down at breakfast, and she levelled commonplaces at her dearest James,
her dearest James became more wretched under her. And no one could see
what his complaint was. He called in the old physicians at the Club. He
dosed himself with poppy, and mandragora and blue pill--lower and lower
went poor James's mercury. If he wanted to move to Brighton or
Cheltenham, well and good. Whatever were her engagements, or whatever
pleasures darling Rosey might have in store, dear thing!--at her age, my
dear Mrs. Newcome, would not one do all to make a young creature happy?--
under no circumstances could I think of leaving my poor brother.
Mrs. Mackenzie thought herself a most highly principled woman, Mrs.
Newcome had also a great opinion of her. These two ladies had formed a
considerable friendship in the past months, the captain's widow having an
unaffected reverence for the banker's lady and thinking her one of the
best informed and most superior women in the world. When she had a high
opinion of a person Mrs. Mack always wisely told it. Mrs. Newcome in her
turn thought Mrs. Mackenzie a very clever, agreeable, ladylike woman,--
not accomplished, but one could not have everything. "No, no, my dear,"
says simple Hobson, "never would do to have every woman as clever as you
are, Maria. Women would have it all their own way then."
Maria, as her custom was, thanked God for being so virtuous and clever,
and graciously admitted Mrs. and Miss Mackenzie into the circle of
adorers of that supreme virtue and talent. Mr. Newcome took little Rosey
and her mother to some parties. When any took place in Bryanstone Square,
they were generally allowed to come to tea.
When on the second day of his arrival the dutiful Clive went to dine with
Mr. James, the ladies, in spite of their raptures at his return and
delight at seeing him, were going in the evening to his aunt. Their talk
was about the Princess all dinner-time. The Prince and Princess were to
dine in Bryanstone Square. The Princess had ordered such and such things
at the jeweller's--the Princess would take rank over an English Earl's
daughter--over Lady Anne Newcome, for instance. "Oh, dear! I wish the
Prince and Princess were smothered in the Tower," growled James Binnie;
"since you have got acquainted with 'em I have never heard of anything
else."
Clive, like a wise man, kept his counsel about the Prince and Princess,
with whom we have seen that he had had the honour of an interview that
very day. But after dinner Rosey came round and whispered to her mamma,
and after Rosey's whisper mamma flung her arms round Rosey's neck and
kissed her, and called her a thoughtful darling. "What do you think this
creature says, Clive?" says Mrs. Mack, still holding her darling's little
hand. "I wonder I had not thought of it myself."
"What is it, Mrs. Mackenzie?" asks Clive, laughing.
"She says why should not you come to your aunt's with us? We are sure
Mrs. Newcome would be most happy to see you"
Rosey, with a little hand put to mamma's mouth, said, "Why did you tell?
--you naughty mamma! Isn't she a naughty mamma, Uncle James?" More kisses
follow after this sally, of which Uncle James receives one with perfect
complacency: mamma crying out as Rosey retires to dress, "That darling
child is always thinking of others--always!"
Clive says, "he will sit and smoke a cheroot with Mr. Binnie, if they
please." James's countenance falls. "We have left off that sort of thing
here, my dear Clive, a long time," cries Mrs. Mackenzie, departing from
the dining-room.
"But we have improved the claret, Clive, my boy!" whispers Uncle James.
"Let us have another bottle, and we will drink to the dear Colonel's good
health and speedy return--God bless him! I say, Clive, Tom seems to have
had a most fortunate escape out of Winter's house--thanks to our friend
Rummun Loll, and to have got into a capital good thing with this
Bundelcund bank. They speak famously of it at Hanover Square, and I see
the Hurkara quotes the shares at a premium already."
Clive did not know anything about the Bundelcund bank, except a few words
found in a letter from his father, which he had in the City this morning,
"and an uncommonly liberal remittance the governor has sent me home,
sir." Upon which they fill another bumper to the Colonel's health.
Mamma and Rosey come and show their pretty pink dresses before going to
Mrs. Newcome's, and Clive lights a cigar in the hall--and isn't there a
jubilation at the Haunt when the young fellow's face appears above the
smoke-clouds there?
CHAPTER XLI
An Old Story
Many of Clive's Roman friends were by this time come to London, and the
young man renewed his acquaintance with them, and had speedily a
considerable circle of his own. He thought fit to allow himself a good
horse or two, and appeared in the Park among other young dandies. He and
Monsieur de Moncontour were sworn allies. Lord Fareham, who had purchased
J. J.'s picture, was Clive's very good friend: Major Pendennis himself
pronounced him to be a young fellow of agreeable manners, and very
favourably vu (as the Major happened to know) in some very good quarters.
Ere many days Clive had been to Brighton to see Lady Anne and Sir Brian,
and good Aunt Honeyman, in whose house the Baronet was lodged: and I
suppose he found out, by some means or other, where Lady Kew lived in
Mayfair.
But her ladyship was not at home, nor was she at home on the second day,
nor did there come any note from Ethel to her cousin. She did not ride in
the Park as of old. Clive, bien vu as he was, did not belong to that
great world as yet, in which he would be pretty sure to meet her every
night at one of those parties where everybody goes. He read her name in
the paper morning after morning, as having been present at Lady This's
entertainment and Lady That's ministerial reunion. At first he was too
shy to tell what the state of the case was, and took nobody into his
confidence regarding his little tendre.
There he was riding through Queen Street, Mayfair, attired in splendid
raiment: never missing the Park; actually going to places of worship in
the neighbourhood; and frequenting the opera--a waste of time which one
would never have expected in a youth of his nurture. At length a certain
observer of human nature remarking his state, rightly conjectured that he
must be in love, and taxed him with the soft impeachment--on which the
young man, no doubt anxious to open his heart to some one, poured out all
that story which has before been narrated; and told how he thought his
passion cured, and how it was cured; but when he heard from Kew at Naples
that the engagement was over between him and Miss Newcome, Clive found
his own flame kindle again with new ardour. He was wild to see her. He
dashed off from Naples instantly on receiving the news that she was free.
He had been ten days in London without getting a glimpse of her. "That
Mrs. Mackenzie bothers me so I hardly know where to turn," said poor
Clive, "and poor little Rosey is made to wri
te me a note about something
twice a day. She's a good dear little thing--little Rosey--and I really
had thought once of--of--oh, never mind that! Oh, Pen! I'm up another
tree now! and a poor miserable young beggar I am!" In fact, Mr. Pendennis
was installed as confidant, vice J. J.--absent on leave.
This is a part, which, especially for a few days, the present biographer
has always liked well enough. For a while, at least, I think almost every
man or woman is interesting when in love. If you know of two or three
such affairs going on in any soiree to which you may be invited--is not
the party straightway amusing? Yonder goes Augustus Tomkins, working his
way through the rooms to that far corner where demure Miss Hopkins is
seated, to whom the stupid grinning Bumpkins thinks he is making himself
agreeable. Yonder sits Miss Fanny distraite, and yet trying to smile as
the captain is talking his folly the parson his glib compliments. And
see, her face lights up all of a sudden: her eyes beam with delight at
the captain's stories, and at that delightful young clergyman likewise.
It is because Augustus has appeared; their eyes only meet for one
semi-second, but that is enough for Miss Fanny. Go on, captain, with your
twaddle!--Proceed, my reverend friend, with your smirking commonplaces!
In the last two minutes the world has changed for Miss Fanny. That moment
has come for which she has been fidgeting and longing and scheming all
day! How different an interest, I say, has a meeting of people for a
philosopher who knows of a few such little secrets, to that which your
vulgar looker-on feels who comes but to eat the ices, and stare at the
ladies' dresses and beauty! There are two frames of mind under which
London society is bearable to a man--to be an actor in one of those
sentimental performances above hinted at; or to be a spectator and watch
it. But as for the mere dessus de cartes--would not an arm-chair and the
dullest of books be better than that dull game?
So I not only became Clive's confidant in this affair, but took a
pleasure in extracting the young fellow's secrets from him, or rather in
encouraging him to pour them forth. Thus was the great part of the
previous tale revealed to me: thus Jack Belsize's misadventures, of the
first part of which we had only heard in London (and whither he returned
presently to be reconciled to his father, after his elder brother's
death). Thus my Lord Kew's secret history came into my possession; let us
hope for the public's future delectation, and the chronicler's private
advantage. And many a night until daylight did appear has poor Clive
stamped his chamber or my own, pouring his story out to me, his griefs
and raptures; recalling, in his wild young way, recollections of Ethel's
sayings and doings; uttering descriptions of her beauty, and raging
against the cruelty which she exhibited towards him.
As soon as the new confidant heard the name of the young lover's charmer,
to do Mr. Pendennis justice, he endeavoured to fling as much cold water
upon Clive's flame as a small private engine could be brought to pour on
such a conflagration. "Miss Newcome! my dear Clive," says the confidant,
"do you know what you are aspiring to? For the last three months Miss
Newcome has been the greatest lioness in London: the reigning beauty
winning the horse: the first favourite out of the whole Belgravian harem.
No young woman of this year has come near her: those of past seasons she
has distanced and utterly put to shame. Miss Blackcap, Lady Blanch
Blackcap's daughter, was (as perhaps you are not aware) considered by her
mamma the great beauty of last season; and it was considered rather
shabby of the young Marquis of Farintosh to leave town without offering
to change Miss Blackcap's name. Heaven bless you! this year Farintosh
will not look at Miss Blackcap! He finds people at home when (ha! I see
you wince, my suffering innocent!)--when he calls in Queen Street; yes,
and Lady Kew, who is one of the cleverest women in England, will listen
for hours to Lord Farintosh's conversation; than whom the Rotten Row of
Hyde Park cannot show a greater booby. Miss Blackcap may retire, like
Jephthah's daughter, for all Farintosh will relieve her. Then, my dear
fellow, there were, as possibly you do not know, Lady Hermengilde and
Lady Yseult, Lady Rackstraw's lovely twins, whose appearance created such
a sensation at Lady Hautbois' first--was it her first or was it her
second?--yes, it was her second--breakfast. Whom weren't they going to
marry? Crackthorpe as mad, they said, about both.--Bustington, Sir John
Fobsby, the young Baronet with the immense Northern property--the Bishop
of Windsor was actually said to be smitten with one of them, but did not
like to offer, as her present M--y, like Qu--n El-z-b-th of gracious
memory, is said to object to bishops, as bishops, marrying. Where is
Bustington? Where is Crackthorpe? Where is Fobsby, the young Baronet of
the North? My dear fellow, when those two girls come into a room now,
they make no more sensation than you or I. Miss Newcome has carried their
admirers away from them: Fobsby has actually, it is said, proposed for
her: and the real reason of that affair between Lord Bustington and
Captain Crackthorpe of the Royal Horse Guards Green, was a speech of
Bustington's, hinting that Miss Newcome had not behaved well in throwing
Lord Kew over. Don't you know what old Lady Kew will do with this girl,
Clive? She will marry Miss Newcome to the best man. If a richer and
better parti than Lord Farintosh presents himself--then it will be
Farintosh's turn to find that Lady Kew is not at home. Is there any young
man in the Peerage unmarried and richer than Farintosh? I forget. Why
does not some one publish a list of the young male nobility and
baronetage, their names, weights, and probable fortunes? I don't mean for
the matrons of Mayfair--they have the list by heart and study it in
secret--but for young men in the world; so that they may know what their
chances are, and who naturally has the pull over them. Let me see--there
is young Lord Gaunt, who will have a great fortune, and is desirable
because you know his father is locked up--but he is only ten years old--
no--they can scarcely bring him forward as Farintosh's rival.
"You look astonished, my poor boy? You think it is wicked in me to talk
in this brutal way about bargain and sale; and say that your heart's
darling is, at this minute, being paced up and down the Mayfair market to
be taken away by the best bidder. Can you count purses with Sultan
Farintosh? Can you compete even with Sir John Fobsby of the North? What I
say is wicked and worldly, is it? So it is; but it is true, as true as
Tattersall's--as true as Circassia or Virginia. Don't you know that the
Circassian girls are proud of their bringing up, and take rank according
to the prices which they fetch? And you go and buy yourself some new
clothes, and a fifty-pound horse, and put a penny rose in your
button-hole, and ride past her window, and think to win this prize? Oh,
you idiot! A pe
nny rosebud! Put money in your purse. A fifty-pound hack
when a butcher rides as good a one!--Put money in your purse. A brave
young heart, all courage and love and honour! Put money in thy purse--
t'other coin don't pass in the market--at least, where old Lady Kew has
the stall."
By these remonstrances, playful though serious, Clive's adviser sought to
teach him wisdom about his love affair; and the advice was received as
advice upon those occasions usually is.
After calling thrice and writing to Miss Newcome, there came a little
note from that young lady, saying, "Dear Clive,--We were so sorry we were
out when you called. We shall be at home to-morrow at lunch, when Lady
Kew hopes you will come, and see yours ever, E. N."
Clive went--poor Clive! He had the satisfaction of shaking Ethel's hand
and a finger of Lady Kew; of eating a mutton-chop in Ethel's presence; of
conversing about the state of art at Rome with Lady Kew, and describing
the last works of Gibson and Macdonald. The visit lasted but for half an
hour. Not for one minute was Clive allowed to see Ethel alone. At three
o'clock Lady Kew's carriage was announced, and our young gentleman rose
to take his leave, and had the pleasure of seeing the most noble Peer,
Marquis of Farintosh and Earl of Rossmont, descend from his lordship's
brougham and enter at Lady Kew's door, followed by a domestic bearing a
small stack of flowers from Covent Garden.
It befell that the good-natured Lady Fareham had a ball in these days;
and meeting Clive in the Park, her lord invited him to the entertainment.
Mr. Pendennis had also the honour of a card. Accordingly Clive took me up
at Bays's, and we proceeded to the ball together.
The lady of the house, smiling upon all her guests, welcomed with
particular kindness her young friend from Rome. "Are you related to the
Miss Newcome, Lady Anne Newcome's daughter? Her cousin? She will be here
to-night." Very likely Lady Fareham did not see Clive wince and blush at
this announcement, her ladyship having to occupy herself with a thousand
other people. Clive found a dozen of his Roman friends in the room,
ladies young and middle-aged, plain and handsome, all glad to see his
kind face. The house was splendid; the ladies magnificently dressed; the
ball beautiful, though it appeared a little dull until that event took
place whereof we treated two pages back (in the allegory of Mr. Tomkins
and Miss Hopkins), and Lady Kew and her granddaughter made their
appearance.
That old woman, who began to look more and more like the wicked fairy of
the stories, who is not invited to the Princess's Christening Feast, had
this advantage over her likeness, that she was invited everywhere; though
how she, at her age, could fly about to so many parties, unless she was a
fairy, no one could say. Behind the fairy, up the marble stairs, came the
most noble Farintosh, with that vacuous leer which distinguishes his
lordship. Ethel seemed to be carrying the stack of flowers which the
Marquis had sent to her. The noble Bustington (Viscount Bustington, I
need scarcely tell the reader, is the heir of the house of Podbury), the
Baronet of the North, the gallant Crackthorpe, the first men in town, in
a word, gathered round the young beauty, forming her court; and little
Dick Hitchin, who goes everywhere, you may be sure was near her with a
compliment and a smile. Ere this arrival, the twins had been giving
themselves great airs in the room--the poor twins! when Ethel appeared
they sank into shuddering insignificance, and had to put up with the
conversation and attentions of second-rate men, belonging to second-rate
clubs in heavy dragoon regiments. One of them actually walked with a
dancing barrister; but he was related to a duke, and it was expected the
Lord Chancellor would give him something very good.