Chapter VII. I Visit Castlewood Once More
Thus, for a third time, Beatrix's ambitious hopes were circumvented, andshe might well believe that a special malignant fate watched and pursuedher, tearing her prize out of her hand just as she seemed to grasp it, andleaving her with only rage and grief for her portion. Whatever herfeelings might have been of anger or of sorrow (and I fear me that theformer emotion was that which most tore her heart), she would take noconfidant, as people of softer natures would have done under such acalamity; her mother and her kinsman knew that she would disdain theirpity, and that to offer it would be but to infuriate the cruel wound whichfortune had inflicted. We knew that her pride was awfully humbled andpunished by this sudden and terrible blow; she wanted no teaching of oursto point out the sad moral of her story. Her fond mother could give buther prayers, and her kinsman his faithful friendship and patience to theunhappy stricken creature; and it was only by hints, and a word or twouttered months afterwards, that Beatrix showed she understood their silentcommiseration, and on her part was secretly thankful for theirforbearance. The people about the Court said there was that in her mannerwhich frightened away scoffing and condolence: she was above their triumphand their pity, and acted her part in that dreadful tragedy greatly andcourageously; so that those who liked her least were yet forced to admireher. We, who watched her after her disaster, could not but respect theindomitable courage and majestic calm with which she bore it. "I wouldrather see her tears than her pride," her mother said, who was accustomedto bear her sorrows in a very different way, and to receive them as thestroke of God, with an awful submission and meekness. But Beatrix's naturewas different to that tender parent's; she seemed to accept her grief, andto defy it; nor would she allow it (I believe not even in private, and inher own chamber) to extort from her the confession of even a tear ofhumiliation or a cry of pain. Friends and children of our race, who comeafter me, in which way will you bear your trials? I know one that praysGod will give you love rather than pride, and that the Eye all-seeingshall find you in the humble place. Not that we should judge proud spiritsotherwise than charitably. 'Tis nature hath fashioned some for ambitionand dominion, as it hath formed others for obedience and gentlesubmission. The leopard follows his nature as the lamb does, and actsafter leopard law; she can neither help her beauty, nor her courage, norher cruelty; nor a single spot on her shining coat; nor the conqueringspirit which impels her; nor the shot which brings her down.
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During that well-founded panic the Whigs had, lest the queen shouldforsake their Hanoverian prince, bound by oaths and treaties as she was tohim, and recall her brother, who was allied to her by yet stronger ties ofnature and duty; the Prince of Savoy, and the boldest of that party of theWhigs, were for bringing the young Duke of Cambridge over, in spite of thequeen and the outcry of her Tory servants, arguing that the electoralprince, a peer and prince of the blood-royal of this realm too, and in theline of succession to the crown, had a right to sit in the Parliamentwhereof he was a member, and to dwell in the country which he one day wasto govern. Nothing but the strongest ill will expressed by the queen, andthe people about her, and menaces of the royal resentment, should thisscheme be persisted in, prevented it from being carried into effect.
The boldest on our side were, in like manner, for having our prince intothe country. The undoubted inheritor of the right divine; the feelings ofmore than half the nation, of almost all the clergy, of the gentry ofEngland and Scotland with him; entirely innocent of the crime for whichhis father suffered--brave, young, handsome, unfortunate--who in Englandwould dare to molest the prince should he come among us, and fling himselfupon British generosity, hospitality, and honour? An invader with an armyof Frenchmen behind him, Englishmen of spirit would resist to the death,and drive back to the shores whence he came; but a prince, alone, armedwith his right only, and relying on the loyalty of his people, was sure,many of his friends argued, of welcome, at least of safety, among us. Thehand of his sister the queen, of the people his subjects, never could beraised to do him a wrong. But the queen was timid by nature, and thesuccessive ministers she had, had private causes for their irresolution.The bolder and honester men, who had at heart the illustrious youngexile's cause, had no scheme of interest of their own to prevent them fromseeing the right done, and, provided only he came as an Englishman, wereready to venture their all to welcome and defend him.
St. John and Harley both had kind words in plenty for the prince'sadherents, and gave him endless promises of future support; but hints andpromises were all they could be got to give; and some of his friends werefor measures much bolder, more efficacious, and more open. With a party ofthese, some of whom are yet alive, and some whose names Mr. Esmond has noright to mention, he found himself engaged the year after that miserabledeath of Duke Hamilton, which deprived the prince of his most courageousally in this country. Dean Atterbury was one of the friends whom Esmondmay mention, as the brave bishop is now beyond exile and persecution, andto him, and one or two more, the colonel opened himself of a scheme of hisown, that, backed by a little resolution on the prince's part, could notfail of bringing about the accomplishment of their dearest wishes.
My young Lord Viscount Castlewood had not come to England to keep hismajority, and had now been absent from the country for several years. Theyear when his sister was to be married and Duke Hamilton died, my lord waskept at Bruxelles by his wife's lying-in. The gentle Clotilda could notbear her husband out of her sight; perhaps she mistrusted the youngscapegrace should he ever get loose from her leading-strings; and she kepthim by her side to nurse the baby and administer posset to the gossips.Many a laugh poor Beatrix had had about Frank's uxoriousness: his motherwould have gone to Clotilda when her time was coming, but that themother-in-law was already in possession, and the negotiations for poorBeatrix's marriage were begun. A few months after the horrid catastrophein Hyde Park, my mistress and her daughter retired to Castlewood, where mylord, it was expected, would soon join them. But, to say truth, theirquiet household was little to his taste; he could be got to come toWalcote but once after his first campaign; and then the young rogue spentmore than half his time in London, not appearing at Court, or in publicunder his own name and title, but frequenting plays, bagnios, and the veryworst company, under the name of Captain Esmond (whereby his innocentkinsman got more than once into trouble); and so under various pretexts,and in pursuit of all sorts of pleasures, until he plunged into the lawfulone of marriage, Frank Castlewood had remained away from this country, andwas unknown, save amongst the gentlemen of the army, with whom he hadserved abroad. The fond heart of his mother was pained by this longabsence. 'Twas all that Henry Esmond could do to soothe her naturalmortification, and find excuses for his kinsman's levity.
In the autumn of the year 1713, Lord Castlewood thought of returning home.His first child had been a daughter; Clotilda was in the way of gratifyinghis lordship with a second, and the pious youth thought that, by bringinghis wife to his ancestral home, by prayers to St. Philip of Castlewood,and what not, Heaven might be induced to bless him with a son this time,for whose coming the expectant mamma was very anxious.
The long-debated peace had been proclaimed this year at the end of March;and France was open to us. Just as Frank's poor mother had made all thingsready for Lord Castlewood's reception, and was eagerly expecting her son,it was by Colonel Esmond's means that the kind lady was disappointed ofher longing, and obliged to defer once more the darling hope of her heart.
Esmond took horses to Castlewood. He had not seen its ancient grey towersand well-remembered woods for nearly fourteen years, and since he rodethence with my lord, to whom his mistress with her young children by herside waved an adieu, what ages seem to have passed since then, what yearsof action and passion, of care, love, hope, disaster! The children weregrown up now, and had stories of their own. As for Esmond, he felt to be ahundred years old; his dear mistress only seemed unchanged; she
looked andwelcomed him quite as of old. There was the fountain in the court babblingits familiar music, the old hall and its furniture, the carved chair mylate lord used, the very flagon he drank from. Esmond's mistress knew hewould like to sleep in the little room he used to occupy; 'twas made readyfor him, and wall-flowers and sweet herbs set in the adjoining chamber,the chaplain's room.
In tears of not unmanly emotion, with prayers of submission to the awfulDispenser of death and life, of good and evil fortune, Mr. Esmond passed apart of that first night at Castlewood, lying awake for many hours as theclock kept tolling (in tones so well remembered), looking back, as all menwill, that revisit their home of childhood, over the great gulf of time,and surveying himself on the distant bank yonder, a sad little melancholyboy, with his lord still alive--his dear mistress, a girl yet, her childrensporting around her. Years ago, a boy on that very bed, when she hadblessed him and called him her knight, he had made a vow to be faithfuland never desert her dear service. Had he kept that fond boyish promise?Yes, before Heaven; yes, praise be to God! His life had been hers; hisblood, his fortune, his name, his whole heart ever since had been hers andher children's. All night long he was dreaming his boyhood over again, andwaking fitfully; he half fancied he heard Father Holt calling to him fromthe next chamber, and that he was coming in and out from the mysteriouswindow.
Esmond rose up before the dawn, passed into the next room, where the airwas heavy with the odour of the wall-flowers; looked into the brasierwhere the papers had been burnt, into the old presses where Holt's booksand papers had been kept, and tried the spring, and whether the windowworked still. The spring had not been touched for years, but yielded atlength, and the whole fabric of the window sank down. He lifted it and itrelapsed into its frame; no one had ever passed thence since Holt used itsixteen years ago.
Esmond remembered his poor lord saying, on the last day of his life, thatHolt used to come in and out of the house like a ghost, and knew that thefather liked these mysteries, and practised such secret disguises,entrances, and exits; this was the way the ghost came and went, his pupilhad always conjectured. Esmond closed the casement up again as the dawnwas rising over Castlewood village; he could hear the clinking at theblacksmith's forge yonder among the trees, across the green, and past theriver, on which a mist still lay sleeping.
Next Esmond opened that long cupboard over the woodwork of themantelpiece, big enough to hold a man, and in which Mr. Holt used to keepsundry secret properties of his. The two swords he remembered so well as aboy, lay actually there still, and Esmond took them out and wiped them,with a strange curiosity of emotion. There were a bundle of papers here,too, which no doubt had been left at Holt's last visit to the place, in mylord viscount's life, that very day when the priest had been arrested andtaken to Hexham Castle. Esmond made free with these papers, and foundtreasonable matter of King William's reign, the names of Charnock andPerkins, Sir John Fenwick and Sir John Friend, Rookwood and Lodwick, LordsMontgomery and Ailesbury, Clarendon and Yarmouth, that had all beenengaged in plots against the usurper; a letter from the Duke of Berwicktoo, and one from the king at St. Germains, offering to confer upon histrusty and well-beloved Francis Viscount Castlewood the titles of Earl andMarquis of Esmond, bestowed by patent royal, and in the fourth year of hisreign, upon Thomas Viscount Castlewood and the heirs male of his body, indefault of which issue the ranks and dignities were to pass to Francisaforesaid.
This was the paper, whereof my lord had spoken, which Holt showed him thevery day he was arrested, and for an answer to which he would come back ina week's time. I put these papers hastily into the crypt whence I hadtaken them, being interrupted by a tapping of a light finger at the ringof the chamber-door: 'twas my kind mistress, with her face full of loveand welcome. She, too, had passed the night wakefully, no doubt; butneither asked the other how the hours had been spent. There are things wedivine without speaking, and know though they happen out of our sight.This fond lady hath told me that she knew both days when I was woundedabroad. Who shall say how far sympathy reaches, and how truly love canprophesy? "I looked into your room," was all she said; "the bed wasvacant, the little old bed! I knew I should find you here." And tender andblushing faintly with a benediction in her eyes, the gentle creaturekissed him.
They walked out, hand-in-hand, through the old court, and to theterrace-walk, where the grass was glistening with dew, and the birds inthe green woods above were singing their delicious choruses under theblushing morning sky. How well all things were remembered! The ancienttowers and gables of the hall darkling against the east, the purpleshadows on the green slopes, the quaint devices and carvings of the dial,the forest-crowned heights, the fair yellow plain cheerful with crops andcorn, the shining river rolling through it towards the pearly hillsbeyond; all these were before us, along with a thousand beautiful memoriesof our youth, beautiful and sad, but as real and vivid in our minds asthat fair and always-remembered scene our eyes beheld once more. We forgetnothing. The memory sleeps, but awakens again; I often think how it shallbe when, after the last sleep of death, the reveille shall arouse us forever, and the past in one flash of self-consciousness rush back, like thesoul, revivified.
The house would not be up for some hours yet (it was July, and the dawnwas only just awake), and here Esmond opened himself to his mistress, ofthe business he had in hand, and what part Frank was to play in it. Heknew he could confide anything to her, and that the fond soul would dierather than reveal it; and bidding her keep the secret from all, he laidit entirely before his mistress (always as stanch a little loyalist as anyin the kingdom), and indeed was quite sure that any plan of his was secureof her applause and sympathy. Never was such a glorious scheme to herpartial mind, never such a devoted knight to execute it. An hour or twomay have passed whilst they were having their colloquy. Beatrix came outto them just as their talk was over; her tall beautiful form robed insable (which she wore without ostentation ever since last year'scatastrophe), sweeping over the green terrace, and casting its shadowsbefore her across the grass.
She made us one of her grand curtsies smiling, and called us "the youngpeople". She was older, paler, and more majestic than in the year before;her mother seemed the youngest of the two. She never once spoke of hergrief, Lady Castlewood told Esmond, or alluded, save by a quiet word ortwo, to the death of her hopes.
When Beatrix came back to Castlewood she took to visiting all the cottagesand all the sick. She set up a school of children, and taught singing tosome of them. We had a pair of beautiful old organs in Castlewood Church,on which she played admirably, so that the music there became to be knownin the country for many miles round, and no doubt people came to see thefair organist as well as to hear her. Parson Tusher and his wife wereestablished at the vicarage, but his wife had brought him no childrenwherewith Tom might meet his enemies at the gate. Honest Tom took care notto have many such, his great shovel-hat was in his hand for everybody. Hewas profuse of bows and compliments. He behaved to Esmond as if thecolonel had been a commander-in-chief; he dined at the hall that day,being Sunday, and would not partake of pudding except under extremepressure. He deplored my lord's perversion, but drank his lordship'shealth very devoutly; and an hour before at church sent the colonel tosleep, with a long, learned, and refreshing sermon.
Esmond's visit home was but for two days; the business he had in handcalling him away and out of the country. Ere he went, he saw Beatrix butonce alone, and then she summoned him out of the long tapestry room, wherehe and his mistress were sitting, quite as in old times, into theadjoining chamber, that had been Viscountess Isabel's sleeping-apartment,and where Esmond perfectly well remembered seeing the old lady sitting upin the bed, in her night-rail, that morning when the troop of guard cameto fetch her. The most beautiful woman in England lay in that bed now,whereof the great damask hangings were scarce faded since Esmond saw themlast.
Here stood Beatrix in her black robes, holding a box in her hand; 'twasthat which Esmond had given her before her marriage, stamp
ed with acoronet which the disappointed girl was never to wear; and containing hisaunt's legacy of diamonds.
"You had best take these with you, Harry," says she; "I have no need ofdiamonds any more." There was not the least token of emotion in her quietlow voice. She held out the black shagreen-case with her fair arm, thatdid not shake in the least. Esmond saw she wore a black velvet bracelet onit, with my lord duke's picture in enamel; he had given it her but threedays before he fell.
Esmond said the stones were his no longer, and strove to turn off thatproffered restoration with a laugh: "Of what good," says he, "are they tome? The diamond loop to his hat did not set off Prince Eugene, and willnot make my yellow face look any handsomer."
"You will give them to your wife, cousin," says she. "My cousin, your wifehas a lovely complexion and shape."
"Beatrix," Esmond burst out, the old fire flaming out as it would attimes, "will you wear those trinkets at your marriage? You whispered onceyou did not know me: you know me better now: how I sought, what I havesighed for, for ten years, what forgone!"
"A price for your constancy, my lord!" says she; "such a _preux chevalier_wants to be paid. Oh fie, cousin!"
"Again," Esmond spoke out, "if I do something you have at heart; somethingworthy of me and you; something that shall make me a name with which toendow you; will you take it? There was a chance for me once, you said; isit impossible to recall it? Never shake your head, but hear me: say youwill hear me a year hence. If I come back to you and bring you fame, willthat please you? If I do what you desire most--what he who is dead desiredmost--will that soften you?"
"What is it, Henry?" says she, her face lighting up; "what mean you?"
"Ask no questions," he said, "wait, and give me but time; if I bring backthat you long for, that I have a thousand times heard you pray for, willyou have no reward for him who has done you that service? Put away thosetrinkets, keep them: it shall not be at my marriage, it shall not be atyours, but if man can do it, I swear a day shall come when there shall bea feast in your house, and you shall be proud to wear them. I say no morenow; put aside these words, and lock away yonder box until the day when Ishall remind you of both. All I pray of you now is, to wait and toremember."
"You are going out of the country?" says Beatrix, in some agitation.
"Yes, to-morrow," says Esmond.
"To Lorraine, cousin?" says Beatrix, laying her hand on his arm; 'twas thehand on which she wore the duke's bracelet. "Stay, Harry!" continued she,with a tone that had more despondency in it than she was accustomed toshow. "Hear a last word. I do love you. I do admire you--who would not,that has known such love as yours has been for us all? But I think I haveno heart; at least, I have never seen the man that could touch it; and,had I found him, I would have followed him in rags had he been a privatesoldier, or to sea, like one of those buccaneers you used to read to usabout when we were children. I would do anything for such a man, bearanything for him: but I never found one. You were ever too much of a slaveto win my heart; even my lord duke could not command it. I had not beenhappy had I married him. I knew that three months after our engagement--andwas too vain to break it. O Harry! I cried once or twice, not for him, butwith tears of rage because I could not be sorry for him. I was frightenedto find I was glad of his death; and were I joined to you, I should havethe same sense of servitude, the same longing to escape. We should both beunhappy, and you the most, who are as jealous as the duke was himself. Itried to love him; I tried, indeed I did: affected gladness when he came:submitted to hear when he was by me, and tried the wife's part I thought Iwas to play for the rest of my days. But half an hour of that complaisancewearied me, and what would a lifetime be? My thoughts were away when hewas speaking; and I was thinking, Oh that this man would drop my hand, andrise up from before my feet! I knew his great and noble qualities, greaterand nobler than mine a thousand times, as yours are, cousin, I tell you, amillion and a million times better. But 'twas not for these I took him. Itook him to have a great place in the world, and I lost it. I lost it, anddo not deplore him--and I often thought, as I listened to his fond vows andardent words, Oh, if I yield to this man, and meet _the other_, I shallhate him and leave him! I am not good, Harry: my mother is gentle and goodlike an angel. I wonder how she should have had such a child. She is weak,but she would die rather than do a wrong; I am stronger than she, but Iwould do it out of defiance. I do not care for what the parsons tell mewith their droning sermons: I used to see them at Court as mean and asworthless as the meanest woman there. Oh, I am sick and weary of theworld! I wait but for one thing, and when 'tis done, I will take Frank'sreligion and your poor mother's, and go into a nunnery, and end like her.Shall I wear the diamonds then?--they say the nuns wear their best trinketsthe day they take the veil. I will put them away as you bid me; farewell,cousin, mamma is pacing the next room, racking her little head to knowwhat we have been saying. She is jealous, all women are. I sometimes thinkthat is the only womanly quality I have."
"Farewell. Farewell, brother!" She gave him her cheek as a brotherlyprivilege. The cheek was as cold as marble.
Esmond's mistress showed no signs of jealousy when he returned to the roomwhere she was. She had schooled herself so as to look quite inscrutably,when she had a mind. Amongst her other feminine qualities she had that ofbeing a perfect dissembler.
He rid away from Castlewood to attempt the task he was bound on, and standor fall by it; in truth his state of mind was such, that he was eager forsome outward excitement to counteract that gnawing malady which he wasinwardly enduring.