freely during his noble harangue. At not a shilling under twenty thousand
pounds would he estimate the cost of his client's injuries. The jury was
very much affected: the evening papers gave Rowland's address in extenso,
with some pretty sharp raps at the aristocracy in general. The Day, the
principal morning journal of that period, came out with a leading article
the next morning, in which every party concerned and every institution
was knocked about. The disgrace of the peerage, the ruin of the monarchy
(with a retrospective view of the well-known case of Gyges and
Candaules), the monstrosity of the crime, and the absurdity of the
tribunal and the punishment, were all set forth in the terrible leading
article of the Day.
But when, on the next day, Serjeant Rowland was requested to call
witnesses to prove that connubial happiness which he had depicted so
pathetically, he had none at hand.
Oliver, Q.C., now had his innings. A man, a husband, and a father, Mr.
Oliver could not attempt to defend the conduct of his unfortunate client;
but if there could be any excuse for such conduct, that excuse he was
free to confess the plaintiff had afforded, whose cruelty and neglect
twenty witnesses in court were ready to prove--neglect so outrageous,
cruelty so systematic, that he wondered the plaintiff had not been better
advised than to bring this trial, with all its degrading particulars, to
a public issue. On the very day when the ill-omened marriage took place,
another victim of cruelty had interposed as vainly--as vainly as Serjeant
Rowland himself interposed in Court to prevent this case being made
known--and with piteous outcries, in the name of outraged neglected
woman, of castaway children pleading in vain for bread, had besought the
bride to pause, and the bridegroom to look upon the wretched beings who
owed him life. Why had not Lady Clara Pulleyn's friends listened to that
appeal? And so on, and so on, between Rowland and Oliver the battle waged
fiercely that day. Many witnesses were mauled and slain. Out of that
combat scarce anybody came well, except the two principal champions,
Rowland, Serjeant, and Oliver, Q.C. The whole country looked on and heard
the wretched story, not only of Barnes's fault and Highgate's fault, but
of the private peccadilloes of their suborned footmen and conspiring
housemaids. Mr. Justice C. Sawyer charged the jury at great length--those
men were respectable men and fathers of families themselves--of course
they dealt full measure to Lord Highgate for his delinquencies; consoled
the injured husband with immense damages, and left him free to pursue the
further steps for releasing himself altogether from the tie which had
been bound with affecting episcopal benediction at St. George's, Hanover
Square.
So Lady Clara flies from the custody of her tyrant, but to what a rescue!
The very man who loves her, and gives her asylum, pities and deplores
her. She scarce dares to look out of the windows of her new home upon the
world, lest it should know and reproach her. All the sisterhood of
friendship is cut off from her. If she dares to go abroad she feels the
sneer of the world as she goes through it; and knows that malice and
scorn whisper behind her. People, as criminal but undiscovered, make room
for her, as if her touch were pollution. She knows she has darkened the
lot and made wretched the home of the man whom she loves best; that his
friends who see her, treat her with but a doubtful respect; and the
domestics who attend her, with a suspicious obedience. In the country
lanes, or the streets of the county town, neighbours look aside as the
carriage passes in which she sits splendid and lonely. Rough hunting
companions of her husband's come to her table: he is driven perforce to
the company of flatterers and men of inferior sort; his equals, at least
in his own home, will not live with him. She would be kind, perhaps, and
charitable to the cottagers round about her, but she fears to visit them
lest they too should scorn her. The clergyman who distributes her
charities, blushes and looks awkward on passing her in the village, if he
should be walking with his wife or one of his children. Shall they go to
the Continent, and set up a grand house at Paris or at Florence? There
they can get society, but of what a sort! Our acquaintances of Baden,--
Madame Schlangenbad, and Madame de Cruchecassee, and Madame d'Ivry, and
Messrs. Loder, and Punter, and Blackball, and Deuceace, will come, and
dance, and flirt, and quarrel, and gamble, and feast round about her; but
what in common with such wild people has this poor, timid, shrinking
soul? Even these scorn her. The leers and laughter on those painted faces
are quite unlike her own sad countenance. She has no reply to their wit.
Their infernal gaiety scares her more than the solitude at home. No
wonder that her husband does not like home, except for a short while in
the hunting season. No wonder that he is away all day; how can he like a
home which she has made so wretched? In the midst of her sorrow, and
doubt, and misery, a child comes to her: how she clings to it! how her
whole being, and hope, and passion centres itself on this feeble infant!
----but she no more belongs to our story; with the new name she has
taken, the poor lady passes out of the history of the Newcomes.
If Barnes Newcome's children meet yonder solitary lady, do they know her?
If her once-husband thinks upon the unhappy young creature whom his
cruelty drove from him, does his conscience affect his sleep at night?
Why should Sir Barnes Newcome's conscience be more squeamish than his
country's, which has put money in his pocket for having trampled on the
poor weak young thing, and scorned her, and driven her to ruin? When the
whole of the accounts of that wretched bankruptcy are brought up for
final Audit, which of the unhappy partners shall be shown to be most
guilty? Does the Right Reverend Prelate who did the benedictory business
for Barnes and Clara his wife repent in secret? Do the parents who
pressed the marriage, and the fine folks who signed the book, and ate the
breakfast, and applauded the bridegroom's speech, feel a little ashamed?
O Hymen Hymenaee! The bishops, beadles, clergy, pew-openers, and other
officers of the temple dedicated to Heaven under the invocation of St.
George, will officiate in the same place at scores and scores more of
such marriages: and St. George of England may behold virgin after virgin
offered up to the devouring monster, Mammon (with many most respectable
female dragons looking on)--may see virgin after virgin given away, just
as in the Soldan of Babylon's time, but with never a champion to come to
the rescue!
CHAPTER LIX
In which Achilles loses Briseis
Although the years of the Marquis of Farintosh were few, he had spent
most of them in the habit of command; and, from his childhood upwards,
had been obeyed by all persons round about him. As an infant he had but
to roar, and his mother and nurses were as much frightened as though he
had been
a Libyan lion. What he willed and ordered was law amongst his
clan and family. During the period of his London and Parisian
dissipations his poor mother did not venture to remonstrate with her
young prodigal, but shut her eyes, not daring to open them on his wild
courses. As for the friends of his person and house, many of whom were
portly elderly gentlemen, their affection for the young Marquis was so
extreme that there was no company into which their fidelity would not
lead them to follow him; and you might see him dancing at Mabille with
veteran aides-de-camp looking on, or disporting with opera-dancers at a
Trois Freres banquet, which some old gentleman of his father's age had
taken the pains to order. If his lordship Count Almaviva wants a friend
to carry the lanthorn or to hold the ladder; do you suppose there are not
many most respectable men in society who will act Figaro? When Farintosh
thought fit, in the fulness of time and the blooming pride of manhood, to
select a spouse, and to elevate a marchioness to his throne, no one dared
gainsay him. When he called upon his mother and sisters, and their
ladyships' hangers-on and attendants; upon his own particular kinsmen,
led captains, and toadies; to bow the knee and do homage to the woman
whom he delighted to honour, those duteous subjects trembled and obeyed;
in fact, he thought that the position of a Marchioness of Farintosh was
under heaven, and before men, so splendid, that, had he elevated a
beggar-maid to that sublime rank, the inferior world was bound to worship
her.
So my lord's lady-mother, and my lord's sisters, and his captains, and
his players of billiards, and the toadies of his august person, all
performed obeisance to his bride-elect, and never questioned the will of
the young chieftain. What were the private comments of the ladies of the
family we had no means of knowing; but it may naturally be supposed that
his lordship's gentlemen-in-waiting, Captain Henchman, Jack Todhunter,
and the rest, had many misgivings of their own respecting their patrons
change in life, and could not view without anxiety the advent of a
their company, and might exert her influence over her husband to oust
these honest fellows from places in which they were very comfortable. The
jovial rogues had the run of my lord's kitchen, stables, cellars, and
cigar-boxes. A new marchioness might hate hunting, smoking, jolly
parties, and toad-eaters in general, or might bring into the house
favourites of her own. I am sure any kind-hearted man of the world must
feel for the position of these faithful, doubtful, disconsolate vassals,
and have a sympathy for their rueful looks and demeanour as they eye the
splendid preparations for the ensuing marriage, the grand furniture sent
to my lord's castles and houses, the magnificent plate provided for his
tables--tables at which they may never have a knife and fork; castles and
houses of which the poor rogues may never be allowed to pass the doors.
When, then, "the elopement in High Life," which has been described in the
previous pages, burst upon the town in the morning papers, I can fancy
the agitation which the news occasioned in the faithful bosoms of the
generous Todhunter, and the attached Henchman. My lord was not in his own
house as yet. He and his friends still lingered on in the little house in
Mayfair, the dear little bachelor's quarters, where they had enjoyed such
good dinners, such good suppers, such rare doings, such a jolly time. I
fancy Hench coming down to breakfast, and reading the Morning Post. I
imagine Tod dropping in from his bedroom over the way, and Hench handing
the paper over to Tod, and the conversation which ensued between those
worthy men. Elopement in high life--excitement in N--come, and flight of
Lady Cl-- N--come, daughter of the late and sister of the present Earl of
D-rking, with Lord H---gate; personal rencontre between Lord H---gate and
Sir B--nes N---come. Extraordinary disclosures. I say, I can fancy Hench
and Tod over this awful piece of news.
"Pretty news, ain't it, Toddy?" says Henchman, looking up from a
Perigord-pie, which the faithful creature is discussing.
"Always expected it," remarks the other. "Anybody who saw them together
last season must have known it. The Chief himself spoke of it to me."
"It'll cut him up awfully when he reads it. Is it in the Morning Post? He
has the Post in his bedroom. I know he has rung his bell: I heard it.
Bowman, has his lordship read his paper yet?"
Bowman, the, valet, said, "I believe you, he have read his paper. When he
read it, he jumped out of bed and swore most awful. I cut as soon as I
could," continued Mr. Bowman, who was on familiar--nay contemptuous terms
with the other two gentlemen.
"Enough to make any man swear," says Toddy to Henchman; and both were
alarmed in their noble souls, reflecting that their chieftain was now
actually getting up and dressing himself; that he would speedily, and in
course of nature, come downstairs; and, then, most probably, would begin
swearing at them.
The most noble Mungo Malcolm Angus was in an awful state of mind when, at
length, he appeared in the breakfast-room. "Why the dash do you make a
taproom of this?" he cries. The trembling Henchman, who has begun to
smoke--as he has done a hundred times before in this bachelor's hall--
flings his cigar into the fire.
"There you go--nothing like it! Why don't you fling some more in? You can
get 'em at Hudson's for five guineas a pound." bursts out the youthful
peer.
"I understand why you are out of sorts, old boy," says Henchman,
stretching out his manly hand. A tear of compassion twinkled in his
eyelid, and coursed down his mottled cheek. "Cut away at old Frank,
Farintosh,--a fellow who has been attached to you since before you could
speak. It's not when a fellow's down and cut up, and riled--naturally
riled--as you are--I know you are, Marquis; it's not then that I'm going
to be angry with you. Pitch into old Frank Henchman--hit away, my young
one." And Frank put himself into an attitude as of one prepared to
receive a pugilistic assault. He bared his breast, as it were, and showed
his scars, and said, "Strike!" Frank Henchman was a florid toady. My
uncle, Major Pendennis, has often laughed with me about the fellow's
pompous flatteries and ebullient fidelity.
"You have read this confounded paragraph?" says the Marquis. "We have
read it: and were deucedly cut up, too," says Henchman, "for your sake,
my dear boy."
unadroitly). "You, yourself, pointed out, in this very room, I recollect,
at this very table--that night Coralie and the little Spanish dancer and
her mother supped here, and there was a talk about Highgate--you,
yourself, pointed out what was likely to happen. I doubted it; for I have
dined at the Newcomes', and seen Highgate and her together in society
often. But though you are a younger bird, you
have better eyes than I
have--and you saw the thing at once--at once, don't you remember I and
Coralie said how glad she was, because Sir Barnes ill-treated her friend.
What was the name of Coralie's friend, Hench?"
"How should I know her confounded name?" Henchman briskly answers. "What
do I care for Sir Barnes Newcome and his private affairs? He is no friend
of mine. I never said he was a friend of mine. I never said I liked him.
Out of respect for the Chief here, I held my tongue about him, and shall
hold my tongue. Have some of this pate, Chief! No? Poor old boy! I know
you haven't got an appetite. I know this news cuts you up. I say nothing,
and make no pretence of condolence; though I feel for you--and you know
you can count on old Frank Henchman--don't you, Malcolm?" And again he
turns away to conceal his gallant sensibility and generous emotion.
"What does it matter to me?" bursts out the Marquis, garnishing his
conversation with the usual expletives which adorned his eloquence when
he was strongly moved. "What do I care for Barnes Newcome, and his
confounded affairs and family? I never want to see him again, but in the
light of a banker, when I go to the City, where he keeps my account. I
say, I have nothing to do with him, or all the Newcomes under the sun.
Why, one of them is a painter, and will paint my dog, Ratcatcher, by
Jove! or my horse, or my groom, if I give him the order. Do you think I
care for any one of the pack? It's not the fault of the Marchioness of
Farintosh that her family is not equal to mine. Besides two others in
England and Scotland, I should like to know what family is? I tell you
what, Hench. I bet you five to two, that before an hour is over my mother
will be here, and down on her knees to me, begging me to break off this
engagement."
"And what will you do, Farintosh?" asks Henchman, slowly, "Will you break
it off?"
"No!" shouts the Marquis. "Why shall I break off with the finest girl in
England--and the best-plucked one, and the cleverest and wittiest, and
the most beautiful creature, by Jove, that ever stepped, for no fault of
hers, and because her sister-in-law leaves her brother, who I know
treated her infernally? We have talked this matter over at home before. I
wouldn't dine with the fellow; though he was always asking me; nor meet,
except just out of civility, any of his confounded family. Lady Anne is
different. She is a lady, she is. She is a good woman: and Kew is a most
respectable man, though he is only a peer of George III.'s creation, and
you should hear how he speaks of Miss Newcome, though she refused him. I
should like to know who is to prevent me marrying Lady Anne Newcome's
daughter?"
"By Jove, you are a good-plucked fellow, Farintosh--give me your hand,
old boy," says Henchman.
"Heh! am I? You would have said, give me your hand, old boy, whichever
way I determined, Hench! I tell you, I ain't intellectual, and that sort
of thing. But I know my rank, and I know my place; and when a man of my
station gives his word, he sticks to it, sir; and my lady, and my
sisters, may go on their knees all round; and, by Jove, I won't flinch."
The justice of Lord Farintosh's views was speedily proved by the
appearance of his lordship's mother, Lady Glenlivat, whose arrival put a
stop to a conversation which Captain Francis Henchman has often
subsequently narrated. She besought to see her son in terms so urgent,
that the young nobleman could not be denied to his parent; and, no doubt,
a long and interesting interview took place, in which Lord Farintosh's
mother passionately implored him to break off a match upon which he was
as resolutely bent.
Was it a sense of honour, a longing desire to possess this young beauty,
and call her his own, or a fierce and profound dislike to being balked in
any object of his wishes, which actuated the young lord? Certainly he had