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

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER II.

  I GO HOME, AND HARP ON THE OLD STRING.

  After quitting Mons and the army, and as he was waiting for a packetat Ostend, Esmond had a letter from his young kinsman Castlewood atBruxelles, conveying intelligence whereof Frank besought him to be thebearer to London, and which caused Colonel Esmond no small anxiety.

  The young scapegrace, being one-and-twenty years old, and being anxiousto sow his "wild otes," as he wrote, had married Mademoiselle deWertheim, daughter of Count de Wertheim, Chamberlain to the Emperor,and having a post in the Household of the Governor of the Netherlands."P.S.," the young gentleman wrote: "Clotilda is OLDER THAN ME, whichperhaps may be objected to her: but I am so OLD A RAIK that the agemakes no difference, and I am DETERMINED to reform. We were married atSt. Gudule, 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 TrixTOO. Break this news to 'em gently: and tell Mr. Finch, my agent, topress the people for their rents, and send me the RYNO anyhow. Clotildasings, and plays on the Spinet BEAUTIFULLY. She is a fair beauty. Andif it's a son, you shall stand GODFATHER. I'm going to leave the army,having had ENUF OF SOLDERING; and my Lord Duke RECOMMENDS me. I shallpass the winter here: and stop at least until Clo's lying in. I callher OLD CLO, but nobody else shall. She is the cleverest woman in allBruxelles: understanding painting, music, poetry, and perfect at COOKERYAND PUDDENS. I borded with the Count, that's how I came to know her.There are four Counts her brothers. One an Abbey--three with thePrince's army. They have a lawsuit for AN IMMENCE FORTUNE: but are nowin a PORE WAY. Break this to mother, who'll take anything from YOU.And write, and bid Finch write AMEDIATELY. Hostel de l'Aigle Noire,Bruxelles, Flanders."

  So Frank had married a Roman Catholic lady, and an heir was expected,and Mr. Esmond was to carry this intelligence to his mistress at London.'Twas a difficult embassy; and the Colonel felt not a little tremor ashe neared the capital.

  He reached his inn late, and sent a messenger to Kensington to announcehis arrival and visit the next morning. The messenger brought back newsthat the Court was at Windsor, and the fair Beatrix absent and engagedin her duties there. Only Esmond's mistress remained in her house atKensington. She appeared in court but once in the year; Beatrix wasquite the mistress and ruler of the little mansion, inviting the companythither, and engaging in every conceivable frolic of town pleasure.Whilst her mother, acting as the young lady's protectress and eldersister, pursued her own path, which was quite modest and secluded.

  As soon as ever Esmond was dressed (and he had been awake long beforethe town), he took a coach for Kensington, and reached it so early thathe met his dear mistress coming home from morning prayers. She carriedher prayer-book, never allowing a footman to bear it, as everybody elsedid: and it was by this simple sign Esmond knew what her occupation hadbeen. He called to the coachman to stop, and jumped out as she lookedtowards him. She wore her hood as usual, and she turned quite pale whenshe saw him. To feel that kind little hand near to his heart seemedto give him strength. They were soon at the door of her ladyship'shouse--and within it.

  With a sweet sad smile she took his hand and kissed it.

  "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 donot look very happy, 'tis said. Esmond always felt so on returning toher after absence, indeed whenever he looked in her sweet kind face.

  "I am come back to be nursed by my family," says he. "If Frank hadnot taken care of me after my wound, very likely I should have gonealtogether."

  "Poor Frank, good Frank!" says his mother. "You'll always be kind tohim, my lord," she went on. "The poor child never knew he was doing youa wrong."

  "My lord!" cries out Colonel Esmond. "What do you mean, dear lady?"

  "I am no lady," says she; "I am Rachel Esmond, Francis Esmond's widow,my lord. I cannot bear that title. Would we never had taken it from himwho has it now. But we did all in our power, Henry: we did all in ourpower; and my lord and I--that is--"

  "Who told you this tale, dearest lady?" asked the Colonel.

  "Have you not had the letter I writ you? I writ to you at Mons directlyI heard it," says Lady Esmond.

  "And from whom?" again asked Colonel Esmond--and his mistress then toldhim that on her death-bed the Dowager Countess, sending for her, hadpresented her with this dismal secret as a legacy. "'Twas very maliciousof the Dowager," Lady Esmond said, "to have had it so long, and tohave kept the truth from me." "Cousin Rachel," she said,--and Esmond'smistress could not forbear smiling as she told the story--"CousinRachel," cries the Dowager, "I have sent for you, as the doctors sayI may go off any day in this dysentery; and to ease my conscience of agreat load that has been on it. You always have been a poor creature andunfit for great honor, and what I have to say won't, therefore, affectyou so much. You must know, Cousin Rachel, that I have left my house,plate, and furniture, three thousand pounds in money, and my diamondsthat my late revered Saint and Sovereign, King James, presented me with,to my Lord Viscount Castlewood."

  "To my Frank?" says Lady Castlewood; "I was in hopes--"

  To Viscount Castlewood, my dear; Viscount Castlewood and Baron Esmondof Shandon in the Kingdom of Ireland, Earl and Marquis of Esmond underpatent of his Majesty King James the Second, conferred upon my husbandthe late Marquis--for I am Marchioness of Esmond before God and man."

  "And have you left poor Harry nothing, dear Marchioness?" asks LadyCastlewood (she hath told me the story completely since with her quietarch way; the most charming any woman ever had: and I set down thenarrative here at length, so as to have done with it). "And have youleft poor Harry nothing?" asks my dear lady: "for you know, Henry," shesays with her sweet smile, "I used always to pity Esau--and I think I amon his side--though papa tried very hard to convince me the other way."

  "Poor Harry!" says the old lady. "So you want something left to poorHarry: he,--he! (reach me the drops, cousin). Well, then, my dear, sinceyou want poor Harry to have a fortune, you must understand that eversince the year 1691, a week after the battle of the Boyne, where thePrince of Orange defeated his royal sovereign and father, for whichcrime he is now suffering in flames (ugh! ugh!) Henry Esmond hath beenMarquis of Esmond and Earl of Castlewood in the United Kingdom, andBaron and Viscount Castlewood of Shandon in Ireland, and a Baronet--andhis eldest son will be, by courtesy, styled Earl of Castlewood--he! he!What do you think of that, my dear?"

  "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 sicksinner continued. "When he was in the Low Countries he seduced aweaver's daughter; and added to his wickedness by marrying her. And thenhe came to this country and married me--a poor girl--a poor innocentyoung thing--I say,"--"though she was past forty, you know, Harry, whenshe married: and as for being innocent"--"Well," she went on, "I knewnothing of my lord's wickedness for three years after our marriage, andafter the burial of our poor little boy I had it done over again, mydear: I had myself married by Father Holt in Castlewood chapel, as soonas ever I heard the creature was dead--and having a great illness then,arising from another sad disappointment I had, the priest came and toldme that my lord had a son before our marriage, and that the child was atnurse in England; and I consented to let the brat be brought home, and aqueer little melancholy child it was when it came.

  "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 hopesof giving an heir to my lord, when he was called away upon the King'sbusiness, and died fighting gloriously at the Boyne water.

  "Should I be disappointed--I owed your husband no love, my dear, for hehad jilted me in the most scandalous way and I thought there would betime to declare the little weaver's son for the true heir. But I wascarried off to prison, where your husband was so kind to me--urgingall his
friends to obtain my release, and using all his credit in myfavor--that I relented towards him, especially as my director counselledme to be silent; and that it was for the good of the King's servicethat the title of our family should continue with your husband the lateviscount, whereby his fidelity would be always secured to the King. Anda proof of this is, that a year before your husband's death, when hethought of taking a place under the Prince of Orange, Mr. Holt went tohim, and told him what the state of the matter was, and obliged him toraise a large sum for his Majesty; and engaged him in the true cause soheartily, that we were sure of his support on any day when it should beconsidered advisable to attack the usurper. Then his sudden death came;and there was a thought of declaring the truth. But 'twas determinedto be best for the King's service to let the title still go with theyounger branch; and there's no sacrifice a Castlewood wouldn't make forthat cause, my dear.

  "As for Colonel Esmond, he knew the truth already." ("And then, Harry,"my mistress said, "she told me of what had happened at my dear husband'sdeath-bed"). "He doth not intend to take the title, though it belongs tohim. But it eases my conscience that you should know the truth, my dear.And your son is lawfully Viscount Castlewood so long as his cousin dothnot claim the rank."

  This was the substance of the Dowager's revelation. Dean Atterbury hadknowledge of it, Lady Castlewood said, and Esmond very well knows how:that divine being the clergyman for whom the late lord had sent on hisdeath-bed: and when Lady Castlewood would instantly have written to herson, and conveyed the truth to him, the Dean's advice was that a lettershould be writ to Colonel Esmond rather; that the matter should besubmitted to his decision, by which alone the rest of the family werebound to abide.

  "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 bedside," saysColonel Esmond. "The children must know nothing of this. Frank and hisheirs after him must bear our name. 'Tis his rightfully; I have not evena 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 toCastlewood. I would not seek it when I was abroad. I went and looked atmy poor mother's grave in her convent. What matter to her now? No courtof law on earth, upon my mere word, would deprive my Lord Viscount andset me up. I am the head of the house, dear lady; but Frank is Viscountof Castlewood still. And rather than disturb him, I would turn monk, ordisappear in America."

  As he spoke so to his dearest mistress, for whom he would have beenwilling to give up his life, or to make any sacrifice any day, the fondcreature flung herself down on her knees before him, and kissed both hishands in an outbreak of passionate love and gratitude, such as could notbut melt his heart, and make him feel very proud and thankful that Godhad given him the power to show his love for her, and to prove it bysome little sacrifice on his own part. To be able to bestow benefitsor happiness on those one loves is sure the greatest blessing conferredupon a man--and what wealth or name, or gratification of ambition orvanity, could compare with the pleasure Esmond now had of being able toconfer some kindness upon his best and dearest friends?

  "Dearest saint," says he--"purest soul, that has had so much to suffer,that has blest the poor lonely orphan with such a treasure of love. 'Tisfor me to kneel, not for you: 'tis for me to be thankful that I can makeyou happy. Hath my life any other aim? Blessed be God that I can serveyou! What pleasure, think you, could all the world give me compared tothat?"

  "Don't raise me," she said, in a wild way, to Esmond, who would havelifted her. "Let me kneel--let me kneel, and--and--worship you."

  Before such a partial judge as Esmond's dear mistress owned herself tobe, any cause which he might plead was sure to be given in his favor;and accordingly he found little difficulty in reconciling her to thenews whereof he was bearer, of her son's marriage to a foreign lady,Papist though she was. Lady Castlewood never could be brought to thinkso ill of that religion as other people in England thought of it: sheheld that ours was undoubtedly a branch of the Catholic church, but thatthe Roman was one of the main stems on which, no doubt, many errors hadbeen grafted (she was, for a woman, extraordinarily well versed in thiscontroversy, having acted, as a girl, as secretary to her father, thelate dean, and written many of his sermons, under his dictation); and ifFrank had chosen to marry a lady of the church of south Europe, as shewould call the Roman communion, there was no need why she should notwelcome her as a daughter-in-law: and accordingly she wrote to her newdaughter a very pretty, touching letter (as Esmond thought, who hadcognizance of it before it went), in which the only hint of reproof wasa gentle remonstrance that her son had not written to herself, to aska fond mother's blessing for that step which he was about taking."Castlewood knew very well," so she wrote to her son, "that she neverdenied him anything in her power to give, much less would she think ofopposing a marriage that was to make his happiness, as she trusted, andkeep him out of wild courses, which had alarmed her a good deal:" andshe besought him to come quickly to England, to settle down in hisfamily house of Castlewood ("It is his family house," says she, toColonel Esmond, "though only his own house by your forbearance") and toreceive the accompt of her stewardship during his ten years' minority.By care and frugality, she had got the estate into a better conditionthan ever it had been since the Parliamentary wars; and my lord was nowmaster of a pretty, small income, not encumbered of debts, as ithad been, during his father's ruinous time. "But in saving my son'sfortune," says she, "I fear I have lost a great part of my hold on him."And, indeed, this was the case: her ladyship's daughter complaining thattheir mother did all for Frank, and nothing for her; and Frank himselfbeing dissatisfied at the narrow, simple way of his mother's living atWalcote, where he had been brought up more like a poor parson's sonthan a young nobleman that was to make a figure in the world. 'Twas thismistake in his early training, very likely, that set him so eager uponpleasure when he had it in his power; nor is he the first lad that hasbeen spoiled by the over-careful fondness of women. No training is souseful for children, great or small, as the company of their betters inrank or natural parts; in whose society they lose the overweening senseof their own importance, which stay-at-home people very commonly learn.

  But, as a prodigal that's sending in a schedule of his debts to hisfriends, never puts all down, and, you may be sure, the rogue keeps backsome immense swingeing bill, that he doesn't dare to own; so the poorFrank had a very heavy piece of news to break to his mother, and whichhe hadn't the courage to introduce into his first confession. Somemisgivings Esmond might have, upon receiving Frank's letter, and knowinginto what hands the boy had fallen; but whatever these misgivings were,he kept them to himself, not caring to trouble his mistress with anyfears that might be groundless.

  However, the next mail which came from Bruxelles, after Frank hadreceived his mother's letters there, brought back a joint compositionfrom himself and his wife, who could spell no better than her youngscapegrace of a husband, full of expressions of thanks, love, and dutyto the Dowager Viscountess, as my poor lady now was styled; and alongwith this letter (which was read in a family council, namely, theViscountess, Mistress Beatrix, and the writer of this memoir, and whichwas pronounced to be vulgar by the maid of honor, and felt to be so bythe other two), there came a private letter for Colonel Esmond from poorFrank, with another dismal commission for the Colonel to execute, at hisbest opportunity; and this was to announce that Frank had seen fit,"by the exhortation of Mr. Holt, the influence of his Clotilda, and theblessing of heaven and the saints," says my lord, demurely, "to changehis religion, and be received into the bosom of that church of whichhis sovereign, many of his family, and the greater part of the civilizedworld, were members." And his lordship added a postscript, of whichEsmond knew the inspiring genius very well, for it had the genuine twangof the Seminary, and was quite unlike poor Frank's ordinary style ofwriting and thinking; in which he reminded Colonel Esmond that he toow
as, by birth, of that church; and that his mother and sister shouldhave his lordship's prayers to the saints (an inestimable benefit,truly!) for their conversion.

  If Esmond had wanted to keep this secret, he could not; for a day ortwo after receiving this letter, a notice from Bruxelles appeared inthe Post-Boy and other prints, announcing that "a young Irish lord, theViscount C-stlew--d, just come to his majority, and who had served thelast campaigns with great credit, as aide-de-camp to his Grace the Dukeof Marlborough, had declared for the Popish religion at Bruxelles, andhad walked in a procession barefoot, with a wax-taper in his hand." Thenotorious Mr. Holt, who had been employed as a Jacobite agent duringthe last reign, and many times pardoned by King William, had been, thePost-Boy said, the agent of this conversion.

  The Lady Castlewood was as much cast down by this news as Miss Beatrixwas indignant at it. "So," says she, "Castlewood is no longer a homefor us, mother. Frank's foreign wife will bring her confessor, and therewill be frogs for dinner; and all Tusher's and my grandfather's sermonsare flung away upon my brother. I used to tell you that you killed himwith the catechism, and that he would turn wicked as soon as he brokefrom his mammy's leading-strings. Oh, mother, you would not believe thatthe young scapegrace was playing you tricks, and that sneak of a Tusherwas not a fit guide for him. Oh, those parsons, I hate 'em all!" saysMistress Beatrix, clapping her hands together; "yes, whether they wearcassocks and buckles, or beards and bare feet. There's a horrid Irishwretch who never misses a Sunday at Court, and who pays me complimentsthere, the horrible man; and if you want to know what parsons are, youshould see his behavior, and hear him talk of his own cloth. They're allthe same, whether they're bishops, or bonzes, or Indian fakirs. Theytry to domineer, and they frighten us with kingdom come; and they wear asanctified air in public, and expect us to go down on our knees and asktheir blessing; and they intrigue, and they grasp, and they backbite,and they slander worse than the worst courtier or the wickedest oldwoman. I heard this Mr. Swift sneering at my Lord Duke of Marlborough'scourage the other day. He! that Teague from Dublin! because his Grace isnot in favor, dares to say this of him; and he says this that it may getto her Majesty's ear, and to coax and wheedle Mrs. Masham. They saythe Elector of Hanover has a dozen of mistresses in his court atHerrenhausen, and if he comes to be king over us, I wager that thebishops 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 toesand their rustling cassocks. I should like to go to a country wherethere was not one, or turn Quaker, and get rid of 'em; and I would, onlythe dress is not becoming, and I've much too pretty a figure to hideit. Haven't I, cousin?" and here she glanced at her person and thelooking-glass, which told her rightly that a more beautiful shape andface never were seen.

  "I made that onslaught on the priests," says Miss Beatrix, afterwards,"in order to divert my poor dear mother's anguish about Frank. Frank isas vain as a girl, cousin. Talk of us girls being vain, what are WE toyou? It was easy to see that the first woman who chose would make a foolof him, or the first robe--I count a priest and a woman all the same. Weare always caballing; we are not answerable for the fibs we tell; we arealways cajoling and coaxing, or threatening; and we are always makingmischief, Colonel Esmond--mark my word for that, who know the world,sir, and have to make my way in it. I see as well as possible howFrank's marriage hath been managed. The Count, our papa-in-law, isalways away at the coffee-house. The Countess, our mother, is always inthe kitchen looking after the dinner. The Countess, our sister, is atthe spinet. When my lord comes to say he is going on the campaign, thelovely Clotilda bursts into tears, and faints--so; he catches her in hisarms--no, sir, keep your distance, cousin, if you please--she crieson his shoulder, and he says, 'Oh, my divine, my adored, my belovedClotilda, are you sorry to part with me?' 'Oh, my Francisco,' saysshe, 'oh my lord!' and at this very instant mamma and a couple of youngbrothers, with moustaches and long rapiers, come in from the kitchen,where they have been eating bread and onions. Mark my word, you willhave all this woman's relations at Castlewood three months after she hasarrived there. The old count and countess, and the young counts and allthe little countesses her sisters. Counts! every one of these wretchessays he is a count. Guiscard, that stabbed Mr. Harvey, said he wasa count; and I believe he was a barber. All Frenchmen arebarbers--Fiddledee! don't contradict me--or else dancing-masters, orelse priests." And so she rattled on.

  "Who was it taught YOU to dance, Cousin Beatrix?" says the Colonel.

  She laughed out the air of a minuet, and swept a low curtsy, coming upto 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 hercloset, having taken poor Frank's conversion in a very serious way; themadcap girl ran up to her mother, put her arms round her waist, kissedher, tried to make her dance, and said: "Don't be silly, you kind littlemamma, and cry about Frank turning Papist. What a figure he must be,with a white sheet and a candle, walking in a procession barefoot!" Andshe kicked off her little slippers (the wonderfullest little shoeswith wonderful tall red heels: Esmond pounced upon one as it fell closebeside him), and she put on the drollest little moue, and marched up anddown the room holding Esmond's cane by way of taper. Serious as her moodwas, Lady Castlewood could not refrain from laughing; and as forEsmond he looked on with that delight with which the sight of this faircreature always inspired him: never had he seen any woman so arch, sobrilliant, and so beautiful.

  Having finished her march, she put out her foot for her slipper. TheColonel knelt down: "If you will be Pope I will turn Papist," says he;and her Holiness gave him gracious leave to kiss the little stockingedfoot before he put the slipper on.

  Mamma's feet began to pat on the floor during this operation, andBeatrix, whose bright eyes nothing escaped, saw that little mark ofimpatience. 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 are, cousin, though she hides 'em; but the shoemakerwill tell you that he makes for both off the same last."

  "You are taller than I am, dearest," says her mother, blushing over herwhole sweet face--"and--and it is your hand, my dear, and not your foothe wants you to give him;" and she said it with a hysteric laugh, thathad more of tears than laughter in it; laying her head on her daughter'sfair shoulder, and hiding it there. They made a very pretty picturetogether, and looked like a pair of sisters--the sweet simple matronseeming younger than her years, and her daughter, if not older, yetsomehow, from a commanding manner and grace which she possessed abovemost women, her mother's superior and protectress.

  "But oh!" cries my mistress, recovering herself after this scene, andreturning to her usual sad tone, "'tis a shame that we should laughand be making merry on a day when we ought to be down on our knees andasking pardon."

  "Asking pardon for what?" says saucy Mrs. Beatrix--"because Frank takesit into his head to fast on Fridays and worship images? You know if youhad been born a Papist, mother, a Papist you would have remained to theend of your days. 'Tis the religion of the King and of some of the bestquality. For my part, I'm no enemy to it, and think Queen Bess was not apenny better than Queen Mary."

  "Hush, Beatrix! Do not jest with sacred things, and remember of whatparentage you come," cries my lady. Beatrix was ordering her ribbons,and adjusting her tucker, and performing a dozen provokingly prettyceremonies, before the glass. The girl was no hypocrite at least. Shenever at that time could be brought to think but of the world and herbeauty; and seemed to have no more sense of devotion than some peoplehave of music, that cannot distinguish one air from another. Esmondsaw this fault in her, as he saw many others--a bad wife would BeatrixEsmond make, he thought, for any man under the degree of a Prince. Shewas born to shine in great assemblies, and to adorn palaces, and tocommand everywhere--to conduct an intrigue of politics, or to glitter ina queen's train. But to sit at a homely table, and mend the stockings ofa poor man's children! that was no fitting duty for he
r, or at leastone that she wouldn't have broke her heart in trying to do. She was aprincess, though she had scarce a shilling to her fortune; and oneof her subjects--the most abject and devoted wretch, sure, that everdrivelled at a woman's knees--was this unlucky gentleman; who bound hisgood sense, and reason, and independence, hand and foot, and submittedthem to her.

  And who does not know how ruthlessly women will tyrannize when they arelet to domineer? and who does not know how useless advice is? I couldgive good counsel to my descendants, but I know they'll follow their ownway, for all their grandfather's sermon. A man gets his own experienceabout women, and will take nobody's hearsay; nor, indeed, is the youngfellow 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 fixed thevalue of the thing I would have, and know the price I would pay forit. It may be worthless to you, but 'tis all my life to me. Had Esmondpossessed the Great Mogul's crown and all his diamonds, or all the Dukeof Marlborough's money, or all the ingots sunk at Vigo, he would havegiven them all for this woman. A fool he was, if you will; but so isa sovereign a fool, that will give half a principality for a littlecrystal as big as a pigeon's egg, and called a diamond: so is a wealthynobleman a fool, that will face danger or death, and spend half hislife, and all his tranquillity, caballing for a blue ribbon; so is aDutch merchant a fool, that hath been known to pay ten thousand crownsfor a tulip. There's some particular prize we all of us value, and thatevery man of spirit will venture his life for. With this, it may beto achieve a great reputation for learning; with that, to be a man offashion, and the admiration of the town; with another, to consummate agreat work of art or poetry, and go to immortality that way; and withanother, for a certain time of his life, the sole object and aim is awoman.

  Whilst Esmond was under the domination of this passion, he remembersmany a talk he had with his intimates, who used to rally Our Knight ofthe Rueful Countenance at his devotion, whereof he made no disguise, toBeatrix; and it was with replies such as the above he met his friends'satire. "Granted, I am a fool," says he, "and no better than you; butyou are no better than I. You have your folly you labor for; give me thecharity of mine. What flatteries do you, Mr. St. John, stoop to whisperin the ears of a queen's favorite? What nights of labor doth not thelaziest man in the world endure, foregoing his bottle, and his booncompanions, foregoing Lais, in whose lap he would like to be yawning,that he may prepare a speech full of lies, to cajole three hundredstupid country-gentlemen in the House of Commons, and get the hiccuppingcheers of the October Club! What days will you spend in your joltingchariot." (Mr. Esmond often rode to Windsor, and especially, of laterdays, with the secretary.) "What hours will you pass on your goutyfeet--and how humbly will you kneel down to present a despatch--you, theproudest man in the world, that has not knelt to God since you were aboy, and in that posture whisper, flatter, adore almost, a stupid woman,that's often boozy with too much meat and drink, when Mr. Secretary goesfor his audience! If my pursuit is vanity, sure yours is too." And thenthe Secretary, would fly out in such a rich flow of eloquence, as thispen cannot pretend to recall; advocating his scheme of ambition, showingthe great good he would do for his country when he was the undisputedchief of it; backing his opinion with a score of pat sentences fromGreek and Roman authorities (of which kind of learning he made ratheran ostentatious display), and scornfully vaunting the very arts andmeannesses by which fools were to be made to follow him, opponents to bebribed or silenced, doubters converted, and enemies overawed.

  "I am Diogenes," says Esmond, laughing, "that is taken up for a ridein Alexander's chariot. I have no desire to vanquish Darius or to tameBucephalus. I do not want what you want, a great name or a high place:to have them would bring me no pleasure. But my moderation is taste, notvirtue; and I know that what I do want is as vain as that which you longafter. Do not grudge me my vanity, if I allow yours; or rather, let uslaugh at both indifferently, and at ourselves, and at each other."

  "If your charmer holds out," says St. John, "at this rate she maykeep you twenty years besieging her, and surrender by the time you areseventy, and she is old enough to be a grandmother. I do not say thepursuit of a particular woman is not as pleasant a pastime as any otherkind of hunting," he added; "only, for my part, I find the game won'trun long enough. They knock under too soon--that's the fault I find with'em."

  "The game which you pursue is in the habit of being caught, and used tobeing pulled down," says Mr. Esmond.

  "But Dulcinea del Toboso is peerless, eh?" says the other. "Well, honestHarry, go and attack windmills--perhaps thou art not more mad than otherpeople," St. John added, with a sigh.