A Story

by William Makepeace Thackeray

without a shilling."

  He watched him for several days regularly: two or three more bags

  were added to the former number. "They are pretty things, guineas,"

  thought Wood, "and tell no tales, like bank-bills." And he thought

  over the days when he and Macshane used to ride abroad in search of

  them.

  I don't know what thoughts entered into Mr. Wood's brain; but the

  next day, after seeing young Billings, to whom he actually made a

  present of a guinea, that young man, in conversing with his mother,

  said, "Do you know, mother, that if you were free, and married the

  Count, I should be a lord? It's the German law, Mr. Wood says; and

  you know he was in them countries with Marlborough."

  "Ay, that he would," said Mr. Wood, "in Germany: but Germany isn't

  England; and it's no use talking of such things."

  "Hush, child!" said Mrs. Hayes, quite eagerly: "how can _I_ marry

  the Count? Besides, a'n't I married, and isn't he too great a lord

  for me?"

  "Too great a lord?--not a whit, mother. If it wasn't for Hayes, I

  might be a lord now. He gave me five guineas only last week; but

  curse the skinflint who never will part with a shilling."

  "It's not so bad as his striking your mother, Tom. I had my stick

  up, and was ready to fell him t'other night," added Mr. Wood. And

  herewith he smiled, and looked steadily in Mrs. Catherine's face.

  She dared not look again; but she felt that the old man knew a

  secret that she had been trying to hide from herself. Fool! he knew

  it; and Hayes knew it dimly: and never, never, since that day of

  the gala, had it left her, sleeping or waking. When Hayes, in his

  fear, had proposed to sleep away from her, she started with joy:

  she had been afraid that she might talk in her sleep, and so let

  slip her horrible confession.

  Old Wood knew all her history since the period of the Marylebone

  fete. He had wormed it out of her, day by day; he had counselled

  her how to act; warned her not to yield; to procure, at least, a

  certain provision for her son, and a handsome settlement for

  herself, if she determined on quitting her husband. The old man

  looked on the business in a proper philosophical light, told her

  bluntly that he saw she was bent upon going off with the Count, and

  bade her take precautions: else she might be left as she had been

  before.

  Catherine denied all these charges; but she saw the Count daily,

  notwithstanding, and took all the measures which Wood had

  recommended to her. They were very prudent ones. Galgenstein grew

  hourly more in love: never had he felt such a flame; not in the

  best days of his youth; not for the fairest princess, countess, or

  actress, from Vienna to Paris.

  At length--it was the night after he had seen Hayes counting his

  money-bags--old Wood spoke to Mrs. Hayes very seriously. "That

  husband of yours, Cat," said he, "meditates some treason; ay, and

  fancies we are about such. He listens nightly at your door and at

  mine: he is going to leave you, be sure on't; and if he leaves you,

  he leaves you to starve."

  "I can be rich elsewhere," said Mrs. Cat.

  "What, with Max?"

  "Ay, with Max: and why not?" said Mrs. Hayes.

  "Why not, fool! Do you recollect Birmingham? Do you think that

  Galgenstein, who is so tender now because he HASN'T won you, will be

  faithful because he HAS? Psha, woman, men are not made so! Don't

  go to him until you are sure: if you were a widow now, he would

  marry you; but never leave yourself at his mercy: if you were to

  leave your husband to go to him, he would desert you in a

  fortnight!"

  She might have been a Countess! she knew she might, but for this

  cursed barrier between her and her fortune. Wood knew what she was

  thinking of, and smiled grimly.

  "Besides," he continued, "remember Tom. As sure as you leave Hayes

  without some security from Max, the boy's ruined: he who might be a

  lord, if his mother had but--Psha! never mind: that boy will go on

  the road, as sure as my name's Wood. He's a Turpin cock in his eye,

  my dear,--a regular Tyburn look. He knows too many of that sort

  already; and is too fond of a bottle and a girl to resist and be

  honest when it comes to the pinch."

  "It's all true," said Mrs. Hayes. "Tom's a high mettlesome fellow,

  and would no more mind a ride on Hounslow Heath than he does a walk

  now in the Mall."

  "Do you want him hanged, my dear?" said Wood.

  "Ah, Doctor!"

  "It IS a pity, and that's sure," concluded Mr. Wood, knocking the

  ashes out of his pipe, and closing this interesting conversation.

  "It is a pity that that old skinflint should be in the way of both

  your fortunes; and he about to fling you over, too!"

  Mrs. Catherine retired musing, as Mr. Billings had previously done;

  a sweet smile of contentment lighted up the venerable features of

  Doctor Wood, and he walked abroad into the streets as happy a fellow

  as any in London.

  CHAPTER XII. TREATS OF LOVE, AND PREPARES FOR DEATH.

  And to begin this chapter, we cannot do better than quote a part of

  a letter from M. l'Abbe O'Flaherty to Madame la Comtesse de X-----

  at Paris:

  "MADAM,--The little Arouet de Voltaire, who hath come 'hither to

  take a turn in England,' as I see by the Post of this morning, hath

  brought me a charming pacquet from your Ladyship's hands, which

  ought to render a reasonable man happy; but, alas! makes your slave

  miserable. I think of dear Paris (and something more dear than all

  Paris, of which, Madam, I may not venture to speak further)--I think

  of dear Paris, and find myself in this dismal Vitehall, where, when

  the fog clears up, I can catch a glimpse of muddy Thames, and of

  that fatal palace which the kings of England have been obliged to

  exchange for your noble castle of Saint Germains, that stands so

  stately by silver Seine. Truly, no bad bargain. For my part, I

  would give my grand ambassadorial saloons, hangings, gildings,

  feasts, valets, ambassadors and all, for a bicoque in sight of the

  Thuilleries' towers, or my little cell in the Irlandois.

  "My last sheets have given you a pretty notion of our ambassador's

  public doings; now for a pretty piece of private scandal respecting

  that great man. Figure to yourself, Madam, his Excellency is in

  love; actually in love, talking day and night about a certain fair

  one whom he hath picked out of a gutter; who is well nigh forty

  years old; who was his mistress when he was in England a captain of

  dragoons, some sixty, seventy, or a hundred years since; who hath

  had a son by him, moreover, a sprightly lad, apprentice to a tailor

  of eminence that has the honour of making his Excellency's breeches.

  "Since one fatal night when he met this fair creature at a certain

  place of publique resort, called Marylebone Gardens, our Cyrus hath

  been an altered creature. Love hath mastered this brainless

  ambassador, and his antics afford me food for perpetual mirth. He

  sits now opposite to me at
a table inditing a letter to his

  Catherine, and copying it from--what do you think?--from the 'Grand

  Cyrus.' 'I swear, madam, that my happiness would be to offer you

  this hand, as I have my heart long ago, and I beg you to bear in

  mind this declaration.' I have just dictated to him the above

  tender words; for our Envoy, I need not tell you, is not strong at

  writing or thinking.

  "The fair Catherine, I must tell you, is no less than a carpenter's

  wife, a well-to-do bourgeois, living at the Tyburn, or Gallows Road.

  She found out her ancient lover very soon after our arrival, and

  hath a marvellous hankering to be a Count's lady. A pretty little

  creature is this Madam Catherine. Billets, breakfasts, pretty

  walks, presents of silks and satins, pass daily between the pair;

  but, strange to say, the lady is as virtuous as Diana, and hath

  resisted all my Count's cajoleries hitherto. The poor fellow told

  me, with tears in his eyes, that he believed he should have carried

  her by storm on the very first night of their meeting, but that her

  son stepped into the way; and he or somebody else hath been in the

  way ever since. Madam will never appear alone. I believe it is

  this wondrous chastity of the lady that has elicited this wondrous

  constancy of the gentleman. She is holding out for a settlement;

  who knows if not for a marriage? Her husband, she says, is ailing;

  her lover is fool enough, and she herself conducts her negotiations,

  as I must honestly own, with a pretty notion of diplomacy."

  * * *

  This is the only part of the reverend gentleman's letter that

  directly affects this history. The rest contains some scandal

  concerning greater personages about the Court, a great share of

  abuse of the Elector of Hanover, and a pretty description of a

  boxing-match at Mr. Figg's amphitheatre in Oxford Road, where John

  Wells, of Edmund Bury (as by the papers may be seen), master of the

  noble science of self-defence, did engage with Edward Sutton, of

  Gravesend, master of the said science; and the issue of the combat.

  "N. B."--adds the Father, in a postscript--"Monsieur Figue gives a

  hat to be cudgelled for before the Master mount; and the whole of

  this fashionable information hath been given me by Monseigneur's

  son, Monsieur Billings, garcon-tailleur, Chevalier de Galgenstein."

  Mr. Billings was, in fact, a frequent visitor at the Ambassador's

  house; to whose presence he, by a general order, was always

  admitted. As for the connection between Mrs. Catherine and her

  former admirer, the Abbe's history of it is perfectly correct; nor

  can it be said that this wretched woman, whose tale now begins to

  wear a darker hue, was, in anything but SOUL, faithless to her

  husband. But she hated him, longed to leave him, and loved another:

  the end was coming quickly, and every one of our unknowing actors

  and actresses were to be implicated, more or less, in the

  catastrophe.

  It will be seen that Mrs. Cat had followed pretty closely the

  injunctions of Mr. Wood in regard to her dealings with the Count;

  who grew more heart-stricken and tender daily, as the completion of

  his wishes was delayed, and his desires goaded by contradiction.

  The Abbe has quoted one portion of a letter written by him; here is

  the entire performance, extracted, as the holy father said, chiefly

  from the romance of the "Grand Cyrus".

  "Unhappy Maximilian unto unjust Catherina.

  "MADAM,--It must needs be that I love you better than any ever did,

  since, notwithstanding your injustice in calling me perfidious, I

  love you no less than I did before. On the contrary, my passion is

  so violent, and your unjust accusation makes me so sensible of it,

  that if you did but know the resentments of my soule, you would

  confess your selfe the most cruell and unjust woman in the world.

  You shall, ere long, Madam, see me at your feete; and as you were my

  first passion, so you will be my last.

  "On my knees I will tell you, at the first handsom opportunity, that

  the grandure of my passion can only be equalled by your beauty; it

  hath driven me to such a fatall necessity, as that I cannot hide the

  misery which you have caused. Sure, the hostil goddes have, to

  plague me, ordayned that fatal marridge, by which you are bound to

  one so infinitly below you in degree. Were that bond of ill-omind

  Hymen cut in twayn witch binds you, I swear, Madam, that my

  happiniss woulde be to offer you this hande, as I have my harte long

  agoe. And I praye you to beare in minde this declaracion, which I

  here sign with my hande, and witch I pray you may one day be called

  upon to prove the truth on. Beleave me, Madam, that there is none

  in the World who doth more honor to your vertue than myselfe, nor

  who wishes your happinesse with more zeal than--MAXIMILIAN.

  "From my lodgings in Whitehall, this 25th of February.

  "To the incomparable Catherina, these, with a scarlet satten

  petticoat."

  The Count had debated about the sentence promising marriage in event

  of Hayes's death; but the honest Abbe cut these scruples very short,

  by saying, justly, that, because he wrote in that manner, there was

  no need for him to act so; that he had better not sign and address

  the note in full; and that he presumed his Excellency was not quite

  so timid as to fancy that the woman would follow him all the way to

  Germany, when his diplomatic duties would be ended; as they would

  soon.

  The receipt of this billet caused such a flush of joy and exultation

  to unhappy happy Mrs. Catherine, that Wood did not fail to remark

  it, and speedily learned the contents of the letter. Wood had no

  need to bid the poor wretch guard it very carefully: it never from

  that day forth left her; it was her title of nobility,--her pass to

  rank, wealth, happiness. She began to look down on her neighbours;

  her manner to her husband grew more than ordinarily scornful; the

  poor vain wretch longed to tell her secret, and to take her place

  openly in the world. She a Countess, and Tom a Count's son! She

  felt that she should royally become the title!

  About this time--and Hayes was very much frightened at the

  prevalence of the rumour--it suddenly began to be about in his

  quarter that he was going to quit the country. The story was in

  everybody's mouth; people used to sneer when he turned pale, and

  wept, and passionately denied it.

  It was said, too, that Mrs. Hayes was not his wife, but his

  mistress--everybody had this story--his mistress, whom he treated

  most cruelly, and was about to desert. The tale of the blow which

  had felled her to the ground was known in all quarters. When he

  declared that the woman tried to stab him, nobody believed him: the

  women said he would have been served right if she had done so. How

  had these stories gone abroad? "Three days more, and I WILL fly,"

  thought Hayes; "and the world may say what it pleases."

  Ay, fool, fly--away so swiftly that Fate cannot overtake
thee: hide

  so cunningly that Death shall not find thy place of refuge!

  CHAPTER XIII. BEING A PREPARATION FOR THE END.

  The reader, doubtless, doth now partly understand what dark acts of

  conspiracy are beginning to gather around Mr. Hayes; and possibly

  hath comprehended--

  1. That if the rumour was universally credited which declared that

  Mrs. Catherine was only Hayes's mistress, and not his wife,

  She might, if she so inclined, marry another person; and thereby not

  injure her fame and excite wonderment, but actually add to her

  reputation.

  2. That if all the world did steadfastly believe that Mr. Hayes

  intended to desert this woman, after having cruelly maltreated her,

  The direction which his journey might take would be of no

  consequence; and he might go to Highgate, to Edinburgh, to

  Constantinople, nay, down a well, and no soul would care to ask

  whither he had gone.

  These points Mr. Hayes had not considered duly. The latter case had

  been put to him, and annoyed him, as we have seen; the former had

  actually been pressed upon him by Mrs. Hayes herself; who, in almost

  the only communication she had had with him since their last

  quarrel, had asked him, angrily, in the presence of Wood and her

  son, whether he had dared to utter such lies, and how it came to

  pass that the neighbours looked scornfully at her, and avoided her?

  To this charge Mr. Hayes pleaded, very meekly, that he was not

  guilty; and young Billings, taking him by the collar, and clinching

  his fist in his face, swore a dreadful oath that he would have the

  life of him if he dared abuse his mother. Mrs. Hayes then spoke of

  the general report abroad, that he was going to desert her; which,

  if he attempted to do, Mr. Billings vowed that he would follow him

  to Jerusalem and have his blood. These threats, and the insolent

  language of young Billings, rather calmed Hayes than agitated him:

  he longed to be on his journey; but he began to hope that no

  obstacle would be placed in the way of it. For the first time since

  many days, he began to enjoy a feeling something akin to security,

  and could look with tolerable confidence towards a comfortable

  completion of his own schemes of treason.

  These points being duly settled, we are now arrived, O public, at a

  point for which the author's soul hath been yearning ever since this

  history commenced. We are now come, O critic, to a stage of the

  work when this tale begins to assume an appearance so interestingly

  horrific, that you must have a heart of stone if you are not

  interested by it. O candid and discerning reader, who art sick of

  the hideous scenes of brutal bloodshed which have of late come forth

  from pens of certain eminent wits,* if you turn away disgusted from

  the book, remember that this passage hath not been written for you,

  or such as you, who have taste to know and hate the style in which

  it hath been composed; but for the public, which hath no such

  taste:--for the public, which can patronise four different

  representations of Jack Sheppard,--for the public whom its literary

  providers have gorged with blood and foul Newgate garbage,--and to

  whom we poor creatures, humbly following at the tail of our great

  high-priests and prophets of the press, may, as in duty bound, offer

  some small gift of our own: a little mite truly, but given with

  good-will. Come up, then, fair Catherine and brave Count;--appear,

  gallant Brock, and faultless Billings;--hasten hither, honest John

  Hayes: the former chapters are but flowers in which we have been

  decking you for the sacrifice. Ascend to the altar, ye innocent

  lambs, and prepare for the final act: lo! the knife is sharpened,

  and the sacrificer ready! Stretch your throats, sweet ones,--for

  the public is thirsty, and must have blood!

  * This was written in 1840.