Boys and girls from Thackeray - Kate Dickinson Sweetser
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In spite of the notoriety given him in the newspapers by his visit to
Nurse Sarah, at his native place, he still remained in high favour with
Sir Brian Newcome's family, where he paid almost daily visits, and was
received with affection at least by the ladies and 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, the little girls, Sir Brian's daughters, holding each by a
finger of his 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, and was eager to supply any luxury longed for by his young
companions.
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 Brianstone 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 sovereigns with which their
uncle had thought to give them a treat. So the Colonel was obliged to
confine his benevolence to that branch of the family where it was
graciously accepted.
Meanwhile the Colonel had a new interest to absorb his attention. He had
taken a new house at 120 Fitzroy Square in connection with that Indian
friend of his, Mr. Binnie. The house being taken, there was fine
amusement for Clive, Mr. Binnie, and the Colonel, in frequenting sales,
in inspection of upholsterers' shops, and the purchase of furniture for
the new mansion. There were three masters with four or five servants
under them. Irons for the Colonel and his son, a smart boy with boots
for Mr. Binnie; Mrs. Irons to cook and keep house, with a couple of
maids under her. The Colonel himself was great at making hash mutton,
hotpot, and curry. 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 together.
Clive had a tutor--Grindley of Corpus--with whom the young gentleman did
not fatigue his brains very much, his great talent lying decidedly in
drawing. He sketched the horses, he sketched the dogs, all the servants,
from the bleer-eyed boot-boy to the rosy cheeked lass whom the
housekeeper was always calling to come downstairs. He drew his father in
all postures, and jolly little Mr. Binnie too. Young Ridley, known to his
young companions as J.J., was his daily friend now, to the great joy of
that young man, who considered Clive Newcome to be the most splendid,
fortunate, beautiful, high-born and gifted youth in the world. What
generous boy in his time has not worshipped somebody? Before the female
enslaver makes her appearance, every lad has a friend of friends, a crony
of cronies, to whom he writes immense letters in vacation, whom he
cherishes in his hearts of hearts; whose sister he proposes to marry in
after life; whose purse he shares; for whom he will take a thrashing if
need be; who is his hero. Clive was John James's youthful divinity; when
he wanted to draw Thaddeus of Warsaw, a Prince, Ivanhoe, or some one
splendid and egregious, it was Clive he took for a model. His heart leapt
when he saw the young fellow. He would walk cheerfully to Grey Friars
with a letter or message for C. on the chance of seeing him and getting a
kind word from him or a shake of the hand. The poor lad was known by the
boys as Newcome's Punch. He was all but hunchback, long and lean in the
arm; sallow, with a great forehead and waving black hair, and large
melancholy eyes. But his genius for drawing was enormous, which fact
Clive fully appreciated. Because of J. J.'s admiration for Clive it was
his joy to be with Clive constantly; and after Grindley's classics and
mathematics in the morning, the young men would attend Gandish's Drawing
Academy, together.
"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."
Clive had many conversations with his father as to the profession which
he should follow. As regarded mathematical and classical learning, the
elder Newcome was forced to admit that out of every hundred boys there
were fifty as clever as his own, and at least fifty more industrious;
the army in time of peace Colonel Newcome thought a bad trade for a
young fellow so fond of ease and pleasure as his son. His delight in the
pencil was manifest to all. Were not his school books full of caricatures
of the masters? While his tutor was lecturing him, did he not draw
Grindley instinctively under his very nose? A painter Clive was
determined to be, and nothing else; and Clive, being then some sixteen
years of age, began to study art under the eminent Mr. Gandish of Soho.
It was that well-known portrait painter, Andrew Smee, Esq., R.A., who
recommended Gandish to Colonel Newcome one day when the two gentleman met
at dinner at Lady Ann Newcome's. Mr. Smee happened to examine some of
Clive's drawings, which the young fellow had executed for his cousins.
Clive found no better amusement than in making pictures for them and
would cheerfully pass evening after evening in that direction. He had
made a thousand sketches of Ethel before a year was over; a year every
day of which seemed to increase the attractions of the fair young
creature. Also, of course Clive drew Alfred and the nursery in general,
Aunt Ann and the Blenheim spaniels, the majestic John bringing in the
coal-scuttle, and all persons or objects in that establishment with which
he was familiar.
"What a genius the lad has," the complimentary Mr. Smee averred; "what a
force and individuality there is in all his drawings! Look at his horses!
Capital, by Jove, capital! And Alfred on his pony, and Miss Ethel in her
Spanish hat, with her hair flowing in the wind! I must take this sketch,
I positively must now, and show it to Landseer."
And the courtly artist daintily enveloped the drawing in a sheet of
paper, put it away in his hat, and vowed subsequently that the great
painter had been delighted with the young man's performance. Smee was not
only charmed with Clive's skill as an artist, but thought his head would
be an admirable one to paint. Such a rich complexion, such fine turns in
his hair! Such eyes! To see real blue eyes was so rare now-a-days! And
the Colonel too, if the Colonel would but give him a few sittings, the
grey uniform of the Bengal Cavalry, the silver lace, the little bit of
red ribbon just to warm up the picture! It was seldom, Mr. Smee declared,
that an artist could get such an opportunity for colour. But no
cajoleries could induce the Colonel to sit to any artist save one. There
hangs in Clive's 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. Clive shows
that portrait of their grandfather to his children, and tells them that
the whole world never saw a nobler gentleman.
Well, then; Clive having decided to become an artist, on a day marked
with a white stone, Colonel Newcome with his son and Mr. Smee, R. A.,
walked to Gandish's and entered the would-be artist on the roll call of
that famous academy, and of J. J. as well, for the Colonel had insisted
upon paying his expenses as an art student together with his son.
Mr. Gandish was an excellent master and the two lads made great progress
under his excellent training. Clive used to give droll accounts of the
young disciples at Gandish's, who were of various ages and conditions,
and in whose company the young fellow took his place with that good
temper and gaiety which seldom deserted him and put him at ease wherever
his fate led him. Not one of the Gandishites but liked Clive, and at that
period of his existence he enjoyed himself in all kinds of ways, making
himself popular with dancing folks and with drawing folks, and the jolly
king of his company everywhere. He gave entertainments in the rooms in
Fitzroy Square which were devoted to his use, inviting his father and Mr.
Binnie now and then, but the good Colonel did not often attend those
parties. He saw that his presence rather silenced the young men, and went
away to play his rubber of whist at the club. And although time hung a
bit heavily on the good Colonel's hands, now that Clive's interests were
separate from his own, yet of nights as he heard Clive's companions
tramping by his bedchamber door, where he lay wakeful within, he was
happy to think his son was happy. As for Clive, those were glorious days
for him. If he was successful in the Academy, he was doubly victorious
out of it. His person was handsome, his courage high, his gaiety and
frankness delightful and winning. His money was plenty and he spent it
like a young king. He was not the most docile of Mr. Gandish's pupils,
and if the truth must be told about him, though one of the most frank,
generous and kind-hearted persons, was somewhat haughty and imperious. He
had been known to lament since that he was taken from school too early
where a further course of thrashings would, he believed, have done him
good. He lamented that he was not sent to college, where if a young man
receives no other discipline at least he meets his equals in society and
assuredly finds his betters; whereas in Mr. Gandish's studio our young
gentleman scarcely found a comrade that was not in one way or other his
flatterer, his inferior, his honest or dishonest admirer. The influence
of his family's rank and wealth acted more or less on all these simple
folks, who would run on his errands and vied with each other winning his
favour. His very goodness of heart rendered him a more easy prey to
their flattery, and his kind and jovial disposition led him into company
from which he had much better have been away. In fact, as the Colonel did
not attempt in any way to check him in his youthful career of
extravagance and experiences which were the result of an excessive high
spirit, our young gentleman at this time brought down upon himself much
adverse criticism for his behaviour, especially from his uncles. Because
of this and other reasons there was not much friendliness exhibited by
the several branches of the family for Clive and his father. Colonel
Newcome, in spite of coldness, felt it his duty to make constant attempts
to remain on friendly terms at least with the wives of his stepbrothers.
But after he had called twice or thrice upon his sister-in-law in
Brianstone Square, bringing as was his wont a present for this little
niece or a book for that, Mrs. Newcome gave him to understand that the
occupation of an English matron would not allow her to pass the mornings
in idle gossip, and with curtseys and fine speeches actually bowed her
brother out of doors; and the honest gentleman meekly left her, though
with bewilderment as he thought of the different hospitality to which he
had been accustomed in the East, where no friend's house was ever closed
to him, where no neighbour was so busy but he had time to make Thomas
Newcome welcome.
When Hobson Newcome's boys came home for the holidays, their kind uncle
was for treating them to the sights of the town, but here Virtue again
interposed, and laid his interdict upon pleasure. "Thank you, very much,
my dear Colonel," says Virtue; "there never was surely such a kind,
affectionate, unselfish creature as you are, and so indulgent for
children, but my boys and yours are brought up on a _very different
plan_. Excuse me for saying that I do not think it is advisable that
they should even see too much of each other, Clive's company is not good
for them."
"Great heavens, Maria!" cries the Colonel, starting up, "do you mean that
my boy's society is not good enough for any boy alive?"
Maria turned very red; she had said not more than she meant, but more
than she meant to say. "My dear Colonel, how hot we are! how angry you
Indian gentlemen become with us poor women! Your boy is much older than
mine. He lives with artists, with all sorts of eccentric people. Our
children are bred on _quite a different plan_. Hobson will succeed his
father in the bank, and dear Samuel, I trust, will go into the church. I
told you before the views I had regarding the boys; but it was most kind
of you to think of them--most generous and kind."
"That nabob of ours is a queer fish," Hobson Newcome remarked to his
nephew Barnes. "He is as proud as Lucifer; he is always taking huff about
one thing or the other. He went off in a fume the other night because
your aunt objected to his taking the boys to the play. And then he flew
out about his boy, and said that my wife insulted him! I used to like
that boy. Before his father came he was a good lad enough--a jolly, brave
little fellow. But since he has taken this madcap freak of turning
painter there is no understanding the chap. I don't care what a fellow
is, if he is a good fellow, but a painter is no trade at all! I don't
like it, Barnes!"
To Lady Ann Newcome the Colonel's society was more welcome than to her
sister-in-law, and the affectionate gentleman never tired of doing
kindnesses for her children, and consoled himself as best he might for
Clive's absences with his nephews and nieces, especially with Ethel, for
whom his admiration conceived at first sight never diminished. He found
a fine occupation in breaking a pretty little horse for her, of which he
made her a present, and there was no horse in the Park that was so
handsome, and surely no girl who looked more beautiful than Ethel Newcome
with her broad hat and red ribbon, with her thick black locks waving
round her bright face, galloping along the ride on "Bhurtpore."
Occasionally Clive was at their riding-parties, but Ethel rallied him and
treated him with such distance and dignity, at the same time looking
fondly and archly at her uncle, that Clive set her down as a very
haughty, spoiled, aristocratic young creature. In fact, the two young
people were too much alike in disposition to agree perfectly, and Ethel's
parents were glad that it was so.
It was pleasant to watch the kind old face of Clive's father, that
sweet young blushing lady by his side, as the two rode homewards at
sunset talking happily together. Ethel wanted to know about battles;
about lover's lamps, which she had read of in "Lalla Rookh." "Have you
ever seen them, uncle, floating down the Ganges of a night? About
Indian widows, did you actually see one burning, and hear her scream as
you rode up?"
She wonders whether he will tell her anything about Clive's mother; how
she must have loved Uncle Newcome! Rambling happily from one subject to
another Ethel commands: "Next year, when I am presented at Court, you
must come, too, sir! I insist upon it, you must come, too!"
"I will order a new uniform, Ethel," says her uncle.
The girl laughs. "When little Egbert took hold of your sword, and asked
you how many people you had killed, do you know I had the same question
in my mind? I thought perhaps the King would knight you instead of that
horrid little Sir Danby Jilks, and I won't have you knighted anymore!"
The Colonel, laughing, says he hopes Egbert won't ask Sir Danby Jilks how
many men he has killed; then thinking the joke too severe upon Sir Danby,
hastens to narrate some anecdotes about the courage of surgeons in
general. Ethel declares that her uncle always will talk of other people's
courage, and never say a word about his own. So the pair talked kindly
on, riding homewards through the pleasant summer twilight. Mamma had gone
out to dinner and there were cards for three parties afterward.
"Oh, how I wish it was next year!" says Miss Ethel.
Many a splendid assembly and many a brilliant next year will the young
creature enjoy; but in the midst of her splendour and triumphs she will
often think of that quiet happy season before the world began for her,
and of that dear old friend on whose arm she leaned while she was yet a
young girl.
On account of the ugly rumours spread abroad concerning young Clive's
extravagant habits and gaiety of living, also on account of the
profession he had chosen, Sir Bryan Newcome's family preferred to have
young Clive see as little of his handsome Cousin Ethel as possible, and
Ethel's brother, Barnes, whose hatred for Clive was not untinged by
jealousy, was the most vigorous of the family in spreading disagreeable
reports about his cousin, whom he spoke of as an impudent young puppy.
Even old Lady Kew was particularly rude to Colonel Newcome and Clive. On
Ethel's birthday she had a small party chiefly of girls of her own age
who came and played and sang together and enjoyed such mild refreshments
as sponge cake, jellies, tea, and the like. The Colonel, who was invited
to this little party, sent a fine present to his favourite Ethel; and
Clive and his friend J. J. made a funny series of drawings, representing
the life of a young lady as they imagined it, and drawing her progress
from her cradle upwards: now engaged with her doll, then with her dancing
master; now marching in her backboard; now crying over her German
lessons; and dressed for her first ball finally, and bestowing her hand
upon a dandy of preternatural ugliness, who was kneeling at her feet as
the happy man. This picture was the delight of the laughing, happy girls;
except, perhaps, the little cousins from Brianstone Square, who were
invited to Ethel's party, but were so overpowered by the prodigious new
dresses in which their mamma had attired them that they could admire
nothing but their rustling pink frocks, their enormous sashes, their
lovely new silk stockings.
Lady Kew, coming to London, attended on the party, and presented her
granddaughter with a sixpenny pincushion. The Colonel had sent Ethel a
beautiful little gold watch and chain. Her aunt had complimented her with
that refreshing work, "Allison's History of Europe," richly bound. Lady
Kew's pincushion made rather a poor figure among the gifts, whence
probably arose her ladyship's ill-humour.
Ethel's grandmother became exceedingly testy, when, the Colonel
arriving, Ethel ran up to him and thanked him for the beautiful watch,
in return for which she gave him a kiss, which I daresay amply repaid
Colonel Newcome; and shortly after him Mr. Clive arrived. As he entered,
all the girls who had been admiring his pictures began to clap their
hands. Mr. Clive Newcome blushed, and looked none the worse for that
indication of modesty.
Lady Kew had met Colonel Newcome a half-dozen times at her daughter's
house; but on this occasion she had quite forgotten him, for when the
Colonel made a bow, her ladyship regarded him steadily, and beckoning her
daughter to her, asked who the gentleman was who had just kissed Ethel.
With the clapping of hands that greeted Clive's arrival, the Countess was
by no means more good-humoured. Not aware of her wrath, the young fellow,
who had also previously been presented to her, came forward presently to
make her his compliments. "Pray, who are you?" she said, looking at him
very earnestly in the face. He told her his name.
"H'm," said Lady Kew, "I have heard of you, and I have heard very little
good of you."
"Will your ladyship please to give me your informant?" cried out
Colonel Newcome.
Barnes Newcome, who had condescended to attend his sister's little party,
and had been languidly watching the frolics of the young people, looked
very much alarmed, and hastened to soften the incident by a change of
conversation.
But the attitude of Lady Kew and young Barnes was only a reflection of
the attitude of Ethel's parents concerning Clive, and Ethel, who was
really friendly towards him, found it difficult to deny the charges which
were constantly brought against the boy. The truth was the young fellow
enjoyed life, as one of his age and spirit might be expected to do; but
he did very little harm and meant less; and was quite unconscious of the
reputation which he was gaining.
There had been a long-standing promise that Clive and his father were to
go to Newcome at Christmas; and I daresay Ethel proposed to reform the
young prodigal, if prodigal he was, for she busied herself delightedly in
preparing the apartments for their guests and putting off her visit to
this pleasant neighbour, or that pretty scene in the vicinity, until her
uncle should come and they might enjoy the excursion together. And before
the arrival of her relatives, Ethel, with one of her young brothers, went
to see Mrs. Mason and introduced herself as Colonel Newcome's niece, and
came back charmed with the old lady and eager once more in defence of
Clive, for had she not seen the kindest letter which Clive had written to
old Mrs. Mason, and the beautiful drawing of his father on horseback, and
in regimentals, waving his sword in front of the gallant Bengal Cavalry,
which the lad had sent down to the good old woman? He could not be very
bad, Ethel thought, who was so kind and thoughtful for the poor. And the
young lady went home quite fired with enthusiasm for her cousin, but
encountered Barnes, who was more than usually bitter and sarcastic on the
subject. Ethel lost her temper, and then her firmness, while bursting
into tears she taxed Barnes with cruelty for uttering stories to his
cousin's disadvantage and for pursuing with constant slander one of the
very best of men. But notwithstanding her defence of the Colonel and
Clive, when they came to Newcome for the Christmas holidays, there was no
Ethel there. She had gone on a visit to her sick aunt. Colonel Newcome
passed the holidays sadly without her, and Clive consoled himself by
knocking down pheasants with Sir Brian's keepers; and increased his
cousin's attachment for him by breaking the knees of Barnes's favourite
mare out hunting. It was a dreary holiday; father and son were glad
enough to get away from it, and to return to their own humbler quarters
in London.
Thomas Newcome had now been for three years in the possession of that joy
which his soul longed after, and yet in spite of his happiness, his
honest face grew more melancholy, his loose clothes hung only the looser
on his lean limbs; he ate his meals without appetite; his nights were
restless and he would sit for hours silent, and was constantly finding
business which took him to distant quarters of England. Notwithstanding
this change in him the Colonel insisted that he was perfectly happy and
contented, but the truth was, his heart was aching with the knowledge
that Clive had occupations, ideas, associates, in which the elder could
take no interest. Sitting in his blank, cheerless bedroom, Newcome could
hear the lad and his friends making merry and breaking out in roars of
laughter from time to time. The Colonel longed to share in the merriment,
but he knew that the party would be hushed if he joined it, that the
younger men were happier and freer without him, and without laying any
blame upon them for this natural state of affairs, it saddened the days
and nights of our genial Colonel.
Clive, meanwhile, passed through the course of study prescribed by Mr.
Gandish and drew every cast and statue in that gentleman's studio.
Grindley, his tutor, getting a curacy, Clive did not replace him, but
took a course of modern languages, which he learned with great rapidity.
And now, being strong enough to paint without a master, Mr. Clive must
needs have a studio, as there was no good light in the house in Fitzroy
Square. If his kind father felt any pang even at this temporary parting,
he was greatly soothed and pleased by a little mark of attention on
Clive's part. He walked over with Colonel Newcome to see the new studio,
with its tall centre window, and its curtains and hard wardrobes, china
jars, pieces of armour, and other artistic properties, and with a very
sweet smile of kindness and affection lighting up his honest face, took
out a house-key and gave it to his father: "That's _your_ key, sir," he
said to the Colonel; "and you must be my first sitter, please, father;
for, though I am to be a historical painter, I shall condescend to do a
few portraits, you know." The Colonel grasped his son's hand as Clive
fondly put the other hand on his father's shoulder. Then Colonel Newcome
walked away for a minute or two, and came back wiping his moustache with
his handkerchief, and still holding the key in the other hand. He spoke
about some trivial subject when he returned; but his voice quite
trembled, his face glowed with love and pleasure, and the little act of
affection compensated him for many weary hours of solitude. It is certain
that Clive worked much better after he had this apartment of his own, and
meals at home were gayer; and the rides with his father more frequent and
agreeable. The Colonel used his key not infrequently, and found Clive and
his friend J. J. as a general thing absorbed in executing historical
subjects on the largest possible canvases. Meanwhile Colonel Newcome was
preparing his mind to leave his idol, who he knew would be happy without
as with him. During the three years since he had come from India the
Colonel had spent money lavishly and had also been obliged to pay dearly
for some of Clive's boyish extravagances. At first, the Colonel had
thought he might retire from the army altogether, but experience showed
him that he could not live upon his income. He proposed now to return to
India to get his promotion as full Colonel when the thousand a year to
which that would entitle him, together with his other investments, would
be ample for Clive and himself to live on. While the Colonel's thoughts
were absorbed in this matter his favourite Ethel was constantly away with
her grandmother. The Colonel went to see her at Brighton, and once,
twice, thrice, Lady Kew's door was denied to him. Once when the Colonel
encountered his pretty Ethel with her riding master she greeted him
affectionately, but when he rode up to her she looked so constrained,
when he talked about Clive she was so reserved, when he left her, so sad,
he could only feel pain and regret. Back he went to London, having in a
week only caught this single glance of his darling, but filled with
determination to have a frank talk with his sister-in-law, Lady Ann, and
if possible to mend the family disagreement and turn the tide of Lady
Ann's affection again towards his son. This he attempted to do, and would
have succeeded had not Barnes Newcome been the head of the house. As we
know, his opinion of Clive was not to that young man's advantage. These
opinions were imparted to his Uncle Hobson at the bank, and Uncle Hobson
carried them home to his wife, who took an early opportunity of repeating
them to the Colonel, and the Colonel was brought to see that Barnes was
his boy's enemy, and words very likely passed between them, for Thomas
Newcome took a new banker at this time, and was very angry because Hobson
Brothers wrote to him to say that he had overdrawn his account. "I am
sure there is some screw loose," remarked Clive to a friend, "and that my
father and the people in Park Lane have disagreed, because he goes there
very little now; and he promised to go to Court when Ethel was presented
and he didn't go." This state of affairs between the members of the
Newcome family continued for some months. Then, happily, a truce was
declared, the quarrel between the Newcome brothers came to an end--for
that time at least--and was followed by a rather showy reconciliation and
a family dinner at Brianstone Square. Everybody was bent upon being happy
and gracious. It was "My dear brother, how do you do?" from Sir Brian.
"My dear Colonel, how glad we are to see you! How well you look!" from
Lady Ann. Ethel Newcome ran to him with both hands out, an eager welcome
on her beautiful face. And even Lady Kew held out her hand to Colonel
Newcome, saying briskly: "Colonel, it is an age since we met," and
turning to Clive with equal graciousness to say, "Mr. Clive, let me shake
hands with you; I have heard all sorts of good of you, that you have been
painting the most beautiful things, that you are going to be quite
famous." There was no doubt about it,--it was an evening of
reconciliation on every side.