Chapter IX. I Have The Small-Pox, And Prepare To Leave Castlewood
When Harry Esmond passed through the crisis of that malady, and returnedto health again, he found that little Frank Esmond had also suffered andrallied after the disease, and the lady his mother was down with it, witha couple more of the household. "It was a providence, for which we allought to be thankful," Doctor Tusher said, "that my lady and her son werespared, while Death carried off the poor domestics of the house;" andrebuked Harry for asking, in his simple way--for which we ought to bethankful--that the servants were killed, or the gentlefolks were saved? Norcould young Esmond agree in the doctor's vehement protestations to mylady, when he visited her during her convalescence, that the malady hadnot in the least impaired her charms, and had not been churl enough toinjure the fair features of the Viscountess of Castlewood, whereas inspite of these fine speeches, Harry thought that her ladyship's beauty wasvery much injured by the smallpox. When the marks of the disease clearedaway, they did not, it is true, leave furrows or scars on her face (exceptone, perhaps, on her forehead over her left eyebrow); but the delicacy ofher rosy colour and complexion were gone: her eyes had lost theirbrilliancy, her hair fell, and her face looked older. It was as if acoarse hand had rubbed off the delicate tints of that sweet picture, andbrought it, as one has seen unskilful painting-cleaners do, to the deadcolour. Also, it must be owned, that for a year or two after the malady,her ladyship's nose was swollen and redder.
There would be no need to mention these trivialities, but that theyactually influenced many lives, as trifles will in the world, where a gnatoften plays a greater part than an elephant, and a mole-hill, as we knowin King William's case, can upset an empire. When Tusher in his courtlyway (at which Harry Esmond always chafed and spoke scornfully) vowed andprotested that my lady's face was none the worse--the lad broke out andsaid, "It _is_ worse: and my mistress is not near so handsome as she was";on which poor Lady Esmond gave a rueful smile, and a look into a littleVenice glass she had, which showed her I suppose that what the stupid boysaid was only too true, for she turned away from the glass and her eyesfilled with tears.
The sight of these in Esmond's heart always created a sort of rage ofpity, and seeing them on the face of the lady whom he loved best, theyoung blunderer sank down on his knees, and besought her to pardon him,saying that he was a fool and an idiot, that he was a brute to make such aspeech, he who had caused her malady, and Doctor Tusher told him that abear he was indeed, and a bear he would remain, at which speech poor youngEsmond was so dumb-stricken that he did not even growl.
"He is _my_ bear, and I will not have him baited, doctor," my lady said,patting her hand kindly on the boy's head, as he was still kneeling at herfeet. "How your hair has come off! And mine, too," she added with anothersigh.
"It is not for myself that I cared," my lady said to Harry, when theparson had taken his leave; "but _am_ I very much changed? Alas! I fear'tis too true."
"Madam, you have the dearest, and kindest, and sweetest face in the world,I think," the lad said; and indeed he thought and thinks so.
"Will my lord think so when he comes back?" the lady asked, with a sigh,and another look at her Venice glass. "Suppose he should think as you do,sir, that I am hideous--yes, you said hideous--he will cease to care for me.'Tis all men care for in women, our little beauty. Why did he select mefrom among my sisters? 'Twas only for that. We reign but for a day or two:and be sure that Vashti knew Esther was coming."
"Madam," said Mr. Esmond, "Ahasuerus was the Grand Turk, and to change wasthe manner of his country, and according to his law."
"You are all Grand Turks for that matter," said my lady, "or would be ifyou could. Come, Frank, come, my child. You are well, praised be Heaven._Your_ locks are not thinned by this dreadful small-pox: nor your poorface scarred--is it, my angel?"
Frank began to shout and whimper at the idea of such a misfortune. Fromthe very earliest time the young lord had been taught to admire his beautyby his mother: and esteemed it as highly as any reigning toast valuedhers.
One day, as he himself was recovering from his fever and illness, a pangof something like shame shot across young Esmond's breast as he rememberedthat he had never once, during his illness, given a thought to the poorgirl at the smithy, whose red cheeks but a month ago he had been so eagerto see. Poor Nancy! her cheeks had shared the fate of roses, and werewithered now. She had taken the illness on the same day with Esmond--sheand her brother were both dead of the small-pox, and buried under theCastlewood yew-trees. There was no bright face looking now from thegarden, or to cheer the old smith at his lonely fireside. Esmond wouldhave liked to have kissed her in her shroud (like the lass in Mr. Prior'spretty poem), but she rested many foot below the ground, when Esmond afterhis malady first trod on it.
Doctor Tusher brought the news of this calamity, about which Harry Esmondlonged to ask, but did not like. He said almost the whole village had beenstricken with the pestilence; seventeen persons were dead of it, amongthem mentioning the names of poor Nancy and her little brother. He did notfail to say how thankful we survivors ought to be. It being this man'sbusiness to flatter and make sermons, it must be owned he was mostindustrious in it, and was doing the one or the other all day.
And so Nancy was gone; and Harry Esmond blushed that he had not a singletear for her, and fell to composing an elegy in Latin verses over therustic little beauty. He bade the dryads mourn and the river-nymphsdeplore her. As her father followed the calling of Vulcan, he said thatsurely she was like a daughter of Venus, though Sievewright's wife was anugly shrew, as he remembered to have heard afterwards. He made a longface, but, in truth, felt scarcely more sorrowful than a mute at afuneral. These first passions of men and women are mostly abortive; andare dead almost before they are born. Esmond could repeat, to his lastday, some of the doggerel lines in which his muse bewailed his prettylass; not without shame to remember how bad the verses were, and how goodhe thought them; how false the grief, and yet how he was rather proud ofit. 'Tis an error, surely, to talk of the simplicity of youth. I think nopersons are more hypocritical, and have a more affected behaviour to oneanother, than the young. They deceive themselves and each other withartifices that do not impose upon men of the world; and so we got tounderstand truth better, and grow simpler as we grow older.
When my lady heard of the fate which had befallen poor Nancy, she saidnothing so long as Tusher was by, but when he was gone, she took HarryEsmond's hand and said--
"Harry, I beg your pardon for those cruel words I used on the night youwere taken ill. I am shocked at the fate of the poor creature, and am surethat nothing had happened of that with which, in my anger, I charged you.And the very first day we go out, you must take me to the blacksmith, andwe must see if there is anything I can do to console the poor old man.Poor man! to lose both his children! What should I do without mine!"
And this was, indeed, the very first walk which my lady took, leaning onEsmond's arm, after her illness. But her visit brought no consolation tothe old father; and he showed no softness, or desire to speak. "The Lordgave and took away," he said; and he knew what His servant's duty was. Hewanted for nothing--less now than ever before, as there were fewer mouthsto feed. He wished her ladyship and Master Esmond good morning--he hadgrown tall in his illness, and was but very little marked; and with this,and a surly bow, he went in from the smithy to the house, leaving my lady,somewhat silenced and shamefaced, at the door. He had a handsome stone putup for his two children, which may be seen in Castlewood churchyard tothis very day; and before a year was out his own name was upon the stone.In the presence of Death, that sovereign ruler, a woman's coquetry isscared; and her jealousy will hardly pass the boundaries of that grimkingdom. 'Tis entirely of the earth that passion, and expires in the coldblue air, beyond our sphere.
At length, when the danger was quite over, it was announced that my lordand his daughter would return. Esmond well remembered the day. The lady,his mistress, was in a flurry of fear: before my l
ord came, she went intoher room, and returned from it with reddened cheeks. Her fate was about tobe decided. Her beauty was gone--was her reign, too, over? A minute wouldsay. My lord came riding over the bridge--he could be seen from the greatwindow, clad in scarlet, and mounted on his grey hackney--his littledaughter ambled by him in a bright riding-dress of blue, on a shiningchestnut horse. My lady leaned against the great mantelpiece, looking on,with one hand on her heart--she seemed only the more pale for those redmarks on either cheek. She put her handkerchief to her eyes, and withdrewit, laughing hysterically--the cloth was quite red with the rouge when shetook it away. She ran to her room again, and came back with pale cheeksand red eyes--her son in her hand--just as my lord entered, accompanied byyoung Esmond, who had gone out to meet his protector, and to hold hisstirrup as he descended from horseback.
"What, Harry, boy!" my lord said good-naturedly, "you look as gaunt as agreyhound. The small-pox hasn't improved your beauty, and your side of thehouse hadn't never too much of it--ho, ho!"
And he laughed, and sprang to the ground with no small agility, lookinghandsome and red, with a jolly face and brown hair, like a beef-eater;Esmond kneeling again, as soon as his patron had descended, performed hishomage, and then went to greet the little Beatrix, and help her from herhorse.
"Fie! how yellow you look," she said; "and there are one, two, red holesin your face;" which, indeed, was very true; Harry Esmond's harshcountenance bearing, as long as it continued to be a human face, the marksof the disease.
My lord laughed again, in high good humour.
"D---- it!" said he, with one of his usual oaths, "the little slut seeseverything. She saw the dowager's paint t'other day, and asked her why shewore that red stuff--didn't you, Trix? and the Tower; and St. James's; andthe play; and the Prince George, and the Princess Anne--didn't you, Trix?"
"They are both very fat, and smelt of brandy," the child said.
Papa roared with laughing.
"Brandy!" he said. "And how do you know, Miss Pert?"
"Because your lordship smells of it after supper, when I embrace youbefore you go to bed," said the young lady, who, indeed, was as pert asher father said, and looked as beautiful a little gipsy as eyes ever gazedon.
"And now for my lady," said my lord, going up the stairs, and passingunder the tapestry curtain that hung before the drawing-room door. Esmondremembered that noble figure handsomely arrayed in scarlet. Within thelast few months he himself had grown from a boy to be a man, and with hisfigure, his thoughts had shot up, and grown manly.
My lady's countenance, of which Harry Esmond was accustomed to watch thechanges, and with a solicitous affection to note and interpret the signsof gladness or care, wore a sad and depressed look for many weeks afterher lord's return: during which it seemed as if, by caresses andentreaties, she strove to win him back from some ill humour he had, andwhich he did not choose to throw off. In her eagerness to please him shepractised a hundred of those arts which had formerly charmed him, butwhich seemed now to have lost their potency. Her songs did not amuse him;and she hushed them and the children when in his presence. My lord satsilent at his dinner, drinking greatly, his lady opposite to him, lookingfurtively at his face, though also speechless. Her silence annoyed him asmuch as her speech; and he would peevishly, and with an oath, ask her whyshe held her tongue and looked so glum, or he would roughly check her whenspeaking, and bid her not talk nonsense. It seemed as if, since hisreturn, nothing she could do or say could please him.
When a master and mistress are at strife in a house, the subordinates inthe family take the one side or the other. Harry Esmond stood in so greatfear of my lord, that he would run a league barefoot to do a message forhim; but his attachment for Lady Esmond was such a passion of gratefulregard, that to spare her a grief, or to do her a service, he would havegiven his life daily: and it was by the very depth and intensity of thisregard that he began to divine how unhappy his adored lady's life was, andthat a secret care (for she never spoke of her anxieties) was weighingupon her.
Can any one, who has passed through the world and watched the nature ofmen and women there, doubt what had befallen her? I have seen, to be sure,some people carry down with them into old age the actual bloom of theiryouthful love, and I know that Mr. Thomas Parr lived to be a hundred andsixty years old. But, for all that, threescore and ten is the age of men,and few get beyond it; and 'tis certain that a man who marries for mere_beaux yeux_, as my lord did, considers his part of the contract at endwhen the woman ceases to fulfil hers, and his love does not survive herbeauty. I know 'tis often otherwise, I say; and can think (as most men intheir own experience may) of many a house, where, lighted in early years,the sainted lamp of love hath never been extinguished; but so there is Mr.Parr, and so there is the great giant at the fair that is eight feethigh--exceptions to men--and that poor lamp whereof I speak, that lights atfirst the nuptial chamber, is extinguished by a hundred winds and draughtsdown the chimney, or sputters out for want of feeding. And then--and thenit is Chloe, in the dark, stark awake, and Strephon snoring unheeding; or_vice versa_, 'tis poor Strephon that has married a heartless jilt, andawoke out of that absurd vision of conjugal felicity, which was to lastfor ever, and is over like any other dream. One and other has made hisbed, and so must lie in it, until that final day when life ends, and theysleep separate.
About this time young Esmond, who had a knack of stringing verses, turnedsome of Ovid's epistles into rhymes, and brought them to his lady for herdelectation. Those which treated of forsaken women touched her immensely,Harry remarked; and when Oenone called after Paris, and Medea bade Jasoncome back again, the lady of Castlewood sighed, and said she thought thatpart of the verses was the most pleasing. Indeed, she would have choppedup the dean, her old father, in order to bring her husband back again. Buther beautiful Jason was gone, as beautiful Jasons will go, and the poorenchantress had never a spell to keep him.
My lord was only sulky as long as his wife's anxious face or behaviourseemed to upbraid him. When she had got to master these, and to show anoutwardly cheerful countenance and behaviour, her husband's good humourreturned partially, and he swore and stormed no longer at dinner, butlaughed sometimes, and yawned unrestrainedly; absenting himself often fromhome, inviting more company thither, passing the greater part of his daysin the hunting-field, or over the bottle as before; but, with thisdifference, that the poor wife could no longer see now, as she had doneformerly, the light of love kindled in his eyes. He was with her, but thatflame was out; and that once welcome beacon no more shone there.
What were this lady's feelings when forced to admit the truth whereof herforeboding glass had given her only too true warning, that with her beautyher reign had ended, and the days of her love were over? What does aseaman do in a storm if mast and rudder are carried away? He ships ajurymast, and steers as he best can with an oar. What happens if your rooffalls in a tempest? After the first stun of the calamity the suffererstarts up, gropes around to see that the children are safe, and puts themunder a shed out of the rain. If the palace burns down, you take shelterin the barn. What man's life is not overtaken by one or more of thesetornadoes that send us out of the course, and fling us on rocks to shelteras best we may?
When Lady Castlewood found that her great ship had gone down, she began asbest she might, after she had rallied from the effects of the loss, to putout small ventures of happiness; and hope for little gains and returns, asa merchant on "Change, _indocilis pauperiem pati_," having lost histhousands, embarks a few guineas upon the next ship. She laid out her allupon her children, indulging them beyond all measure, as was inevitablewith one of her kindness of disposition; giving all her thoughts to theirwelfare--learning, that she might teach them, and improving her own manynatural gifts and feminine accomplishments, that she might impart them toher young ones. To be doing good for some one else, is the life of mostgood women. They are exuberant of kindness, as it were, and must impart itto some one. She made herself a good scholar of French, Italian
, andLatin, having been grounded in these by her father in her youth: hidingthese gifts from her husband out of fear, perhaps, that they should offendhim, for my lord was no bookman--pish'd and psha'd at the notion of learnedladies, and would have been angry that his wife could construe out of aLatin book of which he could scarce understand two words. Young Esmond wasusher, or house tutor, under her or over her, as it might happen. Duringmy lord's many absences, these schooldays would go on uninterruptedly: themother and daughter learning with surprising quickness: the latter by fitsand starts only, and as suited her wayward humour. As for the little lord,it must be owned that he took after his father in the matter oflearning--liked marbles and play, and the great horse, and the little onewhich his father brought him, and on which he took him out a-hunting--agreat deal better than Corderius and Lily; marshalled the village boys,and had a little court of them, already flogging them, and domineeringover them with a fine imperious spirit, that made his father laugh when hebeheld it, and his mother fondly warn him. The cook had a son, the woodmanhad two, the big lad at the porter's lodge took his cuffs and his orders.Doctor Tusher said he was a young nobleman of gallant spirit; and HarryEsmond, who was his tutor, and eight years his little lordship's senior,had hard work sometimes to keep his own temper, and hold his authorityover his rebellious little chief and kinsman.
In a couple of years after that calamity had befallen which had robbedLady Castlewood of a little--a very little--of her beauty, and her carelesshusband's heart (if the truth must be told, my lady had found not onlythat her reign was over, but that her successor was appointed, a princessof a noble house in Drury Lane somewhere, who was installed and visited bymy lord at the town eight miles off--_pudet haec opprobria dicere nobis_)--agreat change had taken place in her mind, which, by struggles only knownto herself, at least never mentioned to any one, and unsuspected by theperson who caused the pain she endured--had been schooled into such acondition as she could not very likely have imagined possible a score ofmonths since, before her misfortunes had begun.
She had oldened in that time as people do who suffer silently great mentalpain; and learned much that she had never suspected before. She was taughtby that bitter teacher Misfortune. A child, the mother of other children,but two years back her lord was a god to her; his words her law; his smileher sunshine; his lazy commonplaces listened to eagerly, as if they werewords of wisdom--all his wishes and freaks obeyed with a servile devotion.She had been my lord's chief slave and blind worshipper. Some women bearfarther than this, and submit not only to neglect but to unfaithfulnesstoo--but here this lady's allegiance had failed her. Her spirit rebelledand disowned any more obedience. First she had to bear in secret thepassion of losing the adored object; then to get a farther initiation, andto find this worshipped being was but a clumsy idol: then to admit thesilent truth, that it was she was superior, and not the monarch hermaster: that she had thoughts which his brains could never master, and wasthe better of the two; quite separate from my lord although tied to him,and bound as almost all people (save a very happy few) to work all herlife alone. My lord sat in his chair, laughing his laugh, cracking hisjoke, his face flushing with wine--my lady in her place over against him--henever suspecting that his superior was there, in the calm resigned lady,cold of manner, with downcast eyes. When he was merry in his cups, hewould make jokes about her coldness, and, "D---- it, now my lady is gone, wewill have t'other bottle," he would say. He was frank enough in tellinghis thoughts, such as they were. There was little mystery about my lord'swords or actions. His fair Rosamond did not live in a labyrinth, like thelady of Mr. Addison's opera, but paraded with painted cheeks and a tipsyretinue in the country town. Had she a mind to be revenged, LadyCastlewood could have found the way to her rival's house easily enough;and, if she had come with bowl and dagger, would have been routed off theground by the enemy with a volley of Billingsgate, which the fair personalways kept by her.
Meanwhile, it has been said, that for Harry Esmond his benefactress'ssweet face had lost none of its charms. It had always the kindest of looksand smiles for him--smiles, not so gay and artless perhaps as those whichLady Castlewood had formerly worn, when, a child herself, playing with herchildren, her husband's pleasure and authority were all she thought of;but out of her griefs and cares, as will happen I think when these trialsfall upon a kindly heart, and are not too unbearable, grew up a number ofthoughts and excellences which had never come into existence, had not hersorrow and misfortunes engendered them. Sure, occasion is the father ofmost that is good in us. As you have seen the awkward fingers and clumsytools of a prisoner cut and fashion the most delicate little pieces ofcarved work; or achieve the most prodigious underground labours, and cutthrough walls of masonry, and saw iron bars and fetters; 'tis misfortunethat awakens ingenuity, or fortitude, or endurance, in hearts where thesequalities had never come to life but for the circumstance which gave thema being.
"'Twas after Jason left her, no doubt," Lady Castlewood once said with oneof her smiles to young Esmond (who was reading to her a version of certainlines out of Euripides), "that Medea became a learned woman and a greatenchantress."
"And she could conjure the stars out of heaven," the young tutor added,"but she could not bring Jason back again."
"What do you mean?" asked my lady, very angry.
"Indeed I mean nothing," said the other, "save what I've read in books.What should I know about such matters? I have seen no woman save you andlittle Beatrix, and the parson's wife and my late mistress, and yourladyship's woman here."
"The men who wrote your books," says my lady, "your Horaces, and Ovids,and Virgils, as far as I know of them, all thought ill of us, as all theheroes they wrote about used us basely. We were bred to be slaves always;and even of our own times, as you are still the only lawgivers, I thinkour sermons seem to say that the best woman is she who bears her master'schains most gracefully. 'Tis a pity there are no nunneries permitted byour Church: Beatrix and I would fly to one, and end our days in peacethere away from you."
"And is there no slavery in a convent?" says Esmond.
"At least if women are slaves there, no one sees them," answered the lady."They don't work in street-gangs with the public to jeer them: and if theysuffer, suffer in private. Here comes my lord home from hunting. Take awaythe books. My lord does not love to see them. Lessons are over for to-day,Mr. Tutor." And with a curtsy and a smile she would end this sort ofcolloquy.
Indeed "Mr. Tutor", as my lady called Esmond, had now business enough onhis hands in Castlewood House. He had three pupils, his lady and her twochildren, at whose lessons she would always be present; besides writing mylord's letters, and arranging his accompts for him--when these could be gotfrom Esmond's indolent patron.
Of the pupils the two young people were but lazy scholars, and as my ladywould admit no discipline such as was then in use, my lord's son onlylearned what he liked, which was but little, and never to his life's endcould be got to construe more than six lines of Virgil. Mistress Beatrixchattered French prettily from a very early age; and sang sweetly, butthis was from her mother's teaching--not Harry Esmond's, who could scarcedistinguish between "Green Sleeves" and "Lillabullero"; although he had nogreater delight in life than to hear the ladies sing. He sees them now(will he ever forget them?) as they used to sit together of the summerevenings--the two golden heads over the page--the child's little hand andthe mother's beating the time, with their voices rising and falling inunison.
But if the children were careless, 'twas a wonder how eagerly the motherlearned from her young tutor--and taught him too. The happiest instinctivefaculty was this lady's--a faculty for discerning latent beauties andhidden graces of books, especially books of poetry, as in a walk she wouldspy out field-flowers and make posies of them, such as no other handcould. She was a critic not by reason but by feeling; the sweetestcommentator of those books they read together; and the happiest hours ofyoung Esmond's life, perhaps, were those passed in the company of thiskind mistress and her children.
These happy days were to end soon, however; and it was by the LadyCastlewood's own decree that they were brought to a conclusion. Ithappened about Christmastime, Harry Esmond being now past sixteen years ofage, that his old comrade, adversary, and friend, Tom Tusher, returnedfrom his school in London, a fair, well-grown, and sturdy lad, who wasabout to enter college, with an exhibition from his school, and a prospectof after promotion in the Church. Tom Tusher's talk was of nothing butCambridge, now; and the boys, who were good friends, examined each othereagerly about their progress in books. Tom had learned some Greek andHebrew, besides Latin, in which he was pretty well skilled, and also hadgiven himself to mathematical studies under his father's guidance, who wasa proficient in those sciences, of which Esmond knew nothing, nor could hewrite Latin so well as Tom, though he could talk it better, having beentaught by his dear friend the Jesuit father, for whose memory the lad everretained the warmest affection, reading his books, keeping his swordsclean in the little crypt where the father had shown them to Esmond on thenight of his visit; and often of a night sitting in the chaplain's room,which he inhabited, over his books, his verses, and rubbish, with whichthe lad occupied himself, he would look up at the window, thinking hewished it might open and let in the good father. He had come and passedaway like a dream; but for the swords and books Harry might almost thinkthe father was an imagination of his mind--and for two letters which hadcome to him, one from abroad full of advice and affection, another soonafter he had been confirmed by the Bishop of Hexton, in which Father Holtdeplored his falling away. But Harry Esmond felt so confident now of hisbeing in the right, and of his own powers as a casuist, that he thought hewas able to face the father himself in argument, and possibly convert him.
To work upon the faith of her young pupil, Esmond's kind mistress sent tothe library of her father the dean, who had been distinguished in thedisputes of the late king's reign; and, an old soldier now, had hung uphis weapons of controversy. These he took down from his shelves willinglyfor young Esmond, whom he benefited by his own personal advice andinstruction. It did not require much persuasion to induce the boy toworship with his beloved mistress. And the good old nonjuring deanflattered himself with a conversion which in truth was owing to a muchgentler and fairer persuader.
Under her ladyship's kind eyes (my lord's being sealed in sleep prettygenerally), Esmond read many volumes of the works of the famous Britishdivines of the last age, and was familiar with Wake and Sherlock, withStillingfleet and Patrick. His mistress never tired to listen or to read,to pursue the text with fond comments, to urge those points which herfancy dwelt on most, or her reason deemed most important. Since the deathof her father the dean, this lady hath admitted a certain latitude oftheological reading, which her orthodox father would never have allowed;his favourite writers appealing more to reason and antiquity than to thepassions or imaginations of their readers, so that the works of BishopTaylor, nay, those of Mr. Baxter and Mr. Law, have in reality found morefavour with my Lady Castlewood than the severer volumes of our greatEnglish schoolmen.
In later life, at the University, Esmond reopened the controversy, andpursued it in a very different manner, when his patrons had determined forhim that he was to embrace the ecclesiastical life. But though hismistress's heart was in this calling, his own never was much. After thatfirst fervour of simple devotion, which his beloved Jesuit priest hadinspired in him, speculative theology took but little hold upon the youngman's mind. When his early credulity was disturbed, and his saints andvirgins taken out of his worship, to rank little higher than thedivinities of Olympus, his belief became acquiescence rather than ardour;and he made his mind up to assume the cassock and bands, as another mandoes to wear a breastplate and jack-boots, or to mount a merchant's deskfor a livelihood, and from obedience and necessity, rather than fromchoice. There were scores of such men in Mr. Esmond's time at theUniversities, who were going to the Church with no better calling thanhis.
When Thomas Tusher was gone, a feeling of no small depression and disquietfell upon young Esmond, of which, though he did not complain, his kindmistress must have divined the cause: for soon after she showed not onlythat she understood the reason of Harry's melancholy, but could provide aremedy for it. Her habit was thus to watch, unobservedly, those to whomduty or affection bound her, and to prevent their designs, or to fulfilthem, when she had the power. It was this lady's disposition to thinkkindnesses, and devise silent bounties, and to scheme benevolence forthose about her. We take such goodness, for the most part, as if it wasour due; the Marys who bring ointment for our feet get but little thanks.Some of us never feel this devotion at all, or are moved by it togratitude or acknowledgement; others only recall it years after, when thedays are past in which those sweet kindnesses were spent on us, and weoffer back our return for the debt by a poor tardy payment of tears. Thenforgotten tones of love recur to us, and kind glances shine out of thepast--oh, so bright and clear!--oh, so longed after!--because they are out ofreach; as holiday music from withinside a prison wall--or sunshine seenthrough the bars; more prized because unattainable--more bright because ofthe contrast of present darkness and solitude, whence there is no escape.
All the notice, then, which Lady Castlewood seemed to take of HarryEsmond's melancholy, upon Tom Tusher's departure, was, by a gaiety unusualto her, to attempt to dispel his gloom. She made his three scholars(herself being the chief one) more cheerful than ever they had beenbefore, and more docile too, all of them learning and reading much morethan they had been accustomed to do. "For who knows," said the lady, "whatmay happen, and whether we may be able to keep such a learned tutor long?"
Frank Esmond said he for his part did not want to learn any more, andCousin Harry might shut up his book whenever he liked, if he would comeout a-fishing; and little Beatrix declared she would send for Tom Tusher,and _he_ would be glad enough to come to Castlewood, if Harry chose to goaway.
At last comes a messenger from Winchester one day, bearer of a letter witha great black seal from the dean there, to say that his sister was dead,and had left her fortune of 2,000_l._ among her six nieces, the dean'sdaughters; and many a time since has Harry Esmond recalled the flushedface and eager look wherewith, after this intelligence, his kind ladyregarded him. She did not pretend to any grief about the deceasedrelative, from whom she and her family had been many years parted.
When my lord heard of the news, he also did not make any very long face."The money will come very handy to furnish the music-room and the cellar,which is getting low, and buy your ladyship a coach and a couple of horsesthat will do indifferent to ride or for the coach. And Beatrix, you shallhave a spinet: and Frank, you shall have a little horse from Hexton Fair;and Harry, you shall have five pounds to buy some books," said my lord,who was generous with his own, and indeed with other folks' money. "I wishyour aunt would die once a year, Rachel; we could spend your money, andall your sisters', too."
"I have but one aunt--and--and I have another use for the money, my lord,"says my lady, turning very red.
"Another use, my dear; and what do you know about money?" cries my lord."And what the devil is there that I don't give you which you want?"
"I intend to give this money--can't you fancy how, my lord?"
My lord swore one of his large oaths that he did not know in the leastwhat she meant.
"I intend it for Harry Esmond to go to college.--Cousin Harry," says mylady, "you mustn't stay longer in this dull place, but make a name toyourself, and for us too, Harry."
"D----n it, Harry's well enough here," says my lord, for a moment lookingrather sulky.
"Is Harry going away? You don't mean to say you will go away?" cry outFrank and Beatrix at one breath.
"But he will come back: and this will always be his home," cries my lady,with blue eyes looking a celestial kindness: "and his scholars will alwayslove him; won't they?"
"By G----d, Rachel, you're a good woman!" says my lord, seizing my lady'shand, at which she blushed very much, and shrank back
, putting herchildren before her. "I wish you joy, my kinsman," he continued, givingHarry Esmond a hearty slap on the shoulder. "I won't balk your luck. Go toCambridge, boy; and when Tusher dies you shall have the living here, ifyou are not better provided by that time. We'll furnish the dining-roomand buy the horses another year. I'll give thee a nag out of the stable:take any one except my hack and the bay gelding and the coach-horses; andGod speed thee, my boy!"
"Have the sorrel, Harry; 'tis a good one. Father says 'tis the best in thestable," says little Frank, clapping his hands, and jumping up. "Let'scome and see him in the stable." And the other, in his delight andeagerness, was for leaving the room that instant to arrange about hisjourney.
The Lady Castlewood looked after him with sad penetrating glances. "Hewishes to be gone already, my lord," said she to her husband.
The young man hung back abashed. "Indeed, I would stay for ever, if yourladyship bade me," he said.
"And thou wouldst be a fool for thy pains, kinsman," said my lord. "Tut,tut, man. Go and see the world. Sow thy wild oats; and take the best luckthat Fate sends thee. I wish I were a boy again that I might go tocollege, and taste the Trumpington ale."
"Ours indeed is but a dull home," cries my lady, with a little of sadness,and maybe of satire, in her voice: "an old glum house, half ruined, andthe rest only half furnished; a woman and two children are but poorcompany for men that are accustomed to better. We are only fit to be yourworship's handmaids, and your pleasures must of necessity lie elsewherethan at home."
"Curse me, Rachel, if I know now whether thou art in earnest or not," saidmy lord.
"In earnest, my lord!" says she, still clinging by one of her children."Is there much subject here for joke?" And she made him a grand curtsy,and, giving a stately look to Harry Esmond, which seemed to say,"Remember; you understand me, though he does not," she left the room withher children.
"Since she found out that confounded Hexton business," my lord said--"andbe hanged to them that told her!--she has not been the same woman. She, whoused to be as humble as a milkmaid, is as proud as a princess," says mylord. "Take my counsel, Harry Esmond, and keep clear of women. Since Ihave had anything to do with the jades, they have given me nothing butdisgust. I had a wife at Tangier, with whom, as she couldn't speak a wordof my language, you'd have thought I might lead a quiet life. But shetried to poison me, because she was jealous of a Jew girl. There was youraunt, for aunt she is--aunt Jezebel, a pretty life your father led with_her_, and here's my lady. When I saw her on a pillion riding behind thedean her father, she looked and was such a baby, that a sixpenny dollmight have pleased her. And now you see what she is--hands off,highty-tighty, high and mighty, an empress couldn't be grander. Pass usthe tankard, Harry, my boy. A mug of beer and a toast at morn, says myhost. A toast and a mug of beer at noon, says my dear. D----n it, Pollyloves a mug of ale, too, and laced with brandy, by Jove!" Indeed, Isuppose they drank it together; for my lord was often thick in his speechat mid-day dinner; and at night at supper, speechless altogether.
Harry Esmond's departure resolved upon, it seemed as if the LadyCastlewood, too, rejoiced to lose him; for more than once, when the lad,ashamed perhaps at his own secret eagerness to go away (at any ratestricken with sadness at the idea of leaving those from whom he hadreceived so many proofs of love and kindness inestimable), tried toexpress to his mistress his sense of gratitude to her, and his sorrow atquitting those who had so sheltered and tended a nameless and houselessorphan, Lady Castlewood cut short his protests of love and hislamentations, and would hear of no grief, but only look forward to Harry'sfame and prospects in life. "Our little legacy will keep you for fouryears like a gentleman. Heaven's Providence, your own genius, industry,honour, must do the rest for you. Castlewood will always be a home foryou; and these children, whom you have taught and loved, will not forgetto love you. And Harry," said she (and this was the only time when shespoke with a tear in her eye, or a tremor in her voice), "it may happen inthe course of nature that I shall be called away from them: and theirfather--and--and they will need true friends and protectors. Promise me thatyou will be true to them--as--as I think I have been to you--and a mother'sfond prayer and blessing go with you."
"So help me God, madam, I will," said Harry Esmond, falling on his knees,and kissing the hand of his dearest mistress. "If you will have me staynow, I will. What matters whether or no I make my way in life, or whethera poor bastard dies as unknown as he is now? 'Tis enough that I have yourlove and kindness surely; and to make you happy is duty enough for me."
"Happy!" says she; "but indeed I ought to be, with my children, and----"
"Not happy!" cried Esmond (for he knew what her life was, though he andhis mistress never spoke a word concerning it). "If not happiness, it maybe ease. Let me stay and work for you--let me stay and be your servant."
"Indeed, you are best away," said my lady, laughing, as she put her handon the boy's head for a moment. "You shall stay in no such dull place. Youshall go to college and distinguish yourself as becomes your name. That ishow you shall please me best; and--and if my children want you, or I wantyou, you shall come to us; and I know we may count on you."
"May Heaven forsake me if you may not," Harry said, getting up from hisknee.
"And my knight longs for a dragon this instant that he may fight," said mylady, laughing; which speech made Harry Esmond start, and turn red; forindeed the very thought was in his mind, that he would like that somechance should immediately happen whereby he might show his devotion. Andit pleased him to think that his lady had called him "her knight", andoften and often he recalled this to his mind, and prayed that he might beher true knight, too.
My lady's bedchamber window looked out over the country, and you could seefrom it the purple hills beyond Castlewood village, the green commonbetwixt that and the Hall, and the old bridge which crossed over theriver. When Harry Esmond went away for Cambridge, little Frank ranalongside his horse as far as the bridge, and there Harry stopped for amoment, and looked back at the house where the best part of his life hadbeen passed. It lay before him with its grey familiar towers, a pinnacleor two shining in the sun, the buttresses and terrace walls casting greatblue shades on the grass. And Harry remembered all his life after how hesaw his mistress at the window looking out on him, in a white robe, thelittle Beatrix's chestnut curls resting at her mother's side. Both waved afarewell to him, and little Frank sobbed to leave him. Yes, he _would_ behis lady's true knight, he vowed in his heart; he waved her an adieu withhis hat. The village people had good-bye to say to him too. All knew thatMaster Harry was going to college, and most of them had a kind word and alook of farewell. I do not stop to say what adventures he began toimagine, or what career to devise for himself, before he had ridden threemiles from home. He had not read Monsieur Galland's ingenious Arabiantales as yet; but be sure that there are other folks who build castles inthe air, and have fine hopes, and kick them down too, besides honestAlnaschar.
Henry Esmond; The English Humourists; The Four Georges Page 15