Henry Esmond; The English Humourists; The Four Georges

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  Chapter VII. I Am Made Welcome At Walcote

  As they came up to the house at Walcote, the windows from within werelighted up with friendly welcome; the supper-table was spread in theoak-parlour; it seemed as if forgiveness and love were awaiting thereturning prodigal. Two or three familiar faces of domestics were on thelookout at the porch--the old housekeeper was there, and young Lockwoodfrom Castlewood in my lord's livery of tawny and blue. His dear mistresspressed his arm as they passed into the hall. Her eyes beamed out on himwith affection indescribable. "Welcome," was all she said: as she lookedup, putting back her fair curls and black hood. A sweet rosy smile blushedon her face: Harry thought he had never seen her look so charming. Herface was lighted with a joy that was brighter than beauty--she took a handof her son who was in the hall waiting his mother--she did not quitEsmond's arm.

  "Welcome, Harry!" my young lord echoed after her. "Here, we are all cometo say so. Here's old Pincot, hasn't she grown handsome?" and Pincot, whowas older, and no handsomer than usual, made a curtsy to the captain, asshe called Esmond, and told my lord to "Have done, now."

  "And here's Jack Lockwood. He'll make a famous grenadier, Jack; and soshall I; we'll both 'list under you, cousin. As soon as I am seventeen, Igo to the army--every gentleman goes to the army. Look! who comes here--ho,ho!" he burst into a laugh. "'Tis Mistress Trix, with a new ribbon; I knewshe would put one on as soon as she heard a captain was coming to supper."

  This laughing colloquy took place in the hall of Walcote House: in themidst of which is a staircase that leads from an open gallery, where arethe doors of the sleeping-chambers: and from one of these, a wax candle inher hand, and illuminating her, came Mistress Beatrix--the light fallingindeed upon the scarlet ribbon which she wore, and upon the most brilliantwhite neck in the world.

  Esmond had left a child and found a woman, grown beyond the common height;and arrived at such a dazzling completeness of beauty, that his eyes mightwell show surprise and delight at beholding her. In hers there was abrightness so lustrous and melting, that I have seen a whole assemblyfollow her as if by an attraction irresistible: and that night the greatduke was at the playhouse after Ramillies, every soul turned and looked(she chanced to enter at the opposite side of the theatre at the samemoment) at her, and not at him. She was a brown beauty: that is, her eyes,hair, and eyebrows and eyelashes, were dark: her hair curling with richundulations, and waving over her shoulders; but her complexion was asdazzling white as snow in sunshine; except her cheeks, which were a brightred, and her lips, which were of a still deeper crimson. Her mouth andchin, they said, were too large and full, and so they might be for agoddess in marble, but not for a woman whose eyes were fire, whose lookwas love, whose voice was the sweetest low song, whose shape was perfectsymmetry, health, decision, activity, whose foot as it planted itself onthe ground, was firm but flexible, and whose motion, whether rapid orslow, was always perfect grace--agile as a nymph, lofty as a queen--nowmelting, now imperious, now sarcastic, there was no single movement ofhers but was beautiful. As he thinks of her, he who writes feels youngagain, and remembers a paragon.

  So she came holding her dress with one fair rounded arm, and her taperbefore her, tripping down the stair to greet Esmond.

  "She hath put on her scarlet stockings and white shoes," says my lord,still laughing. "Oh, my fine mistress! is this the way you set your cap atthe captain!" She approached, shining smiles upon Esmond, who could lookat nothing but her eyes. She advanced holding forward her head, as if shewould have him kiss her as he used to do when she was a child.

  "Stop," she said, "I am grown too big! Welcome, cousin Harry," and shemade him an arch curtsy, sweeping down to the ground almost, with the mostgracious bend, looking up the while with the brightest eyes and sweetestsmile. Love seemed to radiate from her. Harry eyed her with such a raptureas the first lover is described as having by Milton.

  "_N'est-ce pas?_" says my lady, in a low, sweet voice, still hanging onhis arm.

  Esmond turned round with a start and a blush, as he met his mistress'sclear eyes. He had forgotten her, wrapt in admiration of the _filiapulcrior_.

  "Right foot forward, toe turned out, so: now drop the curtsy, and show thered stockings, Trix. They've silver clocks, Harry. The dowager sent 'em.She went to put 'em on," cries my lord.

  "Hush, you stupid child!" says miss, smothering her brother with kisses;and then she must come and kiss her mamma, looking all the while at Harry,over his mistress's shoulder. And if she did not kiss him, she gave himboth her hands, and then took one of his in both hands, and said, "Oh,Harry, we're so, _so_ glad you're come!"

  "There are woodcocks for supper," says my lord: "huzzay! It was such ahungry sermon."

  "And it is the 29th of December; and our Harry has come home."

  "Huzzay, old Pincot!" again says my lord; and my dear lady's lips lookedas if they were trembling with a prayer. She would have Harry lead inBeatrix to the supper-room, going herself with my young lord viscount; andto this party came Tom Tusher directly, whom four at least out of thecompany of five wished away. Away he went, however, as soon as thesweetmeats were put down, and then, by the great crackling fire, hismistress or Beatrix, with her blushing graces, filling his glass for him,Harry told the story of his campaign, and passed the most delightful nighthis life had ever known. The sun was up long ere he was, so deep, sweet,and refreshing was his slumber. He woke as if angels had been watching athis bed all night. I dare say one that was as pure and loving as an angelhad blest his sleep with her prayers.

  Next morning the chaplain read prayers to the little household at Walcote,as the custom was; Esmond thought Mistress Beatrix did not listen toTusher's exhortation much: her eyes were wandering everywhere during theservice, at least whenever he looked up he met them. Perhaps he also wasnot very attentive to his reverence the chaplain. "This might have been mylife," he was thinking; "this might have been my duty from now till oldage. Well, were it not a pleasant one to be with these dear friends andpart from 'em no more? Until--until the destined lover comes and takes awaypretty Beatrix"--and the best part of Tom Tusher's exposition, which mayhave been very learned and eloquent, was quite lost to poor Harry by thisvision of the destined lover, who put the preacher out.

  All the while of the prayers, Beatrix knelt a little way before HarryEsmond. The red stockings were changed for a pair of grey, and blackshoes, in which her feet looked to the full as pretty. All the roses ofspring could not vie with the brightness of her complexion; Esmond thoughthe had never seen anything like the sunny lustre of her eyes. My ladyviscountess looked fatigued, as if with watching, and her face was pale.

  Miss Beatrix remarked these signs of indisposition in her mother, anddeplored them. "I am an old woman," says my lady, with a kind smile; "Icannot hope to look as young as you do, my dear."

  "She'll never look as good as you do if she lives till she's a hundred,"says my lord, taking his mother by the waist, and kissing her hand.

  "Do I look very wicked, cousin?" says Beatrix, turning full round onEsmond, with her pretty face so close under his chin, that the softperfumed hair touched it. She laid her finger-tips on his sleeve as shespoke; and he put his other hand over hers.

  "I'm like your looking-glass," says he, "and that can't flatter you."

  "He means that you are always looking at him, my dear," says her mother,archly. Beatrix ran away from Esmond at this, and flew to her mamma, whomshe kissed, stopping my lady's mouth with her pretty hand.

  "And Harry is very good to look at," says my lady, with her fond eyesregarding the young man.

  "If 'tis good to see a happy face," says he, "you see that." My lady said"Amen", with a sigh; and Harry thought the memory of her dead lord rose upand rebuked her back again into sadness; for her face lost the smile, andresumed its look of melancholy.

  "Why, Harry, how fine we look in our scarlet and silver, and our blackperiwig," cries my lord. "Mother, I am tired of my own hair. When shall Ihave a peruke? Where did you get your steenkirk,
Harry?"

  "It's some of my lady dowager's lace," says Harry; "she gave me this and anumber of other fine things."

  "My lady dowager isn't such a bad woman," my lord continued.

  "She's not so--so red as she's painted," says Miss Beatrix.

  Her brother broke into a laugh. "I'll tell her you said so; by the lord,Trix, I will," he cries out.

  "She'll know that you hadn't the wit to say it, my lord," says MissBeatrix.

  "We won't quarrel the first day Harry's here, will we, mother?" said theyoung lord. "We'll see if we can get on to the new year without a fight.Have some of this Christmas pie? and here comes the tankard; no, it'sPincot with the tea."

  "Will the captain choose a dish?" asks Mistress Beatrix.

  "I say, Harry," my lord goes on, "I'll show thee my horses afterbreakfast; and we'll go a bird-netting to-night, and on Monday there's acock-match at Winchester--do you love cock-fighting, Harry?--between thegentlemen of Sussex and the gentlemen of Hampshire, at ten pound thebattle, and fifty pound the odd battle to show one-and-twenty cocks."

  "And what will you do, Beatrix, to amuse our kinsman?" asks my lady.

  "I'll listen to him," says Beatrix; "I am sure he has a hundred things totell us. And I'm jealous already of the Spanish ladies. Was that abeautiful nun at Cadiz that you rescued from the soldiers? Your man talkedof it last night in the kitchen, and Mrs. Betty told me this morning asshe combed my hair. And he says you must be in love, for you sat on deckall night, and scribbled verses all day in your table-book." Harry thoughtif he had wanted a subject for verses yesterday, to-day he had found one:and not all the Lindamiras and Ardelias of the poets were half sobeautiful as this young creature; but he did not say so, though some onedid for him.

  This was his dear lady who, after the meal was over, and the young peoplewere gone, began talking of her children with Mr. Esmond, and of thecharacters of one and the other, and of her hopes and fears for both ofthem. "'Tis not while they are at home," she said, "and in their mother'snest, I fear for them--'tis when they are gone into the world, whither Ishall not be able to follow them. Beatrix will begin her service nextyear. You may have heard a rumour about--about my Lord Blandford. They wereboth children; and it is but idle talk. I know my kinswoman would neverlet him make such a poor marriage as our Beatrix would be. There's scarcea princess in Europe that she thinks is good enough for him or for herambition."

  "There's not a princess in Europe to compare with her," says Esmond.

  "In beauty? No, perhaps not," answered my lady. "She is most beautiful,isn't she? 'Tis not a mother's partiality that deceives me. I marked youyesterday when she came down the stair: and read it in your face. We lookwhen you don't fancy us looking, and see better than you think, dearHarry: and just now when they spoke about your poems--you writ pretty lineswhen you were but a boy--you thought Beatrix was a pretty subject forverse, did not you, Harry?" (The gentleman could only blush for a reply.)"And so she is--nor are you the first her pretty face has captivated. 'Tisquickly done. Such a pair of bright eyes as hers learn their power verysoon, and use it very early." And, looking at him keenly with hers, thefair widow left him.

  And so it is--a pair of bright eyes with a dozen glances suffice to subduea man; to enslave him, and inflame him; to make him even forget; theydazzle him so that the past becomes straightway dim to him; and he soprizes them that he would give all his life to possess 'em. What is thefond love of dearest friends compared to this treasure? Is memory asstrong as expectancy? fruition, as hunger? gratitude, as desire? I havelooked at royal diamonds in the jewel-rooms in Europe, and thought howwars have been made about 'em: Mogul sovereigns deposed and strangled forthem, or ransomed with them: millions expended to buy them; and daringlives lost in digging out the little shining toys that I value no morethan the button in my hat. And so there are other glittering baubles (ofrare water too) for which men have been set to kill and quarrel ever sincemankind began; and which last but for a score of years, when their sparkleis over. Where are those jewels now that beamed under Cleopatra'sforehead, or shone in the sockets of Helen?

  The second day after Esmond's coming to Walcote, Tom Tusher had leave totake a holiday, and went off in his very best gown and bands to court theyoung woman whom his reverence desired to marry, and who was not aviscount's widow, as it turned out, but a brewer's relict at Southampton,with a couple of thousand pounds to her fortune: for honest Tom's heartwas under such excellent control, that Venus herself without a portionwould never have caused it to flutter. So he rode away on his heavy-pacedgelding to pursue his jog-trot loves, leaving Esmond to the society of hisdear mistress and her daughter, and with his young lord for a companion,who was charmed not only to see an old friend, but to have the tutor andhis Latin books put out of the way.

  The boy talked of things and people, and not a little about himself, inhis frank artless way. 'Twas easy to see that he and his sister had thebetter of their fond mother, for the first place in whose affections,though they fought constantly, and though the kind lady persisted that sheloved both equally, 'twas not difficult to understand that Frank was hismother's darling and favourite. He ruled the whole household (alwaysexcepting rebellious Beatrix) not less now than when he was a childmarshalling the village boys in playing at soldiers, and caning themlustily too, like the sturdiest corporal. As for Tom Tusher, his reverencetreated the young lord with that politeness and deference which he alwaysshowed for a great man, whatever his age or his stature was. Indeed, withrespect to this young one, it was impossible not to love him, so frank andwinning were his manners, his beauty, his gaiety, the ring of hislaughter, and the delightful tone of his voice. Wherever he went, hecharmed and domineered. I think his old grandfather, the dean, and thegrim old housekeeper, Mrs. Pincot, were as much his slaves as his motherwas: and as for Esmond, he found himself presently submitting to a certainfascination the boy had, and slaving it like the rest of the family. Thepleasure which he had in Frank's mere company and converse exceeded thatwhich he ever enjoyed in the society of any other man, however delightfulin talk, or famous for wit. His presence brought sunshine into a room, hislaugh, his prattle, his noble beauty and brightness of look cheered andcharmed indescribably. At the least tale of sorrow, his hands were in hispurse, and he was eager with sympathy and bounty. The way in which womenloved and petted him, when, a year or two afterwards, he came upon theworld, yet a mere boy, and the follies which they did for him (as indeedhe for them), recalled the career of Rochester, and outdid the successesof Grammont. His very creditors loved him; and the hardest usurers, andsome of the rigid prudes of the other sex too, could deny him nothing. Hewas no more witty than another man, but what he said, he said and lookedas no man else could say or look it. I have seen the women at the comedyat Bruxelles crowd round him in the lobby: and as he sat on the stage morepeople looked at him than at the actors, and watched him; and I rememberat Ramillies, when he was hit and fell, a great big red-haired Scotchsergeant flung his halbert down, burst out a-crying like a woman, seizinghim up as if he had been an infant, and carrying him out of the fire. Thisbrother and sister were the most beautiful couple ever seen; though afterhe winged away from the maternal nest this pair were seldom together.

  Sitting at dinner two days after Esmond's arrival (it was the last day ofthe year), and so happy a one to Harry Esmond, that to enjoy it was quiteworth all the previous pain which he had endured and forgot: my younglord, filling a bumper, and bidding Harry take another, drank to hissister, saluting her under the title of "marchioness".

  "Marchioness!" says Harry, not without a pang of wonder, for he wascurious and jealous already.

  "Nonsense, my lord," says Beatrix, with a toss of her head. My ladyviscountess looked up for a moment at Esmond, and cast her eyes down.

  "The Marchioness of Blandford," says Frank, "don't you know--hath not RougeDragon told you?" (My lord used to call the dowager at Chelsey by this andother names.) "Blandford has a lock of her hair: the duchess found him onhis knees to Mistres
s 'Trix, and boxed his ears, and said Dr. Hare shouldwhip him."

  "I wish Mr. Tusher would whip you too," says Beatrix.

  My lady only said: "I hope you will tell none of these silly storieselsewhere than at home, Francis."

  "'Tis true, on my word," continues Frank: "look at Harry scowling, mother,and see how Beatrix blushes as red as the silver-clocked stockings."

  "I think we had best leave the gentlemen to their wine and their talk,"says Mistress Beatrix, rising up with the air of a young queen, tossingher rustling, flowing draperies about her, and quitting the room, followedby her mother.

  Lady Castlewood again looked at Esmond, as she stooped down and kissedFrank. "Do not tell those silly stories, child," she said: "do not drinkmuch wine, sir; Harry never loved to drink wine." And she went away, too,in her black robes, looking back on the young man with her fair, fondface.

  "Egad! it's true," says Frank, sipping his wine with the air of a lord."What think you of this Lisbon--real Collares? 'Tis better than your headyport: we got it out of one of the Spanish ships that came from Vigo lastyear: my mother bought it at Southampton, as the ship was lying there--the_Rose_, Captain Hawkins."

  "Why, I came home in that ship," says Harry.

  "And it brought home a good fellow and good wine," says my lord. "I say,Harry, I wish thou hadst not that cursed bar sinister."

  "And why not the bar sinister?" asks the other.

  "Suppose I go to the army and am killed--every gentleman goes to thearmy--who is to take care of the women? 'Trix will never stop at home;mother's in love with you,--yes, I think mother's in love with you. She wasalways praising you, and always talking about you; and when she went toSouthampton, to see the ship, I found her out. But you see it isimpossible: we are of the oldest blood in England; we came in with theConqueror; we were only baronets,--but what then? we were forced into that.James the First forced our great-grandfather. We are above titles; we oldEnglish gentry don't want 'em; the queen can make a duke any day. Look atBlandford's father, Duke Churchill, and Duchess Jennings, what were they,Harry? Damn it, sir, what are they, to turn up their noses at us? Wherewere they, when our ancestor rode with King Henry at Agincourt, and filledup the French king's cup after Poictiers? 'Fore George, sir, why shouldn'tBlandford marry Beatrix? By G----! he _shall_ marry Beatrix, or tell me thereason why. We'll marry with the best blood of England, and none but thebest blood of England. You are an Esmond, and you can't help your birth,my boy. Let's have another bottle. What! no more? I've drunk three partsof this myself. I had many a night with my father; you stood to him like aman, Harry. You backed your blood; you can't help your misfortune, youknow,--no man can help that."

  The elder said he would go in to his mistress's tea-table. The young lad,with a heightened colour and voice, began singing a snatch of a song, andmarched out of the room. Esmond heard him presently calling his dogs abouthim, and cheering and talking to them; and by a hundred of his looks andgestures, tricks of voice and gait, was reminded of the dead lord, Frank'sfather.

  And so, the Sylvester Night passed away; the family parted long beforemidnight, Lady Castlewood remembering, no doubt, former New-Year's Eves,when healths were drunk, and laughter went round in the company of him towhom years, past, and present, and future, were to be as one; and so carednot to sit with her children and hear the cathedral bells ringing thebirth of the year 1703. Esmond heard the chimes as he sat in his ownchamber, ruminating by the blazing fire there, and listened to the lastnotes of them, looking out from his window towards the city, and the greatgrey towers of the cathedral lying under the frosty sky, with the keenstars shining above.

  The sight of these brilliant orbs no doubt made him think of otherluminaries. "And so her eyes have already done execution," thoughtEsmond--"on whom?--who can tell me?" Luckily his kinsman was by, and Esmondknew he would have no difficulty in finding out Mistress Beatrix's historyfrom the simple talk of the boy.