The Virginians

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER XXIII. Holidays

  Mrs. Lambert's little day-dream was over. Miss Theo and her mother wereobliged to confess in their hearts that their hero was but an ordinarymortal. They uttered few words on the subject, but each knew the other'sthoughts as people who love each other do; and mamma, by an extratenderness and special caressing manner towards her daughter, sought toconsole her for her disappointment. "Never mind, my dear"--the maternalkiss whispered on the filial cheek--"our hero has turned out to be butan ordinary mortal, and none such is good enough for my Theo. Thou shalthave a real husband ere long, if there be one in England. Why, I wasscarce fifteen when your father saw me at the Bury Assembly, and while Iwas yet at school, I used to vow that I never would have any otherman. If Heaven gave me such a husband--the best man in the wholekingdom--sure it will bless my child equally, who deserves a king if shefancies him!" Indeed, I am not sure that Mrs. Lambert--who, of course,knew the age of the Prince of Wales, and was aware how handsome and gooda young prince he was--did not expect that he too would come riding byher gate, and perhaps tumble down from his horse there, and be takeninto the house, and be cured, and cause his royal grandpapa to giveMartin Lambert a regiment, and fall in love with Theo.

  The Colonel for his part, and his second daughter, Miss Hetty, were onthe laughing, scornful, unbelieving side. Mamma was always match-making.Indeed, Mrs. Lambert was much addicted to novels, and cried her eyes outover them with great assiduity. No coach ever passed the gate, but sheexpected a husband for her girls would alight from it and ring the bell.As for Miss Hetty, she allowed her tongue to wag in a more thanusually saucy way: she made a hundred sly allusions to their guest. Sheintroduced Prussia and Persia into their conversation with abominablepertness and frequency. She asked whether the present King of Prussiawas called the Shaw or the Sophy, and how far it was from Ispahan toSaxony, which his Majesty was at present invading, and about which warpapa was so busy with his maps and his newspapers? She brought down thePersian Tales from her mamma's closet, and laid them slily on the tablein the parlour where the family sate. She would not marry a Persianprince for her part; she would prefer a gentleman who might not havemore than one wife at a time. She called our young Virginian Theo'sgentleman, Theo's prince. She asked her mamma if she wished her, Hetty,to take the other visitor, the black prince, for herself? Indeed, sherallied her sister and her mother unceasingly on their sentimentalities,and would never stop until she had made them angry, when she would beginto cry herself, and kiss them violently one after the other, and coaxthem back into good-humour. Simple Harry Warrington, meanwhile, knewnothing of all the jokes, the tears, quarrels, reconciliations, hymenealplans, and so forth, of which he was the innocent occasion. A hundredallusions to the Prussians and Persians were shot at him, and thoseParthian arrows did not penetrate his hide at all. A Shaw? A Sophy?Very likely he thought a Sophy was a lady, and would have deemed it theheight of absurdity that a man with a great black beard should haveany such name. We fall into the midst of a quiet family: we drop like astone, say, into a pool,--we are perfectly compact and cool, and littleknow the flutter and excitement we make there, disturbing the fish,frightening the ducks, and agitating the whole surface of the water.How should Harry know the effect which his sudden appearance produced inthis little, quiet, sentimental family? He thought quite well enough ofhimself on many points, but was diffident as yet regarding women, beingof that age when young gentlemen require encouragement and to be broughtforward, and having been brought up at home in very modest and primitiverelations towards the other sex. So Miss Hetty's jokes played round thelad, and he minded them no more than so many summer gnats. It was notthat he was stupid, as she certainly thought him: he was simple, toomuch occupied with himself and his own honest affairs to think ofothers. Why, what tragedies, comedies, interludes, intrigues, farces,are going on under our noses in friends' drawing-rooms where we visitevery day, and we remain utterly ignorant, self-satisfied, and blind!As these sisters sate and combed their flowing ringlets of nights, ortalked with each other in the great bed where, according to the fashionof the day, they lay together, how should Harry know that he had sogreat a share in their thoughts, jokes, conversation? Three days afterhis arrival, his new and hospitable friends were walking with him in myLord Wrotham's fine park, where they were free to wander; and here, on apiece of water, they came to some swans, which the young ladies werein the habit of feeding with bread. As the birds approached the youngwomen, Hetty said, with a queer look at her mother and sister, andthen a glance at her father, who stood by, honest, happy, in a redwaistcoat,--Hetty said: "Mamma's swans are something like these, papa."

  "What swans, my dear?" says mamma.

  "Something like, but not quite. They have shorter necks than these, andare, scores of them, on our common," continues Miss Hetty. "I saw Bettyplucking one in the kitchen this morning. We shall have it for dinner,with apple-sauce and----"

  "Don't be a little goose!" says Miss Theo.

  "And sage and onions. Do you love swan, Mr. Warrington?"

  "I shot three last winter on our river," said the Virginian gentleman."Ours are not such white birds as these--they eat very well, though."The simple youth had not the slightest idea that he himself was anallegory at that very time, and that Miss Hetty was narrating a fableregarding him. In some exceedingly recondite Latin work I have readthat, long before Virginia was discovered, other folks were equally dullof comprehension.

  So it was a premature sentiment on the part of Miss Theo--that littletender flutter of the bosom which we have acknowledged she felt on firstbeholding the Virginian, so handsome, pale, and bleeding. This was notthe great passion which she knew her heart could feel. Like the birds,it had wakened and begun to sing at a false dawn. Hop back to thy perch,and cover thy head with thy wing, thou tremulous little flutteringcreature! It is not yet light, and roosting is as yet better thansinging. Anon will come morning, and the whole sky will redden, and youshall soar up into it and salute the sun with your music.

  One little phrase, some three-and-thirty lines back, perhaps the fairand suspicious reader has remarked: "Three days after his arrival, Harrywas walking with," etc. etc. If he could walk--which it appeared hecould do perfectly well--what business had he to be walking with anybodybut Lady Maria Esmond on the Pantiles, Tunbridge Wells? His shoulderwas set: his health was entirely restored: he had not even a change ofcoats, as we have seen, and was obliged to the Colonel for his raiment.Surely a young man in such a condition had no right to be lingeringon at Oakhurst, and was bound by every tie of duty and convenience,by love, by relationship, by a gentle heart waiting for him, by thewasherwoman finally, to go to Tunbridge. Why did he stay behind, unlesshe was in love with either of the young ladies (and we say he wasn't)?Could it be that he did not want to go? Hath the gracious readerunderstood the meaning of the mystic S with which the last chaptercommences, and in which the designer has feebly endeavoured to depictthe notorious Sinbad the Sailor, surmounted by that odious old man ofthe sea? What if Harry Warrington should be that sailor, and his fatethat choking, deadening, inevitable old man? What if for two days pasthe has felt those knees throttling him round the neck? if his fellaunt's purpose is answered, and if his late love is killed as deadby her poisonous communications as fair Rosamond was by her royal andlegitimate rival? Is Hero then lighting the lamp up, and getting readythe supper, whilst Leander is sitting comfortably with some other party,and never in the least thinking of taking to the water? Ever sincethat coward's blow was struck in Lady Maria's back by her own relative,surely kind hearts must pity her ladyship. I know she has faults--ay,and wears false hair and false never mind what. But a woman in distress,shall we not pity her--a lady of a certain age, are we going to laugh ather because of her years? Between her old aunt and her unhappy delusion,be sure my Lady Maria Esmond is having no very pleasant time of it atTunbridge Wells. There is no one to protect her. Madam Beatrix has herall to herself. Lady Maria is poor, and hopes for money from her aunt.Lady Maria has a secret or two
which the old woman knows, and brandishesover her. I for one am quite melted and grow soft-hearted as I thinkof her. Imagine her alone, and a victim to that old woman! Paint toyourself that antique Andromeda (if you please we will allow that richflowing head of hair to fall over her shoulders) chained to a rockon Mount Ephraim, and given up to that dragon of a Baroness! Succour,Perseus! Come quickly with thy winged feet and flashing falchion!Perseus is not in the least hurry. The dragon has her will of Andromedafor day after day.

  Harry Warrington, who would not have allowed his dislocated and mendedshoulder to keep him from going out hunting, remained day after daycontentedly at Oakhurst, with each day finding the kindly folks whowelcomed him more to his liking. Perhaps he had never, since hisgrandfather's death, been in such good company. His lot had lain amongstfox-hunting Virginian squires, with whose society he had put up verycontentedly, riding their horses, living their lives, and sharing theirpunch-bowls. The ladies of his own and mother's acquaintance werevery well bred, and decorous, and pious, no doubt, but somewhatnarrow-minded. It was but a little place, his home, with its pompousways, small etiquettes and punctilios, small flatteries, smallconversations and scandals. Until he had left the place, some timeafter, he did not know how narrow and confined his life had been there.He was free enough personally. He had dogs and horses, and might shootand hunt for scores of miles round about: but the little lady-motherdomineered at home, and when there he had to submit to her influence andbreathe her air.

  Here the lad found himself in the midst of a circle where everythingabout him was incomparably gayer, brighter, and more free. He was livingwith a man and woman who had seen the world, though they lived retiredfrom it, who had both of them happened to enjoy from their earliesttimes the use not only of good books, but of good company--those livebooks, which are such pleasant and sometimes such profitable reading.Society has this good at least: that it lessens our conceit, by teachingus our insignificance, and making us acquainted with our betters. If youare a young person who read this, depend upon it, sir or madam, there isnothing more wholesome for you than to acknowledge and to associate withyour superiors. If I could, I would not have my son Thomas first Greekand Latin prize boy, first oar, and cock of the school. Better for hissoul's and body's welfare that he should have a good place, not thefirst--a fair set of competitors round about him, and a good thrashingnow and then, with a hearty shake afterwards of the hand whichadministered the beating. What honest man that can choose his lot wouldbe a prince, let us say, and have all society walking backwards beforehim, only obsequious household-gentlemen to talk to, and all mankind mumexcept when your High Mightiness asks a question and gives permissionto speak? One of the great benefits which Harry Warrington received fromthis family, before whose gate Fate had shot him, was to begin to learnthat he was a profoundly ignorant young fellow, and that there were manypeople in the world far better than he knew himself to be. Arroganta little with some folks, in the company of his superiors he wasmagnanimously docile. We have seen how faithfully he admired his brotherat home, and his friend, the gallant young Colonel of Mount Vernon: ofthe gentlemen, his kinsmen at Castlewood, he had felt himself at leastthe equal. In his new acquaintance at Oakhurst he found a man who hadread far more books than Harry could pretend to judge of, who had seenthe world and come unwounded out of it, as he had out of the dangersand battles which he had confronted, and who had goodness and honestywritten on his face and breathing from his lips, for which qualities ourbrave lad had always an instinctive sympathy and predilection.

  As for the women, they were the kindest, merriest, most agreeable he hadas yet known. They were pleasanter than Parson Broadbent's black-eyeddaughter at home, whose laugh carried as far as a gun. They were quiteas well-bred as the Castlewood ladies, with the exception of MadamBeatrix (who, indeed, was as grand as an empress on some occasions).But somehow, after a talk with Madam Beatrix, and vast amusement andinterest in her stories, the lad would come away as with a bitter tastein his mouth, and fancy all the world wicked round about him. They werenot in the least squeamish; and laughed over pages of Mr. Fielding, andcried over volumes of Mr. Richardson, containing jokes and incidentswhich would make Mrs. Grundy's hair stand on end, yet their merryprattle left no bitterness behind it: their tales about this neighbourand that were droll, not malicious; the curtseys and salutations withwhich the folks of the little neighbouring town received them, howkindly and cheerful! their bounties how cordial! Of a truth it is goodto be with good people. How good Harry Warrington did not know at thetime, perhaps, or until subsequent experience showed him contrasts, orcaused him to feel remorse. Here was a tranquil, sunshiny day of a lifethat was to be agitated and stormy--a happy hour or two to remember.Not much happened during the happy hour or two. It was only sweet sleep,pleasant waking, friendly welcome, serene pastime. The gates of the oldhouse seemed to shut the wicked world out somehow, and the inhabitantswithin to be better, and purer, and kinder than other people. He wasnot in love; oh no! not the least, either with saucy Hetty or generousTheodosia but when the time came for going away, he fastened on boththeir hands, and felt an immense regard for them. He thought he shouldlike to know their brothers, and that they must be fine fellows; and asfor Mrs. Lambert, I believe she was as sentimental at his departure asif he had been the last volume of Clarissa Harlowe.

  "He is very kind and honest," said Theo, gravely, as, looking from theterrace, they saw him and their father and servants riding away on theroad to Westerham.

  "I don't think him stupid at all now," said little Hetty; "and, mamma, Ithink, he is very like a swan indeed."

  "It felt just like one of the boys going to school," said mamma.

  "Just like it," said Theo, sadly.

  "I am glad he has got papa to ride with him to Westerham," resumed MissHetty, "and that he bought Farmer Briggs's horse. I don't like his goingto those Castlewood people. I am sure that Madame Bernstein is a wickedold woman. I expected to see her ride away on her crooked stick."

  "Hush, Hetty!"

  "Do you think she would float if they tried her in the pond, as poor oldmother Hely did at Elmhurst? The other old woman seemed fond of him--Imean the one with the fair tour. She looked very melancholy when shewent away; but Madame Bernstein whisked her off with her crutch, and shewas obliged to go. I don't care, Theo. I know she is a wicked woman.You think everybody good, you do, because you never do anything wrongyourself."

  "My Theo is a good girl," says the mother, looking fondly at both herdaughters.

  "Then why do we call her a miserable sinner?"

  "We are all so, my love," said mamma.

  "What, papa too? You know you don't think so," cries Miss Hester. And toallow this was almost more than Mrs. Lambert could afford.

  "What was that you told John to give to Mr. Warrington's black man?"

  Mamma owned, with some shamefacedness, it was a bottle of her cordialwater and a cake which she had bid Betty make. "I feel quite like amother to him, my dears, I can't help owning it,--and you know bothour boys still like one of our cakes to take to school or college withthem."