The Virginians

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER XXVIII. The Way of the World

  Our young Virginian found himself, after two or three days at TunbridgeWells, by far the most important personage in that merry littlewatering-place. No nobleman in the place inspired so much curiosity. MyLord Bishop of Salisbury himself was scarce treated with more respect.People turned round to look after Harry as he passed, and country-folksstared at him as they came into market. At the rooms, matrons encouragedhim to come round to them, and found means to leave him alone with theirdaughters, most of whom smiled upon him. Everybody knew, to an acre anda shilling, the extent of his Virginian property, and the amount of hisincome. At every tea-table in the Wells, his winnings at play were toldand calculated. Wonderful is the knowledge which our neighbours haveof our affairs! So great was the interest and curiosity which Harryinspired, that people even smiled upon his servant, and took Gumbo asideand treated him with ale and cold meat, in order to get news of theyoung Virginian. Mr. Gumbo fattened under the diet, became a leadingmember of the Society of Valets in the place, and lied more enormouslythan ever. No party was complete unless Mr. Warrington attended it. Thelad was not a little amused and astonished by this prosperity, and borehis new honours pretty well. He had been bred at home to think too wellof himself, and his present good fortune no doubt tended to confirm hisself-satisfaction. But he was not too much elated. He did not brag abouthis victories or give himself any particular airs. In engaging in playwith the gentlemen who challenged him, he had acted up to his queer codeof honour. He felt as if he was bound to meet them when they summonedhim, and that if they invited him to a horse-race, or a drinking-bout,or a match at cards, for the sake of Old Virginia he must not draw back.Mr. Harry found his new acquaintances ready to try him at all thesesports and contests. He had a strong head, a skilful hand, a firm seat,an unflinching nerve. The representative of Old Virginia came off verywell in his friendly rivalry with the mother-country.

  Madame de Bernstein, who got her fill of cards every night, and, nodoubt, repaired the ill-fortune of which we heard in the last chapter,was delighted with her nephew's victories and reputation. He had shotwith Jack Morris and beat him; he had ridden a match with Mr. Scamperand won it. He played tennis with Captain Batts, and, though the boy hadnever tried the game before, in a few days he held his own uncommonlywell. He had engaged in play with those celebrated gamesters, my Lordsof Chesterfield and March; and they both bore testimony to his coolness,gallantry, and good breeding. At his books Harry was not brilliantcertainly; but he could write as well as a great number of men offashion; and the naivete of his ignorance amused the old lady. She hadread books in her time, and could talk very well about them with bookishpeople: she had a relish for humour and delighted in Moliere and Mr.Fielding, but she loved the world far better than the library, and wasnever so interested in any novel but that she would leave it for agame of cards. She superintended with fond pleasure the improvements ofHarry's toilette: rummaged out fine laces for his ruffles and shirt,and found a pretty diamond-brooch for his frill. He attained the post ofprime favourite of all her nephews and kinsfolk. I fear Lady Maria wasonly too well pleased at the lad's successes, and did not grudge him hissuperiority over her brothers; but those gentlemen must have quaked withfear and envy when they heard of Mr. Warrington's prodigious successes,and the advance which he had made in their wealthy aunt's favour.

  After a fortnight of Tunbridge, Mr. Harry had become quite a personage.He knew all the good company in the place. Was it his fault if he becameacquainted with the bad likewise? Was he very wrong in taking the worldas he found it, and drinking from that sweet sparkling pleasure-cup,which was filled for him to the brim? The old aunt enjoyed his triumphs,and for her part only bade him pursue his enjoyments. She was not arigorous old moralist, nor, perhaps, a very wholesome preceptress foryouth. If the Cattarina wrote him billets-doux, I fear Aunt Bernsteinwould have bade him accept the invitations: but the lad had brought withhim from his colonial home a stock of modesty which he still worealong with the honest homespun linen. Libertinism was rare in thosethinly-peopled regions from which he came. The vices of great citieswere scarce known or practised in the rough towns of the Americancontinent. Harry Warrington blushed like a girl at the daring talk ofhis new European associates: even Aunt Bernstein's conversation andjokes astounded the young Virginian, so that the worldly old woman wouldcall him Joseph, or simpleton.

  But, however innocent he was, the world gave him credit for being asbad as other folks. How was he to know that he was not to associate withthat saucy Cattarina? He had seen my Lord March driving her about in hislordship's phaeton. Harry thought there was no harm in giving her hisarm, and parading openly with her in the public walks. She took a fancyto a trinket at the toy-shop; and, as his pockets were full of money,he was delighted to make her a present of the locket, which she coveted.The next day it was a piece of lace: again Harry gratified her. Thenext day it was something else: there was no end to Madame Cattarina'sfancies: but here the young gentleman stopped, turning off her requestwith a joke and a laugh. He was shrewd enough, and not reckless orprodigal, though generous. He had no idea of purchasing diamond dropsfor the petulant little lady's pretty ears.

  But who was to give him credit for his Modesty? Old Bernstein insistedupon believing that her nephew was playing Don Juan's part, andsupplanting my Lord March. She insisted the more when poor Maria wasby; loving to stab the tender heart of that spinster, and enjoying herniece's piteous silence and discomfiture.

  "Why, my dear," says the Baroness, "boys will be boys, and I don't wantHarry to be the first milksop in his family!" The bread which Mariaate at her aunt's expense choked her sometimes. O me, how hard andindigestible some women know how to make it!

  Mr. Wolfe was for ever coming over from Westerham to pay court to thelady of his love; and, knowing that the Colonel was entirely engagedin that pursuit, Mr. Warrington scarcely expected to see much of him,however much he liked that officer's conversation and society. It wasdifferent from the talk of the ribald people round about Harry. Mr.Wolfe never spoke of cards, or horses' pedigrees; or bragged of hisperformances in the hunting-field; or boasted of the favours of women;or retailed any of the innumerable scandals of the time. It was not agood time. That old world was more dissolute than ours. There was an oldking with mistresses openly in his train, to whom the great folks ofthe land did honour. There was a nobility, many of whom were mad andreckless in the pursuit of pleasure; there was a looseness of wordsand acts which we must note, as faithful historians, without going intoparticulars, and needlessly shocking honest readers. Our young gentlemanhad lighted upon some of the wildest of these wild people, and had foundan old relative who lived in the very midst of the rout.

  Harry then did not remark how Colonel Wolfe avoided him, or when theycasually met, at first, notice the Colonel's cold and altered demeanour.He did not know the stories that were told of him. Who does know thestories that are told of him? Who makes them? Who are the fathers ofthose wondrous lies? Poor Harry did not know the reputation he wasgetting; and that, whilst he was riding his horse and playing his gameand taking his frolic, he was passing amongst many respectable personsfor being the most abandoned and profligate and godless of young men.

  Alas, and alas! to think that the lad whom we liked so, and who was sogentle and quiet when with us, so simple and so easily pleased, shouldbe a hardened profligate, a spendthrift, a confirmed gamester, afrequenter of abandoned women! These stories came to honest ColonelLambert at Oakhurst: first one bad story, then another, then crowds ofthem, till the good man's kind heart was quite filled with grief andcare, so that his family saw that something annoyed him. At first hewould not speak on the matter at all, and put aside the wife's fondqueries. Mrs. Lambert thought a great misfortune had happened; thather husband had been ruined; that he had been ordered on a dangerousservice; that one of the boys was ill, disgraced, dead; who can resistan anxious woman, or escape the cross-examination of the conjugalpillow? Lambert was obliged to tell a part of what
he knew about HarryWarrington. The wife was as much grieved and amazed as her husband hadbeen. From papa's and mamma's bedroom the grief, after being stifled fora while under the bed-pillows there, came downstairs. Theo and Hestertook the complaint after their parents, and had it very bad. O kind,little, wounded hearts! At first Hester turned red, flew into a greatpassion, clenched her little fists, and vowed she would not believe aword of the wicked stories; but she ended by believing them. Scandalalmost always does master people; especially good and innocent people.Oh, the serpent they had nursed by their fire! Oh, the wretched,wretched boy! To think of his walking about with that horrible paintedFrenchwoman, and giving her diamond necklaces, and parading his shamebefore all the society at the Wells! The three ladies having cried overthe story, and the father being deeply moved by it, took the parsoninto their confidence. In vain he preached at church next Sunday hisfavourite sermon about scandal, and inveighed against our propensity tothink evil. We repent we promise to do so no more; but when the nextbad story comes about our neighbour we believe it. So did those kind,wretched Oakhurst folks believe what they heard about poor HarryWarrington.

  Harry Warrington meanwhile was a great deal too well pleased withhimself to know how ill his friends were thinking of him, and waspursuing a very idle and pleasant, if unprofitable, life, without havingthe least notion of the hubbub he was creating, and the dreadful reputein which he was held by many good men. Coming out from a match at tenniswith Mr. Batts, and pleased with his play and all the world, Harryovertook Colonel Wolfe, who had been on one of his visits to the ladyof his heart. Harry held out his hand, which the Colonel took, butthe latter's salutation was so cold, that the young man could not helpremarking it, and especially noting how Mr. Wolfe, in return for a finebow from Mr. Batts's hat, scarcely touched his own with his forefinger.The tennis Captain walked away looking somewhat disconcerted, Harryremaining behind to talk with his friend of Westerham. Mr. Wolfe walkedby him for a while, very erect, silent, and cold.

  "I have not seen you these many days," says Harry.

  "You have had other companions," remarks Mr. Wolfe, curtly.

  "But I had rather be with you than any of them," cries the young man.

  "Indeed I might be better company for you than some of them," says theother.

  "Is it Captain Batts you mean?" asked Harry.

  "He is no favourite of mine, I own; he bore a rascally reputation whenhe was in the army, and I doubt has not mended it since he was turnedout. You certainly might find a better friend than Captain Batts. Pardonthe freedom which I take in saying so," says Mr. Wolfe, grimly.

  "Friend! he is no friend: he only teaches me to play tennis: he ishand-in-glove with my lord, and all the people of fashion here whoplay."

  "I am not a man of fashion," says Mr. Wolfe.

  "My dear Colonel, what is the matter? Have I angered you in any way? Youspeak almost as if I had, and I am not conscious of having done anythingto forfeit your regard," said Mr. Warrington.

  "I will be free with you, Mr. Warrington," said the Colonel, gravely,"and tell you with frankness that I don't like some of your friends!"

  "Why, sure, they are men of the first rank and fashion in England,"cries Harry, not choosing to be offended with his companion's bluntness.

  "Exactly, they are men of too high rank and too great fashion for ahard-working poor soldier like me; and if you continue to live withsuch, believe me, you will find numbers of us humdrum people can'tafford to keep such company. I am here, Mr. Warrington, paying myaddresses to an honourable lady. I met you yesterday openly walking witha French ballet-dancer, and you took off your hat. I must frankly tellyou, that I had rather you would not take off your hat when you go outin such company."

  "Sir," said Mr. Warrington, growing very red, "do you mean that I am toforgo the honour of Colonel Wolfe's acquaintance altogether?"

  "I certainly shall request you to do so when you are in company withthat person," said Colonel Wolfe, angrily; but he used a word not to bewritten at present, though Shakespeare puts it in the mouth of Othello.

  "Great heavens! what a shame it is to speak so of any woman!" criesMr. Warrington. "How dare any man say that that poor creature is nothonest?"

  "You ought to know best, sir," says the other, looking at Harry withsome surprise, "or the world belies you very much."

  "What ought I to know best? I see a poor little French dancer who iscome hither with her mother, and is ordered by the doctors to drink thewaters. I know that a person of my rank in life does not ordinarilykeep company with people of hers; but really, Colonel Wolfe, are you sosqueamish? Have I not heard you say that you did not value birth, andthat all honest people ought to be equal? Why should I not give thislittle unprotected woman my arm? there are scarce half a dozen peoplehere who can speak a word of her language. I can talk a little French,and she is welcome to it; and if Colonel Wolfe does not choose to touchhis hat to me, when I am walking with her, by George he may leave italone," cried Harry, flushing up.

  "You don't mean to say," says Mr. Wolfe, eyeing him, "that you don'tknow the woman's character?"

  "Of course, sir, she is a dancer, and, I suppose, no better or worsethan her neighbours. But I mean to say that, had she been a duchess, oryour grandmother, I couldn't have respected her more."

  "You don't mean to say that you did not win her at dice, from LordMarch?"

  "At what?"

  "At dice, from Lord March. Everybody knows the story. Not a person atthe Wells is ignorant of it. I heard it but now, in the company of thatgood old Mr. Richardson, and the ladies were saying that you would be acharacter for a colonial Lovelace."

  "What on earth else have they said about me?" asked Harry Warrington;and such stories as he knew the Colonel told. The most alarming accountsof his own wickedness and profligacy were laid before him. He was acorrupter of virtue, an habitual drunkard and gamester, a notoriousblasphemer and freethinker, a fitting companion for my Lord March,finally, and the company into whose society he had fallen. "I tell youthese things," said Mr. Wolfe, "because it is fair that you should knowwhat is said of you, and because I do heartily believe, from your mannerof meeting the last charge brought against you, that you are innocent ofmost of the other counts. I feel, Mr. Warrington, that I, for one, havebeen doing you a wrong; and sincerely ask you to pardon me."

  Of course, Harry was eager to accept his friend's apology, and theyshook hands with sincere cordiality this time. In respect of most of thecharges brought against him, Harry rebutted them easily enough: as forthe play, he owned to it. He thought that a gentleman should not refusea fair challenge from other gentlemen, if his means allowed him: and henever would play beyond his means. After winning considerably at first,he could afford to play large stakes, for he was playing with otherpeople's money. Play, he thought, was fair,--it certainly was pleasant.Why, did not all England, except the Methodists, play? Had he not seenthe best company at the Wells over the cards--his aunt amongst them?

  Mr. Wolfe made no immediate comment upon Harry's opinion as to thepersons who formed the best company at the Wells, but he frankly talkedwith the young man, whose own frankness had won him, and warned him thatthe life he was leading might be the pleasantest, but surely was not themost profitable of lives. "It can't be, sir," said the Colonel, "thata man is to pass his days at horse-racing and tennis, and his nightscarousing or at cards. Sure, every man was made to do some work: and agentleman, if he has none, must make some. Do you know the laws of yourcountry, Mr. Warrington? Being a great proprietor, you will doubtlessone day be a magistrate at home. Have you travelled over the country,and made yourself acquainted with its trades and manufactures? Theseare fit things for a gentleman to study, and may occupy him as well asa cock-fight or a cricket-match. Do you know anything of our profession?That, at least, you will allow, is a noble one; and, believe me, thereis plenty in it to learn, and suited, I should think, to you. I speak ofit rather than of books and the learned professions, because, as far asI can judge, your genius does not
lie that way. But honour is the aim oflife," cried Mr. Wolfe, "and every man can serve his country one way orthe other. Be sure, sir, that idle bread is the most dangerous of allthat is eaten; that cards and pleasure may be taken by way of pastimeafter work, but not instead of work, and all day. And do you know, Mr.Warrington, instead of being the Fortunate Youth, as all the world callsyou, I think you are rather Warrington the Unlucky, for you are followedby daily idleness, daily flattery, daily temptation, and the Lord, Isay, send you a good, deliverance out of your good fortune."

  But Harry did not like to tell his aunt that afternoon why it was helooked so grave. He thought he would not drink, but there were somejolly fellows at the ordinary who passed the bottle round; and he meantnot to play in the evening, but a fourth was wanted at his aunt's table,and how could he resist? He was the old lady's partner several timesduring the night, and he had Somebody's own luck to be sure; and oncemore he saw the dawn, and feasted on chickens and champagne at sunrise.