ever. Is not history, from the Trojan war upwards and downwards,
full of instances of such strange inexplicable passions? Was not
Helen, by the most moderate calculation, ninety years of age when
she went off with His Royal Highness Prince Paris of Troy? Was not
Madame La Valliere ill-made, blear-eyed, tallow-complexioned,
scraggy, and with hair like tow? Was not Wilkes the ugliest,
charmingest, most successful man in the world? Such instances might
be carried out so as to fill a volume; but cui bono? Love is fate,
and not will; its origin not to be explained, its progress
irresistible: and the best proof of this may be had at Bow Street
any day, where if you ask any officer of the establishment how they
take most thieves, he will tell you at the houses of the women.
They must see the dear creatures though they hang for it; they will
love, though they have their necks in the halter. And with regard
to the other position, that ill-usage on the part of the man does
not destroy the affection of the woman, have we not numberless
police-reports, showing how, when a bystander would beat a husband
for beating his wife, man and wife fall together on the interloper
and punish him for his meddling?
These points, then, being settled to the satisfaction of all
parties, the reader will not be disposed to question the assertion
that Mrs. Hall had a real affection for the gallant Count, and grew,
as Mr. Brock was pleased to say, like a beefsteak, more tender as
she was thumped. Poor thing, poor thing! his flashy airs and smart
looks had overcome her in a single hour; and no more is wanted to
plunge into love over head and ears; no more is wanted to make a
first love with--and a woman's first love lasts FOR EVER (a man's
twenty-fourth or twenty-fifth is perhaps the best): you can't kill
it, do what you will; it takes root, and lives and even grows, never
mind what the soil may be in which it is planted, or the bitter
weather it must bear--often as one has seen a wallflower grow--out
of a stone.
In the first weeks of their union, the Count had at least been
liberal to her: she had a horse and fine clothes, and received
abroad some of those flattering attentions which she held at such
high price. He had, however, some ill-luck at play, or had been
forced to pay some bills, or had some other satisfactory reason for
being poor, and his establishment was very speedily diminished. He
argued that, as Mrs. Catherine had been accustomed to wait on others
all her life, she might now wait upon herself and him; and when the
incident of the beer arose, she had been for some time employed as
the Count's housekeeper, with unlimited superintendence over his
comfort, his cellar, his linen, and such matters as bachelors are
delighted to make over to active female hands. To do the poor
wretch justice, she actually kept the man's menage in the best
order; nor was there any point of extravagance with which she could
be charged, except a little extravagance of dress displayed on the
very few occasions when he condescended to walk abroad with her, and
extravagance of language and passion in the frequent quarrels they
had together. Perhaps in such a connection as subsisted between
this precious couple, these faults are inevitable on the part of the
woman. She must be silly and vain, and will pretty surely therefore
be fond of dress; and she must, disguise it as she will, be
perpetually miserable and brooding over her fall, which will cause
her to be violent and quarrelsome.
Such, at least, was Mrs. Hall; and very early did the poor vain
misguided wretch begin to reap what she had sown.
For a man, remorse under these circumstances is perhaps uncommon.
No stigma affixes on HIM for betraying a woman; no bitter pangs of
mortified vanity; no insulting looks of superiority from his
neighbour, and no sentence of contemptuous banishment is read
against him; these all fall on the tempted, and not on the tempter,
who is permitted to go free. The chief thing that a man learns
after having successfully practised on a woman is to despise the
poor wretch whom he has won. The game, in fact, and the glory, such
as it is, is all his, and the punishment alone falls upon her.
Consider this, ladies, when charming young gentlemen come to woo you
with soft speeches. You have nothing to win, except wretchedness,
and scorn, and desertion. Consider this, and be thankful to your
Solomons for telling it.
It came to pass, then, that the Count had come to have a perfect
contempt and indifference for Mrs. Hall;--how should he not for a
have been quite glad of any opportunity of parting with her. But
there was a certain lingering shame about the man, which prevented
him from saying at once and abruptly, "Go!" and the poor thing did
not choose to take such hints as fell out in the course of their
conversation and quarrels. And so they kept on together, he
treating her with simple insult, and she hanging on desperately, by
whatever feeble twig she could find, to the rock beyond which all
was naught, or death, to her.
Well, after the night with Tom Trippet and the pretty fellows at the
"Rose," to which we have heard the Count allude in the conversation
just recorded, Fortune smiled on him a good deal; for the
Warwickshire squire, who had lost forty pieces on that occasion,
insisted on having his revenge the night after; when, strange to
say, a hundred and fifty more found their way into the pouch of his
Excellency the Count. Such a sum as this quite set the young
nobleman afloat again, and brought back a pleasing equanimity to his
mind, which had been a good deal disturbed in the former difficult
circumstances; and in this, for a little and to a certain extent,
poor Cat had the happiness to share. He did not alter the style of
his establishment, which consisted, as before, of herself and a
small person who acted as scourer, kitchen-wench, and scullion; Mrs.
Catherine always putting her hand to the principal pieces of the
dinner; but he treated his mistress with tolerable good-humour; or,
to speak more correctly, with such bearable brutality as might be
expected from a man like him to a woman in her condition. Besides,
a certain event was about to take place, which not unusually occurs
in circumstances of this nature, and Mrs. Catherine was expecting
soon to lie in.
The Captain, distrusting naturally the strength of his own paternal
feelings, had kindly endeavoured to provide a parent for the coming
infant; and to this end had opened a negotiation with our friend Mr.
Thomas Bullock, declaring that Mrs. Cat should have a fortune of
twenty guineas, and reminding Tummas of his ancient flame for her:
but Mr. Tummas, when this proposition was made to him, declined it,
with many oaths, and vowed that he was perfectly satisfied with his
present bachelor condition. In this dilemma, Mr. Brock stepped
forward, who declared himself very ready to accept Mrs. Catherine
and her fortune: and might possibly have become the possessor of
both, had not Mrs. Cat, the moment she heard of the proposed
arrangement, with fire in her eyes, and rage--oh, how bitter!--in
her heart, prevented the success of the measure by proceeding
incontinently to the first justice of the peace, and there swearing
before his worship who was the father of the coming child.
This proceeding, which she had expected would cause not a little
indignation on the part of her lord and master, was received by him,
strangely enough, with considerable good-humour: he swore that the
wench had served him a good trick, and was rather amused at the
anger, the outbreak of fierce rage and contumely, and the wretched
wretched tears of heartsick desperation, which followed her
announcement of this step to him. For Mr. Brock, she repelled his
offer with scorn and loathing, and treated the notion of a union
with Mr. Bullock with yet fiercer contempt. Marry him indeed! a
workhouse pauper carrying a brown-bess! She would have died sooner,
she said, or robbed on the highway. And so, to do her justice, she
would: for the little minx was one of the vainest creatures in
existence, and vanity (as I presume everybody knows) becomes THE
principle in certain women's hearts--their moral spectacles, their
conscience, their meat and drink, their only rule of right and
wrong.
As for Mr. Tummas, he, as we have seen, was quite unfriendly to the
proposition as she could be; and the Corporal, with a good deal of
comical gravity, vowed that, as he could not be satisfied in his
dearest wishes, he would take to drinking for a consolation: which
he straightway did.
"Come, Tummas," said he to Mr. Bullock "since we CAN'T have the girl
of our hearts, why, hang it, Tummas, let's drink her health!" To
which Bullock had no objection. And so strongly did the
disappointment weigh upon honest Corporal Brock, that even when,
after unheard-of quantities of beer, he could scarcely utter a word,
he was seen absolutely to weep, and, in accents almost
not of a wife, but of a child: he wanted one so, he said, to
comfort him in his old age.
The time of Mrs. Catherine's couche drew near, arrived, and was gone
through safely. She presented to the world a chopping boy, who
might use, if he liked, the Galgenstein arms with a bar-sinister;
and in her new cares and duties had not so many opportunities as
usual of quarrelling with the Count: who, perhaps, respected her
situation, or, at least, was so properly aware of the necessity of
quiet to her, that he absented himself from home morning, noon, and
night.
The Captain had, it must be confessed, turned these continued
absences to a considerable worldly profit, for he played
incessantly; and, since his first victory over the Warwickshire
Squire, Fortune had been so favourable to him, that he had at
various intervals amassed a sum of nearly a thousand pounds, which
he used to bring home as he won; and which he deposited in a strong
iron chest, cunningly screwed down by himself under his own bed.
This Mrs. Catherine regularly made, and the treasure underneath it
could be no secret to her. However, the noble Count kept the key,
and bound her by many solemn oaths (that he discharged at her
himself) not to reveal to any other person the existence of the
chest and its contents.
But it is not in a woman's nature to keep such secrets; and the
Captain, who left her for days and days, did not reflect that she
would seek for confidants elsewhere. For want of a female
companion, she was compelled to bestow her sympathies upon Mr.
Brock; who, as the Count's corporal, was much in his lodgings, and
who did manage to survive the disappointment which he had
experienced by Mrs. Catherine's refusal of him.
About two months after the infant's birth, the Captain, who was
annoyed by its squalling, put it abroad to nurse, and dismissed its
attendant. Mrs. Catherine now resumed her household duties, and
was, as before, at once mistress and servant of the establishment.
As such, she had the keys of the beer, and was pretty sure of the
attentions of the Corporal; who became, as we have said, in the
Count's absence, his lady's chief friend and companion. After the
manner of ladies, she very speedily confided to him all her domestic
secrets; the causes of her former discontent; the Count's ill-
treatment of her; the wicked names he called her; the prices that
all her gowns had cost her; how he beat her; how much money he won
and lost at play; how she had once pawned a coat for him; how he had
four new ones, laced, and paid for; what was the best way of
cleaning and keeping gold-lace, of making cherry-brandy, pickling
salmon, etc., etc. Her confidences upon all these subjects used to
follow each other in rapid succession; and Mr. Brock became, ere
long, quite as well acquainted with the Captain's history for the
last year as the Count himself:--for he was careless, and forgot
things; women never do. They chronicle all the lover's small
actions, his words, his headaches, the dresses he has worn, the
things he has liked for dinner on certain days;--all which
circumstances commonly are expunged from the male brain immediately
after they have occurred, but remain fixed with the female.
To Brock, then, and to Brock only (for she knew no other soul), Mrs.
Cat breathed, in strictest confidence, the history of the Count's
winnings, and his way of disposing of them; how he kept his money
screwed down in an iron chest in their room; and a very lucky fellow
did Brock consider his officer for having such a large sum. He and
Cat looked at the chest: it was small, but mighty strong, sure
enough, and would defy picklocks and thieves. Well, if any man
deserved money, the Captain did ("though he might buy me a few yards
of that lace I love so," interrupted Cat),--if any man deserved
money, he did, for he spent it like a prince, and his hand was
always in his pocket.
It must now be stated that Monsieur de Galgenstein had, during Cat's
seclusion, cast his eyes upon a young lady of good fortune, who
frequented the Assembly at Birmingham, and who was not a little
smitten by his title and person. The "four new coats, laced, and
paid for," as Cat said, had been purchased, most probably, by his
Excellency for the purpose of dazzling the heiress; and he and the
coats had succeeded so far as to win from the young woman an actual
profession of love, and a promise of marriage provided Pa would
consent. This was obtained,--for Pa was a tradesman; and I suppose
every one of my readers has remarked how great an effect a title has
on the lower classes. Yes, thank Heaven! there is about a freeborn
Briton a cringing baseness, and lickspittle awe of rank, which does
not exist under any
tyranny in Europe, and is only to be found here
and in America.
All these negotiations had been going on quite unknown to Cat; and,
as the Captain had determined, before two months were out, to fling
that young woman on the pave, he was kind to her in the meanwhile:
people always are when they are swindling you, or meditating an
injury against you.
The poor girl had much too high an opinion of her own charms to
suspect that the Count could be unfaithful to them, and had no
notion of the plot that was formed against her. But Mr. Brock had:
for he had seen many times a gilt coach with a pair of fat white
horses ambling in the neighbourhood of the town, and the Captain on
his black steed caracolling majestically by its side; and he had
remarked a fat, pudgy, pale-haired woman treading heavily down the
stairs of the Assembly, leaning on the Captain's arm: all these Mr.
Brock had seen, not without reflection. Indeed, the Count one day,
in great good-humour, had slapped him on the shoulder and told him
that he was about speedily to purchase a regiment; when, by his
great gods, Mr. Brock should have a pair of colours. Perhaps this
promise occasioned his silence to Mrs. Catherine hitherto; perhaps
he never would have peached at all; and perhaps, therefore, this
history would never have been written, but for a small circumstance
which occurred at this period.
"What can you want with that drunken old Corporal always about your
quarters?" said Mr. Trippet to the Count one day, as they sat over
their wine, in the midst of a merry company, at the Captain's rooms.
"What!" said he. "Old Brock? The old thief has been more useful to
me than many a better man. He is as brave in a row as a lion, as
cunning in intrigue as a fox; he can nose a dun at an inconceivable
distance, and scent out a pretty woman be she behind ever so many
stone walls. If a gentleman wants a good rascal now, I can
recommend him. I am going to reform, you know, and must turn him
out of my service."
"And pretty Mrs. Cat?"
"Oh, curse pretty Mrs. Cat! she may go too."
"And the brat?"
"Why, you have parishes, and what not, here in England. Egad! if a
gentleman were called upon to keep all his children, there would be
no living: no, stap my vitals! Croesus couldn't stand it."
"No, indeed," said Mr. Trippet: "you are right; and when a
gentleman marries, he is bound in honour to give up such low
connections as are useful when he is a bachelor."
"Of course; and give them up I will, when the sweet Mrs. Dripping is
mine. As for the girl, you can have her, Tom Trippet, if you take a
fancy to her; and as for the Corporal, he may be handed over to my
successor in Cutts's:--for I will have a regiment to myself, that's
poz; and to take with me such a swindling, pimping, thieving,
brandy-faced rascal as this Brock will never do. Egad! he's a
disgrace to the service. As it is, I've often a mind to have the
superannuated vagabond drummed out of the corps."
Although this resume of Mr. Brock's character and accomplishments
was very just, it came perhaps with an ill grace from Count Gustavus
Adolphus Maximilian, who had profited by all his qualities, and who
certainly would never have given this opinion of them had he known
that the door of his dining-parlour was open, and that the gallant
Corporal, who was in the passage, could hear every syllable that
fell from the lips of his commanding officer. We shall not say,
after the fashion of the story-books, that Mr. Brock listened with a
flashing eye and a distended nostril; that his chest heaved
tumultuously, and that his hand fell down mechanically to his side,
where it played with the brass handle of his sword. Mr. Kean would
have gone through most of these bodily exercises had he been acting
the part of a villain enraged and disappointed like Corporal Brock;
but that gentleman walked away without any gestures of any kind, and