The History of Henry Esmond, Esq., a Colonel in the Service of Her Majesty Queen Anne

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER III.

  I TAKE THE QUEEN'S PAY IN QUIN'S REGIMENT.

  The fellow in the orange-tawny livery with blue lace and facings wasin waiting when Esmond came out of prison, and, taking the younggentleman's slender baggage, led the way out of that odious Newgate, andby Fleet Conduit, down to the Thames, where a pair of oars was called,and they went up the river to Chelsey. Esmond thought the sun had nevershone so bright; nor the air felt so fresh and exhilarating. TempleGarden, as they rowed by, looked like the garden of Eden to him, andthe aspect of the quays, wharves, and buildings by the river, SomersetHouse, and Westminster (where the splendid new bridge was justbeginning), Lambeth tower and palace, and that busy shining scene of theThames swarming with boats and barges, filled his heart with pleasureand cheerfulness--as well such a beautiful scene might to one who hadbeen a prisoner so long, and with so many dark thoughts deepening thegloom of his captivity. They rowed up at length to the pretty villageof Chelsey, where the nobility have many handsome country-houses; andso came to my Lady Viscountess's house, a cheerful new house in therow facing the river, with a handsome garden behind it, and a pleasantlook-out both towards Surrey and Kensington, where stands the nobleancient palace of the Lord Warwick, Harry's reconciled adversary.

  Here in her ladyship's saloon, the young man saw again some of thosepictures which had been at Castlewood, and which she had removed thenceon the death of her lord, Harry's father. Specially, and in the place ofhonor, was Sir Peter Lely's picture of the honorable Mistress IsabellaEsmond as Diana, in yellow satin, with a bow in her hand and a crescentin her forehead; and dogs frisking about her. 'Twas painted about thetime when royal Endymions were said to find favor with this virginhuntress; and, as goddesses have youth perpetual, this one believed tothe day of her death that she never grew older: and always persisted insupposing the picture was still like her.

  After he had been shown to her room by the groom of the chamber, whofilled many offices besides in her ladyship's modest household, andafter a proper interval, his elderly goddess Diana vouchsafed to appearto the young man. A blackamoor in a Turkish habit, with red boots and asilver collar, on which the Viscountess's arms were engraven, precededher and bore her cushion; then came her gentlewoman; a little pack ofspaniels barking and frisking about preceded the austere huntress--then,behold, the Viscountess herself "dropping odors." Esmond recollectedfrom his childhood that rich aroma of musk which his mother-in-law(for she may be called so) exhaled. As the sky grows redder and reddertowards sunset, so, in the decline of her years, the cheeks of my LadyDowager 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;whereas the ladies of King William's had head-dresses like the towers ofCybele. Her eyes gleamed out from the midst of this queer structure ofpaint, dyes, and pomatums. Such was my Lady Viscountess, Mr. Esmond'sfather's widow.

  He made her such a profound bow as her dignity and relationship merited,and advanced with the greatest gravity, and once more kissed thathand, upon the trembling knuckles of which glittered a score ofrings--remembering old times when that trembling hand made him tremble."Marchioness," says he, bowing, and on one knee, "is it only the hand Imay have the honor of saluting?" For, accompanying that inward laughter,which the sight of such an astonishing old figure might well producein the young man, there was good will too, and the kindness ofconsanguinity. She had been his father's wife, and was his grandfather'sdaughter. She had suffered him in old days, and was kind to him nowafter her fashion. And now that bar-sinister was removed from Esmond'sthought, and that secret opprobrium no longer cast upon his mind, he waspleased to feel family ties and own them--perhaps secretly vain of thesacrifice he had made, and to think that he, Esmond, was really thechief of his house, and only prevented by his own magnanimity fromadvancing his claim.

  At least, ever since he had learned that secret from his poor patronon his dying bed, actually as he was standing beside it, he had felt anindependency which he had never known before, and which since did notdesert him. So he called his old aunt Marchioness, but with an air as ifhe was the Marquis of Esmond who so addressed her.

  Did she read in the young gentleman's eyes, which had now no fear ofhers or their superannuated authority, that he knew or suspected thetruth about his birth? She gave a start of surprise at his alteredmanner: indeed, it was quite a different bearing to that of theCambridge student who had paid her a visit two years since, and whomshe had dismissed with five pieces sent by the groom of the chamber. Sheeyed him, then trembled a little more than was her wont, perhaps, andsaid, "Welcome, cousin," in a frightened voice.

  His resolution, as has been said before, had been quite different,namely, so to bear himself through life as if the secret of his birthwas not known to him; but he suddenly and rightly determined on adifferent course. He asked that her ladyship's attendants should bedismissed, and when they were private--"Welcome, nephew, at least,madam, it should be," he said. "A great wrong has been done to me and toyou, 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--"

  "Who brought this dishonor on our family," says Mr. Esmond. "I know itfull well. I want to disturb no one. Those who are in present possessionhave been my dearest benefactors, and are quite innocent of intentionalwrong to me. The late lord, my dear patron, knew not the truth until afew months before his death, when Father Holt brought the news to him."

  "The wretch! he had it in confession! he had it in confession!" criedout the Dowager Lady.

  "Not so. He learned it elsewhere as well as in confession," Mr. Esmondanswered. "My father, when wounded at the Boyne, told the truth to aFrench priest, who was in hiding after the battle, as well as to thepriest there, at whose house he died. This gentleman did not think fitto divulge the story till he met with Mr. Holt at Saint Omer's. Andthe latter kept it back for his own purpose, and until he had learnedwhether my mother was alive or no. She is dead years since, my poorpatron told me with his dying breath, and I doubt him not. I do not knoweven whether I could prove a marriage. I would not if I could. I donot 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 aggravatethe wrong my father did you. Continue to be his widow, and give meyour kindness. 'Tis all I ask from you; and I shall never speak of thismatter again."

  "Mais vous etes un noble jeune homme!" breaks out my lady, speaking, asusual with her when she was agitated, in the French language.

  "Noblesse oblige," says Mr. Esmond, making her a low bow. "There arethose alive to whom, in return for their love to me, I often fondly saidI would give my life away. Shall I be their enemy now, and quarrel abouta title? What matters who has it? 'Tis with the family still."

  "What can there be in that little prude of a woman that makes men soraffoler about her?" cries out my Lady Dowager. "She was here for amonth petitioning the King. She is pretty, and well conserved; but shehas not the bel air. In his late Majesty's Court all the men pretendedto admire her, and she was no better than a little wax doll. She isbetter now, and looks the sister of her daughter; but what mean youall by bepraising her? Mr. Steele, who was in waiting on Prince George,seeing her with her two children going to Kensington, writ a poem abouther, and says he shall wear her colors, and dress in black for thefuture. Mr. Congreve says he will write a 'Mourning Widow,' that shallbe better than his 'Mourning Bride.' Though their husbands quarrelledand fought when that wretch Churchill deserted the King (for which hedeserved to be hung), Lady Marlborough has again gone wild about thelittle widow; insulted me in my own drawing-room, by saying 'twas notthe OLD widow, but the young Viscountess, she had come to see. LittleCastlewood and little Lord Churchill are to be sworn friends, and haveboxed each other twice or thrice like brothers already. 'Twas thatwicked young Mohun who, coming back from the provinces
last year, wherehe had disinterred her, raved about her all the winter; said she was apearl set before swine; and killed poor stupid Frank. The quarrel wasall about his wife. I know 'twas all about her. Was there anythingbetween her and Mohun, nephew? Tell me now--was there anything? Aboutyourself, I do not ask you to answer questions."

  Mr. Esmond blushed up. "My lady's virtue is like that of a saint inheaven, madam," he cried out.

  "Eh!--mon neveu. Many saints get to heaven after having a deal to repentof. I believe you are like all the rest of the fools, and madly in lovewith her."

  "Indeed, I loved and honored her before all the world," Esmond answered."I take no shame in that."

  "And she has shut her door on you--given the living to that horrid youngcub, son of that horrid old bear, Tusher, and says she will never seeyou more. Monsieur mon neveu--we are all like that. When I was a youngwoman, I'm positive that a thousand duels were fought about me. And whenpoor Monsieur de Souchy drowned himself in the canal at Bruges because Idanced with Count Springbock, I couldn't squeeze out a single tear, butdanced till five o'clock the next morning. 'Twas the Count--no, 'twas myLord Ormond that played the fiddles, and his Majesty did me the honor ofdancing all night with me.--How you are grown! You have got the bel air.You are a black man. Our Esmonds are all black. The little prude's sonis fair; so was his father--fair and stupid. You were an ugly littlewretch when you came to Castlewood--you were all eyes, like a youngcrow. We intended you should be a priest. That awful Father Holt--howhe used to frighten me when I was ill! I have a comfortable directornow--the Abbe Douillette--a dear man. We make meagre on Fridays always.My cook is a devout pious man. You, of course, are of the right way ofthinking. They say the Prince of Orange is very ill indeed."

  In this way the old Dowager rattled on remorselessly to Mr. Esmond, whowas quite astounded with her present volubility, contrasting it with herformer haughty behavior to him. But she had taken him into favor for themoment, and chose not only to like him, as far as her nature permitted,but to be afraid of him; and he found himself to be as familiar with hernow as a young man, as, when a boy, he had been timorous and silent.She was as good as her word respecting him. She introduced him to hercompany, of which she entertained a good deal--of the adherents of KingJames of course--and a great deal of loud intriguing took place over hercard-tables. She presented Mr. Esmond as her kinsman to many personsof honor; she supplied him not illiberally with money, which he had noscruple in accepting from her, considering the relationship which hebore to her, and the sacrifices which he himself was making in behalfof the family. But he had made up his mind to continue at no woman'sapron-strings longer; and perhaps had cast about how he shoulddistinguish himself, and make himself a name, which his singularfortune had denied him. A discontent with his former bookish life andquietude,--a bitter feeling of revolt at that slavery in which he hadchosen to confine himself for the sake of those whose hardnesstowards him make his heart bleed,--a restless wish to see men and theworld,--led him to think of the military profession: at any rate,to desire to see a few campaigns, and accordingly he pressed his newpatroness to get him a pair of colors; and one day had the honor offinding himself appointed an ensign in Colonel Quin's regiment ofFusileers on the Irish establishment.

  Mr. Esmond's commission was scarce three weeks old when that accidentbefell King William which ended the life of the greatest, the wisest,the bravest, and most clement sovereign whom England ever knew.'Twas the fashion of the hostile party to assail this great prince'sreputation during his life; but the joy which they and all his enemiesin Europe showed at his death, is a proof of the terror in which theyheld him. Young as Esmond was, he was wise enough (and generous enoughtoo, let it be said) to scorn that indecency of gratulation which brokeout amongst the followers of King James in London, upon the death ofthis illustrious prince, this invincible warrior, this wise and moderatestatesman. Loyalty to the exiled king's family was traditional, as hasbeen said, in that house to which Mr. Esmond belonged. His father'swidow had all her hopes, sympathies, recollections, prejudices, engagedon King James's side; and was certainly as noisy a conspirator as everasserted the King's rights, or abused his opponent's, over aquadrille table or a dish of bohea. Her ladyship's house swarmed withecclesiastics, in disguise and out; with tale-bearers from St. Germains;and quidnuncs that knew the last news from Versailles; nay, the exactforce and number of the next expedition which the French king was tosend from Dunkirk, and which was to swallow up the Prince of Orange, hisarmy and his court. She had received the Duke of Berwick when he landedhere in '96. She kept the glass he drank from, vowing she never woulduse it till she drank King James the Third's health in it on hisMajesty's return; she had tokens from the Queen, and relics of the saintwho, if the story was true, had not always been a saint as far as sheand many others were concerned. She believed in the miracles wrought athis tomb, and had a hundred authentic stories of wondrous cures effectedby the blessed king's rosaries, the medals which he wore, the locks ofhis hair, or what not. Esmond remembered a score of marvellous taleswhich the credulous old woman told him. There was the Bishop of Autun,that was healed of a malady he had for forty years, and which lefthim after he said mass for the repose of the king's soul. There was M.Marais, a surgeon in Auvergne, who had a palsy in both his legs, whichwas cured through the king's intercession. There was Philip Pitet, ofthe Benedictines, who had a suffocating cough, which wellnighkilled him, but he besought relief of heaven through the merits andintercession of the blessed king, and he straightway felt a profusesweat breaking out all over him, and was recovered perfectly. Andthere was the wife of Mons. Lepervier, dancing-master to the Dukeof Saxe-Gotha, who was entirely eased of a rheumatism by the king'sintercession, of which miracle there could be no doubt, for her surgeonand his apprentice had given their testimony, under oath, that they didnot in any way contribute to the cure. Of these tales, and a thousandlike them, Mr. Esmond believed as much as he chose. His kinswoman'sgreater faith had swallow for them all.

  The English High Church party did not adopt these legends. But truth andhonor, as they thought, bound them to the exiled king's side; norhad the banished family any warmer supporter than that kind lady ofCastlewood, in whose house Esmond was brought up. She influenced herhusband, very much more perhaps than my lord knew, who admired his wifeprodigiously though he might be inconstant to her, and who, adverseto the trouble of thinking himself, gladly enough adopted the opinionswhich she chose for him. To one of her simple and faithful heart,allegiance to any sovereign but the one was impossible. To serve KingWilliam for interest's sake would have been a monstrous hypocrisy andtreason. Her pure conscience could no more have consented to it than toa theft, a forgery, or any other base action. Lord Castlewood might havebeen won over, no doubt, but his wife never could: and he submitted hisconscience to hers in this case as he did in most others, when he wasnot tempted too sorely. And it was from his affection and gratitudemost likely, and from that eager devotion for his mistress, whichcharacterized all Esmond's youth, that the young man subscribed to this,and other articles of faith, which his fond benefactress set him. Hadshe been a Whig, he had been one; had she followed Mr. Fox, and turnedQuaker, no doubt he would have abjured ruffles and a periwig, and haveforsworn 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 asaffection took the side of his family.

  Almost the whole of the clergy of the country and more than a half ofthe nation were on this side. Ours is the most loyal people in the worldsurely; we admire our kings, and are faithful to them long after theyhave ceased to be true to us. 'Tis a wonder to any one who looks back atthe history of the Stuart family to think how they kicked theircrowns away from them; how they flung away chances after chances; whattreasures of loyalty they dissipated, and how fatally they were bent onconsummating their own ruin. If ever men had fidelity, 'twas they; ifever men squandered opportunity, 'twas they; and, of all the e
nemiesthey had, they themselves were the most fatal.

  When the Princess Anne succeeded, the wearied nation was glad enough tocry a truce from all these wars, controversies, and conspiracies, andto accept in the person of a Princess of the blood royal a compromisebetween the parties into which the country was divided. The Toriescould 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 should be attached to their ownfamilies, were pleased to think the Princess was faithful to hers; andup to the very last day and hour of her reign, and but for that fatalitywhich he inherited from his fathers along with their claims to theEnglish crown, King James the Third might have worn it. But he neitherknew how to wait an opportunity, nor to use it when he had it; he wasventuresome when he ought to have been cautious, and cautious whenhe ought to have dared everything. 'Tis with a sort of rage at hisinaptitude that one thinks of his melancholy story. Do the Fates dealmore specially with kings than with common men? One is apt to imagineso, in considering the history of that royal race, in whose behalfso much fidelity, so much valor, so much blood were desperately andbootlessly expended.

  The King dead then, the Princess Anne (ugly Anne Hyde's daughter, ourDowager at Chelsey called her) was proclaimed by trumpeting heraldsall over the town from Westminster to Ludgate Hill, amidst immensejubilations of the people.

  Next week my Lord Marlborough was promoted to the Garter, and tobe Captain-General of her Majesty's forces at home and abroad. Thisappointment only inflamed the Dowager's rage, or, as she thought it, herfidelity to her rightful sovereign. "The Princess is but a puppet inthe hands of that fury of a woman, who comes into my drawing-room andinsults me to my face. What can come to a country that is given over tosuch a woman?" says the Dowager: "As for that double-faced traitor, myLord Marlborough, he has betrayed every man and every woman with whom hehas had to deal, except his horrid wife, who makes him tremble. 'Tis allover with the country when it has got into the clutches of such wretchesas these."

  Esmond's old kinswoman saluted the new powers in this way; but some goodfortune at last occurred to a family which stood in great need of it, bythe advancement of these famous personages who benefited humbler peoplethat had the luck of being in their favor. Before Mr. Esmond leftEngland in the month of August, and being then at Portsmouth, where hehad joined his regiment, and was busy at drill, learning the practiceand mysteries of the musket and pike, he heard that a pension on theStamp Office had been got for his late beloved mistress, and that theyoung Mistress Beatrix was also to be taken into court. So much good,at least, had come of the poor widow's visit to London, not revenge uponher husband's enemies, but reconcilement to old friends, who pitied, andseemed inclined to serve her. As for the comrades in prison and thelate misfortune, Colonel Westbury was with the Captain-General gone toHolland; Captain Macartney was now at Portsmouth, with his regiment ofFusileers and the force under command of his Grace the Duke of Ormond,bound for Spain it was said; my Lord Warwick was returned home; and LordMohun, so far from being punished for the homicide which had brought somuch grief and change into the Esmond family, was gone in company of myLord Macclesfield's splendid embassy to the Elector of Hanover, carryingthe Garter to his Highness, and a complimentary letter from the Queen.