CHAPTER XVIII. An Old Story
As my Lady Castlewood and her son and daughter passed through onedoor of the saloon where they had all been seated, my Lord Castlewooddeparted by another issue; and then the demure eyes looked up from thetambour-frame on which they had persisted hitherto in examining theinnocent violets and jonquils. The eyes looked up at Harry Warrington,who stood at an ancestral portrait under the great fireplace. He hadgathered a great heap of blushes (those flowers which bloom so rarelyafter gentlefolks' springtime), and with them ornamented his honestcountenance, his cheeks, his forehead, nay, his youthful ears.
"Why did you refuse to go with our aunt, cousin?" asked the lady of thetambour frame.
"Because your ladyship bade me stay," answered the lad.
"I bid you stay! La! child! What one says in fun, you take in earnest!Are all you Virginian gentlemen so obsequious as to fancy every idleword a lady says is a command? Virginia must be a pleasant country forour sex if it be so!"
"You said--when--when we walked in the terrace two nights since,--Oheaven!" cried Harry, with a voice trembling with emotion.
"Ah, that sweet night, cousin!" cries the Tambour-frame.
"Whe--whe--when you gave me this rose from your own neck,"--roaredout Harry, pulling suddenly a crumpled and decayed vegetable from hiswaistcoat--"which I will never part with--with, no, by heavens, whilstthis heart continues to beat! You said, 'Harry, if your aunt asks youto go away, you will go, and if you go, you will forget me.'--Didn't yousay so?"
"All men forget!" said the Virgin, with a sigh.
"In this cold selfish country they may, cousin, not in ours," continuesHarry, yet in the same state of exaltation--"I had rather have lost anarm almost than refused the old lady. I tell you it went to my heartto say no to her, and she so kind to me, and who had been the means ofintroducing me to--to--O heaven!"
(Here a kick to an intervening spaniel, which flies yelping from beforethe fire, and a rapid advance on the tambour-frame.) "Look here, cousin!If you were to bid me jump out of yonder window, I should do it; ormurder, I should do it."
"La! but you need not squeeze one's hand so, you silly child!" remarksMaria.
"I can't help it--we are so in the south. Where my heart is, I can'thelp speaking my mind out, cousin--and you know where that heart is!Ever since that evening--that--O heaven! I tell you I have hardly sleptsince--I want to do something--to distinguish myself--to be ever sogreat. I wish there was giants, Maria, as I have read of in--in books,that I could go and fight 'em. I wish you was in distress, that I mighthelp you, somehow. I wish you wanted my blood, that I might spendevery drop of it for you. And when you told me not to go with MadameBernstein..."
"I tell thee, child? never."
"I thought you told me. You said you knew I preferred my aunt to mycousin, and I said then what I say now, 'Incomparable Maria! I preferthee to all the women in the world and all the angels in Paradise--andI would go anywhere, were it to dungeons, if you ordered me!' And do youthink I would not stay anywhere, when you only desired that I should benear you?" he added, after a moment's pause.
"Men always talk in that way--that is,--that is, I have heard so," saidthe spinster, correcting herself; "for what should a country-bred womanknow about you creatures? When you are near us, they say you are allraptures and flames and promises and I don't know what; when you areaway, you forget all about us."
"But I think I never want to go away as long as I live," groaned outthe young man. "I have tired of many things; not books and that, I nevercared for study much, but games and sports which I used to be fondof when I was a boy. Before I saw you, it was to be a soldier I mostdesired; I tore my hair with rage when my poor dear brother went awayinstead of me on that expedition in which we lost him. But now, I onlycare for one thing in the world, and you know what that is."
"You silly child! don't you know I am almost old enough to be...?"
"I know--I know! but what is that to me? Hasn't your br...--well, nevermind who, some of 'em-told me stories against you, and didn't they showme the Family Bible, where all your names are down, and the dates ofyour birth?"
"The cowards! Who did that?" cried out Lady Maria. "Dear Harry, tell mewho did that? Was it my mother-in-law, the grasping, odious, abandoned,brazen harpy? Do you know all about her? How she married my father inhis cups--the horrid hussey!--and..."
"Indeed it wasn't Lady Castlewood," interposed the wondering Harry.
"Then it was my aunt," continued the infuriate lady. "A pretty moralist,indeed! A bishop's widow, forsooth, and I should like to know whosewidow before and afterwards. Why, Harry, she intrigue: with thePretender, and with the Court of Hanover, and, I dare say, would withthe Court of Rome and the Sultan of Turkey if she had had the means. Doyou know who her second husband was? A creature who..."
"But our aunt never spoke a word against you," broke in Harry, more andmore amazed at the nymph's vehemence.
She checked her anger. In the inquisitive countenance opposite toher she thought she read some alarm as to the temper which she wasexhibiting.
"Well, well! I am a fool," she said. "I want thee to think well of me,Harry!"
A hand is somehow put out and seized and, no doubt, kissed by therapturous youth. "Angel!" he cries, looking into her face with hiseager, honest eyes.
Two fish-pools irradiated by a pair of stars would not kindle to greaterwarmth than did those elderly orbs into which Harry poured his gaze.Nevertheless, he plunged into their blue depths, and fancied he sawheaven in their calm brightness. So that silly dog (of whom Aesop or theSpelling-book used to tell us in youth) beheld a beef-bone in the pond,and snapped at it, and lost the beef-bone he was carrying. O absurd cur!He saw the beefbone in his own mouth reflected in the treacherous pool,which dimpled, I dare say, with ever so many smiles, coolly sucked upthe meat, and returned to its usual placidity. Ah! what a heap of wrecklie beneath some of those quiet surfaces! What treasures we have droppedinto them! What chased golden dishes, what precious jewels of love, whatbones after bones, and sweetest heart's flesh! Do not some very faithfuland unlucky dogs jump in bodily, when they are swallowed up heads andtails entirely? When some women come to be dragged, it is a marvel whatwill be found in the depths of them. Cavete, canes! Have a care how yelap that water. What do they want with us, the mischievous siren sluts?A green-eyed Naiad never rests until she has inveigled a fellow underthe water; she sings after him, she dances after him; she winds roundhim, glittering tortuously; she warbles and whispers dainty secrets athis cheek, she kisses his feet, she leers at him from out of her rushes:all her beds sigh out, "Come, sweet youth! Hither, hither, rosy Hylas!"Pop goes Hylas. (Surely the fable is renewed for ever and ever?) Has hiscaptivator any pleasure? Doth she take any account of him? No more thana fisherman landing at Brighton does of one out of a hundred thousandherrings.... The last time. Ulysses rowed by the Sirens' bank, he andhis men did not care though a whole shoal of them were singing andcombing their longest locks. Young Telemachus was for jumping overboard:but the tough old crew held the silly, bawling lad. They were deaf, andcould not hear his bawling nor the sea-nymphs' singing. They were dimof sight, and did not see how lovely the witches were. The stale, old,leering witches! Away with ye! I dare say you have painted your cheeksby this time; your wretched old songs are as out of fashion as Mozart,and it is all false hair you are combing!
In the last sentence you see Lector Benevolus and Scriptor Doctissimusfigure as tough old Ulysses and his tough old Boatswain, who do not carea quid of tobacco for any Siren at Sirens' Point; but Harry Warringtonis green Telemachus, who, be sure, was very unlike the soft youth in thegood Bishop of Cambray's twaddling story. He does not see that the sirenpaints the lashes from under which she ogles him; will put by into a boxwhen she has done the ringlets into which she would inveigle him; andif she eats him, as she proposes to do, will crunch his bones with a newset of grinders just from the dentist's, and warranted for mastication.The song is not stale to Harry Warrington, nor the voice crac
ked or outof tune that sings it. But--but--oh, dear me, Brother Boatswain! Don'tyou remember how pleasant the opera was when we first heard it? Cosifan tutti was its name--Mozart's music. Now, I dare say, they have otherwords, and other music, and other singers and fiddlers, and anothergreat crowd in the pit. Well, well, Cosi fan tutti is still upon thebills, and they are going on singing it over and over and over.
Any man or woman with a pennyworth of brains, or the like preciousamount of personal experience, or who has read a novel before, must,when Harry pulled out those faded vegetables just now, have gone offinto a digression of his own, as the writer confesses for himself he wasdiverging whilst he has been writing the last brace of paragraphs. If hesees a pair of lovers whispering in a garden alley or the embrasure ofa window, or a pair of glances shot across the room from Jenny to theartless Jessamy, he falls to musing on former days when, etc. etc. Thesethings follow each other by a general law, which is not as old as thehills, to be sure, but as old as the people who walk up and down them.When, I say, a lad pulls a bunch of amputated and now decomposing greensfrom his breast and falls to kissing it, what is the use of saying muchmore? As well tell the market-gardener's name from whom the slip-rosewas bought--the waterings, clippings, trimmings, manurings, the planthas undergone--as tell how Harry Warrington came by it. Rose, elle avecu la vie des roses, has been trimmed, has been watered, has beenpotted, has been sticked, has been cut, worn, given away, transferredto yonder boy's pocket-book and bosom, according to the laws and fateappertaining to roses.
And how came Maria to give it to Harry? And how did he come to want itand to prize it so passionately when he got the bit of rubbish? Is notone story as stale as the other? Are not they all alike? What is theuse, I say, of telling them over and over? Harry values that rosebecause Maria has ogled him in the old way; because she has happened tomeet him in the garden in the old way; because he has taken her hand inthe old way; because they have whispered to one another behind the oldcurtain (the gaping old rag, as if everybody could not peep throughit!); because, in this delicious weather, they have happened to be earlyrisers and go into the park; because dear Goody Jenkins in the villagehappened to have a bad knee, and my lady Maria went to read to her, andgave her calves'-foot jelly, and because somebody, of course, must carrythe basket. Whole chapters might have been written to chronicleall these circumstances, but A quoi bon? The incidents of life, andlove-making especially, I believe to resemble each other so much, thatI am surprised, gentlemen and ladies, you read novels any more. Psha! Ofcourse that rose in young Harry's pocket-book had grown, and had budded,and had bloomed, and was now rotting, like other roses. I suppose youwill want me to say that the young fool kissed it next? Of course hekissed it. What were lips made for, pray, but for smiling and simpering,and (possibly) humbugging, and kissing, and opening to receivemutton-chops, cigars, and so forth? I cannot write this part of thestory of our Virginians, because Harry did not dare to write it himselfto anybody at home, because, if he wrote any letters to Maria (which,of course, he did, as they were in the same house, and might meet eachother as much as they liked), they were destroyed; because he afterwardschose to be very silent about the story, and we can't have it from herladyship, who never told the truth about anything. But cui bono? I sayagain. What is the good of telling the story? My gentle reader, takeyour story: take mine. To-morrow it shall be Miss Fanny's, who is justwalking away with her doll to the schoolroom and the governess (poorvictim! she has a version of it in her desk): and next day it shall beBaby's, who is bawling out on the stairs for his bottle.
Maria might like to have and exercise power over the young Virginian;but she did not want that Harry should quarrel with his aunt for hersake, or that Madame de Bernstein should be angry with her. Harry wasnot the Lord of Virginia yet: he was only the Prince, and the Queenmight marry and have other Princes, and the laws of primogeniture mightnot be established in Virginia, qu'en savait elle? My lord her brotherand she had exchanged no words at all about the delicate business. Butthey understood each other, and the Earl had a way of understandingthings without speaking. He knew his Maria perfectly well: in the courseof a life of which not a little had been spent in her brother's companyand under his roof, Maria's disposition, ways, tricks, faults, had cometo be perfectly understood by the head of the family; and she would findher little schemes checked or aided by him, as to his lordship seemedgood, and without need of any words between them. Thus three daysbefore, when she happened to be going to see that poor dear old Goody,who was ill with the sore knee in the village (and when Harry Warringtonhappened to be walking behind the elms on the green too), my lord withhis dogs about him, and his gardener walking after him, crossed thecourt, just as Lady Maria was tripping to the gate-house--and hislordship called his sister, and said: "Molly, you are going to see GoodyJenkins. You are a charitable soul, my dear. Give Gammer Jenkins thishalf-crown for me--unless our cousin, Warrington, has already given hermoney. A pleasant walk to you. Let her want for nothing." And at supper,my lord asked Mr. Warrington many questions about the poor in Virginia,and the means of maintaining them, to which the young gentleman gave thebest answers he might. His lordship wished that in the old country therewere no more poor people than in the new: and recommended Harry tovisit the poor and people of every degree, indeed, high and low--in thecountry to look at the agriculture, in the city at the manufacturesand municipal institutions--to which edifying advice Harry acceded withbecoming modesty and few words, and Madame Bernstein nodded approvalover her piquet with the chaplain. Next day, Harry was in my lord'sjustice-room: the next day he was out ever so long with my lord onthe farm--and coming home, what does my lord do, but look in on asick tenant? I think Lady Maria was out on that day, too; she had beenreading good books to that poor dear Goody Jenkins, though I don'tsuppose Madame Bernstein ever thought of asking about her niece.
"CASTLEWOOD, HAMPSHIRE, ENGLAND, August 5, 1757.
"MY DEAR MOUNTAIN--At first, as I wrote, I did not like Castlewood, normy cousins there, very much. Now, I am used to their ways, and we beginto understand each other much better. With my duty to my mother, tellher, I hope, that considering her ladyship's great kindness to me, MadamEsmond will be reconciled to her half-sister, the Baroness de Bernstein.The Baroness, you know, was my Grandmamma's daughter by her firsthusband, Lord Castlewood (only Grandpapa really was the real lord);however, that was not his, that is, the other Lord Castlewood's fault,you know, and he was very kind to Grandpapa, who always spoke mostkindly of him to us as you know.
"Madame the Baroness Bernstein first married a clergyman, ReverendMr. Tusher, who was so learned and good, and such a favourite of hisMajesty, as was my aunt too, that he was made a Bishop. When he died,Our gracious King continued his friendship to my aunt; who married aHanoverian nobleman, who occupied a post at the Court--and, I believe,left the Baroness very rich. My cousin, my Lord Castlewood, told meso much about her, and I am sure I have found from her the greatestkindness and affection.
"The (Dowiger) Countess Castlewood and my cousins Will and Lady Fannyhave been described per last, that went by the Falmouth packet on the20th ult. The ladies are not changed since then. Me and Cousin Will arevery good friends. We have rode out a good deal. We have had some famouscocking matches at Hampton and Winton. My cousin is a sharp blade, but Ithink I have shown him that we in Virginia know a thing or two. ReverendMr. Sampson, chaplain of the famaly, most excellent preacher, withoutany biggatry.
"The kindness of my cousin the Earl improves every day, and by nextyear's ship I hope my mother will send his lordship some of our bestroll tobacco (for tennants) and hamms. He is most charatable to thepoor. His sister, Lady Maria, equally so. She sits for hours readinggood books to the sick: she is most beloved in the village."
"Nonsense!" said a lady to whom Harry submitted his precious manuscript."Why do you flatter me, cousin?"
"You are beloved in the village and out of it," said Harry, with aknowing emphasis, "and I have flattered you, as you call it, a littlemore
still, farther on."
"There is a sick old woman there, whom Madam Esmond would like, a mostraligious, good, old lady.
"Lady Maria goes very often to read to her; which, she says, givesher comfort. But though her Ladyship hath the sweetest voice, both inspeaking and singeing (she plays the church organ, and singes there mostbeautifully), I cannot think Gammer Jenkins can have any comfort fromit, being very deaf, by reason of her great age. She has her memoryperfectly, however, and remembers when my honoured Grandmother RachelLady Castlewood lived here. She says, my Grandmother was the best womanin the whole world, gave her a cow when she was married, and cured herhusband, Gaffer Jenkins, of the collects, which he used to have verybad. I suppose it was with the Pills and Drops which my honoured Motherput up in my boxes, when I left dear Virginia. Having never been illsince, have had no use for the pills. Gumbo hath, eating and drinkinga great deal too much in the Servants' Hall. The next angel to myGrandmother (N.B. I think I spelt angel wrong per last), Gammer Jenkinssays, is Lady Maria, who sends her duty to her Aunt in Virginia, andremembers her, and my Grandpapa and Grandmamma when they were in Europe,and she was a little girl. You know they have Grandpapa's picture here,and I live in the very rooms which he had, and which are to be calledmine, my Lord Castlewood says.
"Having no more to say, at present, I close with best love and duty tomy honoured Mother, and with respects to Mr. Dempster, and a kiss forFanny, and kind remembrances to Old Gumbo, Nathan, Old and Young Dinah,and the pointer dog and Slut, and all friends, from their well-wisher HENRY ESMOND WARRINGTON."
"Have wrote and sent my duty to my Uncle Warrington in Norfolk. No anseras yet."
"I hope the spelling is right, cousin?" asked the author of the letter,from the critic to whom he showed it.
"'Tis quite well enough spelt for any person of fashion," answeredLady Maria, who did not choose to be examined too closely regarding theorthography.
"One word 'Angel,' I know, I spelt wrong in writing to my mamma, but Ihave learned a way of spelling it right, now."
"And how is that, sir?"
"I think 'tis by looking at you, cousin;" saying which words, Mr. Harrymade her ladyship a low bow, and accompanied the bow by one of his bestblushes, as if he were offering her a bow and a bouquet.
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