The Virginians

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER IV. In which Harry finds a New Relative

  Kind friends, neighbours hospitable, cordial, even respectful,--anancient name, a large estate and a sufficient fortune, a comfortablehome, supplied with all the necessaries and many of the luxuriesof life, and a troop of servants, black and white, eager to do yourbidding; good health, affectionate children, and, let us humbly add, agood cook, cellar, and library--ought not a person in the possession ofall these benefits to be considered very decently happy? Madam EsmondWarrington possessed all these causes for happiness; she remindedherself of them daily in her morning and evening prayers. She wasscrupulous in her devotions, good to the poor, never knowingly didanybody a wrong. Yonder I fancy her enthroned in her principality ofCastlewood, the country gentlefolks paying her court, the sons dutifulto her, the domestics tumbling over each other's black heels to do herbidding, the poor whites grateful for her bounty and implicitly takingher doses when they were ill, the smaller gentry always acquiescing inher remarks, and for ever letting her win at backgammon--well, with allthese benefits, which are more sure than fate allots to most mortals, Idon't think the little Princess Pocahontas, as she was called, was tobe envied in the midst of her dominions. The Princess's husband, whowas cut off in early life, was as well perhaps out of the way. Hadhe survived his marriage by many years, they would have quarrelledfiercely, or, he would infallibly have been a henpecked husband, ofwhich sort there were a few specimens still extant a hundred years ago.The truth is, little Madam Esmond never came near man or woman, but shetried to domineer over them. If people obeyed, she was their very goodfriend; if they resisted, she fought and fought until she or they gavein. We are all miserable sinners that's a fact we acknowledge in publicevery Sunday--no one announced it in a more clear resolute voice thanthe little lady. As a mortal, she may have been in the wrong, of course;only she very seldom acknowledged the circumstance to herself, and toothers never. Her father, in his old age, used to watch her freaks ofdespotism, haughtiness, and stubbornness, and amuse himself with them.She felt that his eye was upon her; his humour, of which quality shepossessed little herself, subdued and bewildered her. But, the Colonelgone, there was nobody else whom she was disposed to obey,--and so Iam rather glad for my part that I did not live a hundred years ago atCastlewood in Westmorland County in Virginia. I fancy, one would nothave been too happy there. Happy, who is happy? Was not there a serpentin Paradise itself? and if Eve had been perfectly happy beforehand,would she have listened to him?

  The management of the house of Castlewood had been in the hands of theactive little lady long before the Colonel slept the sleep of the just.She now exercised a rigid supervision over the estate; dismissedColonel Esmond's English factor and employed a new one; built, improved,planted, grew tobacco, appointed a new overseer, and imported a newtutor. Much as she loved her father, there were some of his maxims bywhich she was not inclined to abide. Had she not obeyed her papa andmamma during all their lives, as a dutiful daughter should? So oughtall children to obey their parents, that their days might be long inthe land. The little Queen domineered over her little dominion, and thePrinces her sons were only her first subjects. Ere long she discontinuedher husband's name of Warrington and went by the name of Madam Esmondin the country. Her family pretensions were known there. She had noobjection to talk of the Marquis's title which King James had given toher father and grandfather. Her papa's enormous magnanimity might inducehim to give up his titles and rank to the younger branch of the family,and to her half-brother, my Lord Castlewood and his children; but sheand her sons were of the elder branch of the Esmonds, and she expectedthat they should be treated accordingly. Lord Fairfax was the onlygentleman in the colony of Virginia to whom she would allow precedenceover her. She insisted on the pas before all Lieutenant-Governors' andJudges' ladies; before the wife of the Governor of a colony she would,of course, yield as to the representative of the Sovereign. Accountsare extant, in the family papers and letters, of one or two tremendousbattles which Madam fought with the wives of colonial dignitaries uponthese questions of etiquette. As for her husband's family of Warrington,they were as naught in her eyes. She married an English baronet'syounger son out of Norfolk to please her parents, whom she was alwaysbound to obey. At the early age at which she married--a chit out ofa boarding-school--she would have jumped overboard if her papa hadordered. "And that is always the way with the Esmonds," she said.

  The English Warringtons were not over-much flattered by the littleAmerican Princess's behaviour to them, and her manner of speaking aboutthem. Once a year a solemn letter used to be addressed to the Warringtonfamily, and to her noble kinsmen the Hampshire Esmonds; but a Judge'slady with whom Madam Esmond had quarrelled returning to England out ofVirginia chanced to meet Lady Warrington, who was in London withSir Miles attending Parliament, and this person repeated some of thespeeches which the Princess Pocahontas was in the habit of makingregarding her own and her husband's English relatives, and my LadyWarrington, I suppose, carried the story to my Lady Castlewood; afterwhich the letters from Virginia were not answered, to the surprise andwrath of Madam Esmond, who speedily left off writing also.

  So this good woman fell out with her neighbours, with her relatives,and, as it must be owned, with her sons also.

  A very early difference which occurred between the Queen and CrownPrince arose out of the dismissal of Mr. Dempster, the lad's tutor andthe late Colonel's secretary. In her father's life Madam Esmond bore himwith difficulty, or it should be rather said Mr. Dempster could scarceput up with her. She was jealous of books somehow, and thought yourbookworms dangerous folks, insinuating bad principles. She had heardthat Dempster was a Jesuit in disguise, and the poor fellow was obligedto go build himself a cabin in a clearing, and teach school and practisemedicine where he could find customers among the sparse inhabitants ofthe province. Master George vowed he never would forsake his old tutor,and kept his promise. Harry had always loved fishing and sporting betterthan books, and he and the poor Dominie had never been on terms of closeintimacy. Another cause of dispute presently ensued.

  By the death of an aunt, and at his father's demise, the heir of Mr.George Warrington became entitled to a sum of six thousand pounds, ofwhich their mother was one of the trustees. She never could be made tounderstand that she was not the proprietor, and not merely the trusteeof this money; and was furious with the London lawyer, the othertrustee, who refused to send it over at her order. "Is not all I havemy sons'?" she cried, "and would I not cut myself into little piecesto serve them? With the six thousand pounds I would have bought Mr.Boulter's estate and negroes, which would have given us a good thousandpounds a year, and made a handsome provision for my Harry." Her youngfriend and neighbour, Mr. Washington of Mount Vernon, could not convinceher that the London agent was right, and must not give up his trustexcept to those for whom he held it. Madam Esmond gave the London lawyera piece of her mind, and, I am sorry to say, informed Mr. Draper thathe was an insolent pettifogger, and deserved to be punished fordoubting the honour of a mother and an Esmond. It must be owned that theVirginian Princess had a temper of her own.

  George Esmond, her firstborn, when this little matter was referred tohim, and his mother vehemently insisted that he should declare himself,was of the opinion of Mr. Washington, and Mr. Draper, the London lawyer.The boy said he could not help himself. He did not want the money: hewould be very glad to think otherwise, and to give the money to hismother, if he had the power. But Madam Esmond would not hear any ofthese reasons. Feelings were her reasons. Here was a chance of makingHarry's fortune--dear Harry, who was left with such a slender youngerbrother's; pittance--and the wretches in London would not help him; hisown brother, who inherited all her papa's estate, would not help him.To think of a child of hers being so mean at fourteen year of age! etc.etc. Add tears, scorn, frequent innuendo, long estrangement, bitteroutbreak, passionate appeals to Heaven, and the like, and we may fancythe widow's state of mind. Are there not beloved beings of the gentlersex who argue in t
he same way nowadays? The book of female logic isblotted all over with tears, and Justice in their courts is for ever ina passion.

  This occurrence set the widow resolutely saving for her younger son,for whom, as in duty bound, she was eager to make a portion. The finebuildings were stopped which the Colonel had commenced at Castlewood,who had freighted ships from New York with Dutch bricks, and imported,at great charges, mantelpieces, carved cornice-work, sashes and glass,carpets and costly upholstery from home. No more books were bought.The agent had orders to discontinue sending wine. Madam Esmond deeplyregretted the expense of a fine carriage which she had had from England,and only rode in it to church groaning in spirit, and crying to the sonsopposite her, "Harry, Harry! I wish I had put by the money for thee, mypoor portionless child--three hundred and eighty guineas of ready moneyto Messieurs Hatchett!"

  "You will give me plenty while you live, and George will give me plentywhen you die," says Harry, gaily.

  "Not unless he changes in spirit, my dear," says the lady, with agrim glance at her elder boy. "Not unless Heaven softens his heart andteaches him charity, for which I pray day and night; as Mountain knows;do you not, Mountain?"

  Mrs. Mountain, Ensign Mountain's widow, Madam Esmond's companion andmanager, who took the fourth seat in the family coach on these Sundays,said, "Humph! I know you are always disturbing yourself and crying outabout this legacy, and I don't see that there is any need."

  "Oh no! no need!" cries the widow, rustling in her silks; "of course Ihave no need to be disturbed, because my eldest born is a disobedientson and an unkind brother--because he has an estate, and my poor Harry,bless him, but a mess of pottage."

  George looked despairingly at his mother until he could see her no morefor eyes welled up with tears. "I wish you would bless me, too, O mymother!" he said, and burst into a passionate fit of weeping. Harry'sarms were in a moment round his brother's neck, and he kissed George ascore of times.

  "Never mind, George. I know whether you are a good brother or not. Don'tmind what she says. She don't mean it."

  "I do mean it, child," cries the mother. Would to Heaven----"

  "HOLD YOUR TONGUE, I SAY" roars out Harry. "It's a shame to speak so tohim, ma'am."

  "And so it is, Harry," says Mrs. Mountain, shaking his hand. "You neversaid a truer word in your life."

  "Mrs. Mountain, do you dare to set my children against me?" cries thewidow. "From this very day, madam----"

  "Turn me and my child into the street? Do," says Mrs. Mountain. "Thatwill be a fine revenge because the English lawyer won't give you theboy's money. Find another companion who will tell you black is white,and flatter you: it is not my way, madam. When shall I go? I shan't belong a-packing. I did not bring much into Castlewood House, and I shallnot take much out."

  "Hush! the bells are ringing for church, Mountain. Let us try, if youplease, and compose ourselves," said the widow, and she looked with eyesof extreme affection, certainly at one--perhap at both--of her children.George kept his head down, and Harry, who was near, got quite close tohim during the sermon, and sat with his arm round his brother's neck.

  Harry had proceeded in his narrative after his own fashion,interspersing it with many youthful ejaculations, and answering a numberof incidental questions asked by his listener. The old lady seemed nevertired of hearing him. Her amiable hostess and her daughters came morethan once, to ask if she would ride, or walk, or take a dish of tea, orplay a game at cards; but all these amusements Madam Bernstein declined,saying that she found infinite amusement in Harry's conversation.Especially when any of the Castlewood family were present, she redoubledher caresses, insisted upon the lad speaking close to her ear, and wouldcall out to the others, "Hush, my dears! I can't hear our cousin speak."And they would quit the room, striving still to look pleased.

  "Are you my cousin, too?" asked the honest boy. "You see kinder than myother cousins."

  Their talk took place in the wainscoted parlour, where the family hadtaken their meals in ordinary for at least two centuries past, andwhich, as we have said, was hung with portraits of the race. OverMadam Bernstein's great chair was a Kneller, one of the most brilliantpictures of the gallery, representing a young lady of three or fourand twenty, in the easy flowing dress and loose robes of Queen Anne'stime--a hand on a cushion near her, a quantity of auburn hair parted offa fair forehead, and flowing over pearly shoulders and a lovely neck.Under this sprightly picture the lady sate with her knitting-needles.

  When Harry asked, "Are you my cousin, too?" she said, "That picture isby Sir Godfrey, who thought himself the greatest painter in the world.But he was not so good as Lely, who painted your grandmother--my--myLady Castlewood, Colonel Esmond's wife; nor he so good as Sir AnthonyVan Dyck, who painted your great-grandfather, yonder--and who looks,Harry, a much finer gentleman than he was. Some of us are paintedblacker than we are. Did you recognise your grandmother in that picture?She had the loveliest fair hair and shape of any woman of her time."

  "I fancied I knew the portrait from instinct, perhaps, and a certainlikeness to my mother."

  "Did Mrs. Warrington--I beg her pardon, I think she calls herself Madamor my Lady Esmond now----?"

  "They call my mother so in our province," said the boy.

  "Did she never tell you of another daughter her mother had in England,before she married your grandfather?"

  "She never spoke of one."

  "Nor your grandfather?"

  "Never. But in his picture-books, which he constantly made for uschildren, he used to draw a head very like that above your ladyship.That, and Viscount Francis, and King James III., he drew a score oftimes, I am sure."

  "And the picture over me reminds you of no one, Harry?"

  "No, indeed."

  "Ah! Here is a sermon!" says the lady, with a sigh. "Harry, that was myface once--yes, it was--and then I was called Beatrix Esmond. And yourmother is my half-sister, child, and she has never even mentioned myname!"