A NIGHT AT GREENWAY COURT by Willa Cather

Willa Cather (1873-1947) wrote a story in 1896 about Lord Fairfax (1693-1781) and his place, Greenway Court. (1747-1834).

There's a mysterious portrait of a woman's face marred by some blow punched through it. Willa Cather is exploring why Lord Fairfax never married because of being rejected by someone he had loved. That picture as described is similar to a portrait of Sally Carey, a woman George Washington adored. And there's a duel. There's a lot of tantalizing allusions to an English history of a global war previous to the Seven Years War, since this story occurs in 1752. That's some of what is in Willa Cather's imaginative story. In reality, Lord Fairfax designed the manor in 1747 and then he, Lord Fairfax, moved out there in 1752.

We reprint that full story below with links and commentary on her historical references.

A NIGHT AT GREENWAY COURT

by Willa Cather

I, Richard Morgan, of the town of Winchester, county of Frederick,

of the Commonwealth of Virginia,

[ fictional character but Richard Morgan was a name big in early Frederick Co history as well as Morgan Morgan and Zackquill Morgan ]

having been asked by my friend Josiah Goodrich,

who purports making a history of this valley,

[fictional character but found a Goodrich here]

to set down all I know concerning

the death of M. Philip Marie Maurepas,

[fictional character but the name of Maurepas is famous as a politician and this fort]

a gentleman, it seems,

of considerable importance in his own country,

will proceed to do so briefly and with what little skill I am master of.

The incident which I am about to relate occurred in my early youth,

but so deeply did it fix itself upon my memory

that the details are as clear as though it had happened but yesterday.

Engraving of "Greenway Court, the seat of Lord [Thomas] Fairfax", near Winchester, Virginia. Source: Howe, Henry (1845), Historical Collections Of Virginia: Containing A Collection Of The Most Interesting Facts, Traditions, Biographical Sketches, Anecdotes, Etc.; Charleston, South Carolina: S. Babcock & Co. — Howe, Henry (1845), Historical Collections Of Virginia: Containing A Collection Of The Most Interesting Facts, Traditions, Biographical Sketches, Anecdotes, Etc.; Charleston, South Carolina: S. Babcock & Co.

Indeed, of all the stirring events

that have happened in my time,

those nights spent at

Greenway Court

in my youth stand out most boldly

in my memory.

It was, I think, one evening late in

October, in the year 1752,

that my Lord Fairfax

sent his man

over to my father's house

at Winchester

to say that on the morrow

his master desired my company at the Court.

[ In reality, Lord Fairfax got the deed to this area in 1733 and designed the manor in 1747 and then moved out there in 1752. See page 34-35 and page 40 of Hugh Fairfax's book, Fairfax of Virginia: The Forgotten Story of America's only Peerage 1690 to 1960 ].

My father, a prosperous tobacco merchant,

greatly regretted that I should be brought up in a new country,

so far from the world of polite letters and social accomplishments,

and contrived that I should pass much of my leisure

in the company of one of the most gracious gentlemen

and foremost scholars of his time,

Thomas, Lord Fairfax.

Accordingly, I was not surprised at my lord's summons.

Late in the afternoon

of the following day

I rode over to the Court,

and was first shown into my lord's private office,

where for some time

we discussed

my lord's suit,

then pending with

the sons of Joist Hite,

concerning certain lands

beyond the Blue Ridge,

then held by them,

which my lord claimed

through the extension

of his grant from the crown.

Our business being dispatched, he said:

"Come, Richard, in the hall I will present you to some gentlemen

who will entertain you until supper time.

There is a Frenchman stopping here,

M. Maurepas, a gentleman of most engaging conversation.

The Viscount Chillingham you will not meet until later,

as he has gone out with the hounds."

We crossed the yard and entered the hall where the table was already laid

with my lord's silver platters and thin glass goblets,

which never ceased to delight me when I dined with him,

and though since, in London, I have drunk wine at a king's table,

I have seen none finer.

At the end of the room by the fire place

sat two men over their cards.

One was a clergyman, whom I had met before, t

he other a tall spare gentleman

whom my lord introduced

as M. Philip Marie Maurepas.

As I sat down, the gentleman addressed me in excellent English.

The bright firelight gave me an excellent opportunity for observing this man,

which I did,

for with us strangers were too few not to be of especial interest,

and in a way their very appearance spoke to us

of an older world beyond the seas

for which the hearts of all of us still hungered.

He was, as I have said,

a tall man, narrow chested

and with unusually long arms.

His forehead was high and his chin sharp, his skin was dark, tanned, as I later learned, by his long service in the Indes.

[This description reminds us of a young George Washington Kurtz who used to own the corner of Cork and Braddock, the site of the Washington Office Museum. GW Kurtz was a Captain in the Confederate Army wearing a uniform for the Daniel Morgan Rifle Company]

He had a pair of restless black eyes and thin lips

shaded by a dark mustache.

His hair was coal black and grew long upon his shoulders;

later I noticed that it was slightly touched with gray.

His dress had once been fine,

but had seen considerable service

and was somewhat the worse for the weather.

He wore breeches of dark blue velvet and leather leggins.

His shirt and vest were of dark red

and had once been worked with gold.

In his belt he wore a long knife

with a slender blade and a handle of gold

curiously worked in the form of a serpent,

with eyes of pure red stones

which sparkled mightily in the firelight.

I must confess that in the very appearance of this man

there was something that both interested and attracted me,

and I fell to wondering what strange sights those keen eyes of his had looked upon.

"M. Maurepas intends spending the winter in our wilderness, Richard, and I fear he will find that our woods offer a cold welcome to a stranger."

"Well, my lord, all the more to my taste. Having seen how hot the world can be, I am willing to see how cold."

"To see that, sir," said I,

"you should go to Quebeck

where I have been with trappers.

There I have thrown a cup full of water in the air and seen it descend solid ice."

"I fear it will be cold enough here for my present attire," said he laughing, "yet it may be that I will taste the air of Quebeck before quitting this wilderness of yours."

My lord [Lord Fairfax] then excused himself and withdrew, leaving me alone with the gentlemen.

"Come join me in a game of hazard, Master Morgan; it is yet half an hour until supper time," said the clergyman, who had little thought for anything but his cards and his dinner.

"And I will look at the portraits; you have fleeced me quite enough for one day, good brother of the Church. I have nothing left but my diamond that I cut from the hand of a dead Rajpoot, finger and all, and it is a lucky stone, and I have no mind to lose it."

"With your permission, M. Maurepas, I will look at the portraits with you, as I have no mind to play to-night; besides I think this is the hour for Mr. Courtney's devotions," said I, for I had no liking for the fat churchman.

He, like so many of my lord's guests, was in a sense a refugee from justice;

having fallen into disgrace with the heads of the English church,

he had fled to our country and sought out Lord Fairfax,

whose door was closed against no man.

He had been there then three months, dwelling in shameful idleness,

one of that band of renegades

who continually ate at my lord's table

and hunted with his dogs and devoured his substance,

waiting for some turn of fortune, like the suitors in the halls of Penelope.

So we left the clergyman counting his gains

and repaired to the other end of the hall,

where, above the mahogany book cases, the portraits hung.

Of these there were a considerable number,

and I told the Frenchman

the names of as many as I knew.

There was my lord's father and mother, .

and his younger brother, .

to whom he had given his English estate.

here was his late majesty George I

and old Firnando Fairfax. [ Ferdinando Fairfax, 2nd Lord Fairfax of Cameron 1584-1647, a commander of the Parliamentary forces

rebelling against King Charles i ]

Hanging under the dark picture

of the king

he had deposed

and yet loved

was Firnando's son,

fighting Thomas Fairfax,

third Lord and Baron of Cameron,

[ Black Tom ]

the great leader of the commoners with Cromwell,

who rode after Charles at Heyworth Moore

and thrust the people's petition

in the indignant monarch's saddle bow;

who defeated the king's forces at Naseby ,

and after Charles was delivered over

to the commissioners of Parliament,

met him at Nottingham

and kissed his fallen sovereign's hand,

refusing to sit in judgment over God's anointed.

[ That above paragraph

is a great short bio of

Black Tom,

Thomas Fairfax,

3rd Lord Fairfax of Cameron

17 Jan 1612 – 12 Nov 1671 ]

Among these pictures there was one upon which I had often gazed in wonderment.

It was the portrait of a lady, holding in her hand a white lily.

[We use this edited picture of Sally Fairfax aka Sara Carey Fairfax, a friend of George Washington's, to represent the description made of it in this story]

Some heavy instrument had been thrust through the canvass,

marring the face beyond all recognition,

but the masses of powdered hair,

and throat and arms were enough to testify to the beauty of the original.

The hands especially were of surpassing loveliness,

and the thumb was ornamented with a single emerald,

as though to call attention to its singular perfection.

The costume was the court dress of the then present reign,

and with the eagerness of youthful imagination

I had often fancied that could that picture speak

it might tell something of that upon which all men wondered;

why, in the prime of his manhood and success at court,

Lord Fairfax had left home and country,

friends, and all that men hold dear,

renounced the gay society

in which he had shone

and his favorite pursuit of letters,

and buried himself in the North American wilderness.

Upon this canvas the Frenchman's eye was soon fixed.

"And this?" he asked.

"I do not know, sir; of that my lord has never told me."

"Well, let me see; what is a man's memory good for, if not for such things? I must have seen those hands before, and that coronet."

He looked at it closely and then stood back and looked at it from a distance. Suddenly an exclamation broke from him, and a sharp light flashed over his features.

"Ah, I thought so! So your lord has never told you of this, parbleau, il a beaucoup de cause! Look you, my boy, that emerald is the only beautiful thing that ever came out of Herrenhausen—that, and she who wears it. Perhaps you will see that emerald, too, some day; how many and how various they will yet be, God alone knows. How long, O Lord, how long? as your countrymen say."

So bitter was his manner that I was half afraid, yet had a mind to question him, when my lord returned.

He brought with him a young man of an appearance by no means distinguished, yet kindly and affable, whom he introduced as the Viscount Chillingham.

"You've a good country here, Master Norton,

and better sport than we,

for all our game laws.

Hang laws, I say, they're naught but a trouble to them that make 'em and them that break 'em, and its little good they do any of us. My lord, you must sell me your deer hound, Fanny, I want to take her home with me, and show 'em what your dogs are made of over here."

"You are right welcome to her, or any of the pack."

At this juncture my lord's housekeeper, Mistress Crawford, brought in the silver candlesticks, and the servants smoking dishes of bear's meat and venison, and many another delicacy for which my lord's table was famous, besides French wines and preserved cherries from his old estates in England.

The viscount flung himself into his chair, still flushed from his chase after the hounds, and stretched his long limbs.

"This is a man's life you have here, my lord. I tell you, you do well to be away from London now; it's as dull there as Mr. Courtney's church without its spiritual pastor."

The clergyman lifted his eyes from his venison long enough to remark slyly, "Or as Hampton Court without its cleverest gamester," at which the young man reddened under his fresh coat of tan, for he had been forced to leave England because of some gaming scandal which cast grave doubts upon his personal honor.

The talk drifted to the death of the queen of Denmark,

the king's last visit to Hanover,

and various matters of court gossip.

Of these the gentlemen spoke freely, more freely, perhaps, than they would have dared do at home.

As I have said, my lord's guests

were too often gentlemen

who had left dark histories behind them,

and had fled into the wilds

where law was scarce more than a name

and man had to contend only with the savage condition of nature,

and a strong arm stood in better stead than a tender conscience.

I have met many a strange man at Greenway Court,

men who had cheated at play,

men who had failed in great political plots,

men who fled from a debtor's prison,

and men charged with treason,

and with a price upon their heads.

For in some respects Lord Fairfax was a strangely conservative man,

slow to judge and slow to anger,

having seen much of the world,

and thinking its conditions hard

and its temptations heavy,

deeming, I believe,

all humanity more sinned against than sinning.

And yet I have seldom known his confidence to be misplaced or his trust to be ill repaid.

Whatever of information I may have acquired in my youth,

I owe to the conversation of these men,

for about my lord's board exiles and outlaws of all nations gathered,

and unfolded in the friendly solitude

of the wilderness plots and intrigues then scarce known in Europe.

On all the matters that were discussed the Frenchman seemed the best versed man present,

even touching the most minute details of the English court.

At last the viscount, who was visibly surprised, turned upon him sharply.

"Have you been presented at court, monsieur?"

"Not in England, count,

but I have seen

something of your king in Hanover;

there, I think,

on the banks of the stupid Leine,

is his proper court,

and 't is there he sends

the riches of your English.

But in exchange

I hear that he has brought you

his treasure of Herrenhausen

in her private carriage

with a hundred postilions

to herald her advent."

His eyes were fixed keenly on my lord's face,

but Fairfax only asked coldly:

"And where, monsieur, have you gained so perfect a mastery of the English tongue?"

"At Madras , your lordship,

under Bourdonnais,

where I fought your gallant countrymen,

high and low,

for the empire of the Indes

[meaning India].

They taught me the sound of English speech well enough, and the music of English swords."

"Faith," broke in the viscount, "then they taught you better than they know themselves, though it's their mother tongue. You've seen hot service there, I warrant?"

"Well, what with English guns sweeping our decks by sea, and the Indian [of India] sun broiling our skin by land, and the cholera tearing our entrails, we saw hot service indeed."

"Were you in the Indian service [meaning of India] after the return of Governor Bourdonnais to France, M. Maurepas?"

"After his return to the Bastile,

[the famous French prison Bastille]

you mean, my lord.

Yes, I was less fortunate than my commander. There are worse prisons on earth than the Bastile, and Madras is one of them. [Apparently the Madras prison this Frenchman is talking about has existed before this newer one begun in 1837] When France sends a man to the Indes [meaning India] she has no intention that he shall return alive. How I did so is another matter.

Yes, I served afterward under Duplix, who seized Bourdonnais' troops as well as his treasure. I was with him in the Deccan when he joined his troops with Murzapha Jung against the Nabob of the Carnatic, and white men were set to fight side by side with heathen. And I say to you, gentlemen, that the bravest man in all that melée was the old Nabob himself. He was a hundred and seven years old, and he had been a soldier from his mother's knee.

He was mounted on the finest elephant in the Indian army, and he led his soldiers right up into the thick of the fight [ Battle of Ambur ] in full sweep of the French bullets, ordering his body-guard back and attended only by his driver.

And when he saw his old enemy, Tecunda Sahib [Chanda Sahib] in the very midst of the French guards, he ordered his driver to up and at him, and he prodded the beast forward with his own hand. When the beast came crashing through our lines a bullet struck the old man in the breast, but still he urged him on. And when the elephant was stopped the driver was gone and the old Nabob was stone dead, sitting bolt upright in his curtained cage with a naked scimetar in his hand, ready for his vengeance. And I tell ye now, gentlemen, that I for one was right sorry that the bullet went home, for I am not the man who would see a brave soldier balked of his revenge."

It is quite impossible with the pen to give any adequate idea of the dramatic manner in which he related this.

I think it stirred the blood of more than one of us.

The viscount struck the table with his hand and cried:

"That's talking, sir; you see the best of life, you French. As for us, we are so ridden by king-craft and state-craft we are as good as dead men. Between Walpole and the little German we have forgot the looks of a sword, and we never hear a gun these times but at the christening of some brat or other."

The clergyman looked up reproachfully from his preserved cherries, and Lord Fairfax, who seldom suffered any talk that savored of disloyalty, rose to his feet and lifted his glass.

"Gentlemen, the king's health."

"The king's health," echoed we all rising. But M. Maurepas sat stiff in his chair, and his glass stood full beside him. The viscount turned upon him fiercely.

"Monsieur, you do not drink the king's health?"

"No, sir; your king, nor my king, nor no man's king. I have no king. May the devil take them one and all! and that's my health to them."

"Monsieur," cried my lord sternly, "I am surprised to hear a soldier of the king of France speak in this fashion."

We use this for illustration only. See Source.

"Yes, my lord,

I have been a soldier of the king,

and I know the wages of kings.

What were they for Bourdonnais, the bravest general who ever drew a sword?

The Bastile!

What were they for all my gallant comrades?

Cholera, massacre, death in the rotting marshes of Pondicherry.

Le Diable!

I know them well; prison, the sword, the stake, the recompense of kings."

He laughed terribly and struck his forehead with his hand.

"Monsieur," said my lord, "It may be that you have suffered much, and for that reason only do I excuse much that you say. Human justice is often at fault, and kings are but human. Nevertheless, they are ordained of heaven, and so long as there is breath in our bodies we owe them loyal service."

The Frenchman rose and stood, his dark eyes flashing like coals of fire and his hands trembling as he waved them in the air. And methought the prophets of Israel must have looked so when they cried out unto the people, though his words were as dark blasphemy as ever fell from human lips.

"I tell you, sir, that the day will come and is now at hand when there will be no more kings.

When a king's blood will be cheaper than pot-house wine and flow as plentifully. When crowned heads will pray for a peasant's cap, and princes will hide their royal lineage as lepers hide their sores. Ordained of God! Look you, sir, there is a wise man of France, so wise indeed that he dares not dwell in France, but hides among the Prussians, who says that there is no God! No Jehovah with his frying pan of lost souls! That it is all a tale made up by kings to terrify their slaves; that instead of God making kings, the kings made God."

We were all struck with horror,

and the viscount rose to his feet again and threw himself into an attitude of attack, while Mr. Courtney, whose place it was to speak, cowered in his seat and continued to look wistfully at the cherries.

"Stop, sir," bawled the viscount, "we have not much faith left in England, thanks to such as Mr. Courtney here, but we've enough still to fight for. Little George may have his faults, but he's a brave man and a soldier. Let us see whether you can be as much."

But the Frenchman did not so much as look

. at him. He was well sped with wine, and in his eyes there was a fierce light as of some ancient hatred woke anew. Staggering down the hall he pointed to the canvas which had so interested him in the afternoon.

"My lord, I wonder at you, that you should dare to keep that picture here,

though three thousand miles of perilous sea, and savagery, and forests, and mountains impassable lie between you and Hampton Court.

If you are a man, I think you have no cause to love the name of king. Yet, is not your heart as good as any man's, and will not your money buy as many trinkets? I tell you, this wilderness is not dark enough to hide that woman's face! And she carries a lily in her hand, the lilies of Herrenhausen! Justice de Dieu—" but he got no further, for my lord's hand had struck him in the mouth.

It all came about so quickly that even then it was but a blur of sudden action to me. We sprang between them, but Fairfax had no intention of striking twice.

"We can settle this in the morning, sir," he said quietly. As he turned away

M. Maurepas drew himself together with the litheness of a cat, and before I could catch his arm he had seized the long knife from his belt and thrown it after his host. It whizzed past my lord and stuck quivering in the oak wainscoating, while the man who threw it sank upon the floor a pitiable heap of intoxication.

My lord turned to his man, who still stood behind his chair. "Henry, call me at five; at six I shall kill a scoundrel."

With that he left us to watch over the drunken slumbers of the Frenchman.

In the morning they met on the level stretch before the court.

At my lord's request I stood as second to M. Maurepas.

My principal was much shaken by his debauch of last night, and I thought when my lord looked upon him he was already dead. For in Lord Fairfax's face was a purpose which it seemed no human will could thwart. Never have I seen him look the noble, Christian gentleman as he looked it then. Just as the autumn mists were rising from the hills, their weapons crossed, and the rising sun shot my lord's blade with fire until it looked the sword of righteousness indeed. It lasted but a moment. M. Maurepas, so renowned in war and gallantry, who had been the shame of two courts and the rival of two kings, fell, unknown and friendless, in the wilderness.

* * *

Two years later,

after I had been presented and, through my father, stood in favor at court,

I once had the honor to dine with his majesty at Hampton Court.

[ This meant King George II

who died in 1760

and was the last Monarch to reside

in Hampton Court ]

At his right sat a woman

known to history only too well;

still brilliant, still beautiful,

as she was unto the end.

By her side I was seated.

When the dishes were removed,

as we sat over our wine,

the king bade me tell him some of the adventures that had befallen in my own land.

"I can tell you, your majesty, how Lord Fairfax fought and killed M. Maurepas about a woman's picture."

"That sounds well, tell on," said the monarch in his heavy accent.

Then upon my hand under the table I felt a clasp, cold and trembling.

I glanced down and saw there a white hand of wondrous beauty, the thumb ornamented with a single emerald. I sat still in amazement, for the lady's face was smiling and gave no sign.

The king clinked his glass impatiently with his nail.

"Well, go on with your story. Are we to wait on you all day?"

Again I felt that trembling pressure in mute entreaty on my hand.

"I think there is no story to tell, your majesty."

"And I think you are a very stupid young man," said his majesty testily, as he rose from the table.

"Perhaps he is abashed," laughed my lady, but her bosom heaved with a deep sigh of relief.

So my day of royal favor was a short one, nor was I sorry, for I had kept my friend's secret and shielded a fair lady's honor, which are the two first duties of a Virginian.

Author WILLA CATHER wrote this story in 1896 .