Page 54 of The Newcomes

time altogether at Baden. I suppose the accident to Kew will put off his

  marriage with Miss Newcome. They have been engaged, you know, ever so

  long.--And--do, do write to me and tell me something about London. It's

  best I should--should stay here and work this winter and the next. J. J.

  has done a famous picture, and if I send a couple home, you'll give them

  a notice in the Pall Mall Gazette--won't you?--for the sake of old times

  and yours affectionately, Clive Newcome."

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  In which M. de Florac is promoted

  However much Madame la Duchesse d'Ivry was disposed to admire and praise

  her own conduct in the affair which ended so unfortunately for poor Lord

  Kew, between whom and the Gascon her grace vowed that she had done

  everything in her power to prevent a battle, the old Duke, her lord, was,

  it appeared, by no means delighted with his wife's behaviour, nay,

  visited her with his very sternest displeasure. Miss O'Grady, the

  Duchesse's companion, and her little girl's instructress, at this time

  resigned her functions in the Ivry family; it is possible that in the

  recriminations consequent upon the governess's dismissal, the Miss

  Irlandaise, in whom the family had put so much confidence, divulged

  stories unfavourable to her patroness, and caused the indignation of the

  Duke, her husband. Between Florac and the Duchesse there was also open

  war and rupture. He had been one of Kew's seconds in the latter's affair

  with the Vicomte's countryman. He had even cried out for fresh pistols,

  and proposed to engage Castillonnes, when his gallant principal fell; and

  though a second duel was luckily averted as murderous and needless, M. de

  Florac never hesitated afterwards, and in all companies, to denounce with

  the utmost virulence the instigator and the champion of the odious

  original quarrel. He vowed that the Duchesse had shot le petit Kiou as

  effectually as if she had herself fired the pistol at his breast.

  Murderer, poisoner, Brinvilliers, a hundred more such epithets he used

  against his kinswoman, regretting that the good old times were past--that

  there was no Chambre Ardente to try her, and no rack and wheel to give

  her her due.

  The biographer of the Newcomes has no need (although he possesses the

  fullest information) to touch upon the Duchesse's doings, further than as

  they relate to that most respectable English family. When the Duke took

  his wife into the country, Florac never hesitated to say that to live

  with her was dangerous for the old man, and to cry out to his friends of

  the Boulevards or the Jockey Club, "Ma parole d'honneur, cette femme le

  tuera!"

  Do you know, O gentle and unsuspicious readers, or have you ever reckoned

  as you have made your calculation of society, how many most respectable

  husbands help to kill their wives--how many respectable wives aid in

  sending their husbands to Hades? The wife of a chimney-sweep or a

  journeyman butcher comes shuddering before a police magistrate--her head

  bound up--her body scarred and bleeding with wounds, which the drunken

  ruffian, her lord, has administered: a poor shopkeeper or mechanic is

  driven out of his home by the furious ill-temper of the shrill virago his

  wife--takes to the public-house--to evil courses--to neglecting his

  business--to the gin-bottle--to delirium tremens--to perdition. Bow

  Street, and policemen, and the newspaper reporters, have cognisance and a

  certain jurisdiction over these vulgar matrimonial crimes; but in politer

  company how many murderous assaults are there by husband or wife--where

  the woman is not felled by the actual fist, though she staggers and sinks

  under blows quite as cruel and effectual; where, with old wounds yet

  unhealed, which she strives to hide under a smiling face from the world,

  she has to bear up and to be stricken down and to rise to her feet again,

  under fresh daily strokes of torture; where the husband, fond and

  faithful, has to suffer slights, coldness, insult, desertion, his

  children sneered away from their love for him, his friends driven from

  his door by jealousy, his happiness strangled, his whole life embittered,

  poisoned, destroyed! If you were acquainted with the history of every

  family in your street, don't you know that in two or three of the houses

  there such tragedies have been playing? Is not the young mistress of

  Number 20 already pining at her husband's desertion? The kind master of

  Number 30 racking his fevered brains and toiling through sleepless nights

  to pay for the jewels on his wife's neck, and the carriage out of which

  she ogles Lothario in the Park? The fate under which man or woman falls,

  blow of brutal tyranny, heartless desertion, weight of domestic care too

  heavy to bear--are not blows such as these constantly striking people

  down? In this long parenthesis we are wandering ever so far away from M.

  le Duc and Madame la Duchesse d'Ivry, and from the vivacious Florac's

  statement regarding his kinsman, that that woman will kill him.

  There is this at least to be said, that if the Duc d'Ivry did die he was

  a very old gentleman, and had been a great viveur for at least threescore

  years of his life. As Prince de Moncontour in his father's time before

  the Revolution, during the Emigration, even after the Restoration, M. le

  Duc had vecu with an extraordinary vitality. He had gone through good and

  bad fortune: extreme poverty, display and splendour, affairs of love--

  affairs of honour,--and of one disease or another a man must die at the

  end. After the Baden business--and he had dragged off his wife to

  Champagne--the Duke became greatly broken; he brought his little daughter

  to a convent at Paris, putting the child under the special guardianship

  of Madame de Florac, with whom and with whose family in these latter days

  the old chief of the house effected a complete reconciliation. The Duke

  was now for ever coming to Madame de Florac; he poured all his wrongs and

  griefs into her ear with garrulous senile eagerness. "That little

  Duchesse is a monstre, a femme d'Eugene Sue," the Vicomte used to say;

  "the poor old Duke he cry--ma parole d'honneur, he cry and I cry too when

  he comes to recount to my poor mother, whose sainted heart is the asile

  of all griefs, a real Hotel Dieu, my word the most sacred, with beds for

  all the afflicted, with sweet words, like Sisters of Charity, to minister

  to them:--I cry, mon bon Pendennis, when this vieillard tells his stories

  about his wife and tears his white hairs to the feet of my mother."

  When the little Antoinette was separated by her father from her mother,

  the Duchesse d'Ivry, it might have been expected that that poetess would

  have dashed off a few more cris de l'ame, shrieking according to her

  wont, and baring and beating that shrivelled maternal bosom of hers, from

  which her child had been just torn. The child skipped and laughed to go

  away to the convent. It was only when she left Madame de Florac that she

  used to cry; and when urged by that good lady to exhibit a little

  decorous sentiment in writing to her mamma, Antoinette would ask, in her

  artless way
, "Pourquoi? Mamma used never to speak to me except sometimes

  before the world, before ladies, that understands itself. When her

  gentleman came, she put me to the door; then she gave me tapes, o oui,

  she gave me tapes! I cry no more; she has so much made to cry M. le Duc,

  that it is quite enough of one in a family." So Madame la Duchesse d'Ivry

  did not weep, even in print, for the loss of her pretty little

  Antoinette; besides, she was engaged, at that time, by other sentimental

  occupations. A young grazier of their neighbouring town, of an aspiring

  mind and remarkable poetic talents, engrossed the Duchesse's platonic

  affections at this juncture. When he had sold his beasts at market, he

  would ride over and read Rousseau and Schiller with Madame la Duchesse,

  who formed him. His pretty young wife was rendered miserable by all these

  readings, but what could the poor little ignorant countrywoman know of

  Platonism? Faugh! there is more than one woman we see in society smiling

  about from house to house, pleasant and sentimental and formosa superne

  enough; but I fancy a fish's tail is flapping under her fine flounces,

  and a forked fin at the end of it!

  Finer flounces, finer bonnets, more lovely wreaths, more beautiful lace,

  smarter carriages, bigger white bows, larger footmen, were not seen,

  during all the season of 18--, than appeared round about St. George's,

  Hanover Square, in the beautiful month of June succeeding that September

  when so many of our friends the Newcomes were assembled at Baden. Those

  flaunting carriages, powdered and favoured footmen, were in attendance

  upon members of the Newcome family and their connexions, who were

  celebrating what is called a marriage in high life in the temple within.

  Shall we set down a catalogue of the dukes, marquises, earls, who were

  present; cousins of the lovely bride? Are they not already in the Morning

  Herald and Court Journal, as well as in the Newcome Chronicle and

  Independent, and the Dorking Intelligencer and Chanticleer Weekly

  Gazette? There they are, all printed at full length sure enough; the name

  of the bride, Lady Clara Pulleyn, the lovely and accomplished daughter of

  the Earl and Countess of Dorking; of the beautiful bridesmaids, the

  Ladies Henrietta, Belinda, Adelaide Pulleyn, Miss Newcome, Miss Alice

  Newcome, Miss Maude Newcome, Miss Anna Maria (Hobson) Newcome; and all

  the other persons engaged in the ceremony. It was performed by the Right

  Honourable Viscount Gallowglass, Bishop of Ballyshannon, brother-in-law

  to the bride, assisted by the Honourable and Reverend Hercules O'Grady,

  his lordship's chaplain, and the Reverend John Bulders, Rector of St.

  Mary's, Newcome. Then follow the names of all the nobility who were

  present, and of the noble and distinguished personages who signed the

  book. Then comes an account of the principal dresses, chefs-d'oeuvre of

  Madame Crinoline; of the bride's coronal of brilliants, supplied by

  Messrs. Morr and Stortimer;--of the veil of priceless Chantilly lace, the

  gift of the Dowager Countess of Kew. Then there is a description of the

  wedding-breakfast at the house of the bride's noble parents, and of the

  cake, decorated by Messrs. Gunter with the most delicious taste and the

  sweetest hymeneal allusions.

  No mention was made by the fashionable chronicler of a slight disturbance

  which occurred at St. George's, and which was indeed out of the province

  of such a genteel purveyor of news. Before the marriage service began, a

  woman of vulgar appearance and disorderly aspect, accompanied by two

  scared children who took no part in the disorder occasioned by their

  mother's proceeding, except by their tears and outcries to augment the

  disquiet, made her appearance in one of the pews of the church, was noted

  there by persons in the vestry, was requested to retire by a beadle, and

  was finally induced to quit the sacred precincts of the building by the

  very strongest persuasion of a couple of policemen; X and Y laughed at

  one another, and nodded their heads knowingly as the poor wretch with her

  whimpering boys was led away. They understood very well who the personage

  was who had come to disturb the matrimonial ceremony; it did not commence

  until Mrs. De Lacy (as this lady chose to be called) had quitted this

  temple of Hymen. She slunk through the throng of emblazoned carriages,

  and the press of footmen arrayed as splendidly as Solomon in his glory.

  John jeered at Thomas, William turned his powdered head, and signalled

  Jeames, who answered with a corresponding grin, as the woman with sobs,

  and wild imprecations, and frantic appeals, made her way through the

  splendid crowd escorted by her aides-de-camp in blue. I dare say her

  little history was discussed at many a dinner-table that day in the

  basement story of several fashionable houses. I know that at clubs in St.

  James's the facetious little anecdote was narrated. A young fellow came

  to Bays's after the marriage breakfast and mentioned the circumstance

  with funny comments; although the Morning Post, in describing this affair

  in high life, naturally omitted all mention of such low people as Mrs. De

  Lacy and her children.

  Those people who knew the noble families whose union had been celebrated

  by such a profusion of grandees, fine equipages, and footmen, brass

  bands, brilliant toilets, and wedding favours, asked how it was that Lord

  Kew did not assist at Barnes Newcome's marriage; other persons in society

  inquired waggishly why Jack Belsize was not present to give Lady Clara

  away.

  As for Jack Belsize, his clubs had not been ornamented by his presence

  for a year past. It was said he had broken the bank at Hombourg last

  autumn; had been heard of during the winter at Milan, Venice, and Vienna;

  and when, a few months after the marriage of Barnes Newcome and Lady

  Clara, Jack's elder brother died, and he himself became the next in

  succession to the title and estates of Highgate, many folks said it was a

  pity little Barney's marriage had taken place so soon. Lord Kew was not

  present, because Kew was still abroad; he had had a gambling duel with a

  Frenchman, and a narrow squeak for his life. He had turned Roman

  Catholic, some men said; others vowed that he had joined the Methodist

  persuasion. At all events Kew had given up his wild courses, broken with

  the turf, and sold his stud off; he was delicate yet, and his mother was

  taking care of him; between whom and the old dowager of Kew, who had made

  up Barney's marriage, as everybody knew, there was no love lost.

  Then who was the Prince de Moncontour, who, with his princess, figured at

  this noble marriage? There was a Moncontour, the Duc d'Ivry's son, but he

  died at Paris before the revolution of '30: one or two of the oldsters at

  Bays's, Major Pendennis, General Tufto, old Cackleby--the old fogies, in

  a word--remembered the Duke of Ivry when he was here during the

  Emigration, and when he was called Prince de Moncontour, the title of the

  eldest son of the family. Ivry was dead, having buried his son before

  him, and having left only a daughter by that young woman whom he married,
r />   and who led him such a life. Who was this present Moncontour?

  He was a gentleman to whom the reader has already been presented, though

  when we lately saw him at Baden he did not enjoy so magnificent a title.

  Early in the year of Barnes Newcome's marriage, there came to England,

  and to our modest apartment in the Temple, a gentleman bringing a letter

  of recommendation from our dear young Clive, who said that the bearer,

  the Vicomte de Florac, was a great friend of his, and of the Colonel's,

  who had known his family from boyhood. A friend of our Clive and our

  Colonel was sure of a welcome in Lamb Court; we gave him the hand of

  hospitality, the best cigar in the box, the easy-chair with only one

  broken leg; the dinner in chambers and at the club, the banquet at

  Greenwich (where, ma foi, the little whites baits elicited his profound

  satisfaction); in a word, did our best to honour that bill which our

  young Clive had drawn upon us. We considered the young one in the light

  of a nephew of our own; we took a pride in him, and were fond of him; and

  as for the Colonel, did we not love and honour him; would we not do our

  utmost in behalf of any stranger who came recommended to us by Thomas

  Newcome's good word? So Florac was straightway admitted to our

  companionship. We showed him the town, and some of the modest pleasures

  thereof; we introduced him to the Haunt, and astonished him by the

  company which he met there. Between Brent's "Deserter" and Mark Wilder's

  "Garryowen," Florac sang--

  Tiens voici ma pipe, voila mon bri--quet;

  Et quand la Tulipe fait le noir tra--jet

  Que tu sois la seule dans le regi--ment

  Avec la brule-gueule de ton cher z'a--mant;

  to the delight of Tom Sarjent, who, though he only partially comprehended

  the words of the song, pronounced the singer to be a rare gentleman, full

  of most excellent differences. We took our Florac to the Derby; we

  presented him in Fitzroy Square, whither we still occasionally went, for

  Clive's and our dear Colonel's sake.

  The Vicomte pronounced himself strongly in favour of the blanche misse

  little Rosey Mackenzie, of whom we have lost sight for some few chapters.

  Mrs. Mac he considered, my faith, to be a woman superb. He used to kiss

  the tips of his own fingers, in token of his admiration for the lovely

  widow; he pronounced her again more pretty than her daughter; and paid

  her a thousand compliments, which she received with exceeding

  good-humour. If the Vicomte gave us to understand presently that Rosey

  and her mother were both in love with him, but that for all the world he

  would not meddle with the happiness of his dear little Clive, nothing

  unfavourable to the character or constancy of the before-mentioned ladies

  must be inferred from M. de Florac's speech; his firm conviction being,

  that no woman could pass many hours in his society without danger to her

  subsequent peace of mind.

  For some little time we had no reason to suspect that our French friend

  was not particularly well furnished with the current coin of the realm.

  Without making any show of wealth, he would, at first, cheerfully engage

  in our little parties: his lodgings in the neighbourhood of Leicester

  Square, though dingy, were such as many noble foreign exiles have

  inhabited. It was not until he refused to join some pleasure-trip which

  we of Lamb Court proposed, honestly confessing his poverty, that we were

  made aware of the Vicomte's little temporary calamity; and, as we became

  more intimate with him, he acquainted us, with great openness, with the

  history of all his fortunes. He described energetically that splendid run

  of luck which had set in at Baden with Clive's loan: his winnings, at

  that fortunate period, had carried him through the winter with

  considerable brilliancy, but bouillotte and Mademoiselle Atala, of the

  Varietes (une ogresse, mon cher, who devours thirty of our young men