there assembled--Mr. Binnie; the Colonel and his son; Mrs. Mackenzie,
looking uncommonly handsome and perfectly well-dressed; and Miss Rosey,
in pink crape, with pearly shoulders and blushing cheeks, and beautiful
fair ringlets--as fresh and comely a sight as it was possible to witness.
Scarcely had we made our bows, and shaken our hands, and imparted our
observations about the fineness of the weather, when, behold! as we look
from the drawing-room windows into the cheerful square of Bryanstone, a
great family coach arrives, driven by a family coachman in a family wig,
and we recognise Lady Anne Newcome's carriage, and see her ladyship, her
mother, her daughter, and her husband, Sir Brian, descend from the
vehicle. "It is quite a family party," whispers the happy Mrs. Newcome to
the happy writer conversing with her in the niche of the window. "Knowing
your intimacy with our brother, Colonel Newcome, we thought it would
please him to meet you here. Will you be so kind as to take Miss Newcome
to dinner?"
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 Anne. Miss Newcome ran up
to him with both hands out, and put her beautiful face so close to his
that I thought, upon my conscience, she was going to kiss him. And Lady
Kew, advancing in the frankest manner, with a smile, I must own, rather
awful, playing round her many wrinkles, round her ladyship's hooked nose,
and displaying her ladyship's teeth (a new and exceedingly handsome set),
held out her hand to Colonel Newcome, and said briskly, "Colonel, it is
an age since we met." She turns to Clive with equal graciousness and
good-humour, and says, "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." Nothing can
exceed the grace and kindness of Lady Anne Newcome towards Mrs.
Mackenzie: the pretty widow blushes with pleasure at this greeting; and
now Lady Anne must be introduced to Mrs. Mackenzie's charming daughter,
and whispers in the delighted mother's ear, "She is lovely!" Rosey comes
up looking rosy indeed, and executes a pretty curtsey with a great deal
of blushing grace.
Ethel has been so happy to see her dear uncle, that as yet she has had no
eyes for any one else, until Clive advancing, those bright eyes become
brighter still with surprise and pleasure as she beholds him. For being
absent with his family in Italy now, and not likely to see this biography
for many many months, I may say that he is a much handsomer fellow than
our designer has represented; and if that wayward artist should take this
very scene for the purpose of illustration, he is requested to bear in
mind that the hero of this story will wish to have justice done to his
person. There exists in Mr. Newcome's possession a charming little
pencil-drawing of Clive at this age, and which Colonel Newcome took with
him when he went--whither he is about to go in a very few pages--and
brought back with him to this country. A florid apparel becomes some men,
as simple raiment suits others, and Clive in his youth was of the
ornamental class of mankind--a customer to tailors, a wearer of handsome
rings, shirt-studs, mustachios, long hair, and the like; nor could he
help, in his costume or his nature, being picturesque and generous and
splendid. He was always greatly delighted with that Scotch man-at-arms in
Quentin Durward, who twists off an inch or two of his gold chain to treat
a friend and pay for a bottle. He would give a comrade a ring or a fine
jewelled pin, if he had no money. Silver dressing-cases and brocade
morning-gowns were in him a sort of propriety at this season of his
youth. It was a pleasure to persons of colder temperament to sun
themselves in the warmth of his bright looks and generous humour. His
laughter cheered one like wine. I do not know that he was very witty; but
he was pleasant. He was prone to blush: the history of a generous trait
moistened his eyes instantly. He was instinctively fond of children, and
of the other sex from one year old to eighty. Coming from the Derby once
--a merry party--and stopped on the road from Epsom in a lock of
carriages, during which the people in the carriage ahead saluted us with
many vituperative epithets, and seized the heads of our leaders,--Clive
in a twinkling jumped off the box, and the next minute we saw him engaged
with a half-dozen of the enemy: his hat gone, his fair hair flying off
his face, his blue eyes flashing with fire, his lips and nostrils
quivering wrath, his right and left hand hitting out, que c'etoit un
plaisir voir. His father sat back in the carriage, looking with delight
and wonder--indeed it was a great sight. Policeman X separated the
warriors. Clive ascended the box again with a dreadful wound in the coat,
which was gashed from the waist to the shoulder. I hardly ever saw the
elder Newcome in such a state of triumph. The postboys quite stared at
the gratuity he gave them, and wished they might drive his lordship to
the Oaks.
All the time we have been making this sketch Ethel is standing, looking
at Clive; and the blushing youth casts down his eyes before hers. Her
face assumes a look of arch humour. She passes a slim hand over the
prettiest lips and a chin with the most lovely of dimples, thereby
indicating her admiration of Mr. Clive's mustachios and imperial. They
are of a warm yellowish chestnut colour, and have not yet known the
razor. He wears a low cravat; a shirt-front of the finest lawn, with ruby
buttons. His hair, of a lighter colour, waves almost to his "manly
shoulders broad." "Upon my word; my dear Colonel," says Lady Kew, after
looking at him, and nodding her head shrewdly, "I think we were right."
"No doubt right in everything your ladyship does, but in what
particularly?" asks the Colonel.
"Right to keep him out of the way. Ethel has been disposed of these ten
years. Did not Anne tell you? How foolish of her! But all mothers like to
have young men dying for their daughters. Your son is really the
handsomest boy in London. Who is that conceited-looking young man in the
window? Mr. Pen--what? has your son really been very wicked? I was told
he was a sad scapegrace."
"I never knew him do, and I don't believe he ever thought, anything that
was untrue, or unkind, or ungenerous," says the Colonel. "If any one has
belied my boy to you, and I think I know who his enemy has been----"
"The young lady is very pretty," remarks Lady Kew, stopping the Colonel's
further outbreak. "How very young her mother looks! Ethel, my dear!
Colonel Newcome must present us to Mrs. Mackenzie and Miss Mackenzie;"
and Ethel, giving a nod to Clive, with whom she has talked for a minute
or two, again puts her hand in her uncle's, and walks towards Mrs.
Mackenzie and her daughter.
And now let the artist, if he has succeeded in drawing Clive to his
liking, cut a fresh pencil, and give u
s a likeness of Ethel. She is
seventeen years old; rather taller than the majority of women; of a
countenance somewhat grave and haughty, but on occasion brightening with
humour or beaming with kindliness and affection. Too quick to detect
affectation or insincerity in others, too impatient of dulness or
pomposity, she is more sarcastic now than she became when after years of
suffering had softened her nature. Truth looks out of her bright eyes,
and rises up armed, and flashes scorn or denial, perhaps too readily,
when she encounters flattery, or meanness, or imposture. After her first
appearance in the world, if the truth must be told, this young lady was
popular neither with many men, nor with most women. The innocent dancing
youth who pressed round her, attracted by her beauty, were rather afraid,
after a while, of engaging her. This one felt dimly that she despised
him; another, that his simpering commonplaces (delights of how many
well-bred maidens!) only occasioned Miss Newcome's laughter. Young Lord
Croesus, whom all maidens and matrons were eager to secure, was astounded
to find that he was utterly indifferent to her, and that she would refuse
him twice or thrice in an evening, and dance as many times with poor Tom
Spring, who was his father's ninth son, and only at home till he could
get a ship and go to sea again. The young women were frightened at her
sarcasm. She seemed to know what fadaises they whispered to their
partners as they paused in the waltzes; and Fanny, who was luring Lord
Croesus towards her with her blue eyes, dropped them guiltily to the
floor when Ethel's turned towards her; and Cecilia sang more out of time
than usual; and Clara, who was holding Freddy, and Charley, and Tommy
round her enchanted by her bright conversation and witty mischief, became
dumb and disturbed when Ethel passed her with her cold face; and old Lady
Hookham, who was playing off her little Minnie now at young Jack Gorget
of the Guards, now at the eager and simple Bob Bateson of the
ground, whose presence seemed to frighten away the fish and the angler.
No wonder that the other Mayfair nymphs were afraid of this severe Diana,
whose looks were so cold and whose arrows were so keen.
But those who had no cause to heed Diana's shot or coldness might admire
her beauty; nor could the famous Parisian marble, which Clive said she
resembled, be more perfect in form than this young lady. Her hair and
eyebrows were jet black (these latter may have been too thick according
to some physiognomists, giving rather a stern expression to the eyes, and
hence causing those guilty ones to tremble who came under her lash), but
her complexion was as dazzlingly fair and her cheeks as red as Miss
Rosey's own, who had a right to those beauties, being a blonde by nature.
In Miss Ethel's black hair there was a slight natural ripple, as when a
fresh breeze blows over the melan hudor--a ripple such as Roman ladies
nineteen hundred years ago, and our own beauties a short time since,
endeavoured to imitate by art, paper, and I believe crumpling-irons. Her
eyes were grey; her mouth rather large; her teeth as regular and bright
as Lady Kew's own; her voice low and sweet; and her smile, when it
lighted up her face and eyes, as beautiful as spring sunshine; also they
could lighten and flash often, and sometimes, though rarely, rain. As for
her figure--but as this tall slender form is concealed in a simple white
muslin robe (of the sort which I believe is called demi-toilette), in
which her fair arms are enveloped, and which is confined at her slim
waist by an azure ribbon, and descends to her feet--let us make a
respectful bow to that fair image of Youth, Health, and Modesty, and
fancy it as pretty as we will. Miss Ethel made a very stately curtsey to
Mrs. Mackenzie, surveying that widow calmly, so that the elder lady
looked up and fluttered; but towards Rosey she held out her hand, and
smiled with the utmost kindness, and the smile was returned by the other;
and the blushes with which Miss Mackenzie was always ready at this time,
became her very much. As for Mrs. Mackenzie--the very largest curve that
shall not be a caricature, and actually disfigure the widow's
countenance--a smile so wide and steady, so exceedingly rident, indeed,
as almost to be ridiculous, may be drawn upon her buxom face, if the
artist chooses to attempt it as it appeared during the whole of this
summer evening, before dinner came (when people ordinarily look very
grave), when she was introduced to the company: when she was made known
to our friends Julia and Maria,--the darling child, lovely little dears!
how like their papa and mamma!--when Sir Brian Newcome gave her his arm
downstairs to the dining-room when anybody spoke to her: when John
offered her meat, or the gentleman in the white waistcoat, wine; when she
accepted or when she refused these refreshments; when Mr. Newcome told
her a dreadfully stupid story; when the Colonel called cheerily from his
end of the table, "My dear Mrs. Mackenzie, you don't take any wine
to-day; may I not have the honour of drinking a glass of champagne with
you?" when the new boy from the country upset some sauce upon her
shoulder: when Mrs. Newcome made the sign for departure; and I have no
doubt in the drawing-room, when the ladies retired thither. "Mrs. Mack is
perfectly awful," Clive told me afterwards, "since that dinner in
Bryanstone Square. Lady Kew and Lady Anne are never out of her mouth; she
has had white muslin dresses made just like Ethel's for herself and her
daughter. She has bought a Peerage, and knows the pedigree of the whole
Kew family. She won't go out in a cab now without the boy on the box; and
in the plate for the cards which she has established in the drawing-room,
you know, Lady Kew's pasteboard always will come up to the top, though I
poke it down whenever I go into the room. As for poor Lady Trotter, the
governess of St. Kitt's, you know, and the Bishop of Tobago, they are
quite bowled out: Mrs. Mack has not mentioned them for a week."
During the dinner it seemed to me that the lovely young lady by whom I
sate cast many glances towards Mrs. Mackenzie, which did not betoken
particular pleasure. Miss Ethel asked me several questions regarding
Clive, and also respecting Miss Mackenzie: perhaps her questions were
rather downright and imperious, and she patronised me in a manner that
would not have given all gentlemen pleasure. I was Clive's friend, his
schoolfellow? had I seen him a great deal? know him very well--very well
indeed? Was it true that he had been very thoughtless? very wild? Who
and I ought to know? He was not spoiled? He was very good-natured,
generous, told the truth? He loved his profession very much, and had
great talent? Indeed she was very glad. Why do they sneer at his
profession? It seemed to her quite as good as her father's and brother's.
Were artists not very dissipated? Not more so, nor often so much as other
young men? Was Mr. Binnie rich, and was he going to leave all his money
to his niece? How long have you known them? Is Miss Mackenzie as
good-natured as she looks? Not very clever, I suppose. Mrs. Mackenzie
looks very--No, thank you, no more. Grandmamma (she is very deaf, and
cannot hear) scolded me for reading the book you wrote, and took the book
away. I afterwards got it, and read it all. I don't think there was any
harm in it. Why do you give such bad characters of women? Don't you know
any good ones? Yes, two as good as any in the world. They are unselfish:
they are pious; they are always doing good; they live in the country? Why
don't you put them into a book? Why don't you put my uncle into a book?
He is so good, that nobody could make him good enough. Before I came out,
I heard a young lady--(Lady Clavering's daughter, Miss Amory) sing a song
of yours. I have never spoken to an author before. I saw Mr. Lyon at Lady
Popinjoy's, and heard him speak. He said it was very hot, and he looked
so, I am sure. Who is the greatest author now alive? You will tell me
when you come upstairs after dinner;--and the young lady sails away,
following the matrons, who rise and ascend to the drawing-room. Miss
Newcome has been watching the behaviour of the author by whom she sate;
curious to know what such a person's habits are; whether he speaks and
acts like other people; and in what respect authors are different from
persons "in society."
When we had sufficiently enjoyed claret and politics below-stairs, the
gentlemen went to the drawing-room to partake of coffee and the ladies'
delightful conversation. We had heard previously the tinkling of the
piano above, and the well-known sound of a couple of Miss Rosey's five
songs. The two young ladies were engaged over an album at a side-table,
when the males of the party arrived. The book contained a number of
Clive's drawings made in the time of his very early youth for the
amusement of his little cousins. Miss Ethel seemed to be very much
pleased with these performances, which Miss Mackenzie likewise examined
with great good-nature and satisfaction. So she did the views of Rome,
Naples, Marble Hill in the county of Sussex, etc., in the same
collection: so she did the Berlin cockatoo and spaniel which Mrs. Newcome
was working in idle moments: so she did the "Books of Beauty," "Flowers
of Loveliness," and so forth. She thought the prints very sweet and
pretty: she thought the poetry very pretty and sweet. Which did she like
best, Mr. Niminy's "Lines to a bunch of violets," or Miss Piminy's
"Stanzas to a wreath of roses"? Miss Mackenzie was quite puzzled to say
which of these masterpieces she preferred; she found them alike so
pretty. She appealed, as in most cases, to mamma. "How, my darling love,
can I pretend to know?" mamma says. "I have been a soldier's wife,
battling about the world. I have not had your advantages. I had no
drawing-masters, nor music-masters as you have. You, dearest child, must
instruct me in these things." This poses Rosey: who prefers to have her
opinions dealt out to her like her frocks, bonnets, handkerchiefs, her
shoes and gloves, and the order thereof; the lumps of sugar for her tea,
the proper quantity of raspberry jam for breakfast; who trusts for all
supplies corporeal and spiritual to her mother. For her own part, Rosey
is pleased with everything in nature. Does she love music? Oh, yes.
Bellini and Donizetti? Oh, yes. Dancing? They had no dancing at
grandmamma's, but she adores dancing, and Mr. Clive dances very well
indeed. (A smile from Miss Ethel at this admission.) Does she like the
country? Oh, she is so happy in the country! London? London is
delightful, and so is the seaside. She does not really know which she
likes best, London or the country, for mamma is not near her to decide,
being engaged listening to Sir Brian, who is laying down the law to her,
and smiling, smiling with all her might. In fact, Mr. Newcome says to Mr.