"The Virginians" was published in 1859, and ranks as one of
its author's five great novels. It contains some excellent
description of fashionable life in England in the middle of
the eighteenth century. The "Lamberts" rank among Thackeray's
best character sketches.
_I.--Harry Warrington Comes Home_
One summer morning in the year 1756, and in the reign of his Majesty
King George the Second, the _Young Rachel_, Virginian ship, Edward
Franks, master, came up the Avon river on her happy return from her
annual voyage to the Potomac. She proceeded to Bristol with the tide,
and moored in the stream as near as possible to Frail's wharf, and Mr.
Frail, her part owner, who could survey his ship from his counting-house
windows, straightway took boat and came up her side.
While the master was in conversation with Mr. Frail a young man of some
nineteen years of age came up the hatchway. He was dressed in deep
mourning and called out, "Gumbo, you idiot, why don't you fetch the
baggage out of the cabin? Well, shipmate, our journey is ended. I
thought yesterday the voyage would never be done, and now I am almost
sorry it is over."
"This is Mr. Warrington, Madam Esmond Warrington's son of Castlewood,"
said Captain Franks to Mr. Frail. The British merchant's hat was
instantly off his head, and its owner was bowing, as if a crown prince
were before him.
"Gracious powers, Mr. Warrington! This is a delight indeed! Let me
cordially and respectfully welcome you to England; let me shake your
hand as the son of my benefactress and patroness, Mrs. Esmond
Warrington, whose name is known and honoured on Bristol 'Change, I
warrant you, my dear Mr. George."
"My name is not George; my name is Henry," said the young man as he
turned his head away, and his eyes filled with tears.
"Gracious powers, what do you mean, sir? Are you not my lady's heir? and
is not George Esmond Warrington, Esq--"
"Hold your tongue, you fool!" cried Mr. Franks.
"Don't you see the young gentleman's black clothes? Mr. George is
there," pointing with his finger towards the topmast, or the sky beyond.
"He is dead a year sir, come next July. He would go out with General
Braddock, and he and a thousand more never came back again. Every man of
them was murdered as he fell. You know the Indian way, Mr. Frail?
Horrible! Ain't it, sir? He was a fine young man, the very picture of
this one; only his hair was black, which is now hanging in a bloody
Indian wigwam. He was often on board on the _Young Rachel_, with his
chest of books,--a shy and silent young gent, not like this one, which
was the merriest, wildest young fellow full of his songs and fun. He
took on dreadful at the news, but he's got better on the voyage; and, in
course, the young gentleman can't be for ever a-crying after a brother
who dies and leaves him a great fortune. Ever since we sighted Ireland
he has been quite gay and happy, only he would go off at times, when he
was most merry, saying, 'I wish my dearest Georgie could enjoy this here
sight along with me,' and when you mentioned t'other's name, you see, he
couldn't stand it."
Again and again Harry Warrington and his brother had poured over the
English map, and determined upon the course which they should take upon
arriving at Home. The sacred point in their pilgrimage was that old
Castlewood in Hampshire, the home of their family, whence had come their
grandparents. From Bristol to Bath, to Salisbury, to Winchester, to
_Home_; they had mapped the journey many and many a time. Without
stopping in Bristol, Harry Warrington was whirled away in a postchaise
and at last drew up at the rustic inn on Castlewood Green. Then with a
beating heart he walked towards the house where his grandsire Colonel
Esmond's youth had been passed.
The family was away, and the housekeeper was busy getting ready for my
lord and my lady who were expected that evening. Harry wrote down his
name on a paper from his own pocket and laid it on a table in the hall;
and then walked away, not caring to own how disappointed he was. No one
had known him. Had any of his relatives ridden up to his house in
Virginia, whether the master were present or absent, the guests would
have been made welcome. Harry felt terribly alone. The inn folks did not
know the name of Warrington. They told him before he went to bed that my
lord Castlewood and his sister Lady Maria, and their stepmother the
Countess, and her son Mr. William, had arrived at the Castle, and two
hours later the Baroness Bernstein, my lord's aunt. Harry remembered
that the Baroness Bernstein was his mother's half-sister, for Colonel
Esmond's wife was the mother of Beatrice Bernstein who had married a
German baron, after marrying Bishop Tusher.
The Castlewoods were for letting their young American kinsman stay at
his inn, but Madam Bernstein, of whom all the family stood in awe, at
once insisted that Harry Warrington should be sent for, and on his
arrival made much of him. As for the boy, he felt very grateful towards
the lady who had received him so warmly.
Within six months Harry had fallen in love with Lady Maria, who was over
forty. He was wealthy and, thanks to Gumbo, his servant, the extent of
his estate had been greatly magnified by that cheerfullest of negroes.
The Castlewoods professed themselves indifferent to the love-making that
seemed to be going on between Harry and Maria, but Madam Bernstein was
indignant.
"Do you remember," she cried, with energy, "who the poor boy is, and
what your house owes to its family? His grandfather gave up this estate,
this title, this very castle, that you and yours might profit by it. And
the reward for all this is that you talk of marrying him to a silly
elderly creature, who might be his mother. He _shan't_ marry her."
So Madam Bernstein, having tired of Castlewood, decided that Maria must
accompany her to Tunbridge Wells and Harry was invited to act as escort,
and to stay a day or two at the Wells. At the end of the first day's
travel, when they had just reached Farnham, poor Maria was ill, and her
cheeks were yellow when she retired for the night.
"That absurd Maria!" says Madam Bernstein, playing piquet with Harry.
"She never had a good constitution. I hope she intends to be well
to-morrow morning. She was forty-one years old. All her upper teeth are
false, and she can't eat with them. How clumsily you deal, child!"
The next morning Lady Maria's indisposition was over, but Harry was
wretched. Then in the evening the horse Harry was riding, in the matter
of which he had been cheated by his cousin Will, at Castlewood, came
down on his knees and sent the rider over his head. Mr. Harry was picked
up insensible and carried home into a house called Oakhurst that stood
hard by the road.
_II.--Samaritans_
That Mr. Warrington is still alive can be proved by the following
letter, sent from the lady into whose house he was taken after his fall
from Mr. Will's broken-kneed horse, to Mrs. Esmond Warrington. "If Mrs.
Esmond Warrington of Virginia can call to mind twenty-three years ago,
she may perhaps remember Miss Molly Benson, her classmate, at Kensington
boarding school. Yesterday evening, as we were at tea there came a great
ringing at our gate, and the servants, running out returned with the
news that a young gentleman was lying lifeless on the road. At this, my
dear husband, Colonel Lambert (who is sure the most Samaritan of men)
hastens away, and presently, with the aid of the servants, and followed
by two ladies,--one of whom is your cousin, Lady Maria Esmond and the
other Baroness of Bernstein,--brings into the house such a pale,
beautiful young man! The ladies went on to Tunbridge when Mr. Warrington
was restored to consciousness and this morning the patient is very
comfortable and the Colonel, who has had plenty of practice in accidents
of this nature during his campaigns, pronounces that in two days more
Mr. Warrington will be ready to take the road.
"Madam, Your affectionate, humble servant,
"MARY LAMBERT."
Harry Warrington's dislocated shoulder having been set, he was well
enough to rise the following day, and Colonel Lambert lead his young
guest into the parlour and introduced him to his two daughters, Miss
Hester and Miss Theo. Three days later Mr. Warrington's health was
entirely restored and he was out walking with Mrs. Lambert and the young
ladies. What business had he to be walking with anybody but Lady Maria
Esmond on the Pantiles, Tunbridge Wells? Why did he stay behind, unless
he was in love with either of the young ladies? (and we say he wasn't).
Could it be that he did not want to go? Only a week ago he was
whispering in Castlewood shrubberies, and was he now ashamed of the
nonsense he had talked there? What if his fell aunt's purpose is
answered, and if his late love is killed by her communications? Surely
kind hearts must pity Lady Maria, for she is having no very pleasant
time of it at Tunbridge Wells. There is no one to protect her. Madam
Beatrix has her all to herself. Lady Maria is poor, and hopes for money
for her aunt, and Lady Maria has a secret or two which the old woman
knows and brandishes over her.
Meanwhile Harry Warrington remained day after day contentedly at
Oakhurst, with each day finding the kindly folks who welcomed him more
to his liking. Never, since his grandfather's death, had he been in such
good company. His lot had lain among fox hunting Virginian squires, and
until he left his home he did not know how narrow and confined his life
had been there.
Here the lad found himself in the midst of a circle where everything
about him was incomparably gayer, brighter and more free. He was living
with a man and woman who had seen the world, though they lived retired
from it, and one of the benefits which Harry Warrington received from
this family was to begin to learn that he was a profoundly ignorant
young fellow. He admired his brother at home faithfully, of his kinsman
at Castlewood he had felt himself at least the equal. In Colonel Lambert
he found a man who had read far more books than Harry could pretend to
judge of, and who had goodness and honesty written on his face and
breathing from his lips.
As for the women, they were the kindest, merriest, most agreeable he had
ever known. Here was a tranquil, sunshiny day of a life that was to be
agitated and stormy. He was not in love, either with saucy Hetty or
generous Theodosia: but when the time came for going away, he fastened
on both their hands, and felt an immense regard for them.
"He is very kind and honest," said Theo gravely as they watched him and
their father riding away.
"I am glad he has got papa to ride with him to Westerham," said little
Hetty. "I don't like his going to those Castlewood people. I am sure
that Madam Bernstein is a wicked old woman. I expected to see her ride
away on her crooked stick. The other old woman seemed fond of him. She
looked very melancholy when she went away, but Madam Bernstein whisked
her off with her crutch, and she was obliged to go."
_III.--Harry Warrington is Disinherited_
Our young Virginian found himself after a few days at Tunbridge Wells by
far the most important personage in the place. The story of his wealth
had been magnified, and his winnings at play, which were considerable,
were told and calculated at every tea-table. The old aunt Bernstein
enjoyed his triumphs, and bade him pursue his enjoyments. As for Lady
Maria, though Harry Warrington knew she was as old as his mother, he had
given her his word to marry her at Castlewood, and, as he said, "A
Virginian Esmond has but his word!"
Madam Bernstein offered her niece £5,000 to free Mr. Warrington of his
engagement but the offer was declined, and a few weeks later Lady Maria
returned to Castlewood, while Harry went to London. He knew that his
mother, who was mistress for life of the Virginian property, would
refuse her consent to his marriage, and the thought of it was put off to
a late period. Meanwhile it hung like a weight round the young man's
neck.
No wonder that his spirits rose more gaily as he came near London. He
took lodgings in Bond Street and lived upon the fat of the land. His
title of Fortunate Youth, bestowed upon him because of his luck at
cards, was prettily recognised. But after a few weeks of lavish success,
the luck turned and he lost heavily: the last blow was after a private
game at piquet with his kinsman Lord Castlewood. Harry Warrington had
now drawn and spent all his patrimony, and one evening when he was
leaving the house of his uncle Sir Miles Warrington,--his dead father's
elder brother,--two bailiffs took him for a debt of £500 and the
Fortunate Youth was lodged in a sponging house in Chancery Lane.
Madam Bernstein was willing to pay her nephew's debts at once if he
would break off his engagement with Lady Maria, but this the
high-spirited youth declined to do.
Castlewood wrote frankly and said he had not got enough money for the
purpose, and Lady Warrington sent a tract and said Sir Miles was away
from home. But for his faithful servant Gumbo, Harry would have wanted
ready money for his food.
It was Colonel Lambert, of whom Harry had seen little since he left
Oakhurst, who came to his young friend's assistance. But the same night
which saw Colonel Lambert at the sponging house saw the reappearance of
his brother George.
"I am the brother whom you have heard of, sir," he said, addressing
Colonel Lambert; "and who was left for dead in Mr. Braddock's action:
and came to life again after eighteen months amongst the French; and
live to thank God, and thank you for your kindness to my Harry. I can
never forget that you helped my brother at his need."
While the two brothers were rejoicing over their meeting, "the whole
town" was soon busy talking over the news that Mr. Harry Warrington was
but a second son, and no longer the heir to a principality and untold
wealth.
George loved his brother too well to have any desire for the union with
Lady Maria, and lost no time in explaining to Lord Castlewood that Harry
had no resources save dependence,--"and I know no worse lot than to be
dependent on a self-willed woman like our mother. The means my brother
had to make himself respected at home he hath squandered away here."
To Harry himself George repeated these words and added:
"My dear, I think one day you will say I have done my duty."
That night after the two brothers had dined together Harry went out, and
did not return for three hours.
"It was shabby to say I would not aid him, and God help me, it was not
true. I won't leave him, though he marries a blackamoor," thought George
as he sat alone.
Presently Harry came in, looking ghastly pale. He came up and took his
brother's hand.
"Perhaps what you did was right," he said, "though I, for one, will
never believe that you would throw your brother off in distress. At
dinner I thought suddenly, I'll say to her, 'Maria, poor as I am, I am
yours to take or to leave. If you will have me, here I am: I will
enlist: I will work: I will try and make a livelihood for myself
somehow, and my bro--my relations will relent, and give us enough to
live on.' That's what I determined to tell her; and I did, George. I
found them all at dinner, all except Will; that is, I spoke out that
very moment to them all, sitting round the table over their wine.
'Maria,' says I, 'a poor fellow wants to redeem his promise which he
made when he fancied he was rich. Will you take him?' I found I had
plenty of words, and I ended by saying 'I would do my best and my duty
by her, so help me God!'
"When I had done, she came up to me quite kind. She took my hand, and
kissed it before the rest. 'My dear,' she said, 'I have long seen it was
only duty and a foolish promise made by a young man to an old woman,
that has held you to your engagement. To keep it would make you
miserable, and I absolve you from it, thanking you with all my heart for
your fidelity, and blessing my dear cousin always.' And she came up to
me and kissed me before them all, and went out of the room quite
stately, and without a single tear. Oh, George, isn't she a noble
creature?"
"Here's her health," cries George, filling a glass.
"Hip, hip, huzzay!" says Harry. He was wild with delight at being free.
Madame Bernstein was scarcely less pleased than her Virginian nephews at
the result of Harry's final interview with Lady Maria.
_IV.--From the Warrington MSS._
My brother Harry Warrington went to Canada to serve tinder General
Wolfe, and remained with the army after the death of his glorious
commander. And I, George Warrington, stayed in London, read law in the
Temple, and wrote plays which were performed at Covent Garden, and was
in love with Miss Theodosia Lambert. Madame Esmond Warrington, however,
refused her consent to the match, and Major General Lambert declared an
engagement impossible under the circumstances.
Then in 1760, when George II. was dead, and George III. was king,
General Lambert was appointed to be governor and commander-in-chief of
the Island of Jamaica. His speedy departure was announced, he would have
a frigate given him, and _take his family with him._ Merciful powers!
and were we to be parted?
At last, one day, almost the last of his stay, when the General's
preparations for departure were all made, the good man (His Excellency
we call him now) canoe home to his dinner and sighed out to his wife:
"I wish, Molly, George was here. I may go away and never see him again,
and take his foolish little sweetheart along with me. I suppose you will
write to each other, children? I can't prevent that, you know."
"George is in the drawing-room," says mamma, quietly.
"Is he? my dearest boy!" cries the general. "Come to me--come in!" And
when I entered he held me to his heart and kissed me.
"Always loved you as a son--haven't I, Molly?" he mutters hurriedly.
"Broke my heart nearly when I quarrelled with you about this
little--What, all down on your knees! In heaven's name, tell me what has
happened!"
What had happened was, that George Esmond Warrington and Theodosia
Lambert had been married in Southwark Church that morning.
I pass over the scenes of forgiveness, of reconciliation, of final
separation when the ship sailed away before us, leaving me and Theo on
the shore. And there is no need to recall her expressions of maternal
indignation when my mother was informed of the step I had taken. On the
pacification of Canada, my dear Harry dutifully paid a visit to
Virginia, and wrote describing his reception at home.
Many were the doubts and anxieties which, for my last play had been a
failure, now beset us, and plan after plan I tried for procuring work
and adding to our dwindling stock of money. By a hard day's labour at
translating from foreign languages for the booksellers, I could earn a
few shillings--so few that a week's work would hardly bring me a guinea.
Hard times were not over with us till some time after the Baroness
Bernstein's death (she left everything she had to her dear nephew, Henry
Esmond Warrington), when my uncle Sir Miles procured me a post as one of
his Majesty's commissioners for licensing hackney coaches. His only
child was dead, and I was now heir to the Baronetcy.
Then one morning, before almost I had heard of my uncle's illness, a
lawyer waits upon me at my lodgings in Bloomsbury, and salutes me by the
name of Sir George Warrington.
The records of a prosperous country life are easily told. Obedient
tenants bowed and curtsied as we went to church, and we drove to visit
our neighbours in the great family coach.
Shall I ever see the old mother again, I wonder! When Hal was in
England, we sent her pictures of both her sons painted by the admirable
Sir Joshua Reynolds. We never let Harry rest until he had asked Hetty in
marriage. He obeyed, and it was she who declined. "She had always," she
wrote, "the truest regard for him from the dear old time when they had
met almost children together. But she would never leave her father. When
it pleased God to take him, she hoped she would be too old to think of
bearing any other name but her own."
My brother Hal is still a young man, being little more than 50, and
Hetty is now a staid little lady. There are days when she looks
surprisingly young and blooming. Why should Theo and I have been so
happy, and thou so lonely?
* * * * *