Chapter II. I Come To The End Of My Captivity, But Not Of My Trouble
Among the company which came to visit the two officers was an oldacquaintance of Harry Esmond; that gentleman of the Guards, namely, whohad been so kind to Harry when Captain Westbury's troop had been quarteredat Castlewood more than seven years before. Dick the Scholar was no longerDick the Trooper now, but Captain Steele of Lucas's Fusiliers, andsecretary to my Lord Cutts, that famous officer of King William's, thebravest and most beloved man of the English army. The two jolly prisonershad been drinking with a party of friends (for our cellar and that of thekeepers of Newgate, too, were supplied with endless hampers of burgundyand champagne that the friends of the colonels sent in); and Harry, havingno wish for their drink or their conversation, being too feeble in healthfor the one and too sad in spirits for the other, was sitting apart in hislittle room, reading such books as he had, one evening, when honestColonel Westbury, flushed with liquor, and always good-humoured in and outof his cups, came laughing into Harry's closet, and said, "Ho, youngKilljoy! here's a friend come to see thee; he'll pray with thee, or he'lldrink with thee; or he'll drink and pray turn about. Dick, my Christianhero, here's the little scholar of Castlewood."
Dick came up and kissed Esmond on both cheeks, imparting a strong perfumeof burnt sack along with his caress to the young man.
"What! is this the little man that used to talk Latin and fetch our bowls?How tall thou art grown! I protest I should have known thee anywhere. Andso you have turned ruffian and fighter; and wanted to measure swords withMohun, did you? I protest that Mohun said at the Guard dinner yesterday,where there was a pretty company of us, that the young fellow wanted tofight him, and was the better man of the two."
"I wish we could have tried and proved it, Mr. Steele," says Esmond,thinking of his dead benefactor, and his eyes filling with tears.
With the exception of that one cruel letter which he had from hismistress, Mr. Esmond heard nothing from her, and she seemed determined toexecute her resolve of parting from him and disowning him. But he had newsof her, such as it was, which Mr. Steele assiduously brought him from theprince's and princesses' Court, where our honest captain had been advancedto the post of gentleman waiter. When off duty there, Captain Dick oftencame to console his friends in captivity; a good nature and a friendlydisposition towards all who were in ill fortune no doubt prompting him tomake his visits, and good fellowship and good wine to prolong them.
"Faith," says Westbury, "the little scholar was the first to begin thequarrel--I mind me of it now--at Lockit's. I always hated that fellow Mohun.What was the real cause of the quarrel betwixt him and poor Frank? I wouldwager 'twas a woman."
"'Twas a quarrel about play--on my word, about play," Harry said. "My poorlord lost great sums to his guest at Castlewood. Angry words passedbetween them; and, though Lord Castlewood was the kindest and most pliablesoul alive, his spirit was very high; and hence that meeting which hasbrought us all here," says Mr. Esmond, resolved never to acknowledge thatthere had ever been any other but cards for the duel.
"I do not like to use bad words of a nobleman," says Westbury; "but if myLord Mohun were a commoner, I would say, 'twas a pity he was not hanged.He was familiar with dice and women at a time other boys are at school,being birched; he was as wicked as the oldest rake, years ere he had donegrowing; and handled a sword and a foil, and a bloody one too, before everhe used a razor. He held poor Will Mountford in talk that night, whenbloody Dick Hill ran him through. He will come to a bad end, will thatyoung lord; and no end is bad enough for him," says honest Mr. Westbury:whose prophecy was fulfilled twelve years after, upon that fatal day whenMohun fell, dragging down one of the bravest and greatest gentlemen inEngland in his fall.
From Mr. Steele, then, who brought the public rumour, as well as his ownprivate intelligence, Esmond learned the movements of his unfortunatemistress. Steele's heart was of very inflammable composition; and thegentleman usher spoke in terms of boundless admiration both of the widow(that most beautiful woman, as he said) and of her daughter, who, in thecaptain's eyes, was a still greater paragon. If the pale widow, whomCaptain Richard, in his poetic rapture, compared to a Niobe in tears--to aSigismunda--to a weeping Belvidera, was an object the most lovely andpathetic which his eyes had ever beheld, or for which his heart hadmelted, even her ripened perfections and beauty were as nothing comparedto the promise of that extreme loveliness which the good captain saw inher daughter. It was _matre pulcra filia pulcrior_. Steele composedsonnets whilst he was on duty in his prince's antechamber, to the maternaland filial charms. He would speak for hours about them to Harry Esmond;and, indeed, he could have chosen few subjects more likely to interest theunhappy young man, whose heart was now as always devoted to these ladies;and who was thankful to all who loved them, or praised them, or wishedthem well.
Not that his fidelity was recompensed by any answering kindness, or showof relenting even, on the part of a mistress obdurate now after ten yearsof love and benefactions. The poor young man getting no answer, saveTusher's, to that letter which he had written, and being too proud towrite more, opened a part of his heart to Steele, than whom no man, whenunhappy, could find a kinder hearer or more friendly emissary; described(in words which were no doubt pathetic, for they came _imo pectore_, andcaused honest Dick to weep plentifully) his youth, his constancy, his fonddevotion to that household which had reared him; his affection how earned,and how tenderly requited until but yesterday, and (as far as he might)the circumstances and causes for which that sad quarrel had made of Esmonda prisoner under sentence, a widow and orphans of those whom in life heheld dearest. In terms that might well move a harder-hearted man thanyoung Esmond's confidant--for, indeed, the speaker's own heart was halfbroke as he uttered them; he described a part of what had taken place inthat only sad interview which his mistress had granted him; how she hadleft him with anger and almost imprecation, whose words and thoughts untilthen had been only blessing and kindness; how she had accused him of theguilt of that blood, in exchange for which he would cheerfully havesacrificed his own (indeed, in this the Lord Mohun, the Lord Warwick, andall the gentlemen engaged, as well as the common rumour out ofdoors--Steele told him--bore out the luckless young man); and with all hisheart, and tears, he besought Mr. Steele to inform his mistress of herkinsman's unhappiness, and to deprecate that cruel anger she showed him.Half frantic with grief at the injustice done him, and contrasting it witha thousand soft recollections of love and confidence gone by, that madehis present misery inexpressibly more bitter, the poor wretch passed manya lonely day and wakeful night in a kind of powerless despair and rageagainst his iniquitous fortune. It was the softest hand that struck him,the gentlest and most compassionate nature that persecuted him. "I wouldas lief," he said, "have pleaded guilty to the murder, and have sufferedfor it like any other felon, as have to endure the torture to which mymistress subjects me."
Although the recital of Esmond's story, and his passionate appeals andremonstrances, drew so many tears from Dick who heard them, they had noeffect upon the person whom they were designed to move. Esmond'sambassador came back from the mission with which the poor young gentlemanhad charged him, with a sad blank face and a shake of the head, which toldthat there was no hope for the prisoner; and scarce a wretched culprit inthat prison of Newgate ordered for execution, and trembling for areprieve, felt more cast down than Mr. Esmond, innocent and condemned.
As had been arranged between the prisoner and his counsel in theirconsultations, Mr. Steele had gone to the dowager's house in Chelsey,where it has been said the widow and her orphans were, had seen my ladyviscountess and pleaded the cause of her unfortunate kinsman. "And I thinkI spoke well, my poor boy," says Mr. Steele; "for who would not speak wellin such a cause, and before so beautiful a judge? I did not see the lovelyBeatrix (sure her famous namesake of Florence was never half sobeautiful), only the young viscount was in the room with the LordChurchill, my Lord of Marlborough's eldest son. But these young gentlemenwent off
to the garden, I could see them from the window tilting at eachother with poles in a mimic tournament (grief touches the young butlightly, and I remember that I beat a drum at the coffin of my ownfather). My lady viscountess looked out at the two boys at their game, andsaid--'You see, sir, children are taught to use weapons of death as toys,and to make a sport of murder'; and as she spoke she looked so lovely, andstood there in herself so sad and beautiful an instance of that doctrinewhereof I am a humble preacher, that had I not dedicated my little volumeof the _Christian Hero_ (I perceive, Harry, thou hast not cut the leavesof it. The sermon is good, believe me, though the preacher's life may notanswer it)--I say, hadn't I dedicated the volume to Lord Cutts, I wouldhave asked permission to place her ladyship's name on the first page. Ithink I never saw such a beautiful violet as that of her eyes, Harry. Hercomplexion is of the pink of the blush-rose, she hath an exquisite turnedwrist and dimpled hand, and I make no doubt----"
"Did you come to tell me about the dimples on my lady's hand?" broke outMr. Esmond, sadly.
"A lovely creature in affliction seems always doubly beautiful to me,"says the poor captain, who indeed was but too often in a state to seedouble, and so checked he resumed the interrupted thread of his story. "AsI spoke my business," Mr. Steele said, "and narrated to your mistress whatall the world knows, and the other side hath been eager toacknowledge--that you had tried to put yourself between the two lords, andto take your patron's quarrel on your own point; I recounted the generalpraises of your gallantry, besides my Lord Mohun's particular testimony toit; I thought the widow listened with some interest, and her eyes--I havenever seen such a violet, Harry--looked up at mine once or twice. But afterI had spoken on this theme for a while she suddenly broke away with a cryof grief. 'I would to God, sir,' she said, 'I had never heard that wordgallantry which you use, or known the meaning of it. My lord might havebeen here but for that; my home might be happy; my poor boy have a father.It was what you gentlemen call gallantry came into my home, and drove myhusband on to the cruel sword that killed him. You should not speak theword to a Christian woman, sir--a poor widowed mother of orphans, whosehome was happy until the world came into it--the wicked godless world, thattakes the blood of the innocent, and lets the guilty go free.'
"As the afflicted lady spoke in this strain, sir," Mr. Steele continued,"it seemed as if indignation moved her, even more than grief.'Compensation!' she went on passionately, her cheeks and eyes kindling;'what compensation does your world give the widow for her husband, and thechildren for the murderer of their father? The wretch who did the deed hasnot even a punishment. Conscience! what conscience has he, who can enterthe house of a friend, whisper falsehood and insult to a woman that neverharmed him, and stab the kind heart that trusted him? My lord--my LordWretch, my Lord Villain's, my Lord Murderer's peers meet to try him, andthey dismiss him with a word or two of reproof, and send him into theworld again, to pursue women with lust and falsehood, and to murderunsuspecting guests that harbour him. That day, my lord--my LordMurderer--(I will never name him)--was let loose, a woman was executed atTyburn for stealing in a shop. But a man may rob another of his life, or alady of her honour, and shall pay no penalty! I take my child, run to thethrone, and on my knees ask for justice, and the king refuses me. Theking! he is no king of mine--he never shall be. He, too, robbed the thronefrom the king his father--the true king--and he has gone unpunished, as thegreat do.'
"I then thought to speak for you," Mr. Steele continued, "and I interposedby saying, 'There was one, madam, who, at least, would have put his ownbreast between your husband's and my Lord Mohun's sword. Your poor youngkinsman, Harry Esmond, hath told me that he tried to draw the quarrel onhimself.'
" 'Are you come from _him_?' asked the lady" (so Mr. Steele went on),"rising up with a great severity and stateliness. 'I thought you had comefrom the princess. I saw Mr. Esmond in his prison, and bade him farewell.He brought misery into my house. He never should have entered it.'
" 'Madam, madam, he is not to blame,' I interposed," continued Mr. Steele.
" 'Do I blame him to you, sir?' asked the widow. 'If 'tis he who sent you,say that I have taken counsel, where'--she spoke with a very pallid cheeknow, and a break in her voice--'where all who ask may have it;--and that itbids me to part from him, and to see him no more. We met in the prison forthe last time--at least for years to come. It may be, in years hence,when--when our knees and our tears and our contrition have changed oursinful hearts, sir, and wrought our pardon, we may meet again--but not now.After what has passed, I could not bear to see him. I wish him well, sir;but I wish him farewell, too; and if he has that--that regard towards uswhich he speaks of, I beseech him to prove it by obeying me in this.'
" 'I shall break the young man's heart, madam, by this hard sentence,' "Mr. Steele said.
"The lady shook her head," continued my kind scholar. " 'The hearts ofyoung men, Mr. Steele, are not so made,' she said. 'Mr. Esmond will findother--other friends. The mistress of this house has relented very muchtowards the late lord's son,' she added, with a blush, 'and has promisedme, that is, has promised that she will care for his fortune. Whilst Ilive in it, after the horrid, horrid deed which has passed, Castlewoodmust never be a home to him--never. Nor would I have him write tome--except--no--I would have him never write to me, nor see him more. Givehim, if you will, my parting--Hush! not a word of this before my daughter.'
"Here the fair Beatrix entered from the river, with her cheeks flushingwith health, and looking only the more lovely and fresh for the mourninghabiliments which she wore. And my lady viscountess said--
" 'Beatrix, this is Mr. Steele, gentleman-usher to the prince's highness.When does your new comedy appear, Mr. Steele?' I hope thou wilt be out ofprison for the first night, Harry."
The sentimental captain concluded his sad tale, saying, "Faith, the beautyof _Filia pulcrior_ drove _pulcram matrem_ out of my head; and yet as Icame down the river, and thought about the pair, the pallid dignity andexquisite grace of the matron had the uppermost, and I thought her evenmore noble than the virgin!"
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The party of prisoners lived very well in Newgate, and with comforts verydifferent to those which were awarded to the poor wretches there (hisinsensibility to their misery, their gaiety still more frightful, theircurses and blasphemy, hath struck with a kind of shame since--as provinghow selfish, during his imprisonment, his own particular grief was, andhow entirely the thoughts of it absorbed him): if the three gentlemenlived well under the care of the warden of Newgate, it was because theypaid well: and indeed the cost at the dearest ordinary or the grandesttavern in London could not have furnished a longer reckoning, than ourhost of the "Handcuff Inn"--as Colonel Westbury called it. Our rooms werethe three in the gate over Newgate--on the second story looking up NewgateStreet towards Cheapside and Paul's Church. And we had leave to walk onthe roof, and could see thence Smithfield and the Bluecoat Boys' School,Gardens, and the Chartreux, where, as Harry Esmond remembered, Dick theScholar, and his friend Tom Tusher, had had their schooling.
Harry could never have paid his share of that prodigious heavy reckoningwhich my landlord brought to his guests once a week: for he had but threepieces in his pockets that fatal night before the duel, when the gentlemenwere at cards, and offered to play five. But whilst he was yet ill at theGatehouse, after Lady Castlewood had visited him there, and before histrial, there came one in an orange-tawny coat and blue lace, the liverywhich the Esmonds always wore, and brought a sealed packet for Mr. Esmond,which contained twenty guineas, and a note saying that a counsel had beenappointed for him, and that more money would be forthcoming whenever heneeded it.
'Twas a queer letter from the scholar as she was, or as she calledherself: the Dowager Viscountess Castlewood, written in the strangebarbarous French which she and many other fine ladies of that time--witnessHer Grace of Portsmouth--employed. Indeed, spelling was not an article ofgeneral commodity in the world then, and my Lord Ma
rlborough's letters canshow that he, for one, had but a little share of this part of grammar.
Mong Coussin (my lady viscountess dowager wrote), je scay que vous vous etes bravement batew et grievement blessay--du coste de feu M. le Vicomte. M. le Compte de Varique ne se playt qua parlay de vous: M. de Moon aucy. Il di que vous avay voulew vous bastre avecque luy--que vous estes plus fort que luy sur l'ayscrimme--quil'y a surtout certaine Botte que vous scavay quil n'a jammay sceu pariay: et que c'en eut ete fay de luy si vouseluy vous vous fussiay battews ansamb. Aincy ce pauv Vicompte est mort. Mort et peutayt--Mon coussin, mon coussin! jay dans la tayste que vous n'estes quung pety Monst--angcy que les Esmonds ong tousjours este. La veuve est chay moy. J'ay recuilly cet' pauve famme. Elle est furieuse cont vous, allans tous les jours chercher le Roy (d'icy) demandant a gran cri revanche pour son Mary. Elle ne veux voyre ni entende parlay de vous: pourtant elle ne fay qu'en parlay milfoy par jour. Quand vous seray hor prison venay me voyre. J'auray soing de vous. Si cette petite Prude veut se defaire de song pety Monste (Helas je craing quil ne soy trotar!) je m'en chargeray. J'ay encor quelqu interay et quelques escus de costay.
La Veuve se raccommode avec Miladi Marlboro qui est tout puicante avecque la Reine Anne. Cet dam senteraysent pour la petite prude; qui pourctant a un fi du mesme asge que vous savay.
En sortant de prisong venez icy. Je ne puy vous recevoir chay-moy a cause des mechansetes du monde, may pre du moy vous aurez logement.
ISABELLE VICOMPTESSE D'ESMOND.
Marchioness of Esmond this lady sometimes called herself, in virtue ofthat patent which had been given by the late King James to Harry Esmond'sfather; and in this state she had her train carried by a knight's wife, acup and cover of assay to drink from, and fringed cloth.
He who was of the same age as little Francis, whom we shall henceforthcall Viscount Castlewood here, was H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, born in thesame year and month with Frank, and just proclaimed at St. Germains, Kingof Great Britain, France, and Ireland.