do."

  "Do you say that your wife's money is not vested in the hands of

  trustees, and for her benefit?"

  "My father is one of the trustees. I tell you he manages the whole thing.

  What is his property is mine and ever has been; and I might draw upon him

  as much as I liked: and you know it's five times as great as my wife's.

  What is his is ours, and what is ours is his, of course; for instance,

  the India Stock, which poor Uncle James left, that now stands in the

  Colonel's name. He wants to be a Director: he will be at the next

  election--he must have a certain quantity of India Stock, don't you see?"

  "My dear fellow, is there then no settlement made upon your wife at all?"

  "You needn't look so frightened," says Clive. "I made a settlement on

  her: with all my worldly goods I did her endow three thousand three

  hundred and thirty-three pounds six and eightpence, which my father sent

  over from India to my uncle, years ago, when I came home."

  I might well indeed be aghast at this news, and had yet further

  intelligence from Clive, which by no means contributed to lessen my

  anxiety. This worthy old Colonel, who fancied himself to be so clever a

  man of business, chose to conduct it in utter ignorance and defiance of

  law. If anything happened to the Bundelcund Bank, it was clear that not

  only every shilling of his own property, but every farthing bequeathed to

  Rosa Mackenzie would be lost; only his retiring pension, which was

  luckily considerable, and the hundred pounds a year which Clive had

  settled on his wife, would be saved out of the ruin.

  And now Clive confided to me his own serious doubts and misgivings

  regarding the prosperity of the Bank itself. He did not know why, but he

  could not help fancying that things were going wrong. Those partners who

  had come home, having sold out of the Bank, and living in England so

  splendidly, why had they quitted it? The Colonel said it was a proof of

  the prosperity of the company, that so many gentlemen were enriched who

  had taken shares in it. "But when I asked my father," Clive conti
nued,

  "why he did not himself withdraw, the dear old Colonel's countenance

  fell: he told me such things were not to be done every day; and ended, as

  usual, by saying that I do not understand anything about business. No

  more I do: that is the truth. I hate the whole concern, Pen! I hate that

  great tawdry house in which we live; and those fearfully stupid parties:

  --Oh, how I wish we were back in Fitzroy Square! But who can recall

  bygones, Arthur; or wrong steps in life? We must make the best of to-day,

  and to-morrow must take care of itself. 'Poor little child!' I could not

  help thinking, as I took it crying in my arms the other day, 'what has

  life in store for you, my poor weeping baby?' My mother-in-law cried out

  that I should drop the baby, and that only the Colonel knew how to hold

  it. My wife called from her bed; the nurse dashed up and scolded me; and

  they drove me out of the room amongst them. By Jove, Pen, I laugh when

  some of my friends congratulate me on my good fortune! I am not quite the

  father of my own child, nor the husband of my own wife, nor even the

  master of my own easel. I am managed for, don't you see? boarded, lodged,

  and done for. And here is the man they call happy. Happy! Oh!!! Why had I

  not your strength of mind; and why did I ever leave my art, my mistress?"

  And herewith the poor lad fell to chopping thistles again; and quitted

  Fairoaks shortly, leaving his friends there very much disquieted about

  his prospects, actual and future.

  The expected dissolution of Parliament came at length. All the country

  papers in England teemed with electioneering addresses; and the country

  was in a flutter with particoloured ribbons. Colonel Thomas Newcome,

  pursuant to his promise, offered himself to the independent electors of

  Newcome in the Liberal journal of the family town, whilst Sir Barnes

  Newcome, Bart., addressed himself to his old and tried friends, and

  called upon the friends of the constitution to rally round him, in the

  Conservative print. The addresses of our friend were sent to us at

  Fairoaks by the Colonel's indefatigable aide-de-camp, Mr. Frederick

  Bayham. During the period which had elapsed since the Colonel's last

  canvassing visit and the issuing of the writs now daily expected for the

  new Parliament, many things of great importance had occurred in Thomas

  Newcome's family--events which were kept secret from his biographer, who

  was, at this period also, pretty entirely occupied with his own affairs.

  These, however, are not the present subject of this history, which has

  Newcome for its business, and the parties engaged in the family quarrel

  there.

  There were four candidates in the field for the representation of that

  borough. That old and tried member of Parliament, Mr. Bunce, was

  considered to be secure; and the Baronet's seat was thought to be pretty

  safe on account of his influence in the place. Nevertheless, Thomas

  Newcome's supporters were confident for their champion, and that when the

  parties came to the poll, the extreme Liberals of the borough would

  divide their votes between him and the fourth candidate, the

  uncompromising Radical, Mr. Barker.

  In due time the Colonel and his staff arrived at Newcome, and resumed the

  active canvass which they had commenced some months previously. Clive was

  not in his father's suite this time, nor Mr. Warrington, whose

  engagements took him elsewhere. The lawyer, the editor of the

  Independent, and F. B., were the Colonel's chief men. His headquarters

  (which F. B. liked very well) were at the hotel where we last saw him,

  and whence issuing with his aide-de-camp at his heels, the Colonel went

  round to canvass personally, according to his promise, every free and

  independent elector of the borough. Barnes too was canvassing eagerly on