A Story

by William Makepeace Thackeray

ever. Is not history, from the Trojan war upwards and downwards,

  full of instances of such strange inexplicable passions? Was not

  Helen, by the most moderate calculation, ninety years of age when

  she went off with His Royal Highness Prince Paris of Troy? Was not

  Madame La Valliere ill-made, blear-eyed, tallow-complexioned,

  scraggy, and with hair like tow? Was not Wilkes the ugliest,

  charmingest, most successful man in the world? Such instances might

  be carried out so as to fill a volume; but cui bono? Love is fate,

  and not will; its origin not to be explained, its progress

  irresistible: and the best proof of this may be had at Bow Street

  any day, where if you ask any officer of the establishment how they

  take most thieves, he will tell you at the houses of the women.

  They must see the dear creatures though they hang for it; they will

  love, though they have their necks in the halter. And with regard

  to the other position, that ill-usage on the part of the man does

  not destroy the affection of the woman, have we not numberless

  police-reports, showing how, when a bystander would beat a husband

  for beating his wife, man and wife fall together on the interloper

  and punish him for his meddling?

  These points, then, being settled to the satisfaction of all

  parties, the reader will not be disposed to question the assertion

  that Mrs. Hall had a real affection for the gallant Count, and grew,

  as Mr. Brock was pleased to say, like a beefsteak, more tender as

  she was thumped. Poor thing, poor thing! his flashy airs and smart

  looks had overcome her in a single hour; and no more is wanted to

  plunge into love over head and ears; no more is wanted to make a

  first love with--and a woman's first love lasts FOR EVER (a man's

  twenty-fourth or twenty-fifth is perhaps the best): you can't kill

  it, do what you will; it takes root, and lives and even grows, never

  mind what the soil may be in which it is planted, or the bitter

  weather it must bear--often as one has seen a wallflower grow--out

  of a stone.

  In the first weeks of their union, the Count had at least been

  liberal to her: she had a horse and fine clothes, and received

  abroad some of those flattering attentions which she held at such

  high price. He had, however, some ill-luck at play, or had been

  forced to pay some bills, or had some other satisfactory reason for

  being poor, and his establishment was very speedily diminished. He

  argued that, as Mrs. Catherine had been accustomed to wait on others

  all her life, she might now wait upon herself and him; and when the

  incident of the beer arose, she had been for some time employed as

  the Count's housekeeper, with unlimited superintendence over his

  comfort, his cellar, his linen, and such matters as bachelors are

  delighted to make over to active female hands. To do the poor

  wretch justice, she actually kept the man's menage in the best

  order; nor was there any point of extravagance with which she could

  be charged, except a little extravagance of dress displayed on the

  very few occasions when he condescended to walk abroad with her, and

  extravagance of language and passion in the frequent quarrels they

  had together. Perhaps in such a connection as subsisted between

  this precious couple, these faults are inevitable on the part of the

  woman. She must be silly and vain, and will pretty surely therefore

  be fond of dress; and she must, disguise it as she will, be

  perpetually miserable and brooding over her fall, which will cause

  her to be violent and quarrelsome.

  Such, at least, was Mrs. Hall; and very early did the poor vain

  misguided wretch begin to reap what she had sown.

  For a man, remorse under these circumstances is perhaps uncommon.

  No stigma affixes on HIM for betraying a woman; no bitter pangs of

  mortified vanity; no insulting looks of superiority from his

  neighbour, and no sentence of contemptuous banishment is read

  against him; these all fall on the tempted, and not on the tempter,

  who is permitted to go free. The chief thing that a man learns

  after having successfully practised on a woman is to despise the

  poor wretch whom he has won. The game, in fact, and the glory, such

  as it is, is all his, and the punishment alone falls upon her.

  Consider this, ladies, when charming young gentlemen come to woo you

  with soft speeches. You have nothing to win, except wretchedness,

  and scorn, and desertion. Consider this, and be thankful to your

  Solomons for telling it.

  It came to pass, then, that the Count had come to have a perfect

  contempt and indifference for Mrs. Hall;--how should he not for a

  young person who had given herself up to him so easily?--and would

  have been quite glad of any opportunity of parting with her. But

  there was a certain lingering shame about the man, which prevented

  him from saying at once and abruptly, "Go!" and the poor thing did

  not choose to take such hints as fell out in the course of their

  conversation and quarrels. And so they kept on together, he

  treating her with simple insult, and she hanging on desperately, by

  whatever feeble twig she could find, to the rock beyond which all

  was naught, or death, to her.

  Well, after the night with Tom Trippet and the pretty fellows at the

  "Rose," to which we have heard the Count allude in the conversation

  just recorded, Fortune smiled on him a good deal; for the

  Warwickshire squire, who had lost forty pieces on that occasion,

  insisted on having his revenge the night after; when, strange to

  say, a hundred and fifty more found their way into the pouch of his

  Excellency the Count. Such a sum as this quite set the young

  nobleman afloat again, and brought back a pleasing equanimity to his

  mind, which had been a good deal disturbed in the former difficult

  circumstances; and in this, for a little and to a certain extent,

  poor Cat had the happiness to share. He did not alter the style of

  his establishment, which consisted, as before, of herself and a

  small person who acted as scourer, kitchen-wench, and scullion; Mrs.

  Catherine always putting her hand to the principal pieces of the

  dinner; but he treated his mistress with tolerable good-humour; or,

  to speak more correctly, with such bearable brutality as might be

  expected from a man like him to a woman in her condition. Besides,

  a certain event was about to take place, which not unusually occurs

  in circumstances of this nature, and Mrs. Catherine was expecting

  soon to lie in.

  The Captain, distrusting naturally the strength of his own paternal

  feelings, had kindly endeavoured to provide a parent for the coming

  infant; and to this end had opened a negotiation with our friend Mr.

  Thomas Bullock, declaring that Mrs. Cat should have a fortune of

  twenty guineas, and reminding Tummas of his ancient flame for her:

  but Mr. Tummas, when this proposition was made to him, declined it,

  with many oaths, and vowed that he was perfectly satisfied with his

  present bachelor condition. In this dilemma, Mr. Brock stepped
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br />   forward, who declared himself very ready to accept Mrs. Catherine

  and her fortune: and might possibly have become the possessor of

  both, had not Mrs. Cat, the moment she heard of the proposed

  arrangement, with fire in her eyes, and rage--oh, how bitter!--in

  her heart, prevented the success of the measure by proceeding

  incontinently to the first justice of the peace, and there swearing

  before his worship who was the father of the coming child.

  This proceeding, which she had expected would cause not a little

  indignation on the part of her lord and master, was received by him,

  strangely enough, with considerable good-humour: he swore that the

  wench had served him a good trick, and was rather amused at the

  anger, the outbreak of fierce rage and contumely, and the wretched

  wretched tears of heartsick desperation, which followed her

  announcement of this step to him. For Mr. Brock, she repelled his

  offer with scorn and loathing, and treated the notion of a union

  with Mr. Bullock with yet fiercer contempt. Marry him indeed! a

  workhouse pauper carrying a brown-bess! She would have died sooner,

  she said, or robbed on the highway. And so, to do her justice, she

  would: for the little minx was one of the vainest creatures in

  existence, and vanity (as I presume everybody knows) becomes THE

  principle in certain women's hearts--their moral spectacles, their

  conscience, their meat and drink, their only rule of right and

  wrong.

  As for Mr. Tummas, he, as we have seen, was quite unfriendly to the

  proposition as she could be; and the Corporal, with a good deal of

  comical gravity, vowed that, as he could not be satisfied in his

  dearest wishes, he would take to drinking for a consolation: which

  he straightway did.

  "Come, Tummas," said he to Mr. Bullock "since we CAN'T have the girl

  of our hearts, why, hang it, Tummas, let's drink her health!" To

  which Bullock had no objection. And so strongly did the

  disappointment weigh upon honest Corporal Brock, that even when,

  after unheard-of quantities of beer, he could scarcely utter a word,

  he was seen absolutely to weep, and, in accents almost

  unintelligible, to curse his confounded ill-luck at being deprived,

  not of a wife, but of a child: he wanted one so, he said, to

  comfort him in his old age.

  The time of Mrs. Catherine's couche drew near, arrived, and was gone

  through safely. She presented to the world a chopping boy, who

  might use, if he liked, the Galgenstein arms with a bar-sinister;

  and in her new cares and duties had not so many opportunities as

  usual of quarrelling with the Count: who, perhaps, respected her

  situation, or, at least, was so properly aware of the necessity of

  quiet to her, that he absented himself from home morning, noon, and

  night.

  The Captain had, it must be confessed, turned these continued

  absences to a considerable worldly profit, for he played

  incessantly; and, since his first victory over the Warwickshire

  Squire, Fortune had been so favourable to him, that he had at

  various intervals amassed a sum of nearly a thousand pounds, which

  he used to bring home as he won; and which he deposited in a strong

  iron chest, cunningly screwed down by himself under his own bed.

  This Mrs. Catherine regularly made, and the treasure underneath it

  could be no secret to her. However, the noble Count kept the key,

  and bound her by many solemn oaths (that he discharged at her

  himself) not to reveal to any other person the existence of the

  chest and its contents.

  But it is not in a woman's nature to keep such secrets; and the

  Captain, who left her for days and days, did not reflect that she

  would seek for confidants elsewhere. For want of a female

  companion, she was compelled to bestow her sympathies upon Mr.

  Brock; who, as the Count's corporal, was much in his lodgings, and

  who did manage to survive the disappointment which he had

  experienced by Mrs. Catherine's refusal of him.

  About two months after the infant's birth, the Captain, who was

  annoyed by its squalling, put it abroad to nurse, and dismissed its

  attendant. Mrs. Catherine now resumed her household duties, and

  was, as before, at once mistress and servant of the establishment.

  As such, she had the keys of the beer, and was pretty sure of the

  attentions of the Corporal; who became, as we have said, in the

  Count's absence, his lady's chief friend and companion. After the

  manner of ladies, she very speedily confided to him all her domestic

  secrets; the causes of her former discontent; the Count's ill-

  treatment of her; the wicked names he called her; the prices that

  all her gowns had cost her; how he beat her; how much money he won

  and lost at play; how she had once pawned a coat for him; how he had

  four new ones, laced, and paid for; what was the best way of

  cleaning and keeping gold-lace, of making cherry-brandy, pickling

  salmon, etc., etc. Her confidences upon all these subjects used to

  follow each other in rapid succession; and Mr. Brock became, ere

  long, quite as well acquainted with the Captain's history for the

  last year as the Count himself:--for he was careless, and forgot

  things; women never do. They chronicle all the lover's small

  actions, his words, his headaches, the dresses he has worn, the

  things he has liked for dinner on certain days;--all which

  circumstances commonly are expunged from the male brain immediately

  after they have occurred, but remain fixed with the female.

  To Brock, then, and to Brock only (for she knew no other soul), Mrs.

  Cat breathed, in strictest confidence, the history of the Count's

  winnings, and his way of disposing of them; how he kept his money

  screwed down in an iron chest in their room; and a very lucky fellow

  did Brock consider his officer for having such a large sum. He and

  Cat looked at the chest: it was small, but mighty strong, sure

  enough, and would defy picklocks and thieves. Well, if any man

  deserved money, the Captain did ("though he might buy me a few yards

  of that lace I love so," interrupted Cat),--if any man deserved

  money, he did, for he spent it like a prince, and his hand was

  always in his pocket.

  It must now be stated that Monsieur de Galgenstein had, during Cat's

  seclusion, cast his eyes upon a young lady of good fortune, who

  frequented the Assembly at Birmingham, and who was not a little

  smitten by his title and person. The "four new coats, laced, and

  paid for," as Cat said, had been purchased, most probably, by his

  Excellency for the purpose of dazzling the heiress; and he and the

  coats had succeeded so far as to win from the young woman an actual

  profession of love, and a promise of marriage provided Pa would

  consent. This was obtained,--for Pa was a tradesman; and I suppose

  every one of my readers has remarked how great an effect a title has

  on the lower classes. Yes, thank Heaven! there is about a freeborn

  Briton a cringing baseness, and lickspittle awe of rank, which does

  not exist under any
tyranny in Europe, and is only to be found here

  and in America.

  All these negotiations had been going on quite unknown to Cat; and,

  as the Captain had determined, before two months were out, to fling

  that young woman on the pave, he was kind to her in the meanwhile:

  people always are when they are swindling you, or meditating an

  injury against you.

  The poor girl had much too high an opinion of her own charms to

  suspect that the Count could be unfaithful to them, and had no

  notion of the plot that was formed against her. But Mr. Brock had:

  for he had seen many times a gilt coach with a pair of fat white

  horses ambling in the neighbourhood of the town, and the Captain on

  his black steed caracolling majestically by its side; and he had

  remarked a fat, pudgy, pale-haired woman treading heavily down the

  stairs of the Assembly, leaning on the Captain's arm: all these Mr.

  Brock had seen, not without reflection. Indeed, the Count one day,

  in great good-humour, had slapped him on the shoulder and told him

  that he was about speedily to purchase a regiment; when, by his

  great gods, Mr. Brock should have a pair of colours. Perhaps this

  promise occasioned his silence to Mrs. Catherine hitherto; perhaps

  he never would have peached at all; and perhaps, therefore, this

  history would never have been written, but for a small circumstance

  which occurred at this period.

  "What can you want with that drunken old Corporal always about your

  quarters?" said Mr. Trippet to the Count one day, as they sat over

  their wine, in the midst of a merry company, at the Captain's rooms.

  "What!" said he. "Old Brock? The old thief has been more useful to

  me than many a better man. He is as brave in a row as a lion, as

  cunning in intrigue as a fox; he can nose a dun at an inconceivable

  distance, and scent out a pretty woman be she behind ever so many

  stone walls. If a gentleman wants a good rascal now, I can

  recommend him. I am going to reform, you know, and must turn him

  out of my service."

  "And pretty Mrs. Cat?"

  "Oh, curse pretty Mrs. Cat! she may go too."

  "And the brat?"

  "Why, you have parishes, and what not, here in England. Egad! if a

  gentleman were called upon to keep all his children, there would be

  no living: no, stap my vitals! Croesus couldn't stand it."

  "No, indeed," said Mr. Trippet: "you are right; and when a

  gentleman marries, he is bound in honour to give up such low

  connections as are useful when he is a bachelor."

  "Of course; and give them up I will, when the sweet Mrs. Dripping is

  mine. As for the girl, you can have her, Tom Trippet, if you take a

  fancy to her; and as for the Corporal, he may be handed over to my

  successor in Cutts's:--for I will have a regiment to myself, that's

  poz; and to take with me such a swindling, pimping, thieving,

  brandy-faced rascal as this Brock will never do. Egad! he's a

  disgrace to the service. As it is, I've often a mind to have the

  superannuated vagabond drummed out of the corps."

  Although this resume of Mr. Brock's character and accomplishments

  was very just, it came perhaps with an ill grace from Count Gustavus

  Adolphus Maximilian, who had profited by all his qualities, and who

  certainly would never have given this opinion of them had he known

  that the door of his dining-parlour was open, and that the gallant

  Corporal, who was in the passage, could hear every syllable that

  fell from the lips of his commanding officer. We shall not say,

  after the fashion of the story-books, that Mr. Brock listened with a

  flashing eye and a distended nostril; that his chest heaved

  tumultuously, and that his hand fell down mechanically to his side,

  where it played with the brass handle of his sword. Mr. Kean would

  have gone through most of these bodily exercises had he been acting

  the part of a villain enraged and disappointed like Corporal Brock;

  but that gentleman walked away without any gestures of any kind, and