Henry Esmond; The English Humourists; The Four Georges by William Makepeace Thackeray
Chapter VI. The 29th December
There was scarce a score of persons in the Cathedral besides the dean andsome of his clergy, and the choristers, young and old, that performed thebeautiful evening prayer. But Dr. Tusher was one of the officiants, andread from the eagle, in an authoritative voice, and a great black periwig;and in the stalls, still in her black widow's hood, sat Esmond's dearmistress, her son by her side, very much grown, and indeed a noble-lookingyouth, with his mother's eyes, and his father's curling brown hair, thatfell over his _point de Venise_--a pretty picture such as Vandyke mighthave painted. Monsieur Rigaud's portrait of my lord viscount, done atParis afterwards, gives but a French version of his manly, frank, Englishface. When he looked up there were two sapphire beams out of his eyes,such as no painter's palette has the colour to match, I think. On this daythere was not much chance of seeing that particular beauty of my younglord's countenance; for the truth is, he kept his eyes shut for the mostpart, and, the anthem being rather long, was asleep.
But the music ceasing, my lord woke up, looking about him, and his eyeslighting on Mr. Esmond, who was sitting opposite him, gazing with no smalltenderness and melancholy upon two persons who had had so much of hisheart for so many years; Lord Castlewood, with a start, pulled at hismother's sleeve (her face had scarce been lifted from her book), and said,"Look, mother!" so loud, that Esmond could hear on the other side of thechurch, and the old dean on his throned stall. Lady Castlewood looked foran instant as her son bade her, and held up a warning finger to Frank;Esmond felt his whole face flush, and his heart throbbing, as that dearlady beheld him once more. The rest of the prayers were speedily over: Mr.Esmond did not hear them; nor did his mistress, very likely, whose hoodwent more closely over her face, and who never lifted her head again untilthe service was over, the blessing given, and Mr. Dean, and his processionof ecclesiastics, out of the inner chapel.
Young Castlewood came clambering over the stalls before the clergy werefairly gone, and, running up to Esmond, eagerly embraced him. "My dear,dearest old Harry," he said, "are you come back? Have you been to thewars? You'll take me with you when you go again? Why didn't you write tous? Come to mother."
Mr. Esmond could hardly say more than a "God bless you, my boy", for hisheart was very full and grateful at all this tenderness on the lad's part;and he was as much moved at seeing Frank, as he was fearful about thatother interview which was now to take place; for he knew not if the widowwould reject him as she had done so cruelly a year ago.
"It was kind of you to come back to us, Henry," Lady Esmond said, "Ithought you might come."
"We read of the fleet coming to Portsmouth. Why did you not come fromPortsmouth?" Frank asked, or my lord viscount, as he now must be called.
Esmond had thought of that too. He would have given one of his eyes sothat he might see his dear friends again once more; but believing that hismistress had forbidden him her house, he had obeyed her, and remained at adistance.
"You had but to ask, and you knew I would be here," he said.
She gave him her hand, her little fair hand: there was only her marriagering on it. The quarrel was all over. The year of grief and estrangementwas passed. They never had been separated. His mistress had never been outof his mind all that time. No, not once. No, not in the prison; nor in thecamp; nor on shore before the enemy; nor at sea under the stars of solemnmidnight, nor as he watched the glorious rising of the dawn: not even atthe table, where he sat carousing with friends, or at the theatre yonder,where he tried to fancy that other eyes were brighter than hers. Brightereyes there might be, and faces more beautiful, but none so dear--no voiceso sweet as that of his beloved mistress, who had been sister, mother,goddess to him during his youth--goddess now no more, for he knew of herweaknesses; and by thought, by suffering, and that experience it brings,was older now than she; but more fondly cherished as woman perhaps thanever she had been adored as divinity.
What is it? Where lies it? the secret which makes one little hand thedearest of all? Whoever can unriddle that mystery? Here she was, her sonby his side, his dear boy. Here she was, weeping and happy. She took hishand in both hers; he felt her tears. It was a rapture of reconciliation.
"Here comes Squaretoes," says Frank. "Here's Tusher."
Tusher, indeed, now appeared, creaking on his great heels. Mr. Tom haddivested himself of his alb or surplice, and came forward habited in hiscassock and great black periwig. How had Harry Esmond ever been for amoment jealous of this fellow?
"Give us thy hand, Tom Tusher," he said. The chaplain made him a very lowand stately bow. "I am charmed to see Captain Esmond," says he. "My lordand I have read the _Reddas incolumem precor_, and applied it, I am sure,to you. You come back with Gaditanian laurels: when I heard you were boundthither, I wished, I am sure, I was another Septimius. My lord viscount,your lordship remembers _Septimi, Gades aditure mecum?_"
"There's an angle of earth that I love better than Gades, Tusher," saysMr. Esmond. "'Tis that one where your reverence hath a parsonage, andwhere our youth was brought up."
"A house that has so many sacred recollections to me," says Mr. Tusher(and Harry remembered how Tom's father used to flog him there)--"a housenear to that of my respected patron, my most honoured patroness, must everbe a dear abode to me. But, madam, the verger waits to close the gates onyour ladyship."
"And Harry's coming home to supper. Huzzay! huzzay!" cries my lord."Mother, shall I run home and bid Beatrix put her ribbons on? Beatrix is amaid of honour, Harry. Such a fine set-up minx!"
"Your heart was never in the Church, Harry," the widow said, in her sweetlow tone, as they walked away together. (Now, it seemed they had neverbeen parted, and again, as if they had been ages asunder.) "I alwaysthought you had no vocation that way; and that 'twas a pity to shut youout from the world. You would but have pined and chafed at Castlewood: and'tis better you should make a name for yourself. I often said so to mydear lord. How he loved you! 'Twas my lord that made you stay with us."
"I asked no better than to stay near you always," said Mr. Esmond.
"But to go was best, Harry. When the world cannot give peace, you willknow where to find it; but one of your strong imagination and eagerdesires must try the world first before he tires of it. 'Twas not to bethought of, or if it once was, it was only by my selfishness that youshould remain as chaplain to a country gentleman and tutor to a littleboy. You are of the blood of the Esmonds, kinsman; and that was alwayswild in youth. Look at Francis. He is but fifteen, and I scarce can keephim in my nest. His talk is all of war and pleasure, and he longs to servein the next campaign. Perhaps he and the young Lord Churchill shall go thenext. Lord Marlborough has been good to us. You know how kind they were inmy misfortune. And so was your--your father's widow. No one knows how goodthe world is, till grief comes to try us. 'Tis through my LadyMarlborough's goodness that Beatrix hath her place at Court; and Frank isunder my Lord Chamberlain. And the dowager lady, your father's widow, haspromised to provide for you--has she not?"
Esmond said, "Yes. As far as present favour went, Lady Castlewood was verygood to him. And should her mind change," he added gaily, "as ladies'minds will, I am strong enough to bear my own burden, and make my waysomehow. Not by the sword very likely. Thousands have a better genius forthat than I, but there are many ways in which a young man of good partsand education can get on in the world; and I am pretty sure, one way orother, of promotion!" Indeed, he had found patrons already in the army,and amongst persons very able to serve him, too; and told his mistress ofthe flattering aspect of fortune. They walked as though they had neverbeen parted, slowly, with the grey twilight closing round them.
"And now we are drawing near to home," she continued. "I knew you wouldcome, Harry, if--if it was but to forgive me for having spoken unjustly toyou after that horrid--horrid misfortune. I was half frantic with griefthen when I saw you. And I know now--they have told me. That wretch, whosename I can never mention, even has said it: how you tried to avert thequarrel, and would have
"He gave me his blessing on his death-bed," Esmond said. "Thank God forthat legacy!"
"Amen, amen! dear Henry," says the lady, pressing his arm. "I knew it. Mr.Atterbury, of St. Bride's, who was called to him, told me so. And Ithanked God, too, and in my prayers ever since remembered it."
"You had spared me many a bitter night, had you told me sooner," Mr.Esmond said.
"I know it, I know it," she answered, in a tone of such sweet humility, asmade Esmond repent that he should ever have dared to reproach her. "I knowhow wicked my heart has been; and I have suffered too, my dear. Iconfessed to Mr. Atterbury--I must not tell any more. He--I said I would notwrite to you or go to you--and it was better even that, having parted, weshould part. But I knew you would come back--I own that. That is no one'sfault. And to-day, Henry, in the anthem, when they sang it, 'When the Lordturned the captivity of Zion, we were like them that dream', I thought,yes, like them that dream--them that dream. And then it went, 'They thatsow in tears shall reap in joy; and he that goeth forth and weepeth, shalldoubtless come home again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him';I looked up from the book, and saw you. I was not surprised when I sawyou. I knew you would come, my dear, and saw the gold sunshine round yourhead."
She smiled an almost wild smile as she looked up at him. The moon was upby this time, glittering keen in the frosty sky. He could see, for thefirst time now clearly, her sweet careworn face.
"Do you know what day it is?" she continued. "It is the 29th ofDecember--it is your birthday! But last year we did not drink it--no, no. Mylord was cold, and my Harry was likely to die; and my brain was in afever; and we had no wine. But now--now you are come again, bringing yoursheaves with you, my dear." She burst into a wild flood of weeping as shespoke; she laughed and sobbed on the young man's heart, crying out wildly,"bringing your sheaves with you--your sheaves with you!"
As he had sometimes felt, gazing up from the deck at midnight into theboundless starlit depths overhead, in a rapture of devout wonder at thatendless brightness and beauty--in some such a way as now, the depth of thispure devotion (which was, for the first time, revealed to him quite) smoteupon him, and filled his heart with thanksgiving. Gracious God, who washe, weak and friendless creature, that such a love should be poured outupon him? Not in vain, not in vain has he lived--hard and thankless shouldhe be to think so--that has such a treasure given him. What is ambitioncompared to that? but selfish vanity. To be rich, to be famous? What dothese profit a year hence, when other names sound louder than yours, whenyou lie hidden away under the ground, along with the idle titles engravenon your coffin? But only true love lives after you--follows your memorywith secret blessing--or precedes you, and intercedes for you. _Non omnismoriar_--if dying, I yet live in a tender heart or two; nor am lost andhopeless living, if a sainted departed soul still loves and prays for me.
"If--if 'tis so, dear lady," Mr. Esmond said, "why should I ever leave you?If God hath given me this great boon--and near or far from me, as I knownow--the heart of my dearest mistress follows me; let me have that blessingnear me, nor ever part with it till life separate us. Come away--leave thisEurope, this place which has so many sad recollections for you. Begin anew life in a new world. My good lord often talked of visiting that landin Virginia which King Charles gave us--gave his ancestor. Frank will giveus that. No man there will ask if there is a blot on my name, or inquirein the woods what my title is."
"And my children--and my duty--and my good father?--Henry," she broke out."He has none but me now; for soon my sister will leave him, and the oldman will be alone. He has conformed since the new queen's reign; and herein Winchester, where they love him, they have found a church for him. Whenthe children leave me, I will stay with him. I cannot follow them into thegreat world, where their way lies--it scares me. They will come and visitme; and you will, sometimes, Henry--yes, sometimes, as now, in the holyAdvent season, when I have seen and blessed you once more."
"I would leave all to follow you," said Mr. Esmond; "and can you not be asgenerous for me, dear lady?"
"Hush, boy!" she said, and it was with a mother's sweet plaintive tone andlook that she spoke. "The world is beginning for you. For me, I have beenso weak and sinful that I must leave it, and pray out an expiation, dearHenry. Had we houses of religion as there were once, and many divines ofour Church would have them again, I often think I would retire to one andpass my life in penance. But I would love you still--yes, there is no sinin such a love as mine now; and my dear lord in heaven may see my heart;and knows the tears that have washed my sin away--and now--now my duty ishere, by my children whilst they need me, and by my poor old father,and----"
"And not by me?" Henry said.
"Hush!" she said again, and raised her hand up to his lip. "I have beenyour nurse. You could not see me, Harry, when you were in the small-pox,and I came and sat by you. Ah! I prayed that I might die, but it wouldhave been in sin, Henry. Oh, it is horrid to look back to that time. It isover now and past, and it has been forgiven me. When you need me again Iwill come ever so far. When your heart is wounded, then come to me, mydear. Be silent! let me say all. You never loved me, dear Henry--no, you donot now, and I thank Heaven for it. I used to watch you, and knew by athousand signs that it was so. Do you remember how glad you were to goaway to college? 'Twas I sent you. I told my papa that, and Mr. Atterburytoo, when I spoke to him in London. And they both gave meabsolution--both--and they are godly men, having authority to bind and toloose. And they forgave me, as my dear lord forgave me before he went toheaven."
"I think the angels are not all in heaven," Mr. Esmond said. And as abrother folds a sister to his heart; and as a mother cleaves to her son'sbreast--so for a few moments Esmond's beloved mistress came to him andblessed him.