CHAPTER VI.
POOR BEATRIX.
There had been no need to urge upon Esmond the necessity of a separationbetween him and Beatrix: Fate had done that completely; and I think fromthe very moment poor Beatrix had accepted the Duke's offer, she beganto assume the majestic air of a Duchess, nay, Queen Elect, and to carryherself as one sacred and removed from us common people. Her motherand kinsman both fell into her ways, the latter scornfully perhaps, anduttering his usual gibes at her vanity and his own. There was a certaincharm about this girl of which neither Colonel Esmond nor his fondmistress could forego the fascination; in spite of her faults and herpride and wilfulness, they were forced to love her; and, indeed, mightbe set down as the two chief flatterers of the brilliant creature'scourt.
Who, in the course of his life, hath not been so bewitched, andworshipped some idol or another? Years after this passion hath been deadand buried, along with a thousand other worldly cares and ambitions, hewho felt it can recall it out of its grave, and admire, almost as fondlyas he did in his youth, that lovely queenly creature. I invoke thatbeautiful spirit from the shades and love her still; or rather I shouldsay such a past is always present to a man; such a passion once feltforms a part of his whole being, and cannot be separated from it; itbecomes a portion of the man of to-day, just as any great faith orconviction, the discovery of poetry, the awakening of religion, everafterwards influence him; just as the wound I had at Blenheim, and ofwhich I wear the scar, hath become part of my frame and influenced mywhole body, nay, spirit subsequently, though 'twas got and healed fortyyears ago. Parting and forgetting! What faithful heart can do these?Our great thoughts, our great affections, the Truths of our life, neverleave us. Surely, they cannot separate from our consciousness; shallfollow it whithersoever that shall go; and are of their nature divineand immortal.
With the horrible news of this catsstrophe, which was confirmed by theweeping domestics at the Duke's own door, Esmond rode homewards as quickas his lazy coach would carry him, devising all the time how he shouldbreak the intelligence to the person most concerned in it; and if asatire upon human vanity could be needed, that poor soul afforded it inthe altered company and occupations in which Esmond found her. Fordays before, her chariot had been rolling the street from mercer totoyshop--from goldsmith to laceman: her taste was perfect, or at leastthe fond bridegroom had thought so, and had given her entire authorityover all tradesmen, and for all the plate, furniture and equipages, withwhich his Grace the Ambassador wished to adorn his splendid mission. Shemust have her picture by Kneller, a duchess not being complete withouta portrait, and a noble one he made, and actually sketched in, on acushion, a coronet which she was about to wear. She vowed she would wearit at King James the Third's coronation, and never a princess in theland would have become ermine better. Esmond found the ante-chambercrowded with milliners and toyshop women, obsequious goldsmiths withjewels, salvers, and tankards; and mercers' men with hangings, andvelvets, and brocades. My Lady Duchess elect was giving audience toone famous silversmith from Exeter Change, who brought with him a greatchased salver, of which he was pointing out the beauties as ColonelEsmond entered. "Come," says she, "cousin, and admire the taste of thispretty thing." I think Mars and Venus were lying in the golden bower,that one gilt Cupid carried off the war-god's casque--another hissword--another his great buckler, upon which my Lord Duke Hamilton'sarms with ours were to be engraved--and a fourth was kneeling down tothe reclining goddess with the ducal coronet in her hands, God help us!The next time Mr. Esmond saw that piece of plate, the arms were changed,the ducal coronet had been replaced by a viscount's; it formed part ofthe fortune of the thrifty goldsmith's own daughter, when she married myLord Viscount Squanderfield two years after.
"Isn't this a beautiful piece?" says Beatrix, examining it, and shepointed out the arch graces of the Cupids, and the fine carving of thelanguid prostrate Mars. Esmond sickened as he thought of the warriordead in his chamber, his servants and children weeping around him; andof this smiling creature attiring herself, as it were, for that nuptialdeath-bed. "'Tis a pretty piece of vanity," says he, looking gloomily atthe beautiful creature: there were flambeaux in the room lighting up thebrilliant mistress of it. She lifted up the great gold salver with herfair arms.
"Vanity!" says she, haughtily. "What is vanity in you, sir, is proprietyin me. You ask a Jewish price for it, Mr. Graves; but have it I will, ifonly to spite Mr. Esmond."
"Oh, Beatrix, lay it down!" says Mr. Esmond. "Herodias! you know notwhat you carry in the charger."
She dropped it with a clang; the eager goldsmith running to seizehis fallen ware. The lady's face caught the fright from Esmond's palecountenance, and her eyes shone out like beacons of alarm:--"What is it,Henry!" says she, running to him, and seizing both his hands. "What doyou mean by your pale face and gloomy tones?"
"Come away, come away!" says Esmond, leading her: she clung frightenedto him, and he supported her upon his heart, bidding the scaredgoldsmith leave them. The man went into the next apartment, staring withsurprise, and hugging his precious charger.
"Oh, my Beatrix, my sister!" says Esmond, still holding in his arms thepallid and affrighted creature, "you have the greatest courage of anywoman in the world; prepare to show it now, for you have a dreadfultrial to bear."
She sprang away from the friend who would have protected her:--"Hath heleft me?" says she. "We had words this morning: he was very gloomy, andI angered him: but he dared not, he dared not!" As she spoke a burningblush flushed over her whole face and bosom. Esmond saw it reflected inthe glass by which she stood, with clenched hands, pressing her swellingheart.
"He has left you," says Esmond, wondering that rage rather than sorrowwas in her looks.
"And he is alive," cried Beatrix, "and you bring me this commission! Hehas left me, and you haven't dared to avenge me! You, that pretend tobe the champion of our house, have let me suffer this insult! Where isCastlewood? I will go to my brother."
"The Duke is not alive, Beatrix," said Esmond.
She looked at her cousin wildly, and fell back to the wall as thoughshot in the breast:--"And you come here, and--and--you killed him?"
"No; thank heaven!" her kinsman said. "The blood of that noble heartdoth not stain my sword! In its last hour it was faithful to thee,Beatrix Esmond. Vain and cruel woman! kneel and thank the awful heavenwhich awards life and death, and chastises pride, that the nobleHamilton died true to you; at least that 'twas not your quarrel, or yourpride, or your wicked vanity, that drove him to his fate. He died by thebloody sword which already had drank your own father's blood. O woman, Osister! to that sad field where two corpses are lying--for the murdererdied too by the hand of the man he slew--can you bring no mourners butyour revenge and your vanity? God help and pardon thee, Beatrix, as hebrings this awful punishment to your hard and rebellious heart."
Esmond had scarce done speaking, when his mistress came in. The colloquybetween him and Beatrix had lasted but a few minutes, during which timeEsmond's servant had carried the disastrous news through the household.The army of Vanity Fair, waiting without, gathered up all theirfripperies and fled aghast. Tender Lady Castlewood had been in talkabove with Dean Atterbury, the pious creature's almoner and director;and the Dean had entered with her as a physician whose place was ata sick-bed. Beatrix's mother looked at Esmond and ran towards herdaughter, with a pale face and open heart and hands, all kindnessand pity. But Beatrix passed her by, nor would she have any of themedicaments of the spiritual physician. "I am best in my own room and bymyself," she said. Her eyes were quite dry; nor did Esmond ever see themotherwise, save once, in respect to that grief. She gave him a cold handas she went out: "Thank you, brother," she said, in a low voice, andwith a simplicity more touching than tears; "all you have said is trueand kind, and I will go away and ask pardon." The three others remainedbehind, and talked over the dreadful story. It affected Dr. Atterburymore even than us, as it seemed. The death of Mohun, her husband'smurderer, was more awful to my mistress
than even the Duke's unhappyend. Esmond gave at length what particulars he knew of their quarrel,and the cause of it. The two noblemen had long been at war with respectto the Lord Gerard's property, whose two daughters my Lord Duke andMohun had married. They had met by appointment that day at the lawyer'sin Lincoln's Inn Fields; had words which, though they appeared verytrifling to those who heard them, were not so to men exasperated by longand previous enmity. Mohun asked my Lord Duke where he could see hisGrace's friends, and within an hour had sent two of his own to arrangethis deadly duel. It was pursued with such fierceness, and sprung fromso trifling a cause, that all men agreed at the time that there wasa party, of which these three notorious brawlers were but agents, whodesired to take Duke Hamilton's life away. They fought three on a side,as in that tragic meeting twelve years back, which hath been recountedalready, and in which Mohun performed his second murder. They rushedin, and closed upon each other at once without any feints or crossingof swords even, and stabbed one at the other desperately, each receivingmany wounds; and Mohun having his death-wound, and my Lord Duke lyingby him, Macartney came up and stabbed his Grace as he lay on the ground,and gave him the blow of which he died. Colonel Macartney deniedthis, of which the horror and indignation of the whole kingdom wouldnevertheless have him guilty, and fled the country, whither he neverreturned.
What was the real cause of the Duke Hamilton's death?--a paltry quarrelthat might easily have been made up, and with a ruffian so low, base,profligate, and degraded with former crimes and repeated murders, thata man of such renown and princely rank as my Lord Duke might havedisdained to sully his sword with the blood of such a villain. But hisspirit was so high that those who wished his death knew that his couragewas like his charity, and never turned any man away; and he died by thehands of Mohun, and the other two cut-throats that were set on him. TheQueen's ambassador to Paris died, the loyal and devoted servant of theHouse of Stuart, and a Royal Prince of Scotland himself, and carryingthe confidence, the repentance of Queen Anne along with his own opendevotion, and the good-will of millions in the country more, to theQueen's exiled brother and sovereign.
That party to which Lord Mohun belonged had the benefit of hisservice, and now were well rid of such a ruffian. He, and Meredith, andMacartney, were the Duke of Marlborough's men; and the two colonels hadbeen broke but the year before for drinking perdition to the Tories. HisGrace was a Whig now and a Hanoverian, and as eager for war as PrinceEugene himself. I say not that he was privy to Duke Hamilton's death, Isay that his party profited by it; and that three desperate and bloodyinstruments were found to effect that murder.
As Esmond and the Dean walked away from Kensington discoursing of thistragedy, and how fatal it was to the cause which they both had at heart,the street-criers were already out with their broadsides, shoutingthrough the town the full, true, and horrible account of the death ofLord Mohun and Duke Hamilton in a duel. A fellow had got to Kensington,and was crying it in the square there at very early morning, when Mr.Esmond happened to pass by. He drove the man from under Beatrix's verywindow, whereof the casement had been set open. The sun was shiningthough 'twas November: he had seen the market-carts rolling into London,the guard relieved at the palace, the laborers trudging to their work inthe gardens between Kensington and the City--the wandering merchantsand hawkers filling the air with their cries. The world was going to itsbusiness again, although dukes lay dead and ladies mourned for them; andkings, very likely, lost their chances. So night and day pass away,and to-morrow comes, and our place knows us not. Esmond thought of thecourier, now galloping on the North road to inform him, who was Earl ofArran yesterday, that he was Duke of Hamilton to-day, and of a thousandgreat schemes, hopes, ambitions, that were alive in the gallant heart,beating a few hours since, and now in a little dust quiescent.
The History of Henry Esmond, Esq., a Colonel in the Service of Her Majesty Queen Anne Page 38
