Henry Esmond; The English Humourists; The Four Georges

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  Chapter XIII. August 1st, 1714

  "Does my mistress know of this?" Esmond asked of Frank, as they walkedalong.

  "My mother found the letter in the book, on the toilet-table. She had writit ere she had left home," Frank said. "Mother met her on the stairs, withher hand upon the door, trying to enter, and never left her after thattill she went away. He did not think of looking at it there, nor hadMartin the chance of telling him. I believe the poor devil meant no harm,though I half killed him; he thought 'twas to Beatrix's brother he wasbringing the letter."

  Frank never said a word of reproach to me, for having brought the villainamongst us. As we knocked at the door I said; "When will the horses beready?" Frank pointed with his cane, they were turning the street thatmoment.

  We went up and bade adieu to our mistress; she was in a dreadful state ofagitation by this time, and that bishop was with her whose company she wasso fond of.

  "Did you tell him, my lord," says Esmond, "that Beatrix was atCastlewood?" The bishop blushed and stammered:

  "Well," says he, "I----"

  "You served the villain right," broke out Mr. Esmond, "and he has lost acrown by what you told him."

  My mistress turned quite white. "Henry, Henry," says she, "do not killhim."

  "It may not be too late," says Esmond; "he may not have gone toCastlewood; pray God, it is not too late." The bishop was breaking outwith some _banales_ phrases about loyalty and the sacredness of thesovereign's person; but Esmond sternly bade him hold his tongue, burn allpapers, and take care of Lady Castlewood; and in five minutes he and Frankwere in the saddle, John Lockwood behind them, riding towards Castlewoodat a rapid pace.

  We were just got to Alton, when who should meet us but old Lockwood, theporter from Castlewood, John's father, walking by the side of the Hexhamflying-coach, who slept the night at Alton. Lockwood said his youngmistress had arrived at home on Wednesday night, and this morning, Friday,had dispatched him with a packet for my lady at Kensington, saying theletter was of great importance.

  We took the freedom to break it, while Lockwood stared with wonder, andcried out his "Lord bless me's", and "Who'd a thought it's", at the sightof his young lord, whom he had not seen these seven years.

  The packet from Beatrix contained no news of importance at all. It waswritten in a jocular strain, affecting to make light of her captivity. Sheasked whether she might have leave to visit Mrs. Tusher, or to walk beyondthe court and the garden-wall. She gave news of the peacocks, and a fawnshe had there. She bade her mother send her certain gowns and smocks byold Lockwood; she sent her duty to a certain person, if certain otherpersons permitted her to take such a freedom; how that, as she was notable to play cards with him, she hoped he would read good books, such asDr. Atterbury's sermons and _Eikon Basilike_: she was going to read goodbooks: she thought her pretty mamma would like to know she was not cryingher eyes out.

  "Who is in the house besides you, Lockwood?" says the colonel.

  "There be the laundry-maid, and the kitchen-maid, Madam Beatrix's maid,the man from London, and that be all; and he sleepeth in my lodge awayfrom the maids," says old Lockwood.

  Esmond scribbled a line with a pencil on the note, giving it to the oldman, and bidding him go on to his lady. We knew why Beatrix had been sodutiful on a sudden, and why she spoke of _Eikon Basilike_. She writ thisletter to put the prince on the scent, and the porter out of the way.

  "We have a fine moonlight night for riding on," says Esmond; "Frank, wemay reach Castlewood in time yet." All the way along they made inquiriesat the post-houses, when a tall young gentleman in a grey suit, with alight-brown periwig, just the colour of my lord's, had been seen to pass.He had set off at six that morning, and we at three in the afternoon. Herode almost as quickly as we had done; he was seven hours ahead of usstill when we reached the last stage.

  We rode over Castlewood Downs before the breaking of dawn. We passed thevery spot where the car was upset fourteen years since; and Mohun lay. Thevillage was not up yet, nor the forge lighted, as we rode through it,passing by the elms, where the rooks were still roosting, and by thechurch, and over the bridge. We got off our horses at the bridge andwalked up to the gate.

  "If she is safe," says Frank, trembling, and his honest eyes filling withtears, "a silver statue to Our Lady!" He was going to rattle at the greatiron knocker on the oak gate; but Esmond stopped his kinsman's hand. Hehad his own fears, his own hopes, his own despairs and griefs, too: but hespoke not a word of these to his companion, or showed any signs ofemotion.

  He went and tapped at the little window at the porter's lodge, gently, butrepeatedly, until the man came to the bars.

  "Who's there?" says he, looking out; it was the servant from Kensington.

  "My Lord Castlewood and Colonel Esmond," we said, from below. "Open thegate and let us in without any noise."

  "My Lord Castlewood?" says the other; "my lord's here, and in bed."

  "Open, d--n you," says Castlewood, with a curse.

  "I shall open to no one," says the man, shutting the glass window as Frankdrew a pistol. He would have fired at the porter, but Esmond again heldhis hand.

  "There are more ways than one," says he, "of entering such a great houseas this." Frank grumbled that the west gate was half a mile round. "But Iknow of a way that's not a hundred yards off," says Mr. Esmond; andleading his kinsman close along the wall, and by the shrubs, which had nowgrown thick on what had been an old moat about the house, they came to thebuttress, at the side of which the little window was, which was FatherHolt's private door. Esmond climbed up to this easily, broke a pane thathad been mended, and touched the spring inside, and the two gentlemenpassed in that way, treading as lightly as they could; and so goingthrough the passage into the court, over which the dawn was now reddening,and where the fountain plashed in the silence.

  They sped instantly to the porter's lodge, where the fellow had notfastened his door that led into the court; and pistol in hand came uponthe terrified wretch, and bade him be silent. Then they asked him(Esmond's head reeled, and he almost fell as he spoke) when LordCastlewood had arrived? He said on the previous evening, about eight ofthe clock.--"And what then?"--His lordship supped with his sister.--"Did theman wait?" Yes, he and my lady's maid both waited: the other servants madethe supper; and there was no wine, and they could give his lordship butmilk, at which he grumbled; and--and Madam Beatrix kept Miss Lucy always inthe room with her. And there being a bed across the court in thechaplain's room, she had arranged my lord was to sleep there. MadamBeatrix had come downstairs laughing with the maids, and had lockedherself in, and my lord had stood for a while talking to her through thedoor, and she laughing at him. And then he paced the court awhile, and shecame again to the upper window; and my lord implored her to come down andwalk in the room; but she would not, and laughed at him again, and shutthe window; and so my lord uttering what seemed curses, but in a foreignlanguage, went to the chaplain's room to bed.

  "Was this all?"--"All," the man swore upon his honour; "all as he hoped tobe saved.--Stop, there was one thing more. My lord, on arriving, and onceor twice during supper, did kiss his sister as was natural, and she kissedhim." At this Esmond ground his teeth with rage, and wellnigh throttledthe amazed miscreant who was speaking, whereas Castlewood, seizing hold ofhis cousin's hand, burst into a great fit of laughter.

  "If it amuses thee," says Esmond in French, "that your sister should beexchanging of kisses with a stranger, I fear poor Beatrix will give theeplenty of sport."--Esmond darkly thought, how Hamilton, Ashburnham, hadbefore been masters of those roses that the young prince's lips were nowfeeding on. He sickened at that notion. Her cheek was desecrated, herbeauty tarnished; shame and honour stood between it and him. The love wasdead within him; had she a crown to bring him with her love, he felt thatboth would degrade him.

  But this wrath against Beatrix did not lessen the angry feelings of thecolonel against the man who had been the occasion if not the cause of theevil. Frank sat down on a ston
e bench in the courtyard, and fairly fellasleep, while Esmond paced up and down the court, debating what shouldensue. What mattered how much or how little had passed between the princeand the poor faithless girl? They were arrived in time perhaps to rescueher person, but not her mind; had she not instigated the young prince tocome to her; suborned servants, dismissed others, so that she mightcommunicate with him? The treacherous heart within her had surrendered,though the place was safe; and it was to win this that he had given alife's struggle and devotion; this, that she was ready to give away forthe bribe of a coronet or a wink of the prince's eye.

  When he had thought his thoughts out he shook up poor Frank from hissleep, who rose yawning, and said he had been dreaming of Clotilda. "Youmust back me," says Esmond, "in what I am going to do. I have beenthinking that yonder scoundrel may have been instructed to tell thatstory, and that the whole of it may be a lie; if it be, we shall find itout from the gentleman who is asleep yonder. See if the door leading to mylady's rooms" (so we called the rooms at the north-west angle of thehouse), "see if the door is barred as he saith." We tried; it was indeedas the lackey had said, closed within.

  "It may have been open and shut afterwards," says poor Esmond; "thefoundress of our family let our ancestor in that way."

  "What will you do, Harry, if--if what that fellow saith should turn outuntrue?" The young man looked scared and frightened into his kinsman'sface; I dare say it wore no very pleasant expression.

  "Let us first go see whether the two stories agree," says Esmond; and wentin at the passage and opened the door into what had been his own chambernow for wellnigh five-and-twenty years. A candle was still burning, andthe prince asleep dressed on the bed--Esmond did not care for making anoise. The prince started up in his bed, seeing two men in his chamber:"_Qui est la?_" says he, and took a pistol from under his pillow.

  "It is the Marquis of Esmond," says the colonel, "come to welcome hisMajesty to his house of Castlewood, and to report of what hath happened inLondon. Pursuant to the king's orders, I passed the night before last,after leaving his Majesty, in waiting upon the friends of the king. It isa pity that his Majesty's desire to see the country and to visit our poorhouse should have caused the king to quit London without notice yesterday,when the opportunity happened which in all human probability may not occuragain; and had the king not chosen to ride to Castlewood, the Prince ofWales might have slept at St. James's."

  "'Sdeath! gentlemen," says the prince, starting off his bed, whereon hewas lying in his clothes, "the doctor was with me yesterday morning, andafter watching by my sister all night, told me I might not hope to see thequeen."

  "It would have been otherwise," says Esmond, with another bow; "as, bythis time, the queen may be dead in spite of the doctor. The Council wasmet, a new treasurer was appointed, the troops were devoted to the king'scause; and fifty loyal gentlemen of the greatest names of this kingdomwere assembled to accompany the Prince of Wales, who might have been theacknowledged heir of the throne, or the possessor of it by this time, hadyour Majesty not chosen to take the air. We were ready; there was only oneperson that failed us, your Majesty's gracious----"

  "_Morbleu! monsieur_, you give me too much Majesty," said the prince; whohad now risen up and seemed to be looking to one of us to help him to hiscoat. But neither stirred.

  "We shall take care," says Esmond, "not much oftener to offend in thatparticular."

  "What mean you, my lord?" says the prince, and muttered something about a_guet-a-pens_, which Esmond caught up.

  "The snare, sir," said he, "was not of our laying; it is not we thatinvited you. We came to avenge, and not to compass, the dishonour of ourfamily."

  "Dishonour! _Morbleu!_ there has been no dishonour," says the prince,turning scarlet, "only a little harmless playing."

  "That was meant to end seriously."

  "I swear," the prince broke out impetuously, "upon the honour of agentleman, my lords----"

  "That we arrived in time. No wrong hath been done, Frank," says ColonelEsmond, turning round to young Castlewood, who stood at the door as thetalk was going on. "See! here is a paper whereon his Majesty hath deignedto commence some verses in honour, or dishonour, of Beatrix. Here is_madame_ and _flamme_, _cruelle_ and _rebelle_, and _amour_ and _jour_, inthe royal writing and spelling. Had the gracious lover been happy, he hadnot passed his time in sighing." In fact, and actually as he was speaking,Esmond cast his eyes down towards the table, and saw a paper on which myyoung prince had been scrawling a madrigal, that was to finish his charmeron the morrow.

  "Sir," says the prince, burning with rage (he had assumed his royal coatunassisted by this time), "did I come here to receive insults?"

  "To confer them, may it please your Majesty," says the colonel, with avery low bow, "and the gentlemen of our family are come to thank you."

  "_Malediction!_" says the young man, tears starting into his eyes withhelpless rage and mortification. "What will you with me, gentlemen?"

  "If your Majesty will please to enter the next apartment," says Esmond,preserving his grave tone, "I have some papers there which I would gladlysubmit to you, and by your permission I will lead the way;" and, takingthe taper up, and backing before the prince with very great ceremony, Mr.Esmond passed into the little chaplain's room, through which we had justentered into the house:--"Please to set a chair for his Majesty, Frank,"says the colonel to his companion, who wondered almost as much at thisscene, and was as much puzzled by it, as the other actor in it. Then goingto the crypt over the mantelpiece, the colonel opened it, and drew thencethe papers which so long had lain there.

  "Here, may it please your Majesty," says he, "is the patent of Marquissent over by your royal father at St. Germains to Viscount Castlewood, myfather: here is the witnessed certificate of my father's marriage to mymother, and of my birth and christening; I was christened of that religionof which your sainted sire gave all through life so shining example. Theseare my titles, dear Frank, and this what I do with them: here go baptismand marriage, and here the marquisate and the august sign-manual, withwhich your predecessor was pleased to honour our race." And as Esmondspoke he set the papers burning in the brasier. "You will please, sir, toremember," he continued, "that our family hath ruined itself by fidelityto yours: that my grandfather spent his estate, and gave his blood and hisson to die for your service; that my dear lord's grandfather (for lord youare now, Frank, by right and title too) died for the same cause; that mypoor kinswoman, my father's second wife, after giving away her honour toyour wicked perjured race, sent all her wealth to the king; and got inreturn that precious title that lies in ashes, and this inestimable yardof blue ribbon. I lay this at your feet and stamp upon it: I draw thissword, and break it and deny you; and, had you completed the wrong youdesigned us, by Heaven I would have driven it through your heart, and nomore pardoned you than your father pardoned Monmouth. Frank will do thesame, won't you, cousin?"

  Frank, who had been looking on with a stupid air at the papers as theyflamed in the old brasier, took out his sword and broke it, holding hishead down:--"I go with my cousin," says he, giving Esmond a grasp of thehand. "Marquis or not, by ----, I stand by him any day. I beg your Majesty'spardon for swearing; that is--that is--I'm for the Elector of Hanover. It'sall your Majesty's own fault. The queen's dead most likely by this time.And you might have been king if you hadn't come dangling after 'Trix".

  "Thus to lose a crown," says the young prince, starting up, and speakingFrench in his eager way; "to lose the loveliest woman in the world; tolose the loyalty of such hearts as yours, is not this, my lords, enough ofhumiliation?--Marquis, if I go on my knees will you pardon me?--No, I can'tdo that, but I can offer you reparation, that of honour, that ofgentlemen. Favour me by crossing the sword with mine: yours is broke--see,yonder in the armoire are two;" and the prince took them out as eager as aboy, and held them towards Esmond:--"Ah! you will? _Merci, monsieur,merci!_"

  Extremely touched by this immense mark of condescension and repentance forwrong do
ne, Colonel Esmond bowed down so low as almost to kiss thegracious young hand that conferred on him such an honour, and took hisguard in silence. The swords were no sooner met, than Castlewood knockedup Esmond's with the blade of his own, which he had broke off short at theshell; and the colonel falling back a step dropped his point with anothervery low bow, and declared himself perfectly satisfied.

  "_Eh bien, vicomte_," says the young prince, who was a boy, and a Frenchboy, "_il ne nous reste qu'une chose a faire_:" he placed his sword uponthe table, and the fingers of his two hands upon his breast:--"We have onemore thing to do," says he; "you do not divine it?" He stretched out hisarms:--"_Embrassons nous!_"

  The talk was scarce over when Beatrix entered the room:--What came she toseek there? She started and turned pale at the sight of her brother andkinsman, drawn swords, broken sword-blades, and papers yet smouldering inthe brasier.

  "Charming Beatrix," says the prince, with a blush which became him verywell, "these lords have come a-horseback from London, where my sister liesin a despaired state, and where her successor makes himself desired.Pardon me for my escapade of last evening. I had been so long a prisoner,that I seized the occasion of a promenade on horseback, and my horsenaturally bore me towards you. I found you a queen in your little court,where you deigned to entertain me. Present my homages to your maids ofhonour. I sighed as you slept, under the window of your chamber, and thenretired to seek rest in my own. It was there that these gentlemenagreeably roused me. Yes, milords, for that is a happy day that makes aprince acquainted, at whatever cost to his vanity, with such a noble heartas that of the Marquis of Esmond. Mademoiselle, may we take your coach totown? I saw it in the hangar, and this poor marquis must be dropping withsleep."

  "Will it please the king to breakfast before he goes?" was all Beatrixcould say. The roses had shuddered out of her cheeks; her eyes wereglaring; she looked quite old. She came up to Esmond and hissed out a wordor two:--"If I did not love you before, cousin," says she, "think how Ilove you now." If words could stab, no doubt she would have killed Esmond;she looked at him as if she could.

  But her keen words gave no wound to Mr. Esmond; his heart was too hard. Ashe looked at her, he wondered that he could ever have loved her. His loveof ten years was over; it fell down dead on the spot, at the Kensingtontavern, where Frank brought him the note out of _Eikon __ Basilike_. Theprince blushed and bowed low, as she gazed at him, and quitted thechamber. I have never seen her from that day.

  Horses were fetched and put to the chariot presently. My lord rodeoutside, and as for Esmond he was so tired that he was no sooner in thecarriage than he fell asleep, and never woke till night, as the coach cameinto Alton.

  As we drove to the "Bell Inn" comes a mitred coach with our old friendLockwood beside the coachman. My Lady Castlewood and the bishop wereinside; she gave a little scream when she saw us. The two coaches enteredthe inn almost together; the landlord and people coming out with lights towelcome the visitors.

  We in our coach sprang out of it, as soon as ever we saw the dear lady,and above all, the doctor in his cassock. What was the news? Was there yettime? Was the queen alive? These questions were put hurriedly, as Bonifacestood waiting before his noble guests to bow them up the stair.

  "Is she safe?" was what Lady Castlewood whispered in a flutter to Esmond.

  "All's well, thank God," says he, as the fond lady took his hand andkissed it, and called him her preserver and her dear. _She_ wasn'tthinking of queens and crowns.

  The bishop's news was reassuring: at least all was not lost; the queen yetbreathed or was alive when they left London, six hours since. ("It wasLady Castlewood who insisted on coming," the doctor said;) Argyle hadmarched up regiments from Portsmouth, and sent abroad for more; the Whigswere on the alert, a pest on them (I am not sure but the bishop swore ashe spoke), and so too were our people. And all might be saved, if only theprince could be at London in time. We called for horses, instantly toreturn to London. We never went up poor crestfallen Boniface's stairs, butinto our coaches again. The prince and his prime minister in one, Esmondin the other, with only his dear mistress as a companion.

  Castlewood galloped forwards on horseback to gather the prince's friends,and warn them of his coming. We travelled through the night. Esmonddiscoursing to his mistress of the events of the last twenty-four hours;of Castlewood's ride and his; of the prince's generous behaviour and theirreconciliation. The night seemed short enough; and the starlit hourspassed away serenely in that fond company.

  So we came along the road; the bishop's coach heading ours; and, with somedelays in procuring horses, we got to Hammersmith about four o'clock onSunday morning, the first of August, and half an hour after, it being thenbright day, we rode by my Lady Warwick's house, and so down the street ofKensington.

  Early as the hour was, there was a bustle in the street, and many peoplemoving to and fro. Round the gate leading to the palace, where the guardis, there was especially a great crowd. And the coach ahead of us stopped,and the bishop's man got down to know what the concourse meant?

  There presently came from out of the gate: Horse Guards with theirtrumpets, and a company of heralds with their tabards. The trumpets blew,and the herald-at-arms came forward and proclaimed GEORGE, by the grace ofGod, of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith.And the people shouted, "God save the King!"

  Among the crowd shouting and waving their hats, I caught sight of one sadface, which I had known all my life, and seen under many disguises. It wasno other than poor Mr. Holt's, who had slipped over to England to witnessthe triumph of the good cause; and now beheld its enemies victorious,amidst the acclamations of the English people. The poor fellow had forgotto huzzah or to take his hat off, until his neighbours in the crowdremarked his want of loyalty, and cursed him for a Jesuit in disguise,when he ruefully uncovered and began to cheer. Sure he was the mostunlucky of men: he never played a game but he lost it; or engaged in aconspiracy but 'twas certain to end in defeat. I saw him in Flanders afterthis, whence he went to Rome to the head quarters of his Order; andactually reappeared among us in America, very old, and busy, and hopeful.I am not sure that he did not assume the hatchet and moccasins there; and,attired in a blanket and warpaint, skulk about a missionary amongst theIndians. He lies buried in our neighbouring province of Maryland now, witha cross over him, and a mound of earth above him; under which that unquietspirit is for ever at peace.

  -------------------------------------

  With the sound of King George's trumpets, all the vain hopes of the weakand foolish young pretender were blown away; and with that music, too, Imay say, the drama of my own life was ended. That happiness, which hathsubsequently crowned it, cannot be written in words; 'tis of its naturesacred and secret, and not to be spoken of, though the heart be ever sofull of thankfulness, save to Heaven and the One Ear alone--to one fondbeing, the truest and tenderest and purest wife ever man was blessed with.As I think of the immense happiness which was in store for me, and of thedepth and intensity of that love which, for so many years, hath blessedme, I own to a transport of wonder and gratitude for such a boon--nay, amthankful to have been endowed with a heart capable of feeling and knowingthe immense beauty and value of the gift which God hath bestowed upon me.Sure, love _vincit omnia_; is immeasurably above all ambition, moreprecious than wealth, more noble than name. He knows not life who knowsnot that: he hath not felt the highest faculty of the soul who hath notenjoyed it. In the name of my wife I write the completion of hope, and thesummit of happiness. To have such a love is the one blessing, incomparison of which all earthly joy is of no value; and to think of her,is to praise God.

  It was at Bruxelles, whither we retreated after the failure of ourplot--our Whig friends advising us to keep out of the way--that the greatjoy of my life was bestowed upon me, and that my dear mistress became mywife. We had been so accustomed to an extreme intimacy and confidence, andhad lived so long and tenderly together, that we might have gone on to theend
without thinking of a closer tie; but circumstances brought about thatevent which so prodigiously multiplied my happiness and hers (for which Ihumbly thank Heaven), although a calamity befell us, which, I blush tothink, hath occurred more than once in our house. I know not whatinfatuation of ambition urged the beautiful and wayward woman, whose namehath occupied so many of these pages, and who was served by me with tenyears of such a constant fidelity and passion; but ever after that day atCastlewood, when we rescued her, she persisted in holding all her familyas her enemies, and left us, and escaped to France, to what a fate Idisdain to tell. Nor was her son's house a home for my dear mistress; mypoor Frank was weak, as perhaps all our race hath been, and led by women.Those around him were imperious, and in a terror of his mother's influenceover him, lest he should recant, and deny the creed which he had adoptedby their persuasion. The difference of their religion separated the sonand the mother: my dearest mistress felt that she was severed from herchildren and alone in the world--alone but for one constant servant onwhose fidelity, praised be Heaven, she could count. 'Twas after a scene ofignoble quarrel on the part of Frank's wife and mother (for the poor ladhad been made to marry the whole of that German family with whom he hadconnected himself), that I found my mistress one day in tears, and thenbesought her to confide herself to the care and devotion of one who, byGod's help, would never forsake her. And then the tender matron, asbeautiful in her autumn, and as pure as virgins in their spring, withblushes of love and "eyes of meek surrender", yielded to my respectfulimportunity, and consented to share my home. Let the last words I writethank her, and bless her who hath blessed it.

  By the kindness of Mr. Addison, all danger of prosecution, and everyobstacle against our return to England, was removed; and my son Frank'sgallantry in Scotland made his peace with the king's Government. But wetwo cared no longer to live in England; and Frank formally and joyfullyyielded over to us the possession of that estate which we now occupy, faraway from Europe and its troubles, on the beautiful banks of the Potomac,where we have built a new Castlewood, and think with grateful hearts ofour old home. In our Transatlantic country we have a season, the calmestand most delightful of the year, which we call the Indian summer: I oftensay the autumn of our life resembles that happy and serene weather, and amthankful for its rest and its sweet sunshine. Heaven hath blessed us witha child, which each parent loves for her resemblance to the other. Ourdiamonds are turned into ploughs and axes for our plantations; and intonegroes, the happiest and merriest, I think, in all this country: and theonly jewel by which my wife sets any store, and from which she hath neverparted, is that gold button she took from my arm on the day when shevisited me in prison, and which she wore ever after, as she told me, onthe tenderest heart in the world.