Henry Esmond; The English Humourists; The Four Georges by William Makepeace Thackeray

  Chapter VI. Poor Beatrix

  There had been no need to urge upon Esmond the necessity of a separationbetween him and Beatrix: Fate had done that completely; and I think fromthe very moment poor Beatrix had accepted the duke's offer, she began toassume the majestic air of a duchess, nay, queen elect, and to carryherself as one sacred and removed from us common people. Her mother andkinsman both fell into her ways, the latter scornfully perhaps, anduttering his usual gibes at her vanity and his own. There was a certaincharm about this girl of which neither Colonel Esmond nor his fondmistress could forgo the fascination; in spite of her faults and her prideand wilfulness, they were forced to love her; and, indeed, might be setdown as the two chief flatterers of the brilliant creature's court.

  Who, in the course of his life, hath not been so bewitched, and worshippedsome idol or another? Years after this passion hath been dead and buried,along with a thousand other worldly cares and ambitions, he who felt itcan recall it out of its grave, and admire, almost as fondly as he did inhis youth, that lovely queenly creature. I invoke that beautiful spiritfrom the shades and love her still; or rather I should say such a past isalways present to a man; such a passion once felt forms a part of hiswhole being, and cannot be separated from it; it becomes a portion of theman of to-day, just as any great faith or conviction, the discovery ofpoetry, the awakening of religion, ever afterward influence him; just asthe wound I had at Blenheim, and of which I wear the scar, hath becomepart of my frame and influenced my whole body, nay spirit, subsequently,though 'twas got and healed forty years ago. Parting and forgetting! Whatfaithful heart can do these? Our great thoughts, our great affections, theTruths of our life, never leave us. Surely, they cannot separate from ourconsciousness; shall follow it whithersoever that shall go; and are oftheir nature divine and immortal.

  With the horrible news of this catastrophe, which was confirmed by theweeping domestics at the duke's own door, Esmond rode homewards as quickas his lazy coach would carry him, devising all the time how he shouldbreak the intelligence to the person most concerned in it; and if a satireupon human vanity could be needed, that poor soul afforded it in thealtered company and occupations in which Esmond found her. For daysbefore, her chariot had been rolling the street from mercer totoyshop--from goldsmith to laceman: her taste was perfect, or at least thefond bridegroom had thought so, and had given entire authority over alltradesmen, and for all the plate, furniture, and equipages, with which hisgrace the ambassador wished to adorn his splendid mission. She must haveher picture by Kneller, a duchess not being complete without a portrait,and a noble one he made, and actually sketched in, on a cushion, a coronetwhich she was about to wear. She vowed she would wear it at King James theThird's coronation, and never a princess in the land would have becomeermine better. Esmond found the antechamber crowded with milliners andtoyshop women, obsequious goldsmiths with jewels, salvers, and tankards;and mercer's men with hangings, and velvets, and brocades. My lady duchesselect was giving audience to one famous silversmith from Exeter "Change,"who brought with him a great chased salver, of which he was pointing outthe beauties as Colonel Esmond entered. "Come," says she, "cousin, andadmire the taste of this pretty thing." I think Mars and Venus were lyingin the golden bower, that one gilt Cupid carried off the war-god'scasque--another his sword--another his great buckler, upon which my LordDuke Hamilton's arms with ours were to be engraved--and a fourth waskneeling down to the reclining goddess with the ducal coronet in hishands, God help us! The next time Mr. Esmond saw that piece of plate, thearms were changed, the ducal coronet had been replaced by a viscount's; itformed part of the fortune of the thrifty goldsmith's own daughter, whenshe married my Lord Viscount Squanderfield two years after.

  "Isn't this a beautiful piece?" says Beatrix, examining it, and shepointed out the arch graces of the Cupids, and the fine carving of thelanguid prostrate Mars. Esmond sickened as he thought of the warrior deadin his chamber, his servants and children weeping around him; and of thissmiling creature attiring herself, as it were, for that nuptial death-bed."'Tis a pretty piece of vanity," says he, looking gloomily at thebeautiful creature: there were flambeaux in the room lighting up thebrilliant mistress of it. She lifted up the great gold salver with herfair arms.

  "Vanity!" says she haughtily. "What is vanity in you, sir, is propriety inme. You ask a Jewish price for it, Mr. Graves; but have it I will, if onlyto spite Mr. Esmond."

  "O Beatrix, lay it down!" says Mr. Esmond. "Herodias! you know not whatyou carry in the charger."

  She dropped it with a clang; the eager goldsmith running to seize hisfallen ware. The lady's face caught the fright from Esmond's palecountenance, and her eyes shone out like beacons of alarm:--"What is it,Henry?" says she, running to him, and seizing both his hands. "What do youmean by your pale face and gloomy tones?"

  "Come away, come away!" says Esmond, leading her: she clung frightened tohim, and he supported her upon his heart, bidding the scared goldsmithleave them. The man went into the next apartment, staring with surprise,and hugging his precious charger.

  "O my Beatrix, my sister!" says Esmond, still holding in his arms thepallid and affrighted creature, "you have the greatest courage of anywoman in the world; prepare to show it now, for you have a dreadful trialto bear."

  She sprang away from the friend who would have protected her:--"Hath heleft me?" says she. "We had words this morning: he was very gloomy, and Iangered him: but he dared not, he dared not!" As she spoke a burning blushflushed over her whole face and bosom. Esmond saw it reflected in theglass by which she stood, with clenched hands, pressing her swellingheart.

  "He has left you," says Esmond, wondering that rage rather than sorrow wasin her looks.

  "And he is alive," cries Beatrix, "and you bring me this commission! Hehas left me, and you haven't dared to avenge me! You, that pretend to bethe champion of our house, have let me suffer this insult! Where isCastlewood? I will go to my brother."

  "The duke is not alive, Beatrix," said Esmond.

  She looked at her cousin wildly, and fell back to the wall as though shotin the breast:--"And you come here, and--and--you killed him?"

  "No; thank Heaven," her kinsman said, "the blood of that noble heart dothnot stain my sword! In its last hour it was faithful to thee, BeatrixEsmond. Vain and cruel woman! kneel and thank the awful Heaven whichawards life and death, and chastises pride, that the noble Hamilton diedtrue to you; at least that 'twas not your quarrel, or your pride, or yourwicked vanity, that drove him to his fate. He died by the bloody swordwhich already had drank your own father's blood. O woman, O sister! tothat sad field where two corpses are lying--for the murderer died too bythe hand of the man he slew--can you bring no mourners but your revenge andyour vanity? God help and pardon thee, Beatrix, as He brings this awfulpunishment to your hard and rebellious heart."

  Esmond had scarce done speaking, when his mistress came in. The colloquybetween him and Beatrix had lasted but a few minutes, during which timeEsmond's servant had carried the disastrous news through the household.The army of Vanity Fair, waiting without, gathered up all their fripperiesand fled aghast. Tender Lady Castlewood had been in talk above with DeanAtterbury, the pious creature's almoner and director; and the dean hadentered with her as a physician whose place was at a sick-bed. Beatrix'smother looked at Esmond and ran towards her daughter, with a pale face andopen heart and hands, all kindness and pity. But Beatrix passed her by,nor would she have any of the medicaments of the spiritual physician. "Iam best in my own room and by myself," she said. Her eyes were quite dry;nor did Esmond ever see them otherwise, save once, in respect to thatgrief. She gave him a cold hand as she went out: "Thank you, brother," shesaid, in a low voice, and with a simplicity more touching than tears; "allyou have said is true and kind, and I will go away and ask pardon." Thethree others remained behind, and talked over the dreadful story. Itaffected Dr. Atterbury more even than us, as it seemed. The death ofMohun, her husband's murderer, was more awful to my mistress than even theduke's unha
ppy end. Esmond gave at length what particulars he knew oftheir quarrel, and the cause of it. The two noblemen had long been at warwith respect to the Lord Gerard's property, whose two daughters my lordduke and Mohun had married. They had met by appointment that day at thelawyer's in Lincoln's Inn Fields; had words which, though they appearedvery trifling to those who heard them, were not so to men exasperated bylong and previous enmity. Mohun asked my lord duke where he could see hisgrace's friends, and within an hour had sent two of his own to arrangethis deadly duel. It was pursued with such fierceness, and sprung from sotrifling a cause, that all men agreed at the time that there was a party,of which these three notorious brawlers were but agents, who desired totake Duke Hamilton's life away. They fought three on a side, as in thattragic meeting twelve years back, which hath been recounted already, andin which Mohun performed his second murder. They rushed in, and closedupon each other at once without any feints or crossing of swords even, andstabbed one at the other desperately, each receiving many wounds; andMohun having his death-wound, and my lord duke lying by him, Macartneycame up and stabbed his grace as he lay on the ground, and gave him theblow of which he died. Colonel Macartney denied this, of which the horrorand indignation of the whole kingdom would nevertheless have him guilty,and fled the country, whither he never returned.

  What was the real cause of the Duke Hamilton's death--a paltry quarrel thatmight easily have been made up, and with a ruffian so low, base,profligate, and degraded with former crimes and repeated murders, that aman of such a renown and princely rank as my lord duke might havedisdained to sully his sword with the blood of such a villain. But hisspirit was so high that those who wished his death knew that his couragewas like his charity, and never turned any man away; and he died by thehands of Mohun, and the other two cut-throats that were set on him. Thequeen's ambassador to Paris died, the loyal and devoted servant of theHouse of Stuart, and a royal prince of Scotland himself, and carrying theconfidence, the repentance of Queen Anne along with his own open devotion,and the goodwill of millions in the country more, to the queen's exiledbrother and sovereign.

  That party to which Lord Mohun belonged had the benefit of his service,and now were well rid of such a ruffian. He, and Meredith, and Macartney,were the Duke of Marlborough's men; and the two colonels had been brokebut the year before for drinking perdition to the Tories. His grace was aWhig now and a Hanoverian, and as eager for war as Prince Eugene himself.I say not that he was privy to Duke Hamilton's death, I say that his partyprofited by it; and that three desperate and bloody instruments were foundto effect that murder.

  As Esmond and the dean walked away from Kensington discoursing of thistragedy, and how fatal it was to the cause which they both had at heart;the street-criers were already out with their broadsides, shouting throughthe town the full, true, and horrible account of the death of Lord Mohunand Duke Hamilton in a duel. A fellow had got to Kensington, and wascrying it in the square there at very early morning, when Mr. Esmondhappened to pass by. He drove the man from under Beatrix's very window,whereof the casement had been set open. The sun was shining though 'twasNovember: he had seen the market-carts rolling into London, the guardrelieved at the Palace, the labourers trudging to their work in thegardens between Kensington and the City--the wandering merchants andhawkers filling the air with their cries. The world was going to itsbusiness again, although dukes lay dead and ladies mourned for them; andkings, very likely, lost their chances. So night and day pass away, andto-morrow comes, and our place knows us not. Esmond thought of thecourier, now galloping on the north road to inform him, who was Earl ofArran yesterday, that he was Duke of Hamilton to-day, and of a thousandgreat schemes, hopes, ambitions, that were alive in the gallant heart,beating a few hours since, and now in a little dust quiescent.