CHAPTER II.
I COME TO THE END OF MY CAPTIVITY, BUT NOT OF MY TROUBLE.
Among the company which came to visit the two officers was an oldacquaintance of Harry Esmond; that gentleman of the Guards, namely,who had been so kind to Harry when Captain Westbury's troop had beenquartered at Castlewood more than seven years before. Dick the Scholarwas no longer Dick the Trooper now, but Captain Steele of Lucas'sFusiliers, and secretary to my Lord Cutts, that famous officer of KingWilliam's, the bravest and most beloved man of the English army. Thetwo jolly prisoners had been drinking with a party of friends (forour cellar and that of the keepers of Newgate, too, were suppliedwith endless hampers of Burgundy and Champagne that the friends of theColonels sent in); and Harry, having no wish for their drink or theirconversation, being too feeble in health for the one and too sad inspirits for the other, was sitting apart in his little room, readingsuch books as he had, one evening, when honest Colonel Westbury, flushedwith liquor, and always good-humored in and out of his cups, camelaughing into Harry's closet and said, "Ho, young Killjoy! here's afriend 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 thelittle scholar of Castlewood."
Dick came up and kissed Esmond on both cheeks, imparting a strongperfume of burnt sack along with his caress to the young man.
"What! is this the little man that used to talk Latin and fetch ourbowls? How tall thou art grown! I protest I should have known theeanywhere. And so you have turned ruffian and fighter; and wanted tomeasure swords with Mohun, did you? I protest that Mohun said at theGuard dinner yesterday, where there was a pretty company of us, that theyoung fellow wanted to fight him, and was the better man of the two."
"I wish we could have tried and proved it, Mr. Steele," says Esmond,thinking of his dead benefactor, and his eyes filling with tears.
With the exception of that one cruel letter which he had from hismistress, Mr. Esmond heard nothing from her, and she seemed determinedto execute her resolve of parting from him and disowning him. But he hadnews of her, such as it was, which Mr. Steele assiduously brought himfrom the Prince's and Princess's Court, where our honest Captain hadbeen advanced to the post of gentleman waiter. When off duty there,Captain Dick often came to console his friends in captivity; a goodnature and a friendly disposition towards all who were in ill-fortuneno doubt prompting him to make his visits, and good-fellowship and goodwine to prolong them.
"Faith," says Westbury, "the little scholar was the first to begin thequarrel--I mind me of it now--at Lockit's. I always hated that fellowMohun. What was the real cause, of the quarrel betwixt him and poorFrank? I would wager 'twas a woman."
"'Twas a quarrel about play--on my word, about play," Harry said. "Mypoor lord lost great sums to his guest at Castlewood. Angry words passedbetween them; and, though Lord Castlewood was the kindest and mostpliable soul alive, his spirit was very high; and hence that meetingwhich has brought us all here," says Mr. Esmond, resolved never toacknowledge that there had ever been any other cause but cards for theduel.
"I do not like to use bad words of a nobleman," says Westbury; "butif my Lord Mohun were a commoner, I would say, 'twas a pity he was nothanged. He was familiar with dice and women at a time other boys are atschool being birched; he was as wicked as the oldest rake, years ere hehad done growing; and handled a sword and a foil, and a bloody one, too,before he ever used a razor. He held poor Will Mountford in talk thatnight, 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 honestMr. Westbury: whose prophecy was fulfilled twelve years after, upon thatfatal day when Mohun fell, dragging down one of the bravest and greatestgentlemen in England in his fall.
From Mr. Steele, then, who brought the public rumor, as well as his ownprivate intelligence, Esmond learned the movements of his unfortunatemistress. Steele's heart was of very inflammable composition; and thegentleman usher spoke in terms of boundless admiration both of the widow(that most beautiful woman, as he said) and of her daughter, who, inthe Captain's eyes, was a still greater paragon. If the pale widow, whomCaptain Richard, in his poetic rapture compared to a Niobe in tears--toa Sigismunda--to a weeping Belvidera, was an object the most lovelyand pathetic which his eyes had ever beheld, or for which his heart hadmelted, even her ripened perfections and beauty were as nothing comparedto the promise of that extreme loveliness which the good Captain sawin her daughter. It was matre pulcra filia pulcrior. Steele composedsonnets whilst he was on duty in his Prince's ante-chamber, to thematernal and filial charms. He would speak for hours about them to HarryEsmond; and, indeed, he could have chosen few subjects more likely tointerest the unhappy young man, whose heart was now as always devotedto these ladies; and who was thankful to all who loved them, or praisedthem, or wished them well.
Not that his fidelity was recompensed by any answering kindness, orshow of relenting even, on the part of a mistress obdurate now after tenyears of love and benefactions. The poor young man getting no answer,save Tusher's, to that letter which he had written, and being too proudto 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 pathetic, for they came imopectore, and caused honest Dick to weep plentifully) his youth, hisconstancy, his fond devotion to that household which had reared him; hisaffection, how earned, and how tenderly requited until but yesterday,and (as far as he might) the circumstances and causes for which thatsad quarrel had made of Esmond a prisoner under sentence, a widow andorphans of those whom in life he held dearest. In terms that might wellmove a harder-hearted man than young Esmond's confidant--for, indeed,the speaker's own heart was half broke as he uttered them--he describeda part of what had taken place in that only sad interview which hismistress had granted him; how she had left him with anger and almostimprecation, whose words and thoughts until then had been only blessingand kindness; how she had accused him of the guilt of that blood, inexchange 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 rumor out of doors--Steele told him--bore out theluckless young man); and with all his heart, and tears, he besoughtMr. Steele to inform his mistress of her kinsman's unhappiness, and todeprecate that cruel anger she showed him. Half frantic with griefat the injustice done him, and contrasting it with a thousand softrecollections of love and confidence gone by, that made his presentmisery inexpressibly more bitter, the poor wretch passed many a lonelyday and wakeful night in a kind of powerless despair and rage againsthis iniquitous fortune. It was the softest hand that struck him, thegentlest and most compassionate nature that persecuted him. "I would aslief," he said, "have pleaded guilty to the murder, and have sufferedfor it like any other felon, as have to endure the torture to which mymistress subjects me."
Although the recital of Esmond's story, and his passionate appeals andremonstrances, drew so many tears from Dick who heard them, they hadno effect upon the person whom they were designed to move. Esmond'sambassador came back from the mission with which the poor younggentleman had charged him, with a sad blank face and a shake of thehead, which told that there was no hope for the prisoner; and scarce awretched culprit in that prison of Newgate ordered for execution, andtrembling for a reprieve, felt more cast down than Mr. Esmond, innocentand condemned.
As had been arranged between the prisoner and his counsel in theirconsultations, Mr. Steele had gone to the dowager's house in Chelsey,where it has been said the widow and her orphans were, had seen my LadyViscountess, and pleaded the cause of her unfortunate kinsman. "And Ithink I spoke well, my poor boy," says Mr. Steele; "for who would notspeak well in such a cause, and before so beautiful a judge? I did notsee the lovely Beatrix (sure her famous namesake of Florence was neverhalf so beautiful), only the young Viscount was in the room with theLord Churchill, my Lord of Marlborough's eldest son. But these youngge
ntlemen went off to the garden; I could see them from the windowtilting at each other with poles in a mimic tournament (grief touchesthe young but lightly, and I remember that I beat a drum at the coffinof my own father). My Lady Viscountess looked out at the two boys attheir game and said--'You see, sir, children are taught to use weaponsof death as toys, and to make a sport of murder;' and as she spoke shelooked so lovely, and stood there in herself so sad and beautiful, aninstance of that doctrine whereof I am a humble preacher, that had I notdedicated my little volume of 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 answer it)--I say, hadn't I dedicatedthe volume to Lord Cutts, I would have asked permission to place herladyship's name on the first page. I think I never saw such a beautifulviolet as that of her eyes, Harry. Her complexion is of the pink of theblush-rose, she hath an exquisite turned wrist and dimpled hand, and Imake no doubt--"
"Did you come to tell me about the dimples on my lady's hand?" broke outMr. Esmond, sadly.
"A lovely creature in affliction seems always doubly beautiful to me,"says the poor Captain, who indeed was but too often in a state to seedouble, and so checked he resumed the interrupted thread of his story."As I spoke my business," Mr. Steele said, "and narrated to yourmistress what all the world knows, and the other side hath been eager toacknowledge--that you had tried to put yourself between the two lords,and to take your patron's quarrel on your own point; I recounted thegeneral praises of your gallantry, besides my Lord Mohun's particulartestimony to it; I thought the widow listened with some interest, andher eyes--I have never seen such a violet, Harry--looked up at mine onceor twice. But after I had spoken on this theme for a while she suddenlybroke away with a cry of grief. 'I would to God, sir,' she said, 'I hadnever heard that word gallantry which you use, or known the meaning ofit. My lord might have been here but for that; my home might be happy;my poor boy have a father. It was what you gentlemen call gallantry cameinto my home, and drove my husband on to the cruel sword that killedhim. You should not speak the word to a Christian woman, sir, a poorwidowed mother of orphans, whose home was happy until the world cameinto 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. Steelecontinued, "it seemed as if indignation moved her, even more than grief.'Compensation!' she went on passionately, her cheeks and eyes kindling;'what compensation does your world give the widow for her husband, andthe children for the murderer of their father? The wretch who did thedeed has not even a punishment. Conscience! what conscience has he, whocan enter the house of a friend, whisper falsehood and insult to a womanthat never harmed him, and stab the kind heart that trusted him? MyLord--my Lord Wretch's, my Lord Villain's, my Lord Murderer's peers meetto try him, and they dismiss him with a word or two of reproof and sendhim into the world again, to pursue women with lust and falsehood, andto murder unsuspecting guests that harbor him. That day, my Lord--myLord Murderer--(I will never name him)--was let loose, a woman wasexecuted at Tyburn for stealing in a shop. But a man may rob another ofhis life, or a lady of her honor, and shall pay no penalty! I take mychild, run to the throne, and on my knees ask for justice, and the Kingrefuses 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 hasgone unpunished, as the great do.'
"I then thought to speak for you," Mr. Steele continued, "and Iinterposed by saying, 'There was one, madam, who, at least, would haveput 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 todraw the quarrel on himself.'
"'Are you come from HIM?' asked the lady (so Mr. Steele went on) risingup with a great severity and stateliness. 'I thought you had come fromthe Princess. I saw Mr. Esmond in his prison, and bade him farewell. Hebrought misery into my house. He never should have entered it.'
"'Madam, madam, he is not to blame,' I interposed," continued Mr.Steele.
"'Do I blame him to you, sir?' asked the widow. 'If 'tis he who sentyou, say that I have taken counsel, where'--she spoke with a verypallid cheek now, and a break in her voice--'where all who ask may haveit;--and that it bids me to part from him, and to see him no more. Wemet in the prison for the last time--at least for years to come. Itmay be, in years hence, when--when our knees and our tears and ourcontrition have changed our sinful hearts, sir, and wrought our pardon,we may meet again--but not now. After what has passed, I could not bearto see him. I wish him well, sir; but I wish him farewell, too; and ifhe has that--that regard towards us which he speaks of, I beseech him toprove it by obeying me in this.'
"'I shall break the young man's heart, madam, by this hard sentence,'"Mr. Steele said.
"The lady shook her head," continued my kind scholar. "'The hearts ofyoung men, Mr. Steele, are not so made,' she said. 'Mr. Esmond will findother--other friends. The mistress of this house has relented very muchtowards the late lord's son,' she added, with a blush, 'and has promisedme, that is, has promised that she will care for his fortune. Whilst Ilive in it, after the horrid horrid deed which has passed, Castlewoodmust never be a home to him--never. Nor would I have him write tome--except--no--I would have him never write to me, nor see him more.Give him, if you will, my parting--Hush! not a word of this before mydaughter.'
"Here the fair Beatrix entered from the river, with her cheeks flushingwith health, and looking only the more lovely and fresh for the mourninghabiliments which she wore. And my Lady Viscountess said--
"'Beatrix, this is Mr. Steele, gentleman-usher to the Prince's Highness.When does your new comedy appear, Mr. Steele?' I hope thou wilt be outof prison for the first night, Harry."
The sentimental Captain concluded his sad tale, saying, "Faith, thebeauty of Filia pulcrior drove pulcram matrem out of my head; and yetas I came down the river, and thought about the pair, the pallid dignityand exquisite grace of the matron had the uppermost, and I thought hereven more noble than the virgin!"
The party of prisoners lived very well in Newgate, and with comfortsvery different to those which were awarded to the poor wretches there(his insensibility to their misery, their gayety still more frightful,their curses and blasphemy, hath struck with a kind of shame since--asproving how selfish, during his imprisonment, his own particular griefwas, and how entirely the thoughts of it absorbed him): if the threegentlemen lived well under the care of the Warden of Newgate, it wasbecause they paid well: and indeed the cost at the dearest ordinaryor the grandest tavern in London could not have furnished a longerreckoning, than our host of the "Handcuff Inn"--as Colonel Westburycalled it. Our rooms were the three in the gate over Newgate--on thesecond story looking up Newgate Street towards Cheapside and Paul'sChurch. And we had leave to walk on the roof, and could see thenceSmithfield and the Bluecoat Boys' School, Gardens, and the Chartreux,where, as Harry Esmond remembered, Dick the Scholar, and his friend TomTusher, had had their schooling.
Harry could never have paid his share of that prodigious heavy reckoningwhich my landlord brought to his guests once a week: for he had butthree pieces in his pockets that fatal night before the duel, when thegentlemen were at cards, and offered to play five. But whilst he was yetill at the Gatehouse, after Lady Castlewood had visited him there, andbefore his trial, there came one in an orange-tawny coat and blue lace,the livery which the Esmonds always wore, and brought a sealed packetfor Mr. Esmond, which contained twenty guineas, and a note saying thata counsel had been appointed for him, and that more money would beforthcoming whenever he needed it.
'Twas a queer letter from the scholar as she was, or as she calledherself: the Dowager Viscountess Castlewood, written in the strangebarbarous French which she and many other fine ladies of thattime--witness her Grace of Portsmouth--employed. Indeed, spelling wasnot an article of general commodity in the world then, and my LordMarlborough's letters can show that he, for one, had but a little shareof this part of
grammar:--
"MONG COUSSIN," my Lady Viscountess Dowager wrote, "je scay que vousvous etes bravement batew et grievement blessay--du coste de feu M. leVicomte. M. le Compte de Varique ne se playt qua parlay de vous: M. deMoon aucy. Il di que vous avay voulew vous bastre avecque luy--que vousestes plus fort que luy fur l'ayscrimme--quil'y a surtout certaine Botteque vous scavay quil n'a jammay sceu pariay: et que c'en eut ete fay deluy si vouseluy vous vous fussiay battews ansamb. Aincy ce pauv Vicompteest mort. Mort et pontayt--Mon coussin, mon coussin! jay dans la taysteque vous n'estes quung pety Monst--angcy que les Esmonds ong tousjourseste. La veuve est chay moy. J'ay recuilly cet' pauve famme. Elle estfurieuse cont vous, allans tous les jours chercher ley Roy (d'icy)demandant a gran cri revanche pour son Mary. Elle ne veux voyre nientende parlay de vous: pourtant elle ne fay qu'en parlay milfoy parjour. Quand vous seray hor prison venay me voyre. J'auray soing de vous.Si cette petite Prude veut se defaire de song pety Monste (Helas jecraing quil ne soy trotar!) je m'on chargeray. J'ay encor quelqu interayet quelques escus de costay.
"La Veuve se raccommode avec Miladi Marlboro qui est tout puicanteavecque la Reine Anne. Cet dam senteraysent pour la petite prude; quipourctant a un fi du mesme asge que vous savay.
"En sortant de prisong venez icy. Je ne puy vous recevoir chaymoy acause des mechansetes du monde, may pre du moy vous aurez logement.
"ISABELLE VICOMTESSE D'ESMOND"
Marchioness of Esmond this lady sometimes called herself, in virtueof that patent which had been given by the late King James to HarryEsmond's father; and in this state she had her train carried by aknight's wife, a cup and cover of assay to drink from, and fringedcloth.
He who was of the same age as little Francis, whom we shall henceforthcall Viscount Castlewood here, was H. R. H. the Prince of Wales, bornin the same year and month with Frank, and just proclaimed at SaintGermains, King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland.
The History of Henry Esmond, Esq., a Colonel in the Service of Her Majesty Queen Anne Page 19
