The next day when I went back, my fears were realised: the door was
refused to me--my Lady was not at home. This I knew to be false: I had
watched the door the whole morning from a lodging I took at a house
opposite.
‘Your lady is not out,’ said I: ‘she has denied me, and I can’t, of
course, force my way to her. But listen: you are an Englishman?’ ‘That
I am,’ said the fellow, with an air of the utmost superiority. ‘Your
honour could tell that by my HACCENT.’
I knew he was, and might therefore offer him a bribe. An Irish family
servant in rags, and though his wages were never paid him, would
probably fling the money in your face.
‘Listen, then,’ said I. ‘Your lady’s letters pass through your hands,
don’t they? A crown for every one that you bring me to read. There is a
whisky-shop in the next street; bring them there when you go to drink,
and call for me by the name of Dermot.’
‘I recollect your honour at SPAR,’ says the fellow, grinning: ‘seven’s
the main, hey?’ and being exceedingly proud of this reminiscence, I bade
my inferior adieu.
I do not defend this practice of letter-opening in private life, except
in cases of the most urgent necessity: when we must follow the examples
of our betters, the statesmen of all Europe, and, for the sake of a
great good, infringe a little matter of ceremony. My Lady Lyndon’s
letters were none the worse for being opened, and a great deal
the better; the knowledge obtained from the perusal of some of her
multifarious epistles enabling me to become intimate with her character
in a hundred ways, and obtain a power over her by which I was not slow
to profit. By the aid of the letters and of my English friend, whom I
always regaled with the best of liquor, and satisfied with presents of
money still more agreeable (I used to put on a livery in order to meet
him, and a red wig, in which it was impossible to know the dashing and
elegant Redmond Barry), I got such an insight into the widow’s movements
as astonished her. I knew beforehand to what public places she would
go; they were, on account of her widowhood, but few: and wherever she
appeared, at church or in the park, I was always ready to offer her her
book, or to canter on horseback by the side of her chariot.
Many of her Ladyship’s letters were the most whimsical rodomontades that
ever blue-stocking penned. She was a woman who took up and threw off
a greater number of dear friends than any one I ever knew. To some of
these female darlings she began presently to write about my unworthy
self, and it was with a sentiment of extreme satisfaction I found at
length that the widow was growing dreadfully afraid of me; calling me
her bete noire, her dark spirit, her murderous adorer, and a thousand
other names indicative of her extreme disquietude and terror. It was:
‘The wretch has been dogging my chariot through the park,’ or, ‘my fate
pursued me at church,’ and ‘my inevitable adorer handed me out of
my chair at the mercer’s,’ or what not. My wish was to increase this
sentiment of awe in her bosom, and to make her believe that I was a
person from whom escape was impossible.
To this end I bribed a fortune-teller, whom she consulted along with a
number of the most foolish and distinguished people of Dublin, in those
days; and who, although she went dressed like one of her waiting-women,
did not fail to recognise her real rank, and to describe as her future
husband her persevering adorer Redmond Barry, Esquire. This incident
disturbed her very much. She wrote about it in terms of great wonder
and terror to her female correspondents. ‘Can this monster,’ she wrote,
‘indeed do as he boasts, and bend even Fate to his will?--can he make
me marry him though I cordially detest him, and bring me a slave to
his feet. The horrid look of his black serpent-like eyes fascinates and
frightens me: it seems to follow me everywhere, and even when I close my
own eyes, the dreadful gaze penetrates the lids, and is still upon me.’
When a woman begins to talk of a man in this way, he is an ass who
does not win her; and, for my part, I used to follow her about, and put
myself in an attitude opposite her, ‘and fascinate her with my glance,’
as she said, most assiduously. Lord George Poynings, her former admirer,
was meanwhile keeping his room with his wound, and seemed determined to
give up all claims to her favour; for he denied her admittance when she
called, sent no answer to her multiplied correspondence, and contented
himself by saying generally, that the surgeon had forbidden him to
receive visitors or to answer letters. Thus, while he went into the
background, I came forward, and took good care that no other rivals
should present themselves with any chance of success; for, as soon as I
heard of one, I had a quarrel fastened on him, and, in this way, pinked
two more, besides my first victim Lord George. I always took another
pretext for quarrelling with them than the real one of attention to
Lady Lyndon, so that no scandal or hurt to her Ladyship’s feelings might
arise in consequence; but she very well knew what was the meaning of
these duels; and the young fellows of Dublin, too, by laying two and two
together, began to perceive that there was a certain dragon in watch for
the wealthy heiress, and that the dragon must be subdued first before
they could get at the lady. I warrant that, after the first three, not
many champions were found to address the lady; and have often laughed
(in my sleeve) to see many of the young Dublin beaux riding by the side
of her carriage scamper off as soon as my bay-mare and green liveries
made their appearance.
I wanted to impress her with some great and awful instance of my power,
and to this end had determined to confer a great benefit upon my honest
cousin Ulick, and carry off for him the fair object of his affections,
Miss Kiljoy, under the very eyes of her guardian and friend, Lady
Lyndon; and in the teeth of the squires, the young lady’s brothers, who
passed the season at Dublin, and made as much swagger and to-do about
their sister’s L10,000 Irish, as if she had had a plum to her fortune.
The girl was by no means averse to Mr. Brady; and it only shows how
faint-spirited some men are, and how a superior genius can instantly
overcome difficulties which to common minds seem insuperable, that he
never had thought of running off with her: as I at once and boldly did.
Miss Kiljoy had been a ward in Chancery until she attained her majority
(before which period it would have been a dangerous matter for me to
put in execution the scheme I meditated concerning her); but, though now
free to marry whom she liked, she was a young lady of timid disposition,
and as much under fear of her brothers and relatives as though she had
not been independent of them. They had some friend of their own in view
for the young lady, and had scornfully rejected the proposal of Ulick
Brady, the ruined gentleman; who was quite unworthy, as these rustic
bucks thought, of the hand of such a prodigiously wealthy heiress as
their sister.
Finding herself lonely in her great house in Dublin, the Countess of
Lyndon invited her friend Miss Amelia to pass the season with her at
Dublin; and, in a fit of maternal fondness, also sent for her son the
little Bullingdon, and my old acquaintance his governor, to come to
the capital and bear her company. A family coach brought the boy, the
heiress, and the tutor from Castle Lyndon; and I determined to take the
first opportunity of putting my plan in execution.
For this chance I had not very long to wait. I have said, in a former
chapter of my biography, that the kingdom of Ireland was at this
period ravaged by various parties of banditti; who, under the name
of Whiteboys, Oakboys, Steelboys, with captains at their head, killed
proctors, fired stacks, houghed and maimed cattle, and took the law into
their own hands. One of these bands, or several of them for what I know,
was commanded by a mysterious personage called Captain Thunder; whose
business seemed to be that of marrying people with or without their own
consent, or that of their parents. The Dublin Gazettes and Mercuries
of that period (the year 1772) teem with proclamations from the Lord
Lieutenant, offering rewards for the apprehension of this dreadful
Captain Thunder and his gang, and describing at length various exploits
of the savage aide-de-camp of Hymen. I determined to make use, if not
of the services, at any rate of the name of Captain Thunder, and put my
cousin Ulick in possession of his lady and her ten thousand pounds. She
was no great beauty, and, I presume, it was the money he loved rather
than the owner of it.
On account of her widowhood, Lady Lyndon could not as yet frequent the
balls and routs which the hospitable nobility of Dublin were in the
custom of giving; but her friend Miss Kiljoy had no such cause for
retirement, and was glad to attend any parties to which she might be
invited. I made Ulick Brady a present of a couple of handsome suits of
velvet, and by my influence procured him an invitation to many of the
most elegant of these assemblies. But he had not had my advantages or
experience of the manners of Court; was as shy with ladies as a young
colt, and could no more dance a minuet than a donkey. He made very
little way in the polite world or in his mistress’s heart: in fact, I
could see that she preferred several other young gentlemen to him, who
were more at home in the ball-room than poor Ulick; he had made his
first impression upon the heiress, and felt his first flame for her, in
her father’s house of Ballykiljoy, where he used to hunt and get drunk
with the old gentleman.
‘I could do THIM two well enough, anyhow,’ Ulick would say, heaving
a sigh; ‘and if it’s drinking or riding across country would do it,
there’s no man in Ireland would have a better chance with Amalia.’
‘Never fear, Ulick,’ was my reply; ‘you shall have your Amalia, or my
name is not Redmond Barry.’
My Lord Charlemont--who was one of the most elegant and accomplished
noblemen in Ireland in those days, a fine scholar and wit, a gentleman
who had travelled much abroad, where I had the honour of knowing
him--gave a magnificent masquerade at his house of Marino, some
few miles from Dublin, on the Dunleary road. And it was at this
entertainment that I was determined that Ulick should be made happy for
life. Miss Kiljoy was invited to the masquerade, and the little Lord
Bullingdon, who longed to witness such a scene; and it was agreed that
he was to go under the guardianship of his governor, my old friend the
Reverend Mr. Runt. I learned what was the equipage in which the party
were to be conveyed to the ball, and took my measures accordingly.
Ulick Brady was not present: his fortune and quality were not sufficient
to procure him an invitation to so distinguished a place, and I had
it given out three days previous that he had been arrested for debt: a
rumour which surprised nobody who knew him.
I appeared that night in a character with which I was very familiar,
that of a private soldier in the King of Prussia’s guard. I had a
grotesque mask made, with an immense nose and moustaches, talked
a jumble of broken English and German, in which the latter greatly
predominated; and had crowds round me laughing at my droll accent, and
whose curiosity was increased by a knowledge of my previous history.
Miss Kiljoy was attired as an antique princess, with little Bullingdon
as a page of the times of chivalry; his hair was in powder, his doublet
rose-colour, and pea-green and silver, and he looked very handsome and
saucy as he strutted about with my sword by his side. As for Mr. Runt,
he walked about very demurely in a domino, and perpetually paid his
respects to the buffet, and ate enough cold chicken and drank enough
punch and champagne to satisfy a company of grenadiers.
The Lord Lieutenant came and went in state-the ball was magnificent.
Miss Kiljoy had partners in plenty, among whom was myself, who walked
a minuet with her (if the clumsy waddling of the Irish heiress may be
called by such a name); and I took occasion to plead my passion for Lady
Lyndon in the most pathetic terms, and to beg her friend’s interference
in my favour.
It was three hours past midnight when the party for Lyndon House went
away. Little Bullingdon had long since been asleep in one of Lady
Charlemont’s china closets. Mr. Runt was exceedingly husky in talk, and
unsteady in gait. A young lady of the present day would be alarmed to
see a gentleman in such a condition; but it was a common sight in those
jolly old times, when a gentleman was thought a milksop unless he was
occasionally tipsy. I saw Miss Kiljoy to her carriage, with several
other gentlemen: and, peering through the crowd of ragged linkboys,
drivers, beggars, drunken men and women, who used invariably to wait
round great men’s doors when festivities were going on, saw the carriage
drive off, with a hurrah from the mob; then came back presently to the
supper-room, where I talked German, favoured the three or four topers
still there with a High-Dutch chorus, and attacked the dishes and wine
with great resolution.
‘How can you drink aisy with that big nose on?’ said one gentleman.
‘Go an be hangt!’ said I, in the true accent, applying myself again
to the wine; with which the others laughed, and I pursued my supper in
silence.
There was a gentleman present who had seen the Lyndon party go off, with
whom I had made a bet, which I lost; and the next morning I called upon
him and paid it him. All which particulars the reader will be surprised
at hearing enumerated; but the fact is, that it was not I who went back
to the party, but my late German valet, who was of my size, and,
dressed in my mask, could perfectly pass for me. We changed clothes in
a hackney-coach that stood near Lady Lyndon’s chariot, and driving after
it, speedily overtook it.
The fated vehicle which bore the lovely object of Ulick Brady’s
affections had not advanced very far, when, in the midst of a deep rut
in the road, it came suddenly to with a jolt; the footman, springing off
the back, cried ‘Stop!’ to the coachman, warning him that a wheel
was off, and that it would be dangerous to proceed with only three.
Wheel-caps had not been invented in those days, as they have since been
by the ingenious builders of Long Acre. And how the linch-pin of the
wheel had come out I do not pretend to say; but it possibly may have
been extracted by some rogues among the crowd before Lord Charlemont’s
gate.
Miss Kiljoy thrust her head out of the window, screaming as ladies
do; Mr. Runt the chaplain woke up from his boozy slumbers; and little
Bullingdon, starting up and drawing his little sword, said, ‘Don’t be
afraid, Miss Amelia: if it’s footpads, I am armed.’ The young rascal had
the spirit of a lion, that’s the truth; as I must acknowledge, in spite
of all my after quarrels with him.
The hackney-coach which had been following Lady Lyndon’s chariot by this
time came up, and the coachman seeing the disaster, stepped down from
his box, and politely requested her Ladyship’s honour to enter his
vehicle; which was as clean and elegant as any person of tiptop quality
might desire. This invitation was, after a minute or two, accepted by
the passengers of the chariot: the hackney-coachman promising to drive
them to Dublin ‘in a hurry.’ Thady, the valet, proposed to accompany
his young master and the young lady; and the coachman, who had a friend
seemingly drunk by his side on the box, with a grin told Thady to get
up behind. However, as the footboard there was covered with spikes, as
a defence against the street-boys, who love a ride gratis, Thady’s
fidelity would not induce him to brave these; and he was persuaded
to remain by the wounded chariot, for which he and the coachman
manufactured a linch-pin out of a neighbouring hedge.
Meanwhile, although the hackney-coachman drove on rapidly, yet the party
within seemed to consider it was a long distance from Dublin; and what
was Miss Kiljoy’s astonishment, on looking out of the window at length,
to see around her a lonely heath, with no signs of buildings or city.
She began forthwith to scream out to the coachman to stop; but the man
only whipped the horses the faster for her noise, and bade her Ladyship
‘hould on--‘twas a short cut he was taking.’
Miss Kiljoy continued screaming, the coachman flogging, the horses
galloping, until two or three men appeared suddenly from a hedge, to
whom the fair one cried for assistance; and the young Bullingdon opening
the coach-door, jumped valiantly out, toppling over head and heels as
he fell; but jumping up in an instant, he drew his little sword, and,
running towards the carriage, exclaimed, ‘This way, gentlemen! stop the
rascal!’
‘Stop!’ cried the men; at which the coachman pulled up with
extraordinary obedience. Runt all the while lay tipsy in the carriage,
having only a dreamy half-consciousness of all that was going on.
The newly arrived champions of female distress now held a consultation,
in which they looked at the young lord and laughed considerably.
‘Do not be alarmed,’ said the leader, coming up to the door; ‘one of my
people shall mount the box by the side of that treacherous rascal, and,
with your Ladyship’s leave, I and my companions will get in and see you
home. We are well armed, and can defend you in case of danger.’
With this, and without more ado, he jumped into the carriage, his
companion following him.
‘Know your place, fellow!’ cried out little Bullingdon indignantly: ‘and
give place to the Lord Viscount Bullingdon!’ and put himself before the
huge person of the new-comer, who was about to enter the hackney-coach.
‘Get out of that, my Lord,’ said the man, in a broad brogue, and shoving
him aside. On which the boy, crying ‘Thieves! thieves!’ drew out his
little hanger, and ran at the man, and would have wounded him (for a
small sword will wound as well as a great one); but his opponent, who
was armed with a long stick, struck the weapon luckily out of the lad’s
hands: it went flying over his head, and left him aghast and mortified
at his discomfiture.
He then pulled off his hat, making his Lordship a low bow, and entered
the carriage; the door of which was shut upon him by his confederate,
who was to mount the box. Miss Kiljoy might have screamed; but I presume
her shrieks were stopped by the sight of an enormous horse-pistol which
one of her champions produced, who said, ‘No harm is intended you,
ma’am, but if you cry out, we must gag you;’ on which she suddenly
became as mute as a fish.
All these events took place in an exceedingly short space of time; and
when the three invaders had taken possession of the carriage, the poor
little Bullingdon being left bewildered and astonished on the heath, one
of them putting his head out of the window, said,--
‘My Lord, a word with you.’
‘What is it?’ said the boy, beginning to whimper: he was but eleven
years old, and his courage had been excellent hitherto.
‘You are only two miles from Marino. Walk back till you come to a big
stone, there turn to the right, and keep on straight till you get to the
high-road, when you will easily find your way back. And when you see her
Ladyship your mamma, give CAPTAIN THUNDER’S compliments, and say Miss
Amelia Kiljoy is going to be married.’
‘O heavens!’ sighed out that young lady.
The carriage drove swiftly on, and the poor little nobleman was left
alone on the heath, just as the morning began to break. He was fairly
frightened; and no wonder. He thought of running after the coach; but
his courage and his little legs failed him: so he sat down upon a stone
and cried for vexation.
It was in this way that Ulick Brady made what I call a Sabine marriage.
When he halted with his two groomsmen at the cottage where the ceremony
was to be performed, Mr. Runt, the chaplain, at first declined to
perform it. But a pistol was held at the head of that unfortunate
preceptor, and he was told, with dreadful oaths, that his miserable
brains would be blown out; when he consented to read the service. The
lovely Amelia had, very likely, a similar inducement held out to her,
but of that I know nothing; for I drove back to town with the coachman
as soon as we had set the bridal party down, and had the satisfaction
of finding Fritz, my German, arrived before me: he had come back in my
carriage in my dress, having left the masquerade undiscovered, and done
everything there according to my orders.
Poor Runt came back the next day in a piteous plight, keeping silence as
to his share in the occurrences of the evening, and with a dismal story
of having been drunk, of having been waylaid and bound, of having been
left on the road and picked up by a Wicklow cart, which was coming in
with provisions to Dublin, and found him helpless on the road. There was
no possible means of fixing any share of the conspiracy upon him. Little
Bullingdon, who, too, found his way home, was unable in any way to
identify me. But Lady Lyndon knew that I was concerned in the plot, for
I met her hurrying the next day to the Castle; all the town being up
about the enlevement. And I saluted her with a smile so diabolical,
that I knew she was aware that I had been concerned in the daring and
ingenious scheme.
Thus it was that I repaid Ulick Brady’s kindness to me in early days;
and had the satisfaction of restoring the fallen fortunes of a deserving
branch of my family. He took his bride into Wicklow, where he lived
with her in the strictest seclusion until the affair was blown over; the
Kiljoys striving everywhere in vain to discover his retreat. They did
not for a while even know who was the lucky man who had carried off
the heiress; nor was it until she wrote a letter some weeks afterwards,
signed Amelia Brady, and expressing perfect happiness in her new
condition, and stating that she had been married by Lady Lyndon’s
chaplain Mr. Runt, that the truth was known, and my worthy friend
confessed his share of the transaction. As his good-natured mistress
did not dismiss him from his post in consequence, everybody persisted in
supposing that poor Lady Lyndon was privy to the plot; and the story of
her Ladyship’s passionate attachment for me gained more and more credit.
I was not slow, you may be sure, in profiting by these rumours. Every
one thought I had a share in the Brady marriage; though no one could
prove it. Every one thought I was well with the widowed Countess; though
no one could show that I said so. But there is a way of proving a thing
even while you contradict it, and I used to laugh and joke so apropos
that all men began to wish me joy of my great fortune, and look up to
me as the affianced husband of the greatest heiress in the kingdom.
The papers took up the matter; the female friends of Lady Lyndon
remonstrated with her and cried ‘Fie!’ Even the English journals and
magazines, which in those days were very scandalous, talked of the
matter; and whispered that a beautiful and accomplished widow, with
a title and the largest possessions in the two kingdoms, was about to
bestow her hand upon a young gentleman of high birth and fashion, who
had distinguished himself in the service of His M-----y the K--- of
Pr----. I won’t say who was the author of these paragraphs; or how
two pictures, one representing myself under the title of ‘The Prussian
Irishman,’ and the other Lady Lyndon as ‘The Countess of Ephesus,’
actually appeared in the Town and Country Magazine, published at London,
and containing the fashionable tittle-tattle of the day.
Lady Lyndon was so perplexed and terrified by this continual hold upon
her, that she determined to leave the country. Well, she did; and
who was the first to receive her on landing at Holyhead? Your humble
servant, Redmond Barry, Esquire. And, to crown all, the Dublin Mercury,
which announced her Ladyship’s departure, announced mine THE DAY BEFORE.
There was not a soul but thought she had followed me to England; whereas
she was only flying me. Vain hope!--a man of my resolution was not thus
to be balked in pursuit. Had she fled to the antipodes, I would have
been there: ay, and would have followed her as far as Orpheus did
Eurydice!
Her Ladyship had a house in Berkeley Square, London, more splendid than
that which she possessed in Dublin; and, knowing that she would come
thither, I preceded her to the English capital, and took handsome
apartments in Hill Street, hard by. I had the same intelligence in her
London house which I had procured in Dublin. The same faithful porter
was there to give me all the information I required. I promised to
treble his wages as soon as a certain event should happen. I won over
Lady Lyndon’s companion by a present of a hundred guineas down, and a
promise of two thousand when I should be married, and gained the
favours of her favourite lady’s-maid by a bribe of similar magnitude. My
reputation had so far preceded me in London that, on my arrival, numbers
of the genteel were eager to receive me at their routs. We have no idea
in this humdrum age what a gay and splendid place London was then: what
a passion for play there was among young and old, male and female; what
thousands were lost and won in a night; what beauties there were--how
brilliant, gay, and dashing! Everybody was delightfully wicked: the
Royal Dukes of Gloucester and Cumberland set the example; the nobles
followed close behind. Running away was the fashion. Ah! it was a
pleasant time; and lucky was he who had fire, and youth, and money, and
could live in it! I had all these; and the old frequenters of ‘White’s,’
‘Wattier’s,’ and ‘Goosetree’s’ could tell stories of the gallantry,
spirit, and high fashion of Captain Barry.
The progress of a love-story is tedious to all those who are not
concerned, and I leave such themes to the hack novel-writers, and the
young boarding-school misses for whom they write. It is not my intention
to follow, step by step, the incidents of my courtship, or to narrate
all the difficulties I had to contend with, and my triumphant manner of
surmounting them. Suffice it to say, I DID overcome these difficulties.
I am of opinion, with my friend the late ingenious Mr. Wilkes, that such
impediments are nothing in the way of a man of spirit; and that he can
convert indifference and aversion into love, if he have perseverance and
cleverness sufficient. By the time the Countess’s widowhood was expired,
I had found means to be received into her house; I had her women
perpetually talking in my favour, vaunting my powers, expatiating
upon my reputation, and boasting of my success and popularity in the
fashionable world.
Also, the best friends I had in the prosecution of my tender suit were
the Countess’s noble relatives; who were far from knowing the service
that they did me, and to whom I beg leave to tender my heartfelt thanks
for the abuse with which they then loaded me! and to whom I fling
my utter contempt for the calumny and hatred with which they have
subsequently pursued me.
The chief of these amiable persons was the Marchioness of Tiptoff,
mother of the young gentleman whose audacity I had punished at Dublin.
This old harridan, on the Countess’s first arrival in London,
waited upon her, and favoured her with such a storm of abuse for her
encouragement of me, that I do believe she advanced my cause more than
six months’ courtship could have done, or the pinking of a half-dozen
of rivals. It was in vain that poor Lady Lyndon pleaded her entire
innocence and vowed she had never encouraged me. ‘Never encouraged him!’
screamed out the old fury; ‘didn’t you encourage the wretch at Spa,
during Sir Charles’s own life? Didn’t you marry a dependant of yours to
one of this profligate’s bankrupt cousins? When he set off for England,
didn’t you follow him like a mad woman the very next day? Didn’t he
take lodgings at your very door almost--and do you call this no
encouragement? For shame, madam, shame! You might have married my
son--my dear and noble George; but that he did not choose to interfere
with your shameful passion for the beggarly upstart whom you caused to
assassinate him; and the only counsel I have to give your Ladyship
is this, to legitimatise the ties which you have contracted with this
shameless adventurer; to make that connection legal which, real as it is
now, is against both decency and religion; and to spare your family and
your son the shame of your present line of life.’
With this the old fury of a marchioness left the room, and Lady Lyndon
in tears: I had the whole particulars of the conversation from her
Ladyship’s companion, and augured the best result from it in my favour.
Thus, by the sage influence of my Lady Tiptoff, the Countess of Lyndon’s
natural friends and family were kept from her society. Even when Lady
Lyndon went to Court the most august lady in the realm received her with
such marked coldness, that the unfortunate widow came home and took to
her bed with vexation. And thus I may say that Royalty itself became
an agent in advancing my suit, and helping the plans of the poor Irish
soldier of fortune. So it is that Fate works with agents, great and
small; and by means over which they have no control the destinies of men
and women are accomplished.
I shall always consider the conduct of Mrs. Bridget (Lady Lyndon’s
favourite maid at this juncture) as a masterpiece of ingenuity: and,
indeed, had such an opinion of her diplomatic skill, that the very
instant I became master of the Lyndon estates, and paid her the promised
sum--I am a man of honour, and rather than not keep my word with the
woman, I raised the money of the Jews, at an exorbitant interest--as
soon, I say, as I achieved my triumph, I took Mrs. Bridget by the hand,
and said, “Madam, you have shown such unexampled fidelity in my service
that I am glad to reward you, according to my promise; but you have
given proofs of such extraordinary cleverness and dissimulation, that
I must decline keeping you in Lady Lyndon’s establishment, and beg
you will leave it this very day:” which she did, and went over to the
Tiptoff faction, and has abused me ever since.
But I must tell you what she did which was so clever. Why, it was the
simplest thing in the world, as all master-strokes are. When Lady
Lyndon lamented her fate and my--as she was pleased to call it--shameful
treatment of her, Mrs. Bridget said, ‘Why should not your Ladyship write
this young gentleman word of the evil which he is causing you? Appeal to
his feelings (which, I have heard say, are very good indeed--the whole
town is ringing with accounts of his spirit and generosity), and beg him
to desist from a pursuit which causes the best of ladies so much pain?
Do, my Lady, write: I know your style is so elegant that I, for my part,
have many a time burst into tears in reading your charming letters, and
I have no doubt Mr. Barry will sacrifice anything rather than hurt your
feelings.’ And, of course, the abigail swore to the fact.
‘Do you think so, Bridget?’ said her Ladyship. And my mistress forthwith
penned me a letter, in her most fascinating and winning manner:--‘Why,
sir,’ wrote she, ‘will you pursue me? why environ me in a web of
intrigue so frightful that my spirit sinks under it, seeing escape is
hopeless from your frightful, your diabolical art? They say you are
generous to others--be so to me. I know your bravery but too well:
exercise it on men who can meet your sword, not on a poor feeble woman,
who cannot resist you. Remember the friendship you once professed
for me. And now, I beseech you, I implore you, to give a proof of it.
Contradict the calumnies which you have spread against me, and repair,
if you can, and if you have a spark of honour left, the miseries which
you have caused to the heart-broken
‘H. LYNDON.’
What was this letter meant for but that I should answer it in person? My
excellent ally told me where I should meet Lady Lyndon, and accordingly
I followed, and found her at the Pantheon. I repeated the scene at
Dublin over again; showed her how prodigious my power was, humble as
I was, and that my energy was still untired. ‘But,’ I added, ‘I am as
great in good as I am in evil; as fond and faithful as a friend as I am
terrible as an enemy. I will do everything,’ I said, ‘which you ask of
me, except when you bid me not to love you. That is beyond my power; and
while my heart has a pulse I must follow you. It is MY fate; your fate.
Cease to battle against it, and be mine. Loveliest of your sex! with
life alone can end my passion for you; and, indeed, it is only by dying
at your command that I can be brought to obey you. Do you wish me to
die?’
She said, laughing (for she was a woman of a lively, humorous turn),
that she did not wish me to commit self-murder; and I felt from that
moment that she was mine.
*****
A year from that day, on the 15th of May, in the year 1773, I had the
honour and happiness to lead to the altar Honoria, Countess of Lyndon,
widow of the late Right Honourable Sir Charles Lyndon, K.B. The ceremony
was performed at St. George’s, Hanover Square, by the Reverend Samuel
Runt, her Ladyship’s chaplain. A magnificent supper and ball was given
at our house in Berkeley Square, and the next morning I had a duke, four
earls, three generals, and a crowd of the most distinguished people
in London at my LEVEE. Walpole made a lampoon about the marriage, and
Selwyn cut jokes at the ‘Cocoa-Tree.’ Old Lady Tiptoff, although she had
recommended it, was ready to bite off her fingers with vexation; and as
for young Bullingdon, who was grown a tall lad of fourteen, when called
upon by the Countess to embrace his papa, he shook his fist in my face
and said, ‘HE my father! I would as soon call one of your Ladyship’s
footmen Papa!’
But I could afford to laugh at the rage of the boy and the old woman,
and at the jokes of the wits of St. James’s. I sent off a flaming
account of our nuptials to my mother and my uncle the good Chevalier;
and now, arrived at the pitch of prosperity, and having, at thirty years
of age, by my own merits and energy, raised myself to one of the highest
social positions that any man in England could occupy, I determined to
enjoy myself as became a man of quality for the remainder of my life.
After we had received the congratulations of our friends in London--for
in those days people were not ashamed of being married, as they seem
to be now--I and Honoria (who was all complacency, and a most handsome,
sprightly, and agreeable companion) set off to visit our estates in the
West of England, where I had never as yet set foot. We left London in
three chariots, each with four horses; and my uncle would have been
pleased could he have seen painted on their panels the Irish crown and
the ancient coat of the Barrys beside the Countess’s coronet and the
noble cognisance of the noble family of Lyndon.
Before quitting London, I procured His Majesty’s gracious permission to
add the name of my lovely lady to my own; and henceforward assumed
the style and title of BARRY LYNDON, as I have written it in this
autobiography.