THACKERAY'S
i
HENRY
ESMOND
THE HISTORY OF HENRY ESMOND, Esq.
A COLONEL IN THE SERVICE OF HER MAJESTY
QUEEN ANNE
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF
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2222546
''ti^y^?<§^'
WILLIAM MAKEl'EACE THACKERAY.
THE HISTORY
OF
HENRY ESMOND, ESQ.
COLONEL IN THE SERVICE OF HER MAJESTY
QUEEN ANNE
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF
BY
/
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE 'THACKERAY
EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
BY
JOHN BELL HENNEMAN
PBOFI880B OF ENGLISH IN THE UNIVERSITY OF THE bOUTH
8EWANEE, TENNESSEE
. . . servetur ad imum
Qnalis ab incepto processerit, et sibi constet.
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO. Ltd.
1916
AU rigiiU reserved
Copyright, 1906,
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1906k
Reprinted August, 1907 ; April, 1908; August, 1909;
August, 1910 : April, 1911; July, 1912 ; July, 1913;
March, 1914; February, 1915; February, July, 1916.
Nortoooti iPreag
J. 8. CushinK Co. — Uervvick & Smith Oo.
Norwood, MaHH., U.S.A.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
Life and Works of Thackeray
HENRY ESMOND
Preface. The Esmonds of Virginia .... xxiii
BOOK I
The Early Youth of Henry Esmond, up to the time of
HIS leaving Trinity College, in Cambridge
CHAPTER
I. An Account of the Family of Esmond of Castle-
wood Hall 4
n. Relates how Francis, Fourth Viscouiv^, arrives at
Castlewood 10
III. Whither in the Time of Thomas, Third Viscount, I
had preceded him, as Page to Isabella . . 18
IV. I am placed under a Popish Priest, and bred to that
Religion — Viscountess Castlewood ... 29
V. My Superiors are engaged in Plots for the Restora-
tion of King James II. 36
VI. The Issue of the Plots — The Death of Thomas,
Third Viscount of Castlewood : and the Im-
prisonment of his Viscountess .... 48
VI CONTENTS
CHAPTER
VII. I am left at Castlewood an Orphan, and find most
kind Protectors tliere
VIII. After Good Fortune comes Evil ...
IX. I liave tlie Small-pox, and prepare to leave Castle
wood
X. I go to Cambridge, and do but little good there
XI. I come Home for a Holiday to Castlewood, and find
a Skeleton in the House ....
XII. My Lord Mohun comes among us for no good
XIII. My Lord leaves us and his evil behind him
XIV. We ride after him to London ....
63
72
82
102
109
123
133
147
BOOK II
Contains Mr. Esmond's Military Life and other Mat-
ters APPERTAINING TO THE ESMOND FaMILY
I. I am in Prison, and visited, but not consoled there 167
II. I come to the end of my Captivity, but not of my
Trouble 177
III. I take the Queen's Pay in Quin's Regiment . . 186
IV, Recapitulations 196
V, I go on the Vigo Bay Expedition, taste Salt "Water
and smell Powder 203
VI. The 29th December 214
VII. I am made welcome at Walcote .... 222
VIII. Family Talk 232
IX. I make the Campaign of 1704 239
X. :An Old Story about a Fool and a Woman , . 249
XI. The famous Mr. Joseph Addison .... 259
CONTENTS vii
CnAPTEK PAGE
XII. I get a Company in the Campaign of 1706 . . 271
XIII. I meet an Old Acquaintance in Flanders, and find
my Mother's Grave and my own Cradle there . 276
XIV. The Campaign of 1707-1708 289
XV. General Webb wins the Battle of Wynendael . . 297
BOOK III
Containing the end of Mr. Esmond's Adventures in
England
I. I come to an end of my Battles and Bruises . . 329
II. I go home, and harp on the old string . . . 343
III. A Paper out of the Spectator 358
IV. Beatrix's New Suitor 378
V. Mohun appears for the last time in this History . 389
VI. Poor Beatrix 404
VII. I visit Castlewood once more ..... 410
VIIL I travel to France, and bring home a Portrait of
Rigaud 421
IX. The Original of the Portrait comes to England , 431
X. We entertain a very distinguished Guest at Ken=
sington 446
XI. Our Guest quits us as not being hospitable enough . 461
XII. A Great Scheme, and who baulked it . . . 472
XIII. August 1, 1714 478
NOTES . 495
INTRODUCTION
William Makepeace Thackeray was born in Calcutta,
July 18, 1811, the son of Richmond Thackeray, who was a
judge and collector of revenues in the British service in India.
The father died in 1816 when the boy was scarcely five, and a
year later the child was sent to England to get his education.
The mother married again, after six years, in 1822, her second
husband being Major Henry Carmichael-Smyth, an officer
in the army and a gentleman who was always kindly to his
step-son. In this same year, 1822, Thackeray entered
the Charterhouse, the famous school of Steele ancl Addison,
named in these pages and delightfully described in .Thack-
eray's "Xewcomes/' and remained there six years. He
went to Trinity College, Cambridge, in February, 1829, in his
eighteenth year, but remained at the University only a little
more than a year. He seems to haA^e \dsited Paris in the Easter
vacation; at any rate, by the end of the summer of 1830
he was settled in Weimar, Germany. In another year, the
autumn of 1831, we find him entered as a student of law in
the Middle Temple, London.
The habit of writing, scribbling, and sketching, begun in
liis school and college days, grew on him, and he spent more
time in filling pages with drawings and verses than in writii.'g
briefs. Coming of age, Juh^, 1832, he came also into his
inheritance, and proceeded at once to Paris, bent on applying
himself to literature and practising his drawing. He became
interested with his step-father in a newspaper venture.
The National Standard, which ran from January 5, 1833, to
February 1, 1834, when a crash came. This check in a
literary career gave him further impulse tovv'ards art, and for
the next two years he passed the life of an art student in
Paris. Then hopes again revived, he became married in
August, 1836, and in September he and his step-father once
more tried their fortunes in a newspaper enterprise, The
ix
X INTRODUCTION
Constitutional and Public Ledger. After ten months thia
Collapsed even more disastrously than the former venture
for the purses of its backers,
Thackeray, a young man of twenty-six with a family to
support, was then thrown upon his own resources. He began
to write for any paper or periodical he could find that would
take his "stuff," and for some years supplied drawings and
sketches, and ground out reviews, art criticisms, foreign cor-
respondence, poems, stories, what not, under various names
or no name at all so as to sell better. In the midst of this
bitter struggle, after four years of married life, his wife's
health broke down, her mind gave \yay, and it was found
necessary to remove her to a private hospital, where she
remained confined the rest of her long life, outliving the
novehst many years. Fortunately, he formed a happy con-
nection with Fraser's Magazine, continued through many
years, and later one with Punch, shortly after that periodical
was started in 1841 ; slowly his reputation grew until he
found himself famous with the pubhcation of "Vanity Fair"
in 1847-1848.
Thackeray's principal works in point of publication are:
"The Yellowplush Correspondence" (in Fraser's Magazine,
1838); "Catherine" (in Fraser's, 1839-1840); "The Paris
8ketch-Book," 1840 (containing some new papers and some
which had appeared in Fraser's and other publications) ;
"A Shabby-Genteel Story" (in Fraser's, 1840) ; "The History
of Samuel Titmarsh and the Great Hoggarty Diamond"
(in Fraser's, 1841) ; "Fitz-Boodle's Confessions" (in Fraser's,
1842-1843); "Miss Tickletoby's Lectures on English His-
tory" (in Punch, 1842) ; "The Irish Sketch-I^.ook," 1843 (the
result of a visit to Ireland and first published in book form) ;
"The Luck of Barry Lyndon" (in Fraser's, 1844); "Little
Travels and Roadside Sketches" (in Fraser's, 1844-1845);
"Punch in the East" (in Punch, 1845) ; "Notes of a Journey
from Cornhill to Cairo," 1846 (first published in book form);
"The Sno})s of lOngland" (in Punch, 1846-1847) ; "Mrs. Per-
kins's liall" (Christmas Book for 1846); "Punch's Prize
Novelists" (in Punch, 1847); "Vanity Fair," 1847-1848 (in
twenty monthly instalments); "Our Street" (Christmas
INTRODUCTION XI
Book for 1847) ; " Doctor Birch and his Young Friends "
(Christmas Book for 1848); ''The History of Pendennis,"
1848-1850 (in twenty instalments); "Mr. Brown ^s Letters
to a Young Man about Town" (in Punch, 1849) ; "Rebecca
and Rowena" (Christmas Book for 1849); "The Proser"
(in Punch, 1850) ; " The Kickleburys on the Rhine " (Christmas
Book for 1850); Lectures on "The EngHsh Humourists of
the Eighteenth Century," deUvered in 1851 (published in
book form in 1853); "The History of Henry Esmond, Esq.
A Colonel in Service of Her Majesty Queen Anne. Written
by Himself," 1852 (first pubUshed as three volumes); "The
Newcomes, " 1853-1855 (in twenty-four monthly instal-
ments); "The Rose and the Ring" (Christmas Book for
1854); the first collected edition of the "Ballads," 1855;
Lectures on "The Four Georges" dehvered in the United
States in 1855 (published in The CornhiU Magazine, 1860, and
in book form in 1861) ; "The Virginians. A tale of the Last
Century," 1857-1859 (in twenty-four monthly instalments) ;
"Lovel the Widower" (in The CornhiU Magazine, 1860);
"The Roundabout Papers" (editorial papers in The CornhiU
Magazine, 1860-1863); "The Adventures of Phihp" (in
The CornhiU Magazine, 1861-1862) ; "Denis Duval" (left in-
complete and published in The CornhiU Magazine, 1864).
In January, 1860, Messrs. Smith, Elder, & Co., w^ho had
remained Thackeray's publishers since the appearance of
"Esmond," started a new monthly magazine, The CornhiU^
and persuaded Thackeray to become its editor. He per-
formed these duties for a little more than two years, but felt
them worrying, and resigned in March, 1862, though con-
tinuing his dehghtful editorial "Roundabout" papers till
within a few weeks of his death. He had not been well
for some time, but the end came suddenly during the early
morning hours of December 24, 1863, when he was found
dead in his bed. He was buried on December 30 in the
cemetery at Kensal Green.
After writing for many years miscellaneous papers, sketches,
and even stories, chieflv for Eraser's Magazine (apparently
as early as 1831 or 1832 to 1846), and for Punch from 1842
on, Thackeray, as said, achieved his first great success at
Xll INTRODUCTION
the age of thirty-five to thirty-seven with the pubh cation
of "Vanity Fair." This story appeared in monthly instal-
ments from January, 1847, to July, 1848, and dealt realisti-
cally with the London and English life of his own century,
though placed for reasons of expediency in the time of a
generation before. Encouraged by this success and this
method of publication, which suited well with the author's
leisurely habits, the absence of rapid narrative, and the
tendency for slow development and revelation of char-
acter in his work, he began at once a new novel of English
hfe of his century, ''The History of Pendennis." This again
ran in monthly instalments from November, 1848, to De-
cember, 1850, with the exception of the last three months
of 1849, when the author was nearly at death's door. This
accounts, too, for the feeling that the latter portion of that
story does not always sustain the promise of its splendid
beginning.
With the opening of the new year, 1851, Thackeray felt
himself fairly before the public. The two successes he had
won encouraged him to other work, and the spell of sickness
made him anxious about the future of his two girls. While
shrinking from the publicity of the undertaking, yet believing
it would bring money to the children of the successful author
of " Vanity Fair" and " Pendennis, " he began in 1851 a series
of public readings or lectures on "The English Humourists of
the Eighteenth Century." The lectures were six in number:
I, Swift; II, Congreve and Addison; III, Steele; IV, Prior,
Gay, and Pope; V, Hogarth, Smollett, and Fielding; VI,
Sterne and Goldsmith.
There we find the real genesis of ''Henry Esmond." Read
the works of these authors as Thackeray did in preparing
for his lectures, — Swift's "Journal to Stella," Congreve's
comedies, Addison's and Steele's Taller s and Specta-
tors, Prior's society verse. Gay's "Trivia, or the Art of
Walking the London Streets" and "The Beggar's Opera,"
Pope's "Rape of the Lock," — then add the spirit of Ho-
garth's "Rake's Progress "and Fielding's method of treating
character and life in his novels (I believe that he owes
scarce anything to Smollett), with some admixture of Sterne's
INTRODUCTION xiii
sentiment and eccentric humor and Goldsmith's grace and
charm, and you have the ingredients out of which Thackeray's
genius made " Esmond." Many seemingly obscure references
Hght up from a point in Swift's ''Journal" or a passage in
the Taller or Spectator. The "town" of Esmond" is the
town of the Taller and Spectator, the town of Gay's "Trivia"
and Congreve's "Old Bachelor" and "Way of the World."
For the historical portions Thackeray also took Coxe's
"Memoirs of Marlborough," and we may remember, too,
that the early volumes of Macaulay's "History of England"
had appeared in 1848 with the vivid and picturesque
Third Chapter which Thackeray must both have admired
and envied. Above all, it was Thackeray's individual
spirit and native genius that knew how to make its own
use of this material. For be it remembered, the work is not
theirs, — they merely offered the suggestion, — it is his.
In Thackeray's correspondence there are many references
to his writing "Esmond." He was then Hving at 13 Young
Street, Kensington, which evokes so many memories of the
story. He loved the village, it was a home for his girls, and
no wonder it took so great a hold on the plot. It was where
the Dowager Viscountess lived, where Lady Castlewood
took up her abode to be near the Court, where the Stuart
Prince paid his visit to her house, and where the troops of the
Duke of Argyle marched into the Square. Thackeray him-
self must have taken some of those walks with Esmond from
London to Kensington across the fields and meadows, and
it was from his back window, w^here he wrote, that one could
"look over the fields to Chelsea."
The historical setting seems sometimes to have tired him.
He Vv'as going from place to place lecturing; and at the same
time he was working, reading and writing for his new story.
To be true to history he had to follow up this thread and look
up that point, find a name here and an occurrence there.
One day he was on the train going to a distant point, another
day at the Club, and a third in the British Museum with a
pile of books about him. Little wonder that his" references
are sometimes loose and at times even contradictory. Dur-
ing the several months in which he delivered the^ lectures
Xiv INTRODUCTION
and was working on " Esmond," he was living in his thoughts
in the past. *'I fancy myself/' he writes, "almost as fa-
miliar with one [the last century] as with the other [the present
age] and Oxford and Bolingbroke interest me as much as
Russell and Palmerston — more, very likely/' He felt that
the work had its heavy side, was at times rather serious
and sombre, and that parts were written in too low a key;
yet its very dignity and stateliness make it what it is. It
never becomes too familiar, it never bends to a low tone.
At one time he pronounced it "dull, stupid"; yet in the
same breath he declared it was "well written," and was
proud of the pains he had expended upon it. He was
doubtful of its popularity, for it was a new sort of work, —
and many, like George Eliot and Charlotte Bronte, were
either disapproving or faint-hearted in their praise. But he
remained conscious of the hard labor he had put upon it
and the real results he had obtained. "Here is the very
best I can do," he said, presenting a copy to the historian
Prescott in Boston, "I stand by this book." And his pub-
lishers, Messrs. Smith, Elder, & Co., with whom he was to
remain the rest of his life, paid him £250 in excess of their
agreement.
The method adopted by Thackeray in this work was some-
thing new. Hitherto he had seemed somehow to be domi-
nated by the influence of Dickens^ so great and so different in
his genius. However far apart in individual treatment, yet
"Pickwick" had preceded "Vanity Fair"; Dickens wrote
Christmas Books and Thackeray wrote Christmas l^ooks;
"David Coppcrfield" and "Pendennis, " containing intimate
biographical material of each author, were api)earing in the
same years ; Dickens lectured and Thackeray lectured ;
Dickens had visited America and given offence by his "Amer-
ican Notes," Thackeray wished to go to America and later
emphasize the brotherhood of the two nations by his story
of "The Virginians"; afterwards, in 1859, Dickens became
editor of All the Year Round, another year, 1860, and Thack-
eray edited The Cornhill.
But in writing " Esmond" there is no such close comparison
and suggestion. Thackeray chose a subject in a new field
INTRODUCTION XV
and adopted a new manner. It was an historical novel ; but
it was a novel and not a romance, as the historical fiction
before this was inclined to be, as Scott's had been, as Dumas's
were, as Dickens's later attempt, "A Tale of Two Cities,"
proved to be. It was not a story of stirring adventures on
the part of the hero and heroine, calling forth feelings of
wonder and thrills of astonishment ; it was a serious attempt
to portray life and manners, and reveal truth of character,
even though in a time and century historically past.
Herein lies the essential difference of Thackeray's produc-
tion from others; and this is the reason why the English
world, believing that Thackeray has succeeded in producing
these large effects, — whatever minor faults may be pointed
out, — ranks the work as one of the masterpieces of fiction.
A writer of fiction had arisen, a portrayer of character and
painter of manners, who applied the same method to Queen
Anne's day that he had done to the early years of Victoria's.
He was not seeking to portray the wonderful enchantment
of a past age, but was endeavoring to realize the fife of its
day. The change is only in time and century, not in method
nor in principle. Thackeray had been interested in this
period his whole life long. As a schoolboy at the Charter-
house, — Steele and Addison's Charterhouse, — at the
University, — even if not their University, — he had cared
for this same period and for these same WTiters, for
their portrayal of actual London fife. The novel of life and
manners, which developed under Richardson and Fielding,
had found its prototype and beginnings in the Taller and
Speclalor sketches and descriptions by Steele and Addison.
Thackeray went back for his models in novel-writing, not to
Scott and his followers in the nineteenth century, but to the
freer eighteenth-century writers. A member of the Garrick
and the Athen^pum Clubs in Victoria's reign changed neither
his method nor his interests in realizing \Mlls's and Lockit's
and the Rose in the reign of William and ]\Iary and of Anne.
It argues how strong was the hold of Fielding on Thack-
eray that he went to Fielding's century so as to be able to do
as Fielding had done. It is amid the scenes of the eighteenth
century that Thackeray first discovered his method and recog-
X VI INTROD UC now
nized his genius. Did Thackeray write "Ehzabeth Brown-
rigge" in 1832? It was a satire on Bulwer's ''Eugene
Aram"; and "Ehzabeth Brownrigge" prepared for "Cath-
erine," and "Catherine" prepared for "Barry Lyndon," and
"Barry Lyndon" in many ways for "Esmond," and "Es-
mond" for "The Virginians." "Catherine" in 1839 had
been a forestudy of "Barry Lyndon" in 1844; and "Barry
Lyndon, " too clever and different from the current manner to
be rightly understood by a literal-minded generation, in the
light of Fielding's "Jonathan Wild" is now regarded as a
masterpiece of ironical portrayal, deserving to rank in the
highest class of the author's compositions. Indeed, there are
not even wanting those who prefer "Barry Lyndon" and
"Henry Esmond" to "Vanity Fair," "Pendennis, " and
"The Newcomes."
The old pictures show our author the dress and accom-
paniments, — the wigs, the doublets, the swords, the horses,
the dogs, the monkey, the parrots, the black boy attendant,
the sedan-chairs, the assemblies and routs and balls, the
quarrels of the men, the jealousies of the women, their card-
playing (gambling is but referred to and is largely suppressed,
to reappear in the story of Esmond's grandson in "The Vir-
ginians"), their drinking, and their duelhng. These give the
background, just as one or two old-fashioned spellings, not
always consistent, suggest the literary manner and con-
versation. But even these are not the real thing — for it is
against these that the critics usually aim th?ir lances. It is
the portrayal of the men and women who are flesh and blood
and exist for us in definitely drawn hnes, that gives the work
its significance. A word or two, an action, — representing
what is human so far as it goes, and, even if it be not the
whole truth, bearing truth and consistency in itself — never
loses its value, whatever technical mistakes in details and
facts may be pointed out.
Beatrix is fair and — l^eatrix. One thinks of her instinc-
tively in naming the novel ; and she stands by the side of
Becky Sharp and Colonel Newcome as one of three great
characters in fiction Thackeray has (Teated. It was a
stroke of genius to represent mother and daughter as
INTRODUCTION XVU
rivals in the affections of the liero. Lady Castlewood,
with all her charm and beautv of disposition, is not a
piece of heavenly perfection; she can be cruel and unjust
to Esmond, she is jealous of her daughter, and she is
severe. The author himself declared that Henry Esmond
was "a prig" and that he was "writing a book of cutthroat
melancholy suitable to ray state." Esmond is nicknamed
"Don Dismallo" and "Killjoy"; but it is Esmond who is
telling his Memoirs, and it is more pardonable to represent
himself, who was to become the husband of her who had been
his ''goddess surely" and then "dear mother," as serious
and sombre and thoughtful and wise. It was as consistent to
put an Esmond, a Beatrix, and a Lady Castlewooa in Queen
Anne's day, as a Becky Sharp, a Rawdon Crawley, and a
Lord Ste5^ne at the time of the battle of Waterloo.
There was one other reason for the singular hold of "Es-
mond" on the English reading world. The work did not come
out in instalments hke the pre\aous efforts, with almost
necessary deflections in purpose and consequent weakness in
plot, but it was handed over to the publisher in three books or
volumes, as was then the mode of publication. The author
thus knew both the beginning and the end together, put more
pains upon the construction, could attain better proportion
and a clearer plot and achieve a greater art. It was begun
late in 1851 and progressed all winter and spring, was fairly
under way by summer, the introduction was written Octo-
ber 18, and the last proof-sheet looked over ; and as the author,
impatient to start for America on his lecturing tour in that
country, was standing on the wharf ready to take the boat,
October 30, 1852, tlie three volumes were placed in his hands.
Thackeray was justly proud of it, he felt it was the most care-
ful piece of work he had done, and while still lecturing on
"The Humourists of the Eighteenth Century" before Ameri-
can auchences, he could present it to a friend to be read as a
complement and a sequel.
But, for the moment to continue our historical develop-
ment, other studies followed. There was a new story and
a new set of lectures. "Esmond" and the visit to America
were to produce other results. For the novelist of manners,
xviii INTRODUCTION
to deal ^vith Whig and Tory and Jacobite machinations in the
days of William and of Anne was to follow it up by telling
the story of "The Four Georges." The four lectures on
these subjects were not only to be worked out, but they
were to be first given to the American people. And later
there was to be an American romance.
Meanwhile the "Carthusian" — as all good "Charter-
house" folk were called — who had loved to portray Steele
and Addison in the pages of "Esmond" wished to centre
another story of London and English life about the old
school. The outcome was "The Newcomes," and the
monthly instalments began after Thackeray's return from
abroad and continued from October, 1853, to August, 1855.
By that time "The Four Georges" were ready and Thack-
eray returned to America. Then, with America fresh in
mind and its kind hospitality a glowing remembrance, there
came the desire to reconcile the two great divisions of the
Endish -speaking race. Soon after getting back again, the
instalments of the new novel, "The Virginians," began to
appear, and continued for the next two years, from Novem-
ber, 1857, to October, 1859. In "The Virginians" we have
presented Henry Esmond's and Lady Castle wood's grand-
children, the two sons of Rachel Esmond Warrington, the
editor of Esmond's memoirs ; Beatrix appears again as the
Dowager Baroness de Bernstein — for the Reverend Tom
Tusher soon died; and while in plot and construction the
novel breaks in two, the manners of George II's and George
Ill's da3^s, the middle and latter half of the eighteenth cen-
tury, the manners portrayed by Hogarth and Fielding, by
Sterne and Goldsmith and Johnson, are given in a series of
brilliant pictures.
We have spokon of Thackeray's methods. What, it may
be asked, of their results? Thackeray succeeds because of
his ability to make his portrayals human. The furniture
and dress, the one or two older spellings and uses of words,
do not give the charm, though they may heighten the sug-
gestion. "Henry Esmond" is a great novel, not on account
of these characteristics, but at times in spite of them. Some-
times Thackeray writes "writ," and sometimes he writes
INTRODUCTION Xix
"wrote." Words now ending in c are spelled ck] the
spelling of "sat" is "sate"; "am come" and "am gone"
are used for "have come" and "have gone"; and so forth.
But an author can wiite in that way and write neither in
the Queen Anne style nor successfully. Thackeray makes
slips and positive blunders. He calls the notorious Lady
Dorchester Tom Killigrew's daughter, when she was the
daughter of another wit of the day, Sir Charles Sedley. He
gives Mohun the name " Harry, " when his name w^as Charles.
Follo\^ang history, he has Lords ^lohun and Hamilton quarrel
over an inheritance and kill each other in a duel, but makes
them brothers-in-law, when their wives had a common uncle,
not a common father. The actress, Will Mountford's widow,
then Miiie. Verbruggen, he designates "a veteran charmer of
fifty," when she had died at the early age of thirty-two. He
repeats details over and over again to make them clear and
to hold them distinct before the reader's attention. Some-
times he forgets and puts a thing one way on one page and
then in another way a Uttle later. "Honest Lockwood,"
Esmond's attendant, is called "Job" in the early pages of
the book, then becomes "John," later is made "Tom," and
once more reverts to "John." Lady Castlewood's father, the
Ex-Dean, is made to conform, — Lady Castlewood out of
the joy of her heart at the reunion on the twenty-ninth of
December tells Esmond, — yet a httle later he dies trium-
phant, true to the old Jacobite cause. Our author cares little
for strict chronology. Writings are referred to that did not
appear until after the death of Queen Anne, when our story
ends ; but it must be remembered that the Memoirs are sup-
posed to be written after the migration to Virginia in Es-
nond's old age. Even that can hardly excuse Beatrix and
Esmond's alluding to the fairy Gawrie in Paltock's "Peter
Wilkins" which was not published before 1750. And even
though Rachel Warrington dates her Preface as late as 1778,
she could hardly have known of Count Rochambeau's coming
over to aid the Americans in 1780.
But what of all these things and many more ? It is only
the student that takes notes and studies the precise details,
who sees the minute flecks and weather-stains here and there
XX INTRODUCTION
The reader gets interested in the big things, the make-believe
and the truth, the splendid construction and fine portrayal,
the big humanity, the great humanness, the large life, and
the pleasing charm. And all these are there. "Esmond"
is a great novel, because of its real truth and its noble senti-
ment. It is seen in the contrasts between mother and daugh-
ter, one a foil to the other and each alternately charming and
winning us, as they both win Esmond. It is not Esmond's
sombreness nor his perfections that we particularly admire,
but his truth, the novelist's truth to the fundamental ideals
of the English word "gentleman," can stir us. It is the same
qualities that make the great characterizations and portrayals
of Shakespeare and of Scott lasting. They have discerned
and expressed the ideals of the English race and some of
the fundamental conceptions of man. For the world loves
ideals and strength and truth. It is willing to have its heroes
and heroines expose their weaknesses, whether leading to
tragedy or sharing in comedy; but it demands that certain
dominating and fundamental conceptions should remain fixed,
as it expects day to be day and night night, and the stars to
remain in their courses.
Thackeray's closeness to historical fact is in many ways
remarkable, even though at the end he invents an expedient
to introduce the Stuart Prince into England, which he takes
pains to declare is Esmond's, i.e. Thackeray's, own. The
wars and campaigns of Marlborough are given with remarkable
— for the purposes of the story, with almost wearying — de-
tail. The story of Webb, Cadogan, and Marlborough is also
true to fact. The over-emphasis of Webb is explained by
his being a connection of the author's. As to the truth of
Thackeray's historical portrayals, some question may be
raised. They are unrjuestionably true to themselves and to
their conceptions, but are these concei)tions true to historical
fact? The office of the novelist is not that of the judicial
and interpretative historian. His purpose is to interpret his
characters as he sees them. All these concreptions, whether
true to actual fact or not, are true to definite traditions re-
corded of them, and for the dramatic })urposes of a work of
fi(;tion that is sufficient. It was Shakespeare's method in
INTRODUCTION XXI
his History Plays, and it is that of every dramatist and
writer of fiction. Indeed, the author can even change the
current opinion, pro\dded only that in his further portrayal
he remain true in the psychological development of his
conception.
Marlborough's is a gi'eat portraiture, even though it may
not be altogether just. It is meant to be given from one point of
view — that of a rival and political opponent. General Webb.
The figure of Swift as a burly, intimidating Irishman is un-
deserved caricature. Steele's drunkenness is dwelt upon out
of all proportion. Thackeray gives him to us, not drunk once
or twice, but drunk always. In that state of mind one could
not write such delightful and spirited Tatlers and /Spec-
tators. Yet all these figures remain with us as lifelike in
themselves, whether they represent the real men or not.
The illusion of the Memoirs is kept up hazily. Ostensibly
wi'itten in the first person, the book is really written in the
third person, \\dth only now and then an occasional first per-
son slipped in to remind the reader not to forget the fiction
of j\Iemoirs. For the same purpose alternations are made more
or less illogically between present and past tenses. Towards
the close, in the third book, mere subterfuges for the same
end occur in apparent notes from Hemy Esmond, the author,
and Rachel Esmond Warrington, the editor, of the Memoirs.
Thackeray enjoyed these, as we do; but they are mere
excrescences and do not make the story.
Enough of the author's old habits remained ; he could not
forget them. His morahzings on situations of his characters
are frequent even in a seeming historical work of fiction.
Sometimes these moralizings are under the guise of Esmond's
character, where they are more justified; but as frequently
they are undisguised Thackerayan apart from any connection
whatever with Esmond. The author forgets Esmond is
supposed to be WTiting; the deus ex machina descends and
directs the puppets, and comments even on Esmond's own
imbecilit^^ in a way that would have hurt that young gentle-
man very much, and in words which he never could have
thought himself, and never would have permitted another to
say. Thackeray's insistent democracy breaks out once or
xxii INTRODUCTIOIT
twice but is checked ; and once there is a blemish in Thack«
eray's coming out openly to ridicule the methods of romance.
In neither of these mental attitudes would the reputed writer
of these Memoirs, Mr. Esmond, have understood the author,
Mr. Thackeray.
The discussion of Church relations and the re\ival of ritual-
ism, something belonging of itself to the close of the seven-
teenth century, was increased by the ritualistic movement at
Oxford in the nineteenth century, a movement of which
Thackeray could not have been a wholly disinterested witness.
The skill with which the conservative and unpopular side is
purposely taken and made attractive, with a view, in the
end, to show with still greater conviction the mistakes of
the premises, is little short of magical. References are made
in "Esmond'' to the Crawleys and to the Warringtons, just
sufficiently to connect it with its two predecessors, "Vanity
Fair" and "Pendennis."
There are many dramatic scenes, and in so far the art is
true to the traditional ideals of historical and of all fiction.
Lord Mohun becomes the villain of the story. The same man
slays in duels both Beatrix's father and Beatrix's lover; and
both times Esmond must suffer a natural injustice. The im-
pression made by Beatrix descending the stairs — an index
of her character as well as of her loveliness — is used twice,
upon Esmond at his return and upon the Stuart Prince.
The reconciliation in the Cathedral combines, with the
Psalter for the day — it should be the twenty-seventh of
December — and the spirit of the Cathedral service, to
produce an impression of almost lyrical ecstasy. The break-
ing of the swords at the close is the breaking of the Eng-
lish nation with the Stuart past — it is the best in England
scorning the base and the low, preferring personal honor to
personal advantage, cherishing the ideals of the individual
and holding the faith of the race pure and true.
Looking at details, it is easy for us to pick flaws and
point out anachronisms and discern technical faults; but if
we regard it as a whole from the impression it cannot fail
to make, "Henry Esmond" is not only one of Thackeray's
best works, it is one of the great novels of the world.
HENRY ESMOND
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
THE ESMONDS OF VIRGINIA
The estate of Castlewood, in Virginia, which was given to
our° ancestors by King Charles the First, as some return
for the sacrifices made in His jMajesty's cause by the Esmond
family, hes in Westmoreland" county, between the rivers
Potomac and Rappahannoc, and was once as great as an 5
English Principahty, though in the early times its revenues
were but small. Indeed for near eighty years after our
forefathers possessed them, our plantations were in the
hands of factors, who enriched themselves one after another,
though a few scores of hogsheads of tobacco were all the 10
produce that, for long after the Restoration, our family
received from their Virginian estates.
My dear and honoured father, Colonel Henry Esmond,
whose history, wi'itten by himself, is contained in the accom-
panying volumes, came to Virginia in the year 1718, built 15
his house of Castlewood, and here permanently settled.
After a long stormy life in England, he passed the'remainder
of his many years in peace and honour in this country ; how
beloved and respected by all his fellow-citizens, how in-
expressibly dear to his family, I need not say. His whole 2a
life was a benefit to all who were connected with him. He
gave the best example, the best advice, the most bounteous
hospitality to his friends ; the tenderest care to his depend-
ants; and bestowed on those of his immediate family such
a blessing of fatherly love and protection, as can never be 25
thought of, by us at least, without veneration and thank-
fulness; and my sons' children, whether established here in
our Republick° or at home, in the always beloved mother
Xxiv ■ PREFACE
country, from which our late quarrel hath separated us,
may surely be proud to be descended from one, who in all
ways was so truly noble.
My dear mother died in 1736, soon after our return from
5 England, whither my parents took me for my education ;
and where I made the acquaintance of Mr. Warrington,
whom my children never saw. When it pleased Heaven, in
the bloom of his youth, and after but a few months of a
most happy union, to remove him from me, I owed my
lo recovery from the grief which that calamity caused me,
mainly to my dearest father's tenderness, and then to the
blessing vouchsafed to me in the birth of my two beloved
boys. I know the fatal differences which separated them
in politicks never disunited their hearts; and, as I can love
15 them both, whether wearing the King's colours or the Re-
publick's, I am sure that they love me, and one another,
and him above all, my father and theirs, the dearest friend
of their childhood; the noble gentleman, who bred them
from their infancy in the practice and knowledge of Truth,
20 and Love, and Honour.
My children will never forget the appearance and figure of
their revered grandfather ; and I wish I possessed the art of
drawing (which my papa had in perfection), so that I could
leave to our descendants a portrait of one who was so good
25 and so respected. My father was of a dark complexion, with
a very great forehead and dark hazel eyes, overhung by
eye-brows which remained black long after his hair was
white. His nose was aquiline, his smile extraordinary
sweet. How well I remember it, and how little any de-
30 scription I can write can recall his image ! He was of rather
low stature, not being above five feet seven inches in height;
^-^e used to laugh at my sons, whom he called his crutches,
and say they were grown too tall for him to lean upon,
liut small as he was he had a perfect grace and majesty of
35 dc^portmont, such as I have never seen in this country,
excei)t perhaps in our friend, Mr. Washington; and com-
manded respect wherever he appeared.
In all bodily exercises he excelled, and showed an extra-
ordinary quickness and agility. Of fencing he was especially
PREFACE XXV
fond, and made my two boys proficient in that art ; so much
so, that when the French came to this country with Mon-
sieur Rochambeau,° not one of his officers was superior to
my Henry, and he was not the equal of my poor George,
who had taken the King's side in our lamentable but glorious 5
war of independence.
Neither my father nor my mother ever wore powder in
their hair; both their heads were as white as silver, as I
can remember them. My dear mother possessed to the last
an extraordinary brightness and freshness of complexion ; la
nor would people believe that she did not wear rouge. At
sixty years of age, she still looked young, and was quite agile.
It was not until after that dreadful siege of our house by the
Indian3,° which left me a widow ere I was a mother, that
my dear mother's health broke. She never recovered her 15
terror and anxiety of those days, wdiich ended so fatally for
me, then a bride scarce six months married, and died in
my father's arms ere my own year of widowhood was
over
From that day, until the last of his dear and honoured 20
life, it was my delight and consolation to remain with him
as his comforter and companion; and fiom those little
notes, w^hich my mother hath made here and there in the
volumes in which my father describes his adventures in
Europe, I can well understand the extreme devotion with 25
which she regarded him; a devotion so passionate and
exclusive as to prevent her I think from loving any other
person except with an inferior regard, her whole thonghts
being centred on this one object of affection and worship. I
know that before her, my dear father did not show the love 30
which he had for his daughter: and in her last and most
sacred moments, this dear and tender parent owned to me
her repentance that she had not loved me enough; her
jealousy even that my father should give his affection to
any but herself: and in the most fond and beautiful words 35
of affection and admonition, she bade me never to leave
him ; and to supply the place which she was quitting. With a
clear conscience, and a heart inexpressibly thankful, I think
I can say that I fulfilled those dying commands, and that
xxvi PREFACE
until his last hour, my dearest father never had to complain
that his daughter's love and fidelity failed him.
And it is since I knew him entirely, for during my mother's
hfe he never quite opened himself to me, since I knew the
5 value and splendour of that affection, which he bestowed
upon me, that I have come to understand and pardon what,
I own, used to anger me in my mother's life-time, her jealousy
respecting her husband's love. 'Twas a gift so precious, that
no wonder she who had it, was for keeping it all, and could
10 part with none of it, even to her daughter.
Though I never heard my father use a rough word, 'twas
extraordinary with how much awe his people regarded him ;
and the servants on our plantation, both those assigned from
England and the purchased negroes, obeyed him with an
15 eagerness such as the most severe task-masters round about
us could never get from their people. He was never familiar
though perfectly simple and natural; he was the same with
the meanest man as with the greatest, and as courteous to
a black slave-girl as to the Governor's wife. No one ever
20 thought of taking a liberty with him (except once a tipsy
gentleman from York,° and I am bound to own that my
papa never forgave him) : he set the humblest people at
once on their ease with him, and brought down the most
arrogant by a grave satirick way, which made persons
25 exceedingly afraid of him. His courtesy was not put on
like a Sunday suit, and laid by when the company went
away; it was always the same, as he was always dressed
the same whether for a dinner by ourselves or for a great
entertainment. They say he liked to be the first in his
30 company; but what company was there in which he would
not be first? When I went to l^^urope for my education,
and we passed a winter at London, with my half-brother,
my Lord Castlewood and his second Lady°, 1 saw at Her
Majesty's Court some of the most famous gentlemen of those
35 days; and I thought to myself, none of these are better
than my papa: and the famous Lord 13olingbroke,° who
came to us from Dawley, said as much ; and that the men of
that time were not like those of his youth: — "Were your
father, madam," he said, "to go into the woods, the Lidians
PREFACE XXVll
would elect him Sachem°;" and his lordship was pleased
to call me Pocahontas. °
I did not see our other relative, Bishop Tusher's Lady,°
of whom so much is said in my papa's Memoirs — although
my mamma went to ^dsit her in the country. I have no 5
pride (as I showed by complying with my mother's request,
and marrying a gentleman who was but the younger son of
a Suffolk Baronet), yet I own to a decent respect for my
name, and wonder how one, who ever bore it, should change
it for that of Mrs. Thomas Tusher. I pass over as odious la
and unworthy of credit those reports (which I heard in
Europe, and was then too young to understand), how this
person, haxing left her family, and fled to Paris, ° out of
jealousy of the Pretender betrayed his secrets to my Lord
Stair, ° King George's Ambassador, and nearly caused the 15
Prince's death there; how she came to England and married
this Mr. Tusher; and became a great favourite of King
George the Second, by whom Mr. Tusher was made a Dean, and
then a Bishop. I did not see the lady, who chose to remain
at her palace, all the time we were in London; but after 20
visiting her, my poor mamma said, she had lost all her good
looks, and warned me not to set too much store by any such
gifts which nature had bestowed upon me. She grew ex-
ceedingly stout, and I remember my brother's wife, Lady
Castlewood, saying — "No wonder she became a favour- 25
ite, for the King likes them old and ugly, as his father
did before him." On which papa said — "All women were
alike; that there was never one so beautiful as that one;
and that we could forgive her everything but her beauty."
And hereupon my mamma looked vexed, and my Lord Castle- Z^
wood began to laugh ; and I, of course, being a young creature,
could not understand what was the subject of their conversa-
tion.
After the circumstances narrated in the third book of these
Memoirs, my father and mother both went abroad, being 35
advised by their friends to leave the country in consequence
of the transactions which are recounted at the close of the
third volume of the Memoirs. But my brother, hearing
how the future Bishop's lady had quitted Castlewood and
xxviii PREFACE
joined the Pretender at Paris, pursued him, and would have
killed him, Prince as he was, had not the Prince managed
to make his escape. On his expedition to Scotland directly
after, Castlewood was so enraged against him that he
5 asked leave to serve as a volunteer and join the Duke of
Argyle's° army in Scotland, which the Pretender never had
the courage to face; — and thenceforth my Lord was quite
reconciled to the present reigning family, from whom he hath
even received promotion.
:o Mrs. Tusher was by this time as angry against the Pre-
tender as any of her relations could be : and used to boast,
as I have heard, that she not only brought back" my Lord
to the Church of England, but procured the English peerage
for him, which the junior branch of our family at present
15 enjoys. She was a great friend of Sir Robert Walpole,°
and would not rest until her husband slept at Laml)oth,°
my papa used laughing to say : however the Bishop died of
apoplexy suddenly; and his wife erected a great monument
over him : and the pair° sleep undc that stone with a canopy
20 of mar})le clouds and angels above them, the first Mrs.
Tusher lying sixty miles off at Castlewood.
But mv papa's genius and education are both greater
than any a woman can be expected (o have, and his adven-
tures in Europe far more exciting than his life in this country,
25 which was past in tiie tranquil offices of love and duty;
and I shall say no more by way of introduction to his Me-
moirs, noftkeep my children from the perusal of a story which
is much more interesting than that of their affectionate old
mother,
Rachel Esmond Warrington.
Castlewood, Viroinia,
November 3, 1778.
BOOK I
THE EARLY YOUTH OF HENRY ESMOND, UP TO THE TIME
OF HIS LEAVING TRINITY COLLEGE,^ IN CAJVIBRIDGE
THE HISTORY OF HENRY ESMOND
BOOK THE FIRST
The actors in the old tragedies, ° as we read, piped their
iambics to a tune, speaking from under a mask, and wearing
stilts and a great head-dress. 'Twas thought the dignity
of the Tragick Muse required these appurtenances and that
she was not to move except to a measure and cadence. So 5
Queen IMedea slew her children to a slow musick : and King
Agamemnon perished in a dying fall° (to use Mr. Dry den's
words) : the Chorus standing by in a set attitude, and rhyth-
mically and decorously bewailing the fates of those great
crowned persons. The Muse of History hath encumbered ic
herself with ceremony as well as her Sister of the Theatre.
She too wears the mask and the cothurnus and speaks to
m.easure. She too, in our age, busies herself with the affairs
only of kings ; waiting on them, obsequiously and stately, as
if she were but a mistress of Court ceremonies, and had noth- 15
ing to do with the regstering of the affairs of the common
people. I have seen° in his very old age and decrepitude the
old French King Lewis the Fourteenth, ° the type and model
of kinghood — who never moved but to measure, who lived
and died according to the laws of his Court-j\Iarshal, per- 20
sisting in enacting through life the ^part of Hero° ; and
divested of poetry, this Vv^as but a little ^Tinkled old man,
• pock-m^arked, and with a great perriwig and red heels to
make him look tall, — a hero for a book if you like, or for a
brass statue or a painted-ceiling, a god in a Roman shape, 25
but what more than a man for Madame Maintenon, or the
barber who shaved him, or Monsieur Fagon, his surgeon?
I wonder shall History ever pull ofl her perriwig and cease
2 HENRY ESMOND
to be court-ridden? Shall we see something of France and
England besides Versailles and Windsor°? I saw Queen
Anne at the latter place tearing down the Park slopes after
her stag-hounds, and driving her one-horse chaise — a hot,
5 red-faced woman, not in the least resembling that statue
of her which turns its stone back upon Saint Paul's, ° and
faces the coaches struggling up Ludgate Hill. She was
neither better bred nor wiser than you and me, though we
knelt to hand her a letter or a washhand-basin. Why
10 shall History go on kneeling to the end of time? I am for
having her rise up off her knees, and take a natural posture :
not to be for ever performing cringes and congces° like a
Court-chamberlain, and shuffling backwards out of doors in
the presence of the sovereign. In a word, I would have
15 History familiar rather than heroick: and think that I\Ir.
Hogarth and Mr. Fielding° will give our children a much
better idea of the manners of the present age in England,
than the Court Gazette'^ and the newspapers which we get
thence.
20 There was a German officer of Webb's,° with whom we
used to joke, and of whom a story (whereof I myself was
the Author) was got to be believed in the army, that he was
eldest son of the hereditary Grand Bootjack of the Empire,
and heir to that honour of which his ancestors had been
25 very proud, having been kicked for twenty generations
by one imperial foot, as they drew the boot from the other.
I have heard that the old Lord Castlewood, of part of whose
family these present volumes are a chronicle, though he
came of quite as good blood as the Stuarts whom he served
30 fand who as regards mere lineage are no better than a dozen
r^iiglish and Scottish houses I could name), was i)rouder of
his post about the Court than of his ancestral honours, and
valued his dignity (as Wai'den of the J3utteries and Groom of
the King's Posset) so highly, that he cheerfully ruined him-
35 self for the thankless and thriftless race who bestowed it.
He pawned his plate for King Charles the First, ° mortgagcnl
his property for the same cause, and lost the greater part of
it by fines and secjuestration : stood a siege of his castle by
Ireton,° wheie his brother Thomas capitulated (afterward
HENRY ESMOND 3
making terms with the Commonwealth, for which the elder
brother never forgave him), and where his second brother
Edward, who had embraced the ecclesiastical profession,
was slain on Castlewood tower, being engaged there both
as preacher and artilleryman. This resolute old loyalist 5
who was with the King whilst his house was thus being bat-
tered down, escaped abroad with his only son then a boy,
to return and take a part in Worcester fight. ° On that
fatal field Eustace Esmond was killed, and Castlewood fled
from it once more into exile, and henceforward, and after la
the Restoration, never was away from the Court of the
monarch (for whose return we offer thanks in the Pi-ayer
Book) who sold his country and who took bribes of the
French king.°
What spectacle is more august than that of a great king in 15
exile ? Who is more worthy of respect than a brave man in
misfortune? Mr. Addison has painted such a figure in his
noble piece of Cato° But suppose fugitive Cato fuddling
himself at a tavern with a wench on each knee, a dozen
faithful and tipsy comj^anions of defeat, and a landlord 20
calling out for his bill; and the dignity of misfortune is
straightway lost. The Historical Muse turns away shame-
faced from the. vulgar scene, and closes the door — on which
the exile's unpaid drink is scored up — upon him and his
pots and his })ipes, and the tavern-chorus which he and his -^s
friends are singing. Such a man as Charles should have
had an Ostade or Mieris° to paint him. Your Knellers
and Le Bruns° only deal in clumsy and im.possible allegories :
and it hath always seemed to me blasphemy to claim Olym-
pus for such a wine-drabbled divinity as that. 30
x^bout the King's follower, the Viscount Castlewood —
orphan of his son, ruined by his fidelit}^, bearing many
wounds and marks of bravery, old and in exile, his kinsmen
I suppose should be silent ; nor if this patriarch fell down in
his cups, call fie upon him, and fetch passers-by to laugh 35
at his red face and white hairs. What ! does a stream rush
out of a mountain free and pure, to roll through fair pastures,
to feed and throw out bright tributaries, and to end in a
village gutter? Lives that have noble commencements havp
4 HENRY ESMOND
often no better endings ; it is not without a kind of awe and
reverence that an observer should speculate upon such careers
as he traces the course of them. I have seen too much of
success in life to take off my hat and huzza to it, as it passes
5 in its gilt coach : and would do my little part with my neigh-
bours on foot that they should not gape with too much
wonder, nor applaud too loudly. Is it the Lord Mayor°
going in state to mince-pies and the Mansion House ? Is it
poor Jack of Newgate's procession, ° with the sheriff and
to javelin-men, conducting him on his last journey to Tyburrx?
I look into my heart and think I am as good as my Lord
Mayor, and know I am as bad as Tyburn Jack. Give me
a chain and red gown and a pudding before me, and I could
play the part of Alderman very well, and sentence Jack
15 after dinner. Starve me, keep me from books and honest
people, educate me to love dice, gin, and pleasure, and put
me on Hounslow Heath, with a purse before me, and I will
take it. "And I shall be deserv^edly hanged," say you,
wishing to put an end to this prosing. I don't say no. I
20 can't but accept the world as I find ic, including a rope's
end, as long as it is in fashion.
CHAPTER I
AN ACCOUlfIT OF THE FAMILY OF ESMOND OF CASTLEWOOD HALT.
When Francis, fourth Viscount Castlewood, came to his
title, and presently after to take possession of his house of
Castlewood, county Hants,° in the year 1691,° almost the
25 only tenant of the place besides the domestics was a lad of
twelve years of age, of whom no one seemed to take any note
until my Lady Viscountess lighted upon him, going over the
house with the housr^keeper on the day of her arrival. The
boy was in the room known as the book-room, or yellow
30 gnll'iry, where the {portraits of the famiiy used to hang, that
fine piece among others of Sir Antonio Van Dyck° of
George, second ViScount, and that by Mr. l>obson° of my
lord the thirri ^'^iscount, just deceased, which it seems his
HENRY ESMOND 5
lady and widow did not think fit to carry away, when she
sent for and carried off to her house at Chelsea° near to Lon-
don, the picture of herself by Sir Peter Lely,° in which her
ladyship was represented as a huntress of Diana's court.
The new and fair lady of Castlewood found the sad lonely 5
little occupant of this gallery busy over his great book,
which he laid down when he was aware that a stranger was
at hand. And, knowing who that person must be, the
lad stood up and bowed before her, performing a shy
obeisance to the mistress of his house. 10
She stretched out her hand — indeed when was it that that
hand would not stretch out to do an act of kindness, or to
protect grief and ill-fortune? "And this is our kinsman,''
she said ; '' and what is your name, kinsman ? "
"My name is Hemy Esmond," said the lad, looking up at 15
her in a sort of delight and wonder, for she had come upon
him as a Dca certe° and appeared the most charming object
he had ever looked on. Her golden hair was shining in the
gold of the sun; her complexion was of a dazzhng bloom:
her hps smiling, and her eyes beaming with a kindness 2c
which made Harry Esmond's heart to beat with surprise.
"His name is Henry Esmond, sure enough, my lady,"
says J\Irs. Worksop° the housekeeper (an old tyrant whom
Henry Esmond plagued more than he hated), and the oid
gentlewoman looked significantly towards the late lord's 25
picture, as it now is in the family, noble and severe-looking,
with his hand on his sword, and his order on his cloak, which
he had from the Emperor during the war on the Danube
against the Turk.°
Seeing the great and undeniable hkeness between this 30
portrait and tlie lad, the new Viscountess, who had still
hold of the boy's hand as she looked at the picture, blushed
and dropped the hand quickly, and walked down the gallery,
followed by INIrs. Worksop.
When the lady came back, Harry Esmond stood exactly 3f
in the same spot, and with his hand as it had fallen when he
dropped it on his black coat.
Her heart melted I suppose (indeed she hath ° since owned
as much) at the notion that she should do anything unkind
6 HENRY ESMOND
to any mortal, great or small ; for when she returned, she haa
sent awa}' the housekeeper upon an errand by the door at
the farther end of the gallery ; and, coming back to the lad,
with a look of infinite pity and tenderness in her eyes, she took
5 his hand again, placing her other fair hand on his head, and
saying some words to him, which were so kind and said in a
voice so sweet, that the boy, who had never looked upon so
much beauty before, felt as if the touch of a superior being
or angel smote him down to the ground, and kissed the fair
10 protecting hand as he knelt on one knee. To the very last
hour of his life, Esmond remembered the lady as she then
spoke and looked, the rings on her fair hands, the very scent
of her robe, the beam of her eyes lighting up with surprise
and kindness, her lips blooming in a smile, the sun making a
15 golden halo round her hair.
As the boy was yet in this attitude of humility, enters
behind him a portly gentleman, with a little girl of four years
old in his hand. The gentleman burst into a great laugh at
the lady and her adorer, with his little queer figure, his sallow
20 face, and long, black hair. The lady blushed, and seemed
to deprecate his ridicule by a look of appeal to her husband,
for it was my Lord Viscount who now arrived, and whom the
lad knew, having once before seen him in the late lord's
lifetime.
25 *'So this is the little priest°!" says my lord, looking down
at the lad; "welcome, kinsman."
"He is saying his prayers to mamma," says the little girl,
who came up to her papa's knee; and my lord burst out
into another great laugh at this, and kinsman Henry looked
30 very silly. He invented a half-dozen of si)eeches in reply,
but 'twas months afterwards, when he thought of this adven-
ture : as it was, he had never a word in answer.
"Le pauvre enfant, il n'a que nous,°" says the lady, looking
to her lord ; and the boy, who understood her, though doubt-
35 less she thought otherwise^, thanked her with all his heart
for her kind speech.
"And he shan't want for friends here," says my lord, in a
kind voice, "shall he, little Trix?"
The little girl, whose name was lieatrix, and whom her
HENRY ESMOND 7
papa called by this diminutive, looked at Henry Esmond
solemnly, with a pair of large eyes, and then a smile shone
over her face, which was as beautiful as that of a cherub,
and she came up and put out a little hand to him. A keen
and delightful pang of gratitude, happiness, affection, filled 5
the orphan child's heart, as he received from the protectors,
whom Heaven had sent to him, these touching words and
tokens of friendliness and kindness. But an hour since he
had felt quite alone in the world : wdien he heard the great
peal of bells from Castlewood church ringing that morning to 10
welcome the arrival of the new lord and lady, it had rung
only terror and anxiety to him, for he knew not how the new
owner would deal with him ; and those to whom he formerly
looked for protection were forgotten or dead. Pride and
doubt too had kept him within doors, when the Vicar and the 15
people of the village, and the servants of the house, had gone
out to welcome my Lord Castlewood — for Henry Esmond
was no servant, though a dependent; no relative, though
he bore the name and inherited the blood of the house ; and
in the midst of the noise and acclamations attending the 20
arrival of the new lord (for whom you may be sure a feast
was got ready, and guns were fired, and tenants and domes-
ticks huzzaed when his carriage approached and rolled
into the courtyard of the hall), no one ever took any notice
of young Harry Esmond, who sate unobserved and alone in 25
the book-room, until the afternoon of that day, when his
new friends found him.
When my lord and lady were going awa}^ thence, the
little girl, still holding her kinsman by the hand, bade him
to come too. "Thou wilt always forsake an old friend for a 30
new one, Trix," says her father to her good-naturedly; and
went into the gallery, giving an arm to his lady. They
passed thence through the musick-gallery, long since dis-
mantled, and Queen Elizabeth's roams° in the clock-tower,
and out into the terrace, where was a fine prospect of sunset, 35
and the great darkling woods with a cloud of rooks return-
ing; and the plain and river with Castlewood village beyond,
and purple hills beautiful to look at — and the httle heir
of Castlewood, a child of two years old, was already here on
8 HENRY ESMOND
the terrace in his nurse's arms, from whom he ran across
the grass instantly he perceived his mother, and carne to her.
''If thou canst not be happ}^ here," says my lord, looldng
round at the scene, ''thou art hard to please, Rachel."
5 ''I am happy where you are," she said, "but we were hap-
piest of all at Walcote Forest. °" Then my lord began to
describe what was before them to his wife, and what indeed
little Harry knew better than he — viz., the history° of
the house : how by yonder gate the page ran away with the
10 heiress of Castlewood, by wdiich the estate came into the
present family, how the Roundheads° attacked the clock-
tower, which my lorcl'^ father was slain in defending. " I was
but two years old then," says he, "but take forty-six from
ninety, and how old shall I be, kinsman Harry ? "
15 "Thirty," says his wife, with a laugh.
"A great deal too old for you, Rachel/' answers my lord,
looking fondly down at her. Indeed she seemed to be a
girl ; and was at that time scarce twent^^^ years old.
"You know, Frank, I will do anything to please you,"
20 says she, "and I promise you I will grow older every day."
"You mustn't call papa Frank; you must call papa my
lord, now," says Miss Beatrix, with a toss of her little head;
at which the mother smiled, and the good-natured father
laughed, and the little, trotting boy laughed, not knowmg
25 why — but because he was happy no doubt — as everyone
seemed to be there. How those trivial incidents and words,
the landscape and sunshine, and the grc-up of people smiling
and talking, remain fixed on the memovy° !
As the sun was setting, the Uttle heir ^vac sent in the arms
30 of his nurse to bed, whither he went howling; but little
Trix was promised to sit to supper that night — "and you
will come too, kinsman, won't you?" she said.
Harry Esmond blushed: "I — I have supi)er with Mrs.
VVorks»)p," says he.
3; " 1) n it," says my lord, " thou siialt sup with us, Harry,
to-night. Shan't refuse a lady, shall he, Trix?" — and they
<m11 wondered at Harry's performance as a trenchor-man°;
in which character the poor boy acj^uitted himself very
remarkably, for the truth is he had had no dinner, nobody
HENRY ESMOND 9
thinking of him in the bustle which the house was in,
during the preparations antecedent to the new lord's arrival.
"No dinner! poor dear child!" says my lady, heaping
up his plate with meat, and my lord, filling a bumper for
him, bade him call a health ; on which Master Harry, crying 5
"The King,'' tossed off the wine. My lord was ready to
drink that, and most other toasts, indeed only too ready.
He would not hear of Doctor Tusher (the Vicar of Castlewood,
who came to supper) going away w^hen the sweet mv^ats
were brought : he had not had a chaplain long enough, he la
said, to be tired of him ; so his reverence kept my lord com-
pany for some hours over a pipe and a punchbowl ; and
went away home with rather a reeling gait, and declaring a
dozen of times, that his lordship's affability surpassed CA'ery
kindness he had ever had from his lordship's gracious famil)'. 15
As for young Esmond, when he got to his little chamber,
it was with a heart full of surprise and gratitude towards
the new friends whom this happy day had brought him^ He
was up and watching long before the house was astir, longing
to see that fair lady and her children — that kind protector 20
and patron; and only fearful lest their welcome of the past
night, should in any way be withdrawn or altered. But
presently httle Beatrix came out into the garden; and her
mother followed, w^ho greeted Harry as kindly as before.
He told her at greater length the histories of the house 25
(which he had been taught in the old lord's time), and to
which she listened with great interest ; and then he told her,
with lespect to the night before, that he understood French;
and thanked her for her protection.
"Do you?" says she, with a blush; "then, sir, you shall 3^
teach me and Beatrix." And she asked him many more
ciuestions regarding himself, which had best be told more
fully and explicitly than in those brief replies which the lad
made to his mistress's questions.
10 HENRY ESMOND
CHAPTER II
RELATES HOW FRANCIS, FOURTH VISCOUNT, ARRIVES AT
CASTLEWOOD
Tis known that the name of Esmond and the estate of
Castlewood, com. Hants, came into possession of the present
family through Dorothea, daughter and heiress of Edward,
Earl and Marquis of Esmond, and Lord of Castlewood,
S which lady married, 23 Eliz.,° Henry Poyns, gent.°; the
said Henry being then a page in the household of her father.
Francis, son and heir of the above Henry and Dorothea,
who took the maternal name which the family hath borne
subsequently, was made Knight and Baronet by King
^0 James the First°; and being of a military disposition, re-
mained long in Germany with the Elector Palatine, ° in whose
service Sir Francis incurred both expense and danger, lending
large sums of money to that unfortunate Prince; and re-
ceiving many wounds in battles against the Imperialists,
15 in which Sir Francis engaged.
On his roturn home Sir Francis was rewarded for his ser-
vices and many sacrifices, by his late Majesty James the
First, who graciously conferred upon this tried servant
the post of Warden of the Butteries, and Groom of the
20 King's Posset, which high and confidential office he filled
in that king's, and his unhappy successor's, reign.
His age and many wounds and infirmities, obliged Sir
Francis to p3rform much of his duty by deputy; and his
son, Sir George Esmond, knight and banneret, ° first as his
^5 father's lieutenant, and afterwards as inheritor of his father's
title and dignity, performed this office during almost the
whole of the reign of King Charles the First, and his two
sons who suf!cecded him.
Sir George Esmond man-iful rather beneath the rank that a
30 person of his name and honour might aspire to, the daughter
of Thomas Topham of the city of London, Alderman and
Goldsmith, wlio, taking the Parliamentary side in the troubles
then commencing, disajjpointed Sir George of the property
HENRY ESMOND 11
which he expected at the demise of his father-in-law, who
devised his money to his second daughter, Barbara, a spinster.
Sir George Esmond, on his part, w^as conspicuous for his
attachment and loyalty to the Royal cause and person, and
the King being at Oxford, ° in 1642, Sir George, with the 5
consent of his father, then very aged and infirm, and residing
at his house of Castlewood, melted the whole of the family
plate for his Majesty^s service.
For this and other sacrifices and merits, his Majesty, by
patent under the Privy Seal, dated Oxford, Jan., 1643, lo
w^as pleased to advance Sir Francis Esmond to the dignity
of Viscount Castlewood, of Shandon, in Ireland : and the
Viscount's estate being much impoverished by loans to the
King, which in those troublesome times his j\Iajesty could
not repay, a grant of land in the plantations of Virginia" was i;
given to the Lord Viscount; part of which land is in pos-
session of descendants of his family to the present day.
The first Viscount Castlewood died full of years, and within
a few months after he had been advanced to his honours.
He was succeeded by his eldest son, the before-named George 20
and left issue besides, Thomas, a colonel in the King's army,
that afterward joined the Usurper's" government; and
Francis, in holy orders, wdio was slain whilst defending the
house of Castlewood against the Parhament,° anno 1647.
George Lord Castlew^ood (the second Viscount) of King 25
Charles the First's time, had no male issue save his one son
Eustace Esmond, who w^as killed, with half of the Castlewood
men beside him, at Worcester fight. The lands about
Castlewood were sold and apportioned to the Common-
wealth men; Castlewood being concerned in almost all of 30
the plots against the Protector, after the death of the King,
and up to King Charles the Second's restoration. My lord
followed that king's Court about in its exile, having ruined
himself in its service. He had but one daughter, who w^as
of no great comfort to her father; for misfortune had not 35
taught those exiles sobriety of life ; and it is said that the
Duke of York° and his brother the King both ciuarrelled
about Isabel Esmond. She was maid of honour to the
Queen Henrietta Maria° ; she early joined the Roman Church ;
12 HENRY ESMOND
her father, a weak man, following her not long after at
Breda. °
On the death of Eustace Esmond at Worcester, Thomas
Esmond, nephew to my Lord Castle wood, and then a stripling,
5 became heir to the title. His father had taken the Parlia-
ment side in the quarrels, and so had been estranged from the
cliief of his house; and my Lord Castlewood was at first so
much enraged to think that his title (albeit little more than
an empty one now) should pass to a rascally Roundhead,
10 that he would have married again, and indeed proposed to
do so to a vintner's daughter at Bruges, ° to whom his lordship
owed a score for lodging when the King was there, but for
fear of the la.ughter of the Court, and the anger of his daughter,
of whom he stood in awe ; for she was in temper as imperious
15 and violent as my lord, who was much enfeebled by wounds
and drimang, was weak.
Lord Castlewood would have had a match between this
daughter Isabel and ner cousin, the son of that Francis
E'smond who was killed at Castlewood siege. And the lady,
20 it was said, took a fancy to the young man, who was her
juxiior by several years (which circumstance she did not con-
sider to be a fault in him) ; but having paid his court, and
being admitted to the intimacy of the house, he suddenly
flung up his suit, when it seemed to be pretty prosj^erous,
25 V/ithout gi"/irig a pretext for his behaviour. His friends
rallied him at what they laughingly chose to call his infidelity ;
J?ck Ciiui^cii*U,° Frant Esmond's lieutenant in the Royal
re&imen^ of toot-guards, getting the company which Esmond
V93ated, when he left the Court and Avent to Tangier in a
30 rag-e at discovering that his promotion depended on the
ccn?piaisance of his elderly affianced bride. He and Churchill,
whD nad bet;n condiscipuli° at St. Paul's School, had words
about this mattei- ; and Frank Esmond said to him, with an
oatn "Jack^ your sister may be so-and-so, but by Jove my
35 wift shan't!^ and swords were drawn, and blood drawn too,
until mends separated them on this quarrel. Few men
were so jealous about the point of honour in those days;
and gentlemen of good birth and lineage thought a Royal
blot was an ornament to their family coat. Frank Esmond
HENRY ESMOND 13
retired in the sulks, first to Tangier, ° whence he returned
after two years' service, settling on a small property he had
of his mother, near to Winchester, ° and became a country
gentleman, and kept a pack of beagles, ° and never came to
Court again in King Charles's time.° But his uncle Castle- 5
wood was never reconciled to him ; nor, for some time after-
ward, his cousin whom he had refused.
By places, pensions, bounties from France, and gifts from
the King, whilst his daughter was in favour. Lord Castle-
wood, who had spent in the Royal ser\4ce his youth and ic
fortune, did not retrieve the latter quite, and never cared
to visit Castle wood, or repair it, since the death of his son,
but managed to keep a good house, and figure at Court, and
to save a considerable sum of ready money.
And now, his heir and nephew, Thomas Esmond, began to 15
bid for his uncle's favour. Thomas had served with the
Emperor, and with the Dutch, when King Charles was com-
pelled to lend troops to the States ; and against them, when
bis Majesty made an alliance^ with the French King. In
•these campaigns Thomas Esmond was more remarked for 20
duellhig, brawling, vice and play, than for any conspicuous
gallantry in the field, and came back to England, hke many
another English gentleman who has travelled, with a char-
acter by no means improved by his foreign experience. He
had dissipated his small paternal inheritance of a younger 25
brother's portion, and, as truth must be told, was no better
than a hangea'-on of ordinaries, ° and a brawler about Alsatia^
and the Friars, when he bethought him of a means of
mending his fortune.
His cousin was now of more than middle age and had 3°
nobody's word but her own for the beauty which she said
she once possessed. She was lean, and yellow, and long in
the tooth; all the red and white in all the toy-shops of
London could not make a beauty of her — ]\Ir. Kinigrew°
called her the Sybil, the death's-head put up at the King's 35
feast as a memento mori° etc. — in fine, a woman who might
be easy of conciuest, but whom onh^ a very bold man would
think of conquering. This bold man was Thomas Esmond.
He had a fancy to my Lord Castle wood's savings, the amount
14 HENRY ESMOND
of which rumour had very much exaggerated. Madame
Isabel was said to ha^-e Royal jewels of great value ; whereas
poor Tom Esmond's last coat but one was in pawn.
j\Iy lord had at this time a fine house in Lincoln's-Inn-
5 Fields, ° nigh to the Duke's Theatre and the Portugal ambas-
sador's chapel. Tom Esmond, who had frequented the one
as long as he had money to spend among the actresses, now
came to the chufch as assiduously. He looked so lean and
shabby, that he passed without difficulty for a repentant
10 sinner; and so, becoming converted, you may be sure took
his uncle's priest for a director.
This charitable father reconciled him with the old lord his
uncle, who a short time before would not speak to him, as Tom
passed under my lord's coach window, his lordship going irt
15 state to his place at Court, while his nephew slunk by with
his battered hat and feather, and the point of his rapier
sticking out of the scabbard — to his twopenny ordinary
in BcU Yard.°
Thomas Esmond, after his reconciliation with his uncle,
20 vjery soon began to grow sleek, and to show signs of the
benefits of good living and clean lineil. He fasted rigorously
twice a week to be sure ; but he made amends on the other
days : and, to show how great his appetite was, Mr. W3a'her-
ley said, he ended by swallowing that fly-blown rank old
25 morsel his cousin. There were endless jokes and lampoons
about this marriage at Court : but Tom rode thither in his
uncle's coach now, called him father, and having won could
afford to laugh. This marriage took place very shortly be-
fore King Charles dicd° : whom the Viscount of Castle wood
30 speculily followed.
The issue of this marriage was one son ; whom the parents
watched with an intense eagerness and care; but who, in
spite of nurses and physicians, had only a brief existence.
His tainted l)lood did not run very long in his j)oor feeble
35 little body. Symptoms of evil broke out early on him ; and,
part from flattery, part superstition, nothing would satisfy
ny lord and lady, especially tlic latter, but having the poor
little cripple touched by his Majesty" at his church. They
were ready to cry out miracle at first (the doctors and
HENRY ESMOND 15
quack-salvers being constantly in attendance on the child,
and experimenting on his poor little body with every con-
ceivable nostrum) — but though there seemed from some
reason a notable amelioration in the infant's health after
his Majesty touched him, in a few weeks afterward the poor 5
thing died — causing the lampooners of the Court to say that
the King in expelling evil out of the infant of Tom Esmond
and Isabella his wife, expelled the life out of it, which was
nothing but corruption.
The mother's natural pang at losing this poor little child ic
must have been increased when she thought of her rival
Fi-ank Esmond's wife, who w^as a favourite of the whole
Court, where my poor Lady Castlewood was neglected, and
who had one child, a daughter, flourishing and beautiful, and
was about to become a mother once more. 15
The Court, as I have heard, only laughed the more because
the poor lady, who had pretty well passed the age when
ladies are accustomed to have children,- nevertheless deter-
mined not to give hope up, and even when she came to live
at Castlewood, was constantly sending over to Hexton° for 20
the doctor, and announcing to her friends the arrival of an
heir. This absurdity of hers was one amongst many others
which the wags used to play upon. Indeed, to the last days
of her life, my Lady Mscountess had the comfort of fancying
herself beautiful, and persisted in blooming up to the very 25
midst of winter, painting roses on her cheeks long after
their natural season, and attiring herself like summer though
her head was covered with snow.
Gentlemen who were about the Court of King Charles, and
King James, have told the present writer a number of stories 3^
about this cjueer old lady, with which it's not necessary that
posterity should be entertained. She is said to have had
great powers of invective; and if she fought with all her
rivals in King James's favour, 'tis certain she must have
had a vast number of quarrels on her hands. She was a 35
woman of an intrepid spirit, and it appears pursued and
rather fatigued his ]\Iajesty with her rights and her wrongs.
Some say that the cause of her leaving Court was jealousy of
Frank Esmond's wife : others that she was forced to retreat
16 HENRY ESMOND
after a great battle which took place at Whitehall, ° between
her ladyship and Lady Dorchester, ° Tom KiUigrew's daughter,
whom the King delighted to honour, and in which that ill-
favoured Esther ° got the better of our elderly Vashti. But
5 her ladyship for her part always averred that it was her
husband's quarrel, and not her own, which occasioned the
banishment of the two into the country; and the cruel
nigratitude of the Sovereign in giving away, out of the family,
that place of Warden of the Butteries, and Groom of the
10 King's Posset, which the two last Lords Castle wood had
held so honourably, and which was now conferred upon a
fellow of yesterday, and a hanger-on of that odious Dor-
chester creature, my Lord Bergamot;^ ''I never," said my
lady, "could have come to see his Majesty's posset carried by
15 any other hand than an Esmond. I should have dashed
the salver out of Lord Bergamot's hand, had I met him."
And those who knew her ladyship are aware that she was a
person quite capable of performing tliis feat had she not
wisely kept out of the way.
20 Holding the purse-strings in her own control, to which,
indeed, she liked to bring most persons who came near her,
Lady Castlewood could command her husband's obedience,
and so broke up ner establishment at London ; she had re-
moved from Lincoln 's-Inn-Fields to Chelsea, to a prett}^ new
25 house she bought there ; and brought her establishment, her
maids, lajD-dogs and gentlewomen, her priest, and his lord-
ship her husband to Castlewood Hall that she had never
seen since she quitted it as a child with her father diu-ing
the troubles of King Charles the First's reign. The walls
30 were still open in the old house as they had been left by the
shot of the Commonwealth men. A part of the mansion
was restored and fur})ished up with the plate, hangings,
amd furniture, brought from the house in London. My
1 Lionel Tipton, created Baron Rergauiot ann. 1086, Gentleman
Usher of the liack Stairs, and afterwards appointed Warden of the
HutterieH and Groom of the King's Posset, (on the decease of George,
second Viscount ('astlewood), accompanied his Majesty to St. Ger-
main's, ° where he died without, issiwe. No Groom of the Poaset was
appointed b}' the Prince of ()ratige,° nor hath there been such an
officer in any succeeding reign.
HENRY ESMOND 17
lady meant to have a triumphal entry into Castlewood
village, and expected the people to cheer as she drove over
the Green in her great coach, my lord beside her, her gentle-
women, lap-dogs, and cockatoos, ° on the opposite seat,
six horses to her carriage, and servants armed and mounted, 5
following it and preceding it. But 'twas in the height of
the No-Popery cry°; the folks in the village and the neigh-
bouring town were scared by the sight of her ladyship's
painted face and eyelids, as she bobbed her head out of the
coach-window, meaning no doubt to be very gracious; and ic
one old woman said, "Lady Isabel! lord-a-mercy, it's Lady
Jezebel ! " a name by which the enemies of the right honour-
able Viscountess were afterwards in the habit of designating
her. The country was then in a great Xo-Popery fervour ;
her ladyship's known conversion, and her husband's, the 15
priest in her train, and the service performed at the chapel of
Castlewood -(though the chapel had been built for that wor-
ship before any other was heard of in the country, and though
the service was performed in the most Cjuiet manner), got
her no favour at first in the county or village. By far the 20
greater part of the estate of Castlewood had been confis-
cated, and been parcelled out to Commonwealth men. One
or two of these old Cromwellian soldiers were still alive in
the village, and looked grimly at first upon my Lady Ms-
countess, when she came to dwell there. 25
She appeared at the Hexton Assembly, bringing her lord
after her, scaring the country folks with the splendour of
her diamonds, which she always wore in public. They
said she wore them in private, too, and slept with them
round her neck ; though the writer can pledge his word that 30
this was a calumny. "If she were to take them off," my
Lady Sark said, " Tom Esmond, her husband, would run away
with them and pawn them." Twas another calunmy.
My Lady Sark w^as also an exile from Court, and there had
been war between the two ladies before. 35
The village people began to be reconciled presently to their
lady, who was generous and kind, though fantastic and
haughty, in her ways; and whose praises Dr. Tiisher, the
Vicar, sounded loudly amongst his flock. As for my lord,
18 HENRY ESMOND
he gave no great trouble, being considered scarce more than
an appendage to m}^ lady, who, as daughter of the old lords
of Castlewood, and possessor of vast wealth, as the country
folks said (though indeed nine-tenths of it existed but in ru-
5 mour), was looked upon as the real queen of the Castle, and
mistress of all it contained.
CHAPTER III
WHITHER IN THE TIME OF THOMAS, THIRD VISCOUNT, I HAD
PRECEDED HIM, AS PAGE TO ISABELLA
Coming up to London again some short time after this
retreat, the Lord Castlewood dispatched a retainer of his
to a little cottage in the village of Ealing, near to London,
10 where for some time had dwelt an old French refugee, by
name Mr. Pastoureau, one of those whom the persecution
of the Huguenots" by the French king had brought over to
this country. With this old man lived a little lad, who went
by the name of Henry Thomas. He remembered to have
15 lived in another place a short time before, near to London too,
amongst looms and spinning-wheels, and a great deal of
psalm-singing and church-going, and a whole colony of
Frenchmen.
There he had a dear, dear friend, who died, and whom he
20 called Aunt. She used to visit him in his dreams some-
times; and her face, though it was homeh^, was a thousand
times dearer to him than that of Mrs. Pastoureau, l^on Papa°
Pastoureau's new wife, who came to live with him after
aunt went away. And there, at Spittlefields, as it used to
25 be called, lived Uncle George, who was a weaver too, but
used to tell Harry that he was a little gentleman, and that
his father was a captain, and his mother an angel.
When he said so, Bon Papa used to look uj) from the loom,
where he was embroidering beautiful silk flowers, and say,
30 "Angel! she belongs to the J^abylonish scarlet woman. ° "
Hon Papa was always talking of the scarlet woman. He
had a little room where he always used to preach and sing
HENRY ESMOND 19
h3'mns out of his great old nose. Little Harry did not like
the preaching; he liked better the fine stories which aunt
used to tell him. Bon Papa's wife never told him pretty
stories ; she quarrelled with Uncle George, and he went away.
After this Harrj-'s Bon Papa, and his wife and two children 5
of her own that she brought with her, came to live at Ealing.
The new wife gave her children the best of everything, and
Harry many a whipping, he knew not why. Besides blows,
he got ill-names from her, which need not be set down here,
for the sake of old Mr. Pastoureau, who was still kind some- 10
times. The unhappiness of those days is long forgiven,
though they cast a shade of melancholy over the child's
youth, which will accompany him, no doubt, to the end of
his days : as those tender twigs are bent the trees grow after-
ward; and he, at least, who has suffered as a child, and 15
is not quite perverted in that early school of unhappiness,
learns to be gentle and long-suffering with little children.
Harry was very glad when a gentleman dressed in black,
on horseback, with a mounted servant behind him, came
to fetch him away from Ealing. The noverca, or unjust 20
stepmother, who had neglected him for her own two chil-
dren, gave him supper enough the night before he went
away, and plenty in the morning. She did not beat him
once, and told the children to keep their hands off him.
One was a girl, and Harry never could bear to strike a girl, 25
and the other was a boy, whom he could easily have beat,
but he always cried out, when Mrs. Pastoureau came sailing
to the rescue with arms like a flail. She onl}- washed Harry's
face the day he went away ; nor ever so much as once boxed
his ears. She whimpered rather when the gentleman in 30
black came for the boy : and old Mr. Pastoureau, as he ga"\'e
the child his blessing, scowled over his shoulder at the strange
gentleman, and grumbled out something about BaMdon
and the scarlet lady. He was grown quite old, like a child
almost. Mrs. Pastoureau used to wipe his nose as she did 35
to the children. She was a great, big, handsome young
woman; but though she pretended to cry, Harry thought
'twas only a sham, and sprung quite delighted upon the
horse ujDon which the lacquey helped him.
20 HENRY ESMOND
He was a Frenchman, his name was Blaise. The chill
could talk to him in his own language perfectly well : he
knew it better than Enghsh indeed, having lived hitherto
chiefly among French people : and being called the little
5 Frenchman by other boys on Ealing Green. He soon
learnt to speak English perfectly, and to forget some of his
French: children forget easily, ^rome earlier and fainter
recollections the child had, of a different country; and a
town with tall white houses; and a ship. But these were
lo quite indistinct in the boy's mind, as, indeed, the memory of
Ealing soon became, at least of much that he suffered there.
The lacquey before whom he rode was verj^^ lixeiy and
voluble, and informed the boy that the gentleman riding
before him was my lord's Chaplain, Father Holt,° that he
15 was now to be called Master Harry Esmond, that my Lord
Viscount Castle wood was his parrairi, that he was to live at
the great house of Castlewood, in the province of shire,
where he would see Madame the Viscountess, who was a
grand lady, and so, seated on a cloth before Blaise's saddle,
20 Hany Esmond was brought to London, and to a fine square
called Co vent Garden, near to which his patron lodged.
Mr. Holt the priest took the child by the hand, and brought
him to this nobleman, a grand languid nobleman in a great
cap and flowered morning-gown, sucking oranges. He patted
25 Harry on the head and gave him an orange.
"C'est bien 9a," he said to the priest after eyeing the child,
and the gentleman in black shrugged his shoulders.
Let Blaise take him out for a holyday, and out for a holy-
day tlie boy and the valet went. Harry went jumping along,
30 he was glad enough to go.
He win remember to his life's end the delights of those
days. He was taken to see a play by Monsieur Blaise, in a
house a thousand times greater and finer tha.n the booth at
Ealing Fair — and on the next hapj)y day they took water
35 on the river, ° and Harry saw London Bridge, ° with the
houses and bookseUers' shops thereon, looking like a street,
and the Tower° of London, with the annour, and the great
lions iu\(\ bears in the moats — all under company of Mon-
sieur Jilaise.
E1UNRY ESMOND 21
Presently, of an early morning, all the party set forth for
the country, namely, my Lord Viscount and the other gentle-
man; Monsieur Blaise, and Harry on a pillion° behind
him, and two or three men with pistols and leading the bag-
gage-horses. And all along the road the Frenchman told 5
little Harry stories of brigands, which made the child's
hair stand on end, and terrified him, so that at the great
gloomy inn on the road where they lay, he besought to he
allowed to sleep in a room with one of the servants, and was
compassionated by Mr. Holt, the gentleman who travelled ic
with my lord, and who gave the child a little bed in his
chamber.
His artless talk and answers very likely inclined this gentle-
man in the boy's favour, for next day Mr. Holt said Harry
should ride behind him, and not with the French lacquey; 15
and all along the journey put a thousand questions to the
child — as to his foster-brother and relations at Ealing ;
what his old grandfather had taught him; what languages
he knew ; whether he could read and write, and sing, and so
forth. And Mr. Holt found that Flarry could read and write, 20
and possessed the two languages of French and English very
well, and when he asked Harry about singing, the lad broke
out with a hymn to the tune of Dr. Martin Luther, ° which
set ]\Ir. Holt a-laughing; and even caused his grand parrain
in the laced hat and perriwig to laugh too when Holt told 25
him what the child was singing. For it appeared that
Dr. Martin Luther's hymns were not sung in the churches
Mr. Holt preached at.
"You must never sing that song any more, do you hear,
little mannikin ?" says my Lord Viscount, holding up a finger. 3c
''But we will trj^ and teach you a better, Harry," Mr. Holt
said, and the child answered, for he was a docile child, and
of an affectionate nature, "that he loved pretty songs, and
would try and learn anything the gentleman would tell him."
That day he so pleased the gentlemen by his talk, that the}^ 35
had him to dine with them at the inn, and encouraged him
in his prattle ; and Monsieur Blaise, with whom he rode and
dined the da}^ before, waited upon him now.
"Tis well, 'tis well," said Blaise, that night (in his own
22 HENRY ESMOND
language) when they lay again at an inn. "We are a little
lord here, we are a little lord now : we shall see what we are
when we come to Castle wood where my lady is."
"When shall we come to Castlewood, Monsieur Blaise?"
5 says Harry.
"Parbleu! my lord does not press himself/' Blaise says,
with a grin; and, indeed, it seemed as if his lordship was
not in a great hurry, for he spent three days on that journey
which Harry Esmond hath often since ridden in a dozen
10 hours. For the last two of the days, Harry rode with the
priest, who was so kind to him, that the child had grown to
be quite fond and familiar with him by the journey's end,
and had scarce a thought in his little heart which by that
time he had not confided to his new friend.
15 At length, on the third day, at evening, they came to a
village standing on a green with elms round it, very pretty
to look at ; and the people there all took off their hats, and
made curtsies to my Lord Viscount, who bowed to them all
languidly; and there was one portly person that wore a
20 cassock° and a broad-leafed hat, who bowed lower than any
one — and with this one both my lord and Mr. Holt had a
few words. "This, Harry, is Castle wood church," says Mr.
Holt, "and this is the pillar thereof, learned Doctor Tusher.
Take off your hat, sirrah, and salute Doctor Tusher."
25 "Come up to supper. Doctor," says my lord; at which the
Doctor made another low bow, and the party moved on
towards a grand house that was before them, with many
grey towers and vanes on them, and Avindows flaming in
the sunshine : and a great army of rooks, wheeling over
30 their heads, made for the woods behind the house, as Harry
saw; and Mr. Holt told him that they lived at Castlewood
too.
They came to the house, and passed under an arch into a
courtyard, with a fountain in the centre, where many men
35 came and held my lord's stirrup as he descended; and i)aid
great respect to Mr. Holt likewise. And the child thought
that the servants looked at him curiously and smiled to one
another — and he lecalled what lilaise had said to him when
they were in London, and Harry had spoken about his god-
BENRY ESMOND 23
papa, when the Frenchman said, ' Parbleu, one sees well that
my lord is your godfather ; ' words whereof the poor lad did
not know the meaning then : though he apprehended the
truth in a very short time afterwards, and learned it and
thought of it with no small feeling of shame. 5
Taking Harry by the hand as soon as they were both
descended from their horses, IVIr. Holt led him across the
court, and under a low door to rooms on a level with the
ground; one of which Father Holt said was to be the boy's
chamber, the other on the other side of the passage being the lo
Father's own ; and as soon as the little man's face was washed,
and the Father's own dress arranged, Harry's guide took
him once more to the door by which my lord had entered
the hall, and \x]i a stair, and through an anteroom to my
lady's drawing-room — an apartment than which Harry 15
thought he had ne^'er seen anything more grand — no,
not in the Tower of London which he had just visited. In-
deed the chamber was richly ornamented in the manner of
Queen Elizabeth's time,° with great stained windows at
either end, and hangings of tapestry, which the sun shining 20
through the coloured glass paintecl of a thousand hues;
and here in state, by the fire, sate a lady to whom the priest
took up Harr}^, who was indeed amazed by her appearance.
]\Iy Lady Viscountess's face was daubed with white and
red up to the eyes, to which the paint gave an unearthly 25
glare : she had a tower of lace on her head, under which
was a bush of black curls — borrowed curls — so that no
wonder little Harry Esmond was scared when he was first
presented to her — the kind priest acting as master of the
ceremonies at that solemn introduction — and he stared Z°
at her with eyes almost as great as her own, as he had stared
at the player-woman who acted the wicked tragedy-queen,
when the players came down to Ealing Fair. She sate in a
great chair by the fire-corner ; in her lap was a spaniel dog
that barked furiously ; on a little table by her was her lad}'- 35
ship's snuff-box and her sugar-plum box. She wore a
dress of black velvet, and a petticoat of flame-coloured
brocade. She had as many rings on her fingers as the old
woman of Banbury Cross°; and pretty small feet ^Yfeich z\.z
24 HENRY ESMOND
was fond of showing, with great gold clocks to her stockings;
and white pantofles° with red heels : and an odour of musk
was shook out of her garments whenever she moved or quitted
the room, leaning on her tortoiseshell stick, ° little Furybark-
5 ing at her heels.
Mrs. Tusher, the parson's wife, was with my lady. She
had been waiting-woman to her ladyship in the late lord's
time, and having her soul in that business, took naturally
to it when the Viscountess of Castlewood returned to inhabit
10 her father's house.
"I present to your ladyship your kinsman and little page
of honour, Master Henry Esmond," Mr. Holt said, bowing
lowly, with a sort of comical humility. "Make a pretty bow
to my lady, monsieur; and then another little bow, not so
15 low, to Madame Tusher — the fair priestess of Castlewood.'.'
"Where I have li\^ed and hope to die, sir," says Madame
Tusher, giving a hard glance at the brat, and then at my lady.
Upon her the boy's whole attention was for a time directed.
He could not keep his great eyes off from her. Since the Em-
20 press of Ealing he had seen nothing so awful.
"Does my appearance please you, little page?" asked the
lady.
"He would be very hard to please if it didn't," cried Ma-
dame Tusher.
25 "Have done, you silly Maria," said Lady Castlewood.
"Where I'm attached, I'm attached, madam — and I'd
die rather than not say so."
"Je meurs oil je m'attache," Mr. Holt said with a polite
grin. "The ivy says so in the picture, and clings to the
30 oak° like a fond parasite as it is."
"Parricide°! sir!" cries Mrs. Tusher.
"Hush, Tusher — you are always bickering with Father
Holt," cried my lady. "Come and kiss my hand, child:"
and the oak held out a branck to little Harry Esmond, who
35 took and dutifully kissed the lean old hand, upon the gnarled
knuckles of which there glittered a hundred rings.
"To kiss that hatid would make many a pretty fellow
hai)py !" cried Mrs. Tusher: on which my lady crying out,
"■^Jo, you foolish Tusher," and tapping her with her great fan.
HENRY ESMOND 25
Tusher ran forward to seize her hand and kiss it. Fury-
arose and barked furiously at Tusher; and Father Holt
looked on at this queer scene, with arch grave glances.
The awe exliibited by the little boy perhaps pleased the
lady to whom this artless flattery was bestowed, for having 5
gone down on his knee (as Father Holt had directed him, and
the mode then was) and performed his obeisance, she said,
" Page Esmond, my groom of the chamber will inform you
what your duties are', v/hen you wait upon my lord and me ;
and good Father Holt will instruct you as becomes a gentle- la
man of our name. You will pay him obedience in every-
thing, and I pray you may grow to be as learned, and as
good as your tutor.''
The lady seemed to have the greatest reverence for Mr.
Holt, and to be more afraid of him than of anything else in 15
the world. If she was ever so angry, a word, or look from
Father Holt, made her calm : indeed he had a vast power of
subjecting those who came near him; and, among the rest,
his new pupil gave himself up with an entire confidence and
attachment to the good Father, and became his willing 20
slave almost from the first moment he saw him.
He put his small hand into the Father's as he walked
away from his first presentation to his mistress, and asked
many c[uestions in his artless childish way. "Who is that
other woman?" he asked. ''She is fat and round, she is 25
more pretty than my Lady Castle wood."
"She is ]\Iadame Tusher, the parson's wife of Castlewood.
She has a son of your age, but bigger than you."
"Why does she like so to kiss my lady's hand? It is not
good to kiss." 30
"Tastes are different, little man. Madame Tusher is at-
tached to my lady, having been her waiting- woman, before
she was married, in the old lord's time. She married Doctor
Tusher the Chaplain. The EngUsli household divines often
marry the waiting- women." 35
"You will not marry the French woman, will you? I saw
her laughing with Blaise in the buttery."
"I belong to a church that is older and better than the Eng-
lish church," Mr. Holt said (making a sign° whereof Esmond
26 HENRY ESMOND
did not then understand the meaning, across his breast and
forehead); "in our church the clergy do not marry.° You
will understand these things better soon."
"Was not Saint Peter ° the head of j^our church? — Dr.
5 Rabbits of EaUng told us so.'^
The Father said, "Yes, he was."
"But Saint Peter was married, for we heard only last Sun-
day that his wife's mother lay sick of a fever." On which
the Father again laughed, and said he would understand this
lo too better soon, and talked of other things, and took away
Harry Esmond, and showed him the great old house which
he had come to inhabit.
It stood on a rising green hill, with woods behind it, in
which were rooks' nests where the birds at morning and
15 returning home at evening made a great cawing. At the
foot of the hill was a river with a steep ancient bridge cross-
ing it ; and beyond that a large pleasant green flat, where the
village of Castle wood stood and stands, with the church in
the midst, the parsonage hard by it, the inn with the black-
20 smith's forge beside it, and the sign of the Three Castles°
on the elm. The London road stretched away towards the
rising sun, and to the west were swelling hills and peaks behind
which many a time Harry Esmond saw the same sun setting,
that he now looks on thousands of miles away, across the
25 great ocean, — in a new Castlewood by another stream that
bears, like the new country of wandering J3neas,° the fond
names of the land of his youth.
The Hall of Castlewoocl was built with two courts, whereof
one only, the fountain court, was now inhabited, the other
30 having been battered down in the Cromwollian wars. In
the fountain court, still in good repair, was the great hall,
near to tlie kitchen and butteries. A dozen of living-rooms
looking to the north, and communicating with the little
chapel that faced eastwards and the l)uil(lings stretching
35 from that to the main gate, and with the hall (which looked
to the west) into the court now dismantled. This court had
been the most magnificent of the two, until the Protector's
cannon tore down one side of it before the ])lace was taken
and stormed. The besiegers entered at the terrace under
HENRY ESMOND 27
the clock-tower, slaying every man of the garrison, and at
their head my lord's brother, Francis Esmond.
The Restoration did not bring enough money to the Lord
Castlewood to restore this ruined part of his house; where
were the morning parlours, above them the long musick- 5
gallery, and before which stretched the garden terrace,
where, however, the flowers grew again, which tha boots of the
Roundheads had trodden in their assault, and which was
restored without much cost, and only a little care, by both
ladies who succeeded the second viscount in the govern- la
ment of this mansion. Round the terrace-garden was a
low wall, with a wicket leading to the wooded height beyond,
that is called Cromwell's battery to this day.
Young Harry Esmond learned the domestick part of his
duty, which was easy enough, from the groom of her lady- 15
ship's chamber : serving the Countess, as the custom com-
monly was in his boyhood, as page, waiting at her chair,
bringing her scented water and the silver basin after dinner
— sitting on her carriage step on state occasions, or on pub-
lic days introducing her company to her. This was chiefly 20
of the Catholic gentry, ° of whom there were a pretty
many in the country and neighbouring city; and who rode
not seldom to Castlewood to partake of the hospitalities
there. In the second year of their residence the company
seemed especially to increase. My lord and m}^ lad}' were 25
seldom without visitors, in whose society it was curious to
contrast the difference of behaviour between Father Holt,
the director of the family, and Doctor Tusher, the rector
of the parish — Mr. Holt moving amongst the very highest
as quite their equal, and as com.manding tliem all; vrhile 30
poor Doctor Tusher, whose position was indeed a difficult
one, having been Chaplain once to the Hall, and still to the
Protestant servants there, seemed more like an usher than an
ecjual, and always rose to go away after the first course.
Also there came in these times to Father Holt many 35
private visitors, whom after a little, Harry Esmond had little
difficulty in recognising as ecclesiastics of the Father's
persuasion : whatever their dresses (and they adopted all)
might be. These were closeted with the Father constantly,
28 HENRY ESMOND
and often came and rode away without paying their devoirs'*
to my lord and lady — to the lady and lord rather — his
lordship being little more than a cypher in the house, and
entirely under his domineering partner. A little fowling, a
5 little hunting, a great deal of sleep, and a long time at cards
and table, carried through one day after another with his
lordship. When meetings took place in this second year,
which often would happen with closed doors, the page found
my lord's sheet of paper scribbled over with dogs and horses,
10 and 'twas said he had much ado to keep himself awake at
these councils : the Countess ruling over them, and he acting-
as little more than her secretary.
Father Holt began speedily to be so much occupied with
these meetings as rather to neglect the education of the little
15 lad who so gladly put himself under the kind priest's orders.
At first they read much and regularly, both in Latin and
French; the Father not neglecting in anything to impress
his faith upon his pupil, but not forcing him violently, and
treating him with a dehcacy and kindness which surprised
20 and attached the child, always more easily won by these
methods than by any severe exercise of authority. And his
delight in their walks was to tell Harry of the glories of his
order, ° of its martyrs and heroes, of its brethren converting
the heathen by myriads, traversing the desert, facing the
25 stake, ruling the courts and councils, or braving the tortures
of kings; so that Harry Esmond thought that to belong to
the Jesuits was the greatest prize of life and bravest end of
ambition ; the greatest career here, and in heaven the surest
reward; and began to long for the day, not only when he
30 should enter into the one church and receive his first com-
munion, but when he might join that wonderful brother-
hood, which was present throughout all the world, and which
numbered the wisest, the bravest, the highest born, the
most elorjuent of men, among its members. Father
35 Holt bade him keep his ^^ews secret, and to hide them as
a gi-eat treasure which would escape him if it was revealed;
and ])roud of this confidence and secret vested in him, the
lad became fondly attached to the master who initiated him
into a mystery so wonderful ai^d awful. And when little
HENRY ESMOND 29
Tom lusher, his neighbour, came from school for his hohday,
and said how he, too, was to be bred up for an EngHsh priest, °
and would get what he called an exhibition^ from his school,
and then a college scholarship and fellowship, and then a good
living — it tasked young Harry Esmond's powers of reti- 5
cence not to say to his young companion, "Church! priest-
hood ! fat living ! My dear Tommy, do you call yours a
church and a priesthood ? What is a fat living compared
to converting a hundred thousand heathens by a single,
sermon ? What is a scholarship at Trinity° by the side of a lo
crown of martyrdom, with angels awaiting you as yowY head
is taken off? Could your master at school sail over the
Thames on his gown? Have you statues in your church
that can bleed, speak, walk, and cry? ]\Iy good Tommy,
in dear Father Holt's church these things take place every 15
day. You know Saint Philip° of the Willows appeared to
Lord Castiewood and caused him to turn to the one true
church. No saints ever come to 3'^ou." And Harry Esmond,
because of his promise to Father Holt, hiding away these
treasures of faith from T. Tusher, delivered himself of them 20
nevertheless simply to Father Holt, who stroked his head,
smiled at him with his inscrutable look, and told him that he
did well to meditate on these great things, and not to talk
of them except under direction.
CHAPTER IV
I AM PLACED UNDER A POPISH PRIEST, AND BRED TO THAT
RELIGION — VISCOUNTESS CASTLEWOOD
Had time enough been given and his childish inclixiations 25
been properly nurtured, Harry Esmond had been a Jesuit
priest ere he was a dozen years older, and might have finished
his days a martyr in China or a victim on Tower Hili° : lOr
in the few months they spent together at Castiewood. Mr. Holt
obtained an entire mastery over the boy's intellect and 30
affections : and had brought him to think, as indeed Fathsr
Holt thought with all his heart too, that no life was so nobie.
30 HENRY ESMOND
no death so desirable, as that which many brethren of his
famous order were ready to undergo. B}^ love, by a bright-
ness of wit and good humour that charmed all, by an author-
ity which he knew how to assume, by a mystery and silence
5 about him which increased the child's reverence for him, he
won Harry's absolute fealty, and would have kept it, doubt-
less, if schemes greater and more important than a poor little
boy's admission into orders had not called him away.
After being at home for a few months in tranquillity (if
10 theirs might be called tranquillity, which was, in truth, a
constant bickering), my lord and lady left the country for
London, taking their director with them : and his little pupil
scarce ever shed more bitter tears in his life than he did for
nights after the first parting with his dear friend, as he lay
15 in the lonely chamber next to that which the Father used to
occupy. He and a few domestics were left as the only
tenants of the great house : and though Harry sedulously
did all the tasks which the Father set him, he had many
hours unoccupied, and read in the library, and bewildered
30 his little brains with the great books he found there.
After a while the little lad grew accustomed to the lone-
liness of the place ; and in after days remembered this part
of his life as a period not unhappy. When the famih'' was
at London the whole of the establishment travelled thither
«5 with the exception of the porter, who was, moreover, brewer,
gardener, and woodman, and his wife and children. These
had their lodging in the gatehouse hard by, with a door
into the court, and a window looking out on the Green was
the Chaplain's room ; and next to this a small chamber where
30 Father Holt had his books, and Harry Esmond his sleeping
closet. The side of the house facing the east had escaped
the guns of the Cromwollians, whose battery was on the
height facing the western court; so that this eastern end
bore few marks of demolition, save in the chapel, where the
35 painted windows surviving ]*](hvard the Sixth° had been
l)roke by the Commonwealth men. \n Father Holt's time
little Harry Esmond acted as his familiar, and faithful little
servitor; beating his clothes, folding his vestments, fetching
his water from the wf^ll long before daylight, ready to run
HENRY ESMOND 31
anywhere for the service of his beloved priest. When the
Father was away, he locked his private chamber, but the
room where the books were was left to little Harry, who but
for the society of this gentleman was little less solitary when
Lord Castle wood was at home. 5
The French wit saith that a hero is none to his valet-de-
chamhre, and it required less quick eyes than m.y lady's
little page was naturally endowed with, to see that she had
many qualities by no means heroick, however much Mrs.
Tusher might flatter and coax her. When Father Holt was iQ
not by, who exercised an entire authority over the pair, my
lord and my lady quarrelled and abused each other so as to
make the servants laugh, and to frighten the little page on
duty. The poor boy trembled before his mistress, who
called him by a hundred ugly names, who made nothing of 15
boxing his ears and tilting the silver basin in his face which
it was his business to present to her after dinner. She hath
repaired, by subsequent kindness to him, these severities,
which it must be owned made his childhood very unhappy.
She was but unhappy herself at this time, poor soul, and 20
I suppose made her dependents lead her own sad life.
I think my. lord was as much afraid of her as her page was,
and the only person of the household who mastered her
was Mr. Holt. Harry was only too glad when the Father
dined at table, and to slink away and prattle with him after- 25
wards, or read with him, or walk with him. Luckily my
Lady Viscountess did not rise till noon. .Heaven help the
poor waiting-woman who had charge of her toilet ! I have
often seen the poor wretch come out with red eyes from the
clcset, where those long and mysterious rites of her lady- 3°
ship^s dress were performed, and the backgammon-box
locked up with a rap on Mrs. Tusher 's fingers when she
played ill or the game was going the wrong way.
Blessed be the king who introduced cards, and the kind
inventors of piquet and cribbage,° for they employed six 35
hours at least of her ladyship's day, during which her family
was prett}^ easy. Without this occupation my lady fre-
quently declared she should die. Her dependents one after
another relieved guard — 'twas rather a dangerous post to
B2 HENRY ESMOND
play with her ladyship — and took the cards turn about.
Mr. Holt would sit with her at piquet during hours together,
at which time she behaved herself properly; and as for Dr.
Tusher, I believe he w^ould have left a parishioner's dying bed,
5 if summoned to play a rubber with his patroness at Cas-
tlewood. Sometimes, when they were pretty comfortable
together, my lord took a hand. Besides these my lady had
her faithful poor Tusher, and one, two, three gentlewomen
whom Harry Esmond could recollect in his time. They
10 could not bear that genteel service very long; one after
another tried and failed at it. These and the housekeeper,
and little Harry Esmond had a table of their own. Poor
* ladies ! their life was far harder than the page's. He was
sound asleep tucked up in his little bed, whilst they were
15 sitting by her ladyship reading her to sleep, with the Neivs
Letter° or the Grand Cyrus ° My lady used to ha^'e boxes
of new plays from London, and Harry was forbidden,
under the pain of a whipping, to look into them. I am
afraid he deserved the penalty pretty often, and got it
20 sometimes. Father Holt applied it twice or thrice, when
he caught the young scapegrace with a delightful wicked
comedy of Mr. Shadweirs° or Mr. Wycherley's under his
pillow.
These, when he took any, were my lord's favourite reading.
25 But he was averse to much study, and, as his little page
fancied, to much occupation of any sort.
It always seemed to young Harry Esmond that my lord
treated him with more kindness when his lady was not
present, and Lord Castlewood would take the lad sometimes
30 on his little journeys a-hunting, or a-birding; he loved to
play at cards and tric-trac with him, which games the boy
i(!arned to pleasure his lord ; and was growing to like him
better daily, showing a special pbasure if Father Holt gave
a good report of him, patting him on the head, and promising
35 that he would j)rovi(le for the lK)y. However, in my lady's
presence, my lord showed no such marks of kindness, and
affected to treat the lad rouglily, and rebuked him sharply
for little faults — for which he in a manner asked j)ardon of
young Esmond when they were private, saying if he did
HENRY ESMOND 33
not speak roughly, she would, and his tongue was not such a
bad one as his lady's — a point whereof the boy, young as
he was, was very well assured.
Great public events were happening all this while of which
the simple young page took Httle count. But one day riding 5
into the neighbouring town on the step of my lady's coach,
his lordship and she, and Father Holt, being inside, a great
mob of people came hooting and jeering round the coach,
bawling out " The Bishops for ever ! '' " Down with the Pope ! "
"No Popery: no Popery! Jezebel, Jezebel!'' so that my re
lord began to laugh, my lady's eyes to roll with anger, for
she was as bold as a lioness, and feared nobody, whilst Mr.
Holt, as Esmond saw from his place on the step, sank back
with rather an alarmed face, crying out to her ladyship,
" For God's sake, madam, do not speak or look out of window, 15
sit still." But she did not obey this prudent injunction
of the Father ; she thrust her head out of the coach window,
and screamed out to the coachman, " Flog your way through
them, the brutes, James, and use your whip !"
The mob answered w^ith a roaring jeer of laughter, and 20
fresh cries of "Jezebel! Jezebel!" My lord only laughed
the more : he was a languid gentleman : nothing seemed to
excite him commonly, though I have seen him cheer and
halloo the hounds very briskly, and his face (which was
generally very yellow and calm.) grow quite red and cheerful 25
during a burst over the Downs° after a hare, and laugh, and
swear, and huzza, at a cock-fight, ° of which sport he was very
fond. And now, when the mob began to hoot his lady, he
laughed with something of a mischievous look, as though he
expected sport, and thought that she and they were a match. 3c
James the coachman was more afraid of his mistress than
the mob, probably, for he whipped on his horses as he was
bidden, and the postboy that rode with the first pair (my
lady always went with her coach-and-six) gave a cut of his
thong over the shoulders of one fellow who put his hand out 35
towards the leading horse's rein.
It was a market-day, and the country people were all
assembled with their baskets of poultry, eggs, and such
things; the postihon had no sooner lashed the man who
34 HENRY ESMOND
would have taken hold of his horse, but a great cabbage
came whirling like a bombshell into the carriage, at which
my lord laughed more, for it knocked my lady's fan out of
her hand, and plumped into Father Holt's stomach. Then
5 came a shower of carrots and potatoes.
"For Heaven's sake be still," says Mr. Holt; ''we are not
ten paces from the Bell archway, ° where they can shut tht.
gates on us, and keep out this canaille. °"
The little page was outside the coach on the step,
lo and a fellow in the crowd aimed a potato at him, and
hit him in the eye, at which the poor little wretch set up a
shout; the man laughed, a great big saddler's apprentice
of the town. "Ah ! you d little yelling Popish bastard,"
he said, and stooped to pick up another; the crowd had
15 gathered quite between the horses and the Inn door by
this time, and the coach was brought to a dead stand-still.
My lord jumped as briskly as a boy out of the door on his
side of the coach, squeezing little Harry behind it; had
hold of the potato thrower's collar in an instant, and the
20 next moment the brute's heels were in the air and he fell
on the stones with a thump.
"You hulking coward!" says he; "you pack of screaming
blackguards. How dare you attack children, and insult
women? Fling another shot at that carriage, you sneaking
25 pigskin cobbler, and by the Lord, I'll send my rapier through
you."
Some of the mob cried, "Huzza, my lord !" for they knew
him, and the saddler's man was a known bruiser, near twice
as big as my Lord Viscount.
3° ''Make way, there," says he (he spoke in a high shrill
voice, but with a great air of authority). "Make wav and
let her ladyship's carriage pass." The men that were between
the coach and the gate of the Bell actually did make way, and
the horses went in, my lord walking after them with his hat
35 on his head.
As he was going in at the gate, through which the coach
had just rolled, another cry begins, of "No Popery — no
Papists!" My lord turns rouud and faces thorn once more.
"God save the King!" says he at the highest pitch of his
HENRY ESMOND 35
voice. "Who dares abuse the King's rehgion°? You, you
d d psalm-singing cobbler, ° as sure as I'm a magistrate°
of this county, I'll commit° 3'ou." The fellow shrunk
back, and my lord retreated with all the honours of the day.
But when the little flurry caused by the scene was over, and 5
the flush passed off his face, he relapsed into his usual languor,
trifled with his little dog and yawned when my lady spoke to
him. •
This m.ob was one of many thousands that were going
about the countr}^ at that time, huzzaing for the acquittal 10
of the seven bishops° who had been tried just then, and
about whom little Harry Esmond at that time knew scarce
anything. It was assizes° at Hexton, and there was a great
meeting of the gentry at the Bell; and my lord's people
had their new liveries on. and Harry a little suit of blue and 15
silver, which, he wore upon occasions of state; and the
gentlefolks came round and talked to my lord; and a judge
in a red gown, who seemed a very great personage, especially ■
comphmented him and my lady, who was mighty grand.
Harry remembers her train borne up by her gentlewoman. 20
There was an assembly and ball at \he great room at the
Bell, and other young gentlemen of the county families
looked on as he did. One of them jeered him for his black
eye, which ■ was swelled by the potato, and another called
hrni a bastard, on which he and Harry fell to fisticuffs. My 25
lord's cousin. Colonel Esmond of Walcote, was there, and
separated the two lads — a great tall gentleman with a
handsome, good-natured face. The boy did not know how
nearh^ in after hfe he should be allied to Colonel Esmond,
and how much kindness he should have to owe him. 30
There was little love between the two famihes. My lady
used not to spare Colonel Esmond in talking of him, for
reasons which have been hinted already; but about which,
at his tender age, Henry Esmond could be expected to know
nothing. 35
Very soon afterwards my lord and lady went to London
with ]\Ir. Holt, leaving, however, the page behind them.
The little man had the great house of Castlewood to himself;
or between him and the housekeeper, Mrs. Worksop, an old
36 HENRY ESMOND
lady who was a kinswoman of the family in some distani
way, and a Protestant, but a stanch Tory and king's-man,
as all the Esmonds were. He used to go to school to Dr.
Tusher when he was at home, though the Doctor was much
5 occupied too. There was a great stir and commotion every-
where, even in the little quiet village of Castle wood, whither
a party of people came from the town, who would have
broken Castlewood Chapel windows, but the village people
turned out; and even old Sieve wright, the republican black-
io smith, along with them : for my lady, though she was a
Papist, and had many odd ways, was kind to the tenantry,
and there was always a plenty of beef and blankets, and
medicine for the poor, at Castlewood Ha)!.
A kingdom was changing hands whilst my lord and lady
15 were away. King James was flying, the Dutchmen were
coming; awful stories about them and the Prince of Orange
used old Mrs. Worksop to tell to the idle little page.
He liked the solitude of the great house very well ; he had
all the play-books to read, and no Father Holt to whip him,
20 and a hundred childish pursuits and pastimes, without doors
and within, which made this time very pleasant.
CHAPTER V
MY SUPERIORS ARE ENGAGED IN PLOTS FOR THE RESTORATION
OF KING JAMES II.
Not ixaving been able to sleep, for thinking of some lines
for eels which he had placed the night before, the lad was
lying in nis little bed, waiting for the hour when the gate
25 would be open, and he and his comrade, Job Lockwood the
porter's son, might go to the pond and see what fortune had
bt ought them. At daybreak Job was to awaken him, but
his own eagerness for the sport had ser\'ed as a r4vnllcz° long
since — so long, that it seemed to him as if the day never
30 would come.
It might have been four o'cloc^k when he heard the door
of the opposite chamber, the Chap la in 's° room, open, and
HENRY ESMOND 37
the voice of a man coughing in the passage. Harry jumped
up, thinking for certain it was a robber, or hoping, perhaps,
for a ghost, and flinging open his own door, saw before him
the Chaplain's door open, and a light inside, and a figure stand-
ing in the doorway, in the midst of a great smoke which 5
issued from the room.
'* Who's there ? " cried out the boy, who was of a good spirit.
"Silentram° ! '' whispered the other; "'tis I, my boy!^'
and holding his hand out, Harry had no difficulty in recog-
nising his master and friend, Father Holt. A curtain was 10
over the window of the Chaplain's room that looked to the
court, and Harry saw that the smoke came from a great
flame of papers which were burning in a brazier° when he
entered the Chaplain's room. After giving a hasty greeting
and blessing to the lad, who was charmed to see his tutor, 15
the Father continued the burning of his papers, drawing them
from a cupboard over the mantelpiece wall, which Harry
had never seen before.
Father Holt laughed, seeing the lad's attention fixed at
cnce an this hole. "That is right, Harry," he said; "faithful 20
little famuli° see all and say nothing. You are faithful,
I. know."
"I know I would go to the stake for you," said Harry.
" I don't want your head," said the Father, patting it kindly ;
"all you have to do is to hold your tongue. Let us burn these 25
papers, and say nothing to anybody. Should j^ou like to
read them?"
Harr}^ Esmond blushed, and held down his head; he
had looked as the fact was, and without thinking, at the
paper before him; and though he had seen it, could not 3°
understand a word of it, the letters being quite clear enough,
but quite without meaning. They burned the papers,
beating down the ashes in a brazier, so that scarce any traces
of them remained.
Harry had been accustomed to see Father Holt in more 35
dresses than one ; it not being safe, or worth the danger,
for Popish ecclesiasticks to wear their proper dress ; and he
was in consequence in no wise astonished that the priest
should soon appear before him in a riding dress, with large
38 HENRY ESMOND
buff leather boots, and a feather to his hat, plain, but such as
gentlemen wore.
''You know the secret of the cupboard," said he, laughing
"and must be prepared for other mysteries;" and he opened
5 — but not a secret cupboard this time — only a wardrobe,
which he usually kept locked, and from which he now took
out two or three dresses and perruques° of different colours,
a couple of swords of a pretty make (Father Holt was an
expert practitioner with the small sword, and every daj^,
10 whilst he was at home, he and his pupil practised this exer-
cise, in which the lad became a very great proficient), a
military coat and cloak, and a farmer's smock, ° and placed
them in the large hole over the mantelpiece from which the
papers had been taken.
15 *'If they miss the cupboard," he said, ''they will not find
these; if they find them, they'll tell no tales, except that
Father Holt wore more suits of clothes than one. All
Jesuits do. You know what deceivers we are, Harry."
Harry was alarmed at the notion that his friend was
20 about to leave him; but "No," the priest said; "I may very
likely come back with my lord in a few days. We are to
be tolerated; we are not to be persecuted. But they may
take a fancy to pay a visit at Castlewood ere our return;
and as gentlemen of my cloth° are suspected, they might
25 choose to examine my papers, which concern nobody — at
least, not them." And to this day, whether the papers in
cypher related to politicks, or to the affairs of that mysterious
society whereof Father Holt was a member, his pupil, Harry
Esmond, remains in entire ignorance.
30 The rest of his goods, his small wardrobe, etc., Holt left
untouched on his shelves and in his cupboard, taking down
— with a laugh, however — and Hinging into the brazier,
where he only half burned tlnun, some theological treatises
wliich he had been writing against the ICnglish divines.
35 " And now," said he, " Hemy, my son, you may testify, with a
safe conscience, that you saw me burning Latin sermons the
last time I was here before 1 went away to London ; and it
will l)e daybreak directly, and I must be away before Lock-
wood is stirring."
HENRY ESMOND 39
"Will not Lockwood let you out, sir?" Esmond asked.
Holt laughed; he was never more gay or good-humoured
than when in the midst of action or danger.-
"Lockwood knows nothing of my being here, mind you,"
he said; "nor would you, you little wretch, had you slept 5
better. You must forget that I have been here; and now
farewell. Close the door, and go to your own room, and
don't come out till — stay, why should you not know one
secret more ? I know you will never betray me."
In the Chaplain's room were two windows; the one 10
looking into the court facing westwards to the fountain;
the other, a small casement strongly barred, and looking
on to the green in front of the Hall. This window was too
high to reach from the ground ; but, mounting on a buffet°
which stood beneath it. Father Holt showed me how, by 15
pressing on the base of the window, the whole framework
of lead, glass, and iron staunchions,° descended into a cavity
workecl below, from which it could be drawn and restored
to its usual place from without ; a broken pane being pur-
posely open to admit the hand which was to work upon the 20
spring of the machine.
"When I am gone," Father Holt said^ "you may push
away the buffet, so that no one may fancy that an exit has
been made that way ; lock the door ; place the key — where
shall we put the key? — under Chrysostom° on the book- 25
shelf; and if any ask for it, say I keep it there, and told
you where to find it, if you had need to go to my room.
The descent is easy down the wall into the ditch ; and so,
once more farewell, until I see thee again, my dear son."
And with this the intrepid Father mounted the buffet with 3°
great agility and briskness, stepped across the window,
lifting up the bars and framework again from the other
side, and only leaving room for Harry Esmond to stand on
tiptoe and kiss his hand before the casement closed, the
bars fixing as firm as ever seemingly in the stone arch over- 35
head. When Father Holt next arrived at Castlewood,
it was by the publick gate on horseback ; and he never so
much as alluded to the existence of the private issue to
Harry, except when he had need of a private messenger
40 HENRY ESMOND
from within, for which end, no doubt, he had instructed
his young pupil in this means of quitting the Hall.
Esmond, young as he was, would have died sooner than
betray his friend and master, as Mr. Holt well knew; for
5 he had tried the boy more than once, putting temptations
in his way to see whether he would yield to them and con-
fess afterwards, or whether he would resist them, ns he did
sometimes, or whether he would lie, which he never did. Holt
instructing the boy on this jDoint, however, that if to keep
10 silence is not to he, as it certainly is not, yet silence is after
all equivalent to a negation — and therefore a downright
No, in the interest of justice or your friend, and in reply
to a question that may be prejudicial to either, is not crim-
inal, but, on the contrary, praiseworthy; and as lawful a
15 way as the other of eluding a wrongful demand. For instance
(says he), suppose a good citizen, who had seen his Majesty
take refuge there, had been asked, '' Is King Charles up that
oak tree ? " his duty would have been not to say, Yes — so
that the Cromwellians should seize the King and murder
20 him hkc his father — but No; his Majesty being private in
the tree, and therefore not to be seen there b}^ loyal eyes:
all which instruction, in religion and morals, as well as in
the rudiments of the tongues and sciences, the boy took
eagerly and with gratitude from his tutor. When then
25 Holt was gone, and told Harry not to see him, it was as if
he had never been. And he had this answer pat when he
came to be questioned a few days after.
The Prince of Orange was then at Salisbury," as young
Esmond learned from seeing Doctor Tusher in h'.s best cas-
30 sock (though the roads were muddy, and he never was known
to wear his silk, only his stuff one, a-horseback), with a great
orange co(;kade° in his broad-leafed hat, and Nahum, his
clerk, ° oi-namented with a hke decoration. The Doctor
was walking up and down in front of his jmrsonage when
35 little I'^smond saw him, and heard him say, he was going to
I)ay his duty to his Highness the; Prince, as he mounted
his ])ad and rode away with Nahum Ixjhind. The village
p(H)ple had orange cockadcis too, and his friend the black-
sHjith's laughing daughter pinned one into Harry's old
HENRY ESMOND 41
hat, which he tore out indignantly when they bid him to
cry, "God save the Prince of Orange and the Protestant
religion!" but the people only laughed, for they Uked the
boy in the village, where his solitary condition moved the
general pity, and where he found friendly welcomes and S
faces in many houses. Father Holt had many friends there
too, for he not only would fight the blacksmith at theology,
never losing his temper, but laughing the whole time in his
pleasant way, but he cured him of an ague with c|uinciuina,°
and was always ready with a kind word for any man that xo
asked it, so that they said in the village ^twas a pity the two
were Papists.
The Director and the Vicar of Castlewood agreed very
well; indeed, the former was a perfectly bred gentleman,
and it was the latter's business to agree wdth everybody. 15
Doctor Tusher and the lady's maid, his spouse, had a boy
who was about the age of little Esmond; and there was
such a friendship between the lads, as propinc^uity and
tolerable kindness and good-humour on either side would
be pretty sure to occasion. Tom Tusher was sent off early 20
however to a school in London, whither his father took him
and a volume of sermons in the first year of the reign of
King James ; and Tom returned but once, a year afterwards,,
to Castlewood for many years of his scholastic and collegiate
life. Thus there was less danger to Tom of a perversion of 25
his faith by the Director, who scarce ever saw him, than
there was to Harry, who constantly was in the Vicar's com-
pany; but as long as Harry's religion was his Majesty's,
and my lord's, and my lady's, the Doctor said gravely, it
should not be for him to disturb or disquiet him : it was 30
far from him to say that his Majesty's church was not a
branch of the Catholic church; upon which Father Holt
used, according to his custom, to laugh and say, that the
Holy Church throughout all the world, and the noble army
of martyrs, were very much obliged to the Doctor. 35
It was while Dr. Tusher was away at Salisbury that there
came a troop of dragoons Mith orange scarfs, and quartered
in Castlewood, and some of them came up to the Hall, where
they took possession, robbing nothing however beyond the
42 HENRY ESMOND
hen-house and the beer-cellar ; and only insisting upon going
through the house and looking for papers. The first room
they asked to look at was Father Holt's room, of which
Harry Esmond brought the key, and they opened the drawers
5 and the cupboards, and tossed over the papers and clothes —
but found nothing except his books and clothes, and the vest-
ments in a box by themselves, with which the dragoons
made merry to Harry Esmond's horror. And to the questions
which the gentlemen put to Harry, he replied, that Father
lo Holt was a very kind man to him, and a very learned man,
and Harry supposed would tell him none of his secrets, if he
had any. He was about eleven years old at this tima, and
looked as innocent as boys of his age.
The family were away more than six months, and when
15 they returned they were in the deepest state of dejection,
for King James had been banished, the Prince of Orange
was on the throne, and the direst persecutions of those of the
Catholic faith were apprehended by my lady, who said she
did not believe that there was a word of truth in the promises
2c of toleration that Dutch monster° made, or in a single word
the perjured wretch said. My lord and lady were in a man-
ner prisoners in their own house ; so her ladyship gave the
little page to know, who was by this time growing of an
age to understand what was passing about him, and something
25 of the characters of the people he lived with.
''We are prisoners," says she ; "in everything but chains,
we are prisoners. Let them come, let them consign me to dun-
geons, or strike off my head from this poor little threat '' (and
she clasj^ed it in her long fingers) . '' The blood of the Esmonds
30 will always How freely for their kings. We are not like the
C'hurchills — the .]udases° who kiss their master and betray
him. We know how to suffer, how even to forgi\'e in the
royal cause" (no doubt it was that fatal business of losing
the place of Groom of the Posset to which her ladyship
35 alluded, as she did half a dozen times in the day). ''Let
the tyrant of Orange bring his i-ack and his odious Dutch
tortures — the beast ! the wretch ! I spit upon him and defy
him. (1ie(!rfully will I lay this head u})on the block; cheer-
fully will 1 accompany my lord to the scaffold : we will cry
HENRY ESMOND 43
'God save King James!' with our dying breath, and smile
in the face of the executioner." And she told her page a
hundred times at least of the particulars of the last interview
which she had with his Majesty.
"I flung myself before my Liege's feet," she said, "at Sahs- 5
bury. I devoted myself — my husband — my house, to his
cause. Perhaps he remembered old times when Isabella
Esmond was young and fair; perhaps he recalled the day
when 'twas not / that knelt — at least he spoke to me with
a voice that reminded me of days gone by. * Egad ! ' 10
said his Majesty, 'you should go to the Prince of Orange,
if you want anything.' 'No, Sire,' I replied, 'I would not
kneel to a Usurper; the Esmond that would have served
your Majesty will never be groom to a traitor's posset.'
The royal exile smiled, even in the midst of his misfortune; 15
he deigned to raise me with words of consolation. The
Viscount, my husband, himself, could not be angry, at the
august salute with which he honoured. me !"
The publick misfortune had the effect of making my lord
and his lady better friends than they ever had been since their 20
courtship. ]\Iy Lord Viscount had shown both loyalty and
spirit ; when these were rare qualities in the dispirited party
about the King; and the praise he got elevated him not a
Httle in his wife's good opinion, and perhaps in his own. He
wakened up from the listless and supine life which he had 25
been leading ; was always riding to and fro in consultation
with this friend or that of the King's; the page of course
knowing little of his doings, but remarking only his greater
cheerfulness and altered demeanour.
Father Holt came to the Hall constantly, but officiated no 30
longer openly as Chaplain; he was always fetching and
carrying : strangers military and ecclesiastick (Harry knew
the latter though they came in all sorts of disguises) were
continually arriving and departing. ]\Iy lord made long
absences and sudden reappearances, using sometimes the 35
means of exit which Father Holt had emploA'ed, though
how often the little window in the Chaplain's room let in or
let out my lord and his friends, Harry could not tell. He
stoutly kept his promise to the Father of not prying, and if
44 EEN'nY ESMOND
Sit midnight from his Httle room he heard noises of persom
stirring in the next chamber, he turned round to the wall
and hid his curiosity under his pillow until it fell asleep.
Of course he could not help remarking that the priest's
5 journeys were constant, and understanding by a hundred
signs that some active though secret business employed
him: what this was may pretty well be guessed by what
soon happened to my lord.
No garrison or watch was put into Castlewood when my
lo lord came back, but a guard was in the village ; and one or
other of them was always on the Green keeping a look-out
on our great gate, and those who went out and in. Lockwood
said that at night especially every person who came in or
went out was watched by the outlying sentries. Twas lucky
15 that we had a gate which their worships knew nothing
about. My lord and Father Holt must have made constant
journeys at night : once or twice little Harry acted as their
messenger and discreet little aide-de-camp ° He remembers
he was bidden to go into the village with his fishing-rod,
-20 enter certain houses, ask for a drink of water, and tell the
good man, "there would be a horse-market at Newbury
next Thursday," and so carry the same message on to the
next house on his list.
He did not know what the message meant at the time;
25 nor what was happening: which may as well, however, for
clearness' sake, be explained here. The Prince of Orange
being gone to Ireland, where the King was ready to meet
him with a great army, it was determined that a great rising
of his Majesty's party should take place in this country;
jo and my lord was to head the force in our county. Of late
he had taken a greater lead in affairs than before, having
the indefatigable Mr. Holt at his elbow, and my Lady Vis-
countess strongly urging him on ; and my Lord Sark being
in the Tower a prisoner, and Sir Wilmot Crawlcy,° of Queen's
55 Crawley, having gone over to the Prince of Orange's side —
my lord became the most considerable person in our part
of the county for the affairs of the King.
It was arranged that the regiuKint of S('ots° Greys and
Dragoons then quartered at Newbury, should declare for the
HENRY ESMOND 45
King on a certain day, when likewise the gentry affected
to his Majesty's cause were to come in with their tenants
and adherents to Newbury, ° march upon the Dutch troops
at Reading under Ginckel°; and, these overthrown, and
their indomitable Uttle master away in Ireland, 'twas thought 5
that our side might move on London itself, and a confident
victory was predicted for the King.
As these great matters were in agitation, my lord lost
his Hstless manner and seemed to gain health ; my lady did
not scold him, Mr. Holt came to and fro, busy always; ig
and Httle Harry longed to have been a few inches taller, that
he might draw a sword in this good cause.
One day, it must have been about the month of July 1690,
my lord, in a great horseman's coat under which Harry
could see the shining of a steel breastplate he had on, called 15
little Harry to him, put the hair off the child's forehead, and
kissed him, and bade God bless him in such an affectionate
way, as he never had used before. Father Holt blessed him
too, and then they took leave of my Lady Viscountess, who
came from her apartment with a pocket-handkerchief to 20
her eyes, and her gentlewoman and Mrs. Tusher supporting
her.
"You are going to — to ride," says she — "Oh, that I
might come too ! — but in my situation I am forbidden
horse exercise." 25
"We kiss my Lady Marchioness's hand," says Mr. Holt.
"My lord, God speed you !" she said, stepping up and em-
bracing my lord in a grand manner. "Mr. Holt, I ask your
blessing," and she knelt down for that, whilst ^Irs. Tusher
tossed her head up. . 3c
^Ir. Holt gave the same benediction to the little page,
who went down and held my lord's stirrups for him to
mount ; there were two servants waiting there too — and
they rode out of Castle wood gate.
As they crossed the bridge Harry could see an officer in 35
scarlet ride up touching his hat, and address my lord.
The party stopped, and came to some parley or discussion,
which presently ended, my lord putting his horse into a
canter after taking off his hat and making a bow to the officer
46 HENRY ESMOND
i
who rode alongside him step for step : the trooper accom-
panying him, falling back, and riding with my lord's two
men. They cantered over the Green, and behind the elms
(my lord waving his hand Harry thought), and so they dis-
5 appeared.
That evening we had a great panick, the cow-boy coming at
milking-time riding one of our horses, which he had found
grazing at the outer park wall.
All night my Lady Viscountess was in a very quiet and sub-
10 dued mood. She scarce found fault with anybody; she
played at cards for six hours; little page Esmond went to
sleep. He prayed for my lord and the good cause before
closing his eyes.
It was quite in the grey of the morning, when the porter's
15 bell rang, and old Lockwood waking up, let in one of my
lord's servants, who had gone with him in the morning, and
who returned with a melancholy story.
The officer who rode up to my lord had, it appeared, said to
him, that it was his duty to inform his lordship that he was
20 not under arrest, but under surveillance, and to request
him not to ride abroad that day.
My lord replied that riding was good for his health, that if
the Captain chose to accompany him he w^as welcome, and
it was then that he made a bow, and they cantered away
25 together.
When he came on to Wansey Down, my lord all of a sudden
jnillod up, and the party came to a halt at the cross-way.
''Sir," says he to the officer, ''we are four to two; will you
be so kind as to take that road, and leave me to go mine?"
30 "Your road is mine, my lord," says the officer.
"Then " says my lord ; but he had no time to say
more, for the officer, drawing a i)istol, sna{)i)ed it at his lord-
ship; as at the same moment. Father Holt, drawing a pistol,
shot the officer through the head.
35 It was done, and the man dead in an instant of time.
The orderly, gazing at the officer, looked scared for a moment,
and galloped away for his life.
"Fire! fire!" cries out Father Holt, sending another
shot after the trooper, but the two servants were too much
HENRY ESMOND 47
surprised to use their pieces, and my lord calling to them to
hold their hands, the fellow got away.
"Mr. Holt, qui pensait a tout,°" says Blaise, "gets off his
horse, examines the pockets of the dead officer for papers,
gives his money to us two, and says, 'The wine is drawn, 5
M. le Marquis,' ° — why did he say Marquis to M. le Vicomte ?
— 'we must drink it.'
"The poor gentleman's horse was a better one than that
I rode," Blaise continues; "Mr. Holt bids me get on him,
and so I gave a cut to Whitefoot, and she trotted home. la
We rode on towards Newbury; we heard firing towards
midday: at two o'clock a horseman comes up to us as we
vvere giving our cattle water at an inn — and says, all is
done. The Ecossais° declared an hour too soon — General
Ginckel was down upon them. The whole thing was at an end. 15
"'And we've shot an officer on duty, and let his orderly
escape,' says my lord.
"'Blaise,' says Mr. Holt, writing two lines on his table-
book, one for my lady, and one for you, Master Harry;
'you must go back to Castle wood, and deliver these,' and 20
behold me."
And he gave Harry the two papers. He read that to him-
self, which only said, " Burn the papers in the cupboard, burn
this. You know nothing about anything." Harry read this,
ran upstairs to his mistress's apartm.ent, where her gentle- 25
woman slept near to the door, made her bring a light and
wake my lady, into whose hands he gave the paper. She was a
wonderful object to look at in her night attire, nor had Harry
ever seen the like.
As soon as she had the paper in her hand, Harry stepped 30
back to the Chaplain's room, opened the secret cupboard
over the fireplace, burned all the papers in it, and as lie had
seen the priest do before, took down one of his reverence's
manuscript sermons, and half burnt that in the brazier.
By the time the papers were quite destroyed, it was daylight. 35
Harry ran back to his mistress again. Her gentlewoman
ushered him again into her ladyship's chamber: she told
him (from behind her nuptial curtains) to bid the coach be
got ready, and that she would ride away anon.
48 HENRY ESMOND
But the mysteries of her ladyship's toilette were as awfuU^^
long on this day as on any other, and long after the coach
was ready, my lady was still attiring herself. And just as the
Viscountess stepped forth from her room, ready for depart-
ure, young Job Lockwood comes running up from the village
with news that a lawyer, three officers, and twenty or four-
and-twenty soldiers, were marching thence upon the house.
Job had but two minutes the start of them, and ere he had
well told his story, the troop rode into our courtyard.
CHAPTER VI
THE ISSUE OF THE PLOTS — THE DEATH OF THOMAS, THIRD
VISCOUNT OF CASTLEWOOD : AND THE IMPRISONMENT OF
HIS VISCOUNTESS
lo At first my lady was for dying like Mary, Queen of Scots°
(to whom she fancied she bore a resemblance in beauty),
and, stroking her scraggy neck, said, '' They will find Isabel
of Castle wood is equal to her fate." Her gentlewoman,
Victoire, persuaded her that her prudent course was, as she
15 could not fly, to receive the troops as though she suspected
nothing, and that her chamber was the best place wherein
to await them. So her black Japan casket which Harry
was to carry to the coach was taken back to her ladyship's
chamber, whither the maid and mistress retired. Victoire
20 came out presently, bidding the page to say her ladyship
was ill, (confined to her bed with the rheumatism.
J3y this time the soldiers had reached Castlewood. Harry
Esmond saw them from the wind(5w of the tapestry parlour° ;
a coupki of sentinels were posted at the gate — a half-dozen
25 more walked towards the stable ; and some others, preceded
by their commander, and a man in black, a lawyer probably,
were conducted by one of the servants to the stair leading
up to the part of the house which my loi-d and lady inhabited.
So the Captain, a handsome kind man, and the lawyer,
30 came through the juiteroom to the tapestry parlour, and
where now was nobody but young Harry Esmond, the page.
HENRY ESMOND 49
"Tell your mistress, little man/' says the Captain, kindly
"that we must speak to her."
"My mistress is ill a-becl," said the page.
"What complaint has she?" asked the Captain.
The boy said " the rheumatism !" 5
"Rheumatism! that's a sad complaint," continues the
good-natured Captain : "and the coach is in the yard to fetch
the Doctor, I suppose ? "
"I don't know," says the boy.
"And how long has her ladyship been ill?" la
"I don't know," says the boy.
" When did my lord go away ? "
" Yesterday night. "
''With Father Holt?"
"With Mr. Holt." 15
"And which way did they travel?" asks the lawyer.
"The}' travelled without me," says the page.
"We must see Lady Castlewood."
" I have orders that nobody goes in to her ladyship — she
^s sick," says the page; but at this moment Victoire came 20
out. "Hush!" says she; and, as if not knowing that any
one was near, " What's this noise ? " says she. " Is this gentle-
man the Doctor?"
"Stuff! we must see Lady Castlewood," saj^s the lawyer,
pushing by. 25
The curtains of her lad3'-ship's room were down, and the
chamber dark, and she was in bed with a night-cap on her
head, and propped up by her pillows, looking none the less
ghastly because of the red which was still on her cheeks, and
which she could not afford to forgo. 30
"Is that the Doctor?" she said.
"There is no use with this deception, madam," Captain
Westbury said (for so he was named). "My duty is to arrest
the person of Thomas, Viscount Castlewood, a non-juring"
peer — of Robert Tusher, Vicar of Castlewood, and Henry 35
Holt, known under various other names and designa-
tions, a Jesuit-priest, who officiated as chaplain here in the
late king's time, and is now at the head of the conspir-
acy which was about to break out in this country aorainst
50 HENRY ESMOND
the authority of their Majesties King Wilham and Queen Mary
— and my orders are to search the house for such papers or
traces of the conspiracy as may be found here. Your lady-
ship will please to give me your keys, and it will be as well for
5 yourself that you should help us, in every way, in our search/'
''You see, sir, that I have the rheumatism, and cannot
move," said the lady, looking uncommonly ghastly as she
sat up in her bed, where however she had had her cheeks
painted, and a new cap put on, so that she might at least
10 look her best when the officers came.
"I shall take leave to place a sentinel in the chaml^er, so
that your ladyship, in case you should wish to rise, may have
an arm to lean on," Captain Westbury said. ''Your woman
will show me where I am to look;" and Madame Victoire,
15 chattering in her half French and half English jargon, opened,
while the Captain examined, one drawer after another;
but, as Harry Esmond thought, rather carelessly, with a
smile on his face, as if he was only conducting the examina-
tion for form's sake.
20 Before one of the cupboards Victoire flung herself down^
stretching out her arms, and with a piercing shriek cried,
"Non, jamais. Monsieur Tofficier ! jamais® ! I will rather
die than let you see this wardrobe."
But Captain Westbury would open it, still with a smile on
25 his face, which, when the box was opened, turned into a fair
burst of laughter. It contained — not papers regarding
the conspiracy — but my lady's wigs, washes, and rougo-pots,
and Victoire said men were monsters, as the Caj)tain went
on with his perquisition. He tapped the back to see whether
30 or no it was hollow, and as he thrust his hands into the cup-
board, my lady from her bed called out with a voice that
did not sound like that of a very sick woman: "Is it your
commission to insult ladies as well as to arrest gentlemen,
( ai)tain ?"
35 "These articles are only dangerous when worn by your
ladyship," the Captain said with a low bow, and a mock
grin of politeness. "I have found nothing which concerns
the Government as yet — only the weapons with which
beauty is authorised to kill," says he, pointing to a wig with
HENRY ESMOND 51
his sword-tip. ''We must now proceed to search the rest of
the house."
''You are not going to leave that wretch in the room with
me/' cried my lady, pointing to the soldier.
"What can I do, madam? Somebody you must have to 5
smooth your pillow and bring your medicine — permit
me "
" Sir I " screamed out my lady.
"Madam, if you are too ill to leave the bed," the Captain
then said, rather sternly, " I must have in four of my men to 10
lift you off in the sheet : I must examine this bed, in a word;
papers may be hidden in a bed as elsewhere ; we know that
"very well, and — "
Here it was her ladyship's turn to shriek, for the Captain,
with his fist shaking the pillows and bolsters, at last came to 15
"burn," as they say in the play of forfeits, ° and wrenching
away one of the pillows, said, "Look! did not I tell you so?
Here is a pillow stuffed with paper."
"Some villain has betrayed us," cried out my lady, sitting
up in the bed, showing herself full dressed under her night- 20
Tail.°
"And now your ladyship can move I am sure; permit me
to give you my hand to rise. You will have to travel for
some distance, as far as Hexton Castle, to-night. Will
you have your coach? Your woman shall attend you it 2,-
you hke — and the japan-box°?"
"Sir ! You don't strike a man when he is down," said m}'
lady, with some dignity : " can you not spare a woman ?"
"Your ladyship must please to rise and let me search the
bed," said the Captain; "there is no more time to lose in 3°
bandying talk."
And without more ado, the gaunt old woman got up.
Harry Esmond recollected to the end of his life that figure,
with the brocade dress and the white night-rail, and the
gold-clocked° red stockings, and white ,red-heeled shoes 35
sitting up in the bed, and stepping down from it. The
trunks were ready packed for departure in her anteroom,
and the horses ready harnessed in the stable : about all
which the Captain seemed to know, by information got
52 HENRY ESMOND
from some" quarter or other; and, whence, Esmond
could make a pretty shrewd guess in after times, when Dr.
Tusher complained that King WiUiam's Government had
basely treated him for services done in that cause.
5 And here he may relate, though he was then too young to
know all that was happening, what the papers contained, of
which Captain Westbury had made a seizure, and which
papers had been transferred from the japan-box to the bed
when tne officers arrived.
10 There was a list of gentlemen of the county in Father
Holt's handwriting, — Mr. Freeman's (King James's) friends,
— a similar paper being found among those of Sir John
Fenwick° and Mr. Coplestone who suffered death for this
conspiracy.
15 There was a patent conferring the title of Marquis of
Esmond on my Lord Castlewood, and the heirs male of his
body; his appointment as Lord Lieutenant of the County,°
and Major-General.^
There were various letters from the nobility and gentry,
20 some ardent and some doubtful, in the King's service ; and
(very luckily for him) two letters concerning Colonel Francis
Esmond : one from Father Holt, which said, " I have been to
see this Colonel at his house at Walcote near to Wells, where
he resides since the King's departure, and pressed him very
25 eagerly in Mr. Freeman's cause, showing him the great
advantage he would have by trading with that merchant,
offering him large premiums there as agreed between us.
But he says no : he considers Mr. Freeman the head of the
firm, will never trade against him or embark with any other
30 trading company, but considers his duty was done when Mr.
Freeman left England. This Colonel seems to eare more
' To have this rank of Maniviis restored in the family iiad always
been niy Lady Vi.scounless's ambition ; and her old maiden aunt, Bar-
bara Topham, tlu! p;old.smi til's dan^;hter, dyinp; about this time, and
leaving all her property to Lady Castlewood, 1 have heard that her
ladyship sent almost the whole of the money to King James, a pro-
ceeding which so irritated my L(jrd Castlewood that he actually went
to the parish church, anrl was only appeased by the Marfjuis's tJtle
which his exiled Majesty sent to him in return for the £15,000 his
faithful subject lent him.
HENRY ESMOND 53
for his wife and his beagles than for affairs. He asked me
ihueh about young H. E., 'that bastard' as he called him:
doubting my lord's intentions respecting him. I reassured
him on this head, stating what I knew of the lad, and our
intentions respecting him, but with regard to Freeman he 5
was inflexible."
And another letter was from Colonel Esmond to his kins-
man, to say that one Captain Holton had been with him
offering him large bribes to join you know who, and saying
that the head of the house of Castle wood was deeply engaged ic
in that quarter. But for his part he had broke his sword
when the K.° left the country, and would never again fight
in that quarrel. The P. of 0.° was a man, at least, of a
noble courage, and his duty and, as he thought, every Eng-
lishman's, was to keep the country quiet, and the French 15
out of it : and, in fine, that he would have nothing to do with
the scheme.
Of the existence of these two letters and the contents of the
pillow. Colonel Frank Esmond, who became Viscount Castle-
wood, told Henry Esmond afterwards, when the letters 20
were shown to his lordship, who congratulated himself, as
he had good reason, that he had not joined in the scheme
which proved so fatal to many concerned in it. But7,
naturally, the lad knew little about these circumstances
when they happened under his eyes : only being aware that 25
his patron and his mistress were in some trouble, which had
caused the flight of the one, and the apprehension of the
other by the officers of King William.
The seizure of the papers effected, the gentlemen did not
pursue their further search through Castlewood House very 30
rigorously. They examined Mr. Holt's room, being led
thither by his pupil, who showed, as the Father had b'dden
nim, the place where the key of his chamber lay, opened
the door for the gentlemen, and conducted them into the
room. 35
When the gentlemen came to the half-burned papers in the
brazier, they examined them eagerly enough, and their
young guide was a little amused at their perplexity.
" VVhat are these?" says one.
64 HENRY ESMOND '
^'They're written in a foreign language," says the lawyer
''What are you laughing at, little whelp?'' adds he, turning
round as he saw the boy smile.
"Mr. Holt said they were sermons," Harry said, "and bade
5 me to burn them ; " which indeed was true of those papers.
''Sermons indeed — it's treason, I would lay a wager,"
cries the law3'er.
"Egad ! it's Greek to me," says Captain Westbury. "Can
you read it, little boy?"
lo "Yes, sir, a Httle," Harry said.
"Then read, and read in EngUsh, sir, on your peril," said
the lawyer. And Harry began to translate :
"Hath not one of your own writers° said, 'The children
of Adam are now labouring as much as he himself ever did,
15 about this tree of the knowledge of good and evil, shaking
the boughs thereof, and seeking the fruit, being for the most
part unmindful of the tree of life.' O blind generation!
'tis this tree of knowledge to which the serpent has led
you" —and here the boy was obliged to stop, the rest of the
20 page being charred by the fire : and asked of the lawyer —
"Shall I go on, sir?"
The lawyer said — "This boy is deeper than he seems:
who knows that he is not laughing at us?"
"Let's have in Dick the Scholar, ° " cried Captain Westbury,
25 laughing : and he called to a trooper out of the window —
"Ho, Dick, come in here and construe."
A thi(;k-set soldier, with a square good-humoured face,
came in at the summons, saluting his officer.
"Tell us what is this, Dick," says the lawyer.
30 " My name is Steele, sir," says the soldier. " I may be Dick
for my friends, but I don't name gentlemen of your cloth
amongst them."
"Well then, Steele."
" Mr, Steele, sir, if you please. When you address a gentle-
35 man of his Majesty's Horse Guards, be pleased not to be so
familiar."
"I didn't know, sir," said the lawyer.
"How should you? I take it you are not accustomed to
meet with gentlemen," says the trooper.
HENRY ESMOND 55
"Hold thy prate, and read that bit of paper," says West-
bury.
*"Tis Latin," says Dick, glancing at it, and again saluting
his officer, ''and from a sermon of Mr. Cudworth's," and he
translated the words pretty much as Henry Esmond had 5
rendered them.
"What a young scholar you are !" says the Captain to the
boy.
"Depend on't, he knows more than he tells," saj-sthe law-
yer. "I think we will pack him off in the coach with old ic
Jezebel."
" For construing a bit of Latin?" said the Captain, very
good-naturedly.
"I would as lief go there as anywhere," Harry Esmond
said, simply, "for there is nobody to care for me." 15
There must have been something touching in the child's
voice, or in this description of his sohtude — for the Captain
looked at him very good-naturedly, and the trooper, called
Steele, put his hand kindly on the lad's head, and said some
words in the Latin tongue. 20
"What does he say?" says the lawyer.
"Faith, ask Dick himself," cried Captain Westbury.
"I said I was not ignorant of misfortune myself, and had
learned to succour the miserable, and that's not your trade,
Mr. Sheepskin, °" said the trooper. 25
^" You had better leave Dick the Scholar alone, Mr. Corbet,"
the Captain said. And Harry Esmond, always touched by
a kind face and kind word, felt very grateful to this good-
natured champion.
The horses were by this time harnessed to the coach ; and 30
the Countess and Victoire came down and were put into
the vehicle. This woman, who quarrelled with Harry
Esmond all day, was melted at parting with him, and called
him "dear angel," and "poor infant," and a hundred other
names. 35
The Viscountess giving him her lean hand to kiss, bade
him always be faithful to the house of Esmond. "If e^-il
should happen to my lord," says she, "his successor I trust
will be found, and give you protection. Situated as I am
56 HENRY ESMOND
they will not dare wreak their vengeance on me noiv." And
she kissed a medal she wore with great fervour, and Henry
Esmond knew not in the least what her meaning was; but
hath since learned that, old as she was, she was for ever
5 expecting, by the good offices of saints and relics, to have an
heir to the title of Esmond.
Harry Esmond was too young to have been introduced
into the secrets of politicks in which his patrons were im-
plicated ; for they put but few questions to the boy (who was
10 little of stature, and looked much younger than his age),
and such questions as they put he answered cautiously
enough, and professing even more ignorance than he had,
for which his examiners willingly enough gave him credit.
He did not say a word about the window or the cupboard
15 over the fireplace; and these secrets quite escaped the eyes
of the searchers.
So then my lady was consigned to her coach, and sent off
to Hexton, with her woman and the man of law to bear her
company, a couple of troopers riding on either side of the
20 coach. And Harry was left behind at the Hall, belonging
as it were to nobody, and quite alone in the world. The
captain and a guard of men remained in possession there :
and the soldiers, who were very good-natured and kind,
ate my lord's mutton and drank his wine, and made them-
25 selves comfortable, as they well might do in such pleasant
quarters.
The captains had their dinner served in my lord's tapestry
parlour, and poor little Harry thought his duty was to wait
upon Captain Wcstbury's chair, as his custom had been to
30 serve his lord when he sat there.
After the departure of the Countess, Dick the Scholar
took Harry Esmond under his special protection, and would
examine him in his humanities" and talk to him both of
French and f^atin, in which tongues the lad found, and his
35 new friend was wilHng enough to acknowledge, that be was
even more proficient than Scholar Dick. Hearing that he
had learned them from a Jesuit, in the praise of whom and
whose goodness Harry was never tired of speaking, Dick^
rather to the boy's surprise, who began to have an nrjly
HENRY ESMOND 67
shrewdness, like many children bred up alone, showed a
great deal of theological science, ° and knowledge of the
points at issue between the two churches; so that he and
Harry would have hours of controversy together, in which
the boy was certainly worsted by the arguments of this 5
singular trooper. "I am no common soldier," Dick would
say, and indeed it was easy to see by his learning, breeding,
and many accomplishments, that he was not — "I am of
one of the most ancient families in the empire; I have had
my education at a famous school, ° and a famous univer- lo
sity; I learned my first rudiments o^ Latin near to Smith-
field, in London, wiiere the martyrs were roasted.''
"You hanged as many of ours," interposed Harry; "and,
for the matter of persecution. Father Holt told me that a
young gentleman of Edinburgh, eighteen years of age, 15
student at the college there, was hanged for heresy only last
year, though he recanted, and solemnl}^ asked pardon for
his errors."
"Faith! there has been too m.uch persecution on both
sides: but 'twas you taught us." 20
"Xay, 'twas the Pagans began it," cried the lad, and began
to instance a number of saints of the Church, from the pro-
tomartyr° downwards — "this one's fu"e° went out under
him : that one's oil cooled in the cauldron : at a third holy
head the executioner chopped three times and it would not 2 c;
come off. Show us martyrs in your church for whom such
miracles have been done."
"Nay," says the trooper gravely, "the miracles of the first
three centuries belong to my church as well as yours, Master
Papist," and then added, with something of a smile upon his 3<
countenance, and a queer look at Harry — "And yet, my
little catechiser, I have sometimes thought about those
miracles, that there was not much good in them, since the
victim's, head always finished by coming off at the third or
fourth chop, and the cauldron if it dicl not boil one day, J
boiled the next. Howbeit, in our times, the Church has lost
that questionable advantage of respites. There was never a
shower to put out Ridley's fire,° nor an angel to turn the
edge of Campion's axe.° The rack tore the limbs of South-
58 HENRY ESMOND
well the Jesuit° and Sympson the Protestant" alike. Foi
faith, everywhere multitudes die willingly enough. I have
read in Monsieur Rycaut's History of the Turks ° of thousands
of Mahomet's followers rushing upon death in battle as upon
5 certain Paradise, ° and in the great Mogul's dominions" people
fling themselves by hundreds under the cars of the idols
annually, and the widows burn themselves on their husbands'
bodies, as 'tis well known. 'Tis not the dying for a faith
that's so hard, Master Harry — every man of every nation
10 has done that - 'tis the living up to it that is difficult, as I
know to my cost," he added with a sigh. "And ah! " he
added, " my poor lad, I am not strong enough to convince
thee by my life — though to die for my religion would give
me the greatest of joys — but I had a dear friend in Mag-
15 dalen College" in Oxford ; I wish Joe Addison" were here to
convince thee, as he quickly could — for I think he's a match
for the whole College" of Jesuits; and what's more, in his
life too. — In that very sermon of Doctor Cudworth's which
your priest was quoting from, and which suffered martyrdom
20 in the brazier," Dick added with a smile, " I had a thought of
wearing the black coat" (but was ashamed of my life you
see, and took to this sorry red one) — I have often thought of
Joe Addison — Doctor Cudworth says 'A good conscience is
the best looking-glass of hbaven' — and there's a serenity in
25 my friend's face which always reflects it — I wish you could
see him, Harry."
" Did he do you a great deal of good ? " asked the lad, simply.
'' He might have done," said the other — " at least he taught
me to see and approve better things. 'Tis my own fault,
30 deter iora sequi.° "
"You seem very good," the boy said.
"I'm not what I seem, alas !" answered the trooper — and
indeed, as it turned out, poor Dick told the truth — for that
very night, at su})per in the hall, where the -gentlemen of the
35 troop took their re[)asts, and passed most i)art of their days
dicing and smoking of tobacco, and singing and cursing, over
the Castlewood ale — Harry lOsmond found Dick the Scholar
in a woful state of drunkenness. He hiccupjK'd out a sermon ;
and his laughing companions bade him sing a hymn, on
HENRY ESMOND 59
which Dick, swearing he would run the scoundrel through the
body who insulted his religion, made for his sword, which
was hanging on the wall, and fell down flat on the floor under
it, saying to Harry, who ran forward to help him, "Ah, httle
Papist, I wish Joseph Addison was here." 5
Though the troopers of the King's Lifeguards were all
gentlemen, yet the rest of the gentlemen seemed ignorant
and vulgar boors to Harry Esmond, with the exception of this
good-natured Corporal Steele the Scholar, and Captain West-
bury and Lieutenant Trant, who were always kind to the lad. xc
They remained for some weeks or months encamped in Castle-
wood, and Harry learned from them, from time to time,
how the lady at Hexton Castle was treated, and the par-
ticulars of her confinement there. Tis known that King
William was disposed to deal very leniently with the gentry 15
who remained faithful to the old king's cause ; and no prince
usurping a crown, as his enemies said he did (righteously
taking it as I think now°), ever caused less blcod to be shed.
As for women-conspirators, he kept spies on the least danger-
ous, and locked up the others. Lady Castlewood had the 20
best rooms in Hexton Castle, and the gaoler's garden to
walk in ; and though she repeatedly desired to be led out to
execution, like ]Mary Queen of Scots, there never was any
thought of taking her painted old head off, or any desire to
do aught but keep her person in security. 25
And it appeared she found that some were friends in her
misfortune, whom she had, in her prosperity, considered as
her worst enemies. Colonel Francis Esmond, my lord's
cousin and her ladyship's, who had married the Dean of
Winchester's daughter, and since King James's departure 30
out of England, had lived not very far aw^ay from Hexton
town, hearing of his kinswoman's strait, and being friends
with Colonel Brice, commanding for King William in Hexton,
and with the church dignitaries there, came to visit her lady-
ship in prison, offering to his uncle's daughter an}^ friendly 35
services which la}" in his power. And he brought his lady
and little daughter to see the prisoner, to the latter of whom,
a child of great beauty, and many winning ways, the old
Viscountess took not a little liking, although betw^een her
60 HENRY ESMOND
ladyship and the child's mother there was little more love
than formerly. There are some injuries which women never
forgive one another : and Madame Francis Esmond, in
marrying her cousin, had done one of those irretrievable
5 wrongs to Lady Castlewood. But as she was now humiliated,
and in misfortune, iMadame Francis could allow a truce to
her enmity, and could be kind for a while, at least, to her
husband's discarded mistress. So the little Beatrix, her
daughter, was permitted often to go and visit the imprisoned
10 Viscountess, who, in so far as the child and its father were
concerned, got to abate in her anger towards that branch
of the Castlewood family. And, the letters of Colonel
Esmond coming to light, as has been said, and his conduct
being known to the King's council, the Colonel was put in a
15 better position with the existing government than he had
ever before been ; any suspicions regarding his loyalty were
entirely done away; and so he was enabled to be of more
service to his kinswoman than he could otherwise have
been.
20 And now there befell an event by which this lady recovered
her liberty, and the house of Castlewood got a new owner,
and fatherless little Harry Esmond a new and most kind
protector and friend. Whatever that secret was which
Harry was to hear from my lord, the boy never heard it ; for
25 that night when Father Holt arrived, and carried my lord
away with him, was the last on which Harry ever saw his
patron. What happened to my lord may be briefly told
here. Having found the horses at the place where they
were lying, my lord and Father Holt rode together to Chat-
30 teris,° where they had temporary refuge with one of the
father's penitents in that city; but the pursuit being hot
for them, and the reward for the apprehension of one or the
other considerable, it was deemed advisable that they
should separate ; and the priest betook himself to other
35 i)laces of retreat known to him, whilst my lord passed over
from BristoP into Ireland, in which kingdom King James
had a court and an army. My lord was but a small addition
to this; bringing, indeed, only his sword and the few pieces
in his pocket ; but the King received him with some kindness
HENRY ESMOND 61
and distinction, in spite of his poor plight, confirmed him
in his new title of Marquis, gave him a regiment, and pro-
mised him further promotion. But titles or promotion were
not to benefit him now. My lord was wounded at the
fatal battle of the Boyne,° flying from which field (long 5
after his master had set him an example), he lay for a while
concealed in the marshy country near to the town of Trim,°
and more from catarrh and fever caught in the bogs than
from the steel of the enemy in the battle, sank and died.
May the earth lie light upon Thomas of Castle wood ! He ic
who writes this must speak in charity, though this lord did
him and his two grievous wrongs : for one of these he
would have made amends, perhaps, had life been spared
him; but the other lay beyond his power to repair, though
'tis to be hoped that a greater Power than a priest has 15
absolved him of it. He got the comfort of this absolution,
too, such as it was : a priest of Trim writing a letter to my
lady to inform her of this calamity.
But in those days letters were slow of travelling, and our
priest's took two months or more on its journey from Ireland 20
to England: where, when it did arrive, it did not find my
lady at her own house; she was at the King's house of
Hexton Castle when the letter came to Castlewood, but
it was opened for all that by the officer in command
there. 25
Harry Esmond well remembered the receipt of this letter,
which Lockwood brought in as Captain Westbury and Lieu-
tenant Trant were on the Green plajdng at bowls, young
Esmond looking on at the sport or reading his book in the
arbour. 3°
"Here's news for Frank Esmond," says CapAain Westbury;
''Harry, did you ever see Colonel Esmond?" And Captain
Westbury looked very hard at the boy as he spoke.
Harry said he had seen him but once when he was at
Hexton, at the ball there. 35
" And did he say anything ? "
"He said what I don't care to repeat," Harry answered.
For he was now twelve years of age : he knew what his birth
was and the disgrace of it ; and he felt no love towards the
62 HENRY ESMOND
man who had most Hkely stained his mother's honour and
his own.
'* Did you love my Lord Castle wood ? "
"I wait until I know my mother, sir, to say," the boy
5 answered, his eyes filling with tears,
"Something has happened to Lord Castle wood," Captain
Westbury said in a very grave tone — '' something which
must happen to us all. He is dead of a wound received at
the Boyne, fighting for King James."
10 ''I am glad my lord fought lor the right cause," the boy
said.
'' It was better to meet death on the field like a man, than
face it on Tower Hill, as some of them may," continued Mr.'
Westbury. "I hope he has made some testament, or pro-
15 vided for thee somehow. This letter says, he recommends
unicum jilium suum dilectLSsiinu)n° to his lady. I hope
he has left you more than that."
Harry did not know, he said. He was in the hands of
Heaven and Fate; but more lonely now, as it seemed to
20 him, than he had been all the rest of his life ; and that
night, as he lay in his little room which he still occu-
pied, the boy thought with many a pang of shame and
grief of his strange and solitary condition : — how he had a
father and no father; a nameless mother that had been
25 brought to ruin, perhaps, by that very father whom Harry
could only acknowledge in secret and with a blush, and
whom he could neither love nor revere. And he sickened to
think how Father Holt, a stranger, and two or three soldiers,
his acfjuaintances of the last six weeks, were the only friends
30 he had in the great wide world, where he was now quite
alone. The soul of the boy was full of love, and he longed
as he lay in the darkness there for some one upon whom he
could bestow it. He remembers, and must to his dying
day, the thoughts and tears of that long night, the hours
35 tolling througii it. Who was he and what? Why here
rather than elsewhere? I have a mind, he thought, to go to
that priest at Trim, and find out what my father said to
him on his deatii-bed confession. Is there any child in the
whole world so unprotected as I am? Shall I get up and
HENRY ESMOND 63
quit this place, and run to Ireland? With these thoughts
and tears the lad passed that night away until he wept him-
self to sleep.
The next day, the gentlemen of the guard who had heard
what had befallen him were more than usually kind to the 5
child, especially his friend Scholar Dick, who told him
about his own father's death, which had happened when
Dick was a child at Dublin, not quite five years of age.
''That was the first sensation of grief,'' Dick said, ''I ever
knew. I remember I went into the room where his body la
lay, and my mother sate weeping beside it. I had my
battledore in my hand, and fell a-beating the coffin, and
calling Papa; on which my mother caught me in her arms,
and told me in a flood of tears Papa could not hear me, and
would play with me no more, for they were going to put 15
him under ground, whence he could never come to us again.
And this," said Dick kindly, ''has made me pity all children
ever since ; and caused me to love thee, my poor fatherjess,
motherless lad. And if ever thou wantest a friend, thou
shalt have one in Richard Steele." 20
Harry Esmond thanked him, and was grateful. But
what could Corporal Steele do for him ? — take him to ride
a spare horse, and be servant to the troop? Though there
might be a bar° in Plarry Esmond's shield, it was a noble
one. The counsel of the two friends was, that little Harry 25
should stay where he was, and abide his fortune : so Esmond
stayed on at Castlewood, awaiting with no small anxiety
the fate, whatever it was, which was over him.
CHAPTER VII
I AM LEFT AT CASTLEWOOD AN ORPHAN, AND FIND MOST KIND
PROTECTORS THERE
During the stay of the soldiers in Castlewood, honest
Dick the Scholar was the constant companion of the lonely, 3c
little orphan lad, Harry Esmond : and they read together, and
they played bowls together, and when the other troopers
64 HENRY ESMOND
or their officers, who were free-spoken over their cups (aa
was the way of that day, when neither men nor women were
^ over-nice), talked unbecomingly of their amours and gallant-
ries before the child, Dick, who very likely was setting the
5 whole company laughing, would stop their jokes with a
maxima debetur pueris reverentia,^ and once offered to lug
out against another trooper called Hulking Tom, who wanted
to ask Harry Esmond a ribald question.
Also, Dick seeing that the child had, as he said, a sen-
10 sibility above his years, and a great and praiseworthy dis-
cretion, confided to Harry his love for a vintner's daughter,
near to the Tolly ard, Westminster, whom Dick adciressed
as Saccharissa° in many verses of his composition, and
without whom he said it would be impossible that he could
15 continue to live. He vowed this a thousand times in a
da}^ though Harry smiled to see the lovelorn swain had his
health and appetite as well as the most heart-whole trooper
in the regiment : and he swore Harry to secrecy too, which
vow the lad religiously kept, until he found that officers
20 and privates were all taken into Dick's confidence, and had
the benefit of his verses. And it must be owned likewise
that while Dick was sighing after Saccharissa in London, he
had consolations in the country : for there came a wench
out of Castlewood village who had washed his linen, and who
25 cried sadly when she heard he was gone : and without
paying her bill too, which Harry Esmond took upon himself
to discharge by giving the girl a silver pocket-piece, which
Scholar Dick had presented to him, when with many embraces
and j)rayers for his prosperity Dick parted from him, the
30 garrison of Castlewood being ordered away. Dick the
S(;holar said he would never forget his young friend, nor
indeed did h(; : anfl Harry was sorry when the kind soldiers
vacated Castlewood, looking forward with no small anxiety
(for care and solitude had made him thoughtful beyond
35 his years) to his fate when the new lord and lady of the
house came to live there. He had lived to be past twelve
years old now; and had never had a friend, savcihis
wild trooper perhaps, and Fjither Holt ; and had a' fond
and affectionate heart, tender to weakness, that would fain
HENRY ESMOND 65
attach itself to somebody, and did not seem at rest until it
had found a friend who would take charge of it.
The instinct which led Harry Esmond to admire and love
the gracious person, the fair apparition of whose beauty and
kindness had so movetl him when he first beheld her, became 5
soon a devoted affection and passion of gratitude which
entirely filled his young heart, that as yet, except in the
case of dear Father Holt, had had very little kindness for
which to be thankful. Dca certe° thought he, remember-
ing the lines out of the /Eneis which Mr. Holt had taught 10
him. There seemed, as the boy thought, in every- look or
gesture of this fair creature an angelical softness and bright
pity — in motion or repose she seemed gracious alike ; the
tone of her voice, though she uttered words ever so trivial,
gave him. a pleasure that amounted almost to anguish. It 15
cannot be called love, that a lad of tv/elve years of age,
little more than a menial, felt for an exalted lady, his mistress :
but it was worship. To catch her glance, to divine her
errand and run on it before she had spoken it; to watch,
follow, adore her; became the business of his life. Mean- 20
while, as is the way often, his idol had idols of her own,
and never thought of or suspected the admiration of her
little pigmy adorer.
My lady had on her side her three idols : first and fore-
most, Jove and supreme ruler, was her lord, Harry's patron, 25
the good Viscount of Castle wood. All wishes of his were
laws with her. If he had a headache, she was ill. If he
frowned, she trembled. If he joked, she smiled and was
charmed. If he went a-hunting, she was always at the
window to see him ride away, her little son crowing on her 30
arm, or on the watch till his return. She made dishes for
his dinner : spiced his wine for him : made the toast for
his tankard at breakfast : hushed the house when he slept
in his chair, and watched for a look when he woke. If my
lord was not a little proud of his beauty, my lady adored it. 31
She clung to his arm as he paced the terrace, her two fair
little hands clasped round his great one ; her eyes were never
tired of looking in his face and wondering at its perfection.
Her little son was his son, and had his father's look and
66 HENRY ESMOND
curly brown hair. Her daughter Beatrix was his daughter,
and had his eyes — were there ever such beautiful eyes in the
world ? All the house was arranged so as to bring him ease
and give him pleasure. She liked the small gentr}^ round
5 about to come and pay him court ; neyer caring for admira-
tion for herself, those who wanted to be well with the
lady must admire him. Not regarding her dress, she would
wear a gown to rngs, because he had once liked it : and
if he bi'ought her a brooch or a ribbon would prefer it to all
10 the most costly articles of her wardrobe.
My loi'd went to London every year for six weeks, and the
family being too poor to appear at Court with any figure,
he went alone. It was not until he was out of sight that
her face showed any sorrow: and what a joy when he came
15 back ! What preparation before his return ! The fond
creature had his arm-chair at the chimney-side — delighting
to put the children in it, and look at them there. Nobody
took his place at the table; but his silver tankard stood
there as when my lord was present.
20 A pretty sight it was to see, during my lord's absence,
or on those many mornings when sleep or headache kept
him abed, this fair young lady of Castlewood, her little
daughter at her knee, and her domesticks gathered round
her, reading the Morning Prayer of the English Church.
25 Esmond long remembered how she looked and spoke, kneel-
ing reverently before the sacred book, the sun shining upon
her golden hair until it made a halo round about her. A
dozen of the servants of the house kneeled in a line opposite
their mistress; for a while Harry Esmond kept apart from
30 these mysteries, but Doctor Tusher showing him that the
prayers read were those of the Church of all ages, and the
boy's own inclination prompting him to be always as near
as he might to his mistress, and to think all things she did
right, from listening to the prayers in the antechamber,
35 he came presently to kneel down with the rest of the house-
hold in the i)arlour; and before a couple of years my lady
had made a thorough convert. Indeed, the boy loved his
catechiser° so much that he would have subscribed to any-
thing she bade him, and was never tired of listening to her
HENRY ESMOND 67
fond discourse and simple comments upon the book which
she read to him in a voice of which it was difficult to resist
the sweet persuasion, and tender appealing kindness. This
friendly controversy, and the intimacy which it occasioned,
bound the lad more fondly than 'ever to his mistress. The 5
happiest period of all his life was this ; and the young mother,
with her daughter and son, and the orphan lad whom she
protected, read and worked and played, and were children
together. If the lady looked forward — as what fond woman
does not? — towards the future, she had no plans from 10
which Harry Esmond was left out; and a thousand and a
thousand times in his passionate and impetuous way he
vowed that no power should separate him from his mistress;
and only asked for some chance to happen by which he
might show his fidelity to her. Now, at the close of his 15
life, as he sits and recalls in tranquillity the happy and busy
scenes of it, he can think, not ungratefully, that he has been
faithful to that early vow. Such a life is so simple that
years may be chronicled in a few lines. But few men's
life- voyages are destined to be all prosperous ; and this calm 20
of which we are speaking was soon to come to an end.
As Esmond grew, and observed for himself, he found of
necessity much to read and think of outside that fond circle
of kinsfolk who had admitted him to join hand with them.
He read more books than they cared to study with him: 25
was alone in the midst of them many a time, and passed
nights over labours, futile, perhaps, but in which they
could not join him. His dear mistress divined his thoughts
with her usual jealous watchfulness of affection : began to
forebode a time when he would escape from his home 3c
nest ; and, at his eager protestations to the contrary, would
only sigh and shake her head. Before those fatal decrees
in life are executed there are always secret previsions and
warning omens. When everything yet seems calm, we are
aware that the storm is coming. Ere the happy days were 35
over, two, at least, of that home-part}^ felt that they were
drawing to a close; and were uneasy, and on the look-out
for the cloud which was to obscure their calm.
'Twas easy for Harry to see, however much his lady
6S HENRY ESMOND
persisted in obedience and admiration for her husband,
that my lord tired of his quiet hfe, and grew weary, and
then testy, at those gentle bonds with which his wife would
have held him. As they say the Grand Lama of Thibet°
5 is very much fatigued by his character of divinity, and yawns
on his altar as his bonzes kneel and worship him, many a
home-god grows heartily sick of the reverence with which
his family-devotees pursue him, and sighs for freedom and
for his old life, and to be off the pedestal on which his depend-
10 ents would have him sit for ever, whilst they adore him, and
ply him with flowers, and hymns, and incense, and flattery ;
— sc, after a few years of his marriage, my honest Lord
Castlewood began to tire ; all the high-flown raptures and
devotional ceremonies with which his wife, his chief priestess,
15 treated him, first sent him to sleep, and then drove him out
of doors; for the truth must be told, that my lord was a
jolly gentleman with very little of the august or divine in
his nature, though his fond wife persisted in revering it, — •
and besides, he had to pay a penalty for this love, which
20 persons of his disposition seldom like to defray : and, in a
word, if he had a loving wife, had a very jealous and exacting
one. Then he wearied of this jealousy: then he broke
away from it; then came, no doubt, complaints and re-
criminations; then, perhaps, promises of amendment not
25 fulfilled; then upbraidings not the more pleasant, because
they were silent, and only sad looks and tearful eyes conveyed
.them. Then, perhaps, the pair reached that other stage
which is not uncommon in married life when the woman
perceives that the god of the honeymoon is a god no more;
*o only a mortal like the rest of us, — and so she looks into
her heart, and lo ! vacuce sedcs ct inania arcava° And now,
supposing our lady to have a fine genius and a brilliant wit
of her own, and the magic spell and infatuation removed
from her which had led her to worshi)) as a god a very ordi-
35 nary mortal — and what follows? They live together, and
they dine together, and they say "my dear" and "my love"
as heretofore ; but the man is himself, and the woman her-
self; that (h'oam of love is over, as everything else is over
in life ; as flowers and fury, and griefs and pleasures are over.
HENRY ESMOND 69
Very likely the Lady Castlewood had ceased to adore her
husband herself long before she got off her knees, or would
allow her household to discontinue worshipping him. To
do him justice, my lord never exacted this subservience:
he laughed and joked, and drank his bottle, and swore when 5
he was angry much too familiarly for any one pretending
to sublimity; and did his best to destroy the ceremonial
with which his wife chose to surround him. And it required
no great conceit on young Esmond's part to see that his
own brains were better than his patron's, who, indeed, ic
never assumed any airs of superiority over the lad, or over
any dependent of his, save when he was displeased, in which
case he would express his mind, in oaths, very freely; and
who, on the contrary, perhaps, spoiled ''Parson Harry,"
as he called young Esmond, by constanth^ praising his parts,° 15
and admiring his boyish stock of learning.
It may seem ungracious in one who has received a hundred
favours from his patron to speak in any but a reverential
manner of his elders; but the present writer has had de-
scendants of his own, whom he has brought up vrith as little 20
as possible of the servility at present exacted by parents
from children (under which mask of duty there often lurks
indifference, contempt, or rebellion) : and as he would have
his grandsons believe or represent him to be not an inch
taller than Nature has made him ; so, with regard to his past 25
ac(iuaintances, he would speak without anger, but with
truth, as far as he knows it, neither extenuating nor setting
down aught in malice.
So long, then, as the world moved according to Lord Castle-
wood's wishes, he was good-humoured enough; of a temper 30
naturally sprightly and eas}-, Uking to joke, especially with
his inferiors, and charmed to receive the tribute of their
laughter. All exercises of the body he could perform to
perfection — shooting at a mark and flying, breaking horses,
riding at the ring, pitching the ciuoit,° playing at all games 35
with great skill. And not only did he do these things well,
but he thought he did them to perfection; hence he was
often tricked about horses which he pretended to know
better than any jockey: was made to play at ball and
70 HENRY ESMOND
billiards by sharpers who took his money; and came back
from London wofully poorer each time than he went, as
the state of his affairs testified, when the sudden accident
came, by which his career was brought to an end.
5 He was fond of the parade of dress, and passed as many
hours daily at his toilette as an elderly coquette. A tenth
part of his day was spent in the brushing of his teeth and the
oiling of his hair, which was curling and brown, and which
he did not like to conceal under a perriwig, such as almost
10 everybody of that time w^ore. (We have the liberty of
our hair back now, but powder and pomatum along with
it. When, I wonder, will these monstrous poll-taxes of
our age be withdrawn, and men allowed to carry their
colours, black, red, or grey, as Nature made them?) And
15 as he liked her to be well dressed, his lady spared no pains in
that matter to please him; indeed, she would dress her
head or cut it off if he had bidden her.
It was a wonder to young Esmond, serving as page to my
lord and lady, to hear, day after day, to such company as
20 came, the same boisterous stories told by my lord, at which
his lady never failed to smile or hold down her head, and
Doctor Tusher to burst out laughing at the ):>roper point, or
cry " Fye my lord, remember my cloth," but with such a faint
show of resistance, that it only provoked my lord further.
25 Lord Castle wood's stories rose by degrees, and became
stronger after the ale at dinner and the bottle afterv/ards;
my lady always taking flight after the very first glass to Church
and King, and leaving the gentlemen to drink the rest of the
toasts by themselves.
30 And as Harry Esmond was her page, he also was called
from duty at this time. "My lord has lived in the army
and with soklicrs," she would say to the lad, "amongst whom
great licence is allowed. You have had a different nurture,
and I trust these things will change as you grow older; not
35 that any fault attaches to my lord, who is one of the best
and most religious men in this kingdom." And very likely
she believed so. Tis strange what a man may do, and a
woman yet think him an angel.
And as Esmond has taken truth for his motto, it must be
HENRY ESMOND 71
owned, even with regard to that other angel, his mistress,
that she had a fauh of character, which flawed her perfections.
With the other sex perfectly tolerant and kindl}^, of her
own she was invariably jealous, and a proof that she had
this vice is, that though she would acknowledge a thousand 5
faults which she had not, to this which she had she could
never be got to own. But if there came a woman with even
a semblance of beauty to Castlewood, she was so sure to find
out some wrong in her, that my lord, laughing in his jolly
way, would often joke with her concerning her foible. 10
Comely servant-maids might come for hire, but none were
taken at Castlewood. The housekeeper w^as old ; my. lady's
own waiting-woman squinted, and was marked with the
small-pox; the housemaids and scullion were orchnary
country wenches, to whom Lady Castlewood was kind, as 15
her nature made her to everybody almost; but as soon as
ever she had to do with a pretty woman, she was cold, retir-
ing, and haughty. The country ladies found this fault in
her; and though the men all admired her, their wives and
daughters complained of her coldness and airs, and said that 20
Castlewood was pleasanter in Lady Jezebel's time (as the
dowager was called) than at present. Some few Avere of
my mistress's side. Old Lady Blenkinsop Jointure,° who
had been at court in King James the First's time, always
took her side ; and so did old Mistress Crookshank, Bishop 25
Crookshank's daughter, of Hexton, who, with some more
of their like, pronounced my lady an angel ; but the pretty
women were not of this mind ; and the opinion of the country
was that m.y lord was tied to his wife's apron-strings, and
that she ruled over him. 3c
The second fight which Harry Esmond had, was at four-
teen years of age, with Bryan Hawkshaw, Sir John Hawk-
shaw's son, of Bramblebrook, who advancing this opinion
that my lady was jealous, and henpecked my lord, put
Harry into such a fury, that Harry fell on him, and w^ith 35
such rage, that the other boy, w^ho was two years older,
and by far bigger than he, had by far the worst of the assault,
until it was interrupted by Doctor Tusher w^alking out of
the dinner room.
72 HENRY ESMOND
Bryan Hawkshaw got up, bleeding at the nose, having
indeed, been surprised, as many a stronger man might have
been, by the fury of the assault upon him.
''You Httle bastard beggar!" he said, "I'll murder you for
this!"
And indeed he was big enough.
'Bastard or not," said the other, grinding his teeth, ''I
have a couple of swords, and if you like to meet me, as a
man, on the terraee to-night "
And here the Doctor coming up, the colloquy of the young
champions ended. Very likely, big as he was, HawkshaAV
did not care to continue a fight with such a ferocious oppo-
nent as this had been.
CHAPTER VIII
AFTER GOOD FORTUNE COMES EVIL
Since my Lady Mary Wortley Montagu° brought home
15 the custom of inoculation from Turkey (a perilous practice
many deem it, and only a useless rushing into the jaws of
danger), I think the severity of the small-pox, that dreadful
scourge of the world, has somewhat been abated in our
part of it; and remember in my time hundreds of the young
20 and beautiful who have been carried to the grave, or have
only risen from their pillows frightfully scarred and dis-
figured by this malady. Many a sweet face hath left its
roses on the bed, on which this dreadful and withering
blight has laid them. In my early days this pestilence
25 would enter a village and destroy half its inhabitants : at its
approach it may well be imagined not only that the beautiful
but the strongest were alarmed, and those fled who could.
One day, in tlie year 1694 (I have good reason to remember
it), Doctor Tusher ran into Castlewood House, with a face
30 of consternation, saying that the malady had made its appear-
ance at the blacksmith's house in the village, and that one
of the maids there was down in the small-pox.
The blacksmith, besides his forge and irons for horses.
HENRY ESMOND 73
had an alehouse for men, which his wife kept, and his com-
pany sate on benches before the inn door, looking at the
smithy while they drank their beer. Now, there was a
pretty girl at this inn, the landlord's men called Nancy
Sievewright, a bouncing, fresh-looking lass, whose face 5
was as red as the hollyhocks over the pales of the garden
behind the inn. At this time Harry Esmond was a lad of
sixteen, and somehow in his walks and rambles it often
happened that he fell in with Nancy Sievewright 's bonny
face; if he did not want something done at the blacksmith's, 10
he would go and drink ale at the Three Castles, or find some
pretext for seeing this poor Nancy. Poor thing, Harry
meant or imagined no harm ; and she, no doubt, as little,
but the truth is they were always meeting — in the lanes,
or by the brook, or at the garden-palings, or about Castle- 15
wood: it was, ''Lord, Mr. Henry," and ''How do you do,
Nancy?" many and many a time in the week. Tis surpris-
ing the magnetick attraction which draws people together
from ever so far. I blush as I think of poor Nancy now, in a
red bodice and buxom purple cheeks and a canvass petticoat ; 20
and that I de\nsed schemes, and set traps, and made speeches
in my heart, which I seldom had courage to say when in
presence of that humble enchantress, who knew nothing
beyond milking a cow, and opened her black eyes with wonder
when I made one of my fine speeches out of Waller or Ovid.° 25
Poor Nancy ! from the mist of far-off years thine honest
country face beams out; and I remember thy kind voice
as if I had heard it yesterday.
When Doctor Tusher brought the news that the small-
pox was at the Three Castles, whither a tramper, it was 3c
said, had brought the malady, Henry Esmond's first thought
was of alarm for poor Nancy, and then of shame and disc^uiet
for the Castlewood family, lest he might have brought this
infection ; for the truth is that Mr. Harry had been sitting
in a back room for an hour that day, where Nancy Sievewright 35
was with a little brother who complained of headache, and
was lying stupefied and crying, either in a chair by the
corner of the fire, or in Nancy's lap, or on mine.
Little Lady Beatrix screamed out at Dr. Tusher 's news;
74 HENRY ESMOND
and my lord cried out, ''God bless me!'' He was a brave
man and not afraid of death in any shape but this. He
was very proud of his pink complexion and fair hair — but
the idea of death by small-pox scared him beyond all other
5 ends. ''We will take the children and ride away to-morrow
to Walcote:" this was my lord's small house, inherited
from his mother, near to Winchester.
"That is the best refuge in case the disease spreads," said
Dr. Tusher. '"Tis awful to think of it beginning at the
lo alehouse. Half the people of the village have visited that
to-day, or the blacksmith's, which is the same thing. My
clerk Simons lodges with them — I can never go into my
reading-desk and have that fellow so near me. I won't
have that man near me."
15 "If a parishioner dying in the small-pox sent to you,
would you not go?" asked my lady, looking up from her
frame of work, with her calm blue eyes.
"By the Lord, / wouldn't," said my lord.
" We are not in a popish country : and a sick man doth not,
20 absolutely need absolution and confession," said the Doctor.
" 'Tis true they are a comfort and a help to him when attain-
able, and to be administered with hope of good. But in a
case where the life of a parish-priest in the midst of his flock
is highly valuable to them, he is not called upon to risk it
25 (and therewith the lives, future prospects, and temporal, even
spiritual welfare of his own family) for the sake of a single
person, who is not very likely in a condition even to under-
stand the religious message whereof the priest is the bringer
— being uneducated and likewise stupefied or delirious by
30 disease. If your ladyship or his lordship, my excellent
good friend and patron, were to take it — "
"God forbid!" cried my lord.
"Amen," continued Dr. Tusher. "Amen to that prayer,
my very good lord ! for your sake I would lay my life down"
35 — and, to judge from the alarmed look of the Doctor's purple
face, you woukl have thought that that sacrifice was about
to b(! called for instantly.
To love children, and be gentle with them, was an
instinct, rather than a merit, in Henry Esmond; so much
HENRY ESMOND 75
so, that he thought almost with a sort of shame of his hking
for them, and of the softness into which it betrayed him;
and on this day the poor fellow had not only had his young
fr.'end, the milkmaid's brother, on his knee, but had l)een
drawing pictures, and telling stories to tne little Frank 5
Castlewood, who had occupied the same place for an hour
after dinner, and was never tired of Henry's tales, and his
pictures of soldiers and horses. As luck would have it,
Beatrix had not on that evening taken her usual place,
which generally she was glad enough to have, upon her 10
tutor's lap. For Beatrix, from the earliest time, was jealous
of every caress which was gi\'en to her little brother Frank.
She would fling away even from the maternal arms, if she
saw Frank had been there before her; insomuch that Lady
Esmond was obliged not to show her love for her son in the 15
presence of the little girl, and embrace one or the other
alone. She would turn pale and red with rage if she caught
signs of intelligence or affection between Frank and his
mother; would sit apart, and not speak for a whole night,
if she thought the bo}^ had a better fruit or a larger cake 20
than hers ; would fling away a ribbon if he had one ; and from
the earliest age, sitting up in her little chair by the great
fireplace opposite to the corner where Lady Castlewood
commonly sate at her embroidery, would utter infantine
sarcasms about the favour shown to her brother. These, if 25
spoken in the presence of Lord Castlewood, tickled and amused
his humour; he would pretend to love Frank best, and
dandle and kiss him, and roar with laughter at Beatrix's
jealousy. But the truth is, my lord did not often Vvitness
these scenes, nor very much trouble the quiet fireside at 30
which his lady passed many long evenings. ^ly lord was
hunting all day when the season admitted ; he frequented
all the cock-fights and fairs in the country, and would
ride, twenty miles to see a main fought, or two clowns break
their heads at a cudgelling match; and he hked better to 35
sit in his parlour drinking ale and punch with .Jack and Tom,
than in his wife's drawing-room ; whither, if he came, he
brought only too often blood-shot eyes, a hiccuping voice,
and a reeling gait. The management of the house and the
76 HENRY ESMOND
property, the care of the few tenants and the village poor, and
the accounts of the estate were in the hands of his lady and
her young secretary, Harry Esmond. My lord took charge
of the stables, the kennel, and the cellar — and he filled
5 this and emptied it too.
So, it chanced that upon this very day, when poor Harry
Esmond had had the blacksmith's son, and the peer's son,
alike upon his knee, little Beatrix, who would come to her tutor
willingly enough with her book and her writing, had refused
10 him, seeing the place occupied by her brother, and, luckil}?- for
her, had sate at the further end of the room, away from him,
playing with a spaniel dog, which she had (and for which,
by fits and starts, she would take a great affection), and
talking at Harry Esmond over her shoulder, as she pretended
15 to caress the dog, saying, that Fido would love her, and she
would love Fido, and nothing but Fido, all her life.
When then the news was brought that the little boy at the
Three Castles was ill with the sn)all-pox, poor Harry Esmond
felt a shock of alarm, not so much for himself as for his mis-
20 tress's son, whom he might have brought into peril. Beatrix,
who had pouted sufficiently (and who whenever a stranger
appeared began, from infancy almost, to play off little
graces to catch his attention), her brother being now gone
to bed, was for taking her place upon Esmond's knee : for,
25 though the Doctor was very obsecjuious to her, she did not
like him, because he had thick boots and dirty hands (the
pert young Miss said) and because she hated learning the
catechism.
Jkit as she advanced towards Esmond from the corner
30 where she had been sulking, he started back and placed
the great chair on which he was sitting between him and
her — saying in the French language to Lady Castlewood,
with whom the young lad had read much and whom he had
perfected in this tongue — "Madam, the child must not
35 approach me; I must tell you that I was at the blacksmith's
to-day, and had his little boy upon my Ia{)."
"Where you took my son afterwards," Lady Castlewood
said, very angry and turning red. "I thank you, sir, for
giving him such company. Beatrix," she said in English, "I
HENRY ESMOND 77
forbid you to touch Mr. Esmond. Come away, child — come
to your room. Come to your room — I wish your reverence
good-night — and you, sir, had you not better go back to
your friends at the alehouse?'^ Her eyes, ordinarily so kind,
darted flashes of anger as she spoke ; and she tossed up her 5
head (which hung down commonly) with the mien of a
princess.
'' Hey-day !'' says my lord, who was standing by the fire-
place — indeed he was in the position to which he generally
came by that hour of the evening — "' Hey-day ! Rachel, 10
what are you in a passion about? Ladies ought never to
be in a passion. Ought they. Doctor Tusher? though it
does good to see Rachel in a passion — Damme, Lady
Castlewood, you look dev'lish handsome in a passion. '^
"It is, my lord, because Mr. Henry Esmond, having noth- 15
ing to do with his time here, and not having a taste for our
company, has been to the alehouse, where he has some
friends."
My lord burst out with a laugh and an oath — "You
young slyboots, you've been at Nancy Sievewright. D 20
the young hypocrite, who'd have thought it in him? I say,
lusher, he's been after "
''Enough, my lord," said my lady; "don't insult me with
this talk."
"Upon my word," said poor Harry, ready to cry with 25
shame and mortification, "the honour of that young person
is perfectly unstained for me."
"Oh, of course, of course," says my lord, more and more
laughing and tipsy. "Upon his lionour, Doctor — Nancy
Sieve . . ." 3c
"Take Mistress Beatrix to bed," my lady cried at this
moment to ^Irs. Tucker her woman, who came in with her
ladyship's tea. "Put her into my room — no, into yours,"
she added quickly. " Go, my chikl : go, I say : not a word ! "
And Beatrix, quite surprised at so suclden a tone of authority y^
from one who was seldom accustomed to raise her voice,
went out of the room with a scared countenance, and waited
even to burst out a-crying until she got to the door with Mrs
Tucker.
78 HENRY ESMOND
For once her mother took httle heed of her sobbing, and
continued to speak eagerly — "My lord," she said, "this
young man — your dependent — told me just now in French
— he was ashamed to speak in his own language — that
5 he had been at the alehouse all day, where he has had that
little wretch who is now ill of the small-pox on his knee.
And he comes home reeking from that place — yes, reeking
from it — and- takes my boy into his lap without shame,
and sits down by me, yes, by me. He may have killed
10 Frank for what I know — killed our child. Why was he
brought in to cUsgrace our house? Why is he here? Let
him go — let him go, I say, to-night, and pollute the place
no more."
She had never once uttered a syllable of unkindness to
15 Harry Esmond ; and her cruel words smote the poor boy, so
that he stood for some moments bewildered with grief and
rage at the injustice of such a stab from such a hand. He
turned quite white from red, which he had been.
"I cannot help my birth, madam," he said, "nor my other
20 misfortune. And as for yoiu' boy, if — if my coming nigh
to him pollutes him now, it was not so always. Good-night,
my lord. Heaven bless you and yours for your goodness
to me. I have tired her ladyship's kindness out, and I will
go;" and sinking down on his knee, Harry Esmond took
25 the rough hand of his benefactor and kissed it.
" He wants to go to the alehouse — let him go, " cried my lady.
"I'm d d if he shall," said my lord. "I didn't think
you could be so d d ungrateful, Rachel."
Her reply was to burst into a flood of tears, and to quit
30 the room with a rapid glance at Plarry Esmond, as my
lord, not heeding them, and still in great good-humour,
raised up his young client from his kneeling posture (for
a thousand kindnesses had caused the lad to revere my
lord as a father), and put his broad hand on Harry Esmond's
35 shoulder.
"She was always so," my lord said; "the very notion of a
woman drives her mad. I took to liquor on that very account,
by Jove, for no other reason than that; for she can't be
jealous of a beer-barrel or a bottle of rum, can she. Doctor?
I
HENRY ESMOND 79
D it, look at the maids — just look at the maids in the
house " (my lord pronounced all the words together —
just-look-at-the-maze-in-the-house : jever-see-such-maze ?).
''You wouldn't take a wife out of Castlewood now, would
you, Doctor?" and my lord burst out laughing. 5
The Doctor, who had been looking at my Lord Castlewood
from under his eyelids, said, "But joking apart, and, my
lord; as a divine, I cannot treat the subject in a jocular light,
nor, as a pastor of this congregation, look with anything but
sorrow at the idea of so very young a sheep going astra}'." 10
"Sir," said young Esmond, bursting out indignantly,
"she told me that you yourself were a horrid old man, and
had offered to kiss her in the dairy."
"For shame, Henry,'' cried Doctor Tusher, turning as
red as a turkey-cock, while my lord continued to roar with 15
laughter. "If you hsten to the falsehoods of an abandoned
girl -— "
"She is as honest as any woman in England, and as pure
for me," cried out Henry, "and as kind, and as good. For
shame on you to malign her ! " 20
" Far be it from me to do so," cried the Doctor. "Heaven
grant I may be mistaken in the girl, and in you, sir, who
have a truly precocious genius; but that is not the point
at issue at present. It appears that the small-pox broke
out in the little boy at the Three Castles; that it was on 25
him when you \'isited the alehouse, for your own reasons;
and that you sate with the child for some time, and immedi-
ately afterwards with my young lord." The Doctor raised
his voice as he spoke, and looked towards my lady, who
had now come back, looking very pale, with a handker- 30
chief in her hand.
"This is ail very true, sir," said Lady Esmond, looking
at the young man.
" 'Tis to be feared that he may have brought the infection
with him." 35
"From the alehouse — yes," said my lady.
''D it, I forgot when I collared you, boy," cried my
lord, stepping back. "Keep off, Harry, my boy; there's -
no good in running into the wolf's jaws, you' know."
80 HENRY ESMOND
My lady looked at him with some surprise, and instantly
advancing to Henry Esmond, took his hand. '*I beg your
jDardon, Henry,'^ she said; "I spoke very unkindly. I
have no right to interfere with you — with your ''
5 My lord broke out into an oath. ''Can't you leave the
boy alone, my lady?" She looked a httle red, and faintly
pressed the lad's hand as she dropped it.
"There is no use, my lord," she said; "Frank was on his
knee as he was making pictures, and was running constantly
10 from Henry to me. The evil is done, if any."
"Not with me, damme," cried my lord. "I've been
smoaking," — and he lighted his pipe again with a coal —
"and it keeps off infection ; and as the chsease is in the village
— plague take it — I would have you leave it. We'll go
15 to-morrow to Walcote, my lady."
"I have no fear," said my lady; "I may have had it as
an infant, it broke out in our house then; and when four
of my sisters had it at home, two years before our marriage,
I escaped it, and two of my dear sisters died."
20 "I won't run the risk," said my lord; "I'm as bold as any
man, but I'll not bear that."
"Take J^eatrix with you and go," said my lady. "For
us the mischief is done ; and Tucker can wait upon us, who
has had the disease."
25 "You take care to choose 'em ugly enough," said my
lord, at which her ladyship hung down her head and looked
foolish : and my lord, calling away Tusher, bade him come
to the oak parlour and have a pipe. The Doctor made a
low bow to her ladyship (of which salaams° he was profuse),
30 and walked off on his creaking square-toes after his patron.
When the lady and the young man were alone there was a
silen(;e of some moments, during which he stood at the fire,
looking rather vacantly at the dying embers, whilst her
ladysiiip l)usied herself witli her tambour-frame and needles.
35 "I am sorry," she said, after a pause, in a hard, dry voice,
— "I repeat I am sorry that I showed myself so ungrateful
for the safety of my son. It was not at all my wish that
, you should leave us, I am sure, unless you found pleasure
elsewhere. But you must perceive, Mr. Esmond, that at
HENRY ESMOND 81
your age, and with your tastes, it is impossible that you
can continue to stay upon the intimate footing in which
you have been in this family. You have wished to go to
the University, and I think 'tis quite as well that you should
be sent thither. I did not press this matter, thinking you 5
a child, as you are, indeed, in years — quite a child ; and I
should never have thought of treating you otherwise until
— until these circumstances came to light. And I shall
beg my lord to despatch you as quick as possible; and
will go on with Frank's learning as well as I can (I owe my 10
father thanks for a little grounding, and you, I'm sure,
for much that you have taught me,) — and — and I wish
you a good-night, Mr. Esmond."
And with this she dropped a stately curtsey, and, taking
her candle, w^nt away through the tapestry door, which 15
led to her apartments. Esmond stood by the fireplace,
blankly staring after her. Indeed, he scarce seemed to see
until she was gone ; and then her image was impressed upon
him, and remained for ever fixed upon his memory. He
saw her retreating, the taper lighting up her marble face, 20
her scarlet lip quivering, and her shining golden hair. He
went to his own room, and to bed, where he tried to read,
as his custom was ; but he never knew what he was reading
until afterwards he remembered the appearance of the
letters of the book (it was in Montaigne's Essays^), and the 25
events of the day passed before him — that is, of the last
hour of the day ; for as for the morning, and the poor milk-
m^aid yonder, he never so much as once thought. And he
could not get to sleep until daylight, and woke with a
violent headache, and quite unrefreshed. 3°
He had brought the contagion with him from the Three
Castles sure enough, and was presently laid up with the
small-pox, which spared the hall no more than it did the
cottage.
82 HENRY ESMOND
CHAPTER IX
I HAVE THE SMALL-POX, AND PREPARE TO LEAVE CASTLEWOOU
When Harry Esmond passed through the crisis of that
malady, and returned to health again, he found that little
Frank Esmond had also suffered and rallied after the disease,
and the lady his mother was down with it, with a couple
5 more of the household. *'It was a Providence, for which
we all ought to be thankful,'' Doctor Tusher said, "that
my lady and her son were spcired, while Death carried off
the poor domestics of the house;" and rebuked Harry
for asking, in his simple way, for which we ought to be
JO thankful — that the servants were killed, or the gentle folks
were saved? Nor could j^oung Esmond agree in the Doctor's
vehement protestations to my lady, when he visited her dur-
ing her convalescence, that the malady had not in the least im-
paired her charms, and had not been churl enough to injure
15 the fair features of the Viscountess of Castlewood; whereas,
in spite of these fine speeches, Harry thought that her lady-
ship's beauty was very much injured by the small-pox.
When the marks of the disease cleared away, they did not,
it is true, leave furrows or scars on her face (except one,
£0 perhaps, on her forehead over her left eyebrow) ; but the
dcli^-acy of her rosy colour and complexion were gone : her
eyes had lost their brilliancy, her hair fell, and her face looked
older. It was as if a coarse hand had rubbed off the delicate
tints of that sweet picture, and brought it, as one has seen
25 unskilful painting-cleaners do, to the dead colour. Also,
it must be owned, that for a year or two after the malady,
her ladyship's nose was swollen and redder.
There would be no need to mention these trivialities, but
that they actually influenced many lives, as trifles will in
30 tlie woi-ld, whei-e a gnat often plays a greater part than an
elc^phant, and a molehill, ° as we know in King William's
case, can ui^set an empire. When Tushor in his courtly
way (at which Harry Esmond always chafed and spoke
scornfully) vowed and protested that my lady's face was
HENRY ESMOND 83
none the worse — the lad broke out and said, " It is worse :
and my mistress is not near so handsome as she was;" on
which poor Lady Castlewood gave a rueful smile, and a
look into a little Venice glass° she had, which showed her,
I suppose, that what the stupid boy said was only too true, 5
for she turned away from the glass, and her eyes filled with
tears.
The sight of these in Esmond's heart always created a
sort of rage of pity, and seeing them on the face of the lady
whom he loved best, the young blunderer sank down on his 10
knees, and besought her to pardon him, saying that he was
a fool and an idiot, that he was a brute to make such a speech,
he" who had caused her malady ; and Doctor Tusher told
him that a bear he was indeed, and a bear he would remain,
at which speech poor young Esmond was so dumb-stricken 15
that he did not even growl,
"He is my bear, and I will not have him baited. Doctor,"
my lady said, patting her hand kindly 'on the boy's head,
as he was still kneehng at her feet. '" How your hair has come
off ! And mine, too," she added with another sigh. 20
''It is not for myself that I cared," my lady said to Harry
when the parson had taken his leave; ''but am I very much
changed? Alas! I fear 'tis too true."
"Madam, you have the dearest, and kindest, and sweetest
face in the world, I think," the lad said; and indeed he 25
thought and thinks so.
"Will my lord think so when he comes back?" the lady
asked with a sigh, and another look at her ^^enice glass.
" Suppose he should think as you do, sir, that I am hideous —
yes, you said hideous — he will cease to care for me. 'Tis 30
all men care for in women, our little beauty. Why did
he select me from among my sisters? 'Twas only for that.
We reign but for a day or two : and be sure that Vashti
knew Esther was coming."
"Madam," said Mr. Esmond, "Ahasuerus was the Grand 35
Turk,° and to change was the manner of his country and
according to his law."
"You are all Grand Turks for that matter," said my
lady, "or would be if you could. Come, Frank, come, my
84 HENRY ESMOND
child. You are well, praised be Heaven. Your locks are-
not thinned by this dreadful small-pox: nor your poor
face scarred — is it, my angel?''
Frank began to shout and whimper at the idea of such
5 a misfortune. From the very earhest time the young lord
had been taught to admire his beauty by his mother: and
esteemed it as highly as any reigning toast valued hers.
One day, as he himself was recovering from his fever and
illness, a pang of something like shame shot across young
10 Esmond's breast, as he remembered that he had never once
during his illness given a thought to the poor girl at the
smithy, whose red cheeks but a month ago he had been so
eager to see. Poor Nancy ! her cheeks had shared the fate
of roses, and were withered now. She had taken the illness on
15 the same day with Esmond — she and her brother were
both dead of the small-pox, and buried under the Castlewood
yew-trees. There was no bright face looking now from
the garden, or to cheer the old smith at his lonely fireside.
Esmond would have liked to have kissed° her in her shroud
20 (like the lass in Mr. Prior's pretty poem°) ; but she rested
many a foot below the ground, when Esmond after his
malady first trod on it.
Doctor Tusher brought the news of this calamity, about
which Harry Esmond longed to ask, but did not like. He
25 said almost the whole village had been stricken with the
pestilence; seventeen persons were dead of it, among them
mentioning the names of poor Nancy and her little l)rother.
He did not fail to say how thankful we survivors ought to
be. It being this man's business to flatter and make sermons,
3c it must be owned he was most industrious in it, and was
doing the one or the other all day.
And so Nancy was gone; and Harry Esmond blushed that
he had not a single tear for her, and fell to composing an
elegy in I>atin verses over the rustic little beauty. Hg
35 bade the dryads mourn and the rivcr-nymphs° deplore
her. As her father followed the calling of Vulcan, lie saitl
that surely she was like a daughter of Veims, though Sieve-
wright's wife was an ugly shrew, as he remembered to have
heard afterwards. He made a long face, but, in truth, felt
HENRY ESMOND 85
scarcely more sorrowful than a mute° at a funeral. These
first passions of men and women are mostly abortive; and
are dead almost before they are born. Esmond could
repeat, to his last day, some of the doggrel lines in which
his muse bewailed his pretty lass; not without shame to 5
remember how bad the verses were, and how good he thought
them ; how false the grief, and j'et how he was rather proud
of it. 'Tis an error, surely, to talk of the simplicity of youth.
I think no persons are more hypocritical, and have a more
affected behaviour to one another, than the young. They la
deceive themselves and each other with artifices that do not
impose upon men of the world; and so we get to under-
stand truth better, and grow simpler as we grow older.
When my lady heard of the fate vdiicli had l:)efallen poor
Nancy, she said nothing so long as Tusher was by, but 15
when he was gone, she took Harry EsmoncFs hand and said :
"Harry, I beg your pardon for those cruel words I used
on the night you were taken ill. I am shocked at the fate
of the poor creature, and am sure that nothing had happened
of that with which, in my anger, I charged you. And the 2c
very first day we go out, you must take me to the black-
smith, and we must see if there is anything I can do to con-
sole the poor old man. Poor man ! to lose both his children !
What should I do without mine?'^
And this was, indeed, the very first walk which my lady 25
took, leaning on Esmond's arm, after her illness. But hej'
visit brought no consolation to the old father; and he
showed no softness, or desire to speak. "The Lord gave
and took away," he said; and he knew what His servant's
duty was. He wanted for nothing — less now than ever 30
before, as there were fewer mouths to feed. He wished
her ladyship and Master Esmond good-morning — he had
grown tall in his illness, and was but very little marked;
and with this, and a surly bow, he went in from the smithy
to the house, leaving my lady, somewhat silenced and shame- 35
faced, at the door. He had a handsome stone put up for his
two children, which may be seen in Castlewood churchyard
to this very day; and before a year was out his own name
tvas upon the stone. In the presence of Death, that sover-
86 HENRY ESMOND
eign ruler, a woman's coquetry is scared; and her jealousy
will hardly pass the boundaries of that grim kingdom,
Tis entirely of the earth, that passion, and expires in the
cold blue air, beyond our sphere.
5 At length, when the danger was quite over, it was an-
nounced that my lord and his daughter would return. Es-
mond well remembered the day. The lady, his mistress,
was in a flurry of fear : before my lord came, she went into
her room, and returned from it with reddened cheeks. Her
10 fate was about to be decided. Her beauty was gone —
was her reign, too, over? A minute would say. My lord
came riding over the bridge — he could be seen from the
great window, clad in scarlet, and mounted on his grey
hackney — his little daughter ambled by him in a bright
15 riding-dress of blue, on a shining chestnut horse. My
lady leaned against the great mantelpiece, looking on,
with one hand on her heart — she seemed only the more
pale for those red marks on either cheek. She put her
handkerchief to her eyes, and withdrew it, laughing hysteri-
20 cally — the cloth was quite red with the rouge when she
took it away. She ran to her room again, and came back
with pale cheeks and red eyes — her son in her hand — just
as my lord entered, accompanied by young Esmond, who
had gone out to meet his protector, and to hold his stirrup
25 as he descended from horseback.
"What, Harry, boy!'' my lord said, good-naturedly,
"you look as gaunt as a grejdiound. The small-pox hasn't
improved your beauty, and your side of the house hadn't
never too much of it — ho, ho !"
30 And he laughed, and sprang to the ground with no small
agility, looking handsome and red, with a jolly face and brown
hair, like a Beefeater; Esmond kneeling again, as soon as
his patron had descended, performed his homage, and then
went to greet the little Beatrix, and help her from her horse.
35 "Fie! how yellow you look," she said; "and there are
one, two, red holes in your face;" which, indeed, was very
true; Harry Esmond's harsh countenance bearing, as long
as it continued to be a human face, the marks of the disease.
My l(jrd laughed again, in high good-humour.
1
HENRY ESMOND 87
"D it!" he said, with one of his usual oaths, "the
little slut sees everything. She saw the Dowager's paint
t'other day, and asked her why she wore that red stuff —
didn't you, Trix? and the Tower; and St. James's°; and
the play ; and the Prince George, and the Princess Anne° — 5
didn't you, Trix?"
'■'They are both very fat, and smelt of brandy," the
child said.
Papa roared with laughing.
" Brandy ! " he said. *' And how do you know. Miss Pert ? " xq
"Because your lordship smells of it after supper, when I
embrace you before you go to bed," said the young lady,
who, indeed, was as pert as her father said, and looked as
beautiful a httle gipsy as eyes ever gazed on.
"And now for my lady," said my lord, going up the stairs, 15
and passing under the tapestr}^ curtain that hung before the
drawing-room door. Esmond remembered that noble figure,
handsomely arrayed in scarlet. Within the last few months
he himself had grown from a boy to be a man, and with
his figure his thoughts had shot up, and grown manly. 20
My lady's countenance, of which Harry Esmond was
accustomed to watch the changes, and with a solicitous af-
fection to note and interpret the signs of gladness or care,
wore a sad and depressed look for many weeks after her
lord's return; during which it seemed as if, by caresses 25
and entreaties, she strove to win him back from some ill-
humorr he had, and which he did not choose to throw off.
In her eagerness to please him she practised a hundred
of those arts which had formerly charmed him, but which
seemed now to have lost their potency. Her songs did 30
not amuse him; and she hushed them and the children
when in his presence. My lord sat silent at his dinner,
drinking greatly, his lady opposite to him, looking furtively
at his face, though also speechless. Her silence annoyed
him as much as her speech; and he would peevishly, and 35
with an oath, ask her why she held her tongue and looked
so ghmi, or he would roughly check her when speaking, and
bid her not talk nonsense. It seemed as if, since his return,
nothing she could do or say could please him.
88 HENRY ESMOND
When a master and mistress are at strife in a house, the
subordinates in the family take the one side or the other.
Harry Esmond stood in so great fear of my lord, that he
would run a league barefoot to do a message for him ; but
3 his attachment for Lady Esmond was such a passion of
grateful regard, that to spare her a grief, or to do her a
service, he would have given his life daily; and it was by
the very depth and intensity of this regard that he began
to divine^ how unhappy his adored lady's life was, and that
10 a secret care (for she never spoke of her anxieties) was
weighing upon her.
Can any one, who has passed through the world and
watched the nature of men and women there, doubt what
had befallen her? I have seen, to be sure, some people
15 carry down with them into old age the actual bloom of their
youthful love, and I know that Mr. Thomas Parr° lived to be
a hundred and sixty years old. But for all that, threescore
and ten is the age of men, and few get beyond it; and 'tis
certain that a man who marries for mere beaux yeux° as
20 my lord did, considers his part of the contract at end when
the woman ceases to fulfil hers, and his love does not survive
her beauty. I know 'tis often otherwise, I say; and can
think (as most men in their own experience may) of many
a house, where, lighted in early years, the sainted lamp of
25 love hath never been extinguished ; but so, there is Mr.
Parr, and so there is the great giant at the fair that is eight
feet high — exceptions to men — and that poor lamp
whereof I speak that lights at first the nuptial chamber
is extinguished by a hundred winds and draughts down
30 the chimney, or sputters out for want of feeding. And then
— and then it is Chloe, in the dark, stark awake, and Strephon°
snoring unheeding; or vice versa, 'tis poor Strephon that has
married a heartless jilt and awoke out of that absurd vision
of conjugal felicity, which was to last for ever, and is over
15 like any other dream. One and other has made his bed,
and so must lie in it, until that final day, when life ends,
and they sleep separate.
About this 'time young Esmond, who had a knack of
stringing verses, turned some of Ovid's epistles into rhymes,
I
HENRY ESMOND 89
and brought them to his lady for her delectation. Those
which treated of forsaken women touched her immensely,
Harry remarked; and when CEnone° called after Paris,
and Medea bade Jason come back again, the Lady of Castle- •
(vood sighed and said she thought that part of the verses 5
was the most pleasing. Indeed, she would have chopped
up the Dean, her old father, in order to bring her husband
back again. But her beautiful Jason was gone, as beautiful
Jasons will go, and the poor enchantress had never a spell
to keep him. 10
My lord was only sulky as long as his wife's anxious face
or behaviour seemed to upbraid him. When she had got
to master these, and to show an outwardly cheerful counte-
nance and behaviour, her husband's good-humour returned
partially, and he swore and stormed no longer at dinner, 15
but laughed sometimes and yawned unrestrainedly ; absenting
himself often from home, inviting more company thither,
passing the greater part of his days in the hunting-field,
or over the bottle as before; but, with this difference, that
the poor wife could no longer see now, as she had done 20
formerly, the light of love kindled in his eyes. He was with
her, but that flame was out; and that once welcome beacon
no more shone there.
What were this lady's feelings when forced to admit the
truth whereof her foreboding glass had given her only too 25
true warning, that with her beauty her reign had ended,
and the days of her love were over? What does a seaman
do in a storm if mast and rudder are carried away? He
ships a jurymast, and steers as he best can with an oar.
What happens if your roof falls in a tempest? After the 3°
first stun of the calamity the sufferer starts up, gropes
around to see that the children are safe, and puts them under
a shed out of the rain. If the palace burns down, you take
shelter in the barn. What man's life is not overtaken by
one or more of these tornadoes that send us out of the course, 35
and fling us on rocks to shelter as best we may?
When Lady Castle wood found that her great ship had
gone down, she began as best she might, after she had rallied
from the effect of the loss, to put out small ventures of
90 HENRY ESMOND
happiness; and hope for little gains and returns, as a
merchant on 'Change, ° indocilis pauperiem pati° having
lost his thousands, embarks a few guineas upon the next
• ship. She laid out her all upon her children, indulging
5 them beyond all measure, as was inevitable with one of
her kindness of disposition; giving all her thoughts to
their welfare, — learning, so that she might teach them,
and improving her own many natural gifts and feminine
accomplishments that she might impart them to her young
10 ones. To be doing good for some one else, is the life of most
good women. They are exuberant of kindness, as it were,
and must impart it to some one. She made herself a good
scholar of French, Italian, and Latin, having been grounded
in these by her father in her youth : hiding these gifts from
15 her husband, out of fear, perhaps, that they should offend
him, for my lord was no bookman, — pish'd and psha'd
at the notion of learned ladies, and would have been angry
that his wife could construe out of a Latin book of which
he could scarce understand two words. Young Esmond
20 was usher, ° or house tutor, under her or over her, as it
might happen. Daring my lord's many absences, these
school-days would go on uninterruptedly : the mother and
daughter learning with surprising quickness ; the latter by
fits and starts only, and as suited her wayward humour. As
25 for the little lord, it must be owned that he took after his
father in the. matter of learning, — liked marbles, and play,
and the great horse, and the little one which his father
brought him, and on which he took him out a-hunting,
a great deal better than Corderius and Lily° ; marshalled
30 the village boys, and had a little court of them, already
flogging them, and domineering over them with a fine im-
perious spirit that made his father laugh when he beheld it,
and liis mother fondly warn him. The cook had a son, the
woodman had two, the big lad at the porter's lodge took
35 his cuifs and his orders. Doctor Tasher said he was a young
nobleman of gallant spirit; and Harry Esmond, who was his
tutor, and eight years his little lordship's senior, had hard
work sometimes to keep his own temper, and hold his author-
ity over his rebellious little chief and kinsman.
I
HENRY ESMOND 91
In a couple of years after that calamity had befallen
which had robbed Lady Castlewood of a little — a very
little — of her beauty, and her careless husband's heart
(if the truth must be told, my lady had found not only that
her reign was over, but that her successor was appointed, 5
a Princess of a noble house in Drury Lane° somewhere,
who was installed and visited by my lord at the town eight
miles off — pudet hoec opprobria dicere nobis°) — a great
change had taken place in her mind, which, by struggles
only known to herself, at least never mentioned to any one, la
and unsuspected by the person who caHised the pain she
endured — had been schooled into such a condition as
she could not very hkely have imagined possible a score
of months since, before her misfortunes had begun.
She had oldened in that time, as people do who suffer 15
silently great mental pain : and learned much that she had
never suspected before. She w^as taught by that bitter
teacher Misfortune. A child, the mother of other children,
but two years back, her lord was a god to her; his words
her law ; his smile her sunshine ; his lazy commonplaces 20
listened to eagerly, as if they were words of wisdom — all
his wishes and freaks obeyed with a servile devotion. She
had been my lord's chief slave and blind worshipper. Some
women bear farther than this, and submit not only to neglect
but to unfaithfulness too — but here this lady's allegiance 25
had failed her. Her spirit rebelled, and disowned any more
obedience. First she had to bear in secret the passion of
losing the adored object ; then to get a farther initiation,
and to find this worshipped being was but a clumsy idol :
then to admit the silent truth, that it w^as she was superior, 30
and not the monarch her master : that she had thoughts
which his brains could never master, and was the better
of the two; quite separate from my lord although tied to
him, and bound as almost all people (save a very happy few)
to work all her life alone. My lord sat in his chair, laughing 35
his laugh, cracking his joke, his face flushing with wine —
my lady in her place over against him — he never suspecting
that his superior was there, in the calm resigned lady, cold
of manner, with downcast eyes. When he was merry in
92 HENRY ESMOND
his cups, he would make jokes about her coldness, and^
" D n it, now my lady is gone, we will have t'other bottle,''
he would say. He was frank enough in telling his thoughts,
such as they were. There was little mystery about my
5 lord's words or actions. His fair Rosamond did not live
in a labyrinth, like the lady of Mr. Addison's opera, ° but
paraded with painted cheeks and a tipsy retinue in the
country town. Had she a mind to be revenged. Lady
Castle wood could have found the way to her rival's house
lo easily enough ; and if she had come with bowl and dagger,
would have been routed off the ground by the enemy, with
a volley of Billingsgate, ° which the fair person always kept
by her.
Meanwhile, it has been said, that for Harry Esmond his
15 benefactress's sweet face had lost none of its charms. It
had always the kindest of looks and smiles for him — smiles,
not so gay and artless perhaps as those which Lady Castle-
wood had formerly worn, when, a child herself, playing with
her children, her husband's pleasure and authority were
20 all she thought of ; but out of her griefs and cares, as will
happen I think when these trials fall upon a kindly heart,
and are not too unbearable, grew up a number of thoughts
and excellencies which had never come into existence, had
not her sorrow and misfortunes engendered them. Sure,
25 occasion is the father of most that is good in us. As you
have seen the awkward fingers and clumsy tools of a prisoner
cut and fashion the most delicate little pieces of carved
work; or achieve the most prodigious underground labours,
and cut through walls of masonry, and saw iron bars and
30 fetters ; 'tis misfortune that awakens ingenuity, or fortitude,
or endurance, in hearts where these (jualities had never
come to life but for the circumstance which gave them a
being.
'"Twas after Jason left her, no doubt," Lady Castle-
35 wood onc^e said with one of her smiles to young Esmond
(who was reading to her a version of certain lines out of
Euripides), "that Medea became a learned woman, and a
great enchantress."
"And she could conjure the stars out of heaven," the
HENRY ESMOND 93
young tutor added, ''but she could not bring Jason back
again."
"What do you mean?'' asked my lady, very angry.
"Indeed I mean nothing," said the other, "save what
I have read in books. What should I know about such 5
matters? I have seen no woman save you and little Beatrix,
and the parson's wife and my late mistress, and your lady-
ship's women here."
"The men w^ho wrote your books," says my lady, "your
Horaces, and Ovids, and Virgils,° as far as I know of them, 10
all thought ill of us, as all the heroes they wrote about used
us basely. We were bred to be slaves always; and even
of our own times, as you are still the only lawgivers, I think
our sermons seem to say that the best woman is she who
bears her master's chains most gracefully. 'Tis a pity there 15
are no nunneries° permitted by our church : Beatrix and I
would fly to one, and end our days in peace there away
from you."
"And is there no slavery in a convent?" says Esmond.
"At least if women are slaves there, no one sees them," 20
answered the lady. "They don't work in street-gangs with
the publick to jeer them : and if they suffer, suffer in private.
Here comes my lord home from hunting. Take away the
books. M}'" lord does not love to see them. Lessons are
over for to-day, Mr. Tutor." And with a curtsey and a smile 25
she would end this sort of colloquy.
Indeed, "Mr. Tutor," as my lady called Esmond, had
now business enough on his hands at Castlewood House.
He had three pupils, his lady and her two children, at whose
lessons she would always be present : besides writing my 3°
lord's letters, and arranging his accompts for him — when
these could be got from Esmond's indolent patron.
Of the pupils the two young people were but lazy scholars,
and as my lady would admit no discipline such as was then
in use, my lord's son only learned what he liked, which 35
was but little, and never to his life's end could be got to con-
strue more than six lines of Virgil. ^Mistress Beatrix chattered
French prettily from a very early age; and sang sweetly,
but this was from her mother's teaching — not Harry
94 HENRY ESMOND
Esmond's, who could scarce distinguish between ''Green
Sleeves" and "Lillibullero°''; although he had no greater
delight in life than to hear the ladies sing. He sees them
now (will he ever forget them ?) as they used to sit together
5 of the summer evenings — the two golden heads over the
page — the child's little hand and the mother's beating the
time, with their voices rising and falling in unison.
But if the children were careless, 'twas a wonder how
eagerly the mother learnt from her young tutor — and taught
10 him too. The happiest instinctive faculty was this lady's —
a faculty for discerning latent beauties and hidden graces of
books, especially books of poetry, as in a walk she would
spy out field-flowers and make posies of them, such as no
other hand could. She was a critick not by reason but by
15 feeling; the sweetest commentator of those books they
read together : and the happiest hours of young Esmond's
life, perhaps, were those past in the company of this kind
mistress and her children.
These happy days were to end soon, however; and it was
20 by the Lady Castle wood's own decree that they were brought
to a conclusion. It happened about Christmas-time, Harry
Esmond being now past sixteen years of age, that his old
comrade, adversary, and friend, Tom Tusher, returned from
his school in London, a fair, well-grown, and sturdy lad, who
25 was about to enter college, with an exhibition from his school,
and a prospect of after promotion in the church. Tom
Tusher's talk was of nothing but Cambridge now: and the
boys, who were good friends, examined each other eagerly
about their progress in books. Tom had learned some
30 Greek and Hebrew, besides Latin in which he was pretty
well skilled, and also had given himself to mathematical
studies under his father's guidance, who was a i)r()ficient in
those sciences, of which Esmond knew nothing, nor could
he write Latin so well as Tom, though be could talk it better,
35 having loeen taught by his dear friend the Jesuit Father,
for wliose memory the lad ever retained the warmest affection,
reading his books, keeping his swords clean in the little
crypt where the Father had shown them to Esmond on the
night of his visit; and oft(>n of a night, sitting in tlie chap-
HENRY ESMOND 95
Iain's room, which he inhabited, over his books, his verses,
and rubbish, with which the lad occupied himself, he would
look up at the window, thinking he wished it might open
and let in the good Father, He had come and passed away
like a dream : but for the swords and books Harry might 5
almost think the Father was an imagination of his mincl —
and for two letters which had come to him, one from abroad
full of advice and affection, another soon after he had been
confirmed by the Bishop of Hexton, in which Father
Holt deplored his falling away. But Harry Esmond felt ic
so confident now of his being in the right, and of his
own powers as a casuist, that he thought he was able to
face the Father himself in argument, and possibly convert
him.
To work upon the faith of her young pupil, Esmond's kind 15
mistress sent to the library of her father the Dean, who had
been distinguished in the disputes of the late king's reign;
and, an old soldier now, had hung up his weapons of contro-
versy. These he took clown from his shelves willingly for
young Esmond, whom he benefited by his own personal 20
advice and instruction. It did not require much persuasion
to induce the boy to worship with his beloved mistress.
And the good old non-juring Dean flattered himself with a
conversion which in truth was owing to a much gentler and
fairer persuader. 25
Under her ladyship's kind eyes (my lord's being sealed in
sleep pretty generally), Esmond read many volumes of the
works of the famous British Divines of the last age, and w^as
familiar with Wake and Sherlock, with Stillingfleet and
Patrick. ° His mistress never tired to listen or to read, to 3a
pursue the texts with fond comments, to urge those points
which her fancy dwelt on most, or her reason deemed most
important. Since the death of her father the Dean, this
lady hath admitted a certain latitude of theological reading,
which her orthodox father would never have allowed; his 35
favourite writers appealing more to reason and antiquity
than to the passions or imaginations of their readers, so that
the works of Bishop Taylor, na}^, those of Mr. Baxter and"
Mr. Law,° have, in reality, found more favour with my
96 HENRY ESMOND
Lady Castlewood, than the severer volumes of our great
Enghsh schoolmen.
In later life, at the University, Esmond reopened the con-
troversy, and pursued it in a very different manner, when
5 his patrons had determined for him that he was to embrace
the ecclesiastical life. But though his mistress's heart was
in this calling, his own never was much. After that first
fervour of simple devotion, which his beloved Jesuit-priest
had inspired in him, speculative theology took but little
10 hold upon the young man's mind. When his early credulity
was disturbed, and his saints and virgins taken out of his
worship, to rank little higher than the chvinities of Olympus, °
his belief became acquiescence rather than ardour; and he
made his mind " up to assume the cassock and bands, as
15 another man does to wear a breastplate and jack-boots, or
to mount a merchant's desk, for a livelihood, and from obe-
dience and necessity, rather than from choice. There were
scores of such men in Mr. Esmond's time at the universities,
who were going to the church with no better calling than his.
20 When Thomas Tusher was gone, a feeling of no small
depression and disquiet fell upon young Esmond, of which,
though he did not cxDmplain, his kind mistress must have
divined the cause; for soon after she showed not only that
she understood the reason of Harry's melancholy, but
25 could provide a remedy for it. Her habit was thus to watch,
unobservedly, those to whom duty or affection bound her,
and to prevent their designs, or to fulfil them, when she had
the power. It was tliis lady's disposition to think kind-
nesses, and devise silent bounties, and to scheme benevok;nce
30 for those about her. We take su(;li goodness, for the most
part, as if it was our due; the Marys° who bring ointment
for our feet get but little thanks. Some of us never feel
this devotion at all, or are moved by it to gratitude or
acknowledgment ; others only recall it years after, when the
35 days are past in which those sweet kindnesses were spent
on us, and we offer back our return for the debt by a poor
tardy i)ayment of tears. Then forgotten tones of love
recur to us, and kind glances shine out of the past ^ oh, so
bright and clear ! — oh, so longed after ! — because they arc
HENRY ESMOND 97
out of reach; as holiday musick from withinside a prison
wall — or sunshine seen through the bars ; more prized
because unattainable — more bright because of the contrast
of present darkness and solitude, whence there is no escape.
AH tlie notice, then, which Lady Castlewood seemed to 5
take of Harry Esmond's melancholy, upon Tom Tusher's
departure, was, by a gaiety unusual to her, to attempt to
dispel his gloom. She made his three scholars (herself
being the chief one) more cheerful than ever they had been
before, and more docile, too, all of them learning and read- 10
ing much more than they had been accustomed to do. "For
who knows," said the lady, "what may happen, and whether
we may be able to keep such a learned tutor long?".
Frank Esmond said he for his part did not want to learn
any more, and cousin Harry might shut up his book when- 15
ever he liked, if he would come out a-fishing; and little
Beatrix declared she would send for Tom Tusher, and he
would be glad enough to come to Castlewood, if Harry
chose to go away.
At last comes a messenger from Winchester one day, 20
bearer of a letter, with a great black seal, from the Dean there,
to say that his sister was dead, and had left her fortune of
£2000 among her six nieces, the Dean's daughters; and
many a time since has Harry Esmond recalled the flushed
face and eager look wherewith, after this intelligence, his 25
kind lady regarded him. She did not j)retend to any grief
about the deceased relative, from whom she and her family
had been many years parted.
When my lord heard of the news, he also did not make
any very long face. "The money will come very handy 30
to furnish the musick-room and the cellar, which is getting
low, and buy your ladyship a coach and a couple of horses
that will do indifferent to ride or for the coach. And Bea-
trix, you shall have a spinnet° ; and Frank, you shall have
a little horse from Hexton Fair ; and Harry, you shall have 35
five pound to buy some books," said my lord, who was
generous with his own, and, indeed, with other folks' money.
" I wish your aunt would die once a year, Rachel ; we could
spend your money, and all your sisters', too. "
98 HENRY ESMOND
"I have but one aunt — and — and I have another use
for the money, my lord," says my lady, turning very red.
"Another use, my dear; and what do j^ou know about
money?" cries my lord. "And what the devil is there
5 that i don't give 5rou which you want?"
"I intend to give this money — can't you fancy how, my
lord?"
My lord swore one of his large oaths that he did not know
in the least what she meant,
lo "I intend it for Harry Esmond to go to college. — Cousin
Harry," says my lady, "you mustn't stay longer in this
dull place, but make a name to yourself, and for us too,
Harry."
"D n it, Harry's well enough here," says my lord,
15 for a moment looking rather sulky.
"Is Harry going away? You don't mean to say you will
go away?" cry out Frank and Beatrix at one breath.
. " But he will come back ; and this will always be his home,"
cries my lady, with blue eyes looking a celestial kindness :
20 "and his scholars will always love him; won't they?"
"By G — d, Bachel, you're a good woman !" says my lord,
seizing my lady's hand, at which she blushed very much,
and shrank back, putting her children before her. " I wish
you joy, m)^ kinsman," he continued, giving Harry Esmond
25 a hearty slap on the shoulder. "I won't baulk your luck.
Go to Cambridge, boy; and when Tusher dies you shall
have the living here, if you are not better provided by that
time. We'll furnish the dining-room and buy the horses
another year. I'll give thee a nag° out of the stable : take
30 any one except my hack and the bay gelding and the coach-
horses ; and Ciod speed thee, my boy ! "
"Have the sorrel, Harry; 'tis a good one. Father says
'tis the best in the stable," says little Frank, claiJ{)ing his
hands, and jumping up. "Let's come and see him in the
35 stable." And the other, in his delight and eagerness, was for
leaving the room that instant to arrange about his journey.
The Lady Castlewood looked after him with sad penetrating
glances. "He wishes to be gone already, my lord," said
she to her husband.
HENRY ESMOND 99
The young man hung back abashed. "Indeed, I would
stay for ever, if your ladyship bade me," he said.
"And thou wouldst be a fool for thy pains, kinsman,"
said my lord. " Tut, tut, man ! Go and see the world.
Sow thy wild oats; and take the best luck that Fate sends 5
thee. I wish I were a. boy again, that I might go to college,
and taste the Trumpington° ale."
"Ours, indeed, is but a dull home," cries my lady, with a
Httle of sadness and, may be, of satire, in her voice: "an
old glum house, half ruined, and the rest only half furnished ; 10
a woman and two children are but poor company for men
that are accustomed to better. We are only fit to be your
worship's handmaids, and your pleasures must of necessity
lie elsewhere than at home."
"Curse me, Rachel, if I know now whether thou art in 15
earnest or not," said my lord.
"In earnest, my lord!" says she, still clinging by one of
her children. "Is there much subject here for joke?"
And she made him a grand -curtsey, and, giving a stately
look to Harry Esmond, which seemed to say, "Remember; 20
you understand me, though he does not," she left the room
with her children.
"Since she found out that confounded Hexton business,"
my lord said — " and be hanged to them that told her ! — she
has not been the same woman. She who used to be as 25
humble as a milkmaid, is as proud as a princess," says my
lord. "Take my counsel, Harry Esmond, and keep clear
of women. Since I have had anything to do with the jades,
%ey have given me nothing but disgust. I had a wife at
Tangier, with whom, as she couldn't speak a word of my 30
language, you'd have thought I might lead a quiet hfe.
But she tried to poison me, because she was jealous of a Jew
girl. There was your aunt, for aunt she is, — Aunt
Jezebel, a pretty life your father led wdth her, and here's
my lady. When I saw her on a pillion riding behind the 35
Dean her father, she looked and was such a baby, that a
sixpenny doll might have pleased her. And now you see what
she is, — hands off, highty-tighty,° high and mighty, an
empress couldn't be grander. Pass us the tankard, Harry,
100 HENRY ESMOND
my boy. A mug of beer and a toast at morn, says m^
host. A toast and a mug of beer at noon, says my dear.
D n it, Polly loves a mug of ale, too, and laced with
brandy, by Jove ! " ■ Indeed, I suppose they drank it together ;
5 for my lord was often thick in his speech at midday dinner;
and at night at supper, speechless altogether.
Harry Esmond's departure resolved upon, it seemed as if
the Lady Castlewood, too, rejoiced to lose him; for more
than once, when the lad, ashamed perhaps at his own secret
10 eagerness to go away (at any rate stricken with sadness
at the idea of leaving those from whom he had received
so many proofs of love and kindness inestimable), tried
to express to his mistress his sense of gratitude to her, and
his sorrow at quitting those who had so sheltered and tended
15 a nameless and houseless orphan. Lady Castlewood cut
short his protests of love and his lamentations, and would
hear of no grief, but only look forward to Harry's fame and
prospects in life. ''Our little legacy will keep you for four
years like a gentleman. Heaven's Providence, your own
20 genius, industry, honour, must do the rest for you. Castle-
wood will always be a home for you, and these children,
whom you have taught and loved, will not forget to love
you. And Harry," said she (and this was the only time
when she spoke with a tear in her eye, or a tremor in her
25 voice), "it may happen in the course of nature that I shall be
callecl away from them ; and their father — and — and they
will need true friends and protectors. Promise me that
you will be true to them — as — as I think I have been
to you — and a mother's fond prayer and blessing go with
30 you."
"80 help me God, madam, I will," said Harry Esmond,
falling on his knees, and kissing the hand of his dearest
mistress. "If you will have me stay now, I will. What
matters whether or no I make my way in life, or whether
35 a poor bastard dies as unknown as he is now? 'Tis enough
that I hjivc your love and kindness surely; and to make
you haj^py is duty enough for me."
"Hai)py!" says she; "but indeed I ought to be, with
my children, and "
HENRY ESMOND 101
''Not happy!'' cried Esmond (for he knew what her hfe
was, though he and his mistress never spoke a word concern-
ing it). "If not happiness, it may be ease. Let me stay
and work for you — let me stay and be your servant,''
"Indeed, you are best away," said my lady, laughing, as 5
she put her hand on the boy's head for a moment. "You
shall stay in no such dull place. You shall go to college
and distinguish yourself as becomes your name. That
is how you shall please me best ; and — and if my children
want you, or I want you, you shall come to us ; and I know 10
we may count on you."
"May Heaven forsake me if you may not," Harry said,
getting up from his knee.
"And my knight longs for a dragon° this instant that he
may fight," said m.y lady, laughing: which speech made 15
Harry Esmond start, and turn red; for indeed the very
thought was in his mind that he would like that some chance
should immediately happen whereby he might show his
devotion. And it pleased him to think that his lady had
called him "her knight," and often and often he recalled this 20
to his mind, and prayed that he might be her true knight,
too.
My lady's bedchamber window looked out over the country,
and you could see from it the purple hills beyond Castle-
wood village, the green common betwixt that and the Hall, 25
and the old bridge which crossed over the river. When
Harry Esmond went away for Cambridge, little Frank ran
alongside his horse as far as the bridge, and there Harry
stopped for a moment, and looked back at the house where
the best part of his life had been passed. It lay before him 30
with its grey familiar towers, a pinnacle or two shining in
the sun, the buttresses and terrace-walls casting great blue
shades on the grass. And Harry remembered all his life
after how he saw his mistress at the window looking out on
him, in a white robe, the little Beatrix's chestnut curls resting ^j
at her mother's side. Both waved a farewell to him, and
httle Frank sobbed to leave him. Yes, he would be his
lady's true knight, he vowed in his heart ; he wa^•ed her an
adieu with his hat. The village people had good-bye to say
102 HENRY ESMOND
to him too. All knew that iMaster Harry was going to college,
and most of them had a kind word and a look of farewell.
I do not stop to say what adventures he began to imagine
or what career to devise for himself before he had ridden
5 three miles from home. He had not read Monsieur Galland's
ingenious Arabian tales° as yet; but be sure that there are
other folks who build castles in the air, and have fine hopes,
and kick them down too, besides honest Alnaschar.°
CHAPTER X
I GO TO CAMBRIDGE, AND DO BUT LITTLE GOOD THERE
My lord, who said he should like to revisit the old haunts
10 of his youth, kindly accompanied PTarry Esmond in his
first journey to Cambridge. Their road lay through London,
where Iny Lord Viscount would also have Harry stay a few
days to show him the pleasures of the town, before he entered
upon his university studies, and whilst here Harry's patron
15 conducted the young man to my Lady Dowager's house
at Chelsea near London : the kind lady at Castlewood ha^dng
specially ordered that the young gentleman and the old
should pay a respectful visit in that quarter.
Her ladyship the Viscountess Dowager occupied a hand-
20 some new house in Chelsea, with a garden behind it, and
facing the river, always a bright and animated sight with
its swarms of sailors, barges, and wherries. Harry laughed
at recognising in the parlour the well-remembered old piece
of Sir Peter Lely, wherein his father's widow was repre-
25 sented as a virgin huntress armed with a gilt bow-and-arrow,
and encumbered only with that small quantity of drapery
which it would seem the virgins in King Charles's day were
accustomed to wear.
My Lady Dowager had left off this peculiar habit of hun-
30 tress when she married. But though she was now considerably
past sixty years of age, I believe she thought that airy nymph
of the ))icture could still be easily recognised in the venerable
personage who gave an audience to Harry and his patron.
I
HENRY ESMOND 103
She received the young man with even more favour than
she showed to the elder, for she chose to carry on the con-
versation in French, in which my Lord Castle wood was no
great proficient, and expressed her satisfaction at finding
that Mr, Esmond could speak fluently in that language. 5
"Twas the only one fit for polite conversation,^' she con-
descended to say, "and suitable to persons of high breeding."
My lord laughed afterwards, as the gentlemen went away,
at his kinswoman's behaviour. He said he remembered the
time when she could speak English fast enough, and joked 10
in his jolly way at the loss he had had of such a lovely wife
as that.
My Lady Viscountess deigned to ask his lordship news
of his wife and children; she had heard that Lady Castle-
wood had had the small-pox; she hoped she was not so 15
very much disfigured as people said.
At this remark about his wife's malady, my Lord Viscount
winced and turned red, but the Dowager in speaking of
the disfigurement of the young lady, turned to her looking-
glass and examined her old wrinkled countenance in it 20
with such a grin of satisfaction, that it was all her guests
could do to refrain from laughing in her ancient face.
She asked Harry what his profession was to be; and my
lord saying that the lad was to take orders, and have the
living of Castlewood when old Dr. Tusher vacated it, she 25
did not seem to show any particular anger at the notion
of Harry's becoming a Church of England clergyman, nay,
was rather glad than otherwise, that the youth should be
so provided for. She bade Mr. Esmond not to forget to
pay her a visit, whenever he passed through London, and 30
carried her graciousness so far as to send a purse with twenty
guineas for him, to the tavern at which my lord put up (the
Greyhound, in Charing Cross°) ; and, along with this welcome
gift for her kinsman, she sent a little doll for a present to my
lord's little daughter Beatrix, who was growing beyond the 3;
age of dolls by this time, and was as tall almost as her vener-
able relative.
After seeing the town, and going to the plays, my Lord
Castlewood and Esmond rode together to Cambridge, spend-
104 HENRY ESMOND
ing two pleasant days upon the journey. Those rapid ne\H
coaches° were not estabhshed as yet, that performed the
whole journey between London and the University in a
single day ; however, the road was pleasant and short enough
s to Harry Esmond, and he always gratefully remembered
that happy holiday, whioh his kind patron gave him.
Mr. Esmond was entered a pensioner° of Trinity College
in Cambridge, to which famous college my lord had also in
his youth belonged. Dr. IMontague was master at this
10 time, and received my Lord Viscount with great politeness ;
so did Mr. Bridge, who was appointed to be Harry's tutor.
Tom Tusher, who was of Emmanuel College, ° and was by
this time a junior soph, came to wait upon my lord, and to
take Harry under his protection ; and comfortable rooms
15 being provided for him in the great court close by the gate,
and near to the famous Mr. Newton's° lodgings, Harry's
patron took leave of him with many kind words and bless-
ings, and an admonition to him to behave better at the
University than my lord himself had ever done.
20 'Tis needless in these memoirs to go at any length into
the particulars of Harry Esmond's college career. It was like
that of a hundred young gentlemen of that day. But he
had the ill-fortune to be older by a couple of years than
most of his fellow-students, and by his previous solitary
25 mode of bringing up, the circumstances of his life, and the
peculiar thoughtfulness and melancholy that had naturally
engendered, he was, in a great measure, cut off from the
society of comrades who were much younger and higher
spirited than he. His tutor, who had bowed down to the
30 ground, as he walked my lord over the college grass-plats,
changed his behaviour as soon as the nobleman's back was
turned, and was — at least, Harry thought so — harsh and
overbearing. When the lads used to assemble in their
greges° in hall, Harry found himself alone in the midst of
35 that little flock of boys; they raised a great laugh at him
when he was set on to read Latin, which he did with the
foreign pronunciation taught to him by his old master, the
Jesuit, than which he knew no other. \\r. Bridge, the tutor,
made him the object of clumsy jokes, in which he was fond
HENRY ESMOND 105
of indulging. The young man's spirit was chafed, and his
vanity mortified ; and he found himself, for some time, as
lonely in this place as ever he had been at Castle wood,
whither he longed to return. His birth was a source of
shame to him, and he fancied a hundred slights and sneers 5
from young and old, who, no doubt, had treated him better
had he met them himself more frankly. And as he looks
back, in calmer days, upon this period of his life, which
he thought so unhappy, he can see that his own pride and
vanity caused no small part of the mortifications which 10
he attributed to others' illwill. The world deals good-
naturedly with good-natured people, and I never knew a
sulky misanthropist who quarrelled with it, but it was he,
and not it, that was in the wrong. Tom Tusher gave Harry
plenty of good advice on this subject, for Tom had both 15
good sense and good humour; but Mr. Harry chose to treat
his senior with a great deal of superfluous disdain and absurd
scorn, and would by no means part from his darling injuries,
in which, very likely, no man believed but himself. As for
honest Doctor Bridge, the tutor found, after a few trials 20
of wit with the pupil, that the younger man was an ugly
subject for wit, and that the laugh was often turned against
him. This did not make tutor and pupil any better friends;
but had, so far, an advantage for Esmond, that Mr. Bridge
was induced to leave him alone ; and so long as he kept his 25
chapels,°and did the college exercises required of him, Bridge
was content not to see Harry's glum face in his class, and
to leave him to read and sulk for himself in his own chamber.
A poem or two in Latin and English, which were pronounced
to have some merit, and a Latin oration (for Mr. Esmond 30
could write that language better than pronounce it), got
him a little reputation both with the authorities of the
University and amongst the young men, with whom he
began to pass for more than he was worth. A few vic-
tories over their common enemy, Mr. Bridge, made them 35
incline towards him, and look upon him as the champion
of their order against the seniors. Such of the lads as he
took into his confidence found him not so glooQiy and haughty
as his appearance led them to believe ; and Don Dismallo,**
106 HENRY ESMOND
as he was called, became presently a person of some little
importance in his college, and was, as he believes, set down
by the seniors there as rather a dangerous character.
Don Dismallo was a staunch young Jacobite, ° like the
5 rest of his family ; gave himself many absurd airs of loyalty ;
used to invite young friends to Burgundy, ° and give the
King's health on King James's birthday ; wore black
on the da}^ of his abdication ; fasted on the anniversary of
King William's coronation; and performed a thousand ab-
10 surd anticks, of which he smiles now to think.
These follies caused many remonstrances on Tom Tusher's
part, who was always a friend of the powers that be, as
Esmond was always in opposition to them. Tom was a
Whig, while Esmond was a Tory.° Tom never missed a
15 lecture, and capped the proctor° with the profoundest of
bows. No wonder he sighed over Harry's insubordinate
courses, and was angry when the others laughed at him.
But that Harry was known to have my Lord Viscount's
protection, Tom no doubt would have broken with him
20 altogether. But honest Tom never gave up a comrade
as long as he was the friend of a great man. This was not
out of scheming on Tom's part, but a natural inclination
towards the great. 'Twas no hypocrisy in him to flatter,
but the bent of his mind, which was always perfectly good-
25 humoured, obliging, and servile.
Harry had very liberal allowances, for his dear mistress
of Castlewood not only regularly supplied him, but the
Dowager at Chelsea made her donation annual, and received
Esmond at her house near London every Christmas; but
30 in spite of these benefactions, Esmond was constantly poor ;
whilst 'twas a wonder with how small a stipend from his
father Tom Tushcr contrived to make a good figure. 'Tis
true that Harry both spent, gave, and lent his money very
freely, which Thomas never did. I think he was like the
35 famous JJuke of Marlborough in this instance, who getting a
present of fifty pieces, when a young man, from some foolish
woman, who fell in kn'o with his good looks, showed the
money to (Jadogan in a draw(^r scores of years after, where
it had lain ever since ho had sold his beardless honour to
HENRY ESMOND ' 107
procure it. I do not mean to say that Tom ever let out
his good looks so profitably, for nature had not endowed
him with any particular charms of person, and he ever was
a pattern of moral behaviour, losing no opportunity of giving
the very best advice to his younger comrade ; with which 5
article, to do him justice, he parted very freely. Not but
that he was a merry fellow, too, in his vray ; he loved a joke,
if by good fortune he understood it, and took his share
generously of a bottle if another paid for it, and especially
if there was a young lord in company to drink it. In these 10
cases there was not a harder drinker in the University than
i\Ir. Tusher could be-; and it was edifying to behold him,
fresh shaved, and with smug face, singing out "Amen!"
at early chapel in the morning. In his reading, poor Harry
permitted himself to go a-gadding after all the Nine Muses, ° 15
and so very likely had but little favour from any one of
them ; whereas Tom Tusher, who had no more turn for
poetry than a ploughboy, nevertheless, by a dogged per-
severance and obsequiousness in courting the divine Calliope,
got himself a prize, and some credit in the University, and 20
a fellowship at his college, as a reward for his scholarship.
In this time of Mr. Esmond's life, he got the little reading
which he ever could boast of, and passed a good part of his
days greedily devouring all the books on which he could lay
hand. In this desultory way the works of most of the English, 25
French, and Italian poets came under his eyes, and he had
a smattering of the Spanish tongue likewise, besides the
ancient languages, of which, at least of Latin, he was a
tolerable master.
Then, about midway in his University career, he fell to 30
reading for the profession to which worldly prudence rather
than inclination called him, and was perfectly bewildered
in theological controversy. In the course of his reading
(which was neither pursued with that seriousness or that
devout mind which such a study recjuires), the youth found 35
himself, at the end of one month, a Papist, and was about
to proclaim his faith; the next month, a Protestant, with
Chillingworth ; and the third, a sceptick, with Hobbes and
Bayle.° Whereas honest Tom Tusher never permitted
108 * HENRY ESMOND
his mind to stray out of thfe prescribed University patl\
accepted the Thirty-nine Articles° with all his heart, and
would have signed and sworn to other nine-and-thirty with
entire obedience. Harry's wilfulness in this matter, and
5 disorderly thoughts and conversation, so shocked and
afflicted his senior, that there grew up a coldness and estrange-
ment between them, so that they became scarce more than
mere acquaintances from having been intimate friends when
they came to college first. Politicks ran high, too, at the
10 University ; and here, also, the young men wore at variance.
Tom professed himself, albeit a high-churchman, a strong
King William's-man; whereas Harry brought his family
Tory politicks to college with him, to which he must acid a
dangerous admiration for Oliver Cromwell, whose side,
15 or King James's by turns, he often chose to take in the dis-
putes which the young gentlemen used to hold in each
other's rooms, where they debated on the state of the nation,
crowned and deposed kings, and toasted past and present
heroes or beauties in flagons of college ale.
20 Thus either from the circumstances of his birth, or the
natural melancholy of his disposition, Esmond came to live
very much by himself during -his stay at the University,
having neither ambition enough to distinguish himself in the
college career, nor caring to mingle with the mere i)leasures
25 and boyish frolics of the students, who were, for the most part,
two or three years younger than he. He fancied that the
gentlemen of the common-room of his college slighted him en
account of his birth, and hence kept aloof from their society.
It may be that he made the illwill, which he imagined came
30 from them, by his own behaviour, which, as he looks back
on it in after-life, he now sees was morose and haughty. At
any rate, he was as tenderly grateful for kindness, as he was
susceptible of slight and wrong; and, lonely as he \vas gen-
erally, yet had one or two very warm friendships for his com-
3S panions of those da3^s.
One of these was a queer gentleman that resided in the
University, though he was no member of it, and was the
})rofessor of a science, scarce recognised in the common
course of college education. This was a French refugee
HENRY ESMOND 109
officer, who had been driven out of his native country at the
time of the Protestant persecutions there, and who came to
Cambridge, where he taught the science of the small-sword,
and set up a saloon-of-arms.° Though he declared himself
a Protestant, 'twas said Mr. Moreau was a Jesuit in disguise; 5
indeed he brought very strong recommendations to the Tory
party, which was pretty strong in that University, and very
likely was one of the many agents whom King James. had
in this country. Esmond found this gentleman's conversa-
tion very much more agreeable, and to his taste, than the talk lo
of the college divines in the common-room ; he never wearied
of Moreau's stories of the wars of Turenne and Conde,° in
which he had borne a pari: ; and being familiar with the French
tongue from his youth, and in a place where but few spoke it,
his company became very agreeable to the brave old professor 15
of arms, whose favorite pupil he was, and who made Mr. Es-
mond a very tolerable proficient in the noble science of escrime°
At the next term Esmond was to take his degree of Bachelor
of Arts, and afterwards, in proper season, to assume the cas-
sock and bands which his fond mistress would have him 20
wear. Tom Tusher himself was a parson and a fellow of
his college by this time ; and Harry felt that he would very
gladly cede his right to the hving of Castlewood to Tom, and
that his own calling was in no way the pulpit. But as he
was bound, before all things in the world, to his dear mistress 25
at home, and knew that a refusal on his part would grieve
her, he determined to give her no hint of his umvillingness
to the clerical office ; and it was in this unsatisfactory mood
of mind that he went to spend the last vacation he should
have at Castlewood before he took orders. 3°
CHAPTER XI
I COME HOME FOR A HOLIDAY TO CASTLEW^OOD, AND FIND
A SKELETON IN THE HOUSE
At his third long vacation, Esmond came as usual to
Castlewood, always feeUng an eager thrill of pleasure when he
110 HENRY ESMOND
found himself once more in the house where he had passed
so many years, and beheld the kind familiar eyes of his mis-
tress looking upon him. She and her children (out of whose
company she scarce ever saw him) came to greet him. Mis?
5 Beatrix was grown so tall that Harry did not quite know
whether he might kiss her or no ; and she blushed and held
back when he offered that salutation, though she took it,
and even courted it, vdien they were alone. The young lord
was shooting up to be hke his gallant father in look though
lo with his mother's kind eyes : the lady of Castle wood herself
seemed grown, too, since Harry saw her — in her look more
stately, in her person fuller, in her face, still as ever most
tender and friendly, a greater air of command and decision
than had appeared in that guileless sweet countenance which
15 Harry remembered so gratefully. The tone of her voice was
so much deeper and sadder when she spoke and welcomed him,
that it quite startled Esmond, who looked up at her surprised
as she spoke, when she withdrew her eyes from him ; nor did
she ever look at him afterwards when his own eyes were
2c gazing upon her. A something hinting at grief and secret,
and filling his mind with alarm undefinable, seemed to speak
with that low thrilling voice of hers, and look out of those
clear sad eyes. Her greeting to Esmond was so cold that it
almost pained the lad (who would have liked to fall on his
25 knees, and kiss the skirt of her robe, so fond and ardent was
his respect and regard for her), and he faltered in answering
the questions which she, hesitating on her side, began to put
to him. Was he happy at Cambridge? Did he study too
hard ? She hoped not. He had grown very tall, and looked
30 very well,
"He has got a moustache !" cries out Master Esmond.
" Wliy does he not wear a ])crrufiue like my Lord Mohun ?"
asked Miss JJeatrix. "My lord says that nobody wears their
own hair."
35 "I believe you will have to occupy your old chamber,"
says my lady. "I hope the housekeeper has got it ready."
" Why, mamma, you have been tiiere ten times these three
days yourself," exclaims Frank.
"And she cut some flowers which you planted in my garden
HENRY ESMOND 111
'*— do you remember, ever so many years ago ? — when I
was quite a little girl/' cries out Miss Beatrix, on tiptoe.
"And mamma put them in your Tvdndow.''
''I remember when you grew well after you were ill that
you used to like roses/' said the lady, blushing like one of 5
them. They all conducted Harry Esmond to his chamber;
the children running before, Harry walking by his mistress
hand-in-hand.
The old room had been ornamented and beautified not a
little to receive him. The flowers were in the window in la
a china vase ; and there was a fine new counterpane on the
bed, which chatterbox Beatrix said mamma had made too.
A lire was crackling on the hearth, although it was June.
My lady thought the room wanted warming; everything was
done to make him happy and welcome: "And you are not 15
to be a page any longer, but a gentleman and kinsman, and
to walk with papa and mamma," said the children. And
as soon as his dear mistress and children had left him to him-
self, it was with a heart overflowing with love and gratefulness
that he flung himself down on his knees by the side of the 2c
little bed, and asked a blessing upon those who were so kind
to him.
The children, who are always house tell-tales, soon made
him acquainted with the little history of the house and
family. Papa had been to London twice. Papa often went 25
away now. Papa had taken Beatrix to Westlands, where
she was taller than Sir George Harper's second daughter,
though she was two years older. Papa had taken Beatrix
and Frank both to Bellminster, where Frank had got the
better of Lord Bellminster's son in a boxing-match — my 3a
lord, laughing, told Harry, afterwards. ]\Iany gentlemen
came to stop with papa, and papa had gotten a new game
from London, a French game, called a billiard, ° — that the
French king played it very well : and the Dowager Lady
Castlewood had sent Miss Beatrix a present ; and papa had 35
gotten a new chaise, with two little horses, which he drove
himself, beside the coach, which mamma went in ; and
Doctor Tusher was a cross old plague, and they did not like
to learn from liini at all; and papa did not care about them
112 HENRY ESMOND
learning, and laughed when they were at their books; but
mamma hked them to learn, and taught them : and I don't
think papa is fond of mamma, said Miss Beatrix, with her
great eyes. She had come quite close up to Harry Esmond by
the time this prattle took place, and was on his knee, and
had examined all the points of his dress, and all the good
or bad features of his homely face.
"You shouldn't say that papa is not fond of mamma,"
said the boy, at this confession. "Mamma never said so;
lo and mamma forbade you to say it. Miss Beatrix."
Twas this, no doubt, that accounted for the sadness in
Lady Castle wood's eyes, and the plaintive vibrations of her
voice. Who° does not know of eyes, lighted by love once,
where the flame shines no more ? — of lamps extinguished,
15 once properly trimmed and tended? Every man has such
in his house. Such mementos make our splendidest chambers
look blank and sad; such faces seen in a day cast a gloom
upon our sunshine. So oaths mutually sworn, and invoca-
tions of Heaven, and priestly ceremonies, and fond belief,
20 and love, so fond and faithful, that it never doubted but that
it should live for ever, are all of no avail towards making love
eternal : it dies, in spite of the banns and the priest ; and I
have often thought there should be a visitation of the sick
for it; and a funeral service, and an extreme unction, ° and
25 an ahi in pace° It has its course like all mortal things — its
beginning, progress, and decay. It buds, and it blooms out
into sunshine, and it withers and ends. Strephon and Chloe°
languish apart: join in a rapture: and presently you hear
that Chloe is crying, and Strephon has broken his crook
30 across her back. Can you mend it so as to show no marks of
rupture? Not all the priests of Hymen, ° not all the incan-
tations to tlie gods can make it whole !
Waking uji from dreams, books, and visions of college
honours, in whicli, for two years, Harry Esmond had been
35 immers(Ml, he foimd himself, instantly, on his return home,
in the midst of this actual tragedy of life, which absorbed
and interested him, more than all his tutor had tauglit him.
The ])(M-sons whom he loved best in the world, and to whom
he owed most, were li\'ing unhappily together. The gentlest
HENRY ESMOND 113
and kindest of women was suffering ill-usage and shedding
tears in secret : the man who made her wretched by neglect,
if not by violence, was Harry's benefactor and patron. In
houses where, in place of that sacred, inmost flame of love,
there is discord at the centre, the whole household becomes 5
hypocritical, and each lies to his neighbour. The husband (or
it may be the wife) lies when the visitor comes in, and wears
a grin of reconciliation or politeness before him. The wife
lies (indeed, her business is to do that, and to smile, however
much she is beaten), swallows her tears, and lies to her lord lo
and master; lies in bidding little Jackey respect de^r papa;
lies in assuring grandpapa that she is perfectly happy. The
servants lie, wearing grave faces behind their master's chair,
and pretending to be unconscious of the fighting; and so,
from morning till bedtime, life is passed in falsehood. And 15
wiseacres call this a proper regard of morals, and point out
Baucis and Philemon° as examples of a good life.
If my lady did not speak of her griefs to Harry Esmond,
my lord w^as by no means reserved when in his cups, and
spoke his mind very freely, bidding Harry, in his coarse 20
way, and with his blunt language, beware of all women, as
cheats, jades, jilts, and using other unmistakable mono-
syllables in speaking of them. Indeed, 'twas the fashion
of the day as I must own; and there's not a writer of my
time of any note, with the exception of poor Dick Steele, 25
that does not speak of a woman as of a slave, and scorn and
use her as such. Mr. Pope, I\rr. Congreve, Mr. Addison,
Mr. Gay,° every one of 'em, sing in this key; each according
to his nature and politeness ; and louder and fouler than all
in abuse is Dr. Swift, who spoke of them as he treated 30
them, worst of all.
Much of the quarrels and hatred which arise between
married people come in my mind from the husband's rage
and revolt at discovering that his slave and bedfellow,
w^ho is to minister to all his wishes, and is church-sworn to 35
honour and obey him — is his superior; and that he, and not
she, ought to be the subordinate of the twain ; and in these
controversies, I think, lay the cause of my lord's anger
against his lady. When he left her, she began to think
114 HENRY ESMOND
for herself, and her thoughts Avere not in his favour. Aftei
the ilhiraination, when the love-lamp is put out that anon
we spoke of, and by the common daylight you look at the
picture, what a daub it looks ! what a clumsy effigy ! How
5 many men and wives come to this knowledge, think you?
And if it be painful to a woman to find herself mated for
life to a boor, and ordered to love and honour a dullard:
it is worse still for the man himself perhaps whenever in
his dim comprehension the idea dawns that his slave and
10 drudge yonder is, in truth, his superior; that the woman
who does his bidding, and submits to his humour, should
be his lord; that she can think a thousand things beyond
the power of his muddled brains; and that in yonder head,
on the pillow opposite to him, he a thousand feelings, myster-
15 ies of thought, latent scorns and rebellions, whereof he only
dimly perceives the existence as they look out furtively
from her eyes: treasures of love doomed to perish without
a hand to gather them ; sweet fancies and images of beauty
that would grow and unfold themselves into flower; bright
20 wit that would shine like diamonds could it be brought
into the sun : and the tyrant in possession crushes the
outbreak of all these, drives them back like slaves into the
dungeon and darkness, and chafes without that his prisoner
is rebellious, and his sworn subject undutiful and refractory.
25 So the lamp was out in Castlewood Hall, and the lord and
lady there saw each other as they were. With her illness
and altered beauty my lord's fire for his wife disappeared;
with his selfishness and faithlessness her foolish fiction of
love and reverence was rent away. Love ? — who is to
30 love what is base and unlovely ? Respect ? — who is to
res[)ect what is gross and sensual? Not all the marriage
oaths sworn before all the parsons, cardinals, ministers,
muftis, and rabbins° in the world, can bind to that monstrous
allegiance. This couple was living apart, then: tlie woman
35 hajjpy to be allowed to love and tend her children (who
were never of her own goodwill away from her), and thank-
ful to have saved such treasures as these out of the wreck
in which the better part of her heart went down.
These young ones had had no instructors save their mother,
HENRY ESMOND 115
and Doctor Tusher for their theology, occasionally, and had
made more progress than might have been expected under
a tutor so indulgent and fond as Lady Castiewood. Beatrix
could sing and dance like a nymph. Her voice was her
father's delight after dinner. She ruled over the house 5
with little imperial ways which her parents coaxed and
laughed at. She had long learned the value of her bright
eyes, and tried experiments in cociuetry, in corpore vili°
upon rustics and country squires, until she should prepare
to conquer the world and the fashion. She put on a new lo
ribbon to welcome Harry Esmond, made eyes at him, and
directed her young smiles at him, not a Httle to the amuse-
ment of the young man, and the joy of her father, who
laughed his great laugh, and encouraged her in her thousand
anticks. Lady Castiewood watched the child gravely and 15
sadly : the little one was pert in her replies to her mother :
yet eager in her protestations of love ancl promises of amend-
ment : and as ready to cry (after a little quarrel brought
on by her own giddiness) until she had won back her mam-
ma's favour, as she was to risk the kind lady's displeasure 20
by fresh outbreaks of restless vanity. From her mother's
sad looks she fled to her father's chair and boozy laughter.
She already set the one against the other : ancl the little
rogue delighted in the mischief which she knew how to make
so early. 25
The young heir of Castiewood was spoiled by father and
mother both. He took their caresses as men do, and as if
they were his right. He had his hawks and his spaniel
dog, his little horse, and his beagles. He had learned to
ride and to drink, and to shoot flying: and he had a small 3°
court, the sons of the huntsman and woodman, as be-
came the heir-apparent, taking after the example of my
lord his father. If he had a headache, his mother was
as much frightened as if the plague were in the house :
my lord laughed and jeered in his abrupt way — (indeed, 35
'twas on the day after New Year's Day, and an excess of
mince-pie) — and said with some of his usual oaths —
'' D n it, Harry Esmond — you see how my lady takes
OQ about Frank's megrim. ° She used to be soriy about
116 HENRY ESMOND
me, my boy (pass the tankard, Harry), and to be frighted it.
I had^ a headache once. She don't care about my head
now. They're hke that — women are — all the same, Harry,
all jilts in their hearts. Stick to college — stick to punch
5 and buttery ale: and never see a woman that's hand-
somer than an old cinder-faced bed-maker. That's my
counsel."
It was my lord's custom to fling out many jokes of this
nature, in presence of his wife and children, at meals —
lo clumsy sarcasms which my lady turned many a time, or
which, sometimes, she affected not to hear, or which now
and again would hit their mark and make the poor victim
wnnce (as you could see by her flushing face and eyes filling
with tears), or which again worked her up to anger and
15 retort when, in answer to one of these heav)^ bolts, she
would flash back with a quivering reply. The pair were not
happy; nor indeed was it happy to be with them. Alas,
that youthful love and truth should end in bitterness and
bankruptcy ! To see a young couple loving each other
20 is no wonder; but to see an old couple loving each other is
the best sight of all. Harry Esmond became the confidant
of one and the other — that is, my lord told the lad all his
griefs and wrongs (which were indeed of Lord Castle wood 's°
own making), and Harry divined my lady's; his affection
25 leadiug him easily to penetrate the hypocrisy under which
Lady Castbwood generally chose to go disguised, and to
see her heart aching whilst her face wore a smile. 'Tis a
hard task for women in life, that mask which the world bids
them wear. But there is no greater crime than for a woman,
30 who is ill-used and unhappy, to show that she is so. The
world is (juite relentless about bidding her to keep a cheer-
ful face; and our women, like the Malabar wives,° are
forced to go smiling and painted to sacrifice themselves
with their husbands; their relations being the most eager
35 to push them on to their duty, and, under their shouts and
api)lauses, to smother and hush their cries of pain.
So, into the sad secret of his patron's household, Harry
Esmond l)e('anie initiated, he scarce knew how. It had
passed under his eyes two years before, when he could not
HENRY ESMOND 111
understand it; but reading, and thought, and experience
of men, had oldened him ; and one of the deepest sorrows
of a Hfe which had never, in truth, been very happy, came
upon him now, when he was compelled to understand and
pity a grief which he stood quite powerless to relieve. 5
It hath been said my lord would never take the oath of
allegiance, nor his seat as a peer of the kingdom of Ireland,
where, indeed, he had but a nominal estate ; and refused an
English peerage which King William's government offered
him as a bribe to secure his loyalty. lo
He might have accepted this, and would doubtless, but
for the earnest remonstrances of his wife (who ruled her
husband's opinions better than she could govern his conduct),
and who being a simple-hearted woman with but one rule
of faith and right, never thought of swerving from her 15
fidelity to the exiled family, or of recognising any other
sovereign but King James; and though she acquiesced in
the doctrine of obedience to the reigning power, no tempta-
tion, she thought, could induce her to acknowledge the
Prince of Orange as rightful monarch, nor to let her lord 20
so acknowledge him. So my Lord Castle wood remained
a non-juror all his life nearly, though his self-denial caused
him many a pang, and left him sulky and out of humour.
The year after the Revolution, and all through King
William's life, 'tis known there were constant intrigues for 25
the restoration of the exiled family ; but if my Lord Castle-
wood took any share of these, as is probable, 'twas only
for a short time, and when Harry Esmond was too young to
be introduced into such important secrets.
But in the year 1695, when that conspiracy oi Sir John 30
Fenwick, Colonel Lowick, and others, was set on foot, for
waylaying King William as he came from Hampton Court°
to London, and a secret plot was formed, in which a vast
number of the nobility and people of honour were engaged.
Father Holt appeared at Castlewood, and brought a young 35
friend with him, a gentleman whom 'twas easy to see that
both my lord and the Father treated with uncommon defer-
ence. Harrv Esmond saw this gentleman, and knew and
118 HENRY ESMOND
recognised him in after life, as shall be shown in its place,
and he has little doubt now that my Lord Viscount was
implicated somewhat in the tmnsactions which always
kept Father Holt employed and travelling hither and thither
5 under a dozen of different names and disguises. The Father's
companion went by the name of Captain James°; and it
was under a very different name and appearance that Harry
Esmond afterwards saw him.
It was the next year that the Fenwick conspiracy blew up,
10 which is a matter of publick history now, and wliich ended in
the execution of Sir John and many more, who suffered man-
fully for their treason, and who were attended to Tyburn by
my lady's father Dean Armstrong, Mr. Collier, and other
stout non-juring clergymen, who absolved them at the
15 gallows-foot.
'Tis known that when Sir John was apprehended, discovery
was made of a great number of names of gentlemen engaged
in the conspiracy; when, with a noble wisdom and clemency,
the Prince burned the list of conspirators furnished to him,
20 and said he would know no more. Now it was, after this, that
Lord Castlewood swore his great oath, that he would never, so
help him Heaven, be engaged in any transaction against
that brave and merciful man ; and so he told Holt when the
indefatigable priest visited him, and would have had him
25 engage in a farther conspiracy. After this my lord ever
spoke of King William as he was — as one of the wisest,
the bravest, and the greatest of men. My Lady Esmond
(for her part) said she could never pardon the King, first,
for ousting his father-in-law from his throne, and secondly,
30 for not l)(Mng constant to his wife, the Princess Mary. In-
deed, I think if Nero° were to rise again, and be king of
England, and a good family man, the ladies would pardon
him. My lord laughed at his wife's objections — the stand-
ard of virtue did not fit him much.
35 The last conference which Mr. Holt had with his lord-
ship took place when Harry was come home from his first
vacation from colh^ge (Harry saw his old tutor but for a
half-hour, and exchanged no private words with him),
and their talk, whatever it might be, left my Lord Viscount
HENRY ESMOND 119
very much disturbed in mind — so much so, that his wife,
and his young kinsman, Henry Esmond, could not but
observe his disquiet. After Holt was gone, my lord
rebuffed Esmond, and again treated him with the greatest
deference; he shunned his wife's questions and company, 5
and looked at his children with such a face of gloom and
anxiety, muttering "Poor children — poor children!'' in a
way that could not but fill those whose life it was to watch
him and obey him with great alarm. For which gloom, each
person interested in the Lord Castlewoocl, framed in his or 10
her own mind an interpretation.
My lady, with a laugh of cruel bitterness, said, "I suppose
the person at Hexton has been ill, or has scolded him " (for
my lord's infatuation about ]\Irs. Marwood was known
only too well). Young Esmond feared for his money affairs, 15
into the condition of which he had been initiated ; and that
the expenses, always greater than his revenue, had caused
Lord Castle wood disquiet.
One of the causes why my Lord Viscount had taken
young Esmond into his special favour was a trivial one, that 20
hath not before been mentioned, though it was a very lucky
accident in Henry Esmond's life. A very few months after
my lord's coming to Castlewood, in the wintertime — the little
boy, being a child in a petticoat, trotting about — it hap-
pened that little Frank was with his father after dinner, 25
who fell asleep over his wine, heedless of the child, who
crawled to the fire; and as good fortune would have it,
Esmond was sent by his mistress for the boy just as the
poor little screaming urchin's coat was set on fire by a log;
when Esmond, rushing forward, tore the dress off the infant, 3°
so Vhat his own hands were burned more than the child's,
who was frightened rather than hurt by this accident. But
certainly 'twas providential that a resolute person should
have come in at that instant, or the child had been burned
to death probably, my lord sleeping very heavily after drink- 35
ing, and not waking so cool as a man should who had a danger
to face.
Ever after this the father, loud in his expressions of remorse
and humility for being a tipsy good-for-nothing, and of
120 HENRY ESMOND
admiration for Harry Esmond, whom his lordship would
style a hero for doing a very trifling service, had the tenderest
regard for his son's preserver, and Harry became quite as
one of the family. His burns were tended with the greatest
5 care by his kind mistress, who said that Heaven had sent
him to be the guardian of her children, and that she would love
him all her life.
And it was after this, and from the very great love and
tenderness which had grown up in this little household,
10 rather than to the exhortations of Dean Armstrong (though
these had no small weight with him), that Harry came to be
quite of the religion of his house and his dear mistress, of
which he has ever since been a professing member. As
for Dr. Tusher's boasts that he was the cause of this con-
15 version — even in these young days Mr, Esmond had such a
contempt for the. Doctor, that had Tusher bade him believe
anything (which he did not — never meddling at all), Harry
would that instant have cjuestioned the truth on't.
My lady seldom drank wine ; but on certain days of the
20 year, such as birthdays (poor Harry had never a one) and
anniversarys, she took a little; and this day, the 29th
December, was one. At the end, then, of this year, '96,
it might have been a fortnight after Mr. Holt's last visit,
Lord Castlewood being still very gloomy in mind, and sitting
25 at table, — my lady bidding a servant bring her a glass of
wine, and looking at her husband with one of her sweet
smiles, said :
" My lord, will you not fill a bumper too, and let me call
a toast?"
30 "What is it, Rachel?" says he, holding out his empty
glass to be filled.
" Tis the 29th of December," says my lady, with her
fonfl look of gratitude; "and my toast is, "Harry — and
(lod bless him, who saved my boy's life !"
35 My lord looked at Harry hard, and drank the glass, but
clapped it down on the table in a moment, and, with a
sort of groan, rose up, and went out of the room. What
was the matter? We all knew that some great grief was
over him.
HENRY ESMOND 121
"WHiether my lord's prudence had made him richer, or
legacies had fallen to him, which enabled him to support a
greater establishment than that frugal one which had been
too much for his small means, Harry Esmond knew not, but
the house of Castlewood was now on a scale much more 5
costly than it had been during the first years of his lordship's
coming to the title. There were more horses in the stable
and more servants in the hall, and many more guests coming
and going now than formerly, when it was found difficult
enough by the strictest economy to keep the house as befitted lo
one of his lordship's rank, and the estate out of debt. And
it did not require very much penetration to find that many
of the new acquaintances at Castlewood were not agreeable
to the lady there : not that she ever treated them or any
mortal w4th anything but courtesy; but they were persons ^5
who could not be welcome to her ; and whose society a lady
so refined and reserved could scarce desire for her children.
There came fuddling squires from the country round, who
bawled their songs under her windows and drank themselves
tipsy with my lord's punch and ale : there came officers 20
from Hexton, in whose company our little lord was made to
hear talk and to drink, and swear too in a way that made
the delicate lady tremble for her son. Esmond tried to
console her by saying what he knew of his College experience;
that with this sort of company and conversation a man 25
must fall in sooner or later in his course through the world :
and it mattered very little whether he heard it at twelve
years old or twenty — the youths who quitted mothers'
apron-strings the latest being not uncommonly the wildest
rakes. But it was about her daughter tha^ Lady Castle- 3°
wood was the most anxious, and the danger which she thought
menaced the little Beatrix from the indulgences which her
father gave her (it must be owned that my lord, since these
unhapp}^ domestick differences especially, vv-as at once ^^olent
in his language to the children when angry, as he was too 35
familiar, not to sa}^ coarse, when he was in a good humour),
and from the company into which the careless lord brought
the child.
Not verv far off from Castlewood is Sark Castle, where the
122 HENRY ESMOND.
Marchioness of Sark lived, who was known to have been a
mistress of the late King Charles — and to this house, whither
indeed a great part of the county gentry went, vny lord in-
sisted upon going, not only himself, but on taking his little
5 daughter and son, to play with the children there. The
children were nothing loth, for the house was splendid and the
welcome kind enough. But my lady, justly no doubt,
thought that the children of such a mother as that noted
Lady Sark had been, could be no good company for her two ;
10 and spoke her mind to her lord. His own language when he
was thwarted was not indeed of the gentlest : to be brief,
there was a family dispute on this, as there had been on
many other points — and the lady was not only forced to give
in, for the other's will was law — nor could she, on account
15 of their tender age, tell her children what was the nature of
her objection to their visit of pleasure, or indeed mention to
them any objection at all — but she had the additional secret
mortification to find them returning delighted with their
new friends, loaded with presents from them, and eager to
20 be allowed to go back to a place of such delights as Sark
Castle. Every year she thought the company there would
be more dangerous to her daughter, as from a child Beatrix
grew to a woman, and her daily increasing beauty, and many
faults of character too, expanded.
25 It was Harry Esmond's lot to see one of the visits which
the old lady Sark paid to the Lady of Castle wood Hall:
whither she came in state with six chestnut horses and blue
ribbons, a page on each carriage step, a gentleman of the
horse, and armed servants riding before and behind her.
30 And but that it was unpleasant to see Lady Castlewood's face,
it was amusing to watch the behaviour of the two enemies:
the frigid i)atience of the younger lady, and the unconquer-
able good-humour of the elder — who would see no offence
whatever her rival intended, and who never ceased to smile
35 and to laugh, and to coax the children, and to pay compli-
ments to every man, woman, child, nay dog, or chair and
table, in Castlewood, so bent was she upon admiring every-
thing there. She lauded the children, and wished — as
indeed she well might — that her own family had been
HENRY ESMOND 123
brought up as well as those cherubs. She had never seen
such a complexion as dear Beatrix's — though to be sure she
had a right to it from father and mother — Lady Castle-
wood's was indeed a wonder of freshness, and Lady Sark
sighed to think she had not been born a fair woman : and 5
remarking Harr}^ Esmond, with a fascinating superannuated
smile, she complimented him on his wit, which she said she
could see from his eyes and forehead : and vowed that she
never would have him at Sark until her daughter were out
of the way. - w
CHAPTER XII
MY LORD MOHUN COMES AMONG US FOR NO GOOD
There had ridden along with this old Princess's cavalcade,
two gentlemen; her son, my Lord Firebrace, and his friend
my Lord jMohun,° who both were greeted with a gi'eat deal
of cordiality by the hospitable Lord of Castlewood. My
Lord Firebrace was but a feeble-minded and weak-limbed 15
young nobleman, small in stature and limited in understand-
ing — to judge from the talk young Esmond had with him;
but the other was a person of a handsome presence, with the
hd air° and a bright daring warlike aspect, which according
to the chronicle of those days, had already achieved for him 20
the conquest of several beauties and toasts. He had fought
and conquered in France, as well as in Flanders; he had
served a couple of campaigns with the Prince of Baden on the
Danube, and witnessed the rescue of Vienna from the Turk.°
And he spoke of his military exploits pleasantly, and with 23
the manly freedom of a soldier, so as to deUght all his hearers
at Castlewood, who were little accustomed to meet a com-
panion so agreeable.
On the first day this noble company came, my lord would
not hear of their departure before dinner, and carried away 3.;
the gentlemen to amuse them, whilst his wife was left to do
the honours of her house to the old Marchioness and her
daughter within. They looked at the stables, where my
Lord j\Iohun praised the horses, though there was but a poor
124 HENRY ESMOND
show there : they walked over the old house and gardens,
and fought the siege of Oliver's time over again : they played
a game of rackets in the old court, where the Lord Castlewoo(\
beat my Lord ]\Iohun, who said he loved ball of all things,
5 and would quickly come back to Castlewood for his revenge.
After dinner they played bowls, and drank punch in the
green alley ; and when they parted they w^ere sworn friends,
my Lord Castlewood kissing the other lord before he mounted
on horseback, and pronouncing him the best companion he
10 had met for many a long day. All night long, over his
tobacco-pipe, Castlewood did not cease to talk to Harry
Esmond in praise of his new friend, and in fact did not leave
off sj^eaking of him until his lordship was so tipsy that he
could not speak plainly any more.
15 At breakfast next day it was the same talk renewed ; and
when my lady said there was something free in the Lord
Mohun's looks and manner of speech which caused her to mis-
trust him, her lord burst out with one of his laughs and oaths ;
said that he never liked man, woman, or beast, but what she
20 was sure to be jealous of it; that ^lohun was the prettiest
fellow in England ; that he hoped to see more of him whilst in
the country; and that he would let Mohun know what my
Lady Prude said of him.
"Indeed," Lady Castlewood said, "I liked his conversation
25 well enough. Tis more amusing than that of most people
I know. I thought it, I own, too free ; not from what he
said, as rather from what he implied."
"Psha! your ladyship does not know the world," said
her husband; "and you have always been as squeamish as
30 when you were a miss of fifteen."
"You found no fault when I was a miss at fifteen."
" Begad, madam, you arc grown too old for a pinafore now;
and I hold that 'tis for me to judge what company my wife
shall sec," said my lord, slapjiiug the table.
35 "Indeed, Francis, I never thought otherwise," answered
my lady, rising and drojiping him a curtsey, in which stately
action, if there was obedience, there was defiance too; and in
whicrh a bystander, deeply interested in the happiness of
that pair as Harry Esmond was, might see how hopelessly
HENRY ESMOND 125
separated they were ; what a great gulf of difference and
discord had run between rhem !
"By G — d ! Mohun is the best fellow in England; and I'll
invite him here, just to plague that woman. Did you ever
see such a frigid insolence as it is, Harry ? That's the way she 5
treats me," he broke out, storming, and his face growing red
as he clenched his fists and went on. " I'm nobody in my own
house. I'm to be the humble servant of that parson's daugh-
ter. By Jove ! I'd rather she should fling the dish at my
head than sneer at me as she does. She puts me to shame i«
before the children with her d d airs; and, I'll swear, tells
Frank and Beaty that papa's a reprobate, and that they
ought to despise me."
"Indeed and indeed, sir, I never heard her say a word but
of respect regarding you," Harry Esmond interposed. 15
"No, curse it ! I wish she would speak. But she never
does. She scorns me, and holds her tongue. She keeps off
from me as if I was a pestilence. By George ! she was fond
enough of her pestilence once. And when I came a-courting,
you would see miss blush — blush red, by George ! for joy. 20
Why, what do you think she said to me, Harry ? She said
herself, when I joked with her about her d d smiling red
cheeks : " 'Tis as they do at Saint James's ; I put up my red
flag when my king comes." I was the king, you see, she
meant. And now, sir, look at her ! I beheve she would be 25
glad if I was dead ; and dead I've been to her these five years
— ever since you all of you had the small-pox : and she never
forgave me for going away."
" Indeed, my lord, though 'twas hard to forgive, I think my
mistress forgave it," Harry Esmond said; "and remember 30
how eagerly she watched your lordship's return, and how
sadly she turned away when she saw your cold looks."
"Damme!" cries out my lord; "would you have had me
wait and catch the small-pox? Where the deuce had been
the good of that? I'll bear danger with any man — but 35
not useless danger — no, no. Thank you for nothing.
And — you nod your head, and I know very well, Parson
Harry, what you mean. There was the — the other affair
to make her angry. But is a woman never to forgive a
126 HENRY ESMOND
husband who goes a-tripping? Do you take me for a
saint ? "
"Indeed, sir, I do not," says Harr}^, with a smile.
''Since that time my wife's as cold as the statue at Charing
5 Cross. I tell thee she has no forgiveness in her, Henry. Her
coldness blights my whole life, and sends me to the punch-
bowl, or driving about the country. My children are not
mine, but hers, when we are together. Tis only when she is
out of sight with her abominable cold glances, that run through
10 me, that they'll come to me, and that I dare to give them
so much as a kiss; and that's why I take 'em and love 'em°
in other people's houses, Harry. I'm killed by the very virtue
of that proud woman. Virtue ! give me the virtue that can
forgive ; give me the virtue that thinks not of preserving
15 itself, but of making other folks happy. Damme, what
matters a scar or two if 'tis got in helping a friend in ill for-
tune?"
And my lord again slapped the table, and took a great
draught from the tankard. Harry Esmond admired as he
20 listened to him, and thought how the poor preacher of this
self-sacrifice had fl^d from the small-pox, which the lady had
borne so cheerfully, and which had been the cause of so much
disunion in the lives of all in this house. ''How well men
preach/' thought the young man, "and each is the example
25 in his own sermon ! How each has a story in a dispute, and
a true one, too, and both are right, or wrong, as you will !"
Harry's heart was pained within him, to watch the struggles
and pane;s that tore the breast of this kind, manly friend and
protector.
30 "Indeed, sir," said he, "I wish to God that my mistress
could hear you speak as I have heard you ; she would know
much that would make her life the happier, could she hear
it." But my lord flung away with one of his oaths, and a
jeer ; he said that Parson Harry was a good fellow ; but that
35 as for women, all women were alike — all jades, and heart-
less. So a man dashes a fine vase down, and despises it for
being broken. It may be worthless — true: but who had
the keeping of it, and who shattered it?
Harry, who would have given his life to make his benefac-
HENRY ESMOND 127
tress and her husband happy, bethought him, now that he
saw what my lord's state of mind was, and that he really
had a great deal of that love left in his heart, and ready for
his wife's acceptance, if she would take it, whether he could
not be a means of reconciliation between these two persons, 5
phom he revered the most in the world. And he cast about
how he should break a part of his mind to his mistress,
and warn her that in his, Harry's opinion, at least, her hus-
band was still her admirer, and even her lover.
But he found the subject a very difficult one to handle, k
when he ventured to remonstrate, which he did in the very
gravest tone (for long confidence and reiterated proofs of
devotion and loyalty had given him a sort of authority in
the house, v\^hich he resumed as soon as ever he returned to
it), and with a speech that should have some effect, as, 15
indeed, it was uttered with the speaker's own heart, he ven-
tured most gently to hint to his adored mistress, that she
was doing her husband harm by her ill opinion of him ; and
that the happiness of all the family depended upon setting
her right. 2a
She, who was ordinarily calm and most gentle, and full of
smiles and soft attentions, flushed up when young Esmond so
spoke to her, and rose from her chair, looking at him with a
haughtiness and indignation that he had never before known
her to display. She was ciuite an altered being for that mo- 25
ment; and looked an angry princess insulted by a vassal.
"Have you ever heard me utter a word in my lord's dis-
paragement?" she asked hastilj^, hissing out her words, and
stamping her foot.
"Indeed, no," Esmond said, looking down. 30
'Are you conle to me as his ambassador — youf" she
continued.
"I would sooner see peace between you than anything else
in the world," Harry answered, "and would go of any em-
bassy that had that end." 35
"So you are my lord's go-between?" she went on, not re-
garding this speech. "You are sent to bid me back into
slavery again, and inform me that my lord's favour is gra-
ciously restored to his handmaid? He is weary of Co vent
128 HENRY ESMOND
Garden, ° is he, that he comes home and would have the
fatted calf killed ?''
"There's good authority for it, surel}^,'' said Esmond.
"For a son, yes; but my lord is not my son. It was he
5 who cast me away from him. It was he who broke our hap-
piness down, and he bids me to repair it. It was he who
showed himself to me at last, as he was, not as I had thought
him. It is he who comes before my children stupid and
senseless with wine — who leaves our company for that of
lo frequenters of taverns and bagnios — who goes from his
home to the city yonder and his friends there, and when he
is tired of them returns hither, and expects that I shall kneel
and welcome him. And he sends you as his chamberlain !
What a proud embassy ! ]\Ionsieur, I make you my com-
15 pliment of the new place.''
"It would be a proud embass}^ and a happy embass}^ too
could I bring you and my lord together," Esmond replied.
"I presume you have fulfilled your mission now, sir.
Twas a pretty one for j^ou to undertake. I don't know
20 whether 'tis your Cambridge philosophy or time that has
altered your ways of thinking," Lady Castlewood continued,
still in a sarcastick toiie. "Perhaps you too have learned
to love drink, and to hiccup over your wine or punch; —
which is your worship's favourite liquor? Perhaps you too
25 put up at the Rose on your way through London, and have
your acquaintances in Covent Garden. My services to you,
sir, to principal and ambassador, to master and — and
lacquey."
"Great heavens! madam," cried Harry. "What have I
30 done that thus, for a second time, you insult me ? Do you
wish me to blush for what I used to be proud of, that I lived
on your bounty? Next to doing you a service (which my
life would pay for), you know that to receive one from you
is my highest pleasure. What wrong have I done you that
35 you should woimd me so, cruel woman ? "
"What wrong?" she said, looking at Esmond with wild
eyes. "Well, none — none that you know of, Harry, or
could help. Why did you bring back the small-pox," she
added after a pause, "from Castlewood village? You could
HENRY ESMOND 129
not help it, could you? Which of us knows whither Fate
leads us? But we w-ere all happy, Henry, till then." And
Harry went away from this colloquy, thinking still that the
estrangement between his patron and his beloved mistress was
remediable, and that each had at heart a strong attachment 5
to the oth3:-.
The intimacy between the Lords i\Iohun and Castlewood
appeared to increase as long as the former remained in the
country; and my Lord of Castlewood especially seemed
never to b3 hapjDy out of his nev/ comrade's sight. They lo
sported together, they drank, they played bowls and tennis :
my Lord ^.'astlewood would go for three days to Sark, and
bring back my Lord T^Iohun to Castlewood — where indeed
his lordship made himself very welcome to all persons, having
a joke or a new game at romps for the children, all the tallc 15
of the town for my lord, and mu-ick and gallantry and plenty
of the heau langage° for my lady, and for Harry Esmond,
who was never tired of hearing his stories of his campaigns
and his life at Vienna, Venice, Paris, and the famous cities
of Europe which he had visited both in peace and war. And 20
he sang at my lady's harpsichord, and played cards or
backgammon, or his new game of bilHards with my lord (of
whom he invariably got the better) ; always having a con-
summate good humour, and beaiing himself with a certain
manly grace, that might exhibit somewhat of the camp 25
and Alsatia° perhaps, but that had its charm and stamped
him a gentleman : and his manner to Lady Castlewood was
so devoted and respectful, that she soon recovered from
the first feelings of dislike which she had conceived against
him — nay, before long, began to be interested in his sphit- 30
ual welfare, and hopeful of his conversion, lending him
books of piety, which he promised dutifully to study. With
her my lord talked of reform, of settling into quiet life,
quitting the court and town, and buying some land in the
neighbourhood — though it must be owned that when the 35
two lords were together over their Burgundy after dinner,
their talk was very different, and there was very little ques-
tion of conversion on my Lord Mohun's part. When they
got to their second bottle, Harry Esmond used commonly
130 HENRY ESMOND
to leave these two noble topers, who, though they talked
freely enough. Heaven knows, in his presence (Good Lord,
what a set of stories, of Alsatia and Spring Garden, ° of the
taverns and gaming-houses, of the ladies of the court, and
5 mesdames° of the theatres, he can recall out of their godly
conversation !) — although I say they talked before Esmond
freely, yet they seemed pleased when he went away; and
then thej^ had another bottle, and then they fell to cards, and
then my Lord Mohun came to her ladyship's drawing-room;
10 leaving his boon companion to sleep off his wine.
'Twas a point of honour with the fine gentlemen of those
days to lose or win magnificently at their horse-matches, or
games of cards and dice — and you could never tell from the
demeanour of these two lords afterwards, which had been
15 successful and which the loser at their games. And when
my lady hinted to my lord that he played more than she
liked, he dismissed her with a ''pish," and swore that nothing
- was more equal than play betwixt gentlemen, if they did
but keep it up long enough. And these kept it up long
20 enough j^ou may be sure. A man of fashion of- that time
often passed a quarter of his day at cards, and another
quarter at drink : I have known many a pretty fellow, who
was a wit too, ready of repartee, and possessed of a thousand
graces, who would be puzzled if he had to write more than
25 his name.
There is scarce any thoughtful man or woman, I suppose,
but can look back upon his course of past life and remember
some point, trifling as it may have seemed at the time of
occurrence, which has nevertheless turned and altered his
30 whole career. 'Tis with almost all of us, as in M. Massillon's
magnificent image regarding King William, ° a grain de sable°
that perverts or perhaps overthrows us; and so it was but
a light word flung in the air, a mere freak of a perverse
child's temper, that brought down a whole heap of crushing
35 woes upon that family whereof Harry Esmond formed a
part.
Coming home to his dear Castlewood in the third year of his
academical course (wherein he had now obtained some dis-
tinction, his Latin Poem on the death of the Duke of Gloces-
HENRY ESMOND 131
cer, Princess Anne of Denmark 's° son, having gained him
a medal, and introduced him to the society of the University
wits), Esmond found his httle friend and pupil Beatrix
grown to be taller than her mother, a slim and lovely young
girl, with cheeks mantling with health and roses : with eyes 5
like stars shining out of azure, with waving bronze hair
clustered about the fairest young forehead ever seen : and a
mien and shape haughty and beautiful, such as that of the
famous antique statue of the Huntress Diana° — at one time
haughty, rapid, imperious, with eyes and arrows that dart lo
and kill. Harry watched and wondered at this young
creature, and likened her in his mind to Artemis with the
ringing bow and shafts flashing death upon the children
of Xiobe°; at another time she was coy and melting as
Luna shining tenderly upon Endymion.° This fair creature, 15
this lustrous Phcebe,° was only young as yet, nor had nearly
reached her full splendour : but crescent and brilliant, our
young gentleman of the University, his head full of poetical
fancies, his heart perhaps throbbing with desires undefined,
admired this rising 3^oung divinity ; and gazed at her (though 20
only as at some "bright particular star," far above his earth)
with endless delight and wonder. She had been a coquette
from the earliest times almost, trying her freaks and jeal-
ousies, her wayward frolicks, and winning caresses upon all
that came within her reach ; she set her women quarrelling 25
in the nursery, and practised her eyes on the groom as she
rode behind him on the pillion.
She was the darling and torment of father and mother.
She intrigued with each secretly ; and bestowed her fondness
and withdrew it, plied them with tears, smiles, kisses, cajole- 30
ments ; — when the mother w^as angry, as happened often,
flew to the father, and sheltering behind him, pursued her
\4ctim; when both were displeased, transferred her caresses
to the domesticks, or watched until she could win back
her parents' good graces, either by surprising them into 33
laughter and good humour, or appeasing them by submission
and artful humility. She was scevo Iceta 7iegotio° like that
fickle goddess Horace describes, and of whose ''malicious
joy'' a great poet° of our own has written so nobly — who
132 HENRY ESMOND
famous and heroick as he was, was not strong enough to
resist the torture of women.
It was but three years before, that the child then but
ten years old had nearly managed to make a quarrel between
5 Harry Esmond and his comrade, good-natured phlegmatick
Thos. Tusher, who never of his own seeking quarrelled with
anybody: by quoting to the latter some silly joke which
Harry had made regarding him — (it was the merest, idlest
jest, though it near drove two old friends to blows, and I
10 think such a battle would have pleased her) — and from that
day Tom kept at a distance from her; and she respected
him, and coaxed him sedulously whenever they met. But
Harry was much more easily appeased, because he was
fonder of the child : and when she made mischief, used
15 cutting speeches, or caused her friends pain; she excused
herself for her fault, not by admitting and deploring it,
but by pleading not guilty, and asserting innocence so con-
stantly, and with such seeming artlessness, that it was im-
possible to question her plea. In her childhood, they were
20 but mischiefs then which she did ; but her power became more
fatal as she grew older — as a kitten first plays with a ball,
and then pounces on a bird and kills it. Tis not to be
imagined that Harry Esmond had all this experience at this
early stage of his life, whereof he is now writing the history
25 — many things here noted were but known to him in later
days. Almost everything Beatrix did or undid seemel
good, or at least pardonable, to him then and years afte-
wards.
It happened, then, that Harry Esmond came home to
30 Castlewood for his last vacation, with good hopes of a fellow-
ship at his college, and a contented resolve to advance his
fortune that way. Twas in the first year of the present
century, Mr. Esmond (as far as he knew the period of his
birth) being then twenty-two years old. He found his
35 quondam pupil shot up into this beauty of which wc have
spoken, and promising yet more : her l)rother, my lord's
son, a handsome high-spirited brave larl, generous and
frank, and kind to everybody, save perhaps his sister, with
whom Frank was at war (and not from his bat her fault) —
HENRY ESMOND 133
adoring his mother, whose joy he was : and taking her side
in the unhappy matrimonial differences which were now
permanent, while of course Mistress° Beatrix ranged with
her father. When heads of families fall out, it must naturally
be that their dependents wear tne one or the other party's 5
colour; and even in the parliaments in the servants' hall or
the stables, Harry, who had an early observant turn, could
see which were my lord's adherents and w^hich my lady's,
and conjecture pretty shrewdly how their unlucky quarrel
was debated. Our lacqueys sit in judgment on us. My ic
lord's intrigues may be ever so stealthily conducted, but his
valet knows them ; and my lady's woman carries her mistress's
private history to the servant's scandal-market, and ex-
changes it against the secrets of other abigails.°
CHAPTER XIII
MY LORD LEAVES US AND HIS EVIL BEHIND HIM
My Lord Mohun (of whose exploits and fame some of the 15
gentlemen of the University had brought down but ugly
reports) was once more a guest at Castlewood, and seemingly
more intimately allied with my lord even than before. Once
in the spring those two noblemen had ridden to Cambridge
from Newmarket, ° whither they had gone for the horse- 20
racing, and had honoured Harry Esmond with a visit at
his rooms ; after which Doctor Montague, the master of the
College, who had treated Harry somewhat haughtily, seeing
his familiarity with these great folks, and that my Lord
Castlewood laughed and walked with his hand on Harry's 25
shoulder, relented to Mr. Esmond, and condescended to
be very civil to him ; and some days after his arrival, Harry,
laughing, told this story to Lady Esmond, remarking how
strange it was that men famous for learning and renowned
over Europe, should, nevertheless, so bow down to a title, 3°
and cringe to a nobleman, ever so poor. At this ]\Irs. Bea-
trix flung up her head, and said, it became those of low
origin to respect their betters ; that the parsons made them-
134 HENRY ESMOND
selves a great deal too proud, she thought; and that she
liked the way at Lady Sark's best, where the chaplain,
though he loved pudding, as all parsons do, always went
away before the custard.
5 ''And when I am a parson,'' says Mr. Esmond, "will you
give me no custard, Beatrix?"
"You — you are different," Beatrix answered. "You
are of our blood."
"My father was a parson, as you call him," said my lady.
10 "But mine is a peer of Ireland," says Mistress Beatrix,
tossing her head. "Let people know their places. I suppose
you will have me go dovvai on my knees and ask a blessing of
Mr. Thomas Tusher, that has just been made a curate, and
whose mother was a waiting-maid."
15 And she tossed out of the room, being in one of her flighty
humours then.
When she was gone, my lady looked so sad and grave,
that Harry asked the cause of her disquietude. She said
it was not merely what he said of Newmarket, but what she
20 had remarked, with great anxiety and terror, that my lord,
ever since his acquaintance with the Lord Mohun especially,
had recurred to his fondness for play, which he had renounced
since his marriage.
"But men promise more than they are able to perform in
25 marriage," said my lady, with a sigh. "I fear he has lost
large sums; and our property, always small, is dwindling
away under this reckless dissipation. I heard of him in
London with very wild company. Since his return letters
and lawyers are constantly coming and going: he seems to
30 me to have a constant anxiety, though he hides it under
boisterousness and laughter. I looked through — through the
door last night, and — and before," said my lady, "and saw
them at cards after midnight : no estate will bear that
extravagance, much less ours, which will be so diminished,
35 that my son will have nothing at all, and my i)oor Beatrix
no portion ! "
"I wish I could help you, madam," said Harry Esmond,
sighing, and wishing that unavailingly, and for the thousandth
time in his life.
HENRY ESMOND 135
''Who can? Only God," said Lady Esmond — "only
God, in whose hands we are." And so it is, and for his rule
over his family, and for his conduct to wife and children —
subjects over whom his power is monarchical, any one who
watches the world must think with trembling sometimes of 5
t'le account which many a man will have to render. For
In our society there's no law to control the King of the Fire-
S:le. He is master of property, happiness, — life almost.
He is free to punish, to make happy or unhappy, to ruin or to
torture. He may kill a wife gradually, and be no more lo
questioned than the Grand Seignior° who drowns a slave at
midnight. He may make slaves and hypocrites of his chil-
dren ; or friends and freemen; or drive them into revolt
and enmity against the natural law of love. I have heard
politicians and coffee-house wiseacres talking over the 15
newspaper, and railing at the tyranny of the French King,
and the Emperor, and wondered how these (who are mon-
archs, too, in their way) govern their own dominions at
home, where each man rules absolute? ^yhen the annals
of each little reign are shown to the Supreme Master, under 2c
vjhom we hold so^'ereignty, histories will be laid bare of house-
hold tyrants as cruel as Amurath, and as savage as Xero,
and as reckless and dissolute as Charles.
If Harry Esmond's patron erred, 'twas in the latter way,
from a disposition rather self-indulgent than cruel : and 25
he might have been brought back to much better feelings,
had time been given to him to bring his repentance to a
lasting reform.
As my lord and his friend Lord Mohun were such close
companions. Mistress Beatrix chose to be jealous of the 30
latter; and the two gentlemen often entertained each other
by laughing, in their rude boisterous way, at the child's
freaks of anger and show of dislike. ''When thou art
old enough, thou shalt marry Lord Mohun," Beatrix's
father would say: on which the girl would pout and sa}^, 35
"I would rather marry Tom Tus^ier.°" And because the
Lord ^lohun always showed an extreme gallantry to my Lady
Castlewood, whom he professed to admire devotedly, one day,
in answer to this old joke of her father's, Beatrix said, "I
136 HENRY ESMOND
think my lord would rather marry mamma than marry mej
and is waiting till you die to ask her."
The words were said lightly and pertly by the girl one night
before supper, as the family party were assembled near the
5 great fire. The two lords, who were at cards, both gave a start ;
my lady turned as red as scarlet, and bade Mistress Beatrix
go to her own chamber : whereupon the girl, putting on, as her
wont was, the most innocent air, said, " I am sure I meant no
wrong ; I am sure mamma talks a great deal more to Harry
10 Esmond than she does to papa — and she cried when Harry went
away, and she never does when papa goes away ; and last night
she talked to Lord Mohun for ever so long, and sent us out
of the room, and cried when we came back, and — "
''D n!'' cried ou^ my Lord ("astlewood, out of all
15 patience. "Go out of the room, you little viper;" and he
started up and flung down his cards.
"Ask Lord Mohun what I said to him, Francis," her lady*
* ship said, rising up with a scared face, but yet with a great and
touching dignity and candour in her look and voice. "Come
20 away with me, Beatrix." Beatrix sprung up too : she was
in tears now.
"Dearest mamma, what have I done?" she asked. "Sure
I meant no harm." And she clung to her mother, and the
pair went out sobbing together.
25 "I will tell you what your wife said to me, Frank," my
Lord Mohun cried — "Parson Harry may hear it; and, as I
hope for heaven, every word I say is true. Last night, with
tears in her eyes, your wife implored me to play no more with
you at dice or at cards, and you know best whether what she
30 asked was not for your good."
"Of course it was, Mohun," says my lord in a dry hard
voice. "Of course, you are a model of a man: and the
world knows what a saint you are."
My Lord Mohun was separated from his wife, and had had
35 many affairs of honour : of which women as usual had been the
cause.
"I am no saint, though your wife is — and I can answer
for my actions as other people must for their words," said my
Lord Mohun.
HENRY ESMOND 137
"By G — , my lord, you shall," cried the other starting up.
"We have another little account to settle first, my lord,"
says Lord Mohun. — Whereupon Harry J]smond filled with
alarm for the consequences to which this disastrous dispute
might lead, broke out into the most vehement expostulations 5
with his patron and his adversary. " Gracious heavens ! " he
said, "my lord, are you going to draw a sword upon your
friend in your own house ? Can you doubt the honour of a
lady who is as pure as Heaven, and would die a thousand
times rather than do 3'ou a wrong? Are the idle words of ic
a jealous child to set friends at variance? Has not my
mistress, as much as she dared do, besought your lordship,
as the truth must be told, to break your intimacy with my
Lord Mohun ; and to give up the habit which may bring
ruin on vour family? But for my Lord Mohun 's illness, had 15
he not left you?"
" 'Faith, Frank, a man with a gouty toe can't run after
other men's wives," broke out my Lord ^lohun, who indeed
was in that way, and with a laugh and look at his swathed
limb so frank and comical, that the other dashing his fist 20
across his forehead was caught by that infectious good hu-
mour, and said with his oath, "D n it, Harry, I believe
thee," and so this c[uarrel was over, and the two gentlemen,
at swords drawn but just now, dropped their points and
shook hands. 25
Beati pacifici° "Go bring my lady back," said Harry's
patron. Esmond went away only too glad to be the bearer
of such good news. He found her at the door ; she had been
hstening there, but went back as he came. She took both
his hands, hers were marble cold. She seemed as if she 30
would fall on his shoulder. "Thank you, and God bless you,
my dear brother Harry," she said. She kissed his hand,
Esmond felt her tears upon it : and leading her into the room,
and up to my lord, the Lord Castlewood with an outbreak of
feeling and affection such as he had not exhibited for many 35
a long day, took his wife to his heart, and bent over and
kissed her and asked her pardon.
" 'Tis time for me to go to roost. I will have my gruel
a-bed," said my Lord Mohun: and limped off comically on
138 HENRY ESMOND
Harry Esmond's arm. " By George, that woman is a pearl,"
he said ; •' and 'tis only a pig that wouldn't value her. Have
you seen the vulgar trapesing" orange-girl whom Esmond
" but here Mr. Esmond interrupted him, sajang that
5 these were not affairs for him to know.
My lord's gentleman came in to wait upon his master, who
was no sooner in his nightcap and dressing-gown than he had
another visitor whom his host insisted on sending to him : and
this was no other than the Lady Castlewood herself with the
10 toast and gruel, which her husband bade her make and
carry with her own hands in to her guest.
Lord Castlewood stood looking after his wife as she went
on this errand, and as he looked, Harry Esmond could not
but gaze on him, and remarked in his patron's face an ex-
15 pression of love, and grief, and care, which very much moved
and touched the young man. Lord Castlewood 's hands fell
down at his sides, and his head on his breast, and presently
he said :
"You heard what Mohun said, parson?"
20 "That my lady was a saint?"
"That there are two accounts to settle. I have been going
^VTong these five years, Harry Esmond. Ever since you
brought that d d small-pox into the house, there has
been a fate pursuing me, and I had best have died of it, and
25 not run away from it, like a coward. I left Beatrix with her
relations, and went to London; and I fell among thieves,
Harry, and I got back to confounded cards and dice, which
I hadn't touched since my marriage — no, not since I was in
the Duke's Guard, with those wild ]\Iohocks.° And I have
30 been playing worse and worse, and going deeper and deeper
into it ; and I owe Mohun two thousand pounds now ; and
when it's paid I am little better than a beggar. I don't like
to look my boy in the face : he hates me, I know he does.
And I have spent Beaty's little portion; and the Lord knows
35 what will come if I Hve; the best thing I can do is to die
and release what portion of the estate is redeemable for the
boy."
Mohun was as much master at Castlewood as the owner of
the Hall itself ; and his equipages filled the stables, where,
HENRY ESMOND 139
indeed, there was room in plenty for many more horses than
Harry Esmond's impoverished patron could afford to keep.
He had arrived on horseback with his people ; but when his
gout broke out my Lord Mohun sent to London for a light
chaise he had, drawn by a pair of small horses, and running 5
as swift, wherever roads were good, as a Laplander's sledge.
When this carriage came, his lordship was eager to drive the
Lady Castlewood abroad in it, and did so many times, and
at a rapid pace, greatly to his companion's enjoyment, who
loved the swift motion and the healthy breezes over the ic
downs which lie hard upon Castlewood, and stretch thence
towards the sea. As tliis amusement was very pleasant to
her, and her lord, far from showing any mistrust of her
intimacy with Lord Mohun, encouraged her to be his com-
panion — as if willing, by his present extreme confidence, to 15
make up for any past mistrust which his jealousy had shown —
the Lady Castlewood enjoyed herself freely in this harmless
diversion, which, it must be owned, her guest was very eager
to give her ; and it seemed that she grew the more free with
Lord ^lohun, and pleased with his company, because of some 20
sacrifice which his gallantr}^ was pleased to make in her
favour.
Seeing the two gentlemen constantly at cards still of even-
ings, Harry Esmond one day deplored to his mistress that
this fatal infatuation of her lord should continue ; and now 25
they seemed reconciled together, begged his lady to hint to
her husband that he should play no more.
But Lady Castlewood, smiling archh' and gaily, said she
would speak to him presently, and that, for a few nights more
at least, he might be let to have his amusement. 30
" Indeed, madam," said Harry, "you know not what it costs
you; and 'tis easy for any observer who knows the game,
to see that Lord 5lohun is by far the stronger of the two."
"I know he is," says my lady, still with exceeding good
humour: "he is not only the best player, but the kindest 35
player in the world."
"Madam, madam," Esmond cried, transported and
provoked. "Debts of honour must be paid some time or
other; and my master will be ruined if he goes on."
140 HENRY ESMOND
"Harry, shall I tell you a secret?" my lady replied, wHh
kindness and pleasure still in her eyes. • "Francis will not be
ruined if he goes on ; he will be rescued if he goes on. I re-
pent of ha\'ing spoken and thought unkindly of the Lord
5 Mohun when he was here in the past year. He is full of
much kindness and good; and 'tis my belief that we shall
bring him to better things. I have lent him Tillotson and
your favorite Bishop Taylor, ° and he is much touched, he
says; and as a proof of his repentance (and herein lies my.
10 secret) — what do you think he is doing with Francis? He
is letting poor Frank win his money back again. He hath
won already at the last four nights; and my Lord Mohun
says that he will not be the means of injuring poor Frank and
my dear children."
15 "And in God's name, what do you return him for this
sacrifice ?" asked Esmond, aghast : who knew enough of men,
and of this one in particular, to be aware that such a finished
rake gave nothing for nothing. "How, in Heaven's name,
are you to pay him?"
20 " Pay him ! With a mother's blessing and a wife's prayers ! "
cries my lady, clasping her hands together. Harry Esmond
did not know whether to laugh, to be angry, or to love his
dear mistress more than ever for the obstinate innocency
with which she chose to regard the conduct of a man of the
25 world, whose designs he knew better how to interpret. He
told the lady, guardedly, but so as to make his meaning quite
clear to her, what he knew in respect of the former life and
conduct of this nobleman ; of other women against whom
he had plotted, and whom he had overcome ; of the conver-
30 sation which he Harry himself had had with Lord Mohun,
wherein the lord made a boast of his libertinism, and fre-
quently avowed that he held all women to be fair game (as
his lordship styled this pretty sport), and that they were all,
without exception, to be won. And the return Harry had
35 for his entreaties and remonstrances was a fit of anger on
Lady Castlewood's part, wlio would not listen to his accusa-
tions, she said, and retorted that he himself must be very
wicked and perverted, to suppose evil designs, where she
was sure none were meant. "And this is the good meddlers
HENRY ESMOND 141
get of interfering," Harry thought to himself, with much
bitterness : and his perplexity and annoyance were only
the greater, because he could not speak to my Lord Castle-
wood himself upon a subject of this nature, or venture to
advise or warn him regarchng a matter so very sacred as 5
his own honour, of which my lord was naturally the best
guardian.
But though Lady Castlewood would listen to no advice
from her young dependent, and appeared indignantly to re-
fuse it when offered, Harry had the satisfaction to find that jc
she adopted the counsel which she professed to reject ;
for the next day she pleaded a headache, when my Lord
IMohun would have had her drive out, and the next day the
headache continued; and next day, in a laughing gay
way she proposed that the children should take her place in 15
his lordship's car,° for they would be charmed with a ride of
all things; and she must not have all the pleasure for herself.
My lord ga\^9 them a drive with a very good grace, though I
dare say with rage and disappointment inwardly — not that
his heart w^as A'ery seriously engaged in his designs upon this 20
simple lady ; but the life of such men is often one of intrigue,
and they can no more go through the day without a woman
to pursue, than a fox-hunter without his sport after breakfast.
Under an affected carelessness of demeanour, and though
there was no outward demonstration of doubt upon his 25
patron's part since the quarrel between the two lords, Harry
yet saw that^Lord Castlewood was watching his guest very
narrowly : and caught signs of distrust and smothered rage
(as Harry thought) which foreboded no good. On the point
of honour Esmond knew how touchy his patron was : and 30
watched him almost as a physician watches a patient, and
it seemed to him that this one was slow to take the disease,
though he could not throw off the poison when once it had
mingled with his blood. We read in Shakespeare ° (whom
the wTiter for his part considers to be far beyond ]\Ir. Con- 35
greve,° Mr. Dryden,° or any of the wits of the present period)
that when jealousy is once declared, nor poppy nor man-
dragora, nor all the drowsy syrups of the East, will ever
soothe it or medicine it away.
142 HENRY .ESMOND
In fine, the symptoms seemed to be so alarming to this
young physician (who indeed young as he was had felt the
kind pulses of all those dear kinsmen), that Harry thought it
would be his duty to warn my Lord Mohun, and let him know
5 that his designs were suspected and watched. So one day
when, in rather a pettish humour, his lordship had sent to
Lady Castlewood, who had promised to drive with him, and
now refused to come, Harry said — ''My lord, if you will
kindly give me a place by your side I will thank you ; I have
10 much to say to you, and would like to sp.eak to you alone."
" You honour me by giving me your confidence, ]\Tr. Henry
Esmond,'' says the other, with a ^'er^^ grand bow. I\Iy lord
was always a fine gentleman, and young as he was there was
that in Esmond's manner which showed that he was a gentle-
15 man too, and that none might take a liberty with him —
so the pair went out, and mounted the little carriage which
was in waiting for them in the court, with its two httle cream-
coloured Hanoverian horses covered with splendid furniture^
and champing at the bit.
20 *'My lord," says Harry Esmond, after they were got into
the country, and pointing to my Lord Mohun 's foot, which
was swathed in flannel, and put up rather ostentatiously on
a cushion — "my lord, I stuched medicine at Cambricfge.'''
"Lideed, Parson Harry," says he : "and are you going to
25 take out a diploma: and cure your fellow-students of the — "
"Of the gout," says Harry, interrupting him, and looking
him hard in the face, "I know a good deal about the gout."
"I hope you may never have it. 'Tis an infernal disease,"
says my lord, "and its twinges are diabolical. Ah!" and
30 he made a dreadful wry face, as if he just felt a twinge.
"Your lordship would be much better if you took off all
that flannel — it only serves to inflame the toe, " Harry
continued, looking his man full in the face.
"Oh ! it only serves to inflame the toe, does it?" says the
-t^ other, with an innocent air.
" If you took off that flannel, and flung that absurd slipper
away and wore a boot," continues Harry.
"You recommend me boots, Mr. Esmond?" asks my lord.
"Yes, boots and spurs. I saw your lordship three days
HENRY ESMOND 143
ago run down the gallery fast enough," Harry goes on. "I
am sure that taking gruel at night is not so pleasant as claret
to your lordship ; and besides it keeps your lordship's head cool
for play, whilst my patron's is hot and flustered with drink/'
'' 'Sdeath, sir, you dare not say that I don't play fair ? " cries 5
my lord, whipping his horses, which went away at a gallop.
"You are cool when my lord is drunk," Harry continued:
''3'our lordship gets the better of my patron. I have watched
you as I looked up from my books."
"You young Argus° !" says Lord Mohun, who liked Harry la
Esmond, — and for whose company and wit, and a certain
daring manner, Harry had a great liking too — "You young
Argus ! you may look wiih all your hundred eyes and see we
play fair. I've played away an estate of a night, and I've
played my shirt off my back; and I've played away my 15
perriwig and gone home in a nightcap. But no man can say
I ever took an advantage of him beyond the advantage of the
game. I played a dice-cogging scoundrel in Alsatia for his
ears and won 'em, and have one of 'em in my lodging in Bow
Street in a bottle of spirits. Harry Mohun will play any man 20
for anything — always would."
"You are playing awful stakes, my lord, in my patron's
house," Harry said, "and more games than are on the cards."
"What do you mean, sir?" cries my lord, turning round,
with a flush on his face. 25
"I mean," answers Harry in a sarcastick tone, "that
your gout is well — if ever you had it."
"Sir!" cries my lord, getting hot.
" And to tell the truth I believe your lordship has no more
gout than I have. At any rate, change of air will do you 30
good, my Lord Mohun. And I mean fairly that you had
better go from Castle wood."
"xVnd w^ere you appointed to give me this message?"
cries the Lord Mohun. "Did Frank Esmond commission
you?" ^ 2^
"No one did. 'Twas the honour of my family that com-
missioned me."
"And you are prepared to answer this?" cries the other,
furiously lashing his horses.
144 HENRY ESMOND
*'' Quite, my lord : your lordship will upset the carriage i\
you whip so hotly."
''By George, you have a brave spirit !" my lord cried out,
bursting into a laugh. "I suppose 'tis that infernal hoiU
5 de Jesuite'^ that makes you so bold," he added.
"Tis the peace of the family I love best in the world,"
Harry Esmond said warmly — " 'tis the honour of a noble
benefactor — the happiness of my dear mistress and her
children. I owe them everything in life, my lord : and would
10 lay it down for any one of them. What brings you here to
disturb this quiet household? What keeps you lingering
month after month in the country? What makes you
feign illness and invent pretexts for delay? Is it to win my
poor patron's money? Be generous, my lord, and spare his
15 weakness for the sake of his wife and children. Is it to
practise upon the simple heart of a virtuous lady? You
might as well storm the Tower s'ngle-handed. But you may
blemish her name by light comments on it or by lawless
pursuits — and I don't deny that 'tis in your power to make
20 her unhappy. Spare these innocent people and leave
them."
**By the Lord, I believe thou hast an eye to the pretty
Puritan thyself. Master Harry," says my lord, with his
reckless, good-humoured laugh, and as if he had been hstening
25 with interest to the passionate appeal of the young man.
"Whisper, Harry. Art thou in love with her thyself?
Hath tipsy Frank Esmond come by the way of all flesh?"
"My lord, my lord," cried Harry, his face flushing and his
eyes fiUing as he spoke, "I never had a mother, but I love
30 this lady as one. I worship her as a devotee worships a saint.
To hear her name sj^oken lightly seems blasphemy to me.
Would you dare think of your own mother so, or suffer any
one so to speak of her ! It is a horror to me to fancy that any
man should think of her impurely. I implore you, I beseech
35 yf^'ij tx) leave her. Danger will come out of it."
" Danger, psha!" says my lord, giving a cut to the horses,
which at this minute — for we were got on to the Downs° —
fairly ran off into a gaflop that no puHing could stop. The
rein broke in Lord Mohun's hands, and the furious beasts
HENRY ESMOND 145
scampered madly forwards, the carriage swaying to and fro,
and the persons within it holding on to the sides as best
they might, until, seeing a great ravine before them, where
an upset yvas inevitable, the two gentlemen leapt for their
lives, each out of his side of the chaise. Harry Esmond 5
was (\\x\t for a fall on the grass, which was so severe, that it
stunned him for a minute; but he got up presently very
sick, and bleeding at the nose, but with no other hurt. The
Lord Mohun was not so fortunate ; he fell on his head against
a stone, and lay on the ground dead to all appearance. la
This misadventure happened as the gentlemen were on
their return homewards ; and my Lord Castlewood, with his
son and daughter, who were going out for a ride, met the
ponies as they were galloping with the car behind, the broken
traces entangling their heels, and my lord's people turned 15
and stopped them. It was young Frank who spied out Lord
Mohun 's scarlet coat as he lay on the ground, and the party
made up to that unfortunate gentleman ancl Esmond, who
was now standing over him. His large perriwig and feathered
hat had fallen off, and he was bleeding profusely from a wound 20
on the forehead, and looking, and being, indeed, a corpse.
"Great God! he's dead!" says my lord. "Ride, some
one : fetch a doctor — stay. I'll go home and bring back
Tusher; he knows surgery," and my lord, with his son after
him, galloped away. ^ 25
They were scarce gone when Harry Esmond, who was,
indeed, but just come to himself, bethought him of a similar
accident which he had seen on a ride from iSewmarket to
Cambridge, and taking off a sleeve of my lord's coat,
Harry, with a penknife, opened a vein in his arm, and was 3°
greatly reheved, after a moment, to see the blood flow.
He was near half an hour before he came to himself, by
which time Doctor Tusher and Httle Frank arrived, and
found my lord not a corpse indeed, but as pale as one.
After a time, and when he was able to bear motion, they 35
put my lord upon a groom's horse, and gave the other to
Esmond, the men walking on each side of my lord, to support
him, if need were, and worthy Doctor Tusher with them.
Little Frank and Harry rode together at a foot pace.
146 HENRY ESMOND
When we rode together home, the boy said: "We met
mamma, who was walking on the terrace with the Doctor,
and papa frightened her, and told her you were dead — ''
''That I was dead? ''asks Harry.
5 "Yes. Papa says: 'Here's poor Harry killed, my dear;'
on which mamma gives a great scream, and oh, Harry ! she
drops down; and I thought she was dead, too. And you
never saw such a way as papa was in : he swore one of his
great oaths; and he turned quite pale; and then he began
10 to laugh somehow, and he told the Doctor to take his horse,
and me to follow him ; and we left him. And I looked
back, and saw him dashing water out of the fountain on to
mamma. Oh, she w^as so frightened ! "
Musing upon this curious history — for my Lord Mohun's
15 name was Henry too, and they called each other Frank and
Harry often — and not a little disturbed and anxious,
Esmond rode home. His dear lady was on the terrace still,
one of her women with her, and my lord no longer there.
There are steps and a little door thence down into the road.
20 My lord passed, looking very ghastly, with a handkerchief
over his head, and without his hat and perriwig, which a
groom carried, but his politeness did not desert him, and
he made a bow to the lady above.
"Thank Heaven you are safe," she said.
25 "And so is Harry, too, mamma," says little Frank,
"huzzay !"
Harry Esmond got off the horse to run to his mistress, as
did little Frank, and one of the grooms took charge of the
two beasts, while the other, hat and perriwig in hand, walked
30 Ijy my lord's bridle to the front gate, which lay half a mile
away.
"Oh, my boy! what a fright 3^ou have given me!" Lady
Castlewood said, when Harry Esmond came up, greeting
him with one of her shining looks, and a voice of tender
35 welcome ; and she was so kind as to kiss the young man ('twas
the second time she had so honoured him), and she walked
into the house between him and her son, holding a hand of
each.
HENRY ESMOND 147
CHAPTER XIV
WE RIDE AFTER HIM TO LONDON
After a repose of a couple of days, the Lord Mohun was so
far recovered of his hurt as to be able to announce his depart-
ure for the next morning : when, accordingly, he took leave
of Castlewood, proposing to ride to London by easy stages,
and lie two nights upon the road. His host treated him with 5
a studied and ceremonious courtesy, certainly different
from my lord's usual frank and careless demeanour; but
there was no reason to suppose that the two lords parted
otherwise than good friends, though Harry Esmond remarked
that my Lord Viscount only saw his guest in company of iQ
other persons, and seemed to avoid being alone with him.
Nor did he ride any distance with Lord Mohun, as his custom
was with most of his friends, whom he was always eager to
welcome and unwilHng to lose : but contented himself,
when his lordship's horses were announced, and their owner 15
appeared booted for his journey, to take a courteous leave
of the ladies of Castlewood, l)y following the Lord IMohun
down stairs to his horses, and by bowing and wishing him a good-
day in the courtyard. "I shall see you in London before
very long, Mohun," my lord said, with a smile: "when we 20
will settle our accounts together."
"Do iiot let them trouble you, Frank," said the other
good-naturedly, and holding out his hand looking rather sur-
prised at the grim and stately manner in which his host
received his parting salutation : and so, followed by his 25
people, he rode away.
Harry Esmond was witness of the departure. It was very
different to my lord's coming, for which great preparation
had been made (the old house putting on its best appearance
to welcome its guest), and there was a sadness and con- 3°
straint about all persons that day, which filled ]\Ir. Esmond
with gloomy foreboding, and sad indefinite apprehensions.
Lord Castlewood stood at the door watching his guest and
his people as they went out under the arch of the outer gate.
148 HENRY ESMOND
Wh^n he was there, Lord Mohun turned once more, u\\
Lord Viscount slowly raised his beaver° and bowed. His face
wore a peculiar livid look, Harry thought. He cursed and
kicked away his dogs, which came jumping about him —
5 then he walked up to the fountain in the centre of the court,
and leaned against a pillar and looked into the basin. As
Esmond crossed over to his own room, late the Chaplain's, on
the other side of the court, and turned to enter in at the
low door, he saw Lady Castlewood looking through the
lo curtains of the great window of the drawing-room overhead
at my lord as he stood regarding the fountain. There was
in the court a peculiar silence somehow: and the scene
remained long in Esmond's memor}?- : — the sky bright
overhead : the buttresses of the building, and the sun-dial
15 casting shadow over the gilt memento mori° inscribed under-
neath; the two dogs, a black greyhound and a spaniel
nearly white, the one with his face up to the sun, and the
other snuffing amongst the grass and stones, and my lord
leaning over the fountain, which was plashing audibly.
20 'Tis strange how that scene, and the sound of that fountain,
remain fixed on the memory of a man who has beheld a
hundred sights of splendour, and danger too, of which he
has kept no account.
It was Lady Castlewood — she had been laughing all the
25 morning, and especially gay and lively before her husband
and his guest — who, as soon as the two gentlemen went to-
gether from her room, ran to Harry, the expression of her
countenance quite changed now, and with a face and eyes
full of care, and said, "Follow them, Harry, I am sure
30 something has gone wrong.'' And so it was that Esmond
was made an eaves-dropper at this lady's orders: and
retired to his own chamber, to give himself time in truth to
try and compose a story which would soothe his mistress,
for he could not but have his own apprehension that some
35 serious f}uarrel was pending between the two gentlemen.
And now for several days the little company at Castle-
wood sate at table as of evenings : this care, though unnamed
and visible, b(>ing nevertheless present alway, in the minds
of at least three persons there. My lord was exceeding
HENRY ESMOND 149
gentle and kind. Whenever he quitted the room, his wife's
eyes followed him. He behaved to her with a kind of
mournful courtesy and kindness remarkable in one of his
buint ways and ordinarily rough manner. He called her
by her Christian name often and fondly, was very soft and 5
gentle with the children, especially with the boy, whom he
did not love. And being lax about church generally, he
went thither and performed all the offices (down even to
Mstening to Doctor Tusher's sermon) with great devotion.
"He paces his room all night: what is it? Henry, find la
out what it is," Lady Castlewood said constantly to her
voung dependent. "He has sent three letters to London,''
she said^ another day.
"Indeed, madam, they were to a lawyer," Harry answered,
who knew of these letters and had seen a part of the cor- 15
respondence, which related to a new loan my lord was
raising: and when, the young man remonstrated with his
pal;ron, my lord said "he was only raising money to pay
ofT an old debt on the property which must be discharged."
Regarding the money, Lady Castlewood was not in the 20
least anxious. Few foncl women feel money-distress ; indeed
you can hardly give a woman a greater pleasure than to
bid her pawn her diamonds for the man she loves : and I
remember hearing Mr. Congreve say of my Lord Marlbor-
ough, that the reason why my lord was so successful with 25
women as a young man was, because he took money of
them. "There are few men who will make such a sacrifice
for them," says Mr. Congreve, who knew a part of the sex
pretty well.
Harry Esmond's vacation was just over, and, as hath 30
been said, he was preparing to return to the university for
his last termi before taking his degree and entering into the
church. He had made up his mind for this office, not indeed
with that reverence which becomes a man about to enter
upon a duty so holy, but with a worldly spirit of acquies- 35
cence.in the prudence of adopting that profession for liis
calling. But his reasoning was that he owed all to the family
of Castlewood, and loved better to be near them than any-
where else in the world; that he might be useful to his
150 HENRY ESMOND
benefactors, who had the utmost confidence in him and
affection for him in return; that he might aid in bringing
up the young heir of the house and acting as his governor;
that he might continue to be his dear patron s and mistress's
5 friend and adviser, who both were pleased to say that they
should ever look upon him as such : and so, by making him-
self useful to those he loved best, he proposed to console
himself for giving up of any schemes of ambition which he
might have had in his own bosom. Indeed, his mistress
10 had told him that she would not have him leave her ; and
whatever she commanded was will to him.
The Lady Castle wood's mind was greatly reliev3d in the
last few days of this well-remembered holyday time, oy
my lord's announcing one morning, after the post had brought
15 him letters from London, in a careless tone, that the Lord
Mohun was gone to Paris, and was about to m^ke a great
journey in Europe; and though Lord Castlewood's own
gloom did not wear off, or his behaviour alter, yet this cause
of anxiety being removed from his lady's mind, she began
20 to be more hopeful and easy in her spirits, striving, too,
with all her heart, and by all the means of soothing in her
power, to call back my lord's cheerfulness and dissipate
his moody humour.
He accounted for it himself, by saying that he was out of
25 health ; that he wanted to see his physician ; that he would go
to London, and consult Doctor Cheyne.° It was agreed
that his lordship and Harry Esmond should make the journey
as far as London together; and of a IMonday morning, the
10th of October, in the year 1700, they set forwards towards
30 London on horseback. The day before being Sunday, and
the rain pouring down, the family did not visit church;
and at night my lord read the service to his family, very
finely, and with a peculiar sweetness and gravity, — speaking
the parting benediction, Harry thought, as solemn as ever he
35 heard it. And he kissed and embraced his wife and children
before they went to their own chambers with more fondness
than he was ordinarily wont to show, and with a solemnity
and feeling, of which they thought in after days with no
small comfort.
HENRY ESMOND 151
They took horse the next morning (after adieux from the
family as tender as on the night previous), lay that night on
the road, and entered London at nightfall; my lord going
to the Trumpet, in the Cockpit, ° ^^'hitehall, an house used
by the military in his time as a young man, and accustomed 5
by his lordship ever since.
An hour after my lord's arrival (which showed that his
\asit had been arranged beforehand), my lord's man of busi-
ness arrived from Gray's Inn° ; and thinking that his patron
might wish to be private with the lawyer, Esmond was for ic
leaving them: but my lord said his business was short; in-
troduced Mr. Esmond particularly to the lawyer, who had
been engaged for the family in the old lord's time ; w^ho said
that he had paid the money, as desired that day, to my Lord
Mohun himself, at his lodgings in Bow^ Street; that his lord- 15
ship had expressed some surprise, as it was not customary
to employ lawyers, he said, in such transactions between men
of honour; but, nevertheless, he had returned my Lord
Viscount's note of hand, which he held at his client's dis-
position. 20
"I thought the Lord Mohun had been in Paris !" cried Mr.
Esmond, in great alarm and astonishment.
"He is come back at my invitation," said my Lord Vis-
count. "We have accounts to settle together."
"I pray Heaven they are over, sir," says Esmond. 25
"Oh, Cjuite," replied the other, looking hard at the young
man. "He v\-as rather troublesome about that money which
I told you I had lost to him at play. And now 'tis paid, and
and we are cjuits on that score, and we shall meet good friends
again." 30
" My lord," cried out Esmond, " I am sure you ai'e deceiving
me, and that there is a quarrel between the Lord Mohun and
you."
"Quarrel — pish! We shall sup together this very night,
and drink a bottle. Every man is ill-humoured, who loses 35
such a sum as I have lost. But now 'tis paid, and my anger
is gone with it."
"Where shall we sup, sir?" says Harry.
" We! Let some gentlemen wait till they are asked," says
152 HENRY ESMOND
my Lord Viscount, with a laugh. "You go to Duke Street,
and see Mr. Betterton.° You love the play, I know. Leave
me to follow my own devices ; and in the morning well
breakfast together, with what appetite we may, as the play
5 says."
**By G — ! my lord, I will not leave you this night,'' says
Harry Esmond. ''I think I know the cause of your dispute.
I swear to you 'tis nothing. On the very day the accident
befell Lord Mohun, I was speaking to him about it. I know
10 that nothing has passed but idle gallantry on his part."
''You know that nothing has passed but idle gallantry
between Lord Mohun and my wife," says my lord, in a thun-
dering voice — "3"ou knew of this, and didn't tell me?"
" I knew more of it than my dear mistress did herself, sir —
15 a thousand times more. How was she, who was as innocent as
a child, to know what was the meaning of the covert addresses
of a villain?"
"A villain he is, you allow, and would have taken my wife
away from me."
20 "Sir, she is as pure as an angel," cried young Esmond.
"Have I said a word against her?" shrieks out my lord.
" Did I ever doubt that she was pure ? It would have been the
last day of her life when I did. Do you fancy I think that she
would go astray? No, she hasn't passion enough for that.
25 She neither sins nor forgives. I know her temper — and nov/
I've lost her : by Heaven I love her ten thousand times
more than ever I did — yes, when she was young and as
beautiful as an angel — when she smiled at me in her old
father's house, and used to lie in wait for me there as I came
30 from hunting — when I used to fling my head down on her
little knees and cry like a child on her lap — and swear I
would reform and tlrink no more, and play no more, and fol-
low women no more ; when all the men of the Court used to
be following her — when she used to look with her child
35 rrion; beautiful, by CJeorge, than the Madonna in the Queen's
Chapel. I am not good like her, I know it. Who is, by
Heaven, who is? I tired and wearied her, I know that very
well. I could not talk to her. You men of wit and books
could do that and I couldn't — I felt I couldn't. Why,
HENRY ESMOND 153
when you was but a boy of fifteen I could hear you two
together talking your poetry and your books till I was in
such a rage that I was fit to strangle you. But you were
always a good lad, Harry, and I loved you, you know I did.
And I felt she didn't belong to me : and the children don't. 5
And I besotted myself, and gambled, and drank, and took to
all sorts of devilries out of despair and fury. And now
comes this Mohun, and she likes him, I know she likes him."
'' Indeed, and on my soul, you are wrong, sir," Esmond cried.
'SShe takes letters from him," cries my lord — "look here, lo
Harry," and he pulled out a paper with a brown stain of
blood upon it. ''It fell from him that day he wasn't killed.
One of the grooms picked it up from the ground and gave it
me. Here it is in their d d comedy jargon. 'Divine
Gloriana — Why look so coldly on 3'our slave who adores 15
you? Have you no compassion on the tortures you have
seen me suffering? Do you vouchsafe no reply to billets
that are written with the blood of my heart V She had more
letters from him."
"But she answered none," cried Esmond. 20
"That's not Mohun 's fault," says my lord, "and I will
be revenged on him, as God's in Heaven, I will."
"For a hght word or two, will you risk your lady's honour
and your family's happiness, my lord?" Esmond interjDosed
beseechingly. 25
"Psha — there shall be no question of my wn^e's honour."
said my lord; "we can quarrel on plenty of grounds beside.
If I live, that villain will be punished : if I fall, my family will
be only the better : there will only be a spendthrift the less
to keep in the world : and Frank has better teaching than his 3°
father. My mind is made up, Harry Esmond, and whatever
ihe event is I am easy about it. I leave my wife and you
as guardians to the children."
Seeing that my lord was bent upon pursuing this quarrel,
and that no entreaties would draw him from it, Harry Es- 35
mond (then of a hotter and more impetuous nature than now,
when care and reflection, and grey hairs have calmed him)
thought it was his duty to stand by his kind generous patron,
and said, — "^ly lord, if you are determined upon war, you
154 HENRY ESMOND
must not go into it alone. Tis the duty of our house tA
stand by its chief: and I should neither forgive myself nor
you if you did not call me, or I should be absent from you at
a moment of danger."
5 "Why, Harry, my poor boy, you are bred for a parson,''
says my lord, taking Esmond by the hand very kindly : '' and
it were a great pity that you should meddle in the matter."
" Your lordship thought of being a churchman, once,"
Harry answered, "and your father's orders did not prevent
10 him fighting at Castlewood against the Roundheads. Your
enemies are mine, sir : I can use the foils, as you have seen,
indifferently well, and don't think I shall be afraid when the
buttons are taken off° 'em." And then Harry explained,
with some blushes and hesitation (for the matter was delicate,
15 and he feared lest, by having put himself forward in the
quarrel, he might have offended, his patron), how he had him-
self expostulated with the Lord Mohun, and proposed to
measure swords with him if need were, and he could not be
got to withdraw peaceably in this dispute. "And I should
20 have beat him, sir," says Harry, laughing. "He never
could parry that hotte° I brought from Cambridge. Let us
have half an hour of it, and rehearse — I can teach it your
lordship : 'tis the most delicate point in the world, and if
you miss it — your adversary's sword is through you."
25 "By George, Harry! you ought to be the head of the
house," says my lo^d, gloomily. "You had been better
Lord Castlewood than a lazy sot like me," he added, drawing
his hand across his eyes, and surveying his kinsman with
very kind affectionate glances.
30 " Let us take our coats off and have half an hour's practice
Ix'fore nightfall," says Harry, after thankfully grasping his
patron's manly hand.
"You are but a little bit of a lad," says my lord, good-
humouredly; "but in faith, I believe you could do for that
35 fellow. No, my boy," he continued. "I'll have none of
your feints and tricks of stabl)ing : I can use my sword pretty
well too, and will fight my own quarrel my own way."
"But I shall be by to see fair play," cries Harry.
"Yes, Cod bless you — you shall be by."
HENRY ESMOND 155
•'When is it, sir?" says Harry, for he saw that the matter
had been arranged privately, and beforehand, by my lord.
" Tis arranged thus : I sent off a courier to Jack Westbury
to say that I wanted him specially. He knows for what,
and will be here presently, and drink part of that bottle of 5
sack. Then we shall go to the theatre in Duke Street,
where we shall meet Mohun ; and then we shall all go sup
at the Rose or the Greyhound. Then we shall call for cards,
and there will be probably a difference over the cards — and
then, God help us ! — either a wicked villain and traitor shall la
go out of the world, or a poor worthless devil, that doesn't
care to remain in it. I am better away, Hal, — my wife
will be all the happier when I am gone," says my lord, with a
groan, that tore the heart of Harry Esmond so that he fairly
broke into a sob over his patron's kind hand. 15
"The business was talked over with Mohun before he left
home — Castlewood I mean" — my lord went on. *'I took
the letter in to him, which I had read, and I charged him
with his villainy, and he could make no denial of it, only he
said that my wife was innocent." 20
"And so she is; before Heaven, my lord, she is!" cries
Harry.
"A'o doubt, no doubt. They always are," says my lord.
"No doubt, when she heard he was killed, she fainted from
accident." 25
"But, my lord, my name is Harry," cried out Esmond,
burning red.- "You told my lady, 'Harry was killed!'"
"Damnation! shall I fight you, too?" shouts my lord,
in a fury. "Are you, you little serpent, warmed by my fire,
going to sting — you ? — No, my boy, you're an honest boy; 30
you are a good boy." (And here he broke from rage into
tears even more cruel to see.) "You are an honest boy, and
1 love you ; and, by heavens, I am so wretched that I don't
care what sword it is that ends me. Stop, here's Jack West-
bury. ° Well, Jack ! Welcome, old boy ! This is my kins- 35
man, Harry Esmond."
"Who brought your bowls for you at Castlewood, sir!"
says Harry, bowing : and the three gentlemen sate down and
drank of that bottle of sack which was prepared for them.
156 HENRY ESMOND
"Harry is number three," says my lord. "You needn't hi
afraid of him, Jack." And the Colonel gave a look, as much
as to say, ''Indeed, he don't look as if I need." And then
my lord explained what he had only told b}^ hints before.
5 When he quarrelled with Lord Mohun he was indebted to his
lordship in a sum of sixteen hundred pounds, for which Lord
Mohun said he proposed to wait until my Lord Viscount
should pay him. My lord had raised the sixteen hundred
pounds and sent them to Lord Mohun that morning, and
10 before quitting home had put his affairs into order, and was
now quite ready to abide the issue of the quarrel.
When we had drunk a couple of bottles of sack, a coach was
called, and the three gentlemen went to the Duke's Play-
house, as agreed. The play was one of Mr. Wycherley's —
15 Love in a Wood°
Harry Esmond has thought of that play ever since with a
kind of terror, and of Mrs. Bracegirdle,° the actress who per-
formed the girl's part in the comedy. She was disguised as a
page, and came and stood before the gentlemen as they sate
20 on the stage, and looked over her shoulder with a pair of arch
black eyes, and laughed at my lord, and asked what ailed the
gentleman from the country, and had he had bad news from
Bullock Fair?
Between the acts of the play the gentlemen crossed over
25 and conversed freely. There were two of Lord Mohun's
party. Captain Macartney," in a military habit, and a gentle-
man in a suit of blue velvet and silver in a fair perriwig, with
a rich fall of point of Venice lace — my lord the Earl of War-
wick and Holland. My lord had a paper of oranges, which
30 he ate and offered to the actresses, joking with them. And
Mrs. Bracegirdle, when my Lord Mohun said something rude,
turned on him, and asked him what he did there, and whether
he and liis fiiends had come to stab anybody else as they did
poor Will M<)untford°? My lord's dark face grew darker
35 at this taunt, and wore a mischievous fatal look. They that
saw it remembered it, and said so afterward.
When the play was ended the two parties joined company;
and my Lord Castlewood then proi)osed that they should go
to a tavern and sup. Lockit's,° the Cireyhound, in Charing
HENRY ESMOND 157
Cross, was the house selected. All six marched together that
way; the three lords going ahead, Lord IMohun's captain, and
Colonel Westbury, and Harry Esmond, walking behind them.
As they walked, Westbury told Harry Esmond about his
old friend Dick the Scholar, who had got promotion, and 5
was Cornet of the Guards, and had wrote a book called the
Christian Hero° ; and had all the Guards to laugh at him for
his pains, for the Christian Hero was breaking the command-
ments constantly, Westbury said, and had fought one or two
duels already. And, in a lower tone, Westbury besought ic
young ]\Ir. Esmond to take no part in the quarrel. " There was
no need for more seconds than one," said the Colonel, "and
the Captain or Lord Warwick might easily withdraw." But
Harry said no ; he was bent on going through with the busi-
ness. Lideed, he had a plan in his head, which, he thought, 15
might prevent my Lord Viscount from engaging.
They went in at the bar of the tavern, and desired a private
room and wine and cards, and when the drawer had brought
these, the}' began to drink and called healths, and as long as
the servants were in the room appeared very friendly. 20
Harry Esmond's plan was no other than to engage in talk
with Lord Mohun, to insult him, and so get the first of the
quarrel. So when cards were proposed he offered to play.
•'Psha," says my Lord Mohun (whether wishing to save
Harry, or not choosing to try the hotte de Jesuite, it is not to be 25
known) — "Young gentlemen from College should not play
these stakes. You are too young."
"Who dares say I am too young?" broke out Harry. "Is
/our lordship afraid?"
"Afraid!" cries out Mohun. ■ 3c
But my good Lord Viscount saw the move — "I'll play
you for ten moidores,° Mohun," says he — "You silly boy,
we don't play for groats here as you do at Cambridge :" and
Harry who had no such sum in his pocket (for his half-year's
salary was always pretty well spent before it was due) fell 35
back with rage and vexation in his heart that he had not
money enough to stake.
"I'll stake the young gentleman a crown," says the Lord
Mohun '3 captain.
158 HENRY ESMOND
"I thought crowns were rather scarce with the gentlemen
of the army," says Harry.
"Do they birch at College?" says the Captain.
''They birch fools/' says Harry, ''and they cane bullies,
5 and they fling puppies into the water."
"Faith, then, there's some escapes drowning," says the
Captain, who was an Irishman ; and all the gentlemen began
to laugh, and made poor Harry only more angry.
]\Iy Lord Mohun presently snuffed a candle. It w^as when
10 the drawers brought in fresh bottles and glasses and were in
the room — on which my Lord Viscount said — "The Deuce
take you, ]\Iohun, how damned awkward you are ! Light
the candle, you drawer."
"Damned awkward is a damned awkward expression, my
15 lord," says the other. "Town gentlemen don't use such
words — or ask pardon if they do."
"I'm a country gentleman," says my Lord Viscount.
"I see it by your manner," says my Lord Mohun. "No
man shall say damned awkward to me."
20 "I fling the words in your face, my lord," says the other;
"shall I send the cards too?"
"Gentlemen, gentlemen! before the servants!" — cry
out Colonel Westbury and the Lord Warwick in a breath.
The drawers go out of the room hastily. They tell the
25 people below of the quarrel upstairs.
"Enough has been said," says Colonel Westbury. "Will
your lordships meet to-morrow morning?"
"Will my Lord Castlewood withdraw his words?" asks the
Earl of Warwick.
30 "My Lord Castlewood will be first," says Colonel
Westl)ury.
"Then we have nothing for it. Take notice, gentlemen,
there have been outrageous words — reparation asked and
refused."
35 "And refused," says my Lord Castlewood, putting on his
hat. "Where shall the meeting be? and when?"
"Since my lord refuses me satisfaction, which I deeply
regret, there is no time so good as now," says my Lord
Mohun. "Let us have chairs ° and go to Leicester Field. °"
HENRY ESMOND 159
'^Are your lordship and I to have the honour of exchanging
a pass or two?'' says Colonel Westbury, with a low bow to
my Lord of Warwick and Holland.
*'It is an honour for me/' says my lord, with a profound
congee, "to be matched with a gentleman who has been at 5
Mons and Namur."
"Will your Reverence permit me to give you a lesson?"
says the Captain.
"Nay, nay, gentlemen, two on a side are plenty," says
Harry's patron. "Spare the boy, Captain Macartney," 10
and he shook Harry's hand — for the last time, save one, in
his life.
At the bar of the tavern all the gentlemen stopped and my
Lord Viscount said, laughing, to the barwoman, that those
cards set people sadly a-ciuarrelling ; but that the dispute 15
was over now, and the parties were all going away to my
Lord Mohun's house, in Bow Street, to drink a bottle more
before going to bed.
A half-dozen of chairs were now called, and the six gentle-
men stepping into them, the word was privately given to the 20
chairmen to go to Leicester Field, where the gentlemen
were set down opposite the Standard Tavern. It was mid-
night, and the town was a-bed by this time, and only a few
Ughts in the windows of the houses; but the night was
bright enough for the unhappy purpose which the disputants 25
came about ; and so all six entered into that fatal square, the
'^chairmen standing without the railing and keeping the gate,
lest any persons should disturb the meeting.
All that happened there hath been matter of publick
notoriety, and is recorded for warning to lawless men, in the 3c
annals of our country. After being engaged for not more
than a couple of minutes, as Harry Esmond thought (though
being occupied at the time with his own adversary's point,
which was active, he may not have taken a good note of
time), a cry from the chairmen without, who were smoking 35
their pipes, and leaning over the railings of the field as they
watched the dim combat within, announced that some
catastrophe had happened which caused Esmond to drop
his sword and look round, at which moment his enemy
160 HENRY ESMOND
wounded him in the right hand. But the young man did
not heed this hurt much, and ran up to the place where he
saw his dear master was down.
My Lord Mohun was standing over him.
5 "Are you much hurt, Frank?" he asked, in a hollow
voice.
"I believe I'm a dead man, "my lord said from the ground.
"No, no, not so," says the other; "and I call God to wit-
ness, Frank Esmond, that I would have asked your pardon,
lo had you but giviA me a chance. In — in the first cause of
our falling out, I swear that no one was to blame but me,
and — and that my lady "
"Hush!" says my poor Lord Viscount, lifting himself on
his elbow, and speaking faintly. " Twas a dispute about
15 the cards — the cursed cards. Harry, my boy, are you
wounded, too ? God help thee ! I loved thee, Harry, and
thou must watch over my little Frank — and — and carry
this little heart to my wife."
And here my dear lord felt in his breast for a locket he
20 wore there, and, in the act, fell back, fainting.
We were all at this terrified, thinking him dead ; but
Esmond and Colonel Westbury bade the chairmen to come
into the field ; and so my lord was carried to one Mr. Aimes,
a surgeon, in Long Acre,° who kept a bath, and there the
25 house was wakened up, and the victim of this quarrel
carried in.
My Lord Viscount was put to bed, and his wound looked
to by the surgeon, who seemed both kind and skilful. When
he had looked to my lord, he bandaged up Harry Esmond's
30 hand (who from loss of blood had fainted, too, in the house,
and may have been some time unconscious) ; and when
the young man came to himself, you may be sure he eagerly
asked what news there were of his dear patron ; on which
the surgeon carried him to the room where the Lord Castle-
35 wood lay; who had already sent for a priest; and desired
earnestly, they said, to speak with his kinsman. He was
lying on a bed, very pale and ghastly, with that fixed, fatal
look in his eyes, wliich betokens death; and faintly beckon-
ing all the other persons away from him with his hand, and
HENRY ESMOND 161
crying out "Only Harry Esmond," the hand fell powerless
down on the coverlet, as Harry came forward, and knelt
down and kissed it.
"Thou art all but a priest, Harry,'' my Lord Viscount
gasped out, with a faint smile, and pressure of his cold 5
hand. " Are they all gone ? Let me make thee a death-bed
confession."
And with sacred Death waiting, as it were, at the bed-foot,
as an awful witness of his words, the poor dying soul gasped
out his last wishes in respect of his family ; — his humble 10
profession of contrition for his faults ; — and his charity
towards the world he was leaving. Some things he said
concerned Harry Esmond as much as they astonished him.
And my Lord Viscount sinking visibly, was in the midst of
these strange confessions, when the ecclesiastick for whom 15
my lord had sent, Mr. Atterbury,° arrived.
This gentleman had reached to no great church dignity, as
yet, but was only preacher at St. Bride's, drawing all the
town thither by his eloquent sermons. He was godson to
my lord, who had been pupil to his father ; had paid a visit 20
to Castlewood from Oxford more than once; and it was
by his ad\dce, I think, that Harry Esmond was sent to
Cambridge, rather than to Oxford, of which place Mr.
Atterbury, though a distinguished member, spoke but ill.
Our messenger found the good priest already at his books, 25
at five o'clock in the morning, and he followed the man
eagerly to the house where my poor Lord Viscount lay, —
Esmond watching him, and taking his dying words from
his mouth.
My lord, hearing of Mr. Atterbury's arrival, and squeezing 30
Esmond's hand, asked to be alone with the priest; and
Esmond left them there for this solemn interview. You
may be sure that his own prayers and grief accompanied
that dying benefactor. My lord had said to him that which
confounded the young man — informed him of a secret 35
which greatly concerned him. Indeed, after hearing it, he
had had good cause for doubt and dismay; for mental
anguish, as well as resolution. While the colloquy between
Mr. Atterbury and his dying penitent took place within,
162 HENRY ESMOND
an immense contest of perplexity was agitating Lord Castle-
wood's young companion.
At the end of an hour — it may be more — Mr. Atterbury
came out of the room, looking very hard at Esmond, and
5 holding a paper.
"He is on the brink of God's awful judgment," the priest
whispered. "He has made his breast clean to me. He
forgives and beUeves, and makes restitution. Shall it be in
publick? Shall we call a witness to sign it?"
10 "God knows," sobbed out the young man; "my dearest
lord has only done me kindness all his life."
The priest put the paper into Esmond's hand. He looked
at it. It swam before his eyes.
" 'Tis a confession," he said.
15 " 'Tis as you please," said Mr. Atterbury.
There was a fire in the room, where the cloths were drying
for the baths, and there lay a heap in a corner, saturated
with the blood from my dear lord's body. Esmond went
to the fire, and threw the paper into it. 'Twas a great
20 chimney with glazed Dutch tiles. How we remember such
trifles in such awful moments ! — the scrap of the book that
we have read in a great grief — the taste of that last dish
that we have eaten before a duel, or some such supreme
meeting or parting. On the Dutch tiles at the Bagnio°
25 was a rude picture representing Jacob in hairy gloves, cheating
Isaac of Esau's birthright. The burning paper lighted it up.
" 'Tis only a confession, Mr. Atterbury," said the young
man. He leaned his head against the mantelpiece : a burst
of tears came to his eyes. They were the first he had shed
30 as he sate by his lord, scared by this calamity and more
yet by what the poor dying gentleman had told him, and
shocked to think that he should be the agent of bringing
this double misfortune on those he loved best.
"Let us go to him," said Mr. Esmond. And accordingly
35 they went into the next chamber, where, by this time, the
dawn had broke, which showed my lord's poor pale face and
wild appealing eyes, that wore that awful fatal look of
coming dissolution. The surgeon was with him. He
went into the chamber as Atterbury came out thence.
HENRY ESMOND 163
My Lord Viscount turned round his sick eyes towards Es-
mond. It choked the other to hear that rattle in his throat.
"My Lord Viscount," says Mr. Atterbury, "Mr. Esmond
wants no witnesses, and hath burned the paper."
"My dearest master!" Esmond said, kneehng down, and 5
taking his hand and kissing it.
My Lord Viscount sprang up in his bed, and flung his
arms round Esmond. "God bl — bless . . ." was all he
said. The blood rushed from his mouth, deluging the young
man. My dearest lord was no more. He was gone with a k
blessing on his lips, and love and repentance and kindness
in his manly heart.
"Benedicti benechcentes,°" says Mr. Atterbury, and the
young man, kneehng at the bed-side, groaned out an Amen.
"Who shall take the news to her?" was Mr. Esmond's i;
next thought. And on this he besought Mr. Atterbury to
bear the tidings to Castlewood. He could not face his
mistress himself with those dreadful new^s. Mr. Atterbury
complying kindly, Esmond writ° a hasty note on his table-
book° to my lord's man, bidding him get the horses for Mr. 2c
Atterbury, and ride with him, and send Esmond's own
valise to the Gatehouse prison, ° whither he resolved to go
and give himself up.
BOOK II
CONTAINS MR. ESMOND'S MILITARY LIFE AND OTHER
MATTERS APPERTAINING TO THE
ESMOND FAMILY
165
i
CHAPTER I
I AM IN PRISON, AND VISITED, BUT NOT CONSOLED THERE
Those may imagine, who have seen Death untimely-
strike down persons revered and beloved, and know how
unavailing consolation is, what was Harry Esmond's anguish
after being an actor in that ghastly midnight scene of blood
and homicide. He could not, he felt, have faced his dear 5
mistress, and told her that story. He was thankful that
kind Atterbury consented to break the sad news to her;
but, besides his grief, which he took into prison with him,
he had that in his heart which secretly cheered and con-
soled him. 1°
A great secret had been told to Esmond by his unhappy
stricken kinsman, lying on his death-bed. Were he to dis-
close it, as in equity and honour he might do, the discovery
would but bring greater grief upon those whom he loved
best in the world, and who were sad enough already. Should 15
he bring down shame and perplexity upon all those beings to
whom he was attached by so many tender ties of affection
and gratitude? degrade his father's widow? impeach and
sully his father's and kinsman's honour? and for what?
tor a barren title, to be worn at the expense of an innocent 20
boy, the son of his dearest benefactress. He had debated
this matter in his conscience, whilst his poor lord was making
his dying confession. On one side were Ambition, Temp-
tation, Justice, even; but Love, Gratitude, and Fidehty
pleaded on the other. And when the struggle was over in 25
Harry's mind, a glow of righteous happiness filled it ; and
it was with grateful tears in his eyes that he returned thanks
to God for that decision which he had been enabled to make.
"When I was denied by my own blood," thought he,
"these dearest friends received and cherished me. When 3^
lfi7
168 HENRY ESMOND
I was a nameless orphan myself, and needed a protector
I found one in yonder kind soul, who has gone to his account
repenting of the innocent wrong he has done."
And with this consoling thought he went away to give
5 himself up at the prison, after kissing the cold hps of his
benefactor.
It was on the third day after he had come to the Gatehouse
prison (where he lay in no small pain from his wound, which
inflamed and ached severely), and with those thoughts and
10 resolutions that have been just spoke of, to depress, and yet
to console him; that H. Esmond's keeper came and told
him that a visitor was asking for him, and though he could
not see her face, which was enveloped in a black hood, her
whole figure, too, being veiled and covered with the deepest
15 mourning, Esmond knew at once that his visitor was his
dear mistress.
He got up from his bed, where he was lying, being very
weak; and advancing towards her, as the retiring keeper
shut the door upon him and his guest in that sad place, he
20 put forward his left hand (for the right was wounded and
bandaged), and he would have taken that kind one of his
mistress, which had done so many offices of friendship for
him for so many years.
But the Lady Castle wood went back from him, putting
25 back her hood, and leaning against the great staunchioned
door which the gaoler had just closed upon them. Her face
was ghastly white, as Esmond saw it, looking from the hood ;
and her eyes, ordinarily so sweet and tender, were fixed at
him with such a tragick glance of woe and anger, as caused
30 the young man, unaccustomed to unkindness from that
person, to avert his own glances from her face.
''And this, Mr. Esmond," she said, "is where I see you;
and 'tis to this you have brought me ! "
"You have come to console me in my calamity, madam,"
35 said he (though in truth, he scarce knew how to address her,
his emotions, at beholding her, so overj^owered him).
She advanced a little, but stood silent and trembling, look-
ing out at him from her bla(;k draperies, witli her small white
hands clasped together, and quivering lips and hollow eyes.
HENRY ESMOND 169
"Not to reproach me/' he continued, after a pause. "My
grief is sufficient as it is."
''Take back your hand — do not touch me with it !^' she
cried. ''Look! there's blood on it !"
"I wish they had taken it all," said Esmond, "if you are 5
unkind to me."
"Where is my husband?" she broke out. "Give me back
my husband, Henry. Why did you stand by at midnight
and see him murdered ? Why did the traitor escape who did
it? You, the champion of your house, who offered to die 10
for us ! You that he loved and trusted, and to whom I
confided him — you that vowed devotion and gratitude, and
I believed you — yes, I believed you — why are you here, and
my noble Francis gone? Why did you come among us?
You have only brought us grief and sorrow : and repentance, 15
bitter, bitter repentance, as a return for our love and kindness.
Did I ever do you a wrong, Henry ? You were but an orphan
child when I first saw you — when he first saw you, who vras
so good, and noble, and trusting. He would have had you
sent away, but like a foolish woman, I besought him to let 20
you stay. And you pretended to love us, and we believed
you — and you made our house wretched, and my husband's
heart went from me : and I lost him through you — I lost
him — the husband of my youth, I say. I worshipped him :
you know I worshipped him — and he was changed to me. 25
He was no more my Francis of old — my dear, dear soldier.
He loved me before he saw you : and I loved him. Oh, God
is my witness how I loved him ! Why did he not send you
from among us ? 'Twas only his kindness that could refuse
me nothing then. And, young as you were, — yes, and 30
weak and alone — there was evil, I knew there was evil, in
keeping you. I read it in your face and eyes. I saw that
they boded harm to us — and it came, I knew it would.
Why did you not die when you had the small-pox — and
I came myself and watched you, and you didn't know me in 35
your dehrium — and you callecl out for me, though I was
there at your side. All that has happened since, was a just
judgment on my wicked heart — my wicked jealous heart.
Oh, I am punished, awfully punished ! My husband hes in
170 HENRY ESMOND
his blood — murdered for defending me, my kind, kind,
generous lord — and you were by, and you let him die,
Henry ! "
These words, uttered in the wildness of her grief, by one
5 who was ordinarily quiet, and spoke seldom except with a
gentle smile and a soothing tone, rung in Esmond's ear; and
'tis said that he repeated many of them in the fever into
which he now fell from his wound, and perhaps from the
emotion which such passionate undeserved upbraidings
lo caused him. It seemed as if his very sacrifices and love for
this lady and her family were to turn to evil and reproach :
as if his presence amongst them was indeed a cause of grief,
and the continuance of his Hfe but woe and bitterness to theirs.
As the Lady Castlewood spoke bitterly, rapidly, without a
15 tear, he never offered a word of appeal or remonstrance : but
sate at the foot of his prison-bed, stricken only with the
more pain at thinking it was that soft and beloved hand
which should stab him so cruelly, and powerless against her
fatal sorrow. Her words as she spoke struck the chords of
20 all his memory, and the whole of his boyhood and youth
passed within him, whilst this lady, so fond and gentle but
yesterday, — this good angel whom he had loved and wor-
shipped, — stood before him, pursuing him with keen words
and aspect mahgn.
25 "I wish I were in my lord's place,'' he groaned out. ''It
was not my fault that I was not there, madam. But Fate
is stronger than all of us, and willed what has come to pass.
It had been better for me to have died when I had the illness."
"Yes, Henry," said she — and as she spoke she looked at
30 him with a glance that was at once so fond and so sad, that
the young man tossing up his arms wildly fell back, hiding his
head in the coverlet of the bed. As he turned he struck
against the wall with his wounded hand, displacing the liga-
ture; and he felt the blood rushing again from the wound.
35 He remembered feeling a secret pleasure at the accident — •
and thinking "Suppose I were to end now, who would grieve
for me?"
This hemoi-rhage, or the grief and despair in which the
luckless young man was at the time of the accident, must
HENRY ESMOND 111
have brought on a deliquium° presently; for he had scarce
any recollection afterwards, save of some one, his mistress
probably, seizing his hand — and then of the buzzing noise
in his ears as he awoke, with two or three persons of the
prison around his bed, whereon he lay in a pool of blood from 5
his arm.
It was now bandaged up again by the prison surgeon, who
happened to be in the place : and the governor's wife and
servant, kind people both, were with the patient. Esmond
saw his mistress still in the room when he awoke from his 10
trance : but she went away without a word ; though the
governor's wife told him that she sate in her room for some •
time afterward, and did not leave the prison until she heard
that Esmond was likely to do well.
Days afterwards, when Esmond was brought out of a fever 15
which he had, and which attacked him that night pretty
sharply, the honest keeper's wife brought her patient a hand-
kerchief fresh washed and ironed, and at the corner of which
he recognised his mistress's well-known cypher° and vis-
countess's crown. "The lady had bound it round his arm 20
when he fainted, and before she called for help," the keeper's
wife said. ''Poor lady; she took*on sadly about her hus-
band. He has been buried to-day, and a many° of the
coaches of the nobility went with him, — my Lord Marl-
borough's and my Lord Sunderland's and man}' of the 25
officers of the Guards, in which he served in the old King's
time : and my lady has been with her two children to the
King at Kensington, ° and asked for justice against my Lord
Mohun, who is in hiding, and my lord the Earl of Warwick
and Holland, who is ready to give himself up and take his 30
trial."
Such were the news, coupled with assertions about her own
honesty and that of Molly her maid, who would never have
stolen a certain trumpery gold sleeve-button of Mr. Esmond's
that was missing after his fainting fit, that the keeper's wife 35
brought to her lodger. His thoughts followed to that un-
timely grave, the brave heart, the kind friend, the gallant
gentleman, honest of word and generous of thought (if feeble
of purpose, but are his betters much stronger than he ?), wha
172 HENRY ESMOND
had given him bread and shelter when he hud none; home
and love when he needed them ; and who, if he had kept one
vital secret from him, had done that of which he repented ere
dying, — a wrong indeed, but one followed by remorse, and
5 occasioned by almost irresistible temptation.
Esmond took his handkerchief when his nurse left him, and
very likely kissed it, and looked at the bauble embroidered in
the corner. "It has cost thee grief enough,'^ he thought,
"dear lady, so loving and so tender. Shall I take it from
lo thee and thy children ? No, never ! Keep it, and wear it,
my little Frank, my pretty boy. If I cannot make a name
for myself, I can die without one. Some day, when my dear
mistress sees my heart, I shall be righted ; or if not here or
now, why, elsewhere ; where Honour doth not follow us, but
15 where Love reigns perpetual."
Tis needless to relate here, as the reports of the lawyers
already have chronicled them, the particulars or issue of that
trial which ensued upon my Lord Castlewood's melancholy
homicide. Of the two lords engaged in that sad matter,
20 the second, my lord the Earl of Warwick and Holland, who
had been engaged w^ith Colonel Westbury, and w^ounded by
him, was found not guilty by his peers, before whom he was
tried (under the presidence of the Lord Steward, Lord
8omers°) ; and the principal, the Lord Mohun, being found
25 guilty of the manslaughter (which, indeed, was forced upon
him, and of which he repented most sincerely), pleaded his
clergy; and so was discharged without any penalty. The
widow of the slain nobleman, as it was told us in prison,
showed an extraordinary spirit ; and though she had to wait
30 for ten years before her son was old enough to compass it,
declared she would have revenge of her Ixusband's murderer.
80 much and suddenly had grief, anger, and misfortune
appeared to change her. But fortune, good or ill, as I take it,
does not change men and women. It but develops their
35 characters. As there are a thousand thoughts lying within
a man that he does not know till he takes up the pen to wi-ite,
so the heart is a secret even to him (or her) who has it in his
own breast. Who hath not found himself surprised into
revenge, or action, or passion, for good or evil ; whereof the
HENRY ESMOND 173
seeds lay within him, latent and unsuspected until the oc-
casion called them forth? With the death of her lord, a
change seemed to come over the whole conduct and mind
of Lady Castlewood ; but of this we shall speak in the right
season and anon. 5
The lords being tried then before their peers at Westmin-
ster, ° according to their privilege, being brought from the
Tower with state processions and barges, and accompanied
by lieutenants and axemen, the commoners engaged in that
melancholy fray took their trial at Newgate, ° as became 10
them ; and, being all found guilty, pleaded likewise their
benefit of clergy. ° The sentence, as we all know, in these
cases is, that the culprit lies a year in prison, or during the
King's pleasure, and is burned in the hand, or only stamped
with a cold iron ; or this part of the punishment is altogether 15
remitted at the grace of the Sovereign. So Harry Esmond
found himself a criminal and a prisoner at two-and-twenty
years old ; as for the two colonels his comrades, they took
the matter very lightly. Duelling" was a part of their busi-
ness ; and they could not in honour refuse any invitations of 20
that sort.
But the case was different with ]\Ir. Esmond. His life was
changed by that stroke of the sword which destroyed his
kind patron's. As he lay in prison, old Dr. Tusher fell ill
and died; and Lady Castlewood appointed Thomas Tusher 25
to the vacant living; about the filhng of which she had a
thousand times fondly talked to Harry Esmond : how they
never should part ; how he should educate her boy ; how to
be a country clergyman, like sainth^ George Herbert or pious
Dr. Ken,° was the happiest and greatest lot in life ; how (if 30
he were obstinately bent on it, though, for her part, she owned
rather to holding Queen Bess's opinion, that a bishop should
have no wife, and if not a bishop, why a clergj^man?) she
would find a good wife for Harry Esmond : and so on, with
a hundred pretty prospects told by fireside evenings, in fond 35
prattle, as the children played about the hall. All these
plans were overthrown now. Thomas Tusher wrote to
Esmond, as he lay in prison, announcing that his patroness
had conferred upon him the li\dng his reverend father had
174 HENRY ESMOND
held for many years ; that she never, after the tragical events
which had occurred- (whereof Tom spoke with a very edifying
horror), could see in the revered Tusher's pulpit, or at her
son's table, the man who was answerable for the father's life;
5 that her ladyship bade him to say that she prayed for her
kinsman's repentance and his worldly happiness; that he
was free to command her aid for any scheme of life which
he might propose to hiinself; but that on this side of the
grave she would see him no more. And Tusher, for his own
lo part, added that Harry should have his prayers as a friend
of his youth, and commended him whilst he was in prison to
read certain works of theology, which his Reverence pro-
nounced to be very wholesome for sinners in his lamentable
condition.
15 And this was the return for a life of devotion — this the
end of years of affectionate intercourse and passionate
fidelity ! Harry would have died for his patron, and was
held as little better than his murderer : he had sacrificed,
she did not know how much, for his mistress, and she threw
20 him aside — he had endowed her family with all they had,
and she talked about giving him alms as to a menial ! The
grief for his patron's loss : the pains of his own present position,
and doubts as to the future : all these were forgotten under
the sense of the consummate outrage which he had to endure,
25 and overpowered by the superior pang of that torture.
Jle writ back a letter to ]\lr. Tusher from his prison, con-
gratulating his reverence upon his appointment to the livin<^;
of Castlewood : sarcastically bidding him to follow in the
footstej^s of his admirable father, whose gown° had descended
30 upon him — thanking her ladyship for her offer of alms,
which he said he should trust not to need; and beseeching
her to remember that if ever her determination should change
towards him, he would be ready to give her proofs of a
fidelity which had never wavered and which ought never
35 to have been questioned Ijy that house. "And if we meet
no more, or only as strangers in this world," Mr. Esmond
concluded, "a sentence against the .cruelty and injustice
of which I disdain to appeal ; hereafter she will know
who was faithful to hoi;, and whether she had any cause
HENRY ESMOND 175
to suspect the love and devotion of her kinsman and
servant."
After the sending of this letter, the poor young fellow's
mind was more at ease than it had been previously. The
blow had been struck, and he had borne it. His cruel God- 5
dess had shaken her wings and fled : and left him alone and
friendless, but virtute sud° And he had to bear him up,
at once the sense of his right, and the feeling of his wrongs,
his honour and his misfortune. As I have seen° men waking
and running to arms, at a sudden trumpet, before emergency 10
a manly heart leaps up resolute; meets the threatening
danger with undaunted countenance; and whether con-
quered or conquering faces it always. Ah ! no man knows
his strength or his weakness till occasion proves them. If
there be some thoughts and actions of his life from the 15
memory of which a man shrinks with shame, sure there are
some which he may be proud to own and remember; for-
given injuries, conquered temptations (now and then), and
difficulties vanquished by endurance.
It was these thoughts regarding the living, far more than 20
any great poignancy of grief respecting the dead, which
affected Harry Esmond whilst in prison after his trial : but
it may be imagined that he could take no comrade of mis-
fortune into the confidence of his feelings, and they thought
it was remorse and sorrow for his patron's loss which affected 25
the young man, in error of which opinion he chose to leave
them. As a companion he was so moody and silent that the
two officers, his fellow-sufferers, left him to himself mostly,
liked little very likely what they knew of him, consoled
themselves with dice, cards, and the bottle, and whiled away 3°
their own captivity in their own way. It seemed to Esmond
as if he lived years in that prison : and was changed and aged
when he came out of it. At certain periods of life we five
years of emotion in a few weeks — and look back on tJiose
times, as on great gaps between the old life and the new. You 35
do not know how much you suffer in those critical maladies
of the heart, until the disease is over and you look back on it
afterwards. During the time the suffering is at least suf-
176 HENRY ESMOND
ferable. The day passes in more or less of pain, and the night
wears away somehow. Tis only in after days that we see
what the danger has been — as a man out a-hunting° or
riding for his hfe looks at a leap, and wonders how he should
5 have survived the taking of it. dark months of grief and
rage ! of wrong and cruel endurance ! He is old now who
recalls you. Long ago he has forgiven and blest the soft
liand that wounded him : but the mark is there, and the
wound is cicatrized only — no time, tears, caresses, or re-
lo pentance can obhterate the scar. We are indocile to put up
with grief, however. Reficimus rates quassas° : we tempt
the ocean again and again, and try upon new ventures. Es-
mond thought of his early time as a noviciate, ° and of this
past trial as an initiation before entering into life ^- as our
15 young Indians undergo tortures silently before they j^ass to the
rank of warriors in the tribe.
The officers, meanwhile, who were not let into the secret of
the grief which was gnawing at the side of their silent young
friend, and being accustomed to such transactions in which
20 one comrade or another was daily paying the forfeit of the
sword, did not of course bemoan themselves inconsolably
about the fate of their late companion in arms. This one
told stories of former adventures of love, or w^ar, or pleasure,
in which poor Frank Esmond had been engaged ; t'other°
25 recollected how a constable had been bilked, ° or a tavern-
bully beaten : whilst my lord's poor widow was sitting at
his tomb worshipi)ing him as an actual saint and spotless
hero, — so the visitors said who hnd news of Lady (.Vtstlewood ;
and Westbury and Macartney had pretty nearly had all the
30 town to come and see them.
The duel, its fatal termination, the trial of the two peers°
and the three commoners concerned, had caused the greatest
excitement in the town. The prints and News Letters were
full of them. The three gentlemen in Newgate were almost
35 as much crowded as the bishops in the Tower, ° or a highway-
man before execution. We° were al]ow(;d to live in the
Governor's house, ° as hath been said, both before trial and
after condemnation, waiting the King's pleasure; nor was
the n\al cause of the fatal quarrel known, so closely had my
HENRY ESMOND 177«
lord and the two other persons who knew it kept the secret,
but e\'ery one imagined that the origin of the meeting was a
gam})hng dispute. Except fresh air, the prisoners had, upon
})ayment, most things they could desire. Interest was made
that they should not mix with the vulgar convicts, whose 5
ribald choruses and loud laughter and curses could be heard
from their own part of the prison, where they and the miser-
able debtors w^ere confined pell-mell.
CHAPTER II
I COME TO THE END OF MY CAPTIVITY, BUT NOT OF
MY TROUBLE
Among the company which came to \asit the two officers
was an old acquaintance of Harry Esmond, that gentleman 10
of the Guards, nam^ely, who had been so kind to Harry when
Captain Westbury's troop had been quartered at Castle wood
more than seven years before. Dick the Scholar was no
longer Dick the Trooper now, but Captain Steele, of Lucas's
Fusileers, and secretary to my Lord Cutts, that famous 15
officer of King Vv'ilHam's, the bravest and most beloved man
of the English army. The two jolly prisoners had been
drinking with a party of friends (for our cellar and that of
the keepers of Newgate too, were supplied with endless
hampers of Burgundy and Champagne that the friends of 20
the Colonels sent in) ; and Harry, having no wish for their
drink, or their conversation, being too feeble in health for
the one, and too sad in spirits for the other, was sitting "
apart in his httle room, reading such books as he had, one
evening, when honest Colonel Westbury, flushed with 25
liquor, and always good-humoured in and out of his cups,
came laughing into Harry's closet, and said, /'Ho, young
Killjoy^! here's a friend come to see thee°; he'll pray with
thee, or he'll drink with thee; or he'll drink and pray turn
about. Dick, my Christian Hero,° here's the httle scholar 30
of Castlewood."
Dick came up and kissed Esmond on both cheeks, ° impart-
,178 HENRY ESMOND
ing a strong perfume of burnt sack° along with his caress to
the young man.
"What ! is this the Httle man that used to talk Latin and
fetch our bowls ? How tall thou art grown ! I protest I
5 should have known thee anywhere. And so you have
turned ruffian and fighter ; and wanted to measure swords
with Mohun, 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 to fight him, and was
10 the better man of the two.''
"I wish we could have tried and proved it, ]\Ir. 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
15 from his mistress, Mr. Esmond heard nothing from her, and
she seemed determined to execute her resolve of parting
from him and disowning him. But he had news of her,
such as it was, which Mr. Steele assiduousl}^ brought him
from the Prince's and Princess's Court, ° where our honest
20 Captain had been advanced to the post of gentleman wa'tor.°
When off duty there, Captain Dick often came to console
his friends in captivity; a good nature and a friendly dis-
position towards all who were in ill-fortune no doubt prompt-
ing him to make his visits, and good fellowship and good
25 wine to prolong them.
"Faith," says Westbury, "the little scholar was the first
to begin the quarrel — 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 would
30 wager 'twas a woman."
" 'Twas a quarrel about play — on my word, about play,-"
Harry said. "My poor lord lost great sums to his guest
at C'astlcwood. Angry words passed between them ; and
tliough Lord Castlewood was the kindest and most pliable
35 soul alive, his sj)irit was very high; and hence that meeting ,
which lias brought us all here," says Mr. Esmond, resolved
never to acknowknlge that there had e^'cr been any other
cause but cards for the duel.
"I do not like to use bad words of a nobleman," says West-
I
HENRY ESMOND 179
bury. "But if my Lord Mohun were a commoner, I would
say, 'twas a pity he was not hanged. He was famihar 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 done growing; and handled a sword, and a foil, and a 5
bloody one, too, before e\'er he used a razor. He held poor
Will jNIountford in talk that night, when bloody Dick Hill
ran him through. He will come to a bad end, will that
young lord; and no end is bad enough for him," says honest
Mr. Westbury : whose prophecy was fulfilled twelve years 10
after, upon that fatal day, when Mohun fell, dragging down
one of the bravest and greatest gentlemen in England^ in
his fall.
From Mr. Steele, then, who brought the publick rumour, as
well as his own private intelligence, Esmond learned the 15
movements of his unfortunate mistress. Steele's heart was
of very inflammable composition ; and the gentleman usher
spoke in terms of boundless admiration both of the widow
(that most beautiful woman, as he said), and of her daughter,
who, in the Captain's eyes, was a still greater paragon. If ^°
the pale widow, whom Captain Richard, in his poetick
rapture, compared to a Xiobe° in tears, — to a Sigismunda,°
— to a weeping Belvidera,° was an object the most lovely
and pathetick which his eyes had ever beheld, cr for which
his heart had melted, even her ripened perfections and beauty 25
were as nothing, compared to the promise of that extreme
loveliness which the good captain saw in her daughter.
It was matre pulcra filia pidcrior° Steele composed sonnets
whilst he was on duty in his Prince's antechamber, to the
maternal and filial charms. He would speak; for hours 30
about them to Harry Esmond; and, indeed, he could have
chosen few subjects more likely to interest the unhappy
young man, whose heart was now as alwa^^s devoted to
these ladies; and who was thankful to all who loved them,
or praised them, or wished them well. 35
Not that his fidelity was recompensed by any answering
kindness, or show of relenting even, on the part of a mistress
obdurate now after ten years of love and benefactions.
The poor young man getting no answer, save Tusher's,
180 HEN BY ESMOND
to that letter which he had written, and being too proud to
write more, opened a part of his heart to Steele, than whom
no man, when unhappy, could find a kinder hearer, or more
friendly emissary, described (in words which were no doubt
5 pathetick, for they came imo pectore° and caused honest
Dick to weep plentifully) his youth, his constancy, his fond
devotion to that household which had reared him ; his affec-
tion, how earned, and how tenderly requited until but yester-
day, and (as far as he might) the circumstances and causes
10 for which that sad quarrel had made of Esmond a prisoner
under sentence, a widow and orphans of those whom in life
he held dearest. In terms that might well move a harder-
hearted man than young Esmond's confidant — for, indeed,
the speaker's own heart was half broke as he uttered them —
15 he described a part of what had taken place in that only
sad interview which his mistress had granted him; how she
had left him with anger and almost imprecation, whose
words and thoughts until then had been only blessing and
kindness ; how she had accused him of the guilt of that blood,
20 in exchange for which he would cheerfully have sacrificed
his own (indeed, in this the Lord Mohun, the Lord
Warwick, and all the gentlemen engaged, as well as the
common rumour out of doors — Steele told him — bore
out the luckless young man) ; and with all his heart, and
25 tears, he besought Mr. Steele to inform his mistress of
her kinsman's' unhappiness, and to deprecate that cruel
anger she showed him. Half frantick with grief at the
injustice done him, and contrasting it with a thousand soft
recollections of love and confidence gone by, that made
30 his present . misery inexpressibly more bitter, the poor
wretch pissed many a lonely day and wakeful night in a
kind of powerless despair and rage against his ini{|uitous
fortune. It was the softest hand that struck him, the
gentlest and most compassionate nature that persecuted
35 him. " I would as lief," he said, "have pleaded guilty to the
murder, and have suffered for it like any other felon, as
have to endure the torture to which my mistress subjects
me."
Although the recital of Esmond's story, and his passionate
HENRY ESMOND 181
appeals and remonstrances drew so many tears from Dick
who heard them, they had no effect upon the person whom
they were designed to move. Esmond's ambassador came
back from the mission with which the poor young gentleman
had charged him, with a sad blank face and a shake of the head 5
which told that there was no hope for the prisoner; and
scarce a wretched culprit in that prison of NeAvgate ordered
for execution, and trembling for a reprieve, felt more cast
down than Mr. Esmond, innocent ancl condemned.
As had been arranged between the prisoner and his counsel iq
in their consultations, Mr. Steele had gone to the dowager's°
house in Chelsea, wdiere it has been said the widow^ and her
orphans were, had seen my Lady Viscountess and pleaded
the cause of her unfortunate kinsman. ''And I think I
spoke well, my poor boy," says Mr. Steele; "for who would 15
not speak well in such a cause, and before so beautiful a
judge? I did not see the lovely Beatrix (sure her fa nous
namesake of Florence ° w^ as never half so beautiful), only the
young viscount w^as in the room with the Lord ChurchiJ, my
Lord of Marlborough's eldest son. But these young gentle- 20
men went off to the garden, I could see them from the win-
dow tilting at each other with poles Ir a mimick tournament
(grief touches the young but hghtly, and I remember that I
beat a drum at the coffin of my own father°). My Lady Vis-
countess looked out at the tw^o boys at their game, and said — 25
"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, and stood there in herself so sad and
beautiful an instance of that doctrine whereof I am a
humble preacher, that had I not dedicated my little volume of 30
the Christian Hero — (I perceive, Harry, thou hast not cut the
leaves of it. The sermon is good, believe me, though the
preacher's life may not answ^er it) — I say, hadn't I dedicated
the volume to Lord Cutts, I would have asked permission to
place her ladyship's name on the first page. I think I never 35
saw such a beautiful violet as that of her eyes, Harry. Her
complexion is of the pink of the blushrose, she hath an
exquisite turned wrist and dimpled hand, and I make no
doubt "
182 HENRY ESMOND
"Did you come to tell me about the dimples on my lady's
hand?" broke out Mr. Esmond, sadly.
"A lovely creature in affliction seems always doubly
beautiful to me/' says the poor captain, who indeed was
5 but too often in a state to see double, and so checked he
resumed the interrupted thread of his story. "As I spoke
my business," Mr. Steele said, "and narrated to your mistress
what all the world knows, and the other side hath been
eager to acknowledge — that you had tried to put yourself
10 between the two lords, and to take your patron's quarrel
on your own point : I recounted the general praises of your
gallantry, besides my Lord Mohun's particular testimony to
it : I thought the widow listened with some interest, and her
eyes — I have never seen such a violet, Harry — looked up
15 at mine once or twice. But after I had spoken on this theme
for a while she suddenly broke away with a cry of grief.
*I would to God, sir/ she said, 'I had never heard that
word gallantry which you use, or known the meaning of it.
My lord might have been here but for that ; my home might
20 be happy ; my poor boy have a father. It was what you
gentlemen call gallantry came into my home, and drove my
husband on to the cruel sword that killed him. You should
not speak the word to a Christian woman, sir — a poor
widowed mother of orphans, whose home was happy until
25 the world came into it — the wicked godless world, that
takes the blood of the innocent and lets the guilty go free.'
"As the afflicted lady spoke in this strain, sir," Mr. Steele
contiimed, "it seemed as if indignation moved her, even more
than grief. ' Compensation ! ' she went on passionately,
30 her cheeks and eyes kindling, 'what compensation does
your world give the widow for her husband, and the children
for the murder of their father? The wretch who did the
deed has not even a punishment. Conscience ! what con-
science has he, who can enter the house of a friend, whisper
35 falsehood and insult to a woman that nevei" harmed him,
and stal) the kind h(\art that trusted him? My Lord — my
Lord Wretch's, my Lord Villain's, my Lord Murderer's peers
meet to try him, and they dismiss him with a word or two of
reproof, and send him into the world again, to pursue women
HENRY ESMOND 183
with lust and falsehood, and to murder unsuspecting guests
that harbour him. That day my Lord — my Lord Murderer —
(I will never name him) — was let loose, a woman was exe-
cuted at Tyburn for steaUng in a shop. But a man may
rob another of his life, or a lady of her honour, and shall 5
pay no penalty ! I take my child, run to the throne, and,
on my knees, ask for justice, and the King refuses me.
The King° ! he is no king of mine — he never shall be.
He, too, robbed the throne from the king his father — the
true king — and he has gone unpunished, as the great do.' ic
"I then thought to speak for you," Mr. Steele continued,
"and I interposed by saying, 'There was one, madam,
who, at least, would have put his own breast between your
husband's and my Lord Mohun's sword. Your poor young
kinsman, Harry Esmond, hath told me that he tried to draw i:
the quarrel on himself.'
"'Are you come from him?' asked the lady" (so Mr.
Steele went on), "rising up with a great severity and state-
hness. 'I thought you had come from the Princzss. I
saw Mr. Esmond in his prison, and bade him farewell. He 2c
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 2-
'tis he who sent you, say that I have taken counsel, where '
— she spoke with a very pallid cheek now, and a break in
her voice — ' where all who ask may have it ; — and that it
bids me to part from him, and to see him no more. We met
in the prison for the last time — at least for years to come. 3c
It may be, in years hence, when — when our knees and our
tears and our contrition have changed our sinful hearts,
sir, and ^\Tought our pardon, we m.ay 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 3:
has that — that regard towards us, which 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, ' " ^Ir. Steele said.
184 HENRY ESMOND
"The lady shook her head," continued my kind scholar.
"'The hearts of young men, Mr. Steele, are not so made,'
she said. ' Mr. Esmond will find other — other friends.
The mistress of this house has relented very much towards
5 the late lord's son,' she added, with a blush, 'and has prom-
ised me, tliat is, has promised that she will care for his fortune.
Whilst I live in it, after the horrid, horrid deed which has passed.
Castle wood must never be a home to him — never. Nor would
I have him write to me — except — no — I would have him
lo never write to me, nor see him more. Give him, if you will,
my parting — Hush! not a word of this before my daughter.'
"Here the fair Beatrix entered from the river, ^\ith her
cheeks flushing with health, and looking only the more lovely
and fresh for the mourning habihments which she wore.
15 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 of prison for the first
night, Harry."
20 The sentimental captain concluded his sad tale, sajdng,
"Faith, the beauty of Filiapulcrior drove pulcram matrem
out of my head; and yet, as I came down the river, and
thought about the pair, the pallid dignity and exquisite
grace of the matron had the uppermost, and I thought her
25 even more noble than the virgin!"
The party of prisoners Hved very well in Newgate, and
with comforts very different to those which were awarded to
the poor wretches there (his insensibility to their misery,
their gaiety still more frightful, their curses and blasphemy,
30 hath struck with a kind of shame since — as proving how
selfish during his imprisonment, his own particular grief was,
and how entirely the thoughts of it absorbed him) : if the
three gentlemen lived well under the care of the Warden of
Newgate, it was because they paid well : and indeed the cost
35 at the dearest ordinary or the grandest tavern in London
could not liave furnislied a longer reckoning, than our host of
the Handcuff Inn — as Colonel Westbury called it. Our
rooms were the three in the gate over Newgate — on the
HENRY ESMOND 185
second story looking up Newgate Street towards Cheapside°
and Paul's Church. And we had leave to walk on the roof,
and could see thence Smithfield° and the Bluecoat Boys'
School,° Gardens, and the Chartreux,° where, as Harry
Esmond remembered, Dick the Scholar, and his friend Tom 5
Tusher, had had their schoohng.
Harry could never have paid his share of that prodigious
heavy reckoning which my landlord brought to his guests
once a week : for he had but three pieces° in his pockets that
fatal night before the duel, when the gentlemen were at cards, lo
and offered to play five. But whilst he was yet ill at the
Gatehouse, after Lady Castlewood had visited him there,
and before his trial, there came one in an orange-tawny coat
and blue lace, the livery which the Esmonds always wore, and
brought a sealed packet for Mr. Esmond, which contained 15
twenty guineas, and a note saying that a counsel had been
appointed for him, and that more money would be forth-
coming whenever he needed it.
'Twas a queer letter from the scholar as she was, or as she
called herself : the Dowager A^iscountess Castlewood, written 20
in the strange barbarous French,' which she and many other
fine ladies of that time — witness her Grace of Portsmouth —
employed. Indeed, spelhng was not an article of general
commodity in the world then, and my Lord Marlborough's
letters° can show that he, for one, had but a little share of 25
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 ]\Ioon au9y. 30
II di que vous avay voulew vous bastre avecque luy — que
vous estes plus fort que luy fur I'ayscrimme — quil'y a surtout
certaine Botte c^ue vous scavay quiln'a jammaysceu parlay:
et que e'en eut ete fay de luy si vouseluy vous vous fussiay
battews ansamb. Aincy ce pauv Vicompte est mort. Mort et 35
peutaj^t — 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
186 HENRY ESMOND
cet' pauve famme. Elle est furieuse cont vous, allans tons 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.
5 Quand vous seray hor prison venay me voyre. J'auray
soing de vous. Si cette petite Prude vent 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.
10 "La Veuve se raccommode avec Miladi Marlboro qui est
tout pui^ante 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
15 chaymoy 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 of that patent which had been given by the late
20 King James to Harry Esmond's father : and in this state she
had her train carried by a knight's wife, a cup and cover of
assay ° to drink from, and fringed cloth.
He who was of the same age as little Francis, whom we
shall henceforth call Viscount Castlewood here, was H. R. H.
25 the Prince of Wales, born in the same year and month with
Frank,° and just proclaimed at Saint Germains,° King of
Great Britain, France and Ireland.
CHAPTER in
I TAKE THE queen's PAY IN QUIN's REGIMENT
The fellow in the orange-tawny livery with blue lace and
facings was in waiting when Esmond ciime out of prison,
30 and taking the young gentleman's slender baggage, led the
way out of that odious Newgate, and by Fleet Conduit, °
down to the Thames, where a pair of oars was called, and
i
HENRY ESMOND 187
they went up the river to Chelsea. Esmond thought the
sun had never shone so bright ; nor the air felt so fresh and
exhilarating. Temple Garden, ° as they rowed by, looked like
the Garden of Eden to him, and the aspect of the quays,
wharves, and buildings by the river, Somerset House,° and 5
Westminster (where the splendid new bridge° was just
beginning), Lambeth° tower and palace, and that busy
shining scene of the Thames swarming with boats and barges,
filled his heart w^ith pleasure and cheerfulness — as well such
a beautiful scene might to one who had been a prisoner so 10
long, and with so many dark thoughts deepening the gloom
of his captivity. They rowed up at length to the pretty
village of Chelsea, where the nobility have many handsome
country-houses; and so came to my Lady Viscountess's
house; a cheerful new house in the row facing the river, 15
with a handsome garden behind it, and a pleasant look-out
both towards Surrey° and Kensington, 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 20
some of those pictures which had been at Castle wood, and
which she had removed thence on the death of her lord,
Harry's father. Specially, and in the place of honour, was
Sir Peter Lely's picture of the Honourable Mistress Isabella
Esmond as Diana, in yellow satin, with a bow^ in her hand 25
and a crescent in her forehead ; and dogs frisking about her.
'Twas painted about the time when royal Endymions were
said to find fa^'our with this virgin huntress ; and as goddesses
have youth perpetual, this one belie^'ed to the day of her
death that she never grew older : and always persisted in 30
supposing the picture was still like her.
After he had been shown to her room by the groom of the
chamber, who filled many offices besides in her ladyship's
modest household ? and after a proper interval, this elderly
goddess Diana vouchsafed to appear to the young man. A 35
blackamoor in a Turkish habit, with red boots and a silver
collar on which the Viscountess's arms were engraven, pre-
ceded her and bore her cushion ; then came her gentle-
woman ; a httle pack of spaniels barking and frisking about
188 HENRY ESMOND
preceded the austere huntress — then, behold, the Viscountess
herself "dropping odours." Esmond recollected from his
childhood that rich aroma of musk which his mother-in-law
(for she may be called so) exhaled. As the sky grows redder
5 and redder towards sunset, so, in the decline of her years, the
cheeks of my Lady Dowager blushed more deeply. Her face
was illuminated with vermilion, which appeared the brighter
from the white paint employed to set it off. She wore the
ringlets which had been in fashion in King Charles's time;
ro whereas the ladies of King William's had head-dresses like
the towers of Cybele.° Her eyes gleamed out from the
midst of this queer structure of paint, dyes, and pomatum.s.
►Such was my Lady Viscountess, Mr. Esmond's father's
widow.
15 He made her such a profound bow as her dignity and rela-
tionship merited : and advanced with the greatest gravity
and once more kissed that hand upon the trembling knuckles
of which glittered a score of rings — remembering old times
when that trembling hand made him tremble. "Marchion-
20 ess," says he, bowing, and on one knee, "is it only the hand
I may have the honour of saluting?" For, accompanying
that inward laughter, which the sight of such an astonishing
■ old figure might well produce in the young man, there was
good-will too, and the kindness of consanguinity. She had
25 been his father's wife, and was his grandfather's daughter.
She had suffered him in old days, and was kind to him
now after her fashion. And now that bar-sinister° was
removed from Esmond's thoughts, and that secret oppro-
brium no longer cast upon his mind, he was pleased to feel
30 family ties and own them — perhaps secretly vain of the
sacrifice he had made, and to think that he, Esmond, was
really the chief of his house, and only prevented by his own
magnanimity from advancing his claim.
At least, ever since he had learned that secret from his
35 poor patron on his dying bed, actually as he was standing
beside it, he had felt an independency which he had never
known before, and which since did not desert him. So he
call(;d his old aunt, Marcliioness, but with an air as if he w&o
the Marriuis of Esmond wlio so addressed her.
HENRY ESMOND 189
Did she read in the young gentleman^s eyes, which had
now no fear of hers or their superannuated authority, that he
knew or suspected the truth about his birth? She gave a
start of surprise at his altered manner ; indeed, it was quite
a different bearing to that of the Cambridge student who had 5
paid her a visit two years since, and whom she had dismissed
with five pieces sent by the groom of the chamber. She eyed
him, then trembled a little more than was her wont, perhaps,
and said, "Welcome, cousin,'' in a frightened voice.
His resolution, as has been said before, had been quite 10
different, namely, so to bear himself through Mfe as if the
secret of his birth was not known to him ; but he suddenly
and rightly determined on a different course. He asked that
her ladyship's attendants should be dismissed, and when
they were private — ''Welcome, nephew, at least, madam, it 15
should be," he said. ''A great wrong has been done to me
and to you, and to my poor mother, 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 " 20
"Who brought this dishonour on our family," says Mr.
Esmond. "I know it full well. I want to disturb no one.
Those who are in present possession have been my dearest
benefactors, and are quite innocent of intentional wrong to
me. The late lord, my dear patron, knew not the truth until 25
a few months before his death, when Father Holt brought
the news to him."
"The wretch ! he had it in confession ! He had it in con-
fession ! " cried out the dowager lady.
" Not so. He learned it elsewhere as well as in confession," 39
Mr. Esmond answered. "My father, when wounded at
the Boyne, told the truth to a French priest, who was in
hiding after the battle, as well as to the priest there, at whose
house he died. This gentleman did not think fit to divulge
the story till he met with Mr. Holt at Saint Omer's.° And 35
the latter kept it back for his own purpose, and until he had
learned whether my mother was alive or no. She is dead
years since : my poor patron told me with his dying breath ;
and I doubt him not. I do not know even whether I ^ould
190 HENRY ESMOND
prove a marriage. I would not if I could. I do not care to
bring shame on our name, or grief upon those whom I love,
however hardly they may use me. My father's son, madam,
won't aggravate the wrong my father did 3^ou. . Continue to
5 be his widow, and give me your kindness. Tis all I ask from
you; and I shall never speak of this matter again."
''Mais vous etes un noble jeune homme!" breaks out my
lady, speaking, as usual with her when she was agitated, in the
French language.
10 ''Noblesse oblige, °" says Mr. Esmond, making her a low
bow. "There are those alive to whom, in return for their
love to me, I often fondly said I would give my life away.
Shall I be their enemy now, and quarrel about a title ? What
matters who has it? 'Tis with the family still."
15 " What can there be in that little prude of a w^oman, that
makes men so raffoler° about her?" cries out my Lady
Dowager. " She was here for a month petitioning the King.
She is pretty, and well conserved ; but she has not the hel air.
In his late Majesty's Court all the men pretended to admire
20 her ; and she was no better than a little wax doll. She is
better now, and looks the sister of her daughter : but what
mean you all by bepraising her ? Mr. Steele, who was in wait-
ing on Prince George, seeing her with her two children going
to Kensington, writ a poem about her ; and says he shall wear
25 her colours, and dress in black for the future. Mr. Congreve
says he will write a Mourning Widow, that shall be better
than his Mourning Bride ° Though their husbands quar-
relled and fought when that wretch Churchill deserted the
King° (for wnich he deserved to be hung°), Lady Marl-
30 borough 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 \'iscountess, she had come to see.
Little Castlewood and little Lord Churchill are to be sworn
friends, and haxe boxed each other twice or thrice like
35 brothers already. 'Twas that wicked young Mohun who, com-
ing ba(;k from the i)rovinces last year, where he had disinterred
her, raved about her all the winter; said she was a {)earl set
before swine; and killed poor stupid Frank. The quarrel
was all about his wife. I know 'twas all about her. Was
I
HENRY ESMOND 191
there anything between her and Mohun, nephew? Tell me
now; was there anything? About yourself, I do not ask
you to answer (^[uestions."
Mr. Esmond blushed up. ''My lady's virtue is like that
of a saint in heaven, madam," he criecl out. 5
"Eh! — mon neveu.° Many saints get to heaven after
having a deal to repent of. I believe you are like all the rest
of the fools, and madly in love with her."
''Indeed, I loved and honoured her before all the world,"
Esmond answered. "I take no shame in that." lo
"And she has shut her door on you — given the hving to
that horrid young cub, son of that horrid old bear, Tusher,
and says she will never see you more. ^lonsieur mon neveu —
we are all like that. When I was a young woman, I am
positive that a thousand duels were fought about me. And 15
when poor Monsieur de Souchy drowned himself in the canal
at Bruges, because I danced with Count Springbock, I
couldn't squeeze out a single tear, but danced till five o'clock
the next morning. Twas the Count — no, 'twas my Lord
Ormond° that played the fiddles, and his Majesty did me the 20
honour of dancing all night with me. — How you are grown !
You have got the hel air. You are a black° man. Our
Esmonds are all black. The little prude's son is fair; so
w^as his father — fair and stupid. You were an ugly little
wretch, when you came to Castlewood — you were all eyes, 25
like a young crow. We intended you should be a priest.
That awful Father Holt — how he used to frighten me when
I was ill ! I have a comfortable director now — the Abbe
Douillette — a dear man. We make meagre° on Fridays
always. My cook is a devout, pious man. You, of course, 30
are of the right way of thinking. They say the Prin( c of
()range° is very ill indeed."
In this way the old Dowager rattled on remorselessly to
Mr. Esmond, who was quite astounded with her present
volubility, contrasting it with her former haughty behaviour 35
to him. But she had taken him into favour for the moment,
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 her now as a voung man, as, when a boy, he had been
192 HENRY ESMOND
timorous and silent. She was 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,
of com'se — and a great deal of loud intriguing took place
5 over her card-tables. She presented Mr. Esmond as her
kinsman to many persons of honour; she supplied him not
illiberally with money, which he had no scruple in
accepting from her, considering the relationship which he
bore to her, and the sacrifices which he himself was making
10 in behalf of the family. But he had made up his mind to
continue at no woman's apron-strings longer; and perhaps
had cast about how he should distinguish himself, and make
himself a name, which his singular fortune had denied him.
A discontent -wnth his former bookish life and quietude, — a
15 bitter feeling of revolt at that slavery in which he had chosen
to confine himself for the sake of those whose hardness
towards him made his heart bleed, — a restless w^ish to see
men and the world, — led him to think of the military pro-
fession : at any rate, to desire to see a few campaigns, and
20 accordingly he pressed his new patroness to get him a
pair of colours" ; and one day had the honour of finding him-
self appointed an ensign° in Colonel Quin's regiment of
Fusileers on the Irish estabhshment.
Mr. Esmond's commission was scarce three weeks old when
25 that accident" befell King William which ended the life of
the greatest, the wisest, the bra^^est, and most clement
sovereign whom England ever knew. Twas the fashion of
the hostile party to assail this great prince's reputation
during his life; but the joy which they and all his enemies
30 in Europe showed 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 it be said) to scorn
that indecency of gratulation which broke out amongst the
followers of King James in London, upon the death of this
35 illustrious prince, this invincible warrior, this wise and
moderate statesman. Loyalty to the exiled king's family
was traditional, as has been said, in that house to which
Mr. Esmond belonged. His father's widow had all her hopes,
sympathies, recollections, prejudices, engaged on King
HENRY ESMOND 193
James's side; and was certainly as noisy a conspirator as
ever asserted the King's rights or abused his opponents,
over a quadrille° table or a dish of bohea.° Her ladyship's
house swarmed with ecclesiasticks, in disguise and out ; with
tale-bearers from St. Germains ; and quidnuncs" that kne^v 5
the last news from Versailles; nay, the exact force and
aumber of the next expedition which the French king was
to send from Dunkirk, ° and which was to swallow up the
Prince of Orange, ° his army, and his court. She had received
the Duke of Berwick" when he landed here in '96. She kept 10
the glass he drank from, vowing she never would use it till
she drank King James the Third's health in it on His ^lajesty's
return; she had tokens from the Queen, and relics of the
saint° who, if the story was true, had not always been a
saint as far as she and many others were concerned. She 15
believed in the miracles wrought at his tomb, and had a
hundred authentick stories of wondrous cures effected by
the blessed King's rosaries, the medals which he wore,
the locks of his hair, or what not. Esmond remembered a
score of marvellous tales, which the credulous old woman 20
told him. There was the Bishop of Autun,° that was healed
of a malady he had for forty years, and which left him
after he said mass for the repose of the King's soul. There
was M. IMarais, a surgeon in Auvergne,° who had a palsy
in both his legs, which was cured through the King's inter- 25
cession. There was Philip Pitet, of the Benedictines,"
who had a suffocating cough, which well-nigh killed him,
but he besought relief of Heaven, through the merits and
intercession of the blessed King, and he straightway felt a
profuse sweat breaking out all over him, and was recovered 3°
perfectly. And there was the wife of Mons. Lepervier,
dancing-master to the Duke of Saxe-Gotha," who was entirely
eased of a rheumatism by the King's intercession, of which
miracle there could be no doubt, for her surgeon and his
apprentice had given their testimony, under oath, that they 35
did not in any way contribute to the cure. Of these tales,
and a thousand like them, Mr. Esmond believed as much as
he chose. His kinswoman's greater faith had swallow for
them all.
194 HENRY ESMOND
The English High Church party did not adopt these
legends. But truth and honour, as they thought, bound
them to the exiled King's side; nor had the banished family
any warmer supporter than that kind lady of Castlewood,
5 in whose house Esmond was brought up. She influenced
her husband, very much more perhaps than my lord knew,
who admired his wife prodigiously though he might be in-
constant to her, and who, adverse to the trouble of thinking
himself, gladly enough adopted the opinions which she chose
10 for him. To one of her simple and faithful heart, allegiance
to any sovereign but the one was impossible. To serve
King William for interest's sake would have been a monstrous
hypocrisy and treason. Her pure conscience could no more
have consented to it than to a theft, a forgery, or any other
15 base action. Lord Castlewood might have been won over,
no doubt, but his wife never could; and he submitted his
conscience to hers in this case as he did in most others,
when he was not tempted too sorely. And it was from his
affection and gratitude most likely, and from that eager
20 devotion for his mistress, which characterised all Esmond's
youth, that the young man subscribed to this, and other
articles of faith, which his fond benefactress, set him. Had
she been a Whig, he had been one ; had she followed Mr.
Fox, and turned Quaker, ° no doubt he w^ould have abjured
25 ruffles and a perriwig, and ha\^e forsworn swords, lace coats,
and clocked stockings. In the scholars' boyish disputes
at the University, where parties ran very high, Esmond was
noted as a Jacobite, and very likely from vanity as much as
affection took the side of his family.
30 Almost the whole of the clergy of the country and more
than a half of the nation were on this side. Ours° is the
most loyal people in the world surely ; we admire our kings,
and are faithful to them long after they have ceased to be
true to us. 'Tis a wonder to any one who looks back at the
35 history of the Stuart family, to think how they kicked their
crowns away from them ; how they flung away chances after
chances ; what treasures of loyalty they dissipated, and how
fatally they were bent on consumniating their own ruin.
If ever men had fidehty, 'twas they; if ever men squandered
HENRY ESMOND 195
opportunity, 'twas they; and of all the enemies they had,
they themselves were the most fatal. ^
When the Princess Anne succeeded, the wearied nation
was glad enough to cry a truce from all these wars, con-
troversies, and conspiracies, and to accept in the person of a 5
Princess of the blood-royal a compromise between the parties
into which the country was divided. The Tories could
serve under her with easy consciences; though a Tory
herself, she represented the triumph of the Whig opinion.
The people of England, always liking that their Princes 10
should be attached to their own families, were pleased to
think the Princess was faithful to hers ; and up to the very
last day and hour of her reign, and but for that fatality which
he inherited from his fathers along with their claims to the
English crown, King James the Third might have worn it. 15
But he neither knew how to wait an opportunity nor to
use it when he had it; he was venturesome when he ought
to have been cautious, and cautious when he ought to have
dared everything. Tis with a sort of rage at his inaptitude
that one thinks of his melancholy story. Do the Fates 20
deal more specially with kings than with common men ?
One is apt to imagine so, in considering the history of that
royal race, in whose behalf so much fidelity, so much \'alour,
so much blood were desperately and bootlessly expended.
The King dead then, the Princess Anne (ugly Anne Hyde's 25
daughter,^ our dowager at Chelsea called her) was pioclaimed
oy trumpeting heralds all over the town from Westminster
to Ludgate Hill,° amidst immense jubilations of the people.
Next week my Lord Marlborough was promoted to the
Garter° and to be Captain-General of her Majesty's forces 30
at home and abroad. This appointment only inflamed the
Dowager's rage, or, as she thought it, her fidelity to her
rightful sovereign. ''The Princess is but a puppet in the
hands of that fury of a woman, ° who comes into my drawing-
room and insults me to my face. What can come to a 35
country that is given over to such a woman?" says the
1 12 TTOTTOi, olov 8rj vv deovs ^porol alTLOojvTaL-
i^ rjpi^cov yap (paai kclk €/x/xepai, oi 5e /cat avTol
acpTjaiv aTa<rda\lTj(xi.v virep jxdpov d\7e' exov(Tiv°
196 HENRY ESMOND
Dowager. ''As for that double-faced traitor, my Lord
IMarlborough, he has betrayed every man and every woman
with whom he has had to deal, except his horrid wiffe who
makes him tremble. Tis all over with the country when it
5 has got into the clutches of such wretches as these."
Esmond's old kinswoman saluted the new powers in this
way; but some good fortune at last occurred to a family
which stood in great need of it, by the advancement of these
famous personages who benefited humbler people that had
10 the luck of being in their favour. Before Mr. Esmond left
England in the month of August, and being then at Ports-
mouth° where he had joined his regiment, and was busy at
drill, learning the practice and mysteries of the musket and
pike, he heard that a pension on the Stamp Office had been
15 got for his late beloved mistress, and that the young IMistress
Beatrix was also to be taken into Court, So much good, at
least, had come out of the poor widow's visit to London, not
revenge upon her husband's enemies, but reconcilement to
old friends, who pitied, and seemed inclined to serve her.
20 As for the comrades in prison and the late misfortune :
Colonel Westbury was with the Captain-General ° gone to
Holland; Captain Macartney was now at Portsmouth, with
his regiment of Fusi leers and the force under command
of his Grace the Duke of Ormond, bound for Spain it was
25 said; my Lord Warwick was returned home; and Lord
Mohun, so far from being punished for the homicide which
had brought so much grief and change into the Esmond
family, was gone in company of my Lord Macclesfield's
splendid embassy° to the Elector of Hanover, carrying the
30 CJarter to his Highness and a complimentary letter from the
Queen.
CHAPTER IV
RECAPITUT-ATIONS
From such fitful lights as could be cast upon his dark
liistory by the broken narrative of his poor patron, torn
I
HENRY ESMOND 197
by remorse and struggling in the last pangs of dissolution,
Mr. Esmond had been made to understand so far, that his
mother was long since dead ; and so there could be no question
as regarded her or her honour, tarnished by her husband's
desertion and injur}^, to influence her son in any steps which 5
he might take either for prosecuting or relinquishing his
own just claims. It appeared from my poor lord's hurried
confession, that he had been made acquainted with the real
facts of the case only two years since, when Mr. Holt visited
him, and would have implicated him in one of those many 10
conspiracies by which the secret leaders of King James's
party in this country were ever endeavouring to destroy the
Prince of Orange's life or power ; conspiracies so like murder,
so cowardly in the means used, so wicked in the end, that our
nation has sure done well in throwing off all allegiance and 15
fidelity to the unhappy family that could not vindicate its
right except by such treachery, — by such dark intrigue and
base agents. There were designs against King AA'ilham that
were no more honourable than the ambushes of cut-thi-oats
and footpads. 'Tis humiliating to think that a great Prince, 20
possessor of a great and sacred right, and upholder of a great
cause, should have stooped to such baseness of assassination
and treasons as are proved by the unfortunate King James's
own warrant and sign-manual given to his supporters in
this country. What he and they called levying war was, 25
in truth, no better than instigating murder. The noble
Prince of Orange burst magnanimously through those
feeble meshes of conspiracy in which his enemies tried to
envelop him : it seemed as if their cowardly daggers broke
upon the breast of his undaunted resolution. After King 30
James's death, the Queen and her people at St. Germains —
priests and women, for the most part — continued their
intrigues in behalf of the young Prince, James the Third, as
he was called in France and by his party here (this Prince, or
Chevalier de St. George, was born in the same year with 35
Esmond's young pupil Frank, my Lord discount's son) :
and the Prince's affairs, being in the hands of priests and
women, were conducted as priests and women will conduct
them, artfully, cruelly, feebly, and to a certain bad issue.
198 HENRY ESMOND
The moral of the Jesuits' story I think as wholesome a one
as ever was writ : the artfullest, the wisest, the most toilsome,
and dexterous plot-builders in the world, — there always
comes a day when the roused publick indignation kicks
5 their flimsy edifice down, and sends its cowardly enemies
a-flying. Mr. Swift° hath finely described that passion for
intrigue, that love of secrecy, slander and lying, which
belongs to weak people, hangers-on of weak courts. 'Tis
the nature of such to hate and envy the strong, and conspire
10 their ruin ; and the conspiracy succeeds very well, and every-
thing presages the satisfactory overthrow of the great
\^ctim ; until one day Gulliver rouses himself, shakes off the
little vermin of an enemy, and walks away unmolested.
Ah ! the Irish soldiers might well say after the Boyne, '' Change
15 kings with us, and we will fight it over again." Indeed,
the fight was not fair between the two. Twas a weak,
priest-ridden, v/oman-ridden man, with such puny allies
and weapons as his own poor nature led him to choose,
contending against the schemes, the generalship, the wisdom,
20 and the heart of a hero.
On one of these many coward's errands, then (for, as I
view them now, I can call them no less), Mr. Holt had come
to my lord at Castle wood, proposing some infallible plan for
the Prince of Orange's destruction, in which my Lord Vis-
<5 count, loyalist as he was, had indignantly refused to join.
As far as ^Ir. Esmond could gather from his d3''ing words,
Holt came to my lord with a plan of insurrection, and offer
of the renewal, in his person, of that marquis's title, which
King James had conferred on the preceding viscount; and
30 on refusal of this bribe, a threat was made, on Holt's part,
to upset my Lord Viscount's claim to his estate and title of
Castle wood altogether. To back this astounding piece of
intelligence, of which Henry Esmond's [)atron now had the
first light, Holt came armed with the late lord's dying declara-
35 tion, after the affair of the Boyne, at Trim, in Ii-eland, made
both to the Irish pric^st and a French ecclesiastick of Holt's
order, that was with King James's army. Holt showed, or
pretended to show, tli(> marriag(; certificate of the late Viscount
Esmond with my mother, in the city of Brussels, in the year
HENRY ESMOND 199
1677, when the Viscount, then Thomas Esmond, was serving
with the Enghsh army in Flanders; he could show, he said,
that this Gertrude, deserted by her husband long since,
was alive, and a professed nun in the year 1685, at Brussels,
in which year Thomas Esmond married his uncle's daughter, 5
Isabella, now called Viscountess Dowager of Castlewood;
and leaving him, for twelve hours, to consider this astounding
news (so the poor dying lord said), disappeared with his
papers in the mysterious way in which he came. Esmond
knew how, well enough : by that window from which he had 10
seen the Father issue : — but there was no need to explain to
my poor lord, only to gather from his parting hps the words
which .he would soon be able to utter no more.
Ere the twelve hours were over. Holt himself was a prisoner,
implicated in Sir John Fenwick's conspiracy, and locked up at 15
Hexton first, whence he was transferred to the Tower ; leaving
the poor Lord Viscount, who was not aware of the other's
beii^g taken, in daily apprehension of his return, when (as
my Lord Castlewood declared, calling God to witness, and
with tears in his dying eyes) it had been his intention at once 20
to give up his estate and his title to their proper owner, and
to retire to his own house at Walcote with his family. "And
would to God I had done it,^' the poor lord said. "I would
not be here now, wounded to death, a miserable, stricken
man!" 25
My lord waited day after day, and, as may be supposed,
no messenger came; but at a month's end Holt got means
to convey to him a message out of the Tower, which was to
this effect.: That he should consider all unsaid that had
been said, and that things were as they were. 30
"I had a sore temptation," said my poor lord. "Since I
had come into this cursed title of Castlewood, which hath
never prospered with me, I have spent far more than the
income of that estate, and m^y paternal one, too. I cal-
culated all my means down to the last shilling, and found I 35
never could pay you back, my poor Harry, whose fortune
I had had for twelve years. ]\ly wife and children must
have gone out of the house dishonoured, and beggars. God
knows, it hath been a miserable one for me and mine. I-ike a
200 HEyRY ESMO^W
coward, I clung to that respite which Holt gave me. \
kept the truth from Rachel and you. I tried to win money
of Mohun, and only plunged deeper into debt; I scarce
dared look thee in the face when I saw thee.° This sword
5 hath been hanging over my head ° these two years. I swear
I felt happy, when Mohun's blade entered my side."
After lying ten months in the Tower, Holt, against whom
nothing could be found, except that he was a Jesuit priest,
known to be in King James's interest, was put on shipboard
lo by the incorrigible forgiveness of King William, who pro-
mised him, however, a hanging, if ever he should again set
foot on English shore. More than once, whilst he was in
• prison himself, Esmond had thought where those papers
could be, which the Jesuit had shown to his patron, and
15 which had such an interest for himself. They were not
found on Mr. Holt's person when that Father was appre-
hended, for had such been the case my lords of the council had
seen them, and this family history had long since been made
publick. However, Esmond cared not to seek the papers.
20 His resolution being taken; his poor mother dead; what
matter to him that documents existed proving his right
to a title which he was determined not to claim, and of
which he vowed never to deprive that family which he
loved best in the world? Perhaps he took a greater pride
25 out of his sacrifice than he would have had in those honours
which he was resolved to forgo. Again, as long as these
titles were not forthcoming, Esmond's kinsman, dear young
Francis, was the honourable and undisputed owner of the
Castlewood estate and title. The mere word of a Jesuit could
10 not overset Frank's right of occupancy, and so Esmond's mind
felt actually at ease to think the papers were missing, and
in their absence his dear mistress and her son the lawful
Lady and Lord of Castlewood.
Very soon after his liberation, Mr. Esmond made it his
35 business to ride to that vilhigo of Ealing where he had passed
his earliest years in this countiy, and to see if his old guar-
dians were still alive and inhabitants of that place. But
the only reli(iuc which lie found of old M. Pastoureau was a
stone in the churchyard, which told that Athanasius Pastou-
I
HENRY ESMOND 201
reau, a native of Flanders, lay there buried, aged 87 years.
The old man's cottage, which Esmond perfectly recollected,
and the garden (where in his childhood he had passed many
hours of play and reverie, and had many a beating from
his termagant of a foster-mother), were now in the occupa- 5
tion of quite a different family ; and it was with difficulty that
he could learn in the village what had come of Pastoureau's
widow and children. The clerk of the parish recollected
her — the old man was scarce altered in the fourteen years
that had passed since last Esmond set eyes on him — it 10
appeared she had pretty soon consoled herself after the death
of her old husband, whom she ruled over, by taking a new
one younger than herself, who spent her money and ill-
treated her and her children. The girl died; one of the
boys 'listed ; the other had gone apprentice. ° Old Mr. Rogers, 15
the clerk, said he had heard that Mrs. Pastoureau was dead
too. She and her husband had left Ealing this seven year;
and so Mr. Esmond's hopes of gaining any information regard-
ing his parentage from this family, were brought to an end.
He gave the old clerk a crown-piece for his news, smiling 20
to think of the time when he and his little playfellows had
slunk out of the churchyard, or hidden behind the gravestones
at the approach of this awful authority.
Who was his mother ? What had her name been ? When
did she die ? Esmond longed to find some one who could 25
answer these ciuestions to him, and thought even of put-
ting them to his aunt the Viscountess, who had innocently
taken the name which belonged of right to Henry's mother.
But she knew nothing, or chose to know nothing, on this
subject, nor, indeed, could Mr, Esmond press her much to 30
speak on it. Father Holt was the only man who could
enlighten him, and Esmond felt he must wait until some
fresh chance or new intrigue might put him face to face with
his old friend, or bring that restless indefatigable spirit
back to England again. 35
The appointment to his ensigncy, and the preparations
necessary for the campaign, presently gave the young
gentleman other matters to think of. His new patroness
treated him very kindly and liberally; she promised to
202 HENRY ESMOND
make interest and pay money, too, to get him a company-
speedily; she bade him procure a handsome outfit, both of
clothes and of arms, and was pleased to admire him when
he made his first appearance in his laced scarlet coat, and to
5 permit him to salute her on the occasion of this interesting
investiture. "Red," says she, tossing up her old head,
"hath alway^s been the colour worn by the Esmonds/' And
so her ladyship wore it on her own cheeks very faithfully
to the last. She would have him be dressed, she said, as
10 became his father's son, and paid cheerfully for his five-
pound beaver, his black buckled perriwig, and his fine
holland shirts, and his swords, and his pistols, mounted
with silver. Since the day he was born, poor Harry had
never looked such a fine gentleman : his liberal stepmother
15 filled his purse with guineas, too, some of which Captain
Steele and a few choice spirits helped Harry to spend in an
entertainment which Dick ordered (and, indeed, would
have paid for, but that he had no money when the I'eckoning
was called for; nor would the landlord give him any more
20 credit) at the Garter, over against the gate of the Palace,
in Pall Mall °
The old Viscountess, indeed, if she had done Esmond any
wrong formerly, seemed inclined to repair it by the present
kindness of her behaviour : she embraced him copiously
25 at parting, wept plentifully, bade him write by every packet,
and gave him an inestimable relick, which she besought
him to wear round his neck — a mctlal, blessed by I know
not what Pope, and worn by his late sacred Majesty King
James. So Esmond arrived at his regiment with a better
30 equipage than most young officers could afford. He was
older than most of his seniors, and had a further advantage
which belonged but to very fcnv of the army gentlemen in
his day — many of whom could do little more than write their
names — that he had read much, both at home and at the
35 University, was master of two or three languages, and had
that further education which neither books nor years will give,
Init which some men get from the silent teaching of adver-
sity. She is a great schoohnistress, as many a poor fellow
knows, that hath iield his hand out to h(M- ferule, and whim-
pered over his lesson before her awful chair.
HENRY ESMOND 203
CHAPTER V
I GO ON THE VIGO BAY EXPEDITION, TASTE SALT-WATER AND
SMELL POWDER
The first expedition in which Mr. Esmond had the honour
to be engaged, rather resembled one of the invasions projected
by the redoubted Captain Avory, or Captain Kid,° than a
war between crowned heads, carried on by generals of rank
and honour. On the first day of July, 1702, a great fleet, 5
of a hundred and fifty sail, set sail from Spithead,° under
the command of Admiral Shovell,° having on board 12,000
troops, with his Grace the Duke of Ormond as the Capt.-
General of the expedition. One of these 12,000 heroes
having never been to sea before, or, at least, only once in 10
his infancy, when he made the voA^age to England from that
unknown country where he was born, — one of those 1 2,000
— the junior ensign of Col. Quin's regiment of Fusileers —
was in a quite unheroic state of corporal prostration a few
hours after sailing; and an enemy, had he boarded the ship, 15
would have had easy work of him. From Portsmouth^
we put into Plymouth, and took in fresh reinforcements.
We were off Finisterre on the 31st of July, so Esmond's
table-book informs him ; and on the 8th of August made
the rock of Lisbon. By this time the ensign was grown as 20
bold as an admiral, and a week afterwards hod the fortune
to be under fire for the first time, — and under water, too,
— his boat being swamped in the surf in Toros bay, where
the troops landed. The ducking of his new coat was all the
harm the young soldier got in this expedition, for, indeed, 25
the Spaniards made no stand before our troops, and were
not in strength to do so.
But the campaign, if not very glorious, was very pleasant.
New sights of nature, by sea and land, — a Hfe of action,
beginning, now, for the first time, — occupied and excited t^q
the young man. The many accidents, and the routine
of shipboard, — the military duty, — the new acquaint-
ances, both of his comrades in armS; and of the officers of
204 HEXBY ESMOND
the fleet, served to cheer and occupy his mind, and waken
it out of that selfish depression into which his late unhappy
fortunes had plunged him. He felt as if the ocean separated
him from his past care, and welcomed the new era of Ufe
5 which was dawning for him. Wounds heal rapidly in a
heart of two-and-twenty ; hopes revive daily; and courage
rallies, in spite of a man. Perhaps, as Esmond thought of
his late despondency and melancholy, and how irremedi-
able it had seemed to him, as he lay in his prison a few
10 months back, he was almost mortified in his secret mind at
finding himself so cheerful.
To see with one's own eyes men and countries, is better
than reading all the books of travel in the world; and it
was with extreme delight and exultation that the young
15 man found himself actually on his grand tour, and in the
view of people and cities which he had read about as a boy.
He beheld war, for the first time — the pride, pomp, and
circumstance of it, at least, if not much of the danger. He
saw actually, and with his own eyes, those Spanish cavaliers
20 and ladies whom he had beheld in imagination in that
immortal story of Cervantes, ° which had been the delight
of his youthful leisure. Tis forty j^ears since Mr. Esmond
witnessed those scenes, but they remain as fresh in his memory
as on the day when first he saw them as a young man. A
25 cloud, as of grief, that had lowered over him, and had wrapped
the last years of his life in gloom, seemed to clear away
from Esmond during this fortunate voyage and campaign.
His energies seemed to awaken and to expand, under a cheer-
ful sense of freedom. Was his heart secretly glad to have
30 escaped from that fond but ignoble bondage at home ?
Was it that the inferiority to which the idea of his base birth
had compelled him, vanished with the knowledge of that
secret, which though, perforce, kept to himself, was yet
enough to cheer and console him ? At any rate, young
35 Esmond of the ai-my was quite a different being to the sad
little dep(Mident of the kind Castlewood household, and
the melaiiclioly student of Trinity Walks° ; discontented
with his fate, and with the vocation into wliich that drove
him, and thinking, with a secret indignation, that the cassock
HENRY ESMOND 205
and bands, and the very sacred office with which he had
once proposed to invest himself, were, in fact, but marks
of a servitude which was to continue all his life long. For,
disguise it as he might to himself, he had all along felt that
to be Castle wood's chaplain was to be Castle wood's inferior 5
still, and that his hfe was but to be a long, hopeless servitude.
So, indeed, he was far from grudging his old friend Tom
Tusher's good fortune (as Tom no doubt, thought it).
Had it been a mitre and Lambeth° which his friends offered
him, and not a small living and a country parsonage, he k
would have felt as much a slave in one case as in the other,
and was quite happy and thankful to be free.
The bravest man I ever knew in the army, and who had
been present in most of King William's actions, as well as
in the campaigns of the great Duke of Marlborough, could t:
never be got to tell us of any achievement of his, except
that once Prince Eugene° ordered him up a tree to recon-
noitre the enemy, which feat he could not achieve on account
of the horseman's boots he wore; and on another day that
he was very nearly taken prisoner because of these jack- 2c
boots, which prevented him from running away. The pre-
sent narrator shall imitate this laudable reserve, and doth
not intend to dwell upon his military exploits, which were,
in truth, not very different from those of a thousand other
gentlemen. This first campaign of ]\Ir. Esmond's lasted 2:
but a few days; and as a score of books have been written
concerning it, it may be dismissed very briefly here.
When our fleet came within view of Cadiz,° our com-
mander sent a boat with a white flag and a couple of officers
to the Governor of Cadiz, Don Scipio de Brancaccio, with 3c
a letter from his Grace, in which he hoped that as Don
Scipio had formerly served with the Austrians against
the French, 'twas to be hoped that his Excellency
would now declare himself against the French king and for
the Austrian in the war between King Philip and King 35
Charles. ° But his Excellency, Don Scipio, prepared a reply,
in which he announced that, having served his former king
with honour and fidelity, he hoped to exhibit the same
loyalty and devotion towards his present sovereign, King
206 HENRY ESMOND
Philip V ; and by the time this letter was ready, the officers,
who had been taken to see the town, and the alameda,^
and the theatre, where bull-fights are fought, and the con-
vents, where the admirable works of Don Bartholomew
5 Murillo° inspired one of them with a great wonder and
delight — such as he had never felt before — concerning
this divine art of painting; and these sights over, and a
handsome refection and chocolate being served to the Eng-
lish gentlemen, they v,^ere accompanied back to their shallop
xo with every courtesy, and were the only two officers of the
English army that saw at that time that famous city.
The General tried the power of another proclamation on
the Spaniards, in which he announced that we only came
in the interest of Spain and King Charles, and for ourselves
15 wanted to make no conquest or settlement in Spain at all.
But all this eloquence was lost upon the Spaniards, it would
seem : the Captain-General of Andalusia° would no more
hsten to us than the Governor of Cadiz ; and in reply to
his Grace's proclamation, tlie Marquis of Villadarias fired off
20 another, which those who knew the Spanish thought rather
the best of the two ; and of this number was Harry Esmond,
whose kind Jesuit in old days hrd instructed him, and now
had the honour of translating for his Grace these hariiiless
documents of war. There was a hard touch for his Grace,
25 and, indeed, for other generals in her Majesty's service, in
the concluding sentence of the Don. "That he and his
council had the generous example of their ancestors to
follow, who had never yet sought their elevation in the blood
or in the flight of their kings. 'Mori pro patria°' was his
30 device, which the Duke might communicate to the Princess
who governed England."
Whether the trooi)s were angry at this repartee or no, 'tis
certain something put them in a fury, for not being able to
get possession of Cadiz, our peoi)le seized upon Port Saint
35 Mary's° and sacked it, burning down the merchants' store-
houses, getting drunk with the famous wines there; pil-
laging and robbing quiet houses and convents, murdering
and doing worse. And the only blood which Mr. Esmond
drew in this shameful campaign, was the knocking down an
HENRY ESMOND 2^)1
English sentinel with a half-pike, who was offering insult to
a poor trembling nun. Is she going to turn out a beauty ?
— or a princess° ? — or perhaps Esmond's mother that he had
lost and never seen ? Alas no, it was but a poor wheezy old
dropsical woman, with a wart upon her nose. But having 5
been early taught a part of the Roman religion, he never had
the horror of it that some Protestants have shown and seem
to think to be a part of ours.
After the pillage and plunder of St. Mary's, and an assault
upon a fort or two, the troops all took shipping and finished ic
their expedition, at any rate more brilliantly than it had
begun. Hearing that the French fleet with a great treasure
was in Vigo Bay,° our Admirals, Rooke and Hopson, pursued
the enemy thither; the troops landed and carried the forts
that protected the bay, Hopson passing the boom first on 15
board his ship the Torbai/,° and the rest of the ships, English
and Dutch, following him. Twenty ships were burned or
taken in the Port of Redondilla,° and a vast deal more
plunder than was ever accounted for; but poor men before
that expedition were rich afterwards, and so often was it 20
found and remarked that the Vigo officers came hom.e with
pockets full of money, that the notorious Jack Shafto, who
made such a figure at the coffee-houses and gaming-tables in
London, and gave out that he had been a soldier at Mgo,
owned when he was about to be hanged that Bagshot Heath° 25
had been his Vigo, and that he only spoke of La Redondilla
to turn away people's eyes from the real place where the
booty lay. Indeed, Hounslow or Vigo — which matters
much ? The latter was a bad business, though Mr. Addison
did sing its praises in Latin. ° That honest gentleman's 30
muse had an eye to the main chance ; and I doubt whether
she saw much inspiration on the losing side.
But though Esmond, for his part, got no share of this
fabulous booty, one great prize which he had out of the
campaign was that excitement of action and change of 35
scene which shook off a great deal of his pre\ious melan-
choly. He learnt at any rate to bear his fate cheerfully.
He brought back a browned face, a heart resolute enough,
and a little pleasant store of knowledge and observation,
208 HENRY ESMOND
from that expedition, which was over with the autumn,
when the troops were back in England again ; and Esmond
giving up his post of secretary to General Lumley,° whose
command was oyqv, and parting with that officer with many
5 kind expressions of good will on the General's side, had leave
to go to London to sefe if he could push his fortunes any way
further, and found himself once more in his dowager aunt's
comfortable quarters at Chelsea, and in greater favour than
ever with the old lady. He propitiated her with a present
JO of a comb, a fan, and a black mantle, such as the ladies of
Cadiz wear, and which my Lady Viscountess pronounced
became her style of beauty mightily. And she was greatly
edified at hearing of that story of his rescue of the nun, and
felt very little doubt but that her King James's relick, which he
15 had always dutifully worn in his desk, had kept him out of
danger, and averted the shot of the enemy. My lady made
feasts for him, introduced him to more company, and pushed
liis fortunes with such enthusiasm and success that she got a
promise of a company for him through the Lady Marlborough's
20 interest, who was graciously })lcased to acce})t of a diamond
worth a couple of hundred guineas, which Mr. Esmond was
enabled to present to her ladyshi]) through his aunt's bounty,
and who promised that she would take charge of Esmond's
fortune. He had the honour to make his appearance at the
25 Queen's drawing-room occasionally and to frequent my
Lord Marlborough's levees. That great man received the
young one with very special favour, so Esmond's comrades
said, and deigned to say that he had received the best reports
of Mr. Esmond, both for courage and abilit}^, whei'con you
30 may be sure the young gentleman made a profound bow, and
expressed himself eager to serve under the most distinguished
•captain in the world.
Whilst his business was going on tluis ])rosperously, Es-
mond had his share of pleasure, too, and made his a]^i)earance
35 along with other young gentlemen at the coffee-houses, the
theatres, and the Mall.° He longed to hear of his dear mis-
tress and her family: many a time, in the midst of the
gaieties and pleasures of the town, his heart fondly reverted
to them ; and often as the young fellows of his society were
HENRY ESMOND 209
making merry at the tavern, and calling toasts (as the fashion
of that day was) over their wine, Esmond thought of persons
— of two fair women, whom he had been used to adore
almost, — and emptied his glass with a sigh.
By this time the elder Viscountess had grown tired again 5
of the younger, and whenever she spoke of my lord's widow,
'twas in terms by no means complimentary towards that poor
lady : the younger woman not needing her protection any
longer, the elder abused her. Most of the family quarrels^
that I have seen in life (saving alv/ays those arising from 10
money-disputes, when a division of twopence-halfpenny
will often drive the dearest relatives into war and estrange-
ment) spring out of jealousy and envy. Jack and Tom,
born of the same family and to the sam.e fortune, live very
cordially together, not until Jack is ruined when Tom deserts 15
him, but until Tom makes a sudden rise in prosperity, which
Jack can't forgive. Ten times to one ^tis the unprosperous
man that is angry, not the other who is in fault. 'Tis Mrs.
Jack, who can only afford a chair, that sickens at Mrs. Tom's
new coach-and-six, cries out against her sister's airs, and 20
sets her husband against his brother. Tis Jack who sees
his brother shaking hands with a lord (with whom Jack
would like to exchange snuff-boxes himself) ; that goes home
and tells his wife how poor Tom is spoiled, he fears, and no
better than a sneak, parasite, and beggar on horseback. 25
I remember how furious the coffee-house wits were with
Dick Steele when he set up his coach, and fine house in
Bloomsbury° : they began to forgive him when the bailiffs
were after him, and abused Mr. Addison for selling Dick's
country-house. And yet Dick in the spunging-house,° or 3°
Dick in the Park, with his four mares and plated harness,
was exactly the same gentle, kindly, improvident, jovial
Dick Steele : and yet ]\Ir. Addison was perfectly right in get-
ting the money which was his, and not giving up the amount
of his just claim, to be spent by Dick upon champagne and 35
fiddlers, laced clothes, fine furniture, and parasites, Jew and
Christian, male and female, who clung to him. As, according
to the famous maxim of Monsieur de Rochefoucault,° *'in
our friends' misfortunes there's something secretly pleasant
210 HENRY ESMOND
to us;" so, on the other hand, their good fortune is disagree'
able. If 'tis hard for a man to bear his own good luck, 'tis
harder still for his friends to bear it for him ; and but few oi
them ordinarily can stand that trial : whereas one of the
5 "precious uses" of adversity is, that it is a great reconciler;
that it brings back averted kindness, disarms animosity, and
causes yesterday's enemy to fling his hatred aside, and hold
out a hand fo the fallen friend of old days. There's pity and
love, as well as envy, in the same heart and towards the same
lo person. The rivalry stops when the competitor tumbles ;
and, as I view it, we should look at these agreeable and dis-
agreeable qualities of our humanity humbly alike. -They
are consequent and natural, and our kindness and meanness
both manly.
15 So you may either read the sentence, that the elder of
Esmond's two kinswomen pardoned the younger her beauty,
when that had lost somewhat of its freshness, perhaps; and
forgot most her grievances against the other, when the
subject of them was no longer prosperous and enviable; or
20 we may say more benevolently (but the sum comes to the
same figures, worked either way), that Isabella repented of
her unkindness towards Rachel, w^hen Rachel was unhappy;
and bestirring herself in behalf of the poor widow and her
children, gave them shelter and friendship. The ladies were
25 quite good friends as long as the weaker one needed a pro-
tector. Before Esmond went away o^ his first campaign,
his mistress was still on terms of friendship (though a poor
httle chit, a woman that had evidently no spirit in her, etc.)
with the elder Lady Castlewood; and Mistress Beatrix was
30 allowed" to be a beauty.
But between the first year of Queen Anne's reign, and the
secontl, sari changes for the worse had taken ]:)lace in the two
younger ladies, at least in the elder's description of them.
Rachel, Viscountess Castlewood, had no more face than a
35 dumi)ling, and Mistress Beatrix was grown c|uite coarse, and
was losing all her beauty. Little Lord ]31andford — (she
never would call him Lord Blandford ; his father was Lord
Chm'chill° — the King, whom he betrayed, had made him
Lord Churchill, and he was Lord Churchill still) — might be
HENRY ESMOND 211
making eyes at her; but his mother, that vixen of a Sarah
Jennings, ° would never hear of sucli a folly. Lady Marl-
borough had got her to be a maid-of-honour at Court to the
Princess, but she would repent of it. The widow Francis
(she was but Mrs. Francis Esmond) was a scheming, artful, 5
heartless hussy. She was spoihng hersbrat of a boy, and she
would end by marrying her chaplain.
" What, Tusher V cried Mr. Esmond, feeling a strange pang
of rage and astonishment.
*'Yes — Tusher, my maid's son; and who has got all the la
qualities of his father, the laccpey in black, and his accom-
plished mamma, the waiting woman/' cries my lady. '' What
do you suppose that a sentimental widow, who will live
down in that dingy dungeon of a Castlewood, where she
spoils her boy, kills the poor with her drugs, has prayers 15
twice a day, and sees nobody but the chaplain — what do you
suppose she can do, mon Cousin, but let the horrid parson,
with his great square toes, and hideous httle green eyes,
make love to her? Cela c'est vu, mon Cousin. ° When I was
a girl at Castlewood, all the chaplains fell in love with me — 20
they've nothing else to do."
My lady went on with more talk of this kind, though, in
truth, Esmond had no idea of what she said further, so en-
tirely did he.' first words occupy his thought. Were they
true ? Not all, nor half, nor a tenth part of what the gar- 25
rulous old woman said, was true. Could this be so? No
ear had Esmond for anything else, though his patroness
chattered on for an hour.
Some young gentlemen of the town with whom Esmond had
made acquaintance had promised to present him to that most 30
charming of actresses, and lively and agreeable of women,
Mrs. Bracegirdle, about whom Harry's old adversar}^ Mohun
had drawn swords, a few years before my poor lord and he
fell out. The famous IMr. Congreve had stamped with his
high approval, to the which there was no gainsaying, this 35
delightful person ; and she was acting in Dick Steele's comedies,
and finally, and for twenty-four hours after beholding her,
Mr. Esmond felt himself, or thought himself, to be as violently
enamoured of this lovely brunette, as were a thousand other
212 HENRY ESMOND
young fellows about the city. To have once seen her was
to long to behold her again ; and to be offered the delightful
privilege of her acquaintance was a pleasure the very idea of
which set the young lieutenant's heart on fire. A man can-
5 not live with comrades under the tents without finding out
that he too is five-and-twenty. A young fellow cannot be
cast down by grief and misfortune ever so severe but some
night he begins to sleep sound, and some day when dinner-
time comes to feel hungry for a beefsteak. Time, youth, and
10 good health, new scenes and the excitement of action and a
campaign had pretty well brought Esmond's mourning to an
end ; and his comrades said that Don Dismal, as they called
him, was Don Dismal no more. So when a party was made
to dine at the Rose and go to the pla}'house afterward, Es-
15 mond was as pleased as another to take his share of the bottle
and the play.
How was it that the old aunt's news, or it might be scandal
about Tom Tusher, caused such a strange and sudden ex-
citement" in Tom's old play fellow? Hadn't he sworn a
20 thousand times in his own mind, that the Lady of Castlewood,
who had treated him with such kindness once, and then had
left him so cruelly, was, and was to remain henceforth, in-
different to him for ever? Had his pride, and his sense of
justice, not long since helped him to cure the j^ain of that
25 desertion — was it even a pain to him now ? Why, but last
night as he walked across the fields and meadows to Chelsea"
from Pall Mall, had he not composed two or three stanzas
of a song, celebrating Braccgirdle's brown eyes, and declar-
ing them a thousand times more beautiful than the brightest
30 blue ones that ever languished under the lashes of an insipid
fair beauty, liut Tom Tusher ! Tom Tusher, the waiting
woman's son, raising up his little eyes to his mistress ! Tom
Tusher presuming, to think of Castlewood's widow! Rage
and contempt filled Mr. Harry's heart at the very notion; the
35 honour of the family, of which he was the chief, made it his
duty to prevent so monstrous an alliance, and to chastise
the upstart who could dare to think of such an insult to their
house. 'Tis true Mr. JOsmond often boasted of republican
principles, and could remember many fine speeches he had
HENRY ESMOND 213
made at college and elsewhere, with worth and not hirth for
a text : but Tom Tusher, to take the place of the noble Castle-
v.'ood — faugh ! 'twas as monstrous as King Hamlet's widow
taking off her weeds for Claudius. ° Esmond laughed at all
widows, all wives, all women ; and were the banns about to 5
be published, as no doubt they were, that very next Sunday
at Walcote Church ; Esmond swore that he would be present
to shout Xo ! in the face of the congregation, and to take
a private revenge upon the ears of tlie bridegroom.
Instead of going to dinner then at the Rose that night, Mr. 10
Esmond bade his servant pack a portmanteau and get horses,
and was at Farnham,° half way on the road to Walcote,
thirty miles off, before his comrades had got to their supper
after the play. He bade his man give no hint to my Lady
Dowager's household of the expedition on which he was going : 15
and as Chelsea was distant from London, the roads bad, and
infested by foot-pads ; and Esmond, often in the habit, when
engaged in a party of pleasure, of lying at a friend's lodg-
ing in town, there was no need that his old aunt should be
disturbed at his absence — indeed nothing more dehghted 20
the old lady than to fancy that mon Cousin, the incorri-
gible young sinner, was abroad boxing the watch, ° or
scouring St. Giles's. ° When she was not at her books of
devotion, she thought Etheredge and Sedley° very good read-
ing. She had a hundred pretty stories about Rochester, 25
Harry Jermyn, and Hamilton°; and if Esmond would but
have run away with the wife even of a citizen, 'tis my beUef
she woUid have pawned her diamonds (the best of them went
to our Lady of Chaillot°) to pay his damages.
My lord's little house of Walcote, which he inhabited 30
before he took his title and occupied the house of Castle-
wood — lies about a mile from Winchester, and his widow
had 'returned to Walcote after my lord's death as a place
always dear to her, and where her earliest and happiest
days had been spent, cheerfuller than Castle wood, which 35
was too large for her straitened means, and gi^^ng her, too,
the protection of the ex-Dean, her father. The young Vis-
count had a year's schooling at the famous college" there
with Mr. Tusher as his sfovernor. So much news of them
214 HENRY ESMOND
Mr. Esmond had had during the past year from the old ViS'
countess, his own father's widow; from the young one there
had never been a word.
Twice or thrice in his benefactor's hfetime, Esmond had
5 been to Walcote; and now, taking but a couple of hours'
rest only at the inn on the road, he was up again long before
daybreak, and made such good speed, that he was at Walcote
by two o'clock of the day. He rid to the inn of the village,
where he alighted and sent a man thence to Mr. Tusher
10 with a message that a gentleman from London would speak
^vith him on urgent business. The messenger came back
to say the Doctor was in town, most hkely at prayers in
the Cathedral. ° My Lady Viscountess was there too; she
always went to Cathedral prayers every day.
15 The horses belonged to the post-house at Winchester.
Esmond mounted again, and rode on to the George ; whence
he walked, leaving his grumbling domestick at last happy
with a dinner, straight to the Cathedral. The organ was
playing : the winter's day was already growing grey : as
20 he passed under the street-arch into the cathedral-yard,
and made his way into the ancient solemn edifice.
CHAPTER VI
THE 29711 DECEMBER
There was scarce a score of pci'sons in the Cathedral
besides the Dean and some of his clergy, and the choristers,
young and old, that ])erformed the beautiful evening prayer.
25 Hut Dr. Tusher was one of the officiants, and read from the
eagle, in an authoritative voice, and a great black perriwig;
and in the stalls, still in her black widow's hood, sat Esmond's
dear mistress, her son by her side, very much grown, and
indeed a noble-looking youth, with his mother's eyes, and
30 his father's curling brown hair, that fell over his point de
Venifie^ — a pretty picture such as Vandyke° might have
painted. Mons. Uigaud's portrait" of my Lord Viscount,
done at Paris afterwards, gives but a French version of his
HENRY ESMOND 215
manly, frank English face. When he looked up there were
two sapphire beams out of his eyes, such as no painter's
palette has the colour to match, I think. On this day there
was not much chance of seeing that particular beauty of
my young lord's countenance; for the truth is, he kept his 5
eyes shut for the most part, and, the anthem being rather
long, was asleep.
But the musick ceasing, my lord woke up, looking about
him, and his eyes lighting on Mr. Esmond, who was sitting
opposite him, gazing with no small tenderness and melan- la
choly upon two persons who had had so much of his heart
for so many years; Lord Castlewood, with a start, pulled
at his mother's sleeve (her face had scarce been hfted from
her book), and said, ''Look, mother !" so loud, that Esmond
could hear on the other side of the church, and the old 15
Dean on his throned stall. Lady Castlewood looked for
an instant as her son bade her, and held up a warning finger
to Frank; Esmond felt 'his whole face flush, and his heart
throbbing, as that dear lady beheld him once more. The
rest of the prayers were speedily over : Mr. Esmond did not 20
hear them; nor did his mistress, very hkely, whose hood
went more closely over her face, and who never lifted her
head again until the service was over, the blessing given,
and Mr. Dean, and his procession of ecclesiasticks, out of
the inner chapel. 25
Young Castlewood came clambering over the stalls before
the clergy were fairly gone, and running up to Esmond,
sagerly embraced him. "My dear, dearest old Harry,"
he said, "are° you come back? Have you been to the wars?
You'll take me with you when you go again? Why didn't 3°
you write to us? Come to mother."
Mr. Esmond could hardly say more than a God bless you,
my boy, for his heart was very full and grateful at all this
tenderness on the lad's part ; and he was as much moved
at seeing Frank, as he was fearful about that other inter- 35
riew which was now to take place ; for he knew not if the
widow would reject him as she had done so cruelly a year ago.
"It was kind of you to come back to us, Henry," Lady
Esmond said. "I thought you might come."
216 HENRY ESMOND
"We read of the fleet coming to Portsmouth. Wh;y
did you not come from Portsmouth?" Frank asked, or my
Lord Viscount as he now must be called.
Esmond had thought of that too. He would have given
5 one of his eyes so that he might see his dear friends again
once more; but believing that his mistress had forbidden
him her house, he had obeyed her, and remained at a dis-
tance.
"You had but to ask, and you knew I would be here,"
TO he said.
She gave him her hand, her little fair hand : there was
only her marriage ring on it. The quarrel was all over.
The year of grief and estrangement was past. They never
had been separated. His mistress had never been out of
15 his mind all that time. No, not once. No, not in the prison ;
nor in the camp ; nor on shore before the enemy ; nor at
sea under the stars of solemn midnight, nor as he watched the
glorious rising of the dawn : not even at the table where
he sate carousing with friends, or at the theatre yonder
20 where he tried to fancy that other eyes were brighter than
hers. Brighter eyes there might be, and faces more beautiful,
but none so dear — no voice so sweet as that of his beloved
mistress, who had been sister, mother, goddess to him during
his youth — goddess now no more, for he knew of her weak-
25 nesses; and by thought, by suffering, and that experience
it brings, was older now than she ; but more fondly cherished
as woman perhaps than ever she had been adored as divinity.
What is it? Where lies it? the secret which makes one
little hand the dearest of all? Whoever can unriddle that
30 mystery? Here she was, her son by his side, his dear boy.
Here she was, weeping and happy. She took his hand in
both hers; he felt her tears. It was a rapture of recon-
ciliation.
"Here comes Squaretoes," says Frank. "Here's Tusher."
35 Tusher, indeed, now appeared, creaking on his great heels.
Mr. Tom had divested himself of his alb or surplice, and
came forward habited in his cassock and great black perriwig.
How had Harry Esmond ever been for a moment jealous of
this fellow?
HENRY ESMOND 217
"Give us thy hand, Tom Tusher," he said. The chaplain
made him a very low and stately bow. ''I am charmed
to see Captain Esmond," says he. ''My lord and I have read
the Reddas incolumem precor° and applied it, I am sure,
to you. You come back with Gaditanian° laurels : when 5
I heard you were bound thither, I wished, I am sure, I was
another Septimius. My Lord Viscount, your lordship
remembers Scptimi, Gades aditure mccum° V
"There's an angle of earth that I love better than Gades,
Tusher," says Mr. Esmond. " Tis that one where your ic
Reverence hath a parsonage, and where our youth was brought
up."
"A house that has so many sacred recollections to me,"
says Mr. Tusher (and Harr}^ remembered how Tom's father
used to flog him there) — "a house near to that of my 15
respected patron, my most honoured patroness, must ever
be a dear abode to me. But, madam, the verger° waits
to close the gates on your ladyship."
" And Harry's coming home to supper. Huzzay ! huzzay ! "
cries my lord. "Mother, shall I run home and bid Beatrix 20
put her ribbons on? Beatrix is a maid of honour,° Harry.
Such a fine set-up minx ! "
"Your heart was never in the Church, Harry," the widow
said, in her sweet low tone, as they walked away together.
(Xow, it seemed they had never been parted, and again, 25
as if they had been ages asunder.) "I always thought
you had no vocation that w^ay; and that 'twas a pit}^ to
shut you out from the world. You would but have pined
and chafed at Castlewood : and 'tis better you should make
a name for yourself. I often said so to my dear lord. How 30
he loved you ! 'Twas my lord that made you stay with us."
"I asked no better than to stay near you always," said
Mr. Esmond.
"But to go was best, Harry. When the world cannot
give peace, you will know where to find it ; but one of your 35
strong imagination and eager desires must try the world first
before he tires of it. 'Twas not to be thought of, or if it
once was, it was only by my selfishness, that you should
remain as chaplain to a country gentleman and tutor to a
218 HENRY ESMOND
little boy. You are of the blood of the Esmonds, kinsman;
and that was always wild in j^outh. Look at Francis. He
is but fifteen, and I scarce can keep him in my nest. His
talk is all of war and pleasure, and he longs to serve in the
5 next campaign. Perhaps he and the young Lord Churchill
shall go the next. Lord Marlborough has been good to us.
You know how kind they were in my misfortune. And so
was your — your father's widow. No one knows how good
the world is, till grief comes to try us. Tis through my
10 Lad}^ Marlborough's goodness that Beatrix hath her place
at Court; and Frank is under my Lord Chamberlain. And
the dowager lady, your father's widow, has promised to pro-
vide for you — has she not?"
Esmond said "Yes. As far as present favour went. Lady
15 Castlewood was very good to him. And should her mind
change," he added gaily, "as ladies' minds will, I am strong
enough to bear my own burthen, and make my way some-
how. Not by the sword very likely. Thousands have a
better genius for that than I, but there are many ways in
JO which a young man of good parts and education can get
on in the world ; and I am pretty sure, one way or other, of
promotion!" Indeed, he had found patrons already in the
army, and amongst persons very able to serve him, too ; and
told his mistress of the flattering aspect of fortune. They
'5 walked as though they had never been parted, slowly, with
the grey twilight closing round them.
"And now we are drawing near to home," she continued.
"I knew you would come, Harry, if — if it 'vvas but to for-
give me for having spoken unjustly to you after that horrid
50 — horrid misfortune. I was half frantick with grief then,
when I saw you. And I know now — they have told me.
That wretch, whose name I can never mention, even has
said it: how you tried to avert the quarrel, and would have
taken it on yourself, my poor child : but it was God's will
35 that I should Ik' i)iniishod, and that my dear lord should
fall."
"He gave me his blessing on his death-bed," Esmond
said. "Thank (Jod for that legacy!"
"Amen, amen! dear Henry," says the lady, pressing his
HENRY ESMOND 219
arm. "I knew it. Mr. Atterbury, of St. Bride's, who was
called to him, told me so. And I thanked God, too, and in
ni}^ prayers ever since, remembered it."
"You had spared me many a bitter night, had you told
me sooner," Mr. Esmond said. 5
"I know it, I know it,°" she answered, in a tone of such
sweet humility, as made Esmond repent that he should ever
have dared to reproach her. ''I know how wicked my heart
has been; and I have suffered too, my dear. I confessed
to Mr. Atterbury — I must not tell any more. He — I lo
said I would not write to you or go to you — and it was
better, even, that having parted, we should part. But
X knew you would come back — I own that. That is no
one's fault. And to-day, Henry, in the anthem, when
they sang it, ' When the Lord turned the captivity of Zion, 15
we were like them that dream,' I thought, 3^es, like them
that dream — them that dream. And then it went, 'They
that sow in tears shall reap in joy; and he that goeth forth
and weepeth, shall doubtless" come again with rejoicing,
bringing his sheaves with him;' I looked up from the book, 20
and saw you. I was not surprised when I saw^ you. I
knew you would come, my dear, and saw the gold sunshine
round your head."
She smiled an almost wild smile, as she looked up at him.
The moon was up by this time, glittering keen in the frosty 25
sky. He could see, for the first time now clearly, her sweet
careworn face.
" Do you know what day it is ? " she continued. " It is the
29th of December — it is your birthday ! But last year we
did not drink it — no, no. My lord was cold, and my Harry 30
was. likely to die: and my brain was in a fever; and we had
no wine. But now -^ now you are come again, bringing
your sheaves with you,° my dear." She burst into a wild
flood of weeping as she spoke; she laughed and sobbed on
the young man's heart, crying out wildly, "bringing your 35
sheaves with you — your sheaves with you !"
As he had sometimes felt, gazing up from the deck at
midnight into the boundless starlit depths overhead, in a
rapture of devout wonder at that endless brightness and
220 HENRY ESMOND
beauty — in some such a way now, the depth of this pure
devotion (which w^as, for the first time, revealed to him
quite) smote upon him, and filled his heart with thanks-
giving. Gracious God, who was he, weak and friendless
5 creature, that such a love should be poured out upon him?
Not in vain — not in vain has he lived, — hard and thank-
less should he be to think so — that has such a treasure
given him. What is ambition compared to that? but
selfish vanit}^ To be rich, to be famous? What do these
10 profit a year hence, w^hen other names sound louder than
yours, when you lie hidden away under ground, along with
the idle titles engraven on your coffin? But only true love
lives after you, — follows 5^our memory with secret blessing,
— or precedes you, and intercedes for you. Non omnis
15 moriar° — if dying, I yet live in a tender heart or two;
nor am lost and hopeless living, if a sainted departed soul still
loves and prays for me.
*'If — if 'tis so, dear lady,'' Mr. Esmond said, "why
should I ever leave you ? If God hath given me this great
20 boon, — and near or far from me, as I know now, — the
heart of my dearest mistress follows me; let me have that
blessing near me, nor ever part with it till death separate
us. Come away — leave this Europe, this place which has so
many sad recollections for you. Begin a new life in a new
25 world. My good lord often talked of visiting that land in Vir-
ginia which King Charles gave us — gave his ancestor. Frank
will give us that. No man there will ask if there is a blot°
on my name, or inquire in the woods what my title is."
" And my children, — and my duty, — and my good
30 father? — Henry," she broke out. "He has none but me
now; for soon my sister will leave him, and the old man
will be alone. He has conformed" since the new Queen's
reign; and here in Winchester, where they love him, they
have found a church for him. When the children leave
35 me, I will stay with him. I cannot follow them into the
great world, where their way lies — it scares me. They
will come and visit me ; and you will, sometimes, Henry — •
yes, sometimes, as now, in the Holy Advent season, ° when
T have seen and blessed you once more."
HENRY ESMOND 221
"I would leave all to follow you," said ^Ir. Esmond ; "and
can you not be as generous for me, dear lady ? "
"Hush, boy!'' she said, and it was with a mother's sweet
plaintive tone and look that she spoke. "The world is be-
ginning for you. For me, I have been so weak and sinful 5
that I must leave it, and pray out an expiation, dear Henry.
Had we houses of religion as there were once, and many
di\'ines of our church would have them again, I often think
I would retire to one and pass my life in penance. But I
would love 3^ou still — yes, there is no sin in such a love as la
mine now ; and my dear lord in Heaven may see my heart ;
and knows the tears that have washed my sin away — and
now — now my duty is here, by my children whilst they
need me, nnd by my poor old father, and "
"And not by me?'' Henry said. 15
"Hush!" she said again, and raised her hand up to his
lip. "I have been your nurse. You could not see me,
Harry, when you were in the small-pox, and I came and sate
by you. Ah ! I prayed that I might die, but it would have
been in sin, Henry. Oh, it is horrid to look back to that 20
time. It is over now and past, and it has been forgiven me.
When you need me again I will come ever so far. When your
heart is wounded, then come to me, my dear. Be silent !
let me say all. You never loved me, dear Henry — no, you
do net now, and I thank Heaven for it. I used to watch 25
you, and knew by a thousand signs that it was so. Do you
remember how glad you were to go away to College ? 'Twas
I sent you. I told my papa that, and Mr. Atterbury too,
when I spoke to him in London. And they both gave me
absolution — both — and they are godly men having author- 3°
ity to Vjind and to loose. And they forgave me, as my dear
lord forgave me before he went to Heaven."
"I think the angels are not all in Heaven," Mr. Esmond
said. And as a brother folds a sister to his heart ; and as a
mother cleaves to her son's breast — so for a few moments 35
Esmond's beloved mistress came to him and blessed him.
222 HENRY ESMOND
CHAPTER VII
I AM MADE WELCOME AT WALCOTE
As they came up to the house at Walcote, the windows
from within were lighted up with friendly welcome; the
supper-table was spread in the oak parlour ; it seemed as if
forgiveness and love were awaiting the returning prodigal.
5 Two or three familiar faces of domesticks Were on the look-out
at the porch — the old housekeeper was there, and young
Lockwood from Castle wood in my lord's livery of tawny and
blue. His dear mistress pressed his arm as they passed into
the hall. Her eyes beamed out on him with affection inde-
10 scribable. "Welcome/' was all she said: as she looked up,
putting back her fair curls and black hood. A sweet rosy
smile blushed on her face ; Harry thought he had never seen
her look so charming. Her face was lighted with a joy that was
brighter than beauty — she took a hand of her son who was
15 in the hall waiting his mother — she did not quit Esmond's arm.
"Welcome, Harry!" my young lord echoed after her.
"Here, we are all come to say so. Here's old Pincot, hasn't
she grown handsome?" and Pincot, who was older, and no
handsomer than usual, made a curtsey to the Captain, as she
20 called Esmond, and told my lord to "Have done, now."
"And here's Jack Lockwood. He'll make a famous
grenadier,° Jack; and so shall I; we'll both list under you,
cousin. As soon as I am seventeen I go to the army — every
gentleman goes to the army. Look ! who comes here —
25 ho, ho!" he burst into a laugh. " 'Tis Mistress 'Trix, with
a new ribl^on ; I knew she would put one on as soon as she
heard a Captain was coming to supi)er."
This laughing colloquy took place in the hall of Walcote
House : in the midst of which is a staircase that leads from an
30 open gaUery, where are the doors of the sleeping chambers:
and from one of these, a wax candle in her hand, and illu-
minating her, came Mistress Beatrix^ — the light falli^ig indeed
upon the scarlet ribbon which she wore, and upon the most
brilliant white neck in the world.
HENRY ESMOND 223
Esmond had left a child, and found a woman, grown beyond
the common height; and arrived at such a dazzling com-
pleteness of beauty, that his eyes might well show surprise
and dehght at beholding her. In hers there was a brightness
so lustrous and melting, that I have seen a whole assembly 5
follow her as 'f by an attraction irresistible : and that night
the great Duke was at the playhouse after Ramiilies, every
soul turned and looked (she chanced to enter at the opposite
side of the theatre at the same moment) at her, and not at
him. She was a brown beauty : that is, her eyes, hair, and eye- 10
brows and eyelashes, were dark : her hair curling with rich
undulations, and v^^aving over her shoulders; but her com-
plexion was as dazzling white as snow in sunshine; except
her cheeks, which were a bright red, and her lips, which were
of a still deeper crimson, tier mouth and chin, they said, 15
were too large and full, and so they might be for a goddess in
marble, but not for a woman whose eyes were fire, whose look
was love, whose voice was the sweetest low song, whose
shape was perfect symmetry, health, decision, activity,
whose foot as it planted itself on the ground was firm but 20
flexible, and whose motion, whether rapid or slow, was always
perfect grace — agile as a nymph, lofty as a queen ^ now
melting, now imperious, now sarcastick, there was no single
movement of hers but was beautiful. As he thinks of her,
he who writes feels young again, and remembers a paragon. 25
So she came holding her dress with one fair rounded arm,
and her taper before her, tripping down the stair to greet
Esmond.
"She hath put on her scarlet stockings and white shoes,''
says my brd, still laughing. "Oh, my fine mistress ! is this 30
the way you set your cap at the Captain ? " She approached,
shining smiles upon Esmond, who could look at nothing but
her eyes. She advanced holding forward her head, as if she
would have him kiss her as he used to do when she was a
child. 35
"Stop," she said, "I am grown too big ! Welcome, cousin
Harry," and she made him an arch curtsey, sweeping down
to the ground almost, with the most gracious bend, looking
up the while with the brightest eyes and sweetest smile.
224 HENRY ESMOND
Love seemed to radiate from her. Harry eyed her with such
a rapture as the first lover is described as having by Milton. °
"N'est ce pas°?'' says my lady, in a low, sweet voice, still
hanging on his arm.
5 Esmond turned round with a start and a blush, as he met
his mistress's clear eyes. He had forgotten her, rapt in
admiration of the filia pulcn'or.
"Right foot forward, toe turned out, so: now drop the
curtsey, and show the red stockings, ""Trix. They've silver
10 clocks, ° Harry. The dowager sent 'em. She went to put
'em on,'' cries my lord.
"Hush, you stupid child!" says Miss, smothering her
brother with kisses; and then she must come and kiss her
mamma, looking all the while at Harry, over his mistress's
15 shoulder. And if she did not kiss him, she gave him both
her hands, and then took one of his in both hands, and said,
"Oh, Harry, we're so, so glad you're come!"
"There are woodcocks for supper," says my lord. "Huz-
zay ! It was such a hungry sermon."
20 "And it is the 29th of December; and our Harry has come
home."
"Huzzay, old Pincot!" again says my lord; and my dear
lady's lips looked as if thoy were trembling with a prayer. She
would have Harry lead in Beatrix to the supper-room, going
25 herself with my young Lord Viscount ; and to this party came
Tom Tusher directly, whom four at least out of the company
of five wished away. Away he went, however, as soon as
the sweetmeats were put down, and then, by the great crack-
ling fire, his mistress or Beatrix with her blushing graces
30 filling his glass for him, Harry told the story of his campaign,
and passed the most delightful night his life had ever known.
The sun was up long ere he was, so deep, sweet, and refreshing
was his slumber. He woke as if angels liad been watching at
his bed all night. I dare say one that was as pure and loving
35 as an angel had blest his sleep with her prayers.
Next morning the Chaplain read prayers to the little
household at Walcote, as the custom was; Esmond thought
Mistress Beatrix did not listen to Tusher's exhortation much; ,
her eyes were wandering everywhere during the service, at
HENRY ESMOND 22b
least whenever he looked up he met them. Perhaps he also
was not very attentive to his Reverence the Chaplain. '' This
might have been my life," he was thinking; "this might
have been my duty from now till old age. Well, were it not
a pleasant one to be with these dear friends and part from 5
'em no more ? Until — until the destined lover comes and
takes away pretty Beatrix'' — and the best part of Tom
Tusher's exposition, which ma}^ have been very learned and
eloquent, was quite lost to poor Harry by this vision of the
destined lover, who put the preacher out. 10
All the while of the prayers, Beatrix knelt a little way
before Harry Esmond. The red stockings were changed for
a pair of grey, and black shoes, in which her feet looked to the
full as pretty. All the roses of spring could not vie with the
brightness of her complexion ; Esmond thought he had never 15
seen anything like the sunny lustre of her eyes. M;v Lady
Viscountess looked fatigued, as if with watching,^ and her
face was pale.
]\Iiss Beatrix remarked these signs of indisposition in her
mother, and deplored them. ''I am an old woman," says 20
my lady, with a kind smile; "I cannot hope to look as young
as you do, my dear."
" She'll never look as good as you do if she lives till she's a
hundred," says my lord, taking his mother by the waist, and
kissing her hand. 2z^
"Do I look very wicked, cousin?" says Beatrix, turning
full round on Esmond, with her prettv face so close under his
chin, that the soft perfumed hair touched it. She laid her
finger-tips on his sleeve as she spoke; and he put his other
hand over hers. 30
"I'm hke your looking-glass," says he, "and that can't
flatter you."
"He means that you are always looking at him, my dear,"
says her mother, archly. Beatrix ran away from Esmond at
this, and flew to her mamma, whom she kissed, stopping my 35
lady's mouth with her pretty hand.
"And Harry is very good to look at," says my lady, with
her fond eyes regarding the young man.
"If 'tis good to see a happy face," says he, "you see that."
226 HENRY ESMOND
My lady said Amen, with a sigh; and Harry thought the
memory of her dear lord rose up and rebuked her back again
into sadness ; for her face lost the smile, and resumed its look
of melancholy.
5 ''Why, Harr}'-, how fine we look in our scarlet and silver,
and our black perriwig," cries m}^ lord. "Mother, I am tired
of my own hair. When shall I have a perruque? Where did
you get your steenkirk,° Harry?"
"It's some of my Lady Dowager's lace," says Harry; she
lo gave me this and a number of other fine things.'*'
"My Lady Dowager isn't such a bad woman," my lord
continued.
" She's not so — so red as she's painted," says Miss Beatrix.
Her brother broke into a laugh. "I'll tell her you said so ;
15 by the Lord, 'Trix, I will," he cries out.
"She'll know that you hadn't the wit to say it, my lord,"
says Miss Beatrix.
"We won't quarrel the first day Harry's here, will we,
mother?" said the young lord. "We'll see if we can get on
20 to the new year without a fight. Have some of this Christmas
pie? and here comes the tankard; no, it's Pincot with the
tea."
"Will the Captain choose a dish?" asks Mistress Beatrix.
"I say, Harry," my lord goes on, "I'll show thee my horses
25 after breakfast; and we'll go a-bird-netting to-night, and on
Monday there's a cock-match at Winchester — do you love
cock-fighting, Harry? — between the gentlemen of Sussex
and the gentlemen of Hampshire, at ten pound the battle,
and fifty pound the odd battle, to show one-and-twenty
30 cocks."
"And what will you do, Beatrix, to amuse our kinsman?"
asks my lady.
"I'll listen to him," says Beatrix; "I am sure he has a
hundred things to tell us. And I'm jealous already of the
35 Spanish ladies. Was that a beautiful nun at Cadiz that you
rescued from the soldiers? Your man talked of it last night
in the kitchen, and Mrs. l^etty told me this morning as she
combed my hair. And he says you must be in love, for you
sate on deck all night, and scribbled verses all day in your
HENRY ESMOND 227
table-book." Harry thought if he had wanted a subject for
verses yesterday, to-day he had found one : and not all thf
Lindamiras and Ardelias° of the poets were half so beautiful
as this young creature ; but he did not say so, though some
one did for him. ' 5
This was his dear lady who, after the meal was over, and
the young people were gone, began tallring of her children
with Mr. Esmond, and of the characters of one and the other,
and of her hopes and fears for both of them. '' Tis not while
they are at home,'' she said, ''and in their mother's nest, I lo
fear for them — 'tis when they are gone into the world
whither I shall not be able to follow them. Beatrix will
begin her service next year. You may have heard a rumour
about — about my Lord Blandford. They were both chil-
dren; and it is but idle talk. I know my kinswoman would 15
never let him make such a poor marriage as our Beatrix
would be. There's scarce a princess in Europe that she
thinks is good enough for him or for her ambition."
''There's not a princess in Europe to compare with her,"
says Esmond. 20
"In beauty? No, perhaps not," answered my lady.
"She is most beautiful, isn't she? 'Tis not a mother's par-
tiality that deceives me. I marked you yesterday when she
came down the stair : and read it in your face. AVe look
when you don't fancy us looking, and see better than 3^ou 25
think, dear Harry : and just now when they spoke about your
poems — you writ pretty lines when you were but a boy —
you thought Beatrix was a pretty subject for verse, did not
you, Harry?" (The gentleman could only blush for a reply.)
"And so she is — nor are you the first her pretty face has 30
captivated. 'Tis quickly done. Such a pair of bright ej^es
as hers learn their power very soon, and use it very early."
And, looking at him keenly with hers, the fair widow left him.
And so it is° — a pair of bright eyes with a dozen glances
suffice to subdue a man; to enslave him, and enflame him; 35
to make him even forget : they dazzle him so that the past
becomes straightway dim to him ; and he so prizes them that
he would give all his hfe to possess 'em. What is the fond
love of dearest friends compared to this treasure ? L
228 HENRY ESMOND
memory as strong as expectancy ? fruition, as hunger ? grati-
tude, as desire? I have looked at royal diamonds in the
jewel-rooms in Europe, and thought how wars have been
made about 'em; IMogul sovereigns deposed and strangled
5 for them, or ransomed with them ; millions expended to buy
them ; and daring lives lost in digging out the little shining
toys that I value no more than the button in ray hat. And
so there are other glittering baubles (of rare water too) for
which men have been set to kill and quarrel ever since man-
10 kind began : and which last but for a score of years, when
their sparkle is over. Where are those jewels now that
beamed under Cleopatra's forehead, or shone in the sockets
of Helen°?
The second day after Esmond's coming to Walcote, Tom
15 Tusher had leave to take a holiday, and went off in his very
best gown and bands to court the young woman whom his
Reverence desired to marry, and who was not a viscount's
widow, as it turned out, but a brewer's relict at Southampton,
with a couple of thousand pounds to her fortune : for honest
20 Tom's heart was under such excellent controul, that Venus her-
self without a portion would never have caused it to flutter.
So he rode away on his heavy-paced gelding to pursue his
jog-trot loves, leaving Esmond to the society of his dear
mistress and her daughter, and with his young lord for a
25 companion, who was charmed not only to ^ee an old friend,
but to have the tutor and his Latin books put out of the
way.
The boy talked of things and people, and not a little about
himself, in his frank artless way. 'Twas easy to see that he
30 and his sister had the better of their fond mother, for the
first place in whose affections though they fought constantly;
and though the kind lady i)ersisted that she loved both
equally, 'twas not difficult to understand that Frank was
his mother's darling and favourite. He ruled the whole
35 household (always excej^ting rebellious Beatrix) not less
now than when he was a child marshalling the village boys
in playing at soldiers, and caning them lustily too, like the
sturdiest corporal. As for Tom Tusher, his Reverence
treated the young lord with that politeness and deference
HENRY ESMOND 229
which he always showed for a great man, whatever his age
or his stature was. Indeed with respect to this young one,
it was impossible not to love him, so frank and winning
were his manners, his beauty, his gaiety, the ring of his
laughter, and the delightful tone of his voice. Wherever 5
he went, he charmed and domineered. I think his old
grandfather, the Dean, and the grim old housekeeper, Mrs.
Pincot, were as much his slaves as his mother was : and as for
Esmond, he found himself presently submitting to a certain
fascination the boy had, and slaving it like the rest of the 10
family. The pleasure which he had in Frank's mere com-
pany and converse exceeded that which he ever enjoyed
in the society of any other man, however delightful in talk,
or famous for wdt. His presence brought sunshine into a
room, his laugh, his prattle, his noble beauty, and brightness 15
of look cheered and charmed indescribably. At the least
tale of sorrow, his hands were in his purse, and he w^as eager
with sympathy and bount^^ The way in w^hich women
loved and petted him, wiien, a year or two afterwards, he
came upon the world, yet a mere boy, and the follies which 20
they did for him (as indeed he for them), recalled the career
of Rochester, and outdid the successes of Grammont.°
His very creditors loved him; and the hardest usurers, and
some of the rigid prudes of the other sex too, could deny
him nothing. He was no more witty than another man, 25
but what he said, he said and looked as no man else could
say or look it. I have seen the women at the comedy at
Bruxelles° crowd round him in the lobby : and as he sate on
the stage more people looked at him than at the actors,
and watched him; and I remember at Ramillies, wdien he 30
was hit, and fell, a great big red-haired Scotch sergeant
flung his halbert down, burst out a-crying like a woman,
seizing him up as if he had been an infant, and carry-
ing him out of the fire. This brother and sister w^ere the
most beautiful couple ever seeil : though after he winged 35
away from the maternal nest this pair were seldom
together.
Sitting at dinner tw^o days after Esmond's arrival (it was
the last day of the year), and so happy a one to Harry
230 HENRY ESMOND
Esmond, that to enjoy it was quite worth all the previous
pain which he had endured and forgot : my young lord,
filHng a bumper, and bidding Harry take another, drank
to his sister, saluting her under the title of "Marchioness."
5 " Marchioness ! " says Harry, not without a pang of wonder,
for he was curious and jealous already.
"Nonsense, my lord," says Beatrix, with a toss of her
head. My Lady Viscountess looked up for a moment at
Esmond, and cast her eyes down,
lo "The Marchioness of Blandford," says Frank, "don't
you know — hath not Rouge Dragon told you?'' (My
lord used to call the dowager at Chelsea by this and other
names.) "Blandford° has a lock of her hair: the Duchess
found him on his knees to Mistress Trix, and boxed his
15 ears, and said Dr. Hare° should whip him."
"I wish Mr. Tusher would whip you too," says Beatrix.
My lady only said: "I hope you tell none of these silly
stories elsewhere than at home, Francis."
" 'Tis true, on my word," continues Frank: "look at
20 Harry scowling, mother, and see how Beatrix blushes as red
as the silver-clocked stockings."
" I think we had best leave the gentlemen to their wine and
their talk," says Mistress Beatrix, rising up .with the air of a
young queen, tossing her rustling, flowing draperies about
25 her, and quitting the room, followed by her mother.
Lady Castlewood again looked at Esmond, as she stooped
down and kissed Frank. "Do not tell those silly stories,
child," she said: "do not drink much wine, sir; Harry
never lov^ed to drink wine." And she went away too, in her
30 black robes, looking back on the young man with her fair,
fond face.
"Egad! it's true," says Frank, sipping his wine with the
air of a lord. " What think you of this Lisbon — real Collares?
'Tis better than your heady port : we got it out of one of the
35 Spanish ships that came from Vigo last year : my mother
bouglit it at Southampton, as the ship was lying there —
the Rose, Captain Hawkins."
"Why, I came home in that ship," says Harry.
"And it brought home a good fellow and good wine,"
HENRY ESMOND 231
says my lord. ''I say, Harry, I wish thou haclst not that
eursed bar sinister."
''And why not the bar sinister?" asks the other.
"Suppose I go to the army and am killed — every gentle-
man goes to the army — who is to take care of the women ? 5
'Trix will never stop at home ; mother's in love with you, —
yes, I think mother's in love with you. She was always
praising you, and always talking about you; and when
she went to Southampton, to see the ship, I found her out.
But you see it is impossible : we ar« of the oldest blood in 10
England; we came in with the Conciueror; we were only
baronets, — but what then ? we were forced into that.
James the First forced our great-grandfather. We are
above titles; we old English gentry don't want 'em; the
Queen can make a duke any day. Look at Blandford's 15
father, Duke Churchill, and Duchess Jennings, what were
they, Harry? Damn it, sir, what are they, to turn up their
noses at us? Where were they, when our ancestor rode
with King Henry at Agincourt,° and filled up the French
king's cup after Poictiers° ? 'Fore George, sir, why shouldn't 20
Blandford marry Beatrix? By G — ? he shall marry Beatrix,
or tell me the reason why. We'll marry with the best blood
of England, and none but the best blood of England. You
are an Esmond, and you can't help your birth, my boy.
Let's have another bottle. What! no more? I've drunk 25
three parts of this myself. I had many a night with my
father; you stood to him like a man, Harry. You backed
your blood ; you can't help your misfortune, you know, — no
man can help that."
The elder said he would go in to his mistress's tea-table. 3°
The young lad, with a heightened colour and voice, began
singing a snatch of a song, and marched out of the room.
Esmond heard him presently calling his dogs about him,
and cheering and talking to them ; and by a hundred of his
looks and gestures, tricks of voice and gait, was reminded 35
of the dead lord, Frank's father.
And so, the Sylvester night° passed away; the family
parted long before midnight. Lady Castlewood remembering,
no doubt, former New Year's Eves, when healths were
232 HENRY ESMOND
drunk, and laughter went round in the company of him, to
whom years, past, and present, and future, were to be as
one; and so cared not to sit with her children and hear the
Cathedral bells ringing the birth of the year 1703. Esmond
5 heard the chimes as he sate in his own chamber, ruminating
by the blazing fire there, and listened to the last notes of
them, looking out from, his window towards the city, and
the great grey towers of the Cathedral lying under the frosty
sky, with the keen stars shining above.
10 The sight of these brilliant orbs no doubt made him think
of other luminaries. ''And so her eyes have already done
execution," thought Esmond — "on whom? — who can
tell me?" Luckily his kinsman was by, and Esmond knew
he would have no difficulty in finding out Mistress Beatrix's
15 history from the simple talk of the boy.
CHAPTER VIII
FAMILY TALK
What Harry admired and submitted to in the pretty lad,
his kinsman, was (for why should he resist it ?) the calmness
of patronage which my young lord assumed, as if to command
was his undoubted right, and all the world (below his degree)
20 ought to bow down to Viscount Castlewood.
"I know my place, Harry," he said. "I'm not proud —
the boys at Winchester College say I'm proud: but I'm not
proud. I am simply Francis James, A^'iscount Castlewood
in the peerage of Irehmd. I might have been (do you know
25 that?) Francis James, Marquis and Earl of Esmond, in
that of England. The late lord refused the title which
was offered to him by my godfather, his late Majesty. You
should know that — you are of our family, you know — you
cannot help your bar sinister, Harry, my dear fellow; and
30 you bek)ng to one of the best families in England, in spite
of that; and you stood by my father, and by G — ! I'll
stand by you. You shall never want a friend, Harry,
while Francis James. Viscount Castlewood, has a shilling.
HENRY ESMOND 233
It's now 1703 — I shall come of age in 1709. I shall go
back to Castlewood; I shall live at Castlewood; I shall
build up the house. My property will be pretty well re-
stored by then. The late Viscount mismanaged my property,
and left it in a very bad state. My mother is living close, as 5
you see, and keeps me in a way hardly befitting a peer of
these realms ; for I have but a pair of horses, a governor, and
a man that is valet and groom. But when I am of age, these
things will be set right, Harry. Our house will be as it
should be. You'll always come to Castlewood, won't you? lo
You shall always have your two rooms in the court kept
for you ; and if anybody slights you, d them ! let them
have a care of me. I shall marry early — 'Trix will be a
duchess by that time, most likely; for a cannon-ball may
knock over his Grace° any day, you know." 15
"How?" says Harry.
"Hush, my dear!" says my Lord Viscount. "You are
of the family — you are faithful to us, by George, and I
tell you everything. Blandford will marry her — or — "
and here he put his little hand on his sword — "you under- zq
stand the rest. Blandford knows which of us two is the
best weapon. At small-sword, or back-sword, or sword
and dagger, if he likes : I can beat him. I have tried him,
Harry; and begad, he knows I am a man not to be trifled
with." 25
"But you. do not mean," says Harry, concealing his
laughter, but not his wonder, "that you can force my Lord
Blandford, the son of the first man of this kingdom, to marry
your sister at sword's point?"
"I mean to say that we are cousins by the mother's side, 30
though that's nothing to boast of. I mean to say that an
Esmond is as good as a Churchill ; and when the King comes
back, the Marquis of Esmond's sister may be a match for
any nobleman's daughter in the kingdom. There are but
two marquises in all England, William Herbert, Marquis of 35
Powis,° and Francis James, Marquis of Esmond; and
hark you, Harry, now swear you'll never mention this.
Give me your honour, as a gentleman, for you are a gentler
man, though you are a "
234 HENRY ESMOND
''Well, well/' says Harry, a little impatient.
''Well, then, when after my late Viscount's misfortune^
m}^ mother went up with us to London, to ask for justice
against you all (as for Mohun, I'll have his blood, as sure as
5 my name is Francis, Viscount Esmond), we went to stay
with our cousin, my Lady Marlborough, with whom we had
quarrelled for ever so long. But when misfortune came, she
stood by her blood ; — so did the Dowager Viscountess
stand by her blood, — so did ycu. Well, sir, whilst my
10 mother was petitioning the late Prince of Orange — for
I will never call him king — and while you were in prison,
we lived at my Lord Marlborough's house, who was only a
little there, being away with the army in Holland. And
then ... I say, Harry, you won't tell, now?"
15 Harry again made a vow of secrecy.
"Weil, there used to be all sorts of fun, you know: 'my
Lady Marlborough was very fond of us, and she said I was
to be her page; and she got 'Trix to be a maid of honour,
and while she was up in her room crying, we used to be
20 always having fun, you know ; and the Duchess used to kiss
me, and so did her daughters, and Blandford fell tremendous
in love with 'Trix, and she liked him ; and one day he — he
kissed her behind a door — he did though, — and the
Duchess caught him, and she banged such a box of the ear
25 both to 'Trix and Blandford — 3^ou should have seen it !
And then she said that we must leave directly, and abused my
mamma, who was cognizant of the business; but she wasn't,
— never thinking about anything but father. And so we
came down to Walcote. Blandford being locked up, and
30 not allowed to see 'Trix. But / got at him. I climbed
along the gutter, and in through the window, where he was
crying.
"'Marquis,' says I, when he had opened it and helped me
in, 'you know I wear a sword,' for I had brought it.
35 "'Oh, Viscount!' says he — 'oh, my dearest Frank!'
and he flung himself into my arms, and burst out a-crying.
'I do love Mistress Beatrix so, that I shall die, if I don't
have her.'
"' My dear Blandford,' says I, 'you are young to think of
HENRY ESMOND 236
marrying;' for he was but fifteen, and a young fellow at
that age can scarce do so, you know.
'"But I'll wait twenty years, if she'll have me,' says he.
'I'll never marry — no, never, never, never, marry anybody
but her. No, not a princess, though they would have me do 5
it ever so. If Beatrix will wait for me, her Blandford swears
he will be faithful.' And he wrote a paper (it wasn't spelt
right, for he wrote 'I'm ready to sine with my blode,°'
which you know, Harry, isn't the way of spelling it), and
vovsdng that he would marry none other but the Honourable ic
IMistress Gertrude Beatrix Esmond, only sister of his dearest
friend Francis James, fourth Viscount Esmond. And so I
gave him a locket of her hair."
"A locket of her hair !" cries Esmond.
"Yes. 'Trix gave me one after the fight with the Duchess 15
that very day. I'm sure I didn't want it ; and so I gave it
him, and we kissed at parting, and said — ' Good-bye,
brother.' And I got back through the gutter; and we
set off home that very evening. And he went to King's
College, ° in Cambridge, and /'?/2 going to Cambridge soon; 20
and if he doesn't stand to his promise (for he's only wrote
once) , — he knows I wear a sword, Harry. Come along,
and let's go see the cocking-match at Winchester.
". . . But I sa}^" he added, laughing, after a pause, "I
don't think 'Trix will break her heart about him. Law 25
bless you ! Whenever she sees a man, she makes ej^es at
him ; and young Sir Wilmot Crawley, of Queen's Crawley,
and Anthony Henley, of Alresford,° were at swords drawn
about her, at the Winchester Assembly, a month ago."
That night Mr. Harry's sleep was by no means so pleasant 30
or sweet as it had been on the first two evenings after his
arrival at Walcote. " So, the bright eyes have been already
shining on another," thought he, "and the pretty lips, or
the cheeks at any rate, have begun the work which they were
made for. Here's a girl not sixteen, and one young gentle- 35
man is already whimpering over a lock of her hair, and two
C'ountiy squires are ready to cut each other's throats that
they may have the honour of a dance with her. What
a fool am I to be dallying about this passion, aad singeing
23G HENRY ESMOND
my wings in this foolish flame. Wings ! — why not sa^
crutches? There is but eight years difference between us,
to be sure ; but in hfe I am thirty years older. How could
I ever hope to please such a sweet creature as that, with my
«; rough ways and glum face? Say that I have merit ever so
much, and won myself a name, could she ever listen to me?
She must be my Lady Marchioness, and I remain a nameless
bastard. Oh! my master, my master!" (here he fell to
thinking with a passionate grief of the vow which he had
10 made to his poor dying lord); "Oh! my mistress, dearest
and kindest, will you be contented with the sacrifice which
the poor orphan makes for you, whom you love, and who
so loves you?"
And then came a fiercer pang of temptation. "A word
15 from me," Harry thought, "a syllable of explanation, and all
this might be changed; but no, I swore it over the dying
bed of my benefactor. For the sake of him and his ; for the
sacred love and kindness of old days ; I gave my promise to
him, and may kind Heaven enable me to keep my vow."
20 The next day, although Esmond gave no sign of what was
going on in his mind, but strove to be more than ordinarily
gay and cheerful when he met his friends at the morning
meal, his dear mistress, whose clear eyes it seemed no emotion
of his could escape, perceived that something troubled him, for
25 she looked anxiously towards him more than once during the
breakfast, and when he went up to his chamber afterwards
she presently followed him, and knocked at his door.
As she entered, no doubt the whole story was clear to her at
once, for she found our young gentleman packing his valise,
30 pursuant to the resolution which he liad come to over-night of
making a brisk retreat out of this temi)tati()n.
She closed the door very carefully l)ehind her, and then
leant against it, very pale, her hands folded before her, looking
at the yoimg man, who was kneeling over his work of packing.
_35 "Arc you going so soon?" she said.
He rose up from his knees, blushing, perhaps, to be so dis-
co\erefl, in the very act, as it were, and took one of her fair
little hands — it was that whi"h hiH he»* marriage ring on — '
and kissed it.
HENRY ESMOND 237
''It- is best that it should be so, clearest lady/' he said.
" I knew you were going, at breakfast. I — I thought you
might stay. What has happened? Why can't you remain
longer with us ? What has Frank told you — you were
talking together late last night?" 5
"I had but three days' leave from Chelsea," Esmond said,
as gaily as he could. "My aunt — she lets me call her aunt
— is my mistress now; x owe her my lieutenantcy and my
laced coat. She has taken me into high favour; and my
new General is to dine at Chelsea to-morrow — General lo
Lumley, madam — who has appointed me his aide-de-camp.
and on whom I must have the honour of w^aitin^. See, her
is a letter from the dowager ; the post brought it last night
and I would not speak of it, for fear of disturbing our last
merry meeting." - 15
My lady glanced at the letter, and put it down with a smile
that was somewhat contemptuous. "I have no need to read
the letter," says she — (indeed, 'twas as well she did not; for
the Chelsea missive, in the poor dowager's usual French
jargon, permitted him a longer holiday than he said. "Je 20
vous donne," quoth her ladyship, "oui jour, pour vous fatigay
parfaictement de vos parens fatigans °")- — "I have no need
to read the letter," says she. ''What was it Frank told you
last night?"
"He told me little I did not know," Mr. Esmond answered. 25
"But I have thought of that httle, and here's the result: I
have no right to the name I bear, dear lady ; and it is only by
your sufferance that I am allowed to keep it. If I thought
for an hour of what has perhaps crossed your mind
too " 30
"Yes, I did, Harry," said she; "I thought of it; and
think of it. I would sooner call you my son, than the greatest
prince in Europe — yes, than the greatest prince. For who
is there so good and so brave, and who would love her as you
would? But there are reasons a mother can't tell." 35
"I know them," said Mr. Esmond, interrupting her with a
smile. " I know there's Sir Wilmot Crawley of Queen's
Crawley, and Mr. Anthony Henley of the Grange, and my
Lord Marquis of Blandford, that seems to be the favoured
238 HENRY ESMOND
suitor. You shall ask me to wear my Lady Marchioness's
favours and to dance at her ladyship's wedding."
''Oh ! Harry. Harry, it is none of these folhes that frighten
me," cried out Lady Castlewood. "Lord Churchill is but a
5 child, his outbreak about Beatrix was a mere boyish folly.
His parents would rather see him buried than married to one
below him in rank. And do )^ou think I would stoop to sue
for a husband for Francis Esmond's daughter; or submit to
have my girl smuggled into that proud family to cause a
lo quarrel between son and parents, and to be treated only as
an inferior? I would disdain such a meanness. Beatrix
would scorn it. Ah ! Henry, 'tis not with you the fault lies,
'tis with her. I know you both, and love you; need I be
ashamed of that love now ? No, never, never, and 'tis not you,
15 dear Harry, that is unworthy. 'Tis for my poor Beatrix
I tremble, — whose headstrong will frightens me ; whose
jealous temper (they say I was jealous too, but, pray God,
I am cured of that sin) and whose vanity no words or prayers
of mine can cure — only suffering, only experience, and
20 remorse afterwards. Oh ! Henry, she will make no man
happy Avho loves her. Go away, my son : leave her : love
us always and think kindly of us : and for me, my dear, you
know these walls contain all I love in the world."
\n after life, did Esmond find the words true which his fond
25 mistress spoke from her sad heart ? Warning he had : but I
doubt others had warning before his time, and since : and he
benefited by it as most men do.
My young Lord Viscount was exceedingly sorry when he
licard that Harry could not come to the cock-match with him,
30 and must go to London ; but no doubt my lord consoled him-
self when the Hampshire cocks won the match ; and he saw
every one of the battles, and crowed properly over the con-
quered Sussex° gentlemen.
As Esmond rode towards town his servant coming up to
35 him informed him with a grin, that Mistress Beatrix had
brought out a new gown, and blue stockings for that day's
dirmer, in which she intended to a])pear, and had flown into
a rage and given her maid a slap on the face soon after she
heard he was going away. Mistress Beatrix's woman, the
HENRY ESMOND 22Q
fellow said, came down to the servants' hall, crying and Tvith
the mark of a blow still on her cheek: but Esmond per-
emptorily ordered him to fall back and be silent, and rode
on with thoughts enough of his own to occupy him — some
sad ones, some inexpressibly dear and pleasant. 5
His mistress, from whom he had been a year separated,
was his dearest mistress again. The family from which he
had been j^arted, and wliich he loved with the fondest de-
votion, was his family once more. If Beatrix's beauty
shone upon him, it was with a friendly lustre, and he could la
regard it with much such a delight as he brought away after
seeing the beautiful pictures of the smiling jVIadonnas in the
convent at Cadiz, when he was dispatched thither with a flag :
and as for his mistress, 'twas difficult to say with what a
feeling he regarded her. Twas happiness to have seen her : 15
'twas no great pang to part ; a filial tenderness, a love that
was at once respect and protection filled his mind as he
thought of her ; and near her or far from her, and from that
day until now, and from now till death is past, and beyond
it, he prays that sacred flame may ever burn. 20
CHAPTER IX
I MAKE THE CAMPAIGN OF 1704
Mr. Esmond rode up to London then, where, if the dowager
had been angry at the abrupt leave of absence he took, she
was mightily pleased at his speedy return.
He went immediately and paid his court to his new general,
General Lumley, who received him graciously, having known 25
his father, and also, he was pleased to say, having had the
very best accounts of Mr. Esmond from the officer whose
aide-de-camp he had been at Vigo. During this winter ]\Ir.
Esmond was gazetted to a lieutenantcy in Brigadier Webb's °
regiment of Fusileers, then with their colonel in Flanders ; 30
but being now attached to the suite of Mr. Lumley, Esmond
did not join his own regiment until more than a j^ear after-
wards, and after his return from the campaign of Blenheim,
"240 HENRY ESMOND
which was fought the next year. The campaign began very
early, our troops marching, out of their quarters before the
winter was almost over, and investing the city of Bonn,° on
the Rhine, under the Duke's command. His Grace joined the
5 army in deep grief of mind, with crape on his sleeve, and his
household in mourning; and the very same packet which
brought the Commander-in-Chief over, brought letters to
the forces which preceded him, and one from l*is dear mis-
tress to Esmond, which interested him not a httle.
10 The young Marquis of Blandford, his Grace's son, who had
been entered in King's College in Cambridge (whither my
Lord Viscount had also gone, to Trinity, with Mr. Tusher as
his governor), had been seized with small-pox, and was dead
at sixteen years of age, and so poor Frank's schemes for his
15 sister's advancement were over, and that innocent childish
passion nipped in the birth.
Esmond's mistress would have had him return, at least her
letters hinted as much ; but in the presence of the enemy
this was impossible, and our young man took his humble
20 share in the siege, which need not be describ3d here, and had
the good luck to escape without a wound of any sort, and to
drink his general's health after the surrender. He was in con-
stant military duty this year, and did not think of asking for
a leave of absence, as one or two of his less fortunate friends
25 did, who were cast away in that tremendous storm which
happened towards the close of November, that '"' which of late
o'er pale Britannia past" (as Mr. Addison° sang of it), and
in which scores of our greatest ships and 15,000 of our seamen
went down.
3D They said_ that our Duke was quite heart-broken by the
calamity which had befallen his family; but his enemies
found that he could subdue them, as well as master his grief.
Successful as had been this great General's operations in the
past year, they were far enhanced by the splendour of his
35 victory in the ensuing campaign. His Grace the Captain-
General went to England after Bonn, and our army fell back
into Holland, whore, in April, 1704, his Grace again found the
troops embarking from Harwich" and landing at Maesland
Sluys°: thence his Grace came immediately to the Hague,°
HENRY ESMOND 241
where he received the foreign ministers, general officers, and
other people of qualit,y. The greatest honours were paid
to his Grace everywhere, -^ at the Hague, Utrecht, Rure-
monde, and Maestricht° ; the civic authorities coming to meet
his coaches : salvos of cannon saluting him, canopies of 5
state being erected for him where he stopped, and feasts
prepared for the numerous gentlemen following in his suite.
His Grace reviewed the troops of the States-General between
Liege° and Maestricht, and afterwards the English forces,
under the command of General Churchill, near Bois-le-Duc,° ic
Every preparation was made for a long march ; and the army
heard, with no small elation, that it was the Commander-in
Chief's intention to carry the war out of the Low Countries,
and to march on the Mozelle.° Before leaving our camp at
Maestricht, we heard that the French, under the Marshal 15
Villeroy, were also bound towards the Mozelle.
Towards the end of IMay, the army reached Coblentz° ; and
next day, his Grace, ancl the generals accompanying him,
went to visit the Elector of Treves° at his Castle of Ehren-
breitstein,° the Horse and Dragoons passing the Rhine whilst 20
the Duke was entertained at a grand feast by the Elector.
All as yet was novelty, festivity, and splendour, — a brilliant
march of a great and glorious army through a friendly country,
and sure through some of the most beautiful scenes of nature
which I ever witnessed. 25
The Foot and Artillery, following after the Horse as quick
as possible, crossed the Rhine under Ehrenbreitstein, and so
to Castel,° over against JMayntz,*^ in which city his Grace,, his
generals, and his retinue were received at the landing-place
by the Elector's coaches, carried to his Highness's palace 30
amidst the thunder of cannon, and then once more magnifi-
cently entertained. Gidhngen,° in Bavaria, was appointed
as the general rendezvous of the army, and thither, by dif-
ferent routes, the whole forces of English, Dutch, Danes, and
German auxiliaries took their way. The Foot nnd Artillery 35
under General Churchill passed the Xeckar,° at Heidelberg °;
and Esmond had an opportunity of seeing that city and
palace, once so famous and beautiful (though shattered and
battered by the French, under Turenne, in the late war).
242 HENRY ESMOND
where his grandsire had served the beautiful and unfortunate
Electress- Palatine, ° the first King Charles's sister.
AAj Mindelsheim,° the famous Prince of Savoy° came to
visit our commander, all of us crowding eagerly to get a sight
5 of that brilliant and intrepid warrior; and our troops were
drawn up in battalia before the Prince, who was pleased to
express his admiration of this noble English army. At
length we came in sight of the enemy between Dillingen and
Lawingen, the Brentz° lying between the two armies. The
lo Elector, judging that Donauwort° would be the point of his
Grace's attack, sent a strong detachment of his best troops
to Count Darcos, who was posted at Schellenberg,° near
that place, where great intrenchments were thrown up, and
thousands of pioneers employed to strengthen the position.
15 On the 2nd of July, his Grace stormed the post, with what
success on our part need scarce be told. His Grace advanced
with six thousand Foot, Enghsh and Dutch, thirt}^ squad-
rons, and three regiments of Imperial Cuirassiers, the Duke
crossing the river at the heai of the cavahy. Although our
20 troops made the attack with unparalleled courage and fury, —
rushing up to the very guns of the enemy, and being slaugh-
tered before their works, — we were driven back many times,
and should not have carried them, but that the Imperialists
came up under the Prince of Baden, ° when the enemy could
25 make no head against us: we pursued him into the trenches,
making a terrible slaughter there, and into the very Danube,
where a great part of his troops, following the example of
their generals, Count Darcos and the Elector himself, tried
to sav^e themselves by swimming. Our army entered Donau-
30 wort, whicjh the Bavarians evacuated ; and where 'twas said
the Elector purposed to have given us a warm reception, by
burning us in our beds; the cellars of the houses, when we
took jjosscssion of them, being found stuffed with straw. But
though the links were there, the link-boys had run away.
35 The townsmen saved their houses, and our General took pos-
session of the enemy's ammunition in the arsenals, his stores,
and magazines. P'ivc days afterwards a great "Te Deum"
was sung in Prince Lewis's army, and a solemn day of thanks-
giving held in our own; the Prince of Savoy's compliments
HENRY ESMOND 243
coming to his Grace the Captain-General during the day's
rehgious ceremony, and concluding, as it were, with an Amen.
And now, having seen a great militar}- march through a
friendly country; the pomps and festivities of more than
one German court ; the severe struggle of a hotly-contestecl 5
battle, and the triumph of \ictory: Mr. Esmond beheld
another part of military duty; our troops entering the
enemy's territory, and putting all around them to fire and
sword : burning farms, wasted fields, shrieking women,
slaughtered sons and fathers, and di-unken soldiery, cursing i
and carousing in the midst of tears, terror, and murder.
Why does the stately ^luse of history, ° that delights in
describing the valour of heroes and the grandeur of con-
quest, leave out these scenes, so brutal, mean, and degrad-
ing, that yet form by far the greater part of the drama of 15
w^ar? You, gentlemen of England, who live at home at
ease, and compliment yourselves in the songs of triumph
with which our chieftains are bepraised, — you, pretty
maidens, that come tumbhng down the stairs when the
fife and drum call you, and huzzah for the British Grenadiers, 20
— do you take account that these items go to make up the
amount of the triumph you admire, and form part of the
duties of the heroes you fondle ? Our chief, whom England
and all Europe, saving only the Frenchmen, worshipped
almost, had this of the god-like in him, that he was im- 25
passible before victory, before danger, before defeat. Before
the greatest obstacle or the most tri\'ial ceremony; before
a hundred thousand men drawn in battaha, or a peasant
slaughtered at the door of his burning hovel; before a
carouse of drunken German lords, or a monarch's court, 3c
or a cottage-table, where his plans were laid, or an enemy's
battery, vomiting flame and death, and strewing corpses
round about him ; — he was always cold, calm, resolute,
like fate. He performed a treason or a court-bov\^; he told
a falsehood as black as Styx,° as easily as he paid a com- 35
pliment or spoke about the weather. He took a mistresv*?,
and left her; he betrayed his benefactor, and supported
him, or would have murdered him, with Zhe same calmness
always, and having no more remorse than Clotho, when
244 HENEY ESMOND
she weaves the thread, or Lachesis,° when she cuts it. In
the hour of battle I have heard the Prince of Savoy's
officers say, the Prince became possessed with a sort
of warUke fury ; his eyes Hghted up ; he rushed hither
5 and thither, raging; he shrieked curses and encourage-
ment, yelHng and harking his bloody war-dogs on, and
himself always at the first of the hunt. Our Duke was
as calm at the mouth of the cannon, as at the door of a
drawing-room. Perhaps he could not have been the great
10 man he was, had he had a heart either for love or hatred,
or pity or fear, or regret or remorse. He achieved the
highest deed of daring, or deepest calculation of thought,
as he performed the very meanest action of which a man is
capable; told a lie, or cheated a fond woman, or robbed
15 a poor beggar of a halfpenny with a like awful serenity
and equal capacity of the highest and lowest acts of our
nature.
His qualities were pretty well known in the army, where
there were parties of all pohticks, and of plenty of shrewd-
20 ness and wit ; but there existed such a perfect confidence in
him, as the first captain of the world, and such a faith and
admiration in his prodigious genius and fortune, .that the
very men whom he notoriously cheated of their pay, the
chiefs whom he used and injured — (for he used all men,
25 great and small, that came near him, as his instruments
alike, and took something of theirs, either some quality
or some property, — the blood of a soldier, it might be, or a
jewelled hat, or a hundred thousand crowns from a king, or
a portion out of a starving sentinel's three farthings; or
30 (when he was young) a kiss from a woman, and the gold
chain off" her neck, taking all he could from woman or man,
and having, as I have said, this of the god-like in him, that
he could see a hco perish or a sparrow fall, with the same
amount of sympathy for either. Not that he had no tears;
35 he (^ould always order up this reserve at the i)ropcr moment
to battle ; he could draw upon tears or smiles alike, and
whenever need was for using this cheap coin, lie would
cringe to a shoeblack, as he would flatter a minister or a
monarch; be haughty, be humble, threaten, repent, weep,
HENRY ESMOND 245
grasp your hand or stab you whenever he saw occasion) —
But yet those of the army, who knew him best and had suf-
fered most from him, admired him most of all ; and as he
rode along the lines to battle or galloped up in the nick of
time to a battalion reeling from before the enemy's charge 5
or shot, the fainting men and officers got new courage as
they saw the splendid calm of his face, and felt that his will
made them irresistible.
After the great victory of Blenheim the enthusiasm of
the army for the Duke, even of his bitterest personal enemies lo
in it, amounted to a sort of rage — nay, the very officers
who cursed him in their hearts, were among the most frantick
to cheer him. Who could refuse his meed of admiration
to such a victory and such a victor ? Not he who \\Tites :
a man may profess to be ever so much a philosopher; but 15
he who fought on that day must feel a thrill of pride as he
recalls it.
The French right ° was posted near to the village of Blen-
heim, on the Danube, where the ^larshal Tallard's° quarters
were ; their line extending through, it may be, a league and 20
a half, before Lutzingen and up to a woody hill, round the
base of which, and acting against the Prince of Savo}^, were
forty of his squadrons. Here was a village that the French-
men had burned, the wood being, in fact, a- better shelter
and easier of guard than any village. 25
Before these two villages and the French lines ran a little
stream, not more than two foot broad, through a marsh
(that was mostly dried up from the heats of the weather),
and this stream was the only separation between the two
armies — ours coming up and ranging themselves in line 3°
of battle before the French, at six o'clock in the morning;
so that our line was quite \dsible to theirs; and the whole
of this great plain was black and swarming with troops for
hours before the cannonading began.
On one side and the other this cannonading lasted many 35
hours. The French guns being in position in front of their
hne, and doing severe damage among our Horse especially,
and on our right wing of Imperialists under the Prince of
Savoy, who could neither advance his artillery nor his
246 HENRY ESMOND
lines, the ground before him being cut up by ditches, morasses,
and very difficult of passage for the guns.
It was past mid-day when the attack began on our left,
where Lord Cutts commanded, the bravest and most beloved
5 officer in the English army. And now, as if to make his
experience in war complete, our young aide-de-camp ha^dng
seen two great armies facing each other in line of battle, and
had the honour of riding with orders from one end to other
of the line, came in for a not uncommon accompaniment of
10 militar^^ g^o^y, and was knocked on the head, along ^\\Xh.
many hundred of brave fellows, almost at the very commence-
ment of this famous day of Blenheim. A little after noon, the
disposition for attack being completed with much delay and
difficulty, and under a severe fire from the enemy's guns,
15 that were better posted and more numerous than ours, a
body of English and Hessians, with IMajor-General Rowe
commanding at the extreme left of our line, marched upon
Blenheim, advancing with great gallantry, the Major-General
on foot, with his officers, at the head of the column, and
20 marching, with his hat off, intrepidly in^ the face of the
enemy, who was pouring in a tremendous fire from his guns
and musketry, to which our people were instructed not to
reply, except with pike and bayonet when they reached
the French palisades. To these Rowe walked intrepidly,
25 and struck the wood-work with his sword, before our people
charged it. He was shot down at the instant with his
colonel, major, and several officers ; and our troops cheering
and huzzaing, and coming on, as they did, with immense
resolution and gallantry, were nevertheless stopped by the
30 murderous fire from behind the enemy's defences, and then
attacked in flank by a. furious charge of French horse which
swept out of Blenheim, and cut down our men in great
numbers. Thre^ Wcx-ca and desperate assaults of our Foot
were made and repulsed by the enemy ; so that our columns
35 of Foot were quite shatt-ered, and fell back, scrambling over
the littk^ rivuk't, which we had crossed so resolutely an hour
before, and pursued by the French cavalry, slaughtering us
and cutting us down.
And now the conquerors W€rc met by a furious charge of
HENRY ESMOND 247
English horse under Esmond's general, General Lumley,
behind whose squadrons the flying Foot found refuge, and
formed again, whilst Lumley drove back the French horse,
charging up to the village of Blenheim and the palisades
where Rowe and many hundred more gallant Englishmen lay 5
in slaughtered heaps. Beyond this moment, and of this
famous victory, Mr. Esmond knows nothing; for a shot
brought clown his horse and our young gentleman on it,
who fell crushed and stunned under the animal; and came
to his senses he kno"\YS not how long after, only to lose them 10
again from pain and loss of blood. A dim sense, as of people
groaning round about him, a wild incoherent thought or
two for her who occupied so much of his heart now, and that
here his career, and his hopes, and misfortunes were ended,
he remembers in the course of these hours. When he woke 15
up it was with a pang of extreme pain, his breast-plate
was taken off, his servant was holding his head up, the good
and faithful lad of Hampshire^ was blubbering over his master,
whom he found and had thought dead, and a surgeon was
probing a wound in the shoulder, which he must have got 20
at the same moment when his horse was shot and fell over
him. The battle was over at this end of the field, by this
time ; the village was in possession of the English, its brave
defenders prisoners, or fled, or drowned, many of them, in
the neighbouring waters of Donau. But for honest Lock- 25
wood's faithful search after his master there had no doubt
been an end of Esmond here, and of this his story. The
marauders were out rifling the bodies as they lay on the
field, and Jack had brained one of these gentry with the
club-end of his musket, who had eased Esmond of his hat 3c
and perriwig, his purse, and fine silver-mounted pistols,
which the dowager gave him, and was fumbling in his pockets
for further treasure, when Jack Lockw^ood came up and put
an end to the scoundrel's triumph.
Hospitals for our wounded were established at Blenheim, 35
and here for several weeks Esmond lay in xqyj great danger
of his hfe; the wound was not very great, from which he
^ My mistress before I went this campaign sent me John Lockwood
out of Walcote, who hath ever since remained with me. — H. E.°
248 HENRY ESMOND
suffered, and the ball extracted b}' the surgeon on the spot
where our young gentleman received it ; but a fever set in
next day, as he was lying in hospital, and that almost carried
him away. Jack Lockwood said he talked in the wildest
5 manner, during his delirium; that he called himself the
Marcjuis of Esmond, and seizing one of the surgeon's assistants
who came to dress his wounds, swore that he was Madam
Beatrix, and that he would make her a duchess if she would
but say yes. He was passing the days in these crazy fancies,
io and vana somnia° whilst the army was singing "Te Deum"
for the victor}', and those famous festivities were taking
place at wnich our Duke, now made a Prince of the Empire,
was entertained by the King of the Romans° and his nobility.
His Grace went home by Berlin and Hanover, ° and Esmond
15 lost the festivities which took place at those cities, and which
his general shared in company of the other general officers
who travelled with our great captain. When he could
move it was by the Duke of Wirtemburg's city of Stuttgard
that he made his way homewards, revisiting Heidelberg
20 again, whence he went to Manheim, and hence had a tedious
but easy water journey down the river of Rhine, which he had
thought a delightful and beautiful voyage indeed, but that
his heart was longing for home, and something far more
beautiful and delightful.
25 As bright and welcome as the eyes almost of his mistress
shone the lights of Harwich, as the packet came in from
Holland. It was not many hours ere he, Esmond, was in
London, of that you may be sure, and received with open
arms by the old dowager of Chelsea, who vowed in her jargon
30 of French and ICnglish, that he had the air nohle, that his
pallor embellished him, that he was an Amadis and deserved
a Gloriana,° and, oh! flames and darts! what was his joy
at hearing that his mistress was come into waiting, and was
now with her Majesty at Kensington ! Although Mr. Esmond
35 had told Jack Lockwood to get horses and they would ride
for Winchester that night, when he heard this news he
countermanded the horses at onc<3 ; his business lay no longer
in Hants; all his hope and desire lay within a couple of
miles of him in Kensington Park wall. Poor Harry had never
HENRY ESMOND 249
looked in the glass before so eagerly to see whether he had
the hel air, and his paleness really did become him : he
never took such pains about the curl of his perriwig, and the
taste of his embroidery and point-lace, as now, before Mr.
Amadis presented himself to Madam Gloriana. Was the 5
fire of the French lines half so murderous as the killing
glances from her ladyship's eyes? Oh! darts and raptures,
how beautiful were they !
And as, before the blazing sun of morning, the moon fades
away in the sky almost invisible ; — Esmond thought, with lo
a blush perhaps, of another sweet pale face, sad and faint,
and fading out of sight, with its sweet fond gaze of affection;
such a last look it seemed to cast as Eurydice° might have
given, yearning after her lover, when Fate and Pluto sum-
moned her, and she passed away into the shades. 15
CHAPTER X
AN OLD STORY ABOUT A FOOL AND A WOMAN
Any taste for pleasure which Esmond had (and he liked to
desipere in loco° neither more nor less than most young men
of his age) he could now gratify, to the utmost extent, and
in the best company which the town afforded. When the
army went into winter quarters abroad, those of the officers 20
who had interest or money, easily got leave of absence, and
found it much pleasanter to spend their time in Pall Mall
and Hyde Park, than to pass the winter away behind the
.fortifications of the dreary old Flanders towns, where the
English troops were gathered. Yachts and packets passed 25
daily between the Dutch and Flemish ports and Harwich ;
the roads thence to London and the great inns were crowdecl
with army gentlemen; the taverns and ordinaries of the
town swarmed with red-coats; and our great Duke's levees
at St. James's were as thronged as they had been at Ghent 3°
and Brussels, ° where we treated him as he us, with the gran-
deur and ceremony of a sovereign. Though Esmond had
been appointed to a lieutenantcy in the Fusileer regiment,
250 HENRY ESMOND
of which that celebrated officer, Brigadier John Richmond
Webb, was colonel, he had never joined the regiment, nor
been introduced to its excellent commander, though thej
had made the same campaign together, and been engaged
5 in the same battle. But being aide-de-camp to General
Lumley, who commanded the division of Horse, and the
army marching to its point of destination on the Danube
by different routes, Esmond had not fallen in, as yet, with his
commander and future comrades of the fort ; and it was in
lo London, in Golden Square, ° where Major-General Webb
lodged, that Captain Esmond had the honour of first pajnng
his respects to his friend, patron, and commander of after
days.
Those who remember this brilliant and accomplished
15 gentleman, may recollect his character, upon which he prided
himself, I think, not a little, of being the handsomest man
in the army; a poet° who writ a dull copy of verses upon
the battle of Oudenarde three years after, describing Webb,
says : —
20 " 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,
25 Like Paris° handsome, and like Hector° brave."
Mr. Webb thought these verses quite as fine as Mr. Ad-
dison's on the Blenheim Campaign, and, indeed, to be Hector
a la mode de Pan's ° was a part of this gallant gentleman's
ambition. It would have been difficult to find an officer in
30 the whole army, or amongst the splendid courtiers and
cavaliers of the Maison du Iloy,° that fought under Ven-
dosme aifld Villeroy° in the army opposed to ours, who was
a more accomplished soldi(;r and perfect gentleman, and
either braver or better-looking. And, if Mr. Webb believed
35 of himself what the world said of him, and was deeply con-
vinced of his own indis))utable genius, beauty, and valour,
who has a right to f|uarrel with him very much ? This self-
content of his kept him in general good humour, of which his
friends and dependents got the benefit.
HENRY ESMOND 251
He came of a very ancient Wiltshire° family, which he
respected above all families in the world ; he could prove
a lineal descent from King Edward the First, and his first
ancestor, Roaldus de Richmond, rode by William the Con-
queror's side on Hastings field. ° "We were gentlemen, 5
Esmond," he used to say, "when the Churchills were horse-
boys." He was a very tall man, standing in his pumps six
feet three inches (in his great jack-boots, with his tall fair
peiTiwig, and hat and feather, he could not have been less
than eight feet high). "I am taller than Churchill," he ic
would say, surveying himself in the glass, "and I am a better
made man ; and if the women won't like a man that hasn't a
wart on his nose, faith, I can't help myself, and Churchill has
the better of me there." Indeed, he was always measuring
himself with the Duke, and always asking his friends to meas- 15
ure them. And talldng in this frank way, as he would do,
over his cups, wags would laugh and encourage him ; friends
would be sorry for him; schemers and flatterers would egg
him on, and tale-bearers carry the stories to headquarters,
and widen the difference which already existed there between 2c
the great captain and one of the ablest and bravest lieu-
tenants he ever had.
His rancour against the Duke was so apparent, that one
saw it in the first half-hour's conversation with General
Webb; and his lady, who adored her General, and thought 25
him a hundred times taller, handsomer, and braver than a
prodigal nature had made him, hated the great Duke with
such an intensity as it becomes faithful wives to feel against
their husbands' enemies. Xot that my Lord Duke was so
yet ; Mr. Webb had said a thousand things against him, which 30
his superior had pardoned ; and his Grace, whose spies were
everywhere, had heard a thousand things more that Webb
had never said. But it cost this great man no pains to par-
don; and he passed oA^er an» injury or a benefit alike easily.
Should any child of mine take the pains to read these, his 35
ancestor's memoirs, I would not have him judge of the great
Duke° ^ by what a cotemporary has written of him. Xo man
' This passage in the Memoirs of Esmond is written on a leaf in-
serted into the MS. book and dated 1744, probably after he had
heard of the Duchess's death.
252 HENRY ESMOND
hath been so immensely lauded and decried as this great
statesman and warrior; as, indeed, no man ever deserved
better the ver}^ greatest praise and the strongest censure.
If the present writer joins with the latter faction, very likely
5 a private pique of his own may be the cause of his ill-feeling.
On presenting himself at the Commander-in-Chief's levee,
his Grace had not the least remembrance of General Lum-
ley's aide-de-camp, and though he knew Esmond's family
perfectly well, having served with both lords (my Lord
10 Francis and the Viscount, Esmond's father) in Flanders, and
in the Duke of York's Guard, the Duke of ]\farlborough,
who was friendly and serviceable to the (so-st3ded) legitima-te
representatives of the Viscount CastlcAvood, took no sort of
notice of the poor lieutenant, who bore their name. A word
15 of kindness or acknowledgment, or a single glance of approba-
tion, might have 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 historian might have taken
the other side of panegyrick? We have but to change the
20 point of view, and the greatest action looks mean ; as we
turn the perspective-glass, and a giant appears a pigmy.
You may describe, but who can tell whether j^our sight is
clear or not, or your means of information accurate? Had
the great man said but a word of kindness to the small one (as
25 he would have stepped out of his gilt chariot to shake hands
with Lazarus° in rags and sores, if he thought Lazarus could
have been of any service to him), no doubt Esmond would
have fought for him with pen and sword to the utmost of his
might; but my lord the lion did not want master mouse at
30 this moment, and so Muscipulus° went off and nibbled in
opposition.
So it was, however, that a young gentleman, who, in the
eyes of his famil}^, and in his own, doubtless, was looked upon
as a consummate hero, found that the great hero of the day
35 took no more notice of him than of the smallest drummer in
his Grace's army. The dowager at Chelsea was furious
against this negkn't of her family, and had a great battle with
Lady Marll)orough (as Lady Castlcwood insisted on calling
the Duchess). Her Grace was now Mistress of the Robes to
HENRY ESMOND 253
her Majesty, and one of the greatest personages in this king-
dom, as her husband was in all Europe, and the 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 she had done her best for the legitimate 5
branch of the Esmonds, and could not be expected to provide
for the bastard brats of the family.
"Bastards," says the Mscountess, in a fury, "there are
bastards amongst the Churchills, as your Grace knows, and
the Duke of Berwick is provided for well enough." 10
"Madam," says the Duchess, "you know whose fault it is
that there are no such dukes in the Esmond famil}^ too, and
how that little scheme of a certain lady miscarried."
Esmond's friend, Dick Steele, who was in waiting on the
Prince, heard the controversy between the ladies at Court. 15
"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 ere night; it was printed in a News Letter°
before a month was over, and "The reply of her Grace the 20
Duchess of M-rlb-r-gh to a Popish Lad}^ of the Court once a
favourite of the late K J-m-s" was printed in half a
dozen places, with a note stating that "this duchess, when
the head of this lady's family came by his death lately in a
fatal duel, never rested until she got a pension for the orphan 25
heir, and widow, from her ^lajesty's bounty." The squabble
did not advance poor Esmond's promotion much, and indeed
made him so ashamed of himself that he dared not show hi?
face at the Commander-in-Chief's levees again.
During those eighteen months which had passed since 30
Esmond saw his dear mistress, her good father, the old Dean,
quitted this hfe, firm in his principles^ to the very last, and
enjoining his family always to remember that the Queen's
brother. King James the Third, was their rightful so^^reign.
He made a very edifying end, as his daughter told Esmond, 35
and, not a httle to her surprise, after his death (for he had
lived always very poorly) my lady found that her father had
left no less a sum than £3000 behind him, which he be-
queathed to her.
254 HENRY ESMOND
With this httle fortune Lady Castlewood was enabled,
when her daughter's turn at Court came, to come to London,
w^here she took a small genteel house at Kensington in the
neighbourhood of the Court, bringing her children with her,
5 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 ciuite ungovernable. JMy lord worried
his life away with tricks ; and broke out, as home-bred lads
10 will, into a hundred youthful extravagances, so that Dr.
Bentley,° the new master of Trinity, thought fit to write to the
Viscountess Castlewood, my lord's mother, and beg her to
remove the young nobleman from a college where he declined
to learn, and where he only did harm by his riotous example.
15 Indeed, I believe he nearly set fire to Nevil's Court, that
beautiful new quadrangle of our college, which Sir Chris-
topher Wren had lately built. ° He knocked down a proctor's
man that wanted to arrest him in a midnight prank ; he gave
a dimier party on the Prince of Wales's birthday, which was
20 within a fortnight of his own, and the twenty young gentlemen
then present sallied out after their wine, having toasted King
James's health with open windows, and sung cavalier songs,
and shouted "God save the King!" in the great court, so
that the master came out of his lodge at midnight, and dis-
25 sipated the riotous assembly.
This was my lord's crowning freak, and the Rev. Thomas
Tusher, domestick chaplain to the Right Honourable the
Lord Viscount Castlewood, finding his prayers and sermons of
no earthly avail to his lordship gave up his duties of governor ;
30 went and married his brewer's widow at Southampton, and
took her and her money to his parsonage-house at Castle-
wood.
• My lady could not be angry with her son for drinking King
James's health, being herself a loyal Tory, as all the Castle-
35 wood family were, and acquiesced with a sigh, knowing,
perhaps, that her refusal would be of no avail to the young
lord's desire for a military life. She would have liked him to
be in Mr. Esmond's n^giment, iioping that Harry might act
as guardian and adviser to his wayward young kinsman;
HENRY ESMOND 255
but my young lord would hear of nothing but the Guards, and
a commission was got for him in the Duke of Ormond's regi-
ment ; so Esmond found my lord ensign and lieutenant when
he returned from Germany after the Blenheim campaign.
The effect produced by both Lady Castle wood's children 5
when they appeared in pubhck was extraordinary, and the
whole town speedily rang with their fame ; such a beautiful
couple, it was declared, never had been seen ; the young maid
of honour was toasted at every table and tavern, and as for
my young lord, his good looks were more admired than his ic
sister's. A hundred songs were written even about the pair, and
as the fashion of that day was, my 3^oung lord was praised
in these Anacreonticks° as warmly as Bathyllus.° You ma}^
be sure that he accepted very complacently the town's opinion
Z)f him, and acquiesced w^ith that frankness and charming 15
good-humour he always showed in the idea that he was the
prettiest fellow in all London.
The old Dowager at Chelsea, though she could never be got
to acknowledge that Mistress Beatrix was any beauty at all
(in which opinion, as it may be imagined, a vast number of 2a
the ladies agreed with her), yet, on the very first sight of
young Castlewoocl, she owned she fell in love with him; and
Henry Esmond, on his return to Chelsea, found himself quite
superseded in her favour by her younger kinsman. The feat
of drinking the King's health at Cambridge would have won 25
her heart, she said, if nothing else did. "How had the dear
young fellow got such beauty?" she asked. "Not from his
father — certainly not from his mother. How had he come
by such noble manners, and the perfect hel air ? That coun-
trified Walcote widow could never have taught him.'' Esmond 3a
had his own opinion about the countrified Walcote widow,
who had a quiet grace, and serene kindness, that had always
seemed to him the perfection of good breeding, though he
did not try to argue this point with his aunt. But he could
agree in most of the praises which the enraptured old dowager 35
bestowed on my Lord Viscount, than whom he ne^'er beheld
a more fascinating and charming gentleman. Castlewoocl
had not wit so much as enjoyment. "The lad looks good
things," Mr. Steele used to say; "and his laugh lights up a
256 HENRY ESMOND
conversation as much as ten repartees from Mr. Congreve.
I would as soon sit over a bottle with him as with Mr. Ad-
dison; and rather listen to his talk than hear Nicolini.°
Was ever man so gracefully drunk as my Lord Castlewood ?
5 I would give anything to carry my wine" (though, indeed,
Dick bore his very kindly, and plenty of it, too) ''like this
mcomparable young man. When he is sober he is delightful ;
and when tipsy, perfectly irresistible." And referring to his
favourite, Shakspeare (who was quite out of fasliion° until
-c Steele brought him back into the mode), Dick compared Lord
Castlewood to Prince Hal, and was pleased 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,
15 though she could never be got to say a civil word to Beatrix,
whom she had promoted to her place of maid of honour, took
her brother into instant favour. When 3^oung Castlewood,
in his new uniform, and looking like a prince out of a fairy
tale, went to pay his duty to her Grace, she looked at him for
20 a minute in silence, the young man blushing and in confusion
before her, then fairly burst out a- crying, and kissed him
before her daughters and company. ''He was my boy's
friend," she said, through her sobs. "My P)landford might
have been like him." And everybody saw, after this mark
25 of the Duchess's favour, that my young lord's promotion was
secure, and people crowded round the favourite's favourite,
who became vainer and gayer, and more good-humoured than
ever.
Meanwhile Madam Beatrix was making her conquests on
30 her own side, and amongst them was one poor gentleman, who
had been shot by her young eyes two 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, remfdiufii amoris°
35 a s[)eedy retreat from before the charmer, and a long absence
from her; and not being dangerously smitten in the first
instance, Esmond pretty soon got the better of his complaint,
and if Ik; had it still, did not know he had it, and bore it
easily. But when he returned after J^lenheiin, the young
HENRY ESMOND 257
lady of sixteen, who had appeared the most beautiful object
his eyes had ever looked on two years back, was now ad-
vanced to a perfect ripeness and perfection of beauty such as
instantly enthralled the poor devil, who had already been a
fugitive from her charms. Then he had seen her but for two 5
days, and fled ; now he beheld her day after day, and when
slie was at Court, watched after her; when she was at home,
made one of the family party; when she went abroad, rode
after her mother's chariot; when she appeared in publick
places, was in the box near her, or in the pit looking at her ; 10
when she went to church, was sure to be there, though he
might not hsten to the sermon, and be ready to hand her to
her chair if she deigned to accept of his services, and select
him from a score of young men who were always hanging
round about her. When she went away, accompanying her 15
Majesty to Hampton Court, a darkness fell over London.
Gods, what nights has 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,
he married ; she had a lodging in Kensington Scjuare, hard 20
by my Lady Castlewood's house there. Dick and Harry being
on the same errand used to meet constantly at Kensington.
They were always pro wKng about that place, or dismally walk-
ing thence, or eagerly running thither. They emptiecl scores
of bottles at the King's Arms, each man prating of his love, 25
and allowing the other to talk on condition that he might
have his own turn as a listener. Hence arose an intimacy
between them, though to all the rest of their friends they
must have been insufferable. Esm.ond's verses to ''Gloriana
at the Harpsichord," to "Gloriana's Nosegay," to ' Gloriana 30
at Court," appeared this year in the Observator° — Have
3^ou never read them? They were thought pretty poems,
and attributed by some to Mr. Prior. °
This passion did not escape — how should it ? — the clear
eyes of Esmond's mistress : he told her all ; what 7.'* 11 a man 35
not do when frantick with love? To what baseness will he
not demean° himself ? What pangs will he not make others
suffer, so that he may ease his selfish heart of a part of its
own pain ? Day after day he would seek his dear mistress,
258 HENRY ESMOND
pour insane hopes, supplications, rhapsodies, raptures, into hei
ear. She Hstened, smiled, consoled, with untiring pity and sweet-
ness. Esmond was the eldest of her children, so she was
pleased to say; and as for her kindness, who ever had or
5 would look for aught else from one who was an angel of
goodness and pity? After what has been said, 'tis needless
almost to add that poor Esmond's suit was unsuccessful.
What was a nameVss, penniless lieutenant to do, when some
of the greatest in the land were in the field ? Esmond never
10 so much as thought of asking permission to hope so far above
his reach as he knew this prize was — and passed his foolish,
useless life in mere abject sighs and impotent longing. What
nights of rage, what days of torment, of passionate unfulfilled
desire, of sickening jealousy, can he recall ! Beatrix thought
15 no more of him than of the lacquey that followed her chair.
His complaints did not touch her in the least ; his raptures
rather fatigued her; she cared for his verses no more than
for Dan Chaucer 's,° who's dead these ever so many hundred
years; she did not hate him; she rather despised him, and
20 just suffered him.
One day, after talking to Beatrix's mother, his dear, fond,
constant mistress — for hours — for all day along — pouring
out his flame and his passion, his despair and rage, returning
again and again to the theme, pacing the room, tearing up
25 the flowers on the table, twisting and breaking into bits the
wax out of the stand-dish, and performing a hundred mad
freaks of passionate folly ; seeing his mistress at last quite
pale and tired out with sheer weariness of compassion, and
watching over his fever for the hundredth time, Esmond
30 seized up his hat, and took his leave. As ho got into Kensing-
ton Square, a sense of remorse came over him for the weari-
some pain he had been inflicting upon the dearest and kindest
friend ever man had. Ho went back to the house, where
the servant still stood at the open door, ran up the stairs,
35 and found his mistress whore he had left her in the embrasure
of the window, looking over the fields towards Chelsea. °
She laughed, wiping away at the same time the tears which
were in her kind eyes; he flung himself down on his knees,
.'uul buried his head in her lap. She had in her hand the
HENRY ESMOND 259
stalk of one of the flowers, a pink, that he had torn to pieces.
''Oh, pardon me, pardon me, my dearest and kindest, '' he
said; ''I am in hell, and you are the angel that brings me
a drop of water/'
''I am your mother, you are my son, and I love you ^
always,'' she said, folding her hands over him; and he went
away comforted and humbled in mind as he thought of that
amazing and constant love and tenderness with which this
sweet lady ever blessed and pursued him.
CHAPTER XI
THE FAMOUS MR. JOSEPH ADDISON
The gentlemen ushers° had a table at Kensington, and the lo
guard a very splendid dinner daily at St. James's, ° at either
of which ordinaries Esmond was free to dine. Dick Steele
liked the guard-table better than his own at the gentlemen
ushers', where there was less wine and more ceremony; and
Esmond had many a jolly afternoon in company of his 15
friend, and a hundred times at least saw Dick into his chair
If there is verity in wine, according to the old adage, what
an amiable-natured character Dick's must have been ! In
proportion as he took in wine he overflowed with kindness.
His talk was not witty so much as charming. He never 20
said a word that could anger anybody, and only became
the more benevolent the more tipsy he grew. Many of the
wags derided the poor fellow in his cups, and chose him
as a butt for their satire : but there was a kindness about
him, and a sweet playful fancy, that seemed to Esmond 25
far more charming than the pointed talk of the brightest
wits, with their elaborate repartees and affected severities.
I think Steele shone rather than sparkled. Those famous
bcaux-espn'ts° of the coffee-houses (Mr. William Congreve,
for instance, when his gout and his grandeur permitted him 3^
to come among us) would make many brilliant hits —
half a dozen in a night sometimes — but, like sharp-shooters,
when they had fired their shot, they were obliged to retire
260 HENRY ESMOND
under cover, till their pieces were loaded again, and wait
till they got another chance at their enemy; whereas Dick
never thought that his bottle-companion was a butt to aim
at — only a friend to shake by the hand. The poor fellow
5 had half the town in his confidence ; everybody knew every-
thing about his loves and his debts, his creditors or his
mistress's obduracy. When Esmond first came on to the
town honest Dick was all flames and raptures for a young
lady, a West India fortune, whom he married. In a couple
10 of years the lady was dead, the fortune was all but spent,
and the honest widower was as eager in pursuit of a new
paragon of beauty as if he had never courted and married
and bui'ied tae last one.
Quitting the guard-table on one sunny afternoon, when by
15 chance Dick had a sober fit upon him, he and his friend
were making their way down Germain Street, ° and Dick all
of a sudden left his companion's arm, and ran after a gentle-
man, who was poring over a folio volume at the bookshop
near to St. James's Church. ° He was a fair, tall man, in a
20 snuff-coloured suit, with a plain sword, very sober and almost
shabby in appearance, — at least, when compared to Captain
Steele, who loved to adorn his jolly round person with the
finest of clothes, and shone in scarlet and gold lace. The
Captain rushed up, then, to the student of the book-stall,
25 took him in his arms, hugged him, and would have kissed
him, — for Dick was always hugging and bussing his friends,
— but the other stepped back with a flush on his pale face,
seeming to decline this publick manifestation of Steele's
regard.
30 " My dearest Joe, where hast thou hidden thyself this age ? "
cries the Captain, still holding both his friend's hands; "I
have been languishing for thee this fortnight."
"A fortnight is not an ago, Dick," says the other, very
good-humouredly. (He had light blue eyes, extraordinary
35 bright, and a face perfectly regular and handsome, like a
tinted statue.) "And I have been hiding myself, — where
do you think?"
" What ! not across the water, my dear Joe ?" says Steele,
with a look of great alarm : " thou knowest I have always "
HENRY ESMOND 261
"No," says his friend, interrupting him with a smile : 'Sve
are not come to such straits as that, Dick. I have been
hiding, sir, at a place where people never think of finding
you, — at my own lodgings, whither I am going to smoke a
pipe now and drink a glass of sack; will your honour come?'' 5
"Harry Esmond, come hither,'' cries out Dick. "Thou
hast heard me talk over and over again at my dearest Joe,
my guardian-angel."
"Indeed," says Mr. Esmond, with a bow, "it is not from
you only that I have learnt to admire Mr. Addison. We ic
loved good poetry at Cambridge, as well as at Oxford ; and
I have some of yours by heart, though I have put on a red
coat. . . . 'O, qui canoro blandius Orpheo vocale ducis
carmen°;' shall I go on, sir?" says Mr. Esmond, who, indeed,
had read and loved the charming Latin poems of Mr. Addison, 15
as every scholar of that time knew and admired them.
"This is Captain Esmond, who was at Blenheim," says
Steele.
"Lieutenant Esmond," says the other, with a low bow;
"at Mr. Addison's service." - 20
"T have heard of you," says Mr. Addison, with a smile;
as, indeed, everj^body about town had heard that unlucky
story about Esmond's dowager aunt and the Duchess.
"We were going to the George, to take a bottle before
the play," says Steele; "wilt thou be one, Joe?" 25
Mr. Addison said his own lodgings were hard by, where he
was still rich enough to give a good bottle of wine to his
friends; and invited the two gentlemen to his apartment in
the Haymarket, whither we accordingly went.
"I shall get credit with my landlady," say? he, with a 30
smile, "when she sees two such fine gentlemen as 3'ou come
up my stair." And he pohtely made his visitors welcome
to his apartment, which was indeed but a shabby one, though
no grandee of the land could receive his guests with a more
perfect and courtly grace than this gentleman. A frugal 35
dinner, consisting of a slice of meat and a penny loaf, was
awaiting the owner of the lodgings. "My wine is better
than my meat," says Mr. Addison; "my Lord Halifax^
sent me the Burgundy." And he set a bottle and glasses
262 • HENRY ESMOND
before his friends, and ate his simple dinner in a ver}^ fe^
minutes; after which the three feU to, and began to drink.
*'You see," says Mr. Addison, pointing to his writing-table,
whereon was a map of the action at Hochstedt,° and several
5 other gazettes and pamphlets relating to the battle, 'that
I, too, am busy about your affairs, captain. I am engaged
as a poetical gazetteer, to say truth, and am writing a poem
on the campaign.''
So Esmond, at the request of his host, told him what he
10 knew about the famous battle, drew the river on the table
aliquo mero,^ and with the aid of some bits of tobacco-pipe,
showed the advance of the left wing, where he had been
engaged.
A sheet or two of the verses lay already on the table beside
15 our bottles and glasses, and Dick having plentifully refreshed
himself from the latter, took up the pages of manuscript,
writ out with scarce a blot or correction, in the author's
slim, neat handwriting, and began to read therefrom with
great emphasis and volubihty. At pauses of the verse ° the
20 enthusiastick reader stopped and fired off a great salvo of
applause.
Esmond smiled at the enthusiasm of Addison's friend.
''You are like the German Burghers," says he, ''and the
Princes on the Mozelle; when our army came to a halt,
25 they always sent a deputation to compliment the chief,
and fired a salute with all their artillery from their walls."
"And drunk the great chief's health afterward, did not
they?" says Captain Steele, gaily fiUing up a bumper; —
he never was tardy at that sort of acknowledgment of a
30 friend's merit.
"And the Duke, since you will have me act his Grace's
part," says I\Ir. Addison, with a smile and something of a
blush, "pledged his friends in return. Most Serene Elector
of Covent Garden, ° I drink to your Highness's health,"
35 and he filled himself a glass. Josej^h required scarce more
pressing than Dick to that sort of amusement; but the wine
never seemed at all to fluster Mr. Addison's brains; it only
unloosed his tongue, whereas Ca})tain Steele's head and
speech were quite overcome by a single bottle.
HENRY ESMOND 263
Xo matter what the verses were, and, to say truth, Mr.
Esmond found some of them more than indifferent, Dick's
enthusiasm for his chief never faltered, and in every hne
from Addison's pen, Steele found a master-stroke. By
the time Dick had come to that part of the poem, wherein 5
the bard describes, as blandly as though he were recording
a dance at the opera, or a harmless bout of bucolick cudgelling
at a village fair, that bloody and ruthless part of our cam-
paign, with the remembrance whereof every soldier who
bore a part in it must sicken with shame, — when we were 10
ordered to ravage and lay waste the Elector's country;
and with fire and murder, slaughter and crime, a great part
of his dominions was overrun ; — when Dick came to the
hnes :
" In vengeance roused the soldier fills his hand 15
With sword and fire, and ravages the land.
In crackling flames a thousand harvests burn,
A thovisand villages to ashes turn.
To the thick woods the woolly flocks retreat,
And mixed with bellowing herds confusedly bleat, 80
Their trembling lords the common shade partake.
And cries of infants sound in every brake.
The listening soldier fixed in sorrow stands,
Loth to obey his leader's just commands.
The leader grieves, by generous pity swayed, 25
To see his just commands so well obeyed : "
by this time wine and friendship had brought poor Dick to a
perfectly maudlin state, and he hiccupped out the last Hne
with a tenderness that set one of his auditors a-laughing.
"I admire the licence of you poets," says Esmond to Mr. 3°
Addison. (Dick, after reading of the verses, was fain to go
off, insisting on kissing his two dear friends before his depart-
ure, and reeling away with his perriwig over his eyes.) " I
admire your art : the murder of the campaign is done to
military musick, like a battle at the opera, and the virgins 35
shriek in harmony, as our victorious grenadiers march into
their villages. Do you know what a sceae it was?" (By
this time, perhaps, the wine had warmed ^Ir. Esmond's
head too) — "what a triumph you are celebrating? what
scenes of shame and horror ° were enacted, over which the 4c
264 HENRY ESMOND,
commander's genius presided, as calm as though he didn'i
belong to our sphere? You talk of the 'hstening soldier
fixed in sorrow/ the header's grief swayed by generous
pity;' to my belief the leader cared no more for bleating
5 flocks than he did for infants' cries, and many of our ruffians
butchered one or the other with equal alacrity. I was
ashamed of my trade when I saw those horrors perpetrated,
which came under every man's eyes. You hew out of your
polished verses a stately image of smiling victory; I tell
'o you 'tis an uncouth, distorted, savage idol ; hideous, bloody,
and barbarous. The rites performed before it are shocking
to think of. You great poets should show it as it is — ugly
and horrible, not beautiful and serene. Oh, sir, had you
made the campaign, believe me, you never would have
15 sung it so."
During this little outbreak, Mr. Addison was listening,
smoking out of his long pipe, and smiling very placidly.
"What would you have?" says he. "In our polished days,
and according to the rules of art, 'tis impossible that the
20 Muse should depict tortures or begrime her hands with the
horrors of war. These are indicated rather than described:
as in the Greek tragedies, that, I dare say, you have read
(and sure there can be no more elegant specimens of com-
position) ; Agamemnon° is slain, or Medea's children de-
25 stroyed, away from the scene ; — the chorus occupying the
stage and singing of the action to pathetick musick. Some-
thing of this I attempt, my dear sir, in my humble way:
'tis a pancgyrick I mean to write, and not a satire. Were
I to sing as you would have me, the town would tear the poet
30 in pieces, and burn his book by the hands of the common
hangman. Do you not use tobacco? Of all the weeds
grown on earth, sure the nicotian is the most soothing and
salutary. We must paint our great Duke," Mr. Addison
went on, "not as a man, which no doubt he is, with weak-
35 nesses like the rest of us, but as a hero. 'Tis in a triumph,
not a l)attle, that your humble servant is riding his sleek
Pegasus. ° We college-poets trot, you know, on very easy
nags; it hath b(;en, time out of mind, part of the poet's
profession to celebrate the actions of heroes in verse, and
HENRY ESMOND 2^^
to sing the deeds which you men of war perform. I must
follow the rules of my art, and the composition of such
a strain as this must be harmonious and majestick, not
familiar, or too near the \iilgar truth. Si parva licet° : if
Virgil could invoke the divine Augustus, a humbler poet from 5
the banks of the Isis° may celebrate a victory and a conqueror
of our own nation, in whose triumphs every Briton has a
share, and whose glory and genius contributes to every
citizen's individual honour. When hath there been, smce
our Henrys' and Edwards' days,° such a great feat of arms 10
as that from which you yourself have brought away marks
of distinction ? If 'tis in my power to sing that song worth-
ily, I will do so, and be thankful to my Muse. If I fail as
a poet, as a Briton at least I will show my loyalty, and fling
up my cap and huzzah for the conqueror : 15
Rheni pacator et Istri,
Oranis in hoc iino variis discordia cessit
Ordinibvis ; liaetatur eques, plauditque senator,
Votaque patricio certant plebeia favori.' "°
"There were as brave men on that field," says Mr. Esmond 20
(who never could be made to love the Duke of Marlborough,
nor to forget those stories which he used to hear in his youth
regarding that great chief's selfishness and treacher}^), "there
were men at Blenheim as good as the leader, whom neither
knights nor senators applauded, nor voices plebeian or patri- 25
cian favoured, and who lie there forgotten, under the clods.
What poet is there to sing them?"
"To sing the gallant souls of heroes sent to Hades!" says
Mr. Addison, with a smile: "would j'ou celebrate them all?
If I may venture to question anything in such an admirable 3a
work, the catalogue of the ships in Homer° hath always ap-
peared to me as somewhat wearisome ; what had the poem
been, supposing the writer had chronicled the names of
captains, heutenants, rank and file? One of the greatest
of a great man's qualities is success; 'tis the result of all 35
the others; 'tis a latent power in him which compels the
favour of the gods, and subjugates fortune. Of all his gifts I
admire that one in the great Marlborough. To be brave?
266 HENRY ESMOND
every mt^ii is brave. But in being victorious, as he is, I fanc>
there is something divine. In presence of the occasion, the
great soul of the leader shines out, and the god is confessed.
Death itself respects him, and passes by him to lay others low.
5 War and carnage flee before him to ravage other parts of the
field, as Plector from before the divine Achilles. You say he
hath no pity ; no more have the gods, who are above it, and
superhuman. The fainting battle gathers strength at his
aspect; and wherever he rides, victory charges with him."
lo A couple of days after, when Mr. Esmond revisited his
poetick friend, he found this thought, struck out in the fervour
of conversation, improved and shaped into those famous lines,
which are in truth the noblest in the poem of the "Cam-
paign." As the two gentlemen sat engaged in talk, Mr.
15 Addison solacing himself with his customary pipe, the little
maid-servant that waited on his lodging came up, preceding
a gentleman in fine laced clothes, that had e\idently been
figuring at Court or a great man's levee. The courtier
coughed a little at the smoke of the pipe, and looked round
20 the room curiously, which was shabby enough, as was the
owner in his worn snuff-coloured suit and plain tie-wig.
"How goes on the magnum opus,° Mr. Addison?" says the
Court gentleman on looking down at the papers that were on
the table.
25 "We were but now over it," says Addison (the greatest
courtier in the land could not have a more splendid politeness,
or greater dignity of manner) ; "here is the plan," says he,
"on the table : hac that Simois, here ran the little river Nebel,
hie est Sigeia tellus° here are Tallard's quarters, at the bowl
30 of this pipe, at the attack of which Captain Esmond was
})resent. I have the honour to introduce him to Mj-. Boyle°;
and Mr. Esmond was but now depicting aliquo prcclia mixta
mero° when you came in." In truth the two gentlemen had
been so engaged when the visitor arrived, and Ad(Hson in his
35 smiling way, speaking of Mr. Webb, Colonel of Esmond's
regiment (who comnuinded a brigade in the action, and greatly
distinguished himself there), was lamenting that he could
find never a suital)r(> rhyme for Webb, otherwise the brigadier
should have had a place in the poet's verses. "And for you,
HENRY ESMOND 267
you are but a lieutenant," says Addison, "and the Muse can't
orcupy herself with any gentleman under the rank of a field-
officer.''
Mr. Boyle was all impatient to hear, saying that my Lord
Treasurer" and my Lord Halifax" were equally anxious ; and 5
Addison, blushing, began reading of his verses, and, I suspect,
knew their weak parts as well as the most critical hearer.
When he came to the lines describing the angel, that
" Inspired repulsed battalions to engage,
And taught the doubtful battle where to rage," lo
he read with great animation, looking at Esmond, as much as
to say, '' ^ou know where that simile came from — from our
talk, and our bottle of Burgundy, the other day."
The poet's two hearers were caught with enthusiasm, and
applauded the verses with all their might. The gentleman of 15
the Court sprang up in great delight. " Not a word more, my
dear sir," says he. "Trust me with the papers — I'll defend
them with my life. Let me read them over to my Lord
Treasurer, w^hom I am appointed to see in half an hour. I
venture to promise, the verses shall lose nothing bv my 20
reading, and then, sir, we shall see whether Lord Halifax has a
right to complain that his friend's pension is no longer paid."
And without more ado, the courtier in lace seized the manu-
script pages, placed them in his breast with his ruffled hand
over his heart, executed a most gracious wave of the hat with 25
the disengaged hand, and smiled and bowed out of the room,
leaving an odour of pomander behind him.
"Does not the chamber look quite dark?" says Addison,
surveying it, " after the glorious appearance and disappearance
of that gracious messenger? Why, he illuminated the whole 3°
room. Your scarlet, Mr. Esmond, will bear any light; but
this thread-bare old coat of mine, ho v. ■ -ry worn it looked
under the glare of that splendour ! wonder whether they
WiW do anything for me ?" he contiiyaed. "When I came out
of Oxford into the world, my patrons promised me great 35
things ; and you see where their promises have landed me,
in a lodging up two pair of stairs, with a sixpenny dinner from
the cook's shop. Well, I suppose this promise will go after
268 HENRY ESMOND
the others, and fortune will jilt me, as the jade has beer,
doing any time these seven years. 'I puff the prostitute
away, ''' says he, smiling, and blowing a cloud out of his pipe.
"There is no hardship in poverty, Esmond, that is not bear-
5 able ; no hardship even in honest dependence that an honest
man may not put up with. I came out of the lap of Alma
Mater,° puffed up with her praises of me, and thinking to
make a figure in the world with the parts and learning which
had got me no small name in our college. The world is the
10 ocean, and Isis and Charwell° are but little drops, of which
the sea takes no account. My reputation ended a mile
beyond Maudlin Tower° ; no one took note of me ; and I
learned this, at least, to bear up against evil fortune with a
cheerful heart. Friend Dick hath made a figure in the world,
15 and has passed me in the race long ago. What matters a
little name or a little fortune? There is no fortune that
a- philosopher cannot endure. I have been not unknown as
a scholar, and 3^et forced to hve b}^ turning bear-leader, and
teaching a boy to spell. What then ? The life was not pleas-
20 ant, but possible — the bear was bearable. Should this
venture fail, I will go back to Oxford; and some day, when
you are a general, you shall find me a curate in a cassock and
bands, and I shall welcome your honour to my cottage in the
country, and to a mug of penny ale. Tis not poverty that's
25 the hardest to bear, or the least happy lot in life,'' says Mr.
Addison, shaking the ash out of his pipe. "See, my pipe is
smoked out. Shall we have another bottle? I have still a
couple in the cupboard, and of the right sort. No more? —
let us go abroad and take a turn on thelNIall, or look in at the
30 theatre and see Dick's comedy. 'Tis not a masterpiece of wit ;
but Dick is a good fellow, though he doth not set the Thames
on fire."
Within a month after this day, Mr. Addison's ticket had
come up a prodigious prize in the lottery of life. All the
35 town was in an uproar of admiration of his poem, the 'Cam
paign," whi(;h Dick Steele was spouting at every coffee-house
in Whitehall and Covent Garden. ° The wits on tne other
side of Temple Bar° saluted him at once as the greatest poet
the world had seen for ages; the people huz^.aed for Marl-
HENRY ESMOND 269
borough and for Addison, and, more than this, the party in
power provided for the meritorious poet, and Mr. Addison
got the appointment of Commissioner of Excise, which the
famous Mr. Locke° vacated, and rose from this place to other
dignities and honours; his prosperity from henceforth to the 5
end of his hfe being scarce ever interrupted. But I doubt
whether he was not happier in his garret in the Haymarket,
than ever he was in his splendid palace at Kensington°; and
1 believe the fortune that came to him in the shape of the
countess his wife, was no better than a shrew and a vixen, ic
Gay as the town was, 'twas but a dreary place for Mr. Es-
mond, whether his charmer was in it or out of it, and he was
glad when his general gave him notice that he was going back
to his division of the army which lay in winter-quarters at
Bois-le-Duc. His dear mistress had bade him farewell with a 15
cheerful face ; her blessing he knew he had always, and where-
soever fate carried him. Mistress Beatrix was away in at-
tendance on her Majesty at Hampton Court, and kissed her
fair finger-tips to him, by way of adieu, when he rode thither
to take his leave. She received her kinsman in a waiting- 20
room, w^here there were half a dozen more ladies of the Court,
so that his high-flown speeches, had he intended to make any '
(and very likely he did), were impossible ; and she announced
to her friends that her cousin was going to the army, in as
easy a manner as she would have saicl he was going to a 25
chocolate-house. He asked with a rather rueful face, if she
had any orders for the army? and she was pleased to say
that she would like a mantle of Mechlin lace.° She made him
a saucy curtsey in reply to his own dismal bow. She deigned
to kiss her finger-tips from the window, where she stood 30
laughing with the other ladies, and chanced to see him as he
made his way to the Toy.° The dowager at Chelsea was not
sorry to part with him this time. '' ^lon cher, vous etes triste
comme un sermon, °'' she did him the honour to say to him;
indeed, gentlemen in this condition are by no means amus- 35
ing companions, and besides, the fickle old woman had now
found a much more amiable favourite, and rafjoUd for her
darUng lieutenant of the Guard. Frank remained behind for
270 HENRY ESMOND
a while, and did not join the army till later, in the suite o\
his Grace the Commander-in-Chief. His dear mother, on the
last day before Esmond went away, and when the three dined
together, made Esmond promise to befriend her boy, and
5 besought Frank to take the example of his kinsman as of a
loyal gentleman and brave soldier, so she was pleased to say ;
and at parting, betrayed not the least sign of faltering or
weakness, though, God knows, that fond heart was fearful
enough when others were concerned, though so resolute in
10 bearing its own pain.
Esmond's general embarked at Harwich. Twas a grand
sight to see Mr. Webb dressed in scarlet on the deck, waving
his hat as our yacht put off, and the guns saluted from the
shore. Harry did not see his Viscount again, until three months
15 after, at Bois-le-Duc, when his Grace the Duke came to take
the command, and Frank brought a budget of news from
home : how he had supped with this actress, and got tired of
that; how he had got the better of Mr. St. John,° both over
the bottle, and with Mrs. Mountford,° of the Haymarket
20 Theatre (a veteran charmer of fifty, with whom the young
scape-grace chose to fancy himself in love) ; how his sister
was always at her tricks, and had jilted a young baron for an
old earl. "I can't make out Beatrix," he said; "she cares
for none of us — she only thinks about herself ; she is never
25 happy unless she is quarrelling; but as for my mother — my
mother, Harry, is an angel." Harry tried to impress on the
young fellow the necessity of doing everything in his power to
please that angel; not to drink too much; not to go into
debt; not to run after the pretty Flemish girls, and so forth,
30 as became a senior speaking to a lad. " But Lord bless thee ! "
the boy said, " I may do what I like, and I know she will love
me all the same;" and so, indeed, he did what he liked
Everybody spoiled him, and his grave kinsman as much aa
the rest.
HENRY ESMOND 271
CHAPTER XII
I GET A COMPANY IN THE CAMPAIGN OF 1706
On Whit-Sunday, the famous 23rd of May, 1706, my young
lord first came under the fire of the enemy, whom we found
posted in order of battle, their lines extending three miles or
more, over the high ground behind the little Gheet river,° and
having on his left the little village of Anderkirk or Autre- 5
eglise, and on his right Ramillies, which has given its name
to one of the most brilliant and disastrous days of battle
that history ever hath recorded.
Our Duke here once more met his old enemy of Blenheim,
the Bavarian Elector and the jMareschal Villeroy, over whom la
the Prince of Savoy had gained the famous victory of Chiari.°
What Enghshman or Frenchman doth not know the issue of
that day? Having chosen his own ground, having a force
superior to the English, and besides the excellent Spanish and
Bavarian troops, the whole Maison-du-Roy with him, the in-
most splendid body of Horse in the world, — in an hour (and
in spite of the prodigious gallantry of the French Royal
Household, who charged through the centre of our line and
broke it), this magnificent army of Villeroy was utterly
routed by troops that had been marching for twelve hours, 20
and by the intrepid skill of a commander who did, indeed,
seem in the presence of the enemy to be the very Genius of
Victory.
I think it was more from conviction than policy, though
that policy was surely the most prudent in the world, that 25
the great Duk^ always spoke of his victories with an extraor-
dinary modesty, and as if it was not so much his own ad-
mirable genius and courage which achieved these amazing
successes, but as if he was a special and fatal instrument in
the hands of Providence, that willed irresistibly the enemy's 3<^
overthrow. Before his actions, he always had the Church
service read solemnly, and professed an undoubting belief
that our Queen's arms were blessed and our victory sure.
A.11 the letters which he writ after his battles show awe rather
272 HENRY ESMOND
than exultation ; and he attributes the glory of these achieve'
ments, about which I have heard mere petty officers and men
bragging with a pardonable vain-glory, in no wise to his own
bravery or skill, but 'to the superintending protection of
5 Heaven, which he ever seemed to think was our especial ally.
And our army got to believe so, and the enemy learnt to
think so too; for we never entered into a battle without a
perfect confidence that it was to end in a victory; nor did
the French, after the issue of Blenheim, and that astonishing
10 triumph of Ramillies, ever meet us without feeling that the
game was lost before it was begun to be played, and that our
general's fortune was irresistible. Here, as at Blenheim, the
Duke's charger was shot, and 'twas thought for a moment he
was dead. As he mounted another, Binfield, his ]\Iaster-of-
15 the-Horse, kneeling to hold his Grace's stirrup, had his head
shot away by a cannon-ball. A French gentleman of the
Royal Household, that was a prisoner with us, told the writer
that at the time of the charge of the Household, when their
Horse and ours were mingled, an Irish officer recognised the
20 Prince-Duke, and calling out — " IMarlborough, Marlbor-
ough !" fired his pistol at him a hout-portant° and that a score
more carbines and pistols were discharged at him. Not one
touched him : he rode through the French Cuirassiers
sword-in-hand, and entirely unhurt, and calm and smiling,
25 rallied the German Horse, that was reeling before the enemy,
brought these and twenty squadrons of Orkney's back upon
them, and drove the French across the river again, — leading
the charge himself, and defeating the only dangerous move
the French made that day.
30 Major-General Webb commanded on the left of our line,
and had his own regiment under the orders of their beloved
colonel. Neither he nor they belied their character for gal-
lantry on this occasion ; but it was about his dear young lord
that I']smond was anxious, never ha\ing sight of him save
35 on(!e, in the whole course of the day, when he brought an
order from the Commander-in-Chief to Mr. Webb. When
our Horse, having cliarged round the right flank of the enemy
by Overkirk, hacl thrown him into entire confusion, a general
advance was made, and our whole line of Foot, crossing the
HENRY ESMOND 273
little river and the morass, ascended the high ground where
the French were posted, cheering as they went, the enemy-
retreating before them. 'Twas a ser\T.ce of more glory than
danger, the French battalions never waiting to exchange
push of pike or bayonet with ours ; and the gunners flying 5
from their pieces which our line left behind us as they ad-
vanced, and the French fell back.
At first it was a retreat orderly enough ; but presently the
retreat became a rout, and a frightful slaughter of the French
ensued on this panick; so that an army of sixty thousand 10
men was utterly crushed and destroyed in the course of a
couple of hours. It was as if a hurricane had seized a com-
pact and numerous fleet, flung it all to the winds, shattered,
sunk, and annihilated it; afflavit Deus, et dissipati sunt°
The French army of Flanders was gone, their artillery, their 15
standards, their treasure, provisions, and ammunition were
all left behind them : the poor devils had even fled without
their soup-kettles, which are as much thepallacha of the French
infantry as of the Grand Signor's Janissaries, ° and round
which they rally even more than round their lilies. 20
The pursuit, and a dreadful carnage which ensued (for
the dregs of a battle, however brilliant, are ever a base resi-
due of rapine, cruelty, and drunken plunder), was carried
far beyond the field of Ramillies.
Honest Lockwood, Esmond's servant, no doubt wanted to 25
be among the marauders himself and take his share of the
booty; for when, the action over, and the troops got to their
ground for the night, the Captain bade Lockwood get a
horse, he asked, with a very rueful countenance, whether
his honour would have him come, too ; but his honour only 3a
bade him go about his own business, and Jack hopped away
quite delighted as soon as he saw his master mounted.
Esmond made his way, and not without danger and difficulty,
to his Grace's headquarters, and found for himself very
quickly where the aides-de-camp's quarters were, in an out- 35
building of a farm, where several of these gentlemen were
seated, drinking and singing, and at supper. If he had any
anxiety about his boy, 'twas reheved at once. One of the
gentlemen was singing a song to a tune that Mr. Farquhar
274 HENRY ESMOND
and Mr. Gay° both had used in their admirable comedies,
and very popular in the army of that day; after the song
came a chorus, "Over the hills and far away;'^ and Esmond
heard Frank's fresh voice soaring, as it were, over the songs
5 of the rest of the young men — a voice that had always a
certain artless, indescribable pathos with it, and indeed
which caused Mr. Esmond's eyes to fill with tears now, out
of thankfulness to God the child was safe and still alive to
laugh and sing.
10 When the song was over Esmond entered the room, where
he knew several of the gentlemen present, and there sat my
young lord, having taken off his cuirass, his waistcoat
open, his face flushed, his long yellow hair hanging over his
shoulders, drinking with the rest ; the youngest, gayest, hand-
15 somest there. As soon as he saw Esmond, he clapped down
his glass, and, running towards his friend, put both his arms
round him and embraced him. The other's voice trembled
with joy as he greeted the lad; he had thought but now
as he stood in the court-yard under the clear-shining moon-
20 light ;" Great God! what a scene of murder is here within
• a mile of us; what hundreds and thousands have faced
danger to-day; and here are these lads singing over their
cups, and the same moon that is shining over j^onder horrid
field is looking down on Walcote very likely, while my lady
25 sits and thinks about her boy that is at the war." As
Esmond embraced his young -pupil now, 'twas with the feel-
ing of c^uite religious thankfulness, and an almost paternal
pleasure that he beheld him.
Round his neck was a star with a striped ribbon, that was
30 made of small brilliants and might be worth a hundred
crowns. "Look," says he, "won't that be a pretty present
for mother?"
"Who gave you the Order?" says Harry, saluting the
gentlemen : " did you win it in battle ? "
35 "I won it," cried the other, "with my sword and my spear.
There was a mousquetaire that had it round his neck, —
such a big mousquetaire, as l)ig as (Jeneral Webb. I called
out to him to surrender, and that I'd give him quarter:
he called me a -petit polisso7i° and fired his pistol at me, and
HENRY ESMOND 275
then sent it at my head with a curse. I rode at him, sir,
drove my sword right under his arm-hole, and broke it in
the rascal's body. I found a purse in his holster with sixty-
five Louis in it, and a bundle of love-letters, and a flask of
Hungary-water. Vive la guerre° ! there are the ten pieces 5
you lent me. I should like to have a fight every day;"
and he pulled at his little moustache and bade a servant
bring a supper to Captain Esmond.
Harry fell to with a very good appetite; he had tasted
nothing since twent}^ hours ago, at early dawn. Master la
Grandson, ° who read this, do you look for the history of
battles and sieges? Go, find them in the proper books;
this is only the story of your grandfather and his family.
Far more pleasant to him than the victory, though for that
too he may say meminisse fuvat° it was to find that the 15
day w^as over, and his dear young Castlewood was unhurt.
And would you, sirrah, wish to know how it was that a
sedate Captain of Foot, a studious and rather solitary bache-
lor of eight or nine and twenty j^ears of age, who did not
care very much for the joUities which his comrades engaged 20
in, and was never known to lose his heart in an}^ garrison
town — should you wish to know why such a man had so
prodigious a tenderness, and tended so fondly a boy of eigh-
teen, wait, my good friend, until thou art in love with thy
school-fellow's sister, and then see how mighty tender thou 2c,
wilt be towards him. Esmond's general and his Grace the
Prince-Duke were notoriously at A'ariance, and the former's
friendship was in nowise likely to advance any man's pro-
motion, of whose services Webb spoke well; but rather
likely to injure him, so the army said, in the favour of the 3a
greater man. However, Mr. Esmond had the good fortune
to be mentioned very advantageously by jNIajor-General
Webb in his report after the action ; and the major of his
regiment and two of the captains having been killed upon *
the da}" of Ramillies, Esmond, who was second of the heuten- 2;{
ants, got his company, and had the honour of ser\ing as
Captain Esmond in the next campaign.
M}" lord went home in the winter, but Esmond was afraid to
follow him. His dear mistress WTote him letters more than
276 HENRY ESMOND
once, thanking him, as mothers know how to thank, for his
care and protection of her boy, extolhng Esmond's own
merits with a great deal more praise than they deserved;
for he did his duty no better than any other officer; and
5 speaking sometimes, though gently and cautiously, of
Beatrix. News came from home of at least half a dozen
grand matches that the beautiful maid of honour was about
to make. She was engaged to an earl, our gentlemen of St.
James's said, and then jilted him for a duke, who, in his
10 turn, had drawn off. Earl or duke it might be who should
win this Helen, Esmond knew she would never bestow her-
self on a poor captain. Her conduct, it was clear, was little
satisfactory to her mother, who scarcely mentioned her,
or else the kind lady thought it was best to say nothing,
15 and leave time to work out its cure. At any rate, Harr}'-
was best away from the fatal object which always wrought
him so much mischief ; and so he never asked for leave to go
home, but remained with his regiment that was garrisoned
in Brussels, which city fell into our hands when the victory
20 of Ramillies drove the French out of Flanders.
CHAPTFlR XIII
I MEET AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE IN FLANDERS, AND FIND MY
mother's grave and my own CRADLE THERE
Being one day in the Church of St. Gudule, at Brussels,
admiring the antique splendour of the architecture (and
always entertaining a great tenderness and reverence for
the Mother Church, that hath been as wickedly persecuted
25 in England, as ever she herself persecuted in the days of her
prosperity), Esmond saw kneeling at a side altar, an officer
* in a green uniform coat, very deeply engaged in devotion.
Something familiar in the figure and posture of the kneeling
man struck Captain Esmond, even before he saw the officer's
30 face. As he rose up, putting away into hispocket a httle
black breviary, such as priests use, Esmond beheld a counte-
nance so lik(; that of his friend and tutor of early days, Father
HENRY ESMOND 277
Holt, that he broke out into an exclamation of astonish-
ment and advanced a step towards the gentleman who was
making his way out of church. The German officer^ too
looked surprised when he saw Esmond, and his face from
being pale grew suddenly red. By this mark of recognition, 5
the Englishman knew that he could not be mistaken; and
though the other did not stop, but on the contrary rather
hastify walked away towards the door, Esmond pursued
him and faced him once more, as the officer, helping himself
to holy water, turned mechanically towards the altar to bow la
to it ere he quitted the sacred edifice.
. "My Father!'' says Esmond in English.
"Silence! I do not understand. I clo not speak Englls"/'
says the other, in Latin.
Esmond smiled at this sign of confusion, and replied 15
in the same language. "I should know my Father "d
any garment, black or white, shaven or bearded:'' tor
the Austrian officer was habited quite in the military
manner, and had as warlike a moustachio as any Pan-
dour. ° ^0
He laughed — we were on ths chu"?h steps by this time,
passing through the crowd of beggars that U3ually is there
holding up little trinkets for sale and whining for alms.
"You speak Latin," says he, "in the Enghsh wiy, Harry
Esmond, you have forsaken the old true Roman tongue 25
you onc^ knew." His tone was very frank and friendly
quite ; iiw kind voice of fifteen years back ; he gave Esmond
his hand as he spoke.
"Otheis have changed their coats too, my Father," says
Esmond glancing at his friend s military decoration. 3a
"Hush! I am Mr. or Captain ^'^?n Holtz, in the Bavarian
Elector s service, and on a mission to his Highness the Prince
of Savoy. You can keep a sscret, I know from old
times."
"Captain von Holtz,' sayj Esmond^ "I am your very 35
humble servant. '
"And you too have changed your coat," continues the
other in his laughing way; "I have heard of you at Cam-
bridge and afterwards : we have friends everywhere ; and I
278 HENRY ESMOND
am told that Mr. Esmond at Cambridge was as good a fencei
as he was a bad theologian." (So, thinks Esmond, my old
maitre d'ar?nes was a Jesuit as they said.)
''Perhaps you are right," says the other, reading his
5 thoughts quite as he used to do in old days: ''you were
all but killed at Hochstedt of a wound in the left side. You
were before that at Mgo, aide-de-camp to the Duke of Or-
monde. You got your company the other day after Ramillies ;
your general and the Prince-Duke are not friends; he is
10 of the Webbs of Lydiard Tregoze, in the county of York,
a relation of my Lord St. John. Your cousin, M. de Castle-
wood, served his first campaign this year in the Guard :
yes, I do know a few things, as you see."
Captain Esmond laughed in his turn. "You have indeed a
15 curious knowledge," he says. A foible of Mr. Holt's, who
did know more about books and men than, perhaps, almost
any person Esmond had ever met, w^as omniscience ; thus
in every point he here professed to know, he was nearly
right, but not quite. Esmond's wound was in the right
20 side, not the left; his first general was General Lumley;
Mr. Webb came out of Wiltshire, not out of Yorkshire;
and so forth. Esmond did not think fit to correct his old
master in these trifling blunders, but they served to give
him a knowledge of the other's character, and he smiled to
25 think that this was his oracle of early days; only now no
longer infallible or divine.
"Yes," continues Father Holt, or Captain von Holtz,
"for a man who has not been in England these eight years
I know what goes on in London \'ery well. The old Dean is
30 dead, my Lady Castle wood's father. Do you know that
your recusant bishops° wanted to consecrate him Bishop of
Southampton, ° and that Collier° is Pisliop of Thetford
by the same imposition ? The Princess Anne has the gout
and eats too much; when the King returns, Colher will be
35 an archbishop."
"Amen!" says Esmond, laughing; "and I hope to see
your eminence no longer in jack-boots, but red stockings,
at Whitehall."
" You arc always with us — I know that — 1 neard of that
HENRY ESMOND 279
vThen you were at Cambridge ; so was the late lord ; so is the
young Viscount."
''And so was my father before me/' said Mr. Esmond,
looking calmly at the other, who did not, however, show
the least sign of intelligence in his impenetrable grey eyes — 5
how well Harry remembered them and their look ! only
crows '-feet were wrinkled round them — marks of black
old Time, who had settled there.
Esmond's face chose to show no more sign of meaning
than the Father's. There may have been on the one side 10
and the other just the faintest glitter of recognition, as you
see a bayonet shining out of an ambush; but each party
fell back, when everything was again dark.
"Andyou, mon capitaine,° where have 3^ou been?" says
Esmond, turning away the conversation from this dangerous 15
ground, where neicher chose to engage.
"I may have been in Pekin," says he, "or I may have been
in Paraguay^ — wdio knows where ? I am now Captain
von Holtz, in the service of his Electoral Highness, come
to negotiate exchange of prisoners with his Highness of 20
Savo}^"
'Twas well known that very many officers in our army
were well affected towards the young king at St. Germains,
whose right to the throne was undeniable, and whose acces-
sion to it, at the death of his sister, by far the greater part 25
of the English people would have preferred, to the having
a petty German prince° for a sovereign, about whose cruelty,
rapacity, boorish manners, and odious foreign ways a thousand
stories were current. It wounded our English pride to think
that a shabby High-Dutch duke, whose revenues were not 30
a tithe as great as those of many of the princes of our- ancient
English nobility, who could not speak a word of our language,
and whom we chose to represent as a sort of German boor,
feeding on train-oil and sour-crout, with a bevy of mistresses
in a barn, should come to reign over the proudest and most 35
pohshed people in the world. Were we, the conquerors of
the Grand Monarch, to submit to that ignoble domination?
What did the Hanoverian's Protestantism matter to us?
Was it not notorious (we were told, and led to believe so)
280 HENRY ESMOND
that one of the daughters of this Protestant hero was being
bred up with no religion at all, as yet, and ready, to be made
Lutheran or Roman, according as the husband might be,
whom her parents should find for her? This talk, very
5 idle and abusive much of it was, went on at a hundred mess-
tables in the army ; there was scarce an ensign that did not
hear it, or join in it, and everybody knew, or affected to know,
that the Commander-in-Chief himself had relations with
his nephew, the Duke of Berwick ('twas by an Englishman,
10 thank God, that we were beaten at Almanza°), and that
his Grace was most anxious to restore the royal race of his
benefactors, and to repair his former treason.
This is certain, that for a considerable period no officer in
the Duke's army lost favour with the Commander-in-Chief
15 for entertaining or proclaiming his loyalty towards the exiled
family. When the Chevalier de St. George, as the King of
England called himself, came with the dukes of the French
blood-royal, to join the French army under Vendosme, hun-
dreds of ours saw him and cheered him, and we all said he
20 was like his father in this, who, seeing the action of La Hogue°
fought between the French ships and ours, w^as on the side
of his native country during the battle. But this, at least,
the Chevalier knew, and every one knew, that, however well
our troops and their general might be inclined towards the
25 prince personally, in the face of the enemy there was no
question at all. Wherever my Lord Duke found a French
army, he would fight and beat it, as he did at Oudenarde,°
two years after Ramillies, where his Grace achieved another
of his transcendent victories; and the noble young prince,
30 who charged gallantly along with the magnificent Maison-du-
Roy, sent to compliment his concjuerors after the action.
In this battle, where the young Electoral Prince of Hanover
behaved himself very gallantly, fighting on our side, Esmond's
dear General Webb distinguished himself prodigiously, ex-
35 hibiting consummate skill and coolness as a general, and
fighting with the personal bravery of a common soldier.
Esmond's good luck again attended him ; he escaped without
a hurt, altiiough more than a third of his regiment was killed,
had again the honour to be favourably mentioned in his com-
HENRY ESMOND 281
mander's report, and was advanced to the rank oi major.
But of this action there is httle need to speak, as it hath been
related in every Gazette, and talked of in every hamlet in
this country. To return from it to the writer's private
affairs, which here, in his old age, and at a distance, he nar- 5
rates for his children who come after him. Before Oudenarde,
and after that chance rencontre with Captain von Holtz at
Brussels, a space of more than a year elapsed, during which
the captain of Jesuits and the captain of Webb's Fusileers
were thrown very much together. Esmond had no difficulty la
in finding out (indeed, the other made no secret of it to him,
being assured, from old times, of his pupil's fideHt}^ that the
negotiator of prisoners was an agent from' St. Germains, and
that he carried intelligence between great personages in our
camp and that of the French. ''My business," said he — ^5
"and I tell you, both because I can trust you, and your keen
eyes have already discovered it — is between the King of
England and his subjects, here engaged in fighting the French
Idng. As between you and them, all the Jesuits in the world
will not prevent your quarrelling: fight it out, gentlemen. 20
St. George for England, ° I say — and you know who says so,
wherever he may be."
I think Holt loved to make a parade of mystery, as it w^re,
and would appear and disappear at our quarters as suddenly
as he used to return and vanish in the old days at Castle wood. 25
He had passed between both armies, and seemed to know (but
with that inaccuracy which belonged to the good Father's
omniscience) eciualiy well what passed in the French camp
and in ours. One day he would give Esmond news of a
great feste that took place in the French quarters, of a supper 30
of Monsieur de Rohan's, ° where there was play and violins,
and then dancing and masques; the King drove thither in
Marshal Villars's° own guinguetta.° Another day he had
the news of his Majesty's ague : the King had not had a fit
these ten days, and might be said to be well. Captain Holtz 35
made a visit to England during this time, so eager was he
about negotiating prisoners; and 'twas on returning from
this voyage that he began to open himself more to Esmond,
and to make him, as occasion served, at their various meet-
282 HENRY ESMOND
ings, several of those confidences which are here set down al^
together.
The reason of his increased confidence was this: upon
going to London, the old director of Esmond's aunt, the
5 dowager, paid her ladyship a visit at Chelsea, and there learnt
from her that Captain Esmond was acquainted with the
secret of his family, and was determined never to divulge it.
The knowledge of this fact raised Esmond in his old tutor's
eyes, so Holt was pleased to say, and he admired liarry very
10 much for his abnegation.
''The family at Castlewood have done far more for me
than my own ever did," Esmond said. "I would give my
life for them. Why should I grudgs the only benefit that
'tis in my power to confer on them?" The good Father's
15 eyes filled with tears at this speech, which to the other
seemed very simple : he embraced Esmond, and broke out
into many admiring expressions; he said he was a nohle
c(Bur° that he was proud of him, and fond of him as his pupil
and friend — regretted more than ever that he had lost him,
20 and been forced to leave him in those early times, when he
might have had an influence over him, have brought him into
that only true church, to which the Father belonged, and
enlisted him in the noblest army in which a man ever engaged
— meaning his own Society of Jesus, which numbers (says he)
25 in its troops the greatest heroes the world ever knew; —
warriors, brave enough to dare or endure anything, to en-
counter any odds, to die any death ; — soldiei's that have
won triumphs a thousand times more brilliant than those of
the greatest general : that have brought nations on their
30 knees to their sacred banner, the Cross ; that have achieved
glories and palms incomparably brighter than those awarded
to the most splendid earthly conquerors — crowns of im-
mortal light, and seats in the high places of Heaven.
Esmond was thankful for his old friend's good opinion,
35 however little he might share the .Jesuit Father's enthusiasm.
" I have thought of that rjuestion,to(), " says ho, " dear Father,"
and he took the other's hand — " thought it out for myself, as
all men must, and contrive to do the right, and trust to Heaven
as dcvoutlv in my way as you in yours. Another six months of
HENRY ESMOND 283
you as a child, and I had desired no better. I used to weep
upon my pillow at Castlewood as I thought of you, and I
might have been a brother of your order; and who knows,"
Esmond added, with a smile, "a priest in full orders, and
with a pair of moustachios, and a Bavarian uniform." 5
"My son," says Father Holt, turning red, ''in the cause
of religion and loyalty all disguises are fair."
"Yes," broke in Esmond, "all disguises are fair, you say;
and all uniforms, say I, black or red — a black cockade or a
white one, or a laced hat ; or a sombrero, ° with a tonsure under 13
it. I cannot believe that St. Francis Xavier° sailed over the
sea in a cloak, or raised the dead — I tried ; and very nearly
did once, but cannot. Suffer me to do the right, and to hope
for the best in my own way."
Esmond wished to cut short the good Father's theology, 15
and succeeded; and the other, sighing over his pupil's invin-
cible ignorance, did not withdraw his affection from him,
but gave him his utmost confidence — as much, that is to
say, as a priest can give : more than most do ; for he was
naturally garrulous, and too eager to speak. 20
Holt's friendship encouraged Captain Esmond to ask, what
he long wished to know, and none could tell him, some history
of the poor mother whom he had often imagined in his dreams,
and whom he never knew. He described to Holt those cir-
cumstances which are already put down in the first part of 25
this story — the promise he had made to his dear lord, and
that dying friend's confession ; and he besought Mr. Holt to
tell him what he knew regarding the poor woman from
whom he had been taken.
"She was of this very town," Holt said, and took Esmond 30
to see the street where her father lived, and where, as he
beheved, she was born. "In 1676, when your father came
hither in the retinue of the late king, then Duke of York, and
banished hither in disgrace, Captain Thomas Esmond became
acquainted with your mother, pursued her, and made a victim 35
of her : he hath told me in many subsequent conversations,
which I felt bound to keep private then, that she was a woman
of great virtue and tenderness, and in all respects a most fond,
faithful creature. He called himself Captain Thomas, having
284 HENRY ESMOND
good reason to be ashamed of his conduct towards her, and
hath spoken to me many times with sincere remorse for that,
as with fond love for her many amiable qualities. He owned
to having treated her very ill ; and that at this time his life
5 was one of profligacy, gambling, and poverty. She became
with child of you; was cursed by her own parents at that
discovery; though she never upbraided, except by her in-
voluntary tears, and the misery depicted on her countenance,
the author of her wretchedness and ruin.
10 " Thomas Esmond — Captain Thomas, as he was called —
became engaged in a gaming-house brawl, of which the
consequence was a duel, and a wound, so severe that he
never — his surgeon said — could outUve it. Thinking
his death certain, and touched with remorse, he sent for a
15 priest, of the very Church of St. Gudule, where I met you;
and on the same day, after his making submission to our
Church, was married to your mother a few weeks before
you were born. My Lord Viscount Castlewood, ]\Iarquis of
Esmond by King James's patent, which I myself took to your
20 father, your lordship was christened at St. Gudule by the
same cure who married your parents, and by the name of
Henry Thomas, son of E. Thomas, officer Anglois, and Ger-
trude Maes. You see you belong to us from your birth, and
why I did not christen you when you became my dear little
25 pupil at Castlewood.
" Your father's wound took a favorable turn — perhaps his
conscience was eased by the right he had done — and to the
surprise of the doctors he recovered. But as his health came
back, his wicked nature, too, returned. He was tired of the
30 poor gii 1 whom he had ruined ; and receiving some remittance
from his uncle, my lord the old Viscount, then in England, ho
pretended business, promised return, and never saw your
poor mother more.
" He owned to me, in confession first, but afterwards in talk
1: before your aunt, his wife, else I never could have disclosed
what I now tell you, that on (coming to London ho writ a pre-
tended confession to poor Gertrude Maes — (iiertrude Es-
mond — of his liaving been married in England previously,
before uniting himself with her; said that his name was not
HENRY ESMOND 285
Thomas ; that he was about to quit Europe for the Virghiia
plantations, where, indeed, your family had a grant of land
from King Charles the First ; sent her a supply of money, the
half of the last hundred guineas he had, entreated her pardon,
and bade her farewell. 5
" Poor Gertrude never thought that the news in this letter
might be untrue as the rest of your father's conduct to her.
But though a young man of her own degree, who knew her
history, and whom she liked before she saw the English
gentleman who was the cause of all her misery, offered to la
marry her, and to adopt you as his own child, and give you
his name, she refused him. This refusal only angered her
father, who had taken her home ; she never held up her head
there, being the subject of constant unkindness after her fall;
and some devout ladies of her acquaintance offering to pay 15
a httle pension for her, she went into a convent, and you were
put out to nurse.
''A sister of the young fellow, who would have adopted you
as his son, was the person who took charge of you. Your
mother and this person were cousins. She had just lost a 20
child of her own, which you replaced, your own mother being
too sick and feeble to feed you; and presently your nurse
grew so fond of you, that she even grudged letting you visit
the convent where your mother was, and where the nuns
petted the little infant, as they pitied and loved its unhappy 25
parent. Her vocation became stronger every day, and at the
end of two years she was received as a sister of the house.
''Your nurse's family were silk-weavers out of France,
whither they returned to Arras° in French Flanders. nhortV/
before your mother took her vows, carrying you with them, 30
then a child of three years old. 'Twas a town, before the late
vigorous measures of the French king, full of Protestants, and
here your nurse's father, old Pastoureau, he with whom you
afterwards lived at Ealing, adopted the Reformed doctrines,
perverting all his house Avith him.. They were expelled 35
thence by the edict of his IMost Christian Majesty, and came
to London, and set up their looms in Spittlefields. The old
man brought a httle money with him, and carried on his
trade, but in a poor way. He was a widower ; by this time
286 HENRY ESMOND
his daughter, a widow too, kept house for him, and hi?
son and he laboured together at their vocation. Meanwhile
your father had publicly owned his conversion just before
King Charles's death (in whom our Church had much such
5 another convert) , was reconciled to my Lord Viscount Castle-
wood, and married, as you know, to his daughter.
'' It chanced that the younger Pastoureau, going with a piece
of brocade to the mercer who employed him, on Ludgate Hill,
met his old rival coming out of an ordinary there. Pastoureau
10 knew your father at once, seized him by the collar, and up-
braided him as a villain, who had seduced his mistress, and
afterwards deserted her and her son. Mr. Thomas Esmond
also recognised Pastoureau at once, besought him to calm his
indignation, and not to bring a crowd round about them ; and
15 bade him to enter into the tavern, out of which he had just
stepped, when he would give him any explanation. Pas-
toureau entered, and hearcl the landlord order the drawer to
show Captain Thomas to a room ; it was by his Christian
name that your father was familiarly called at his tavern
20 haunts, which, to say the truth, were none of the most repu-
table.
''I must tell you that Captain Thomas, or my Lord Vis-
count afterwards, was never at a loss for a story, and could
cajole a woman or a dun with a volubility, and an air of sim-
25 plicity at the same time, of which many a creditor of his has
been the dupe. His tales used to gather verisimilitude as he
went on with them. He strung together fact after fact with
a wonderful rapidity and coherence. It required, saving
your presence, a very long habit of acquaintance with your
30 father to know when his lordship was 1 , — telling the
truth or no.
" He told me with rueful remorse when he was ill — for the
fear of death set him instantly repenting, and with shrieks of
laughter when he was well, his lordship having a very great
35 sense of humour — how in half an hour's time, and before a
bottle was drunk, he had completely succeeded in biting
poor Pastoureau. The seduction he owned to ; that he
could not help : he was quite ready with tears at a moment's
warning, and shed them profusely to melt his credulous
HENRY ESMOND 287
listener. He wept for your mother even more than Pas-
toureau did, who cried very heartily, poor fellow, as my lord
informed me; he swore upon his honour that he had twice
sent money to Brussels, and mentioned the name of the
merchant with whom it was lying for poor Gertrude's use. 5
He did not even know whether she had a child or no, or
whether she was alive or dead ; but got these facts easily out
of honest Pastoureau's answers to him. When he heard that
she was in a convent, he said he hoped to end his days in
one himself, should he survive his wife, whom he hated, and ic
had been forced by a cruel father to marry ; and when he was
told that Gertrude's son was alive, and actually in London,
'I started/ says he; 'for then, damme, my wife was ex-
pecting to lie-in, and I thought, should this old Put,° my
father-in-law, run rusty, here would be a good chance to 15
frighten him.'
"He expressed the deepest gratitude to the Pastoureau
family for their care of the infant : you were now near six
years old; and on Pastoureau bluntly telhng him, when he
proposed to go that instant and see the darling child, that 20
they never wished to see his ill-omened face again within
their doors ; that he might have the boy, though they should
ail be very sorry to lose him ; and that they would take his
money, they being poor, if he gave it ; or bring him up, by
God's help, as they had hitherto done, without ; he acqui- 25
escecl in this at once, with a sigh, and said, ' Well, 'twas better
that the dear child should remain with friends who had been
so admirably kind to him ;' and in his talk to me afterwards,
honestly praised and admired the weaver's conduct and
spirit; owned that the Frenchman was a right fellow, and 3c
he, the Lord have mercy upon him, a sad villain.
"Your father," Mr. Holt went on to say, "was good-
natured with his money when he had it; and ha\ing that
day received a supply from his uncle, gave the weaver ten
pieces with perfect freedom, and promised him further 35
remittances. He took clown eagerly Pastoureau 's name and
place of abode in his table-book, and when the other asked
him for his own, gave, with the utmost readiness, his name
as Captain Thomas, New Lodge, Penzance, Cornwall"; he
288 HENRY ESMOND
said he was in London for a few days only on business con-
nected with his wife's property; described her as a shrew,
though a woman of kind disposition ; and depicted his father
as a Cornish squire, in an infirm state of health, at whose
5 death he hoped for something handsome, when he promised
richly to reward the admirable protector of his child, and to
provide for the boy. 'And by Gad, sir,' he said to me in
his strange laughing way, 'I ordered a piece of brocade of
the very same pattern as that which the fellow was carrying,
10 and presented it to my wife for a morning wrapper, to receive
company in after she lay-in of our little boy.'
''Your Httle pension was paid regularly enough; and when
your father became Viscount Castlewood on his uncle's
demise, I was employed to keep a watch over you, and*
15 'twas at my instance that you were brought home. Your
foster-mother was dead; her father made acquaintance
with a woman whom he smarried, who quarrelled with his
son. The faithful creature came back to Brussels to be near
the woman he loved, and died, too, ^ few months before her.
20 Will you see her cross in the convent cemetery? The
Superior is an old penitent of mine, and remembers Soeur
Marie Madeleine ° fondly still." •
Esmond came to this spot in one sunny evening of spring,
and saw, amidst a thousand black crosses, casting their
25 shadows across the grassy mounds, that particular one
which marked his mother's resting-place. Many more of
those poor creatures that lay there had adopted that same
name, with whicli sorrow had rebaptised her, and which
fondly seemed to hint their individual story of love and
30 grief. He fancied her, in tears and darkness, kneeling at
the foot of her cross, under which her cares were buried.
Surely he knelt down, and said his own prayer there, not
in sorrow so much as in awe (for even his memory had no
recollection of her), and in pity for the pangs which the
35 gentle soul in life had been made to suffer. To this cross
she brought th(!m ; for this heavenly bridegroom she ex-
changed the husband who had wooed her, the traitor who
had left her. A thousand such hillocks lay round about,
HENRY ESMOND 289
the gentle daisies springing out of the grass over them, and
each bearing its cross and requiescat. A nun, veiled in
black, was kneeling hard by, at a sleeping sister's bed-side
(so fresh made, that the spring had scarce had time to spin a
coverlid for it) ; beyond the cemetery walls you had glimpses 5
of life and the world, and the spires and gables of the city. A
bird came down from a roof opposite, and lit first on a cross,
and then on the grass below it, whence it flew away presently
with a leaf in its mouth : then came a sound as of chanting,
from the chapel of the sisters hard by : others had long since k
filled the place which poor Mary Magdalene once had there,
were kneeling at the same stall, and hearing the same hymns
and prayers in which her stricken heart had found con-
solation. Might she sleep in peace — might she sleep in
peace ; and we, too, when our struggles and pains are OA'er ! ic
But the earth is the Lord's, as the Heaven is; we are alike
His creatures, here and yonder. I took a little flower off the
hillock, and kissed it, and went m}^ way, like the bird that had
just lighted on the cross by me, back into the world again.
Silent receptacle of death ! tranciuil depth of calm, out of 2c
reach of tempest and trouble ! I felt as one who had been
walking below the sea, and treading amidst the bones of
shipwrecks.
CHAPTER XIV
THE CAMPAIGN OF 1707-1708
During the whole of the year which succeeded that in
which the glorious battle of Ramillies had been fought, 25
our army made no movement of importance, much to the
disgust of very many of our officers, remaining inactive in
Flanders, w^ho said that his Grace the Captain-General had
had fighting enough, and was all for money now, and the
enjoyment of his five thousand a year and his splendid 30
palace at AVoodstock,° which was now being built. And
his Grace had sufficient occupation fighting his enemies at
home this year, where it begun to be whispered that his
290 HENRY ESMOND
favour was decreasing, and his Duchess losing her hold on
the Queen, who was transferring her royal affections to the
famous Mrs. Masham,° and Mrs. Masham's humble servant,
Mr. Harley. Against their intrigues, our Duke passed a
5 great part of his time intriguing. Mr. Harley was got out
of office, and his Grace, in so far, had a victory. But her
Majesty, convinced against her will, was of that opinion still,
of which the poet says° people are, when so convinced, and
Mr. Harley, before long, had his revenge.
10 ]\Ieanwhile the business of fighting did not go on any way
to the satisfaction of Marlborough's gallant lieutenants.
During all 1707, with the French before us, we had never so
much as a battle ; our army in Spain was utterly routed at
Almanza by the gallant Duke of Berwick; and we of Webb's,
15 which regiment the young Duke had commanded before his
father's abdication, were a little proud to think that it was our
colonel who had achieved this victory. "I think if I had had
Galway's place, and my Fusileers," says our general, " we would
not have laid down our arms, Q\en to our old colonel, as
20 Galway did ;" and Webb's officers swore if we had had Webb,
at least we would not have been taken prisoners. Our dear
old general talked incautiously of himself and of others;
a braver or a more brilliant soldier never lived ths,n he;
but he blew his honest trumpet rather more loudly than
25 became a commander of his station, and, mighty laan of
valour as he was, shook his great spear, and blustered before
the army too fiercely.
Mysterious Mr. Holtz went off on a secret expedition in
the early part of 1708, with great elation of spirits, and a
30 prophecy to Esmond that a wonderful something was about
to take place. This secret came out on my friend's return
to the army, whither he brought a most rueful and dejected
countenance, and owned that the great something he had
becMi engaged upon had failed utterly. He had been indeed
35 with that luckless expedition" of the Chevalier de St. George,
who was sent by the French king with ships and an army
from Dunkirk, and was to have invaded and conquered
Scotland. But that ill wind which ever oi)posed. all the
projcM'ts upon which the Prince ever embarked, prevented
HENRY ESMOND 291
the Chevalier's invasion of Scotland, as 'tis known, and
blew poor I\Ionsieur von Holtz back into our camp again, to
scheme and foretell, and to pry about as usual. The Cheva-
lier (the King of England, as some of us held him) went
from Dunkirk to the French army to make the campaign 5
against us. The Duke of Burgundy had the command this
year, having the Duke of Berry with him, and the famous
Mareschal Vendosme, and the Duke of Matignon to aid
him in the campaign. Holtz, .who knew everything that
was passing in Flanders and France (and the Indies for what 10
I know), insisted that there would be no more fighting in
1708 than there had been in the previous year, and that our
commander had reasons for keeping him quiet. Indeed,
Esmond's general, who was known as a grumbler, and to
have a hearty mistrust of the great Duke, and hundreds 15
more officers besides, did not scruple to say that these private
reasons came to the Duke in the shape of crown-pieces from
the French King, by whom the Generalissimo" was bribed
to avoid a battle. There were plenty of men in our fines,
quidnuncs, to w^hom ]\Ir. Webb listened only too willingly, 20
who could specify the exact sums the Duke got, how much
fell to Cadogan's share, and what was the precise fee given
to Doctor Hare.
And the successes with which the French began the cam-
paign of 1708 served to give strength to these reports of trea- 25
son, which were in everybody's mouth. Our general allowed
the enemy to get between us and Ghent, ° and declined to
attack him, though for eight and forty hours the armies were
in presence of each other. Ghent was taken, and on the
same day Monsieur de • la Mothe° summoned Bruges ; and 30
these two great cities fell into the hands of the French
\v^ithout firing a shot. A few days afterwards La Mothe
seized upon the fort of Plashendall : and it began to be sup-
posed that all Spanish Flanders, as well as Brabant, would
fall into the hands of the French troops ; — when the Prince 35
Eugene arrived from the ]\Iozelle, and then there was no
more shilly-shallying.
The Prince of Savoy always signalised his arrival at the
army by a great feast (my Lord Duke's entertainments
292 HENRY ESMOND
were both seldom and shabby) : and I remember our general
returning from this dinner with the tw^o commanders-in-
chief; his honest head a httle excited by wine, which was
dealt out much more liberally by the Austrian than by the
5 English commander: — "Now/' says my general, slapping
the table, with an oath, "he must fight; and w^hen he is
forced to it, d it, no man in Europe can stand up against
Jack Churchill.'' Within a week the battle of Oudenarde
was fought, when, hate each other as they might, Esmond's
lo general and the Commander-in-Chief were forced to admire
each other, so splendid was the gallantry of each upon this
day.
The brigade commanded by Major-General Webb gave
and received about as hard knocks as any that were delivered
15 in that action, in which Mr. Esmond had the fortune to serve
at the head of his own company in his regiment, under the
command of their own colonel as Major-General; and it
was his good luck to bring the regiment out of action as
commander of it, the four senior officers above him being
20 killed in the prodigious slaughter which happened on that
day. I like to think° that Jack Hay thorn, who sneered at
me for. being a bastard and a parasite of Webb's, as he chose
to call me, and with whom I had had words, shook hands
with me before the battle begun. Three days before, poor
25 Brace, our lieutenant-colonel, had heard of his elder brother's
death, and was heir to a baronetcy in Norfolk, and four
thousand a year. Fate, that had left him harmless through a
dozen campaigns, seized on him just as the world was worth
living for, and he went into action, knowing, as he said,
30 that the luck was going to turn against him. The major
had just joined us — a creature of Lord Marlborough, put
in much to the dislike of the other officers, and to be a spy
upon us, as it was said. I know not whether the truth was
so, nor who took the tattle of. our mess to headquarters, but
35 Webb's regiment, as its colonel, w^s known to be in the
Commander-in-Chief's black books: "And if he did not
dare to break it up at home," our gallant old chief used to
say, "he was determined to destroy it before the enemy;"
so that poor Major Proudfoot was i)ut into a post of danger.
HENRY ESMOND 293
Esmond's dear young Viscount, serving as aide-de-camp
to my Lord Duke, received a wound, and won an honourable
name for himself in the Gazette; and Captain Esmond's
name was sent in for promotion by his general, too, whose
favourite he was. It made his heart beat to think that 5
certain eyes at home, the brightest in the world, might
read the page on which his humble services were recorded ;
but his mind was made up steadily to keep out of their dan-
gerous influence, and to let time and absence conquer that
passion he had still lurking about him. Away from Beatrix, ic
it did not trouble him ; but he knew as certain that if he
returned home, his fever would break out again, and avoided
Walcote as a Lincolnshire^ man avoids returning to his fens,
where he is sure that the ague is lying in wait for him.
We of the Enghsli party in the army, who were inclined to 15
sneer at everything that came out of Hanover, and to treat
as little better than boors and savages the Elector's court
and family, were yet force-'^ to confess that, on the day of
Oudenarde, the young Electoral Prince, ° then making his
first campaign, conducted himself with the spirit and courage 20
of an approved soldier. On this occasion his Electoral
Highness had better luck \l.an the King of England, who
was ^\^th his cousins in the enemy's camp, and had to run
with them at the ignominious end of the day. With the
most consummate generals in the world before them, and an 25
admirable commander on their own side, they chose to neg-
lect the counsels, and to rush into a combat with the former,
which would have ended in the utter annihilation of their
army but for the great skiL and bravery of the Duke of
Vendosme, who remedied, as far as courage and genius 30
might, the disasters occasioned by the scjuabbles and follies
of his kinsmen, the legitimate princes of the blood-royal.
"If the Duke of Berwick had but been in the armv, the
fate of the day would have been very different," was all
that poor Mr. von Holtz could say; "and you would have 35
seen that the hero of Almanza was fit to measure swords
with the conqueror of Blenheim."
The business relative to the exchange of prisoners was
always going on, and was at least that ostensible one which
294 HENRY ESMOND
kept Mr. Holtz perpetually on the move between the force\
of the French and the Allies. I can answer for it, that he
was once ver}^ near hanged as a spy by Major-General Wayne,
when he was released and sent on to headquarters by a
5 special order of the Commander-in-Chief. He came and
went, always favoured, wherever he was, by some high
though occult protection. He carried messages between
the Duke of Berwick and his uncle, our Duke. He seemed
to know as well what was taking place in the Prince's quarter
10 as our own : he brought the compliments of the King of
England to some of our officers, the gentlemen of Webb's
among the rest, for their behaviour on that great day; and
after Wynendael, when our general was chafing at the neg-
lect of our Commander-in-Chief, he said he knew how that
15 action was regarded by the chiefs of the French army, and
that the stand made before Wynendael wood was the passage
by which the Allies entered Lille. °
"Ah!" says Holtz (and some folks° were very wilhng to
listen to him), ''if the King came by his own, how changed
20 the conduct of affairs would be ! His Majesty's very exile
has this advantage, that he is enabled- to read England
impartially, and to judge honestly of all the eminent men.
His sister is always in the hand of one greedy favourite or
another, through whose eyes she sees, and to whose flattery
•25 or dependents she gives away everything. Do you suppose
that his Majesty, knowing England so well as he does, would
neglect such a man as General Webb? He ought to be in
the House of Peers as Lord Lydiard.° The enemy and all
Europe know his merit; it is that very reputation which
30 certain great people, who hate all equality and independence,
can never pardon." It was intended that these conversa-
tions should be carried to Mr. Webb. They were very wel-
come to him, for great as his services were, no man could
value them more than John Richmond Webb did himself,
35 and the differences between him and Marlborough being
notorious, his CJrace's enemies in the army and at home
began to court Webb, and set him up against the all-grasj^ing,
domineering chief. And soon after the victory of Oudenarde
a glorious opportunity fell into General Webb's way, which
HENRY ESMOND 295
that gallant warrior did not neglect, and which gave him the
means of immensely increasing his reputation at home.
After Oudenarde, and against the counsels of I\Iarlborough,
it was said, the Prince of Savoy sat down before Lille, the
capital of French Flanders, and commenced that siege, 5
the most celebrated of our time, and almost as famous as
the siege of Troy itself, for the feats of valour performed in the
assault and the defence. The enmity of the Prince of Savoy
against the French king was a furious personal hate, quite
unlike the calm hostiUty of our great English general, who 10
was no more moved by the game of war than that of billiards,
and pushed forward his squadrons, and drove his red bat-
talions hither and thither as calmly as he would combine a
stroke or make a cannon with the balls. The game over
(and he played it so as to be pretty sure to win it), not the least 15
animosity against the other party remained in the breast of
this consummate tactician. Whereas between the Prince of
Savoy and the French it was guerre a mort° Beaten off in
one quarter, as he had been at Toulon° in the last year, he was
back again on another frontier of France, assaihng it with his 20
indefatigable fury. When the Prince came to the army, the
smouldering fires of war were lighted up and burst out into
a flame. Our phlegmatick Dutch allies were made to advance
at a quick march - - our calm Duke forced into action. The
Prince was an army in himself against the French; the 25
energy of his hatred prodigious, indefatigable — infectious
over handreds of thousands of men. The Emperor's general
was repaying, and with a vengeance, the slight ° the French
king had put upon the fiery little Abbe of Savoy. BriUiant
and famous as a leader himself, and beyond all measure daring 30
and intrepid, and enabled to cope with almost the best of
those famous men of war who commanded the armies of the
French king, Eugene had a weapon, the equal of which could
not be found in France, since the cannon-shot of Sasbach°
laid low the noble Turenne, and could hurl Marlborough at 35
the heads of the French host, and crush them as with a rock,
under which all the gathered strength of their strongest cap-
tains must go down.
The English Duke took little part in that vast siege of
296 HENRY ESMOND
Lille, which the Imperial Generalissimo pursued with all his
force and ^^gour, further than to cover the besieging hnes
from the Duke of Burgundy's army, between which and the
Imperialists our Duke lay. Once, when Prince Eugene was
5 wounded, our Duke took his Highness 's place in the trenches ;
but the siege was with the Imperialists, not with us. A
division under Webb and Rantzau was detached into Artois
and Pi(;ardy° upon the most painful and odious service that
Mr. Esmond ever saw in the course of his military hfe. Tli^e
10 wretched towns of the defenceless provinces, whose young
men had been drafted away into the French armies, which
year after year the insatiable war devoured, were left at our
mercy ; and our orders were to show them none. We found ,
places garrisoned by invalids, and children and women : poor
15 as they were, and as the costs of this miserable war had made
them, our commission was to rob these almost starving
WTetches — to tear the food out of their granaries, and strip
them of their rags. Twas an expedition of rapine and
murder we were sent on : our soldiers did deeds such as an
20 honest man must blush to remember. We brought l;ack
money and provisions in quantity to the Duke's camp; there
had been no one to resist us, and j'et who dares to tell with
what murder and violence, with what brutal cruelty, outrage,
insult, that ignoble booty had been ravished from the inno-
25 cent and miserable victims of the war ?
Meanwhile, gallantly as the operations before Lille had
been conducted, the Allies had made but little progress, and
'twas said when we returned to the Duke of Marll)()rough's
camp that the siege would never be bi ought to a satisfy ctory
30 end, and that the Prince of Savoy wo'J.d be forced to raise it.
My Lord Marlboi'ough gave this as his oj)inion openly, +hose
who mistrust(;d him, and Mr. Esmond owns himself to be of
the number, hintcMl that the Duke had his reasons why Lille
should not be taken, and that he was paid to that end by
35 the French king. If this was so, and I believe it, (General
Webb liad now a i-emarkable oppoi'tunity of gratifying his
hatred of the Commander-in-(;hief, of balking tliat sliameful
avarice, which was one of the basest and most notorious
qualities of the famous Duke, and of showing his own con-
HENRY ESMOND 297
summate sldll as a commander. And when I consider all the
circumstances preceding the event which will now be related,
that my Lord Duke was actually offered certain millions of
crowns, provided that the siege of Lille should be raised ; that
the Imperial army before it was without provisions and 5
ammunition, and must have decamped but for the supplies
that they received; that the march of the convoy destined to
relieve the siege was accurately known to the French ; and that
the force covering it was shamefully inadecjuate to that end,
and by six times inferior to Count de ^a Mothe's army, which 10
was sent to intercept the convoy; when 'tis certain that the
Duke of Berwick, de la ^Mothe's cliief, was in constant cor-
respondence with his uncle, the English Generalissimo : I
beheve on my conscience that 'twas my Lord ^larlborough's
intention to prevent those supplies, of which the Prince of 15
Savoy stood in absolute need, from ever reaching his High-
ness; that he meant to sacrifice the little army, which cov-
ered this convoy, and to betray it as he had betrayed ToUe-
mache at Brest°; as he betrayed every friend he had, to
further his own schemes of avarice or ambition. But for 20
the miraculous victory which Esmond's general won over an
army six or seven times greater than his own, the siege of
Lille must have been raised ; and it must be remembered that
our gallant little force was under the command of a general
whom i\Iarlborough hated, that he was furious with the con- 25
queror, and tried by the most open and shameless injustice
afterwards to rob liim of the credit of his victory.
CHAPTER XV
GENERAL WEBB WINS THE BATTLE OF WYNENDAEL
By the besiegers and besieged of Lille, some of the most
brilliant feats of valour were performed, that ever illustrated
any war. On the French side (whose gallantry was pro- 30
digious, the skill and bravery of ^larshal Boufflers° actually
eclipsing those of his concj[ueror, the Prince of Savoy) may be
mentioned that daring action of Messieurs de Luxembourg
298 HENRY ESMOND
and Tournefort, who, with a body of Horse and Dragoons,
carried powder into the town, of which the besieged were in
extreme want, each soldier bringing a bag with forty pounds
of powder behind him ; with which perilous provision they
5 engaged our own Horse, faced the fire of the Foot brought
out to meet them : and though half of the men were blown
up in the dreadful errand they rode on, a part of them gc^:, into
the town with the succours of which the garrison was so much
in want. A French officer, Monsieur du Bois, performed an
lo act equally daring, and perfectly successful. The Duke's
great army lying at Helchin,° and covering the siege, and it
being necessary for ■\I. de Vendosme to get news of the con-
dition of the place, Captain Dubois performed his famous
exploit : not only passing through the lines of the siege but
15 swimming afterwards no less than seven moats and ditches:
and coming back the same way swimming with his letters
in his mouth.
By these letters Monsieur de Boufflers said that he could
undertake to hold the place^till October; and that if one of
20 the convoys of the Allies could be intercepted they must raise
the siege altogether.
Such a convoy as hath been said was now prepared at
Ostend,° and about to march for the siege; and on the 27th
September we (and the French too) had news that it was on
23 its way. It was composed of 700 waggons° containing am-
munition of all sorts, and was escorted out of Ostend by
2000 Infantry and 300 Horse. At the same time M. de la
Mothe fjuitted Bruges, having with him five-and-thirty
battalions, and upwards of sixty squadrons, and forty guns,
3c in pursuit of the convoy.
Major-(Jencral Webb had meanwhile made up a force of
twenty l)attalions, and three squadrons of dragoons, at
Tunmt, whence he mo\'ed to cover the convoy and pursue la
Mothe : with whose advanced guard ours came up upon the
35 great plain of Turout, and before the little wood and castle
of Wynondael : behind which the convoy was marc^hing.
As soon as they came in sight of the enemy our advanced
troops were halted, with the wood behind them, and the rest
of our force brought up as (juickly as possible, our little body
HENRY ESMOND 299
of Horse being brought forward to the opening of the plain,
as our general said, to amuse the enemy. When M. de la Mothe
came up he found us posted in two lines in front of the w^ood ;
and formed his own army in battle facing ours, in eight lines,
four of infantry in front and dragoons and cavalry behind. 5
The French began the action, as usual, with a cannonade
which lasted three hours, when they made their attack, ad-
vancing in twelve lines, four of Foot and four of Horse, upon
the allied troops in the wood where we were posted. Their
infantry behaved ill ; they were ordered to charge with the la
bayonet, but, instead, began to fire, and almost at the very
first discharge from our men, broke and fled. The cavalry
behaved better; with these alone, who were three or four
times as numerous as our whole force. Monsieur de la }.Iothe
might have won a victory: but only two of our battahons 15
were shaken in the least ; and these speedily raUied : nor
could the repeated attacks of the French horse cause our
troops to budge an inch from the position in the wood in
which our general had placed them.
After attacking for two hours the French retired at nightfall 20
entirely foiled. With all the loss we had inflicted upon him,
the enemy was still three times stronger than we; and it
could not be supposed that our general could pursue M. de la
Mothe, or do much more than hold our ground about the
wood, from which the Frenchman had in vain attempted to 25
dislodge us. La Mothe retired behind his forty guns, his
cavalry protecting them better than it had been enabled to
annoy us ; and meanwhile the convoy, which was of more
importance than all our little force, and the safe passage of
which we would have dropped to the last man to accomphsh, 33
marched away in perfect safety during the action, and joy-
fully reached the besieging camp before Lille.
Major-General Cadogan, my Lord Duke's Quartermaster-
General (and between whom and ]\Ir. Webb there was no love
lost), accompanied the convoy, and joined Mr. Webb with a T,ti
couple of hundred Horse just as the battle was over and the
enemy in full retreat. He offered, readily enough, to charge
with his Horse upon the French as they fell back; but his
force was too weak to inflict any damage upon them ; and
300 " HENRY ESMOND
Mr. Webb, commanding as Cadogan's senior, thought enough
was done in holding our ground before an enemy that might
still have overwhelmed us, had we engaged him in the open
territory, and in securing the safe passage of the convoy.
5 Accordingly, the Horse brought up b}^ Cadogan did not draw
a sword ; and only prevented, by the good countenance the}''
showed, any disposition the French might have had to renew
the attack on us. And no attack coming, at nightfall Gen-
eral Cadogan drew off with his squadron, being bound for
10 headquarters, the two generals at parting grimly saluting
each other.
''He will be at Roncq time enough to lick my Lord Duke's
trenchers at supper," says Mr. Webb.
Our own men lay out in the woods of Wynendael that night,
15 and our general had his supper in the little castle there.
''If I was Cadogan, I would have a peerage for this day's
work," General Webb said; "and Harr}^, thou shouldst have
a regiment. Thou hast been reported in the last two actions :
thou wert near killed in the first. I shall mention thee in my
20 despatch to his Grace the Commander-in-Chief, and recom-
mend thee to poor Dick Harwood's vacant majority. ° Have
you ever a hundred guineas to give Cardonnel°? Slip them
into his hand to-morrow, when you go to headquarters with
my report."
25 In this report the Major-General was good enough to
mention Captain Esmond's name with particular favour;
and that gentleman carried the despatch to headquarters the
next day, and was not a little pleased to bring back a letter
by his Grace's secretary, addressed to Lieutenant-General
30 Webb. The Dutch officer despatched by Count Nassau
Woudenbourg, Va-lt-MarcschaP Auverquerque's son, brought
ba('k also a complimentary letter to his commander, who had
seconded Mr. Webb in the action with great valour and skill.
Esmond, with a low bow and a smiling face, presented his
35 despatch, and saluted Mr. Webb as Lieutenant-General, as
he gave it in. The gentlemen round about him — he was
riding with his suite on the road to Menin as l^Jsmond came
up with him — gave a cheer, and he thanked them, and
opened the despatch with rather a flushed eager face.
HENRY ESMOND 301
He slapped it down on his boot in a rage, after he had read
it. "Tis not even writ with his own hand. Read it out,
Esmond." And Esmond read it out: —
"Sir — Mr. Cadogan is just now come in, and has ac-
quainted me with the success of the action you had yesterday 5
in the afternoon against the body of troops commanded by
M. de la Mothe, at AVynendael, which must be attributed
chiefly to your good conduct and resolution. You may be
sure I shall clo you justice at home, and be glad on all oc-
casions to own the service you have done in securing this 10
convoy. — Yours, etc., M.''
"Two lines by that d d Cardonnel, and no more, for
the taking of Lille — for beating five times our number —
for an action as brilHant as the best he ever fought." says
poor Mr. Webb. " Lieutcnant-Gene-ral ! That's not his 15
doing. I was the oldest major-general. By , I believe
he had been better pleased, if I had been beat."
The letter to the Dutch officer was in French, and longer
and more complimentary than that to Mr. Webb.
"And this is the man," he broke out, "that's gorged with 20
gold, — that's covered with titles and honours that we won
for him, — and that grudges even a line of praise to a com-
rade in arms! Hasn't he enough? Don't we fight tl;at he
may roll in riches ? Well, well, wait for the Gazette, gentle-
men. The Queen and the country will do us justice, if his 25
Grace denies it us." There were tears of rage in the brave
warrior's eyes, as he spoke ; and he dashed them off his face on
to his glove. He shook his fist in the air. " Oh, by the Lord ! "
says he, "I know what I had rather have than a peerage I"
"And -what is that, sir?" some of them asked. 30
" I had rather have a quarter of an hour with John Churchill,
on a fair green field, and only a pair of rapiers between my
shirt and his "
"Sir!" interposes one.
"Tell him so! I know that's what you mean. I know 35
every word goes to him that's dropped from every general
officer's mouth. I don't say he's not brave. Curse him !
he's brave enough; but we'll wait for the Gazette, gentlemen.
God save her Majesty ! she'll do us justice."
"302 HENRY ESMOND
The Gazette did not come to us till a month afterwards;
when my general and his officers had the honour to dine with
Prince Eugene in Lille ; his Highness being good enough to
say that we had brought the provisions, and ought to share in
5 the banquet. Twas.a great banquet. His Grace of Marl-
borough was on his Highness's right, and on his left the
Mareschal de Boufflers, who had so bravely defended the
place. The chief officers of either army were present; and
you may be sure Esmond's general was splendid this day:
10 his tall, noble person and manly beauty of face made him
remarkable anywhere ; he wore, for the first time, the star
of the Order of Generosity, ° that his Prussian Majesty had
sent to him for his victory. His Highness the Prince of
Savoy called a toast to the conqueror of Wynendael. My
15 Lord Duke drank it with rather a sickly smile. The aides-de-
camp were present ; and Henry Esmond and his dear young
lord were together, as they always strove to be when duty
would permit : they were over against the table where the
generals were, and could see all that passed pretty well.
20 Frank laughed at my Lord Duke's glum face : the affair of
Wynendael, and the Captain-(j!enerars conduct to Webb,
had been the talk of the whole army. When his Highness
spoke, and gave — " Le vainqueur° de Wynendael ; son armee
et sa victoire," adding, "qui nous font diner a Lille aujour-
25 d'huy" — there was a great cheer through the hall; for Mr.
Webb's bravery, generosity, and very weaknesses of char-
acter caused him to be beloved in the army.
"Like Hector, handsome, and like Paris, brave i" whispers
Frank Castlewood. "A Venus, an elderly Venus, couldn't
30 refuse him a i)ippin. Stand up, Harry. See, we aredrinking
the army of Wynendael. Ramillies is nothing to it. Huz-
zay ! huzzay !"
At this very time, and just after our general had made his
acknowledgment, some one brought in an l^]nglish Gazette —
35 and was passing it from hand to liand down the table. Offi-
cers were eag(;r enough to read it ; mothers and sisters at
home must have sickened over it. There scarce came out a
Gazette for six years that did not tell of some heroick death
or some brilliant achievement.
HENRY ESMOND SOS
"Here it is — Action of Wynendael — here you are,
General/' says Frank, seizing hold of the little dingy paper
that soldiers loved to read so; and, scrambling over from
our bench, he went to where the General sat, who knew
him, and had seen many a time at his table his laughing, 5
handsome face, which everybody loved who saw. The
generals in their great perrucjues made way for him. He
handed the paper over General Dohna's buff coat to our
General on the opposite side.
He came hobbling back, and blushing at his feat: "I ic
tliought he'd like it, Harry," the young fellow whispered.
''Didn't I Hke to read my name after Ramillies, in the
London Gazette f — Viscount Castlewood serving a volunteer
1 say, what's yonder?"
Mr. Webb, reading the Gazette, looked very strange — 15
slapped it down on the table — then sprung up in his place,
and began to — "Will your Highness please to "
His Grace the Duke of Marlborough here jumped up too —
"There's some mistake, m}' dear General Webb."
"Your Grace had best rectify it," says Mr. Webb, holding 20
out the letter ; but he was five off his Grace the Prince-Duke,
who, besides, was higher than the General (being seated
with the Prince of Savoy, the Electoral Prince of Hanover,
and the envoys of Prussia and Denmark, under a baldaquin),
and Webb could not reach him, tall as he was. 25
"Stay," says he, wdth a smile, as if catching at some idea,
and then, with a perfect courtesy, drawing his sword, he
ran the Gazette through with the point, and said, "Permit
me to hand it to your Grace."
The Duke looked very black. "Take it," says he, to his 30
Master of the Horse, who was waiting behind him.
The Lieutenant-General made a very low bow, and retired
and finished his glass. The Gazette in which Mr. Cardon-
nel, the Duke's secretary, gave an account of the victory of
Wynendael, mentioned ]\Ir. Webb's name, but gave the sole 35
praise and conduct of the action to the Duke's favourite,
Mr. Cadogan.
There was no little talk and excitement occasioned by this
strange behaviour of General Webb, who had almost drawn
304 HENRY ESMOND
a sword upon the Commander-in-Chief; but the General,
after the first outbreak of his anger, mastered it outwardly
altogether; and, by his subsequent behaviour, had the
satisfaction of even more angering the Commander-in-Chief,
5 than he could have done by any publick exhibition of resent-
ment.
On returning to his quarters, and consulting with his chief
adviser, Mr. Esmond, who was now entirely in the General's
confidence, and treated by him as a friend, and almost a-
10 son, Mr. Webb writ a letter to his Grace the Commander-in-
Chief, in which he said : —
"Your Grace must be aware that the sudden perusal of the
London Gazette, in which your Grace's secretary, ]\Ir. Cardon-
nel, hath mentioned Major-General Cadogan's name, as the
15 officer commanding in the late action of Wynendael, must
have caused a feeling of anything but pleasure to the General
who fought that action.
''Your Grace must be aware that Mr. Cadogan was not
even present at the battle, tliough he arrived with squadrons
20 of Horse at its close, and put himself under the command of
his superior officer. And as the result of the battle of Wy-
nendael, in which Lieutenant-General Webb had the good
fortune to command, was the capture of Lille, the relief of
Brussels, then invested by the enemy under the Elector of
25 Bavaria, the restoration of the great cities of Ghent and
Bruges, of which the enemy (by treason within the walls)
had got possession in the previous year: Mr. Webb cannot
consent to forgo the honours of such a success and service,
for the benefit of Mr. Cadogan, or any other i)erson.
30 " As soon as the military operations of the year are over,
Lieutenant-General Webb will requc^st permission to leave
the army, and return to his place in Parliament, where he
gives notice to his Oace the Commander-in-Chief, that he
shall lay his case before the House of Commons, the country,
35 and her Majesty the Queen.
"J:{y his ejigerness to rectify that false statement of the
Gazelle, which had been written })y his (trace's secretary,
Mr. Cardonnel, Mr. Weljb, not being able to reach his Grace
HENRY ESMOND 305
the Comn)ander-in-Chief on account of the gentlemen seated
between them, placed the paper containing the false state-
ment on his sword, so that it might more readily arrive in the
hands of his Grace the Duke of Marlborough, who surely would
wish to do justice to every officer of his army. 5
" Mr. Webb knows his duty too well to think of insub-
ordination to his superior officer, or of using his sword in a
campaign against any but the enemies of her Majesty. He
solicits permission to return to England immediately the
military duties will permit, and take with him to England 10
Captain Esmond, of his regiment, who acted as his aide-de-
camj), and was present during the entire action, and noted
by his watch the time when Mr. Gadogan arrived at its close."
The Gommander-in-Ghief could not but grant this per-
mission, nor could he take notice of Webb's letter, though 15
it was couched in terms the most insulting. Half the army
believed that the cities of Ghent ard Bruges were given
up by a treason, which some in our i rmy very well under-
stood ; that the Gommander-in-Ghief would not ha\e re-
lieved Lille if he could have helped himself; that he would 20
not ha^T fought that year had not the Prince of Savoy forced
him. When the battle once began, then, for his own renown,
my Lord Marlborough would fight as no man in the world
ever fought better; and no bribe on earth could keep him
from beating the enemy. ^ 25
^ Our Grandfather's hatred of the Duke of Marlborough appears all
through his account of these campaigns. He alvvaj-s persisted that the
Duke was tlie greatest traitor and soldier History ever told of : and
declared that he took bribes on all hands during the war. INIy Lord
Marquis (for so we may call him here, though he never went by any
other name than Colonel Esmond) was in the habit of telhng many
stories which he did not set down in his memoirs, and which he had
from his friend the Jesuit, who was not alv.ays correctly informed,
and wlio persisted that Marlborough was looking for a bribe of two
millions of crowns before the campaign of Ramillies.
And our Grandmother used to tell us children that on his first pre-
sentation to my Lord Duke, the Duke turned his back upon my
Grandfather ; and said to the Duchess, who told my lady dowager at ,
Chelsea, who afterwards told Colonel Esmond, — "Tom Esmond's bas-
tard has been to my levee : he has the hang-dog look of his rogue of a
father " — an expression which my Grandfather never forgave. He
306 HENRY ESMOND
But the matter was taken up by the subordinates; and
half the army might have been by the ears, if the quarrel
had not been stopped. General Cadogan sent an in-
timation to General Webb to say that he was ready
5 if Webb liked, and would meet him. This was a kind
of invitation our stout old general was always too ready
to accept, and 'twas with great difficulty w^e got the General
to reply that he had no c^uarrel with Mr. Cadogan, who had
behaved with perfect gallantry, but only with those at head-
10 quarters, who had beUed him. Mr. Cardonnel offered
General Webb reparation ; IMr. Webb said he had a cane
at the service of jNIr. Cardonnel, and the only satisfaction he
wanted from him was one he was not hkely to get, namely,
the truth. The officers in our staff of Webb's, and those
15 in the immediate suite of the General, were ready to come
to blows: and hence arose the only affair in which Mr.
Esmond ever engaged as principal, and that was from a
revengeful wish to wi'je off an old injury.
My Lord Mohun, vho had a troop in Lord Macclesfield's
20 regiment of the Horse Guards, rode this campaign with the
Duke. He had sunk by this time to the very worst reputa-
tion ; he had had ano;^her fatal duel in Spain ; he had married,
and forsaken his wife; he was a gam}:)ler, a profligate, and
debauchee. He joined just before Oudenarde : and, as
25 Esmond feared, as soon as Frank Castlewood heard of his
arrival, Frank was for seeking him out, and killing him.
The wound my lord got at Oudenarde prevented .their meet-
ing, but that was nearly healed, and Mr. Esmond trembled
daily lest any chance should bring his boy and this known
30 assassin together. They met at the mess-table of Handy-
side's regiment at Lihe ; the officer commanding not knowing '
of the feud l)etween the two noblemen.
Ivsmond had not seen the hateful handsome face of Mohun
for nine years, since they had met on that fatal night in
35 Leicester Field. It was degraded with crime and passion
now ; it wore the anxious look of a man who has three
was as constant in his dislikes as in his attachments : and exceethngiy
partial to Webb, whoso side he took against the more celebrated
\lv\\vrn\. We have General Webb's portrait now at Castlewood, Va.
HENRY ESMOND 307
deaths, and who knows how many hidden shames, and lusts,
and crimes, on his conscience. He bowed with a sickly low
bow, and slunk away when our host presented us round
to one another. Frank Castlewood had not known him till
then, so changed was he. He knew the boy well enough. 5
Twas curious to look at the two — especially the young
man, whose face flushed up when he heard the hated name
of the other; and who said in his bad French and his brave
boyish voice — "He had long been anxious to meet my
Lord i\Iohun." The other only bowed and moved away 10
from him. To do him justice, he wished to have no quarrel
with the lad.
Esmond put himself between them at table. "D it,"
says Frank, "why do you put yourself in the place of a
man who is above you in degree ? ]\Iy Lord Mohun should 15
walk after me. I want to sit by my Lord Mohun."
Esmond whispered to Lord Mohun, that Frank was hurt
in the leg at Oudenarde ; and besought the other to be quiet.
Quiet enough he was for some time ; disregarding the many
!;aunts which young Castlewood flung at him, until after 20
several healths, when my Lord Mohun got to be rather in
liquor.
"Will you go away, my lord?" Mr. Esmond said to him,
imploring him to quit the table.
"No, by G ," says my Lord Mohun. "I'll not go 25
away for any man;" he was quite flushed with wine by this
time.
The talk got round to the affairs of 3^esterday. Webb
had offered to challenge the Commander-in-Chief : Webb
had been ill-used : Webb was the bravest, handsomest, 30
vainest man in the army. Lord Mohun did not know tliat
Esmond was Webb's aide-de-camp. He began to tell some
stories against the General; which, from t'other side of
Esmond, young Castlewood contradicted.
"I can't bear any more of this," says my Lord IMohun. 35
"Nor can I, my lord," says Mr. Esmond, starting up.
"The story my Lord Mohun has told respecting General Webb
is false, gentlemen — false, I repeat," and making a low bow
to Lord Mohun, and without a single word more, Esmond
308 HENRY ESMOND
got up and left the dining-room. These affairs were commorv
enough among the mihtary of those days. There was a
garden behind the house, and all the party turned instantly
into it : and the two gentlemen's coats were off and their
5 points engaged within two minutes after Esmond's words
had been spoken. If Captain Esmond had put Mohun
out of the world, as he might, a villain would have been
punished and spared further villanies — but who is one man
to punish another? I declare^ upon my honour that my
10 only thought vfas to prevent Lord ]\Iohun from mischief
with Frank, and the end of this meeting was, that after half
a dozen passes my lord went home with a hurt which pre-
vented him from lifting his right arm for three months.
"Oh, Harry! why didn't you kill the villain?" young
15 Castlewood asked. "I caji't walk witliout a crutch: but I
could have met him on horseback with sword and pistol."
But Harry Esmond said, '' 'Twas best to have no man's
life on one's conscience, not even that villain's;'' and this
affair, which did not occupy three minutes, being over,
20 the gentlemen went back to their wine, and my Lord JMohun
to his quarters, where he was laid up with a fever which had
spared mischief had it proved fatal. And very soon after
this affair Harry Esmond and his general left the camp for
London ; whither a certain reputation had preceded the
23 (Japtain, for my Lady Castlewood of Chelsea received him, as
if he had been a conquering hero. She gave a great dinner
to Mr. Webl), where the General's chair was crowned with
laurels; and her ladyship called Esmond's health in a toast,
to which my kind general was graciously pleased to bear the
30 stroiig(!st testimony : and took down a mob of at least forty
coaches to cheer our general as he came out of the House
of Commons, the day when he received the thanks of Parlia-
ment for his action. The mob huzzaed and applauded him,
as well as the fine company : it was splendid to see him
35 waving his hat, and bowing, and laying his hand upon his
Order of (Jenerosity. He introduced Mr. I']smond to Mr.
St. John and the Uight Honouralile Robert Harley, Esquire,
as he came out of the House walking l)etvveen them; and
was pleased to make many flattering observations re-
HENRY ESMOND 309
garding Mr. Esmond's behaviour during the three last
campaigns.
Mr. fct. John (who had the most winning presence of any
man I ever saw, excepting always my peerless young Frank
Castlewood) said he had heard of Mr. Esmond before from 5
Captain Steele, and how he had helped Mr. Addison to wTite
his famous poem of the "Campaign."
" 'Tis as great an achievement as the victory of Blenheim
itself," Mr. ^Harley said, who was famous as a judge and
patron of letters, and so perhaps it may be — though for my 10
part I think there are twenty beautiful lines, but all the rest
is commonplace, and Mr. Addison's hymn worth a thousand
such poems.
All the town was indignant at my Lord Duke's unjust
treatment of General Webb, and applauded the vote of 15
thanks which the House of Commons gave to the General
for his victory at Wynendael. 'Tis certain that the capture
of Lille was the consequence of that ludvy achievement, and
the humiliation of the old French king, who was said to suffer
more at the loss of this great city, than from any of the former 20
victories our troops had won over him. And, I think, no
small part of Mr. Webb's exultation at his victory arose from
the idea that Marlborough had been disappointed of a great
brii^e the French king had promised him, should the siege
be raised. The very sum of money offered to him was men- 25
tioned by the Duke's enemies ; and honest Mr. Webb chuckled
at the notion not only of beating the French, but of beating
Marlborough too, and intercepting a convoy of three millions
of French crowns, that w^ere on their way to the General-
issimo's insatiable pockets. When the General's lady went 3a
to the Queen's drawing-room, all the Tory women crowded
round her with congratulations, and made her a train greater
than the Duchess of I\Iarlborough's own. Feasts were given
to the General by all the chiefs of the Tory part}', who
vaunted him as the Duke's ecfual in military skill; and per- 35
haps used the worthy soldier as their instrument, whilst
he thought they were but acknowledging his merits as a
commander. As the General's aide-de-camp, and favourite
officer, Mr. Esmond came in for a share of his chief's popu-
310 HENRY ESMOND
larity, and was presented to her Majesty, and advanced to
the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel, at the request of his grateful
chief.
We may be sure there was one family in which any good
5 fortune that happened to Esmond, caused such a sincere pride
and pleasure, that he, for his part, was thankful he could
make them so happy. With these fond friends, Blenheim and
Oudenarde seemed to be mere trifling incidents of the war ;
and Wynendael was its crowning victory. Espiond's mis-
lo tress never tired to hear accounts of the battle ; and I think
General Webb's lady grew jealous of her, for the General
was for ever at Kensington, and talking on that delightful
theme. As for his aide-de-camp, though, no doubt, Esmond's
own natural vanity was pleased at the little share of reputa-
15 tion which his good fortune had won him, yet it was chiefly
precious to him (he may say so, now that he hath long since
outlived it) because it pleased his mistress, and, above all,
because Beatrix valued it.
As for the old dowager of Chelsea, never was an old woman
20 in all England more delighted nor more gracious than she.
Esmond had his quarters in her ladyship's house, where the
domesticks were instructed to consider him as their master.
She bade him give entertainments, of which she defrayed the
charges, and was charmed when his guests were carried away
25 tipsy in their coaches. She must have his picture taken ; and
accordingly he was painted by Mr. Jervas, in his red coat,
and smiling upon a bomb-shell, which was bursting at a
corner of the piece. She \'owed that unless he made a great
match, she should never die easy, and was for ever bringing
30 young ladies to Chelsea, with pretty faces and pretty fortunes,
at the disposal of the Colonel. He smiled to think how times
were altered with him,' and of the early days in his father's
lifetime, when a trembling page he stood before her, with her
ladyship's basin and ewer, or crouched in her coach-stc}).
35 The only fault she found with him was that he was more
sober than an Esmond ought to be ; and would neither be
carried to bed by his valet, nor lose his heart to any beauty,
whether of St. James's or Co vent Garden.
What is the meaning of fidelity in love, and whence the
HENRY ESMOND 311
birth of it? Tis a state of mind that men fall into, and
depending on the man rather than the woman. We love
being in love, that's the truth on't. If we had not met Joan,
we should have met Kate, and adored her. We know our
mistresses are no better than many other women, nor no 5
prettier, nor no wiser, nor no wittier. 'Tis not for these
reasons we love a woman, or for any special quality or charm
I know of; we might as well demand that a lady should be the
tallest woman in the world, like the Shropshire giantess,^ as
that she should be a paragon in any other character, before 10
we began to love her. Esmond's mistress had a thousand
faults beside her charms : he knew both perfectly well ; she
was imperious, she was light-minded, she was flighty, she was
false, she had no reverence in her character ; she was in
everything, even in beauty, the contrast of her mother, who 15
was the most devoted and the least selfish of women. Well,
from the very first moment he saw her on the stairs at Wal-
cote, Esmond knew he loved Beatrix. There might be better
women — he wanted that one. He cared for none other.
W^as it because she was gloriously beautiful? Beautiful as 20
she was, he hath heard people say a score of times in their
compan}^, that Beatrix's mother looked as young, and was
the handsomer of the two. Why did her voice thrill in his
ear so ? She could not sing near so well as Xicolini or Mrs.
Tof ts^ ; nay, she sang out of tune, and yet he liked to hear her 25
better than St. CeciHa.° She had not a finer complexion
than Mrs. Steele (Dick's wife, whom he had now got, and
who ruled poor Dick with a rod of pickle) , and yet to see her
dazzled Esmond ; he would shut his eyes, and the thought of
her dazzled him all the same. She was brilliant and hvely 30
in talk, but not so incomparably witty as her mother, who
when she was cheerful, said the finest things; but yet to
hear her, and to be with her, was Esmond's greatest pleasure.
Days passed away between him and these ladies, he scarce
knew how. He poured his heart out to them, so. as he never 35
could in any other company, where he hath generally passed
^ 'Tis not thus looman loves : Col. E. hath Qwued to this folly for a
score of women besides. — R."^
312 HENRY ESMOND
for being moody, or supercilious and silent. This society
was more delightful than that of the greatest wits to liim
May Heaven pardon him the lies he told the dowager at
Chelsea, in order to get a pretext for going away to Ken-
5 sington ; the business at the Ordnance which he invented ;
the interviews with his General, the courts and statesmen's
levees which he didn't frequent and describe : who wore a
new suit on Sunday at Saint James's or at the Queen's birth-
day; how many coaches filled the street at Mr. Harley's
10 levee ; how many bottles he had had the honour to drink
over-night with ^Ir. St. John at the Cocoa Tree, or at the
Garter with ]\Ir, Walpole and Mr. Steele.
Mistress Beatrix Esmond had been a dozen times on the
point of making great matches, so the Court scandal said;
rs but for his part Esmond never "would believe the stories
against her ; and came back, after three years' absence from
her, not so frantick as he had been perhaps, but still hungering
after her and no other, still hopeful, still kneeling, with his
heart in his hand for the young lady to take. We were now
20 got to 1709. She was near twenty-two years old, and three
years at Court, and without a husband.
" 'Tis not for want of being asked," Lady Castlewood said,
looking into Esmond's heart, as she could, with that per-
ceptiveness affection gives. "But she will make no mean
25 match, Harry : she will not marry as I would have her ; the
person whom I should like to call my son, and Henry Esmond
knows who that is, is best served by my not pressing his
claim. Beatrix is so wilful, that what I would urge on her,
she would be sure to resist. The man who would marry her
30 will not be happy with her, unless he be a great person, and
can put her in a great position. Beatrix loves admiration
more than love; and longs, beyond all things, for command.
Why should a mother si)eak so of her chilcl? You are my
son, too, Harry. You should know the truth about your sister.
35 I thought you might cure yourself of your passion," my lady
added, fondly. "Other people can cure themselves of that
' And, indeed, so was his to them, a thousand thousand times more
charming, for where was his equal ? — R.
HENRY ESMOND 313
folly^ you know. But I see you are still as infatuated as
e'/er. AMien we read your name in the Gazette, I pleaded
for you, my poor boy. Poor boy, indeed ! You are growing
a grave old gentleman now, and I am an old woman. She
hkes your fame well enough, and she hkes your person. She 5
says you have wit, and fire, and good-breeding, and are more
natural than the fine gentlemen of the Court. But this is
not enough. She wants a commander-in-chief, and not a
colonel. Were a duke to ask her, she would leave an earl
whom she had promised. I told you so before. I know not 10
how my poor girl is so worldly."
"Well," says Esmond, ''a man can but give his best and his
all. She has that from me. What little reputation I have
won, I swear I cared for it but because I thought Beatrix
would be pleased with it. What care I to be a colonel or a 15
general ? Think you 'twill matter a few score years hence,
what our foolish honours to-day are? I would have had a
little fame, that she might wear it in her hat. If I had any-
thing better, I would endow her wdth it. If she wants my
life, I would give it her. If she marries another, I will say 20
God bless him. I make no boast, nor no comj^laint. I think
my fidelity is folly, perhaps. But so it is. I cannot help
myself. I love her. You are a thousand times better : the
fondest, the fairest, the dearest, of women. Sure, dear lady,
I see all Beatrix's faults as well as 3^ou do. But she is my 25
fate. 'Tis endurable. I shall not die for not ha\ang her.
I think I should be no hapj^ier, if I won her. Que voulez-
vous°? as my Lady of Chelsea would say. Je Taime."
"I wish she would have you," said Harry's fond mistress,
giving a hand to him. He kissed the fair hand ('twas the 30
prettiest dimpled little hand in the world, and my Lady
Castlewood, though now almost forty A^ears old, did not look
to be within ten years of her age). He kissed and kept her
fair hand, as they talked together.
"Why, "says he, "should she hear me? She knows what 35
I would say. Far or near she knows I'm her slave. I have
sold myself for nothing, it may be. Well, 'tis the price I
choose to take. I am worth nothing, or I am worth aU."
"You are such a treasure," Esmond's mistress was pleased
314 HENRY ESMOND
to say, "that the woman who has your love, shouldn't change
it away against a kingdom, I think. I am a country-bred
woman, and cannot say but the ambitions of the town seem
mean to me. I never was awe-stricken by my Lad}^ Duchess's
5 rank and finery, or afraid," she added, with a sly laugh, "of
anything but her temper. I hear of Court ladies who pine
because her Majesty looks cold on them; and great noble-
men who would give a limb that they might wear a garter on
the other. This worldhness, which I can't comprehend, was
10 born with Beatrix, who, on the first day of her waiting, was a
perfect courtier. We are like sisters, and she the elder sister,
somehow. She tells me I have a mean spirit. I laugh, and
say she adores a coach-and-six. I cannot reason her out
of her ambition. 'Tis natural to her, as to me to love quiet,
15 and be indifferent about rank and riches. What are they,
I^arry? and for how long do they last? Our home is not
here." She smiled as she spoke, and looked like an angel
that was only on earth on a visit. "Our home is where the
just are, and where our sins and sorrows enter not. My
20 father used to rebuke me, and say that I was too hopeful
about Heaven. But I cannot help my nature, and grow
obstinate as I grow to be an old woman; and as I love my
children so, sure our Father loves us with a thousand and a
thousand times greater love. It must be that we shall meet
25 yonder, and be happy. Yes, you — and my children, and
my dear lord. Do you know, Harry, since his death, it has
always seemed to me as if his love came back to me, and that
we are parted no more. Perhaps he is here now, Harry —
I think he is. Forgiven I am sure he is : even Mr. Atterbury
30 absoh'ed him, and he died forgiving. Oh, what a noble heart
he had ! How generous he was ! I was but fifteen, and a
child when he married me. How good he was to stoop to
me! He was always good to the poor and humble." She
stopped, then presently, with a peculiar expression, as if her
35 eyes were looking into Heaven, and saw my lord there, she
smiled, and gave a little laugh. "I laugh to see you, sir,'^
she says; "when you come, it seems as if you never were
away." One may put her words down, and remember them,
but how describe her sweet tones, sweeter than musick?
HENRY ESMOND 315
My young lord did not come home at the end of the cam-
paign, and wrote that he was kept at Bruxelles on miUtary
duty. Indeed, I beheve he was engaged in laying siege to a
certain lady, who was of the suite of Madame de Soissons, the
Prince of Savoy's mother, who° was just dead, and who, like 5
the Flemish fortresses, was taken and retaken a great number
of times during the war, and occupied by French, English,
and Imperialists. Of course, Mr. Esmond did not think fit
to enlighten Lady Castlewood regarding the young scape-
grace's doings: nor had he said a word about the affair with 10
Lord Mohun, knowing how abhorrent that man's name was to
his mistress. Frank did not waste much time or money on
pen and ink; and, when Harry came home with his general,
only writ two lines to his mother, to say his wound in the leg
was almost healed, that he would keep his coming of age next 15
year, — that the duty aforesaid would keep him at Bruxelles,
and that Cousin Harry would tell all the news.
But from Bruxelles, knowing how the Lady Castlewood
always liked to have a letter about the famous 29th of Decem-
ber, my lord writ her a long and full one, and in this he must have 20
described the affair with Mohun ; for when Mr. Esmond came
to \4sit his mistress one day, early in the new year, to his great
wonderment, she and her daughter both came up and saluted
him, and after them the dowager of Chelsea, too, whose chair-
man had just brought her ladyship from her village to Ken- 25
sington across the fields. After this honour, I say, from the
two ladies of Castlewood, the dowager came forward in great
state, with her grand tall head-dress of King James's reign,
that she never forsook, and said, '"Cousin Henry, all our
family have met ; and we thank you, cousin, for your noble 30
conduct towards the head of our house." And pointing to
her blushing cheek, she made Mr. Esmond aware that he was
to enjoy the rapture of an embrace there. Having saluted
one cheek, she turned to him the other. "Cousin Harry,"
said both the other ladies, in a little chorus, "we thank you 35
for your noble conduct ;" and then Harry became aware that
the story of the Lille affair had come to his kinswomen's ears.
It pleased him to hear them all saluting him as one of their
family.
316 HENRY ESMOND
The tables of the dining-room were laid for a great enter-
tainment ; and the ladies were in gala dresses — my Lady
of Chelsea in her highest tour° my Lady Viscountess out oi
black, and looking fair and happy, a ravir ; ° and the ^laid of
5 Honour attired with that splendour which naturally distin-
guished her, and wearing on her beautful breast the French
officer's star, which Frank had sent home after Ramillies.
"You see, 'tis a gala day with us," says she, glancing down
to the star complacently, "and we have our orders on. Does
10 not mamma look charming? 'Twas^I dressed her!" In-
deed, Esmond's dear mistress, blushing as he looked at her,
with her beautiful fair hair and an elegant dress, according to
the mode, appeared to have the shape and complexion of a
girl of twenty.
15 On the table was a fine sword, with a red velvet scabbard,
and a beautiful chased silver handle, with a blue ribbon for
a sword-knot. "What is this?" says the Captain, going up
to look at this pretty piece.
Mrs. Beatrix advanced towards it. "Kneel down," says
20 she : "we dub 3^ou our knight with this" — and she waved the
sword over his head — "my Lady Dowager hath given the
sword; and I give the rih)bon, and mamma hath sewn on
the fringe."
" Put the sword on him, Beatrix," says her m(5ther. " You
25 are our knight, Harry — our true knight. Take a mother's
thanks and prayers for defending her son, my dear, dear
friend." She could say no more, and even the dowager was
affected, for a couple of rebellious tears made sad marks
down tliose wrinkled old roses which Esmond had just been
30 allowed to salute.
"We had a letter from dearest Frank," his mother said,
"three days since, whilst you were on your visit to your
friend Captain Steele, at PLampton. He told us all that you
had done, and how nobly you had put yourself between him
35 and that — that wretch."
"And I adopt you from this day," says the dowager;
"and I wish I was richer, for your sake, son Esmond," she
added, with a wave of her hand; and as iMr. PlsTncnd duti-
fully went down on his knee before her ladyship, she cast her
HENRY ESMOND 317
eyes up to the ceiling (the gilt chandelier, a.nd the twelve
wax candles in it, for the party was numerous), and invoked
a blessing from that quarter upon the newly-adopted son.
"Dear Frank," says the other Viscountess, "how fond he
is of his military profession ! He is studying fortification 5
very hard. I wish he were here. We shall keep liis coming
of age at Castle wood next year."
"If the campaign permit us," says Mr. Esmond.
"I am never afraid, when he is with you," cries the boy's
mother. "I am sure my Henry will always defend him." 10
" But there will be a peace before next year ; we know it for
certain," cries the Maid of Honour. "Lord Marlborough
will be dismissed; and that horrible Duchess turned out of
all her places. Her Majesty won't speak to her now. Did
you see her at Bushy, Harry? she is furious, and she ranges 15
about the park like a lioness, and tears people's eyes out."
"And the Princess Anne will send for somebody," says
my Lady of Chelsea, taking out her medal, and kissing it.
" Did you see the King at Oudenarde, Harry?" his mistress
asked. She was a staunch Jacobite, and would no more 20
have thought of denying her king than her God.
"I saw the young Hanoverian only," Harry said: "The
Chevalier de St. George."
"The King, sir, the Kjng!" said the ladies and Miss
Beatrix; and she clapped her pretty hands, and cried "Vive 25
le Roy.°"
By this time there came a thundering knock, that drove
in the doors of the house almost. It was three o'clock, and
the company were arriving; and presently the servant
announced Captain Steele and his lady. 30
Captain and Mrs. Steele, who were the first to arrive, had
driven to Kensington from their country-house, the Hovel
at Hamjjton Wick, "Not from our mansion in Bloomsbury
Square," as Mrs. Steele took care to inform the ladies. In-
deed, Harry had ridden away from Hampton that very 35
morning, leaving the couple by the ears; for, from the
chamber where he lay, in a bed that was none of the cleanest,
and kept awake by the company which he had in his own
bed, and the quarrel which was going on in the next room.
318 HEXRY ESMOND
he could hear both night and morning the curtain lecture
which Mrs. Steele was in the habit of administering to poor
Dick.
At night, it did not matter so much for the culprit ; Dick
5 was fuddled, and when in that way no scolding could inter-
rupt his. benevolence. Mr. Esmond could hear him coaxing
and speaking in that maudlin manner, which punch and
claret produce, to his beloved Prue, and beseeching her
to remember that there was a distiwisht officer ithe rex roob°
10 who would overhear her. She went on, nevertheless, calling
him a drunken 'wretch, and was only interrupted in her
hf^rangues by the Captain's snoring.
In the morning, the unhappy victim awoke to a headache
and consciousness, and the dialogue of the night was resumed.
15 "Why do you bring captains home to dinner when there's
not a guinea in the house ? How am I to gi^'e dinners when
you leave me without a shilling? How am I to go trape-
sing to Kensington in my yellow satin sack before all the
fine company? I've nothing fit to put on; I never have;"
20 and so the dispute went on — Mr. Esmond interrupting the
talk when it seemed to be growing too intimate by blowing
his nose as loudly as ever he could, at the sound of which
trumpet there came a lull. But Dick was charming, though
his wife was odious, and 'twas to give Mr. Steele pleasure
25 that the ladies of Castlewood, who were ladies of no small
fashion, invited Mrs. Steele.
Besides the Captain and his lady, there was a great and
notable assemblage of company ; my Lady of Chelsea hav-
ing sent her lacqueys and liveries to aid the modest attend-
30 ance at Kensington. There was Lieutenant-General Webb,
Harry's kind patron, of whom the dowager took possession,
and who resplended in velvet and gold lace ; there was
Harry's new acf|uaintance, the Right Honourable Henry
St. John, Esquire, the (leneral's kinsman, who was charmed
35 with the Lady Castlewood, even more than with her daughter ;
there was one of the greatest noblemen in the kingdom,
the Scots Duke of Hamilton, just created Duke of l^randon
in England ; and two other noble lords of the Tor}^ pjirty,
my Lord Ashburnham, and another I have forgot; and for
HEXRY ESMOND 319
ladies, her Grace the Duchess of Ormonde and her daughters,
the Lady i\Iary and the Lady Betty, the former one of
Mistress Beatrix's colleagues in waiting on the Queen.
''What a party of Tories!" whispered Captain Steele to
Esmond, as we were assembled in the parlour before dinner. 5
Indeed, all the company present, save Steele, were of that
faction.
i\Ir. St. John made his special compliments to Mrs. Steele,
and so charmed her, that she declared she would have Steele
a Tory too. 10
"Or will you have me a Whig?" says Mr. St. John. "I
think, madam, you could convert a man to anything."
"If Mr. St. John ever comes to Bloornsbury Square I will
teach him what I know," says Mrs. Steele, dropping her
handsome eves. " Do vou know Bloomsburv Square ? " 15
"Do I know the Mall? Do I know the Opera? Do I
know the reigning toast? Why, Bloomsbury is the very
height of the mode," says Mr. St. John. " Tis rus m iirbe°
You have gardens all the way to Hampstead,° and palaces
round about you — Southampton House and Montague 20
House."
"Where vou wretches go and fight duels," cries Mrs.
Steele.
"Of which the ladies are the cause !" says her entertainer.
"]Madam, is Dick a good swordsman? How charming the 25
Tatler° is ! We all recognised your portrait in the 49th
number, and I have been dyhig to know you ever since I
read it. 'Aspasia must be allowed to be the first of the
beauteous order of love.' Doth not the passage run so?
' In this accomplished lad}" love is the constant effect, though 30
it is never the design; yet though her mien carries much
more invitation than command, to behold her is an im-
mediate check to loose behaviour, and to love her is a liberal
education.'"
"Oh, indeed!" says Mrs. Steele, who did not seem to 35
understand a word of what the gentleman was saying.
" Who could fail to be accomplished under such a mistress ? "
says Mr. St. John, still gallant and bowing.
"Mistress! upon my word, sir!" cries the lady. "If you
320 HENRY ESMOND
mean me, sir, I would have you know that I am the Captain ^s
wife."
"Sure we all know it," answers Mr. St. John, keeping hia
countenance very gravely; and Steele broke in, saying,
5 " Twas not about ]\Irs. Steele I writ that paper — though I
am sure she is worthy of any compliment I can pay her —
but of the Lady Elizabeth Hastings."
"I always thought that paper was Mr. Congreve's,"
cries Mr. St. John, showing that he knew more about the
10 subject than he pretended to ]\Ir. Steele, and who was the
original ]\Ir. Bickerstaff3° drew.
"Tom Boxer said so in his Observator. But Tom's oracle
is often making blunders/' cries Steele.
"Mr. Boxer and my husband were friends once, and when
15 the Captain was ill with the fever no man could be kinder
than Mr. Boxer, who used to come to his bed-side every
day, and actually brought Dr. Arbuthnot who cured him,"
whispered Mrs. Steele.
" ndeed, madam! How very interesting," says Mr. St.
20 jo^jn.
"But when the Captain's last comedy came out, Mr.
Boxer took no notice of it, — you know he is Mr. Congreve's
man, and won't ever give a word to the other house, — and
this made my -husband angry."
25 "Oh! Mr. Boxer is Mr. Congreve's man!" says Mr. St.
John.
"Mr. Congreve has wit enough of his own," cries out Mr.
Steele. "No one ever heard me grudge him or any other
man his share."
30 "I hear Mr. Addison is equally famous as a wit and a poet,"
says Mr. St. John. "Is it true that his hand is to be found
in your Tatler, Mr. Steele?"
"Whether 'tis the sublime or the humorous, no man can
come near him," cries Steele.
35 "A fig, Dick, for your Mr. Addison!" cries out his lady:
"a gentleman who gives himself such airs and holds his head
so high now. I hoi)e your ladyship thinks as I do : I can't
bear those very fair men with white eyelashes — a black
man for me." (All the black° men at table aj^plauded, and
HENRY ESMOND 321
made Mrs. Steele a bow for this compliment.) "As for this
Mr. Addison/' she went on, ''he comes to dine with the
Captain sometimes, never says a word to me, and then they
walk upstairs, both tipsy, to a dish of tea. I remember your
Mr. Addison when he had but one coat to his back, and that 5
with a patch at the elbow."
''Indeed — a patch at the elbow! You interest me,"
says Mr. St. John. "Tis charming to hear of one man of
letters from the charming wife of another."
"Law! I could tell you ever so much about 'em," con- lo
tinues the voluble lady. "What do you think the Captain
has got now ? — a little hunchback fellow — a little hop-
o'-my-thumb creature that he calls a poet — a little popish
bratV'
"Hush, there are two in the room," whispers her compan- 15
ion.
"Well, I call him popish because his name is Pope,°"
says the lady. " 'Tis only my joking way. And this little
dwarf of a fellow has wrote° a pastoral poem — all about
shepherds and shepherdesses, you know." 20
"A shepherd should have a little crook," says my mistress,
laughing from her end of the table : on which Mrs. Steele
said, "she did not know, but the Captain brought home this
queer little creature when she was in bed with her first boy,
and it was a mercy he had come no sooner ; and Dick raved 25
about his genus, and was always raving about some nonsense
or other."
"Which of the Tatlers do you prefer, Mrs. Steele?" asked
i\Ir. St. John.
"I never read but one, and think it all a pack of rubbish, 3°
sir," says the lady. "Such stuff about Bickerstaffe, and
Distaff, and Quarterstaff,° as it all is ! There's the Captain
going on still with the Burgundy — I know he'll be tipsy
before he stops — Captain Steele !"
"I drink to your ej^es, my dear," says the Captain, who 35
seemed to think his wife charming, and to receive as genuine
all the satirick compliments which Mr. St. John paid her.
All this while the Maid of Honour had been trying to get
Mr. Esmond to talk, and no doubt voted him a dull fellow.
322 HENRY ESMOND
For, by some mistake, just as he was going to pop into the
vacant place, he was placed far away from Beatrix's chair,
who sate between his Grace and my Lord Ashburnham,
and shrugged her lovely white shoulders, and cast a look as
5 if to say, "Pity me,'' to her cousin. My Lord Duke and his
young neighbour were presently in a very animated and close
conversation. Mrs. Beatrix could no more help using her
eyes than the sun can help shining, and setting those it shines
on a-burning. By the time the first course was done the
10 dinner seemed long to Esmond : by the time the soup came
he fancied they must have been hours at table : and as for
the sweets and jellies, he thought they never would be done.
At length the ladies rose, Beatrix throwing a Parthian
glance° at her duke as she retreated; a fresh bottle and
15 glasses were fetched, and toasts were called. Mr. St. John
asked his Grace the Duke of Hamilton and the company
to drink to the health of his Grace the Duke of Brandon.
Another lord gave General Webb's health, "and may he get
the command the bravest officer in the world deserves."
20 Mr. Webb thanked the company, complimented his aide-de-
camp, and fought his famous battle over again,
''II est fatiguant,°" whispers Mr. St. John, "avec sa trom-
pette de Wynendael."
Captain Steele, who was not of our side, loyally gave the
^5 health of the Duke of Marlborough, the greatest general
of the age.
"I drink to the greatest general with all my heart," says
Mr. Webb; "there can be no gainsaying that character of
him. My glass goes to the General, and not to the Duke, Mr.
-'o Steele." And the stout old gentleman emptied his bumper;
to which Dick replied by filling and emptying a pair of
brimmers, one for the General and one for the Duke.
And now his (ilrace of Hamilton, rising up, with flashing
eyes (we had all been di-inking pretty freely), proposed a
~35 toast to the lovely, to the incomparable Mrs. Beatrix Esmond ;
we all drank it with cheers, and my Lord Ashburnliam
especially, with a shout of enthusiasm.
"What a i)ity there is a Duchess of Hamilton!" whispers
St. John, who drank more wine and yet was more steady
HENRY ESMOND 323
than most of the others, and we entered the drawing-room,
where the ladies were at their tea. As for poor Dick, we
were obhged to leave him alone at the dining-table, where
he was hiccupping out the lines from the " Campaign, '^
in which the greatest poet had celebrated the greatest 5
general in the world; and Harry Esmond found him,
half an hour afterwards, in a more advanced stage of liquor,
and weeping about the treachery of Tom Boxer.
The drawing-room was all dark to poor Harry, in spite
of the grand illumination. Beatrix scarce spoke to him. 10
When my Lord Duke went away, she practised upon the
next in rank, and phed my young Lord Ashburnham with
all the fire of her eyes and the fascinations of her wit. Most
of the party were set to cards, and Mr. St. John, after yawning
in the face of Mrs. Steele, whom he did not care to pursue 15
any more, and talking in his most brilliant, animated way to
Lady Castlewood, whom he pronounced to be beautiful,
of a far higher order of beauty than her daughter, presently
took his leave, and went his way. The rest of the company
speedily followed, my Lord Ashburnham the last, throwing 20
fiery glances at the smiling young temptress, who had be-
witched more hearts than his in her thrall.
Xo doubt, as a kinsman of the house, Mr. Esmond thought
fit to be the last of all in it; he remained after the coaches
had rolled away, — after his dowager aunt's chair and flam- 25
beaux had marched off in the darkness towards Chelsea, and
the town's-people had gone to bed, who had been drawn
into the square to gape at the unusual assemblage of chairs
and chariots, lacqueys and torchmen. The poor mean
wretch lingered yet for a few minutes, to see whether the 30
girl would vouchsafe him a smile, or a parting word of con-
solation. But her enthusiasm of the morning was quite
died out, or she chose to be in a different mood. She fell to
joking about the dowdy appearance of Lady Betty, and
mimicked the vulgarity of Mrs. Steele; and then she put 35
up her httle hand to her mouth and yawned, lighted a taper,
and shrugged her shoulders, and dropping Mr. Esmond a
saucy curtsey, sailed off to bed.
"The day began so well, Henry, that I had hoped it might
324 HEXRY ESMOND
have ended better," was all the consolation that poor Esmond's
fond mistress could give him ; and as he trudged home through
the dark alone, he thought, with bitter rage in his heart, and a
feeling of almost revolt against the sacrifice he had made : — ■
5 "She would have me," thought he, "had I but a name to
give her. But for my promise to her father, I might have
my rank and my mistress too."
I suppose a man's vanity is stronger than any other passion
in him; for I blush, even now, as I recall the humiliation of
lo those distant days, the memory of which still smarts, though
the fever of baulked desire has passed away more than a
score of years ago. When the writer's descendants come
to read this memoir, I wonder will they have lived to expe-
rience a similar defeat and shame? Will they ever have
15 knelt to a woman, who has listened to them, and played
with them, and laughed at them, — who beckoning them
with lures and caresses, and with Yes smiling from her eyes,
has tricked them on to their knees, and turned her back, and
left them? All this shame, Mr. Esmond had to undergo;
20 and he submitted, and revolted, and presently came crouch-
ing back for more.
After this feste, my young Lord Ashburnham's coach was
for ever rolling in and out of Kensington Square; his lady-
mother came to visit Esmond's mistress, and at every as-
25 sembly in the town, wherever the Maid of Honour made her
appearance, you might be pretty sure to see the young gentle-
man in a new suit every week, and decked out in all the finery
that his tailor or embroiderer could furnish for him. My lord
was for ever paying Mr. Esmond compliments : bidding him
30 to dinner, offering him horses to ride, and giving him a thou-
sand uncouth marks of respect and good-will. At last, one
night at the coffee-house, whither my lord came considerably
Hushed and excited with dririk, he rushes up to Mr. Esmond,
and cries out — "Give me joy, my dearest Colonel; I am
35 the happiest of men."
"The hai)piest of men needs no dearest colonel to give him
joy," says Mr. Esmond. "What is the cause of this su-
preme felicity?"
"Haven't vou heard?" says he. "Don't you know?
HENRY ESMOND 325
I thought the family told you everything: the adorable
Beatrix hath promised to be mine."
"What!" cries out Mr. Esmond, who had spent happy
hours with Beatrix that very morning, — had writ verses
for her, that she had sung at the harpsichord. 5
'' Yes," says he ; "I waited on her to-day. I saw you walk-
ing towards Knightsbridge,° as I passed in my coach ; and she
looked so lovely, and spoke so kind, that I couldn't help
going down on my knees, and — and — sure I'm the happiest
of men in all the world; and I'm very young: but she says 10
I shall get older : and you know I shall be of age in four
months; and there's very little difference between us; and
I'm so happy. I should like to treat the company to som.e-
thing. Let us have a bottle — a dozen bottles — and drink
the health of the finest woman in England." / 15
Esmond left the young lord tossing off bumper after bum-
per, and strolled away to Kensington to ask whether the
news was true. ^Twas only too sure : his mistress's sad, '
compassionate face told him the story ; and then she related
what particulars of it she knew, and how my young lord had 20
made his offer, half an hour after Esmond went away that
morning, and in the very room where the song lay yet on the
harpsichord, which Esmond had writ, and they had sung
together.
BOOK III
CONTAINING THE END OF MR. ESMOND'S ADVENTURES
IN ENGLAND
CHAPTER I
I COME TO AN END OF MY BATTLES AND BRUISES
That feverish desire to gain a little reputation which
Esmond had had, left him now perhaps that he had attained
some portion of his wish, and the great motive -of his am-
bition was over. His desire for military honour was that
it might raise him in Beatrix's eyes. 'Twas next to nobility 5
and wealth the only kind of rank she valued. It was the
stake quickest won or lost too ; for law is a very long game
that requires a life to practise ; and to be distinguished in
letters or the church would not have forwarded the poor
gentleman's plans in the least. So he had no suit to play 10
but the red one,° and he played it; and this, in truth, was
the reason of his speedy promotion ; for he exposed himself
more than most gentlemen do, and risked more to win more.
Is he the only man that hath set his life against a stake which
may be not worth the winning? Another risks his life (and 15
his honour, too, sometimes) against a bundle of bank-notes,
or a 3^ard of blue ribbon, ° or a seat in Parhament; and some
for the mere pleasure and excitement of the sport ; as a field
of a hundred huntsmen will do, each out-bawling and out-
galloping the other at the tail of a dirty fox, that is to be the 20
prize of the foremost happy conqueror.
When he heard this news of Beatrix's engagement in mar-
riage. Colonel Esmond knocked under to his fate, and resolved
to surrender his sword, that could win him nothing now he
cared for; and in this dismal frame of mind he determined 25
to retire from the regiment, to the great delight of the captain
next in rank to him, who happened to be a young gentleman
of good fortune, w^ho.eagerlv paid Mr. Esmond a thousand
guineas for his majority in Webb's regiment, and was knocked
on the head the next campaign. Perhaps Esmond would 3a
329'
330 HENRY ESMOND
not have been sorry to share his fate. He was more the
Knight of the Woful Countenance than ever he had been.
His moodiness must have made him perfectly odious to his
fj'iends under the tents, who hke a jolly fellow, and laugh at
5 a melancholy warrior always sighing after Dulcinea° at home.
Both the ladies of Castlewood approved of Mr. Esmond
quitting the army, and his kind general coincided in his wish
of retirement, and helped in the transfer of his commission,,
which brought a pretty sum into his pocket. But when the'
10 Commander-in-Chief came home, and was forced, in spite of
himself, to appoint Lieutenant-General Webb to the com-
mand of a division of the army in Flanders, the Lieutenant-
Ceneral prayed Colonel Esmond so urgently to be his aidc-de- ■
camp and military secretar}^, that Esmond could not resist his
15 kind patron's entreaties, and again took the field, not attached
to any regiment, but under Webb's orders. What must hiive
been the continued agonies of fears ^ and apprehensions which
racked the gentle breasts of wives and matrons in t'lose dread-
ful days, when every Gazette brought accounts of deaths and
2o battles, and when, the present anxiety over, and the beloved
person escaped, the doubt still remained that a battle might
be fought, possibly, of which the next Flanders letter would
bring the account ; so they, the poor tender creatures, had to
go on sickening and trembling through the whole campaign.
25 Whatever these terrors were on the part of Esmond's mistress
(and that tenderest of women must have felt them most
keenly for both her sons, as she called them), she never al-
lowed them outwardly to appear, but hid her apprehension
as she did her charities and devotion. 'Twas only by chance
30 that Esmond, wandering in Kensington, found his mistress
coming out of a mean cottage there, and heard that she hacj
a score of poor retainers whom slie visited and comforted in
their sickness and poverty, and who blessed her daily. She
attended the early (;hurch daily° (though, of a Sunday espe-
35 cially, she encouraged and advanced all sorts of cheerfulness
and irmocent gaiety in her little household) : and by notes
entered into a tal)le-book of hers at this time, and devotional
compositions writ with a sweet artless fervour, such as the
1 What indeed ? Psm. xci. 2, 3, 7. — R. E.
HENRY ESMOND 331
ibest divines could not surpass, showed how fond her heart
was, how humble and pious her spirit, what panojs of appre-
ihension she endured silently, and with what a faithful reliance
she committed the care of those she loved to the Awful
Dispenser of death and life. 5
As for her ladyship at Chelsea, Esmond's newly-adopted
mother, she was now of an age when the danger of any second
party doth not disturb the rest much. She cared for trumps°
more than for most things in life. She was firm enough in
her own faith, but no longer very bitter against ours. She had lo
a very good-natured, easy French director, ° Monsieur Gauthier
by name, who was a gentleman of the world, and would take
a hand at cards with Dean Atterbury, my lady's neighbour
at Chelsea, and was well with all the High Church party.
No doubt Monsieur Gauthier knew w^hat Esmond's peculiar 15
position was, for he corresponded with Holt, and always
treated Colonel Esmond with particular respect and kindness ;
but for good reasons the Colonel and the Abbe never spoke
on this matter together, and so they remained perfect good
friends. 20
All the frequenters of my Lady of Chelsea's house were of
the Tory and High Church party. Madam Beatrix was as
frantick about the King as her elderly kinswoman : she wore
his picture on her heart; she had a piece of his hair; she
vowed he was the most injured, and gallant, and accom- 25
plished, and unfortunate, and beautiful of princes. Steele,
who quarrelled with very many of his Tory friends, but never
with Esmond, used to tell the Colonel that his kinswoman's
house was a rendezvous of Tory intrigues ; that Gauthier was
a spy; that Atterbury was a spy; that letters were con- 30
stantly going frcii that house to the Queen at St. Germains;
on which Esmond, laughing, would reply, that they used to
say in the army the Duke of Marlborough was a spy too,
and as much in correspondence with that family as any
Jesuit. And without entering very eagerly into the con- 35
troversy, Esmond had frankly taken the side of his family.
It seemed to him that King James the Third was undoubtedly
King of England by right : and at his sister's death it would
be better to have him than a foreigner over us. No man
332 HENRY ESMOND
admired King William more ; a hero and a conqueror, the
bravest, justest, wisest of men; — but 'twas by the sword
he conquered the country, and held and governed it by the
very same right that the great Cromwell held it, who was
5 truly and greatly a sovereign. But that a foreign despot ick
Prince, out of Germany, who happened to be descended
from King James the First, should take possession of this
empire, seemed to Mr. Esmond a monstrous injustice — at
least, every Englishman' had a right to protest, and the
10 English Prince, the heir-at-law, the first of all. What man
of spirit with such a cause would not back it ? What man of
honour with such a crown to win would not fight for it ? But
that race was destined. That Prince had himself against him,
an enemy he could not overcome. He never dared to draw
15 his sword, though he had it. He let his chances slip by as
he lay in the lap of opera-girls, or snivelled at the knees of
priests asking pardon ; and the blood of heroes, and the
devotedness of honest hearts, and endurance, courage, fidel-
ity, were all spent for him in vain.
20 But let us return to my Lady of Chelsea, who when her;
son Esmond announced to her ladyship that he proposed 1
to make the ensuing campaign, took leave of him with per-
fect alacrity, and was down to picquct with her gentlewoman-
before he had well quitted the room on his last visit. "Tierce
25 to a king,°" were the last words he ever heard her say: the
game of life was pretty nearly over for the good lady, and
three months afterwards she took to her bed, where she
flickered out without any pain, so the Abbe Gauthier wrote
over to Mr. Esmond, then with his general on the frontier of
30 France. The Lady Castlewood was with her at her ending,
and had written too, out these letters must have been taken
by a privateer in the packet that brought them ; for l<]sm()nd
knew nothing of their contents until his return to l*]ngland.
My Lady Casthnvood had left everything to Colonel Es-
35 mond, "as a reparatioji for the wrong done to him;" 'twas
writ in her will. But her fortune was not much, Tor it never
had been large, and the honest Viscountess had w-sely sunk
most of the mone> she had upon an annuity which terminated
with her life. However, there was the house and furniture,
HENRY ESMOND 333
plate, and pictures at Chelsea, and a sum of money lying
at her merchant's Sir Josiah Child, which altogether would
realize a sum of near three hundred pounds per annum, so
that Mr. Esmond found himself, if not rich, at least easy for
life. Likewise, there were the famous diamonds which had 5
been said to be worth fabulous sums, though the goldsmith
pronounced they w^ould fetch no more than four thousand
pounds. These diamonds, however, Colonel Esmond re-
served, having a special use for them : but the Chelsea house,
plate, goods, etc., with the exception of a few articles which la
he kept back, were sold by his orders ; and the sums resulting
from the sale invested in the publick securities so as to reahse
the aforesaid annual income of £300.
Having now something to leave, he made a will, and de-
spatched it home. The army was now in presence of the 15
enem}-; and a great battle expected every day. Twas
known that the General-in-Chief was in disgrace and the
parties at home strong against him ; and there was no stroke
this great and resolute player would not venture to recall
his fortune when it seemed desperate. Frank Castlewood 20
was with Colonel Esmond; his general having gladly taken
the young nobleman on to his staff. His studies of forti-
fications at Bruxelies were over by this time. The fort he
was besieging had yielded, I believe, and my lord had not
only marched in with flying colours, but marched out again. 25
He used to tell his boyish wickednesses with admirable hu-
mour, and was the most charming young scapegrace in the
army.
Tis needless to say that Colonel Esmond had left every
penny of his little fortune to this boy. It was the Colonel's 30
firm conviction that the next battle would put an end to him :
for he felt aweary of the sun, and quite ready to bid that and
the earth farewell. Frank would not listen to his comrade's
gloomy forebodings, but swore they would keep his birth-
day at Castlewood that autumn, after the campaign. He 35
had heard of the engagement at homd. "If Prince Eugene
goes to London," says Frank, "and Trix can get hold of
him, she'll jilt Ashburhham for his Highness. I tell you,
she used to make eyes at the Duke of ]\Iarlborough, when
334 HENRY ESMOND
she was only fourteen and ogling poor little Blandford. 1
wouldn't marry her, Harry, no not if her eyes were twice as
big, I'll take my fun. Til enjo}^ for the next three j-ears
every possible pleasure. I'll sow my wild oats then, and
5 marry some quiet, steady, modest, sensible Viscountess;
hunt my harriers" ; and settle down at Castlewood. Perhaps
I'll represent the county — no, damme, you shall represent
the county. You have the brains of thie family. By the
Lord, my dear old Harry, you have the best head and the
10 kindest heart in all the army ; and every man says so —
and when the Queen dies, and the King comes back, why
shouldn't 5^ou go to the House of Commons and be a Minister,
and be made a peer, and that sort of thing? You be shot
in the next action ! I wager a dozen of Burgundy you are
15 not touched. Mohun is well of his wound. He is always
with Corporal John° now. As soon as ever I see his ugly face
I'll spit in it. I took lessons of Father — of Captain Holtz
at Bruxelles. What a man that is ! He knows everything."
Esm.ond bade Frank have a care; that Father Holt's know-
20 ledge was rather dangerous; not, indeed, knowing as yet
how far the Father had pushed his instructions with his
young pupil.
The Gazetteers and writers, both of the French and Eng-
lish side, have given accounts sufficient of that bloody
25 battle of Blarignies or Malplaquet,° which was the last and
the hardest earned of the victories of the great Duke of
Marlborough. In that tremendous combat, near upon two
hundred and fifty thousand men were engaged, more than
thirty thousand of whom were slain or wounded (the Allies
30 lost twice as many men as thc}^ killed of the French, whom
they conquered) : and this dreadful slaughter very likely
took place because a great general's credit was shaken at
home, and he thought to restore it by a victory. If such
wore the motives which induced the Duke of Marlborough to
35 v(Miture that prtjdigious stake, and desperately sacrifice
thirty thousand brave lives, so that he might figure once
more in a (lazctte, and hold his places and pensions a little
longer, the event defeated the dreadful and selfish design,
for the victory was purchased at a cost which no nation.
HENRY ESMOND 335
groedy of glory as it may be, would willingly pay for any
triumph. The gallantry of the French was as remarkable
as the furious bravery of their assailants. We took a few
score of their flags, and a few pieces of their artillery; but
we left twenty thousand of the bravest soldiers of the world 5
round about the intrenched lines, from which the enerhy
was driven. He retreated in perfect good order ; the panic-
spell seemed to be broke, under which the French had laboured
ever since the disaster of Hochsteclt° ; and, fighting now on
the threshold of their country, they showed an heroick 10
ardour of resistance, such as had never met us in the course
of their aggressive war. Had the battle been more success-
ful, the conqueror might have got the price for which he
waged it. As it was (and justly, I think), the party adverse
to the Duke in England were indignant at the lavish extra va- 15
gance of slaughter, and demanded more eagerly than ever
the recall of a chief, whose cupidity and desperation might
urge him further still. After this bloody fight of Malplaquet,
I can answer for it, that in the Dutch quarters and our own,
and amongst the very regiments and commanders, whose 20
gallantry was most conspicuous upon this frightful day of
carnage, the general cry was, that there was enough of the
war. The French were driven back into their own boundary,
and all their conquests and booty of Flanders disgorged.
As for the Prince of Savoy, with whom our Commander-in- 25
Chief, for reasons of his own, consorted more closely than
ever, 'twas known that he w^as animated not merely by a
pohtical hatred, but by personal rage against the old French
king : the Imperial Generalissimo never forgot the slight°
put by Lewis upon the Abbe de Savoie ; and in the humilia- 2°
tion or ruin of his Most Christian Majesty, the Holy Roman
Emperor ° found his account. But what were these quarrels
to us, the free citizens of England and Holland? Despot
as he was, the French m.onarch was yet the chief of European
civilisation, more venerable in his age and misfortunes than 35
at the period of his most splendid successes ; whilst his
opponent was but a semi-barbarous tyrant, with a pillag-
ing, murderous horde of Croats and Pandours,° composing a
half of his army, filhng our camp with their strange figures,
336 HENRY ESMOND
bearded like the miscreant Turks their neighbours, and carry-
ing into Christian warfare their native heathen habits of
rapine, lust, and murder. Why should the best blood in
England and France be shed in order that the Holy
5 Roman and Apostolic master of these rufhans should have
his revenge over the Christian king? And it was to this
end we were fighting; for this that every village and family
in England was deploring the death of beloved sons and
fathers. We dared not speak to each other, even at table,
10 of Malplaquet, so frightful were the gaps left in our army by
the cannon of that bloody action. Twas heart-rending,
for an officer who had a heart, to look down his line on a
parade-day afterwards, and miss hundreds of faces of com-
rades — humble or of high rank — that had gathered but
15 yesterday full of courage and cheerfulness round the torn
and blackened flags. Where were our friends? As the
great Duke reviewed us, riding along our lines with his fine
suite of prancing aides-de-camp and generals, stopping here
and there to thank an officer with those eager smiles and
20 bows, of which his Grace was always lavish, scarce a huzzah
could be got for him, though Cadogan, with an oath, rode
up and cried — ''D n you, why don't you cheer?"
But the men had no heart for that : not one of them but was
thinking, "Where's my comrade? — where 's my brother
25 that fought by me, or my dear captain that led me yester-
day?" 'Twas the most gloomy pageant I ever looked on;
and the "Te Deum," sung by our chaplains, the most woful
and dreary satyre.
Esmond's general added one more to the many marks of
30 honour whicii he had received in the front of a score of battles,
and got a wound in the groin, which laid Inm on his back;
and you may be sure he consoled himself by abusing the
Commander-in-Chief, as he lay groaning : — "Corporal John's
as fond of me," he used to say, "as King David was
35 of (leneral Uriah°; and so he always gives me the post of
danger." He j)ersisted, to liis dying day, in believing that
the Duke intended he should be beat at Wynendael, and
sent him i)urposely wi(h a small force, hoj)ing that he might
be knocked on the head there. Esmond and Frank Castle-
HENRY ESMOND 337
wood both escaped without hurt, though the division which
our General commanded suffered even more than any other,
having to sustain not only the fury of the enemy's cannon-
ade, which was very hot and well served, but the furious
and repeated charges of the famous Maison du Roy, which 5
we had to receive and beat off again and again, with volleys
of shot and hedges of iron, and our four lines of musqueteers
and pikemen. They said the King of England charged us no
less than twelve times that day, along with the French
Household. Esmond's late regiment. General Webb's own 10
Fusileers, served in the cUvision which their colonel com-
manded. The General was thrice in the centre of the square
of the Fusileers, calling the fire at the French charges ; and,
after the action, his Grace the Duke of Berwick sent his
compliments to his old regiment and their colonel for their 15
behaviour on the field.
We drank my Lord Castle wood's health and majority, the
25th of September, the army being then before Mons° :
and here Colonel Esmond was not so fortunate as he had
been in actions much more dangerous, and was hit by a 20
spent ball just above the place where his former wound
was, which caused the old wound to open again, fever,
spitting of blood, and other ugly symptoms to ensue; and,
in a word, brought him near to death's door. The kind lad,
his kinsman, attended his elder comrade with a very praise- 25
worthy affectionateness and care until he was pronounced
out of danger by the doctors, when Frank went off, passed ,
the winter at Bruxelles, and besieged, no doubt, some other
fortress there. Very fev/ lads would have given up their
pleasures so long and so gaily as Frank did; his cheerful 30
prattle soothed many long days of Esmond's pain and lan-
guor. Frank was supposed to be still at his kinsman's bed-
sirle for a month after he had left it, for letters came from
his mother at home full of thanks to the younger gentleman
for his care of his elder brother (so it pleased Esmond's 35
mistress now affectionately to style him) ; nor was Mr.
Esmond in a hurry to undeceive her, when the good young
fellow was gone for his Christmas holiday. It was as pleasant
to Esmond on his couch to watch the young man's pleasure
338 HENRY ESMOND
at the idea of being free, as to note his simple efforts to dis-
guise his satisfaction on going away. There are days when
a flask of champagne at a cabaret, ° and a red-cheeked partner
to share it, are too strong temptations for any young fellow
5 of spirit. I am not going to play the moralist, and cry '' Fie.''
For ages past, I know how old men preach, and what young
men practise; and that patriarchs have had their weak
moments, too, long since Father Noah toppled over after
discovering the vine. Frank went off, then, to his pleasures
10 at Bruxelles, in which capital many young fellows of our
army declare they found infinitely greater diversion even
than in London : and Mr. Henry Esmond remained in his
sick-room, where he writ a fine comedy, that his mistress
pronounced to be subhme, and that was acted no less than
i£ three successive nights in London in the next year.
Here, as he lay nursing himself, ubiquitous Mr, Holtz re-
appeared, and stopped a whole month at Mons,. where he not
only won over Colonel Esmond to the King's side in politicks
(that side being always held by the Esmond family) ; but
20 where he endeavoured to re-open the controversial question
between th^ churches once more, and to recall Esmond to
that religion in which, in his infancy, he haci been baptized.
Holtz was a casuist, both dexterous and learned, and pre-
sented the case between the English church and his own in
25 such a way, that those who granted his premises ought
fortainly to allow his conclusions. He touched on Esmond's
delicate state of health, chance of dissolution, ° and so forth;
and enlarged upon the immense benefits that the sick man
was likely to forgo, — benefits which the Church of England
30 did not deny to those of the Roman communion, ° as how
should she, being derived from that church, and only an
offshoot from it. J^ut Mr. Esmond said that his church was
the church of his country, and to that he chose to remain
faithful : other people were welcome to worship and to sub-
35 s(;ril)e any other set of articles, whether at Home or at Augs-
burg. ° But if the good Father meant that l^lsmond should
join the Roman communion for fear of conse(iuences, and
that all lOngland ran the risk of being damnecl for heresy,
Esmond, for onC; was perfectly willing to take his chance of
HENRY ESMOND 339
the penalty along with the countless millions of his fellow-
countrymen, who were bred in the same faith, and along
with some of the noblest, the truest, the purest, the wisest,
the most pious and learned men and women in the world.
As for the political question, in that Mr. Esmond could 5
agree with the Father much more readily, and had come to
the same conclusion, though, perhaps, by a different way.
The right-divine about which Dr. Sacheverel° and the high-
church party in England were just now making a pother,
they were welcome to hold as they chose. If Richard 10
Cromwell, ° and his father before him, had been crowned
and anointed (and bishops enough would have been found
to do it), it seemed to Mr. Esmond that they would have had
the right-divine just as much as any Plantagenet, or Tudor,
or Stuart. But the desire of the country being unquestion- 15
ably for an hereditary monarchy, Esmond thought an English
king out of St. Germains was better and fitter than a German
prince from Herrenhausen,° and that if he failed to satisfy
the nation, some other Englishman might be found to take
his place ; and so, though with no frantick enthusiasm, or 20
worship of that monstrous pedigree which the Tories chose
to consider divine, he was ready to say, "God save Ejng
James ! " when Queen Anne went the way of kings and com-
moners.
"I fear, Colonel, you are no better than a republican at 25
heart," says the priest, with a sigh.
"I am an Englishman," says Harry, "and take my country
as I find her. The will of the nation being for Church and
King, I am for church and king, too; but English church,
and English king; and that is why your church isn't mine, 3a
though your king is."
Though they lost the day at Malplaquet, it was the French
who were elated by that action, whilst the conquerors were
dispirited by it; and the enemy gathered together a larger
army than ever, and made prodigious efforts for the next 3J
campaign. Marshal Berwick was with the French this
year ; and we heard that ]\Iareschal Villars was still suffering
of his wound, was eager to bring our Duke to action, and
vow^ed he would fight us in his coach. Young Castlewood
340 HENRY ESMOND
came flying back from Bruxelles, as soon as he heard that
fighting was to begin; and the arrival of the Chevaher de
St. George was announced about May. ''It's the King's
third campaign, and it's mine," Frank hked saying. He
5 was come back a greater Jacobite than ever, and Esmond
suspected that some fair conspirators at Bruxelles had been
inflaming the young man's ardour. Indeed, he owned that
he had a message from the Queen, Beatrix's godmother,
who had given her name to Frank's sister the year before he
lo and his sovereign were born.
However desirous Marshal Villars might be to fight, my
Lord Duke did not seem disposed to indulge him this cam-
paign. Last year his Grace had been all for the Whigs and
Hanoverians; but finding, on going to England, his country
15 cold towards himself, and the people in a ferment of high-
church loyalty, the Duke comes back to his army cooled
towards the Hanoverians, cautious with the Imperialists,
and particularly civil and polite towiirds the Chevalier de
St. George. 'Tis certain that messengers and letters were
20 continually passing between his Grace and his brave nephew,
the Duke of Berwick, in the opposite camp. No man's ca-
resses were more opportune than his CJrace's, and no man ever
uttered expressions of regard and affection more generously.
He professed to Monsieur de Torcy, so Mr. St. John told
25 the writer, quite an eagerness to be cut in pieces for the
exiled Queen and her family; nay more, I believe, this year
he parted with a portion of the most precious part of himself
— his money, — • which he sent over to the royal exiles.
Mr. Tunstal, who was in the Prince's service, was twice or
30 thrice in and out of our camp ; the French, in theirs of Arlieu
and about Arras. A little river, the Canihe, I think 'twas
called (but this is writ away from books and Europe; and
the only map the writer hath of these scenes of his youth,
bears no mark of this little stream), divided our pic(|uets
35 from the enemy's. Our sentries talked across the stream,
wh(ui they could make themselves understood to each other,
and when they could not, grinned, and handed each other
their brandy-flasks or their pouches of tobacco. And one
fine day of June, riding thither with the officer who visited
HENRY ESMOND 341
the outposts (Colonel Esmond was taking an airing on horse-
back, being too weak for military duty), they came to this
river, where a number of English and Scots were assembled,
talking to the good-natured enemy on the other side.
Esmond was especially amusecl with the talk of one long 5
fellow, with a great curling red moustache, and blue eyes,
that was half a dozen inches taller than his swarthy little
comrades on the French side of the stream, and being asked
by the Colonel, saluted him, and said that he belonged to the
Royal Cravats. 10
From his way of saying ''Royal Cravat," Esmond at once
knew that the fellow's tongue had first wagged on the banks
of the Liffey, and not the Loire° ; and the poor soldier —
a deserter probably — did not like to venture very deep into
French con^-ersation, lest his unlucky brogue should peep 15
out. He chose to restrict himself to such few expressions
in the French language as he thought he had mastered
easily; and his attempt at disguise was infinitely amusing.
Mr. Esmond whistled " Lillibullero,°'' at w^hich Teague's°
eyes began to twinkle, and then flung him a dollar, when the 20
poor boy broke out with a "God bless — -that is, Dieu
benisse votre honor, °" that would infaUibly have sent him
to the Provost-Marshal had he been on our side of the
river.
Whilst this parley was going on, three officers on horse- 25
back, on the French side, appeared at some little distance,
and stopped as if eyeing us, when one of them left the other
two, and rode close up to us who were by the stream. '' Look,
look!" says the Royal Cravat, with great agitation, "pc/s
lid, that's he, not him, Vautre°'^ and pointed to the distant 3°
officer on a chestnut horse, with a cuirass shining in the sun,
and over it a broad blue ribbon.
"Please to take Mr. Hamilton's services to my Lord Marl-
borough — my Lord Duke," says the gentleman in English;
and, looking to see that the party were not hostilely disposed, 3S
he added, with a smile, "There's a friend of yours, gentlemen,
yonder; he bids me to say that he saw some of your faces
on the 11th of September" last year."
As the gentleman- spoke, the other two officers rode up, and
342 HENRY ESMOND
came quite close. We knew at once who it was. It was the
King, then two-and-twenty years old, tall and sUm, with
deep brown eyes, that looked melanchol}^, though his lips
wore a smile. We took otf our hats and saluted him. No
5 man, sure, could see for the first time, without emotion, the
youthful inheritor of so much fame and misfortune. It
seemed to Mr. Esmond that the Prince was not unlike
young Castlewood, whose age and figure he resembled.
The Chevalier de St. George acknowledged the salute, and
10 looked at us hard. Even the idlers on our side of the river
set up a hurrah. As for the Royal Cravat, he ran to the
Prince's stirrup, knelt down and kissed his boot, and bawled
and looked a hundred ejaculations and blessings. The
Prince bade the aide-de-camp give him a piece of money;
15 and when the party saluting us had ridden away. Cravat spat
upon the piece of gold by way of benediction, and swaggered
away, pouching his coin and twirling his honest carroty
moustache.
The officer in whose company Esmond was, the same little
20 captain of Handyside's regiment, Mr. Sterne, ° who had pro-
posed the garden at Lille, when my Lord Mohun and Esmond
had their affair, was an Irishman too, and as brave a little
soul as ever wore a sword. "Bedad," says Roger Sterne,
"that long fellow spoke French so beautiful, that I shouldn't
25 have known he wasn't a foreigner, till he broke out with his
hulla-balloing, and only an Irish calf can bellow like that."
— And Roger made another remark in his wild way, in which
there was sense as well as absurdity — " If that young gentle-
man," says he, "would but ride over to our camp instead of
30 Villars's, toss up his hat and say, 'Here am I, the King, who'll
follow me ?' by the Lord, Esmond, the whole army would rise,
and carry him home again, and beat Villars, and take Paris by
(he way."
The news of the Prince's visit was all through the camp
35 quickly, and scores of ours went down in hopes to see him.
Majoi- Hamilton, whom we had talked with, sent back by a
trumpet several silver pieces for officers with us. Mr. Es-
mond received one of these: and that medal, and a recom-
pense not uncommon amongst Princes, were the only rewards
HENRY ESMOND 343
he ever had from a Royal person, whom he endeavoured not
very long after to serve.
Esmond quitted the army almost immediately after this,
following his general home; and, indeed, being advised to
travel in the fine weather, and attempt to take no further 5
part in the campaign. But he heard from the army, that
of the many who crowded to see the Chevalier de St. George,
Frank Castlewood had made himself most conspicuous :
my Lord Viscount riding across the little stream bare-headed
to where the Prince was, and dismounting and kneeling 10
before him to do him homage. Some said that the Prince
had actually knighted him, but my lord denied that state-
ment, though he acknowledged the rest of the story, and
said: — "From having been out of favour with Corporal
John," as he called the Duke, ''before, his Grace warned him .5
not to commit those folHes, and smiled on him cordially ever
after."
''And he was so kind to me,'' Frank writ, "that I thought
I would put in a good word for Master Harry, but when I men-
tioned your name he looked as black as thunder, and said 20
he had never heard of you."
CHAPTER II
I GO HOaiE, AND HARP ON THE OLD STRING
After quitting Mons and the army, and as he was waiting
for a packet at Ostend, Esmond had a letter from his young
kinsman Castlewood at Bruxelles, conveying intelligence
whereof Frank besought him to be the bearer to London, and 25
w^hich caused Colonel Esmond no small anxiety.
The young scapegrace, being one-and-twenty years old,
and being anxious to sow his "wild otes,°" as he wrote, had
married Mademoiselle de Wertheim, daughter of Count de
Wertheim, Chamberlain to the Emperor, and having a post 30
in the Household of the Governor of the Netherlands. " P.S."
— the young gentleman wrote: "Clotilda is older than me,
which perhaps may be objected to her: but I am so old a
344 HENRY ESMOND
raik, that the age makes no difference, and I am determined
to reform. We were married at St. Giidule° by Father Holt.
She is heart and soul for the good cause. And here the cry is
Vif-le-Roy, which my mother will join in, and Trix too.
5 Break this news to 'em gently : and tell Mr. Finch, my agent,
to press the people for their rents, and send me the rijno^ any-
how. Clotilda sings, and plays on the Spinet beautifully.
She is a fair beauty. And if it's a son, you shall stand God-
father. I'm going to leave the army, having had enuf of
10 soldering; and my Lord Duke recommends me. I shall pass
the winter here : and stop at least until Clo's lying-in. I
call her old Clo, but nobody else shall. She is the cleverest
woman in all Bruxelies : understanding painting, musick,
poetry, and -perfect at cookery and puddens. I borded with
15 the Count, that's how I came to know her. There are four
Counts her brothers. One an Abbey — three with the
Prince's army. They have a law^suit for an immcnce fortune:
but are now in a pore way. Break this to motlier, wl^o'U
take anything from you. And write, and bid Finch write
20 ainediately. Hostel de I'Aigle Noire, ° Bruxelies, Flanders."
So Frank had married a Roman Catholick lady, and an
heir was expected, and ]\Ir. Esmond was to carry this intel-
ligence to his mistress at London. 'Twas a difficult embassy ;
and the Colonel felt not a little tremor as he neared the
25 capital.
He reached his inn late, and sent a messenger to Kensington
to announce his arrival and visit the next morning. The
messenger brought back news that the Court w\ns at Windsor, °
and the fair Beatrix absent, and engaged in her duties there.
30 Only Esmond's mistress remained in her house at Kensing-
ton. She appeared in Court but once in the year; Beatrix
was fjuite the mistress and ruler of the little mansion, inviting
the company thither, and engaging in every conceivable
frolick of town })leasure. Whilst h(»r mother, acting as the
35 young lady's protectress and elder sister, pursued her own
path, which was (juite modest and secluded.
As soon as ever Esmond was dressed (and he had been
awake long before the town), he took a coach for Kensington,
and reached it so early, that he met his dear mistress coming
HENRY ESMOND 345
home from morning prayers. She carried her prayer-book,
never allowing a footman to bear it, as everybody else did :
and it was by this simple sign Esmond knew what her oc-
cupation had been. He called to the coachman to stop, and
jumped out as she looked towards him. She wore her hood 5
as usual : and she turned quite pale when she saw him. To
feel that kind little hand near to his heart seemed to give him
strength. They soon were at the door of her ladyship's
house — and within it.
With a sweet sad smile she took his hand and kissed it. zo
" How ill you have been : how weak you look, my dear
Henry!" she said.
'Tis certain the Colonel did look like a ghost, except that
ghosts do not look very happy, 'tis said. Esmond always felt
so on returning to her after absence, indeed whenever he 15
looked in her sweet kind face.
"I am come back to be nursed by my family," says he.
''If Frank had not taken care of me after my wound, very
likely I should have gone altogether."
"Poor Frank, good Frank!" says his mother. "You'll 20
always be kind to him, my lord," she went on. "The poor
child never knew he was doing you a wrong."
"My lord!" cries out Colonel Esmond. "What do you
mean, dear lady?"
"I am no lady," says she, "I am Rachel Esmond, Francis 25
Esmond's widow, m}^ lord. I cannot bear that title. Would
we had ne^'er taken it from him who has it now. But we did
all in our power, Henry; we did all in our power; and my
lord and I — that is "
"Who told you this tale, dearest lady?" asked the Colonel. 30
"Have you not had the letter I writ you? I writ to you
at Mons directly I heard it," says Lady Esmond.
"And from whom?" again asked Colonel Esmond, — and
his mistress then told him that on her death-bed the Dow-
ager Countess, sending for her, had presented her with this 35
dismal secret as a legacy. " 'Twas very malicious of the
dowager," Lady Esmond said, "to have had it so long, and
to have kept the truth from me. 'Cousin Rachel,'" she
said, and Esmond's mistress could not forbear smiling as
346 HENRY ESMOND
she told the story, "'Cousin Rachel,' cries the dowager, '\
have sent for you, as the doctors say I may go off any day
in this dysentery ; and to ease my conscience of a great load
that has been on it. You always have been a poor creature
5 and unfit for great honour, and what I have to say won't,
therefore, affect you so much. You must know. Cousin
Rachel, that I have left my house, plate, and furniture, three
thousand pounds in money, and my diamonds that my late
revered Saint and Sovereign, King James, presented me with,
lo to my Lord Viscount Castle wood.'
'"To my Frank?' says Lady Castlewood : 'I was in
hopes '
"'To Viscount Castlewood, my dear; Viscount Castlewood
and Baron Esmond of Shandon in the kingdom of Ireland,
15 Earl and Marquis of Esmond under patent of his Majesty
King James the Second, conferred upon my husband the late
Marquis, — for I am Marchioness of Esmond before God and
man.'
"'And have you left poor Harry nothing, dear Marchion-
20 ess ? ' asks Lady Castlewood (she hath told me the story
completely since with her quiet arch way; the most charm-
ing any woman ever had : and I set down the narrative here
at length so as to have done with it). 'And have you left
poor Harry nothing?'" asks my dear lady: "for you know,
25 Henry," she says with her sweet smile, "I used always to
pity Esau — and I think I am on his side — though papa
tried very hard to convince me the other way."
"'Poor Harry!' says the old lady. 'So you want some-
thing left to poor Harry : he, he ! (reach me the drops, cousin).
30 Well then, my dear, since you want poor Harry to have a
fortune: you must understand that ever since the year 1691,
a week after the battle of the Boyne, where the Prince of
Orange defeated his royal sovereign and father, for which
crime he is now suffering in flames (ugh! ugh!), Harry Es-
35 mond hath been Marcjuis of Esmond and Earl of Castlewood
in the United Kingdom, and Baron and Viscount Castlewood
of Shandon in L-eland, and a I^aronet, — and his eldest son
will be, — by court(\sy, styled Earl of Castlewood — he ! he !
What do you think of that, my dear?'
HENRY ESMOND 347
" ' Gracious mercy ! how long have you known this ? ' cries
the other lady (thinking perhaps that the old Marchioness
was wandering in her wits).
"'My husband, before he was converted, was a wicked
wretch,' the sick sinner continued. 'When he was in the 5
Low Countries he seduced a weaver's daughter; and added
to his wickedness by marrying her. And then he came tc
this country and married me — a poor girl — a poor inno-
cent young thing — I say,' though she was jDast forty, 3'ou
know, Harry, when she married : and as for being innocent, lo
— 'Well,' she went on, 'I knew nothing of my lord's wicked-
ness for three years after our marriage, and after the burial of
our poor little boy I had it done over again, my dear, I had
myself married by Father Holt in Castlewood chapel as soon
as ever I heard the creature was dead — and having a great 15
illness then, arising from another sad disappointment I had,
the priest came and told me that my lord had a son before
our marriage, and that the child was at nurse in England;
and I consented to let the brat be brought home, and a queer
little melancholy child it was when it came. 20
" ' Our intention was to make a priest of him : and he was
bred for this, until you perverted him from it, you wicked
woman. And I had again hopes of giving an heir to my lord,
when he was called away upon the King's business, and died
fighting gloriously at the Bo3^ne water. 25
"'Should I be chsappointed, — I owed your husband no
love, my dear, for he had jilted me in the most scandalous
way ; and I thought there would be time to declare the little
weaver's son for the true heir. But I was carried off to
prison, where your husband was so kind to me, — urging all 30
his friends to obtain my release, and using all his credit in my
favour, — that I relented towards hin\, especiall}^ as my
director counselled me to be silent ; and that it was for the
good of the King's service that the t'tle of our family should
continue with your husband the late Viscount, whereby his 35
fidelity would be always secured to the King. And the
proof of this is, that a year before your husband's death, when
he thought of taking a place under the Prince of Orange, Mr.
Holt went to him, and told hina what the state of the matter
348 HENRY ESMOND
was, and obliged him to raise a large sum for his Majesty;
and engaged him in the true cause so heartily, that we were;
sure of his support on any day when it should be considered
advisable to attack the usurper. Then his sudden death
5 came ; and there was a thought of declaring the truth. But
'twas determined to be best for the King's service to let the
title still go with the younger branch; and there's no sac-
rifice a Castlewood wouldn't make for that cause, my dear.
"'As for Colonel Esmond, he knew the truth already' (and
10 then, Harry," my mistress said, ''she told me of what had
happened at my dear husband's death-bed). *He doth not
intend to take the title, though it belongs to him. But it
eases my conscience that you should know the truth, my
dear. And your son is lawfully Viscount Castlewood so long
15 as his cousin doth not claim the rank.'"
This was the substance of the dowager's revelation. Dean
Atterbury had knowledge of it, Lady Castlewood said, and
Esmond very well knows how : that divine being the clergy-
man for whom the late lord had sent on his death-bed : and
20 when Lady Castlewood would instantly have written to her
son, and conveyed the truth to him, the Dean's advice was
that a letter should be writ to Colonel Esmond rather ; that
the matter should be submitted to his decision, by which
alone the rest of the family were bound to abide.
25 "And can my dearest lady doubt what that will be?" says
the Colonel.
"It rests with you, Harry, as the head of our house."
"It was settled twelve years since, by my dear lord's bed-
side," says Colonel Esmond. "The children must know
30 nothing of this. Frank and his heirs after him must bear
our' name. 'Tis his rightfully ; I have not even a proof of
that marriage of my father and mother, though my poor lord,
on his death-bed, told me that Father Holt had brought such
a proof to Castlewood. I would not seek it when I was
35 abroad. I went and looked at my poor mother's grave in
her convent. What matter to her now? No court of law
on earth, upon my mere word, would deprive my Lord Vis-
count and set me up. I am the head of the house, dear
lady; but Frank is Viscount of Castlewood still. Ane'
HENRY ESMOND 349
rather than disturb him, I would turn monk, or disappear
in America."
As he spoke so to his dearest mistress, for whom he would
have been willing to give up his life, or to make any sacrifice
any day, the fond creature flung herself down on her knees 5
before him, and kissed both his hands in an outbreak of
passionate love and gratitude, such as could not but melt
his heart, and make him feel very proud and thankful that
God had given him the power to show his love for her, and
to prove it by some Uttle sacrifice on his own part. To be 10
able to bestow benefits or happiness on those one loves is sure
the greatest blessing conferred upon a man, — and what
wealth or name, or gratification of ambition or vanity could
compare with thy pleasure Esmond now had of being able
to confer some kindness upon his best and dearest friends? 15
"Dearest saint," says he — "purest soul, that has had
so much to suffer, that has blessed the poor lonely orphan
w4th such a treasure of love. Tis for me to kneel, not for you :
'tis for me to be thankful that I can make you happy. Hath
my hfe any other aim ? Blessed be God that I can serve you ! 20
What pleasure, think you, could all the world give me com-
pared to that?"
"Don't raise me," she said, in a wild way, to Esmond, who
would have lifted her. "Let me kneel — let me kneel, and
— and — worship you." 25
Before such a partial judge, as Esmond's dear mistress
owned herself to be, any cause which he might plead, was
sure to be given in his favour; and accordingl}^ he found
little difficulty in reconciling her to the news whereof he was
bearer, of her son's marriage to a foreign lady, Papi-.t though 30
she was. Lady Castlewood never could be brought to think
so ill of that religion as other people in England thought
of it: she held that ours was undoubtedly a branch of the
Church Catholick, but that the Roman was one of the main
stems on which, no doubt, many errors had been grafted 35
(she w^as, for a woman, extraordinarily well versed in this con-
troversy, having acted, as a girl, as secretary to her father,
the late dean, and written many of his sermons, under his
dictation) ; and if Frank had chosen to marry a lady of the
350 HENRY ESMOND
church of south Europe, as she would call the Roman com
munion, that was no need why she would not welcome hei
as a daughter-in-law; and accordingly she writ to her new
daughter a very pretty, touching letter (as Esmond thought,
5 who had cognisance of it before it went), in which the only
hint of reproof was a gentle remonstrance that her son had
not written to herself, to ask a fond mother's blessing for
that step which he was about taking. "Castlewood knew
ver}^ well," so she wrote to her son, ''that she never denied
10 him anything in her power to give, much less would she
think of opposing a marriage that was to make his happiness,
as she trusted, and keep liim out of wild courses, which had
alarmed her a good deal : and she besought him to come
quickly to England, to settle down in his family house of
15 Castlewood ('It is his family house,' says she, to Colonel
Esmond, ' though only his own house by your forbearance ')
and to receive the accorapt of her stewardship during his
ten years' minority." By care and frugahty, she had got
the estate into a better condition than ever it had been since
20 the Parliamentary wars ; and my lord was now master of a
IDretty, small income, not encumbered of debts, as it had
been, during his father's ruinous time. "But in saving my
son's fortune," says she, "I fear I have lost a great part of
my hold on him." And, indeed, this was the case; her
25 ladyship's daughter complaining that their mother did all
for Frank, and nothing for her; and Frank himself being
dissatisfied at the narrow, simple way of his mother's living
at Walcote, where he had been brought up more like a poor
parson's son, than a young nobleman that was to make a
30 figure in the world. 'Twas this mistake in his early training,
very likely, that set him so eager ui)on pleasure when he had
it in his power ; nor is he the first lad that has been spoiled
by the over-careful fondness of women. No training is
so useful for children, great or small, as the comi)any of their
35 betters in rank or natural parts; in whose society they lose
the overweening sense of their own importance, which stay-
at-home people very commonly learn.
J3ut, as a prodigal that's sending in a schedule of his debts
to his friends, never puts all down, and, you may be sure, the
HENRY ESMOND 351
rogue keeps back some immense swingeing bill, that he
doesn't dare to own; so the poor Frank had a very heavy-
piece of news to break to his mother, and which he hadn't
the courage to introduce into his first confession. Some
misgivings Esmond might have, upon receiving Frank's 5
letter, and knowing into what hancls the boy had fallen;
but whatever these misgivings were, he kept them to him-
self, not caring to trouble his mistress with any fears that
might be groundless.
However, the next mail which came from Bruxelles, after ic
Frank had received his mother's letters there, brought back
a joint composition from himself and his wife, who could
spell no better than her young scapegrace of a husband, full
of expressions of thanks, love, and duty to the Dowager
Viscountess, as my poor lady now was styled; and along 15
with this letter (which was read in a family council, namely,
the Mscountess, Mistress Beatrix, and the writer of this
memoir, and which was pronounced to be vulgar by the
maid of honour, and felt to be so by the other two) there
came a private letter for Colonel Esmond, from poor Frank, 20
with another dismal commission for the Colonel to execute,
at his best opportunity; and this was to announce that
Frank had seen fit, ''by the exhortations of Mr. Holt, the
influence of his Clotilda, and the blessing of Pleaven and the
saints," says my lord, demurely, "to change hi^ religion, 25
and be received into the bosom of that church of which his
sovereign, many of his family, and the greater part of the
civilised world were members." And his lordship added a
postscript, of which Esmond knew the inspiring genius very
well, for it had the genuine twang of the Seminary, and was 30
quite unlike poor Frank's ordinary style of writing and
thinking ; in which he reminded Colonel Esmond that he, too,
was, by birth, of that church ; and that his mother and sister
should have his lordship's prayers to the saints (an inestimable
benefit, truly !) for their conversion. 35
If Esmond had wanted to keep this secret he could not ;
for a day or two after receiving this letter, a notice from
Bruxelles appeared in the Post-Boy, and other prints, an-
nouncing that "a young Irish lord, the Viscount C-stlew-d,
352 HENRY ESMOND
just come to his majority, and who had served the last
campaigns with great credit, as aide-de-camp to his Grace
the Duke of Marlborough, had declared for the popish religion
at Bruxelles, and had walked in a procession barefoot, with
5 a wax-taper in his hand.'' The notorious Mr. Holt, who had
been employed as a Jacobite agent during the last reign,
and many times pardoned by King William, had been,
the Post-Boy said, the agent of this conversion.
The Lady Castlewoocl was as much cast down by this
10 news as Miss Beatrix was indignant at it. ''So,'' says she,
"Castlewoocl is no longer a home for us, mother. Frank's
foreign wife will bring her confessor, and there will be frogs°
for dinner; and all Tusher's and my grandfather's sermons
are flung away upon my brother. I used to tell you that
15 you killed him with the catechism, and that he would turn
wicked as soon as he broke from his mammy's leading-
strings. Oh, mother, you would not believe that the young
scapegrace was playing you tricks, and that sneak of a
Tusher was not a fit guide for him. Oh, these parsons, I
20 hate 'em all," says Mistress Beatrix, clapping her hands
together; "yes, whether they wear cassocks and buckles,
or beards and bare feet. There's a horrid Irish wretch*^
who never misses a Sunday at Court, and who pays me
compliments there, the horrible man; and if you want to
25 know what parsons are, you should see his behaviour, and
hear him talk of his own cloth. They're all the same, whether
they're bishops or bonzes, or Indian fakirs. They try to
domineer, and they frighten us with kingdom-come; and
they wear a sanctified air in publick, and expect us to go
30 down on our knees and ask their blessing ; and they intrigue,
and they grasp, and they backbite, and they slander worse
than the worst courtier or the wickedest old woman. I
heard this Mr. Swift sneering at my Lord Duke of Marl-
borough's courage the other day. He! that Teague from
35 Dul:)lin ! because his Orace is not in favour dares to say this
of him ; and he says this that it may get to her Majesty's ear,
and to coax and wheedle Mrs. Masham. They say the
Elector of Hanover has a dozen of mistresses in his court at
Herrenhausen, and if he comes to be king over us, I wager
HENRY ESMOND 353
that the bishops and Mr. Swift, that wants to be one, will
coax and wheedle them. Oh, those priests and their grave
airs ! I'm sick of their square toes and their rusthng cassocks.
I should like to go to a country where there was not one, .
or to turn Quaker, and get rid of 'em ; and I would, only the 5
dress is not becoming, and I've much too pretty a figure
to hide it. Haven't I, cousin?" and here she glanced at
her person and the looking-glass, which told her rightly that
a more beautiful shape and face never were seen.
"I made that onslaught on the priests," says Miss Beatrix, 10
afterwards, "in order to divert my poor dear mother's
anguish about Frank. Frank is as vain as a girl, cousin.
Talk of us girls being vain, Avhat are we to you? It was
easy to see that the first woman who chose v.ould make a
fool of him, or the first robe — I count a priest and a woman 15
all the same. We are always caballing ; we are not answer-
able for the fibs we tell; we are always cajoling and coaxing,
or threatening; and we are always making mischief, Colonel
Esmond — mark my word for that, who know the world,
sir, and have to make my wa}' in it. I see as well as possible 20
how Frank's marriage hath been managed. The Count,
our papa-in-law, is always away at the coffee-house. The
Countess, cur mother, is always in the kitchen looking after
the dinner. The Countess, our sister, is at the spinet. When
my lord comes to say he is goingon the campaign, the lovely 25
Clotilda bursts into tears, and faints so; he catches her in
his arms — no, sir, keep your distance, cousin, if you please —
she cries on his shoulder, and he says, 'Oh, my divine,
my adored, my beloved Clotilda, are you sorry to part with
me?' 'Oh, my Francisco,°' says she, 'Oh, my lord! '30
and at this very instant mamma and a couple of young
brothers, with mustachios and long rapiers, come in from
the kitchen, where they have been eating bread and onions.
Mark my word, you will have all this woman's relations at
Castlewood three months after she has arrived there. The 35
old count and countess, and the young counts and all the
Httle countesses her sisters. Counts ! every one of these
wretches says he is a count. Guiscard, that stabbed Mr.
Harley,° said he was a count; and I beheve he was a barber.
354 EENEY ESMOND
All Frenchmen are barbers — Fiddle-dee ! don^t contradict
me — or else dancing-masters, or else priests;" and so she
rattled on.
"Who was it taught you to dance, cousin Beatrix?"
5 says the Colonel.
She laughed out the air of a minuet, and swept a low
curtsey, coming up to the recover with the prettiest little
foot in the world pointed out. Her mother came in as she
was in this attitude ; my lady had been in her closet, having
10 taken poor Frank's conversion in a very serious waj^, the
madcap girl ran up to her mother, put her arms round her
waist, kissed her, tried to make her dance, and said : ''Don't
be silly, a^ou kind little mamma, and cry about Frank turning
Papist. What a figure he must be, with a white sheet and a
15 candle walking in a procession barefoot ! " And she kicked
off her little slippers (the wonderfullest little shoes with
wonderful tall red heels, Esmond pounced upon one as it
fell close beside him) and she put on the drollest little moup°
and marched up and down the room holding Esmond's
20 cane by way of taper. Serious as her mood was. Lady
Castlewood could not refrain from laughing; and as for
Esmond he looked on with that delight with which the
sight of this fair creature always inspired him : never had he
seen any woman so arch, so brilliant, and so beautiful.
25 Having finished her march, she put out her foot for her
slipper. The Colonel knelt down: "If j^ou will be Pope 1
will turn Papist," says he; and her HoUness gave him
gracious leave to kiss the little stockinged foot before he put
the slipper on.
30 Ahimma's feet began to pat on the floor during this opera-
tion, and Beatrix, whose bright eyes nothing escaped, saw
that little mark of impatience. She ran up and embraced
her mother, with her usual cry of, " Oh, you silly little mamma :
your feet are quite as pretty as mine," says she: "they
35 are, cousin, though she hides 'em; but the shoemaker will
tell you that he makes for both off the same last."
"You are ta'Jer than I am, dearest," says her mother
blusliing over her whole sweet face — "and — and it is your
hand, my dear, and not your foot he wants you to give him,"
HENRY ESMOND 355
and she said it with a hysterick laugh, that had more of tears
than laughter in it; laying her head on her daughter's fair
shoulder and hiding it there. They made a very pretty
picture together, and looked like a pair of sisters — the
sweet simple matron seeming younger than her years, and 5
her daughter, if not older, yet, somehow, from a commanding
manner and grace which she possessed above most women,
her mother's superior and protectress.
"But oh!" cries my mistress, recovering herself after
this scene, and returning to her usual sad tone, '' 'tis a shame 10
that we should laugh and be making merry on a da}^ when
we ought to be down on our knees and asking pardon."
"Asking pardon for what?" says saucy ]\frs. Beatrix, —
"because Frank takes it into his head to fast on Fridays,
and worship images? You know if you had been born a 15
papist, mother, a papist you would have remained to the
end of your clays. 'Tis the religion of the King and of some
of the best quality. For my part, I'm no enemy to it, and
think Queen Bess was not a penny better than Queen Mary.°"
"Hush, Beatrix! Do not jest with sacred things, and 20
remember of what parentage you come," cries my lady.
Beatrix was ordering her ribbons, and adjusting her tucker,
and performing a dozen pro vokingly pretty ceremonies, before
the glass. The girl was no hypocrite at least. She never
at that time could be brought to think but of the world and 25
her beauty; and seemed to have no more sense of devotion
than some people have of musick, that cannot distinguish
one air from another. Esmond saw this fault in her, as
he saw miany others — a bad wife would Beatrix Esm.ond
make, he thought, for any man under the degree of a Prince. 30
She v\^as born to shine in great assemblies, and to adorn
palaces, and to command everywhere — to conduct an intrigue
of politicks, or to glitter in a queen's train. But to sit
at a homely table, and mend the stockings of a poor man's
children? that was no fitting duty for her, or at least one 35
that she wouldn't have broke her heart in trying to do.
She was a princess, though she had scarce a shilling to her
fortune ; and one of her subjects — the most abject and
devoted wretch, sure, that ever drivelled at a woman's knees
356 HENRY ESMOND
— was this unlucky gentleman ; who bound his good sense
and reason, and independence, hand and foot; and sub-
mitted them to her.
And who does not know how ruthlessly women will tyran-
5 nise when they are let to domineer? and who does not know
how useless advice is? I could give good counsel to my
descendants, but I know they'll follow their own way, for
all their grandfather's sermon. A man gets his own expe-
rience about women, and will take nobody's hearsay ; nor,
10 indeed, is the 5'oung fellow worth a fig that would. 'Tis I
that am in love with my mistress, not my old grandmother
that counsels me; 'tis I that have fixeci the value of the
thing I would have, and know the price I would pay for it.
It may be worthless to you, but 'tis all my life to me. Had
15 Esmond possessed the Great Mogul's crown and all his dia-
monds, or all the Duke of ]\Iarlborough's money, or all the
ingots sunk at Vigo, he would have given them all for this
woman. A fool he was, if you will ; but so is a sovereign a
fool, that will give half a principality for a little crystal as
20 big as a pigeon's egg, and called a diamond : so is a wealthy
nobleman a fool, that will face danger or death, and spend
half his life, and all his tranquillity, caballing for a blue
ribbon ; so is a Dutch merchant a fool, that hath been
known to pay ten thousand crowns for a tulip. ° There's
25 some particular prize we all of us value, and that, every
man of spirit will venture his life for. With this it may be to
achieve a great reputation for learning ; with that, to be h
man of fashion, and the admiration of the town; with
another, to consummate a great work of art or poetry, °
30 and go to immortality that way ; and with another, for a
certain time of his life, the sole objoct and aim is a woman.
Whilst l']smond was mider the domination of this passion, he
remembers many a talk he had with his intimates, who used
to rally Our Knight of the Ilueful Countenance at his devo-
35 tion, whereof he made no disguise, to Beatrix; and it was
with replies such as the above he met his friends' satire.
"(Iranted, I am a fool," says he, ''and no better than you;
but you are no better than I. You have your Tolly you labour
for; give me the charity of mine. What flatteries do you,
HENRY ESMOND 357
Mr. St. John,° stoop to whisper in the ears of a queen's fa-
vourite ? What nights of labour doth not the laziest man in
the world endure, forgoing his bottle, and his boon com-
panions, foi^oing Lais,° in whose lap he would like to be
yawning, that he may prepare a speech full of lies, to cajole c,
three hundred stupid country-gentlemen in the House of
Commons, and get the hiccupping cheers of the October
Club? What clays will you spend in your jolting chariot?"
(Mr. Esmond often rode to Windsor, and especially, of later
days, with the Secretary.) "What hours will you pass on ic
your gouty feet, — and how humbly will you kneel down to
present a despatch — you, the proudest man in the world,
that has not knelt to God since you were a boy, and in that
posture whisper, flatter, adore almost, a stupid woman, that's
often boozy with too much meat and drink, when Mr. Sec- 15
retary goes for his audience ? If my pursuit is vanity, sure
yours is too." And then the Secretary v/ould fly out in such
a rich flow of eloquence, as this pen cannot pretend to recall ;
advocating his scheme of ambition, showing the great good
he would do for his country when he was the undisputed 20
chief of it ; backing his opinion with a score of pat sentences
from Greek and Roman authorities (of which kind of learn-
ing he made rather an ostentatious display), and scornfully
vaunting the very arts and meannesses by which fools were
to be made to follow him, opponents to be bribed or silenced, 25
doubters converted, and enemies overawed.
*'I am Diogenes,°" says Esmond, laughing, "that is taken
up for a ride in Alexander's chariot. I have no desire to
vanquish Darius or to tame Bucephalus. I do not want
what you want, a great name or a high place : to have them 30
would bring me no pleasure. But my moderation is taste,
not virtue; and I know that what I do want, is as vain as
that which you long after. Do not grudge me my vanity,
if I allow yours ; or rather, let us laugh at both indifferently,
and at ourselves, and at each other." 35
"If your charmer holds out," says St. John, "at this rate
she may keep you twenty years besieging her, and surrender
by the time you are seventy, and she is old enough to be a
grandmother. I do not say the pursuit of a particular
358 HENRY ESMOND
woman is not as pleasant a pastime as any other kind oi
hunting," he added; "only, for my part, I find the game
won't run long enough. They knock under too soon —
that's the fault I find with 'em."
5 "The game which you pursue is in the habit of being
caught, and used to being pulled down," says Mr. Esmond.
"But Dulcinea del Toboso° is peerless, eh?" says the
other. " Well, honest Harry, go and attack windmills —
perhaps thou art not more mad than other people," St. John
10 added, with a sigh.
CHAPTER HI
A PAPER OUT OF THE "SPECTATOR"
Doth any young gentleman of my progeny, who may read
his old grandfather's papers, chance to be presently suffering
under the passion of Love? There is a humiliating cure,
but one that is easy and almost specifick for the malady —
15 which is, to try an alibi. ° Esmond went away from his
mistress and was cured a half-dozen times; he came back
to her side, and instantly fell ill aga'in of the fever. He
vowed that he could leave her and think no more of her, and
so he could ]3retty well, at least, succeed in quelling that rage
20 and longing he had whenever he was with her; but as soon
as he returned he was as bad as ever again. Truly a ludicrous
and pitial)le object, at least exhausting everybody's pity but
his clearest mistress's. Lady Castlewood's, in whose tender
breast he reposed all his dreary confessions, and who never
25 tired of hearing him and pleading for liim.
Sometimes Esmond would think there was hope. Then
jigain he would be plagued with despair, at some impertinence
or coquetry of his mistress. For days they would be like
broth(^r and sister, or the dearest friends, she, simj)le, fond
30 and charming, he happy beyond measure at her good be-
liaviour. Jiut this would all vanish on a sudden. Either
he would be too pressing, and hint his love, when she would
rebuff him instantly, and give his vanity a box on the ear:
HENRY ESMOND 359
or he would be jealous, and with perfect good reason, of some
new admirer that had sprung up, or some rich young gentle-
man newly arrived in the town, that this incorrigible flirt
would set her nets and baits to draw in. If Esmond remon-
strated, the httle rebel would say — "Who are you? I shall 5
go my own way, sirrah, and that w^ay is towards a husband,
and i don't want you on the way. I am for your betters,
Coionel, for your betters : do you hear that? You might do
if you had an estate and were younger; only eight years
older than I, you say? pish, you are a hundred years older. 10
You are an old, old Graveairs, and I should make you miser-
able, that would be the only comfort I should have in mar-
rying you. But you have not money enough to keep a cat
decently after you have paid your man his wages, and your
landlady her bill. Do you think I'm going to live in a lodging, 15
and turn the mutton al a string whilst your honour nurses
the baby? Fiddlestick, and why did you not get this non-
sense knocked out of j^our head when you were in the wars ?
You are come back more dismal and dreary than ever. You
and mamma ° are fit for each other. You might be Darby 20
and Joan,° and play cribbage to the end of your lives."
"At least you own to your worldliness, my poor Trix,"
says her mother.
"Worldliness — oh, my pretty lady! Do you think that
I am a child in the nursery, and to be frightened by Bogey? 25
Worldliness, to be sure ; and pray, madam, where is the harm
cf wishing to be comfortable? When j^ou are gone, you
dearest old woman, or when I am tired of you and have run
away from you, where shall I go? Shall I go and be head
nurse to my Popish sister-in-law, take the children their 3a
physick, and whip 'em, and put 'em to bed when they are
naughty? Shall I be Castle wood's upper servant, and per-
haps marry Tom Tusher ? Merci ° ! I have been long
enough Frank's humble servant. Why am I not a man?
I have ten times his brains, and had I worn the — well, don't 35
let 3^our ladyship be frightened — had I worn a sword and
perriwig instead of this mantle and commode, to which nature
has condemned me — (though 'tis a pretty stuff, too —
cousin Esmond ! you will go to the Exchange to-morrow, and
360 HENRY ESMOND
get the exact counterpart of this ribbon, sir, do you hear?) —
I would have made our name talked about. So would Grave-
airs here have made something out of our name if he had
represented it. My Lord Graveairs would have done very
5 well. Yes, you have a very pretty way, and would have
made a very decent grave speaker," and here she began to
imitate Esmond's way of carrying himself, and speaking to
his face, and so ludicrously, that his mistress burst out
a-laughing, and even he himself could see there was some
10 likeness in the fantastical malicious caricature.
"Yes," says she, "I solemnly vow, own and confess, that
I want a good husband. Where's the harm of one ? My face
is my fortune. Who'll come, buy, buy, buy! I cannot toil,
neither can I spin, but I can play twenty-three games on the
25 cards. I can dance the last dance, I can hunt the stag, and
I think I could shoot flying. I can talk as wicked as any
woman of my years, and know enough stories to amuse a
sulky husband for at least one thousand and one nights. I
have a pretty taste for dress, diamonds, gambling, and old
20 China. I love sugar-plums, Malines lace (that you brought
me, cousin, is very pretty), the opera, and everything that
is useless and costly.' I have got a monkey° and a little
black boy — Pompey, sir, go and give a dish of chocolate to
Colonel Graveairs, — and a parrot and a spaniel, and I must
25 have a husband. Cupid,° you hear?"
''Iss Missis," says Pompey, a little grinning negro Lord
Peterborow° gave her, with a bird of Paradise in his turbant :
and a collar with his mistress's name on it.
"Iss Missis!" says Beatrix, imitating the child. "And if
30 husband not come, Pompey must go fetch one."
And Pompey went away grinning with his chocolate tray,
as Miss Jieatrix ran up to her mother and ended her sally of
mischief in her common way, with a kiss — no wonder that
upon paying such a penalty her fond judge pardoned her.
35 When Mr. Esmond came home, his health was still shat-
tered , and he took a lodging near to his mistresses, at Ken-
sington, glad enough to be served by them, and to see them
day after day. He was enabled to see a little company —
I
HENRY ESMOND 361
and of the sort he hked best. Mr. Steele and Mr. Addison
both did him the honour to visit him ; and drank many a
glass of good claret at his lodging, whilst their entertainer,
through his wound, was kept to diet drink and gruel. These
gentlemen were Whigs, and great admirers of my Lord Duke 5
of Marlborough; and Esmond was entirely of the other
party. But their different views of politicks did not prevent
the gentlemen from agreeing in private, nor from allowing,
on one evening when Esmond's kind old patron, Lieutenant-
General Webb, with a stick and a crutch, hobbled up to the 10
Colonel's lodging (which was prettily situate at Knights-
bridge, between London and Kensington, and looking over
the Gardens), that the Lieutenant-General was a noble and
gallant soldier, — and even that he had been hardly used in
the Wynendael affair. He took his revenge in talk, that 15
must be confessed; and if J\Ir. Addison had had a mind to
write a poem about Wynendael, he might have heard from
the commander's own lips the story a hundred times over.
Mr. Esmond, forced to be quiet, betook himself to literature
for a relaxation, and composed his comedy, whereof the 20
prompter's copy lieth in my walnut escrutoire,° sealed up
and docketed "The Faithful Fool, a Comedy,° as it was
performed by her Majesty's Servants." 'Twas a very senti-
mental piece ; and Mr. Steele, who had more of that kind of
sentiment than Mr. Addison, admired it, whilst the other 25
rather sneered at the performance; though he owned that,
here and there, it contained some pretty strokes. He was
bringing out his own play of Cato at the time, the blaze of
which quite extinguished Esmond's farthing candle : and
his name was never put to the piece, which was printed as by 30
a Person of Qualit}^ Only nine copies w^ere sold, though
Mr. Dennis,° the great critick, praised it, and said 'twas a
work of great merit; and Colonel Esmond had the whole
impression burned one day in a rage, by Jack Lockwood, his
man. _ ^ 35
All this comedy was full of bitter satyrick strokes against a
certain young lad}^ The plot of the piece was quite a new
one. A young woman was represented with a great number
of suitors, selecting a pert fribble of a peer, in place of the
362 HENRY ESMOND
hero (but ill-acted, I think, by Mr. Wilks, the Faithful Fool),
who persisted in admiring her. In the fifth act, Teraminta
was made to discover the merits of Eugenio (the F. F.), and
to feel a partiahty for him too late ; for he announced that he
5 had bestowed his hand and estate upon Rosaria, a country
lass, endowed with every ^drtue. But it must be owned that
the audience yawned through the play ; and that it perished
on the third night, with only half a dozen persons to behold
its agonies. Esmond and his two mistresses came to the first
10 night, and iMiss Beatrix fell asleep ; whilst her mother, who
had not been to a play since King James the Second's time,
thought the piece, though not brilliant, had a very pretty
moral.
Mr. Esmond dabbled in letters, and wrote a deal of prose
15 and verse at this time of leisure. When displea;sed with the
conduct of Miss Beatrix, he would compose a satyre, in which
he relieved his mind. When smarting under the faithlessness
of women, he dashed off a copy of verses, in which he held
the whole sex up to scorn. One day, in one of these moods,
20 he made a little joke, in which (swearing him to secrecy) he
got his friend Dick Steele to help him ; and, composing
a paper, he had it printed exactly like Steele's paper, and
by his printer, and laid on his mistress's breakfast-table the
following : —
25 " Spectator.
" No. 341. Tuesday, April 1, 1712.
Mutato nomine de te Fabula narratur, — Horace.°
Thyself the moral of the Fable see. — Creech .°
'Mocasta° is known as a woman of learning and fashion,
30 and as one of the most amiable persons of this court and coun-
try. She is at home two mornings of the week, and all the
wits and a few of the beauties of London flock to her assem-
blies. When she goes abroad to Tunbiidge or the Bath,° a
retinue of adorers rides the journey with her; and, besides
35 the London beaux, she has a crowd of admirers at the Wells,
the polite amongst the natives of Sussex and Somerset press-
ing round her tea-tables, and being anxious for a nod from
her chair. Jocasta's acquaintance is thus very numerous.
HENRY ESMOND 363
Indeed, 'tis one smart writer's work to keep her visiting-book
— a strong footman is engaged to carry it ; and it would
require a much stronger head, even than Jocasta's own, to
remember the names of all her dear friends.
"Either at Epsom Wells° or at Tunbridge (for of this im- 5
portant matter Jocasta cannot be certain) it was her lady- •
ship's fortune to become acquainted with a young gentleman,
whose conversation was so sprightly, and manners amiable,
that she invited the agreeable young spark to visit her if
ever he came to London, where her house in Spring Garden° 10
should be open to him. Charming as he was, and without
any manner of doubt a pretty fellow, Jocasta hath such a
regiment of the like continually marching round her standard,
that 'tis no wonder her attention is distracted amongst them.
And so, though this gentleman made a considerable impres- 15
sion upon her, and touched her heart for at least three-ancl-
twenty minutes, it must be owned that she has forgotten his
name. He is a dark man, and may be eight-and-twenty
years old. His dress is sober, though of rich materials. He
has a mole on his forehead over his left eye; has a blue 20
ribbon° to his cane and sword, and wears his own hair.°
'•Jocasta was much flattered by beholding her adinirer (for
that everybody admires who sees her is a point which she
never can for a moment doubt) in the next pew to her at Saint
James's Church° last Sunday; and the manner in which he 25
appeared to go to sleep during the sermon — though from
under his fringed eyelids it was evident he was casting glances
of respectful raj^ture towards Jocasta — deeply mo\-ed and
interested her. On coming out of church, he found his way
to hei" chair, and made her an elegant bow as she stepped 30
into it. She saw him at Court afterwards, where he carried
himself w^th a most distinguished air, though none of her
acc^uaintances knew his name ; and the next night he was at
the play, where her ladyship was pleased to acknowledge him
from the side-box. 35
"During the w^hole of the comedy she racked her brains so
to remember his name, that she did not hear a word of the
piece : and having the happiness to meet him once more in
the lobby of the playhouse, she went up to him in a flutter,
364 HENRY ESMOND
and bade him remember that she kept two nights in the week^
and that she longed to see him at Spring Garden.
"He appeared on Tuesday, in a rich suit, showing a very
fine taste both in the tailor and w^earer ; and though a knot
5 of us were gathered round the charming Jocasta, fellows who
pretended to know every face upon the town, not one could
tell the gentleman's name in reply to Jocasta 's eager inquiries,
flung to the right and left of her as he advanced up the room
with a bow that would become a duke.
to ''Jocasta acknowledged this salute with one of those
smiles and curtsies of which that lady hath the secret.
She curtsies with a languishing air, as if to say, 'You are
come at last. I have been pining for you:' and then she
finishes her victim with a killing look, which declares :
15 'O Philander °i I have no eyes but for you.' Camilla hath
as good a curtsey perhaps, and Thalestris much such another
look; but the glance and the curtsey together belong to
Jocasta of all the English beauties alone.
'"Welcome to London, sir,' says she. 'One can see you
20 are from the country by your looks.' She would have
said 'Epsom,' or 'Tunbridge,' had she remembered rightly
at which place she had met the stranger ; but, alas ! she had
forgotten.
"The gentleman said 'he had been in town but three
25 days; and one of his reasons for coming hither was to have
the honour of paying his court to Jocasta.'
"She said 'the waters had agreed with her bu'; indiffer-
ently.'
"'The waters were for the sick,' the gentleman said:
30 'the young and beautiful came but to make them sparkle.
And, as the clergyman read the service on Sunday,' he
added, 'your ladyship reminded me of the angel that visited
the pool.' A murmur of approbation saluted this sally.
Manilio, who is a wit when he is not at cards, was in such a
75 rage that he revoked when he heard it.
"Jocasta was an angel visiting the waters; but at which
of the Bethesdas° ? She was puzzled more and more ; and,
as her way always is, looked the more innocent and simple,
the more artful her intentions were.
HENRY ESMOND 365
"'We were discoursing,' says she, 'about spelling of
names and words when you came. Why should we say
goold° and write gold, and call china chayny, and Caven-
dish Candish, and Cholmondeley Chumley? If we call
Pulteney Poltney, why shouldn't we call poultry pultry — 5
and '
"'Such an enchantress as your ladyship/ says he, 'is
mistress of all sorts of spells.' But this was Dr. Swift's
pun, and we all knew it.
'"And — and how do you spell your name?' says she, ic
coming to the point, at length; for this sprightly conversa-
tion had lasted much longer than is here set down, and been
carried on through at least three dishes of tea.
"'Oh, madam,' says he, '/ spell my name with the y.'
And laying down his dish, my gentleman made another 15
elegant bow, and was gone in a moment.
"Jocasta hath had no sleep since this mortification, and
the stranger's disappearance. If baulked in anything, she
is sure to lose her health and temper ; and we, her servants,
suffer, as usual, during the angry fits of our Queen. Can you 20
help us, Mr. Spectator, who know e\'erything, to read this
riddle for her, and set at rest all our minds? We find in
her list, Mr. Berty, Mr. Smith, Mr. Pike, Mr. Tyler — who
may be Mr. Bertie, Mr. Smyth, Mr. Pyke, Mr. Tiler, for
what we know. She hath turned away the clerk of her 25
\isiting-book, a poor fellow, with a great family of children.
Read me this riddle, good Mr. Shortface, and oblige your
admirer, —
"CEdipus."
"The Trumpet Coffee-house, Whitehall. 3°
"' Mr. Spectator — I am a gentleman but little acquainted
with the town, though I have had an university education,
and passed some years serving my country abroad, where
my name is better known than in the coffee-houses and St.
James's. 35
"Two years since my uncle died, leaving me a pretty
estate in the county of Kent ; and being at Tunbridge Wells
last summer, after ray mourning was over, and on the look-
366 HENRY ESMOND
out, if truth must be told, for some young lady who would
share with m.e the solitude of my great Kentish house, and
be kind to my tenantry (for whom a woman can do a great
deal more good than the best-intentioned man can), I was
5 greatly fascinated by a young lady of London, who was
the toast of all the company at the Wells. Every one knows
Saccharissa's beauty; and I think, Mr. Spectator, no one
better than herself.
''My table-book informs me that I danced no less than
10 seven-and-twenty sets with her at the Assembly. I treated
her to the fiddles twice. I was admitted on several days at
her lodging, and received by her with a great deal of dis-
tinction, and, for a time, was entirely her slave. It was
only when I found, from common talk of the company at
.15 the Wells, and from narrowly watching one, who I once
thought of asking the most sacred question a man can put
to a woman, that I became aware how unfit she was to be
a country gentleman's wife; and that this fair creature
was but a heartless worldly jilt, playing with affections
20 that she never meant to return, and, indeed, incapable of
returning them. Tis admiration such women want, not
love that touches them ; and I can conceive, in her old age,
no more wretched creature than this lady will be, when her
beauty hath deserted her, when her admirers have left her,
25 and she hath neither friendship nor religion to console
her.
"Business calling me to London, I went to St. James's
Church last Sunday, and there, opposite me, sat my beauty
of the Wells. Her behaviour during the whole service was
30 so pert, languishing, and absurd ; she flirted her fan, and
ogled and eyed me in a manner so indecent ; that I was
obliged to shut my eyes, so as actually not to sec her, and
whenever I opened them beheld hers (and very bright they
are), still staring at me. I fell in with her afterwards at
35 Court, and at the playhouse; and here nothing would satisfy
her but she must ell)ow through the crowd and speak to me,
and invite me to the assembly, which she holds at her house,
not very far from Ch-r-ng Cr-ss.
"Having made her a promise to attend, of course I kept
HENRY ESMOND 367
my promise ; and found the young widow in the midst of a
half-dozen of card-tables, and a crowd of wits and admirers.
I made the best bow I could, and advanced towards her ;
and saw by a peculiar puzzled look in her face, though she
tried to hide her perplexity, that she had forgotten even my 5
name.
*' Her talk, artful as it was, convinced me that I had guessed
aright. She turned the conversation most ridiculously ujx)n
the spelling of names and w^ords; and I replied with as
ridiculous, fulsome compliments as I could pay her : indeed, xz
one in which I compared her to an angel visiting the sick
wells, went a Httle too far; nor should I have employed it,
but that the allusion came from the Second Lesson last
Sunday, which we both had heard, and I was pressed to answer
her. 15
''Then she came to the question, which I knew was await-
ing me, and asked how I spelt my name? 'Madam,'
says I, turning on my heel, 'I spell it wath the ?/.' And
so I left her, wondering at the light-heartedness of the town-
people, who forget and make friends so easily, and resolved 20
to look elsewhere for a partner for your constant reader,
" Cymon Wyldoats.
"You know my real name, Mr. Spectator, in which there
is no such a letter as hupsilon.° But if the lady, whom I
have called Saccharissa, wonders that I appear no more 25
at the tea-tables, she is hereby respectfully informed the
reason y."
The above is a parable, whereof the writer will now ex-
pound the meaning. Jocasta was no other than Miss Esmond,
Maid of Honour to her Majesty. She had told Mr. Esmond 3^
this little story of ha\'ing met a gentleman somewhere, and
forgetting his name, when the gentleman, with no such
maUcious intentions as those of "Cymon" in the above
fable, made the answer simply as above ; and we all laughed
to think how Uttle Mistress Jocasta-Beatrix had profited 35
by her artifice and precautions.
As for Cymon he was intended to represent yours and her
368 HENRY ESMOND
very humble servant, the writer of the apologue and of thii
story, which we had printed on a Spectator paper* at Mr.
Steele's office, exactly as those famous journals were printed,
and which was laid on the table at breakfast in place of the
5 real newspaper. Mistress Jocasta, who had plenty of wit,
could not live without her Spectator to her tea ; and this
sham Spectator was intended to convey to the young woman
that she herself was a flirt, and that Cymon was a gentleman
of honour and resolution, seeing all her faults, and deter-
10 mined to break the chains once and for ever.
For though enough hath been said about this love-business
already — enough, at least, to prove to the writer's heirs
what a silly fond fool their old grandfather was, who would
like them to consider him as a very wise old gentleman ; —
15 yet not near all has been told concerning this matter, which
if it were allowed to take in Esmond's journal the space
it occupied in his time, would weary his kinsmen and women
of a hundred years' time beyond all endurance; and form
such a Diary of folly and drivelling, raptures and rage, as no
20 man of ordinary vanity would like to leave behind him.
The truth is, that, whether she laughed at him or encour-
aged him; whether she smiled or was cold and turned
her smiles on another ; worldly and ambitious, as he knew her
to be; hard and careless as she seemed to grow with her
25 Court Ufe, and a hundred admirers that came to her and
left her ; Esmond, do what he would, never could get Beatrix
out of his mind ; thought of her constantly at home or away :
if he read his name in a Gazette, or escaped the shot of a can-
non-ball or a greater danger in the camj)aign, as has happened
30 to him more than once, the instant thought after the lionour
achieved or the danger avoided was, " What will she say
of it?" "Will this distinction or the idea of this peril elate
her or touch her, so as to be better inclined towartls me?"
He could no more help this passionate fidelity of temper than
35 he could help the eyes he saw with — one or the other
seemed a part of his nature ; and knowing every one of her
faults as well as the keenest of her detractors, and the folly
of an attachment to such a woman, of which the fruition
could never bring him happiness for above a week, there
HENRY ESMOND 369
was yet a charm about this Circe ° from which the poor
deluded gentleman could not free himself; and, for a much
longer period than Ulysses (another middle-aged officer,
who had travelled much, and been in the foreign wars),
Esmond felt himself enthralled and besotted by the wiles 5
of this enchantress. Quit her ! He could no more quit her,
as the Cymon of this story was made to quit his false one,
than he could lose his consciousness of yesterday, bhe had
but to raise her finger, and he would come back from ever
so far; she had but to say I have discarded such and such
an adorer, and the poor infatuated wretch would be sure to
come and rddcr° about her mother's house, wilhng to be
put on the ranks of suitors, thougli he knew he might be
cast off the next week. If he were like Ulysses in his folly, at
least she was in so far like Penelope, that she had a crowd of 15
suitors, and undid day after day and night after night the
handiwork of fascination and the web of coquetry with which
she was wont to allure and entei'tain them.
Part oi her coquetry may have come from her position
about the Court, where the beautiful ^Nlaid of Honour was 20
the light about w^hich a thousand beaux came and fluttered ;
where she was sure to have a ring of admirers round her,
crowding to listen to her repartees as much r.s to admire
her beauty; and where she spoke and listened to much free
talk, such as one never would have thought the lips or ears 25
of Rachel Castle wood's daughter would have uttered or
heard. When in waiting at Wmdsor or Hampton, the Court
ladies or gentlemen would be making riding parties to-
gether; Mrs. Beatrix in a horseman's coat and hat, the
foremost after the stag-hounds and over the park fences, a 30
crowd of young fellows at her heels. If the English country
ladies at this time w^ere the most pure and modest of any
ladies in the world — the English town and Court ladies
permitted themselves words and behaviour that were neither
modest nor pure; and claimed, some of them, a freedom 35
which those who love that sex most would never wish to
grant them. The gentlemen of my family that follow after
me (for I don't encourage the ladies to pursue any such
studies) may read in the works of Mr. Congreve, and Dr.
370 HENRY ESMOND
Swift, and others, what was the conversation and what
the habits of our time.
The most beautiful woman in England in 1712, when
Esmond returned to this country, a lady of high birth, and
5 though of no fortune to be sure, with a thousand fascinations
of wit and manners — Beatrix Esmond — was now six-
and-twenty years old, and Beatrix Esmond still. Of her
hundred adorers she had not chosen one for a husband;
and those who had asked had been jilted by her; and more
lo still had left her. A succession of near ten 5^ears' crops of
beauties had come up since heir time, and had been reaped
by proper husbajidmen, if we may make an agricultural
simile, and had been housed comfortably long ago. Her
own contemporaries were sober mothers by this time; girls
15 with not a tithe of her charms, or her wit, having made
good matches, and now claiming precedence over the spinster
who but lately had derided and outshone them. The
young beauties were beginning to look down on Beatrix
as an old maid; and sneer, and call her one of Charles II. 's
20 ladies, and ask whether her portrait was not in the Hampton
Court Gallery° ? But still she reigned, at least in one man's
opinion, superior over all the little misses that were the toasts
of the young lads; and in Esmond's eyes was ever perfectly
lovely and young.
25 Who knows how many were nearly made happy by pos-
sessing her, or, rather, how many were fortunate in escaping
this syren? 'Tis a marvel to think that her mother was
the purest and simplest woman in the whole world, and
that this girl should have been born from her. I am inclined
30 to fancy, my mistress who never said a harsh word to her
children (and but twice or thrice only to one person), must
have been too fond and pressing with the maternal authority;
for her son and her daughter both revolted early ; nor after
their first flight from the nest could they ever be brought
35 back quite to the fond mother's bosom. Lady Castlewood,
and perhaps it was as well, knew little of her daughter's
life and real thoughts. How was she to apprehend what
passed in Queens' antechambers and at Court tal)les? Mrs.
Beatrix asserted her own authority so resolutely that lier
HENRY ESMOND 371
mother quickly gave in. The Maid of Honour had her own
equipage ; went from home and came back at her own will :
her mother was alike powerless to resist her or to lead her,
or to command or to persuade her.
She had been engaged once, twice, thrice, to be married, 5
Esmond believed. When he quitted home, it hath been said,
she was promised to my Lord Ashburnham, and now, on his
return, behold his lordship was just married to Lady Mary
Butler, the Duke of Ormonde's daughter, and his fine houses,
and twelve thousand a year of fortune, for which Miss Beatrix 10
had rather coveted him, was out of her power. To her Es-
mond could say nothing in regard to the breaking of this
match ; and asking his mistress about it, all Lady Castlewood
answered was: "Do not speak to me about it, Harry. I
cannot tell you how or why they parted, and I fear to enquire. 15
I have told you before, that with all her kindness, and wit,
and generosity, and that sort of splendour of nature she has ;
I can say but Kttie good of poor Beatrix, and look with dread
at the marriage she will form. Her mind is fixed on ambition
only, and making a great figure : and, this achieA'ed, she will 20
tire of it as she does of everything. Heaven help her husband
whoever he shall be ! My Lord Ashburnham was a most
excellent young man, gentle, and yet manly, of \ery good
parts, so they told me, and as my little conversation would
enable me to judge ; and a kind temper — kind and enduring 25
I 'm sure he must have been, from all that he had to endure. But
he quitted her at last; from some crowning piece of caprice
or tyranny of hers ; and now he has married a A'oung woman
that will make him a thousand times hapj^ier than my poor
girl ever could." 30
The rupture, whatever its cause was (I heard the scandal,
but indeed shall not take pains to repeat at length in this
diary the trumpery coffee-story), caused a good deal of low
talk; and Mr. Esmond was present at my lord's appearance
at the Birthday with his bride, over whom the revenge that 35
Beatrix took was to look so imperial and lovely that the
modest downcast young lady could not appear beside her, and
Lord Ashburnham, who had his reasons for wishing to avoid
her, slunk away quite shamefaced, and very early. This
372 HENRY ESMOND
time his Grace the Duke of Hamilton, whom Esmond had
seen about her before, was constant at Miss Beatrix's* side.
he was one of the most splendid gentlemen of Europe, ac-
complished by books, by travel, by long command of the
5 best company, distinguished as a statesman, having been
ambassador in King William's time, and a noble speaker in
the Scots' Parliament, where he had led the party that was
against the Union, and though now five or six and forty years
of age, a gentleman so high in stature, accomplished in wit,
10 and favoured in person, that he might pretend to the hand
of any Princess in Europe.
"Should you hke the Duke for a cousin?" says Mr. Secre-
tary St. John, whispering to Colonel Esmond in French; "it
appears that the widower consoles himself."
15 But to return to our little Spectator paper and the conver-
sation which grew out of it. Miss Beatrix at first was quite
hit (as the phrase of that day was) and did not "smoke" the
authorship of the story; indeed Esmond had tried to imitate
as well as he could Mr. Steele's manner (as for the other author
20 of the Spectator his prose style I think is altogether inimi-
table°) ; and Dick, who was the idlest and best natured of
men, would have let the piece pass into his journal and go
to posterity as one of his own lucubrations, but that
Esmond did not care to have a lady's name whom he loved,
25 sent forth to the world in a light so unfavourable. Beatrix
pished and psha'd over the paper ; Colonel Esmond watch-
ing with no little interest her countenance as she read
it.
"How stupid your friend Mr. Steele becomes!" cries Miss
30 Beatrix. " Ei)som and Tunbridge ! AVill he never have done
with Epsom and Tunbridge, and with beaux at church, and
Jocastas and Lindamiras? Why does he not call women
Xelly and Betty, ° as their godfathers and godmothers did
for them in their baptism?"
35 "Beatrix, Ik^atrix!" says her mother, "speak gravely of
grave things."
"Mamma thinks the Church Catechism came from Heaven,
I believe," says iJeatrix, with a laugh, "and was brought
down by a bialiop from a mountain. Oh, how I used to break
HENRY ESMOND 373
my heart over it ! Besides, I had a Popish godmother,
mamma; why did you give me one?"
''I gave you the Queen's name," says her mother, blushing.
"And a very pretty name it is," said somebody else.
Beatrix went on reading — ''Spell my name with ay — 5
why, you wretch," says she, turning round to Colonel Iilsmond,
"you have been telling my story to Mr. Steele — or stop —
you have written the paper yourself to turn me into ridicule.
For shame, sir!"
Poor Mr. Esmond felt rather frightened, and told a truth, 10
which was nevertheless an entire falsehood. "Upon my
honour," says he, "I have not even read the Spectator of this
morning." Nor had he, for that was not the Spectator, but
a sham newspaper put in its place.
She went on reading: her face rather flushed as she read. 15
"No," she says, "I think you couldn't have written it. I
think it must have been Mr. Steele when he was drunk — and
afraid of his horrid vulgar wife. Whenever I see an enormous
compliment to a woman, and some outrageous panegyrick
about female ^drtue, I always feel sure that the Captain and 20
his better half have fallen out over night, and that he has
been brought home tipsy, or has been found out in "
"Beatrix!" cries the Lady Castlewood.
"Well, mamma! Do not cry out before you are hurt. I
am not going to say anything wrong. I won't give 3'ou inore 25
annoyance than you can help, you pretty kind mamma. l"es,
and your httle trix is a naughty httie Trix, and she leaves
undone those things which she ought to have done, and does
those things which she ought not to have done, and there's —
well, now — I won't go on. Yes, I will, unless you kiss me." 30
And with this the young lady lays aside her paper, and runs
up to her mother and performs a variety of embraces with
her ladyship, saying as plain as eyes could speak to Mr.
Esmond, — "There, sir: would not you hke to play the very
same pleasant game?" 35
"Indeed, madam, I would," says he.
"Would what?" asked Miss Beatrix.
" What you meant when you looked at me in that provoking
way," answers Esmond.
374 HENRY ESMOND
"What a confessor !" cries Beatrix, with a laugh.
" What is it Henry would like, my dear ? " asks her mother,
the kind soul, who was always thinking what we would like,
and how she could please us.
5 The girl runs up to her — "Oh, you silly kind mamma,"
she says, kissing her again, "that's what Harry would like;"
and she broke out into a great joyful laugh: and Lady
Castlewood blushed as bashful as a maid of sixteen.
"Look at her, Harry," whispers Beatrix, running up, and
10 speaking in her sweet low tones. " Doesn't the blush become
her? Isn't she pretty? She looks younger than I am, and
I am sure she is a hundred million thousand times better."
Esmond's kind mistress left the room, carrying her blushes
away with her.
15 "If we girls at Court could grow such roses as that," con-
tinues Beatrix, with her laugh, "what wouldn't we do to
preserve 'em ! We'd clip their stalks and put 'em in salt and
water. But those flowers don't bloom at Hampton Court
and Windsor, Henry." She paused for a minute, and the
20 smile fading away from her April face, gave place to a men-
acing shower of tears : " Oh, how good she is, Harry," Beatrix
went on to say. "Oh, what a saint she is! Her goodness
frightens me. I'm not fit to live with her. I should be
better, I think, if she were not so perfect. She has had a
25 great sorrow in her life, and a great secret ; and repented of
it. It could not have been my father's death. She talks
freely about that ; nor could she have loved him very much —
though who knows what we wome» do love, and wh}^?"
"What, and why, indeed," says Mr. Esmond.
33 "No one knows," Beatrix went on, without noticing this
interruption except by a look, " what my mother's hfe is. She
hath been at early prayer this morning: she passes hours in
her closet ; if you were to follow her thither, you would find
her at prayers now. She tends the poor of the place — the
35 horrid, dirty poor. She sits through the curate's sermons,
— oh, those dreary sermons ! And you see, on a beau dire° ;
but good as they are, people like her are not fit to commune
with us of the world. There is always, as it were, a third
person present, even when I and my mother are alone. She
HENRY ESMOlsD 375
can't be frank with me quite ; who is always thinking of the
next world, and of her guardian angel, perhaps that's in com-
pany. Oh, Harry, I'm jealous of that guardian angel !" here
broke out Mistress Beatrix. ''It's horrid, I know; but my
mother's Ufe is all for Heaven, and mine — all for earth. 5
We can never be friends quite ; and then, she cares more for
Frank's little finger than she does for me, — I know she does :
and she loves you, sir, a great deal too much ; and I hate you
for it. I would have had her all to myself ; but she wouldn't.
In my childhood, it was my father she loved — (oh, how 10
could she? I remember him kind and handsome, but so
stupid, and not being able to speak after drinking v/ine)o
And, then, it was Frank; and now, it is Heaven and the
clergyman. How' I w^ould have loved her ! From a child
I used to be in a rage that she loved anybody but me ; but 1 5
she loved you all better — all, I know she did. And now, she
talks of the blessed consolation of religion. Dear soul ! she
thinks she is happier for beheving, as she must, that we are
all of us wicked and miserable sinners; and this world is
only a -pied a tcrre° for the good, where they stay for a night, 20
as we do, coming from Walcote, at that great, dreary, un-
comfortable Hounslow Inn. in those horrid beds. Oh, do
you remember those horrid beds ? — and the chariot comes
and fetches them to HeaA^en the next morning."
"Hush, Beatrix," says Mr. Esmond. 25
''Hush, indeed. You are a hypocrite, too, Henry, with
your grave airs and your glum face. We are all hypocrites.
O dear me! We are all alone, alone, alone," says poor
Beatrix, her fair breast heaving with a sigh.
"It was I that writ every line of that paper, my dear, ' 3°
says Mr. Esmond. "You are not so worldly as you think
yourself, Beatrix, and better than we beheve you. The
good we have in us we doubt of ; and the happiness that's to
our hand we throw away. You bend your ambition on a
great marriage and estabhshment — and why? You'll tire 35
of them when you win them : and be no happier with a
coronet on your coach "
"Than riding pillion with Lubin to market," says Beatrix.
*' Thank vou, Lubin!"
376 HENRY ESMOND
''I'm a dismal shepherd, to be sure," answers Esmond, with
a blush ; " and require a nymph that can tuck my bed-clothea
up, and make me water-gruel. Well, Tom Lockwood can
do that. He took me out of the fire upon his shoulders, and
5 nursed me through my illness as love will scarce ever do.
Only good wages, and a hope of my clothes, and the contents
of my portmanteau. How long was it that Jacob served an
apprenticeship for Rachel?"
''For mamma°?" says Beatrix. "Is it mamma your
10 honour wants, and that I should have the happiness of calling
you papa?"
Esmond blushed again. "I spoke of a Rachel that a
shepherd courted five thousand years ago ; when shepherds were
longer lived than now. And my meaningVas, that since I
15 saw you first after our separation — a child 3^ou were then ..."
"And I put on my best stockings, to captivate you, I
remember, sir ..."
"You have had my heart ever since then, such as it was;
and, such as you were, I cared for no other woman. What
20 little reputation I have won, it was that j^ou might be pleased
with it : and, indeed, it is not much ; and I think a hundred
fools in the army have got and deserved quite as much.
Was there something in the air of that dismal old Castlewood
that made us all gloomy, and dissatisfied, and lonely under
25 its ruined old roof? We were all so, even when together and
united, as it seemed, following our separate schemes, each as
we sate round the table."
" Dear, dreary old place ! " cries Beatrix. " Mamma hath
never had the heart to go back thither since we left it, when
30 — never mind how many years ago," and she flung back her
curls, and looked over her fair shoulder at the mirror superbly,
as if she said, "Time, I defy you."
""ics," says Esmond, who had the art, as she owned, of
divining many of her thoughts. "You can afford to look
;^5 in the glass still ; and only be pleased by the truth it tells you.
As for me, do you know what my scheme is? I think of
asking Frank to give me the Virginia estate King Charles
gave our grandfather. (She gave a superb curtsey, as much
as to say, "Our grandfatlier, indeed! Thank you, Mr
HENRY ESMOND 377
Bastard.") Yes, I know you are thinking of my bar-sinister,
and so am I. A man cannot get over it in this country;
unless, indeed, he wears it across a king's arms, when 'tis a
highly honourable coat; and I am thinking of retiring into
the plantations, and building myself a wigwam in the woods, 5
and perhaps, if I want company, suiting myself with a squaw.
We will send your ladyship furs over for the winter; and
when you are old, we'll provide you with tobacco. I am not
quite clever enough, or not rogue enough — I know not which
— for the old world. I may make a place for myself in the la
new, which is not so full ; and found a family there. When
you are a mother yourself, and a great lady, perhaps I shall
send you over from the plantation some day a little bar-
barian that is half Esmond half Mohock, ° and you will be
kind to him for his father's sake, who was, after all, your 15
kinsman; and whom you loved a little."
"What folly you are talking, Harry," says Miss Beatrix,
looking with her great eyes.
"'Tis sober earnest," says Esmond. And, indeed, the
scheme had been dwelling a good deal in his mind for some 20
time past, and especially since his return home, when he
found how hopeless, and even degrading to himself, his
passion was. ''Xo," says he, then, "I have tried half a
dozen times now. I can bear being away from you well
enough; but being with you is intolerable" (another lovf 25
curtsey on Mistress Beatrix's part), "and I will go. I have
enough to buy axes and guns for my men, and beads and
blankets for the savages ; and I'll go and live amongst them."
"Mon ami,°" she says, quite kindly, and taking Esmond's
hand, with an air of great compassion. "You can't think 30
that in our position anything more than our present friend-
ship is possible. You are our elder brother — as such we
view you, pitying your misfortune, not rebuking you with it.
Why, you are old enough and grave enough to be our father.
I alwaj^s thought you a hundred years old, Harry, with your 35
solemn face and grave air. I feel as a sister to you, and can
no more. Isn't that enough, sir?" And she put her face
quite close to his — who knows with what intention ?
"It's too much," says Esmond, turning away. "I can't
378 HENRY ESMOND
bear this life, and shall leave it. I shall stay, I think, to see
you married, and then freight a ship, and call it the Beatrix^
and bid you all ..."
Here the servant, flinging the door open, announced his
5 Grace the Duke of Hamilton, and Esmond started back
with something like an imprecation on his hps, as the noble-
man entered, looking splendid in his star and green ribbon.
He gave Mr. Esmond just that gracious bow which he would
have given to a lac(|uey who fetched him a chair or took his
10 hat, and seated himself by Miss Beatrix, as the poor Colonel
went out of the room with a hangdog look.
Esmond's mistress was in the lower room as he passed
down stairs. She often met him as he was coming away
from Beatrix; and she beckoned him into the apartment.
15 "Has she told you, Harry?" Lady Castlewood said.
"She has been very frank — ver}^," says Esmond.
"But — but about what is going to happen?"
"What is going to happen?" says he, his heart beating.
"His Grace the Duke of Hamilton has proposed to her,"
20 says my lady. "He made his offer yesterday. They will
marry as soon as his mourning is over ; and you have heard
his Grace is appointed Ambassador to Paris; and the Am-
bassadress goes with him."
CHAPTER IV
Beatrix's new suitor
The gentleman whom Beatrix had selected was, to be sure,
25 twenty years older than the Colonel, with whom she quar-
relled for being too old ; but this one was but a nameless
adventurer, and the other, the greatest duke in Scotland,
with pretensions even to a still higher title. My Lord Duke
of Hamilton had, indeed, every merit belonging to a gentle-
30 man, and he had had the time to mature his accomplish-
ments fully, being upwards of fifty years old when Madam
J^eatrix selected him for a bridegroom. Duke Hamilton,
then Earl of Arran,° had been educated at the famous Scottish
university of (Jlasgow, and, coming to London, became a
HENRY ESMOND 379
great favourite of Charles the Second, who made him a lord
of his bedchamber, and afterwards appointed him ambas-
sador to the French king, under whom the earl served two
campaigns as his Majesty's aide-de-camp; and he was absent
on this service when King Charles died. 5
King James continued ni}^ lord's promotion — made him
Master of the Wardrobe, and Colonel of the Royal Regiment
of Horse; and his lordship adhered firmly to King James,
being of the small company that never quitted that unfortu-
nate monarch till his departure out of England ; and then ro
it wa^, in 1688, namely, that he made the friendship with
Colonel Francis Esmond, that had always been, more or
less, maintained in the two families.
The earl professed a great admiration for King WilHam
always, but never could give him his allegiance ; and was 15
engaged in* more than one of the plots in the late great King's
reign, wliich always ended in the plotters' discomfiture,
and generally in their pardon, by the magnanimity of the
King. Lord Arran was twice prisoner in the Tower during
this reign, undauntedly saying, when offered his release, 20
upon parole not to engage against King William, that he
would not give his word, because "he was sure he could not
keep it"; but, nevertheless, he was both times discharged
without any trial ; and the King bore this noble enemy so little
malice, that when his mother, the Duchess of Hamilton, of 25
her own right, resigned her claim on her husband's death,
the Earl was, by patent signed at Loo,° 1690, created Duke
of Hamilton, Marquis of Clydesdale, and Earl of Arran,
with precedency from the original creation. His Grace
took the oaths and his seat in' the Scottish parhament in 30
1700: was famous there for his patriotism and eloquence,
especially in the debates about the Union Bill, which Duke
Hamilton opposed with all his strength, though he would
not go the length of the Scottish gentry, w^ho were for resist-
ing it by force of arms. 'Twas said he withdrew his opposi- 35
tion all of a sudden, and in consequence of letters from the
King at St. Germains, who entreated him on his allegiance
not to thwart the Queen, his sister, in this measure; and
the Duke, being always bent upon effecting the King's
380 HENRY ESMOND
return to his kingdom through a reconciUation between
his Majesty and Queen Anne, and quite averse to his landing
with arms and French troops, held aloof, and kept out of
Scotland during the time when the Chevalier de St. George's
5 descent from Dunkirk was projected, passing his time in
England in his great estate in Staffordshire. °
When the Whigs went out of office in 1710,° the Queen
began to show his Grace the ver}^ greatest marks of her
favour. He was created Duke of Brandon and Baron of
10 Dutton in England; having the Thistle° already originally
bestowed on him by King James the Second, his Grace was
now promoted to the honour of the Garter — a distinction
so great and illustrious, that no subject hath ever borne
them hitherto together. When this objection was made
15 to her Majest}^, she was pleased to say, "Such a subject as
the Duke of Hamilton has a pre-eminent claim to every
mark of distinction w^hich a crowned head can confer. 1
will henceforth wear both orders myself. ''
At the Chapter° held at Windsor in October, 1712, the
20 Duke and other knights, including Lord Treasurer, the
new-created Earl of Oxford and Mortimer, ° were installed;
and a few days afterwards his Grace was appointed Ambas-
sador-Extraordinary to France, and his equipages, plate, and
liveries commanded, of the most sumptuous kind, not only
25 for his Excellency the Ambassador, but for her Excellency
the Ambassadress, who was to accompany him. Her arms
were already cfuartered on the coach panels, and her brother
was to hasten over on the appointed day to give her away.
His lordship was a widower, having married, in 1698,
3° Elizabeth daughter of Digby, Lord Gerard, ° by which
marriage great estates came into the Hamilton family;
and out of these estates came, in part, that tragick quarrel
which ended the Duke's career.
From the loss of a tooth to that of a mistress there's no
35 i)aiig that is not bearable. The apprehension is much more
cruel than the certainty; and we make up our mind to the
misfortune when 'tis irremediable, jmrt with the tormentor,
and mumble our crust on t'other side of the jaws. I think
HENRY ESMOND 381
Colonel Esmond was relieved when a ducal coach-and-six
came and whisked his charmer away out of his reach, and
placed her in a higher sphere. As you have seen the nymph
in the opera-machine° go up to the clouds at the end of
the piece where Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, and all the divine 5
company of Olympians are seated, and quaver out her
last song as a goddess : so when this portentous elevation
was accomplished in the Esmond family, I am not sure
that every one of us did not treat the divine Beatrix with
special honours; at least, the saucy Httle beauty carried 10
her head with a toss of supreme authority, and assumed a
touch-me-not air, which all her friends- very good-humouredly
bowed to.
An old army acquaintance of Colonel Esmond's, honest
Tom Trett, who had sold his company, married a wife, and 15
turned merchant in the city, was dreadfully gloomy for a
long time, though hving in a fine house on the river, and
carrying on a great trade to all appearance. At length
Esmoncl saw his friend's name in the Gazette as a bank-
rupt; and a week after this circumstance my bankrupt 20
walks into Mr. Esmond's lodging with a face perfectly
radiant with good humour, and as jolly and careless as when
they had sailed from Southampton ten j'ears before for
Vigo. "This bankruptcy," says Tom, "has been hanging
over my head these three years ; the thought hath prevented 25
my sleeping, and I have looked at poor Polly's head on
t'other pillow, and then towards my razor on the table,
and thought to put an end to myself, and so give my woes
the slip. But now we are bankrupts : Tom Trett pays as
many shillings in the pound as he can ; his wife has a little 30
cottage at Fulham,° and her fortune secured to herself. I
am afraid neither of bailiff nor of creditor; and for the last
six nights have slept easy." So it was that when Fortune
shook her wings and left him, honest Tom cuddled him.self
up in his ragged virtue, and fell asleep. 3j
Esmond did not tell his friend how much his story applied
to Esmond too : but he laughed at it, and used it ; and having
fairly struck his docket in this love transaction, determined
to put a cheerful face on his bankruptcy. Perhaps Beatrix
382 HENRY ESMOND
was a little offended at his gaiety. "Is this the way, sir,
that you receive the announcement of your misfortune,"
says she, "and do you come smiUng before me as if you were
glad to be rid of me ? "
5 Esmond would not be put off from his good humour, but
told her the story of Tom Trett and his bankruptcy. "I
have been hankering after the grapes on the wall," says he,
"and lost my temper because they were beyond my reach;
was there any wonder? They're gone now and another
ro has them — a taller man than your humble servant has
won them." And the Colonel made his cousin a low bow.
"A taller man. Cousin Esmond!" says she. "A man of
spirit would have scaled the wall, sir, and seized them ! A
man of courage would have fought for 'em, not gaped for 'em."
15 "A Duke has but to gape and they drop into his mouth,"
says Esmond, with another low bow.
"Yes, sir," says she, "a Duke is a taller man than you.
And why should I not be grateful to one such as his Grace,
who gives me his heart and his great name? It is a great
20 gift he honours me with ; I know 'tis a bargain between
us; and I accept it, and will do my utmost to perform my
part of it. 'Tis no question of sighing and philandering
between a nobleman of his Grace's age and a girl who hath
little of that softness in her nature. Why should I not
25 own that I am ambitious, Harry Esmond ; and if it be no
sin in a man to covet honour, why should a woman too not
desire it? Shall I be frank with you, Harry, and say that if
you had not been down on your knees, and so humble, you
might have fared better with me? A woman of my spirit,
30 cousin, is to be won by gallantry, and not by sighs and rueful
faces. All the time you are worshipping and singing hymns
to me, I know very well I am no goddess, and grow weary
of the incense. 80 would you have been weary of the
goddess too — • when she was called Mrs. P]smond, and got
35 out of humour because she had not pin-money enough, and
was forced to go about in an old gown. Eh ! cousin, a god-
dess in a mo})-cap, that has to make her husband's gruel,
ceases to Ik; divine, — I am sure of it. I should have been
sulky and scolded ; and of all the proud wretches in the
HENRY ESMOND 383
world Mr. Esmond is the proudest, let me tell him that,
"/ou never fall into a passion : but you never forgive," I
think. Had you been a great man, you might have been
good humoured ; but being nobody, sir, you are too great a
man for me; and I'm afraid of you, cousin — there; and I 5
won't worship you, and you'll never be happy except with
a woman who will. Why, after I belonged to you, and after
one of my tantrums, you would have put the pillow over my
head some night, and smothered me, as the black man does
the woman in the play° that you're so fond of. What's 10
the creature's name? — Desdemona. You would, you little
black-eyed Othello ! "
"I think I should, Beatrix," says the Colonel.
"And I w^ant no such ending. I intend to live to be a
hundred, and to go to ten thousand routs° and balls, and to 15
play cards every night of my life till the year eight een-hundred.
And I hke to be the first of my company, sir; and I like
flattery and compliments, and you give me none; and I
like to be made to laugh, sir, and who's to laugh at your
dismal face, I should hke to know ? and I like a coach-and- 20
six or a coach-and-eight ; and I like diamonds, and a new
gown every week; and people to say — 'That's the Duchess
— How well her Grace looks ! — INIake way for IMadame
I'Ambassadrice d'Angleterre° — Call her Excellency's people'
— that's what I like. And as for you, you want a woman to 25
bring your slippers and cap, and to sit at your feet, and cry
' O caro ! O bravo° ! ' whilst you read your Shakspeares, and
Miltons, and stuff. ° Mamma would have been the wife
for you, had you been a little older, though you look ten
years older than she does — 3^ou do, you glum-faced, blue- 3«
bearded, little old man ! You might have sat, like Darby
and Joan, and flattered each other; and billed and cooed
like a pair of old pigeons on a perch. I want my wings
and to use them, sir." And she spread out her beautiful
arms, as if indeed she could fly off like the pretty "Gawrie,° " 35
w^hom the man in the story was enamoured of.
"And what will your Peter Wilkins saj^ to your flight?"
says Esmond, who never admired this fair creature more
than when she rebelled and laughed at him.
384 HENRY ESMOND
"A Duchess knows her place," says she, with a laugh.
"Why, I have a son already made for me, and thirty years
old (my Lord Arran), and four daughters. How they will
scold, and what a rage they will be in, when I come to take
5 the head of the table ! But I give them only a month to
be angry; at the end of that time they shall love me every
one, and so shall Lord AiTan, and so shall all his Grace's
Scots vassals and followers in the Highlands. I'm bent on
it; and when I take a thing in my head, 'tis done. His
10 Grace is the greatest gentleman in Europe, and I'll try and
make him hapjDy; and when the King comes back, you
may count on my protection, cousin Esmond — for come
back the King will and shall: and I'll bring him back from
Versailles, if he comes under my hoop."
15 "I hope the world will make you happy, Beatrix" says
Esmond, with a sigh. "You'll be Beatrix till you are my
Lady Duchess — will you not ? I shall then make your
Grace my very lowest bow."
"None of these sighs and this satire, cousin." she says.
20 "I take his Grace's great bounty thankfull}^ — yes, thank-
fully; and will wear his honours becomingly. I do not say
he hath touched my heart ; but he has my gratitude, obedi-
ence, admiration — I have told him that, and no more ; and
with that his noble heart is content. I have told him all
25 — even the story of that poor creature that I was engaged
to — and that I could not love ; and I gladly gave his word
back to him, and jumped for joy to get back my own. I am
twenty-five years old."
"Twenty-six, my dear," says Esmond.
30 "Twenty-five, sir — I choose to be twenty-five; and in
eight years, no man hath ever touched my heart. Yes —
you did once, for a little, Harry, when 3^ou came back, after
Lille, and engaging with that murderer, JMohun, and saving
Frank's life. I thought I could like you; and mamma
35 begged me hard, on her knees, and I did, — for a day.
But the old chill came over me, Henry, and the old fear of
you and your melancholy; and I was glad when you went
away, and engaged with° my Lord Ashburnham that I
might hear no more of you, Uiat's the truth. You are too
HENRY ESMOND 385
good for me somehow. I could not make you happy, and
should break my heart in trying, and not being able to love
you. But if you had asked me when we gave you the sword,
you might have had me, sir, and we both should ha\-e been
miserable by this time. I talked with that silly lord all 5
night just to vex you and mamma, and I succeeded, didn't
I ? How frankly we can talk of these things ! It seems
a thousand years ago : and though we are here sitting in
the same room, there's a great wall between us. My dear,
kind, faithful, gloomy old cousin ! I can like you now, and 10
admire you too, sir, and say that you are brave and very
kind, and very true, and a fine gentleman for all — for all
your Uttle mishap at your birth, '^ says she, wagging her
arch head.
"And now, sir," says she, with a curtsey, "we must have 15
no more talk except when mamma is by, as his Grace is with
us; for he does not half hke you, cousin, and is as jealous
as the black man° in your favourite play."
Though the very kindness of the words stabbed ]\Ir. Esmond
with the keenest pang, he did not show his sense of the 20
wound by any look of his (as Beatrix, indeed, afterwards
owned to him), but said, wnth a perfect command of himself
and an easy smile, "The interview must not end yet, my
dear, until I have had my last word. Stay, here comes
your mother" (indeed she came in here with her sweet 25
anxious face, and Esmond, going up, kissed her hand respect-
fully). "My dear lady may hear, too, the last words, which
are no secrets, and are only a parting benediction accom-
panying a present for your marriage from an old gentleman
your guardian ; for I feel as if I was the guardian of all the 30
family, and an old old fellow^ that is fit to be the grandfather
of you all; and in this character let me make my Lady
Duchess her wedding present. They are the diamonds
my father's widow left me. I had thought Beatrix might
have had them a year ago ; but they are good enough for a 35
duchess, though not bright enough for the handsomest woman
in the world." x\nd he took the case out of his pocket in
which the jewels were, and presented them to his cousin.
She gave a cry of delight, for the stones were indeed very
386 HENRY ESMOND
handsome, and of great value; and the next minute the
necklace was where Behnda's cross is in Mr. Pope's admirable
poem,° and glittering on the whitest and most perfectly-
shaped neck in all England,
t. The girl's delight at receiving these trinkets was so great
that after rushing to the looking-glass and examining the ef-
fect they produced upon that fair neck which they surrounded,
Beatrix was running back with her arms extended, and
was perhaps for paying her cousin with a price, that he would
10 have hked no doubt to receive from those beautiful rosy
Ups of hers, but at this moment the door opened, and his
Grace the bridegroom elect was announced.
He looked very black upon Mr. Esmond, to whom he
made a very low bow indeed, and kissed the hand of each
15 lady in his most ceremonious manner. He had come in his
chair from the j^alace hard by, and wore his two stars of
the Garter and the Thistle.
''Look, my Lord Duke," says Mrs. Beatrix, advancing
to him, and showing the diamoncis on her breast.
20 ''Diamonds," says his Grace. "Hm! they seem pretty."
"They are a present on my marriage," says Beatrix.
"From her Majesty?" asks the Duke. "The Queen is
very good."
"From my cousin Henry — from our cousin Henry" —
25 cry both the ladies in a breath.
"I have not the honour of knowing the gentleman. I
thought that my Lord Castlewood had no brother : and that
on your ladyship's side there were no nephews."
"From our cousin. Colonel Henry Esmond, my lord,"
30 says Beatrix, taking the Colonel's hand very bravely —
"who was left guardian to us by our father, and who hath
a hundred times shown his love and friendship for our
family."
"The Duchess of Hamilton receives no diamonds but
35 from her husband, madam," says the Duke — "may I pray
you to restore these to Mr. Esmond?"
"I^eatrix Esmond may receive a present from our kinsman
and benefactor, my Lord Duke," says Lady Castlewood,
with an air of gnuit dignity. "She is my daughter yet:
>l
HENRY ESMOND 387
and if her mother sanctions the gift — no one else hath the
right to question it."
"Kinsman and benefactor!" says the Duke. "I know of
no kinsman : and I do not chuse° that my wife should have
for benefactor a " 5
"My lord!" says Colonel Esmond.
"I am not here to bandy words," sa3^s his Grace : "frankly
I tell you that your visits to this house are too freciuent, and
that I chuse no presents for the Duchess of Hamilton from
gentlemen that bear a name they have no right to." ic
"My lord!" breaks out Lady Castlewood, "Mr. Esmond
hath the best right to that name of any man in the world :
and 'tis as old and as honourable as your Grace's."
]\Iy Lord Duke smiled, and looked as if Lady Castlewood
was mad, that was so talking to him. 15
"If I called him benefactor," said my mistress, "it is
because he has been so to us — yes, the noblest, the truest,
the bravest, the dearest of benefactors. He would have
saved my husband's life from Mohun's sword. He did save
my boy's, and defended him from that villain. Are those 20
no benefits?"
"I ask Colonel Esmond's pardon," says his Grace, if pos-
sible more haughty than before ; " I would say not a word
that should give him offence, and thank him for his kindness
to your ladyship's family. My Lord IMohun and I are 25
connected, you know, by marriage — though neither by
blood nor friendship ; but I must repeat what I said, that
my wife can receive no presents from Colonel Esmond."
" My daughter may receive presents from the Head of our
House : my daughter may thankfully take kindness from 30
her father's, her mother's, her brother's dearest friend;
and be grateful for one more benefit besides the thousand
we owe him," cries Lady Esmond. "What is a string of
diamond stones compared to that affection he hath given
us — our dearest preserver and benefactor ? We owe him 35
not only Frank's Hfe, but our all — yes, our all," says my
mistress, with a heightened colour and a trembling voice.
"The title we bear is his, if he would claim it. 'Tis we who
have no right to our name : not he that's too great for itc
388 HENRY ESMOND
He sacrificed his name at my dying lord's bed-side — sacri-
ficed it to my orphan children; gave up rank and honour
because he loved us so nobly. His father was Viscount of
Castlewood and Marquis of Esmond before him ; and he is
5 his father's lawful son and true heir, and we are the recipi-
ents of his bounty, and he the chief of a house that's as old
as your own. And if he is content to forgo his name that
my child may bear it, we love him and honour him and bless
him under whatever name he bears" — and here the fond
lo and affectionate creature would have knelt to Esmond again,
but that he prevented her; and Beatrix running up to her
mother with a pale face and a cry of alarm, embraced her and
said " Mother, what is this ? '^
" 'Tis a family secret, my Lord Duke," says Colonel
15 Esmond: "poor Beatrix knew nothing of it: nor did my
lady till a year ago. And I have as good a right to resign
my title as your Grace's mother to abdicate hers to you."
"I should have told everything to the Duke of Hamilton,"
said my mistress, "had his Grace applied to me for my
20 daughter's hand and not to Beatrix. I should have spoken
with you thi§ very day in private, my lord, had not your
words brought about this sudden explanation — and now
'tis fit Beatrix should hear it; and know, as I would have
all the world know, what we owe to our kinsman and patron."
25 And then, in her touching way, and having hold of her
daughter's hand, and speaking to her rather than my Lord
Duke, Lady Castlewood told the story which you know
already, — lauding up to the skies her kinsman's behaviour.
On his side Mr. Esmond explained the reasons that seemed
30 quite sufficiently cogent with him, why the succession in
the family, as at present it stood, should not be disturbed;
and he should remain, as he was, Colonel Esmond.
"And Marquis of lOsmond, my lord," says his Grace, with
a low bow. "Permit me to ask your lordship's pardon for
35 words that were utt(;r(Ml in ignorance ; and to beg for the
favour of your friondshij). To be allied to you, sir, must
be an honour under whatever name you are known" (so
his Grace was plc^ascnl to say) : "and in return for the splen-
did present you make my wife, your kinswoman, I hope you
HENRY ESMOND 389
will please to command any ser\^ce that James Douglas°
can perform. I shall never be easy until I repay you a part
of my obligations at least; and ere very long, and with the
mission her Majesty hath given me/' saj^s the Duke, "that
may perhaps be in my power. I shall esteem it as a favour, 5
my lord, if Colonel Esmond will give away the bride.''
"And if he will take the usual payment in advance, he is
welcome," says Beatrix, stepping to him; and as Esmond
kissed her, she whispered, "Oh, why didn't I know you
before?" ic
INIy Lord Duke was as hot as a flame at this salute, but
said never a word : Beatrix made him a proud curtsey,
and the two ladies quitted the room together.
"When does your Excellency go to Paris?" asks Colonel
Esmond. ' 15
" As soon after the ceremony as may be," his Grace answered.
" 'Tis fixed for the first of December : it cannot be sooner.
The equipage will not be ready till then. The Queen intends
the embass}' should be very grand — and I have law business
to settle. That ill-omened Mohun has come, or is coming, 20
to London again : we are in a lawsuit about my late Lord
Gerard's property; and he hath sent to me to jaeet him."
CHAPTER V
MOHUN APPEARS FOR THE LAST TIME IN THIS HISTORY
Besides my Lord Duke of Hamilton and Brandon, who,
for family reasons, had kindly promised his protection and
patronage to Colonel Esmond, he had other great friends 25
in power now, both able and willing to assist him, and he
might, with such allies, look forward to as fortunate advance-
ment in civil life at home as he had got rapid promotion
abroad. His Grace was magnanimous enough to offer to
take Mr. Esmond as secretary on his Paris embassy, but no 33
doubt he intended that proposal should be rejected; at
any rate, Esmond could not bear the thoughts of attending
his mistress farther than the church-door after her marriage,
390 HENRY ESMOND
and so declined that offer which his generous rival made
him.
Other gentlemen in power were liberal at least of compli-
ments and promises to Colonel Esmond. Mr. Harley, now
5 become my Lord Oxford and Mortimer, and installed Knight
of the Garter on the same day as his Grace of Hamilton
had received the same honour, sent to the Colonel to say
that a seat in Parhament should be at his disposal presently,
and Mr. St. John held out many flattering hopes of advance-
10 ment to the Colonel when he should enter the House. Es-
mond's friends were all successful, and the most successful
and triumphant of all was his dear old commander. General
Webb, who was now appointed Lieutenant-General of the
Land Forces, and received with particular honour by the
15 Ministry, by the Queen, and the people out of doors, who
huzzaed the brave chief when they used to see him in his
chariot, going to the House or to the Drawing- Room, or
hobbling on foot to his coach from St. Stephen's upon his
glorious old crutch and stick, and cheered him as loud as
20 they had ever done Marlborough.
That great Duke was utterly disgraced; and honest old
Webb dated all his Grace's misfortunes from Wynendael,
and vowed that Fate served the traitor right. Duchess
Sarah had also gone to ruin; she had been forced to give
25 up her keys, and her places, and her pensions: — /'Ah,
ah!^' says Webb, "she would have locked up three milhons
of French crowns with her keys, had I but been knocked
on the head, but I stopped that convoy at Wynendael."
Our enemy Cardonnel was turned out of the House of Com-
30 mons (along with Mr. Walpole) for malversation of publick
money. Cadogan lost his place of Lieutenant of the Tower.
Marlborough's daughters resigned their posts of ladies of
the bed-chamber, and so comi)lete was the Duke's disgrace,
that his son-in-law, Lord J^ridgewater,° was absolutely
35 obHged to give uj) his lodging at St. James's, and had his
half-pension, as Master of the Horse, taken away. But I
think the lowest depth of Marl])()rough's fall was when he
humbly sent to ask General Webb when he might wait
111)011 him; he who liad commanded the stout old General,
HENRY ESMOND 391
who had injured him and sneered at him, who had kept
him dangUng in his antechamber, who could not even after
his great service condescend to write him a letter in his own
liand. The nation was as eager for peace, as ever it had been
hot for war. The Prince of Savoy came amongst us,° had 5
his audience of the Queen, and got his famous Sword of
Honour, and strove with all his force to form a Whig party
together, to bring over the young Prince of Hanover — to
do any thing which might prolong the war, and consummate
the ruin of the old sovereign whom he hated so implacably. la
But the nation was tired of the struggle ; so completely
wearied of it that not even our defeat at Denain° could
rouse us into any anger, though such an action so lost two
years before, would have set all England in a fury. Twas
easy to see that the great Marlborough was not with the army. 15
Eugene was obliged to fall back in a rage, and forgo the
dazzling revenge of his life. 'Twas in vain the Duke's side
asked: "Would we suffer our arms to be insulted? Would
w^e not send back the only champion who could repair our
honour?" The nation had had its bellyful of fighting; 2a
nor could taunts or outcries goad up our Britons any more.
For a statesman, that was always prating of liberty, and
had the grandest philosophick maxims in his mouth, it must
be owned that Mr. St. John sometimes rather acted like a
Turkish than a Greek philosopher, and especially fell foul 25
of one unfortunate set of men, the men of letters, with a
tyranny a little extraordinary in a man who professed to
respect their calling so much. The literary controversy
at this time was very bitter, the government side was the
winning one, the popular one, and I think might have been 30
the merciful one. Twas natural that the opposition should
be pee\'ish and cry out ; some men did so from their hearts,
admiring the Duke of Marlborough's prodigious talents and
deploring the disgrace of the greatest general the world
ever knew; 'twas the stomach that caused other patriots 35
to grumble, and such men cried out because they were poor,
and paid to do so. Against these my Lord Bolingbroke
never showed the' shghtest mercy, whipping a dozen into
prison or into the pillory without the least commiseration.
392 HENRY ESMOND
From having been a man of arms Mr. Esmond had no\^
come to be a man of letters, but on a safer side than tliat in
which the above-cited poor fellows ventured their liberties and
ears. There was no danger in ours which was the winning
5 side; besides Mr. Esmond pleased himself by thinking that
he writ hke a gentleman if he did not always succeed as a wit.
Of the famous wits of that age, who have rendered Queen
Anne's reign illustrious, and whose works will be in all EngUsh-
men's hands in ages yet to come, Mr. Esmond saw many,
lo but at publick places chiefly; never having a great intimacy
with any of them except with honest Dick Steele and
Mr. Addison, who parted company with Esmond, however,
when that gentleman became a declared Tory and hved on
close terms with the leading persons of that party. Ad-
15 dison kept himself to a few friends, and very rarely opened
himself except in their company. A man more upright
and conscientious than he, it was not possible to find in
publick life, and one whose conversation was so various,
easy, and delightful. Writing now in my mature years, I
20 own that I think Addison's poUticks were the right, and
were my time to come over again, I would be a Whig in
England, and not a Tory; but with people that take a side in
politicks, 'tis men rather than principles that commonly
liind them. A kindness or a slight puts a man under one
25 flag or the other, and he marches with it to the end of the
campaign. Esmond's master in war was injured by IMarl-
borough, and hated him ; and the lieutenant fought the
quarrels of his leader. Webb coming to London was used
as a weapon by Marlborough's enemies (and true steel he was,
30 that honest chief) ; nor was his aide-de-camp, Mr. Esmond,
an unfaithful or unworthy partisan. Tis strange here,
and on a foreign soil, and in a land that is indei)endent in
all but tlie name (for that the North American colonies^
shall remain de|jendents on yonder little island for twenty
35 years rnoix;, I never can think), to remember how the nation
at home seemed to give itself up to the domination of one or
oth(;r aristocratic party, and took a Hanoverian king, or a
French one, according as cither prevailed. And while
the Tories, the October Club° gentlemen, the High Church
HENRY ESMOND 393
parsons that held by the Church of England, were for having
a Papist Idng, for whom many of their Scottish and English
leaders, firm churchmen all, laid down their li\'es with ad-
mirable loyalty and devotion; they were governed by men
who had notoriously no religion at all, but used it as they 5
would use any opinion for the purpose of forwarding their
own ambition. The Whigs, on the other hand, who professed
attachment, to rehgion and Uberty too, were compelled to
send to Holland or Hanover for a monarch around whom
they could rally. A strange series of compromises is that 10
Enghsh history; compromise of principle, comjDromise of
party, compromise of worship ! The lovers of English
freedom and independence submitted their rehgious con-
sciences to an Act of Parhament ; could not consolidate
their liberty without sending to Zell° or the Hague for a 15
king to hve under ; and could not find amongst the proudest
people in the world a man speaking their own language,
and understanding their laws, to govern them. The Tory
and High Church patriots were ready to die in defence of a
Papist family that had sold us to France ; the great Whig 20
nobles, the sturdy Ptepublican recusants, who had cut off
Charles Stuart's head° for treason, were fain to accept a king,
whose title came, to him through a royal grandmother,
whose own royal grandmother's head° had fallen under
Queen Bess's hatchet. And our proud English nobles 25
sent to a petty German town for a monarch to come and
reign in London; and our prelates kissed the ugly hands of
his Dutch° mistresses, and thought it no dishonour. In
England you can but belong to one party or t'other, and you
take the house you hve in with all its encumbrances, its 30
retainers, its antique discomforts, and ruins even; you
patch up, but you never build up anew. Will we of the new
world sulDmit much longer, even nominally, to this antient
British superstition? There are signs of the times which
make me think that ere long we shall care as little about 35
King George here, and peers temporal and peers spiritual,
as we do for King Canute or the Druids. °
This chapter began about the wits, my grandson may
say, and hath wandered very far from their company. The
39 t HENRY ESMOND
pleasantest of the wits I knew were the Doctors Garth anc^
Arbuthnot, and Mr. Gay,° the author of Trivia, the most
charming kind soul that ever laughed at a joke or cracked a
bottle. Mr. Prior I saw, and he was the earthen pot swim-
5 ming with the pots of brass down the stream, and always
and justly frightened lest he should break in the voyage.
I met him both at London and Paris, where he was performing
piteous congees to the Duke of Shrewsbury, ° not having
courage to support the dignity which his undeniable genius
lo and talent had won him,° and writing coaxing letters to
Secretary St. John, and thinking about his plate and his
place, and what on earth should iDecome of him, should his
party go out. The famous Mr. Congreve I saw a dozen of
times at Button's, a splendid wreck of a man, magnificently
15 attired, and though gouty, and almost blind, bearing a brave
face against fortune.
The great Mr. Pope° (of whose prodigious genius I have no
words to express my admiration) was cjuite a puny lad at
this time, appearing seldom in publick places. There were
20 hundreds of men, wits, and pretty fellows frequenting the
theatres and coffee-houses of that day — whom " nunc
perscribere longumest.°" Indeed I think the most brilHant
of that sort I ever saw was not till fifteen years afterwards,
when I paid my last visit in England, and met young Harry
25 Fielding, ° son of the Fielding that served in Spain and after-
wards in Flanders with us, and who for fun and humour
seemed to top them all. As for the famous Dr. Swift, I can say
of him, "Vidi tantum.°" He was in London all these years
up to the death of the Queen ; and in a hundred publick
30 places where I saw him, but no more ; he never missed Court
of a Sunday, where once or twice he was pointed out to your
grandfather. ° He would have sought me out eagerly
enough had I been a great man with a title to my name, or a
star on my coat. At ('ourt the Doctor had no eyes but for the
35 ^'^^'Y greatest. Lord Treasui-er and St. John used to call him
Jonathan, and they paid him with this cheai) coin for the
service they took of him. He writ their lanipoons, fought their
enemies, flogged and bulli(Hl in their service, and it must be
owned with a consummate skill and fierceness. 'Tis said he
HENRY ESMOND -395
hath lost his intellect now,° and forgotten his wrongs and his
rage against mankind. I have always thought of him and of
Marlborough as the two greatest men of that age. I have
read his books (who doth not know them ?) here in our calm
woods, and imagine a giant to myself as I think of him, a 5
lonely fallen Prometheus, ° groaning as the vulture tears
him. Prometheus I saw, but when first I ever had any words
with him, the giant stepped out of a sedan chair in the
Poultry, ° whither he had come with a tipsy Irish servant°
parading before him, who announced him, bawling out his 10
Reverence's name, whilst his master below was as yet hag-
gling with the chairman. ° I disliked this Mr. Swift, and
heard many a story about him, of his conduct to men, and
his words to women. He could flatter the great as much
as he could bully the weak, and Mr. Esmond, being younger 15
and hotter in that day than now, was determined should
he ever meet this dragon not to run away from his teeth
and his fire.
Men have all sorts of motives which carry them onwards
in life, and are driven into acts of desperation, or it may be 20
of distinction, from a hundred different causes. There was
one comrade of Esmond's, an honest little Irish lieutenant of
Handyside's, who owed so much money to a camp suttler,
that he began to make love to the man's daughter, intending
to pay his debt that way; and at the battle of Malplaquet, 25
flying away from the debt and lady too, he rushed so des-
perately on the French lines, that he got his company ; and
came a captain out of the action, and had to marry the sut-
tler's daughter after all, who brought him his cancelled debt
to her father as poor Roger 's° fortune. To run out of the 30
reach of bill and marriage, he ran on the enemy's pikes;
and as these did not kill him he was thrown back upon t'other
horn of his dilemma. Our great Duke at the same battle
was fighting, not the French, but the Tories in England :
and risking his life and the army's, not for his country but 35
for his pay and places; and for fear of his wife at home,
that only being in life whom he dreaded. I have asked
about men in my own company (new drafts of poor country
boys were perpetually coming over to us during the wars,
396 HENRY ESMOND
and brought from the 'plough-share to the sword), arwi
found that a half of them under the flags were driven thither
on account of a woman : one fellow was jilted by his mistress
and took the shilling" in despair; another jilted the girl,
5 and fled from her and the parish to the tents where the law
could not disturb him. Why go on particularising? What
can the sons of Adam and Eve expect, but to continue
in that course of love and trouble their father and mother
set out on? O my grandson! I am drawing nigh to the
10 end of that period of my history, when I was acquainted
with the great world of England and Europe, my years
are past the Hebrew poet's hmit,° and I say unto thee, all
my troubles, and joys too for that matter, have come from
a woman; as thine will when thv destined course begins.
15 'Twas a woman that made a soldier- of me, that set me
intriguing afterwards; I beheve I would have spun smocks
for her had she so bidden me; what strength I had in my
head I would have given her : hath not every man in his
degree had his Omphale and Dalilah°? Mine befooled me
20 on the banks of the Thames, and in dear old England ; thou
mayest find thine own by Rappahannoc.
To please that woman then I tried to distinguish myselt
as a soldier, and afterwards as a wit and a politician; as
to please another I would have put on a black cassock and
25 a pair of bands, and had done so but that a superior fate
intervened to defeat that project. And I say, I think the
world is like Captain Esmond's comi)any I spoke of anon;
and, could you see every man's career in life, you would find a
woman clogging him ; or clinging round his march and stop-
30 ping him; or cheering him and goading him; or be(;koning
him out of her chariot, so that he goes up to her, and leaves
the race to be run without him ; or bringing him the a})ple
and saying " Eat"; or fetching him the daggers and whisper-
ing "Kill° ! yonder lies Duncan, and a crown, and an oppor-
35 tunity."
Your grandfather fought with more effect as a politician
than as a wit; and having private animosities and grievances
of his own and his (jieneral's against the great Duke in com-
mand of the army, and more information on military matters
HENRY ESMOND 397
than most writers, who had never seen beyond the fire of a
tobacco-pipe at Wills 's,° he was enabled to do good service
for that cause which he embarked in, and for Mr. St. John
and his party. But he disdained che abuse in which some
of the Tory writers indulged; for instance Dr. Swift, who 5
actually chose to doubt the Duke of Marlborough's courage,
and was pleased to hint that his Grace's military capacity
was doubtfid : nor were Esmond's performances worse for
the effect they were intended to produce (though no doubt
they could not injure the Duke of Marlborough nearly so ic
much in the publick eyes as the malignant attacks of Swift
did, which were carefully directed so as to blacken and degrade
him), because they were writ openly and fairly by Mr. Esmond,
who made no disguise of them, who was now out of the
army, and who never attacked the prochgious courage and 15
talents, only the selfishness and rapacity of the chief.
The Colonel then, ha\^ng writ a paper for one of the Tory
journals, called the Post-Boy (a letter upon Bouchain, that
the town talked about for two whole days, when the appear-
ance of an. Italian singer supplied a fresh subject for con- 20
versation), and having business at the Exchange where
Mrs. Beatrix wanted a pair of gloves or a fan very likely;
Esmond went to correct his paper, and was sitting at the
printer's, when the famous Dr. Swift came in, his Irish
fellow with him that used to walk before his chair, ?nd 25
bawled out his master's name with great dignity.
jlr. Esmond was waiting for the printer too, whose wife had
gone to the tavern to fetch him, and was meantime engaged
in drawing a picture of a soldier on horseback for a dirty
little pretty boy of the printer's wife, whom she had left 30
behind her.
"I presume you are the ecUtor of the Post-Boy, sir?''
says the Doctor, in a grating voice that had an Irish twang° ;
and he looked at the Colonel from under his two bush}' eye-
brows with a pair of very clear blue eyes. His complexion 35
was muddy, his figure rather fat, his chin double. He wore a
shabby cassock, and a shabby hat over his black wig, and he
pulled out a p^reat gold watch, at which he looks° very
fic^rce.
398 HENRY ESMOND
''I am but a contributor, Doctor Swift," says Esmond,
with the Uttle boy still on his knee. He was sitting with
his back in the window, so that the Doctor could not see him.
''Who told you I was Doctor Swift?" says the Doctor,
5 eyeing the other very haughtily.
"Your Reverence's valet bawled out your name," says
the Colonel. "I should judge you brought him from Ireland."
"And pray, sir, what right have you to judge whether my
servant came from Ireland or no ? I want to speak with your
10 employer, Mr. Leach. I'll thank ye go fetch him."
"Where's your papa. Tommy?" asks the Colonel of the
child, a smutty little wretch in a frock.
Instead of answering, the child begins to cry ; the Doctor's
appearance had no doubt frightened the poor Uttle imp.
15 "Send that squalhng httlo brat about his business, and do
what I bid ye, sir," says the Doctor.
"I must finish the picture first for Tommy," says the
Colonel, laughing. "Here, Tommy, will you have 3'our
Pandour with whiskers or without?"
20 " Whisters," says Tommy, quite intent on the picture.
"Who the devil are ye, sir?" crie^ the Doctor; "are ye a
printer's man or are ye not?" he pronounced it like naught.
"Your Reverence needn't raise the devil to ask who I
am," says Colonel Esmond. "Did you ever hear of Doctor
25 Faustus,° little Tommy? or Friar Bacon, who invented
gunpowder, and set the Thames on fire?"
Mr. Swift turned quite red, almost purple. "I did not
intend any offence, sir," says he.
"I dare say, sir, you offended without meaning," says the
30 other, drily.
"Who are ye, sir? Do you know who I am, sir? You
are one of the pack of Grub Street scribblcrs° that my
friend Mr. Secretary hath laid by the heels. How dare ye,
sir, speak to m(; in this tone ? " cries the Doctor in a great fume.
35 "I beg your honour's humble ])ardon if, I have offended
your honour," says Esmond in a tone of great humility.
" Rather than be sent to the Compter," or be put in the
])illory, there's nothing I wouldn't do. Jiut, Mrs. Leach,
the printer's lady, told me to mind Tommy whilst she went
HENRY ESMOND 399
for her husband to the tavern, and I daren't leave the child
lest he should fall into the fire; but if your Reverence will
hold him ''
''I take the little beast!" says the Doctor, starting back.
''I am engaged to your betters, fellow. Tell Mr. Leach 5
that when he makes an appointment with Dr. Swift he had
best keep it, do ye hear? And keep a respectful tongue in
your head, sir, when you address a person Mke me."
"I'm but a poor broken-down soldier," says the Colonel,
"and I've seen better days, though I am forced now to turn tc
my hand to writing. We can't help our fate, sir."
"You're the person that Mr. Leach hath spoken to me of, I
presume. Have the goodness to speak civilly when you are
spoken to ; — and tell Leach to call at my lodgings in Bury
Street, ° and bring the papers with him to-night at ten 15
o'clock. And the next time you see me, you'll know me,
and be civil, Mr. Kemp."
Poor Kemp, who had been a lieutenant at the beginning of
the war, and fallen into misfortune, was the writer of the
Post- Boy, and now took honest ]\Ir. Leach's pay in place of 20
her Majesty's. Esmond had seen this gentleman, and a
very ingenious, hardworking, honest fellow he was, toiling
to give bread to a great family, and watching up many a long
winter night to keep the wolf from his door. And Mr. St.
John, who had hberty always on his tongue, had just sent a 25
dozen of the opposition writers into prison, and one actually
into the pillory, for w^hat he called libels, but hbels not half
so violent as those writ on our side. With regard to this
very piece of tyranny, Esmond had remonstrated strongly
w^th the Secretary, who laughed, and said the rascals were 30
served quite right; and told Esmond a joke of Swift's
regarding the matter. Nay, more, this Irishman, when St.
John was about to pardon a poor wretch condemned to
death for rape, absolutely prevented the Secretary from
exercising this act of good nature, and boasted that he had 35
had the man hanged ; and great as the Doctor's genius might
be, and splendid his ability, Esmond for one would affect
no love for him, and never desired to make his acquaintance.
The Doctor was at Court every Sunday assiduously enough, a
400 HENRY ESMOND
place the Colonel frequented but rarely, though he had
a great inducement to go there in the person of a fair Maid of
Honour of her Majesty's; and the airs and patronage Mr.
Swift gave himself, forgetting gentlemen of his country
5 whom he knew perfectly, his loud talk at once insolent and
servile, na}", perhaps his very intimacy with Lord Treasurer
and the Secretary, who indulged all his freaks and called
him Jonathan, you may be sure were remarked by many a
person of whom the proud priest himself took no note, during
10 that time of his vanity and triumph.
Twas but three days after the 15th of November,. 1712,
(Esmond minds him well of the date), that he went by
invitation to dine with his General, the foot of whose table
he used to take on these festive occasions, as he had done
15 at many a board, hard and plentiful, during the campaign.
This was a great feast, and of the latter sort ; the honest old
gentleman loved to treat his friends splendidly : his Grace
of Ormonde° before he joined his army as generalissimo,
my Lord Viscount Bolingbroke, one of her Majesty's Secre-
20 taries of State, my Lord Orkney that had served with us
abroad, being of the party. His Grace of Hamilton, Master
of the Ordnance, and in whose honour the feast had been
given, upon his approaching departure as Ambassador to
Paris, had sent an excuse to General Webb, at two o'clock,
25 but an hour before the dinner : nothing but the most immedi-
ate business, his Grace said, should have prevented him
having the pleasure of drinking a parting glass to the health
of (MMieral Webb. His absence disapjxiintcd Esmond's
old chief, who suffered much from his wounds besides; and
30 thougli the company was grand, it was rather gloomy. St.
John came last, and brought a friend with him: — "I'm
sure," says my General, bowing very politely, "my table
hath always a place for Dr. Swift."
Mr. Esmond went uj) to the Doctor with a bow and a smile ;
35 — "I gave Dr. Swift's message," says he, "to the printer:
I hope he l)rought your pamphlet to yovu* lodgings in time."
Indeed poor Leach had come to his house very soon after
the Doctor left it, l)eing brought away rathcu* tipsy from the
tavern by his thrifty wife ; and he talked of Cousin Swift
/
HENRY ESMOND 401
ill a maudlin way, though of course Mr. Esmond did not
alhide to this relationship. The Doctor scowled, blushed,
and was much confused, and said scarce a word during the
whole of dinner. A very little stone will sometimes knock
down these Gohaths of wit ; and this one was often discom- 5
fited when met by a man of any spirit; he took his place
sulkily, put water in his wine that the others drank plenti-
fully, and scarce said a word.
The talk was about the affairs of the day, or rather about
persons than affairs : my Lady INIarlborough's fury, her 10
daughters in old clothes and mob-caps looking out from
their windows and seeing the company pass to the Drawing-
Room ; the gentleman-usher's horror when the Prince of
Savoy was introduced to her Majesty in a tie-wig, no man
out of a full-bottomed perriwig ever having kissed the Royal it;
hand before; about the Mohawks° and the damage they
were doing, rushing through the town, killing and murdering.
Some one said the ill-omened face of Mohun had been seen at
the theatre the night before, and iMacartney and Meredith"
with him. Meant to be a feast, the meeting, in spite of 20
drink and talk, was as dismal as a funeral. Every topick
started subsided into gloom. His Grace of Ormonde went
away because the conversation got upon Denain, where we
had been defeated in the last campaign. Esmond's General
was affected at the allusion to this action too, for his comrade 25
of Wynendael, the Count of Nassau Woudenberg, had been
slain there. ^Ir. Swift, when Esmond pledged him, said he
drank no wine, and took his hat from the peg and went
away, beckoning my Lord Bolingbroke to follow him; but
the other bade him take his chariot and save his coach-hire, 30
he had to speak with Colonel Esmond; and when the rest
of the company withdrew to cards, these two remained
behind in the dark.
Bolingbroke always spoke freely when he had drunk
freely. His enemies could get any secret out of him in that 35
condition ; women were even employed to pl}^ him, and take
his words down. I have heard that my Lord Stair, three
years after, when the Secretary fled to France and became
the Pretender's minister, got all the information he wanted
2d
402 HENRY ESMOND
by putting female spies over St. John in his cups. He spoke
freely now: — "Jonathan knows nothing of this for certain,
though he suspects it, and by George, Webb will take an
Arehbishoprick,° and Jonathan a — no, damme — Jonathan
5 will take an Archbishoprick from James, I warrant me,
gladly enough. Your Duke hath the string of the whole
matter in his hand," the Secretary went on. "We have
that which will force Marlborough to keep his distance,
and he goes out of London in a fortnight. Prior hath his
10 business; he left me this morning, and mark me, Harry,
should fate carry off our august, our beloved, our most gouty
and plethorick Queen, and Defender of the Faith, la bonne
cause triomphera. A la sante de la bonne cause. ° Every-
thing good comes from France. Wine comes from France,
15 gn^e us another bumper to the bonne cause." We drank it
together.
"Will the 'bonne cause' turn Protestant?" asked Mr.
Esmond.
"No, hang it," says the other, "he'll defend our Faith as in
20 duty bound, but he'll stick by his own. The Hind and the
Panther° shall run in the same car, by Jove. Righteousness
and peace shall kiss each other° ; and we'll have Father
Massillon to walk down the aisle of St. Paul's, cheek by jowl°
with Dr. Sacheverel.° Give us more wine, here's a health
25 to the 'bonne cause,' kneeUng — damme, let's drink it kneel-
ing." — He was quite flushed and wild with wine as he was
talking.
" And suppose,'^ says Esmond, who always had this gloomy
apprehension, "the 'bonne cause' should give us up to the
30 French, as his father and uncle did before him."
"Give us up to the French!" starts up Bolingbroke, "is
there any English gentleman that fears that? You who
have seen Jilenheim and Ramillies, afraid of the French !
Your ancestors and mine, and brave old Webb's yonder, have
35 met them in a hundred fields, and our children will be ready
to do the like. Who's he that wishes for more men from
England? My cousin Westmoreland? give us up to the
French, pshaw !"
" His uncle did,°" says Mr. Esmond.
HENRY ESMOND 403
"And what happened to his grandfather ?° " broke out
St. John, fining out another bumper. " Here's to the greatest
monarch England ever saw, here's to the Enghshman that
made a kingdom of her. Our great King came from Hunt-
ingdon, ° not Hanover; our fathers chdn't look for a Dutch- 5
man° to rule us. — Let him come and we'll keep him, and
we'll show him Whitehall. ° If he's a traitor let us have him
here to deal with him ; and then there are spirits here as great
as any that have gone before. There are men here that can
look at danger in the face and not be frightened at it. Traitor, la
treason ! what names are these to scare you and me ? Are
all Oliver's men dead, or his glorious name forgotten in fifty
years ? Are there no men equal to him, think you, as good,
ay, as good ? God save the King ! and if the monarchy fails
us, God save the British Republick!" 15
He filled another great bumper, and tossed it up and
drained it wildly, just as the noise of rapid carriage-wheels
approaching was stopped at our door, and after a hurried
knock and a moment's interval, Mr. Swift came into the hall,
ran upstairs to the room we were dining in, and entered 20
it with a perturbed face. St. John, excited with drink, was
making some wild quotation out of Macbeth, but Swift stopped
him.
"Drink no more, my lord, for God's sake," says he. "I
come with the most dreadful news." 25
"Is the Queen dead?" cries out Bolingbroke, seizing on a
water-glass.
" Xo, Duke Hamilton is dead, he was murdered an hour ago
by Mohun and Macartney" ; they had a quarrel this morning,
they gave him not so much time as to write a letter. He 30
went for a couple of his friends, and he is dead, and Mohun,
too, the bloody villain, who was set on him. They fought in
Hyde Park° just before sunset, the Duke killed Mohun, and
Macartney came up and stabbed him, and the dog is fled.
I have your chariot below, send to every part of the country 35
and apprehend that villain; come to the Duke's house and
see if an}^ Hfe be left in him."
"0 Beatrix, Beatrix," thought Esmond, "and here ends
my poor girl's ambition!"
404 HENRY ESMOND
CHAPTER VI
POOR BEATRIX
There had been no need to urge upon Esmond the necessity
of a separation between him and Beatrix : fate had done that
completely ; and I "think from the very moment poor Beatrix
had accepted the Duke's offer, she began to assume the
5 majestick air of a Duchess, nay, Queen Elect, and to carry
herself as one sacred and removed from us common people.
Her mother and kinsman both fell into her ways, the latter
scornfully perhaps, and uttering his usual gibes at her vanity
and his own. There was a certain charm about this girl
10 of which neither Colonel Esmond nor his fond mistress could
forgo the fascination ; in spite of her faults and her pride
and wilfulness, they were forced to love her; and, indeed,
might be set down as the two chief flatterers of the brilliant .
creature's court.
15 Who, in the course of his life,° hath not been so bewitched,
and worshipped some idol or another? Years after this
passion hath been dead and buried, along with a thousand
other worldly cares and ambitions, he who felt it can recall
it out of its grave, and admire, almost as fondly as he did
20 in his youth, that lovely queenly creature. I invoke that
beautiful spirit from the shades and love her still; or rather
I should say such a past is always present to a man; such
a passion once felt forms a part of his whole being, and cannot
be separated from it; it becomes a portion of the man of
25 to-day, just as any great faith or conviction, the discovery <
of poetry, the awakening of religion, ever afterwards influence
him; just as the wound I had at Blenh(>im, and of which I
wear the scar, hath become part of my frame and influ(Miced
my whole body, nay spirit, subseciuently, though 'twas got and
30 healed forty y(>ars ago. Parting and forgetting ! What faithful
heart can clo these ? Our great thouglits, our great affections,
the Trutlis of our life, never leave us. Surely, they cannot
separat<3 from our consciousness; sliall follow it whithersoever
that shall go; and are of their nature divino and immortal.
HENRY ESMOND 405
With the horrible news of this catastrophe, which was
confirmed by the weeping; domesticks at the Duke's own
door, Esmond rode homewards as quick as his lazy coach
would carry him, devising all the time how he should break
the intelligence to the person most concerned in it; and if 5
a satire upon human vanity could be needed, that poor soul
afforded it in the altered company and occupations in which
Esmond found her. For days before, her chariot had been
rolling the street from mercer to toy-shop — from goldsmith
to laceman : her taste was perfect, or at least the fond bride- 10
groom had thought so, and had given entire authority over
all tradesmen and for all the plate, furniture, and equipages,
with which his Grace the Ambassador wished to adorn his
splendid mission. She must have her picture by Kneller, a
duchess not being complete without a portrait, and a noble 15
one he made, and actually sketched in', on a cushion, a coronet,
which she was about to wear. She vowed she would wear
it at King James the Third 's° coronation, and never a princess
in the land vrould have become ermine° better. Esmond
found the antechamber crowded with milliners and toy-shop 20
women, obsequious goldsmiths with jewels, salvers, and
tankards; and .mercers' men with hangings, and velvets, and
brocades. My Lady Duchess elect was giving audience to
one famous silversmith from Exeter Change, ° who brought
with him a great chased salver, ° of which he was pointing out 25
the beauties as Colonel Esmond entered. "Come," says she,
"cousin, and admire the taste of this pretty thing." I think
Mars and Venus were lying in the golden bower, that one gilt
cupid carried off the war-god's casque — another his sword
-^ another his great buckler, upon which my Lord Duke 30
Hamilton's arms with ours were to be engraved — and a
fourth was kneeling down to the reclining goddess with the
Ducal coronet in his hands, God help us. The next time
Mr. Esmond saw that piece of plate, the arms were changed,
the Ducal coronet had been replaced by a Viscount's, it 35
formed part of the fortune of the thrifty goldsmith's own
daughter, when she married my Lord Viscount Squanderfield°
two years after.
"Isn't this a beautiful piece?" says Beatrix, examining it.
406 HENRY ESMOND
and she pointed out the arch graces of the Cupids, and the
fine carving of the languid prostrate Mars. Esmond sickened
as he thought of the warrior dead in his chamber, his servants
and children weeping around him ; and of this smiling crea-
5 ture attiring herself, as it were, for that nuptial death-bed.
"Tis a pretty piece of vanity,'^ says he, looking gloomily at
the beautiful creature : there were flambeaux in the room
lighting up the brilliant mistress of it. She lifted up the
great gold salver with her fair arms.
10 ''Vanity !'' says she, haughtily. ''What is vanity in you,
sir, is propriety in me. You ask a Jewish price for it, Mr.
Graves; but have it I will, if only to spite Mr. Esmond."
"Oh, Beatrix, lay it down!" says Mr. Esmond. "He-
rodias° ! you know not what you carry in the charger."
15 She dropped it with a clang; the eager goldsmith running
to seize his fallen ware. The lady's face caught the fright
from Esmond's pale countenance, and her ej^es shone out like
beacons of alarm : — "What is it, Henry?" says she, running
to him, and seizing both his hands. "What do you mean
20 by your pale face and gloomy tones?"
"Come away, come away," says Esmond, leading her: she
clung frightened to him, ancl he supported her upon his heart,
bidding the scared goldsmith leave them. The man went
into the next apartment, staring with surprise, and hugging
25 his precious charger.
"O my Beatrix, my sister," says Esmond, still holding
in his arms the pallid and affrighted creature, "you have the
greatest courage of any woman in the world ; prepare to
show it now, for you have a dreadful trial to bear."
30 She sprang away from the friend who would have pro-
tected her: — "Hath he left me?" says she. "We had
words this morning : he was very gloomy, and I angered him :
but he dared not, he dared not!" As she spoke a burning
blush flushefl over her whole face and bosom. Esmond saw
35 it reflected in the glass by which she stood, with clenched
hands, pressing her swelling heart.
"He has left you," says ]^]smond, wondering that rage
rather than sorrow was in her looks.
"And he is alive!" cries Beatrix, "and you bring me this
HENRY ESMOND 407
commission ! He has left me, and you haven't dared to
avenge me ! You, that pretend to be the champion of our
house, have let me suffer this insult ! Where is Castlewood ?
I will go to my brother.''
"The Duke is not aUve, Beatrix," .said Esmond. 5
She looked at her cousin wildly, and fell back to the wall as
though shot in the breast: — "And you come here, and —
and — you killed him ? "
"Xo, thank Heaven, °" her kinsman said, "the blood of
that noble heart doth not stain my sword. In its last hour 10
it was faithful to thee, Beatrix Esmond. Vain and cruel
woman ! kneel and thank the Awful Heaven which awards
life and death, and chastises pride, that the noble Hamilton
died true to you; at least that 'twas not your quarrel, or
your pride, or 3^our wicked vanity, that drove him to his 15
fate. He died by the bloody sword which already had drank
your own father's blood. O woman, O sister ! to that sad
field where two corpses are lying — for the murderer died too
by the hand of the. man he slew — can you bring no mourners
but your revenge and your vanity? God help and pardon 20
thee, Beatrix, as he brings this awful punishment to your hard
and rebellious heart."
Esmond had scarce done speaking, w^hen his mistress came
in. The colloquy between him and Beatrix had lasted but
a few minutes, during which time Esmond's servant had 25
carried the disastrous news through the household. The
army of Vanity-Fair, waiting without, gathered up their
fripperies and fled aghast. Tender Lady Castlewood had
been in talk above with Dean Atterbury, the pious creature's
almoner and director; and the Dean had entered with her 30
as a physician whose place was at a sick-bed, Beatrix's
mother looked at Esmond and ran towards her daughter
with a pale face and open heart and hands, all kindness and
pity. But Beatrix passed her by, nor would she have an}^ of
the medicaments of the spiritual physician. "I am best in 35
my own room and by myself," she said. Her eyes were
quite dry; nor did Esmond ever see them otherwise, save
once, in respect to that grief. She gave him a cold hand
as she went out: "Thank you, brother," she said, in a low
408 HENRY ESMOND
voice, and with a simplicity more touching than tears, "al\
you have said is true and kind, and I will go away and ask
pardon." The three others remained behind, and talked
over the dreadful story. It affected Dr. Atterbury more even
5 than us, as it seemed. The death of Mohun, her husband's
murderer, was more awful to my mistress than even the
Duke's unhappy end. Esmond gave at length what partic-
ulars he knew of their quarrel, and the cause of it. The two
noblemen had long been at war with respect to the Lord
lo Gerard's property, whose tAvo daughters, my Lord Duke
and Mohun had married. ° They had met by appointment
that day at the lawyer's in Lincoln's Inn Fields ; had words,
which though they appeared very trifling to those who heard
them, were not so to men exasperated by long and previous
15 enmity. Mohun asked my Lord Duke where he could see
his Grace's friends, and within an hour had sent two of his
own to arrange this deadly duel. It was pursued with such
fierceness, and sprung from so trifling a cause, that all men
agreed at the time that there was a party of which these
20 three notorious brawlers were but agents, who desired to take
Duke Hamilton's life away. They fought three on a side,
as in that tragick meeting twelve years back, which hath
been recounted already, and in which Mohun performed his
second murder. They rushed in, and closed upon each other
25 at once without any feints or crossing of swords even, and
stabbed one at the other desperately, each receiving many
wounds ; and Mohun having his death wound, and my Lord
Duke lying by him. Macartney came up and stabbed his
CJi-ace as he lay on the ground, and gave him the blow of
30 which he died. Colonel Macartney denied this, of which the
horror and indignation of the whole kingdom would never-
theless have him guilty, and fled the country whither he
never returned.
What was the real cause of the Duke Hamilton's death, —
35 M i)altry quarrel that might easily have been made up, and
with a ruffian so low, base, profligate, and degraded with
former crimes and repeated murders, that a man of such a
renown and princely rank as my Lord J)uk(^ might have dis-
dained to sully his sword with the blood of such a villain?
HENRY ESMOND 409
But his spirit was so high that those who wished his death
knew that his courage was Hke his charity, and never turned
any man away ; and he died by the hands of Mohun and the
other two cut-throats that were set on him. The Queen's
ambassador to Paris died, the loyal and devoted servant of 5
the House of Stuart, a Royal Prince of Scotland himself, and
carrying the confidence, the repentance of Queen Anne along
with his own open devotion, and the good-will of millions
in the country more, to the Queen's exiled brother and
sovereign. 10
That party to which Lord Mohun belonged had the benefit
of his service, and nov/ were well rid of such a ruffian. He,
and Meredith, and Macartne}^ were the Duke of Marlbor-
ough's men ; and the two colonels had been broke but the
year before for drinking perdition to the Tories. His Grace 15
was a Whig now and a Hanoverian, and as eager for war as
Prince Eugene himself. I say not that he was privy to
Duke Hamilton's death, I say that his party profited b}' it ;
and that three desperate and bloody instruments were found
to effect that murder. 20
As Esmond and the Dean walked away from Kensington
discoursing of this tragedy, and how fatal it was to the cause
which they both had at heart ; the street-criers were already
out with their broadsides, shouting through the town the full,
true, and horrible account of the death of Lord Mohun and 25
Duke Hamilton in a duel. A fellow had got to Kensington,
and was crying it in the square there at very early morning,
when Mr. Esmond happened to pass by. He drove the man
from under Beatrix's very window, whereof the casement
had been set open. The sun was shining though 'twas Xo- 30
vember : he had seen the market-carts rolling into London,
the guard relieved at the palace, the labourers trudging to
their work in the gardens between Kensington and the City
— the wandering merchants and hawkers filling the air with
their cries. The world was going to its business again, al- 35
though dukes lay dead and ladies mourned for them; and
kings, very likely, lost their chances. So night and day pass
away, and to-morrow comes, and our place knows us not.
Esmond thought of the courier, now galloping on the north
410 HENRY ESMOND
road to inform him, who was Earl of Arran yesterday, that
he was Duke of Hamilton to-day, and of a thousand great
schemes, hopes, ambitions, that were alive in the gallant
heart, beating a few hours since, and now in a little dust
5 quiescent.
CHAPTER VII
I VISIT CASTLEWOOD ONCE MORE
Thus, for a third time, Beatrix's ambitious hopes were
circumvented, and she might well believe that a special
malignant fate watched and pursued her, tearing her prize
out of her hand just as she seemed to grasp it, and leaving
10 her with only rage and grief for her portion. Whatever
her feelings might have been of anger or of sorrow (and I fear
me that the former emotion was that which most tore
her heart), she would take no confidant, as people of softer
natures would have done under such a calamity ; her mother
15 and her kinsman knew that she would disdain their pity, and
that to offer it would be but to infuriate the cruel wound
which fortune had inflicted. We knew that her pride was
awfully humbled and punished by this sudden and terrible
blow; she wanted no teaching of ours to point out the sad
20 moral of her story. Her fond mother could give but her
prayers, and her kinsman his faithful friendship and patience
to the unhappy stricken creature; and it was only by hints,
and a word or two uttered months afterwards, that Beatrix
showed she understood their silent commiseration, and on
25 her part was secretly thankful for their forbearance. The
people about the Court said there was that in her manner
which frightened away scoffing and condolence : she was
above their triumph and their pity, and acted her part in
that dreadful tragedy greatly and courag(H)U8ly ; so that
30 those who liked her h^ast were yet forced to admire her. We,
who watched her after her disaster, could not but respect the
indomitable courage and majestick calm with which she bore
it. " I would rather see her tears than her i>ride," her mother
said, who was accustomed to bear her sorrows in a very
HENRY ESMOND 411
different way, and to receive them as the stroke of God,
with an awful submission and meekness. But Beatrix's
nature was different to that tender parent's; she seemed to
accept her grief, and to defy it ; nor would she allow it (I
believe not even in private, and in her own chamber) to 5
extort from her the confession of even a tear of humiliation
or a cry of pain. Friends and children of our race, who come
after me, in which way will you bear your trials? I know
one that prays God will give you love rather than pride, and
that the Eye-all-seeing shall find you in the humble place, n
Not that we should judge proud spirits otherwise than chari-
tably. 'Tis nature hath fashioned some for ambition and
dominion, as it hath formed others for obedience and gentle
submission. The leopard follows his nature as the lamb
does, and acts after leopard-law ; she can neither help her 15
beauty, nor her courage, nor her cruelty; nor a single spot
on her shining coat ; nor the conquering spirit which impels
her, nor the shot which brings her down.
During that well-founded panick the Whigs had,° lest the
Queen should forsake their Hanoverian Prince, bound by 20
oaths and treaties as she was to him, and recall her brother,
who was allied to her by yet stronger ties of nature and
duty; the Prince of Savoy, and the boldest of that party of
the Whigs, were for bringing the young Duke of Cambridge^
oyer, in spite of the Queen and the outcrv of her Tory servants, 25
arguing that the Electoral Prince, a Peer and Prince of the
Blood Royal of this Realm too, and in the line of succession
to the crown, had a right to sit in the Parliament whereof he
was a member, and to dwell in the country which he one day
was to govern. Nothing but the strongest ill-will expressed 30
by the Queen, and the people about her, and menaces of
the Royal resentment, should this scheme be persisted in,
prevented it from being carried into effect.
The boldest on our side were, in like manner, for having
our Prince into the country. The undoubted inheritor of 35
the right divine ; the feelings of more than half the nation,
of almost all the clergy, of the gentry of England and Scotland
with him ; entirely innocent of the crime for which his father
412 HENRY ESMOND
suffered — brave, young, handsome, unfortunate — who in
England would dare to molest the Prince should he come
among us, and fling himself upon British generosity, hos-
pitality and honour? An invader with an army of French-
5 men behind him. Englishmen of spirit would resist to the
death, and drive back to the shores whence he (;ame ; but
a Prince, alone, armed with his right only, and relying on the
loyalty of his people, was sure, many of his people argued, of
welcome, at least of safety, among us. The hand of his
10 sister the Queen, of the people his subjects, never could be
raised to do him a wrong. But the Queen was timid by
nature, and the successive ministers she had, had private
causes^ for their irresolution. The bolder and honester men,
who had at heart the illustrious young exile's cause, had no
15 scheme of interest of their own to prevent them from seeing
the right done, and, provided only he came as an English-
man, were ready to venture their all to welcome and defend
him.
St. John and Harley both had kind words in plenty for the
20 Prince's adherents, and gave him endless promises of future
support : but hints and promises were all they could be got
to give; and some of his friends were for measures much
bolder, more efficacious, and more open. With a party of
these, some of whom are yet alive, and some whose names
25 Mr. Esmond has no right to mention, he found himself en-
gaged the year after that miserable death of Duke Hamilton,
which deprived the Prince of his most courageous ally in this
country. Dean Atterbury was one of the friends whom
Esmond may mention, as the brave bishop is now beyond
30 exile and persecution, and to him, and one or two more, the
Colonel opened himself of a schcmie of his own,° that, backed
by a little resolution on the Prince's part, could not fail
of bringing about the accomplishment of their dearest
wishes.
35 ^^y y<'>'^"i[? Lord Viscount Castlewood had not come to
Englaud to keep his majority, and had now been absent from
the country for several years. The year when his sister was
to b(; married and Duke Hamilton died, my lord was kept
at Bruxclles by his wife's lying-in. The gentle Clotilda could
/
HENRY ESMOND 413
not bear her husband out of her sight ; perhaps she mis-
trusted the young scrapegrace should he ever get loose from
her leading-strings ; and she kept him 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 mother 5
would have gone to Clotilda when her time was coming, but
that the mother-in-law was already in possession, and the
negotiations for poor Beatrix's marriage were begun. A few
months after the horrid catastrophe in Hyde Park, my mis-
tress and her daughter retired to Castlewood, where my lord, la
it was expected, would soon join them. But to say truth,
their quiet household was little to his taste : he could be got
to come to Walcote but once after his first campaign ; and
then the young rogue spent more than half his time in London,
not appearing at Court or in publick under his own name and 15
title, but frequenting plays, bagnios, and the very worst com-
pany, under the name of Captain Esmond (whereby his in-
nocent kinsman got more than once into trouble) ; and so
under various pretexts, and in pursuit of all sorts of pleasures,
until he plunged into the lawful one of marriage, Frank 20
Castlewood had remained away from this country, and was
unknown, save amongst the gentlemen of the army, with
whom he had served abroad. The fond heart of his mother
was pained by this long absence. Twas all that Henry
Esmond could do to soothe her natural mortification, and 25
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 gratifying his lordship with a
second, and the pious youth thought that l^y bringing his 30
wife to his ancestral home, by prayers to St. Philip of Castle-
wood, ° 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 35
the end of March; and France was open to us. Just as
Frank's poor mother had made all things ready for Lord
Castlewood 's reception, and was eagerly expecting her son,
"t was by Colonel Esmond's means that the kind lady was
414 HENRY ESMOND
disappointed of her longing, and obliged to defer once more,
the darling hope of her heart.
Esmond took horses to Castle wood. He had not seen its
antient grey towers and well-remembered woods for nearly
5 fourteen years, and since he rode thence with my lord, to
whom his mistress with her young children by her side waved
an adieu. What ages seemed to have passed since then,
what years of action and passion, of care, love, hope, dis-
aster ! The children were grown up now and had stories
10 of their own. As for Esmond, he felt to be a hundred years
old; his dear mistress only seemed unchanged; she looked
and welcomed him quite as of old. There was the fountain
in the court babbling its familiar musick, the old hall and its
furniture, the carved chair my late lord used, the very flagon
15 he drank from. Esmond's mistress knew he would like to
sleep in the little room he used to occupy ; 'twas made ready
for 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 submis-
20 sion to the awful Dispenser of death and life, of good and evil
fortune, Mr. Esmond passed a part of that first night at
Castlewood, lying awake for many hours as the clock kept
tolling® (in tones so well remembered), looking back, as all
men will, that revisit their home of childhood, over the great
25 gulf of time, and surveying himself on the distant bank yon-
der; a sad little melancholy boy, with his lord still alive, —
his dear mistress, a girl yet, her children sporting around her.
Years ago, a boy on that very bed, when she had blessed him
and called him her knight, he had made a vow to be faithful
30 and 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; his blood, his fortune, his name, his
whole heart ever since had been hers and her children's. All
night long he was dreaming his boyhood over again, and
35 waking fitfully ; he half fancied he heard Father Holt calling
to him from the next chamber, and that he was coming in
and out from the mysterious window.
Esmond rose up before the dawn, passed into the next
room, where the air was heavy with the odour of the wall-
/
HENRY ESMOND 415
flowers; looked into the brazier where the papers had been
l)urnt, into the old presses where Holt's books and papers
had been kept, and tried the spring, and whether the window
worked still. The spring had not been touched for years, but
yielded at length, and the whole fabrick of the window sank 5
down. He hfted it and it relapsed into its frame; no one
had ever passed thence since Holt used it sixteen years ago.
Esmond remembered his poor lord saying, on the last day
of his life, that Holt used to come in and out of the house like
a ghost, and knew that the Father liked these mysteries, and 10
practised such secret disguises, entrances, and exits : this
was the way the ghost came and went his pupil had always
conjectured. Esmond closed the casement up again as the
dawn was rising over Castle wood village ; he could hear the
clinking at the blacksmith's forge yonder among the trees, 15
a-cross the green, and past the river, on which a mist still lay
sleeping.
Next Esmond opened that long cupboard over the wood-
work of the mantelpiece, big enough to hold a man, and in
which Mr. Holt used to keep sundry secret properties of his. 20
The two swords he remembered so well, as a boy, 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
\dsit to the place, in ray Lord Viscount's life, that very day 25
w^hen the priest had been arrested and taken to Hexham
Castle. Esmond made free with these papers, and found
treasonable matter of King WiUiam's reign, the names of Char-
nock°and Perkins,°Sir John Fenwick° and Sir John Friend, °
Rookwood° and Lodwick,° Lords Montgomery ° and Ailes- 3c
bury,° Clarendon," and Yarmouth, ° that had all been engaged
in plots against the usurper : a letter from the Duke of Ber-
wick too, and one from the King at St. Germains, offering to
confer upon his trusty and well-beloved Francis, Viscount
Castlewood, the titles of Earl and Marquis of Esmond, be- 35
stowed by patent royal, and in the fourth year of his reign,
upon Thomas, Viscount Castlewood, and the heirs male of his
body, in default of wliich issue, the ranks and dignities were
to pass to Francis aforesaid.
416 HENRY ESMOND
This was the paper, whereof my lord had spoken, which
Holt showed him the very day he was arrested, and for an
answer to which he would come back in a week's time. I
put these papers hastily into the crypt, whence I had taken
5 them, being interrupted by a tapping of a light finger at the
ring of the chamber-door : 'twas my kind mistress, with her
face full of love and welcome. She, too, had passed the night
wakefully, no doubt ; but neither asked the other how the
hours had been spent. There are things we divine Avithout
lo speaking, and know though they happen out of our sight.
This fond lady hath told me that she knew both days when
I was wounded abroad. Who shall say how far sympathy
reaches, and how truly love can prophesy ? ' I looked into
your room,' was all she said; 'the bed was vacant, the Httle
15 old bed ! I knew I should find you here.' And tender and
blushing faintly with a benediction in her eyes, the gentle
creature kissed him.
They walked out, hand-in-hand through the old court, and
to the terrace-walk, where the grass was glistening with dew,
20 and the birds in the green woods above were singing their
delicious choruses under the blushing morning skj^ How
well all things were remembered ! The antient towers and
gables of the hall darkling against the east, the purple
shadows on the green slopes, the quaint devices and carvings
25 of the dial, the forest-crowned heights, the fair yellow plain
cheerful with crops and corn, the shining river rolling through
it towards the pearly hills beyond ; all these were before
us, along with a thousand beautiful memories of our youth,
beautiful and sad, but as real and vivid in our minds as that
30 fair and always-remembered scene our eyes beheld once more.
We forget nothing. The memory sleeps, but wakens again ;
I often think how it shall be, when, after the last sleep of
death, the reveillee shall arouse us for ever, and the past in
one flash of self-consciousness rush back, like the soul,
35 revivified.
The house would not be up for some hours yet (it was
/uly, and the dawn was only just awake), and here Esmond
opeiuid himself to his mistress, of the business he had in
hand, and what part Frank was to play in it. He knew he
/
HENRY ESMOND 417
could confide anything to her, and that the fond soul would
die rather than reveal it ; and bidding her keep the secret
from all, he laid it entirely before his mistress (always as
staunch a Httle loyalist as any in the kingdom), and indeed
was quite sure that any plan of his was secure of her applause 5
and S3^mpathy. Never was such a glorious scheme to her
partial mind, never such a devoted knight to execute it.
An hour or two may have passed whilst they were halving
their colloquy. Beatrix came out to them just as their
talk was over; her tall beautiful form robed in sable° (which ic
she wore without ostentation ever since last year's catas-
trophe) sweeping over the green terrace, and casting its
shadows before her across the grass.
She made us one of her grand curtsies smiling, and called
us "the young people." She was older, paler, and more 15
majestick than in the year before; her mother seemed the
youngest of the two. She never once spoke of her grief,
Lady Castlewood told Esmond, or alluded, save by a quiet
word or two, to the death of her hopes.
When Beatrix came back to Castlewood she took to visiting 20
all the cottages and all the sick. She set up a school of
children, and taught singing to some of them. We had a
pair of beautiful old organs in Castlewood Church, on which
she played admirabh^, so that the musick there became to
be known in the country for many miles round, and no doubt 25
people came to see the fair organist as well as to hear her. Par-
son Tusher and his \\iiQ were established at the ^dcarage, but
his wife had brought him no children wdierewith Tom might
meet his enemies at the gate. Honest Tom took care not to
have many such, his great shovel-hat° was in his hand for 3°
everybody. He was profuse of bows and compliments. He
behaved to Esmond as if the Colonel had been a Commander-
in-Chief ; he dined at the hall that day, being Sunday, and
would not partake of pudding° except under extreme press-
ure. He deplored my lord's perversion, ° but drank his 35
lordship's health very devoutly; and an hour before at
church sent the Colonel to sleep, with a long, learned, and
refreshing sermon.
Esmond's visit home was but for two days ; the business he
418 HENRY ESMOND
had in hand calUng him away and out of the country. Ere
he went, he saw Beatrix but once alone, and then she sum-
moned him out of the long tapestry room, where he and his
mistress were sitting, quite as in old times, into the adjoining
5 chamber, that had been Viscountess Isabel's sleeping apart-
ment, and where Esmond perfectly well remembered seeing
the old lady sitting up in the bed, in her night-rail, that
morning when the troop of guard came to fetch her. The
most beautiful woman in England lay in that bed now,
lo whereof the great damask hangings were scarce faded since
Esmond saw them last.
Here stood Beatrix in her black robes, holding a box in
her hand; 'twas that which Esmond had given her before
her marriage, stamped with a coronet which the disappointed
15 girl was never to wear; and containing his aunt's legacy
of diamonds.
"You had best take these with you, Harry," says she:
"I have no need of diamonds any more." There was not
the least token of emotion in her quiet low voice. She held
20 out the black shagreen° case with her fair arm, that did not
shake in the least. Esmond saw she wore a black velvet
bracelet on it, with my Lord Duke's picture in enamel; he
had given it her but three days before he fell.
Esmond said the stones were his no longer, and strove to
25 turn off that proffered restoration with a laugh: "Of what
good," says he, "are they to me? The diamond loop tc
his hat did not set off Prince Eugene, and will not mako
my yellow face look any handsomer."
"You will give them to your wife, cousin," says she.
30 "My cousin, your wife has a lovely complexion rnd shape."
" l^eatrix," Esmond burst out, the old fire flaming out as it
would at times, "will you wear those trinkets at your mar-
riage ? You whispered once you did not know me : you know
me better now : how I fought, what I have sighed for, for
35 ten years, what forgone."
"A price for your constancy, my lord!" says she; "such
a preux chcvalier° wants to be paid! Oh,. fie! cousin."
"Again," Esmond spoke out, "if I do something you have
at heart; something worthy of me and you; something that
/ HENRY ESMOND 419
shall make me a name with which to endow you ; will you
take it ? There was a chance for me once, you said, is it
impossible to recall it ? Never shake your head, but hear me :
say you will hear me a year hence. If I come back to you
and bring you fame, will that please you? If I do what 5
you desire most — what he who is dead desired most, —
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 to
time ; if I bring back that you long for, that I have a thousand
times heard you pray for, will you have no reward for him
who has done you that ser\4ce? Put away those trinkets,
keep them : it shall not be at my marriage, it shall not be at
yours, but if man can do it, I swear a day shall come when 15
there shall be a feast in j^our house, and you shall be proud
to wear them. I say no more now; put aside these words,
and lock away yonder box until the day when I shall remind
you of both. All I pray of you now is, to wait and to re-
member." 20
"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 the hand on which she wore the Duke's brace- 25
let. "Stay, Harry!" continued she, with a tone that had
more despondency in it than she was accustomed to show.
" 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 have no heart; at least, I have 2°
never seen the man that could touch it; and had I found
him, I would have followed him in rags, had he been a private
soldier, or to sea, like one of those buccaneers you used to
read to us about when we were children. I would do any-
thing for such a man, bear anything for him : but I never 35
found one. You were ever too much of a slave to win my
heart, even my Lord Duke could not command it. I had
not been happy had I married him. I knew that three
months after our engagement — and was too vain to break
420 HENRY ESMOND
it. Oh, Harry ! I cried once or twice, not for him, but with
tears of rage because I could not be sorry for him. I was
frightened to find I was glad of his death; and were I joined
to you, I should have the same sense of servitude, the same
5 longing to escape. We should both be unhappy, and you
the most, who are as jealous as the Duke was himself. I
tried 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 I was to play for the rest of
10 my days. But half an hour of that complaisance wearied
me, and what would a lifetime be ? My thoughts were away
when he was speaking; and I was thinking. Oh, that this
man would drop my hand, and rise up from before my
feet ! I knew his great and noble qualities, greater and
15 nobler than mine a thousand times, as yours are, cousin, I
tell you, a miUion and a million times ■l)etter. But 'twas not
for these I took him. I took him to have a great place in
the world, and I lost it, — I lost it and do not deplore him, —
and I often thought as I listened to his fond vows and ardent
20 words, Oh, if I yield to this man, and meet the other, I shall
hate him and leave him ! I am not good, Harry : my mother
is gentle and good like 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 I would do
25 it out of defiance. I do not care for what the parsons tell
me with their droning sermons ; I used to see them at Court
as mean and as worthless as the meanest women there.
Oh, I am sick and weary of the world ! I wait but for one
thing, and when 'tis done, I will take Frank's religion and
30 your poor mother's, and go into a nunnery, and end hke her.
Shall I wear the diamonds then ? — they say the nuns wear
their best trinkets the 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 know what we have
35 been saying. She is jealous, all women are. I sometimes
think that is the only womanly quality I have.
"Farewell. Farewell, brother." She gave him her cheek
as a brotherly [)rivil('ge. The cheek was as cold as marble.
Esmond's mistress showed no signs of jealousy when he
/
HENRY ESMOND 421
returned to the room where she was. She had s^-hooled
herself so as to look quite inscrutably, when she had a mind.
Amongst her other feminine qualities she had that of being a
perfect dissembler.
He rid° away from Castlewood to attempt the task he was 5
bound on, and stand or fall by it ; in truth his state of mind
was such, that he was eager for some out^ward excitement to
counteract that gnawing malady which he was inwardly
enduring
CHAPTER VIII
1 TRAVEL TO FRANCE, AND BRING HOME A PORTRAIT OF RIGAUD
Mr. Esmond did not think fit to take leave at Court; or 10
to inform all the world of Pall Mall and the coffee-houses,
that he was about to quit England; and chose to depart
in the most private manner possible. He procured a pass
as for a Frenchman, through Dr. Atterbury, who did that
business for him, getting the signature even from Lord 15
Bolingbroke's office, without any personal application to the
Secretary. Lockwood, his faithful servant, he took with
him to "Castlewood, and left behind there : giving out ere
he left London that he himself was sick, and gone to Hamp-
shire° for country air, and so departed as silently as might 2c
be upon his business.
As Frank Castlewood 's aid was indispensable for Mr.
Esmond's scheme, his first visit was to Bruxelles (passing
by way of Antwerp, where the Duke of Marlborough was in
exile), and in the first-named place Harry found his dear 25
young Benedick, ° the married man, who appeared to be
rather out of humour with his matrimonial chain, and
clogged with the obstinate embraces which Clotilda kept
round his neck. Colonel Esmond was not presented
to her; but Monsieur Simon° was, a gentleman of the Royal 3°
Cravat (Esmond bethought him of the regiment of his
honest Irishman, whom, he had seen that da}" after ^lalplaquet,
when lie first set eyes 011 the young King) ; and Monsieur
422 HENRY ESMOND
Simon was introduced to the Viscountess Castlewood, vei
Comptesse Wertheim ; to, the numerous counts, the Lady
Clotilda's tall brothers; to her father the chamberlain;
and to the lady his wife, Frank's mother-in-law, a tall and
5 majestick person of large proportions, such as became the
mother of such a company of grenadiers, as her warlike
sons formed. The whole race were at free quarters, in the
little castle nigh to Bruxelles which Frank had taken ; rode
his horses ; drank his wine ; and liveci easily at the poor
lo lad's charges. Mr. Esmond had always maintained a perfect
fluency in the French, which was his mother tongue ; and
if this family (that spoke French with the twang which the
Flemings use) discovered any inaccuracy in Mr. Simon's
pronunciation, 'twas to be attributed to the latter's long
x5 residence in England, where he had married and remained
ever since he was taken prisoner at Blenheim. His story
was perfectly pat; there were none there to doubt it, save
honest Frank, and he was charmed with his kinsman's
scheme, when he became acquainted with it ; and, in truth,
20 always admired Colonel Esmond with an affectionate fidelity,
and thought his cousin the wisest and best of all cousins and
men. Frank entered heart and soul into the plan, and
Hked it the better as it was to take him to Paris, out of reach
of his brothers, his father, and his mother-in-law, whose
25 attentions rather fatigued him.
Castlewood, I have said, was born in the same year as
the Prince of Wales° ; had not a little of the Prince's air,
height, and figure; and, especially since he had seen the
Chevalier de St. George on the occasion before-named,
30 took no small pride in his resemblance to a person so illus-
trious: which likeness he increased by all the means in his
power, wearing fair brown porriwigs, such as the Prince wore,
and ribbons and so forth of the Chevalier's colour.
This resemblance was, in truth, the circumstance on which
33 Mr. l^lsmond's scheme was founded; and having secured
Frank's secrecy and enthusiasm, he left him to continue
his journey, and see the other personages on whom its success
depended. The i)lace whither Mr. Simon next travelled
was Bar, in Lorraine, where that merchant arrived with a
/
HENRY ESMOND 423
consignment of broadcloths, valuable laces from Malines,°
and letters for his correspondent there.
Would you know how a prince, heroick from misfortunes,
and descended from a line of kings, whose race seemed to be
doomed like the Atridse" of old ; — would you know how 5
he was employed, when the envoy who came to him through
danger and difficulty beheld him for the first time ? The
young king, in a flannel jacket, was at tennis with the gentle-
men of his suite, crying out after the balls, and swearing like
the meanest of his subjects. The next time Mr. Esmond 10
saw him, 'twas when iMonsieur Simon took a packet of laces
to Miss Oglethorpe : the Prince's antechamber in those
days, at which ignoble door men were forced to knock for
admission to his Majesty. The admission was given, the
envoy found the King and the mistress together ; the pair 15
were at cards, and his Majesty was in li(iuor. He cared
more for three honours than three Kingdoms; and a half-
dozen glasses of ratafia° made . him forget all his woes
and his losses, his father's crown, and his grandfather's
head. 20
Mr. Esmond did not open himself to the I^ince then. His
Majest}^ was scarce in a condition to hear him ; and he doubted
whether a King who drank so much could keep a secret in his
fuddled head ; or whether a hand that shook so, was strong
enough to grasp at a crown. However at last, and after 25
taking counsel with the Prince's advisers, amongst whom
were many gentlemen honest and faithful, Esmond's plan
was laid before the King, and her actual IMajesty Queen
Oglethorpe, in council. The Prince liked the scheme well
enough ; 'twas easy and daring, and suited to his reckless 30
gaiety and lively youthful spirit. In the morning, after he
had slept his wine off, he was very gay, li^'ely, and agreeable.
His manner had an extreme charm of archness, and a kind
simphdty; and to do her justice, her Oglethorpean Majesty
was kind, acute, resolute, and of good counsel ; she gave the 35
Prince much good advice, that he was too weak to follow ; and
loved him with a fidelity, which he returned with an ingrati-
tude quite Royal.
Ha^^ng his own forebodings, regarding his scheme should it
424 HENRY ESMOND
ever be fulfilled, and his usual seeptick doubts as to tne benefit
which might accrue to the country by bringing a tipsy young
monarch back to it, Colonel Esmond had his audience of leave
and quiet. Monsieur Simon took his departure. At any
5 rate the youth at Bar was as good as the older Pretender at
Hanover; if the worst came to the worst, the Englishman
could be dealt with as easy as the German. Monsieur Simon
trotted on that long journey from Nancy ° to Paris, and saw
that famous town, stealthily and like a spy, as in truth he
lo was ; and where, sure, more magnificence and more misery
is heaped together, more rags and lace, more filth and gilding,
/ than in any city in this world. Here he was put in commu-
nication with the King's best friend, his half-brother, the
famous Duke of Berwick : Esmond recognised him as the
15 stranger who had visited Castlewood now near twenty years
ago. His Grace opened to him when he found that Mr.
Esmond was one of Webb's brave regiment, that had once
been his Grace's own. He was the sword and buckler indeed
of the Stuart cause: there was no stain on his shield, except
20 the bar across it, which Marlborough's sister left him. Had
Berwick been his father's heir, James the Third had assuredly
sat on the English throne. He could dare, endure, strike,
.speak, l^e silent. The fire and genius, perhaps, he had not
(that were given to baser men), but except these, he had
25 some of the best qualities of a leader. His Grace knew Es-
mond's father and history; and hinted at the latter in such
a way as made the Colonel to think he was aware of the par-
ticulars of that story. But Esmond did not choose to enter
on it, nor did the Duke press him. Mr. Esmond said, "No
30 doubt he should come by his name, if ever greater people
came by theirs."
What confirmed Esmond in his notion that the Duke of
]3erwi{;k kn(;w of his case was, that when the Colonel went to
pay his duty at St. (iermains, her Majesty once addressed
35 him by the title of Marquis. He took the Qucen° the dutiful
remembrances of her goddaughter, and the lady whom, in
the days of her jjrosperity, her Majc^sty had befriended. The
Queen remembered Kac^liel Esmond perfectly well, had
heard of my Lord Castlewood 's conversion, and was much
/ HENRY ESMOND 425
edified by that act of Heaven in his favour. She knew that
others of that family had been of the only true church too :
"Your father and your mother, Monsieur le Marquis," her
Majesty said (that was the only time she used the phrase).
Monsieur Simon bowed very low, and said he ha'd found other 5
parents than his own who had taught him differently ; but
these had only one king: on which her Majesty w^as pleased
to give him a medal blessed by the Pope, which had been
found very efficacious in cases similar to his own, and to
promise she \vould offer up prayers for his conversion and la
that of the family : which no doubt this pious lady did,
though up to the present moment, and after twenty-seven
years. Colonel Esmond is bound to say that neither the medal
nor the prayers have had the slightest knowm effect upon his
religious convictions. 15
As for the splendours of Versailles, Monsieur Simon, the
merchant, only beheld them as a humble and distant specta-
tor, seeing the old King° but once, w^hen he went to feed his
carps; and asking for no presentation at his Majesty's Court.
By this time my Lord Viscount CastleW'Ood w^as got° to 20
Paris, where, as the London prints presently announced,
her ladyship was brought to bed of a son and heir. For a
long w^hile afterwards she w^as in a dehcate state of health,
and ordered by the physicians not to travel ; otherwise 'twas
well knowm that the Viscount Castlewood proposed returning 25
to England, and taking up his residence at his own seat.
Whilst he remained at Paris, my Lord Castlew^ood had his
picture done by the famous French painter Monsieur Rigaud,
a present for his mother in London ; and this piece Monsieur
Simon took back with him when he returned to that city, 30
which he reached about May, in the year 1714, very soon
after which time my Lady Castlewood and her daughter, and
their kinsman. Colonel Esmond, who had been at Castlewood
all this time, hkewise returned to London ; her ladyship
occupying her house at Kensington, Mr. Esmond returning 35
to his lodgings at Knightsbridge, nearer the 'town, and once
more making his appearance at all publick places, his health
greatly improved by his long stay in the country.
The portrait of my lord, in a handsome gilt frame, was
426 HENRY ESMOND
hung up in the place of honour in her ladyship's drawing-
room. His lordship was represented in his scarlet uniform,
of Captain of the Guard, with a light-brown perriwig, a cuirass
under his coat, a blue ribbon, and a fall of Bruxelles lace.
5 Many of her ladyship's friends admired the piece beyond
measure, and flocked to see it; Bishop Atterbury,° Mr.
Lesly, good old Mr. Collier, and others amongst the clergy
were delighted with the performance, and many among
the first quality examined and praised it; only I must own
lo that Doctor Tusher happening to come up to London, and
seeing the picture (it was ordinarily covered by a curtain, but
on this day Miss Beatrix happened to be looking at it when
the Doctor arrived), the Vicar of Castlewood vowed he could
not see any resemblance in the piece to his old pupil, except,
15 perhaps, a little about the chin and the perriwig; but we all
of us convinced him, that he had not seen Frank for five years
or more; that he knew no more about the Fine Arts than a
plough-boy, and that he must be mistaken ; and we sent him
home assured that the piece was an excellent likeness. As
20 for my Lord Bolingbroke, who honoured her ladyship with a
visit occasionally, when Colonel Esmond showed him the
picture, he burst out laughing, and asked what devilry he was
engaged on ? Esmond owned simply that the portrait was
not that of Viscount Castlewood, besought the Secretary on
25 his honour to keep the secret, said that the ladies of the
house were enthusiastick Jacobites, as was well known ; and
confessed that the picture was that of the Chevalier St.
George.
The truth is, that Mr. Simon, waiting upon Lord Castle-
30 wood one day at Monsieur Rigaud's, whilst his lordship was
sitting for his picture, affected to be much struck with a piece
representing the Chevalier, whereof the head only was fin-
ished, and purchased it of the ])ainter for a hundred crowns.
It had been intended, the artist said, for Miss Oglethorpe, the
35 Pnr)C(;'s mistress, but that young lady quitting Paris, had
left the work on the artist 's hands; and taking this piece
home, when my lord's portrait arrived, Colonel Esmond, alias
Monsieur Simon, had copied the uniform and other acces-
sories from my lord's picture to fill u{) Rigaud's incomplete
/ HENRY ESMOND 42T
canvas : the Colonel all his life having been a practitioner of
painting,° and especially followed it during his long residence
in the cities of Flanders, among the master-pieces of Vandyck
and Rubens. My grandson hath the piece, such as it is, in
Virginia now. 5
At the commencement of the month of June, Miss Beatrix
Esmond, and my Lady Viscountess, her mother, arrived
from Castlewood ; the former to resume her service at Court,
which had been interrupted by the fatal catastrophe of Duke
Hamilton's death. She once more took her place then in k
her Majesty's suite, and at the maids' table, being always a
favourite with Mrs. Masham, the Queen's chief woman, partly
perhaps, on account of her bitterness against the Duchess of
Marlborough, whom Miss Beatrix loved no better than her
rival did. The gentlemen about the Court, my Lord Boling- 15
broke amongst others, owned that the young lady had come
back handsomer than ever, and that the serious and tragick
air, which her face now involuntarily wore, became her better
than her former smiles and archness.
All the old domesticks at the little house of Kensington 20.
Square were changed; the old steward that had served the
family any time these five-and-twenty years, since the birth of
the children of the house, was despatched into the kingdom
of Ireland to see my lord's estate there : the housekeeper,
who had been my lady's woman time out of mind, and the 25,
attendant of the young children, was sent away grumbling to
Walcote, to see to the new painting and preparing of that
house, which my Lady Dowager intended to occupy for the
future, giving up Castlewood to her daughter-in-law, that
might be expected daily from France. Another servant 30
the Viscountess had was dismissed too — with a gra-
tuity — on the pretext that her ladyship's train of domes-
ticks must be diminished ; so finally, there was not left in
the household a single person who had belonged to it
during the time my young Lord Castlewood was yet at 35
home.
For the plan which Colonel Esmond had in ^^ew, and the
stroke he intended, 'twas necessary that the very smallest
number of persons should be put in possession of his secret..
428 HENRY ESMOND
It scarce was known, except to three or four out of his family
and it was kept to a wonder.
On the 10th of June, 1714, there came by Mr. Prior's mes-
senger from Paris, ° a letter from my Lord Viscount Castle-
5 wood to his mother, saying that he had been foolish in regard
of money matters, that he was ashamed to own he had lost
at play, and by other extravagancies; and that instead of
having great entertainments as he had hoped at Castle wood
this year, he must live as quiet as he could, and make every
lo effort to be saving. So far every word of poor Frank's letter
was true, nor was there a doubt that he and his tall brothers-
in-law had spent a great deal more than they ought, and
engaged the revenues of the Castlewood property, which the
fond mother had husbanded and improved so carefully dur-
15 ing the time of her guardianship.
His "Clotilda," Castlewood went on to say, "was still deli-
cate, and the physicians thought her lying-in had best take
place at Paris. He should come without her ladyship, and be
at his mother's house, about the 17th or 18th day of June,
2o proposing to take horse from Paris immediately, and bringing
but a single servant with him ; and he requested that the
lawyers of Gray's Inn might be invited to meet him with
their account, and the land-steward come from Castlewood
with his, so that he might settle with them speedily, raise a
^S sum of money whereof he stood in need, and be back to his
viscouQtess by the time of her lying-in." Then his lordship
gave som3 of the news of the town, sent his remembrance to
kinsfolk, and so the letter ended. 'Twas put in the common
post, and no doubt the French police and the English there
30 had a copy of it, to which they were exceeding welcome.
Two days after another letter was despatched by the pub-
lick post of France, in the same open way, and this, after
giving news of the fashion at Court there, ended by the fol-
lowing sentences, in which but for those that had the key,
55 'twould be difficult for any man to find any secret lurked
at all :
"(The King will take) medicine on Thursday. His Ma-
jesty is better than he hath been of late, though incommoded
by indigestion from his too great appetite. Madame Main-
HENRY ESMOND 429
tenon continues well. They have performed a play of Mons.
Racine at St. Cyr.° The Duke of Shrewsbury and Mr. Prior
our envoy, and all the English nobility here were present at it.
(The Viscount Castle wood's passports) were refused to him,
'twas said ; his lordship being sued by a goldsmith, for Vais- 5
selle plate ° and a pearl necklace supplied to Mademoiselle
Meruel of the French Comedy. Tis a pity such news should
get abroad (and travel to England) about our young nobility
here. Mademoiselle Meruel has been sent to the Fort I'Eves-
que; they say she has ordered not only plate, but furniture, 10
and a chariot and horses (under that lord's name), of which
extravagance his unfortunate Viscountess knows nothing.
" (His Majesty will be) eighty-two years of age° on his
next birthday. The Court prepares to celebrate it with a
great feste. Mr. Prior is in a sad way about their refusing 15
at home to send him his plate. All here admired my Lord
Viscount's portrait, and said it was a master-piece of Rigaud.
Have you seen it ? It is (at the Lady Castlewood's house in
Kensington Square), I think no English painter could pro-
duce such a piece.' 20
"Our poor friend the Abbe hath been at the Bastile,° but
is now transported to the Conciergerie° (where his friends may
\isit him. They are to ask for) a remission of his sentence
soon. Let us hope the poor rogue will have repented in
prison. 25
" (The Lord Castlewood) has had the affair of the plate
made up, and departs for England.
"Is not this a dull letter? I have a cursed headache with
drinking with Mat° and some more over night, and tipsy or
sober am Thine ever ." 3°
All this letter, save some dozen of words which I have put
above between brackets, was mere idle talk, though the sub-
stance of the letter was as important as any letter well could
be. It told those that had the key, that the King will take the
Viscount Castlewood's passports and travel to England under 35
that lord's name. His Majesty will be at the Lady Castlewood's
house in Kensington Square, where his frieiids may visit him;
they are to ask for the Lord Castlewood. This note may have
430 HENRY ESMOND
passed under Mr. Prior's eyes, and those of our new allies
the French, and taught them nothing; though it explains
sufficiently to persons in London what the event was which
was about to happen, as 'twill show those who read
5 my memoirs a hundred years hence, what was that errand
on which Colonel Esmond of late had been busy. Silently
and s\viftly to do that about which others were conspiring,
and thousands of Jacobites all over the country, clumsily
caballing ° ; alone to effect that which the leaders here were
ro only talking about ; to bring the Prince of Wales into the
country openly in the face of all, under Bolingbroke's ver}^
eyes, the walls placarded with the proclamation signed with
the Secretary's name, and offering five hundred pounds re-
ward for his apprehension: this was a stroke, the playing
15 and winning of which might well give any adventurous spirit
pleasure : the loss of the stake might involve a heavy penalty,
but all our family were eager to risk that for the glorious
chance of winning the game.
Xor should it be called a game, save perhaps with the
>o chief player, who was not more or less sceptickal than most
publick men with whom he had acquaintance in that age.
(Is there ever a publick man in England that altogether
believes in his party? Is there one, however doubtful, that
will not fight for it ?) Young Frank was ready to figlit with-
25 out much thinking, he was a Jacobite as his father before
him was; all the Esmonds were royalists. Give him but
the word, he would cry "God save King James," before the
palace guard, or at the May-pole° in the Strand ; and with
respect to the women, as is usual with them, 'twas not a ques-
30 tion of party but of faith ; their belief was a j^assion ; either
Esmond's mistress or her daughter would have died for it
cheerfully. I have laughed often, talking of King William's
reign, and said I thought Lady ('astlewood was disappointed
the King did not persec^ute the family more; and those who
35 know the nature of women, may fancy for themselves, what
needs not here be written down, the raj^ture with which
these neophytes received the mystery wIkmi made known to
them, the eagerness with which they looked forward to its
completion ; the reverence which they paid the minister who
' HENRY ESMOND 431
initiated them into that secret Truth, now known only to a
few, but presently to reign over the world. Sure there is no
bound to the trustingness of women. Look at Arria° wor-
shipping the drunken clod-pate of a husband who beats her;
look at Cornelia treasuring as a jewel in her maternal heart, 5
the oaf her son; I have known a woman preach Jesuits'
bark, and afterwards Dr. Berkeley's tar-water,° as though
to swallow them were a divine decree, and to refuse them no
better than blasphemy.
On his return from France Colonel Esmond put himself at 10
the head of this little knot of fond conspirators. No death
or torture he knew would frighten them out of their constancy.
When he detailed his plan for bringing the King back, his
elder mistress thought that that Restoration was to be
attributed under heaven to the Castlewood family and to its 15
chief, and she worshipped and loved Esmond, if that could
be, more than ever she had done. She doubted not for one
moment of the success of his scheme, to mistrust which
would have seemed impious in her eyes. And as for Beatrix,
when she became acquainted with the plan, and joined 20
it, as she did with all her heart, she gave Esmond one of her
searching bright looks: "Ah, Harry," says she, "why were
you not the head of our house? You are the only one fit
to raise it ; why do you give that silly boy the name and the
honour ? But 'tis so in the world : those get the prize that 25
don't deserve or care for it. I wish I could give you your
silly prize, cousin, but I can't; I have tried and I can't."
And she went away, shaking her head mournfully, but
always it seemed to Esmond, that her liking ^nd respect
for him was greatly increased, since she knew what capability
he had both to act and bear ; to do and to forgo.
CHAPTER IX
THE ORIGINAL OF THE PORTRAIT COMES TO ENGLAND
'TwAS announced in the family that my Lord Castlewood
would arrive, having a confidential French gentleman in
432 HENRY ESMOND
his suite who acted as secretary to his lordship, and who
being a Papist, and a foreigner of a good family, though
now in rather a menial place, would have his meals served
in his chamber, and not with the domesticks of the house.
5 The Viscountess gave up her bed-chamber contiguous to
her daughter's, and having a large convenient closet attached
to it, in which a bed was put up, ostensibly for Monsieur
Baptiste, the Frenchman; though, 'tis needless to say,
when the doors of the apartment were locked, and the two
10 guests retired within it, the young Viscount became the
servant of the illustrious Prince whom he entertained, and
gave up gladly the more convenient and airy chamber and
bed to his master. Madam Beatrix also retired to the
upper region, her chamber being converted into a sitting-
15 room for my lord. The better to carry the deceit, Beatrix
affected to grumble before the servants, and to be jealous
that she was turned out of her chamber to make way for
my lord.
No small preparations were made, you may be sure, and
20 no slight tremor of expectation caused the hearts of the
gentle ladies of Castle wood to flutter, before the arrival
of the personages who were about to honour their house.
The chamber was ornamented with flowers ; the bed covered
with the very finest of linen ; the two ladies insisting on
25 making it themselves, and kneeling down at the bedside
and kissing the sheets out of I'espect for the web that was to
hold the sacred person of a King. The toilet was of silver
and crystal ; there was a copy of Eikon-Basilikc° laid on
the writing-table; a portrait of the martyred King, hung
30 always over the mantel, having a sword of my poor Lord
Castlewood underneath it, and a little picture or emblem
which the widow loved always to have before her eyes on
waking, and in which the hair of her lord and her two chil-
dren was worked together. Her books of private devotions,
35 as they were ail of the lOnglish Church, she carried away
with her to the upj)er apartment which she destined for
herself. The ladies showed Mr. lOsmond, when they were com-
pleted, the fond pre|)arati()ns they had made. 'Twas then
Beatrix knelt down and kissed the linen sheets. As for her
HENRY ESMOND 433
mother, Lady Castlewood made a curtsey at the door, as
she would have done to the altar on entering a church, and
owned that she considered tiie chamber in a manner sacred.
The company in the servants' hall never for a moment
supposed that these preparations were made for an}^ other 5
person than the young Viscount, the lord of the house,
whom his fond mother had been for so many years without
seeing. Both ladies were perfect housewives, having the
greatest skill in the making of confections, scented waters,
etc., and keeping a notable superintendence over the kitchen. 10
Calves enough were killed to feed an army of prodigal sons,^
Esmond thought, and laughed when he came to wait on the
ladies, on the day when the guests were to arrive, to find
two pairs of the finest and roundest arms to be seen in Eng-
land (my Lady Castlewood was remarkable for this beauty of 15
her person), covered with flour up above the elbows, and
preparing paste, and turning rolling-pins in the housekeeper's
closet. The guest would not arrive till supper-time, and my
lord would prefer havnig that meal in his own chamber.
You may be sure, the brightest plate of the house was laid 20
out there, and can understand why it was that the ladies
insisted that they alone would wait upon the young chief
of the famjiy.
Taking horse, Colonel Esmond rode rapidly to Rochester, °
i^nd there awaited the King in that very , town where his 25
father had last set his foot on the English shore. A room
had been provided at an inn there for my Lord Castlewood
and his servant ; and Colonel Esmond timed his ride so well
that he had scarce been half an hour in the place, and was
looking over the balcony into the yard of the inn, when two 30
travellers rode in at the inn-gate, and the Colonel running
down, the next moment embraced his dear 3'oung lord.
My lord's companion, acting the part of a domestick, dis-
mounted and was for holding the Viscount's stirrup; but
Colonel Esmond, calling to his own man, who was in the 35
court, bade him take the horses and settle with the lad who
had ridden the post along with the two travellers, crying
out in a cavalier tone, in the French language to my lord's
companion, and affecting to grumble that my lord's fellow
434 HENRY ESMOND
was a Frenchman, and did not know the money or habits
of the country : — " My man will see to the horses, Baptiste,"
says Colonel Esmond: "do you understand English?"
"Very leetle." "So, follow my lord and wait upon him at
5 dinner in his own room." The landlord and his people
came up presently bearing the dishes, 'twas well they made
a noise and stir in the gallery, or they might have found
Colonel Esmond on his knee before Lord Castle wood's ser-
vant, welcoming his Majesty to his kingdom, and kissing
10 the hand of the King. We told the landlord that the French-
man would wait on his master; and Esmond's man was
ordered to keep sentry in the gallery without the door.
The Prince dined with a good appetite, laughing and talking
very gaily, and condescendingly bidding his two companions
15 to sit with him at table. He was in better spirits than poor
Frank Castlewood, who Esmond thought might be woe-
begone on account of parting with his divine Clotilda ; but
the Prince wishing to take a short siesta after dinner, and
retiring to an inner chamber where there was a bed, the
20 cause of poor Frank's discomfiture came out; and bursting
into tears, with many expressions of fondness, friendship,
and humiliation, the faithful lad gave his kinsman to under-
stand that he now knew all the truth, and the sacrifices
which Colonel Esmond had made for him.
ts Seeing no good in acquainting poor Frank with that
secret, Mr. Esmond had entreated his mistress also not to
rc\'eal it to her son. The Prince had told the poor lad all
as they were riding from Dover: "I had as lief he had shot
me, cousin," Frank said: "I knew you v/ere the best, and
30 the bravest, and the kindest of all men " (so the enthusias-
tick young fellow went on), "but I never thought I owed you
what I do, and can scarce bear the weight of the obligation."
"I stand in the place of your father," says Mr. Esmond
kindly, "and sure a father may dispossess himself in favour
35 of his son. I abdicate the twoi)enny crown, and invest you
with the kingdom of Brentfoi-(l° : don't be a fool and cry,
you make a much tailor and handsomer viscount than ever
I could." Hut the fond boy with oaths and pi'otestations,
laughter and incoherent outbreaks of passionate emotion,
/ HENRY ESMOND 435
could not be got, for some little time, to put up with Esmond's
raillery; wanted to kneel down to him, and kissed his hand;
asked him and implored him, to order him something, to bid
Castle wood give his own life up or take sombody else's; any-
thing so that he might show his gratitude for the generosity 5
Esmond showed him.
"The K ,° he laughed," Frank said, pointing to the
door where the sleeper was, and speaking in a low tone;
' I don't think he should have laughed as he told me the story.
As we rode along from Dover, talking in French, he spoke to
about you, and your coming to him at Bar; he called you
'le grand seneux,°' Don Bellianis of Greece, ° and I don't
know what names; mimicking your manner" (here Castle-
wood laughed himself) — "and he did it very well. He
seems to sneer° at everything. He is not like a king : some- 15
how, Harry, I fancy you are like a king. He does not seem
to think what a stake we are all playing. He would have
stopped at Canterbury to run after a barmaid there, had I
not implored him to come on. He hath a house at Chaillot
where he used to go and bury himself for weeks away from 20
the Queen, and with all sorts of bad company," says Frank,
with a demure look; "you may smile, but I am not the
wild fellow I was; no, no, I have been taught better," says
Castlewood devoutly, making a sign on his breast.
"Thou art my dear brave boy," says Colonel Esmond, 25
touched at the young fellow's simplicity, "and there will be
a noble gentleman at Castlewood so long as my Frank is
there."
The impetuous young lad was for going down on his
knees again, with another explosion of gratitude, but that 30
we heard the voice from the next chamber of the august
sleeper, just waking, calling out: — "Eh, La-Fleur, un
verre d'eau°;" his Majesty came out yawning: — "A
pest," says he, "upon your Enghsh ale, 'tis so strong that,
ma foi,° it hath turned my head." 35
The effect of the ale was like a spur upon our horses, and
we rode very quickly to London, reaching Kensington at
nightfall. Mr. Esmond's servant was left behind at Rochester,
to take care of the th-ed horses, whilst we had fresh beasts
436 HENRY ESMOND
provided along the road. And galloping by the Prince's
side the Colonel explained to the Prince of Wales what his
movements had been ; who the friends were that knew of the
expedition; w^hom, as Esmond conceived, the Prince should
5 trust; entreating him, above all, to maintain the very
closest secrecy until the time should come when his Royal
Highness should appear. The town swarmed with friends
of the Prince's cause; there were scores of correspondents
with St. Germains ; Jacobites known and secret ; great in
lo station and humble ; about the Court and the Queen ; in
the Parliament, Church, and among the merchants in the
City. The Prince haxl friends numberless in the army,
in the Privy Council, and the Officers of State. The great
object, as it seemed, to the small band of persons, who had
15 concerted that bold stroke, who had brought the Queen's
brother into his native country, was that his visit should
remain unknown, till the proper time came, when his pre-
sence should surprise friends and enemies alike ; and the
latter should be found so unprepared and disunited, that
20 they should not find time to attack him. We feared more
from his friends than from his enemies. Thq. lies,
and tittle-tattle sent over to St. Germains by the
Jacobite agents about London, had done an incalculable
mischief to his cause, and wofully misguided him, and it
25 was from these especially, that the persons engaged in the
present venture were anxious to defend the chief actor
in it.^
The party reached London by nightfall, leaving their
horses at the Posting-House over against Westminster, and
30 being ferried° over the water where Lady Esmond's coach
was already in waiting. Li another hour we were all landed
at Kensington, and the mistress of the house had that satisfac-
tion which her heart had yearned after for many years,
once more to embrace her son, who, on his side, with all his
35 ' The managers were tho Bishop, "^ who cutinot bo hurt by having
his iKUUo rricii1ioiu>(i, a vory active aiui loyal Non-conformist Divine,
a lady in tiie hisliost favour at (Joint, with whom Beatrix Esmond
liad communication, and two noblemen of the greatest rank, and a
member of the House of Commons, who was imi)licated in more
40 transactions than one in behalf of the Stuart family.
/ HENRY ESMOND 437
waywardness, ever retained a most tender affection for his
parent.
She did not refrain from this expression of her feehng, though
the domesticks were by, and my Lord Castle wood's attend-
ant stood in the hall. Esmond had to whisper to him in 5
French to take his hat off. Monsieur Baptiste was constantly
neglecting his part with an inconceivable levity : more than
once on the ride to London, little observations of the stranger,
* light remarks, and words betokening the greatest ignorance
of the country the Prince came to govern, had hurt the 10
susceptibility of the two gentlemen forming his escort;
nor could either help owning in his secret mind that they
would have had his behaviour otherwise, and that the laugh-
ter and the lightness, not to say licence, which characterised
his talk, scarce befitted such a great Prince and such a solemn 15
occasion. Xot but that he could act at proper times ^\ith
spirit and dignity. He had behaved, as we all knew, in a
very courageous manner on the field. Esmond had seen a
copy of the letter the Prince writ with his own hand when
urged by his friends in England to abjure his religion, and 20
admired that manly and magnanimous reply by which he
refused to yield to the temptation. Monsieur Baptiste took
off his hat, blushing at the hint Colonel Esmond ventured
to give him, and said: — "Tenez,° elle est jolie, la petite
mere; Foi-de-Chevaher ! elle est charmante; mais I'autre, 25
qui est cette nymphe, cet astre qui brille, cette Diane qui
descend sur nous?" And he started back, and pushed
forward, as Beatrix was descending the stair. ° She was
in colours for the first time at her own house ; she wore the
diamonds Esmond gave her ; it had been agreed between 30
them, that she should wear these brilliants on the day when
the King should enter the house; and a Queen she looked,
radiant in charms, and magnificent and imperial in
beauty.
Castlewood himself was startled by that beauty and 35
splendour; he stepped back and gazed at his sister as though
he had not been aware before (nor was he very likely) how
perfectly lovely she was, and I thought blushed as he em-
braced her. The Prince could not keep his eyes off her:
438 HENRY ESMOND
fte quite forgot his menial part, though he had been schooled
to it, and a little light portmanteau prepared expressly that
he should earry it. He pressed forward before my Lord
Viscount. 'Twas lucky the servants' eyes were busy in
5 other directions, or they must have seen that this was no
servant, or at least a very insolent and rude one.
Again Colonel Esmond was obliged to cry out, "Baptiste,'^
in a loud imperious voice, "have a care to the valise; " at
which hint the wilful young man ground his teeth with some-
10 thing very like a curse between them, and then gave a brief
look of anything but pleasure to his Mentor. Being reminded,
however, he shouldered the little portmanteau, and carried it
up the stair, Esmond preceding him, and a servant with
lighted tapers. He flung down his burden sulkily in the
15 bed-chamber: — "A Prince that will wear a crown must
wear a mask,'' says Mr. Esmond, in French.
"Ah, peste ! I see how it is," says Monsieur Baptiste,
continuing the talk in French. "The Great Serious is
seriously" — "alarmed for Monsieur Baptiste," broke in the
20 Colonel. Esmond neither liked the tone with which the
Prince spoke of the ladies, nor the eyes with which he re-
garded them.
The bed-chamber and the two rooms adjoining it, the closet
and the apartment which was to be called my lord's parlour,
25 were already lighted and awaiting their occupier ; and the
collation laid for my lord's supper. Lord Castle wood and
his mother and sister came up the stair a minute after-
wards, and so soon as the domesticks had quitted the apart-
ment. Castle wood and Esmond uncovered, and the two
30 ladies went down on their knees before the Prince, who
graciously gave a hand to each. He looked his part of
Prinf^c much more naturally than that of servant, which he
had just been trying, and raised them both with a great deal
of nobility, as well .'is kindness in his air. "Madam," says
35 he, "my mother will thank your ladyship for your hospitahty
to her son; for you, madam," turning to l^eatrix, "I cannot
bear to see so much beauty in such a posture. You will
betray Monsieur liaptiste if you kneel to him; sure 'tis his
place rather to kneel to you."
I HENRY ESMOND 439
A light shone out of her eyes; a gleam bright enough to
kindle passion in any breast. There were times when this
creature was so handsome, that she seemed, as it were, like
Venus revealing herself a goddess in a flash of brightness.
vShe appeared so now; radiant, and with eyes bright with 5
a wonderful lustre. A pang, as of rage and jealousy, shot
through Esmond's heart, as he caught the look she gave the
Prince; and he clenched his hand involuntarily and looked
across to Castlewood, whose eyes answered his alarm-signal,
and were also on the alert. The Prince gave his subjects 10
an audience of a few minutes, and then the two ladies and
Colonel Esmond quitted the chamber. Lady Castlewood
pressed his hand as they descended the stair, and the three
went down to the lower rooms, where they waited a while till the
travellers above should be refreshed and ready for their meal. 15
Esmond looked at Beatrix, blazing with her jewels on her
beautiful neck. "I have kept my word," says he: "And I
mine,'' says Beatrix, looking down on the diamonds.
"Were I the JMogul Emperor," says the Colonel, "you
should have all that were dug out of Golconda.°" ^ 20
"These are a great deal too good for me," says Beatrix,
dropping her head on her beautiful breast, — "so are you
all, all :" and when she looked up again, as she did in a mo-
ment, and after a sigh, her eyes, as they gazed at her cousin,
wore that melancholy and inscrutable look which 'twas al- 25
ways impossible to sound.
When the time came for the supper, of which we were ad-
vertised by a knocking overhead, Colonel Esmond and the
two ladies went to the upper apartment, where the Prince
already was, and by his side the young Viscount, of exactly 30
the same age, shape, and with features not dissimilar, though
Frank's were the handsomer of the two. The Prince sat
down, and bade the ladies sit. The gentlemen remained
standing; there was, indeed, but one more cover laid at the
table: — "Which of you will take it?" says he. 35
"The head of our house," says Lady Castlewood, taking
her son's hand, and looking towards Colonel Esmond with a
bow and a great tremor of the voice; "the Marquis of Es-
mond will have the honour of serving the King."
440 HENRY ESMOND
"I shall have the honour of waiting on his Royal Highness/
says Colonel Esmond, filling a cup of wine, and, as the fashion
of that day was, he presented it to the King on his knee.
"I drink to my hostess and her family," says the Prince,
5 with no very well pleased air ; but the cloud passed imme-
diately off his face, and he talked to the ladies in a lively,
rattling strain, quite undisturbed by poor Mr. Esmond's
yellow countenance, that I dare say looked very glum.
When the time came to take leave, Esmond marched home-
lo wards to his lodgings, and met Mr. Addison on the road that
night, walking to a cottage he had at Fulham, the moon
shining on his handsome, serene face: — "What cheer,
brother,'^ says Addison, laughing, "I thought it was a footpad
advancing in the dark, and behold 'tis an old friend. We
15 may shake hands, Colonel, in the dark, 'tis better than
fighting by daylight. Why should we quarrel, because I am
a Whig and thou art a Tory? Turn thy steps and walk with
me to Fulham, where there is a nightingale still singing in
the garden, and a cool bottle in a cave I know of ; you shall
20 drink to the Pretender if you like, and I will drink my liquor
my own way : I have had enough of good liquor ? — no,
never ! There is no such word as enough, as a stopper for
good wine. Thou wilt not come? Come any day, come
soon. You know I remember Simois and the Sigcia telly s°
25 and the proolia mixta mero, mixta mero," he repeated, with
ever so slight a touch of mcrum in his \o\qg, and walked bactk
a little way on the road with Esmond, bidding the other
rememljer he was always his friend, and indebted to him for
his aid in the "Campaign" poem. And very likely Mr. Under
30 Secretaiy° would have stopped in and taken t'other bottle
at the (yolonel's lodging, had the latter invited him, but
Esmond's mood was notie of the gayest, and he bade his friend
an inh()Sj)itable good-night at the door.
"I hav(5 done the deed," thought he, sleepless, and looking
35 out into the night; "he is here, and I have brought him; he
and Heatiix are sleeping under the same roof now. Whom
did I mean to s(;rve in bringing him ? Was it the Prince, was
it Ileiny JOsmond ? Had I not best have joined the manly
creed of Addison yonder, that scouts the okl doctrine of right
/ HENRY ESMOND 441
divine, that boldly declares that Parliament and people con-
secrate the Sovereign, not bishops nor genealogies, nor oils,
nor coronations." The eager gaze of the young Prince
haunted Esmond and pursued him. The Prince's figure
appeared before him in his feverish dreams many times that 5
night. He wished the deed undone, for which he had la-
boured so. He was not the first that has regretted his own
act, or brought about his own undoing. Undoing? Should
he write that word in his late 3-ears ? Xo, on his knees before
Heaven, rather be thankful for what then he deemed his mis- ic
fortune, and which hath caused the whole subsequent hap-
piness of his life.
Esmond's man, honest John Lockwood, had served his
master and the family all his life, and the Colonel knew that
he could answer for John's fidelity as for his own. John 15
returned with the horses from Rochester betimes the next
morning, and the Colonel gave him to understand that on
going to Kensington, where he was free of the servants' hall,
and, indeed, courting Mrs. Beatrix's maid, he was to ask
no questions, and betray no surprise, but to vouch stoutly 20
that the young gentleman he should see in a red coat there
was my Lord Viscount Castlewood, and that his attendant
in grey was Monsieur Baptiste the Frenchman. He was to
tell his friends in the kitchen such stories as he remembered
of my Lord Viscount's youth at Castlewood : what a wild 25
boy he was ; how he used to drill Jack and cane him, before
ever he was a soldier, everythihg, in fine, he knew respecting
my Lord Viscount's early daj's. Jack's ideas of painting
had not been much cultivated during his residence in Flanders
with his master; and before my young lord's return, he had 30
been easily got to believe that the picture brought over from
Paris, and now hanging in Lady Castlewood 's drawing-room,
was a perfect likeness of her son the young lord. And the
domesticks having all seen the picture many times, and
catching but a momentary imperfect ghmpse of the two 35
strangers on the night of their arrival, never had a reason to
doubt the fidelity of the portrait ; and next day, when they
saw the original of the piece habited exactly as he was
represented in the painting, with the same perriwig, ribbons,
442 HENRY ESMOND
and uniform of the Guard, quite naturally addressed the
gentleman as my Lord Castle wood, my Lady Viscountess's
son.
The secretary of the night previous, was now the Viscount ;
5 the Viscount wore the secretary's grey frock; and John
Lockwood was instructed to hint to the world below stairs
that my lord being a Papist, and very devout in that religion,
his attendant might be no other than his chaplain from
Bruxelles; hence, if he took his meals in my lord's company
10 there was httle reason for surprise. Frank was further
cautioned to speak English with a foreign accent, which task
he performed indifferently well, and this caution was the
more necessary because the Prince himself scarce spoke our
language like a native of the island ; and John Lockwood
15 laughed with the folks below stairs at the manner in which
my lord, after five years abroad, sometimes forgot his own
tongue and spoke it like a Frenchman : ''I warrant," savs he,
"that with the English beef and beer, his lordship will soon
get back the proper use of his mouth;" and to do his new
20 lordship justice, he took to beer and beef very kindly.
The Prince drank so much, and was so loud and imprudent
in his talk after his drink, that Esmond often trembled for
him. His meals were served as much as possible in his own
chamber, thoi'gh frequently he made his appearance in
25 Lady Castlewood's parlour and drawing-room, calling Beatrix
"sister," and her ladyship "mother," or "madam," before
the servants. And choosing to act entirely up to the part of
brother and son, the Prince sometimes saluted Mrs. Beatrix
and Lady Castlewood with a freedom which his secretary did
30 not like, and which, for his part, set Colonel Esmond tearing
with rage.
The guests had not been three days in the house when
poor Jack Lockwood came with a rueful countenance to his
master, and said: "My lord, that is — the gentleman, has
35 been tampering with Mrs. Lucy" (Jack's sweetheart), "and
giv(Mi her guineas and a kiss." I fear that Colonel Esmond's
mind was rather relieved, than otherwise, when he found that
the atu'illary beauty was the one whom the Prince had se-
lected. His royal tastes were known to lie that way, and
/
HENRY ESMOND 443
continued so in after life. The heir of one of the greatest
names, of the greatest kingdoms, and of the greatest misfor-
tunes in Europe, was often content to lay the dignity of his
birth and grief at the wooden shoes° of a French chamber-
maid, and to repent afterwards (for he was very devout) in 5
ashes taken from the dust-pan. 'Tis for mortals such as
these that nations suffer, that parties struggle, that warriors
fight and bleed. A year afterwards gallant heads were fall-
ing, and Nithsdale° in escape, and Derwentw^ater° on the
scaffold, whilst the heedless ingrate, for whom they risked 10
and lost all, was tippling with his seragUo of mistresses in
his 'petite maisofi° of Chaillot.
Blushing to be forced to bear such an errand, E.jmond had
to go to the Prince and w^arn him that the girl, whom his
Highness was bribing, was John Lockwood's sweetheart, 15
an honest resolute man who had served in six campaigns,
and feared nothing, and who knew that the person, calling
himself Lord Castlewood, was not his young master : and
the Colonel besought the Prince to consider, what the effect
of a single man's jealousy might be, and to think of other 20
designs he had in hand, more important than the seduction
of a waiting-maid, and the humiliation of a brave man.
Ten times, perhaps, in the course of as many days, Mr.
Esmond had to warn the royal young adventurer of some
imprudence or some freedom. He received these remon- 25
strances very testily, save perhaps in this affair of poor Lock-
wood's, when he deigned to burst out a-laughing, and said,
"What! the soubrette has peached to the amoureux, and
Crispin ° is angry, and Crispin has served, and Crispin has
been a corporal, has he ? Tell him we will reward his valour 30
with a pair of colours, and recompense his fidelity."
Colonel Esmond ventured to utter some other words of
entreaty, but the Prince, stamping imperiously, cried out,
"Assez,° milord: je m'ennuye a la preche; I am not come
to London to go to the sermon." And he complained after- 35
wards to Castlewood that "le petit jaune,° le noir Colonel,
le Marquis Misanthrope" (by which facetious names his
Royal Highness was pleased to designate Colonel Esmond),
"fatigued him \\'ith his grand airs and virtuous homilies."
444 HENRY ESMOND
The Bishop of Rochester, and other gentlemen engaged iiv
the transaction which had brought the Prince over, waited
upon his Royal Highness, constantly asking for my Lord
Castlewood on their arrival at Kensington, and being openly
5 conducted to his Royal Highness in that character, who
received them either in my ladj^'s drawing-room below, or
above in his own apartment; and all implored him to quit
the house as little as possible, and to wait there till the signal
should be given for him to appear. The ladies entertained
:o him at cards, over which amusement he spent many hours
in each day and night. He passed many hours more in
drinking, during which time he would rattle and talk very
agreeably, and especially if the Colonel was absent, whose
presence alwa3''s seemed to frighten him; and the poor
15 "Colonel Noir" took that hint as a command accordingly,
and seldom intruded his black face upon the convivial hours
of this august young prisoner. Except for those few persons
of whom the porter had the list. Lord Castlewood was denied
to all friends of the house who waited on his lordship. The
20 wound he had received had broke out again from his journey
on horseback, so the world and the domesticks were informed.
And Doctor A ,^ his physician (I shall not mention his
name, but he was physician to the Queen, of the Scots nation,
and a man remarkable for his benevolence as well as his wit),
25 gave orders that he should be kept perfectly quiet until the
wound should heal. With this gentleman, who was one of
the most active and influential of our party, and the others
before spoken of, the whole secret lay ; and it was kept with
so much faithfulness, and the story we told so simple and
3) natural, that there was no likelihood of a discovery except
irom the im[)rudence of the Prince himself, and an adven-
turous levity that we had the greatest difficulty to controul.
As for Lady Castlewood, although she scrarce spoke a word,
'twas easy to gather from her d(uneanour, and one or two
55 hints she dropped, how deep her mortification was at finding
the hero whom she had chosen to worship all her life (an(l
whose restoration had formed almost the most sacred part
' There can be very little doubt, that the Doctor mentioned by my
dear father, was the famous Dr. Arbuthnot. - R. E. W.
HENRY ESMOND 445
of her prayers) no more than a man, and not a good one.
She thought misfortune might have chastened him ; but
that instructress had rather rendered him callous than humble.
His devotion, which was quite real, kept him from no sin he
had a mind to. His talk showed good humour, gaiety, even 5
wit enough ; but there was a levity in his acts and words
that he had brought from among those libertine devotees
with whom he had been bred, and that shocked the sim-
phcity and purity of the Englisii lady, whose guest he was.
Esmond spoke his mind to Beatrix pretty frecl}^ about the 10
Prince, getting her brother too to put in a word of warning.
Beatrix was entirely of their opinion; she thought he was
very light, very light and reckless : she could not even see
the good looks Colonel Esmond had spoken of. The Prince
had bad teeth, and a decided squint. How could we say he 15
did not squint ? His eyes were fine, but there was certainly
a cast in them. She ralHed him at table with wonderful wit ;
she spoke of him invariably as of a mere boy ; she was more
fond of Esmond than ever, praised him to her brother, praised
him to the Prince, when his Royal Highness was pleased to 20
sneer at the Colonel, and warmly espoused his cause: "And
if your i\Iajest;f does not give him the Garter his father had,
when the Marquis of Esmond comes to your Majesty's court,
I will hang myself in my own garters, or will cry my eyes out."
"Rather than lose those," says the Prince, "he shall be made 25
Archbishop and Colonel of the Guard " (it was Frank Castle-
wood who told me of this conversation over their supper).
"Yes," cries she, with one of her laughs, I fancy I hear it
now. Thirty years afterwards I hear that delightful musick ;
"yes, he shall be Archbishop of Esmond and Marquis cf 30
Canterbury."''
"And what will your ladyship be?" says the Prince;
"you have but to choose your place."
"I," says Beatrix, "will be mother of the maids to the
Queen of his ^lajesty King James the Third — Y\\e le Roy ! " 35
and she made him a great curtsey, and drank a part of a glass
of wine in his honour.
"The Prince seized hold of the glass and drank the last
drop of it," Castlewood said, "and my mother, looking very
446 HENRY ESMOND
anxious, rose up and asked leave to retire. But that Trix is
my mother's daughter, Harry," Frank continued, "I don't
know what a horrid fear I should have of her. I wish — I
wish this business were over. You are older than I am, and
5 wiser, and better, and I owe you everything, and would
die for you — before George I would ; but I wish the end of
this were come."
Neither of us very likely passed a tranquil night ; horrible
doubts and torments racked Esmond's soul ; 'twas a scheme
lo of personal ambition, a daring stroke for a selfish end, — he
knew it. What cared he, in his heart, who was King?
Were not his very sympathies and secret convictions on the
other side — on the side of People, Parliament, Freedom ?
And here was he, engaged for a Prince that had scarce heard
15 the word liberty; that priests and women, tyrants by nature
both, made a tool of. The Misanthrope was in no better
humour after hearing that story, and his grim face more
black and yellow than ever.
CHAPTER X
WE ENTERTAIN A VERY DISTINGUISHED GUEST AT KENSINGTON
Should an}^ clue be found to the dark intrigues at the
20 latter end of Queen Anne's time, or any historian be inclined
to follow it, 'twill be discovered, I have little doubt, that not
one of the great personages about the Queen had a defined
schcm3 of policy, independent of that private and selfish
interest, which each was bent on pursuing; St. John was for
25 St. John, and Harley for Oxford, ° and Marlborough for John
Churchill, always; and according as they could get help
from ut. Germains or Hainiover, they sent over proffers of
allegiance to the Princes there, or betrayed one to the other :
one cause, or one sovereign, was as good as another to them,
30 so that they could hold the best place under him ; and like
Lockit and Peachum, the Newgate chiefs in the Rogues'
Opera° Mr. Gay wrote afterwards, had each in his hand
documents and proofs of treason which would hang the
HENRY ESMOND 447
other, only he did not dare to use the weapon, for fear of that
one which his neighbour also carried in his pocket. Think
of the great Marlborough, the greatest subject in all the world,
a conqueror of princes, that had marched victorious over
(Jermany, Flanders, and France, that had given the law to 5
sovereign:; abroad, and been worshipped as a divinity at
home, forced to sneak out of England, — his credit, honours,
places, all taken from him; his friends in the army broke
and ruined; and flying before Harley, as abject and power-
less as a poor debtor before a bailiff with a writ. A paper, i-
of which Harley got possession, and showing beyond doubt
that the Duke was engaged with the Stuart family, was tlie
weapon with which the Treasurer drove Marlborough out of
the kingdom. He fled to Antwerp, and began intriguing in-
stantly on the other side, and came back to England, as all 15
know, a Whig and a Hannoverian.
Though the Treasurer ° turned out of the army and office
every man, military or qiy\\, known to be the Duke's friend,
and gave the vacant posts among the Tory party; he, too,
was playing the doulDle game between Hannover and St. 20
Germains, awaiting the expected catastrophe of the Queen's
death to be Master of the State, and offer it to either family
that should bribe him best, or that the nation should declare
for. Whichever the King was, Harley 's object was to reign
over him ; and to this end he sup{)lanted the former famous 25
favourite, decried the actions of the war which had made
Marlborough's name illustrious, and disdained no more than
the great fallen competitor of his, the meanest arts, flatteries,
intimidations, that would secure his power. If the greatest
satirist the world ever hath seen,° had ^vTit against Harley, 3c
and not for him, what a history had he left behind of the
last years of Queen Anne's reign ! But Swift, that scorned
all mankind, and himself not the least of all, had this merit
of a faithful partisan, that he loved those chiefs who treated
him well, and stuck by Harley bravely in his fall, as he gallantly 21
had supported him in his better fortune.
Incomparably more brilliant, more splendid, eloquent,
accomplished, than his rival, the great St. John could be
as selfish as Oxford was, and could act the double part as
448 HENRY ESMOND
skilfully as ambidextrous Churchill. He whose talk was
always of liberty, no more shrunk from using persecution
and the pillory against his opponents, than if he had been
at Lisbon and Grand Inquisitor. ° This lofty patriot was
5 on his knees at Hannover and St. Germains too ; notoriously
of no religion, he toasted Church and Queen as boldly as the
stupid Sacheverel,° whom he used and laughed at; and to
serve his turn, and to overthrow his enemy, he could intrigue,
coax, bully, wheedle, fawn on the Court favourite and creep
10 up the back-stair as silently as Oxford who supplanted
Marlborough, and whom he himself supplanted. The crash
of my Lord Oxford happened at this very time, whereat my
history is now arrived. He was come to the very last days
of his power, and the agent whom he employed to over-
15 throw the conqueror of Blenheim, was now engaged to upset
the conqueror's conqueror, and hand over the staff of govern-
ment to Bolingbroke, who had been panting to hold it.
In expectation of the stroke that was now preparing, the
Irish regiments in the French service were all brought
20 round about Boulogne ° in Picardy, to pass over if need were,
with the Duke of Berwick ; the soldiers of France no longer,
but subjects of James the Third of England and Ireland
King. The fidelity of the great mass of the Scots (though
a most active, resolute, and gallant Whig party, admirably
25 and energetically ordered and disciplined, was known to be
in Scotland too) was notoriously unshaken in their King.°
A very great body of Tory clergy, nobility, and gentry,
were publick partisans of the exiled Prince ; and the indiffcr-
ents might be counted on to cry King Cieorge or King James,
30 according as either should prevail. The Queen, especially
in her latter days, inclined towards her own family. The
Prince was lying a(;tually in London, within a stone's-cast
of his sister's palace; the first Minister toppling to his fall,
and so tottering that the weakest i)ush of a woman's finger
35 would send him down ; and as for Bolingbroke, his successor,
we know on whose side his power and his si)lendid eloquence
would be on th(^ day when the Queen should appear openly
before her ('ounfil and say : — "This, my lords, is my brother,
here is my father's heir, and mine after me.^'
HENRY ESMOND 449
/
' During the whole of the previous year the Queen had had
many and ij-epeated fits of sickness, fever and lethargy, and
her death had been constantly looked for by all her attend-
ants. The Elector of Hannover had wished to send his son,
the Duke of Cambridge, ° — to pay his court to his cousin the 5
Queen, the Elector said ; — in truth, to be on the spot when
death should close her career. Frightened perhaps to have
such a memento mori under her royal eyes, her Majesty had
angrily forbidden the young Prince's coming into England.
Either she desired to keep the chances for her brother open 10
yet ; or the people about her did not wish to close with the
Whig candidate till they could make terms with him. The
quarrels of her Ministers before her face at the Council
board, the pricks of conscience very Hkely, the importunities
of her Ministers, and constant turmoil and agitation round 15
about her, had weakened and irritated the Princess ex-
tremely ; her strength was giving way under these continual
trials of her temper, and from clay to day it was expected
she must come to a speedy end of them. Just before Viscount
Castlewood and his companion came from France, her Majesty 20
was taken ill. The St. Anthony's fire° broke out on the
Royal legs; there was no hurry for the presentation of the
young lord at Court, or that person who should appear
under his name ; and my Lord Viscount's wound breaking
out opportunely, he was kept conveniently in his chamber 25
until such time as his physician should allow him to bend his
knee before the Queen. At the commencement of July,
that influential lady, with whom it has been mentioned that
cur party had relations, came frequently to visit her young
friend, the Maid of Honour, at Kensington, and my Lord 30
Viscount (the real or supposititious), who was an invalid at
Lady Castlewood 's house.
On the 27th day of July, the lady in question, who held
the most intimate post about the Queen, came in her chair
from the Palace hard by, bringing to the little party in 35
Kensington Square intelligence of the very highest impor-
tance. The final blow had been struck, and my Lord of
Oxford and Mortimer was no longer Treasurer. The staff
was as yet given to no successor, though my Lord
450 HENRY ESMOND
Bolingbroke would undoubtedly be the man. And now
the time was come, the Queen's Abigail said : and now
my Lord Castle wood ought to be presented to the Sov-
ereign.
5 After that scene which Lord Castlewood witnessed and
described to his cousin, who passed such a miserable night of
mortification and jealousy as he thought over the transaction,
no doubt the three persons who were set by nature as pro-
tectors over Beatrix came to the same conclusion, that she
10 must be removed from the presence of a man whose desires
towards her were expressed only too clearly; and who was
no more scrupulous in seeking to gratify them than his father
had been before him. I suppose Esmond's mistress, her
son, and the Colonel himself, had been all secretly debating
15 this matter in their minds, for when Frank broke out, in his
blunt way, with: — ''I think Beatrix had best be anywhere
but here," — Lady Castlewood said: — "I thank you,
Frank, I have thought so too;" and Mr. Esmond,' though he
only remarked that it was not for him to speak, showed
20 plainly by the delight on his countenance, how very agreeable
that proposal was to him.
"One sees that you think with us, Henry," says the
Viscountess with ever so little of sarcasm in her tone :
"Beatrix is best out of this house whilst we have our guest in
25 it, and as soon as this morning's business is done, she ought
to quit London."
"What morning's business ?" asked Colonel Esmond, not
knowing what had been arranged, though in fact the stroke
next in importance to that of bringing the Prince, and of
30 having him acknowledged by the Queen, was now being
performed at the very moment we three were conversing
together.
Tlie Court lady with whom our plan was concerted, and
who was a cliic^f agent in it, the Court physician, and the
35 15ishof^ of llochester, who were the other two most active
participators in our plan, had held many councils in our
hoiis(i at Kensington and elsewhere, as to the means best
to be adoi)ted for presenting our young adventurer to his
»i.ster the Queen. The simple and easy plan proposed by
HENRY ESMOND 451
Colonel Esmond had been agreed to by all parties, which
was that on some rather private day when there were -not
many persons about the Court, the Prince should appear
there as my Lord Castlewood, should be greeted by his
sister-in-waiting, and led by that Other Lady into the closet 5
of the Queen. And according to her Majesty's health or
'humour, and the circumstances that might arise during the
interview, it was to be left to the discretion of those present
at it, and to the Prince himself, whether he should declare
that it w^as the Queen's own brother, or the brother of Beatrix ic
Esmond, who kissed her Royal hand. And this plan being
determined on, we w^ere all waiting in very much anxiety
for the day and signal of execution.
Two mornings after that supper, it being the 27th day of
July, the Bishop of Rochester breakfasting with Lady 15
Castlewood and her family, and the meal scarce over. Doctor
A.'s coach drove up to our house at Kensington, and the
Doctor appeared amongst the party there, enlivening a
rather gloomy company, for the mother and daughter had had
words in the morning in respect to the transactions of that 20
supper and other adventures perhaps, and on the day suc-
ceeding. Beatrix's haughty spirit brooked remonstrances
from no superior, much less from her mother, the gentlest of
creatures, whom the girl commanded rather than obeyed.
And feeling she was wrong, and that by a thousand cocjuetries 25
(which she could no more help exercising on every man that
came near her, than the sun can help shining on great and
small) she had provoked the Prince's dangerous admiration,
and allured him to the expression of it, she was only the
more wilful and imperious, the more she felt her error. 30
To this party, the Prince being served with chocolate in
his bed-chamber where he lay late sleeping away the fumes
of his wine, the Doctor came, and by the urgent and startling
nature of his news dissipated instantly that private and minor
unpleasantry under which the family of Castlewood was 3;
labouring.
He asked for the Guest ; the Guest was above in his own
apartment : he bade Monsieur Baptiste go up to his master
instantly, and requested that My Lord Viscount Castlewood
452 HENRY ESMOND
would straightway put his uniform on, and come away \i\
the Doctor's coach now at the door.
He then informed Madam Beatrix what her part of the
comedy was to be: — "In half an hour/' says he, ''her
5 Majesty and her favourite lady will take the air in the Cedar-
walk behind the New Banqueting-house. Her Majesty will
be drawn in a garden-chair. Madam Beatrix Esmond and
her brother my Lord Viscount Castlewood will be walking in
the private garden (here is Lady Masham's key), and will
10 come unawares upon the Royal party. The man that draws
the chair will retire, and leave the Queen, the favourite, and
the Maid of Honour, and her brother together ; Mrs. Beatrix
will present her brother, and then ! — and then, my Lord
Bishop will pray for the result of the interview, and his
15 Scots clerk will say Amen ! Quick, piit on your hood,
Madam Beatrix; why doth not his Majesty come down?
Such another chance may not present itself for months
again.''
The Prince was late and lazy, and indeed had all but lost
20 that chance through his indolence. The Queen was actually
about to leave the garden just when the party reached it;
the Doctor, the Bishop, the Maid of Honour and her Brother
went off together in the physician's coach, and had been
gone half an hour when Colonel Esmond came to Kensington
25 Square.
The news of this errand, on which Beatrix was gone, of
course for a moment put all thoughts of private jealousy
out of Colonel Esmond's head. Li half an hour more tha
coach returned ; the Bishop descended from it first, and gave
30 his arm to Beatrix, who now came out. His lordship went
back into the carriage again, and the Maid of Honour entered
the house alone. We were all gazing at her from the upper
window, trying to read from her countenance the result of
the interview from which she had just come.
35 She came into the drawing-room in a great tremor and
\'ery pale ; she asked for a glass of water as her mother went
to meet her, and after drinking that and putting off her hood,
she began to speak : — "We may all hope for the best," says
she; "it has cost the Queen a fit. Her Majesty was in her
HENRY ESMOND 463
chair, in the Cedar-walk, accompanied only by Lady ,
when we entered by the pri\'ate wicket from the west side of
the garden, and turned towards her, the Doctor following us.
They waited in a side-walk hidden by the shrubs, as we
advanced towards the chair, jVIy heart throbbed so I scarce 5
could speak; but my Prince whispered, X'ourage, Beatrix;'
and marched on with a steady step. His face was a little
flushed, but he was not afraid of the danger. He who fought
so bravely at Malplaquet fears nothing." Esmond and
Castlewood looked at each other, at this compliment, neither 10
hking the sound of it.
"The Prince uncovered," Beatrix continued, "and I saw
the Queen turning round to Lady Masham as if asking who
these two were. Her Majesty looked very pale and ill, and
then flushed up ; the favourite made us a signal to advance, 15
and I went up leading my Prince by the hand, quite close
to the chair : 'your Majesty will give my Lord Viscount your
hand to kiss,' says her lady, and the Queen put out her
hand, which the Prince kissed, kneeling on his knee, he who
should kneel to no mortal man or woman. 20
"'You have been long from England, my lord,' says the
Queen: 'why were you not here to give a ho^ne to 3^our
mother and sister?'
"'I am come. Madam, to stay now, if the Queen desires
me,' says the Prince, with another low bow. 25
"'You have taken a foreign wife, my lord, and a foreign
religion; was not that of England good enough for you?'
"'In returning to my father's church,' says the Prince, M
do not love my mother the less, nor am I the less faithful ser-
vant of your Majesty.' 3°
"Here," says Beatrix, "the favourite gave me a little
signal with her hand to fall back, which I did, though I died
to hear what should pass; and whispered something to the
Queen, which made her Majesty start and utter one or two
words in a hurried manner, looking towards the Prince, and 35
catching hold with her hand of the arm of her chair. He
advanced still nearer towards it ; he began to speak very
rapidly; I caught the words: 'Father, blessing, forgiveness,'
— and then presently the Prince fell on his knees ; took
454 HENRY ESMOND
from his breast a paper he had there, handed it to the Queen,
who, as soon as she saw it, flung up both her arms with a
scream, and took away that hand nearest the Prince, and
which he endeavoured to kiss. He went on speaking with great
5 animation of gesture, now clasping his hands together on
his heart, now opening them as though to say : ' I am here,
your brother, in your power.' Lady Masham ran round on
the other side of the chair, kneehng too, and speaking with
great energy. She clasped the Queen's hand on her side, and
lo picked up the paper her Majesty had let fall. The Prince
rose and made a further speech as though he would go ; the
favourite on the other hand urging her mistress, and then
running back to the Prince brought him back once more
close to the chair. Again he knelt down and took the Queen's
15 hand, which she did not withdraw, kissing it a hundred times;
my lady all the time, with sobs and supplications, speaking
over the chair. This while the Queen sat with a stupefied
look, crumpling the paper with one hand, as my Prince em-
braced the other : then of a sudden she uttered several piercing
20 shrieks, and burst into a great lit of hysterick tears and
laughter. 'Enough, enough, sir, for this time,' I heard Lady
Masham say; and the chairman, who had withdrawn round
the B;uiqueting-room, came back, alarmed by the cries:
'Quick,' says Lady Masham, 'get some help,' and I ran
25 towards the Doctor, who, with the Bishop of Rochester,
came up instantly. Lady Masham whispered the Prince
he might hope for the very best; and to be ready to-morrow;
and he hath gone away to the Bishop of Rochester's house,
to meet several of his friends there. And so the great stroke
30 is struck," says Beatrix, going down on her ^ knees, and
clasping her hands, "God save the King: God save the
King."
l>eatrix's tale told, and the young lady herself calmed
somewhat of her agitation, we asked with regard to the
35 Pi-ince, who was absent with J3ishop Atterbury, and were
informed that 'twas likely \\v. might remain abroad the whole
day. Beatrix's three kinsfolk looked at one another at
this intelligence; 'twas clear the same thought was passing
through the minds of all.
HENRY ESMOND 455
But who should begin to break the news? Monsieur
Baptiste, that is Frank Castlewood, turned very red, and
looked towards Esmond ; the Colonel bit his hps, and fairly
beat a retreat into the window : it was Lady Castlewood that
opened upon Beatrix with the news which we knew vrould do 5
anything but please her.
"We are glad." says she, taking her daughter's hand, and
speaking in a gentle voice, "that the guest is away."
Beatrix drew back in an instant, looking round her at us
three, and as if divining a danger. "Why glad?" says she, 10
her breast beginning to heave; "are you so soon tired of
him?"
"We think one of us is devihshly too fond of him," cries
out Frank Castlewood.
"And which is it — you, my lord, or is it mamma, who is 15
jealous because he drinks my health? or is it the head of
the family" (here she turned with an imperious look towards
Colonel Esmond), "who has taken of late to preach the
King sermons?"
"We do not say you are too free with his Majesty." 20
"I thank you, madam," says Beatrix, with a toss of the
head and a curtsey.
But her mother continued, with very great calmness and
dignity — "At least we have not said so, though we might,
were it possible for a mother to say such words to her own 25
daughter, your father's daughter."
''Eh! mon pere°" breaks oui Beatrix, "was no better
than other persons' fathers;" and again she looked towards
the Colonel.
We ail felt a shock as she uttered those two or three French 30
words; her manner was exactly imitated from that of our
foreign guest.
"You had not learned to speak French a month ago,
Beatrix," says her mother, sadly, "nor to speak ill of your
father." 35
Beatrix, no doubt, saw that slip she had made in her flurry,
for she blushed crimson : "I have learnt to honour the Iving,"
says she, dra^\^ng up, "and 'twere as well that others sus-
pected neither his Majesty nor me."
456 HENRY ESMOND
"If you respected your mother a little more/' Frank said,
'"Trix, you would do yourself no hurt."
"I am no child/' says she, turning round on him; "we
have lived very well these five years without the benefit of
5 your advice or example, and I intend to take neither now.
Why does not the head of the house speak?" she went on;
''he rules everything here; when his chaplain° has done
singing the psalms, will his lordship deliver the sermon?
I am tired of the psalms." The Prince had used almost the
lo very same words in regard tp Colonel Esmond, that the
imprudent girl repeated in her wrath.
"You show yourself a very apt scholar, madam/' says the
Colonel; and turning to his mistress: "Did 3^our guest use
these words in your ladyship's hearing, or was it to Beatrix in
>- private that he was pleased to impart his opinion regarding
my tiresome sermon?"
"Have you seen him alone?" cries my lord, starting up
with an oath: "by God, have you seen him alone?"
" Were he here, you wouldn't dare so to insult me ; no, you
20 would not dare!" cries Frank's sister. "Keep j^our oaths,
my lord, for your wife ; we are not used here to such language'.
Till you came, there used to be kindness between me and
mamma, and I cared for her when you never did, when you
were away for years with your horses, and your mistress,
?, and your popish wife."
"By ," says my lord, rapping out another oath, "Clo-
tilda is an angel ; how dare you say a word against Clotilda ? "
Colonel Esmond could not refrain from a smile, to see how
easy Frank's attack was drawn off by that feint : — "I fancy
- ('lotilda is not the subject in hand," says Mr. Iilsmond, rather
scornfully; "her ladyship is at Paris, a hundred leagues off,
preparing baby-linen. It is about my Lord Castlewood's
sister, and not his wife, the question is."
"Ho is not my Lord Castlewood," says Beatrix, "and he
3, knows he is not ; he is Colonel Francis Esmond's son, and no
more, and he wears a false title; and he lives on another
man's land, and he knows it." Here was another desperate
sally of the poor beleaguered garrison, and an alerte° in
another (juarter. "Again, I beg your pardon," says Es-
I
HENRY ESMOND 457
mond ; " if there are no proofs of my claim, I have no claim.
If my father acknowledged no heir, yours was his lawful suc-
cessor, and my Lord Castlewood hath as good a right to his
rank and small estate as any man in England. But that
again is not the question, as you know very well : let us bring 5
our talk back to it, as you will have me meddle in it. And
I v\-ill give you frankly my opinion, that a house where a
Prince lies all day, Avho respects no woman, is no house for
a young unmarried lady ; that you were better in the country
than here ; that he is here on a great end, from which no ic
folly should divert him ; and that having nobly done your
part of this morning, Beatrix, you should retire off the scene
awhile, and leave it to the other actors of the play.''
As the Colonel spoke with a perfect calmness and politeness,
such as 'tis to be hoped he hath always shown to women,' his 15
mistress stood by him on one side of the table, and Frank
Castlewood on the other hemming in poor Beatrix, that was
behind it, and, as it were, surrounding her with our ap-
proaches.
Having twice salhed out, and been beaten back, she now, as 20
I expected, tried the ultima ratio° of women, and had recourse
to tears. Her beautiful eyes filled with them ; I never could
bear in her, nor in any woman, that expression of pain : —
''I am alone," sobbed she; "you are three against me, my
brother, my mother, and you. What have I done, that you 25
should speak and look so unkindly at me? Is it my fault
that the Prince should, as you say, admire me ? Did I bring
1 My dear father saith quite truly that his manner towards our sex
was uniformly courteous. From my infancy upwards, he treated me
with an extreme gentleness, as though I was a little lady. I can 30
scarce remember (though I tried him often) ever hearing a rough
word from him, nor was he less grave and kind in his manner to the
humblest ncgresses on his estate. He was familiar with no one ex-
cept mj' mother, and it was delightful to witness up to the very last
days the confidence between them. He was obeyed eagerh' by all 35
under him ; and my mother and all her household lived in a constant
emulation to please him, and quite a terror lest in any way they
should offend liim. He was the humblest man, with all this; the
least exacting, the most easily contented ; and Mr. Benson, our min-
ister at Castlewood, who attended him at the last, ever said — 'I 40
know not what Colonel Esmond's doctrme was, but his hfe and death
were those of a devout Christian.' — K.h,. W«
458 HENRY ESMOND
him here ? Did I do aught but what j^ou bade me, in making
him welcome? Did you not tell me that our duty wa^ to
die for him? Did you not teach me, mother, night and
morning, to pray for the King, before even ourselves ? What
5 would you have of me, cousin, for you are the chief of the
conspiracy against me; I know you are, sir, and that my
mother and brother are acting but as you bid them ; whither
would you have me go?"
"I would but remove from the Prince," says Esmond,
lo gravely, "a dangerous temptation; Heaven forbid I should
say you would yield : I would only have him free of it. Your
honour needs no guardian, please God, but his imprudence
doth. He is so far removed from all women by his rank, that
his pursuit of them cannot but be unlawful. We would remove
15 the dearest and fairest of our family from the chance of that
insult, and that is wh}^ we would have you go, (iear Beatrix."
"Harry speaks like a book," says Frank, wita one of his
oaths, "and, by , every word he saith is t;ue. You
can't help being handsome, 'Trix, no more can tli3 Prince
25 help following you. My counsel is that you go out of harm's
way; for, by the Lord, were the Prince to play any tricks
with you. King as he is, or is to be, Harry Esmond and I
would have justice of him."
"Are not two such champions enough to guard me?" says
25 Beatrix, something sorrowfully; "sure, with you two watch-
ing, no evil could happen to me."
"In faith, I think not, Beatrix," says Colonel Esmond;
"nor if the Prince knew us would he try."
"But does he know you?" interposed Lady Esmond, very
30 quiet; "he comes of a country where the pursuit of kings
is thought no dishonour to a woman : let us go, dearest
Beatrix. Shall we go to Walcote or to Castlewood ? We are
best away from the city; and when the Prince is acknow-
ledged, and our champions have restored him, and he hath
35 his own house at Saint James's or Windsor, we can come
back to ours here. Do you not think so, Harry and
Frank?"
Frank and Harry thought with her, you may be sure.
"We will go, then," says Beatrix, turning a Uttle pale;
I
HENRY ESMOND 459
■'Lady Masham is to give me warning to-night how her
Majesty is, and to-morrow "
"I think we had best go to-day, my dear," says my Lady
Castlewood; "we might have the coach, and sleep at Houns-
low,° and reach home to-morrow. Tis twelve o'clock; 5
bid the coach, cousin, be ready at one/'
"For shame," burst out Beatrix, in a passion of tears and
mortification: "you disgrace me by your cruel precautions;
my own mother is the first to suspect me, and would take me
away as my gaoler. I will not go with you, mother; I will 10
go as no one's prisoner. If I wanted to deceive, do you
think I could find no means of evading you? My family
suspects me. As those mistrust me that ought to love me
most, let me leave them; I will go, but I will go alone: to
Castlewood, be it. I have been unhappy there and lonely 15
enough, let me go back, but spare me at least the humiliation
of setting a watch* over my misery, which is a trial I can't
bear. Let me go when you will, but alone, or not at all.
You three can stay and triumph over my unhappiness, and
I will bear it as I have borne it before. Let my gaoler-in- 20
chief go order the coach that is to take me away. I thank
you, Henry Esmond, for your share in the conspiracy. All
my life long, I'll thank you, and remember you ; and you,
brother, and you, mother, how shall I show my gratitude to
you for your careful defence of my honour?" 25
She swept out of the room with the air of an empress,
flinging glances of defiance at us all, and leaving us conquerors
of the field, but scared, and almost ashamed of our victory.
It did indeed seem hard and cruel that we three should have
conspired the banishment and humiliation of that fair crea- 30
ture. We looked at each other in silence ; 'twas not the first
stroke by many of our actions in that unlucky time, which
being done, we wished undone. We agreed it was best she
should go alone, speaking stealthily to one another, and
under our breaths, like persons engaged in an act they felt 35
ashamed in doing.
In a half-hour, it might be, after our talk she came back,
her countenance wearing the same defiant air which it had
borne when she left us. She held a shagreen-case in her
460 HENRY ESMOND
hand ; Esmond knew it as containing his diamonds which
he had given to her for her marriage with Duke Hamilton,
and which she had worn so splendidly on the inauspicious
night of the Prince's arrival. "I have brought back/' says
5 she, ''to the Marquis of Esmond the present he deigned to
make me in days when he trusted me better than now. I
will never accept a benefit or a kindness from Henry Esmond
more, and I give back these family diamonds, which belonged
to one king's mistress, to the gentleman that suspected I
10 would be another. Have you been upon your message of
coach-caller, my Lord Marquis? Will you send your valet
to see that I do not run away ? " We were right : yet, by her
manner, she had put us all in the wrong ; we were conquerors,
yet the honours of the day seemed to be with the poor op-
15 pressed girl.
That luckless box containing the stones had first been
ornamented with a baron's coronet, when Beatrix was en-
gaged to the 3^oung gentleman from whom she parted, and
after.wards the gilt crown of a duchess figured on the cover,
20 which also poor Beatrix was destined never to wear. Lady
Castlewood opened the case mechanically and scarce thinking
what she did; and behold, besides the diamonds, Esmond's
present, there lay in the box the enamelled miniature of the
late Duke, which Beatrix had laid aside with her mourning
25 when the King came into the house ; and which the poor
heedless thing very likely had forgotten.
"Do you leave this too, Beatrix?" says her mother, taking
the miniature out, and with a cruelty she did not very
often show; but there are some moments when the tenderest
30 women are cruel, and some triumphs which angels can't
forgo.'
Having delivered this stab, Lady Esmond was frightened
at th(; effect of her blow. It went to poor Beatrix's heart;
she flushed up and passed a handkerchief across her eyes,
35 and kissed the miniature, and put it into her bosom : — "I
* This remark shows how unjustly and contemptuously even the
best of men will sonmtinies ju(lf>;e of our sex. Lady Esmond had no
intention of triumphing over her daughter; but from a sense of duty
alone poiMtfMJ out lier deplorable wrong. — R. E.
HENRY ESMOND 461
had forgot it/' says she, ''my injury made me forget my
grief, my mother has recalled both to me. Farewell, mother,
I think I never can forgive you, something hath broke
between us that no tears nor years can repair ; I always said
I was alone; you never loved me, never, and were jealous of 5
me from the time I sate on my father's knee. Let me go away,
the sooner the better, I can bear to be with you no more."
"Go, child," says her mother, still very stern, "go and bend
ycur proud knees and ask forgiveness, go pray in solitude for
humility and repentance. 'Tis not your reproaches that 10
make me unhappy, 'tis your hard heart, my poor Beatrix;
may God soften it and teach you one day to feel for your
mother."
If my mistress was cruel, at least she never could be got to
own as much. Her haughtiness quite overtopped Beatrix's; 15
and if the girl had a proud spirit, I very much fear it came to
her by inheritance.
CHAPTER XI
OUR GUEST QUITS US AS NOT BEING HOSPITABLE ENOUGH
Beatrix's departure took place within an hour, her maid
going with her in the post-chaise, ° and a man armed on the
coach-box to prevent any danger of the road. Esmond and 20
Frank thought of escorting the carriage, but she indig-
nantly refused their company, and another man was sent
to follow the coach, and not to leave it till it had passed
over Hounslow Heath on the next day. And these two
forming the whole of Lady Castlewood's male domesticks, 25
Mr. Esmond's faithful John Lockwood came to wait on his
mistress during their absence, though he would have pre-
ferred to escort Mrs. Lucy, his sweetheart, on her journey
into the country.
We had a gloomy and silent meal ; it seemed as if a dark- 30
ness was over the house, since the bright face of Beatrix had
been withdrawn from it. In the afternoon came a message
from the favourite to relieve us somewhat from this de-
spondency. "The Queen hath been much shaken," the note
462 HENRY ESMOND
said ; "she is better now, and all things will go well. Let my
Lord Castlewood be ready against Ave send for him."
At night there came a second billet° : ''There hath been a
great battle in Council ; Lord Treasurer hath broke his staff,
5 and hath fallen never to rise again ; no successor is appointed.
Lord B ° receives a great "Whig company to-night at
Golden Square. If he is trimming, others are true; the
Queen hath no more fits, but is a-bed now, and more quiet.
Be ready against morning, when I still hope all will be well."
*° The Prince came home shortly after the messenger who
bore this billet had left the house. His Royal Highness
was so much the better for the Bishop's liquor, that to talk
^affairs to him now was of little service. He was helped to
the Royal bed ; he called Castlewood familiarly by his own
15 name; he quite forgot the part upon the acting of which
his crown, his safety depended. 'Twas lucky that my
Lady Castlewood 's servants were out of the way, and only
those heard him who would not betray him. He inquired
after the adorable Beatrix, with a royal hiccup in his voice;
20 he was easily got to bed, and in a minute or two plunged
in that deep slumber and forgetfulness with which Bacchus°
rewards the votaries of that god. We wished Beatrix had
been there to see him in his cups. We regretted, perhaps,
that she was gone.
25 One of the party at Kensington Square was fool enough
to ride to Hounslow that niglit, coram latronihus° and to
the irm which the family used ordinarily in their journeys
out of London. Esmond desired my landlord not to acquaint
Madam Beatrix with his coming, and had the grim satis-
30 faction of passing by the door of the chamber where she lay
with her maid, and of watching her chariot set forth in the
early morning. He saw her smile and sli}) money into the
man's hand who was ordered to ride behind the coach as
far as Bagshot.° The road b(nngoj)en, and the other servant
35 armed, it appeared she dispensed with the escort of a second
domestick; and this fellow, bidding liis young mistress
jwlicu with many bows, went and took a jwt of ale in the
kitchen, and returned in company with his brother servant
John Coachman, and his horses back to London.
I
HENRY ESMOND 463
They were not a mile out of Hounslow when the two
worthies stopped for more drink, and here they were scared
by seeing Colonel Esmond gallop by them. The man said
in reply to Colonel Esmond's stern question, that his young
mistress had sent her duty, only that, no other message : 5
she had had a very good night, and would reach Castlewood
by nightfall. The Colonel had no time for further colloquy,
and galloped on swiftly to London, having business of great
irnportance there, as my reader very well knoweth. The
thought of Beatrix riding avray from the danger soothed it
his mind not a Uttle. His horse was at Kensington Square
(honest Dapple knew the way thither well enough) before
the tipsy guest of last night was awake and sober.
The account of the previous evening was known all over
the town early next day. A violent altercation had taken 15
place before the Queen in the Council-Chamber ; and all the
coffee-houses had their version of the quarrel. The news
brought my Lord Bishop early to Kensington Square, where
he awaited the waking of his Royal master above stairs,
and spoke confidently of having him proclaimed as Prince of 20
Wales and heir to the throne before that day was over.
The Bishop had entertained on the pre\ious afternoon cer-
tain of the most influential gentlemen of the true British
party. His Royal Highness had charmed all, both Scots
and English, Papists and Churchmen : ''Even Quakers,'' says 25
he, " were in our meeting, and if the stranger took a little too
much British punch and ale, he will soon grow more accus-
tomed to those hquors; and my Lord Castlewood," says the
Bishop with a laugh, "must bear the cruel charge of having
been for once in his life a little tipsy. He toasted jouv 30
lovely sister a dozen times, at which we all laughed,"
says the Bishop, "admiring so much fraternal affection. —
Where is that charming nymph, and why doth she not adorn
your ladyship's tea-table with her bright eyes?"
Her ladyship said, drih^, that Beatrix was not at home 35
that morning; my Lord Bishop was too busy with great
affairs to trouble himself much about the presence or absence
of any lady however beautiful.
We were vet at table when Dr. A came from the
464 HENRY ESMOND
Palace with a look of great alarm; the. shocks the Queen
had had the day before had acted on her severely; he had
been sent for, and had ordered her to be blooded. ° The
surgeon of Long Acre had come to cup the Queen, and her
5 Majesty was now more easy and breathed more freely. What
made us start at the name of Mr. Ayme? "II faut etre
aimable pour etre aime,°" says the merry Doctor; Esmond
pulled his sleeve, and bade him hush. It was to Ayme's
house, after his fatal duel, that my dear Lord Castle wood,
10 Frank's father, had been carried to die.
No second visit could be paid to the Queen on that day at
any rate; and when our guest above gave his signal that
he was awake, the Doctor, the Bishop, and Colonel Esmond,
waited upon the Prince's levee, and brought him their news,
15 cheerful or dubious. The Doctor had to go away presently,
but promised to keep the Prince constantly acquainted with
what was taking place at the Palace hard by. His counsel
was, and the Bishop's, that as soon as ever the Queen's
malady took a favourable turn, the Prince should be intro-
20 duced to her bed-side ; the Council summoned ; the guard
at Kensington and St. James's, of which two regiments were
to be entirely relied on, and one known not to be hostile,
would declare for the Prince, as the Queen would before the
Lords of her Council, designating him as the heir to her
25 throne.
With locked doors, and Colonel Esmond acting as secretary,
the Prince and his Lordship of Rochester passed many hours
of this day composing Proclamations and Addresses to the
Country, to the Scots, to the Clergy, to the People of London
30 and England ; announcing the arrival of the exiled de-
scendant of three sovereigus, and his acknowledgment by
his sister, as heir to the throne. Every safeguard for their
liberties, the Church and People could ask, was i)romised
to them. The Bishop could answer for the adhesion of very
35 many prelates, who besought of their flocks and brother
ecclesiasticks to recognise the sacred right of the future
sovereign, and to purg(; the country of the sin of rebellion.
During the composition of these i)apers, more messengers
than one came from the Palace, regarding the state of the
HENRY ESMOND 465
August Patient there lying. At mid-day she was somewhat
better; at evening the torpor again seized her, and she
wandered in her mind. At night Dr. A was with us
again, with a report rather more favourable : no instant
danger at any rate was apprehended. In the course of the 5
last two years her Majesty had had many attacks similar,
but more severe.
By this time we had finished a half-dozen of Proclamations
(the wording of them so as to offend no parties, and not to
^iwQ umbrage to Whigs or Dissenters, required ver}^ great 10
caution), and the young Prince, who had indeed shown, dur-
ing a long day's labour, both alacrity at seizing the infor-
mation given him, and ingenuity and skill in turning the
phrases which were to go out signed by his name, here
exhibited a good-humour and thoughtfulness that ought to 15
be set down to his credit.
"Were these papers to be mislaid,'^ says he, "or our
scheme to come to mishap, my Lord Esmond's writing would
bring him to a place where I lieartily hope never to see him ;
and so, by your leave, I will copy the papers myself, though 20
I am not very strong in spelling ; and if they are found they
will implicate none but the person they most concern;"
and so, having carefully copied the Proclamations out, the
Prince burned those in Colonel Esmond's handwriting: -
"And now, and now, gentlemen," says he, "let us go to 25
supper, and drink a glass with the ladies. My Lord Esmond,
you will sup with us to-night; you have given us of late too
little of your company."
The Prince's meals were commonly served in the chamber
which had been Beatrix's bed-room, adjoining that in which 30
he slept. And the dutiful practice of his entertainers was to
wait until their Royal Guest bade them take their places
at table before they sate down to partake of the meal. On
this night, as you may suppose, only Frank Castlewood
and his mother were in waiting when the supper was an- 35
nounced to receive the Prince; who had passed the whole
of the day in his own apartment, with the Bishop as his
Minister of State, and Colonel Esmond officiating as Secre-
tary of his Council.
466 HENRY ESMOND
The Prince's countenance wore an expression by no means
pleasant, when looldng towards the Uttle company assembled,
and waiting for him, he did not see Beatrix's bright face
there as usual to greet him. He asked Lady Esmond for
5 h's fair introducer of yesterday : her ladyship only cast her
eye? down, and said quietly, Beatrix could not be of the
supper that night; nor did she show the least sign of con-
fusion, whereas Castlewood turned red, and Esmond was
no less embarrassed. I think women have an instinct of
10 dissimulation ; they know by nature how to disguise their
emotions far better than the most consummate male courtiers
can do. Is not the better part of the life of many of them
spent in hiding their feelings, in cajoling their tyrants, in
masking over with fond smiles and artful gaiety their doubt,
15 or their grief, or their terror?
Our guest swallowed his supper very sulky; it was not
till the second bottle his Highness began to rally; when
Lady Castlewood asked leave to depart, he sent a message
to Beatrix, hoping she would be present at the next day's
20 dinner, and applied himself to drink, and to talk afterwards,
for which there was subject in plenty.
The next day, we heard from our Informer at Kensington,
that the Queen was somewhat better, and had been up for an
hour, though she was not well enough yet to receive any visitor.
25 At dinner a single cover was laid for his Royal Highness;
and the two gentlemen alone waited on him. We had had a
consultation in the morning with Lady (Jastlewood, in which
it had been determined, that should his Highness ask further
questions about Beatrix he should be answered by the gentle-
30 men of the house.
He was evidently disturbed and uneasy, looking towards
the door constantly, as if expecting some one. There
came, however, nol)ody, except honest John Lockwood
when he knocked with a dish, which those within took from
35 him ; so the meals were always arranged, and, I believe,
the council in the kitchen were of opinion, that my young
lord had brought over a priest, who had converted us all
into Papists, and that Papists were like Jews, eating together,
and not choosing to take their meals in the sight of Christians.
HENRY ESMOND 467
The Prince tried to cover his displeasure; he was but a
clumsy dissembler at that time, and when out of humour,
could with difficulty keep a serene countenance ; and having
made some foolish attempts at trivial talk, he came to liis
point presently, and in as easy a manner as he could, saying 5
to Lord Castlewood, he hoped, he requested, his lordship's
mother and sister would be of the supper that night. As
the time hung heavy on him, and he must not go abroad,
would not Miss Beatrix hold him company at a game of
cards ? 10
At this, looking up at Esmond, and taking the signal from
him, Lord Castlewood informed his Royal Highness ^ that
his sister Beatrix was not at Kensington; and that her
family had thought it best she should quit the town.
''Not at Kensington!" says he; "is she ill? she was 15
well, yesterday; wherefore should she quit the town? Is it
at your orders, my lord, or Colonel Esmond's, who seems the
master of this house?"
"Not of this, sir," says Frank very nobly, "only of our
house in the country, which he hath given to us. This is 20
my mother's house, and Walcote is my father's, and the
j\Iarquis of Esmond knows he hath but to give his word, and
I return his to him."
"The Marquis of Esmond! — the Marquis of Esmond,"
says the Prince, tossing off a glass, "meddles too much with 25
my affairs, and presumes on the service he hath done me. If
you want to carry your suit with Beatrix, my lord, by block-
ing her up in gaol, let me tell you that is not the way to win a
woman,"
"I was not aware, sir, that I had spoken of my suit to 30
Madam Beatrix to your Royal Highness."
"Bah, bah, Monsieur! we need not be a conjurer to see
that. It makes itself seen at all moments. You are jealous,
my lord, and the Maid of Honour cannot look at another face
without yours beginning to scowl. That which you do is un- 35
worthy. Monsieur; is inhospitable, is, is lache,° yes lache"
(he spoke rapidly in French, his rage carrying him away
^ In London we addressed the Prince as Royal Highness, invari-
ably ; though the women persisted in giving him the title of King.
468 HENRY ESMOND
with each phrase) : '^I come to your house; I risk my Mq,
I pass it in ennui ; I repose myself on your fideUty ; I have
no company, but your lordship's sermons or the conversations
of that adorable young lady,, and you take her from me;
5 and j'-ou, you rest ! Merci, Monsieur ! 'I shall thank you
when I have the means; I shall know to recompense a
devotion, a little importunate, my lord, — a little importu-
nate. For a month past your airs of protector have annoyed
me beyond measure. You deign to offer me the crown, and
lo bid me take it on my knees like King John° ; Eh ! I know
my history. Monsieur, and mock myself of frowning barons.
I admire your mistress and you send her to a Bastile of the
Province; I enter your house and you mistrust me. I will
leave it, Monsieur; from to-night I will leave it. I have
15 other friends, whose loyalty will not be so ready to question
mine. If I have garters to give away, 'tis to noblemen who
are not so ready to think evil. Bring me a coach and let
me quit this place, or let the fair Beatrix return to it. I will
not have your hospitality at the expense of the freedom of
20 that fair creature."
This harangue was uttered with rapid gesticulations such
as the French use, and in the language of that nation. The
Prince striding up and down the room; his face flushed,
and his hands trembling with anger. He was very thin and
25 frail from repeated illness and a life of pleasure. Either
Castlewood or Esmond could ha\'e broke him across their
knee, and in half a minute's struggle put an end to him;
and here he was insulting us both, and scarce deigning to
hide from the two whose honour it most concerned, the passion
30 he felt for the young lady of our family. My Lord Castle-
wood replied to the Prince's tirade very nobly and simpl)^
"►Sir," says he, "your Royal Highness is pleased to forget
that others risk their lives, and for j^our cause. Very few
Englishmen, please God, would dare to lay hands on your
35 sacred person, though none would ever think of respecting
burs. ()ur family's lives are at your service, and everythirfg
we have except our honour."
"Honour! bah, sir, who ever thought of hurting your
honour?" says the Prince with a peevish air.
HENRY ESMOND 469
"We implore your Royal Highness, never to think of
hurting it," says Lord Castlewood, with a low bow. The
night being warm, the windows were open both towards
the Gardens and the Square. Colonel Esmond heard through
the closed door the voice of a watchman, calling the hour, 5
in the Square on the other side. He opened the door com-
municating with the Prince's room ; Martin, the servant,
that had rode with Beatrix to Hounslow, was just going out
of the chamber as Esmond entered it, and when the fellow
was gone, and the vratchman again sang his cry° of "Past 10
ten o'clock, and a starlight night," Esmond spoke to the
Prince in a low voice, and said : " Your Royal Highness
hears that man."
"Apres, Monsieur°?" says the Prince.
" I have but to beckon him from the window, and send him 15
fifty yards, and he returns with a guard of men, and I deliver
up to him the body of the person calling himself James the
Third, for whose capture Parliament hath offered a reward
of 5000/., as your Royal Highness saw on our ride from
Rochester. I have but to say the word, and, by the Heaven 20
that made me, I would say it, if I thought the Prince, for
his honour's sake, would not desist from insulting ours.
But the first gentleman of England knows his duty too well
to forget himself with the humblest, or peril his crown for
a deed that were shameful if it were done." 2}.
"Has your lordship anything to say," says the Prince,
turning to Frank Castlewood, and quite pale with anger;
"any threat or any insult, with which you would hke to end
this agreeable night's entertainment?"
"I follow the head of our house," says Castlewood, bowing 30
gravely. "At what time shall it please the Prince that we
should wait upon him in the morning?"
"You will wait on the Bishop of Rochester early, you will
bid him bring his coach hither; and prepare an apartment
for me in his own house, or in a place of safety. The King 35
will reward you handsomely, never fear, for all you have
done in his behalf. I wish you a good-night, and shall go
to bed, unless it pleases the Marquis of Esmond to call his
colleague, the watchman, and that I should pass the night
470 HENRY ESMOND
with the Kensington guard. Fare you well, be sure I will
remember you. ]\Iy Lord Castlewood, I can go to bed to-
night without need of a chamberlain.'' And the Prince
dismissed us with a grim bow, locking one door as he spoke,
5 that into the supping-room, and the other through which
we passed, after us. It led into the small chamber which
Frank Castlewood or Monsieur Baptiste occupied, and by
which Martin entered, when Colonel Esmond but now saw
him in the chamber.
10 At an early hour next morning the Bishop arrived, and
was closeted for some time with his master in his own apart-
ment, where the Prince laid open to his councillor the wrongs
which, according to his version, he had received from the
gentlemen of the Esmond family. The worthy prelate
15 came out from the conference with an air of great satisfaction :
he was a man full of resources, and of a most assured fidelity,
and possessed of genius and a hundred good quaUties;
but captious and of a most jealous temper, that could not
help exulting at the downfall of any favourite ; and he was
20 pleased in spite of himself to hear that the Esmond ministry
was at an end.
''I have soothed your Guest,'' says he, coming out to the
two gentlemen and the widow, who had been made acquainted
with somewhat of the dispute of the night before. ^By
25 the version we gave her, the Prince was only made to exhibit
anger because we doubted of his intentions in respect to
Beatrix ; and to leave us, because we questioned his honour.)
"But I think, all things considered, 'tis as well he should
leave this house; and then, my Lady Castlewood," says
30 the Bishop, "my pretty Beatrix may come back to it."
"She is (juite as well at home at Castlewood," Esmond's
mistress said, "till everything is over."
"You shall have your titl(>, Esmond, that I promise you,"
says the good Bishop, assuming the airs of a Prime Minister.
35 "The Prince hath expressed himself most nobly in regard
of the little difference of last night, and I promise you he
hath listened to my sermon, as well as to that of other folks,"
says the Doctor archly; "he hath every great and generous
quality, with perhaps a weakness for the sex which boloDgs
I
HENRY ESMOND 471
to his family, and hath been known in scores of popular
sovereigns from King David downwards."
"My lord, my lord," breaks out Lady Esmond, "the
levity with which you speak of such conduct towards our
sex shocks me, and what you call weakness I call deplorable 5
sin."
" Sin it is, my dear creature," says the Bishop with a shrug,
taking snuff; "but consider, w^hat a sinner King Solomon
was, and in spite of a thousand of wives too."
"Enough of this, my lord," says Lady Castlewood with a lo
fine blush, and walked out of the room very stately.
The Prince entered it presently with a smile on his face,
and if he felt any offence against us on the previous night,
at present exhibited none. He offered a hand to each gentle-
man with great courtesy: "If all your bishops preach so 15
well as Doctor Atterbury," says he, "I don't know, gentle-
men, what may happen to me. I spoke very hastily, my
lords, last night, and ask pardon of both of you. But I
must not stay any longer," says he, "gi\ing imibrage to good
friends, or keeping pretty girls away from their homes. 20
My Lord Bishop hath found a safe place for me, hard by at a
curate's house, whom the Bishop can trust, and whose wife
is so ugly as to be beyond all danger; we will decamp into
those new quarters, and I leave you, thanking you for a
hundred kindnesses here. Where is my hostess, that I may 25
bid her farewell; to welcome her in a house of my own,
soon I trust, where my friends shall have no cause to quarrel
with me."
Lady Castlewood arrived presently, blushing with great
gi'ace, and tears filling her eyes as the Prince graciously 3°
saluted her. She looked so charming and young, that the
Doctor, in his bantering way, could not help speaking of her
beauty to the Prince; whose comphment made her blush,
and look more charming still.
472 HENRY ESMOND
CHAPTER XII
A GREAT SCHEME, AND WHO BAULKED IT
As characters written with a secret ink come out with the
application of fire, and disappear again and leave the paper
white, so soon as it is cool ; a hundred names of men, high in
repute and favouring the Prince's cause, that were writ in our
5 private lists, would have been visible enough on the great
roll of the conspiracy, had it ever been laid open under the sun.
What crowds would have pressed forward, and subscribed
their names and protested their loj^alty, when the danger
was over ! What a number of Whigs, now high in place and
10 creatures of the all-powerful Minister, scorned J\Ir. Walpole
then ! If ever a match was gained by the manliness and
decision of a few at a moment of danger; if ever one was
lost by the treachery and imbecility of those that had the
cards in their hands, and might have played them ; it was
15 in that momentous game which was enacted in the next
three days, and of which the noblest crown in the world was
the stake.
From the conduct of my Lord Bolingbroke, those who
were interested in the scheme we had in hand, saw pretty
20 well that he was not to be trusted. Should the Prince
prevail, it was his lordship's gracious intention to declare
for him : should the Hannoverian party bring in their
sovereign, who more ready to go on his knee, and cry God
save King deorge ? And he betrayed the one Prince and the
25 other ; l:)ut exactl}^ at the wrong time : when he should have
struck for King James, he faltered and coquetted with the
Whigs : and having committed himself by the most mon-
strous professions of devotion, which the Elector rightly
scorned, he proved the justness of their contempt for him
30 by flying and taking rcnegado service with St. Germains, just
when he should have kept aloof: and that Court despised
him, as the manly and resolute men who established the
Elector in England had before done. He signed his own
name to every accusation of insincerity his enemies made
HENRY ESMOND 473
against him; and the King and the Pretender ahke could
show proofs of St. John's treachery under his own hand and
seal.
Our friends kept a pretty close watch upon his motions, as
on those of the brave and hearty Whig party that made 5
little concealment of theirs. They would have in the Elector,
and used every means in their power to effect their end. My
Lord ]\Iarlborough was now with them. His expulsion from
power by the Tories had thrown that great captain at once
on the Whig side. We heard he was coming from Antwerp ; 10
and, in fact, on the day of the Queen's death, he once more
landed on English shore. A great part of the army was
always with their illustrious leader; even the Tories in it
were indignant at the injustice of the persecution which the
Whig officers were made to undergo.' The chiefs of these 15
were in London, and at the head of them one of the
most intrepid men in the world, the Scots Duke of Argyle,
whose conduct on the second day after that to which I have
now brought down my history, ended, as such honesty and
bravery deser\'ed to end, by establishing the present Royal 20
race on the English throne.
Meanwhile there was no slight difference of opinion amongst
the councillors, surrounding the Prince, as to the plan his
Highness should pursue. His female minister at Court,
fancying she saw some amelioration in the Queen, was for 25
waiting a few days, or hours it might be, until he could be
brought to her bed-side, and acknowledged as her heir.
Mr. Esmond was for having him march thither, escorted by a
couple of troops of Horse Guards, and openly presenting himself
to the Council. During the v/hole of the night of the 29th- 3°
30th July, the Colonel was engaged -wath gentlemen of the
miUtary profession, whom 'tis needless here to name ; suffice
it to say that several of them had exceeding high rank in
the army, and one of them in especial was a General, who 35
when he heard the Duke of Marlborough was coming on the
other side, waved his crutch over his head with a huzzah, at
the idea that he should march out and engage him. Of the
three Secretaries of State, we knew that one was devoted
to us. The Governor of the Tower was ours : the two com-
474 HENRY ESMOND
panies on duty at Kensington barrack were safe, and we had
intelligence, very speedy and accurate, of all that took place
at the Palace within.
At noon, on the 30th of July, a message came to the
5 Prince's friends that the Committee of Council was sitting at
Kensington Palace, their Graces of Ormonde and Shrews-
bury, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the three Secreta-
ries of State being there assembled. In an hour afterwards
hurried news was brought that the two great Whig Dukes,
lo Argyle and Somerset, had broke into the Council-Chamber
without a summons, and taken their seat at table. After
holding a debate there the whole party proceeded to the
chamber of the Queen, who was lying in great weakness,
but still sensible, and the Lords recommended his Grace of
15 Shrewsbury as the fittest person to take the vacant place of
Lord Treasurer ; her Majesty gave him the staff, as all know.
"And now," writ my messenger from Court, ^^now or never
is the time."
Now or never was the time indeed. In spite of the Whig
20 Dukes, our side had still the majority in the Council, and
Esmond, to whom the message had been brought (the
personage at Court not being aware that the Prince had
quitted his lodging in Kensington Square), and Esmond's
gallant young aide-de-camp, Frank Castle wood, putting on
25 sword and uniform, took a brief leave of their dear lad}^, who
embraced and blessed them both ; and went to her chamber
to pray for the issue of the great event which was then
pending.
Castlcwood sped to the barrack to give warning to the
30 captain of the Guard there; and then went to the King's
Arms tavern at Kensington, where our friends were assembled,
having come by parties of twos and threes, riding or in coaches,
and were got together in the upper chamber, fifty-three of
them ; their servants, who had been instructed to bring
35 arms likewise, being below in the garden of the tavern, where
they were served with drink. Out of this garden is a little
door that leads into the road of the Palace, and through this
it was arranged that masters and servants were to march ;
when that Signal was given, and That Personage appeared.
HENRY ESMOND 475
for whom all were waiting. There was in our company
the famous officer next in command to the Captain-General of
the Forces, his Grace the Duke of Ormonde, who was within
at the Council. There were with him two more lieutenant-
generals, nine major-generals and brigadiers, seven colonels, 5
eleven peers of Parliament, and twenty-one members of the
House of Commons. The Guard was with us within and
without the Palace : the Queen with us ; the Council (save
the two Whig Dukes, that must have succumbed) ; the
day was our own, and with a beating heart Esmond walked 10
rapidly to the Mall at Kensington, where he had parted \vith
the Prince on the night before. For three nights the Colonel
had not been to bed : the last had been passed summoning
the Prince's friends together, of whom the great majority
had no sort of inkling of the transaction pending until they 15
were told that he was actually on the spot, and were sum-
moned to strike the blow. The night before, and after the
altercation with the Prince, my gentleman, having suspicions
of his Ptoyal Highness, and fearing lest he should be minded
to give us the slip, and fly off after his fugitive beauty, had 20
spent, if the truth must be told, at the Greyhound tavern, over
against my Lady Esmond's house in Kensington Square,
with an eye on the door, lest the Prince should escape from it.
The night before that he had passed in his boots, at the
Crown at Hounslow, where he must watch forsooth all night, 25
in order to get one moment's glimpse of Beatrix in the morn-
ing. And fate had decreed that he was to have a fourth
night's ride and wakefulness before his business was ended.
He ran to the curate's house in Kensington Mall, and
asked for Mr. Bates, the name the Prince went by. The 3°
curate's wife said Mr. Bates had gone abroad very earl 3^ in the
morning in his boots, sa^^ing he was going to the Bishop of
Rochester's house at Chelsea. But the Bishop had been at
Kensington himself two hours ago to seek for Mr. Bates, and
had returned in his coach to his own house, when he heard 35
that the gentleman was gone thither to seek him.
This absence was most unpropitious, for an hour's delay
might cost a kingdom; Esmoncl had nothing for it but to
hasten to the King's xAj-ms, and tell the gentlemen there as-
476 HENRY ESMOND
sembled, that Mr. George (as we called the Prince there) was
not at home, but that Esmond would go fetch him ; and
taking a general's coach that happened to be there, Esmond
drove across the country to Chelsea to the Bishop's house
5 there.
The porter said two gentlemen were with his lordship, and
Esmond ran past the sentry up to the locked door of the
Bishop's study, at which he rattled, and was admitted pres-
enth^ Of the Bishop 's guests one was a brother prelate, and
10 the other the Abbe G .
"Where is Mr. George?" says Mr. Esmond, "now is the
time." The Bishop looked scared; "I went to his lodging,"
he said, "and they told me he was come hither. I returned
as quick as coach would carry me; and he hath not been
15 here."
The Colonel burst out with an oath ; that was all he could
say to their reverences ; ran down the stairs again, and bidding
the coachman, an old friend and fellow-campaigner, drive as
if he was charging the French with his master at Wynendael,
20 they were back at Kensington in half an hour.
Again Esmond went to the curate's house. Mr. George
had not returned. The Colonel had to go with this blank
errand to the gentleman at the King's Arms, that were grown
very impatient by this time.
25 Out of the window of the tavern, and looking over the
garden wall, you can see the green before Kensington Palace,
the Palace gate (round which the Ministers' coaches were
standing), and the barrack building. As we were looking
out from this window in gloomy discourse, we heard presently
30 trumpets blowing, and some of us ran to the window of the
front-room, looking into the High Street of Kensington,
and saw a regiment of Horse coming.
"It's Ormonde's Guards," says one.
"No, by God, it's Argyle's old regiment," says my Gen-
35 era!, clapping down his crutch.
It was, indeed, Argyle's regiment that was brought from
Westminster, and that took the place of the regiment at
Kensington on which we could rely.
"Oh, Harry !" says one of the generals there present, "yoj
HENRY ESMOND 477
were born under an unlucky star ; I begin to think that tiiere's
no Mr. George, nor Mr. Dragon° either. Tis not the peerage
I care for, for our name is so ancient and famous, that merely
to be called Lord Lydiard would do me no good ; but 'tis the
chance you promised me of fighting Marlborough.'' 5
As we were talking, Castle wood entered the room with a
disturbed air.
"What news, Frank?" says the Colonel, "is Mr George
coming at last?"
"Damn him, look here," says Castlewood, holding out a 10
paper; "I found it in the book, — the what you call it,
Eikum Basilikuw° — that villain Martin put it there, —
he said his young mistress bade him. Jt was directed to me,
but it was meant for him I know, and I broke the seal and
read it." 15
The whole assembly of officers seemed to swim aw^ay before
Esmond's eyes as he read the paper; all that was written
on it w^as: — "Beatrix Esmond is sent away to prison, to
Castlewood, where she will pray for happier clays."
"Can you guess where he is?" says Castlewood. 20
"Yes," says Colonel Esmond. He knew full w^ell, Frank
knew full well: our instinct told whither that traitor had
fled.
He had courage to turn to the company and say, " Gentle-
men, I fear very much that ]\Ir. George will not be here to-day ; 25
something hath happened — and — and — I very much fear
some accident may befall him, which must keep him out of
the way. Having had your noon's draught, you had best pay
the reckoning and go home; there can be no game where
there is no one to play it." 30
Some of the gentlemten went away without a word, others
called to pay their duty to her Majesty and ask for her
health. The little army disappeared into the darkness
out of which it had been called ; there had been no writings,
no paper to implicate any man. Some few officers 35
and Members of Parhament had been incited over-night to
breakfast at the King's Arms, at Kensington; and they had
called for their bill and gone home.
478 HENRY ESMOND
CHAPTER XIII
AUGUST 1ST, 1714
"Does my mistress know of this?" Esmond asked oi
Frank, as they walked along.
"My mother found the letter in the book, on the toilet-
table. She had writ it ere she had left home,'' Frank said.
5 ''Mother met her on the stairs, with her hand upon the door,
trjang to enter, and never left her after that till she went
away. He did not think of looking at it there, nor had
Martin the chance of telling him. I believe the poor devii
meant no harm, though I half killed him ; he thought 'twas to
10 Beatrix's brother he was bringing the letter."
Frank never said a word of reproach to me, for having
brought the \allain amongst us. As we knocked at the door
I said, ''When will the horses be ready?" Frank pointed with
his cane, they were turning the street that moment.
15 We went up and bade adieu to our mistress ; she was in a
dreadful state of agitation by this time, and that Bishop was
with her whose company she was so fond of.
"Did you tell him, my lord," says Esmond, "that Beatrix
was at Castlewood?" The Bishop blushed and stammered:
20 "Well," says he, "I . . ."
"You served the villain right," broke out Mr. Esmond,
"and he has lost a crown by what you told him."
My mistress turned quite white; "Henry, Henry," says
she, "do not kill him." .
^5 " It may not be too late," says Esmond ; "he may not have
gone to Castlewood ; pray God, it is not too late." The Bishop
was breaking out with some banale8° phrases about loyalty
and the sacredness of the Sovereign's person; but Esmond
sternly bade him hold his tongue, burn all papers, and take
30 care of Lady Castlewood ; and in five minutes he and Frank
were in the saddle, John Lockwood behind them, riding
towards Castlewood at a rapid pace.
We were just got to Alton, ° when who should meet us but
old Lof'kwood, the porter from Castlewood, John's father,
HENRY ESMOND 479
walking by the side of the Hexton flying-coach, who slept the
night at Alton. Lockwood said his young mistress had
arrived home on Wednesday night, and this morning, Friday,
had despatched him with a packet for my lady at Kensington,
saying the letter was of great importance. 5
We took the freedom to break it, while Lockwood stared
with wonder, and cried out his Lord bless me's, and Who'd a
thought it's, at the sight of his young lord whom he had not
seen these seven years.
The packet from Beatrix contained no news of importance 10
at all, It was written in a jocular strain, affecting to make
hght of her captivity, bhe asked whether she might have
leave to visit Mrs. Tusher, or to walk bej^ond the com't, and
the garden wall. She gave news of the peacocks, and a fawn
she had there. She bade her mother send her certain gowns 15
and smocks by old Lockwood ; she sent her duty to a certain
Person, if certain other persons permitted her to take such
a freedom ; how that as she was not able to play cards with
him, she hoped he would read good books, such as Doctor
Atterbury's sermons and Eikon Basilike: she was going to 20
read good books : ^she thought her prett}" mamma would like
to know she was not crying her eyes out.
"Who is in the house besides you, Lockwood?" says the
Colonel.
"There be the laundry-maid, and the kitchen-maid, Madam 25
Beatrix's maid, the man from London, and that be all : and
he sleepeth in my lodge away from the maids, '^ sa3^s old
Lockwood .
Esmond scribbled a line with a pencil on the note, giving it
to the old man,'and bidding him go on to his lady. We knew -^o
w^hy Beatrix had been so dutiful on a sudden, and why she
spoke of Eikon Basilike. She writ this letter to put the
Prince on the scent, and the porter out of the way.
"We have a fine moonhght night for riding on," says Es-
mond; "Frank, we may reach Castlewood in time yet." 35
All the waj^ along they made inquiries at the post-houses,
when a tall young gentleman in a grey suit, with a light-
brown perriwig, just the colour of my lord's, had been seen to
pass. He had set off at six that morning, and we at three
480 HENRY ESMOND
in the afternoon. He rode almost as quickly as we had done ;
he was seven hours ahead of us still when we reached the last
stage.
We rode over Castlewood Downs before the breaking of
5 dawn. We passed the very spot where the car was upset
fourteen years since, and Mohun lay. The village was not up
yet, nor the forge lighted, as we rode through it, passing by
the elms, where the rooks were still roosting, and by the
church, and over the bridge. We got off our horses at the
10 bridge and walked up to the gate.
"If she is safe,'^ says Frank, trembling, and his honesit eyes
filling with tears, "a silver statue to Our Lady ° !'' He was
going to rattle at the great iron knocker on the oak gate ; but
Esmond stopped his kinsman^s hand. He had his own fears,
15 his own hopes, his own despairs and griefs, too : but he spoke
not a Tv^ord of these to his companion, or showed any signs
of emotion.
He went and tapped at the little window at the porter's
lodge, gently, but repeatedly, until the man came to the
20 bars.
"Who's there?" says he, looking out; it was the servant
from Kensington.
"My Lord Castlewood and Colonel Esmond," we said, from
below. "Open the gate and let us in without any noise."
25 " My Lord Castlewood ?" says the other ; "my lord's here,
and in bed."
"Open, d n you," says Castlewood, with a curse.
"I shall open to no one," says the man, shutting the glass
window as Frank drew a pistol. He would have fired at the
30 porter, but Esmond again held his hand.
"There are more ways than one," says he, "of entering
such a great house as this." — Frank grumbled that the west
gate was half a mile round. — "But I know of a way that's
not a hundred yards off, " says Mr. Esmond ; and leading
35 his kinsman close ak^ng the wall, and by the shrul^s, whif^h
had now grown thick on what had been an old moat about
the house, they came to the buttress, at the side of which the
little window was, which was Father Holt's i)rivatc door.
Esmond climbed up to this easily, broke a pane that had been
HENRY ESMOND 481
mended, and touched the spring inside, and the two gentle-
men passed in that way, treading as hghtly as they could;
and so going through the passage into the court, over which
the dawn was now reddening, and where the fountain plashed
in the silence. 5
They sped instantly to the porter's lodge, where the fellow
had not fastened his door that led into the court ; and pistol
in hand came upon the terrified wretch, and bade him be
silent. Then they asked him (Esmond's head reeled, and
he almost fell as he spoke) when Lord Castle wood had arrived ? 10
He said on the previous evening, about eight of the clock. —
"And what then?" — His lordship suppecl with his sister. —
"Did the man wait?" Yes, he and my lady's maid, both
waited : the other servants made the supper ; — and there
was no wine, and they could give his lordship but milk, at 15
which he grumbled ; and — and ]\Iadam Beatrix kept Miss
Lucy always in the room w4th her. And there being a bed
across the court in the Chaplain^s room, she had arranged
my lord was to sleep there. Madam Beatrix had come down
stairs laughing with the maids, and had locked herself in, 20
and my lord had stood for a while talking to her through the
door, and she laughing at him. And then he paced the
court a while, and she came again to the upper window; and
my lord implored her to come down and walk in the room ;
but she would not, and laughed at him again, and shut the 25
window; and so my lord uttering what seemed curses, but
in a foreign language, went to the Chaplain's room to bed.
'' Was this all ?" — "All," the man swore upon his honour,
"all as he hoped to be saved. — Stop, there was one thing
more. My lord, on arriving, and once or twice during supper, 30
did kiss his sister as was natural, and she kissed him." At
this Esmond ground his teeth with rage, and well-nigh
throttled the amazed miscreant, who was speaking, whereas
Castle wood, seizing hold of his cousin's hand, burst into a
great fit of laughter. 35
"If it amuses thee," says Esmond in French, "that your
sister should be exchanging of kisses with a stranger, I fear
poor Beatrix will give thee plenty of sport." — Esmond
darkly thought, how Hamilton, Ashburnham, had before
482 HENRY ESMOND
been masters of those roses that the young Prince's hps were
now feeding on. He sickened at that notion. Her cheek
was desecrated, her beauty tarnished; shame and honour
stood between it and him. The love was dead within him ;
5 had she a crown to bring him with her love, he felt that both
would degrade him.
But this wrath against Beatrix did not lessen the angry
feelings of the Colonel against the man who had been the
occasion if not the cause of the evil. Frank sat down on a
lo stone bench in the courtyard, and fairly fell asleep, while
Esmond paced up and down the court, debating what should
ensue. What mattered how much or how Httle had passed
between the Prince and the poor faithless girl ? They were
arrived in time perhaps to rescue her person, but not her mind ;
15 had she not instigated the young Prince to come to her; sub-
orned servants, dismissed others, so that she might com-
municate with him ? The treacherous heart within her had
surrendered, though the place was safe; and it was to win
this that he had given a life's struggle and devotion ; this,
20 that she was ready to give away for the bribe of a coronet or
a wink of the Prince's eye.
When he had thought his thoughts out he shook up poor
Frank from his sleep, who rose yawning, and said he had been
dreaming of Clotilda : — "You must back me," says Esmond,
25 " in what I am going to do. I have been thinking that yonder
scoundrel may have been instructed to tell that story, and
that the whole of it may be a he : if it be, we shall find it out
from the gentleman who is asleep yonder. See if the door
leading to my lady's rooms " (so we called the rooms at the
30 north-west angle of the house), — ''see if the door is barred
as he saith." We tried; it was indeed as the lacciuey had
said, closed within.
"It may have been open and shut afterwards," says poor
Esmond, "the foundress of our family let our ancestor in in
35 that way."
" What will you do, Harry, if — if what that fellow saith
should turn out untrue ?" The young man looked scared and
frighlcned into his kinsman's face : I dare say it wore no very
pleasant exj)ression.
HENRY ESMOND 483
"Let us first go see whether the two stories agree/' says
Esmond : and went in at the passage and opened the door
into what had been his own chamber now for weli-nigh
five-and-twenty years. A candle was still burning, and the
Prince asleep dressed on the bed — Esmond did not care for 5
making a noise. The Prince started up in his bed, seeing
two men in his chamber: "Qui est la°?'' says he, and took
a pistol from under his pillow.
"It is the Marciuis of Esmond,^' says the Colonel, "come to
welcome his Majesty to his house of Castle wood, and to re- lo
port of what hath happened in London. Pursuant to the
King's orders, I passed the night before last, after leaving
his Majesty, in waiting upon the friends of the King. It is a
pity that his Majesty's desire to see the country and to visit
our poor house shoukl have caused the King to quit London 15
without notice yesterday, when the opportunity happened
which in all human probabihty may not occur again; and
had the King° not chosen to ride to Castlewood, the Prince
of Wales might have slept at St. James's."
" 'Sdeath ! gentlemen," says the Prince, starting off his 20
bed, whereon he was lying in his clothes, "the Doctor was
with me yesterday morning, and after watching by my sister
all night, told me I might not hope to see the Queen."
" It would have been otherwise," says Esmond with another
bow; "as, by this time, the Queen may be dead in spite of 25
the Doctor. — The Council was met, a new Treasurer was
appointed, the troops were devoted to the King's cause ; and
fifty loyal gentlemen of the greatest names of this kingdom
were assembled to accompany the Prince of Wales, who
might have been the acknowledged heir of the throne, or 3°
the possessor of it by this time, had your Majesty not chosen
to take the air. We were ready ; there was only one person
that failed us, your Majesty's gracious "
"Morbleu,° Monsieur, you give me too much Majesty,"
said the Prince ; who had now risen up and seemed to be 35
looking to one of us to help him to his coat. But neither
stirred.
"We shall take care," says Esmond, "not much oftener to
offend in that particular."
484 HENRY ESMOND
"A^liat mean you, my lord ? " says the Prince, and muttere<i
something about a giict-a-pens° which Esmond caught up.
''The snare, sir," says he, "was not of our laying; it is not
we that invited you. We came to avenge, and not to com-
5 pass, the dishonour of our family.''
"Dishonour! Morbleu, there has been no dishonour,"
says the Prince, turning scarlet, "only a little harmless
playing."
"That was meant to end seiiously."
10 "I swear," the Prince broke out impetuously, "upon the
honour of a gentleman, my lords "
"That we arrived in time. No wrong hath been done,
Frank," says Colonel Esmond, turning round to young
Castlewood, who stood at the door as the talk was going on.
15 "See! here is a paper whereon his Majesty hath deigned to
commence some verses in honour, or dishonour, of Beatrix.
Here is 'Madame' and 'Flamme,' 'Cruelle' and 'Rebelle,'
and ' Amour ' and 'Jour,°' in the Royal writing and speUing.
Had the Gracious lover been happy, he had not passed his
20 time in sighing." In fact, and actually as he was speaking,
Esmond cast his eyes down towards the table, and saw a
paper on which my young Prince had been scrawling a
madrigal, that was to finish his charmer on the morrow.
"Sir," says the Prince, burning with rage (he had assumed
25 his Ptoyal coat unassisted by this time), "did I come here to
receive insults?"
"To confer them, may it please your Majesty," says the
Colonel, with a very low bow, "and the gentlemen of our
family are come to thank you."
30 "I\Ialediction° !" says the young man, tears starting into
his eyes, with helpless rage and mortification. "What will
you with me, gentlemen?"
"If your Majesty will please to enter the next apartment,"
says Esmond, i^reserving his gi'ave tone, "I have some
35 pajjers there which I would gladly submit to you, and by
your permission I will lead the way;" and taking tlie taper
up, and l^acking befoi-e the Prince with very great ceremony,
Mr. Esmond passed into tlie little Chaplain's room, through
which we had just entered into the house: — "Please to
I
HENRY ESMOND 485
set a chair for his Majesty, Frank," says the Colonel to his
companion, who wondered almost as much at this scene,
and was as much puzzled by it, as the other actor in it.
Then going to the crypt over the mantelpiece, the Colonel
opened it, and drew thence the papers which so long had 5
lain there.
"Here, may it please your Majesty," says he, "is the
Patent of Marquis sent over by your Royal Father at St.
Germains to Viscount Castlewood, my father : here is the
witnessed certificate of my father's marriage to my mother, 10
and of my birth and christening; I was christened of that
religion of which your sainted sire gave all through life so
shining an example. These are my titles, dear Frank, and this
what I do with them : here go Baptism and Marriage, and
here the Marcjuisate and the August Sign-]\Ianual, with 15
which your predecessor was pleased to honour our race."
And as Esmond spoke he set the papers burning in the
brazier. "You will please, sir. to remember," he continued,
"that our family hath ruined itself by fidelity to yours:
that my grandfather spent his estate, and gave his blood and 20
his son to die for your service ; that my dear lord's grand-
father (for lord you are now, Frank, by right and title too)
died for the same cause; that my poor kinswoman, my
father's second wife, after giving away her honour to your
wicked perjured race, sqnt all her wealth to the King: and 25
got in return that precious title that lies in ashes, and this
inestimable yard of blue ribbon. I lay this at your feet
and stamp upon it : I draw this sword, and break it° and
deny you ; and had you completed the wrong you designed
us, by Heaven, I would have driven it through your heart, 30
and no more pardoned you than your father pardoned
Monmouth. ° Frank will do the same, won't you, cousin?"
Frank, who had been looking on with a stupid air at the
papers as they flamed in the old brazier, took out his sword
and broke it, holding his head down : — " I go with my cousin,'' 35
says he, giving Esmond a grasp of the hand. "Marquis or
not, by , I stand by him any day. I beg your Majesty's
pardon for swearing; that is — that is — I'm for the Elec-
tor of Hannover. It's all your Majesty's own fault. The
486 HENJtT ESMOND
Queen's dead most likely by this time. And you might
have been IGng if you hadn't come dangUng after 'Trix."
"Thus to lose a crown/' says the young Prince, starting
up, and speaking French in his eager way; 'Ho lose the
5 loveliest woman in the world; to lose the loyalty of such
hearts as yours, is not this, my lords, enough of humiliation ?
— Marquis, if I go on my knees, will you pardon me ? — ■
No, I can't do that, but I can offer you reparation, that of
honour, that of gentlemen. Favour me by crossing the
lo sword with mine : yours is broke — see, yonder in the
armoire° are two;" and the Prince took them out as eager
as a boy, and held them towards Esmond: — ''Ah! you
will? Merci, monsieur, merci°!"
Extremely touched by this immense mark of condescension
15 and repentance for wrong done. Colonel Esmond bowed
down so low, as almost to kiss the gracious young hand that
conferred on him such an honour, and took his guard in
silence. The swords were no sooner met, than Castlewood
knocked up Esmond's with the blade of his own, which he
20 had broke off short at the shell ; and the Colonel falling back
a step dropped his point with another very low bow, and
declared himself perfectly satisfied.
"Eh bien,° Vicomte!" says the young Prince, who was a
boy, and a French boy, "il ne nous reste qu'une chose k
25 faire ; " he placed his sword upon the table, and the fingers
of his two hands upon his breast : — "We have one more
thing to do," says he, "you do not divine it?" He stretched
out his arms : — " Embrassons nous° ! "
The talk was scarce over when Beatrix entered the room : —
30 What came she to seek there ? She started and turned pale
at the sight of her brother and kinsman, drawn swords, broken
sword-blades, and papers yet smouldering in the brazier.
"Charming Beatrix," says the Prince, with a blush which
became him very well, "these lords have come a horse-back
35 from London, where my sister lies in a despaired state, and
where her successor makes himself desired. Pardon me for
my escai)adc of last evening. I had been so long a prisoner,
that I .S(;ized the occasion of a ])romonade on liorse-back,
and my horses naturally bore me towards you. I found you
HENRY ESMOND 487
a Queen in your little Court, where you deigned to entertain
me. Present my homages to your Maids of Honour. I
sighed as you slept, under the window of your chamber,
and then retired to seek rest in my own. It was there that
those gentlemen agreeably roused me. Yes, milords, for 5
that is a happy day that makes a Prince acquainted, at
whatever cost to his vanity, with such a noble heart as that
of the ]\Iarquis of Esmond. Mademoiselle, may we take
your coach to town? I saw it in the hangar, and this poor
Marquis must be dropping with sleep. '^ lo
"Will it please the King to breakfast before he goes?"
was all Beatrix could say. The roses had shuddered out of
her cheeks; her eyes were glaring; she looked quite old.
She came up to Esmond and hissed out a word or two : —
''If I did not love you before, cousin, "-says she, "think how 15
I love you now." If words could stab, no doubt she would
have killed Esmond; she looked at him as if she could.
But her keen w^ords gave no wound to Mr. Esmond; his
heart was too hard. As he looked at her, he wondered that
he could ever have loved her. His love of ten years was 20
over, it fell down dead on the spot, at the Kensington Tavern,
where Frank brought him the note out of Eikon Basilike.
The Prince blushed and bowed low, as she gazed at him, and
quitted the chamber. 1° have never seen her from that day.
Horses were fetched and put to the chariot presently. 25
My lord rode outside, and as for Esmond, he was so tired that
he was no sooner in the carriage, than he fell asleep and
never woke till night, as the coach came into Alton.
As we drove to the Bell Inn comes a mitred coach with our
old friend Lockwood beside the coachman. My Lady Castle- 30
wood and the Bishop were inside; she gave a little scream
when she saw us. The two coaches entered the inn almost
together; the landlord and people coming out with lights to
welcome the visitors.
We in our coach sprang out of it, as soon as ever we saw 35
the dear lady, and above all, the Doctor in his cassock:
What was the news ? Was there yet time ? Was the Queen
alive? These ofuestions were put hurriedly, as Boniface
stood waiting before his noble guests to bow them up the stair.
488 HENRY ESMOND
"Is she safe?" was what Lady Castlewood whispered ii\
a flutter to Esmond.
"All's well, thank God/' sa3^s he, as the fond lady took his
hand and kissed it, and called him her preserver and her
5 dear. She wasn't thinking of Queens and crowns.
The Bishop's news was reassuring: at least all was not
lost; the Queen yet breathed or was alive when they left
London, six hours since. ("It was Lady Castlewood who
insisted on coming," the Doctor said.) Argyle had marched
10 up regiments from Portsmouth, and sent abroad for more ;
the Whigs were on the alert, a pest on them (I am not sure
but the Bishop swore as he spoke), and so too were our
people. And all might be saved, if only the Prince could
be at London in time. We called for horses, instantly to
15 return to London. We never went up poor crest-fallen
Boniface's stairs, ° but into our coaches again. The Prince
and his Prime ]\linister° in one, Esmond in the other with
only his dear mistress as a companion.
Castlewood galloped forwards on horseback to gather the
20 Prince's friends, and warn them of his coming. We travelled
through the night. Esmond discoursing to his mistress of
the events of the last twenty-four hours; of Castlewood's
ride and his; of the- Prince's generous behaviour and their
reconciliation. The night seemed short enough; and the
25 starlit hours passed away serenely in that fond company.
So we came along the road; the Bishop's coach heading
ours ; and, with some delays in procuring horses, we got to
Hammersmith^ about four o'clock on Sunday morning, the
1st of August, and half an hour after, it being then bright
30 day, we rode by my Lady Warwick's house, ° and so down
the street of Kensington.
l*]arly as the hour was, there was a bustle in the street,
and many people moving to and fro. Round the gate lead-
ing to the Palace, where the guard is, there was especially
35 a great crowd. And the coach ahead of us stopped, and the
Bisliop's man got down to know what the concourse
meant ?
Tlicre i)resently came from out of tlie gate, Horse Guards
with their trum[)ets, and a company of heralds, with their
HENRY ESMOND 489
tabards. ° The trumpets blew, and the herald-at-arms
came forward and proclaimed George, ° by the grace of
God, of Great Britain, France and Ireland, King, Defender
of the Faith. And the people shouted, God save the King.
Among the crowd shouting and waving their hats, I caught 5
sight of one sad face, which I had known all my life, and
seen under many disguises. It was no other than poor Mr,
Holt's, who had shpped over to England to witness the
triumph of the good cause; and now beheld its enemies
victorious, amidst the acclamations of the EngUsh people. 10
The poor fellow had forgot to huzzah or to take his hat off,
until his neighbours in the crowd remarked his want of
loyalty, and cursed him for a Jesuit in disguise, when he
ruefully uncovered and began to cheer. Sure he was the
most unlucky of men : he never played a game but he lost it ; 15
or engaged in a conspiracy but 'twas certain to end in
defeat. I saw him in Flanders after this, whence he went
to Rome to the head-quarters of his Order; and actually
reappeared amv^ng us in America, very old, and busy, and
hopeful. I am not sure that he did not assume the hatchet 20
and moccasins there; and, attired in a blanket and war-
paint, skulk about a ^Missionary amongst the Indians. He
lies buried in our neighbouring province of ^laryland now,
with a cross over him, and a mound of earth above him;
under which that unciuiet spirit is for ever at peace. 25
With the sound of King George's trumpets, all the vain
hopes of the weak and foolish young Pretender were blown
away; and with that musick, too, I may say, the drama
of my own life was ended. That happiness, which hath
subsequently crowned it, cannot be written in words; 'tis 30
of its nature sacred and secret, and not to be spoken of,
though the heart be ever so full of thankfulness, save to
Heaven and the One Ear alone — to one fond being, the
truest and tenderest and purest wife ever man was blessed
with. As I think of the immense happiness which was in 35
store for me, and of the depth and intensity of that love,
which, for so many years, hath blessed me, I own to a trans-
port of wonder and gratitude for such a boon — nay, am
490 HENRY ESMOND
thankful to have been endowed with a heart capable oi
feeling and knowing the immense beauty and value of the
gift which God hath bestowed upon me. Sure, love vincii
omnia° ; is immeasurably above all ambition, more precious
5 than wealth, more noble than name. He knows not life
w^ho knows not that : he hath not felt the highest faculty
of the soul who hath not enjoyed it. In the name of my
wife I write the completion of hope, and the summit of
happiness. To have such a love is the one blessing, in com-
lo parison of which all earthly joy is of no value ; and to think
of her, is to praise God.
It was at Bruxelles, whither we retreated after the failure of
our plot — our Whig friends advising us to keep out of the
way, — that the great joy of my life was bestowed upon me,
15 and that my dear mistress became my wife. We had been
so accustomed to an extreme intimacy and confidence, and
had lived so long and tenderly together, that we might have
gone on to the end without thinking of a closer tie ; but cir-
cumstances brought about that event, which so prodigiously
20 multiplied my happiness and hers (for which I humbly
thank Heaven), although a calamity befell us, which, I
blush to think, hath occurred more than once in our house.
I know not what infatuation of ambition urged the beautiful
and wayward woman, whose name hath occupied so many of
25 these pages, and who was served by me with ten years of
such a constant fidelity and passion; but ever after that
day at Castle wood, when we rescued her, she persisted in
holding all her family as her enemies, and left us, and escaped
to France, to what a fate I disdain to tell. Nor was her
30 son's house a home for my dear mistress; my poor Frank
was weak as perhaps all our race hath been and led by women.
Those around him were imperious, and in a terror of his
mother's influence over him, lest he should recant, and
deny the creed which he had adopted by their persuasion.
35 The differen(;e of their religion separated the son and the
mother : my dearest mistress felt that she was severed from
her chiklren and alone in the world — alone but for one
constant servant on -whose fidelity, praised be Heaven, she
could (rount. 'Twas after a scene of ignoble quarrel on the
HENRY ESMOND 491
part of Frank's wife and mother (for the poor lad had been
made to marry the whole of that German" family with whom
he had connected himself), that I found my mistress one day
in tears, and then besought her to confide herself to the care
and devotion of one who, by God's help, would never forsake 5
her. And then the tender matron, as beautiful in her autumn,
and as pure as virgins in their spring, with blushes of love
and "eyes of meek surrender," yielded to my respectful im-
portunity, and consented to share my home. Let the last
words I write thank her, and bless her who hath blessed it. 10
By the kindness of Mr. Addison, all danger of prosecution,
and every obstacle against our return to England was re-
moved; and my son° Frank's gallantry in Scotland made
his peace with the King's government. But we two cared
no longer to live in England; and Frank formally and joy- 15
fully yielded over to us the. possession of that estate, which we
now occupy, far away from Europe and its troubles, on the
beautiful banks of the Potomac, where we have built a new
Castle wood, and think with grateful hearts of our old hom.e.
In our transatlantick country we have a season, the calmest 20
and most delightful of the year, which we call the Indian
summer : I often say the autumn of our life resembles that
happy and serene weather : and am thankful for its rest and
its sweet sunshine. Heaven hath blessed us with a child,
which each parent loves for her resemblance to the other. 25
Our diamonds are turned into ploughs and axes for our
plantations; and into negroes, the happiest and merriest,
I think, in all this country: and the only jewel b}^ which
my wife sets any store, and from which she hath never parted,
is that gold button she took from my arm on the day when 30
she visited me in prison, and which she wore ever after,
as she told me, on the tenderest heart in the world.
I
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
WILLIAM BINGHAM, LORD ASHBURTON°
My dear Lord,
The writer of a book which copies the manners and
language of Queen Anne's time, must not omit the Dedication
to the Patron° ; and I ask leave to inscribe these volumes®
to your Lordship for the sake of the great kindness and
friendship which I owe to you and yours.
My volumes will reach you when the Author is on his
voyage ° to a country where your name is as well known as
here. Wherever I am, I shall gratefully regard you; and
shall not be the less welcomed in America because I am
Your obliged friend and servant,
W. M. THACKERAY.
London, October 18, 1852.
493
NOTES
No edition of "Esmond," to the editor's knowledge, has be-
fore attempted the great labor of following Thackeray in his
reading in eighteenth-century literature and tracing the almost
countless number of references and allusions (and even con-
tradictions) the novelist indulges in, often needlessly, in osten-
sibly creating an historical setting for his masterpiece. For
this reason these notes are perhaps both more frequent and
more minute than they otherwise would have been.
Whatever their deficiencies, the editor has at least the satis-
faction of knowing that he has been helpful to the pupil who
may care to learn more of these things and to the future editor,
who will find it an easy matter to make use of these notes in
preparing his own work.
Title-page. Written By Himself, This pretence of memoirs
was a favorite device of Thackeray's. The Yellow-plush Papers
were in the nature of "Correspondence," and Thackeray's
historical masterpiece in burlesque, Barry Lyndon, purported
to be memoirs "written by himself."
servetur ad imum
Qualis ah incepto processerit, et sibi constet.
Let [the character] be presen/ed to the end
Just as it began, and be consistent with itself.
— Horace, Ars Poetica, 11. 126, 127.
Preface, xxiii. Thackeray supposes this to have been
written by Rachel, the only child of Henry Esmond. Esmond is
supposed to have migrated to the colony of Virginia in 1718,
after the adventures narrated in this volume, to the new estate
of Castlewood, "given to our ancestors by King Charles the
First." This daughter, Rachel Esmond, was married to a Mr.
496 HENRY ESMOND
Warrington, described, p. xxvii, as "the younger son of a Suffolk
Baronet" and the ancestor of the Warringtons already treated
in Thackeray's earlier novel, Pendennis (1848-1850). She be-
came the mother of George and Henry Warrington, the two
heroes of Thackeray's later novel, The Virginians (1857-1859),
"Rachel Esmond Warrington" is thus supposed to edit the
Memoirs of her father as well as to add the Preface, dated,
"Castlewood, Virginia, November 3, 1778," in the midst of the
Revolutionary War, in which her two sons fought on different
sides — one "wearing the King's colours" and the other "the
Republick's" (p. xxiv). In writing this Preface (in 1852) it
is clear that Thackeray had already in mind the plan, although
not yet the details, of his later work, Tlue Virginians.
xxiii : 2. our. The first personal pronoun is used in the first
line as denoting the form of memoirs in which the novel is cast.
So below, 1. 28, "here in our Republick," and often. But there
is no real consistency, and Thackeray, as soon as he gets warmed
up to his story, turns from the first to the third person at will.
xxiii : 4. Westmoreland county, located " between the rivers
Potomac and Rappahannoc," in northern Tidewater Virginia,
was chosen, as the county where Washington was born and which
was noted for its colonial society. This explains "our friend,
Mr. Washington," on the next page, the Preface being given
the date "1778." The treatment of "Mr. Washington" in
this story was the cause of a criticism of Thackeray on the
part of the New York correspondent of the London Times,
dated "New York, November 8 [1853]" to which Thackeray
manfully replied in a letter to the Times of November 23, 1853.
xxiii : 28. Republick. The older spelling of the eighteenth
century, ending in k, is purposely retained. Cf . xivi : 24, satirick,
etc., throughout. So 20 : 28, holyday, showing the origin of the
word, when we write " holiday "; 23 : 22, sate for " sat "; 28: 3,
cypher;. 59:21, gaoler. Similar is the use of "fetch" and of
the auxiliary "be," instead of " have," with intransitive verbs
like " go/'
NOTES 497
XXV : 3. when the French came to this country with
Monsieur Rochambeau. Count Rochambeau brought his
French troops to America to help General Washington in 178^-
and assisted in the final victory at Yorktown, October, 1781.
Yet this Preface is suppose to be written in 1778.
XXV : 14. that dreadful siege of our house by the Indians.
Thackeray probably has in mind the general unrest at the time
of Braddock's fateful campaign in 1756; but such attacks by
the Indians were hardly as far east as Westmoreland County
in the middle of the eighteenth century.
xxvi : 21. gentleman from York. York county in Virginia,
and not York in England, is meant, of course.
xxvi : 33. my half-brother, my Lord Castlewood and his
second lady. The "half-brother" is the gallant and joyous
young Frank of this story. The ''second lady" appears in
The Virginiaris.
xxvi : 36. the famous Lord Bolingbroke . . . from Dawley.
Henry St. John, created Viscount Bolingbroke, July 7, 1712,
by Queen Anne for his services to the Tory government, and
Prime Minister in 1714. Upon the accession of George I, he
fled to France, but later made his peace with the Whig govern-
ment, and settled at Dawley, near Uxbridge, not far from Pope's
Twickenham villa. He exerted a great literarj'' influence upon
Pope, who, in 1732, dedicated to him the Essay on Man, be-
ginning, —
" Awake, my St. John ! leave all meaner things."
xxvii : 1. Sachem, the chief of certain Indian tribes.
xxvii : 2. Pocahontas, the daughter of Powhatan, chief of the
Indian tribes in Virginia in 1607, was the best known of all
Indian characters, from the story of her rescue of Captain John
Smith, her baptism, her marriage to John Rolfe, secretary of the
colony, and her visit and death in England. Thackeraj'- has
one of his young Virginians writing verses entitled " Pocahontas "
in The Virginians (1857-1859).
498 HENRY ESMOND
xxvii : 3. Bishop Tusher's Lady . . . Mrs. Thomas Tushor
The once beautiful Beatrix of this story finally married "Tom
Tusher" of our narrative — plainly hinted at as in Thackeray's
mind from the beginning — and through her beauty and in-
fluence raised him to a bishop's position. Cf. 1. 39, ''the future
Bishop's lady." She reappears as the Dowager Countess of
Bernstein in The Virginians, and is as notably protrayed there
in her old age by oiu" novelist as in this volume in her youth.
Thackeray is enjoying the representation of the fine scorn one
lady of the f amil}'- bears to the other. Cf . further, p. xxviii. This
trait is further seen in the reference to "the junior branch of
our family " (xxviii: 14), and in sundry footnotes which Thack-
eray permits "Rachel Esmond Warrington."
xxvii : 13. having left her family, and fled to Paris. A reference
to the fate of .Beatrix after the episode told in the last chapter
of this story; cf. 490:26-29. So below, 1. 39, "had quitted
Castlew^ood and joined the Pretender at Paris."
xxvii : 15. betrayed his secrets to my Lord Stair, King
George's Ambassador. John Dalrymple (1673-1747), second
Earl of Stair, was appointed Ambassador to Paris in 1715,
early in George I's reign. He was noted for the full information
he was able to furnish his Sovereign concerning the intrigues of
the French Court on behalf of the Stuarts. Beatrix is repre-
sented as one of the sources of this information.
xiviii : 6. the Duke of Argyle's army in Scotland. The
Duke of Argyle was a supporter of George I, and appears
prominently near the end of this story in determining the suc-
cession. Cf. 474:9-11; 476 : 34-38. The expedition in Scot-
land was to quell the Jacobite rising on the landing of the
Stuart Pretender in that country in 1715 (cf. 11. 3, 4. "On his
expedition to Scotland directly after").
xxviii : 12. brought back my Lord to the Church of England.
Frank — "my Lord Castlewood" — on the occasion of his
first marriage in Brussels had become a Roman Catholic and so
remains to the close of the story.
I
NOTES 499
xxviii : 15. Sir Robert Walpole. The noted, and in some
ways notorious, Whig statesman (1676-1745) and member of
the House of Commons, Prime Minister of England from 1715
to 1717, and again from 1721 to 1742. Through his knowledge
of matters of finance Walpole held in the reign of Queen Anne
important offices under Whig and Tory governments alike.
Horace Walpole, the voluminous letter-writer and dilettante,
was his son.
xxviii : 16. until her husband slept at Lambeth, i.e. was
Archbishop of Canterbury, Primate of the English Church;
"Lambeth" being the seat of the Archbishop's palace in Lon-
don.
xxviii : 19. the pair sleep under that stone. Thackeray probably
forgot he had penned this and later resurrected Beatrix in The
Virginians.
Heading ; Book I. Trinity College, in Cambridge, the largest
foundation of Cambridge, originated by Henry VIII in 1546 by
the union of several small foundations. In Punch for July 19,
1845, Thackeray had a serio-comic skit on " Reasons why I
shall not send my Son Gustavus Frederic to Trinity College,
Cambridge." Trinity College is selected in both instances as
the most representative.
1:1. the old tragedies. The Greek theatre and tragedy is
meant. Hexameters would have been a better designation of
the classic metre ; iambics (1. 2) is rather the measure of the
English drama of Elizabeth's time. The mask (1. 2), stilts,
head-dress (1. 3), and cothurnus (1. 12), i.e. buskin or shoe of the
tragic actors, were accessories. The play of Medea (1. 6), who
slew her children by Jason because he had abandoned her, was
by Euripides (480-406 b.c.) and that of Agamemnon (1. 7) by
iEschylus (525-456 b.c).
1 : 7. a dying fall. If these be " Mr. Diyden's words," they
were certainly got from Shakespeare, who uses them at the
opening of Twelfth Night, I. 1,4: "That strain again! it had
a dying fall." John Dryden (1631-1700), not only wrote
500 HENRY ESMOND
dramas, but discussed the principles of the ancient and modern
drama and in a sense became the founder of modern EngUsh
literary criticism.
1 : 17. I have seen ... Cf. 1. 28, I wonder and 2 : 2,
I saw. The occasional use of the first person gives a personal
touch to the supposed Memoirs.
1 : 18. the old French King Lewis the Fourteenth, etc.
Thackeray elsewhere presented this same idea in three draw-
ings: (1) "Ludovicus" — an old, decrepit, naked figure leaning
on a staff; (2) " Rex " — the great powdered wig with robes of
state; (3) ''Ludovicus Rex," i.e. King Lewis — putting the de-
crepit figure inside the royal clothes. Thackeray uses the Eng-
lish form "Lewis" rather than the French "Louis."
Louis XIV, called "the Great," or Le Grand Monarque, was
King of France for- more than seventy years, from 1643 to 1715.
Madame Maintenon (1. 26) was privately married to Louis XIV
in 1685, shortly after the death of the Queen.
1 : 21. the part of Hero. This seems to be an echo of Car-
lyle's Heroes and Hero-worship (1841).
2 : 2. Versailles and Windsor. The locations of the country
residences of the French and English sovereigns respectively.
There was both an extended Windsor Forest and a smaller
Windsor Park, this being the scene of the reference, "Queen
Anne at the latter place tearing down the Park slopes."
2 : 6. Saint Paul's . . . Ludgate Hill. St. Paul's Cathedral
in London is prominently situated at the top of Ludgate Hill.
The stone statue of Queen Anne in front of the cathedral, facing
"the coaches struggling up Ludgate Hill," commemorates the
completion of the new building in 1710 after the great fire of 1666.
2 : 12. congees, low bows and courtesies. French, congees.
It is ne(;dless to say that the first person employed and the
sentiments expressed are Thackeray's own.
2 : 16. Mr. Hogarth and Mr. Fielding. William Hogarth
(1607-1764), the EngUsh painter and engraver; Henry Fielding
(1707-1754), the novelist. Thackeray frequently coupled the
NOTES 501
cwo names together, and the opinion that Hogarth accomplished
with the pencil what Fielding did with the pen in portraying
the manners of English society in the middle of the eighteenth
century is generally accepted. "Hogarth, Smollett, and Field-
ing" was the subject of the fifth of the lectures on The English
Humourists of the Eighteenth Century.
2 : 18. the Court Gazette, the oflScial paper telling of all
foreign news, appointments to office, promotions in the army,
etc. Thackeray refers to it often as prominent in the politics of
Queen Anne's day.
2 : 20. a German officer of Webb's, i.e. of General Webb's
division of the army. Cf. Chapter XV of Book II. This
emphasis of Webb throughout the story was due to the author's
personal interest and pride in a family connection.
2 : 36. pawned his plate for King Charles the Fi-.st, i.e.
spent his fortune on behalf of Charles and the Stuarts in the
Civil Wars. Cf. "lost the greater part of it by fines and seques-
trations" {i.e. by condemnation and possession by the State).
Charles I succeeded his father, James I, as King of England in
1625. When civil war broke out, Charles was tried for treason
and beheaded, January, 1649, after which followed the Com-
monwealth (3:1) under Cromwell.
2:39. Ireton. Henry Ireton (1611-1651), Cromwell's son-
in-law, accompanied the general to Ireland in 1649 as second in
command, was his deputy in 1650, and died the following year.
3 : 8. Worcester fight, on September 3, 1651, was the final
victoiy of the English Civil War, won by Cromwell over the
Scotch Loyalists. It is Thackeray's method to repeat such
references so as to keep clear the historical background and
connection. The CommonwcaUh lasted from the execution of the
Kmg in 1649 until Cromwell made himself Protector in 1653.
The Restoration of Charles II occurred in 1660, two years after
the death of that master-spirit in opposition, Oliver Cromwell.
3 : 14. who sold his country and who took bribes of the
French king. Thackeray criticised alike the lack of character
502 HENRY ESMOND
and self-respect in the Stuart sovereigns and the absurdities oK.
the Hanoverian foreigners who supplanted them.
3 : 18. Mr. Addison . . . Cato. Joseph Addison (1672-
1719), the English essayist and friend of Steele in the Tatler,
Spectator, etc., poet, dramatist, and Whig statesman, figures
extensively in this novel, as does Steele. See especially Book II,
Chapter XI, "The Famous Mr. Joseph Addison." The tragedy
of Cato was first performed at Drury Lane Theatre, London,
April 14, 1713, and coming after the dismissal of the Duke of
Marlborough, many considered it directed against that chieftain.
Thackeray here applies "fugitive Cato" to Charles II.
3 : 27. Ostade or Mieris . . . Knellers and Le Bruns.
Adrian van Ostade (1620-1685) and Frans van Mieris (1635-
1681) were Holland painters of the genre school, which excelled
in painting, usually on small canvasses, realistic scenes of low
and humble life. Sir Godfrey Kneller (1646-1723) was a
German portrait painter at Charles II's court. Charles Le
Brun (1619-1690) was a French historical painter at the same
time at the court of Louis XIV. The method of both these
court painters was to treat the king flatteringly, as if some great
hero or god of Olympus; hence Thackeray's comments.
4 : 6. Lord Mayor . . mince-pies and the Mansion House.
The reference is to the annual procession of the newly chosen
Lord Mayor of London to the Mansion House, his official resi-
dence in the hearc of the city. Begun in 1739, it did not exist in
Queen Anne's time, nor even on the occasion 'of the only visit
of Rachel Warrington with her parents to London in 1736.
The mince-pies refer to the great dinner or feast held on the
occasion of the installation of the Mayor, the ninth of Novem-
ber each year.
4 : 9. Jack of Newgate's procession ... to Tyburn. New-
gate, originally the western gate of the old city of London, be-
came used as a jail for prisoners after the twelfth century.
"Tyburn-tree," near the present Marble Arch, at Hyde Park,
was the public gallows until executions were transferred in
I
NOTES 503
1783 to the newly built Newgate prison. "The procession con-
sisted of the sheriffs, in a carriage, or perhaps a deputy sherifif,
who led the way. He was followed by the cart or carts in which
the criminals sat beside their coffins; with them sat the chap-
lain, exhorting." — Besant's London in the Eighteenth Century,
pp. 547-8. Jack of Newgate was probably suggested bj^ a notori-
ous robber. Jack Sheppard (1702-1724), a rather popular char-
acter for his dashing ways, who made two remarkable escapes
from NcAvgate Prison, but was finally hanged at Tyburn, No-
vember 18, 1724. Hounslow Heath (1. 17), a few miles west from
London, was a notorious resort for highwaymen in the eighteenth
centuiy.
4 : 24. house of Castlewood, county Hants. The geography
of Thackeray's English estate of Castlewood is in the county of
Hampshire. But according to Mrs. Ritchie, Thackeray's
daughter, the original of Castlewood in Thackeray's mind was
Clevedon Court in Somersetshire, and near the beginning of
The Virginians the scene seems to be transferred there, the
ship anchoring but a short ways off in the Severn. Near the
beginning of Chapter II, "county Hants" is written "com.
{i.e. comitatus) Hants," the abbreviation of the Latin word,
in the year 1691. William III had become King in 1689,
and by his wise policy those opposed to him in politics could
acquire their titles and property and live in peace.
4 : 31-2. Sir Anthonio Van Dyck . . . Mr. Dobson. Sir
Anthony Van Dyck, or Vandyke (1599-1641), the famous Ant-
werp painter, was knighted and made court-painter by King
Charles I in 1632. Thackeray humorously gives an Italian or
would-be foreign flavor to the name "Anthonio." Mr. Dobson
is not intended as a pun — something of which Thackeray was
easily capable — but is William Dobson (1610-1646), a pupil and
imitator of Van Dyck and successor to the title of court-painter.
5 : 2. Chelsea, near London, figures frequently in the novel
as the home of Henrj'- Esmond's step-mother, the Lady Dowager.
Cf. 16:23, 24: "she had removed from Lincoln's-Inn-Fields
504 HENRY ESMOND
to Chelsea." Not far away was Kensington and its Square,
"where Lady Castle wood lived." Macaulay's Histonj of Eng-
land, Vol. I, a work which, appearing in 1848, Thackeray
certainly used, describes Chelsea in 1685 as "a quiet country
village with scarce a thousand inhabitants."
5 : 3. Sir Peter Lely (1618-1680), court painter to Charles II.
He was born in the Low Countries, but went to England in 1641.
He painted a series of famous beauties of Charles 11 's court in
various costumes and attitudes, some of which are still in the
Hampton Court gallery. Hence the reference to her ladyship's
being ''represented as a huntress of Diana's court."
5 : 17. Dea certe, i.e. a goddess surely — from a Hne in
Virgil's j^neid, I, 328. Thackeray, dramatically keeping the
end of the story in view from the first, here gives the first im-
pression Lady Castlewood makes upon Esmond. The portrayal
of the relations of these two characters taxed his art to the ut-
most, and it is on the success of this portrayal that much of the
popularity of the novel is based.
5 : 23. Mrs. Worksop. The custom of suggesting the char-
acter by the name is particularly characteristic of Thackeray's
earlier work, as it is of Dickens's, and is as old as the mediaeval
allegories and moralities.
5 : 29. war on the Danube against the Turk. In 1689 a
German force, partly the Emperor of Austria's troops, was kept
on the lower Danube in Servia and Bulgaria against the Turks,
as allies of the French.
5 : 38. she hath. A purposely archaic form, relegated to
the parenthesis.
6 : 25. little priest. Henry Esmond had been designed for
the Church, as was customary with dependants of great families
or younger sons.
6 : 33. Le pauvre enfant, il n'a que nous. Poor child, he
has no one but us.
7 : 34. Queen Elizabeth's rooms. Queen Elizabeth, who
reigned from 1558 to 1603, made a special practice of paying
i
NOTES 505
visits of state to her subjects. These visits, called " progresses,"
have been fully described in the essay that gives its title to the
volume by Professor F. E. Schelling, The Queen's Progress,
1904. From these visits many houses came to have a suite of
rooms called "Queen Elizabeth's rooms."
8 : 6. Walcote Forest, the home and estate where they had
iiitherto lived more humbly.
8 : 8. history of the house, the trachtions and legends, as
well as narrative of facts, which grow around any historic home.
This "history" is told in the foUojving chapter.
8 : 11. Roundheads, followers of the party of Parliament
who fought against the Cavaliers or royalists true to Charles I.
8 : 28. How . . . remain fixed on the memory! An ex-
ample of Thackeray's habit of extraneous comment, easily
transferred to Esmond.
8 : 37. trencher-man. An eater with a large appetite. The
word is more characteristic of an earlier period than Anne's.
10 : 5. 23 Eliz., i.e. in the twenty-third year of Elizabeth's
reign, laws, acts of Parliament, etc., being thus reckoned ac-
cording to the reign of the sovereign.
10 : 5. Henry Poyns, gent., i.e. gentleman, a title at that
time regularly bestowed, and carrying with it certain honors
and privileges.
10 : 10. King James the First. James VI of Scotland, son
of the unfortunate Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, became, upon
Elizabeth's death in 1603, also King of England, and was thus
first of the Stuarts on the English throne.
10 : 11. Elector Palatine . . . that unfortunate Prince.
Frederick V, Elector Palatine, was the son-in-law of King
James I of England, and involved his royal father-in-law in the
loss of both men and money in his ambition to accept the
Crown of Bohemia in 1619, thereby bringing upon himself the
opposition of the Emperor of Austria. The Imperialists refer
to the forces of the Emperor of Austria. The "Elector Pala-
tine" was the ruler of the Palatinate, a German State in the
506 HENRY ESMOND
region of the Middle Rhine, of which Heidelberg was the
capital city.
10 : 24. banneret, a knight of a definite rank possessing cer-
tain privileges — originally, one with the right of carrying a
banner.
11 : 5. the King being at Oxford, in 1642. Charles I's war
with Parliament began in 1642, and Hume remarks, the King
"took possession of Oxford, the only town in his dominions
which was altogether at his devotion."
11 : 15. a grant of land in the plantations of Virginia. See
Preface, p. xxiii.
11 : 22. the Usurper's, i.e. Cromwell's. Thackeray repre-
sents the Esmonds as ardent loyalists, speaking of the House of
Stuart in most exalted terms, and applying harsh epithets to
the opposing side.
11 : 24. against the Parliament, anno 1647, i.e. on the side
of the King, in the year 1647. Anno, the Latin form, is used
in older legal and official documents.
11 : 28. at Worcester fight. Cf. 3: 8; sec also 12: 3.
11 : 36. the Duke of York and his brother the King. The
King was Charles II, restored to the throne in 1660, and "the
Duke of York" was his brother who succeeded Charles as
James II, in 1685.
11 : 39. Queen Henrietta Maria. Charles I's queen, daugh-
ter of Henry IV of France, and married to Charles the year he
came to the throne.
12 : 2. Breda. A town in the Netherlands, the scene o/ the
Compromise or league between the Protestants and Roman
Catholics in 1566 against what was regarded as the encroach-
ments of Philip II. It was probably at the time of the Restora-
tion and General Amnesty in 1660, proclaimed by Charles II
from Breda, that the novelist supposes George Esmond to have
joined the Roman Catholic Church.
12 : 11. Bruges, a noted city of Belgium, prominent in the
wars of the period.
NOTES 507
12 : 27. Jack Churchill, the future Lord Marlborough, the
General, of whom a great deal is said in the story. Churchill's
"sister " was the mother of the Duke of Berwick.
12 : 32. condiscipuli, fellow-pupils. St. Paul's School, in
London, founded in 1512 by John Colet, Dean of St. Paul's
Cathedral, the noted classical scholar, and friend of Erasmus
and Sir Thomas More.
13 : 1. Tangier. A seaport of Morocco on the northern
African coast, southwest from Gibraltar. The Portuguese got
possession of Tangier in the fifteenth century, and when Charles
II married Catherine of Braganza in 1662, it was ceded to Eng-
land. Frank Esmond's "two years' service" is supposed to
have been in the period 1662-1684, while the English kept a
garrison stationed there, before abandoning it to the Moors.
13 : 3. Winchester, the chief city of Hampshire, in which
county "Castlewood" is placed, and the ancient capital of
Wessex. Winchester figures in our story chiefly through its
cathedral: Lady Castlewood is the daughter of the Dean of
the Cathedral, and the first meeting and reconciliation between
Lady Castlewood, after the death of her husband, and Henry
Esmond, is in the Cathedral (Book II, Chapter VI).
13 : 4. a pack of beagles, i.e. a pack of hunting-dogs, one c!
the points of pride with "a country-gentleman."
13 : 5. in King Charles's time, i.e. in Charles II's reign.
13 : 10-19. served with the Emperor, and with the Dutch
. . . and against them, when his Majesty made an alliance with
the French King, Charles II had been allied with the Emperor
of Austria and the Dutch — the "States" of the Netherlands —
against Louis XIV and the French; but he deserted the Triple
Alliance and "made an alliance with the French King," in 1670.
13 : 27. ordinaries, taverns, public resorts. The term is still
in use in Virginia.
13 : 27-8. a brawler about Alsatia and the Friars, "Alsa-
tia" was a name applied to Whitefriars, a district between the
Thames and Fleet Street, which possessed certain privileges
508 HENRY ESMOND
granted originally to the Convent of Carmelites or White Friars
located there. The district became the resort of the worst
characters in the city, until a riot in Charles Il's reign caused in
1697 the abrogation of all privileges. The region is described
in Scott's Fortunes of Nigel, and in Shadwell's comedy, Squire
of Alsatia, as well as in Thackeray's Pendennis.
13 : 34. Mr. Killigrew. Thomas Killigrew (1612-1683), an
Enghsh dramatist and noted as a wit in Charles I's and Charles
Il's reigns.
13 : 36. memento mori, i.e. "Remember you must die,"
hence any reminder of death. The Egyptians are said at their
banquets to have been in the habit of introducing a mummy
or skeleton and addressing their guests to this effect. This
practice is meant by ''the death's head at the King's feast."
14 : 5. Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, The largest square in London,
laid out by the architect Inigo Jones and made a fashionable
dwelling place. The ''Duke's Theatre" stood on this square
from 1662 to 1671. The "Portugal {i.e. Portuguese) Ambassa-
dor's Chapel," situated near this square, was maintained by the
Portuguese Ambassador, where Roman Catholic services were
given for the benefit of the Portuguese in London.
14 : 18. Bell Yard, probably connected with or near to the
Bell Inn. Cf. 35: 14.
14 : 29. before King Charles died. Charles II, died Feb-
ruary 6, 1685.
14 : 38. the poor little cripple touched by his Majesty. It
was a popular belief that the touch of the King, who was
divinely anointed, would heal otherwise incurable diseases.
Boswell tells how Dr. Johnson when a child was carried by his
mother to be touched by Queen Anne and cured of a scrofulous
affection.
15 . : 20. Hexton. Presumably intended to be in Hampshire.
16 : 1-2. Whitehall. A royal palace in London from the
time of Henry VIII to that of James I, when it was burned in
1615. Only the banqueting hall, designed by the architect^
NOTES 509
inigo Jones, was rebuilt and now exists, a splendid example of
architecture in the spirit of the Renaissance. Lady Dorchester,
Tom Killigrew's daughter. This is a slip of Thackeray's.
The notorious Lady Dorchester was Catharine (1657-1717),
daughter of the poet, Sir Charles Sedley (1639-1701), the favorite
of Charles II's brother, James, Duke of York, who, after he
became King James II, created her in 1686 Baroness of Darling-
ton and Countess of Dorchester.
16 : 4. Esther . . . Vashti. See the Book of Esther in the
Old Testament.
16 : Note 1 : 4-6. to St. Germain's, i.e. to the Court of the
French King. Prince of Orange, i.e. William III, the Esmond
loyalty to the Stuarts denying him the title of King.
17 : 4. lap-dogs, and cockatoos. It was quite fashionable
for ladies to have as pets both lap-dogs and cockatoos or parrots.
Cf . 23 : 24.
17 : 7. the No-Popery Cry. The Revolution of 1688 and
the banishment of the House of Stuart turned largely on the
prejudice existing against the Roman Catholics.
18 : 12. the persecution of the Huguenots by the French
King. The Huguenots were the Protestants and Puritans of
France, who, after much persecution, were secured their rights
in the reign of Henry IV by the Edict of Nantes in 1598. The
Revocation of this Edict b3^ Louis XIV in 1685 caused France
to lose many of her best people. They introduced silk-manu-
facture into England, settling in a quarter of London north of
the Tower called Spitalfields or " Spittlefields. " Their industry
"amongst looms and spinning-wheels" and their religious zeal,
with "a great deal of psalm-singing and church-going," are
described 11. 16-17.
18 : 22. Bon Papa, i.e. Good Papa. French abounds in
these few pages describing the French refugees. Thackeray had
spent some happy years in Paris as a young man studying art,
and had a distinct liking for French phrases. His prose style
was distinctly influenced by French prose.
510 HENRY ESMOND
18 : 30. Babylonish scarlet woman, and 19: 33. Babylon and
the scarlet lady. The Protestant name for the Church of Rome
with allusion to the Book of Revelation, xvii.
20 : 14. Father Holt. This character, one of the most
striking in the book, a Roman Catholic priest and Jesuit, ap-
pears often in these pages as a tireless worker for his Church
and the House of Stuart.
20 : 26. C'est bien ca, It is well as it is.
20 : 35. took water on the river, i.e. proceeded by water.
London Bridge. At the time our story opens, in 169*1, this was
the only bridge London possessed across the Thames. It was
built ''with the houses and booksellers' shops thereon, looking
like a street."
20 : 37. the Tower of London. The ancient citadel of
London, not far from "London Bridge," used as palace, then as
prison, and now as a national arsenal and museum.
' 21 : 3. on a pillion, i.e. a cushion adjusted to a saddle,
serving as a seat for a second lighter person, like a boy or a
woman.
21 : 23. to the tune of Dr. Martin Luther, i.e. to the tune of
one of Martin Luther's hymns. Harry had learned these in the
Huguenot church meetings. Martin Luther (1483-1546) was
the great German Reformer, who embodied the spirit of the
Reformation.
21 : 24. grand parrain, godfather.
22 : 6 and 23: 1. Parbleu ! 'Zounds!
22 : 20. a cassock and a broad-leafed hat, the dress^^ of the
Church of England clergyman. The "cassock" is the long
black coat or gown extending to the feet and girded about the
middle. The broad-leafed hat was the clergyman's "shovel-
hat" referred to later in the story.
23 : 19. in the manner of Queen Elizabeth's time. The
adornment of English homos, hitherto almost wholly neglected,
was carried far in Elizabeth's reign. See the discussion in
Orfon's Short History of English People, Chapter VII, Section V.
1
NOTES 511
23 : 39. She had as many rings on her fingers as the old
woman of Banbury Cross. This refers to the nursery rhyme; —
Ride a cock horse
To Banbury Cross
To see an old woman
On a white horse;
Rings on her fingers,
Bells on her toes,
She will make music
Wherever she goes.
"Banbury Cross" was an ancient cross in the town of Ban-
bury, twenty-two miles north of Oxford.
24 : 2. pantofles, slippers. A French word and fashion.
24 : 4. tortoiseshell stick, i.e. stick with tortoise-sheU
handle.
24 : 28. Je meurs ou je m'attache, I die where I am at-
tached.
24 : 30. The ivy says so in the picture, and clings to the
oak. This was a common subject for Uterary and artistic
portrayals. Here, "the oak" is, of course. Lady Castlewood,
the clinging "ivy," young Harr3^ Parasite . . . parricide;
Thackeray is guilty of a quibble, Mrs. Tusher mistaking the
sound of the word.
25 : 39. a sign, i.e. the sign of the cross according to the
Roman Catholic usage.
26 : 2, the clergy do not marry, referring to the celibacy of
the clergy in the Roman Catholic Church.
26 : 4. Saint Peter, the patron saint of the Roman Catholic
Church, St. Peter's at Rome being the metropolitan church of
that communion.
26 : 20. Three Castles, the inn of that name, taken from
"Castlewood." Cf. 73: 30.
26 : 26. wandering .ffineas, the subject of VirgiPs /Eneid.
512 HENRY ESMOND
27 : 21. Catholic gentry. Many of the country famili3s,
always conservative, retained the religion of the Stuarts.
28 : 1. devoirs, respects, as in duty bound; literally,
"duties."
28 : 23. his order, i.e. of the Jesuits or "Society of Jesus,"
founded by Ignatius Loyola in 1534, shortly after the Refor-
mation movement.
29 : 2. an English priest, i.e. a priest or minister of the
English Church.
29 : 3. exhibition, a benefaction procuring means of support,-
characteristic of English school and university life. So "scholar-
ship," "fellowship," "a good living," i.e. in a preacher's posi-
tion, — each representing higher grades of benefactions obtained.
29 : 10. at Trinity, i.e. at Trinity College, Cambridge.
29 : 16. Saint Philip of the Willows appeared to, referring to a
common belief in the apparition of the saints. "St. Philip of
the Willows" seems to be invented by Thackeray as a special
saint for the Castlewood neighborhood. Cf. 413 : 32.
29 : 28. a victim on Tower Hill. A hill in London or near
the Tower where political prisoners were formerly executed.
A young English poet, Robert Southwell, who was a Jesuit
priest, a century earlier, in Elizabeth's reign, was imprisoned,
tried at Westminster, and hanged at Tj^burn in 1595.
30 : 35. surviving Edward the Sixth, i.e. surviving destruc-
tion by the Protestants during his reign (1547-1553). In his
time the forty-two (now thirty-nine) Articles of Religion were
promulgated and the Book of Common Prayer of the English
Church was introduced.
31 : 35. cards . . . piquet and cribbage. All card games
were very popular at the time. So above, 1. 3 1 , backgammon , a
game played with dice and pieces. Cf . 32 : 5, rubber, a series of
games at cards, comprising a set; 32: 31, tric-trac, a sort of
backgammon, played with both pieces and pegs.
32 : U). the Newa Letter. We should now say "the news
paper." the Grand Cyrus. Artamene or the Grand Cyru<
I
NOTES 513
was an almost interminable French romance in ten volumes
written by Mile. Scud^ry in 1650.
32 : 22. a delightful wicked comedy of Mr. Shadwell's or
Mr. Wycherley's. Thomas Shadweli (1640-1692) was a dram-
atist of Charles II's reign, as was WiUiam Wycherley (1640-
1715), author of The Plain Dealer, etc. The English prose
comedy of the time of Charles II was witty and brilliant, but
loose. Cf. Macaulay's essay, The Comic Dramatists of the
Restoration.
33 : 26. the Downs, a scries of hills in southern England
(here specifically in Hampshire). The w^ord is derived from
Old English dim, a hill.
33 : 27. at a cock-fight. Cock-fighting was very popular
with the country-gentleman of the day, as well as hunting with
horses and bounds, and bear-baiting, Shakespeare gives these
same accomplishments and interests to Sir Toby Belch and Sir
Andrew Aguecheek in Twelfth Night.
34 : 7. the Bell archway, i.e. of the inn or tavern called
"The Bell," and once advertised by the sign of a bell. Besant's
London in the Eighteenth Century gives a sketch of the archway
of the "Old Bell Inn, Holborn," before it w^as demolished.
34 : 8. canaille, rabble. A French word, which Mr. Holt
affects.
35 : 1. God save the King . . . the King's religion. My
Lord Viscount means the Stuart King, James II, who was a
Roman Catholic. The events are of the revolutionary year,
1688.
35 : 2. psalm-singing cobbler. In Twelfth Night Shake-
speare makes psalm-singing a trait of the weavers. Both weaver
and cobbler represent the church-going Protestant artisan of
England, reenforced by the Huguenot emigrant.
35 : 2-3. as sure as I'm a magistrate of this county. The
viscount held this office by virtue of his position, like Sir Roger
de Coverley in Addison's Spectator papers. Commit, i.e. im-
prison.
514 HENRY ESMOND
35 : 11. the acquittal of the seven bishops. Archbishop
Sancroft and six Bishops had been tried and acquitted on a
charge of hbel in protesting against the declaration of Indul-
gence being read aloud in the churches. The day of the ac-
quittal, June 30, was the day the invitation was sent to Wilham
of Orange to land in England. Hence, 36 : 15, '' King James was
flying, the Dutchmen {i.e. followers of the Prince of Orange)
were coming."
35 : 13. assizes at Hexton, i.e. the sessions of the county
court held there periodically.
36 : 28. reveillez, i.e. awakener, an expression derived from
the military drumtaps which awaken the camp in early morning.
36 : 32. the Chaplain's, i.e. Father Holt's.
37 : 8. Silentium, silence. As a Roman priest, he uses
Latin.
37 : 13. brazier. An open pan with a few lighted glowing
coals, formerly a means of heating rooms.
37 : 21. famuli, attendants. Another Latin word of Father
Holt's.
38 : 7. perruques. From 1660 to about 1725 enormous
wigs with curls on the shoulders were fashionable. A remnant
of this once universal custom is seen in the costume of the Lord
Chancellor, judges and barristers, and Speaker of the House
of Commons.
38 : 12. a farmer's smock. A garment of coarse cloth,
something like a full-sized shirt, worn over the other clothes
like a French blouse.
38 : 24. gentlemen of my cloth, i.e. Roman Catholic
priests and Jesuits.
39 : 14. buffet, cupboard.
39 : 17. iron staunchions, upright iron bars used for sup-
ports.
39 : 25. Chrysostom, i.e. a volume of the writings of St.
Chrysostom (347-407 a.d.), one of the fathers of the Church
and patriarch of Constantinople. "Chrysostom" means
I
NOTES 515
"golden-mouthed." The Book of Common Prayer contains
"A Prayer of St. Chrysostom."
40 : 28. The Prince of Orange was then at Salisbury. Will-
iam of Orange, invited by the "seven patriots," had landed at
Torbay, in Devonshire, southwestern England, on November 5,
in 1688. Salisbury would be about halfway to London.
40 : 32. orange cockade, the badge of the new King William
of Orange.
40 : 33. clerk (pronounced "dark"), the layman who
assists the clergyman in the Church of England and leads in the
responses.
41 : 9. quinquina, i.e. quinine, obtained from the bark of
trees of the genus Cinchona or quinquina.
42 : 20, Dutch monster . . . the perjured wretch, expres-
sive of the attitude of the loyalists and supporters of the Stuarts
toward William III.
42 : 31. Churchills — the Judases. John Churchill, Duke of
Marlborough, the statesman and general, was notorious for
changing sides politically (among others he was false to King
William) and Thackeray hits him hard both in this novel and
in the Lectures on the English Humourists.
44 : 18. aide-de-camp, in military usage, a confidential
officer receiving and transmitting orders from a general officer.
44 : 34. in the Tower, a prisoner. Political prisoners were
confined in the Tower in London. Sir Wilmot Crawley, of
Queen's Crawley. An ancestor of Sir Pitt Crawley and Rawdon
Crawley in Thackeray's earlier novel of Vanity Fair (1846-
1848).
44 : 38. Scots Greys and Dragoons, i.e. certain Scotch troops.
The Scotch were particularly loyal to the Stuart family, it being
their Scottish dynasty before it became English in 1603.
45 : 3. Newbury, where two battles were fought in the
Civil wars, is in Berkshire, some sixteen miles west of Reading.
45 : 4. Ginckel . . . and their little master {i.e. William)
away in Ireland. General Godert de Ginckel came over with
516 HENRY ESMOND
the Dutch troops in King William's service in 1688. He waa
later with the King in Ireland and on the Continent, serving with
honor. Cf. 47:15.
47 : 3. qui pensait a tout, i.e. who thought of every-
thing.
47 : 6. M. le Marquis . . . M. le Vicomte. The Esmond
title, Viscount, is represented several times as raised to a Mar-
quisate. by the Stuart claimant to the throne for the services
rendered by the family. Father Holt addresses the Viscount
by the greater title, which the unsophisticated Blaise does not
understand.
47 : 14. The Ecossais, i.e. the Scotch, — more of Blaise's
French.
48 : 10. dying like Mary, Queen of Scots, i.e. being beheaded
as a political martyr.
48 : 23. tapestry parlour, i.e. adorned with tapestry, or rich
hangings covering the walls.
49 : 34. non-juring peer, i.e. one who refused to swear al-
legiance to William and Mary on the ground that he had already
sworn allegiance to James II and his heirs.
50 : 22. Non, jamais, Monsieur I'officierl jamaisl No,
never, Mr. Officer, never !
51 : 16. " burn," as they say in the play of forfeits. In the
children's play in searching for anything hidden, "You are burn-
ing," is the cry as the searcher comes near the object.
51 : 21. night-rail, i.e. night-gown.
51 : 26. japan-box, i.e. box of Japanese ware containing the
*' washes and rouge-pots."
51 : 35. gold-clocked, with a gold or yellow ornament, per-
haps bell or flower shaped, woven in or embroidered on the
side of a stocking. The fashion seems to have been introduced
in Chailes IPs day.
62 : 14. Sir John Fen wick was beheadc^d in 1697 on Tower
Hill for complicity in a plot against the life of King William III,
Thackeray's chronology is, as often, loose. Mr. Coplestone,
NOTES 517
from the context a conspirator associated with Sir John
Fenwick. The dictionaries of biography give only Edward
Copleston (1776-1849), the Bishop of Llandaff. Cf. 415 : 29-31,
for the names of other conspirators.
52 : 17. Lord Lieutenant of the county, i.e. chief mihtary
ofRcer of the troops in the county. Major- General, i.e. in the
arm}'.
53 : 12. K., i.e. King.
53 : 13. P. of O., i.e. Prince of Orange.
54 : 13. One of your own writers. See 55: 4, "from a
sermon of Mr. Cudworth's." Ralph Cudworth (1617-1688)
was professor of Hebrew at the University of Cambridge, from
1645 to 1688, and author of philosophical and religious
works.
54 : 24. Dick the scholar. In this familiar way Thackeray
introduces "Dick Steele," the future Sir Richard Steele, friend
of Addison, founder of the Taller and the Spectator, and author
of many delightful essays therein. Thackeray is again careless
about dates. Born in 1672 in Dublin (cf. 63 : 7-8, "when Dick
was a child at Dublin"), Steele did not enter the army before
1694.
55 : 25. Mr. Sheepskin, applied to the lawyer, because cf
his deeds and writs on sheepskin or parchm.ent.
56 : 33. humanities, the subjects of study, chiefly the clas-
sical languages, which are held to produce culture and "human"
\dews of life. In its origin the term literce hiimaniores or hu-
manities was used in distinction to literce divince or divinity.
57 : 2. theological science, i.e. theological knowledge or in-
struction.
57 : 10. Steele's famous school . . . near to Smithfield was
"the Charterhouse," also Thackeray's school and the scene of
the death of Colonel Newcome in his novel. The Newcomss
(1853-1855). His famous university was Oxford. In the reign of
Queen Mary (1552-1558), "Smithfield" was the common place
for burning "heretics," or "martyrs," as one will.
518 HENRY ESMOND
57 : 23. protomartyr. St. Stephen, the first martyr among
the Apostles. Cf. Acts vii. 54-60. this one's fire, etc. See the
Lives of the Saints for wonders corresponding to these in the
accounts of the early Christians.
57 : 38. Ridley's fire. Nicholas Ridley, a bishop of the
English Church, was burned at Oxford in 1555.
57 : 39. Campion's axe. Edmund Campion, an English
Jesuit priest, active as a missionary in England, was executed
at Tyburn in 1581.
58 : 1. Southwell the Jesuit. Cf. 29: 28. Sympson the
Protestant. The martyrdom of Mr. John Simson and Mr. John
Ardelej^ in 1555 in the reign of Mary is told of in Fox's Book of
Martyrs, Book XI, Section xiii.
58 : 3. Monsieur Rycaut's History of the Turks. Sir Paul
R3^caut was an English traveller, historian, and diplomat, and
not French, as Thackeray seems to indicate. His History of
the Turks, 1623-1699, was written largely from personal knowl-
edge, between 1680 and 1700, the year of his death. He had pre-
viously written in 1670 the Present State of the Ottoman Empire.
58 : 5. rt'shing upon death in battle as upon certain Paradise.
Very much o'le same attitude by the Japanese was witnessed in
the recent Russo-Japanese War, 1903-1905. in the great Mogul's
dominions. The reference is to India, possessed by the English
for two hundred years, in which country Thackeray was born
of English parents in 1811. The current belief that "people
fling themselves by hundreds under the cars of the idols an-
nually," seems exaggerated. The car of Juggernaut is in-
tended, which is attached to every large temple. "There have
doubtless been instances of pilgrims throwing themselves under
the wheels in a frenzy of religious excitement, but such instances
have always been rare, and are now unknown." — Sir W. W.
Hunter, quoted in the Century Dictionary. Probably the
opinion that "widows burn themselves on their husband's
bodies" or bury themselves alive with the bodies, may also
admit of modification.
I
NOTES 519
58 : 15. Magdalen College in Oxford, which Steele and
Addison attended, and one of the most noted of Oxford's many
colleges. I wish Joe Addison were here. So 59 : 5, "I wish
Joseph Addison was here." The friendship between Steele and
Addison, continued from youth, and still kept up in the Taller
and the Spectator days (1709-1712), was afterward not so inti-
mate, partly on account of Steele's unfortunate habits, but
chiefly by reason of Addison's official positions, culminating in
the secretaryship of state (1717) and his marriage with the
Dowager Countess of Warwick (1716).
58 : 17. College of Jesuits. "College" is here used in a
dififerent sense from "Magdalen College" just above. It has
its primary meaning of an organized association for a common
purpose.
58 : 21. the black coat . . . this sorry red one. The
"black" coat was the cassock of the English clergyman; the
"red" coat the British soldier's uniform.
58 : 30. deteriora sequi, I have followed after the worse
things. "Dick the scholar" quotes Latin, adapting a fragment
from Ovid's Metamorphoses, VII, 21.
59 : 18. righteously taking it, as I think now. This is
Thackeray's own opinion, but the first person is intended
to refer to the assumed writer of the Memoirs, Henry
Esmond.
60 : 30. Chatteris. There is a place in Cambridgeshire not
far from Ely Cathedral with this name. Whether this be meant
is uncertain.
60 : 36. Bristol. A seaport in southwestern England on
the Avon, a branch of the sea, from which Ireland could easily
be reached.
61 : 5. the fatal battle of the Boyne, the last stand of the
deposed King James II, on the Bojme, the principal river of east-
ern Ireland, where he was defeated Juty 1, 1690, bj^ William III.
61 : 7. the town of Trim, in County Meath, Ireland, a little
northwest from Dublin.
520 HENRY ESMOND
62 : 16. unicum filium suum dilectissimum, his only and
dearly beloved son. This is adapted from the Vulgate, the
Latin version of the Scriptures accepted as the authorized version
of the Roman Catholic Church.
63 : 24. bar in Henry Esmond's shield. The "bar" on the
"shield," a device in heraldry, refers to the "bar sinister," due
to Henry Esmond's supposed unfortunate birth.
64 : 6. maxima debetur pueris reverentia, the greatest regard
is due children. From Juvenal's Satires, XIV, 47, save that the
dative singular, puero (youth), is there used instead of Thack-
eray's plural, pueris (children).
64 : 13. Saccharissa, Sweet one. In imitation of Edmund
Waller (1605-1685), a popular poet who had recently died, and
who had celebrated the Lady Dorothy Sidney under this
name.
65 : 9. O Dea certd, O goddess surely. Thackeray comes
back, after the long historical and introductory digression of
Chapters II-VI and beginning of VII (pp. 10 to 65) to the im-
pression which t^ie first sight of Lady Castlewood made upon
the lad, Harry Esmond, and now takes up the thread of the
story let fall by Chapter I. See note on 5 : 17.
66 : 38. catechiser, i.e. instructor in the catechism or on
religious matters.
68 : 4. Grand Lama of Tibet. The head of both church and
state in Tibet, a country in Central Asia, of which little was and
is known, bonzes (1. 6) are the Buddhist monks in that
sovereign's attendance and worship.
68 : 31. vacuae sedes et inania arcana, empty seats and
useless treasures. Virgil's ^neid, VI, 269, uses the somewhat
similar collocation, perque domos Ditis vacuas et inania regna.
Thackeray's tendency toward moralizing is seen in the lines
27-39, and is a rather frequent characteristfc of this story,
despite its historical background, as well as in his novels of
contemporary life.
69 : 15. his parts, i.e. his qualities or talents.
NOTES 621
69 : 35. shooting . . . pitching the quoit, etc. Thackeray
is giving a list of the English country pastimes.
71 : 23. Old Lady Blenkinsop Jointure. The name by its
mere sound and meaning conveys some conception of the char-
acter, just as 5: 23, "Mrs. Worksop." So, 1. 25, Mistress
Crookshank; 1. 32, Bryan Hawkshaw; 1, 33, Bramblebrook ; 73: 4,
Nancy Sievewright, etc.
72 ; 14. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu brought . . . inocu-
lation from Turkey. Lady Mary (1689-1762), wife of Edward
Wortley Montagu, who was ambassador to Turkey for two years
(1716-1718), having observed the practice of inoculation for the
prevention a smallpox, wrote about it in her "Letters" and
assisted in introducing it into England.
73 : 25. Waller or Ovid. Both were love poets. For
"Waller" see the note on "Saccharissa," 64: 13. Ovid, or
Publius Ovidius Naso (43 B.C.-18 a.d.), was one of the chief
Latin writers of the Augustan Age, and while often licentious,
has always been a favorite with English authors. He wrote the
Amores (Loves), Ars Amatoria (Art of Love), Heroides (imagi-
nary love-letters from love-sick heroines), etc., besides the nobler
Metamorphoses (treating the old Greek myths). Cf. 88 : 39,
"turned some of Ovid's epistles into rhymes"; these were the
Heroides.
80 : 29. salaams, low Oriental ceremonious greetings.
81 : 25. Montaigne's Essays. Michel de Montaigne (1533-
1592), a French writer, may be called the father of the modern
light essay, reflective and playful alike, of which English litera-
ture has many delightful examples.
82 : 31. a molehill, as we know in King William's case, can
upset an empire. William III was riding through the Park at
Hampton Court, February 20, 1702, on his favorite horse
Sorrel, which stumbled on a molehill, causing the King to fall
and break his collar-bone. He was carried to Kensington
Palace, had an ague-fit, and died on March 8.
83 : 4. Venice glass, glass made at Venice, noted for its
522 HENRY ESMOND
great delicacy and beauty. The term usually refers to objectt;
made of glass; but here is used for a small hand-mirror. Cf.
1. 28 and 89 : 25.
83 : 36. the Grand Turk. A reference to the Sultan with
his many wives.
84 : 19. would have liked to have kissed. A past tense piled
upon a past, instead of the present infinitive.
84 : 20. like the lass in Mr. Prior's pretty poem. The
reference is to Prior's poem, The Garland, Stanza ix:
"At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung,
The am'rous youth around her bow'd;
At night her fatal knell was rung;
I saw and kiss'd her in her shroud."
Cf. also Robert Browning's lyric, Evelyn Hope.
84 : 35. dryads . . , river-nymphs, fabled creatures of the
woods and rivers in classical mythology. Similarly, Vulcan
(1, 36) was the blacksmith among the Latin gods, and Venus
(1. 37) the goddess of love and beauty.
85 : 1. a mute at a funeral, a professional mourner, suitably
clad in black, who is furnished by the undertaker and is both
ornament and assistant at funeral obsequies.
87 : 4. St. James's. The palace formerly used as the royal
residence of the English kings. It was first used so by Henry
VIII and was enlarged by Charles I. While no longer the royal
residence, yet the "Court of St. James" is still the name popu-
larly given from long usage to the English court.
87 : 5. the Prince George, and the Princess Anne, i.e. Prince
George of Denmark and his wife, the Princess Anne, daughter
of James II, who sided with William and Mary in the Revolu-
tion of 1688, and later succeeded to the throne as Queen Anne.
88 : 16. Mr. Thomas Parr lived to be a hundred and sixty
years old. "Old l^arr" died in 1635 and was said to have been
one hundred and fifty-two years old at his death.
88 : 19. beaux yeux, beautiful eyes.
NOTES 523
88 : 31. Chloe . . , Strephon. Characteristic names de-
rived from the Greek pastoral romances for shepherdess and
shepherd.
89 : 3. CEnone called after Paris, and Medea bade Jason
come back. These stories are told in Ovid's Heroides; see note
on 73 : 25. CEnone was beloved by Paris, but deserted for Helen
of Troy. Tennyson has written two well-known poems on the
subject of CEnone.
Jason, going with the Argonauts to win the Golden Fleece, is
taught by the sorceress Medea how to avoid the attendant dan-
gers and to obtain the fleece. She marries him and they go to
live at Corinth, where later Jason abandons her. Cf. 92 : 34-38,
'"Twas after Jason left her, no doubt . . . that Medea became
a learned woman and a great enchantress." The story of
Medea was put into dramatic form by Euripides, the Greek
tragic poet; cf. 75 : 37 and note on 1 : 1.
90 : 2. a merchant on 'Change, i.e. on the Stock Exchange,
where stocks, bonds, and other values are bought and sold.
indocilis pauperiem pati, unwilling to endure poverty. Horace,
Odes, I, i, 18.
90 : 20. usher, explained by "house tutor." The French
expression for this office is huissier.
90 : 29. Corderius and Lily. The authors of Latin text-
books. Mathurin Corderius or Cordier (1478-1564), a French
humanist and professor at Paris, was noted for his pure Latin
style. William Lily (1468-1522), a noted English grammarian,
was the friend and associate of Colet, Erasmus, and Sir Thomas
More in the movement of the New Learning. His Latin Gram-
mar, revised in 1540, altered and shortened in 1572, was long the
text-book of English youth, and was evidently the one known
to Shakespeare and cited by him in the Merry Wives of Wind-
sor, IV, 1, and in other plays.
91 : 6. a Princess of a noble house in Drury Lane, i.e. an
actress of Drury Lane Theatre. Drury Lane Theatre was
opened after the Restoration in 1663 under the management of
524 HENRY ESMOND
Tom Killigrew (see 13 : 34) , and was rebuilt by Sir Christopher
Wren. The respectabilitj^ of the street Drury Lane began to
wane at the end of the seventeenth century.
91 : 8. pudet haec opprobria dicere nobis, we are ashamed
to speak of these disgraceful things. The original quotation,
from Ovid's Metamorphoses, I, 758-9, reads: pudet hoec oppro-
bria nobis et did potuisse, et non potuisse rejelli.
92 : 6. Rosamond ... of Mr. Addison's opera, Addison's
opera "Rosamond" was produced at the Drury Lane Theatre
in 1707. The story of Rosamond was associated with Wood-
stock, the Duke of Marlborough's residence, and the opera was
accordingly "Inscribed to Her Grace, the Duchess of Marl-
borough."
92 : 12. Billingsgate. The vile language used by the fish-
wives and others in the fishmarket at Billingsgate near London
Bridge.
93 : 10. Your Horaces, and Ovids, and Virgils. "Horace,"
or Quintus Horatius Flaccus (65-8 b.c), the best known of all
Roman poets for his Odes, Satires, Epistles, etc. For "Ovid,"
see 73: 25. "Virgil," or Publius Vergilius Maro (70-19 b.c),
the greatest of Roman epic and pastoral poets, author of the
Eclogues or Bucolics, the Georgics, and the yEneid.
93 : 16. there are no nunneries permitted by our church.
Thackeray seems not to have known that as a result of the High
Church movement the Sisters of Mercy had been established in
the English Church in 1847.
94:2. between "Green Sleeves" and" Lillibullero." "Green-
sleeves" is a ballad sung to a tune of the same name, viz. "a
New Courtly Sonet of the Lady Greensleeves to the new tune of
Greensleeves," printed in 1584 and given in Child's English and
Scottish Popular Ballads. "Lillibullero" is a political song
writtoi) about 1686, lampooning James XL
95 : 30. with Wake and Sherlock, with Stillingfleet and
Patrick. WiUiam Wake (1657-1737), Archbishop of Canter-
bury, was author of Exposition of the Doctrine of the Church of
NOTES 525
England (1686), State of the Church and Clergy of England in
their Councils, etc., historically deduced (1703), the latter directed
against a work of Atterbury's. William Sherlock (1641-1707),
at first a non-juring clergyman, later yielded and became Dean
of St. Paul's Cathedral in 1691. His son, Thomas Sherlock
(1678-1761), was Bishop of London, and Thackeray may have
confused the two. Edward Stillingfleet (1635-1699) had been
Dean of St. Paul's and was made Bishop of Worcester in 1689.
Simon Patrick (1626-1707), consecrated Bishop of Chichester
in 1689 and in 1691 translated to Ely, became one of the chief
lights in the revival of spiritual life in the English Church toward
the close of the seventeenth centur3\
95 : 39. Bishop Taylor . . . Mr. Baxter and Mr. Law.
Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667), "the Shakespeare of divines,"
author of the eloquent Holy Living (1650) and Holy Dying
(1651). Being a royalist he lost his "living" in 1642, but after
the Restoration was made Bishop of Down and Connor in
Ireland. Richard Baxter (1615-1691) is known for his popular
work, The Saint's Everlasting Rest (1650). William Law (1686-
1761) did not write his Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life
until 1728, and Thackeray misses the date badly.
96 : 12. the divinities of Olympus. Mt. Olj^mpus, on the
border between Thessaly and Macedonia in northern Greece,
a loftj'" peak nearly ten thousand feet high, was regarded by the
ancients as the particular abode of their deities.
96 : 31. Marys who bring ointment. Cf. John xii, 3.
97 : 34. spinnet, a musical instrument like the harpsichord,
only smaller and lighter in tone.
98 : 29. nag . . . hack . . . bay gelding . . . coach-
horses . . . sorrel. The English love of horses, thus empha-
sized, is proverbial.
99 : 7. Trumpington ale. Trumpington is a small place
south of Cambridge, long a resort of Cambridge students.
99 : 38. highty-tighty, a dialectical pronunciation of hoity-
toity ! An exclamation of disapprobation.
526 HENRY ESMOND
101 : 14. my knight longs for a dragon. The old chap
books were full of stories of knights and heroes fighting dragons.
The story of St. George, the patron saint of England, killing the
Dragon, was the most popular of these.
102 : 6. Monsieur Galland's ingenious Arabian tales. An-
toine Galland (1646-1715), a French professor of Arabic at the
College de France, translated the Arabian Nights into French
(1704-1717).
102 : 8. honest Alnaschar. The barber's fifth brother in
the Arabian Nights, who invests his little fortune in a basket
of glassware, gets to day-dreaming, knocks over the basket,
breaks the glass, and awakes to a penniless reality.
103 : 33. Charing Cross, an important place in London west
of St. Paul's, where the Strand, Whitehall, and Cockspur Street
come together. Charing Cross was named for a cross originally
erected by Edward I, in memory of his Queen Elinor. She
had died near Grantham, in Lincolnshire, and wherever the
royal bier rested on its way to Westminster Abbey, a memorial
cross was erected. Cf. 126 : 4-5, " the statue at Charing Cross."
For "the Greyhound," see 156: 39.
104 : 2. Those rapid new coaches were not established as yet.
Thackeray must have read the famous Chapter Three in the first
volume of Macaulay's History of England, but does not use his
authority with precision. According to Macaulay, the "rapid
new coaches" had been established a few years before.
104 : 7. pensioner, one who pays for his commons, i.e.
board and chambers out of his own pocket, corresponding to
the "commoner" at Oxford.
104 : 12. Emmanuel College, Cambridge, was founded in
1584 for the defence of Puritanism on the site of an old Black-
friars convent.
104 : 16. the famous Mr. Newton. Sir Isaac Newton (1642-
1727), the mathematician and discoverer of the law of gravita-
tion, had been a student of Trinity in ^661, a fellow in 1667,
and professor at Cambridge, 1669.
NOTES 527
104 : 34. greges, i.e. flocks, or groups of classes. A Latin
term, as many school and college terms are.
105 : 26. kept his chapels, i.e. attended chapel exercises.
105 : 39. Don Dismallo. Sir Dismal. Esmond's sombreness
is emphasized throughout.
106 : 4. Jacobite, i.e. supporter of the banished James II,
or his heirs. The word is derived from Jacobus, the Latin for
"James."
106 : 6. to Burgundy, i.e. to dinner provided with Burgundy
wine.
106 : 14. Whig . . . Tory. These were the chief political
parties in England all through the eighteenth century. The
Whigs were the supporters of the Revolution of 1688, of rule by
Parliament, and upholders first of William Ill's accession and
later of George I's. The Tories were the conservatives in both
Church and State. The "Jacobites" were the extreme Tories,
opposed to the Revolution of 1688 and favoring James II's
restoration.
106 : 15. capped the proctor, greeted the proctor. The
proctor in an English University has charge of the discipline
of the college.
107 : 15. a-gadding after all the Nine Muses, i.e. reading
miscellaneously on all sorts of subjects, presided o^-er by the
Nine Muses. The " divine Calliope " was the Muse of Epic Poetry.
107 : 39. Chilling worth . . . Hobbes and Bayle. William
Chillingworth (1602-1644), author of The Religion of Protes-
tants, a Safe Way to Salvation (1637). Thomas Hobbes (1588-
1679), an English philosopher and leader of modern rationalism.
His best-known work is the Leviathan (1651). Pierre Bayle
(1647-1706), a French sceptical philosopher and critic, and
compiler of the Dictionnaire historique et critique (1696).
108 : 2. the Thirty-nine Articles, appended to the Book of
Common Prayer of the Church of England, and at the time
prescribed for university students and clergymen of the Es-
tablished Church.
528 HENRY ESMOND
109 : 4. saloon-of-arms, a translation of the French salle'
aux-armes.
109 : 12. wars of Turenne and Conde, those of the Fronde
(1648-1653), the Civil Wars in France at the time of the minority
of Louis XIV, between the Parliament and the Court.
109 : 17. escrime, attack and defence by means of sword or
sabre.
111 : 33. a French game, called a billiard. But cf. 129: 22,
"his new game of billiards," the common English form.
112 : 13. Who does not know, etc. Another instance of
Thackeray's tendency to moralize.
112 : 24. an extreme unction, the Roman Catholic sacra-
ment or rite of anointing in the form of a cross a person at the
point of death with olive-oil consecrated by the Bishop.
112 : 25. abi in pace, depart in peace.
112 : 27. Strephon and Chloe. The illustration is repeated
from above, 88: 31; but Thackeray uses these illustrations
merely as types.
112 : 31. Hymen, the god of marriage.
113 : 17. Baucis and Philemon. A Greek myth, told in
Ovid's Metamorphoses, VIII, 620-724, of a poor old couple who
entertained the gods Zeus (Jupiter) and Hermes (Mercury) un-
awares when all others had refused hospitality, and were re-
warded therefor.
113 : 28. Dick Steele . . . Mr. Pope, Mr. Congreve, Mr.
Addison, Mr. Gray . . . Dr. Swift. All these well-known
literary characters of the age were treated in Thackeray's Lec-
tures on the English Humourists of the Eighteenth Century.
114 : 33. muftis, and rabbins. The "muftis" are ex-
pounders of the Mohammedan law; "rabbins" or "rabbis,"
expounders of the Jewish law.
115 : 8. in corpore vili, i.e. flagrantly; literally, in wicked
body.
115 : 39. megrim, a headache predominating on one side of
the head.
NOTES 629
116 : 32. the Malabar wives. Malabar is a district in
Madras, India. Thackeray was much interested in things
Indian and not infrequently refers to these. Cf . 58 : 5.
117 : 32. Hampton Court. A royal palace originally built
by Cardinal Wolsey on the upper Thames, about twelve miles
from London.
118 : 6, Captain James. James Fitz-James, the Duke of
Berwick, is meant. Cf. 424 : 13-14.
118 : 31. Nero, the notoriously wicked emperor of Rome
from 54-68 a.d.
123 : 13. Lord Firebrace . . . Lord Mohun. Lord Fire-
brace seems to be a fanciful name. There was, however, a
Henry Firebrace (1619-1691) in the generation before this who
was active in conspiring to effect the escape of Charles I from
prison in 1648. Lord Mohun is an historical character, and
was killed in a duel with the Duke of Hamilton in Hyde Park,
London, 1712, a circumstance of which Thackeray later makes
admirable dramatic use.
123 : 19. bel air, distinguished appearance.
123 : 24. campaigns with the Prince of Baden on the
Danube, and witnessed the rescue of Vienna from the Turk.
Vienna had been besieged by the Turks in 1683, and was relieved
by an army of Germans and Poles under Sobieski and Charles,
Duke of Lorraine.
126 : 11. 'em . . . 'em. A colloquial usage, the remnant
of an older dative and accusative form hem, the h being dropped
as in other English words in rapid pronunciation. It is not an
abbreviation of "them."
128 : 1. Covent Garden. A square to the north of the
Strand, originally the "convent garden." At the time of our
stoiy it was all built up and its coffee-houses were the favorite
lounging places of the men of letters and the army. The " Rose "
was one of the chief of these resorts and had a very bad reputa-
tion; cf. 11. 25-6.
129 : 17. beau langage, i.e. pretty compliments.
2 m
530 HENRY ESMOND
129 : 26. Alsatia, a disreputable quarter of London. Sc
130:3. Cf. 13: 27-8.
130 : 3. Spring Garden was a favorite resort in the time of
Charles I at the corner or end of St. James Park, but was being
gradually encroached upon by buildings.
130 : 5. mesdames, i.e. actresses.
130 : 31. M. Massillon's magnificent image regarding King
William. Massillon (1663-1742) was a noted French pulpit
orator, especially on funeral occasions. His discerning, though
hostile, portrayal of King William may be found in a footnote
to Macaulay's History of England, Vol. II, Chapter VII, which
may be translated thus: "A prince profound in his views;
skilled in forming alliances and bringing together men of fine
spirit; more happy in stirring up wars than in fighting; more
to be feared in the stillness of his room than at the head of his
armies ; an enemy whom hatred of the French made capable
of conceiving and accomplishing great things ; one of those
geniuses who seem to be born for moving at their will nations
and sovereigns ; a great man, if he had never wished to be
King." grain de sable, grain of sand, trifle.
131 : 1. Princess Anne of Denmark. Cf. 87:5.
131 : 9. the famous antique statue of the Huntress Diana.
The "Diana of Versailles," a Greek statue now in the Louvre,
Paris.
131 : 14. Artemis . . . Niobe. Artemis, the Greek original
of Diana, was the female counterpart of Apollo, who was her
brother. Apollo (Phoebus) and Artemis (Diana) slew the seven
sons and seven daughters of Niobe, who had boasted her
superiority to their mother Latona.
131 : 15. Luna shining tenderly upon Endymion. Luna or
Selene, the goddess of the moon, looking down upon Mt. Latmos,
saw the shepherd Endymion lying asleep, and fell in love
with him. Keats's poem, Endymion, is based upon this
myth.
131 : 16. Phoebe, the shining one, feminine of Phoebus
NOTES \ 631
(Apollo) and hence a name for his sister Diana. Cf. above,
I. 14.
131 : 37. saevo laeta negotio, taking pleasure in the cruel
occupation. From Horace's Odes, III, xxix, 49.
131 : 39. a great poet of our own. This may refer to Milton
or to another poet.
133 : 3. Mistress, the form of address usual for a young un-
married lady at the time of our novel.
133 : 14. abigails, serving women, the name being derived
from the Biblical character in 1 Samuel xxv.
133 : 20. Newmarket, a town in Cambridgeshire, near the
border of Suffolk, noted for its horse racing.
135 : 11. the Grand Seignior, i.e. the Sultan of Turkey.
Hence the reference (1. 22) to Ainurath, a noted Sultan of
Turkey from 1359 to 13,89.
135 : 36. I would rather marry Tom Tusher. Thackeray
maliciously slips this in; for, as a matter of fact, she does so in
the end.
137 : 26. Beati pacifici, Blessed are the peacemakers.
From the Vulgate, Matthew v. 9.
138 : 3. trapesing, gadding about. The word was popular
in eighteenth-century descriptions.
138 : 29. wild Mohocks, a band of young ruffians of good fam-
ilies who made life dangerous in the streets of London at night.
The date is generally placed in 1712, later than the present stage
of our narrative. The name was derived from the American
Indian tribe of Mohawks. The poet Gay describes their reputed
deeds in his Trivia (iii), a poem descriptive of London life and
the London streets, which Thackeray had read and used : —
"Who has not trembled at the Mohocks' name?
Was there a watchman took his hourly rounds.
Safe from their blows, or new-invented wounds?
I pass their desp'rate deeds, and mischiefs done,
Where from Snow-hill black steepy torrents run;
532 HENRY ESMOND
How matrons, hoop'd within the hogshead's womb,
Were tumbled furious thence, the rolUng tomb
O'er the stones thunders, bounds from side to side;
So Regulus to save his country died."
140 : 7. Tillotson. John Tillotson (1630-1694), a theo-
logical writer, who was Archbishop of Canterbury the last three
years of his life.
140 : 8. Your favorite Bishop Taylor. Cf. 95 : 39.
141 : 16. car, a wheeled vehicle, particularly one with only
two wheels.
141 : 34. We read in Shakespeare, etc. The reference is to
Othello, III, 3, 330-3.
"Not poppy, nor mandragora,
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou owedst yesterday."
141 : 36. far beyond Mr. Congreve. It was a frequent sub-
ject for discussion whether the works of the chief tragic writer
of the Restoration, John Dryden (1631-1700), and the chief
contemporary composer of comedies, William Congreve (1670-
1729), were not superior to those of Shakespeare. Cf. the lines
in Dryden's epistle, "To My Friend, Mr. Congreve, On his
Comedy called The Double Dealer, 1693," .
"This is your portion, this your native store:
Heaven, that but once was prodigal befoio,
To Shakespeare gave as much; she could not give him more."
Dr. Johnson, in his Life of Congreve, selects a passnge from
Congrevn's play, The Mourning Bride, and asserts that none
in Shakespeare was equal to it.
142 : 18. furniture, furnishings, trappings.
NOTES 533
143 : 10. You young Argus. Argus, who had a hundred
eyes, closed only two of these while asleep, and so watched
constantly.
144 : 5. botte de Jesuite, i.e. Jesuitical thrust. It is several
times referred to as a particularly skilful stroke in fencing.
144 : 37. for we were got on to the Downs. The change of
pronoun in the interjected clause keeps in mind the device of
the Memoirs. The use of the auxiliary "were" with the parti-
ciple "got" is purposely archaic.
148 : 2. beaver, i.e. beaver hat, the tali hat customarily worn
and originally made from the beaver fur.
148 : 15. memento mori. Cf. 13 : 36.
150 : 26. Doctor Cheyne. George Cheyne (1671-1743), a
noted physician of Queen Anne's and George I's reigns. Thack-
eray gives him somewhat too early a date.
151 : 4. the Cockpit, Whitehall, i.e. an inn located on or
near the site of the Cockpit Theatre in Whitehall.
151 : 9. Gray's Inn, one of the four Inns of Court, the
abode of the law students and barristers.
152 : 2. You go to Duke Street, and see Mr. Betterton.
Duke's Theatre is of course meant, built at the time of the
Restoration in 1660. Cf. 155 : 6, "the theatre in Duke Street";
156: 13, "the Duke's Play-house." Thomas Betterton (1635-
1710) was the greatest English actor of his day.
154 : 13. foils . . . when the buttons are taken off, i.e.
when bare blades are used instead of foils, botte, thrust. Cf.
144: 5.
155 : 35. Jack Westbury. The same as "Captain West-
bury," who was mentioned in Chapter VI.
156 : 15. Wycherley's " Love in a Wood " had first been
played in 1672. It was the first of his plays that brought the
dramatist fame.
156 : 26. Captain Macartney. George Maccartney, or Macart-
ney (1660-1730), seems to be faithfully portraj^ed in the story :
a good soldier, but dissolute and vicious. Being Mohun's
534 HENRY ESMOND
second in his duel with the Duke of Hamilton in 1712, both in
history and in our story, he is also made Mohun's ally in the
duel with the Viscount Castlewood. Swift wrote in his Journal
to Stella, December 13, 1710, "Maccartney, Brigadier Mere-
dyth, and Colonel Honey^ood 'are alleged to sell their com-
mands at half their value and leave the army' for drinking
destruction to the new ministry." The basis for the statement
(403 : 34), "the Duke killed Mohun, and Macartney came up and
stabbed him," is also to be found in Swift's Journal and was
generally believed. Macartney fled, but surrendered himself
in 1716, was tried, and declared guilty of manslaughter.
156 : 34. as they did poor Will Mountford. William
Mountford, or Mountfort, was an English actor and playwright
who was killed by a jealous army officer, named Hill, at Mrs.
Bracegirdle's door, in 1692. It was generally believed that Lord
Mohun was involved in this murder. See Macaulay's History of
England, IV, xix. Cf. 123 : 13.
156 : 39. Lockit's, the Greyhound, in Charing Cross. The
tavern was known as '' Locket's Ordinary, " from its proprietor
Adam Locket. Cf. 103 : 33.
157 : 7. the Christian Hero, a manual of Christian ethics,
a rather remarkable production for an English trooper, was
written by Steele in 1701. Thackeray's chronology would
make it appear somewhat earlier.
157 : 32. moidores, literally, "coins of gold," formerly
current in Portugal, having the value of about $6.50 each.
158 : 39. chairs, carried by bearers, the mode of conveyance
at the time in London instead of the present cabs. Cf. Pope's
Rajpe of the Lock, i, 45-6 : —
"Think what an equipage thou hast in air
And view with scorn two pages and a chair."
Leicester Field, formerly an unenclosed field west of London,
the name of which is still retained in "Leicester Square."
NOTES 635
160 : 24. Long Acre, a wide street north of the Strand,
which gradually obtained a very bad reputation.
161 : 16. Mr. Atterbury. Francis Attcrbury (1662-1732),
an English clergyman, who w^as made Bishop of Rochester and
Dean of Westminster late in Queen Anne's reign in 1713, and
was finally banished in 1723 for his Jacobite activities.
162 : 24. the Bagnio, here seemingly the bath at the house
of the surgeon (cf. 160: 24). On the occasion of the historical
duel between Mohun and the Duke of Hamilton, in the early
morn of November 15, 1712, Mohun is said to have spent the
previous night at "the Bagnio in Long Acre," a neighborhood
of bad reputation.
163 : 13. Benedict! benedicentes, blessed are those who
bless — a formula of the Church.
163 : 19. writ, an old preterite plural form. So 174: 26,
"writ"; but just before, 173 : 37, "wrote." on his table-book,
i.e. in his note-book or pocket memorandum-book.
163 : 22. Gatehouse prison. A prison at Westminster.
171 : 1. deliquium, failure of vital force, unconsciousness.
171 : 19. cypher, initial or monogram, crown, sign or
mark showing identity and betokening rank; cf. 172 : 7-8,
"the bauble embroidered in the corner."
171 : 23. a many, i.e. a large number, very many.
171 : 28. the King at Kensington. The palace at Kensing-
ton, now in London, but formerly a suburb about four miles
west, was the favorite abode of William III and of Queen Anne.
172 : 24. the Lord Steward, Lord Somers. John Somers,
Lord Somers (1652-1716), a famous jurist, was one of the Lord
Chancellors of England (1697-1700). The office of Lord High
Steward is created for .special occasions, as to settle matters of
precedence at the coronation of a King or to preside in the
House of Lords at the trial of one of the peers, as here.
173 : 7. before their peers at Westminster, before their
equals, i.e. the House of Lords at Westminster, where its
sessions w^ere held.
536 HENRY ESMOND
173 : 10. trial at Newgate. The prison at Newgate was
used for the detention and trial of common prisoners. Cf.
4:9.
173 : 12. benefit of clergy was in early English law the
exemption of the persons of ecclesiastics from criminal process
before a secular judge. This privilege, intended to protect the
persons of the priests in the discharge of their duties, was in
time enlarged and extended to all laymen who could read and
write — an absurd anomaly not wholly repealed until 1827.
173 : 19. Duelling . . .- in honour. These ideas were long
current in America; witness the fatal duel between Aaron Burr
and Alexander Hamilton.
173 : 30. saintly George Herbert or pious Dr. Ken. George
Herbert (1593-1633), the author of the volume of religious
poems, The Temple (1633), which holds a confirmed position
in English literature. Thomas Ken (1637-1711), Bishop of
Bath and Wells from 1684 to 1691, and author of several favorite
hymns: "Awake my soul," "Glory to thee, my God, this night,"
etc.
174 : 29. gown, i.e. ministerial gown, as badge of the office.
175 : 7. virtute sua, with his own virtue.
175 : 9. As I have seen, etc. The first person is Thackeray's
in one of his moralizings. So 175:33-176:12, "At certain
periods," etc.
176 : 3. a-hunting or riding. The old form, "a-hunting,"
an original prepositional phrase, is used side by side with the
simple participial form, "riding."
176 : 11. Reficimus rates quassas, we refit our shattered
barks, i.e. we try again. It is an adaptation of reficit rates
Quassas, Horace's Odes, I, 1, 17-18, whiclj immediately precedes
indocilis pauperiem pati, 90 : 2.
176 : 13. noviciate. The c is due to "novice"; note
initiation in the same line with t.
176:24. t'other. Historically, "'tother," i.e. "the tother"
for "thet other" or "that other."
NOTES 537
176 : 25. bilked, eluded.
176 : 31. peers. Cf. 173: 7.
176 : 35. the bishops in the Tower. Another reference to
the famous case of the Seven Bishops, Cf. 35 : 11,
176 : 36. We were. Again the change to the first person,
to recall that these "Memoirs" were "written by Himself."
See title-page. Cf. 177: 18, "our cellar."
176 : 37. Governor's house, i.e. house of the governor or
keeper of the prison. Cf. 184: 33, "Warden of Newgate,"
177 : 28. Killjoy, a nickname showing Esmond's sombre-
ness. thee . , , thee , . , thee. The pronoun indicates famil-
iarity. In 170 : 4-6, thou . . . thee . . . you , , , you, both
pronoun forms are used, with a change of sudden intimacy to
one of greater distance,
177 : 30, Christian Hero, a quibble on Steele's work of
that name. Cf. 157 : 7.
177 : 32. kissed ... on both cheeks, the current salutation
between men friends.
178 : 1. burnt sack, a drink that Falstaff (Shakespeare's
/ Henry IV, II, 4, 587) was much addicted to, as well as
Steele.
178 : 19. Prince's and Princess's Court, i.e. Prince George
of Denmark and his consort Princess Anne. See 190 : 22-3,
"Mr. Steele, who was in waiting on Prince George." Cf.
131: 1.
178 : 20. a gentleman waiter, i.e. a gentleman in waiting or
attendance upon a person of rank. So. 179: 17, "gentleman
usher."
178 : 27. I mind me, i.e. I remember.
179 : 12. one of the bravest and greatest gentlemen in
England, i.e. the Duke of Hamilton, as told later in the stor3^
179:22. Niobe, Cf. 131 : 14. Sigismunda is " Gismunda,'
in the story of Tancred and Gismunda, dramatized in 1568,
and based on a "novel" of Boccaccio {Decameron, Fourth
Day, Novel 1): "Tancred, Prince of Salerno, puts his
538 HENRY ESMOND
daughter's lover to death, and sends his heart to her in a
golden cup; she pours poison upon it, which she drinks and
dies." Belvidera, the wife of Jaffer, the conspirator, in Thomas
Otway's Ve7iice Preserved. She divulges the plot in the belief
that the conspirators will be pardoned; they are condemned
and executed, and Belvidera goes mad.
179 : 28. matre pulcra filia pulcrior, lovely mother, lovelier
daughter. From the first line of Horace's sixteenth ode in the
First Book.
180 : 5. imo pectore, from the depths of his heart. Cf.
pedore ah imo, Virgil's ^neid, I, 485.
181 : 11. dowager's house, i.e. house of the widow of the
former Lord Castlewood, the "Lady Jezebel" of the early
chapters, "my Lady Viscountess" of 1. 13.
181 : 18. her famous namesake of Florence, i.e. Beatrice,
whom Dante immortalized in his Vita Nuova and the "Para-
dise" of his Divine Comedy.
181 : 24. I beat a drum at the coffin of my father. Thack-
eray loves to repeat, as we have seen, and has mentioned this
before in our story (63: 12), as well as in his lecture on Steele
in The English Humourists.
183 : 8. The Kingl he is no king of mine, etc. Lady Castle-
wood, as a true Esmond, rejects William and adheres to the
House of Stuart.
184 : 17. your new comedy. Steele's comedies were not
written so soon. The dates were The Funeral (1701), The
Lying Lover (1703), The Tender Husband (1705), The Con-
scious Lovers (1722).
185 : 1. Cheapside, an important business thoroughfare in
the heart of the old city of London running east and west, the
west end terminating at St. Paul's Cathedral.
185 : 3. Smithfield, an open place north of St. Paul's,
formerly a cattle market. Cf. 57: 11-12. Bluecoat Boys' School.
A name for Christ's Hospital, from the ancient dress of the
school. Both Coleridge and Lamb were Blue Coat Boys and
NOTES 539
have written of their schooldays at Christ's Hospital. Cf.
Coleridge's Biographia Literaria and Lamb's Christ's Hospital
Five-and- Thirty Years Ago.
185 : 4. Chartreux, or "Chartreuse," the French name for
a former Carthusian monastery there, whence, by a corruption,
"Charterhouse." Cf. 57:10.
185 : 9. three pieces, i.e. gold pieces.
185 : 25. my Lord Marlborough's letters. Thackeray harps
on Marlborough's weak points — here, his poor scholarship
and bad spelling.
185 : 27. Mong Coussin, etc. The Lady Viscountess Dowa-
ger's letter affects French which Thackeray cleverly permits to
be both dialectal and bad. The import of the letter is
this : —
"Dear Cousin: I know that you have fought bravely and
been severely wounded — by the side of the late Viscount. The
Earl of Warwick never wearies talking of you; Lord Mohun,
too. He says you wished to fight him — that you are more
skilful than he is in fencing — that there is especially a certain
thrust you have that he has never known how to parry, and
that it would have been all over with him if you two had fought
together. So the poor Viscount is dead. Dead and perhaps
— dear cousin, dear cousin ! I fancy that you are only a little
Monster — as the Esmonds have always been. The wudow is
with me. I have taken the poor woman in. She is furious with
you and goes every day after the King (here) and cries loudly
for revenge for her husband. She doesn't wish to see you or
hear you spoken of : but she herself does nothing but speak of
it a thousand times a day. When you are out of prison come to
see me. I shall look after you. If this little prude wishes to
get rid of her little Monster (Alas ! I fear that it will not be very
long), I shall take charge of you. I have still some income
and some ready money.
"The widow is making friends with my Lady Marlborough
640 HENRY ESMOND
who is all powerful with Queen Anne. This Lady is interesting
herself in the little prude,who besides has a son of the same age
as you know who.
" Upon leaving prison, come here. I cannot lodge you in my
house on account of the wickedness of the world; but you can
find quarters near me.
"IsABELLE Viscountess Esmond."
To speak of " Queen Anne" in this letter is a marked ana-
chronism, as 'Hhe King" (William) was referred to just before;
and the Biographical Edition alters la Reine to la Princesse.
But why correct Thackeray's inadvertencies ?
186 : 21. a cup and cover of assay, a small cup and dish
with which the drink and food of the king were tasted before
being presented to him.
186 : 25. born in the same year and month with Frank.
Emphasis is here laid upon this as bearing upon the plot of the
story in the last few chapters, at Saint Germains, near Paris,
where James II and his consort were in banishment.
186 : 31. Fleet Conduit, originally a stream flowing by the
western wall of the old city, and now one of the main sewers of
London.
187 : 3. Temple Garden, the garden belonging to "The
Temple," originally a lodge of the Knights Templars, but since
the fourteenth century the abode of barristers in the Middle
Temple and Inner Temple respectively.
187 : 5. Somerset House. A palace in the Strand built by
and named for the Duke of Somerset when Protector in 1549,
and now used for government offices.
187 : 6. Westminster . . . bridge, the first bridge to be
built across the river above the old London Bridge. If Thack-
eray had reference to the present stone bridge, as he probably
did, it was not in existence at the time of his story. But see
his statement, 436 : 30.
187 : 7. Lambecl: tower and palace. Cf. xxviii: 15.
NOTES 541
187 : 17. Surrey, the county immediately to the south of
London across the Thames.
188 : 11. like the towers of Cybele. Cj^bele was the great
mother of the gods in Greek mythology. High peaks and the
tall oak and the pine were sacred to her.
188 : 27. bar-sinister. Cf. 63 : 24.
189 : 35. Saint Omer's. A cathedral city in northern
France where there was formerly a Roman Catholic college for
young Englishmen.
190 : 7. Mais vous etes un noble jeune hommel You are
indeed a noble young man ! '
190 : 10. Noblesse oblige, i.e. it is expected of my rank and
station.
190 : 16. raffoler, rave.
190 : 27. Mourning Bride. Congreve's play, The Mourning
5nc?e, appeared in 1697, somewhat about the time of Thackeray's
chronology, which he does not keep very clear in his stor5^
190 : 29. when that wretch Churchill deserted the King.
Another attack by Thackeray on the Duke of Marlborough's
many political changes. Cf . 210 : 38. hung. Thackeray also
uses ''hanged."
191 : 6. Ehl — mon neveu. Ah, my nephew! So 1. 13,
Monsieur mon neveu.
191 : 20. my Lord Ormond. James Butler (1665-1745),
second Duke of Ormonde. We shall meet him later in the
historical chapters on the Marlborough wars.
191 : 22. black man, I.e. a man of very dark coloring.
191 : 29. make meagre, i.e. fast, as is the custom with strict
Churchmen on Frida3^s, the day of the Crucifixion. In 1. 31,
"the right way of thinking," i.e. in religion and politics — a
Roman Catholic and a Jacobite.
191 : 32. Prince of Orange. The Lady Dowager Viscountess
never calls him " King."
192 : 21. get him a pair of colours, get him a position in the
army.
542 HENRY ESMOND
192 : 22. ensign, lieutenant.
192 : 25. that accident befell King William. Gf. 82: 31.
193 : 3. quadrille, a game of cards, bohea, a sort of tea.
193 : 5. quidnuncs, gossips, newsgathers, and tale-bearers.
The word comes from the Latin, quid nwnc," What (news) now?"
193 : 8. Dunkirk, a seaport in northern France, on the
Strait of Dover, from which naval and military expeditions
were fitted out against England.
193 : 9. the Prince of Orange. Seemingly an anachronism,
as it has just been said he was dead (192: 34-5).
193 : 10. Duke of Berwick, son of James II and Arabella
Churchill, the Duke of Marlborough's sister (cf. 12: 34), who
possessed much of the Churchill family's military genius. Com-
mander of James II's forces in Ireland, after the fateful Battle
of the Boyne, Berwick went to France, where his father was in
exile, became a French subject and a marshal in the French army.
193 : 14. relics of the saint, i.e. of the deceased King James
II, who had died at St. Germains, September 6, 1701, just five
months before King William's accident. Hence, in the hne
above, "King James the Third's health," i.e. of the son of
James II and "Pretender" to the English crown.
193 : 21. Autun, a cathedral city in north central France.
193 : 24. Auvergne, an old district or county of France in
the southern central part.
193 : 26. Benedictines. St. Benedict (480-513 a.d.), an
Umbrian saint, founded the order of the Benedictines at Monte
Cassino in southern Italy about 529.
193 : 32. Saxe-Gothe, a former duchy in central or Saxon
Germany, with Gotha as its residence city.
194 : 24. Mr. Fox, and turned Quaker. George Fox (1624-
1691) had founded the Society of Friends, commonly called
"Quakers," about 1669.
194 : 31. Ours ... we ... us. The first personal pro-
nouns again emphasize the fiction of memoirs, and give oppor-
tunity for Thackeray's own views.
NOTES 543
195 : 2. The Greek quotation is from the Odyssey, I, 32-4,
and is thus translated in the version of the poet William Morris:
"Out on it! how do the menfolk to the Gods lay all their ill,
And say that of us it cometh; when they themselves indeed
Gain griefs from their own souls' folly bej^ond the fateful meed?"
195 : 2c. ugly Anne Hyde's daughter. Queen Anne, named
for her mother, was the daughter of James II and Anne Hyde
(1637-1671), the eldest daughter of Edward Hyde, Earl of
Clarendon, historian of the Civil Wars.
195 : 28. from Westminster to Ludgate Hill, i.e. from West-
minster Abbey to St. Paul's Cathedral. Cf. 2 : 6.
195 : 30. the Garter, i.e. the Order of the Garter, the highest
order of knighthood in Great Britain, was instituted by Edward
III about 1344-50. Legend has it that Edward III picked up
a garter dropped at a ball by the Countess of Salisbury, buckled
it over his knee with the words, now the motto of the order,
Honi soil qui mal y pense, "Shamed be he who thinks evil of
it." The badge of the order is a garter of blue ribbon of velvet
bordered with gold and ornamented with a gold buckle, worn
on the left leg.
195 : 34. a puppet in the hands of that fury of a woman.
Queen Anne was under the influence of the Duchess of Marl-
borough. See 211 : 2, and 290 : 3.
196 : 12. Portsmouth, The principal naval station in the
south of England, just above the Isle of Wight.
196 : 21. the Captain- General gone to Holland, i.e. the
Duke of Marlborough entering upon his campaign.
196 : 29. my Lord Macclesfield' s splendid embassy to the
Elector of Hanover. Charles Gerard, Earl of Macclesfield, ac-
companied by Lord Mohun, was sent as a special ambassador
to the Dowager Electress Sophia to acquaint her with the terms
of succession to the English throne. She died, however, May
28, 1714, two months before Queen Anne, and her son became
544 HENRY ESMOND
King of England as George I. Sophia was the daughter oi
Elizabeth Stuart, Queen of Bohemia, who was the daughter of
James I of England. Cf. 403 : 29, and 408 : 11.
198 : 6. Mr. Swift . . . Gulliver, etc. Jonathan Swift
(1667-1745), appointed Dean of St. Patrick's in Dubhn, in
1713, was one of the most prominent literary and political
figures at Queen Anne's court, serving the Tories and steadily
hoping for preferment and as constantly disappointed. In his
Lectures on the English Humourists, also, Thackcra}'- places
Swift in a very unenviable light. Swift's most popular work,
Gulliver's Travels, was not published before 1726. Thackeray
perhaps saves himself from the anachronism by dating the
ostensible Memoirs later. The picture here described is in the
First Part of the Travels.
200 : 4. you . . . thee . . . thee. The ordinary form of
address "you" changes to the intimate "thee."
200 : 5. This sword hath been hanging over my head. A
metaphor on the cares of those in authority. The figure is
taken from the story of Damocles, who, envying the good fortune
of Dionysius, ruler of Syracuse, was invited to enjoy this fortune,
and while banqueting looked up and saw a sword suspended
above his head by a single hair.
201 : 15. 'listed . . . had gone apprentice . . . this seven
year. These idiomatic or dialectal expressions are intended to
represent the artless answers of the folk-speech.
202 : 21. Pall Mall, a fashionable street in London beyond
Charing Cross, at the end of which St. James's Palace was
located,
203 : 3. Captain Avory, or Captain Kid. Captain Avery
fitted up a vessel in the West Indies, sailed for the Red Sea, and
inflicted much loss on the East India Company by his privateer-
ing. William Kidd, the notorious pirate, had been hanged the
year before this period of our narrative, May 23, 1701.
203 : 6. Spithead, a roadstead :-ff the southern coast of
England between Portsmouth and liyde, on the Isle of Wight.
NOTES 545
Admiral Shovell, Sir Cloudesley Shovel (1650-1707), who
was made commander of the British navy in 1705, and two
years later was drowned in a wreck off the Scilly Isles.
203 : 16. Portsmouth . . . Plymouth . . . Finisterre
. . . Lisbon. The extent of the voyage is easilj'- seen. Plym-
outh is an important seaport in southwest England (Devon-
shire). Finisterre is the promontory on the northwest corner
of Spain. Lit:bon, on the river Tagus, near the sea, is the capital
city of Portugal. The expedition was engaged in the war of the
Spanish Succession.
204 : 21. that immortal story of Cervantes. Don Quixote,
of which the three hundreth anniversary was celebrated in 1905,
written by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (1547-1616), the best-
known writer of Spain. The first part of Don Quixote was
written in 1605; the second part, ten years later, in 1615. Cer-
vantes died April 23, 1616.
204 : 37. Trinity Walks, i.e. at Trinity College, Cambridge.
205 : 9. a mitre and Lambeth. The mitre is the indication
of the bishop's office. For Lambeth, cf. xxviii : 16.
205 : 17. Prince Eugene (1663-1736), a renowned general
in the Austrian army, allied with the Duke of Marlborough's
forces, and assisting him in winning the battle of Blenheim
over the French in 1704. He was also engaged in the battles of
Oudenarde in 1708 and Malplaquet in 1709.
205 ; 28. Cadiz, the chief port on the Atlantic in south-
western Spain.
205 : 36. the war between King Philip and King Charles, i.e.
the war of the Spanish Succession, 1701-1714. Philip V,
grandson of Louis XIV of France, was supported by the French ;
while Leopold I, Emperor of Austria, claimed the kingdom on
behalf of his son Charles.
206 : 2. the alameda, the pleasure-ground or park where
fashion congregates.
206 : 5. Bartholomew Murillo (1617-1682), the great
Spanish painter of religious and character subjects.
546 HENRY ESMOND
206 : 17. Andalusia, a captaincy-general of southern Spain,
comprising several provinces, of which Cadiz was one.
206 : 29. Mori pro patria, to die for one's country. From
Horace's Odes, III, ii, 13, Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.
206 : 35. Port Saint Mary's, a Spanish seaport eight miles
northeast of Cadiz. In Spanish, Puerto de Santa Maria.
207 : 3. Is she going to turn out a beauty? — or a princess?
etc. Rather an artistic blemish. Thackeray wilfully tl^rusts
in his accustomed gibe at the romantic school of novelists, which
disturbs the narrative and does even greater violence to the idea
of the Memoirs, Thackeray's works show several instances of
this vein, viz., his masterpiece in the ironical mock-heroic, The
Luck of Barry Lyndon, A Romance of the Last Century (1844);
A Legend of the Rhine (1845), a burlesque of Alexandre Dumas's
Othon V archer; and Rebecca and Rowena: A Romance upon
Romance, as a Proposal for a Continuation of ' Ivanhoe.'
207 : 13. Vigo Bay, on the northwestern coast of Spain.
The English, with their Dutch allies, destroj^ed the Spanish fleet
there, October 23, 1702.
207 : 16. Torbay. The ship was patriotically named from
Torbay. Cf. 40 : 28.
207 ; 18. Port of Redondilla. Redondela is a littb farther
in the interior of the same bay beyond Vigo.
207 : 25. Bagshot Heath, on the border of Surrey and Berk-
shire in England, notorious as a resort of highwaymen and
suspicious characters, like Hounslow Heath near London.
Indeed, Thackeray seems to use both names as if synon3aiious;
cf. 1. 28, Hounslow.
207 : 30. though Mr. Addison did sing its praises in Latin.
Addison wrote Latin verses on the Peace of Ryswick, dedicated
to Charles Montagu, and pubhshcd in 1697, live years before
the engagement at Vigo. The Campaign, in English heroic
couplets, was on Marlborough's Blenheim campaign of 1704.
But neither of these patriotic productions corresponds to Thack-
eray's statement I
NOTES 547
208 : 3. General Lumley. Henry Lumley (1660-1722) was
made colonel after the battle of Steenkirke in 1692, and brigadier-
general in 1693, was present at the siege of Nainur in 1695, and
January 1, 1696, was made major-general. He afterward
fought at Blenheim, Ramillies, Oudenarde, and Malplaquet,
being promoted full general in 1711.
208 : 36. the Mall, a fashionable promenade, shaded by
rows of trees, in St. James's Park, London.
209 : 9. Most of the family quarrels, etc. One of Thack-
eray's accustomed inserted moralizings.
209 : 28. Bloomsbury. Now a district in London in the
British Museum neighborhood. It was more fashionable in
Queen Anne's day.
209 : 30. s^unging-house, the bailiff's house, where those im-
prisoned for debt were confined until they could meet their
obligations..
209 : 38. Monsieur de Rochefoucault, i.e. La Rochefou-
cauld (1613-1680), the noted French moralist. The first
edition of his Maxims appeared in 1665. His Memoirs and his
Correspondence also hold a high place in literature.
210 : 30. allowed, i.e. conceded.
210 : 38. Lord Churchill — the King, whom he betrayed,
etc. James II had rewarded the services of John Churchill
(1650-1722) by making him Lord Churchill, but he joined
William of Orange in November, 1688, was made Earl of Marl-
borough in 1689, and had just been created Duke of Marlborough
in 1702. The stanch old royalist lady refuses to give him any
title but that bestowed by the Stuart king, whose cause Churchill
— and many others — had abandoned.
211 : 2. that vixen of a Sarah Jennings. Sarah Jennings had
married, in 1678, John Churchill, who later became Duke of Marl-
borough. Being made as early as 1683 a lady in waiting on Prin-
cess Anne, she gained great ascendancy over the latter's mind,
which continued even after Anne became Queen. Later she was
superseded in the Queen's favor by Lady Masham. See 290 : 3.
548 HENRY ESMOND
211 . 19. Cela c'est vu, mon Cousin, That is a matter o\
course, cousin.
212 : 19. such a strange and sudden excitement. Thackeray
lets the end be clearly seen from the beginning, though concealed
from none so much as the two actors. The mother and daughter
are both rivals in Esmond's affections, a situation unique in
fiction and executed with masterly portrayal.
212 : 26. across the fields and meadows to Chelssa.. Chelsea,
now swallowed up in the advance of the great city, was then an
independent town.
213 : 4. King Hamlet's widow taking off her weeds for
Claudius. Cf. Shakespeare's play. Claudius is the king who
has murdered his brother, the former King Hamlet, and mar-
ried the widow.
213 : 12. Farnham, in Surrey, near the border of Hamp-
shire, more than halfway from London to Winchester. In
11. 30-32, "Walcote . . . lies about a mile from Winchester."
213 : 22. boxing the watch, i.e. fighting the night watch-
man.
213 : 23. St. Giles's, a locality of London west of Holborn,
noted for its slums and vice.
213 : 24. Etheredge and Sedley. Sir George Etheredge '
(1635-1691) and Sir Charles Sedley (1639-1701) were two
licentious dramatists of Charles II's reign.
213 : 26. Rochester, Harry Jermyn, and Hamilton. .Tohn
Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (1647-1680), was a poet and gallant
of Charles II's day. Henry Jermyn, Earl of St. Alban's
(1600-1684), was a companion of Charles II in his banishment
in France, and was later Charles II's ambassador in Paris.
Hamilton was probably Count Anthony Hamilton (1646-1720),
a French writer of British descent, author of the Memoirs of
the Count of Grammont.
213 : 29. our Lady of Chaillot, i.e. the favorite of James at
his country house. Cf. Frank's description, 435; 19-21, anc
443: 11-12.
NOTES 549
213 : 38. the famous college there, Winchester School oi
St. Mary's College, a boys' preparatory school, one of the best
known in England, founded by William of Wykeham in 1393,
214 : 13. the Cathedral. Winchester is known for its
splendid cathedral, dating from the thirteenth centur}^, even
more than for its college.
214 : 31. point de Venise, Venice lace, which is conspicuous
in the dress of most of Vandj^ke's portraits. Vandyke. Cf . 4:31.
214 : 32. Mons. Rigaud's portrait. Hyacinthe Rigaud
(1659-1743), the greatest French portrait painter in his day,
with a rather florid style. This assumed portrait plays an im-
portant part in the plot toward the close of the novel.
215 : 29. are . . . come. Thackeray purposely uses the
older idiom, in place of '"have . . . come."
217 : 4. Reddas incolumem precor, I pray return safe.
From Horace's Odes, I, 3, 7, which Tom Tusher had read with
the young Lord at Winchester school.
217 : 5. Gaditanian, an adjective derived from the old
name for the strait of Gibraltar, Gaditanum Fretum. The
reference is to the naval exploits around Cadiz, near the Strait
of Gibraltar.
217 : 8. Septimi, Gades aditure mecum, O Septimius, ready
to go with me to Cadiz. The first line in Horace's Sixth Ode
of the Second Book. Tom Tusher again has recourse to his
Horace.
217 : 17. the verger, who has the care of the interior of a
church or cathedral. Thackeray has just used a number of
words pertaining to the service and usage of the English Church.
217 : 21. maid of honour, i.e. to the Queen.
219 : 6. I know it, I know it, etc. The conclusion of this
chapter and this scene is very fine. Thackeray has written
httle in a more exalted strain than the lines from 219 : 37 to 220 ;
17.
219 : 33. now you are come again, bringing your sheaves
with ytu. Cf. Psalms cxxvi. 7, appointed in the Psalter for
550 HENRY ESMOND
the Twenty-seventh Day, Evening Prayer, though the heading
of the chapter assigns it to the 29th.
220 : 15. Non omnis moriar, I shall not wholly die. Again
from Horace's Odes, III, 30, 6.
220 : 27. blot on my name refers to the "bar sinister"
often alluded to, 63 : 24; 188 : 27, etc.
220 : 32. He has conformed . . . they have found a church
for him, i.e. he had accepted Queen Anne as his legal Sovereign
and Head of the Church of England. Previously he had been
a non-Juror, supporting the claims of James II. Yet Thack-
eray later (253 : 32-4) contradicts himself.
220 : 38. Holy Advent season, the four Sundays in Advent,
i.e. immediately before Christmas,
222 : 22. grenadier, i.e. soldier of unusual courage and
ability. In its origin the name had reference to those picked
soldiers selected to throw hand-grenades and lead the assault.
222 : 32. came Mistress Beatrix, etc. This apparition de-
scending the staircase, the artist George Du Maurier tried to fix
in a well-known illustration to ''Esmond."
224 : 2. such a rapture as the first lover is described as
having by Milton. Cf. the awakening of Adam and Eve in
Paradise, Paradise Lost, V, 11-25: —
"he on his side
Leaning, half raised, with looks of cordial love,
Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld
Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep
Shot forth peculiar graces."
224 : 3. N'est ce pas? i.e. Is she not beautiful?
224 : 10. They've silver clocks. Cf. 21 : 35.
226 : 8. steenkirk. After the battle of Steenkirk, in Bel-
gium, in 1692, the name was applied to several articles of dress,
wigs, neckclothcs, etc. Here the word refers to the wig. The
hal)it of wearing great wigs — perriwigs or perruques — over the
natural hair was well-nigh universal at the time.
NOTES 551
227 : 3. Lindamiras and Ardelias of the poets, i.e. of the
pastoral romances.
227 : 34. And so it is, etc. Another one of Thackeray's
morahzing paragraphs.
228 : 13. Cleopatra . . . Helen. Cleopatra, Queen of
FJgypt, described in Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, and
Helen of Troy, told of in Homer's Iliad, are with common con-
sent the two most beautiful ^\■omen portrayed in literati u'e.
229 : 22. Rochester . . . Grammont. Cf.213: 26. Count
Philibert do Gramont (1621-1707) was a French nobleman at
the court of Louis XIV, and after the Restoration at the court
of Charles II. Count Anthony Plamilton, his brother-in-law,
wrote in French the Memoirs of the Count of Grammont
(1713).
229 : 28. Bruxelles, Brussels. Thackeray usuallj^ employs
the French form of the word.
230 : 13. Blandford, Charles Churchill, Marquis of Bland-
ford, the son of the Duke of Marlborough, a promising lad who
died from smallpox at King's College, Cambridge, February 20,
1703. Cf. 210: 36.
230 : 15. Dr. Hare, i.e. his tutor, Francis Hare (1665-1740),
later became Bishop of St. Asaph and of Chichester. He also
tutored Sir Robert Walpole.
231 : 19. King Henry at Agincourt, i.e. Henry V, at the
victory of the English over the French at Agincourt, October
25, 1415. See Drayton's splendid ballad on the subject.
231 : 20. Poictiers, the battle which the Black Prince won
over King John of France, September 19, 1356, when the French
King was taken prisoner.
231 : 37. the Sylvester night, i.e. December 31, the last night
of the year.
233 : 15. his Grace, i.e. the Duke of Marlborough, father of
the prospective groom. The title ''Grace" is applied to a duke
or an archbishop.
233 : 36. Powis or Powys, an ancient principality in Wales.
552 HENRY ESMOND
235 : 8. sine with my blode. Thackeray's other scapegrace,
hero in The Virginians has not mastered the mysteries of
spelhng, and it is a frequent means of humor with the novehst
in The Yellowplush Papers and elsewhere.
235 : 20. King's College in Cambridge, one of the important
colleges of Cambridge Universit}^, founded in 1441 by Henry
VI. Its chapel is celebrated for its beauty. Esmond was at
Thackeray's college "Trinity," and Tusher was at " Emmanuel."
235 : 28. Crawley . . . Alresford, both are places in Hamp-
shire.
237 : 22. Je vous donne, etc. I give you eight days to get
perfectly'- w^orn out with your tiresome relatives, out jour is the
Lady Dowager Viscountess's spelling for huit jours, eight days;
fatigoy for fatiguer, etc.
238 : 33. Hampshire . . . Sussex, neighboring, and con-
sequently rival, counties.
239 : 29. Brigadier Webb. Brigadier-General John Rich-
mond Webb was a connection of Thackeray's maternal ancestor,
Colonel Richmond Webb. Colonel Richmond Webb's daughter,
Amelia Webb, was married to William Makepeace Thackeray,
the elder, whose son Richmond Thackeray (1781-1815), so
named for the grandfather, was the father of William Make-
peace Thackeray, the novelist.
240 : 3. Bonn is on the Rhine fifteen miles south of Cologne.
At that time it belonged to the French and hence the invest-
ment.
240 : 27. as Mr. Addison sang of it, in Addison's poem, The
Campaign, A Poem: To His Grace, the Duke of Marlborough
celebrating Marlborough's success, published in 1704. See
Chapter XI, "The Famous Mr. Joseph Addison."
240 : 38-242 : 29. Harwich, etc. The geography of the
campaign, as told by Thackeray, may be easily followed. Har-
wich (240: 38) is a seaport on the east point of Essex, on the
eastern shore of England. Maesland Sluys (240 : 38), or Maas-
landsluis, is at the mouth of the important river Meuse, or Maas,
NOTES 553
in the Netherlands (Holland), the Hague (240: 39), the capital
city of Holland, is a little to the northeast of this. Utrecht,
Ruremonde, and Maestricht (241: 3-4), are all Holland towns:
Utrecht, the capital city of the province of that name, the seat
of the "States-General," and the place where the treaty between
the opposing forces and interests was finally concluded in 1713;
Ruremonde, or Roermond, on the upper Maas, at the juncture
of the Roer and Maas, is in the province of Limburg; and
Maestricht, or Maastricht, still higher up (twenty-seven miles
farther south), on the same river and in the same province, a
strategic position of some importance and a frequent scene of
battles. Liege (241:9), the chief city of the province of that
name, is still farther up the river Maas, south from Maestricht
but in Belgium. Bois-le-Duc (241: 10), or the Dutch "Bosch"
(literally, "the Duke's pleasure wood"), is just south of the
Meusc (Maas), in the province of North Brabant, Holland. The
river Mozelle (241: 14), or Mosel, rises in the Vosges mountains
in France, flows through the northern part of Lorraine, past
Metz, and past the ancient city of Treves (241: 19), or Trier
and empties into the Rhine at Coblentz (241: 17). The Castle
of Ehrenbreitstein (241: 20), on the eastern side of the Rhine
opposite Coblentz, is on an almost inaccessible rock 385 feet
above the river. Castel (241: 28) is "over against Mayntz,"
at the confluence of the rivers Main and Rhine. Majmtz, or
Mayence, is south (on the western bank of the Rhine), and Caste-
north (on the eastern bank). Gidlingen in Bavaria (241: 32)
is not located on the ordinary maps. The Neckar (241: 36),,
rising in Wiirtemberg, flows northwesterly, and passmg Heidel-
berg and Mannheim in north Baden, empties into the Rhine.
Mindelsheim (242 : 3). There is a Mindelheim in far south-
western Bavaria, twenty-nine miles southwest from Augsburg,
but this seems too far south. Marlborough and Prince Eugene
seem first to have met at or near Heilbronn in Wiirtemberg.
between Dillingen and Lawingen, the Brentz lying between
the two armies (242 : 8-9). These spots, as is Blenheim, or
'554 HENRY ESMOND
Blindheim, are in the extreme west of Bavaria. The Danube
(242 : 26), or Donau, river here flows generally northeasterl}'.
The Brentz enters it from the northwest from Wiirtemberg.
Going down the Danube (northeasterly) are Dillingen and
Lawingen, and still farther Blindheim, or Blenheim; and still
farther, on the north bank, Donaixwort (242 : 10). Schsllen-
berg (242 : 12) is a hill on the south side of the Danube
opposite Donauworth, where the Bavarians and French were
defeated July 2, 1704, by the Imperial and English forces.
242 : 2. unfortunate Electress-Palatine. Cf. 10 : 11.
242 : 3. the famous Prince of Savoy, i.e. Prince Eugene.
Cf. 205 : 17.
242 : 24. Prince of Baden, i.e. Prince Lewis of 1. 38.
243 : 12. Why does the stately Muse of history, etc. One of
Thackeraj'-'s moralizings. His portrayal of Mnrlborough's char-
acter agrees closely with that expressed in The English Hu-
mourists.
243 : 35. Styx, a river of the lower world.
244 : 1. Clotho . . . Lachesis. The first and third of the
Three Fates.
245 : 18. The French right, etc. Thackeray's descriotion
of the battle of Blenheim may be contrasted with his treatment
of the battle of Waterloo at the end of Vanity Fair (1848),
which is more artistic, the effects being produced by suggestion
from a point far enough away, as Brussels. His direct narrative
here is a fine summary of a brilliant campaign, but for a novel
possibly somewhat wearisome. The chief source used by
Thackeray was Coxe's Memoirs of Marlborough.
245 : 19. Marshal Tallard (1652-1 728), the leader of the
French forces, was both defeated and taken prisoner at Blen-
heim.
247 : 18. Thackeray inserts the foot-note, signed H. E., i.e.
Henry Esmond, to renew the impression of the story being his
Memoirs.
248 : 10. vana somnia, empty dreams. *
NOTES 555
248 : 13. the King of the Romans. The Emperor of Austria
still represented the fiction of the Holy Roman Empire, as the
representative of the ancient Ronjan emperors. Cf. James
Brycs, The Holy Roman Empire. Marlborough was-
honored by the Emperor with the title of Prince of Mindel-
sheim.
248 : 14. Berlin and Hanover, the capitals of Prussia and
Hanover respectively. Stuttgard (1. 18), the capital of Wiirtem-
berg, or "AVurtemburg."
248 : 32. Amadis . . . Gloriana. A reference to the old
romance of adventure, Amadis of Gaul. Amadis falls in love
with "Oriana," daughter of the King of England, and no doubt
Thackeray confused the two names. " Gloriana" is the heroine
of Spenser's Faerie Queene. Cf. 249:4-5, "Mr. Amadis" and
"Madam Gloriana."
249 : 13. Eurydice, the wife of Orpheus, the mythical musi-
cian and singer.
249 : 17. desipere in loco, to be foolish occasionally. From
the concluding line in Horace's Odes, IV, 12, 28, Dulce est
desipere in loco.
249 : 31. Ghent and Brussels, large cities in Belgium,
Brussels being the capital. Here Thackeray uses the Eng-
lish form, but he generally affects the French form,
Bruxelles.
250 : 10. Golden Square, a square in the West End between
Piccadilly and Oxford Street, with fashionable dwelling-places.
250 : 17. a poet who writ a dull copy of verses upon the
battle of Oudenarde. Is not the "poet" Thackeray himself
perpetrating a joke? The article on General Webb in the
Dictionary of National Biography quotes the last line without
mentioning Thackeray's Esmond and attributes it to ''a, poetas-
ter."
250 : 23-2.5. Mars, the god of war. Paris, noted for his beauty
of person, stole away Helen, the wife of Menelaus, King of
Sparta, and so caused the Trojan War. Hector, the chief
556 HENRY ESMOND
warrior on the side of the Trojans in the Trojan War, who
meets death at the hands of Achilles, as told in Homer's Iliad.
250 : 28. a la mode de Paris, after the manner of Paris
There is an obvious quibble on the name of the Greek hero and
the French city,
250 : 31. Maison du Roy, a specially distinguished body of
cavalry, a sort of King's Guard.
250 : 32. Vendosme and Villeroy, both celebrated French
generals in the armies of Louis XIV.
251 : 1. Wiltshire, a southern county immediately north-
west of Hampshire.
251 : 5. Hastings' field, the battle won in 1066 by Wilham
the Conqueror with his Norman followers over the Saxon forces
of Harold, which changed the whole course of English history.
251 : 37. the great Duke. The note as to the insertion of a
leaf into the Ms. in 1744 is a part of the make-believe of Thack-
eray's method remarked upon before.
252 : 26. Lazarus, a typical name for "any poor beggar."
252 : 30. Muscipulus, i.e. the insignificant mouse.
253 : 19. in a News Letter, the antecedent of a publication
like Steele's Taller (1709-1711) and Spectator (1711-1712).
253 : 32. firm in his principles. But has Thackeray for-
gotten he hae told us that the Ex-Dean had "conformed"?
See 220 : 32-4.
254 : 7. his governor, i.e. his tutor.
254 : 11. Dr. Bentley. Richard Bentlcy (1662-1742), the
great Greek scholar, had been made "master of Trinity" in
1700.
254 : 17. which Sir Christopher Wren had lately built. Wren
built the librar}^ building on the fourth side, completing the
quadrangle, which is arcaded cloister-like on the three other
sides,
255 : 13. Anacreonticks, songs in praise of love and wine.
They derive their name from the Greek lyric poet Anacreon
(563-478 B.C.). Bathyllus. A freedman of Maecenas, the Roman
NOTES 557
patron of letters, noted as a comic dancer in the panto-
mimes.
256 : 3. Nicolini, an Italian opera singer, Nicolino Grimaldi
(1673-1726), who went to England in 1708. Addison praises
him in the Spectator (No. 405).
256 : 9. Shakespeare, who was quite out of fashion, etc.
This is an exaggeration. There has never been a time that
Shakespeare has not had his warm admirers, although individual
foolish opinions have been uttered by many critics
256 : 12. Prince Hal . . . Ancient Pistol. "Prince Hal"
appears as prince in Henry IV. "Ancient Pistol" is a swash-
buckler, who by a clever trick is brought to his senses in
Henry V. He had previously appeared in II Henry IV.
256 : 34. remedium amoris, remedy for love. It is the title
of a work by Ovid, who had previously written his Amores
(Loves).
257 : 31. Observator. There was formerly a paper of this
name somewhat like the Spectator.
257 : 33. Mr. Prior. Matthew Prior (1664-1721), the most
delightful writer of society verse in our literature.
257 : 37. demean. A wrong use of the word, as if to "de-
base," being confused with "mean."
258 : 18. Dan Chaucer-, i.e. Dominus or Master Chaucer, the
father of English poetry, w^ho died in 1400.
258 : 36. the window, looking over the fields toward Chelsea.
Thackeray himself lived for several years at Kensington, and
the number of times he names these places is born of both
intimacy and affection. Cf. 212: 26.
259 : 10. The gentlemen-ushers. Cf. 178 : 20.
259 : 11. St. James's. St. James's Square is directly to the
north of Pall Mall, and St. James's Street leads out of Pall Mall
into Piccadilly.
259 : 29. beaux-esprits, wits.
260 : 16. Germain St., or Great Jermyn Street, lying between
and parallel to Pall Mall and Piccadilly.
^■558 HENRY ESMOND
260 : 19. St. James's Church, Westminster, in the fashion*
able Pall Mall neighborhood. Cf. 363 : 25.
261 : 14. O, qui canoro, etc., O thou who carriest a vocal
song more sweetly than musical Orpheus. Thus begins a Latin
poem of Addison's addressed to " D. D. Hannes, Insignissimum
Medicum et Poetam," D. D. Hannes, distinguished physician and
poet. Addison wrote excellent Latin verses even in the school-
days at the Charterhouse and continued in the art at Oxford,
where he received a promotion through this achievement.
261 : 38. my Lord Halifax. Addison's poem, Letters from
Italy, descriptive of his travels in 1701, was addressed to Charles
Montagu, Lord Halifax (1661-1715).
262 : 4. at Hochstedt, i.e. at Blenheim. The Germans call
the battle from the name of this neighboring village, Hoch-
stadt. An earlier action had taken place there September 20,
1703, while Blenheim was fought August 13, 1704.
262 : 11. aliquo mero, with some wine.
262 : 19. the verse. This was Addison's poem. The Caw-
paign, in praise of Marlborough's victory at Blenheim, cleverly
introduced by Thackeray in this way. The extract, 263 : 15-
26, is, of course, from Addison's poem. In the edition of the
poem used by the editor, 11. 17, 18, are transposed.
262 : 34. Most Serene Elector of Covent Garden, addressed
to Steele as a notorious frequenter of the taverns in that section
of London.
263 : 40. scenes of shame and horror. This is Thackeray's
realistic sense and feeling opposed to the spirit of romanticism
and idealization.
264 : 24. Agamemnon . . . Medea. Cf. the opening page
of the story, 1 : 5-6, for the same comparisons.
264 : 37. Pegasus, the winged horse of the Muses, repre-
sentative of the flights of the imagination.
265 : 4. Si parva licet. The complete clause is Si parva
licet magnis componere, if it is allowable to compare small things
with great. From Virgil's Georgics, IV, 176.
NOTES 559>
265 : 6. from the banks of the Isis, i.e. from Oxford, situated
on the upper Thames, to which the name "Isis" is applied. Cf.
268 : 10, "Isis and Charwell." The smaller stream, Cherwell,
flows into the Thames at Oxford.
265 : 10. since our Henrys' and Edwards' days, i.e. since the
battles of Agincourt and Poitiers. Cf. 231 : 19-20.
265 : 19. Rheni pacator et Istri, etc., subjugator of the
Danube and the Rhine, all discord has vanished from the various
classes under him alone;' the knight rejoices, the senator ap-
plauds, and the good wishes of the people vie with the blessings
of the nobles.
265 : 31. catalogue of the ships in Homer . . . wearisome.
Yet it serves to show the strength and pride of the army !
266 : 22. magnum opus, the great work.
266 : 29. hac ibat Simois . . . hie est Sigeia tellus, here
flowed the Simois, here is the land of Sigeia. From Ovid's
Heroides, V, 33. This is the passage Bianca construes
with one of her suitors in Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew
III, 1.
266 : 31. Mr. Boyle. Henry Boyle, Lord Carleton, who was
Chancellor of the Exchequer in 1701, and in 1708 principal
Secretary of State, succeeding Harley. According to Pope
Boyle was commissioned by the government to search out
Addison and engage him to write a poem on the Marlborough
Campaign, and found the poet lodged up three pairs of stairs
over a shop (cf. 269: 7, "his garret in the Haymarket"). The
third volume of the Spectator was dedicated by Addison to
Boyle, in return, it is said, for his good offices in connection
with the poem, The Campaign.
266 : 33. aliquo proelia mixta mero, battles mixed with wine.
267:5. my Lord Treasurer. Sidney Godolphin (1635-1712),
a supporter of Marlborough, Premier and Lord High Treasurer
in 1702, created Earl of Godolphin in 1706. my Lord Halifax.
Cf. 261: 38.
268 : 7. Alma Mater, i.e. Oxford, his university.
660 HENRY ESMOND
268 : 10. Isis and Charwell. Cf. 265 : 6.
268 : 12. Maudlin Tower. Magdalen College (pronounced
"Maudlin"), with its beautiful tower, one of the charming
features of Oxford architecture, was Addison's college.
268 ; 37. Whitehall and Co vent Garden. Whitehall, the
thoroughfare continuing the Strand, parallel to the Thames,
beyond Charing Cross. Covent Garden, cf. 128 : 1.
268 : 38. Temple Bar. A former gateway in front of the
Temple dividing the Strand from Fleet Street, whence its name.
It was removed in 1878.
269 : 4. the famous Mr. Locke. John Locke (1632-1704),
the philosopher and author of the Essay concerning the Human
Understanding (1690), who had recently died, was appointed
Commissioner of Appeals in Excise in 1689.
269 : 8. in his splendid palace at Kensington. Holland House
in Kensington, the abode of the Dowager Countess of Warwick,
whom he afterward married. It will be remembered that it
was "my Lord of Warwick and Holland," the first husband
of the Countess, who engaged with Westbury on Leicester Field
at the time I^ord Castlewood met his death.
269 : 28. Mechlin lace. Mechlin, in the province of Ant-
werp, Belgium, has always been noted for its lace industry, as
well as for its cathedral. Cf. 423 : 1, "valuable laces from
Malines." "Mecheln" is the German, "Malines" the French,
form of the word.
269 : 32. Toy, pi'csumably the name of an inn.
Mon Cher, etc. My dear, you are as solemn as a
269
34.
sermon.
270
18.
270
19.
Mr. St. John. Cf . xxvi : 36.
Mrs. Mountford (1669-1701), known as a brilliant
actress in light comedy, was in reality dead at this period of our
story, having lived to be only thirty-two, and never "a
veteran charmer of fifty." She was married to William Mount-
ford, who was killed by Captain Hill and Lord Mohun. Cf
156 : 34.
NOTES 561
271 : 4. the little Gheet river . . . Anderkirk or Autre-
eglise . . . Ramillies, in the extreme eastern portion of the
province of Brabant, Belgium. The river is Gheet, or Geete.
Anderkirk is Dutch; Autre-eglise, French, i.e. Second Church.
So. 272 : 38, Overkirk, Upper Church.
271 : 11. Chiari, in the province of Brescia, Lombardy,
lorthern Italy, whore Prince Eugene defeated the French and
Spaniards under Villeroi, or Villeroy, September 1, 1701.
272 : 21. a bout-portant, close to the muzzle.
273 : 14. afflavit Deus, et dissipati sunt, God breathed and
they were scattered. Cf. Psalms Ixviii. 1.
273 : 19. Grand Signer's Janissaries, a special body of
troops or guards of the Sultan of Turkey. Cf . 135 : 11 .
274 : 1. Mr. Gay. John Gay (1685-1732), the English
poet, achieved great notoriety by The Beggar's Opera in 1728,
His best-known single poem is Black-eyed Susan. -At this date,
in 1706, Gay had not yet produced his works. Farquhar's The
Recruiting Officer had just come out in 1706.
274 : 39. petit polisson, little blackguard.
275 : 5. Vive la guerre! Long live war!
275 : 11. Master Grandson, etc. Thackeray returns to the
suggestion of the story as Memoirs and moralizes.
275 : 15. meminisse juvat, it is a pleasure to remember.
The full quotation is Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvahit,
from the ^neid, I, 203, said by Virgil of not veiy pleasant ex-
periences, and as a quotation deflected from its original meaning.
277 : 3. German officer. In 1. 18 it is ''Austrian officer";
but again, 11. 31-32, "in the Bavarian Elector's service." There
is needless confusion here. Bavaria was on the side of the
French, opposed to the Emperor of Austria. Von Holz (1. 31)
is German for "Holt."
277 : 20. Pandour, formerly a member of the Austrian
infantry, noted for their cruelty.
278 : 31. the recusant bishops, i.e. those who refused to
acknowledge William and Mary.
562 HENRY ESMOND
278 : 32. Bishop of Southampton. Southampton is the
seaport of Hampshire, below Winchester. But note the con-
tradiction in 220 : 32.
278 : 32. Collier is Bishop of Thetford. Jeremy ColHer
(1650-1726) was a non-juring clergyman and noted contro-
versialist. At the time of the Revolution of 1688, he contended
that the throne was not vacant, and he was for a time imprisoned.
Thetford is the old capital of East Anglia (Norfolk and
Suffolk).
279 : 14. mon capitaine, captain.
279 : 18. Pekin . . . Paraguay, in China ... or ... in
South America, i.e. anywhere and everywhere.
279 : 27. a petty German prince, i.e. the Elector of Hanover,
afterward George I. See the same thought expanded in the
Lectures on the Four Georges.
280 : 10. Almanza. A victory gained, April 25, 1707, at
Almansa, in the province of Albacete, in southeastern Spain,
by the Duke of Berwick.
280 : 20. La Hogue, a fort near the extremity of the penin-
sula, northwest of Cherbourg, France, off which the English
and Dutch won a naval victory over the French, May 19,
1692.
280 : 27. Oudenarde, in East Flanders, Belgium, some
thirty-three miles west of Brussels, where, July 11, 170§, Marl-
borough and Prince Eugene defeated the French under Venddme
and the Duke of Burgundy.
281 : 21. St. George for England. The historic battle
cry of the English, St. George being England's patron saint.
There is an intentional word play on 'Chevalier de St. George,"
an appellation of the Stuart Pretender.
281 : 31. Monsieur de Rohan. Francois de Rohan (1631-
1712), Prince Soubise, a general of the French forces.
281 : 33. Marshal Villars. The Duke of Villars (1653-1734),
one of Louis XIV's marshals, who gained victories at Fried-
lingen (October 14, 1702), Hochstiidt (September 20, 1703).
NOTES 563
Denain (July 24, 1712), and was defeated at Malplaquet
(September 11, 1709). guinguette, from the context, seems
to mean a light vehicle. The lexicons consulted give only the
meaning "a small country-house."
282 : 18. noble coeur, noble heart.
283 : 10. sombrero, a wide-brimmed hat, here referring to
the priest's hat.
283 : 11. St. Francis Xavier (1506-1552), a noted Spanish
Jesuit missionary in India and in other parts of Asia.
285 : 29. Arras, the capital city of the department Pas-de-
Calais, in northeastern France, formerly noted for its tapestry,
whence the name often used for it by Shakespeare and Eliza-
bethan writers.
287 : 14. this old Put, i.e. old simpleton, or even stronger,
old hound.
287 : 39. Penzance, Cornwall, the westernmost town of
England, near the extreme southwestern tip of the county of
Cornwall.
288 : 22. Soeur Marie Madeleine, Sister Mary Magdalen, her
convent name.
289 : 31. palace at Woodstock, w^hich had been given the
Duke of Marlborough to go with his title after the battle of
Blenheim.
290 : 3. Mrs. Masham, and Mrs. Masham's humble servant,
Mr. Harley. Mrs. Masham was Abigail Hill, a cousin of the
Duchess of Marlborough, whom she supplanted in Queen r" nne's
favor. She married Samuel Masham, who through her influence
was made baron in 1712. She exerted the greatest influence
over the Queen, and statesmen accordingly found it to their
interest to cultivate her friendship, Robert Harley (1661-
1724), a Whig and then a Tory statesman, was high in favor in
the closing years of Anne's reign during the ascendancy of Mrs.
Masham. He was Secretary of State, 1704-1708, Chancellor of
the Exchequer, 1710, made first Earl of Oxford, 1711, was Lord
Treasurer and Premier from then till Queen Anne's death, 1714.
564 HENRY ESMOND
290: 8. the poet says. One of the couplets of Samuei
Butler (1612-1680J, author of Hudibras, runs: —
"He that complies against his will
Is of his own opinion still."
290 : 35. that luckless expedition, etc. This unsuccessful
attempt to invade Scotland with a French force was made in
1708.
291 : 18. the Generalissimo, i.e. highest general of all, is,
of course, Marlborough. " Esmond's general " (1. 14) is Webb.
291 : 27. Ghent, the capital city of the province East
Flanders, Belgium, northwest of Brussels. Bruges (1. 30) is
the capital of West Flanders and still further northwest.
291 : 30. Monsieur de la Mothe, the Count La Mothe, a
noted French general.
292 : 21. I like to think, etc. The first personal pronoun is
here Henry Esmond's, the author of the supposed Memoirs,
but usually is Thackeray's himself without disguise.
293 : 13. Lincolnshire . . . fens. The southern part of
Lincolnshire lies on the lowlands about "The Wash," an arm
of the North Sea.
293 : 19. Electoral Prince, i.e. of Hanover, later George I.
294 : 17. Lille, an important fortified town just across the
Belgian border in France.
294 : 18. some folks. Thackeray uses this dialectal or
idiomatic expression more than once.
294 : 28. Lord Lydiard. Cf. 278 : 10, "the Webbs of Lydiard
Trego ze."
295 : 18. guerre a mort, war to the death.
295 : 19. at Toulon, the unsuccessful siege led by Prince
Eugene in 1707. Toulon is in southern France on the Mediter-
ranean Sea, a little southeast from Marseilles.
295 : 28. the slight . . . upon the fiery little Abb6 of Savoy.
Prince Eugene (of Savoy-Carignan) was born at Paris, hia
NOTES 665
father being Count of Soissons and his mother a niece of Cardi-
nal Mazarin. His family intended him for the Church, and at
the age of ten he was given the title Abb6 of Carignan. But
his military instincts asserted themselves, he applied to Louis
XIV for a commission, and this being refused he entered the
Emperor of Austria's army, at the age of twenty, as colonel.
295 : 34. Sasbach, a village in the Duchy of Baden, Ger-
many, where Marshal Turenne met his death in a skirmish,
July 27, 1675.
296 : 8. Artois and Picardy, provinces of France before the
Revolution of 1789, immediatdy west and south of French
Flanders, where Lille is situated.
297 : 19. Tollemache at Brest. Thomas Tollemache (1651-
1694) landed with King William at Torbay in 1688, serving
later under Marlborough, Ginckel, and the King. He was in
command of the allied troops in the brave but foolish expedi-
tion against Brest in 1694, where he lost his life. There is no
evidence that Marlborough "betrayed Tollemache at Brest."
''Brest" is a strongly fortified seaport in the extreme north-
west of France.
297 : 31. Marshal Boufflers (1644-1711), a duke and
marshal of France, who won distinction in these campaigns.
298 : 11. Helchin. The usual atlases do not give this spot,
nor 1. 35, Turout, nor 300: 12, Roncq.
298 : 23. Ostend, the seaport of Flanders (Belgium).
298 : 25. waggons is the spelling in England; in America,
''wagons."
300 -.21. majority, i.e. rank or position as major.
300 : 22. Have you ever a hundred guineas to give Car-
donnel ? i.e. Adam de Cardonnel, the friend and secretary
,of the Duke of Marlborough, expelled from the House of Com-
mons in 1712 for corruption.
300 : 31. Vaelt-Mareschal, i.e. field marshal.
302 : 12. Order of Generosity. A Prussian order, founded
In 1665, though not organized till twenty years later, and later
566 HENRY ESMOND
superseded in 1740 and substituted by the "Order for Merit.'"
Prussia had become a kingdom in 1701.
302 : 23. Le vainqueur, etc. The conqueror of Wj^nendael;
his army and his victor}^ which make us dine at Lille to-day.
308 : 9. If Captain Esmond ... I declare. A change of
person, yet denoting the same person.
311 : 9. The foot-notes, in Thackeray's best satiric A'ein, are
presumably Rachel Esmond Warrington's, the editor of the
Memoirs.
311 : 25. Nicolini or Mrs. Tofts. For "Nicolini," see 256:3.
Katherine Tofts (1680-1758), "a noted English singer. Men-
tion is made of her in the Tatler and by contemporaries.
311 : 26. St. Cecilia, the patron saint of music.
313 : 28. Que voulez-vouz, etc. What will you? ... I
love her.
315 : 5. a certain lady, who was of the suite of . . . mother
who was . . . and who. Thackeray awkwardly builds two
relative clauses on top of a relative clause.
316 : 3. tour. Cf. the slang 'Hurn-out," "get-up," etc.
316 : 4. a ravir, to ravishment.
317 : 26. Vive le Roy I long live the King!
318 : 9. distiwisht officer ithe rex roob, i.e. distinguished
officer in the next room. Thackeray rather overdoes the matter
in representing Steele always in this plight.
319 : 18. rus in urbe, country life combined with city life.
319 : 19. Hampstead, a suburb, about four and a half
miles west of St. Paul's. Montague House has been altered into
the British Museum with its library and national collections.
319 : 26. the Tatler . . . 49th number . . . Aspasia. The
Tatler was started in 1709. The lady that Steele paid the noble
tribute to in the 49th number, in a phrase that still lives, "To
love her is a liberal education," was the Lady Elizabeth
Hastings.
320 : 11. Mr. Bickerstaffe, a pen-name used by Steele in the
Tatler. Cf . 321 : 32.
NOTES 667
320 : 39. black. Cf. 191 : 22.
321 : 17. Pope. It is the poet Alexander Pope, as the author
of the Epistles and the Satires, who is so described.
321 : 19. has wrote. To represent an archaic form of
hmgiiage, Thackeray usually uses " writ " for the past; here he
places the past form for the participle.
321 : 32. Such stuff about Bickerstaffe, and Distaff, and
Quarterstaff. In the opening paper of the Taller series, Steele,
under the name of Isaac Bickerstaff , humorously tells of all the
other "staffs" or "staves." Thackeray makes Mrs. Steele a
fool, besides making her husband always drunk.
322 : 14. a Parthian glance, i.e. a killing dart.
322 : 22. II est fatiguant, etc. He is fatiguing — with his
constant talk about Wynandael.
325 : 7. Knightsbridge. Formerly an old bridge across the
stream Tyburn, west of London. Nowadays, " Knightsbridge"
is the street running south of Hyde Park.
329 : 11. no suit to play but the red one. A word play on
the suit of a game at cards and the soldier's profession of spill-
ing blood, as well as on the red coat of his uniform.
329 t 17. a yard of blue ribbon, the badge of an order of
merit, won by a brave action.
330 : 5. Dulcinea, the lady beloved by Don Quixote in
Cervantes's masterpiece. Cf. 358: 7.
330 : 34. attended the early church daily, i.e. the daily
early communion service of the English Church.
331 : 8. trumps, both in cards and symbolically the best
of everything.
331 : 11. director, i.e. spiritual director, priest — an abb^.
Cf. 1. 18.
332 : 25. Tierce to a king, the three spot on a king in the
game of "picquet" (1. 23), with a quibble on the intrigues for
the Stuart king.
334 : 6. harriers, small hounds with keen scent used in
hunting the hare.
568 HENRY ESMOND
334 : 16. Corporal John, i.e. the Duke of Marlborough
(John-Churchill).
334 : 25. Malplaquet, in France, on the Belgian border,
the scene of the battle, September 11, 1709, which the English,
Dutch, and Austrians under Marlborough and Prince Eugene
won over the French under Marshal Villars.
335 : 9. Hochstedt, i.e. Blenheim. Cf. 262 : 4.
335 : 29. the slight. Cf. 295 : 28. It is Thackeray's habit
to repeat in this way.
335 : 32. the Holy Roman Emperor, i.e. the Emperor of
Austria. So 336:4-5, "the Holy Roman and Apostolic master
of these ruffians," etc. Cf. 248 : 13.
335 : 38. Croats aad Pandours. The "Croats" are strictly
inhabitants of Croatia, a part of the Austria-Hungarian
empire, southwest of Hungary. The term is here used fcr
a body of rough and fierce troops formerly in the Austrian
army collected from Croatia, Hungary, and near-lying dis-
tricts of the empire. Pandours has the same general meaning;
cf . 277 : 20.
336 : 35. David . . . Uriah. Cf. II Samuel xi.
337 : 18. Mons, the capital of the province of Hainault,
Belgium, the scene of repeated battles.
338 : 3. cabaret, tavern.
338 : 27. dissolution, i.e. death.
338 : 30. Church of England . . . Roman Communion. It
may be remembered that Thackeray was writing after the wide-
spread interest aroused in theological discussions by the High
Church Movement at Oxford, 1833-1845, under Pusey, Keble,
Newman, and the rest.
338 : 36. Augsburg, in southern Bavaria. The reference is
to the creed of the Lutheran Church prepared by Melanchthon
for the Diet of Augsburg in 1530.
339 : 8. Dr. Sacheverel. Henry Sacheveroll (1672-1724)
was Addison's room-mate at Magdalen College, Oxford; and
was preacher at St. Saviour's, South wark. In 1709 he preached
NOTES 669
two sermons criticising the Whig ministry, and in 1710 was sus-
pended for three years.
339 : 11. Richard Cromwell, the son of OUver Cromwell,
and Protector for a few months, 1658-1659, after the death of
his father.
339 : 18. Herrenhausen, near Hanover, in Germany, the
seat of the palace of the Elector (afterward George I).
341 : 13. the Liffey, and not the Loire. Streams in Ireland
and in France respectively. The soldier was an Irishman,
serving in the French army in the Stuart cause, and no French-
man.
341 : 19. Lillibullero. Of. 94: 2. Teague, a nickname for
an Irishman.
341 : 22. Dieu benisse votre honor, i.e. God bless your honor.
It is dialectal French, as spoken by one of English speech.
341 : 30. pas lui, . . . I'autre, not he, . . . the other.
341 : 38. 11th of September, i.e. at Malplaquet.
342 : 20. Mr. Sterne. Roger Sterne, the father of Lawrence
Sterne, the novelist, w^as an officer in one of Marlborough's
regiments, and so Thackeray introduces him into his novel.
Cf . 395 : 30.
343 : 28. wild otes. Thackeray's love of bad spelling to
denote idiosyncrasy or dialect has already been mentioned.
Most of the words in italics are purposely misspelled, just as
ahhey for ''abb^."
344 : 2. The church of St. Gudule, in connection with Father
Holt, has already figured in the story.
344 : 6. ryno. A slang phrase for "money," or "w^here-
withal."
344 : 20. Hostel de I'Aigle Noire, Inn of the Black Eagle.
344 : 28. the Court was at Windsor, i.e. Queen Anne was at
Windsor Castle.
352 : 12. frogs for dinner, a slur on certain French dishes.
352 : 22. horrid Irish wretch, i.e. Mr. Swift of 1. 33. So
.1. 34-35, "that Teague from Dublin " — the nickname for an
670 HENRY ESMOND
Irishman. Jonathan Swift, author of Gulliver's Travels, is
meant.
353 : 30. my Francisco, i.e. Francis — using the exaggerated
style of Itahan opera.
353 : 39. Guiscard, that stabbed Mr. Harley. All the texts
examined, including the Biographical Edition, print "Harvy"
or ''Harvey"; but surely it is a mistake for the statesman
"Harley." Guiscard was a French refugee, about whom there
was considerable mystery. Refused an audience with the
Queen, he seems from his letters even to have had thought's of
taking the Queen's life. Arrested by order of the Council and
brought before it to be questioned, he stabbed Harley, who was
a member of the Council. The poet Prior addressed a poem
"To Mr. Harley" on the subject.
354 : 18. moue, face.
355 : 19. Queen Bess . . . Queen Mary. An allusion to
the rivalry, political and personal, between Queen Elizabeth
of England and Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots.
356 : 24. a tulip, a flower cultivated by the people of
Holland in great perfection and in many varieties.
357 : 1. Mr. St. John seems rather lugged in, a circumstance
not altogether explained by the parenthesis below.
357 : 4. Lais, a typical name taken from two Greek women
famed for their beauty who lived in Corinth in the fifth and
fourth centuries b.c, respectively.
357 : 27. Diogenes . . . Alexander. An allusion to the well-
known visit of Alexander the Great (356-323 b.c), King of
Macedon, to Diogenes the Cynic (412-323 b.c), at Corinth.
Darius (1. 29), i.e. Darius III, the King of Persia, overcome by
Alexander in 330 b.c (as sung in Drj^den's Ode on Alexander's
Feast). Bucephalus (1, 29), the horse tamed by Alexander foi
his use, and which no one else was able to ride.
358 : 7. Dulcinea del Toboso ... go and attack windmills.
Another reference to Don Quixote's "peerless beauty" (cf.
330: 5), and his adventure with the windmill.
NOTES 571
358 : 15. try an alibi, i.e. go elsewhere, go away.
359 : 20. You and mamma are fit for each other. Thack-
eray again suggests the sequel, as in 11. 32-33, '' Shall I . . .
perhaps marry Tom Tusher?"
359 : 21. Darby and Joan, a traditional married pair, noted
for their long life and happiness.
359:33. Mercil Thank you!
360 : 22. a monkey . . . black boy ... a parrot and a
spaniel. The pictures of the time show all these objects in the
typical lady's retinue.
360 : 25. Cupid. The little negro, Pompey, is so called for
the very reason that he does not resemble Cupid.
360 : 27. Lord Peterborow. Charles Mordaunt (1658-
1735), Earl of Peterborough and Monmouth, a noted military
character of the period. Lord Peterborough had marked pe-
culiarities of character, but was a great favorite with the circle
of literary m^n of the time. Swift, Pope, Gay, etc.
361 : 21. escrutoire, i.e. escritoire, writing desk. It is
sometimes spelled "scrutoire."
361 : 22. a Comedy, after the literary fashion of the day,
just as Thackeray has Esmond imitate a number of the Spectator.
361 : 32. Mr. Dennis. John Dennis (1657-1734), an Eng-
lish critic of the day, who incurred the dislike of Pope and was
ridiculed in the Dunciad.
362 : 27. Horace. The quotation is from the Satires, 1, 1 , 69-70.
362 : 28. Creech. Thomas Creech (1659-1700), an English
translator of Lucretius (1682) and other Latin works.
362 : 29. Jocasta, a lady of fashion. The name is derived
from the (Edipus legend and play of that name by Sophocles
(495-406 B.C.). Hence the signature, "(Edipus" (365: 29).
362 : 33. Tunbridge or the Bath, fashionable resorts in the
eighteenth century. "Tunbridge Wells" is in Kent near the
border of Sussex (cf. "Wells" and "Sussex, " 11. 35-6). Bath, a
town in Somersetshire (cf. "Somerset," 1. 36), is noted for its
mineral springs.
572 HENRY ESMOND
363 : 5. Epsom Wells, another health and fashionable re
sort in Surrey, about fifteen miles southwest from London
363 : 10. Spring Garden. Cf . 130 : 3.
363 : 21. a blue ribbon. Cf. 329: 17. So 378: 7, the Duke
of Hamilton's "star and green ribbon."
363 : 21. wears his own hair, and not a wig or perruque, as
was the fashion.
363 : 25. Saint James's Church. It was situated in the
fashionable quarter, near Pall Mall. Cf. 260: 19.
364 : 15. Philander, a typical name for a lover, derived from
the old pastorals and romances. So, 11. 15-16, Camilla . . .
Thalestris are adapted to the purposes of this narrative. Both
names are found in Pope's Ra'pe of the Lock.
364 : 37. Bethesdas. The figure is taken from John v. 2-4.
Cf. 1. 32 above, and 367: 11.
365 : 3. goold . . . chayney are dialectal pronunciations;
Candish . . . Chumley are the popular pronunciations of these
names.
367 : 24. hupsilon, i.e. upsilon, the Greek u, represented by
the English y.
369 : 1. Circe . . . Ulysses. Circe was the enchantress who
made Ulysses on his wanderings remain a year with her. So,
1. 15, Penelope, the wife of Ulysses, besieged by suitors in his
absence.
369 : 12. r6der, prowl, ramble.
370 : 21. portrait ... in the Hampton Court Gallery, a
reference to a series of portraits of the beauties of Charles I's
time by Sir Peter Lcly.
372 : 21. the other author . . . inimitable. Thackeray's
high praise of Addison.
372 : 33. Lindamiras . . . Nelly and Betty. "IJndamira"
is another "romantic" name (cf. 364: 15), and Thackeray sug-
gests the principles of the realism of the nineteenth century in
"Nelly and Betty." The same contrast between the romantic
and a sense of the realistic and the materialistic is repeated.,
NOTES 573
367: 1-2, in "Lubin ... a dismal shepherd . . . and a
nymph."
374 : 36. on a beau dire, one has to speak nicely.
375 : 20. pied a terre, sojourn or stopping-place in a
journey.
376 : 9. For mamma? Beatrix mischievously changes the
Biblical reference to Rachel to a reference to her mother. Beatrix
has divined that her mother and Esmond are unconsciously in
love with each other. Cf . 383 : 28-30.
377 : 14. Mohock, i.e. Indian, Mohawk.
377 : 29. Mon ami, my friend.
378 : 33. Duke of Hamilton, then Earl of Arran. It was the
second Lord Hamilton, James Hamilton, who was created first
Earl of Arran by the Scotch King, James IV, in 1503. Thack-
eray follows history closely in telling of the achievements and
position of this lord.
379 : 27. Loo, the house of William of Orange in the wood
at the Hague,. Holland. Cf. Macaulay's History, Vol. II,
Chapter VII.
380 : 6. Staffordshire, a county in northern central England.
380 : 7. When the Whigs went out of office in 1710. At
the general election in 1710, the people, excited by the Sach-
everell trial and condemnation, and wearied with the war, re-
turned a Tory majority, whereupon Godolphin and Marlborough
were promptly dismissed from office, and a Tory ministry
formed under Harley (Lord Oxford) and St. John (Lord Boling-
broke).
380 : 10. the Thistle ... the Garter, the ancient Scottish
order and the highest English order.
380 : 19. At the Chapter, i.e. meeting of the order..
380 : 21. Lord Treasurer, the new-created Earl of Oxford
and Mortimer, i.e. Robert Harley, the new Premier. Cf . 390 :
4-5.
380 : 30. married Elizabeth, daughter of Digby, Lord Ger-
ard. This is historical, Cf . Thackeray's misstatement, 408 : 1 1.
574 HENRY ESMOND
381 : 4. in the opera-machine, the machinery as seen bj
those behind the scenes on the theatre-stage.
381 : 31. Fulham, a London suburb, lying to the south-
west, on the upper bank of the Thames.
383 : 10. the play . . . Desdemona . . . Othello. The
reference, of course, is to Shakespeare's play of Othello.
383 : 15. routs, large and crowded entertainments.
383 : 24. Madame I'Ambassadrice d'Ang^eterre, Her Excel-
lenc}'', the Ambassadress of England.
383 : 27. O carol O bravo 1 splendid! good!
383 : 28. Your Shakespeares and Miltons and stu*^. A
paraphrase from Goldsmith's description of Sir Joshua rCey-
nolds, the painter, in Retaliation: —
"When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff,
He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff."
383 : 35. the pretty "Gawrie," whom the man in the story
was enamoured of. The story is The Life and Adventures of Peter
Wilkins, "relating oarticularly his Shipwreck near the South
Pole; his wonderful passage through a subterranean Cavern
into a kind of New World,-^ his there meeting with a Gawrey, or
Flying Woman, whose life he preserved, and afterwards married
her''; etc. The allusion to "your Peter Wilkins" (1. 37) in
Esmond's reply is thus evident, however great the anachronism
in permitting Beatrix and Esmond to discuss a book that ap-
peared much later. The work was published anonymously by
Dodsley in 1750, and is thought to be by Robert Paltock, or
Pultock, "of Clement's Inn, Gentleman."
384 : 38. engaged with, i.e. became engaged to.
385 : 18. the black man, i.e. Othello. Cf. 383 : 10.
386 : 3. Belinda's cross is in Mr. Pope's admirable poem.
Belinda is the heroine in Pope's mock-heroic poem, The Rape
of the Lock (1712).
387 : 4. chuse, an older spelling for "chooee."
389 : 1. James Douglas, the personal name of the Duke of
Hamilton. Cf. 378: 33.
I
NOTES 575
390 : 33. Lord Bridgewater. Scroop Egerton, Earl of
Bridgewater, was married to Elizabeth, daughter of Lord
Marlborough, in 1703.
391 : 4. The Prince of Savoy came amongst us. Upon the
fall of Marlborough, Prince Eugene hastened to England to
prevent her from withdrawing from the alliance with the Austrian
Emperor. That country gratefully presented him with a
sword.
391 : 11. our defeat at Denain. The French Marshal Villars
defeated the Allied Troops under Prince Eugene, July 24, 1712,
at Denain, a town in northern France, seven miles southwest
from Valenciennes.
392 : 33. the North American colonies, etc. ... I never
can think. As before, the parenthesis is a means whereby the
illusion of the Memoirs is kept up. There is the pretence of
foretelling an event which really happened seventy-five years
before. Cf. 393: 32-4. The rest of the long paragraph is
Thackeray's usual moralizing, disguised behind Esmond.
392 : 39. the October Club, a club of extreme Tories, formed
after the Revolution of 1688.
393 : 15. Zell or the Hague. "Zell," i.e. Zelle, or Celle, a
town in the province of Hanover, Germany, one of the residences
of the Hanoverian Elector, later George I. Cf. (1. 26), "a petty
German town." ''The Hague," the capital city of Holland,
the country of William of Orange. Cf. Loo, 379 : 27.
393 : 22. Charles Stuart's head, i.e. Charles I, who was be-
headed by Parliament in 1649.
393 : 24. grandmother's head, i.e. Mary Stuart, Queen of
Scots, who was beheaded in Queen Elizabeth's (Queen Bess's,
1. 25) reign in 1587.
393 : 28. Dutch, i.e. German, from Germany. Cf. Ger-
man two lines above.
393 : 37. King Canute or the Druids. "King Canute" was
one of the Danish kings of England in eleventh century, 1014-
1035. The reference is simply to something very ancient and
676 HENRY ESMOND
remote from all personal interest. So with "the Druids," the
ancient priests of the early Celtic inhabitants of Great
Britain.
394 : 2. Doctors Garth and Arbuthnot and Mr. Gay. Sir
Samuel Garth (1661-1719), physician and poet, author of the
mock-epic The Dispensary, ridiculing the opposition of apothe-
caries to a dispensary for the poor. John Arbuthnot (1667-
1735), physician and political writer, principal author of the
Memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus (1714) of the Scriblerus Club,
containing all the literary wits of the day. He is represented in
the closing chapters of our story as the physician attendant
upon Queen Anne's last illness and in sympathy with the
Jacobite plans to restore the Pretender. John Gay (1685-1732),
poet. His mock-heroic poem, Trivia, or the Art of Walking the
Streets of London, appeared in 1716.
394 : 8. Duke of Shrewsbury, Charles Talbot (1660-1718).
twelfth Earl of Shrewsbury and first Duke. He joined with
those who invited the Prince of Orange to England after the
Revolution in 1688, held high offices under both William and
Anne, and secured the succession to George I by proclaiming
him King.
394 : 10. not having the courage to support the dignity
which his undeniable genius had won him. Cf. 257 : 33. Matthew
Prior, in her Majesty's service and writer of society verse, had
been appointed in 1711 Minister Plenipotentiary in France.
394 : 17. The great Mr. Pope. Thackeray was thinking of
Pope's career as a whole. Pope was only twenty-four year.«?
old in 1712. Thackeray's admiration of Pope, even to condon-
ing his faults, also appears in the Lectures on the English Hu-
mourists.
394 : 22. nunc perscribere longum est, it is tedious to name
all now.
394 : 25. Harry Fielding. Cf. 2 : 16. The novelist's father,
Edmund Fielding, was in the army and rose to be a general
(cf. II. 25-6).
NOTES 677
394 : 28. Vidi tantum, I have as much as seen him. A
favorite expression of Thackeray's and used in his letters.
Thackeray is as severe on Swift in his judgment in The English
Humourists as he is favorable to Pope.
394 : 32. I . . . your grandfather. The illusion of the
Memoirs, with a change from first person to third. And so in
what follows. Cf. 396 : 9, "O my grandson!" etc. So 396:
19-21, "Mine ... on the banks of the Thames . . . thine
own by Rappahannoc."
395 : 1. 'Tis said he hath lost his intellect now. The last
years of Swift's life were mentally clouded.
395 : 6. a lonely fallen Prometheus, i.e. when in the power
of Zeus, at whose order he is chained to the mountain cliflf and
vultures consume his liver.
395 : 9. the Poultry, at the east end of Cheapside (cf . 185 :
1) before it divides into three, Lombard Street, Cornhill, and
Threadneedle Street, a tipsy Irish servant, brought by the
Doctor from his home in Dublin.
395 : 12. haggling with the chairman, i.e. over the fee
for being carried in the chair to his destination. Cf. 158:
39.
395 : 30. poor Roger's, i.e. Roger Sterne; for the story is
virtually so told, of the parents of the author of Tristram
Shandy and A Sentimental Journey, in the Memoirs of the Life
and Family of the late Rev. Lawrence Sterne, written by himself.
Cf. 342 : 20.
396 : 4. took the shilling, i.e. enlisted in the army.
396 : 12. the Hebrew poet's limit, i.e. threescore years and
cen; cf. Psalms xc. 10.
396 : 19. Omphale and Dalilah, the women who won the
hearts and moved to their wills the Greek Hercules and the
Hebrew Samson respectively.
396 : 34. ... Eat. . . . Kill I References respectively to
the story of Adam and Eve, and to Macbeth and Lad}^ Macbeth
(in Shakespeare's play), who murder Duncan the King.
578 HENRY ESMOND
397 : 2. Wills's Coffee-house, on the corner of Bow and
Russell streets, a great resort of wits and writers since Dryden's
time, with whose fame it is chiefly associated. It was so called
from the name of its proprietor. Will Urwin.
397 : 33. voice that had an Irish twang. It may be that
Swift had such an enunciation; but as he always considered
himself an Englishman, it may be doubted. In 398 : 22
Thackeray instances naught for "not."
397 : 38. he pulled out ... at which he looks. A change
of tense.
398 : 25. Doctor Faustus, who summoned the devil to aid
him in his desires, the subject of a play by Marlowe (1564-
1593). Friar Bacon, a similar character, the subject of a play
by Robert Greene (1560-1593).
398 : 32. Grub Street scribblers. Grub Street in St. Giles
parish, Cripplegate, London, now Milton Street, was formerly
the abode of many minor writers.
398 : 37. the Compter, the prison.
399 : 15. lodgings in Bury Street, in the neighborhood of
St. James's and Pall Mall.
400 : 18. his Grace of Ormonde ... as generalissimo.
The Duke of Ormonde succeeded Marlborough in 1712 in com-
mand of the army in Flanders.
401 : 16. Mohawks. The original spelling, but usually
"Mohocks." Cf. 377:14.
401 : 19. Macartney and Meredith. Cf. note on 156 : 26.
402 : 4. Archbishoprick. Swift's ambition to obtain a
bishopric was doomed to disappointment. Queen Anne made
him dean of St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin, in 1713, and with
that he had to be content.
402 : 13. la bonne cause, etc., the good cause will triumph.
The health of the good cause! i.e. of the Stuart Pre-
tender.
402 : 21. The Hind and the Panther. The expression is
taken from the poet Dryden's satirical allegory on the churches
I
NOTES 579
in 1687, the Hind being the Church of Rome and the Panther
the Church of England.
402 : 23. Righteousness and peace shall kiss each other.
Cf. Psahns Ixxxv. 10.
402 : 24. cheek by jowl, i.e. side by side, face with face.
From Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream, III, 2, 338.
Father Massillon . . . with Dr. Sacheverel, i.e. the Roman
Cathohc divine with the Anglo-Cathohc or High Churchman.
402 : 39. His uncle did, i.e. James Fitzroy, created Duke
of Monmouth, a natural son of Charles I.
403 : 1, what happened to his grandfather? i.e. to Charles
I, who was beheaded.
403 : 5. Our great King came from Hungtingdon, i.e.
Oliver Cromwell, who was born in Huntingdon, in middle
England. It is the innate pride of an Englishman that praises
the achievements of the great Englishman. Cf. 11. 11-12, "Are
all Oliver's men dead?"
403 : 6. Dutchman, i.e. German, George I, who came from
Hanover. Earlier it was correctly used with reference to
William III, who came from Holland.
403 : 7. Whitehall, i.e. the royal palace of the first Stuart
King, James I.
403 : 29. Duke of Hamilton . . . murdered ... by Mohun
and Macartney. Dramatically enough, Thackeray has the same
men who were the cause of Beatrix's father's death the mur-
derers of her intended husband. This duel with its outcome is
historical. The other duel with Viscount Castlewood, engaged
in by Mohun and Macartney, is added for purposes of fiction.
Cf. note on 156: 26. The Duke of Hamilton and Lord Mohun
were married to nieces of Charles Gerard, Earl of Macclesfield
(they were not sisters, as stated 408 : 11), and the duel grew
out of words exchanged in a lawsuit relative to the property.
That historically Lord Hamilton was a married man at the
time of his death could easily be pardoned our novelist,
who, for purposes of fiction, makes him the suitor of Beatrix.
580 HENRY ESMOND
403 : 33. Hyde Park, the largest of the London parks, ex*
tending from Westminster to Kensington.
404 : 15. Who, in the course of his life, etc. Another of
Thackeray's characteristic moralizings, under the guise of
Esmond's thoughts, in which he grows spontaneously eloquent.
Then follows the description, 405 : 8-38, of the preparations for
the wedding. They are the utterances of Thackeray the preacher
the author of Vanity Fair on the old text of vanitas vanita-
tum, softened and touched by time and experience.
405 : 18. King James the Third, i.e. the Stuart Pretender,
brother of Queen Anne, who claimed the throne.
405 : 19. ermine. The fur of the ermine was used for
lining official robes of those high in state.
405 : 24. Exeter Change, a business centre "in the Strand,
where all attire for ladies and gentlemen was sold" — quoted
from Thackeray's note-book.
405 : 25. chased salver, i.e. a large gold or silver dish,
ornamented or decorated. The ornamentation represented
the well-known subject of Mars, the god of war, enthralled by
Venus, the goddess of love, while little Cupids are playing with
the war god's armor. Cf. 11. 28-33.
405 : 37. Viscount Squanderfield. One of Thackeray's char-
acteristic names invented to suggest the nature of the person.
406 : 14. Herodias ... in the charger, i.e. the price of
blood of a good man's death. Cf. Mark vi. 22-28.
407 : 9. No, thank Heaven, etc. The moral lesson is
Thackeray's rather than Esmond's. Surely Esmond would
have been tenderer.
408 : 11. whose two daughters my Lord Duke and Mohun
had married. They were not sisters, though they were kinsfolk.
Lord Hamilton was married to "Elizabeth, daughter of
Digby, Lord Gerard" (cf. 380 : 30), while Mohun's first wife
was Charlotte Mainwaring, a niece of Charles Gerard, the Earl
of Macciesfield. The Earl had left Mohun sole heir to an enor-
mous estate, for a share in which Lord Hamilton instituted suit.
NOTES 581
411 : 19. the Whigs had. It would be hard to parse the
long sentence containing these words, which escaped Thackeray's
revision. It would be better to omit the three words altogether,
and reduce the semicolon after "duty," 1. 23, to a comma,
when a tolerable sense is obtained.
411 : 24. the young Duke of Cambridge, i.e. the son of the
Elector of Hanover, later George II. Cf. 449,: 5.
412 : 31. a scheme of his own. It need hardly be said that,
Esmond being a fictitious person, the following pages and chap-
ters dealing with Esmond's scheme, the bringing of James to
England, his stay in the Castlewood home, his affair with
Beatrix, his presence in England but not in London at the
psychological moment of the Queen's death, are all fictitious
and matters of Thackeray's invention for purposes of the
story.
Andrew Lang, in his Lije of Sir Walter Scott (1906), declares
that "The plot of Woodstock was unconsciously annexed
by Thackeray in Esmond. His charming but historically ab-
surd James III is Charles II, laughing and running after every
girl, and making love to the sister and mistress of the two good
Royalists who protect him. Lockwood and his sweetheart,
in Esmond, are Jocelyn and his sweetheart in Woodstock,
James III is a more favored lover than his uncle, and Beatrix
outshines all the women of Scott, but Scott's is the invention cf
the situation, down to the King's offer of a duel." The editor
is indebted to Professors Matthews and Trent of Columbia
University for calling attention to this quotation.
413 : 32. St. Philip of Castlewood. Cf. 29 : 16.
413 : 35. The long-debated peace, i.e. the Peace of Utrecht
in 1713, putting an end to the War of the Spanish Succession.
Cf. 205 : 36.
414 : 23. tolling, i.e. striking the hours.
415 : 29-31. Charnock. Robert Charnock (1663-1696),
vice-president of Magdalen College, Oxford, but expelled from
the position, became the leader in the plot against William III
582 HENRY ESMOND
in February, 1696, was imprisoned and hanged, drawn and
quartered, at Tyburn, March 18, 1696.
Perkins. Sir WiUiam Parkyns or Perkins (1649-1696) pro-
vided horses and arms for about forty in the Jacobite cause in
1696, was arrested, tried, and executed, together witn Sir John
Friend, on Tower Hill, April 13, 1696.
Sir John Fenwick. Cf. 52 : 14.
Sir John Friend had been knighted by James II in 1685, and
remained faithful to him. He refused to take part in the con-
spiracy against William Ill's life, but, knowing of the plots,
was arrested, refused counsel, and condemned to death. His
remains were set up at Temple Bar, "a dismal sight, which
many pitied," wrote Evelyn in his Diary (iii, 128).
Rookwood, Ambrose Rookwood (1664-1696) was an
officer in the army of James II, and remained his adherent after
the Revolution. Accused of complicity in the plot against
William Ill's life, he was convicted and executed at Tyburn,
April 26, 1696.
Lodwick, associated with the conspiracy in favor of the
Restoration of James II. His name is not in the Dictionary
of National Biography.
Montgomery. Sir James Montgomery, tenth Baron of
Skolmorlie, Scotland, who entered into the "Montgomery Plot"
for the restoration of James II. He died at St. Germains in
attendance upon the Stuart King in 1694.
Ailesbury. Thomas Bruce, second Earl of Ailesbury (1655-
1741), accompanied James II to Rochester in his final flight;
he never took the oaths to William and Mary, and was committed
to the Tower in 1695 for complicity in the plot to restore James II.
Clarendon. Henry Hyde (1638-1709), second Lord Claren-
don, eldest son of the historian, Edward Hyde, first Earl of
Clarendon. Accused of plotting on behalf of James II, he was
twice committed to the Tower, but ultimately released, after
which he spent the rest of his life ciuiotly in the country.
Yarmouth. William Paston (1652-1732), second Earl of
NOTES 583
Yarmouth, was married to a natural daughter of Charles II,
and was a supporter of the claims of James II.
417 : 10. sable, a rich black material.
417 : 30. great shovel-hat, a broad-brimmed hat, turned
up at the sides and projecting in front. Cf . 22 : 20.
417 : 34. would not partake of pudding, as an expression of
his deference and humility.
417 : 35. perversion, i.e. change of adherence in becoming
a Roman Catholic.
418 ; 20. shagreen, i.e. of untanned leather with a rough
surface.
418 : 37. preux chevalier, gallant knight.
419 : 24. To Lorraine, i.e. where James Stuart, the Pretender,
was. Cf. 522 : 38, ''Bar, in Lorraine."
421 : 5. rid, an old past tense form, "rode" coming from
the singular, "rid" from the plural form of the old preterite.
421 : 20. Hampshire, the southernmost county of England,
noted for the mildness of its climate.
421 : 26. Benedick, the married man. Cf. Shakespeare's
Much Ado about Nothing, I, 1, 269-270.
421 : 30. Monsieur Simon, Esmond's disguise.
422 : 27. Prince of Wales, i.e. the Pretender.
423 : 1. Malines, elsewhere called Mecheln. Cf. 269 : 28.
In 1. 2, correspondent, i.e. agent or representative.
423 : 5. Atridae, the sons of Atreus, i.e. Agamemnon, King
of Mycenae, and Menelaus, King of Sparta.
423 : 18. ratafia, a sweet cordial with fruit flavors, popular
in Queen Anne's time and sometimes spelled "ratafee."
424 : 8. from Nancy to Paris, the direct route from Lorraine
westward.
424 : 35. the Queen, i.e. the widow of James II.
425 : 18. the old King, Louis XIV, now seventy-five years
old.
425 : 20. was got, an older construction, purposely used for
its archaism.
584 HENRY ESMOND
426 : 6, Bishop Atterbury, Mr. Lesly, good old Mr. Collier,
i.e. all these were cognizant oi the plot to restore the Pretender.
Francis Atterbury, from a simple clergyman in Part I, and
a dean in Part II, is now become a bishop in Part III, as he
was in actual life. Mr. Lesly is Charles Leslie, or Lesley (1650-
1722), a noted Jacobite controversialist. There is an ana-
chronism in the date, however, as Leslie had to leave England in
1711, three years before, on accomit of his political activity,
going to France and joining the household of the Pretender.
Mr. Collier is Jeremy Collier; cf. 278 : 32.
427 : 2. the Colonel ... a practitioner of painting, rather
lugged in by the author unnecessarily to explain a detail of his
plot.
428 : 4. Mr. Prior's messenger from Paris. Cf. 394 : 10.
429 : 2. a play of Mons. Racine at St. Cyr. St. Cyr is a
village two miles and a half west of Versailles, where at the time
of our story Mme. de Maintenon had a convent school for young
ladies, who are represented as giving a play of the great tragic
poet Racine (1639-1699). Two of Racine's plays, Esther
(1689) and Athalie (1691), with plots derived from the Scrip-
tures, were written at the request of Mme. de Maintenon.
429 : 6. Vaisselle plate, i.e. gold (or silver) plate.
429 : 13. eighty-two years of age. If Louis XIV was born
in 1638, he would be only seventy-six in 1714, the year of our
story. He died September 1, 1715.
429 : 21. the Bastile, the celebrated state prison in Paris,
which became specially notorious under Richelieu's adminis-
tration (1624-1642). See Carlyle's splended description of
the storming of the Bastille in his French Revolution.
429 : 22. the Conciergerie, the prison of the Palais du
Justice in Paris. Originally a fortified palace, the part where
the concierge dwelt received this name, the position being
one of great responsibility, as he had charge of all royal and
distinguished prisoners. It was there that Marie Antoinette
was imprisoned and executed in 1793.
NOTES 585^
429 : 29. Mat, i.e. Matthew Prior, the poet and envoy. Cf..
428: 4.
430 : 9. caballing. The origin of the word "cabal" is due
to the initials of the members of an unpopular ministry of
Charles II, which held office 1667-1673. It consisted of Clifford,
Ashley, Buckingham, Arlington, and Lauderdale.
430 : 28. at the Maypole in the Strand, the name of an inn.
431 : 3. Arria . . . Cornelia. Arria was a Roman matron
whose husband was condemned to death for a conspiracy against
the Emperor Claudius in 42 a.d. When he hesitated to kill
himself as was commanded, Arria plunged the dagger into her
bosom, saying to her busband, " Paetus, it does not pain me.'"^
Cornelia, daughter of Scipio Africanus, the elder, and mother
of the two Gracchi, Tiberius and Caius, whom she boasted as
her " jewels." Thackeray is not taking these names historically,
but typically.
431 : 7. Dr. Berkeley's tar- water. Bishop Berkeley (1685-
1753), the well-known idealistic philosopher, is famous both
for his Theory of Vision in speculative philosophy and his advo-
cacy of tar-water as a universal remedy.
432 : 28. Eikon-Basilike, literally, "royal hkeness," a
book published after Charles I's execution in 1649, purporting
to describe his sufferings.
433 : 11. Calves . . . prodigal sons. Cf. Luke xv. 11-32.
433 : 24. Rochester, a seaport and cathedral citj^ in Kent,
on the road from London to Canterbury and Dover. James
II had sailed from Rochester for France in 1688. The Prince
is made to land at Dover (434 : 28) and pass through Canterbury
(435 : 17) to Rochester, and so to London.
434 : 36. the kingdom of Brentford. This was a favorite
subject of Thackeray's. In Fraser's Magazine, May, 1834,
Thackeray published his poetical version of Beranger's II
etait un Roi d' Yvetot, giving it the title of "The King of Brent-
ford." In The Paris Sketch Book, 1840, under the heading of
"Imitations of B^ranger," Thackeray published another version.
586 HENRY ESMOND
of the same poem: Le Roi d'Yvetot — The King of Yvetot
He rewrote the verses a third time for George Cruikshank'a
Omnibus, December, 1841.
435 : 7. The K , i.e. the King (the Stuart Pretender).
435 : 12. le grand serieux, the Great Serious. Cf. 438 : 18.
Don Bellianis of Greece, a typical hero of romance, as before.
435 : 15. sneer at everything. Thackeray is giving, in
Frank Esmond's words, his own conviction as to the Stuart
princes.
435 : 33. un verre d'eau, a glass of water.
435 : 35. ma foi, my faith.
436 : 30. ferried over. The present Westminster Bridge
of stone was not begun until after our story in 1739, and was
completed in 1750. Yet reference is made to the ''splendid
new bridge," 187: 6.
436 : 35. the Bishop, i.e. the Bishop of Rochester, Francis
Atterbiiry. Cf. 426: 6. The "lady in the highest favour at
Court" was Lady Masham (cf. 290 : 3), and the "two noble-
men of the greatest rank" were probably Harley and St. John,
though it can refer to others (cf. 474 : 5 ff.).
437 : 24. Tenez, etc. Stop, she is pretty, the little mother;
Faith of a knight! she is charming; but the other, who is this
nymph, this star which glitters, this Diana who is descending
upon us ?
437 : 28. Beatrix . . . descending the stair. It is the
second time Thackeray has made use of this radiant picture,
showing before the effect on Esmond and now on the Prince.
439 : 20. Golconda in India, noted for the mausoleums of
former kings and its diamond industry.
440 : 24 Simois . . . Sigeia tellus, and prcBlia mixta
mero are echoes of the afternoon Esmond spent in Addison's
room. Cf. 266 : 20.
440 : 30. Mr. Under Secretary. Addison had been Under-
Secretary of State, 1700-1708.
443 : 4. wooden shoes, worn by those in service and by
NOTES 587
the peasant class in Holland, France, Italy, and the continental
countries.
443 : 9. Nithsdale. William Maxwell (1676-1744), fifth
Earl of Nithsdale, an adherent of the exiled Stuart King, James
II, referred to in the Jacobite song, "Kenmure's up and awa',
Willie." Taken prisoner at the battle of Preston, he was sent
to the Tower of London, and sentenced to death. His wife
contrived his escape by disguising him in her hood and cloak
— a garment afterward popularly named for him — and re-
maining herself in prison in his stead. He escaped to Rome, and
died there in 1744. Derwentwater. James Radcliffe (1689-
1716), third Earl of Derwentwater. He was brought up at
St. Germains in France, whither the Stuarts were banished,
as a companion of the young prince, James Edward, but re.
turned to England m 1710, and joined the conspiracy of 1715.
He surrendered at Preston and was imprisoned in the Tower
with Lords Nithsdale and Kenmure. All were condemned to
die. Nithsdale escaped and Derwentwater and Kenmure were
executed together, despite all efforts made to save them.
443 : 12. petite maison, cottage or country home.
443 : 29. Crispin, the regular name for an impudent valet,
a stock character in French comedy.
443 : 33. Assez, milord, etc. Enough, my lord, I am tired
of the sermon.
443 : 36. le petit jaune, etc., the little yellow fellow, the
dark colonel, Marquis Misanthrope.
445 : 31. Archbishop of Esmond and Marquis of Canter-
bury, an intentional witty transposition of the titles.
446 : 25. Harley for Oxford, etc., i.e. each for himself, these
being different designations of the same man.
446 : 31-2. the Rogues Opera, i.e. the Beggar's Opera, which
Gay wrote in 1728. Peachum is the father of the heroine
Polly, who is married to the highwayman, Captain Mac-
heath.
447 : 17. the Treasurer, i.e. Harley, Lord Oxford.
588 HENRY ESMOND
447 : 30. greatest satirist the world ever hath seen, i.e.
Swift. Cf. the following lines.
448 : 4. Grand Inquisitor, the director of Court of Inquisi-
tion, an ecclesiastical court for the detection and suppression of
heretics.
448 : 7. the stupid Sacheverel. Cf. 339 : 8.
448 : 20. Boulogne in Picardy, on the English Channel, just
south of Calais, in northeastern France, where troops could
be held ready for embarkation to England.
448 : 26. their King. Cf. 10 : 10 and 44 : 38.
449 : 5. The Elector of Hannover had wished to send his
son, the Duke of Cambridge. "The Elector" was later George
I, and his son, George II. Cf. 411 : 24.
449 : 21. St. Anthony's fire, a skin disorder of the nature of
erysipelas. The bones of St. Anthony are said to have wrought
great wonders during an epidemic of this disease in southern
France in the eleventh century.
455 : 27. Ehl mon pere, Ah! my father.
456 : 7. chaplain . . . lordship, i.e. Lord Bishop, who
was assisted by his chaplain in his services and duties.
456 : 38. alerte, sharp attack.
457 : 21. ultima ratio, last resource.
459 : 5. Hounslow, a town twelve miles southwest of
London, a former relay for travellers and centre for coaches.
Cf. Hounslow Heath, 461 : 24 and 462 : 26.
461 : 19. post-chaise . . . carriage . . . coach. All three
words are used; as also "chariot," 462 : 31.
462 : 3. billet, note.
462 : 6. Lord B , i.e. Lord Bolingbroke.
462 : 21. Bacchus, the god of wine.
462 : 26. coram latronibus, in the face of the robbers.
462 : 34. Bagshot, in Surrey, ten miles southwest from
Windsor. Cf. 207 : 25.
464 : 3. blooded, i.e. bled. Hence "cup" as a verb in the
_next line.
NOTES 589
464 : 7. II faut, etc., it is necessary to be lovable to be
loved — with a word play.
467 : 36. lache, dastardly.
468 : 10. King John. A reference to King John's accep-
tance of his crown from the Pope in 1213.
469 : 10. the watchman . . . sang his cry. A former
custom.
469 : 14. Apres, Monsieur, And what next?
477 : 2. Mr. George nor Mr. Dragon, a word play on the
well-known legend of St. George and the Dragon,
477 : 12. Eikum Basilikum, i.e. Eikon Basilike. Cf. 432:
28.
478 : 27. banales, commonplace.
478 : 33. Alton in Hampshire, between Winchester and
London.
480 : 12. a silver statue to our Lady, i.e. to the Virgin Mary.
483 : 7. Qui est la, Who is there ?
483 : 18-19. the King, as he himself claimed; the Prince of
Wales, as the people might have acclaimed him awaiting the
Queen's death.
483 : 34. Morbleu, i.e. 'Sdeath of 1. 20. So 484 : 6.
484 : 2. guet-a-pens, i.e. ambuscade, lying in wait.
484 : 18. "Madame" and "Flamme," "Cruelle" and
"Rebelle," and "Amour" and "Jour," i.e. Madam and Flame,
Cruel and Rebel, and Love and Day.
484 : 30. Malediction, Curses !
485 : 28. I draw this sword, and break it. In "The Point of
View " in Scribner's Magazine for April, 1906, Professor Brander
Matthews calls attention to the fact "that when Colonel
Esmond broke his sword before the unworthy prince whom he
had served so long and so loyally, he was onl}^ following an
example which had been set by the noble Athos, who broke his
sword also before Louis XIV because that inhuman monarch
had taken for himself Mile, de la Valliere, the young lady
beloved by the Vicomte de Bragelonne, who was the son. ol
590 HENRY ESMOND
Athos. And the same effect is to he found also in [Donizetti'g\
opera of La Favorita. The scene of the sword-breaking . . .
may have been introduced into the book of the opera by the
fertile and ingenious Scribe. La Favorita was produced in 1840
when Thackeray was in Paris preparing the Paris Sketch Book.
It was in 1850 that Dumas published the Vicomte de Bragelonne ;
and it was in 1852 that Thackeray put forth Henrij
Esjnond."
485 : 32. Monmouth, the half-brother of King James II
who rebelled against the King in 1685, was defeated, captured
and executed. Drj-den's poem, Absalom and Achitophel, deals
with the times and events.
486 : 11. armoire, closet.
486 • 13. Merci, monsieur, mercil Thank you, sir, thank
you!
486 : 23. Eh bien, etc. Now, Viscount, . . . there is only
one thing for us to do.
486 : 28. Embrassons nousl Let us embrace.
487 : 24. he ... I, a change from the third person to the
first, as if recalling the illusion of the Memoirs.
488 : 16. Boniface's stairs. Boniface is a landlord in
Farquhar's play, The Beaux' Stratagem, and so a name for a
keeper of an inn.
488 : 17. his Prime Minister, i.e. the Bishop, who doubtless
expected to become the Primate of the English Church, the
Archbishop of Canterbury.
488 : 28. Hammersmith, a London suburb, six miles west
of St. Paul's.
488 : 30. my Lady Warwick's House, i.e. Holland House.
Cf. 269 : 8.
489 : 1. tabards, cloaks of heavy ornamented material, worn
by heralds in the seventeenth century. Cf. Chaucer's Tabard
Inn, which had for its sign a sleeveless coat, the early form of
the "tabard," which was worn by mediaeval knights over their
armor.
NOTES 591
489 : 2. George, i.e. George I, hitherto the Elector of
Hanover.
490 : 4. vincit omnia, overcomes all things. The full
quotation is Amor vincit omnia.
491 : 2. German family, i.e. Flemish. The word is used
loosely for Dutch and Flemish, as well as specifically German.
Cf . 393 ; 28.
491 : 13. my son, i.e. my stepson.
Dedication. William Bingham, Lord Ashburton. William
Bingham Baring, second Lord Ashburton (1799-1864). "He
distinguished himself by his strenuous advocacy of the teaching
of 'common things' in national schools. . . . His houses
. . . became centres of life for many eminent men in politics
and literature, and especially for Charles Buller, Thackeray,
and Carlyle." — Dictionary of National Biography, III, 193.
5-6. Dedication to the Patron. Thackeray openly avows
that his book "copies the manners and language of Queen
Anne's time," and hence the "Dedication to the Patron," usual
in English literature from the sixteenth to the eighteenth cen-
turies, may not be omitted. Volumes. " Esmond " originally
appeared as three volumes, corresponding to the Three Books.
9-10. when the Author is on his voyage, etc. Thackeray
was impatiently waiting to look over the proof sheets of his novel
before taking the steamer for Boston, on his first visit to America
to deliver his "Lectures on the English Humourists." This
"Dedication" is dated "London, October 18, 1852"; Thackeray
sailed from Liverpool by the steamship Canada, October 30,
receiving from the publishers, as he stood on the pier ready to
embark, the first copies of his new book.
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Edgar S. Siiumway.
WasMngrton's Farewell Address, and Webster's Pirst Bun-
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