Chapter X. An Old Story About A Fool And A Woman
Any taste for pleasure which Esmond had (and he liked to _desipere inloco_, neither more nor less than most young men of his age) he could nowgratify to the utmost extent, and in the best company which the townafforded. When the army went into winter quarters abroad, those of theofficers who had interest or money easily got leave of absence, and foundit much pleasanter to spend their time in Pall Mall and Hyde Park, than topass the winter away behind the fortifications of the dreary old Flanderstowns, where the English troops were gathered. Yatches and packets passeddaily between the Dutch and Flemish ports and Harwich; the roads thence toLondon and the great inns were crowded with army gentlemen; the tavernsand ordinaries of the town swarmed with red-coats; and our great duke'slevees at St. James's were as thronged as they had been at Ghent andBrussels, where we treated him, and he us, with the grandeur and ceremonyof a sovereign. Though Esmond had been appointed to a lieutenancy in theFusilier regiment, of which that celebrated officer, Brigadier JohnRichmond Webb, was colonel, he had never joined the regiment, nor beenintroduced to its excellent commander, though they had made the samecampaign together, and been engaged in the same battle. But being aide decamp to General Lumley, who commanded the division of horse, and the armymarching to its point of destination on the Danube by different routes,Esmond had not fallen in, as yet, with his commander and future comradesof the fort; and it was in London, in Golden Square, where Major-GeneralWebb lodged, that Captain Esmond had the honour of first paying hisrespects to his friend, patron, and commander of after-days.
Those who remember this brilliant and accomplished gentleman may recollecthis character, upon which he prided himself, I think, not a little, ofbeing the handsomest man in the army; a poet who writ a dull copy ofverses upon the battle of Oudenarde three years after, describing Webb,says:--
To noble danger Webb conducts the way, His great example all his troops obey; Before the front the general sternly rides, With such an air as Mars to battle strides: Propitious Heaven must sure a hero save, Like Paris handsome, and like Hector brave.
Mr. Webb thought these verses quite as fine as Mr. Addison's on theBlenheim campaign, and, indeed, to be Hector _a la mode de Paris_, waspart of this gallant gentleman's ambition. It would have been difficult tofind an officer in the whole army, or amongst the splendid courtiers andcavaliers of the Maison-du-Roy, that fought under Vendosme and Villeroy inthe army opposed to ours, who was a more accomplished soldier and perfectgentleman, and either braver or better-looking. And, if Mr. Webb believedof himself what the world said of him, and was deeply convinced of his ownindisputable genius, beauty, and valour, who has a right to quarrel withhim very much? This self-content of his kept him in general good humour,of which his friends and dependants got the benefit.
He came of a very ancient Wiltshire family, which he respected above allfamilies in the world: he could prove a lineal descent from King Edwardthe First, and his first ancestor, Roaldus de Richmond, rode by Williamthe Conqueror's side on Hastings field. "We were gentlemen, Esmond," heused to say, "when the Churchills were horseboys." He was a very tall man,standing in his pumps six feet three inches (in his great jack-boots, withhis tall, fair periwig, and hat and feather, he could not have been lessthan eight feet high). "I am taller than Churchill," he would say,surveying himself in the glass, "and I am a better made man; and if thewomen won't like a man that hasn't a wart on his nose, faith, I can't helpmyself, and Churchill has the better of me there." Indeed, he was alwaysmeasuring himself with the duke, and always asking his friends to measurethem. And talking in this frank way, as he would do, over his cups, wagswould laugh and encourage him; friends would be sorry for him; schemersand flatterers would egg him on, and tale-bearers carry the stories tohead quarters, and widen the difference which already existed therebetween the great captain and one of the ablest and bravest lieutenants heever had.
His rancour against the duke was so apparent, that one saw it in the firsthalf-hour's conversation with General Webb; and his lady, who adored hergeneral, and thought him a hundred times taller, handsomer, and braverthan a prodigal nature had made him, hated the great duke with such anintensity as it becomes faithful wives to feel against their husbands'enemies. Not that my lord duke was so yet; Mr. Webb had said a thousandthings against him, which his superior had pardoned; and his grace, whosespies were everywhere, had heard a thousand things more that Webb hadnever said. But it cost this great man no pains to pardon; and he passedover an injury or a benefit alike easily.
Should any child of mine take the pains to read these, his ancestor'smemoirs, I would not have him judge of the great duke(10) by what acontemporary has written of him. No man hath been so immensely lauded anddecried as this great statesman and warrior; as, indeed, no man everdeserved better the very greatest praise and the strongest censure. If thepresent writer joins with the latter faction, very likely a private piqueof his own may be the cause of his ill-feeling.
On presenting himself at the commander-in-chief's levee, his grace had notthe least remembrance of General Lumley's aide de camp, and though he knewEsmond's family perfectly well, having served with both lords (my LordFrancis and the viscount, Esmond's father) in Flanders, and in the Duke ofYork's Guard, the Duke of Marlborough, who was friendly and serviceable tothe (so-styled) legitimate representatives of the Viscount Castlewood,took no sort of notice of the poor lieutenant who bore their name. A wordof kindness or acknowledgement, or a single glance of approbation, mighthave changed Esmond's opinion of the great man; and instead of a satire,which his pen cannot help writing, who knows but that the humble historianmight have taken the other side of panegyric? We have but to change thepoint of view, and the greatest action looks mean; as we turn theperspective-glass, and a giant appears a pigmy. You may describe, but whocan tell whether your sight is clear or not, or your means of informationaccurate? Had the great man said but a word of kindness to the small one(as he would have stepped out of his gilt chariot to shake hands withLazarus in rags and sores, if he thought Lazarus could have been of anyservice to him), no doubt Esmond would have fought for him with pen andsword to the utmost of his might; but my lord the lion did not want mastermouse at this moment, and so Muscipulus went off and nibbled inopposition.
So it was, however, that a young gentleman, who, in the eyes of hisfamily, and in his own, doubtless, was looked upon as a consummate hero,found that the great hero of the day took no more notice of him than ofthe smallest drummer in his grace's army. The dowager at Chelsea wasfurious against this neglect of her family, and had a great battle withLady Marlborough (as Lady Castlewood insisted on calling the duchess). Hergrace was now mistress of the robes to her Majesty, and one of thegreatest personages in this kingdom, as her husband was in all Europe, andthe battle between the two ladies took place in the queen's drawing-room.
The duchess, in reply to my aunt's eager clamour, said haughtily, that shehad done her best for the legitimate branch of the Esmonds, and could notbe expected to provide for the bastard brats of the family.
"Bastards," says the viscountess, in a fury, "there are bastards amongstthe Churchills, as your grace knows, and the Duke of Berwick is providedfor well enough."
"Madam," says the duchess, "you know whose fault it is that there are nosuch dukes in the Esmond family too, and how that little scheme of acertain lady miscarried."
Esmond's friend, Dick Steele, who was in waiting on the prince, heard thecontroversy between the ladies at Court, "And faith," says Dick, "I think,Harry, thy kinswoman had the worst of it."
He could not keep the story quiet; 'twas all over the coffee-houses erenight; it was printed in a News Letter before a month was over, and "TheReply of her Grace the Duchess of M-rlb-r-gh, to a Popish Lady of theCourt, once a favourite of the late K-- J-m-s," was printed in half a dozenplaces, with a note stating that this duchess, when the head of thislady's family came by his death lately in a fatal duel, never rested untilshe got a pension for
the orphan heir, and widow, from her Majesty'sbounty. The squabble did not advance poor Esmond's promotion much, andindeed made him so ashamed of himself that he dared not show his face atthe commander-in-chief's levees again.
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During those eighteen months which had passed since Esmond saw his dearmistress, her good father, the old dean, quitted this life, firm in hisprinciples to the very last, and enjoining his family always to rememberthat the queen's brother, King James the Third, was their rightfulsovereign. He made a very edifying end, as his daughter told Esmond, and,not a little to her surprise, after his death (for he had lived alwaysvery poorly) my lady found that her father had left no less a sum than3,000_l._ behind him, which he bequeathed to her.
With this little fortune Lady Castlewood was enabled, when her daughter'sturn at Court came, to come to London, where she took a small genteelhouse at Kensington, in the neighbourhood of the Court, bringing herchildren with her, and here it was that Esmond found his friends.
As for the young lord, his University career had ended rather abruptly.Honest Tusher, his governor, had found my young gentleman quiteungovernable. My lord worried his life away with tricks; and broke out, ashome-bred lads will, into a hundred youthful extravagances, so that Dr.Bentley, the new master of Trinity, thought fit to write to theViscountess Castlewood, my lord's mother, and beg her to remove the youngnobleman from a college where he declined to learn, and where he only didharm by his riotous example. Indeed, I believe he nearly set fire toNevil's Court, that beautiful new quadrangle of our college, which SirChristopher Wren had lately built. He knocked down a proctor's man thatwanted to arrest him in a midnight prank; he gave a dinner party on thePrince of Wales's birthday, which was within a fortnight of his own, andthe twenty young gentlemen then present sallied out after their wine,having toasted King James's health with open windows, and sung cavaliersongs, and shouted, "God save the King!" in the great court, so that themaster came out of his lodge at midnight, and dissipated the riotousassembly.
This was my lord's crowning freak, and the Rev. Thomas Tusher, domesticchaplain to the Right Honourable the Lord Viscount Castlewood, finding hisprayers and sermons of no earthly avail to his lordship, gave up hisduties of governor; went and married his brewer's widow at Southampton,and took her and her money to his parsonage-house at Castlewood.
My lady could not be angry with her son for drinking King James's health,being herself a loyal Tory, as all the Castlewood family were, andacquiesced with a sigh, knowing, perhaps, that her refusal would be of noavail to the young lord's desire for a military life. She would have likedhim to be in Mr. Esmond's regiment, hoping that Harry might act asguardian and adviser to his wayward young kinsman; but my young lord wouldhear of nothing but the Guards, and a commission was got for him in theDuke of Ormonde's regiment; so Esmond found my lord, ensign andlieutenant, when he returned from Germany after the Blenheim campaign.
The effect produced by both Lady Castlewood's children when they appearedin public was extraordinary, and the whole town speedily rang with theirfame; such a beautiful couple, it was declared, never had been seen; theyoung maid of honour was toasted at every table and tavern, and as for myyoung lord, his good looks were even more admired than his sister's. Ahundred songs were written about the pair, and as the fashion of that daywas, my young lord was praised in these Anacreontics as warmly asBathyllus. You may be sure that he accepted very complacently the town'sopinion of him, and acquiesced with that frankness and charming goodhumour he always showed in the idea that he was the prettiest fellow inall London.
The old dowager at Chelsea, though she could never be got to acknowledgethat Mrs. Beatrix was any beauty at all (in which opinion, as it may beimagined, a vast number of the ladies agreed with her), yet, on the veryfirst sight of young Castlewood, she owned she fell in love with him; andHenry Esmond, on his return to Chelsea, found himself quite superseded inher favour by her younger kinsman. That feat of drinking the king's healthat Cambridge would have won her heart, she said, if nothing else did. "Howhad the dear young fellow got such beauty?" she asked. "Not from hisfather--certainly not from his mother. How had he come by such noblemanners, and the perfect _bel air_? That countrified Walcote widow couldnever have taught him." Esmond had his own opinion about the countrifiedWalcote widow, who had a quiet grace, and serene kindness, that had alwaysseemed to him the perfection of good breeding, though he did not try toargue this point with his aunt. But he could agree in most of the praiseswhich the enraptured old dowager bestowed on my lord viscount, than whomhe never beheld a more fascinating and charming gentleman. Castlewood hadnot wit so much as enjoyment. "The lad looks good things," Mr. Steele usedto say; "and his laugh lights up a conversation as much as ten reparteesfrom Mr. Congreve. I would as soon sit over a bottle with him as with Mr.Addison; and rather listen to his talk than hear Nicolini. Was ever man sogracefully drunk as my Lord Castlewood? I would give anything to carry mywine (though, indeed, Dick bore his very kindly, and plenty of it, too)like this incomparable young man. When he is sober he is delightful; andwhen tipsy, perfectly irresistible." And referring to his favourite,Shakespeare (who was quite out of fashion until Steele brought him backinto the mode), Dick compared Lord Castlewood to Prince Hal, and waspleased to dub Esmond as ancient Pistol.
The mistress of the robes, the greatest lady in England after the queen,or even before her Majesty, as the world said, though she never could begot to say a civil word to Beatrix, whom she had promoted to her place asmaid of honour, took her brother into instant favour. When youngCastlewood, in his new uniform, and looking like a prince out of afairy-tale, went to pay his duty to her grace, she looked at him for aminute in silence, the young man blushing and in confusion before her,then fairly burst out a-crying, and kissed him before her daughters andcompany. "He was my boy's friend," she said, through her sobs. "MyBlandford might have been like him." And everybody saw, after this mark ofthe duchess's favour, that my young lord's promotion was secure, andpeople crowded round the favourite's favourite, who became vainer andgayer, and more good-humoured than ever.
Meanwhile Madam Beatrix was making her conquests on her own side, andamongst them was one poor gentleman, who had been shot by her young eyestwo years before, and had never been quite cured of that wound; he knew,to be sure, how hopeless any passion might be, directed in that quarter,and had taken that best, though ignoble, _remedium amoris_, a speedyretreat from before the charmer, and a long absence from her; and notbeing dangerously smitten in the first instance, Esmond pretty soon gotthe better of his complaint, and if he had it still, did not know he hadit, and bore it easily. But when he returned after Blenheim, the younglady of sixteen, who had appeared the most beautiful object his eyes hadever looked on two years back, was now advanced to a perfect ripeness andperfection of beauty, such as instantly enthralled the poor devil, who hadalready been a fugitive from her charms. Then he had seen her but for twodays, and fled; now he beheld her day after day, and when she was atCourt, watched after her; when she was at home, made one of the familyparty; when she went abroad, rode after her mother's chariot; when sheappeared in public places, was in the box near her, or in the pit lookingat her; when she went to church was sure to be there, though he might notlisten to the sermon, and be ready to hand her to her chair if she deignedto accept of his services, and select him from a score of young men whowere always hanging round about her. When she went away, accompanying herMajesty to Hampton Court, a darkness fell over London. Gods, what nightshas Esmond passed, thinking of her, rhyming about her, talking about her!His friend Dick Steele was at this time courting the young lady, Mrs.Scurlock, whom he married; she had a lodging in Kensington Square, hard bymy Lady Castlewood's house there. Dick and Harry, being on the sameerrand, used to meet constantly at Kensington. They were always prowlingabout that place, or dismally walking thence, or eagerly running thither.They emptied scores of bottles at the "King's Arms", each man prating ofhis love, and allowin
g the other to talk on condition that he might havehis own turn as a listener. Hence arose an intimacy between them, thoughto all the rest of their friends they must have been insufferable.Esmond's verses to "Gloriana at the Harpsichord", to "Gloriana's Nosegay",to "Gloriana at Court", appeared this year in the _Observator_.--Have younever read them? They were thought pretty poems, and attributed by some toMr. Prior.
This passion did not escape--how should it?--the clear eyes of Esmond'smistress: he told her all; what will a man not do when frantic with love?To what baseness will he not demean himself? What pangs will he not makeothers suffer, so that he may ease his selfish heart of a part of its ownpain? Day after day he would seek his dear mistress, pour insane hopes,supplications, rhapsodies, raptures, into her ear. She listened, smiled,consoled, with untiring pity and sweetness. Esmond was the eldest of herchildren, so she was pleased to say; and as for her kindness, who ever hador would look for aught else from one who was an angel of goodness andpity? After what has been said, 'tis needless almost to add that poorEsmond's suit was unsuccessful. What was a nameless, penniless lieutenantto do, when some of the greatest in the land were in the field? Esmondnever so much as thought of asking permission to hope so far above hisreach as he knew this prize was--and passed his foolish, useless life inmere abject sighs and impotent longing. What nights of rage, what days oftorment, of passionate unfulfilled desire, of sickening jealousy, can herecall! Beatrix thought no more of him than of the lackey that followedher chair. His complaints did not touch her in the least; his rapturesrather fatigued her; she cared for his verses no more than for DanChaucer's, who's dead these ever so many hundred years; she did not hatehim; she rather despised him, and just suffered him.
One day, after talking to Beatrix's mother, his dear, fond, constantmistress--for hours--for all day long--pouring out his flame and his passion,his despair and rage, returning again and again to the theme, pacing theroom, tearing up the flowers on the table, twisting and breaking into bitsthe wax out of the standish, and performing a hundred mad freaks ofpassionate folly; seeing his mistress at last quite pale and tired outwith sheer weariness of compassion, and watching over his fever for thehundredth time, Esmond seized up his hat, and took his leave. As he gotinto Kensington Square, a sense of remorse came over him for the wearisomepain he had been inflicting upon the dearest and kindest friend ever manhad. He went back to the house, where the servant still stood at the opendoor, ran up the stairs, and found his mistress where he had left her inthe embrasure of the window, looking over the fields towards Chelsea. Shelaughed, wiping away at the same time the tears which were in her kindeyes; he flung himself down on his knees, and buried his head in her lap.She had in her hand the stalk of one of the flowers, a pink, that he hadtorn to pieces. "Oh, pardon me, pardon me, my dearest and kindest," hesaid; "I am in hell, and you are the angel that brings me a drop ofwater."
"I am your mother, you are my son, and I love you always," she said,holding her hands over him; and he went away comforted and humbled inmind, as he thought of that amazing and constant love and tenderness withwhich this sweet lady ever blessed and pursued him.