Good night, we must not stand chattering here any more. Heaven bless you,
my darling! Those are the Colonel's windows! Look, he is smoking on his
balcony--that must be Clive's room. Clive is a good kind boy. It was very
kind of him to draw so many pictures for Alfred. Put the drawings away,
Ethel. Mr. Smee saw some in Park Lane, and said they showed remarkable
genius. What a genius your Aunt Emily had for drawing; but it was
flowers! I had no genius in particular, so mamma used to say--and Doctor
Belper said, 'My dear Lady Walham' (it was before my grandpapa's death),
'has Miss Anne a genius for sewing buttons and making puddens?'--puddens
he pronounced it. Goodnight, my own love. Blessings, blessings, on my
Ethel!"
The Colonel from his balcony saw the slim figure of the retreating girl,
and looked fondly after her: and as the smoke of his cigar floated in the
air, he formed a fine castle in it, whereof Clive was lord, and that
pretty Ethel, lady. "What a frank, generous, bright young creature is
yonder!" thought he. "How cheery and gay she is; how good to Miss
Honeyman, to whom she behaved with just the respect that was the old
lady's due--how affectionate with her brothers and sisters! What a sweet
voice she has! What a pretty little white hand it is! When she gave it
me, it looked like a little white bird lying in mine. I must wear gloves,
by Jove I must, and my coat is old-fashioned, as Binnie says; what a fine
match might be made between that child and Clive! She reminds me of a
pair of eyes I haven't seen these forty years. I would like to have Clive
married to her; to see him out of the scrapes and dangers that young
fellows encounter, and safe with such a sweet girl as that. If God had so
willed it, I might have been happy myself, and could have made a woman
happy. But the Fates were against me. I should like to see Clive happy,
and then say Nunc dimittis. I shan't want anything more to-night, Kean,
and you can go to bed."
"Thank you, Colonel," says Kean, who enters, having prepared his master's
bedchamber, and is retiring when the Colonel calls after him:
"I say, Kean, is that blue coat of mine very old?"
"Uncommon white about the seams, Colonel," says the man.
"Is it older than other people's coats?"--Kean is obliged gravely to
confess that the Colonel's coat is very queer.
"Get me another coat, then--see that I don't do anything or wear anything
unusual. I have been so long out of Europe, that I don't know the customs
here, and am not above learning."
Kean retires, vowing that his master is an old trump; which opinion he
had already expressed to Mr. Kuhn, Lady Hanne's man, over a long potation
which those two gentlemen had taken together. And, as all of us, in one
way or another, are subject to this domestic criticism, from which not
the most exalted can escape, I say, lucky is the man whose servants speak
well of him.
CHAPTER XVI
In which Mr. Sherrick lets his House in Fitzroy Square
In spite of the sneers of the Newcome Independent, and the Colonel's
unlucky visit to his nurse's native place, he still remained in high
favour in Park Lane; where the worthy gentleman paid almost daily visits,
and was received with welcome and almost affection, at least by the
ladies and the children of the house. Who was it that took the children
to Astley's but Uncle Newcome? I saw him there in the midst of a cluster
of these little people, all children together. He laughed delighted at
Mr. Merryman's jokes in the ring. He beheld the Battle of Waterloo with
breathless interest, and was amazed--amazed, by Jove, sir--at the
prodigious likeness of the principal actor to the Emperor Napoleon; whose
tomb he had visited on his return from India, as it pleased him to tell
his little audience who sat clustering round him: the little girls, Sir
Brian's daughters, holding each by a finger of his honest hands; young
Masters Alfred and Edward clapping and hurrahing by his side; while Mr.
Clive and Miss Ethel sat in the back of the box enjoying the scene, but
with that decorum which belonged to their superior age and gravity. As
for Clive, he was in these matters much older than the grizzled old
warrior his father. It did one good to hear the Colonel's honest laughs
at clown's jokes, and to see the tenderness and simplicity with which he
watched over this happy brood of young ones. How lavishly did he supply
them with sweetmeats between the acts! There he sat in the midst of them,
and ate an orange himself with perfect satisfaction. I wonder what sum of
money Mr. Barnes Newcome would have taken to sit for five hours with his
young brothers and sisters in a public box at the theatre and eat an
orange in the face of the audience? When little Alfred went to Harrow,
you may be sure Colonel Newcome and Clive galloped over to see the little
man, and tipped him royally. What money is better bestowed than that of a
schoolboy's tip? How the kindness is recalled by the recipient in after
days! It blesses him that gives and him that takes. Remember how happy
such benefactions made you in your own early time, and go off on the very
first fine day and tip your nephew at school!
The Colonel's organ of benevolence was so large, that he would have liked
to administer bounties to the young folks his nephews and nieces in
Bryanstone Square, as well as to their cousins in Park Lane; but Mrs.
Newcome was a great deal too virtuous to admit of such spoiling of
children. She took the poor gentleman to task for an attempt upon her
boys when those lads came home for their holidays, and caused them
ruefully to give back the shining gold sovereign with which their uncle
had thought to give them a treat.
"I do not quarrel with other families," says she; "I do not allude to
other families;" meaning, of course, that she did not allude to Park
Lane. "There may be children who are allowed to receive money from their
father's grown-up friends. There may be children who hold out their hands
for presents, and thus become mercenary in early life. I make no
reflections with regard to other households. I only look, and think, and
pray for the welfare of my own beloved ones. They want for nothing.
Heaven has bounteously furnished us with every comfort, with every
elegance, with every luxury. Why need we be bounden to others, who have
been ourselves so amply provided? I should consider it ingratitude,
Colonel Newcome, want of proper spirit, to allow my boys to accept money.
Mind, I make no allusions. When they go to school they receive a
sovereign a-piece from their father, and a shilling a week, which is
ample pocket-money. When they are at home, I desire that they may have
rational amusements: I send them to the Polytechnic with Professor
Hickson, who kindly explains to them some of the marvels of science and
the wonders of machinery. I send them to the picture-galleries and the
British Museum. I go with them myself to the delightful lectures at the
institution in Albemarle Street. I do not desire that they should attend
theatrical exhibitions.
I do not quarrel with those who go to plays; far
from it! Who am I that I should venture to judge the conduct of others?
When you wrote from India, expressing a wish that your boy should be made
acquainted with the works of Shakspeare, I gave up my own opinion at
once. Should I interpose between a child and his father? I encouraged the
boy to go to the play, and sent him to the pit with one of our footmen."
"And you tipped him very handsomely, my dear Maria, too," said the
good-natured Colonel, breaking in upon her sermon; but Virtue was not to
be put off in that way.
"And why, Colonel Newcome," Virtue exclaimed, laying a pudgy little hand
on its heart; "why did I treat Clive so? Because I stood towards him in
loco parentis; because he was as a child to me, and I to him as a mother.
I indulged him more than my own. I loved him with a true maternal
tenderness. Then he was happy to come to our house: then perhaps Park
Lane was not so often open to him as Bryanstone Square: but I make no
allusions. Then he did not go six times to another house for once that he
came to mine. He was a simple, confiding, generous boy, was not dazzled
by worldly rank or titles of splendour. He could not find these in
Bryanstone Square. A merchant's wife, a country lawyer's daughter--I
could not be expected to have my humble board surrounded by titled
aristocracy; I would not if I could. I love my own family too well; I am
too honest, too simple,--let me own it at once, Colonel Newcome, too
proud! And now, now his father has come to England, and I have resigned
him, and he meets with no titled aristocrats at my house, and he does not
come here any more."
Tears rolled out of her little eyes as she spoke, and she covered her
round face with her pocket-handkerchief.
Had Colonel Newcome read the paper that morning, he might have seen
amongst what are called the fashionable announcements, the cause,
perhaps, why his sister-in-law had exhibited so much anger and virtue.
The Morning Post stated, that yesterday Sir Brian and Lady Newcome
entertained at dinner His Excellency the Persian Ambassador and
Bucksheesh Bey; the Right Honourable Cannon Rowe, President of the Board
of Control, and Lady Louisa Rowe; the Earl of H------, the Countess of
Kew, the Earl of Kew, Sir Currey Baughton, Major-General and Mrs. Hooker,
Colonel Newcome, and Mr. Horace Fogey. Afterwards her ladyship had an
assembly, which was attended by, etc. etc.
This catalogue of illustrious names had been read by Mr. Newcome to her
spouse at breakfast, with such comments as she was in the habit of
making.
"The President of the Board of Control, the Chairman of the Court of
Directors, and Ex-Governor-General of India, and a whole regiment of
Kews. By Jove, Maria, the Colonel is in good company," cries Mr. Newcome,
with a laugh. "That's the sort of dinner you should have given him. Some
people to talk about India. When he dined with us he was put between old
Lady Wormely and Professor Roots. I don't wonder at his going to sleep
after dinner. I was off myself once or twice during that confounded long
argument between Professor Roots and Dr. Windus. That Windus is the deuce
to talk."
"Dr. Windus is a man of science, and his name is of European celebrity!"
says Maria solemnly. "Any intellectual person would prefer such company
to the titled nobodies into whose family your brother has married."
"There you go, Polly; you are always having a shy at Lady Anne and her
relations," says Mr. Newcome, good-naturedly.
"A shy! How can you use such vulgar words, Mr. Newcome? What have I to do
with Sir Brian's titled relations? I do not value nobility. I prefer
people of science--people of intellect--to all the rank in the world."
"So you do," says Hobson her spouse. "You have your party--Lady Anne has
her party. You take your line--Lady Anne takes her line. You are a
superior woman, my dear Polly; every one knows that. I'm a plain country
farmer, I am. As long as you are happy, I am happy too. The people you
get to dine here may talk Greek or algebra for what I care. By Jove, my
dear, I think you can hold your own with the best of them."
"I have endeavoured by assiduity to make up for time lost, and an early
imperfect education," says Mrs. Newcome. "You married a poor country
lawyer's daughter. You did not seek a partner in the Peerage, Mr.
Newcome."
"No, no. Not such a confounded flat as that," cries Mr. Newcome,
surveying his plump partner behind her silver teapot, with eyes of
admiration.
"I had an imperfect education, but I knew its blessings, and have, I
trust, endeavoured to cultivate the humble talents which Heaven has given
me, Mr. Newcome."
"Humble, by Jove!" exclaims the husband. "No gammon of that sort, Polly.
You know well enough that you are a superior woman. I ain't a superior
man. I know that: one is enough in a family. I leave the reading to you,
my dear. Here comes my horses. I say, I wish you'd call on Lady Anne
to-day. Do go and see her, now that's a good girl. I know she is flighty,
and that; and Brian's back is up a little. But he ain't a bad fellow; and
I wish I could see you and his wife better friends."
On his way to the City, Mr. Newcome rode to look at the new house, No.
120 Fitzroy Square, which his brother, the Colonel, had taken in
conjunction with that Indian friend of his, Mr. Binnie. Shrewd old cock,
Mr. Binnie. Has brought home a good bit of money from India. Is looking
out for safe investments. Has been introduced to Newcome Brothers. Mr.
Newcome thinks very well of the Colonel's friend.
The house is vast, but, it must be owned, melancholy. Not long since it
was a ladies' school, in an unprosperous condition. The scar left by
Madame Latour's brass plate may still be seen on the tall black door,
cheerfully ornamented in the style of the end of the last century, with a
funereal urn in the centre of the entry, and garlands, and the skulls of
rams at each corner. Madame Latour, who at one time actually kept a large
yellow coach, and drove her parlour young ladies in the Regent's Park,
was an exile from her native country (Islington was her birthplace, and
Grigson her paternal name), and an outlaw at the suit of Samuel Sherrick:
that Mr. Sherrick whose wine-vaults undermine Lady Whittlesea's Chapel
where the eloquent Honeyman preaches.
The house is Mr. Sherrick's house. Some say his name is Shadrach, and
pretend to have known him as an orange-boy, afterwards as a chorus-singer
in the theatres, afterwards as secretary to a great tragedian. I know
nothing of these stories. He may or he may not be a partner of Mr.
Campion, of Shepherd's Inn: he has a handsome villa, Abbey Road, St.
John's Wood, entertains good company, rather loud, of the sporting sort,
rides and drives very showy horses, has boxes at the Opera whenever he
likes, and free access behind the scenes: is handsome, dark, bright-eyed,
with a quantity of jewellery, and a tuft to his chin; sings sweetly
sentimental songs after dinner. Who cares a fig what
was the religion of
Mr. Sherrick's ancestry, or what the occupation of his youth? Mr.
Honeyman, a most respectable man surely, introduced Sherrick to the
Colonel and Binnie.
Mr. Sherrick stocked their cellar with some of the wine over which
Honeyman preached such lovely sermons. It was not dear; it was not bad
when you dealt with Mr. Sherrick for wine alone. Going into his market
with ready money in your hand, as our simple friends did, you were pretty
fairly treated by Mr. Sherrick.
The house being taken, we may be certain there was fine amusement for
Clive, Mr. Binnie, and the Colonel, in frequenting the sales, in the
inspection of upholsterers' shops, and the purchase of furniture for the
new mansion. It was like nobody else's house. There were three masters
with four or five servants over them. Kean for the Colonel and his son; a
smart boy with boots for Mr. Binnie; Mrs. Kean to cook and keep house,
with a couple of maids under her. The Colonel, himself, was great at
making hash mutton, hot-pot, curry, and pillau. What cosy pipes did we
not smoke in the dining-room, in the drawing-room, or where we would!
What pleasant evenings did we not have with Mr Binnie's books and
Schiedam! Then there were the solemn state dinners, at most of which the
writer of this biography had a corner.
Clive had a tutor--Cirindey of Corpus--whom we recommended to him, and
with whom the young gentleman did not fatigue his brains very much; but
his great forte decidedly lay in drawing. He sketched the horses, he
sketched the dogs; all the servants from the blear-eyed boot-boy to the
rosy-cheeked lass, Mrs. Kean's niece, whom that virtuous housekeeper was
always calling to come downstairs. He drew his father in all postures--
asleep, on foot, on horseback; and jolly little Mr. Binnie, with his
plump legs on a chair, or jumping briskly on the back of the cob which he
rode. He should have drawn the pictures for this book, but that he no
longer condescends to make sketches. Young Ridley was his daily friend
now; and Grindley, his classics and mathematics over in the morning, and
the ride with father over, this pair of young men would constantly attend
Gandish's Drawing Academy, where, to be sure, Ridley passed many hours at
work on his art, before his young friend and patron could be spared from
his books to his pencil.
"Oh," says Clive, "if you talk to him now about those early days, it was a
jolly time! I do not believe there was any young fellow in London so
happy." And there hangs up in his painting-room now, a head, painted at
one sitting, of a man rather bald, with hair touched with grey, with a
large moustache, and a sweet mouth half smiling beneath it, and
melancholy eyes; and Clive shows that portrait of their grandfather to
his children, and tells them that the whole world never saw a nobler
gentleman.
CHAPTER XVII
A School of Art
British art either finds her peculiar nourishment in melancholy, and
loves to fix her abode in desert places; or it may be her purse is but
slenderly furnished, and she is forced to put up with accommodations
rejected by more prosperous callings. Some of the most dismal quarters of
the town are colonised by her disciples and professors. In walking
through streets which may have been gay and polite when ladies' chairmen
jostled each other on the pavement, and linkboys with their torches
lighted the beaux over the mud, who has not remarked the artist's
invasion of those regions once devoted to fashion and gaiety? Centre
windows of drawing-rooms are enlarged so as to reach up into bedrooms--
bedrooms where Lady Betty has had her hair powdered, and where the
painter's north-light now takes possession of the place which her