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 sufferedand rallied after the disease, and the lady his mother was down with it,with a couple more of the household. "It was a Providence, for which weall ought to be thankful," Doctor Tusher said, "that my lady and her sonwere spared, while Death carried off the poor domestics of the house;"and rebuked Harry for asking, in his simple way, For which we oughtto be thankful--that the servants were killed, or the gentlefolkswere saved? Nor could young Esmond agree in the Doctor's vehementprotestations to my lady, when he visited her during her convalescence,that the malady had not in the least impaired her charms, and had notbeen churl enough to injure the fair features of the Viscountess ofCastlewood; whereas, in spite of these fine speeches, Harry thought thather ladyship's beauty was very much injured by the small-pox. Whenthe marks of the disease cleared away, they did not, it is true, leavefurrows or scars on her face (except one, perhaps, on her forehead overher left eyebrow); but the delicacy of her rosy color and complexion wasgone: her eyes had lost their brilliancy, her hair fell, and her facelooked older. It was as if a coarse hand had rubbed off the delicatetints of that sweet picture, and brought it, as one has seen unskilfulpainting-cleaners do, to the dead color. Also, it must be owned, thatfor a year or two after the malady, her ladyship's nose was swollen andredder.
There would be no need to mention these trivialities, but that theyactually influenced many lives, as trifles will in the world, where agnat often plays a greater part than an elephant, and a mole-hill, aswe know in King William's case, can upset an empire. When Tusher in hiscourtly way (at which Harry Esmond always chafed and spoke scornfully)vowed and protested that my lady's face was none the worse--the ladbroke out and said, "It IS worse and my mistress is not near so handsomeas she was;" on which poor Lady Castlewood gave a rueful smile, and alook into a little Venice glass she had, which showed her, I suppose,that what the stupid boy said was only too true, for she turned awayfrom the glass, and her eyes filled 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 sucha speech, he who had caused her malady; and Doctor Tusher told him thata bear he was indeed, and a bear he would remain, at which speech pooryoung Esmond was so dumbstricken 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 ather feet. "How your hair has come off! And mine, too," she added withanother sigh.
"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 theworld, 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 youdo, sir, that I am hideous--yes, you said hideous--he will cease to carefor me. 'Tis all men care for in women, our little beauty. Why did heselect me from among my sisters? 'Twas only for that. We reign but for aday or two: and be sure that Vashti knew Esther was coming."
"Madam," said Mr. Esmond, "Ahasuerus was the Grand Turk, and to changewas the 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 hisbeauty by his mother: and esteemed it as highly as any reigning toastvalued hers.
One day, as he himself was recovering from his fever and illness, apang of something like shame shot across young Esmond's breast, as heremembered that he had never once during his illness given a thoughtto the poor girl at the smithy, whose red cheeks but a month ago hehad been so eager to see. Poor Nancy! her cheeks had shared the fate ofroses, and were withered now. She had taken the illness on the same daywith Esmond--she and her brother were both dead of the small-pox, andburied under the Castlewood yew-trees. There was no bright face lookingnow from the garden, or to cheer the old smith at his lonely fireside.Esmond would have liked to have kissed her in her shroud (like thelass in Mr. Prior's pretty poem); but she rested many a foot below theground, when Esmond after his malady first trod on it.
Doctor Tusher brought the news of this calamity, about which HarryEsmond longed to ask, but did not like. He said almost the whole villagehad been stricken with the pestilence; seventeen persons were deadof it, among them mentioning the names of poor Nancy and her littlebrother. He did not fail to say how thankful we survivors ought to be.It being this man's business to flatter and make sermons, it must beowned he was most industrious in it, and was doing the one or the otherall 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 wasan ugly shrew, as he remembered to have heard afterwards. He made along face, 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 howgood he thought them; how false the grief, and yet how he was ratherproud of it. 'Tis an error, surely, to talk of the simplicity of youth.I think no persons are more hypocritical, and have a more affectedbehavior to one another, than the young. They deceive themselves andeach other with artifices that do not impose upon men of the world; andso we get to understand 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, andam sure that nothing had happened of that with which, in my anger, Icharged you. And the very first day we go out, you must take me to theblacksmith, and we must see if there is anything I can do to consolethe poor old man. Poor man! to lose both his children! What should I dowithout 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.He wanted for nothing--less now than ever before, as there werefewer mouths to feed. He wished her ladyship and Master Esmond goodmorning--he had grown tall in his illness, and was but very littlemarked; and with this, and a surly bow, he went in from the smithy tothe house, leaving my lady, somewhat silenced and shamefaced, at thedoor. He had a handsome stone put up for his two children, which may beseen in Castlewood churchyard to this very day; and before a year wasout his own name was upon the stone. In the presence of Death, thatsovereign ruler, a woman's coquetry is seared; and her jealousy willhardly pass the boundaries of that grim kingdom. 'Tis entirely ofthe earth, that passion, and expires in the cold blue air, beyond oursphere.
At length, when the danger was quite over, it was announced that my lordand his daughter would return. Esmond well remembered the day. The ladyhis mistress was in a flurry of fear: b
efore my lord came, she went intoher room, and returned from it with reddened cheeks. Her fate was aboutto be decided. Her beauty was gone--was her reign, too, over? A minutewould say. My lord came riding over the bridge--he could be seen fromthe great window, clad in scarlet, and mounted on his gray hackney--hislittle daughter ambled by him in a bright riding-dress of blue, on ashining chestnut horse. My lady leaned against the great mantel-piece,looking on, with one hand on her heart--she seemed only the more palefor those red marks on either cheek. She put her handkerchief to hereyes, and withdrew it, laughing hysterically--the cloth was quite redwith the rouge when she took it away. She ran to her room again, andcame back with pale cheeks and red eyes--her son in her hand--just as mylord entered, accompanied by young Esmond, who had gone out to meet hisprotector, and to hold his stirrup as he descended from horseback.
"What, Harry, boy!" my lord said, good-naturedly, "you look as gaunt asa greyhound. The small-pox hasn't improved your beauty, and your side ofthe house hadn't never too much of it--ho, ho!"
And he laughed, and sprang to the ground with no small agility, lookinghandsome and red, within a jolly face and brown hair, like a Beef-eater;Esmond kneeling again, as soon as his patron had descended, performedhis homage, and then went to greet the little Beatrix, and help her fromher horse.
"Fie! how yellow you look," she said; "and there are one, two, redholes in your face;" which, indeed, was very true; Harry Esmond's harshcountenance bearing, as long as it continued to be a human face, themarks of the disease.
My lord laughed again, in high good-humor.
"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 herwhy she wore that red stuff--didn't you, Trix? and the Tower; andSt. James's; and the play; and the Prince George, and the PrincessAnne--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 pertas her father said, and looked as beautiful a little gipsy as eyes evergazed on.
"And now for my lady," said my lord, going up the stairs, and passingunder the tapestry curtain that hung before the drawing-room door.Esmond remembered that noble figure, handsomely arrayed in scarlet.Within the last few months he himself had grown from a boy to be a man,and with his figure 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 weeksafter her lord's return: during which it seemed as if, by caresses andentreaties, she strove to win him back from some ill humor 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 amusehim; and she hushed them and the children when in his presence. My lordsat silent at his dinner, drinking greatly, his lady opposite to him,looking furtively at his face, though also speechless. Her silenceannoyed him as much as her speech; and he would peevishly, and with anoath, ask her why she held her tongue and looked so glum; or he wouldroughly check her when speaking, and bid her not talk nonsense. Itseemed as if, since his return, nothing she could do or say could pleasehim.
When a master and mistress are at strife in a house, the subordinatesin the family take the one side or the other. Harry Esmond stood inso great fear of my lord, that he would run a league barefoot to do amessage for him; but his attachment for Lady Esmond was such a passionof grateful regard, that to spare her a grief, or to do her a service,he would have given his life daily: and it was by the very depth andintensity of this regard that he began to divine how unhappy his adoredlady's life was, and that a secret care (for she never spoke of heranxieties) was weighing upon her.
Can any one, who has passed through the world and watched the natureof men and women there, doubt what had befallen her? I have seen, to besure, some people carry down with them into old age the actual bloomof their youthful love, and I know that Mr. Thomas Parr lived to be ahundred and sixty years old. But, for all that, threescore and ten isthe age of men, and few get beyond it; and 'tis certain that a man whomarries for mere beaux yeux, as my lord did, considers this part of thecontract at an end when the woman ceases to fulfil hers, and his lovedoes not survive her beauty. I know 'tis often otherwise, I say; and canthink (as most men in their own experience may) of many a house,where, lighted in early years, the sainted lamp of love hath never beenextinguished; but so there is Mr. Parr, and so there is the great giantat the fair that is eight feet high--exceptions to men--and that poorlamp whereof I speak, that lights at first the nuptial chamber, isextinguished by a hundred winds and draughts down the chimney, orsputters out for want of feeding. And then--and then it is Chloe, in thedark, stark awake, and Strephon snoring unheeding; or vice versa, 'tispoor Strephon that has married a heartless jilt, and awoke out of thatabsurd vision of conjugal felicity, which was to last for ever, and isover like any other dream. One and other has made his bed, and so mustlie in it, until that final day when life ends, and they sleep separate.
About this time young Esmond, who had a knack of stringing verses,turned some of Ovid's Epistles into rhymes, and brought them to his ladyfor her delectation. Those which treated of forsaken women touched herimmensely, Harry remarked; and when Oenone called after Paris, and Medeabade Jason come back again, the lady of Castlewood sighed, and said shethought that part of the verses was the most pleasing. Indeed, she wouldhave chopped up the Dean, her old father, in order to bring her husbandback again. But her beautiful Jason was gone, as beautiful Jasons willgo, and the poor enchantress had never a spell to keep him.
My lord was only sulky as long as his wife's anxious face or behaviorseemed to upbraid him. When she had got to master these, and to show anoutwardly cheerful countenance and behavior, her husband's good-humorreturned partially, and he swore and stormed no longer at dinner, butlaughed sometimes, and yawned unrestrainedly; absenting himself oftenfrom home, inviting more company thither, passing the greater part ofhis days in the hunting-field, or over the bottle as before; but withthis difference, that the poor wife could no longer see now, as she haddone formerly, the light of love kindled in his eyes. He was with her,but that flame was out: and that once welcome beacon no more shonethere.
What were this lady's feelings when forced to admit the truth whereofher foreboding glass had given her only too true warning, that withinher beauty her reign had ended, and the days of her love were over?What does a seaman do in a storm if mast and rudder are carried away? Heships a jurymast, and steers as he best can with an oar. What happens ifyour roof falls in a tempest? After the first stun of the calamity thesufferer starts up, gropes around to see that the children are safe, andputs them under a shed out of the rain. If the palace burns down, youtake shelter in the barn. What man's life is not overtaken by one ormore of these tornadoes that send us out of the course, and fling us onrocks to shelter as best we may?
When Lady Castlewood found that her great ship had gone down, she beganas best she might after she had rallied from the effects of the loss,to put out small ventures of happiness; and hope for little gains andreturns, as a merchant on 'Change, indocilis pauperiem pati, having losthis thousands, embarks a few guineas upon the next ship. She laid outher all upon her children, indulging them beyond all measure, as wasinevitable with one of her kindness of disposition; giving all herthoughts to their welfare--learning, that she might teach them; andimproving her own many natural gifts and feminine accomplishments, thatshe might impart them to her young ones. To be doing good for some oneelse, is the life of most good women. They are exuberant of kindness, asit were, and must impart it to some one. She made herself a good scholarof French, Italia
n, and Latin, having been grounded in these by herfather in her youth; hiding these gifts from her husband out of fear,perhaps, that they should offend him, for my lord was no bookman--pish'dand psha'd at the notion of learned ladies, and would have been angrythat his wife could construe out of a Latin book of which he couldscarce understand two words. Young Esmond was usher, or house tutor,under her or over her, as it might happen. During my lord's manyabsences, these school-days would go on uninterruptedly: the motherand daughter learning with surprising quickness; the latter by fits andstarts only, and as suited her wayward humor. 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 whenhe beheld it, and his mother fondly warn him. The cook had a son, thewoodman had two, the big lad at the porter's lodge took his cuffsand his orders. Doctor Tusher said he was a young nobleman of gallantspirit; and Harry Esmond, who was his tutor, and eight years his littlelordship's senior, had hard work sometimes to keep his own temper, andhold his authority over 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 hercareless husband's heart (if the truth must be told, my lady had foundnot only that her reign was over, but that her successor was appointed,a Princess of a noble house in Drury Lane somewhere, who was installedand visited by my lord at the town eight miles off--pudet haec opprobriadicere nobis)--a great change had taken place in her mind, which, bystruggles only known to herself, at least never mentioned to any one,and unsuspected by the person who caused the pain she endured--hadbeen schooled into such a condition as she could not very likely haveimagined possible a score of months since, before her misfortunes hadbegun.
She had oldened in that time as people do who suffer silently greatmental pain; and learned much that she had never suspected before. Shewas taught by that bitter teacher Misfortune. A child the mother ofother children, but two years back her lord was a god to her; his wordsher law; his smile her sunshine; his lazy commonplaces listened toeagerly, as if they were words of wisdom--all his wishes and freaksobeyed with a servile devotion. She had been my lord's chief slave andblind worshipper. Some women bear farther than this, and submit not onlyto neglect but to unfaithfulness too--but here this lady's allegiancehad failed her. Her spirit rebelled, and disowned any more obedience.First she had to bear in secret the passion of losing the adored object;then to get further initiation, and to find this worshipped being wasbut a clumsy idol: then to admit the silent truth, that it was she wassuperior, and not the monarch her master: that she had thoughts whichhis brains could never master, and was the better of the two; quiteseparate from my lord although tied to him, and bound, as almost allpeople (save a very happy few), to work all her life alone. My lord satin his chair, laughing his laugh, cracking his joke, his face flushingwith wine--my lady in her place over against him--he never suspectingthat his superior was there, in the calm resigned lady, cold of manner,with downcast eyes. When he was merry in his cups, he would make jokesabout her coldness, and, "D--- it, now my lady is gone, we will havet'other bottle," he would say. He was frank enough in telling histhoughts, such as they were. There was little mystery about my lord'swords or actions. His Fair Rosamond did not live in a Labyrinth, likethe lady of Mr. Addison's opera, but paraded with painted cheeks and atipsy retinue 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 offthe ground by the enemy with a volley of Billingsgate, which the fairperson always 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 oflooks and smiles for him--smiles, not so gay and artless perhaps asthose which Lady Castlewood had formerly worn, when, a child herself,playing with her children, her husband's pleasure and authority were allshe thought of; but out of her griefs and cares, as will happen I thinkwhen these trials fall upon a kindly heart, and are not too unbearable,grew up a number of thoughts and excellences which had never come intoexistence, had not her sorrow and misfortunes engendered them. Sure,occasion is the father of most that is good in us. As you have seen theawkward fingers and clumsy tools of a prisoner cut and fashion the mostdelicate little pieces of carved work; or achieve the most prodigiousunderground labors, and cut through walls of masonry, and saw iron barsand fetters; 'tis misfortune that awakens ingenuity, or fortitude, orendurance, in hearts where these qualities had never come to life butfor the circumstance which gave them a being.
"'Twas after Jason left her, no doubt," Lady Castlewood once said withone of her smiles to young Esmond (who was reading to her a version ofcertain lines out of Euripides), "that Medea became a learned woman anda great enchantress."
"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 youand little 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 allthe heroes they wrote about used us basely. We were bred to be slavesalways; and even of our own times, as you are still the only lawgivers,I think our sermons seem to say that the best woman is she who bearsher master's chains most gracefully. 'Tis a pity there are no nunneriespermitted by our church: Beatrix and I would fly to one, and end ourdays in peace there 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 thelady. "They don't work in street gangs with the public to jeer them: andif they suffer, suffer in private. Here comes my lord home from hunting.Take away the books. My lord does not love to see them. Lessons are overfor to-day, Mr. Tutor." And with a curtsy and a smile she would end thissort of colloquy.
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 writingmy lord's letters, and arranging his accompts for him--when these couldbe got from Esmond's indolent patron.
Of the pupils the two young people were but lazy scholars, and as mylady would admit no discipline such as was then in use, my lord's sononly learned what he liked, which was but little, and never to hislife's end could be got to construe more than six lines of Virgil.Mistress Beatrix chattered French prettily, from a very early age;and sang sweetly, but this was from her mother's teaching--not HarryEsmond's, who could scarce distinguish between "Green Sleeves" and"Lillibullero;" although he had no greater delight in life than to hearthe ladies sing. He sees them now (will he ever forget them?) as theyused to sit together of the summer evenings--the two golden heads overthe page--the child's little hand, and the mother's beating the time,with their voices rising and falling in unison.
But if the children were careless, 'twas a wonder how eagerly themother learnt from her young tutor--and taught him too. The happiestinstinctive faculty was this lady's--a faculty for discerning latentbeauties and hidden graces of books, especially books of poetry, as in awalk she would spy out field-flowers and make posies of them, such asno other hand could. She was a critic, not by reason but by feeling; thesweetest commentator of those books they read together; and the happiesthours of young Esmond's life, perhaps, were those passed in the companyof this kind mistress and her children.
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br /> 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 Christmas-time, Harry Esmond being now past sixteenyears of age, that his old comrade, adversary, and friend, Tom Tusher,returned from his school in London, a fair, well-grown, and sturdy lad,who was about to enter college, with an exhibition from his school, anda prospect of after promotion in the church. Tom Tusher's talk was ofnothing but Cambridge now; and the boys, who were good friends, examinedeach other eagerly about their progress in books. Tom had learned someGreek and Hebrew, besides Latin, in which he was pretty well skilled,and also had given himself to mathematical studies under his father'sguidance, who was a proficient in those sciences, of which Esmond knewnothing; nor could he write Latin so well as Tom, though he could talkit better, having been taught by his dear friend the Jesuit Father, forwhose memory the lad ever retained the warmest affection, reading hisbooks, keeping his swords clean in the little crypt where the Fatherhad shown them to Esmond on the night of his visit; and often of a nightsitting in the chaplain's room, which he inhabited, over his books, hisverses, and rubbish, with which the lad occupied himself, he would lookup at the window, thinking he wished it might open and let in the goodFather. He had come and passed away like a dream; but for the swordsand books Harry might almost think the Father was an imagination of hismind--and for two letters which had come to him, one from abroad, fullof advice and affection, another soon after he had been confirmed by theBishop of Hexton, in which Father Holt deplored his falling away. ButHarry Esmond felt so confident now of his being in the right, and of hisown powers as a casuist, that he thought he was able to face the Fatherhimself in argument, and possibly convert him.
To work upon the faith of her young pupil, Esmond's kind mistress sentto the library of her father the Dean, who had been distinguished in thedisputes of the late king's reign; and, an old soldier now, had hungup his weapons of controversy. These he took down from his shelveswillingly for young Esmond, whom he benefited by his own personal adviceand instruction. It did not require much persuasion to induce the boyto worship 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 toread, to pursue the texts with fond comments, to urge those points whichher fancy dwelt on most, or her reason deemed most important. Since thedeath of her father the Dean, this lady hath admitted a certain latitudeof theological reading which her orthodox father would never haveallowed; his favorite writers appealing more to reason and antiquitythan to the passions or imaginations of their readers, so that the worksof Bishop Taylor, nay, those of Mr. Baxter and Mr. Law, have in realityfound more favor with my Lady Castlewood than the severer volumes of ourgreat English schoolmen.
In later life, at the University, Esmond reopened the controversy, andpursued it in a very different manner, when his patrons had determinedfor him that he was to embrace the ecclesiastical life. But though hismistress's heart was in this calling, his own never was much. After thatfirst fervor of simple devotion, which his beloved Jesuit priest hadinspired in him, speculative theology took but little hold upon theyoung man's mind. When his early credulity was disturbed, and his saintsand virgins taken out of his worship, to rank little higher than thedivinities of Olympus, his belief became acquiescence rather than ardor;and he made his mind up to assume the cassock and bands, as anotherman does to wear a breastplate and jack-boots, or to mount a merchant'sdesk, for a livelihood, and from obedience and necessity, rather thanfrom choice. 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 anddisquiet fell upon young Esmond, of which, though he did not complain,his kind mistress must have divined the cause: for soon after she showednot only that she understood the reason of Harry's melancholy, but couldprovide a remedy for it. Her habit was thus to watch, unobservedly,those to whom duty or affection bound her, and to prevent theirdesigns, or to fulfil them, when she had the power. It was this lady'sdisposition to think kindnesses, and devise silent bounties and toscheme benevolence, for those about her. We take such goodness, for themost part, as if it was our due; the Marys who bring ointment for ourfeet get but little thanks. Some of us never feel this devotion at all,or are moved by it to gratitude or acknowledgment; others only recall ityears after, when the days are past in which those sweet kindnesses werespent on us, and we offer back our return for the debt by a poor tardypayment of tears. Then forgotten tones of love recur to us, and kindglances shine out of the past--oh so bright and clear!--oh so longedafter!--because they are out of reach; as holiday music from withinsidea prison wall--or sunshine seen through the bars; more prized becauseunattainable--more bright because of the contrast of present darknessand 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 gayetyunusual to her, to attempt to dispel his gloom. She made his threescholars (herself being the chief one) more cheerful than ever they hadbeen before, and more docile, too, all of them learning and readingmuch more than they had been accustomed to do. "For who knows," saidthe lady, "what may happen, and whether we may be able to keep such alearned 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 wouldcome out a-fishing; and little Beatrix declared she would send for TomTusher, and HE would be glad enough to come to Castlewood, if Harrychose to go away.
At last comes a messenger from Winchester one day, bearer of a letter,with a great black seal, from the Dean there, to say that his sisterwas dead, and had left her fortune of 2,000L. among her six nieces, theDean's daughters; and many a time since has Harry Esmond recalled theflushed face and eager look wherewith, after this intelligence, his kindlady regarded 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 longface. "The money will come very handy to furnish the music-room and thecellar, which is getting low, and buy your ladyship a coach and acouple of horses that will do indifferent to ride or for the coach. And,Beatrix, you shall have a spinnet: and, Frank, you shall have a littlehorse from Hexton Fair; and, Harry, you shall have five pounds to buysome books," said my lord, who was generous with his own, and indeedwith other folk's money. "I wish your aunt would die once a year,Rachel; we could spend your money, and all your sisters', too."
"I have but one aunt--and--and I have another use for the money, mylord," 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 mylady, with blue eyes looking a celestial kindness: "and his scholarswill always love 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 her
children before her. "I wish you joy, my kinsman," he continued, givingHarry Esmond a hearty slap on the shoulder. "I won't balk your luck. Goto Cambridge, boy, and when Tusher dies you shall have the livinghere, if you are not better provided by that time. We'll furnish thedining-room and buy the horses another year. I'll give thee a nag outof the stable: take any one except my hack and the bay gelding and thecoach-horses; and God speed thee, my boy!"
"Have the sorrel, Harry; 'tis a good one. Father says 'tis the bestin the stable," says little Frank, clapping his hands, and jumping up."Let's come and see him in the stable." And the other, in his delightand eagerness, was for leaving the room that instant to arrange abouthis journey.
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 bestluck that 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 ofsadness and, maybe, of satire, in her voice: "an old glum house, halfruined, and the rest only half furnished; a woman and two children arebut poor company for men that are accustomed to better. We are only fitto be your worship's handmaids, and your pleasures must of necessity lieelsewhere than at home."
"Curse me, Rachel, if I know now whether thou art in earnest or not,"said my 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 roomwith her children.
"Since she found out that confounded Hexton business," my lordsaid--"and be hanged to them that told her!--she has not been the samewoman. She, who used to be as humble as a milkmaid, is as proud as aprincess," says my lord. "Take my counsel, Harry Esmond, and keep clearof women. Since I have had anything to do with the jades, they havegiven me nothing but disgust. I had a wife at Tangier, with whom, as shecouldn't speak a word of my language, you'd have thought I might lead aquiet life. But she tried to poison me, because she was jealous of a Jewgirl. There was your aunt, for aunt she is--aunt Jezebel, a prettylife your father led with HER! and here's my lady. When I saw her on apillion, riding behind the Dean her father, she looked and was such ababy, that a sixpenny doll might have pleased her. And now you see whatshe is--hands off, highty-tighty, high and mighty, an empress couldn'tbe grander. Pass us the tankard, Harry my boy. A mug of beer and a toastat morn, says my host. A toast and a mug of beer at noon, says my dear.D--n it, Polly loves a mug of ale, too, and laced with brandy, by Jove!"Indeed, I suppose they drank it together; for my lord was often thickin his speech at mid-day dinner; and at night at supper, speechlessaltogether.
Harry Esmond's departure resolved upon, it seemed as if the LadyCastlewood, too, rejoiced to lose him; for more than once, when thelad, ashamed perhaps at his own secret eagerness to go away (at anyrate stricken with sadness at the idea of leaving those from whom hehad received 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 toHarry's fame and prospects in life. "Our little legacy will keep youfor four years like a gentleman. Heaven's Providence, your own genius,industry, honor, must do the rest for you. Castlewood will always be ahome for you; and these children, whom you have taught and loved, willnot forget to love you. And, Harry," said she (and this was the onlytime when she spoke with a tear in her eye, or a tremor in her voice),"it may happen in the course of nature that I shall be called awayfrom them: and their father--and--and they will need true friends andprotectors. Promise me that you will be true to them--as--as I think Ihave been to you--and a mother's fond prayer and blessing go with you."
"So help me God, madam, I will," said Harry Esmond, falling on hisknees, and kissing the hand of his dearest mistress. "If you will haveme stay now, I will. What matters whether or no I make my way in life,or whether a poor bastard dies as unknown as he is now? 'Tis enoughthat I have your love and kindness surely; and to make you happy is dutyenough 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 may be ease. Let me stay and work for you--let me stay and be yourservant."
"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.You shall go to college and distinguish yourself as becomes your name.That is how you shall please me best; and--and if my children want you,or I want you, 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," saidmy lady, laughing; which speech made Harry Esmond start, and turn red;for indeed the very thought was in his mind, that he would likethat some chance should immediately happen whereby he might show hisdevotion. And it pleased him to think that his lady had called him "herknight," and often and often he recalled this to his mind, and prayedthat he might be her true knight, too.
My lady's bed-chamber window looked out over the country, and you couldsee from 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 gray familiar towers, a pinnacleor two shining in the sun, the buttresses and terrace walls castinggreat blue shades on the grass. And Harry remembered, all his lifeafter, how he saw his mistress at the window looking out on him in awhite robe, the little Beatrix's chestnut curls resting at her mother'sside. Both waved a farewell to him, and little Frank sobbed to leavehim. Yes, he WOULD be his lady's true knight, he vowed in his heart; hewaved her an adieu with his hat. The village people had Good-by to sayto him too. All knew that Master Harry was going to college, and most ofthem had a kind word and a look of farewell. I do not stop to say whatadventures he began to imagine, or what career to devise for himselfbefore he had ridden three miles from home. He had not read MonsieurGalland's ingenious Arabian tales as yet; but be sure that there areother folks who build castles in the air, and have fine hopes, and kickthem down too, besides honest Alnaschar.