Chapter III. I Take The Queen's Pay In Quin's Regiment
The fellow in the orange-tawny livery with blue lace and facings was inwaiting when Esmond came out of prison, and, taking the young gentleman'sslender baggage, led the way out of that odious Newgate, and by FleetConduit, down to the Thames, where a pair of oars was called, and theywent up the river to Chelsea. Esmond thought the sun had never shone sobright; nor the air felt so fresh and exhilarating. Temple Garden, as theyrowed by, looked like the garden of Eden to him, and the aspect of thequays, wharves, and buildings by the river, Somerset House, andWestminster (where the splendid new bridge was just beginning), Lambethtower and palace, and that busy shining scene of the Thames swarming withboats and barges, filled his heart with pleasure and cheerfulness--as wellsuch a beautiful scene might to one who had been a prisoner so long, andwith so many dark thoughts deepening the gloom of his captivity. Theyrowed up at length to the pretty village of Chelsey, where the nobilityhave many handsome country-houses; and so came to my lady viscountess'shouse, a cheerful new house in the row facing the river, with a handsomegarden behind it, and a pleasant look-out both towards Surrey andKensington, where stands the noble ancient palace of the Lord Warwick,Harry's reconciled adversary.
Here in her ladyship's saloon, the young man saw again some of thosepictures which had been at Castlewood, and which she had removed thence onthe death of her lord, Harry's father. Specially, and in the place ofhonour, was Sir Peter Lely's picture of the Honourable Mistress IsabellaEsmond as Diana, in yellow satin, with a bow in her hand and a crescent inher forehead; and dogs frisking about her. 'Twas painted about the timewhen royal Endymions were said to find favour with this virgin huntress;and, as goddesses have youth perpetual, this one believed to the day ofher death that she never grew older: and always persisted in supposing thepicture was still like her.
After he had been shown to her room by the groom of the chamber, whofilled many offices besides in her ladyship's modest household; and aftera proper interval, his elderly goddess Diana vouchsafed to appear to theyoung man. A blackamoor in a Turkish habit, with red boots and a silvercollar, on which the viscountess's arms were engraven, preceded her andbore her cushion; then came her gentlewoman; a little pack of spanielsbarking and frisking about preceded the austere huntress--then, behold, theviscountess herself "dropping odours". Esmond recollected from hischildhood that rich aroma of musk which his mother-in-law (for she may becalled so) exhaled. As the sky grows redder and redder towards sunset, so,in the decline of her years, the cheeks of my lady dowager blushed moredeeply. Her face was illuminated with vermilion, which appeared thebrighter from the white paint employed to set it off. She wore theringlets which had been in fashion in King Charles's time; whereas theladies of King William's had head-dresses like the towers of Cybele. Hereyes gleamed out from the midst of this queer structure of paint, dyes,and pomatums. Such was my lady viscountess, Mr. Esmond's father's widow.
He made her such a profound bow as her dignity and relationship merited:and advanced with the greatest gravity, and once more kissed that hand,upon the trembling knuckles of which glittered a score ofrings--remembering old times when that trembling hand made him tremble."Marchioness," says he, bowing, and on one knee, "is it only the hand Imay have the honour of saluting?" For, accompanying that inward laughter,which the sight of such an astonishing old figure might well produce inthe young man, there was goodwill too, and the kindness of consanguinity.She had been his father's wife, and was his grandfather's daughter. Shehad suffered him in old days, and was kind to him now after her fashion.And now that bar-sinister was removed from Esmond's thought, and thatsecret opprobrium no longer cast upon his mind, he was pleased to feelfamily ties and own them--perhaps secretly vain of the sacrifice he hadmade, and to think that he, Esmond, was really the chief of his house, andonly prevented by his own magnanimity from advancing his claim.
At least, ever since he had learned that secret from his poor patron onhis dying bed, actually as he was standing beside it, he had felt anindependency which he had never known before, and which since did notdesert him. So he called his old aunt marchioness, but with an air as ifhe was the Marquis of Esmond who so addressed her.
Did she read in the young gentleman's eyes, which had now no fear of hersor their superannuated authority, that he knew or suspected the truthabout his birth? She gave a start of surprise at his altered manner:indeed, it was quite a different bearing to that of the Cambridge studentwho had paid her a visit two years since, and whom she had dismissed withfive pieces sent by the groom of the chamber. She eyed him, then trembleda little more than was her wont, perhaps, and said, "Welcome, cousin", ina frightened voice.
His resolution, as has been said before, had been quite different, namely,so to bear himself through life as if the secret of his birth was notknown to him; but he suddenly and rightly determined on a differentcourse. He asked that her ladyship's attendants should be dismissed, andwhen they were private--"Welcome, nephew, at least, madam, it should be,"he said, "A great wrong has been done to me and to you, and to my poormother, who is no more."
"I declare before Heaven that I was guiltless of it," she cried out,giving up her cause at once. "It was your wicked father who----"
"Who brought this dishonour on our family," says Mr. Esmond. "I know itfull well. I want to disturb no one. Those who are in present possessionhave been my dearest benefactors, and are quite innocent of intentionalwrong to me. The late lord, my dear patron, knew not the truth until a fewmonths before his death, when Father Holt brought the news to him."
"The wretch! he had it in confession! He had it in confession!" cried outthe dowager lady.
"Not so. He learned it elsewhere as well as in confession," Mr. Esmondanswered. "My father, when wounded at the Boyne, told the truth to aFrench priest, who was in hiding after the battle, as well as to thepriest there, at whose house he died. This gentleman did not think fit todivulge the story till he met with Mr. Holt at St. Omer's. And the latterkept it back for his own purpose, and until he had learned whether mymother was alive or no. She is dead years since: my poor patron told mewith his dying breath; and I doubt him not. I do not know even whether Icould prove a marriage. I would not if I could. I do not care to bringshame on our name, or grief upon those whom I love, however hardly theymay use me. My father's son, madam, won't aggravate the wrong my fatherdid you. Continue to be his widow, and give me your kindness. 'Tis all Iask from you; and I shall never speak of this matter again."
"_Mais vous etes un noble jeune homme!_" breaks out my lady, speaking, asusual with her when she was agitated, in the French language.
"_Noblesse oblige_," says Mr. Esmond, making her a low bow. "There arethose alive to whom, in return for their love to me, I often fondly said Iwould give my life away. Shall I be their enemy now, and quarrel about atitle? What matters who has it? 'Tis with the family still."
"What can there be in that little prude of a woman, that makes men so_raffoler_ about her?" cries out my lady dowager. "She was here for amonth petitioning the king. She is pretty, and well conserved; but she hasnot the _bel air_. In his late Majesty's Court all the men pretended toadmire her; and she was no better than a little wax doll. She is betternow, and looks the sister of her daughter: but what mean you all bybepraising her? Mr. Steele, who was in waiting on Prince George, seeingher with her two children going to Kensington, writ a poem about her; andsays he shall wear her colours, and dress in black for the future. Mr.Congreve says he will write a _Mourning Widow_, that shall be better thanhis _Mourning Bride_. Though their husbands quarrelled and fought whenthat wretch Churchill deserted the king (for which he deserved to behung), Lady Marlborough has again gone wild about the little widow;insulted me in my own drawing-room, by saying that 'twas not the _old_widow, but the young viscountess, she had come to see. Little Castlewoodand little Lord Churchill are to be sworn friends, and have boxed eachother twice or thrice like brothers already. 'Twas that wicked young Mohunwho, coming back from the provi
nces last year, where he had disinterredher, raved about her all the winter; said she was a pearl set beforeswine; and killed poor stupid Frank. The quarrel was all about his wife. Iknow 'twas all about her. Was there anything between her and Mohun,nephew? Tell me now; was there anything? About yourself, I do not ask youto answer questions." Mr. Esmond blushed up. "My lady's virtue is likethat of a saint in heaven, madam," he cried out.
"Eh!--_mon neveu_. Many saints get to Heaven after having a deal to repentof. I believe you are like all the rest of the fools, and madly in lovewith her."
"Indeed, I loved and honoured her before all the world," Esmond answered."I take no shame in that."
"And she has shut her door on you--given the living to that horrid youngcub, son of that horrid old bear, Tusher, and says she will never see youmore. _Monsieur mon neveu_--we are all like that. When I was a young woman,I'm positive that a thousand duels were fought about me. And when poorMonsieur de Souchy drowned himself in the canal at Bruges because I dancedwith Count Springbock, I couldn't squeeze out a single tear, but dancedtill five o'clock the next morning. 'Twas the count--no, 'twas my LordOrmonde that paid the fiddles, and his Majesty did me the honour ofdancing all night with me.--How you are grown! You have got the _bel air_.You are a black man. Our Esmonds are all black. The little prude's son isfair; so was his father--fair and stupid. You were an ugly little wretchwhen you came to Castlewood--you were all eyes, like a young crow. Weintended you should be a priest. That awful Father Holt--how he used tofrighten me when I was ill! I have a comfortable director now--the AbbeDouillette--a dear man. We make meagre on Fridays always. My cook is adevout pious man. You, of course, are of the right way of thinking. Theysay the Prince of Orange is very ill indeed."
In this way the old dowager rattled on remorselessly to Mr. Esmond, whowas quite astounded with her present volubility, contrasting it with herformer haughty behaviour to him. But she had taken him into favour for themoment, and chose not only to like him, as far as her nature permitted,but to be afraid of him; and he found himself to be as familiar with hernow as a young man, as when a boy, he had been timorous and silent. Shewas as good as her word respecting him. She introduced him to her company,of which she entertained a good deal--of the adherents of King James ofcourse--and a great deal of loud intriguing took place over hercard-tables. She presented Mr. Esmond as her kinsman to many persons ofhonour; she supplied him not illiberally with money, which he had noscruple in accepting from her, considering the relationship which he boreto her, and the sacrifices which he himself was making in behalf of thefamily. But he had made up his mind to continue at no woman'sapron-strings longer; and perhaps had cast about how he should distinguishhimself, and make himself a name, which his singular fortune had deniedhim. A discontent with his former bookish life and quietude,--a bitterfeeling of revolt at that slavery in which he had chosen to confinehimself for the sake of those whose hardness towards him made his heartbleed,--a restless wish to see men and the world,--led him to think of themilitary profession: at any rate, to desire to see a few campaigns, andaccordingly he pressed his new patroness to get him a pair of colours; andone day had the honour of finding himself appointed an ensign in ColonelQuin's regiment of Fusiliers on the Irish establishment.
Mr. Esmond's commission was scarce three weeks old when that accidentbefell King William which ended the life of the greatest, the wisest, thebravest, and most clement sovereign whom England ever knew. 'Twas thefashion of the hostile party to assail this great prince's reputationduring his life; but the joy which they and all his enemies in Europeshowed at his death, is a proof of the terror in which they held him.Young as Esmond was, he was wise enough (and generous enough too, let itbe said) to scorn that indecency of gratulation which broke out amongstthe followers of King James in London, upon the death of this illustriousprince, this invincible warrior, this wise and moderate statesman. Loyaltyto the exiled king's family was traditional, as has been said, in thathouse to which Mr. Esmond belonged. His father's widow had all her hopes,sympathies, recollections, prejudices, engaged on King James's side; andwas certainly as noisy a conspirator as ever asserted the king's rights,or abused his opponent's, over a quadrille table or a dish of bohea. Herladyship's house swarmed with ecclesiastics, in disguise and out; withtale-bearers from St. Germains; and quidnuncs that knew the last news fromVersailles; nay, the exact force and number of the next expedition whichthe French king was to send from Dunkirk, and which was to swallow up thePrince of Orange, his army, and his Court. She had received the Duke ofBerwick when he landed here in '96. She kept the glass he drank from,vowing she never would use it till she drank King James the Third's healthin it on his Majesty's return; she had tokens from the queen, and relicsof the saint who, if the story was true, had not always been a saint asfar as she and many others were concerned. She believed in the miracleswrought at his tomb, and had a hundred authentic stories of wondrous cureseffected by the blessed king's rosaries, the medals which he wore, thelocks of his hair, or what not. Esmond remembered a score of marvelloustales which the credulous old woman told him. There was the Bishop ofAutun, that was healed of a malady he had for forty years, and which lefthim after he said mass for the repose of the king's soul. There wasMonsieur Marais, a surgeon in Auvergne, who had a palsy in both his legs,which was cured through the king's intercession. There was Philip Pitet,of the Benedictines, who had a suffocating cough, which wellnigh killedhim, but he besought relief of Heaven through the merits and intercessionof the blessed king, and he straightway felt a profuse sweat breaking outall over him, and was recovered perfectly. And there was the wife ofMonsieur Lepervier, dancing-master to the Duke of Saxe-Gotha, who wasentirely eased of a rheumatism by the king's intercession, of whichmiracle there could be no doubt, for her surgeon and his apprentice hadgiven their testimony, under oath, that they did not in any way contributeto the cure. Of these tales, and a thousand like them, Mr. Esmond believedas much as he chose. His kinswoman's greater faith had swallow for themall.
The English High Church party did not adopt these legends. But truth andhonour, as they thought, bound them to the exiled king's side; nor had thebanished family any warmer supporter than that kind lady of Castlewood, inwhose house Esmond was brought up. She influenced her husband, very muchmore perhaps than my lord knew, who admired his wife prodigiously thoughhe might be inconstant to her, and who, adverse to the trouble of thinkinghimself, gladly enough adopted the opinions which she chose for him. Toone of her simple and faithful heart, allegiance to any sovereign but theone was impossible. To serve King William for interest's sake would havebeen a monstrous hypocrisy and treason. Her pure conscience could no morehave consented to it than to a theft, a forgery, or any other base action.Lord Castlewood might have been won over, no doubt, but his wife nevercould: and he submitted his conscience to hers in this case as he did inmost others, when he was not tempted too sorely. And it was from hisaffection and gratitude most likely, and from that eager devotion for hismistress, which characterized all Esmond's youth, that the young mansubscribed to this, and other articles of faith, which his fondbenefactress set him. Had she been a Whig, he had been one; had shefollowed Mr. Fox, and turned Quaker, no doubt he would have abjuredruffles and a periwig, and have forsworn swords, lace coats, and clockedstockings. In the scholars' boyish disputes at the University, whereparties ran very high, Esmond was noted as a Jacobite, and very likelyfrom vanity as much as affection took the side of his family.
Almost the whole of the clergy of the country and more than a half of thenation were on this side. Ours is the most loyal people in the worldsurely; we admire our kings, and are faithful to them long after they haveceased to be true to us. 'Tis a wonder to any one who looks back at thehistory of the Stuart family to think how they kicked their crowns awayfrom them; how they flung away chances after chances; what treasures ofloyalty they dissipated, and how fatally they were bent on consummatingtheir own ruin. If ever men had fidelity, 'twas they; if ever mensquandered opportunity, 'twas they; and, o
f all the enemies they had, theythemselves were the most fatal.(8)
When the Princess Anne succeeded, the wearied nation was glad enough tocry a truce from all these wars, controversies, and conspiracies, and toaccept in the person of a princess of the blood royal a compromise betweenthe parties into which the country was divided. The Tories could serveunder her with easy consciences; though a Tory herself, she representedthe triumph of the Whig opinion. The people of England, always liking thattheir princes should be attached to their own families, were pleased tothink the princess was faithful to hers; and up to the very last day andhour of her reign, and but for that fatality which he inherited from hisfathers along with their claims to the English crown, King James the Thirdmight have worn it. But he neither knew how to wait an opportunity, nor touse it when he had it; he was venturesome when he ought to have beencautious, and cautious when he ought to have dared everything. 'Tis with asort of rage at his inaptitude that one thinks of his melancholy story. Dothe Fates deal more specially with kings than with common men? One is aptto imagine so, in considering the history of that royal race, in whosebehalf so much fidelity, so much valour, so much blood were desperatelyand bootlessly expended.
The king dead then, the Princess Anne (ugly Anne Hyde's daughter, ourdowager at Chelsey called her) was proclaimed by trumpeting heralds allover the town from Westminster to Ludgate Hill, amidst immense jubilationsof the people.
Next week my Lord Marlborough was promoted to the Garter, and to becaptain-general of her Majesty's forces at home and abroad. Thisappointment only inflamed the dowager's rage, or, as she thought it, herfidelity to her rightful sovereign. "The princess is but a puppet in thehands of that fury of a woman, who comes into my drawing-room and insultsme to my face. What can come to a country that is given over to such awoman?" says the dowager: "As for that double-faced traitor, my LordMarlborough, he has betrayed every man and every woman with whom he hashad to deal, except his horrid wife, who makes him tremble. 'Tis all overwith the country when it has got into the clutches of such wretches asthese."
Esmond's old kinswoman saluted the new powers in this way; but some goodfortune at least occurred to a family which stood in great need of it, bythe advancement of these famous personages who benefited humbler peoplethat had the luck of being in their favour. Before Mr. Esmond left Englandin the month of August, and being then at Portsmouth, where he had joinedhis regiment, and was busy at drill, learning the practice and mysteriesof the musket and pike, he heard that a pension on the Stamp Office hadbeen got for his late beloved mistress, and that the young MistressBeatrix was also to be taken into Court. So much good, at least, had comeof the poor widow's visit to London, not revenge upon her husband'senemies, but reconcilement to old friends, who pitied, and seemed inclinedto serve her. As for the comrades in prison and the late misfortune;Colonel Westbury was with the captain-general gone to Holland; CaptainMacartney was now at Portsmouth, with his regiment of Fusiliers and theforce under command of his grace the Duke of Ormonde, bound for Spain itwas said; my Lord Warwick was returned home; and Lord Mohun, so far frombeing punished for the homicide which had brought so much grief and changeinto the Esmond family, was gone in company of my Lord Macclesfield'ssplendid embassy to the Elector of Hanover, carrying the Garter to hishighness, and a complimentary letter from the queen.