CHAPTER X.
AN OLD STORY ABOUT A FOOL AND A WOMAN.
Any taste for pleasure which Esmond had (and he liked to desipere inloco, neither more nor less than most young men of his age) he couldnow gratify to the utmost extent, and in the best company which the townafforded. When the army went into winter quarters abroad, those of theofficers who had interest or money easily got leave of absence, andfound it much pleasanter to spend their time in Pall Mall and Hyde Park,than to pass the winter away behind the fortifications of the drearyold Flanders towns, where the English troops were gathered. Yachts andpackets passed daily between the Dutch and Flemish ports and Harwich;the roads thence to London and the great inns were crowded witharmy gentlemen; the taverns and ordinaries of the town swarmed withred-coats; and our great Duke's levees at St. James's were as throngedas they had been at Ghent and Brussels, where we treated him, and he us,with the grandeur and ceremony of a sovereign. Though Esmond had beenappointed to a lieutenancy in the Fusileer regiment, of which thatcelebrated officer, Brigadier John Richmond Webb, was colonel, hehad never joined the regiment, nor been introduced to its excellentcommander, though they had made the same campaign together, and beenengaged in the same battle. But being aide-de-camp to General Lumley,who commanded the division of horse, and the army marching to its pointof destination on the Danube by different routes, Esmond had not fallenin, as yet, with his commander and future comrades of the fort; and itwas in London, in Golden Square, where Major-General Webb lodged, thatCaptain Esmond had the honor of first paying his respects to his friend,patron, and commander of after days.
Those who remember this brilliant and accomplished gentleman mayrecollect his character, upon which he prided himself, I think, not alittle, of being the handsomest man in the army; a poet who writ adull copy of verses upon the battle of Oudenarde three years after,describing Webb, says:--
"To noble danger Webb conducts the way, His great example all his troops obey; Before the front the general sternly rides, With such an air as Mars to battle strides: Propitious heaven must sure a hero save, Like Paris handsome, and like Hector brave."
Mr. Webb thought these verses quite as fine as Mr. Addison's on theBlenheim Campaign, and, indeed, to be Hector a la mode de Paris, waspart of this gallant gentleman's ambition. It would have been difficultto find an officer in the whole army, or amongst the splendid courtiersand cavaliers of the Maison du Roy, that fought under Vendosme andVilleroy in the army opposed to ours, who was a more accomplishedsoldier and perfect gentleman, and either braver or better-looking.And if Mr. Webb believed of himself what the world said of him, and wasdeeply convinced of his own indisputable genius, beauty, and valor, whohas a right to quarrel with him very much? This self-content of his kepthim in general good-humor, of which his friends and dependants got thebenefit.
He came of a very ancient Wiltshire family, which he respected above allfamilies in the world: he could prove a lineal descent from King Edwardthe First, and his first ancestor, Roaldus de Richmond, rode by Williamthe Conqueror's side on Hastings field. "We were gentlemen, Esmond," heused to say, "when the Churchills were horse-boys." He was a verytall man, standing in his pumps six feet three inches (in his greatjack-boots, with his tall fair periwig, and hat and feather, he couldnot have been less than eight feet high). "I am taller than Churchill,"he would say, surveying himself in the glass, "and I am a better mademan; 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 askinghis friends to measure them. And talking in this frank way, as he woulddo, over his cups, wags would laugh and encourage him; friends wouldbe sorry for him; schemers and flatterers would egg him on, andtale-bearers carry the stories to headquarters, and widen the differencewhich already existed there, between the great captain and one of theablest and bravest lieutenants he ever had.
His rancor against the Duke was so apparent, that one saw it in thefirst half-hour's conversation with General Webb; and his lady, whoadored her General, and thought him a hundred times taller, handsomer,and braver than a prodigal nature had made him, hated the great Dukewith such an intensity as it becomes faithful wives to feel againsttheir husbands' enemies. Not that my Lord Duke was so yet; Mr. Webb hadsaid a thousand things against him, which his superior had pardoned; andhis Grace, whose spies were everywhere, had heard a thousand things morethat Webb had never said. But it cost this great man no pains to pardon;and he passed over an injury or a benefit alike easily.
Should any child of mine take the pains to read these his ancestor'smemoirs, I would not have him judge of the great Duke* by what acontemporary has written of him. No man hath been so immensely laudedand decried as this great statesman and warrior; as, indeed, no man everdeserved better the very greatest praise and the strongest censure. Ifthe present writer joins with the latter faction, very likely a privatepique of his own may be the cause of his ill-feeling.
* This passage in the Memoirs of Esmond is written on a leaf inserted into the MS. book, and dated 1744, probably after he had heard of the Duchess's death.
On presenting himself at the Commander-in-Chief's levee, his Grace hadnot the least remembrance of General Lumley's aide-de-camp, and thoughhe knew Esmond's family perfectly well, having served with both lords(my Lord Francis and the Viscount Esmond's father) in Flanders, and inthe Duke of York's Guard, the Duke of Marlborough, who was friendlyand serviceable to the (so-styled) legitimate representatives of theViscount Castlewood, took no sort of notice of the poor lieutenantwho bore their name. A word of kindness or acknowledgment, or a singleglance of approbation, might have changed Esmond's opinion of the greatman; and instead of a satire, which his pen cannot help writing, whoknows but that the humble historian might have taken the other side ofpanegyric? We have but to change the point of view, and the greatestaction looks mean; as we turn the perspective-glass, and a giant appearsa pigmy. You may describe, but who can tell whether your sight is clearor not, or your means of information accurate? Had the great man saidbut a word of kindness to the small one (as he would have stepped outof his gilt chariot to shake hands with Lazarus in rags and sores, if hethought Lazarus could have been of any service to him), no doubt Esmondwould 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 this moment, and soMuscipulus went off and nibbled in opposition.
So it was, however, that a young gentleman, who, in the eyes of hisfamily, and in his own, doubtless, was looked upon as a consummate hero,found that the great hero of the day took no more notice of him thanof the smallest drummer in his Grace's army. The Dowager at Chelsey wasfurious against this neglect of her family, and had a great battle withLady Marlborough (as Lady Castlewood insisted on calling the Duchess).Her Grace was now Mistress of the Robes to her Majesty, and one of thegreatest personages in this kingdom, as her husband was in all Europe,and the battle between the two ladies took place in the Queen'sdrawing-room.
The Duchess, in reply to my aunt's eager clamor, said haughtily, thatshe had done her best for the legitimate branch of the Esmonds, andcould not be expected to provide for the bastard brats of the family.
"Bastards!" says the Viscountess, in a fury. "There are bastards amongthe Churchills, as your Grace knows, and the Duke of Berwick is providedfor well enough."
"Madam," says the Duchess, "you know whose fault it is that there areno such dukes in the Esmond family too, and how that little scheme of acertain lady miscarried."
Esmond's friend, Dick Steele, who was in waiting on the Prince, heardthe controversy between the ladies at court. "And faith," says Dick, "Ithink, Harry, thy kinswoman had the worst of it."
He could not keep the story quiet; 'twas all over the coffee-houses erenight; it was printed in a News Letter before a month was over, and "Thereply of her Grace the Duchess of M-rlb-r-gh to a Popish Lady of theCourt, once a favorite of the late K--- J-m-s
," was printed in half adozen places, with a note stating that "this duchess, when the headof this lady's family came by his death lately in a fatal duel, neverrested until she got a pension for the orphan heir, and widow, from herMajesty's bounty." The squabble did not advance poor Esmond's promotionmuch, and indeed made him so ashamed of himself that he dared not showhis face at the Commander-in-Chief's levees again.
During those eighteen months which had passed since Esmond saw his dearmistress, her good father, the old Dean, quitted this life, firm in hisprinciples to the very last, and enjoining his family always to rememberthat the Queen's brother, King James the Third, was their rightfulsovereign. He made a very edifying end, as his daughter told Esmond, andnot a little to her surprise, after his death (for he had lived alwaysvery poorly) my lady found that her father had left no less a sum than3,000L. behind him, which he bequeathed to her.
With this little fortune Lady Castlewood was enabled, when herdaughter's turn at Court came, to come to London, where she took a smallgenteel house at Kensington, in the neighborhood of the Court, bringingher children with her, and here it was that Esmond found his friends.
As for the young lord, his university career had ended rather abruptly.Honest Tusher, his governor, had found my young gentleman quiteungovernable. My lord worried his life away with tricks; and broke out,as home-bred lads will, into a hundred youthful extravagances, so thatDr. Bentley, the new master of Trinity, thought fit to write to theViscountess Castlewood, my lord's mother, and beg her to remove theyoung nobleman from a college where he declined to learn, and where heonly did harm by his riotous example. Indeed, I believe he nearly setfire to Nevil's Court, that beautiful new quadrangle of our college,which Sir Christopher Wren had lately built. He knocked down aproctor's man that wanted to arrest him in a midnight prank; he gavea dinner-party on the Prince of Wales's birthday, which was withina fortnight of his own, and the twenty young gentlemen then presentsallied out after their wine, having toasted King James's health withopen windows, and sung cavalier songs, and shouted "God save theKing!" in the great court, so that the master came out of his lodge atmidnight, and dissipated the riotous assembly.
This was my lord's crowning freak, and the Rev. Thomas Tusher, domesticchaplain to the Right Honorable the Lord Viscount Castlewood, findinghis prayers and sermons of no earthly avail to his lordship, gave up hisduties of governor; went and married his brewer's widow at Southampton,and took her and her money to his parsonage house at Castlewood.
My lady could not be angry with her son for drinking King James'shealth, being herself a loyal Tory, as all the Castlewood family were,and acquiesced with a sigh, knowing, perhaps, that her refusal would beof no avail to the young lord's desire for a military life. She wouldhave liked him to be in Mr. Esmond's regiment, hoping that Harry mightact as a guardian and adviser to his wayward young kinsman; but my younglord would hear of nothing but the Guards, and a commission was got forhim in the Duke of Ormond's regiment; so Esmond found my lord, ensignand lieutenant, when he returned from Germany after the Blenheimcampaign.
The effect produced by both Lady Castlewood's children when theyappeared in public was extraordinary, and the whole town speedily rangwith their fame: such a beautiful couple, it was declared, never hadbeen seen; the young maid of honor was toasted at every table andtavern, and as for my young lord, his good looks were even more admiredthan his sister's. A hundred songs were written about the pair, andas the fashion of that day was, my young lord was praised in theseAnacreontics as warmly as Bathyllus. You may be sure that he acceptedvery complacently the town's opinion of him, and acquiesced with thatfrankness and charming good-humor he always showed in the idea that hewas the prettiest fellow in all London.
The old Dowager at Chelsey, though she could never be got to acknowledgethat Mistress Beatrix was any beauty at all, (in which opinion, as itmay be imagined, a vast number of the ladies agreed with her), yet, onthe very first sight of young Castlewood, she owned she fell in lovewith him: and Henry Esmond, on his return to Chelsey, found himselfquite superseded in her favor by her younger kinsman. The feat ofdrinking the King's health at Cambridge would have won her heart, shesaid, if nothing else did. "How had the dear young fellow got suchbeauty?" she asked. "Not from his father--certainly not from his mother.How had he come by such noble manners, and the perfect bel air? Thatcountrified Walcote widow could never have taught him." Esmond had hisown opinion about the countrified Walcote widow, who had a quiet graceand serene kindness, that had always seemed to him the perfection ofgood 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 olddowager bestowed on my Lord Viscount, than whom he never beheld a morefascinating and charming gentleman. Castlewood had not wit so much asenjoyment. "The lad looks good things," Mr. Steele used to say; "andhis laugh lights up a conversation as much as ten repartees fromMr. Congreve. I would as soon sit over a bottle with him as with Mr.Addison; and rather listen to his talk than hear Nicolini. Was everman so gracefully drunk as my Lord Castlewood? I would give anything tocarry my wine" (though, indeed, Dick bore his very kindly, and plentyof it, too), "like this incomparable young man. When he is sober he isdelightful; and when tipsy, perfectly irresistible." And referring tohis favorite, Shakspeare (who was quite out of fashion until Steelebrought him back into the mode), Dick compared Lord Castlewood to PrinceHal, 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, though she never could begot to say a civil word to Beatrix, whom she had promoted to her placeas maid of honor, took her brother into instant favor. When youngCastlewood, in his new uniform, and looking like a prince out of a fairytale, went to pay his duty to her Grace, she looked at him for a minutein silence, the young man blushing and in confusion before her, thenfairly burst out a-crying, and kissed him before her daughters andcompany. "He was my boy's friend," she said, through her sobs. "MyBlandford might have been like him." And everybody saw, after this markof the Duchess's favor, that my young lord's promotion was secure, andpeople crowded round the favorite's favorite, who became vainer andgayer, and more good-humored than ever.
Meanwhile Madam Beatrix was making her conquests on her own side, andamongst them was one poor gentleman, who had been shot by her young eyestwo years before, and had never been quite cured of that wound; he knew,to be sure, how hopeless any passion might be, directed in that quarter,and had taken that best, though ignoble, remedium amoris, a speedyretreat from before the charmer, and a long absence from her; and notbeing dangerously smitten in the first instance, Esmond pretty soon gotthe better of his complaint, and if he had it still, did not know he hadit, and bore it easily. But when he returned after Blenheim, the younglady of sixteen, who had appeared the most beautiful object his eyes hadever looked on two years back, was now advanced to a perfect ripenessand perfection of beauty, such as instantly enthralled the poor devil,who had already been a fugitive from her charms. Then he had seen herbut for two days, and fled; now he beheld her day after day, and whenshe was at Court watched after her; when she was at home, made one ofthe family party; when she went abroad, rode after her mother's chariot;when she appeared in public places, was in the box near her, or in thepit looking at her; when she went to church was sure to be there, thoughhe might not listen to the sermon, and be ready to hand her to her chairif she deigned to accept of his services, and select him from a score ofyoung men who were always hanging round about her. When she went away,accompanying her 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 courtingthe young lady, Mrs. Scurlock, whom he married; she had a lodging inKensington Square, hard by my Lady Castlewood's house there. Dick andHarry, being on the same errand, used to meet constantly at Kensington.They were always prowling about that place, or dismally walking thence,or eagerly runnin
g thither. They emptied scores of bottles at the"King's Arms," each man prating of his love, and allowing the other totalk on condition that he might have his own turn as a listener. Hencearose an intimacy between them, though to all the rest of their friendsthey must have been insufferable. Esmond's verses to "Gloriana at theHarpsichord," to "Gloriana's Nosegay," to "Gloriana at Court," appearedthis year in the Observator.--Have you never read them? They werethought pretty poems, and attributed by some to Mr. Prior.
This passion did not escape--how should it?--the clear eyes of Esmond'smistress: he told her all; what will a man not do when frantic withlove? To what baseness will he not demean himself? What pangs will henot make others suffer, so that he may ease his selfish heart of a partof its own pain? Day after day he would seek his dear mistress, pourinsane hopes, supplications, rhapsodies, raptures, into her ear. Shelistened, smiled, consoled, with untiring pity and sweetness. Esmond wasthe eldest of her children, so she was pleased to say; and as for herkindness, who ever had or would look for aught else from one who wasan angel of goodness and pity? After what has been said, 'tis needlessalmost to add that poor Esmond's suit was unsuccessful. What was anameless, penniless lieutenant to do, when some of the greatest inthe land were in the field? Esmond never so much as thought of askingpermission to hope so far above his reach as he knew this prize wasand passed his foolish, useless life in mere abject sighs and impotentlonging. What nights of rage, what days of torment, of passionateunfulfilled desire, of sickening jealousy can he recall! Beatrixthought no more of him than of the lackey that followed her chair. Hiscomplaints did not touch her in the least; his raptures rather fatiguedher; she cared for his verses no more than for Dan Chaucer's, who'sdead these ever so many hundred years; she did not hate him; she ratherdespised him, and just suffered him.
One day, after talking to Beatrix's mother, his dear, fond, constantmistress--for hours--for all day long--pouring out his flame and hispassion, his despair and rage, returning again and again to the theme,pacing the room, tearing up the flowers on the table, twisting andbreaking into bits the wax out of the stand-dish, and performing ahundred mad freaks of passionate folly; seeing his mistress at lastquite pale and tired out with sheer weariness of compassion, andwatching over his fever for the hundredth time, Esmond seized up hishat, and took his leave. As he got into Kensington Square, a sense ofremorse came over him for the wearisome pain he had been inflicting uponthe dearest and kindest friend ever man had. He went back to the house,where the servant still stood at the open door, ran up the stairs, andfound his mistress where he had left her in the embrasure of the window,looking over the fields towards Chelsey. She laughed, wiping away at thesame time the tears which were in her kind eyes; he flung himself downon his knees, and buried his head in her lap. She had in her hand thestalk 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,holding her hands over him: and he went away comforted and humbled inmind, as he thought of that amazing and constant love and tendernesswith which this sweet lady ever blessed and pursued him.
The History of Henry Esmond, Esq., a Colonel in the Service of Her Majesty Queen Anne Page 27
