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