The Virginians

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER LXXXV. Inveni Portum

  When my mother heard of my acceptance of a place at home, I think shewas scarcely well pleased. She may have withdrawn her supplies, in orderto starve me into a surrender, and force me to return with my family toVirginia, and to dependence under her. We never, up to her dying day,had any explanation on the pecuniary dispute between us. She cut off myallowances: I uttered not a word; but managed to live without her aid.I never heard that she repented of her injustice, or acknowledged it,except from Harry's private communication to me. In after days, when wemet, by a great gentleness in her behaviour, and an uncommon respectand affection shown to my wife, Madam Esmond may have intended I shouldunderstand her tacit admission that she had been wrong; but she made noapology, nor did I ask one. Harry being provided for (whose welfare Icould not grudge), all my mother's savings and economical schemes wentto my advantage, who was her heir. Time was when a few guineas wouldhave been more useful to me than hundreds which might come to me whenI had no need; but when Madam Esmond and I met, the period of necessitywas long passed away; I had no need to scheme ignoble savings, or togrudge the doctor his fee: I had plenty, and she could but bring memore. No doubt she suffered in her own mind to think that my childrenhad been hungry, and she had offered them no food; and that strangershad relieved the necessity from which her proud heart had caused her toturn aside. Proud? Was she prouder than I? A soft word of explanationbetween us might have brought about a reconciliation years before itcame but I would never speak, nor did she. When I commit a wrong, andknow it subsequently, I love to ask pardon; but 'tis as a satisfactionto my own pride, and to myself I am apologising for having been wantingto myself. And hence, I think (out of regard to that personage of ego),I scarce ever could degrade myself to do a meanness. How do men feelwhose whole lives (and many men's lives are) are lies, schemes, andsubterfuges? What sort of company do they keep when they are alone?Daily in life I watch men whose every smile is an artifice, and everywink is an hypocrisy. Doth such a fellow wear a mask in his own privacy,and to his own conscience? If I choose to pass over an injury, I fear'tis not from a Christian and forgiving spirit: 'tis because I canafford to remit the debt, and disdain to ask a settlement of it. Oneor two sweet souls I have known in my life (and perhaps tried) to whomforgiveness is no trouble--a plant that grows naturally, as it were, inthe soil. I know how to remit, I say, not forgive. I wonder are we proudmen proud of being proud?

  So I showed not the least sign of submission towards my parent inVirginia yonder, and we continued for years to live in estrangement,with occasionally a brief word or two (such as the announcement of thebirth of a child, or what not) passing between my wife and her. Afterour first troubles in America about the Stamp Act, troubles fell on mein London likewise. Though I have been on the Tory side in our quarrel(as indeed upon the losing side in most controversies), having no doubtthat the Imperial Government had a full right to levy taxes in thecolonies, yet at the time of the dispute I must publish a pert letter toa member of the House of Burgesses in Virginia, in which the questionof the habitual insolence of the mother country to the colonies was sofreely handled, and sentiments were uttered so disagreeable to personsin power, that I was deprived of my place as hackney-coach licenser, tothe terror and horror of my uncle, who never could be brought to lovepeople in disgrace. He had grown to have an extreme affection formy wife as well as my little boy; but towards myself, personally,entertained a kind of pitying contempt which always infinitely amusedme. He had a natural scorn and dislike for poverty, and a correspondinglove for success and good fortune. Any opinion departing at all from theregular track shocked and frightened him, and all truth-telling made himturn pale. He must have had originally some warmth of heart and genuinelove of kindred: for, spite of the dreadful shocks I gave him, hecontinued to see Theo and the child (and me too, giving me amournful recognition when we met); and though broken-hearted by myfree-spokenness, he did not refuse to speak to me as he had done at thetime of our first differences, but looked upon me as a melancholy lostcreature, who was past all worldly help or hope. Never mind, I must castabout for some new scheme of life; and the repayment of Harry's debt tome at this juncture enabled me to live at least for some months even, oryears to come. O strange fatuity of youth! I often say. How was it thatwe dared to be so poor and so little cast down?

  At this time his Majesty's royal uncle of Cumberland fell downand perished in a fit; and, strange to say, his death occasioned aremarkable change in my fortune. My poor Sir Miles Warrington nevermissed any court ceremony to which he could introduce himself. He wasat all the drawing-rooms, christenings, balls, funerals of the court.If ever a prince or princess was ailing, his coach was at their door:Leicester Fields, Carlton House, Gunnersbury, were all the same to him,and nothing must satisfy him now but going to the stout duke's funeral.He caught a great cold and an inflammation of the throat from standingbareheaded at this funeral in the rain; and one morning, before almostI had heard of his illness, a lawyer waits upon me at my lodgings inBloomsbury, and salutes me by the name of Sir George Warrington.

  Party and fear of the future were over now. We laid the poor gentlemanby the side of his little son, in the family churchyard where so manyof his race repose. Little Miles and I were the chief mourners. Anobsequious tenantry bowed and curtseyed before us, and did their utmostto conciliate my honour and my worship. The dowager and her daughterwithdrew to Bath presently; and I and my family took possession of thehouse, of which I have been master for thirty years. Be not too eager,O my son! Have but a little patience, and I too shall sleep under yonderyew-trees, and the people will be tossing up their caps for Sir Miles.

  The records of a prosperous country life are easily and briefly told.The steward's books show what rents were paid and forgiven, what cropswere raised, and in what rotation. What visitors came to us, andhow long they stayed: what pensioners my wife had, and how they weredoctored and relieved, and how they died: what year I was sheriff, andhow often the hounds met near us; all these are narrated in our housejournals, which any of my heirs may read who choose to take thetrouble. We could not afford the fine mansion in Hill Street, whichmy predecessor had occupied; but we took a smaller house, in which,however, we spent more money. We made not half the show (with liveries,equipages, and plate) for which my uncle had been famous; but our beerwas stronger, and my wife's charities were perhaps more costly thanthose of the Dowager Lady Warrington. No doubt she thought there was noharm in spoiling the Philistines; for she made us pay unconscionably forthe goods she left behind her in our country-house, and I submitted tomost of her extortions with unutterable good-humour. What a value sheimagined the potted plants in her greenhouses bore! What a price sheset upon that horrible old spinet she left in her drawing-room! and theframed pieces of worsted-work, performed by the accomplished Dora andthe lovely Flora, had they been masterpieces of Titian or Vandyck, tobe sure my lady dowager could hardly have valued them at a higher price.But though we paid so generously, though we were, I may say withoutboast, far kinder to our poor than ever she had been, for a while we hadthe very worst reputation in the county, where all sorts of storieshad been told to my discredit. I thought I might perhaps succeed to myuncle's seat in Parliament, as well as to his landed property; but Ifound, I knew not how, that I was voted to be a person of very dangerousopinions. I would not bribe: I would not coerce my own tenants to votefor me in the election of '68. A gentleman came down from Whitehallwith a pocket-book full of bank-notes; and I found that I had no chanceagainst my competitor.

  Bon Dieu! Now that we were at ease in respect of worldly means,--nowthat obedient tenants bowed and curtseyed as we went to church; that wedrove to visit our friends, or to the neighbouring towns, in the greatfamily coach with the four fat horses; did we not often regret poverty,and the dear little cottage at Lambeth, where Want was ever prowlingat the door? Did I not long to be bear-leading again, and vow thattranslating for booksellers was not such very hard drudgery? When wewent to London, we made sentime
ntal pilgrimages to all our old haunts.I dare say my wife embraced all her landladies. You may be sure we askedall the friends of those old times to share the comforts of our new homewith us. The Reverend Mr. Hagan and his lady visited us more than once.His appearance in the pulpit at B------(where he preached very finely,as we thought) caused an awful scandal there. Sampson came too, anotherunlucky Levite, and was welcome as long as he would stay among us. Mr.Johnson talked of coming, but he put us off once or twice. I suppose ourhouse was dull. I know that I myself would be silent for days, and fearthat my moodiness must often have tried the sweetest-tempered womanin the world who lived with me. I did not care for field sports. Thekilling one partridge was so like killing another, that I wondered howmen could pass days after days in the pursuit of that kind of slaughter.Their fox-hunting stories would begin at four o'clock, when thetablecloth was removed, and last till supper-time. I sate silent, andlistened: day after day I fell asleep: no wonder I was not popular withmy company.

  What admission is this I am making? Here was the storm over, the rocksavoided, the ship in port and the sailor not overcontented? Was SusanI had been sighing for during the voyage, not the beauty I expected tofind her? In the first place, Susan and all the family can look in herWilliam's logbook, and so, madam, I am not going to put my secretsdown there. No, Susan, I never had secrets from thee. I never cared foranother woman. I have seen more beautiful, but none that suited me aswell as your ladyship. I have met Mrs. Carter and Miss Mulso, and Mrs.Thrale and Madam Kaufmann, and the angelical Gunnings, and her Grace ofDevonshire, and a host of beauties who were not angelic, by any means:and I was not dazzled by them. Nay, young folks, I may have led yourmother a weary life, and been a very Bluebeard over her, but then Ihad no other heads in the closet. Only, the first pleasure of takingpossession of our kingdom over, I own I began to be quickly tired of thecrown. When the captain wears it his Majesty will be a very differentPrince. He can ride a-hunting five days in the week, and find the sportamusing. I believe he would hear the same sermon at church fifty times,and not yawn more than I do at the first delivery. But sweet Joan,beloved Baucis! being thy faithful husband and true lover always,thy Darby is rather ashamed of having been testy so often! and, beingarrived at the consummation of happiness, Philemon asks pardon forfalling asleep so frequently after dinner. There came a period of mylife, when having reached the summit of felicity I was quite tired ofthe prospect I had there: I yawned in Eden, and said, "Is this all?What, no lions to bite? no rain to fall? no thorns to prick you in therose-bush when you sit down?--only Eve, for ever sweet and tender, andfigs for breakfast, dinner, supper, from week's end to week's end!"Shall I make my confessions? Hearken! Well, then, if I must make a cleanbreast of it.

  * * * * * *

  Here three pages are torn out of Sir George Warrington's MS. book, forwhich the editor is sincerely sorry.

  I know the theory and practice of the Roman Church; but, being bred ofanother persuasion (and sceptical and heterodox regarding that), I can'thelp doubting the other, too, and wondering whether Catholics, intheir confessions, confess all? Do we Protestants ever do so; and haseducation rendered those other fellow-men so different from us? Atleast, amongst us, we are not accustomed to suppose Catholic priests orlaymen more frank and open than ourselves. Which brings me back to myquestion,--does any man confess all? Does yonder dear creature know allmy life, who has been the partner of it for thirty years; who, wheneverI have told her a sorrow, has been ready with the best of her gentlepower to soothe it; who has watched when I did not speak, and when I wassilent has been silent herself, or with the charming hypocrisy of womanhas worn smiles and an easy appearance so as to make me imagine shefelt no care, or would not even ask to disturb her lord's secret when heseemed to indicate a desire to keep it private? Oh, the dear hypocrite!Have I not watched her hiding the boys' peccadilloes from papa's anger?Have I not known her cheat out of her housekeeping to pay off theirlittle extravagances; and talk to me with an artless face, as if she didnot know that our revered captain had had dealings with the gentlemenof Duke's Place, and our learned collegian, at the end of his terms, hadvery pressing reasons for sporting his oak (as the phrase is) againstsome of the University tradesmen? Why, from the very earliest days, thouwise woman, thou wert for ever concealing something from me,--thisone stealing jam from the cupboard; that one getting into disgrace atschool; that naughty rebel (put on the caps, young folks, according tothe fit) flinging an inkstand at mamma in a rage, whilst I was toldthe gown and the carpet were spoiled by accident. We all hide from oneanother. We have all secrets. We are all alone. We sin by ourselves,and, let us trust, repent too. Yonder dear woman would give her foot tospare mine a twinge of the gout; but, when I have the fit, the pain isin my slipper. At the end of the novel or the play, the hero and heroinemarry or die, and so there is an end of them as far as the poet isconcerned, who huzzas for his young couple till the postchaise turns thecorner; or fetches the hearse and plumes, and shovels them underground.But when Mr. Random and Mr. Thomas Jones are married, is all over? Arethere no quarrels at home? Are there no Lady Bellastons abroad? arethere no constables to be outrun? no temptations to conquer us, or beconquered by us? The Sirens sang after Ulysses long after his marriage,and the suitors whispered in Penelope's ear, and he and she had many aweary day of doubt and care, and so have we all. As regards money I wasput out of trouble by the inheritance I made: but does not Atra Curasit behind baronets as well as equites? My friends in London used tocongratulate me on my happiness. Who would not like to be master of agood house and a good estate? But can Gumbo shut the hall-door upon bluedevils, or lay them always in a red sea of claret? Does a man sleepthe better who has four-and-twenty hours to doze in? Do his intellectsbrighten after a sermon from the dull old vicar; a ten minutes' cackleand flattery from the village apothecary; or the conversation of SirJohn and Sir Thomas with their ladies, who come ten moonlight muddymiles to eat a haunch, and play a rubber? 'Tis all very well tohave tradesmen bowing to your carriage-door, room made for you atquarter-sessions, and my lady wife taken down the second or the third todinner: but these pleasures fade--nay, have their inconveniences. In ourpart of the country, for seven years after we came to Warrington Manor,our two what they called best neighbours were my Lord Tutbury and SirJohn Mudbrook. We are of an older date than the Mudbrooks; consequently,my Lady Tutbury always fell to my lot, when we dined together, whowas deaf and fell asleep after dinner; or if I had Lady Mudbrook, shechattered with a folly so incessant and intense, that even my wife couldhardly keep her complacency (consummate hypocrite as her ladyship is),knowing the rage with which I was fuming at the other's clatter. I cometo London. I show my tongue to Dr. Heberden. I pour out my catalogue ofcomplaints. "Psha, my dear Sir George!" says the unfeeling physician."Headaches, languor, bad sleep, bad temper--" ("Not bad temper: SirGeorge has the sweetest temper in the world, only he is sometimes alittle melancholy," says my wife.) "--Bad sleep, bad temper," continuesthe implacable doctor. "My dear lady, his inheritance has been his ruin,and a little poverty and a great deal of occupation would do him all thegood in life."

  No, my brother Harry ought to have been the squire, with remainder tomy son Miles, of course. Harry's letters were full of gaiety and goodspirits. His estate prospered: his negroes multiplied; his crops werelarge; he was a member of our House of Burgesses; he adored his wife;could he but have a child his happiness would be complete. Had Halbeen master of Warrington Manor-house, in my place, he would have beenbeloved through the whole country; he would have been steward at all theraces, the gayest of all the jolly huntsmen, the bien venu at all themansions round about, where people scarce cared to perform the ceremonyof welcome at sight of my glum face. As for my wife, all the world likedher, and agreed in pitying her. I don't know how the report got abroad,but 'twas generally agreed that I treated her with awful cruelty, andthat for jealousy I was a perfect Bluebeard. Ah me! And so it is truethat I have had many dark hours; that I pass days in long silenc
e; thatthe conversation of fools and whipper-snappers makes me rebellious andpeevish, and that, when I feel contempt, I sometimes don't know how toconceal it, or I should say did not. I hope as I grow older I grow morecharitable. Because I do not love bawling and galloping after a fox,like the captain yonder, I am not his superior; but, in this respect,humbly own that he is mine. He has perceptions which are denied me;enjoyments which I cannot understand. Because I am blind the world isnot dark. I try now and listen with respect when Squire Codgers talksof the day's run. I do my best to laugh when Captain Rattleton tells hisgarrison stories. I step up to the harpsichord with old Miss Humby (ourneighbour from Beccles) and try and listen as she warbles her ancientditties. I play whist laboriously. Am I not trying to do the duties oflife? and I have a right to be garrulous and egotistical, because I havebeen reading Montaigne all the morning.

  I was not surprised, knowing by what influences my brother was led, tofind his name in the list of Virginia burgesses who declared that thesole right of imposing taxes on the inhabitants of this colony is now,and ever hath been, legally and constitutionally vested in the Houseof Burgesses, and called upon the other colonies to pray for the Royalinterposition in favour of the violated rights of America. And it wasnow, after we had been some three years settled in our English home,that a correspondence between us and Madam Esmond began to take place.It was my wife who (upon some pretext such as women always know how tofind) re-established the relations between us. Mr. Miles must need havethe small-pox, from which he miraculously recovered without losingany portion of his beauty; and on his recovery the mother writes herprettiest little wheedling letter to the grandmother of the fortunatebabe. She coaxes her with all sorts of modest phrases and humbleofferings of respect and goodwill. She narrates anecdotes of theprecocious genius of the lad (what hath subsequently happened, I wonder,to stop the growth of that gallant young officer's brains?), and shemust have sent over to his grandmother a lock of the darling boy's hair,for the old lady, in her reply, acknowledged the receipt of some suchpresent. I wonder, as it came from England, they allowed it to pass ourcustom-house at Williamsburg. In return for these peace-offerings andsmuggled tokens of submission, comes a tolerably gracious letter from myLady of Castlewood. She inveighs against the dangerous spirit pervadingthe colony: she laments to think that her unhappy son is consorting withpeople who, she fears, will be no better than rebels and traitors. Shedoes not wonder, considering who his friends and advisers are. How cana wife taken from an almost menial situation be expected to sympathisewith persons of rank and dignity who have the honour of the Crown atheart? If evil times were coming for the monarchy (for the folks inAmerica appeared to be disinclined to pay taxes, and required thateverything should be done for them without cost), she remembered howto monarchs in misfortune, the Esmonds--her father the Marquisespecially--had ever been faithful. She knew not what opinions (thoughshe might judge from my newfangled Lord Chatham) were in fashion inEngland. She prayed, at least, she might hear that one of her sons wasnot on the side of rebellion. When we came, in after days, to look overold family papers in Virginia, we found "Letters from my daughter LadyWarrington," neatly tied up with a ribbon. My Lady Theo insisted Ishould not open them; and the truth, I believe, is, that they were sofull of praises of her husband that she thought my vanity would sufferfrom reading them.

  When Madam began to write, she gave us brief notices of Harry and hiswife. "The two women," she wrote, "still govern everything with my poorboy at Fannystown (as he chooses to call his house). They must savemoney there, for I hear but a shabby account of their manner ofentertaining. The Mount Vernon gentleman continues to be his greatfriend, and he votes in the House of Burgesses very much as hisguide advises him. Why he should be so sparing of his money I cannotunderstand: I heard, of five negroes who went with his equipages to myLord Bottetourt's, only two had shoes to their feet. I had reasons tosave, having sons for whom I wished to provide, but he hath no children,wherein he certainly is spared from much grief, though, no doubt, Heavenin its wisdom means our good by the trials which, through our children,it causes us to endure. His mother-in-law," she added in one of herletters, "has been ailing. Ever since his marriage, my poor Henry hasbeen the creature of these two artful women, and they rule him entirely.Nothing, my dear daughter, is more contrary to common sense and toHoly Scripture than this. Are we not told, Wives, be obedient to yourhusbands? Had Mr. Warrington lived, I should have endeavoured to followup that sacred precept, holding that nothing so becomes a woman ashumility and obedience."

  Presently we had a letter sealed with black, and announcing the deathof our dear good Mountain, for whom I had a hearty regret and affection,remembering her sincere love for us as children. Harry deplored theevent in his honest way, and with tears which actually blotted hispaper. And Madam Esmond, alluding to the circumstance, said: "My latehousekeeper, Mrs. Mountain, as soon as she found her illness was fatal,sent to me requesting a last interview on her deathbed, intending,doubtless, to pray my forgiveness for her treachery towards me. I senther word that I could forgive her as a Christian, and heartily hope(though I confess I doubt it) that she had a due sense of her crimetowards me. But our meeting, I considered, was of no use, and couldonly occasion unpleasantness between us. If she repented, though at theeleventh hour, it was not too late, and I sincerely trusted that shewas now doing so. And, would you believe her lamentable and hardenedcondition? she sent me word through Dinah, my woman, whom I dispatchedto her with medicines for her soul's and her body's health, that shehad nothing to repent of as far as regarded her conduct to me, andshe wanted to be left alone! Poor Dinah distributed the medicine to mynegroes, and our people took it eagerly--whilst Mrs. Mountain, left toherself, succumbed to the fever. Oh, the perversity of human kind! Thispoor creature was too proud to take my remedies, and is now beyond thereach of cure and physicians. You tell me your little Miles is subjectto fits of cholic. My remedy, and I will beg you to let me know ifeffectual, is," etc. etc.--and here followed the prescription, whichthou didst not take, O my son, my heir, and my pride! because thy fondmother had her mother's favourite powder, on which in his infantinetroubles our firstborn was dutifully nurtured. Did words not exactlyconsonant with truth pass between the ladies in their correspondence? Ifear my Lady Theo was not altogether candid: else how to account for aphrase in one of Madam Esmond's letters, who said: "I am glad to hearthe powders have done the dear child good. They are, if not on a first,on a second or third application, almost infallible, and have beenthe blessed means of relieving many persons round me, both infants andadults, white and coloured. I send my grandson an Indian bow and arrows.Shall these old eyes never behold him at Castlewood, I wonder, and isSir George so busy with his books and his politics that he can't afforda few months to his mother in Virginia? I am much alone now. My son'schamber is just as he left it: the same books are in the presses: hislittle hanger and fowling-piece over the bed, and my father's pictureover the mantelpiece. I never allow anything to be altered in his roomor his brother's. I fancy the children playing near me sometimes, andthat I can see my dear father's head as he dozes in his chair. Mine isgrowing almost as white as my father's. Am I never to behold my childrenere I go hence? The Lord's will be done."