CHAPTER LXXXI. Res Angusta Domi
I have already described my present feelings as an elderly gentleman,regarding that rash jump into matrimony, which I persuaded my dearpartner to take with me when we were both scarce out of our teens. As aman and a father--with a due sense of the necessity of mutton chops, andthe importance of paying the baker--with a pack of rash children roundabout us who might be running off to Scotland to-morrow, and pleadingpapa's and mamma's example for their impertinence,--I know that I oughtto be very cautious in narrating this early part of the married lifeof George Warrington, Esquire, and Theodosia his wife--to call outmea culpa, and put on a demure air, and, sitting in my comfortableeasy-chair here, profess to be in a white sheet and on the stool ofrepentance, offering myself up as a warning to imprudent and hot-headedyouth.
But, truth to say, that married life, regarding which my dear relativesprophesied so gloomily, has disappointed all those prudent andrespectable people. It has had its trials; but I can remember themwithout bitterness--its passionate griefs, of which time, by God's kindordinance, has been the benign consoler--its days of poverty, whichwe bore, who endured it, to the wonder of our sympathising relativeslooking on--its precious rewards and blessings, so great that I scarcedare to whisper them to this page; to speak of them, save with awfulrespect and to One Ear, to which are offered up the prayers and thanksof all men. To marry without a competence is wrong and dangerous,no doubt, and a crime against our social codes; but do not scores ofthousands of our fellow-beings commit the crime every year with noother trust but in, Heaven, health, and their labour? Are young peopleentering into the married life not to take hope into account, nor dareto begin their housekeeping until the cottage is completely furnished,the cellar and larder stocked, the cupboard full of plate, and thestrong-box of money? The increase and multiplication of the world wouldstop, were the laws which regulate the genteel part of it to be madeuniversal. Our gentlefolks tremble at the brink in their silk stockingsand pumps, and wait for whole years, until they find a bridge or a giltbarge to carry them across; our poor do not fear to wet their bare feet,plant them in the brook, and trust to fate and strength to bear themover. Who would like to consign his daughter to poverty? Who wouldcounsel his son to undergo the countless risks of poor married life, toremove the beloved girl from comfort and competence, and subject herto debt, misery, privation, friendlessness, sickness, and the hundredgloomy consequences of the res angusta domi? I look at my own wife andask her pardon for having imposed a task so fraught with pain and dangerupon one so gentle. I think of the trials she endured, and am thankfulfor them and for that unfailing love and constancy with which Godblessed her and strengthened her to bear them all. On this question ofmarriage, I am not a fair judge: my own was so imprudent--and has beenso happy, that I must not dare to give young people counsel. I haveendured poverty, but scarcely ever found it otherwise than tolerable:had I not undergone it, I never could have known the kindness offriends, the delight of gratitude, the surprising joys and consolationswhich sometimes accompany the scanty meal and narrow fire, and cheer thelong day's labour. This at least is certain, in respect of the lot ofthe decent poor, that a great deal of superfluous pity is often thrownaway upon it. Good-natured fine folks, who sometimes stepped out of thesunshine of their riches into a narrow obscurity, were blinded as itwere, whilst we could see quite cheerfully and clearly: they stumbledover obstacles which were none to us: they were surprised at theresignation with which we drank small beer, and that we could heartilysay grace over such very cold mutton.
The good General, my father-in-law, had married his Molly, when he was asubaltern of a foot regiment, and had a purse scarce better filled thanmy own. They had had their ups and downs of fortune. I think (though mywife will never confess to this point) they had married, as people coulddo in their young time, without previously asking papa's and mamma'sleave. [The Editor has looked through Burn's Registers of FleetMarriages without finding the names of Martin Lambert and Mary Benson.]At all events, they were so well pleased with their own good luck inmatrimony, that they did not grudge their children's, and were by nomeans frightened at the idea of any little hardships which we in thecourse of our married life might be called upon to undergo. And Isuppose when I made my own pecuniary statements to Mr. Lambert, I wasanxious to deceive both of us. Believing me to be master of a coupleof thousand pounds, he went to Jamaica quite easy in his mind as to hisdarling daughter's comfort and maintenance, at least for some years tocome. After paying the expenses of his family's outfit, the worthy manwent away not much richer than his son-in-law; and a few trinkets, andsome lace of Aunt Lambert's, with twenty new guineas in a purse whichher mother and sisters made for her, were my Theo's marriage portion.But in valuing my stock, I chose to count as a good debt a sum which myhonoured mother never could be got to acknowledge up to the day when theresolute old lady was called to pay the last debt of all. The sums Ihad disbursed for her, she argued, were spent for the improvement andmaintenance of the estate which was to be mine at her decease. Whatmoney she could spare was to be for my poor brother, who had nothing,who would never have spent his own means had he not imagined himself tobe sole heir of the Virginian property, as he would have been--the goodlady took care to emphasise this point in many of her letters--but for ahalf-hour's accident of birth. He was now distinguishing himself inthe service of his king and country. To purchase his promotion was hismother's, she should suppose his brother's duty! When I had finished mybar-studies and my dramatic amusements, Madam Esmond informed me that Iwas welcome to return home and take that place in our colony to which mybirth entitled me. This statement she communicated to me more than oncethrough Mountain, and before the news of my marriage had reached her.
There is no need to recall her expressions of maternal indignation whenshe was informed of the step I had taken. On the pacification of Canada,my dear Harry asked for leave of absence, and dutifully paid a visit toVirginia. He wrote, describing his reception at home, and the splendidentertainments which my mother made in honour of her son. Castlewood,which she had not inhabited since our departure for Europe, was thrownopen again to our friends of the colony; and the friend of Wolfe, andthe soldier of Quebec, was received by all our acquaintance with everybecoming honour. Some dismal quarrels, to be sure, ensued, because mybrother persisted in maintaining his friendship with Colonel Washington,of Mount Vernon, whose praises Harry never was tired of singing.Indeed I allow the gentleman every virtue; and in the struggles whichterminated so fatally for England a few years since, I can admire aswell as his warmest friends, General Washington's glorious constancy andsuccess.
If these battles between Harry and our mother were frequent, as, in hisletters, he described them to be, I wondered, for my part, why he shouldcontinue at home? One reason naturally suggested itself to my mind,which I scarcely liked to communicate to Mrs. Warrington; for we hadboth talked over our dear little Hetty's romantic attachment for mybrother, and wondered that he had never discovered it. I need not say, Isuppose, that my gentleman had found some young lady at home more to histaste than our dear Hester, and hence accounted for his prolonged stayin Virginia.
Presently there came, in a letter from him, not a full confession but anadmission of this interesting fact. A person was described, not named--aBeing all beauty and perfection, like other young ladies under similarcircumstances. My wife asked to see the letter: I could not help showingit, and handed it to her, with a very sad face. To my surprise she readit, without exhibiting any corresponding sorrow of her own.
"I have thought of this before, my love," I said. "I feel with you foryour disappointment regarding poor Hetty."
"Ah! poor Hetty," says Theo, looking down at the carpet.
"It would never have done," says I.
"No--they would not have been happy," sighs Theo.
"How strange he never should have found out her secret!" I continued.
She looked me full in the face with an odd expression. "Pray, what doesthat look mean?" I
asked.
"Nothing, my dear--nothing! only I am not surprised!" says Theo,blushing.
"What," I ask, "can there be another?"
"I am sure I never said so, George," says the lady, hurriedly. "But ifHetty has overcome her childish folly, ought we not all to be glad? Doyou gentlemen suppose that you only are to fall in love and grow tired,indeed?"
"What!" I say, with a strange commotion of my mind. "Do you mean to tellme, Theo, that you ever cared for any one but me?"
"Oh, George," she whimpers, "when I was at school, there was--there wasone of the boys of Doctor Backhouse's school, who sate in the loft nextto us; and I thought he had lovely eyes, and I was so shocked when Irecognised him behind the counter at Mr. Grigg's the mercer's, when Iwent to buy a cloak for baby, and I wanted to tell you, my dear, and Ididn't know how!"
I went to see this creature with the lovely eyes, having made my wifedescribe the fellow's dress to me, and I saw a little bandy-leggedwretch in a blue camlet coat, with his red hair tied with a dirtyribbon, about whom I forbore generously even to reproach my wife; norwill she ever know that I have looked at the fellow, until she reads theconfession in this page. If our wives saw us as we are, I thought, wouldthey love us as they do? Are we as much mistaken in them, as they in us?I look into one candid face at least, and think it never has deceivedme.
Lest I should encourage my young people to an imitation of my ownimprudence, I will not tell them with how small a capital Mrs. Theo andI commenced life. The unfortunate tragedy brought us nothing; though thereviewers, since its publication of late, have spoken not unfavourablyas to its merits, and Mr. Kemble himself has done me the honour tocommend it. Our kind friend Lord Wrotham was for having the piecepublished by subscription, and sent me a bank-note, with a request thatI would let him have a hundred copies for his friends; but I was alwaysaverse to that method of levying money, and, preferring my poverty sinedote, locked up my manuscript, with my poor girl's verses inserted atthe first page. I know not why the piece should have given such offenceat court, except for the fact that an actor who had run off with anearl's daughter, performed a principal part in the play; but I was toldthat sentiments which I had put into the mouths of some of the Indiancharacters (who were made to declaim against ambition, the Britishdesire of rule, and so forth), were pronounced dangerous andunconstitutional; so that the little hope of royal favour, which I mighthave had, was quite taken away from me.
What was to be done? A few months after the failure of the tragedy, asI counted up the remains of my fortune (the calculation was not long ordifficult), I came to the conclusion that I must beat a retreat outof my pretty apartments in Bloomsbury, and so gave warning to our goodlandlady, informing her that my wife's health required that we shouldhave lodgings in the country. But we went no farther than Lambeth, ourfaithful Gumbo and Molly following us; and here, though as poor as mightbe, we were waited on by a maid and a lackey in livery, like any folksof condition. You may be sure kind relatives cried out against ourextravagance; indeed, are they not the people who find our faults outfor us, and proclaim them to the rest of the world?
Returning home from London one day, whither I had been on a visit tosome booksellers, I recognised the family arms and livery on a grandgilt chariot which stood before a public-house near to our lodgings. Afew loitering inhabitants were gathered round the splendid vehicle, andlooking with awe at the footmen, resplendent in the sun, and quaffingblazing pots of beer. I found my Lady Castlewood seated opposite tomy wife in our little apartment (whence we had a very bright, pleasantprospect of the river, covered with barges and wherries, and the ancienttowers and trees of the Archbishop's palace and gardens), and Mrs. Theo,who has a very droll way of describing persons and scenes, narrated tome all the particulars of her ladyship's conversation, when she took herleave.
"I have been here this ever-so-long," says the Countess, "gossiping withcousin Theo, while you have been away at the coffee-house, I dare say,making merry with your friends, and drinking your punch and coffee.Guess she must find it rather lonely here, with nothing to do but workthem little caps and hem them frocks. Never mind, dear; reckon you'llsoon have a companion who will amuse you when cousin George is away athis coffee-house! What a nice lodging you have got here, I do declare!Our new house which we have took is twenty times as big, and coveredwith gold from top to bottom; but I like this quite as well. Bless youbeing rich is no better than being poor. When we lived to Albany, andI did most all the work myself, scoured the rooms, biled the kettle,helped the wash, and all, I was just as happy as I am now. We onlyhad one old negro to keep the store. Why don't you sell Gumbo, cousinGeorge? He ain't no use here idling and dawdling about, and making loveto the servant-girl. Fogh! guess they ain't particular, these Englishpeople!" So she talked, rattling on with perfect good-humour, until herhour for departure came; when she produced a fine repeating watch, andsaid it was time for her to pay a call upon her Majesty at BuckinghamHouse. "And mind you come to us, George," says her ladyship, waving alittle parting hand out of the gilt coach. "Theo and I have settled allabout it."
"Here, at least," said I, when the laced footmen had clambered up behindthe carriage, and our magnificent little patroness had left us;--"hereis one who is not afraid of our poverty, nor ashamed to remember herown."
"Ashamed!" said Theo, resuming her lilliputian needlework. "To do herjustice, she would make herself at home in any kitchen or palace in theworld. She has given me and Molly twenty lessons in housekeeping. Shesays, when she was at home to Albany, she roasted, baked, swept thehouse, and milked the cow." (Madam Theo pronounced the word cowarchly in our American way, and imitated her ladyship's accent verydivertingly.)
"And she has no pride," I added. "It was good-natured of her to ask usto dine with her and my lord. When will Uncle Warrington ever think ofoffering us a crust again, or a glass of his famous beer?"
"Yes, it was not ill-natured to invite us," says Theo, slily. "But,my dear, you don't know all the conditions!" And then my wife, stillimitating the Countess's manner, laughingly informed me what theseconditions were. "She took out her pocket-book, and told me," says Theo,"what days she was engaged abroad and at home. On Monday she received aDuke and a Duchess, with several other members of my lord's house,and their ladies. On Tuesday came more earls, two bishops, and anambassador. 'Of course you won't come on them days?' says the Countess.'Now you are so poor, you know, that fine company ain't no good for you.Lord bless you! father never dines on our company days! he don'tlike it; he takes a bit of cold meat anyways.' On which," says Theo,laughing, "I told her that Mr. Warrington did not care for any but thebest of company, and proposed that she should ask us on some day whenthe Archbishop of Canterbury dined with her, and his Grace must giveus a lift home in his coach to Lambeth. And she is an economical littleperson, too," continues Theo. "'I thought of bringing with me some ofmy baby's caps and things, which his lordship has outgrown 'em, but theymay be wanted again, you know, my dear.' And so we lose that additionto our wardrobe," says Theo, smiling, "and Molly and I must do our bestwithout her ladyship's charity. 'When people are poor, they are poor,'the Countess said, with her usual outspokenness, 'and must get on thebest they can. What we shall do for that poor Maria, goodness onlyknows! we can't ask her to see us as we can you, though you are sopoor: but an earl's daughter to marry a play-actor! La, my dear, it'sdreadful: his Majesty and the Princess have both spoken of it! Everyother noble family in this kingdom as has ever heard of it pities us;though I have a plan for helping those poor unhappy people, and havesent down Simons, my groom of the chambers, to tell them on it.' Thisplan was, that Hagan, who had kept almost all his terms at DublinCollege, should return thither and take his degree, and enter into holyorders, 'when we will provide him with a chaplaincy at home, you know,'Lady Castlewood added." And I may mention here, that this benevolentplan was executed a score of months later; when I was enabled myself tobe of service to Mr. Hagan, who was one of the kindest and best ofour friends during our own time of want and dist
ress. Castlewoodthen executed his promise loyally enough, got orders and a colonialappointment for Hagan, who distinguished himself both as soldier andpreacher, as we shall presently hear; but not a guinea did his lordshipspare to aid either his sister or his kinsman in their trouble. I neverasked him, thank Heaven, to assist me in my own; though, to do himjustice, no man could express himself more amiably, and with a joy whichI believe was quite genuine, when my days of poverty were ended.
As for my Uncle Warrington, and his virtuous wife and daughters, letme do them justice likewise, and declare that throughout my period oftrial, their sorrow at my poverty was consistent and unvarying. I stillhad a few acquaintances who saw them, and of course (as friends will)brought me a report of their opinions and conversation; and I nevercould hear that my relatives had uttered one single good word about meor my wife. They spoke even of my tragedy as a crime--I was accustomedto hear that sufficiently maligned--of the author as a miserablereprobate, for ever reeling about Grub Street, in rags and squalor. Theyheld me out no hand of help. My poor wife might cry in her pain,but they had no twopence to bestow upon her. They went to church ahalf-dozen times in the week. They subscribed to many public charities.Their tribe was known eighteen hundred years ago, and will flourish aslong as men endure. They will still thank Heaven that they are not asother folks are; and leave the wounded and miserable to other succour.
I don't care to recall the dreadful doubts and anxieties which began tobeset me; the plan after plan which I tried, and in which I failed, forprocuring work and adding to our dwindling stock of money. I bethoughtme of my friend Mr. Johnson, and when I think of the eager kindness withwhich he received me, am ashamed of some pert speeches which I ownto have made regarding his manners and behaviour. I told my story anddifficulties to him, the circumstance of my marriage, and the prospectsbefore me. He would not for a moment admit they were gloomy, or, si malenunc, that they would continue to be so. I had before me the chances,certainly very slender, of a place in England; the inheritance whichmust be mine in the course of nature, or at any rate would fall to theheir I was expecting. I had a small stock of money for present actualnecessity--a possibility, "though, to be free with you, sir" (sayshe), "after the performance of your tragedy, I doubt whether naturehas endowed you with those peculiar qualities which are necessary forachieving a remarkable literary success"--and finally a submission tothe maternal rule, and a return to Virginia, where plenty and a homewere always ready for me. "Why, sir!" he cried, "such a sum as youmention would have been a fortune to me when I began the world, and myfriend Mr. Goldsmith would set up a coach-and-six on it. With youth,hope, to-day, and a couple of hundred pounds in cash--no young fellowneed despair. Think, sir, you have a year at least before you, and whoknows what may chance between now and then. Why, sir, your relativeshere may provide for you, or you may succeed to your Virginian property,or you may come into a fortune!" I did not in the course of that year,but he did. My Lord Bute gave Mr. Johnson a pension, which set all GrubStreet in a fury against the recipient, who, to be sure, had publishedhis own not very flattering opinion upon pensions and pensioners.
Nevertheless, he did not altogether discourage my literary projects,promised to procure me work from the booksellers, and faithfullyperformed that kind promise. "But," says he, "sir, you must not appearamongst them in forma pauperis.--Have you never a friend's coach, inwhich we can ride to see them? You must put on your best laced hat andwaistcoat; and we must appear, sir, as if we were doing them a favour."This stratagem answered, and procured me respect enough at the firstvisit or two; but when the booksellers knew that I wanted to be paid formy work, their backs refused to bend any more, and they treated me witha familiarity which I could ill stomach. I overheard one of them, whohad been a footman, say, "Oh, it's Pocahontas, is it? let him wait." Andhe told his boy to say as much to me. "Wait, sir?" says I, fumingwith rage and putting my head into his parlour, "I'm not accustomed towaiting, but I have heard you are." And I strode out of the shop intoPall Mall in a mighty fluster.
And yet Mr. D. was in the right. I came to him, if not to ask a favour,at any rate to propose a bargain, and surely it was my business to waithis time and convenience. In more fortunate days I asked the gentleman'spardon, and the kind author of the Muse in Livery was instantlyappeased.
I was more prudent, or Mr. Johnson more fortunate, in an applicationelsewhere, and Mr. Johnson procured me a little work from thebooksellers in translating from foreign languages, of which I happen toknow two or three. By a hard day's labour I could earn a few shillings;so few that a week's work would hardly bring me a guinea: and that wasflung to me with insolent patronage by the low hucksters who employedme. I can put my finger upon two or three magazine articles written atthis period, and paid for with a few wretched shillings, which papers asI read them awaken in me the keenest pangs of bitter remembrance.[Mr. George Warrington, of the Upper Temple, says he remembers a book,containing his grandfather's book-plate, in which were pasted variousextracts from reviews and newspapers in an old type, and letteredoutside Les Chains de l'Esclavage. These were no doubt the contributionsabove mentioned; but the volume has not been found, either in thetown-house or in the library at Warrington Manor. The Editor, bythe way, is not answerable for a certain inconsistency, which may beremarked in the narrative. The writer says earlier, that he speakswithout bitterness of past times, and presently falls into a fury withthem. The same manner of forgiving our enemies is not uncommon in thepresent century.] I recall the doubts and fears which agitated me,see the dear wife nursing her infant and looking up into my face withhypocritical smiles that vainly try to mask her alarm: the struggles ofpride are fought over again: the wounds under which I smarted re-open.There are some acts of injustice committed against me which I don't knowhow to forgive; and which, whenever I think of them, awaken in me thesame feelings of revolt and indignation. The gloom and darkness gatherover me--till they are relieved by a reminiscence of that love andtenderness which through all gloom and darkness have been my light andconsolation.