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اچھی
VANITY FAIR
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO
BY
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. I.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
BOSTON
KNIGHT & MILLET
PUBLISHERS
Undergraduate
Library
PR
5018
1901
V.l
bi
}
THE BARTLETT PRESS
BOSTON
Undergraduate
:
Library.
TO
B. W. PROCTER
THIS STORY IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
..
A
APTER
I.
II.
CONTENTS.
CHISWICK MALL
IN WHICH MISS SHARP AND MISS SEDLEY
VOL. I.
PREPARE TO OPEN THE CAMPAIGN
REBECCA IS IN PRESENCE OF THE ENEMY
THE GREEN SILK PURSE
III.
IV.
V. DOBBIN OF OURS.
VI.
VAUXHALL
VII. CRAWLEY OF QUEEN'S CRAWLEY
VIII. PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL
IX. FAMILY PORTRAITS
X.
MISS SHARP BEGINS TO MAKE FRIENDS
XI.
ARCADIAN SIMPLICITY
XII. QUITE A SENTIMENTAL CHAPTER
XIII. SENTIMENTAL AND OTHERWISE
XIV. MISS CRAWLEY AT HOME.
XV. IN WHICH REBECCA'S HUSBAND APPEARS FOR
A SHORT TIME.
XVI. THE LETTER ON THE PINCUSHION
VII. How CAPTAIN DOBBIN BOUGHT A PIANO.
VIII. WHO PLAYED ON THE PIANO CAPTAIN DOBBIN
BOUGHT
•
•
►
•
•
KIX. MISS CRAWLEY AT NURSE.
XX. IN WHICH CAPTAIN DOBBIN ACTS AS THE
MESSENGER OF HYMEN
PAGE
1
11
24
34
52
67
85
96
107
117
126
146
158
175
201
213
225
237
254
269
iv
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
XXI. A QUARREL ABOUT AN HEIRESS.
XXIII.
XXII. A MARRIAGE AND PART OF A HONEYMOON
CAPTAIN DOBBIN PROCEEDS ON HIS CANVASS
IN WHICH MR. OSBORNE TAKES DOWN THE
XXIV.
FAMILY BIBLE
XXV. IN WHICH ALL THE PRINCIPAL PERSONAGES
THINK FIT TO LEAVE BRIGHTON
XXVI.
BETWEEN LONDON AND CHATHAM
XXVII. IN WHICH AMELIA JOINS HER REGIMENT
XXVIII. IN WHICH AMELIA INVADES THE LOW COUN-
TRIES
•
•
PAGE
283
296
309
318
337
365
376
386
BEFORE THE CURTAIN.
As the Manager of the Performance sits before the
curtain on the boards, and looks into the Fair, a feel-
ing of profound melancholy comes over him in his
survey of the bustling place. There is a great quan-
tity of eating and drinking, making love and jilting,
laughing and the contrary, smoking, cheating, fighting,
dancing, and fiddling: there are bullies pushing about,
bucks ogling the women, knaves picking pockets,
policemen on the look-out, quacks (other quacks,
plague take them!) bawling in front of their booths,
and yokels looking up at the tinselled dancers and
poor old rouged tumblers, while the light-fingered
folk are operating upon their pockets behind. Yes,
this is VANITY FAIR; not a moral place certainly;
nor a merry one, though very noisy. Look at the
faces of the actors and buffoons when they come off
from their business; and Tom Fool washing the paint
off his cheeks before he sits down to dinner with his
wife and the little Jack Puddings behind the canvas.
The curtain will be up presently, and he will be turn-
ing over head and heels, and crying, "How are
you?"
A man with a reflective turn of mind, walking
through an exhibition of this sort, will not be op-
pressed, I take it, by his own or other people's hila-
rity. An episode of humor or kindness touches and
amuses him here and there; a pretty child looking
12190
viii
BEFORE THE CURTAIN.
at a gingerbread stall; a pretty girl blushing whilst
her lover talks to her and chooses her fairing; poor
Tom Fool, yonder behind the wagon, mumbling his
bone with the honest family which lives by his tum-
bling; but the general impression is one more melan-
choly than mirthful. When you come home, you sit
down, in a sober, contemplative, not uncharitable
frame of mind, and apply yourself to your books or
your business.
I have no other moral than this to tag to the present
story of "Vanity Fair." Some people consider Fairs
immoral altogether, and eschew such, with their ser-
vants and families: very likely they are right. But
persons who think otherwise, and are of a lazy, or a
benevolent, or a sarcastic mood, may perhaps like to
step in for half an hour, and look at the performances.
There are scenes of all sorts: some dreadful combats,
some grand and lofty horse-riding, some scenes of
high life, and some of very middling indeed; some
love-making for the sentimental, and some light comic.
business; the whole accompanied by appropriate scen-
ery, and brilliantly illuminated with the Author's
own candles.
What more has the Manager of the Performance to
say? — To acknowledge the kindness with which it
has been received in all the principal towns of Eng-
land through which the Show has passed, and where
it has been most favorably noticed by the respected
conductors of the public Press, and by the Nobility
and Gentry. He is proud to think that his Puppets
have given satisfaction to the very best company in
this empire. The famous little Becky Puppet has
been pronounced to be uncommonly flexible in the
joints, and lively on the wire: the Amelia Doll, though
it has had a smaller circle of admirers, has yet been
BEFORE THE CURTAIN.
is
carved and dressed with the greatest care by the
artist: the Dobbin Figure, though apparently clumsy,
yet dances in a very amusing and natural manner:
the Little Boys' Dance has been liked by some; and
please to remark the richly dressed figure of the
Wicked Nobleman, on which no expense has been
spared, and which Old Nick will fetch away at the
end of this singular performance.
And with this, and a profound bow to his patrons,
the Manager retires, and the curtain rises.
LONDON, June 28, 1848.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
VANITY FAIR.
VOL. I. 1
·
<
CHAPTER I.
WHILE the present century was in its teens, and on
one sunshiny morning in June, there drove up to the
great iron gate of Miss Pinkerton's academy for young
ladies, on Chiswick Mall, a large family coach, with
two fat horses in blazing harness, driven by a fat.
coachman in a three-cornered hat and wig, at the rate
of four miles an hour. A black servant, who reposed
on the box beside the fat coachman, uncurled his bandy
legs as soon as the equipage drew up opposite Miss
Pinkerton's shining brass plate, and as he pulled the
bell, at least a score of young heads were seen peering
out of the narrow windows of the stately old brick
house. Nay, the acute observer might have recog-
nized the little red nose of good-natured Miss Jemima
Pinkerton herself, rising over some geranium-pots in
the window of that lady's own drawing-room.
"It is Mrs. Sedley's coach, sister," said Miss Jemi-
"Sambo, the black servant, has just rung the
bell; and the coachman has a new red waistcoat."
ma.
"Have you completed all the necessary preparations
incident to Miss Sedley's departure, Miss Jemima?”
asked Miss Pinkerton herself, that majestic lady;
CHISWICK MALL.
2
VANITY FAIR.
the Semiramis of Hammersmith, the friend of Dr.
Johnson, the correspondent of Mrs. Chapone herself.
"The girls were up at four this morning, packing
her trunks, sister," replied Miss Jemima; "we have
made her a bow-pot."
"Say a bouquet, sister Jemima, 't is more genteel."
"Well, a booky as big almost as a hay-stack; I have
put up two bottles of the gillyflower-water for Mrs. Sed-
ley, and the receipt for making it, in Amelia's box."
"And I trust, Miss Jemima, you have made a copy
of Miss Sedley's account. This is it, is it? Very
good-ninety-three pounds, four shillings. Be kind
enough to address it to John Sedley, Esquire, and to
seal this billet which I have written to his lady."
In Miss Jemima's eyes an autograph letter of her
sister, Miss Pinkerton, was an object of as deep vener-
ation as would have been a letter from a sovereign.
Only when her pupils quitted the establishment, or
when they were about to be married, and once, when
poor Miss Birch died of the scarlet fever, was Miss
Pinkerton known to write personally to the parents of
her pupils; and it was Jemima's opinion that if any-
thing could console Mrs. Birch for her daughter's loss,
it would be that pious and eloquent composition in
which Miss Pinkerton announced the event.
In the present instance Miss Pinkerton's "billet'
was to the following effect :
Sty
""
"THE MALL, CHISWICK, June 15, 18-.
“MADAM, After her six years' residence at the Mall, I
have the honor and happiness of presenting Miss Amelia Sed-
ley to her parents, as a young lady not unworthy to occupy a
fitting position in their polished and refined circle. Those
virtues which characterize the young English gentlewoman,
those accomplishments which become her birth and station,
will not be found wanting in the amiable Miss Sedley, whose
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
3
industry and obedience have endeared her to her instructors,
and whose delightful sweetness of temper has charmed her
aged and her youthful companions.
"In music, in dancing, in orthography, in every variety of
embroidery and needle-work, she will be found to have real-
ized her friends' fondest wishes. In geography there is still
much to be desired; and a careful and undeviating use of the
backboard, for four hours daily during the next three years,
is recommended as necessary to the acquirement of that digni-
fied deportment and carriage, so requisite for every young lady
of fashion.
66
"In the principles of religion and morality, Miss Sedley
will be found worthy of an establishment which has been
honored by the presence of The Great Lexicographer, and the
patronage of the admirable Mrs. Chapone. In leaving the
Mall, Miss Amelia carries with her the hearts of her compan-
ions, and the affectionate regards of her mistress, who has the
honor to subscribe herself,
Madam, your most obliged humble servant,
"BARBARA PINKERTON.
Ap
"P. S. Miss Sharp accompanies Miss Sedley. It is par-
ticularly requested that Miss Sharp's stay in Russell Square
may not exceed ten days. The family of distinction with
whom she is engaged, desire to avail themselves of her services
as soon as possible.'
>>
This letter completed, Miss Pinkerton proceeded to
write her own name, and Miss Sedley's, in the fly-leaf
of a Johnson's Dictionary- the interesting work which
she invariably presented to her scholars, on their de-
parture from the Mall. On the cover was inserted a
copy of "Lines addressed to a young lady on quitting
Miss Pinkerton's school, at the Mall; by the late
revered Doctor Samuel Johnson." In fact, the Lex-
icographer's name was always on the lips of this
majestic woman, and a visit he had paid to her was
the cause of her reputation and her fortune.
4
VANITY FAIR.
-
Being commanded by her elder sister to get "the
Dictionary" from the cupboard, Miss Jemima had ex-
tracted two copies of the book from the receptacle in
question. When Miss Pinkerton had finished the in-
scription in the first, Jemima, with rather a dubious
and timid air, handed her the second.
"For whom is this, Miss Jemima ?" said Miss Pink-
erton, with awful coldness.
"For Becky Sharp," answered Jemima, trembling
very much, and blushing over her withered face and
neck, as she turned her back on her sister.
"For
Becky Sharp she's going too."
"MISS JEMIMA!" exclaimed Miss Pinkerton, in
the largest capitals. "Are you in your senses? Re-
place the Dixonary in the closet, and never venture to
take such a liberty in future."
"Well, sister, it 's only two-and-ninepence, and poor
Becky will be miserable if she don't get one."
"Send Miss Sedley instantly to me," said Miss Pink-
erton. And so venturing not to say another word, poor
Jemima trotted off, exceedingly flurried and nervous.
Miss Sedley's papa was a merchant in London, and
a man of some wealth; whereas Miss Sharp was an
articled pupil, for whom Miss Pinkerton had done, as
she thought, quite enough, without conferring upon
her at parting the high honor of the Dixonary.
Although schoolmistresses' letters are to be trusted
no more nor less than churchyard epitaphs; yet, as it
sometimes happens that a person departs this life, who
is really deserving of all the praises the stone-cutter
carves over his bones; who is a good Christian, a good
parent, child, wife, or husband; who actually does leave
a disconsolate family to mourn his loss; so in acade-
mies of the male and female sex it occurs every now
and then, that the pupil is fully worthy of the praises.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
5
LO
bestowed by the disinterested instructor. Now,
Now, Miss
Amelia Sedley was a young lady of this singular spe-
cies; and deserved not only all that Miss Pinkerton
said in her praise, but had many charming qualities
which that pompous old Minerva of a woman could
not see, from the differences of rank and age between
her pupil and herself.
For she could not only sing like a lark, or a Mrs.
Billington, and dance like Hillisberg or Parisot; and
embroider beautifully; and spell as well as a Dixonary
itself; but she had such a kindly, smiling, tender,
gentle, generous heart of her own, as won the love of
everybody who came near her, from Minerva herself
down to the poor girl in the scullery, and the one-eyed
tart-woman's daughter, who was permitted to vend her
wares once a week to the young ladies in the Mall.
She had twelve intimate and bosom friends out of the
twenty-four young ladies. Even envious Miss Briggs
never spoke ill of her: high and mighty Miss Saltire
(Lord Dexter's granddaughter) allowed that her figure
was genteel; and as for Miss Swartz, the rich woolly-
haired mulatto from St. Kitt's, on the day Amelia
went away, she was in such a passion of tears, that
they were obliged to send for Dr. Floss, and half tip-
sify her with salvolatile. Miss Pinkerton's attach-
ment was, as may be supposed, from the high position
and eminent virtues of that lady, calm and dignified;
but Miss Jemima had already whimpered several times
at the idea of Amelia's departure; and, but for fear of
her sister, would have gone off in downright hysterics,
like the heiress (who paid double) of St. Kitt's. Such
luxury of grief, however, is only allowed to parlor-
boarders. Honest Jemima had all the bills, and the
washing, and the mending, and the puddings, and the
plate and crockery, and the servants to superintend.
6
VANITY FAIR.
But why speak about her? It is probable that we
shall not hear of her again from this moment to the
end of time, and that when the great filigree iron
gates are once closed on her, she and her awful sister
will never issue therefrom into this little world of
history.
But as we are to see a great deal of Amelia, there
is no harm in saying, at the outset of our acquain-
tance, that she was a dear little creature; and a great
mercy it is, both in life and in novels, which (and the
latter especially) abound in villains of the most som-
bre sort, that we are to have for a constant companion,
so guileless and good-natured a person. As she is not
a heroine, there is no need to describe her person; in-
deed I am afraid that her nose was rather short than
otherwise, and her cheeks a great deal too round and
red for a heroine; but her face blushed with rosy
health, and her lips with the freshest of smiles, and
she had a pair of eyes which sparkled with the bright
est and honestest good-humor, except indeed when they
filled with tears, and that was a great deal too often;
for the silly thing would cry over a dead canary-bird;
or over a mouse, that the cat haply had seized upon; or
over the end of a novel, were it ever so stupid; and
as for saying an unkind word to her, were any per-
sons hard-hearted enough to do so why, so much
the worse for them. Even Miss Pinkerton, that
austere and god-like woman, ceased scolding her after
the first time, and though she no more comprehended
sensibility than she did Algebra, gave all masters
and teachers particular orders to treat Miss Sedley
with the utmost gentleness, as harsh treatment was
injurious to her.
So that when the day of departure came, between
her two customs of laughing and crying, Miss Sedley
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
t
to
was greatly puzzled how to act. She was glad to go
home, and yet most wofully sad at leaving school.
For three days before, little Laura Martin, the or-
phan, followed her about, like a little dog. She had
to make and receive at least fourteen presents,
make fourteen solemn promises of writing every
week: "Send my letters under cover to my grand-
papa, the Earl of Dexter," said Miss Saltire (who, by
the way, was rather shabby) : "Never mind the
postage, but write every day, you dear darling," said
the impetuous and woolly-headed, but generous and
affectionate Miss Swartz; and the orphan little Laura
Martin (who was just in round-hand) took her friend's
hand and said, looking up in her face wistfully,
“Amelia, when I write to you I shall call you
Mamma." All which details, I have no doubt, JONES,
who reads this book at his Club, will pronounce to
be excessively foolish, trivial, twaddling, and ultra-
sentimental. Yes; I can see Jones at this minute
(rather flushed with his joint of mutton and half-
pint of wine), taking out his pencil and scoring under
the words "foolish, twaddling," &c., and adding to
them his own remark of "quite true." Well, he is a
lofty man of genius, and admires the great and heroic
in life and novels; and so had better take warning
and go elsewhere.
Well, then. The flowers, and the presents, and the
trunks, and bonnet-boxes of Miss Sedley having been
arranged by Mr. Sambo in the carriage, together with
a very small and weather-beaten old cow's-skin trunk
with Miss Sharp's card neatly nailed upon it, which
was delivered by Sambo with a grin, and packed by
the coachman with a corresponding sneer the hour
for parting came; and the grief of that moment was
considerably lessened by the admirable discourse
8
VANITY FAIR.
со
which Miss Pinkerton addressed to her pupil. Not
that the parting speech caused Amelia to philoso-
phize, or that it armed her in any way with a calm-
ness, the result of argument; but it was intolerably
dull, pompous, and tedious; and having the fear of
her schoolmistress greatly before her eyes, Miss Sed-
ley did not venture, in her presence, to give way to
any ebullitions of private grief. A seed-cake and a
bottle of wine were produced in the drawing-room, as
on the solemn occasions of the visits of parents, and
these refreshments being partaken of, Miss Sedley
was at liberty to depart.
"You'll go in and say good-by to Miss Pinkerton,
Becky!" said Miss Jemima to a young lady of whom
nobody took any notice, and who was coming down
stairs with her own bandbox.
"I suppose I must," said Miss Sharp calmly, and
much to the wonder of Miss Jemima; and the latter
having knocked at the door, and receiving permission
to come in, Miss Sharp advanced in a very uncon-
cerned manner, and said in French, and with a per-
fect accent," Mademoiselle, je viens vous faire mes
adieux."
:
Miss Pinkerton did not understand French; she
only directed those who did but biting her lips and
throwing up her venerable and Roman-nosed head
(on the top of which figured a large and solemn tur-
ban), she said, "Miss Sharp, I wish you a good morn-
ing." As the Hammersmith Semiramis spoke, she
waved one hand, both by way of adieu, and to give
Miss Sharp an opportunity of shaking one of the fin-
gers of the hand which was left out for that purpose.
Miss Sharp only folded her own hands with a very
frigid smile and bow, and quite declined to accept the
proffered honor; on which Semiramis tossed up her

Залі
MISS
PINKERTON
Wh
REBECCA'S FAREWELL
Josso
Eu
y H
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
9
turban more indignantly than ever. In fact, it was a
little battle between the young lady and the old one,
and the latter was worsted. "Heaven bless you, my
child," said she, embracing Amelia, and scowling the
while over the girl's shoulder at Miss Sharp. "Come
away, Becky," said Miss Jemima, pulling the young
woman away in great alarm, and the drawing-room
door closed upon them forever.
Then came the struggle and parting below. Words
refuse to tell it. All the servants were there in the
hall — all the dear friends—all the young ladies
the dancing-master who had just arrived; and there
was such a scuffling, and hugging, and kissing, and
crying, with the hysterical yoops of Miss Swartz, the
parlor-boarder, from her room, as no pen can depict,
and as the tender heart would fain pass over. The
embracing was over; they parted that is, Miss
Sedley parted from her friends. Miss Sharp had
demurely entered the carriage some minutes before.
Nobody cried for leaving her.
Sambo of the bandy-legs slammed the carriage-door
on his young weeping mistress. He sprang up behind
the carriage. "Stop!" cried Miss Jemima, rushing
to the gate with a parcel.
"It's some sandwiches, my dear," said she to
Amelia. "You may be hungry, you know; and
Becky, Becky Sharp, here's a book for you that my
sister that is, I-Johnson's Dixonary, you know;
you must n't leave us without that. Good-by. Drive
on, coachman. God bless you!"
And the kind creature retreated into the garden,
overcome with emotion.
But, lo! and just as the coach drove off, Miss Sharp
put her pale face out of the window, and actually
flung the book back into the garden.
10
VANITY FAIR.
This almost caused Jemima to faint with terror.
"Well, I never," — said she "what an audacious "
-Emotion prevented her from completing either sen.
tence. The carriage rolled away; the great gates
were closed; the bell rang for the dancing lesson.
The world is before the two young ladies; and so,
farewell to Chiswick Mall.
CHAPTER II.
IN WHICH MISS SHARP AND MISS SEDLEY PREPARE
TO OPEN THE CAMPAIGN.
WHEN Miss Sharp had performed the heroical act
mentioned in the last chapter, and had seen the Dix-
onary, flying over the pavement of the little garden,
fall at length at the feet of the astonished Miss
Jemima, the young lady's countenance, which had
before worn an almost livid look of hatred, assumed a
smile that perhaps was scarcely more agreeable, and
she sank back in the carriage in an easy frame of mind,
saying "So much for the Dixonary; and, thank
God, I'm out of Chiswick."
Miss Sedley was almost as flurried at the act of de-
fiance as Miss Jemima had been; for, consider, it was
but one minute that she had left school, and the im-
pressions of six years are not got over in that space
of time. Nay, with some persons those awes and ter-
rors of youth last for ever and ever. I know, for in-
stance, an old gentleman of sixty-eight, who said to
me one morning at breakfast, with a very agitated
countenance, “I dreamed last night that I was flogged
by Dr. Raine." Fancy had carried him back five-and-
fifty years in the course of that evening. Dr. Raine
and his rod were just as awful to him in his heart,
then, at sixty-eight, as they had been at thirteen. If
the Doctor, with a large birch, had appeared bodily to
him, even at the age of threescore and eight, and had
said in awful voice, "Boy, take down your pant—?"
12
VANITY FAIR.
Well, well, Miss Sedley was exceedingly alarmed at
this act of insubordination.
"How could you do so, Rebecca?" at last she said,
after a pause.
66
Why, do you think Miss Pinkerton will come out
and order me back to the black-hole?" said Rebecca,
laughing.
"No; but "
"I hate the whole house," continued Miss Sharp in
a fury. "I hope I may never set eyes on it again. I
wish it were in the bottom of the Thames, I do; and
if Miss Pinkerton were there, I would n't pick her out,
that I would n't. O how I should like to see her
floating in the water yonder, turban and all, with her
train streaming after her, and her nose like the beak
of a wherry."
"Hush!” cried Miss Sedley.
Why, will the black footman tell tales?" cried
Miss Rebecca, laughing. "He may go back and tell
Miss Pinkerton that I hate her with all my soul; and
I wish he would; and I wish I had a means of prov-
ing it, too. For two years I have only had insults and
outrage from her. I have been treated worse than
any servant in the kitchen. I have never had a
friend or a kind word, except from you. I have been
made to tend the little girls in the lower schoolroom,
and to talk French to the Misses, until I grew sick of
my mother-tongue. But that talking French to Miss.
Pinkerton was capital fun, was n't it? She does n't
know a word of French, and was too proud to confess
it. I believe it was that which made her part with
me; and so thank Heaven for French. Vive la France!
Vive l'Empereur! Vive Bonaparte !'
"O Rebecca, Rebecca, for shame!" cried Miss Sed-
ley; for this was the greatest blasphemy Rebecca had.
،،
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
13
""
"
as yet uttered; and in those days, in England, to say,
"Long live Bonaparte! was as much as to say,
"Long live Lucifer!"
"How can you
how dare
you have such wicked, revengeful thoughts?
"Revenge may be wicked, but it's natural," an-
swered Miss Rebecca. "I'm no angel." And, to say
the truth, she certainly was not.
For it may be remarked in the course of this little
conversation (which took place as the coach rolled
along lazily by the river side) that though Miss
Rebecca Sharp has twice had occasion to thank
Heaven, it has been, in the first place, for ridding
her of some person whom she hated, and secondly,
for enabling her to bring her enemies to some sort of
perplexity or confusion; neither of which are very
amiable motives for religious gratitude, or such as
would be put forward by persons of a kind and placa-
ble disposition. Miss Rebecca was not, then, in the
least kind or placable. All the world used her ill,
said this young misanthropist, and we may be pretty
certain that persons whom all the world treats ill, de-
serve entirely the treatment they get. The world is a
looking-glass, and gives back to every man the reflec-
tion of his own face. Frown at it, and it will in turn
look sourly upon you; laugh at it and with it, and it
is a jolly kind companion; and so let all young per-
sons take their choice. This is certain, that if the
world neglected Miss Sharp, she never was known to
have done a good action in behalf of anybody; nor
can it be expected that twenty-four young ladies.
should all be as amiable as the heroine of this work,
Miss Sedley (whom we have selected for the very rea-
son that she was the best-natured of all, otherwise
what on earth was to have prevented us from putting
up Miss Swartz, or Miss Crump, or Miss Hopkins, as
14
VANITY FAIR.
heroine in her place ?) — it could not be expected that
every one should be of the humble and gentle temper
of Miss Amelia Sedley; should take every opportu
nity to vanquish Rebecca's hard-heartedness and ill-
humor; and, by a thousand kind words and offices,
overcome, for once at least, her hostility to her kind.
Miss Sharp's father was an artist, and in that
quality had given lessons of drawing at Miss Pinker-
ton's school. He was a clever man
He was a clever man; a pleasant com-
panion; a careless student; with a great propensity
for running into debt, and a partiality for the tavern.
When he was drunk, he used to beat his wife and
daughter; and the next morning, with a headache, he
would rail at the world for its neglect of his genius,
and abuse, with a good deal of cleverness, and some-
times with perfect reason, the fools, his brother
painters. As it was with the utmost difficulty that
he could keep himself, and as he owed money for a
mile round Soho, where he lived, he thought to better
his circumstances by marrying a young woman of the
French nation, who was by profession an opera-girl.
The humble calling of her female parent, Miss Sharp
never alluded to, but used to state subsequently that
the Entrechats were a noble family of Gascony, and
took great pride in her descent from them. And
curious it is, that as she advanced in life this young
lady's ancestors increased in rank and splendor.
Rebecca's mother had had some education some-
where, and her daughter spoke French with purity
and a Parisian accent. It was in those days rather a
rare accomplishment, and led to her engagement with
the orthodox Miss Pinkerton. For her mother being
dead, her father, finding himself not likely to recover,
after his third attack of delirium tremens, wrote a
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
15
manly and pathetic letter to Miss Pinkerton, recom-
mending the orphan child to her protection, and so
descended to the grave, after two bailiffs had quar-
relled over his corpse. Rebecca was seventeen when
she came to Chiswick, and was bound over as an
articled pupil; her duties being to talk French, as we
have seen; and her privileges to live cost free, and,
with a few guineas a year, to gather scraps of knowl-
edge from the professors who attended the school.
She was small and slight in person; pale, sandy-
haired, and with eyes habitually cast down when
they looked up they were very large, odd, and attrac-
tive; so attractive, that the Reverend Mr. Crisp, fresh
from Oxford, and curate to the Vicar of Chiswick,
the Reverend Mr. Flowerdew, fell in love with Miss
Sharp; being shot dead by a glance of her eyes which
was fired all the way across Chiswick Church from
the school-pew to the reading-desk. This infatuated
young man used sometimes to take tea with Miss
Pinkerton, to whom he had been presented by his
mamma, and actually proposed something like mar-
riage in an intercepted note, which the one-eyed
apple-woman was charged to deliver. Mrs. Crisp
was summoned from Buxton, and abruptly carried off
her darling boy; but the idea, even, of such an eagle
in the Chiswick dovecot caused a great flutter in the
breast of Miss Pinkerton, who would have sent away
Miss Sharp, but that she was bound to her under a
forfeit, and who never could thoroughly believe the
young lady's protestations that she had never ex-
changed a single word with Mr. Crisp, except under
her own eyes on the two occasions when she had met
him at tea.
:
By the side of many tall and bouncing young ladies
in the establishment, Rebecca Sharp looked like a
16
VANITY FAIR.
child. But she had the dismal precocity of poverty.
Many a dun had she talked to, and turned away from
her father's door; many a tradesman had she coaxed
and wheedled into good-humor, and into the granting
of one meal more. She sate commonly with her
father, who was very proud of her wit, and heard the
talk of many of his wild companions—often but ill-
suited for a girl to hear. But she never had been a
girl, she said; she had been a woman since she was
eight years old. Oh, why did Miss Pinkerton let
such a dangerous bird into her cage?
The fact is, the old lady believed Rebecca to be the
meekest creature in the world, so admirably, on the
occasions when her father brought her to Chiswick,
used Rebecca to perform the part of the ingénue; and
only a year before the arrangement by which Rebecca
had been admitted into her house, and when Rebecca
was sixteen years old, Miss Pinkerton majestically,
and with a little speech, made her a present of a doll
- which was, by the way, the confiscated property of
Miss Swindle, discovered surreptitiously nursing it in
school-hours. How the father and daughter laughed
as they trudged home together after the evening
party (it was on the occasion of the speeches, when
all the professors were invited), and how Miss Pink.
erton would have raged had she seen the caricature
of herself which the little mimic, Rebecca, managed
to make out of her doll. Becky used to go through
dialogues with it; it formed the delight of Newman
Street, Gerard Street, and the artists' quarter: and
the young painters, when they came to take their
gin-and-water with their lazy, dissolute, clever, jovial
senior, used regularly to ask Rebecca if Miss Pinker-
ton was at home: she was as well known to them,
poor soul! as Mr. Lawrence or President West. Once
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
17
Rebecca had the honor to pass a few days at Chis
wick; after which she brought back Jemima, and
erected another doll as Miss Jemmy; for though
that honest creature had made and given her jelly
and cake enough for three children, and a seven-shil-
ling piece at parting, the girl's sense of ridicule was
far stronger than her gratitude, and she sacrificed
Miss Jemmy quite as pitilessly as her sister.
The catastrophe came, and she was brought to
the Mall as to her home. The rigid formality of the
place suffocated her: the prayers and the meals, the
lessons and the walks, which were arranged with a
conventual regularity, oppressed her almost beyond
endurance; and she looked back to the freedom and
the beggary of the old studio in Soho with so much
regret, that everybody, herself included, fancied she
was consumed with grief for her father. She had a
little room in the garret, where the maids heard her
walking and sobbing at night; but it was with rage,
and not with grief. She had not been much of a dis-
sembler, until now her loneliness taught her to feign.
She had never mingled in the society of women: her
father, reprobate as he was, was a man of talent;
his conversation was a thousand times more agreeable
to her than the talk of such of her own sex as she
now encountered. The pompous vanity of the old
schoolmistress, the foolish good-humor of her sister,
the silly chat and scandal of the elder girls, and the
frigid correctness of the governesses equally annoyed
her; and she had no soft maternal heart, this unlucky
girl, otherwise the prattle and talk of the younger
children, with whose cares she was chiefly intrusted,
might have soothed and interested her; but she lived
among them two years, and not one was sorry that
she went away. The gentle tender-hearted Amelia
VOL. I. - 2
16
LA ESTRELLA DE SEVILLA
No entiende mi actividad.
Sospechoso voy: quererme,
Y sin conocerme, honrarme
Mas parece sobornarme
Honor, que favorecerme.
Rey. El hombre es bien entendido,
Y tan cuerdo como honrado.
Arias. Destos honrados me enfado·
¿Cuantos, gran señor, lo han sido
Hasta dar con la ocasion?
Si, en ella son destos modos
Todos cuerdos, pero todos
No en todas, señor, lo son:
Aquel murmura hoy de aquel
Que el otro ayer murmuró;
Que la ley que ejecutó,
Ejecuta el tiempo en él.
Su honra en una balanza
Pone, en otra poner puedes
Tus favores y mercedes,
Tu lisonja y tu privanza.
Rey. Encubierto pienso ver
Esta muger en su casa;
Que es sol, pues tanto me abrasa,
Aunque estrella al parecer
Viva yo, y diga Castilla
Lo que quisiere decir;
Que rey ciego he de seguir
Á la Estrella de Sevilla.
Sancho. Ángel divino mio,
1
[I'nse
Sale DON SANCHO, DOÑA ESTRELLA, MATILDE Y
CLARINDO
¿
Cuándo seré tu dueño,
Sacando deste empeño
[l'ase
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
19
save money for you. Give me money, and I will
teach them."
Minerva was obliged to yield, and, of course, dis-
liked her from that day. "For five-and-thirty years,"
she said, and with great justice, "I never have seen
the individual who has dared in my own house to
question my authority. I have nourished a viper in
my bosom."
"A vipera fiddlestick," said Miss Sharp to the
old lady, almost fainting with astonishment.
66 You
took me because I was useful. There is no question
of gratitude between us. I hate this place, and want
to leave it. I will do nothing here but what I am
obliged to do."
It was in vain that the old lady asked her if she
was aware she was speaking to Miss Pinkerton?
Rebecca laughed in her face, with a horrid sarcastic
demoniacal laughter, that almost sent the schoolmis-
tress into fits. "Give me a sum of money," said the
girl, "and get rid of me or, if you like better, get
me a good place as governess in a nobleman's family
you can do so if you please." And in their further
disputes she always returned to this point, "Get
me a situation we hate each other, and I am ready
to go."
M
Worthy Miss Pinkerton, although she had a Roman
nose and a turban, and was as tall as a grenadier,
and had been up to this time an irresistible princess,
had no will or strength like that of her little appren-
tice, and in vain did battle against her, and tried to
overawe her. Attempting once to scold her in public,
Rebecca hit upon the before-mentioned plan of an-
swering her in French, which quite routed the old
woman. In order to maintain authority in her
school, it became necessary to remove this rebel, this
20
VANITY FAIR.
monster, this serpent, this firebrand; and hearing
about this time that Sir Pitt Crawley's family was
in want of a governess, she actually recommended
Miss Sharp for the situation, firebrand and serpent
as she was. "I cannot, certainly," she said, "find
fault with Miss Sharp's conduct, except to myself;
and must allow that her talents and accomplishments
are of a high order. As far as the head goes, at
least, she does credit to the educational system
pursued at my establishment.”
And so the schoolmistress reconciled the recommen-
dation to her conscience, and the indentures were
cancelled, and the apprentice was free. The battle
here described in a few lines, of course, lasted for
some months. And as Miss Sedley, being now in
her seventeenth year, was about to leave school, and
had a friendship for Miss Sharp ("'tis the only point
in Amelia's behavior," said Minerva, "which has not
been satisfactory to her mistress "), Miss Sharp was
invited by her friend to pass a week with her at
home, before she entered upon her duties as governess
in a private family.
Thus the world began for these two young ladies.
For Amelia it was quite a new, fresh, brilliant world,
with all the bloom upon it. It was not quite a new
one for Rebecca (indeed, if the truth must be told
with respect to the Crisp affair, the tart-woman
hinted to somebody, who took an affidavit of the
fact to somebody else, that there was a great deal
more than was made public regarding Mr. Crisp and
Miss Sharp, and that his letter was in answer to
another letter). But who can tell you the real
truth of the matter? At all events, if Rebecca was
not beginning the world, she was beginning it over
again.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
21
S
By the time the young ladies reached Kensington
turnpike, Amelia had not forgotten her companions,
but had dried her tears, and had blushed very much
and been delighted at a young officer of the Life
Guards, who spied her as he was riding by, and said,
"A dem fine gal, egad!" and before the carriage ar-
rived in Russell Square, a great deal of conversation
had taken place about the drawing-room, and whether
or not young ladies wore powder as well as hoops
when presented, and whether she was to have that
honor to the Lord Mayor's ball she knew she was
to go. And when at length home was reached, Miss
Amelia Sedley skipped out on Sambo's arm, as happy
and as handsome a girl as any in the whole big city
of London. Both he and coachman agreed on this
point, and so did her father and mother, and so did
every one of the servants in the house, as they stood
bobbing, and curtsying, and smiling, in the hall, to
welcome their young mistress.
You may be sure that she showed Rebecca over
every room of the house, and everything in every
one of her drawers; and her books, and her piano,
and her dresses, and all her necklaces, brooches,
laces, and gimcracks. She insisted upon Rebecca
accepting the white cornelian and the turquoise rings,
and a sweet sprigged muslin, which was too small
for her now, though it would fit her friend to a
nicety; and she determined in her heart to ask her
mother's permission to present her white cashmere
shawl to her friend. Could she not spare it? and
had not her brother Joseph just brought her two
from India?
When Rebecca saw the two magnificent cashmere
shawls which Joseph Sedley had brought home to
his sister, she said, with perfect truth, "that it must
22
VANITY FAIR.
be delightful to have a brother," and easily got the
pity of the tender-hearted Amelia, for being alone in
the world, an orphan without friends or kindred.
"Not alone," said Amelia; "you know, Rebecca,
I shall always be your friend, and love you as a
sister indeed I will."
"Ah, but to have parents, as you have kind, rich,
affectionate parents, who give you everything you ask
for; and their love, which is more precious than all!
My poor papa could give me nothing, and I had but
two frocks in all the world! And then, to have a
brother, a dear brother! Oh, how you must love
him!"
Amelia laughed.
"What! don't you love him? you, who say you
love everybody?"
"Yes, of course I do only —"
"Only what?"
"Only Joseph does n't seem to care much whether I
love him or not. He gave me two fingers to shake
when he arrived after ten years' absence! He is very
kind and good, but he scarcely ever speaks to me; I
think he loves his pipe a great deal better than
his" but here Amelia checked herself, for why
should she speak ill of her brother?
"He was very
kind to me as a child," she added; "I was but five
years old when he went away."
"Isn't he very rich ?" said Rebecca. "They say
all Indian nabobs are enormously rich."
(+
I believe he has a very large income.”
"And is your sister-in-law a nice pretty woman?
"La! Joseph is not married,” said Amelia, laugh-
ing again.
Perhaps she had mentioned the fact already to
Rebecca, but that young lady did not appear to have
""
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
23
remembered it; indeed, vowed and protested that she
expected to see a number of Amelia's nephews and
nieces. She was quite disappointed that Mr. Sedley
was not married; she was sure Amelia had said he
was, and she doted so on little children.
"I think you must have had enough of them at
Chiswick," said Amelia, rather wondering at the sud-
den tenderness on her friend's part; and indeed in
later days Miss Sharp would never have committed
herself so far as to advance opinions, the untruth of
which would have been so easily detected. But we
must remember that she is but nineteen as yet, unused
to the art of deceiving, poor innocent creature! and
making her own experience in her own person. The
meaning of the above series of queries, as translated
in the heart of this ingenious young woman, was sim-
ply this:
"If Mr. Joseph Sedley is rich and unmar-
ried, why should I not marry him? I have only a
fortnight, to be sure, but there is no harm in trying."
And she determined within herself to make this laud-
able attempt. She redoubled her caresses to Amelia;
she kissed the white cornelian necklace as she put it
on; and vowed she would never, never part with it.
When the dinner-bell rang she went down stairs with
her arm round her friend's waist, as is the habit of
young ladies. She was so agitated at the drawing-
room door, that she could hardly find courage to enter.
"Feel my heart, how it beats, dear," said she to her
friend.
"No, it does n't," said Amelia.
frightened. Papa won't do you any harm."
"Come in, don't be
CHAPTER III.
REBECCA IS IN PRESENCE OF THE ENEMY.
A VERY stout, puffy man, in buckskins and Hessian
boots, with several immense neckcloths, that rose
almost to his nose, with a red striped waistcoat and
an apple-green coat with steel buttons almost as large
as crown pieces (it was the morning costume of a
dandy or blood of those days), was reading the paper
by the fire when the two girls entered, and bounced
off his arm-chair, and blushed excessively, and hid
his entire face almost in his neckcloths at this
apparition.
"It's only your sister, Joseph," said Amelia, laugh-
ing and shaking the two fingers which he held out.
"I've come home for good, you know; and this is
my friend, Miss Sharp, whom you have heard me
mention."
"No, never, upon my word," said the head under
the neckcloth, shaking very much, "that is, yes, -
what abominably cold weather, Miss ;" and here-
with he fell to poking the fire with all his might,
although it was in the middle of June.
"He's very handsome," whispered Rebecca to
Amelia, rather loud.
"Do you think so?" said the latter. "I'll tell
him."
P
"Darling! not for worlds," said Miss Sharp, start-
ing back as timid as a fawn. She had previously
made a respectful virgin-like curtsy to the gentleman,
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
25
and her modest eyes gazed so perseveringly on the
carpet that it was a wonder how she should have
found an opportunity to see him.
"Thank you for the beautiful shawls, brother,"
said Amelia to the fire poker. "Are they not beauti-
ful, Rebecca?"
"Oh, heavenly!" said Miss Sharp, and her eyes
went from the carpet straight to the chandelier.
Joseph still continued a huge clattering at the poker
and tongs, puffing and blowing the while, and turning
as red as his yellow face would allow him. "I can't
make you such handsome presents, Joseph," con-
tinued his sister, "but while I was at school, I have
embroidered for you a very beautiful pair of braces."
"Good Gad! Amelia," cried the brother, in serious
alarm, "what do you mean?" and plunging with all
his might at the bell-rope, that article of furniture
came away in his hand, and increased the honest fel-
low's confusion. "For Heaven's sake see if
my
buggy's at the door. I can't wait. I must go. D
that groom of mine. I must go."
At this minute the father of the family walked in,
rattling his seals like a true British merchant.
"What's the matter, Emmy?" says he.
66
Joseph wants me to see if his
his buggy is at
the door. What is a buggy, Papa?"
"It is a one-horse palanquin," said the old gentle-
man, who was a wag in his way.
Joseph at this burst out into a wild fit of laughter ;
in which, encountering the eye of Miss Sharp, he
stopped all of a sudden, as if he had been shot.
"This young lady is your friend? Miss Sharp, I
am very happy to see you. Have you and Emmy
been quarrelling already with Joseph, that he wants
to be off?"
26
VANITY FAIR.
"I promised Bonamy of our service, sir," said Jo-
seph, "to dine with him."
"Oh fie! did n't you tell your mother you would
dine here?"
"But in this dress it's impossible."
"Look at him, is n't he handsome enough to dine
anywhere, Miss Sharp ?"
On which, of course, Miss Sharp looked at her friend,
and they both set off in a fit of laughter, highly agree-
able to the old gentleman.
"Did you ever see a pair of buckskins like those at
Miss Pinkerton's?" continued he, following up his
advantage.
"Gracious heavens! Father," cried Joseph.
"There now, I have hurt his feelings. Mrs. Sed-
ley, my dear, I have hurt your son's feelings. I have
alluded to his buckskins. Ask Miss Sharp if I
have n't. Come, Joseph, be friends with Miss Sharp,
and let us all go to dinner."
"There's a pillau, Joseph, just as you like it, and
Papa has brought home the best turbot in Billings-
gate."
“Come, come, sir, walk down stairs with Miss Sharp,
and I will follow with these two young women," said
the father, and he took an arm of wife and daughter
and walked merrily off.
If Miss Rebecca Sharp had determined in her heart
upon making the conquest of this big beau, I don't
think, ladies, we have any right to blame her; for
though the task of husband-hunting is generally, and
with becoming modesty, intrusted by young persons to
their mammas, recollect that Miss Sharp had no kind
parent to arrange these delicate matters for her, and
that if she did not get a husband for herself, there
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
27
(6
was no one else in the wide world who would take the
trouble off her hands. What causes young people to
come out," but the noble ambition of matrimony?
What sends them trooping to watering-places? What
keeps them dancing till five o'clock in the morning
through a whole mortal season? What causes them
to labor at piano-forte sonatas, and to learn four songs
from a fashionable master at a guinea a lesson, and to
play the harp if they have handsome arms and neat
elbows, and to wear Lincoln Green toxophilite hats
and feathers, but that they may bring down some
"desirable young man with those killing bows and
arrows of theirs? What causes respectable parents to
take up their carpets, set their houses topsy-turvy,
and spend a fifth of their year's income in ball sup-
pers and iced champagne? Is it sheer love of their
species, and an unadulterated wish to see young peo-
ple happy and dancing? Psha! they want to marry
their daughters; and, as honest Mrs. Sedley has, in
the depths of her kind heart, already arranged a score.
of little schemes for the settlement of her Amelia, so
also had our beloved but unprotected Rebecca deter-
mined to do her very best to secure the husband, who
was even more necessary for her than for her friend.
She had a vivid imagination; she had, besides, read
the "Arabian Nights" and "Guthrie's Geography;"
and it is a fact, that while she was dressing for dinner,
and after she had asked Amelia whether her brother
was very rich, she had built for herself a most mag-
nificent castle in the air, of which she was mistress,
with a husband somewhere in the background (she had
not seen him as yet, and his figure would not there-
fore be very distinct); she had arrayed herself in an
infinity of shawls, turbans, and diamond necklaces,
and had mounted upon an elephant to the sound of the
28
VANITY FAIR.
march in Bluebeard, in order to pay a visit of cere-
mony to the Grand Mogul. Charming Alnaschar
visions! it is the happy privilege of youth to construct
you, and many a fanciful young creature besides Re-
becca Sharp has indulged in these delightful day-
dreams ere now!
Joseph Sedley was twelve years older than his sis-
ter Amelia. He was in the East India Company's
Civil Service, and his name appeared, at the period
of which we write, in the Bengal division of the
East India Register, as collector of Boggley Wollah,
an honorable and lucrative post, as everybody knows;
in order to know to what higher posts Joseph rose
in the service, the reader is referred to the same
periodical.
Boggley Wollah is situated in a fine, lonely, marshy,
jungly district, famous for snipe-shooting, and where
not unfrequently you may flush a tiger. Ramgunge,
where there is a magistrate, is only forty miles off, and
there is a cavalry station about thirty miles farther;
so Joseph wrote home to his parents, when he took
possession of his collectorship. He had lived for about
eight years of his life, quite alone, at this charming
place, scarcely seeing a Christian face except twice a
year, when the detachment arrived to carry off the
revenues which he had collected, to Calcutta.
Luckily, at this time he caught a liver complaint,
for the cure of which he returned to Europe, and which
was the source of great comfort and amusement to him
in his native country. He did not live with his family
while in London, but had lodgings of his own, like a
gay young bachelor. Before he went to India he was
too young to partake of the delightful pleasures of a
man about town, and plunged into them on his return
with considerable assiduity. He drove his horses in
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
29
the Park; he dined at the fashionable taverns (for
the Oriental Club was not as yet invented); he fre-
quented the theatres, as the mode was in those days,
or made his appearance at the opera, laboriously at-
tired in tights and a cocked hat.
On returning to India, and ever after, he used to
talk of the pleasure of this period of his existence
with great enthusiasm, and give you to understand
that he and Brummel were the leading bucks of the
day. But he was as lonely here as in his jungle at
Boggley Wollah. He scarcely knew a single soul in
the metropolis: and were it not for his doctor, and
the society of his blue-pill, and his liver complaint, he
must have died of loneliness. He was lazy, peevish,
and a bon-vivant; the appearance of a lady frightened
him beyond measure; hence it was but seldom that
he joined the paternal circle in Russell Square, where
there was plenty of gayety, and where the jokes of his
good-natured old father frightened his amour-propre.
His bulk caused Joseph much anxious thought and
alarm; now and then he would make a desperate at-
tempt to get rid of his superabundant fat; but his in-
dolence and love of good living speedily got the better
of these endeavors at reform, and he found himself
again at his three meals a day. He never was well
dressed; but he took the hugest pains to adorn his big
person, and passed many hours daily in that occupa-
tion. His valet made a fortune out of his wardrobe :
his toilet-table was covered with as many pomatums
and essences as ever were employed by an old beauty :
he had tried, in order to give himself a waist, every
girth, stay, and waistband then invented. Like most
fat men, he would have his clothes made too tight, and
took care they should be of the most brilliant colors
and youthful cut. When dressed at length, in the after-
30
VANITY FAIR.
noon, he would issue forth to take a drive with nobody
in the Park; and then would come back in order to
dress again and go and dine with nobody at the Piazza
Coffee-House. He was as vain as a girl; and perhaps
his extreme shyness was one of the results of his ex-
treme vanity. If Miss Rebecca can get the better of
him, and at her first entrance into life, she is a young
person of no ordinary cleverness.
66
The first move showed considerable skill. When
she called Sedley a very handsome man, she knew that
Amelia would tell her mother, who would probably tell
Joseph, or who, at any rate, would be pleased by the
compliment paid to her son. All mothers are.
If you
had told Sycorax that her son Caliban was as hand-
some as Apollo, she would have been pleased, witch as
she was. Perhaps, too, Joseph Sedley would overhear
the compliment - Rebecca spoke loud enough-and
he did hear, and (thinking in his heart that he was a
very fine man) the praise thrilled through every fibre
of his big body, and made it tingle with pleasure.
Then, however, came a recoil. 'Is the girl making
fun of me?" he thought, and straightway he bounced
towards the bell, and was for retreating, as we have
seen, when his father's jokes and his mother's entrea-
ties caused him to pause and stay where he was. He
conducted the young lady down to dinner in a dubious
and agitated frame of mind. "Does she really think
I am handsome?" thought he, "or is she only making
game of me?”
We have talked of Joseph Sedley
being as vain as a girl. Heaven help us! the girls
have only to turn the tables, and say of one of their
own sex, "She is as vain as a man," and they will
have perfect reason. The bearded creatures are quite
as eager for praise, quite as finikin over their toilettes,
quite as proud of their personal advantages, quite as
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
31
conscious of their powers of fascination, as any co-
quette in the world.
Down stairs, then, they went, Joseph very red and
blushing, Rebecca very modest, and holding her green
eyes downwards. She was dressed in white, with bare
shoulders as white as snow the picture of youth,
unprotected innocence, and humble virgin simplicity.
"I must be very quiet," thought Rebecca, "and very
much interested about India."
Now, we have heard how Mrs. Sedley had prepared
a fine curry for her son, just as he liked it, and in the
course of dinner a portion of this dish was offered to
Rebecca. "What is it?” said she, turning an appeal-
ing look to Mr. Joseph.
(6
Capital," said he. His mouth was full of it: his
face quite red with the delightful exercise of gobbling.
"Mother, it's as good as my own curries in India."
"Oh, I must try some, if it is an Indian dish,” said
Miss Rebecca. "I am sure everything must be good
that comes from there."
"Give Miss Sharp some curry, my dear," said Mr.
Sedley, laughing.
Rebecca had never tasted the dish before.
"Do you find it as good as everything else from
India?" said Mr. Sedley.
"Oh, excellent!" said Rebecca, who was suffering
tortures with the cayenne pepper.
"Try a chili with it, Miss Sharp," said Joseph,
really interested.
"A chili," said Rebecca, gasping.
"Oh, yes!" She
thought a chili was something cool, as its name im-
ported, and was served with some. "How fresh and
green they look," she said, and put one into her
mouth. It was hotter than the curry; flesh and blood
could bear it no longer. She laid down her fork.
"Water, for Heaven's sake, water!" she cried. Mr.
32
VANITY FAIR.
66
Sedley burst out laughing (he was a coarse man, from
the Stock Exchange, where they love all sorts of prac-
tical jokes).
They are real Indian, I assure you,"
said he. Sambo, give Miss Sharp some water.”
The paternal laugh was echoed by Joseph, who
thought the joke capital. The ladies only smiled a
little. They thought poor Rebecca suffered too much.
She would have liked to choke old Sedley, but she
swallowed her mortification as well as she had the
abominable curry before it, and as soon as she could
speak, said, with a comical, good-humored air-
"I ought to have remembered the pepper which the
Princess of Persia puts in the cream-tarts in the 'Ara-
bian Nights.' Do you put cayenne into your cream-
tarts in India, sir?
""
(6
Old Sedley began to laugh, and thought Rebecca
was a good-humored girl. Joseph simply said-
"Cream-tarts, Miss? Our cream is very bad in Ben-
gal. We generally use goats' milk; and, 'gad, do you
know, I've got to prefer it!"
S
'You won't like everything from India now, Miss
Sharp," said the old gentleman; but when the ladies.
had retired after dinner, the wily old fellow said to
his son, "Have a care, Joe; that girl is setting her
cap at you."
"Pooh! nonsense!" said Joe, highly flattered. "I
recollect, sir, there was a girl at Dumdum, a daughter
of Cutler of the Artillery, and afterwards married to
Lance, the surgeon, who made a dead set at me in the
year '4
at me and Mulligatawney, whom I mentioned
to you before dinner a devilish good fellow Mulli-
gatawney he's a magistrate at Budgebudge, and
sure to be in council in five years. Well, sir, the
Artillery gave a ball, and Quintin, of the King's 14th,
said to me, 'Sedley,' said he, 'I bet you thirteen to
ten that Sophy Cutler hooks either you or Mulli-
plakatdag
M
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
33
gatawney before the rains.' 'Done,' says I; and
egad, sir — this claret's very good. Adamson's or
Carbonell's?"
A slight snore was the only reply: the honest stock-
broker was asleep, and so the rest of Joseph's story
was lost for that day. But he was always exceedingly
communicative in a man's party, and has told this
delightful tale many scores of times to his apothecary,
Dr. Gollop, when he came to inquire about the liver
and the blue-pill.
Being an invalid, Joseph Sedley contented himself
with a bottle of claret besides his Madeira at dinner,
and he managed a couple of plates full of strawberries
and cream, and twenty-four little rout cakes, that were
lying neglected in a plate near him, and certainly
(for novelists have the privilege of knowing every-
thing) he thought a great deal about the girl up stairs.
"A nice, gay, merry young creature," thought he to
himself. "How she looked at me when I picked up
her handkerchief at dinner! She dropped it twice.
Who's that singing in the drawing-room?
shall I go up and see?"
'Gad!
But his modesty came rushing upon him with un-
controllable force. His father was asleep his hat
was in the hall: there was a hackney-coach stand hard
by in Southampton Row. "I'll go and see the Forty
Thieves,'" said he, "and Miss Decamp's dance; " and
he slipped away gently on the pointed toes of his
boots, and disappeared, without waking his worthy
parent.
"There goes Joseph," said Amelia, who was look-
ing from the open windows of the drawing-room, while
Rebecca was singing at the piano.
"Miss Sharp has frightened him away," said Mrs
Sedley. "Poor Joe, why will he be so shy ?"
VOL. I. - 3
CHAPTER IV.
THE GREEN SILK PURSE.
POOR Joe's panic lasted for two or three days; dur-
ing which he did not visit the house, nor during that
period did Miss Rebecca ever mention his name. She
was all respectful gratitude to Mrs. Sedley; delighted
beyond measure at the Bazaars; and in a whirl of won-
der at the theatre, whither the good-natured lady took
her. One day, Amelia had a headache, and could not
go upon some party of pleasure to which the two young
people were invited: nothing could induce her friend
to go without her. "What! you who have shown the
poor orphan what happiness and love are for the first
time in her life quit you? never!" and the green
eyes looked up to Heaven and filled with tears; and
Mrs. Sedley could not but own that her daughter's
friend had a charming kind heart of her own.
As for Mr. Sedley's jokes, Rebecca laughed at them
with a cordiality and perseverence which not a little
pleased and softened that good-natured gentleman.
Nor was it with the chiefs of the family alone that
Miss Sharp found favor. She interested Mrs. Blen-
kinsop by evincing the deepest sympathy in the rasp-
berry-jam preserving, which operation was then going
on in the housekeeper's room; she persisted in calling
Sambo "Sir," and "Mr. Sambo," to the delight of that
attendant; and she apologized to the lady's-maid for
giving her trouble in venturing to ring the bell, with
such sweetness and humility, that the Servants' Hall
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
35
was almost as charmed with her as the Drawing-
Room.
Once, in looking over some drawings which Amelia
had sent from school, Rebecca suddenly came upon
one which caused her to burst into tears and leave the
room. It was on the day when Joe Sedley made his
second appearance.
Amelia hastened after her friend to know the cause
of this display of feeling, and the good-natured girl
came back without her companion, rather affected
too. "You know, her father was our drawing-master,
Mamma, at Chiswick, and used to do all the best parts
of our drawings."
66
'My love! I'm sure I always heard Miss Pinkerton
say that he did not touch them he only mounted
them."
"It was called mounting, Mamma. Rebecca remem-
bers the drawing, and her father working at it, and the
thought of it came upon her rather suddenly - and so,
you know, she
""
ܝ
"The poor child is all heart," said Mrs. Sedley.
"I wish she could stay with us another week," said
Amelia.
""
"She's devilish like Miss Cutler that I used to meet
at Dumdum, only fairer. She 's married now to Lance,
the Artillery Surgeon. Do you know, Ma'am, that once
Quintin, of the 14th, bet me
"O Joseph, we know that story," said Amelia, laugh-
ing. "Never mind about telling that; but persuade
Mamma to write to Sir Something Crawley for leave
of absence for poor dear Rebecca: - here she comes,
her eyes red with weeping."
"I'm better, now," said the girl, with the sweetest
smile possible, taking good-natured Mrs. Sedley's ex-
tended hand and kissing it respectfully. "How kind
36
VANITY FAIR.
you all are to me! All," she added, with a laugh,
"except you, Mr. Joseph."
"Me!" said Joseph, meditating an instant departure.
"Gracious Heavens! Good Gad! Miss Sharp!"
"Yes, how could you be so cruel as to make me
eat that horrid pepper-dish at dinner, the first day I
ever saw you? You are not so good to me as dear
Amelia."
"He does n't know you so well," cried Amelia.
"I defy anybody not to be good to you, my dear,"
said her mother.
"The curry was capital; indeed it was," said Joe,
quite gravely. "Perhaps there was not enough citron
juice in it, — no, there was not.”
"And the chilis ?"
"By Jove, how they made you cry out!" said Joe,
caught by the ridicule of the circumstance, and explod-
ing in a fit of laughter which ended quite suddenly, as
usual.
"I shall take care how I let you choose for me an-
other time," said Rebecca, as they went down again to
dinner. "I did n't think men were fond of putting
poor harmless girls to pain.”
"By Gad, Miss Rebecca, I would n't hurt you for
the world."
No," said she, "I know you would n't;" and then
she gave him ever so gentle a pressure with her little
hand, and drew it back quite frightened, and looked
first for one instant in his face, and then down at the
carpet-rods; and I am not prepared to say that Joe's
heart did not thump at this little involuntary, timid,
gentle motion of regard on the part of the simple.
girl.
66
It was
an advance, and as such, perhaps, some
ladies of indisputable correctness and gentility will
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
37
condemn the action as immodest; but, you see, poor
dear Rebecca had all this work to do for herself. If
a person is too poor to keep a servant, though ever so
elegant, he must sweep his own rooms: if a dear girl
has no dear mamma to settle matters with the young
man, she must do it for herself. And oh, what a
mercy it is that these women do not exercise their
powers oftener! We can't resist them, if they do.
Let them show ever so little inclination, and men go
down on their knees at once: old or ugly, it is all the
same. And this I set down as a positive truth. A
woman with fair opportunities, and without an abso-
lute hump, may marry WHOM SHE LIKES.
be thankful that the darlings are like the
field, and don't know their own power.
overcome us entirely if they did.
"Egad!" thought Joseph, entering the dining-
room, "I exactly begin to feel as I did at Dumdum
with Miss Cutler." Many sweet little appeals, half
tender, half jocular, did Miss Sharp make to him
about the dishes at dinner; for by this time she was
on a footing of considerable familiarity with the
family, and as for the girls, they loved each other
like sisters. Young unmarried girls always do, if
they are in a house together for ten days.
As if bent upon advancing Rebecca's plans in every
way - what must Amelia do, but remind her brother
"When I
of a promise made last Easter holidays.
was a girl at school," said she, laughing - a promise.
that he, Joseph, would take her to Vauxhall.
“Now,”
she said, "that Rebecca is with us, will be the very
time."
Only let us
beasts of the
They would
Oh, delightful!" said Rebecca, going to clap her
hands; but she recollected herself, and paused, like a
modest creature, as she was.
38
VANITY FAIR.
"To-night is not the night," said Joe.
"Well, to-morrow."
"To-morrow your Papa and I dine out," said Mrs.
Sedley.
"You don't suppose that I'm going, Mrs. Sed.?"
said her husband, "and that a woman of your years
and size is to catch cold, in such an abominable damp
place?"
“The children must have some one with them,"
cried Mrs. Sedley.
"Let Joe go," said his father, laughing. "He's
big enough." At which speech even Mr. Sambo at
the sideboard burst out laughing, and poor fat Joe
felt inclined to become a parricide almost.
"Undo his stays!" continued the pitiless old gen-
tleman. "Fling some water in his face, Miss Sharp,
or carry him up stairs: the dear creature's faint-
ing. Poor victim! carry him up; he's as light as a
feather!"
"If he stand this, sir, I'm d
!" roared Joseph.
"Order Mr. Jos's elephant, Sambo!" cried the
father. "Send to Exeter 'Change, Sambo;" but see-
ing Jos ready almost to cry with vexation, the old
joker stopped his laughter, and said, holding out his
hand to his son, "It's all fair on the Stock Exchange,
Jos, and, Sambo, never mind the elephant, but give
me and Mr. Jos a glass of champagne. Boney him-
self has n't got such in his cellar, my boy!"
A goblet of champagne restored Joseph's equa-
nimity, and before the bottle was emptied, of which
as an invalid he took two-thirds, he had agreed to
take the young ladies to Vauxhall.
"The girls must have a gentleman apiece," said the
old gentleman. "Jos will be sure to leave Emmy in
the crowd, he will be so taken up with Miss Sharp
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
39
here. Send to 96, and ask George Osborne if he'll
come."
At this, I don't know in the least for what reason,
Mrs. Sedley looked at her husband and laughed. Mr.
Sedley's eyes twinkled in a manner indescribably
roguish, and he looked at Amelia; and Amelia, hang-
ing down her head, blushed as only young ladies of
seventeen know how to blush, and as Miss Rebecca
Sharp never blushed in her life at least not since
she was eight years old, and when she was caught
stealing jam out of a cupboard by her godmother.
"Amelia had better write a note," said her father;
"and let George Osborne see what a beautiful hand-
writing we have brought back from Miss Pinkerton's.
Do you remember when you wrote to him to come
on Twelfth-night, Emmy, and spelt twelfth without
the f?"
"That was years ago," said Amelia.
"It seems like yesterday, don't it, John?" said
Mrs. Sedley to her husband; and that night in a con-
versation which took place in a front room in the
second-floor, in a sort of tent, hung round with chintz
of a rich and fantastic India pattern, and doublé with
calico of a tender rose-color; in the interior of which
species of marquee was a feather-bed, on which were
two pillows, on which were two round red faces, one
in a laced night-cap, and one in a simple cotton one,
ending in a tassel:-in a curtain lecture, I say, Mrs.
Sedley took her husband to task for his cruel conduct
to poor Joe.
"It was quite wicked of you, Mr. Sedley," said
she, "to torment the poor boy so."
"My dear," said the cotton-tassel in defence of
his conduct, "Jos is a great deal vainer than you ever
were in your life, and that's saying a good deal
40
VANITY FAIR.
Though, some thirty years ago, in the year seventeen
hundred and eighty what was it?— perhaps you
had a right to be vain.-I don't say no. But I've
no patience with Jos and his dandified modesty. It
is out-Josephing Joseph, my dear, and all the while
the boy is only thinking of himself, and what a fine
fellow he is. I doubt, Ma'am, we shall have some
trouble with him yet. Here is Emmy's little friend
making love to him as hard as she can; that's quite
clear; and if she does not catch him some other will.
That man is destined to be a prey to woman, as I
am to go on 'Change every day. It's a mercy he
did not bring us over a black daughter-in-law, my
dear. But, mark my words, the first woman who
fishes for him, hooks him."
"She shall go off to-morrow, the little artful creat-
ure," said Mrs. Sedley, with great energy.
"Why not she as well as another, Mrs. Sedley?
The girl's a white face at any rate.
I don't care
who marries him. Let Joe please himself."
And presently the voices of the two speakers were
hushed, or were replaced by the gentle but unroman-
tic music of the nose; and save when the church
bells tolled the hour and the watchman called it, all
was silent at the house of John Sedley, Esquire, of
Russell Square, and the Stock Exchange.
When morning came, the good-natured Mrs. Sedley
no longer thought of executing her threats with re-
gard to Miss Sharp; for though nothing is more keen,
nor more common, nor more justifiable, than mater-
nal jealousy, yet she could not bring herself to sup-
pose that the little, humble, grateful, gentle governess.
would dare to look up to such a magnificent person-
age as the Collector of Boggley Wollah. The peti-
tion, too, for an extension of the young lady's leave
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
41
of absence had already been despatched, and it would
be difficult to find a pretext for abruptly dismissing
her.
And as if all things conspired in favor of the
gentle Rebecca, the very elements (although she
was not inclined at first to acknowledge their action
in her behalf) interposed to aid her. For on the
evening appointed for the Vauxhall party, George
Osborne having come to dinner, and the elders of the
house having departed, according to invitation, to dine
with Alderman Balls, at Highbury Barn, there came
on such a thunder-storm as only happens on Vauxhall
nights, and as obliged the young people, perforce,
to remain at home. Mr. Osborne did not seem in
the least disappointed at this occurrence. He and
Joseph Sedley drank a fitting quantity of port-wine,
tête-à-tête, in the dining-room,- during the drinking
of which Sedley told a number of his best Indian
stories; for he was extremely talkative in man's so-
ciety ; and afterwards Miss Amelia Sedley did the
honors of the drawing-room; and these four young
persons passed such a comfortable evening together,
that they declared they were rather glad of the
thunder-storm than otherwise, which had caused
them to put off their visit to Vauxhall.
Osborne was Sedley's godson, and had been one of
the family any time these three-and-twenty years.
At six weeks old, he had received from John Sedley
a present of a silver cup; at six months old, a coral
with gold whistle and bells; from his youth, upwards,
he was "tipped" regularly by the old gentleman
at Christmas: and on going back to school, he re-
membered perfectly well being thrashed by Joseph
Sedley, when the latter was a big, swaggering, hob-
badyhoy, and George an impudent urchin of ten years
42
VANITY FAIR.
old. In a word, George was as familiar with the
family as such daily acts of kindness and intercourse
could make him.
"Do you remember, Sedley, what a fury you were
in, when I cut off the tassels of your Hessian boots,
and how Miss hem!-how Amelia rescued me
from a beating by falling down on her knees and
crying out to her brother Jos not to beat little
George?"
M
Jos remembered this remarkable circumstance per-
fectly well, but vowed that he had totally forgotten it.
"Well, do you remember coming down in a gig to
Dr. Swishtail's to see me, before you went to India,
and giving me half a guinea and a pat on the head?
I always had an idea that you were at least seven
feet high, and was quite astonished at your return
from India to find you no taller than myself."
"How good of Mr. Sedley to go to your school
and give you the money!" exclaimed Rebecca, in
accents of extreme delight.
"Yes, and after I had cut the tassels of his boots
too. Boys never forget those tips at school, nor the
givers."
"I delight in Hessian boots," said Rebecca. Jos
Sedley, who admired his own legs prodigiously, and
always wore this ornamental chaussure, was extremely
pleased at this remark, though he drew his legs under
his chair as it was made.
"Miss Sharp!" said George Osborne, "you who
are so clever an artist, you must make a grand his-
torical picture of the scene of the boots. Sedley shall
be represented in buckskins, and holding one of the
injured boots in one hand; by the other he shall have
hold of my shirt-frill. Amelia shall be kneeling near
him, with her little hands up; and the picture shall
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
43
have a grand allegorical title, as the frontispieces
have in the Medulla and the spelling-book."
"I sha'n't have time to do it here," said Rebecca.
"I'll do it when when I'm gone." And she
dropped her voice, and looked so sad and piteous,
that everybody felt how cruel her lot was, and how
sorry they would be to part with her.
"Oh that you could stay longer, dear Rebecca,"
said Amelia.
P
"Why?" answered the other, still more sadly.
"That I may be only the more unhap-unwilling to
lose you?" And she turned away her head. Amelia
began to give way to that natural infirmity of tears.
which, we have said, was one of the defects of this
silly little thing. George Osborne looked at the two
young women with a touched curiosity; and Joseph
Sedley heaved something very like a sigh out of his
big chest, as he cast his eyes down towards his fa-
vorite Hessian boots.
"Let us have some music, Miss Sedley — Amelia,”
said George, who felt at that moment an extraor-
dinary, almost irresistible impulse to seize the above-
mentioned young woman in his arms, and to kiss her
in the face of the company; and she looked at him
for a moment, and if I should say that they fell in
love with each other at that single instant of time, I
should perhaps be telling an untruth, for the fact is,
that these two young people had been bred up by
their parents for this very purpose, and their banns
had, as it were, been read in their respective families
any time these ten years. They went off to the
piano, which was situated, as pianos usually are, in
the back drawing-room; and as it was rather dark,
Miss Amelia, in the most unaffected way in the
world, put her hand into Mr. Osborne's, who, of
14
VANITY FAIR.
course, could see the way among the chairs and otto
mans a great deal better than she could. But this
arrangement left Mr. Joseph Sedley tête-à-tête with
Rebecca, at the drawing-room table, where the latter
was occupied in knitting a green silk purse.
"There is no need to ask family secrets," said Miss
Sharp. "Those two have told theirs."
"As soon as he gets his company," said Joseph, "I
believe the affair is settled. George Osborne is a
capital fellow."
"And your sister the dearest creature in the
world," said Rebecca. "Happy the man who wins
her!" With this, Miss Sharp gave a great sigh.
When two unmarried persons get together, and
talk upon such delicate subjects as the present, a
great deal of confidence and intimacy is presently
established between them. There is no need of giv-
ing a special report of the conversation which now
took place between Mr. Sedley and the young lady;
for the conversation, as may be judged from the
foregoing specimen, was not especially witty or elo-
quent; it seldom is in private societies, or anywhere.
except in very high-flown and ingenious novels. As
there was music in the next room, the talk was
carried on, of course, in a low and becoming tone,
though, for the matter of that, the couple in the next
apartment would not have been disturbed had the
talking been ever so loud, so occupied were they with
their own pursuits.
Almost for the first time in his life, Mr. Sedley
found himself talking, without the least timidity or
hesitation, to a person of the other sex. Miss Re-
becca asked him a great number of questions about
India, which gave him an opportunity of narrating
many interesting anecdotes about that country and
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
45
himself. He described the balls at Government
House, and the manner in which they kept them-
selves cool in the hot weather, with punkahs, tatties,
and other contrivances; and he was very witty re-
garding the number of Scotchmen whom Lord Minto,
the Governor-General, patronized; and then he de-
scribed a tiger-hunt; and the manner in which the
mahout of his elephant had been pulled off his seat.
by one of the infuriated animals. How delighted
Miss Rebecca was at the Government balls, and how
she laughed at the stories of the Scotch aides-de-camp,
and called Mr. Sedley a sad wicked satirical creature ;
and how frightened she was at the story of the ele-
phant! "For your mother's sake, dear Mr. Sedley,"
she said, "for the sake of all your friends, promise
never to go on one of those horrid expeditions."
"Pooh, pooh, Miss Sharp," said he, pulling up his
shirt-collars; "the danger makes the sport only the
pleasanter." He had never been but once at a tiger-
hunt, when the accident in question occurred, and
when he was half killed-not by the tiger, but by
the fright. And as he talked on, he grew quite bold,
and actually had the audacity to ask Miss Rebecca
for whom she was knitting the green silk purse? He
was quite surprised and delighted at his own graceful
familiar manner.
"For any one who wants a purse," replied Miss
Rebecca, looking at him in the most gentle winning
way. Sedley was going to make one of the most elo-
quent speeches possible, and had begun "O Miss
Sharp, how —” when some song which was performed
in the other room came to an end, and caused him to
hear his own voice so distinctly that he stopped,
blushed, and blew his nose in great agitation.
"Did you ever hear anything like your brother's
46
VANITY FAIR.
eloquence?" whispered Mr. Osborne to Amelia.
Why, your friend has worked miracles.”
"The more the better," said Miss Amelia; who, like
almost all women who are worth a pin, was a match-
maker in her heart, and would have been delighted
that Joseph should carry back a wife to India. She
had, too, in the course of this few days' constant in-
tercourse, warmed into a most tender friendship for
Rebecca, and discovered a million of virtues and ami-
able qualities in her which she had not perceived
when they were at Chiswick together. For the affec-
tion of young ladies is of as rapid growth as Jack's
bean-stalk, and reaches up to the sky in a night. It is
no blame to them that after marriage this Sehnsucht
nach der Liebe subsides. It is what sentimentalists,
who deal in very big words, call a yearning after the
Ideal, and simply means that women are commonly
not satisfied until they have husbands and children
on whom they may centre affections, which are spent
elsewhere, as it were, in small change.
Having expended her little store of songs, or having
stayed long enough in the back drawing-room, it now
appeared proper to Miss Amelia to ask her friend
to sing.
"You would not have listened to me," she
said to Mr. Osborne (though she knew she was telling
a fib), "had you heard Rebecca first."
"I give Miss Sharp warning, though," said Osborne,
"that, right or wrong, I consider Miss Amelia Sedley
the first singer in the world.”
"You shall hear," said Amelia; and Joseph Sedley
was actually polite enough to carry the candles to the
piano. Osborne hinted that he should like quite as
well to sit in the dark; but Miss Sedley, laughing,
declined to bear him company any farther, and the
two accordingly followed Mr. Joseph. Rebecca sang
CC
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
47
far better than her friend (though of course Osborne
was free to keep his opinion), and exerted herself to
the utmost, and, indeed, to the wonder of Amelia, who
had never known her perform so well.
She sang a
French song, which Joseph did not understand in the
least, and which George confessed he did not under-
stand, and then a number of those simple ballads
which were the fashion forty years ago, and in which
British tars, our King, poor Susan, blue-eyed Mary,
and the like, were the principal themes. They are
not, it is said, very brilliant, in a musical point of
view, but contain numberless good-natured, simple
appeals to the affections, which people understood.
better than the milk-and-water lagrime, sospiri, and
felicità of the eternal Donizettian music with which
we are favored now-a-days.
Conversation of a sentimental sort, befitting the
subject, was carried on between the songs, to which
Sambo, after he had brought the tea, the delighted
cook, and even Mrs. Blenkinsop, the housekeeper, con-
descended to listen on the landing-place.
Among these ditties was one, the last of the concert,
and to the following effect:
Ah! bleak and barren was the moor,
Ah! loud and piercing was the storm,
The cottage roof was shelter'd sure,
The cottage hearth was bright and warm
An orphan boy the lattice pass'd,
And, as he mark'd its cheerful glow,
Felt doubly keen the midnight blast,
And doubly cold the fallen snow.
They mark'd him as he onward prest,
With fainting heart and weary limb;
Kind voices bade him turn and rest,
And gentle faces welcomed him.
48
VANITY FAIR.
The dawn is up—the guest is gone,
The cottage hearth is blazing still;
Heaven pity all poor wanderers lone!
Hark to the wind upon the hill!
It was the sentiment of the before-mentioned words,
"When I'm gone," over again. As she came to the
last words, Miss Sharp's "deep-toned voice faltered."
Everybody felt the allusion to her departure, and to
her hapless orphan state. Joseph Sedley, who was
fond of music, and soft-hearted, was in a state of rav-
ishment during the performance of the song, and pro-
foundly touched at its conclusion. If he had had the
courage; if George and Miss Sedley had remained,
according to the former's proposal, in the farther
room, Joseph Sedley's bachelorhood would have been
at an end, and this work would never have been writ-
ten. But at the close of the ditty, Rebecca quitted
the piano, and giving her hand to Amelia, walked
away into the front drawing-room twilight; and, at
this moment, Mr. Sambo made his appearance with a
tray, containing sandwiches, jellies, and some glitter-
ing glasses and decanters, on which Joseph Sedley's
attention was immediately fixed. When the parents
of the house of Sedley returned from their dinner-
party, they found the young people so busy in talking,
that they had not heard the arrival of the carriage,
and Mr. Joseph was in the act of saying, "My dear
Miss Sharp, one little teaspoonful of jelly to recruit
you after your immense your your delightful
exertions."
"Bravo, Jos!" said Mr. Sedley; on hearing the
bantering of which well-known voice, Jos instantly
relapsed into an alarmed silence, and quickly took his
departure. He did not lie awake all night thinking.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
49
whether or not he was in love with Miss Sharp; the
passion of love never interfered with the appetite or
the slumber of Mr. Joseph Sedley; but he thought to
himself how delightful it would be to hear such songs
as those after Cutcherry- what a distinguée girl she
was—how she could speak French better than the
Governor-General's lady herself and what a sensa-
tion she would make at the Calcutta balls. 66 'It's evi-
dent the poor devil's in love with me," thought he.
"She is just as rich as most of the girls who come out
to India. I might go farther, and fare worse, egad!"
And in these meditations he fell asleep.
How Miss Sharp lay awake, thinking, will he come
or not to-morrow? need not be told here. To-morrow
came, and, as sure as fate, Mr. Joseph Sedley made
his appearance before luncheon. He had never been
known before to confer such an honor on Russell
Square. George Osborne was somehow there already
(sadly "putting out" Amelia, who was writing to her
twelve dearest friends at Chiswick Mall), and Rebecca
was employed upon her yesterday's work. As Joe's
buggy drove up, and while, after his usual thundering
knock and pompous bustle at the door, the ex-Collector
of Boggley Wollah labored upstairs to the drawing-
room, knowing glances were telegraphed between Os-
borne and Miss Sedley, and the pair, smiling archly,
looked at Rebecca, who actually blushed as she bent.
her fair ringlets over her knitting. How her heart
beat as Joseph appeared,—Joseph, puffing from the
staircase in shining creaking boots,-Joseph, in a
new waistcoat, red with heat and nervousness, and
blushing behind his wadded neckcloth. It was a ner-
vous moment for all; and as for Amelia, I think she
was more frightened than even the people most
concerned.
VOL. I. 4
50
VANITY FAIR.
Sambo, who flung open the door and announced.
Mr. Joseph, followed grinning, in the Collector's rear,
and bearing two handsome nosegays of flowers, which
the monster had actually had the gallantry to purchase
in Covent Garden Market that morning - they were
not as big as the hay-stacks which ladies carry about
with them now-a-days, in cones of filigree paper; but
the young women were delighted with the gift, as
Joseph presented one to each, with an exceedingly
solemn bow.
66
Bravo, Jos!" cried Osborne.
"Thank you, dear Joseph," said Amelia, quite ready
to kiss her brother, if he were so minded. (And I
think for a kiss from such a dear creature as Amelia,
i would purchase all Mr. Lee's conservatories out of
hand.)
"Oh, heavenly, heavenly flowers!" exclaimed Miss.
Sharp, and smelt them delicately, and held them to
her bosom, and cast up her eyes to the ceiling, in an
ecstasy of admiration. Perhaps she just looked first
into the bouquet, to see whether there was a billet-doux
hidden among the flowers; but there was no letter.
"Do they talk the language of flowers at Boggley
Wollah, Sedley?" asked Osborne, laughing.
"Pooh, nonsense!" replied the sentimental youth.
"Bought 'em at Nathan's; very glad you like 'em;
and eh, Amelia, my dear, I bought a pineapple at the
same time, which I gave to Sambo. Let's have it for
tiffin; very cool and nice this hot weather." Rebecca
said she had never tasted a pine, and longed beyond
everything to taste one.
So the conversation went on. I don't know on what
pretext Osborne left the room, or why, presently,
Amelia went away, perhaps to superintend the slicing
of the pineapple; but Jos was left alone with Rebecca,

1
с
MR. JOSEPH ENTANGLED.
¡
1
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
51
who had resumed her work, and the green silk and
the shining needles were quivering rapidly under her
white slender fingers.
"What a beautiful, byoo-ootiful song that was you
sang last night, dear Miss Sharp," said the Collector.
"It made me cry almost; 'pon my honor it did.”
"Because you have a kind heart, Mr. Joseph; all
the Sedleys have, I think."
"It kept me awake last night, and I was trying to
hum it this morning, in bed; I was, upon my honor.
Gollop, my doctor, came in at eleven (for I'm a sad
invalid, you know, and see Gollop every day), and,
'gad! there I was, singing away like a robin."
"O you droll creature! Do let me hear you sing it.
"Me? No, you, Miss Sharp; my dear Miss Sharp,
do sing it."
"Not now, Mr. Sedley," said Rebecca, with a sigh.
"My spirits are not equal to it: besides, I must finish
the purse. Will you help me, Mr. Sedley?" And
before he had time to ask how, Mr. Joseph Sedley, of
the East India Company's Service, was actually seated
tête-à-tête with a young lady, looking at her with a
most killing expression; his arms stretched out before
her in an imploring attitude, and his hands bound in
a web of green silk, which she was unwinding.
In this romantic position Osborne and Amelia found
the interesting pair, when they entered to announce
that tiffin was ready. The skein of silk was just
wound round the card; but Mr. Jos had never
spoken.
"I am sure he will to-night, dear," Amelia said, as
she pressed Rebecca's hand; and Sedley, too, had
communed with his soul, and said to himself, "Gad,
I'll pop the question at Vauxhall."
CHAPTER V.
DOBBIN OF OURS.
CUFF's fight with Dobbin, and the unexpected issue
of that contest, will long be remembered by every
man who was educated at Dr. Swishtail's famous
school. The latter youth (who used to be called
Heigh-ho Dobbin, Gee-ho Dobbin, and by many other
names indicative of puerile contempt) was the quiet-
est, the clumsiest, and, as it seemed, the dullest of all
Dr. Swishtail's young gentlemen. His parent was a
grocer in the city: and it was bruited abroad that he
was admitted into Dr. Swishtail's academy upon what
are called “mutual principles " that is to say, the
expenses of his board and schooling were defrayed by
his father in goods, not money; and he stood there
almost at the bottom of the school — in his scraggy
corduroys and jacket, through the seams of which his
great big bones were bursting as the representative
of so many pounds of tea, candles, sugar, mottled-
soap, plums (of which a very mild proportion was
supplied for the puddings of the establishment), and
other commodities. A dreadful day it was for young
Dobbin when one of the youngsters of the school,
having run into the town upon a poaching excursion
for hardbake and polonies, espied the cart of Dobbin
& Rudge, Grocers and Oilmen, Thames Street, Lon-
don, at the Doctor's door, discharging a cargo of the
wares in which the firm dealt.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
53
set a sum
Young Dobbin had no peace after that. The jokes
were frightful, and merciless against him. "Hullo,
Dobbin," one wag would say, "here's good news in
the paper. Sugars is ris', my boy." Another would
"If a pound of mutton-candles cost
sevenpence-halfpenny, how much must Dobbin cost?”
and a roar would follow from all the circle of young
knaves, usher and all, who rightly considered that the
selling of goods by retail is a shameful and infamous
practice, meriting the contempt and scorn of all real
gentlemen.
.
"Your father's only a merchant, Osborne," Dobbin
said in private to the little boy who had brought
down the storm upon him. At which the latter
replied haughtily, "My father's a gentleman, and
keeps his carriage; " and Mr. William Dobbin re-
treated to a remote outhouse in the playground, where
he passed a half-holiday in the bitterest sadness and
Who amongst us is there that does not recol-
lect similar hours of bitter, bitter childish grief?
Who feels injustice; who shrinks before a slight;
who has a sense of wrong so acute, and so glowing a
gratitude for kindness, as a generous boy? and how
many of those gentle souls do you degrade, estrange,
torture, for the sake of a little loose arithmetic, and
miserable dog-latin?
woe.
Now, William Dobbin, from an incapacity to ac-
quire the rudiments of the above language, as they
are propounded in that wonderful book the Eton
Latin Grammar, was compelled to remain among the
very last of Dr. Swishtail's scholars, and was
"taken
down" continually by little fellows with pink faces
and pinafores when he marched up with the lower
form, a giant amongst them, with his downcast,
stupefied look, his dog's-eared primer, and his tight.
54
VANITY FAIR.
corduroys. High and low, all made fun of him.
They sewed up those corduroys, tight as they were.
They cut his bed-strings. They upset buckets and
benches, so that he might break his shins over them,
which he never failed to do. They sent him parcels,
which, when opened, were found to contain the pater-
nal soap and candles. There was no little fellow but
had his jeer and joke at Dobbin; and he bore every-
thing quite patiently, and was entirely dumb and
miserable.
Cuff, on the contrary, was the great chief and
dandy of the Swishtail Seminary. He smuggled wine
in. He fought the town-boys. Ponies used to come.
for him to ride home on Saturdays. He had his top-
boots in his room, in which he used to hunt in the
holidays. He had a gold repeater: and took snuff
like the Doctor. He had been to the Opera, and
knew the merits of the principal actors, preferring
Mr. Kean to Mr. Kemble. He could knock you off
forty Latin verses in an hour. He could make French
poetry. What else did n't he know, or could n't he
do? They said even the Doctor himself was afraid
of him.
""
Cuff, the unquestioned king of the school, ruled
over his subjects, and bullied them, with splendid
superiority. This one blacked his shoes; that toasted
his bread; others would fag out, and give him balls at
cricket during whole summer afternoons. "Figs
was the fellow whom he despised most, and with
whom, though always abusing him and sneering at
him, he scarcely ever condescended to hold personal
communication.
One day in private, the two young gentlemen had
had a difference. Figs, alone in the school-room, was
blundering over a home letter; when Cuff, entering,
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
55
bade him go upon some message, of which tarts were
probably the subject.
"I can't," says Dobbin; "I want to finish my
letter."
"You can't?" says Mr. Cuff, laying hold of that
document (in which many words were scratched out,
many were misspelt, on which had been spent I don't
know how much thought, and labor, and tears; for the
poor fellow was writing to his mother, who was fond
of him, although she was a grocer's wife, and lived in
a back parlor in Thames Street). “You can't?" says
Mr. Cuff; "I should like to know why, pray? Can't
you write to old Mother Figs to-morrow?"
66
"Don't call names," Dobbin said, getting off the
bench, very nervous.
66
Well, sir, will you go?" crowed the cock of the
school.
"Put down the letter," Dobbin replied; "no gentle-
man readth letterth."
66
Well, now will you go?" says the other.
66
No, I won't. Don't strike, or I'll thmash you,"
roars out Dobbin, springing to a leaden inkstand,
and looking so wicked that Mr. Cuff paused, turned
down his coat-sleeves again, put his hands into
his pockets, and walked away with a sneer. But he
never meddled personally with the grocer's boy after
that; though we must do him the justice to say he
always spoke of Mr. Dobbin with contempt behind his
back.
Some time after this interview, it happened that
Mr. Cuff, on a sunshiny afternoon, was in the neigh-
borhood of poor William Dobbin, who was lying under
a tree in the playground, spelling over a favorite copy
of the "Arabian Nights" which he had, apart from
56
VANITY FAIR.
the rest of the school, who were pursuing their vari-
ous sports, quite lonely, and almost happy. If peo-
ple would but leave children to themselves; if teachers
would cease to bully them; if parents would not insist
upon directing their thoughts, and dominating their
feelings, those feelings and thoughts which are a
mystery to all (for how much do you and I know of
each other, of our children, of our fathers, of our
neighbor, and how far more beautiful and sacred are
the thoughts of the poor lad or girl whom you govern
likely to be, than those of the dull and world-corrupted
person who rules him ?) — if, I say, parents and mas-
ters would leave their children alone a little more,
small harm would accrue, although a less quantity of
as in præsenti might be acquired.
Well, William Dobbin had for once forgotten the
world, and was away with Sindbad the Sailor in the Val-
ley of Diamonds, or with Prince Ahmed and the Fairy
Peribanou in that delightful cavern where the Prince
found her, and whither we should all like to make a
tour; when shrill cries, as of a little fellow weeping,
woke up his pleasant reverie; and looking up, he saw
Cuff before him, belaboring a little boy.
It was the lad who peached upon him about the
grocer's cart; but he bore little malice, not at least
towards the young and small. "How dare you, sir,
break the bottle?" says Cuff to the little urchin,
swinging a yellow cricket-stump over him.
The boy had been instructed to get over the play-
ground wall (at a selected spot where the broken glass
had been removed from the top, and niches made con-
venient in the brick); to run a quarter of a mile; to
purchase a pint of rum-shrub on credit; to brave all
the Doctor's outlying spies, and to clamber back into
the playground again; during the performance of
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
57
which feat his foot had slipped, and the bottle was
broken, and the shrub had been spilt, and his panta-
loons had been damaged, and he appeared before his
employer a perfectly guilty and trembling, though
harmless, wretch.
"How dare you, sir, break it?" says Cuff; "you
blundering little thief. You drank the shrub, and
now you pretend to have broken the bottle. Hold out
your hand, sir."
Down came the stump with a great heavy thump on
the child's hand. A moan followed. Dobbin looked
up. The Fairy Peribanou had fled into the inmost.
cavern with Prince Ahmed; the Roc had whisked
away Sindbad the Sailor out of the Valley of Diamonds.
out of sight, far into the clouds; and there was every-
day life before honest William, and a big boy beating
a little one without cause.
"Hold out your other hand, sir," roars Cuff to his
little school-fellow, whose face was distorted with
pain. Dobbin quivered, and gathered himself up in
his narrow old clothes.
"Take that, you little devil!" cried Mr. Cuff, and
down came the wicket again on the child's hand.
Don't be horrified, ladies, every boy at a public school
has done it. Your children will so do and be done by,
in all probability. Down came the wicket again; and
Dobbin started up.
I can't tell what his motive was. Torture in a pub-
lic school is as much licensed as the knout in Russia.
It would be ungentlemanlike (in a manner) to resist
it. Perhaps Dobbin's foolish soul revolted against
that exercise of tyranny; or perhaps he had a hank-
ering feeling of revenge in his mind, and longed to
measure himself against that splendid bully and ty
rant, who had all the glory, pride, pomp, circumstance,
58
VANITY FAIR.
banners flying, drums beating, guards saluting, in the
place. Whatever may have been his incentive, how-
ever, up he sprang, and screamed out, "Hold off, Cuff ;
don't bully that child any more; or I'll
"Or you'll what?" Cuff asked in amazement at
this interruption. "Hold out your hand, you little
beast."
A g
66
""
:
"I'll give you the worst thrashing you ever had in
your life," Dobbin said, in reply to the first part of
Cuff's sentence; and little Osborne, gasping and in
tears, looked up with wonder and incredulity at see-
ing this amazing champion put up suddenly to defend
him while Cuff's astonishment was scarcely less.
Fancy our late monarch George III. when he heard of
the revolt of the North American colonies: fancy bra-
zen Goliath when little David stepped forward and
claimed a meeting; and you have the feelings of Mr.
Reginald Cuff when this rencontre was proposed to
him.
"After school," says he, of course; after a pause
and a look, as much as to say, "Make your will, and
communicate your last wishes to your friends between
this time and that."
"As you please," Dobbin said.
"You must be my
bottle-holder, Osborne."
Well, if you like," little Osborne replied; for you
see his papa kept a carriage, and he was rather
ashamed of his champion.
Yes, when the hour of battle came, he was almost
ashamed to say, "Go it, Figs;
"Go it, Figs ;" and not a single other
boy in the place uttered that cry for the first two or
three rounds of this famous combat; at the commence-
ment of which the scientific Cuff, with a contemptuous
smile on his face, and as light and as gay as if he was
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
59
at a ball, planted his blows upon his adversary, and
floored that unlucky champion three times running.
At each fall there was a cheer; and everybody was
anxious to have the honor of offering the conqueror a
knee.
"What a licking I shall get when it's over," young
Osborne thought, picking up his man. "You'd best
give in," he said to Dobbin; "it's only a thrashing,
Figs, and you know I'm used to it." But Figs, all
whose limbs were in a quiver, and whose nostrils were
breathing rage, put his little bottle-holder aside, and
went in for a fourth time.
As he did not in the least know how to parry the
blows that were aimed at himself, and Cuff had begun
the attack on the three preceding occasions, without
ever allowing his enemy to strike, Figs now determined
that he would commence the engagement by a charge
on his own part; and accordingly, being a left-handed
man, brought that arm into action, and hit out a
couple of times with all his might once at Mr. Cuff's
left eye, and once on his beautiful Roman nose.
Cuff went down this time, to the astonishment of the
assembly. "Well hit, by Jove," says little Osborne.
with the air of a connoisseur, clapping his man on the
back. 'Give it him with the left, Figs, my boy."
Fig's left made terrific play during all the rest of
the combat. Cuff went down every time. At the
sixth round, there were almost as many fellows shout-
ing out, "Go it, Figs," as there were youths exclaim-
ing "Go it, Cuff.” At the twelfth round the latter
champion was all abroad, as the saying is, and had
lost all presence of mind and power of attack or de-
fence. Figs, on the contrary, was as calm as a Quaker.
His face being quite pale, his eyes shining open, and
a great cut on his under lip bleeding profusely, gave
60
VANITY FAIR.
this young fellow a fierce and ghastly air, which per-
haps struck terror into many spectators. Neverthe-
less, his intrepid adversary prepared to close for the
thirteenth time.
If I had the pen of a Napier, or a Bell's Life, I
should like to describe this combat properly. It was
the last charge of the Guard (that is, it would have
been, only Waterloo had not yet taken place) — it
was Ney's column breasting the hill of La Haye Sainte,
bristling with ten thousand bayonets, and crowned
with twenty eagles it was the shout of the beef-
eating British, as leaping down the hill they rushed
to hug the enemy in the savage arms of battle — in
other words, Cuff coming up full of pluck, but quite
reeling and groggy, the Fig-merchant put in his left
as usual on his adversary's nose, and sent him down
for the last time.
“I think that will do for him," Figs said, as his op-
ponent dropped as neatly on the green as I have seen
Jack Spot's ball plump into the pocket at billiards;
and the fact is, when time was called, Mr. Reginald
Cuff was not able, or did not choose, to stand up again.
And now all the boys set up such a shout for Figs
as would have made you think he had been their dar-
ling champion through the whole battle; and as abso-
lutely brought Dr. Swishtail out of his study, curious
to know the cause of the uproar. He threatened to
flog Figs violently, of course; but Cuff, who had come
to himself by this time, and was washing his wounds,
stood up and said, "It's my fault, sir not Figs's
not Dobbin's. I was bullying a little boy; and he
served me right." By which magnanimous speech he
not only saved his conqueror a whipping, but got back
all his ascendency over the boys which his defeat had
nearly cost him.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
61
Young Osborne wrote home to his parents an account
of the transaction.
"SUGARCANE HOUSE, RICHMOND, March, 18—.
"DEAR MAMA, I hope you are quite well. I should be
much obliged to you to send me a cake and five shillings.
There has been a fight here between Cuff & Dobbin. Cuff,
you know, was the Cock of the School. They fought thirteen
rounds, and Dobbin Licked. So Cuff is now Only Second
Cock. The fight was about me. Cuff was licking me for
breaking a bottle of milk, and Figs would n't stand it. We
call him Figs because his father is a Grocer - Figs & Rudge,
Thames St., City I think as he fought for me you ought to
buy your Tea & Sugar at his father's. Cuff goes home every
Saturday, but can't this, because he has 2 Black Eyes. He
has a white Pony to come and fetch him, and a groom in livery
on a bay mare. I wish my Papa would let me have a Pony,
and I am
www.c
"Your dutiful Son,
"GEORGE SEDLEY OSBORNE.
"P. S. — Give my love to little Emmy. I am cutting her
out a Coach in card-board. Please not a seed-cake, but a
plum-cake."
In consequence of Dobbin's victory, his character
rose prodigiously in the estimation of all his school-
fellows, and the name of Figs, which had been a by-
word of reproach, became as respectable and popular
a nickname as any other in use in the school. "After
all, it's not his fault that his father's a grocer," George
Osborne said, who, though a little chap, had a very high
popularity among the Swishtail youth; and his opin-
ion was received with great applause. It was voted
low to sneer at Dobbin about this accident of birth.
"Old Figs" grew to be a name of kindness and en-
dearment; and the sneak of an usher jeered at him no
longer.
62
VANITY FAIR.
And Dobbin's spirit rose with his altered circum-
stances. He made wonderful advances in scholastic
learning. The superb Cuff himself, at whose conde-
scension Dobbin could only blush and wonder, helped
him on with his Latin verses; "coached" him in play-
hours; carried him triumphantly out of the little-boy
class into the middle-sized form; and even there got
a fair place for him. It was discovered, that although
dull at classical learning, at mathematics he was un-
commonly quick. To the contentment of all he passed
third in algebra, and got a French prize-book at the
public Midsummer examination. You should have
seen his mother's face when Telemaque (that deli-
cious romance) was presented to him by the Doctor
in the face of the whole school and the parents and
company, with an inscription to Gulielmo Dobbin. All
the boys clapped hands in token of applause and sym-
pathy. His blushes, his stumbles, his awkwardness,
and the number of feet which he crushed as he went
back to his place, who shall describe or calculate?
Old Dobbin, his father, who now respected him for
the first time, gave him two guineas publicly; most
of which he spent in a general tuck-out for the school;
and he came back in a tail-coat after the holidays.
Dobbin was much too modest a young fellow to sup-
pose that this happy change in all his circumstances
arose from his own generous and manly disposition:
he chose, from some perverseness, to attribute his
good fortune to the sole agency and benevolence of
little George Osborne, to whom henceforth he vowed
such a love and affection as is only felt by children,
such an affection, as we read in the charming fairy-
book, uncouth Orson had for splendid young Valen-
tine his conqueror.
He flung himself down at little
Osborne's feet, and loved him. Even before they were
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
63
Now
acquainted, he had admired Osborne in secret.
he was his valet, his dog, his man Friday. He be-
lieved Osborne to be the possessor of every perfection,
to be the handsomest, the bravest, the most active,
the cleverest, the most generous of created boys. He
shared his money with him: bought him uncountable
presents of knives, pencil-cases, gold seals, toffee, Lit-
tle Warblers, and romantic books, with large colored
pictures of knights and robbers, in many of which
latter you might read inscriptions to George Sedley
Osborne, Esquire, from his attached friend William
Dobbin the which tokens of homage George re-
ceived very graciously, as became his superior merit.
So that Lieutenant Osborne, when coming to Rus
sell Square on the day of the Vauxhall party, said to
the ladies, "Mrs. Sedley, Ma'am, I hope you have
room: I've asked Dobbin of Ours to come and dine
here, and go with us to Vauxhall. He's almost as
modest as Jos."
"Modesty! pooh," said the stout gentleman, cast-
ing a vainqueur look at Miss Sharp.
"He is but you are incomparably more graceful,
Sedley," Osborne added, laughing. "I met him at
the Bedford, when I went to look for you; and I told
him that Miss Amelia was come home, and that we
were all bent on going out for a night's pleasuring; and
that Mrs. Sedley had forgiven his breaking the punch-
bowl at the child's party. Don't you remember the
the catastrophe, Ma'am, seven years ago?"
"Over Mrs. Flamingo's crimson silk gown," said
good-natured Mrs. Sedley. "What a gawky it was!
And his sisters are not much more graceful. Lady
Dobbin was at Highbury last night with three of
them. Such figures! my dears."
M
64
VANITY FAIR.
"The Alderman 's very rich, is n't he?" Osborne
said, archly. "Don't you think one of the daughters
would be a good spec for me, Ma'am?"
"You foolish creature! Who would take you, I
should like to know, with your yellow face?"
"Mine a yellow face? Stop till you see Dobbin.
Why, he had the yellow fever three times; twice at
Nassau, and once at St. Kitts."
"Well, well; yours is quite yellow enough for us.
Is n't it, Emmy?" Mrs. Sedley said: at which
speech Miss Amelia only made a smile and a blush;
and looking at Mr. George Osborne's pale interesting
countenance, and those beautiful black, curling, shin-
ing whiskers, which the young gentleman himself re-
garded with no ordinary complacency, she thought in
her little heart, that in His Majesty's army, or in the
wide world, there never was such a face or such a
hero. "I don't care about Captain Dobbin's complex-
ion,” she said, or about his awkwardness. I shall
always like him, I know;" her little reason being,
that he was the friend and champion of George.
66
66
"There's not a finer fellow in the service," Osborne
said, nor a better officer, though he is not an
Adonis, certainly." And he looked towards the glass
himself with much naïveté; and in so doing, caught
Miss Sharp's eye fixed keenly upon him, at which he
blushed a little, and Rebecca thought in her heart,
"Ah, mon beau Monsieur! I think I have your
gauge, the little artful minx!
99
That evening, when Amelia came tripping into the
drawing-room in a white muslin frock, prepared for
conquest at Vauxhall, singing like a lark, and as
fresh as a rose -
rose a very tall ungainly gentleman,
with large hands and feet, and large ears, set off by a
closely cropped head of black hair, and in the hideous
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
65
military frogged coat and cocked hat of those times,
advanced to meet her, and made her one of the clum-
siest bows that was ever performed by a mortal.
This was no other than Captain William Dobbin, of
His Majesty's -Regiment of Foot, returned
from yellow fever, in the West Indies, to which the
fortune of the service had ordered his regiment,
whilst so many of his gallant comrades were reaping
glory in the Peninsula.
He had arrived with a knock so very timid and
quiet, that it was inaudible to the ladies up stairs;
otherwise, you may be sure Miss Amelia would never
have been so bold as to come singing into the room.
As it was, the sweet fresh little voice went right into
the Captain's heart, and nestled there. When she
held out her hand for him to shake, before he en-
veloped it in his own, he paused, and thought
"Well, is it possible are you the little maid I re-
member in the pink frock, such a short time ago
the night I upset the punch-bowl, just after I was
gazetted? Are you the little girl that George Os-
borne said should marry him? What a blooming
young creature you seem, and what a prize the rogue
has got!" All this he thought, before he took
Amelia's hand into his own, and as he let his cocked-
hat fall.
His history since he left school, until the very
moment when we have the pleasure of meeting him
again, although not fully narrated, has yet, I think,
been indicated sufficiently for an ingenious reader by
the conversation in the last page. Dobbin, the de-
spised grocer, was Alderman Dobbin; Alderman
Dobbin was Colonel of the City Light Horse, then
burning with military ardor to resist the French
Invasion. Colonel Dobbin's corps, in which old Mr.
VOL. I. — 5
66
VANITY FAIR.
Osborne himself was but an indifferent corporal, had
been reviewed by the Sovereign and the Duke of
York; and the colonel and alderman had been
knighted. His son had entered the army: and young
Osborne followed presently in the same regiment.
They had served in the West Indies and in Canada.
Their regiment had just come home, and the attach-
ment of Dobbin to George Osborne was as warm and
generous now as it had been when the two were
school-boys.
So these worthy people sat down to dinner pres-
ently. They talked about war and glory, and Boney
and Lord Wellington, and the last Gazette. In those
famous days every gazette had a victory in it, and the
two gallant young men longed to see their own names
in the glorious list, and cursed their unlucky fate to
belong to a regiment which had been away from the
chances of honor. Miss Sharp kindled with this ex-
citing talk, but Miss Sedley trembled and grew quite
faint as she heard it. Mr. Jos told several of his
tiger-hunting stories, finished the one about Miss
Cutler and Lance the surgeon; helped Rebecca to
everything on the table, and himself gobbled and
drank a great deal.
He sprang to open the door for the ladies, when
they retired, with the most killing grace and coming
back to the table filled himself bumper after bumper
of claret, which he swallowed with nervous rapidity.
"He's priming himself," Osborne whispered to
Dobbin, and at length the hour and the carriage ar
rived for Vauxhall.
CHAPTER VI.
VAUXHALL.
I KNOW that the tune I am piping is a very mild
one (although there are some terrific chapters coming
presently), and must beg the good-natured reader to
remember, that we are only discoursing at present
about a stock-broker's family in Russell Square, who
are taking walks, or luncheon, or dinner, or talking
and making love as people do in common life, and
without a single passionate and wonderful incident to
mark the progress of their loves. The argument
stands thus Osborne, in love with Amelia, has asked
an old friend to dinner and to Vauxhall -Jos Sedley
is in love with Rebecca. Will he marry her? That
is the great subject now in hand.
We might have treated this subject in the genteel,
or in the romantic, or in the facetious manner. Sup-
pose we had laid the scene in Grosvenor Square, with
the very same adventures - would not some people
have listened? Suppose we had shown how Lord
Joseph Sedley fell in love, and the Marquis of Os-
borne became attached to Lady Amelia, with the full
consent of the Duke, her noble father: or instead of
the supremely genteel, suppose we had resorted to the
entirely low, and described what was going on in Mr.
Sedley's kitchen; - how black Sambo was in love
with the cook (as indeed he was), and how he fought.
a battle with the coachman in her behalf; how the
knife-boy was caught stealing a cold shoulder of mut
68
VANITY FAIR.
ton, and Miss Sedley's new femme de chambre refused
to go to bed without a wax candle; such incidents
might be made to provoke much delightful laughter,
and be supposed to represent scenes of "life." Or if,
on the contrary, we had taken a fancy for the terrible,
and made the lover of the new femme de chambre a
professional burglar, who bursts into the house with
his band, slaughters black Sambo at the feet of his
master, and carries off Amelia in her night-dress, not
to be let loose again till the third volume, we should
easily have constructed a tale of thrilling interest,
through the fiery chapters of which the reader should
hurry, panting. But my readers must hope for no
such romance, only a homely story, and must be con-
tent with a chapter about Vauxhall, which is so short
that it scarce deserves to be called a chapter at all.
And yet it is a chapter, and a very important one too.
Are not there little chapters in everybody's life, that
seem to be nothing, and yet affect all the rest of the
history?
Let us then step into the coach with the Russell
Square party, and be off to the Gardens. There is
barely room between Jos and Miss Sharp, who are on
the front seat. Mr. Osborne sitting bodkin opposite,
between Captain Dobbin and Amelia.
Every soul in the coach agreed, that on that night,
Jos would propose to make Rebecca Sharp Mrs. Sed-
ley. The parents at home had acquiesced in the
arrangement, though, between ourselves, old Mr. Sed-
ley had a feeling very much akin to contempt for his
He said he was vain, selfish, lazy, and effemi-
nate. He could not endure his airs as a man of fash-
ion, and laughed heartily at his pompous braggadocio
stories. "I shall leave the fellow half my property,"
he said; "and he will have, besides, plenty of his own;
son.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
69
but as I am perfectly sure that if you, and I, and his
sister were to die to-morrow, he would say, Good
Gad!' and eat his dinner just as well as usual, I am
not going to make myself anxious about him. Let
him marry whom he likes. It's no affair of mine."
Amelia, on the other hand, as became a young
woman of her prudence and temperament, was quite
enthusiastic for the match. Once or twice Jos had
been on the point of saying something very important
to her, to which she was most willing to lend an ear,
but the fat fellow could not be brought to unbosom
himself of his great secret, and very much to his sis-
ter's disappointment he only rid himself of a large
sigh and turned away.
This mystery served to keep Amelia's gentle bosom
in a perpetual flutter of excitement. If she did not
speak with Rebecca on the tender subject, she com-
pensated herself with long and intimate conversations
with Mrs. Blenkinsop, the housekeeper, who dropped
some hints to the lady's-maid, who may have cursorily
mentioned the matter to the cook, who carried the
news, I have no doubt, to all the tradesmen, so that
Mr. Jos's marriage was now talked of by a very con-
siderable number of persons in the Russell Square
world.
It was, of course, Mrs. Sedley's opinion that her son
would demean himself by a marriage with an artist's
daughter. "But, lor', Ma'am," ejaculated Mrs. Blen-
kinsop, "we was only grocers when we married Mr. S.,
who was a stock-broker's clerk, and we had n't five
hundred pounds among us, and we're rich enough
now." And Amelia was entirely of this opinion, to
which, gradually, the good-natured Mrs. Sedley was
brought.
Mr. Sedley was neutral. "Let Jos marry whom he
1
70
VANITY FAIR.
likes," he said; "it's no affair of mine.
This girl
has no fortune; no more had Mrs. Sedley. She seems
good-humored and clever, and will keep him in order,
perhaps. Better she, my dear, than a black Mrs.
Sedley, and a dozen of mahogany grandchildren."
So that everything seemed to smile upon Rebecca's
fortunes. She took Jos's arm, as a matter of course,
on going to dinner; she had sat by him on the box of
his open carriage (a most tremendous "buck" he was,
as he sat there, serene, in state, driving his grays), and
though nobody said a word on the subject of the mar-
riage, everybody seemed to understand it. All she
wanted was the proposal, and ah! how Rebecca now
felt the want of a mother!—a dear, tender mother,
who would have managed the business in ten minutes,
and, in the course of a little delicate confidential con-
versation, would have extracted the interesting avowal
from the bashful lips of the young man!
Such was the state of affairs as the carriage crossed
Westminster Bridge.
The party was landed at the Royal Gardens in due
time. As the majestic Jos stepped out of the creaking
vehicle the crowd gave a cheer for the fat gentleman,
who blushed and looked very big and mighty, as he
walked away with Rebecca under his arm. George,
of course, took charge of Amelia. She looked as happy
as a rose-tree in sunshine.
"I say, Dobbin," says George, "just look to the
shawls and things, there's a good fellow." And so
while he paired off with Miss Sedley, and Jos squeezed
through the gate into the gardens with Rebecca at his
side, honest Dobbin contented himself by giving an
arm to the shawls, and by paying at the door for the
whole party.
He walked very modestly behind them. He was not
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
71
willing to spoil sport. About Rebecca and Jos he did
not care a fig. But he thought Amelia worthy even of
the brilliant George Osborne, and as he saw that good-
looking couple threading the walks to the girl's delight.
and wonder, he watched her artless happiness with a
sort of fatherly pleasure. Perhaps he felt that he
would have liked to have something on his own arm
besides a shawl (the people laughed at seeing the
gauky young officer carrying this female burden);
but William Dobbin was very little addicted to selfish
calculation at all; and so long as his friend was enjoy-
ing himself, how should he be discontented? And the
truth is, that of all the delights of the Gardens; of
the hundred thousand extra lamps, which were always
lighted; the fiddlers in cocked hats, who played rav-
ishing melodies under the gilded cockle-shell in the
midst of the gardens; the singers, both of comic and
sentimental ballads, who charmed the ears there; the
country - dances, formed by bouncing cockneys and
cockneyesses, and executed amidst jumping, thump-
ing, and laughter; the signal which announced that
Madame Saqui was about to mount skyward on a
slack-rope ascending to the stars; the hermit that
always sat in the illuminated hermitage; the dark
walks, so favorable to the interviews of young lovers;
the pots of stout handed about by the people in the
shabby old liveries; and the twinkling boxes, in which
the happy feasters made-believe to eat slices of almost
invisible ham;-of all these things, and of the gentle
Simpson, that kind smiling idiot, who, I dare say,
presided even then over the place Captain William
Dobbin did not take the slightest notice.
He carried about Amelia's white cashmere shawl,
and having attended under the gilt cockle-shell, while
Mrs. Salmon performed the "Battle of Borodino" (a
72
VANITY FAIR.
savage cantata against the Corsican upstart, who had
lately met with his Russian reverses) - Mr. Dobbin
tried to hum it as he walked away, and found he was
humming — the tune which Amelia Sedley sang on the
stairs, as she came down to dinner.
He burst out laughing at himself; for the truth is,
he could sing no better than an owl.
It is to be understood, as a matter of course, that
our young people, being in parties of two and two,
made the most solemn promises to keep together
during the evening, and separated in ten minutes.
afterwards. Parties at Vauxhall always did separate,
but 't was only to meet again at supper-time, when
they could talk of their mutual adventures in the
interval.
What were the adventures of Mr. Osborne and Miss
Amelia? That is a secret. But be sure of this
they were perfectly happy, and correct in their be-
havior; and as they had been in the habit of being
together any time these fifteen years, their tête-à-tête
offered no particular novelty.
But when Miss Rebecca Sharp and her stout com-
panion lost themselves in a solitary walk, in which
there were not above five score more of couples
similarly straying, they both felt that the situation
was extremely tender and critical, and now or never
was the moment, Miss Sharp thought, to provoke
that declaration which was trembling on the timid
lips of Mr. Sedley. They had previously been to the
panorama of Moscow, where a rude fellow, treading
on Miss Sharp's foot, caused her to fall back with a
little shriek into the arms of Mr. Sedley, and this
little incident increased the tenderness and confi-
dence of that gentleman to such a degree, that he
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
73
told her several of his favorite Indian stories over
again for, at least, the sixth time.
"How I should like to see India!" said Rebecca.
“Should you?" said Joseph, with a most killing
tenderness; and was no doubt about to follow up this
artful interrogatory by a question still more tender
(for he puffed and panted a great deal, and Rebecca's
hand, which was placed near his heart, could count
the feverish pulsations of that organ), when, oh, pro-
voking! the bell rang for the fireworks, and, a great
scuffling and running taking place, these interesting
lovers were obliged to follow in the stream of people.
Captain Dobbin had some thoughts of joining the
party at supper · as, in truth, he found the Vauxhall
amusements not particularly lively but he paraded
twice before the box where the now united couples.
were met, and nobody took any notice of him. Cov-
ers were laid for four. The mated pairs were prat-
tling away quite happily, and Dobbin knew he was
as clean forgotten as if he had never existed in this
world.
C
"I should only be de trop," said the Captain, look-
ing at them rather wistfully. "I'd best go and talk
to the hermit," and so he strolled off out of the
hum of men, and noise, and clatter of the banquet,
into the dark walk, at the end of which lived that
well-known pasteboard Solitary. It was n't very good.
fun for Dobbin — and, indeed, to be alone at Vaux-
hall, I have found, from my own experience, to be
one of the most dismal sports ever entered into
by a bachelor.
The two couples were perfectly happy then in their
box where the most delightful and intimate conver-
sation took place. Jos was in his glory, ordering
about the waiters with great majesty. He made the
74
VANITY FAIR.
salad; and uncorked the champagne; and carved the
chickens; and ate and drank the greater part of
the refreshments on the tables. Finally, he insisted
upon having a bowl of rack punch; everybody had
rack punch at Vauxhall. "Waiter, rack punch."
That bowl of rack punch was the cause of all this
history. And why not a bowl of rack punch as well
as any other cause? Was not a bowl of prussic acid
the cause of fair Rosamond's retiring from the world?
Was not a bowl of wine the cause of the demise of
Alexander the Great, or, at least, does not Dr. Lem-
priere say so?-so did this bowl of rack punch influ-
ence the fates of all the principal characters in this
"Novel without a Hero," which we are now relat-
ing. It influenced their life, although most of them
did not taste a drop of it.
The young ladies did not drink it; Osborne did not
like it; and the consequence was that Jos, that fat
gourmand, drank up the whole contents of the bowl;
and the consequence of his drinking up the whole con-
tents of the bowl was, a liveliness which at first was
astonishing, and then became almost painful; for he
talked and laughed so loud as to bring scores of lis-
teners round the box, much to the confusion of the
innocent party within it; and, volunteering to sing a
song (which he did in that maudlin high key peculiar
to gentlemen in an inebriated state), he almost drew
away the audience who were gathered round the
musicians in the gilt scollop-shell, and received from.
his hearers a great deal of applause.
'Brayvo, fat un!" said one; Angcore, Daniel
Lambert!" said another;
said another; "What a figure for the
tight-rope!" exclaimed another wag, to the inexpres-
sible alarm of the ladies, and the great anger of Mr.
Osborne.
66
66
.
1
کریم
الي ان انا ما

MR. JOSEPH IN A STATE OF EXCITEMENT.
۱۱۱ ۱۱
܀
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
75
"For Heaven's sake, Jos, let us get up and go,"
cried that gentleman, and the young women rose.
"Stop, my dearest diddle-diddle-darling," shouted
Jos, now as bold as a lion, and clasping Miss Rebecca
round the waist. Rebecca started, but she could not
get away her hand. The laughter outside redoubled,
Jos continued to drink, to make love, and to sing;
and, winking and waving his glass gracefully to his
audience, challenged all or any to come in and take a
share of his punch.
Mr. Osborne was just on the point of knocking down
a gentleman in top-boots, who proposed to take ad-
vantage of this invitation, and a commotion seemed to
be inevitable, when by the greatest good luck a gentle-
man of the name of Dobbin, who had been walking
about the gardens, stepped up to the box.
"Be off,
you fools!" said this gentleman, shouldering off a
great number of the crowd, who vanished presently
before his cocked hat and fierce appearance, and he
entered the box in a most agitated state.
"Good Heavens! Dobbin, where have you been?"
Osborne said, seizing the white cashmere shawl from
his friend's arm, and huddling up Amelia in it. "Make
yourself useful, and take charge of Jos here, whilst I
take the ladies to the carriage."
Jos was for rising to interfere; but a single push
from Osborne's finger sent him puffing back into
his seat again, and the lieutenant was enabled to re-
move the ladies in safety. Jos kissed his hand to
them as they retreated, and hiccupped out, "Bless
you! bless you!" Then, seizing Captain Dobbin's
hand, and weeping in the most pitiful way, he confided.
to that gentleman the secret of his loves. He adored
that girl who had just gone out; he had broken her
heart, he knew he had, by his conduct; he would
76
VANITY FAIR.
marry her next morning at St. George's, Hanover
Square; he'd knock up the Archbishop of Canterbury
at Lambeth; he would, by Jove! and have him in
readiness; and, acting on this hint, Captain Dobbin
shrewdly induced him to leave the gardens and hasten
to Lambeth Palace, and, when once out of the gates,
easily conveyed Mr. Jos Sedley into a hackney-coach,
which deposited him safely at his lodgings.
George Osborne conducted the girls home in safety;
and when the door was closed upon them, and as he
walked across Russell Square, laughed so as to aston-
ish the watchman. Amelia looked very ruefully at
her friend, as they went up stairs, and kissed her, and
went to bed without any more talking.
"He must propose to-morrow," thought Rebecca.
"He called me his soul's darling four times; he
squeezed my hand in Amelia's presence. He must
propose to-morrow." And so thought Amelia, too.
And I dare say she thought of the dress she was to
wear as bridesmaid, and of the presents which she
should make to her nice little sister-in-law, and of a
subsequent ceremony in which she herself might play
a principal part, etc. and etc. and etc. and etc.
Oh, ignorant young creatures!
How little do you
know the effect of rack punch! What is the rack in
the punch, at night, to the rack in the head of a morn-
ing? To this truth I can vouch as a man; there is no
headache in the world like that caused by Vauxhall
punch. Through the lapse of twenty years, I can
remember the consequence of two glasses! two
wine glasses! - but two, upon the honor of a gentle-
man; and Joseph Sedley, who had a liver complaint,
had swallowed at least a quart of the abominable
mixture.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
77
That next morning, which Rebecca thought was to
dawn upon her fortune, found Sedley groaning in ago-
nies which the pen refuses to describe. Soda-water was
not invented yet. Small beer - will it be believed!
-was the only drink with which unhappy gentlemen
soothed the fever of their previous night's potation.
With this mild beverage before him, George Osborne
found the ex-Collector of Boggley Wollah groaning on
the sofa at his lodgings. Dobbin was already in the
room, good-naturedly tending his patient of the night
before. The two officers, looking at the prostrate
Bacchanalian, and askance at each other, exchanged
the most frightful sympathetic grins. Even Sedley's
valet, the most solemn and correct of gentlemen, with
the muteness and gravity of an undertaker, could
hardly keep his countenance in order, as he looked at
his unfortunate master.
"Mr. Sedley was uncommon wild last night, sir,"
he whispered in confidence to Osborne, as the latter
mounted the stair. "He wanted to fight the 'ackney-
coachman, sir. The Capting was obliged to bring him.
up stairs in his harms like a babby." A momentary
smile flickered over Mr. Brush's features as he spoke;
instantly, however, they relapsed into their usual un-
fathomable calm, as he flung open the drawing-room
door, and announced "Mr. Hosbin."
"How are you, Sedley?" that young wag began, af-
ter surveying his victim. "No bones broke? There's
a hackney-coachman down stairs with a black eye and
a tied-up head, vowing he 'll have the law of you."
"What do you mean, - law?" Sedley faintly asked.
"For thrashing him last night -- did n't he, Dob-
bin? You hit out, sir, like Molyneux. The watch-
man says he never saw a fellow go down so straight.
Ask Dobbin."
78
VANITY FAIR.
"You did have a round with the coachman," Cap-
tain Dobbin said, "and showed plenty of fight too.”
"And that fellow with the white coat at Vauxhall !
How Jos drove at him! How the women screamed!
By Jove, sir, it did my heart good to see you. I
thought you civilians had no pluck; but I'll never
get in your way when you are in your cups, Jos."
"I believe I'm very terrible, when I'm roused,"
ejaculated Jos from the sofa, and made a grimace so
dreary and ludicrous, that the Captain's politeness
could restrain him no longer, and he and Osborne
fired off a ringing volley of laughter.
Osborne pursued his advantage pitilessly. He
thought Jos a milksop. He had been revolving in his
mind the marriage-question pending between Jos and
Rebecca, and was not over well pleased that a mem-
ber of a family into which he, George Osborne, of the
-th, was going to marry, should make a mésalliance
with a little nobody a little upstart governess.
"You hit, you poor old fellow!" said Osborne.
terrible! Why, man, you could n't stand
you made
everybody laugh in the Gardens, though you were
crying yourself. You were maudlin, Jos. Don't you
remember singing a song?"
"You
"A what?" Jos asked.
"A sentimental song, and calling Rosa, Rebecca,
what's her name, Amelia's little friend - your dearest
diddle-diddle-darling?" And this ruthless young fel-
low, seizing hold of Dobbin's hand, acted over the
scene, to the horror of the original performer, and in
spite of Dobbin's good-natured entreaties to him to
have mercy.
CC
Why should I spare him?" Osborne said to his
friend's remonstrances, when they quitted the invalid,
leaving him under the hands of Dr. Gollop.
"What
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
79
the deuce right has he to give himself his patronizing
airs, and make fools of us at Vauxhall? Who's this
little school-girl that is ogling and making love to
him? Hang it, the family's low enough already,
without her. A governess is all very well, but I'd
rather have a lady for my sister-in-law. I'm a liberal
man; but I've proper pride, and know my own sta-
tion let her know hers. And I'll take down that
great hectoring Nabob, and prevent him from being
made a greater fool than he is. That's why I told
him to look out, lest she brought an action against
him."
:
"I suppose you know best," Dobbin said, though
rather dubiously. "You always were a Tory, and
your family's one of the oldest in England. But-"
"Come and see the girls, and make love to Miss
Sharp yourself," the lieutenant here interrupted his
friend; but Captain Dobbin declined to join Osborne
in his daily visit to the young ladies in Russell Square.
As George walked down Southampton Row, from
Holborn, he laughed as he saw, at the Sedley Man-
sion, in two different stories, two heads on the look-
out.
The fact is, Miss Amelia, in the drawing-room bal-
cony, was looking very eagerly towards the opposite
side of the Square, where Mr. Osborne dwelt, on the
watch for the lieutenant himself; and Miss Sharp,
from her little bedroom on the second-floor, was in
observation until Mr. Joseph's great form should
heave in sight.
"Sister Anne is on the watch-tower," said he to
Amelia, "but there's nobody coming;" and laughing.
and enjoying the joke hugely, he described in the
most ludicrous terms to Miss Sedley, the dismal
condition of her brother.
80
VANITY FAIR.
"I think it's very cruel of you to laugh, George,"
she said, looking particularly unhappy; but George
only laughed the more at her piteous and discomfited
mien, persisted in thinking the joke a most diverting.
one, and when Miss Sharp came down stairs, bantered
her with a great deal of liveliness upon the effect of
her charms on the fat civilian.
"O Miss Sharp! if you could but see him this morn-
ing," he said "moaning in his flowered dressing-
gown — writhing on his sofa; if you could but
have seen him lolling out his tongue to Gollop the
apothecary."
"See whom?" said Miss Sharp.
"Whom? Oh, whom? Captain Dobbin, of course,
to whom we were all so attentive, by the way, last
night."
"We were very unkind to him," Emmy said, blush-
ing very much. "II quite forgot him."
"Of course you did," cried Osborne, still on the
laugh. "One can't be always thinking about Dobbin,
you know, Amelia. Can one, Miss Sharp ?"
"Except when he overset the glass of wine at din-
ner," Miss Sharp said, with a haughty air and a toss
of the head, "I never gave the existence of Captain
Dobbin one single moment's consideration.”
(6
Very good, Miss Sharp, I'll tell him," Osborne
said; and as he spoke Miss Sharp began to have a
feeling of distrust and hatred towards this young
officer, which he was quite unconscious of having in-
spired. "He is to make fun of me, is he?" thought
Rebecca. "Has he been laughing about me to Jo-
seph? Has he frightened him? Perhaps he won't
come." A film passed over her eyes, and her heart
beat quite quick.
"You're always joking," said she, smiling as inno-
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
81
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
cently as she could. "Joke away, Mr. George;
there's nobody to defend me." And George Osborne,
as she walked away and Amelia looked reprovingly
at him felt some little manly compunction for hav-
ing inflicted any unnecessary unkindness upon this
helpless creature. My dearest Amelia," said he,
"you are too good — too kind. You don't know the
world. I do. And your little friend Miss Sharp
must learn her station."
66
"Don't you think Jos will
Upon my word, my dear, I don't know. He may,
or may not. I'm not his master.
I'm not his master. I only know he is
a very foolish vain fellow, and put my dear little girl
into a very painful and awkward position last night.
My dearest diddle-diddle-darling!" He was off laugh-
ing again; and he did it so drolly that Emmy laughed
too.
M
;)
All that day Jos never came. But Amelia had no
fear about this; for the little schemer had actually
sent away the page, Mr. Sambo's aide-de-camp, to Mr.
Joseph's lodgings, to ask for some book he had prom-
ised, and how he was; and the reply through Jos's
man, Mr. Brush, was, that his master was ill in bed,
and had just had the doctor with him. He must come
to-morrow, she thought, but she never had the cour-
age to speak a word on the subject to Rebecca; nor
did that young woman herself allude to it in any way
during the whole evening after the night at Vauxhall.
The next day, however, as the two young ladies sat
on the sofa, pretending to work, or to write letters, or
to read novels, Sambo came into the room with his
usual engaging grin, with a packet under his arm,
and a note on a tray. "Note from Mr. Jos, Miss,"
says Sambo.
How Amelia trembled as she opened it!
VOL. I. — 6
82
VANITY FAIR.
So it ran
“DEAR AMELIA, I send you the 'Orphan of the Forest.'
I was too ill to come yesterday. I leave town to-day for Chel-
tenham. Pray excuse me, if you can, to the amiable Miss
Sharp, for my conduct at Vauxhall, and entreat her to pardon
and forget every word I may have uttered when excited by
that fatal supper. As soon as I have recovered, for my health
is very much shaken, I shall go to Scotland for some months,
and am
“Truly yours
"Jos. SEDLEY."
It was the death warrant. All was over. Amelia
did not dare to look at Rebecca's pale face and burn-
ing eyes, but she dropped the letter into her friend's
lap; and got up, and went up stairs to her room, and
cried her little heart out.
Blenkinsop, the housekeeper, there sought her pres-
ently with consolation; on whose shoulder Amelia
wept confidentially, and relieved herself a good deal.
"Don't take on, Miss. I did n't like to tell you. But
none of us in the house have liked her except at fust.
I sor her with my own eyes reading your Ma's letters.
Pinner says she 's always about your trinket-box and
drawers, and everybody's drawers, and she's sure
she's put your white ribbing into her box."
"I gave it her, I gave it her," Amelia said.
But this did not alter Mrs. Blenkinsop's opinion of
Miss Sharp. "I don't trust them governesses, Pin-
ner," she remarked to the maid. They give them-
selves the hairs and hupstarts of ladies, and their
wages is no better than you nor me.”
It now became clear to every soul in the house,
except poor Amelia, that Rebecca should take her
departure, and high and low (always with the one
exception) agreed that that event should take place as
(6
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
83
speedily as possible. Our good child ransacked all
her drawers, cupboards, reticules, and gimcrack boxes,
passed in review all her gowns, fichus, tags, bobbins,
laces, silk stockings, and fallals, selecting this thing
and that and the other, to make a little heap for
Rebecca. And going to her papa, that generous
British merchant, who had promised to give her as
many guineas as she was years old — she begged the
old gentleman to give the money to dear Rebecca,
who must want it, while she lacked for nothing.
She even made George Osborne contribute, and
nothing loath (for he was as free-handed a young
fellow as any in the army), he went to Bond Street,
and bought the best hat and spencer that money could
buy.
-
"That's George's present to you, Rebecca dear,"
said Amelia, quite proud of the bandbox conveying
these gifts. "What a taste he has! There's nobody
like him."
"Nobody," Rebecca answered. "How thankful I
am to him!" She was thinking in her heart, "It
was George Osborne who prevented my marriage."
And she loved George Osborne accordingly.
She made her preparations for departure with great
equanimity; and accepted all the kind little Amelia's
presents, after just the proper degree of hesitation
and reluctance. She vowed eternal gratitude to Mrs.
Sedley, of course; but did not intrude herself upon
that good lady too much, who was embarrassed, and
evidently wishing to avoid her. She kissed Mr.
Sedley's hand, when he presented her with the purse;
and asked permission to consider him for the future
as her kind, kind friend and protector. Her behavior
was so affecting that he was going to write her a
cheque for twenty pounds more; but he restrained.
84
VANITY FAIR.
his feelings the carriage was in waiting to take him
to dinner: so he tripped away with a "God bless you,
my dear, always come here when you come to town,
you know.
Drive to the Mansion House, James.'
""
Finally came the parting with Miss Amelia, over
which picture I intend to throw a veil. But after a
scene in which one person was in earnest and the other
a perfect performer-after the tenderest caresses, the
most pathetic tears, the smelling-bottle, and some of
the very best feelings of the heart, had been called into
requisition Rebecca and Amelia parted, the former
vowing to love her friend for ever and ever and ever.
CHAPTER VII.
CRAWLEY OF QUEEN'S CRAWLEY.
AMONG the most respected of the names beginning
in C, which the "Court-Guide" contained, in the year
18-, was that of Crawley, Sir Pitt, Baronet, Great
Gaunt Street, and Queen's Crawley, Hants. This
honorable name had figured constantly also in the
Parliamentary list for many years, in conjunction
with that of a number of other worthy gentlemen
who sat in turns for the borough.
It is related, with regard to the borough of Queen's
Crawley, that Queen Elizabeth in one of her pro-
gresses, stopping at Crawley to breakfast, was so de-
lighted with some remarkably fine Hampshire beer.
which was then presented to her by the Crawley of
the day (a handsome gentleman with a trim beard and
a good leg), that she forthwith erected Crawley into.
a borough to send two members to Parliament; and
the place, from the day of that illustrious visit, took
the name of Queen's Crawley, which it holds up to the
present moment. And though, by the lapse of time,
and those mutations which age produces in empires,
cities, and boroughs, Queen's Crawley was no longer so
populous a place as it had been in Queen Bess's time
nay, was come down to that condition of borough which
used to be denominated rotten yet, as Sir Pitt Craw-
ley would say with perfect justice in his elegant way,
"Rotten! be hanged — it produces me a good fifteen
hundred a year."
86
VANITY FAIR.
Sir Pitt Crawley (named after the great Commoner)
was the son of Walpole Crawley, first Baronet, of the
Tape and Sealing-Wax Office in the reign of George II.,
when he was impeached for peculation, as were a great
number of other honest gentlemen of those days; and
Walpole Crawley was, as need scarcely be said, son of
John Churchill Crawley, named after the celebrated
military commander of the reign of Queen Anne. The
family tree (which hangs up at Queen's Crawley) fur-
thermore mentions Charles Stuart, afterwards called
Barebones Crawley, son of the Crawley of James the
First's time; and finally, Queen Elizabeth's Crawley,
who is represented as the foreground of the picture in
his forked beard and armor. Out of his waistcoat, as
usual, grows a tree, on the main branches of which the
above illustrious names are inscribed. Close by the
name of Sir Pitt Crawley, Baronet (the subject of
the present memoir), are written that of his brother,
the Reverend Bute Crawley (the great Commoner was
in disgrace when the reverend gentleman was born),
rector of Crawley-cum-Snailby, and of various other
male and female members of the Crawley family.
Sir Pitt was first married to Grizzel, sixth daughter
of Mungo Binkie, Lord Binkie, and cousin, in conse-
quence, of Mr. Dundas. She brought him two sons:
Pitt, named not so much after his father as after the
heaven-born minister; and Rawdon Crawley, from the
Prince of Wales's friend, whom his Majesty George IV.
forgot so completely. Many years after her ladyship's
demise, Sir Pitt led to the altar Rosa, daughter of
Mr. G. Dawson, of Mudbury, by whom he had two
daughters, for whose benefit Miss Rebecca Sharp was
now engaged as governess. It will be seen that the
young lady was come into a family of very genteel
connections, and was about to move in a much more
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
87
distinguished circle than that humble one which she
had just quitted in Russell Square.
She had received her orders to join her pupils, in a
note which was written upon an old envelope, and
which contained the following words:
"Sir Pitt Crawley begs Miss Sharp and baggidge may be
hear on Tuesday, as I leaf for Queen's Crawley to-morrow
morning erly.
GREAT GAUNT STREET.”
Rebecca had never seen a baronet, as far as she
knew, and as soon as she had taken leave of Amelia,
and counted the guineas which good-natured Mr.
Sedley had put into a purse for her, and as soon as
she had done wiping her eyes with her handkerchief
(which operation she concluded the very moment the
carriage had turned the corner of the street), she
began to depict in her own mind what a Baronet
must be. "I wonder, does he wear a star?" thought
she, "or is it only lords that wear stars? But he
will be very handsomely dressed in a court suit, with
ruffles, and his hair a little powdered, like Mr.
Wroughton at Covent Garden. I suppose he will be
awfully proud, and that I shall be treated most con-
temptuously. Still I must bear my hard lot as well
as I can at least, I shall be amongst gentlefolks, and
not with vulgar city people:" and she fell to think-
ing of her Russell Square friends with that very same
philosophical bitterness with which, in a certain apo-
logue, the fox is represented as speaking of the grapes.
Having passed through Gaunt Square into Great
Gaunt Street, the carriage at length stopped at a tall
gloomy house between two other tall gloomy houses,
each with a hatchment over the middle drawing-room
window; as is the custom of houses in Great Gaunt
88
VANITY FAIR.
Street, in which gloomy locality death seems to reign
perpetual. The shutters of the first-floor windows of
Sir Pitt's mansion were closed - those of the dining-
room were partially open, and the blinds neatly cov-
ered up in old newspapers.
John, the groom, who had driven the carriage alone,
did not care to descend to ring the bell; and so
prayed a passing milk-boy to perform that office for
him. When the bell was rung, a head appeared be-
tween the interstices of the dining-room shutters, and
the door was opened by a man in drab breeches and
gaiters, with a dirty old coat, a foul old neckcloth
lashed round his bristly neck, a shining bald head, a
leering red face, a pair of twinkling gray eyes, and a
mouth perpetually on the grin.
"This Sir Pitt Crawley's?" says John, from the
box.
"Ees," says the man at the door, with a nod.
"Hand down these 'ere trunks, then," said John.
"Hand 'n down yourself," said the porter.
"Don't you see I can't leave my hosses? Come,
bear a hand, my fine feller, and Miss will give you
some beer," said John, with a horse-laugh, for he was
no longer respectful to Miss Sharp, as her connection.
with the family was broken off, and as she had given
nothing to the servants on coming away.
The bald-headed man, taking his hands out of his
breeches pockets, advanced on this summons, and
throwing Miss Sharp's trunk over his shoulder, car-
ried it into the house.
"Take this basket and shawl, if you please, and
open the door," said Miss Sharp, and descended from
the carriage in much indignation. "I shall write to
Mr. Sedley and inform him of your conduct,” said
she to the groom.

Ik
{/ 1.1
圳
​IN'
جالات
On
AP
TOT
in
Tu
11142
REBECCA MAKES ACQUAINTANCE WITH A LIVE BARONET.
ANV
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
89
"Don't,” replied that functionary. "I hope you 've
forgot nothink? Miss 'Melia's gownds - have you
got them
as the lady's-maid was to have 'ad? I
hope they'll fit you. Shut the door, Jim, you 'll get
no good out of 'er," continued John, pointing with his
thumb towards Miss Sharp: "a bad lot, I tell you, a
bad lot," and so saying, Mr. Sedley's groom drove
away. The truth is, he was attached to the lady's-
maid in question, and indignant that she should have
been robbed of her perquisites.
On entering the dining-room, by the orders of the
individual in gaiters, Rebecca found that apartment
not more cheerful than such rooms usually are, when
genteel families are out of town. The faithful cham-
bers seem, as it were, to mourn the absence of their
masters. The turkey carpet has rolled itself up, and
retired sulkily under the sideboard: the pictures have
hidden their faces behind old sheets of brown paper:
the ceiling lamp is muffled up in a dismal sack of
brown holland: the window-curtains have disappeared
under all sorts of shabby envelopes: the marble bust
of Sir Walpole Crawley is looking from its black
corner at the bare boards and the oiled fire-irons, and
the empty card-racks over the mantel-piece: the cel-
laret has lurked away behind the carpet: the chairs
are turned up heads and tails along the walls: and in
the dark corner opposite the statue, is an old-fashioned
crabbed knife-box, locked and sitting on a dumb-
waiter.
Two kitchen chairs, and a round table, and an at-
tenuated old poker and tongs were, however, gathered
round the fireplace, as was a saucepan over a feeble
sputtering fire. There was a bit of cheese and bread,
and a tin candlestick on the table, and a little black
porter in a pint-pot.
90
VANITY FAIR.
"Had your dinner, I suppose? It is not too warm
for you? Like a drop of beer?'
"Where is Sir Pitt Crawley?" said Miss Sharp,
majestically.
"He, he! I'm Sir Pitt Crawley. Reklect you owe
me a pint for bringing down your luggage. He, he!
Ask Tinker if I ain't. Mrs. Tinker, Miss Sharp;
Miss Governess, Mrs. Charwoman. Ho, ho!"
The lady addressed as Mrs. Tinker, at this moment
made her appearance with a pipe and a paper of to-
bacco, for which she had been despatched a minute
before Miss Sharp's arrival; and she handed the arti-
cles over to Sir Pitt, who had taken his seat by the
fire.
Where's the farden?" said he. "I gave you
three-halfpence. Where's the change, old Tinker?"
"There!" replied Mrs. Tinker, flinging down the
coin; "it's only baronets as cares about farthings."
"A farthing a day is seven shillings a year," an-
swered the M.P.; seven shillings a year is the inter-
est of seven guineas. Take care of your farthings,
old Tinker, and your guineas will come quite natʼral."
(6
"You may be sure it's Sir Pitt Crawley, young
woman," said Mrs. Tinker, surlily; "because he looks
to his farthings. You'll know him better afore
long."
"And like me none the worse, Miss Sharp," said
the old gentleman, with an air almost of politeness.
"I must be just before I'm generous."
"He never gave away a farthing in his life,"
growled Tinker.
"Never, and never will: it's against my principle.
Go and get another chair from the kitchen, Tinker, if
you want to sit down; and then we'll have a bit of
supper.”
DE CALDERON DE LA BARCA.
quien se ha de coronar
Rey de tu hermosura en Fez.
Fén. ¡ Válgame Alá!
Rey.
Dé la vergüenza esta vez
Licencia, permite amar
¿Qué rigor
Te suspende de esa suerte?
Fén. La sentencia de mi muerte.
Rey.¿Qué es lo que dices?
Fén.
Zar.
Rey.
Rey. Tuna el retrato.
Fén.
¿
Señor,
Si sabes que siempre has sido
Mi dueño, mi padre y Rey......
Qué he de decir?
¡Ay Muley,
Grande ocasion has perdido!
El silencio (¡ay infelice!)
Hace mi humildad inmensa.
Miente el alma, si lo piensa,
Miente la voz, si lo dice.
Forzada
La mano le tomará,
Pero el alma no podrá.
Esta salva es á la entrada
De Muley, que hoy ha surgido
Del mar de Fez.
Justa es.
Sale MULEY con baston de General.
Mul. Dame, gran señor, los pies.
Rey. Muley, seas bien venido.
Mul. Quien penetra el arrebol
De tan soberana esfera,
95
+
Y á quien en el puerto espera
Tal aurora, hija del sol,
[aparte.
[Disparan una pieza.
[aparte.
[aparte.
92
VANITY FAIR.
the law of every one of her tradesmen; and turned
away forty-eight footmen in four year."
"She was close. very close," said the Baronet,
simply; "but she was a valyble woman to me, and
saved me a steward." And in this confidential
strain, and much to the amusement of the new-comer,
the conversation continued for a considerable time.
Whatever Sir Pitt Crawley's qualities might be, good
or bad, he did not make the least disguise of them.
He talked of himself incessantly, sometimes in the
coarsest and vulgarest Hampshire accent; sometimes
adopting the tone of a man of the world. And so,
with injunctions to Miss Sharp to be ready at five in
the morning, he bade her good-night. "You'll sleep
with Tinker to-night," he said; "it's a big bed, and
there's room for two. Lady Crawley died in it.
Good-night."
Sir Pitt went off after this benediction, and the
solemn Tinker, rushlight in hand, led the way up the
great bleak stone stairs, past the great dreary draw-
ing-room doors, with the handles muffled up in paper,
into the great front bedroom, where Lady Crawley
had slept her last. The bed and chamber were so
funereal and gloomy, you might have fancied, not
only that Lady Crawley died in the room, but that her
ghost inhabited it. Rebecca sprang about the apart-
ment, however, with the greatest liveliness, and had
peeped into the huge wardrobes, and the closets, and
the cupboards, and tried the drawers which were
locked, and examined the dreary pictures and toilette.
appointments, while the old charwoman was saying
her prayers.
"I should n't like to sleep in this yeer
bed without a good conscience, Miss," said the old
woman. "There's room for us and a half-dozen of
ghosts in it," says Rebecca. "Tell me all about Lady
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
93
Crawley and Sir Pitt Crawley, and everybody, my
dear Mrs. Tinker."
But old Tinker was not to be pumped by this little
cross-questioner; and signifying to her that bed was
a place for sleeping, not conversation, set up in her
corner of the bed such a snore as only the nose of
innocence can produce. Rebecca lay awake for a long,
long time, thinking of the morrow, and of the new
world into which she was going, and of her chances
of success there. The rushlight flickered in the ba-
sin. The mantel-piece cast up a great black shadow,
over half of a mouldy old sampler, which her de-
funct ladyship had worked, no doubt, and over two
little family pictures of young lads, one in a college
gown, and the other in a red jacket like a soldier.
When she went to sleep, Rebecca chose that one to
dream about.
At four o'clock on such a roseate summer's morn-
ing as even made Great Gaunt Street look cheerful,
the faithful Tinker, having wakened her bedfellow,
and bid her prepare for departure, unbarred and un-
bolted the great hall door (the clanging and clapping.
whereof startled the sleeping echoes in the street),
and taking her way into Oxford Street, summoned a
coach from a stand there. It is needless to particular-
ize the number of the vehicle, or to state that the
driver was stationed thus early in the neighborhood of
Swallow Street, in hopes that some young buck, reel-
ing homeward from the tavern, might need the aid
of his vehicle, and pay him with the generosity of
intoxication.
It is likewise needless to say, that the driver, if he
had any such hopes as those above stated, was grossly
disappointed; and that the worthy Baronet whom he
drove to the City did not give him one single penny
94
VANITY FAIR.
more than his fare. It was in vain that Jehu ap-
pealed and stormed; that he flung down Miss
Sharp's bandboxes in the gutter at the 'Necks, and
swore he would take the law of his fare.
"You'd better not," said one of the ostlers; "it's
Sir Pitt Crawley."
"So it is, Joe," cried the Baronet, approvingly;
"and I'd like to see the man can do me."
"So should oi," said Joe, grinning sulkily, and
mounting the Baronet's baggage on the roof of the
coach.
"Keep the box for me, Leader," exclaims the Mem-
ber of Parliament to the coachman; who replied,
"Yes, Sir Pitt," with a touch of his hat, and rage in
his soul (for he had promised the box to a young
gentleman from Cambridge, who would have given a
crown to a certainty), and Miss Sharp was accommo-
dated with a back seat inside the carriage, which
might be said to be carrying her into the wide world.
How the young man from Cambridge sulkily put
his five great-coats in front; but was reconciled when
little Miss Sharp was made to quit the carriage, and
mount up beside him — when he covered her up in
one of his Benjamins, and became perfectly good-
humored how the asthmatic gentleman, the prim
lady, who declared upon her sacred honor she had
never travelled in a public carriage before (there is
always such a lady in a coach, Alas! was; for the
coaches, where are they ?), and the fat widow with the
brandy-bottle, took their places inside how the por-
ter asked them all for money, and got sixpence from
the gentleman and five greasy halfpence from the fat
widow and how the carriage at length drove away
- now, threading the dark lanes of Aldersgate, anon
clattering by the Blue Cupola of St. Paul's, jingling
S
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
95
rapidly by the strangers' entry of Fleet-Market, which,
with Exeter 'Change, has now departed to the world of
shadows how they passed the White Bear in Picca-
dilly, and saw the dew rising up from the market-
garuens of Knightsbridge-how Turnham Green,
Brentford, Bagshot, were passed — need not be told
here. But the writer of these pages, who has pursued
in former days, and in the same bright weather, the
same remarkable journey, cannot but think of it with
a sweet and tender regret. Where is the road now,
and its merry incidents of life? Is there no Chelsea
or Greenwich for the old honest pimple-nosed coach-
men? I wonder where are they, those good fellows?
Is old Weller alive or dead? and the waiters, yea, and
the inns at which they waited, and the cold rounds of
beef inside, and the stunted ostler, with his blue nose
and clinking pail, where is he, and where is his gener-
ation? To those great geniuses now in petticoats,
who shall write novels for the beloved reader's chil-
dren, these men and things will be as much legend
and history as Nineveh, or Coeur de Lion, or Jack
Sheppard. For them, stage-coaches will have become.
romances a team of four bays as fabulous as
Bucephalus or Black Bess. Ah, how their coats shone,
as the stable-men pulled their clothes off, and away
they went ah, how their tails shook, as with smok-
ing sides at the stage's end they demurely walked
away into the inn-yard. Alas! we shall never hear
the horn sing at midnight, or see the pike-gates fly
open any more. Whither, however, is the light four-
inside Trafalgar coach carrying us? Let us be set
down at Queen's Crawley without further divagation,
and see how Miss Rebecca Sharp speeds there.
CHAPTER VIII.
PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL.
Miss Rebecca Sharp to Miss Amelia Sedley, Russell Square,
London.
(Free. Pitt Crawley.)
"MY DEAREST, SWEETEST AMELIA,
"With what mingled joy and sorrow do I take up the pen
to write to my dearest friend! Oh, what a change between to-
day and yesterday! Now I am friendless and alone; yester-
day I was at home, in the sweet company of a sister, whom I
shall ever, ever cherish !
"I will not tell you in what tears and sadness I passed the
fatal night in which I separated from you. You went on Tues-
day to joy and happiness, with your mother and your devoted
young soldier by your side; and I thought of you all night,
dancing at the Perkins's, the prettiest, I am sure, of all the
young ladies at the Ball. I was brought by the groom in the
old carriage to Sir Pitt Crawley's town house, where, after
John the groom had behaved most rudely and insolently to
me (alas! 't was safe to insult poverty and misfortune!), I was
given over to Sir P.'s care, and made to pass the night in an
old gloomy bed, and by the side of a horrid gloomy old char-
woman, who keeps the house. I did not sleep one single wink
the whole night.
"Sir Pitt is not what we silly girls, when we used to read
'Cecilia' at Chiswick, imagined a baronet must have been. Any-
thing, indeed, less like Lord Orville cannot be imagined. Fancy
an old, stumpy, short, vulgar, and very dirty man, in old clothes
and shabby old gaiters, who smokes a horrid pipe, and cooks
his own horrid supper in a saucepan. He speaks with a coun-
try accent, and swore a great deal at the old charwoman, at the
hackney-coachman who drove us to the inn where the coach
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
97
went from, and on which I made the journey outside for the
greater part of the way.
46
—
I was awakened at daybreak by the charwoman, and hav-
ing arrived at the inn, was at first placed inside the coach. But,
when we got to a place called Leakington, where the rain be-
gan to fall very heavily — will you believe it? I was forced
to come outside; for Sir Pitt is a proprietor of the coach, and
as a passenger came at Mudbury, who wanted an inside place,
I was obliged to go outside in the rain, where, however, a young
gentlemen from Cambridge College sheltered me very kindly in
one of his several great-coats.
"This gentleman and the guard seemed to know Sir Pitt
very well, and laughed at him a great deal. They both agreed
in calling him an old screw; which means a very stingy, avari-
cious person.
He never gives any money to anybody, they
said (and this meanness I hate); and the young gentleman
made me remark that we drove very slow for the last two stages
on the road, because Sir Pitt was on the box, and because he is
proprietor of the horses for this part of the journey. 'But won't
I flog 'em on to Squashmore, when I take the ribbons?' said
the young Cantab. And sarve 'em right, Master Jack,' said
the guard. When I comprehended the meaning of this phrase,
and that Master Jack intended to drive the rest of the way,
and revenge himself on Sir Pitt's horses, of course I laughed
too.
6
"A carriage and four splendid horses, covered with armorial
bearings, however, awaited us at Mudbury, four miles from
Queen's Crawley, and we made our entrance to the Baronet's
park in state. There is a fine avenue of a mile long leading to
the house, and the woman at the lodge-gate (over the pillars of
which are a serpent and a dove, the supporters of the Crawley
armis) made us a number of curtsies as she flung open the old
iron carved doors, which are something like those at odious
Chiswick.
P
"There's an avenue,' said Sir Pitt, ' a mile long. There's
six thousand pound of timber in them there trees. Do you call
that nothing?' He pronounced avenue evenue, and nothing
nothink, so droll; and he had a Mr. Hodson, his hind from
Mudbury, into the carriage with him, and they talked about
VOL. I -7
Add
98
VANITY FAIR.
distraining, and selling up, and draining and subsoiling, and a
great deal about tenants and farming-much more than I could
understand. Sam Miles had been caught poaching, and Peter
Bailey had gone to the workhouse at last. Serve him right,'
said Sir Pitt; 'him and his family has been cheating me on that
farm these hundred and fifty years. Some old tenant, I sup-
pose, who could not pay his rent. Sir Pitt might have said 'he
and his family,' to be sure, but rich baronets do not need to be
careful about grammar, as poor governesses must be.
"As we passed, I remarked a beautiful church-spire rising
above some old elms in the park; and before them, in the
midst of a lawn, and some outhouses, an old red house with
tall chimneys covered with ivy, and the windows shining in
the sun.
'Is that your church, sir?' I said.
"Yes, hang it' (said Sir Pitt, only he used, dear, a much
wickeder word); 'how's Buty, Hodson? Buty's my brother
Bute, my dear, my brother the parson. Buty and the Beast
I call him, ha, ha!'
Hodson laughed too, and then looking more grave and nod-
ding his head, said, 'I'm afraid he's better, Sir Pitt. He was
out on his pony yesterday, looking at our corn.'
666
C
Looking after his tithes, hang un' (only he used the same
wicked word). Will brandy and water never kill him? He's
as tough as old whatd'yecall'em-old Methusalem.'
"Mr. Hodson laughed again.
.
The young men is home from
college. They've whopped John Scroggins till he's wellnigh
dead.'
"Whop my second keeper!' roared out Sir Pitt.
"He was on the parson's ground, sir,' replied Mr. Hodson;
and Sir Pitt in a fury swore that if he ever caught 'em poach-
ing on his ground, he 'd transport 'em, by the Lord he would.
However, he said, 'I've sold the presentation of the living,
Hodson; none of that breed shall get it, I war'nt;' and Mr.
Hodson said he was quite right and I have no doubt from
this that the two brothers are at variance as brothers often
are, and sisters too. Don't you remember the two Miss Scratch-
leys at Chiswick, how they used always to fight and quarrel
and Mary Box, how she was always thumping Louisa ?
:
"Presently, seeing two little boys gathering sticks in the
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
99
wood, Mr. Hodson jumped out of the carriage, at Sir Pitt's
order, and rushed upon them with his whip. 'Pitch into 'em,
Hodson,' roared the Baronet; 'flog their little souls out, and
bring 'em up to the house, the vagabonds; I'll commit 'em as
sure as my name's Pitt.' And presently we heard Mr. Hod-
son's whip cracking on the shoulders of the poor little blubber-
ing wretches, and Sir Pitt, seeing that the malefactors were in
custody, drove on to the Hall.
"All the servants were ready to meet us, and
"Here, my dear, I was interrupted last night by a dreadful
thumping at my door and who do you think it was? Sir
Pitt Crawley in his night-cap and dressing-gown, such a figure!
As I shrank away from such a visitor, he came forward and
seized my candle. No candles after eleven o'clock, Miss Becky,'
said he. Go to bed in the dark, you pretty little hussy' (that is
what he called me), ‘and unless you wish me to come for the can-
dle
every night, mind and be in bed at eleven.' And with this,
he and Mr. Horrocks the butler went off laughing. You may
be sure I shall not encourage any more of their visits. They
let loose two immense blood-hounds at night, which all last
night were yelling and howling at the moon. 'I call the dog
Gorer,' said Sir Pitt; he's killed a man that dog has, and is
master of a bull, and the mother I used to call Flora; but now
I calls her Aroarer, for she 's too old to bite. Haw, haw!'
"Before the house of Queen's Crawley, which is an odious
old-fashioned red brick mansion, with tall chimneys and gables
of the style of Queen Bess, there is a terrace flanked by the
family dove and serpent, and on which the great hall-door
opens. And oh, my dear, the great hall I am sure is as big
and as glum as the great hall in the dear castle of Udolpho.
It has a large fireplace, in which we might put half Miss Pinker-
ton's school, and the grate is big enough to roast an ox at the
very least. Round the room hang I don't know how many
generations of Crawleys, some with beards and ruffs, some with
huge wigs and toes turned out, some dressed in long straight
stays and gowns that look as stiff as towers, and some with
long ringlets, and oh, my dear! scarcely any stays at all. At
one end of the hall is the great staircase, all in black oak, as
Za
100
VANITY FAIR.
dismal as may be, and on either side are tall doors with stags'
heads over them, leading to the billiard-room and the library,
and the great yellow saloon and the morning-rooms. I think
there are at least twenty bedrooms on the first floor; one of
them has the bed in which Queen Elizabeth slept; and I have
been taken by my new pupils through all these fine apartments
this morning. They are not rendered less gloomy, I promise
you, by having the shutters always shut; and there is scarce
one of the apartments, but when the light was let into it, I ex-
pected to see a ghost in the room. We have a school-room on
the second floor, with my bedroom leading into it on one side,
and that of the young ladies on the other. Then there are
Mr. Pitt's apartments Mr. Crawley, he is called — the eldest
son, and Mr. Rawdon Crawley's rooms he is an officer like
somebody, and away with his regiment. There is no want of
room I assure you. You might lodge all the people in Russel
Square in the house, I think, and have space to spare.
"Half an hour after our arrival, the great dinner-bell was
rung, and I came down with my two pupils (they are very thin
insignificant little chits of ten and eight years old). I came
down in your dear muslin gown (about which that odious Mrs.
Pinner was so rude, because you gave it me); for I am to be
treated as one of the family, except on company days, when the
young ladies and I are to dine up stairs.
،،
'Well, the great dinner-bell rang, and we all assembled in
the little drawing-room where my Lady Crawley sits. She is
the second Lady Crawley, and mother of the young ladies. She
was an ironmonger's daughter, and her marriage was thought a
great match. She looks as if she had been handsome once, and
her eyes are always weeping for the loss of her beauty. She is
pale and meagre and high-shouldered; and has not a word to
say for herself, evidently. Her step-son, Mr. Crawley, was like-
wise in the room. He was in full dress, as pompous as an under-
taker. He is pale, thin, ugly, silent; he has thin legs, no chest,
hay-colored whiskers, and straw-colored hair. He is the very
picture of his sainted mother over the mantel-piece - Griselda
of the noble house of Binkie.
"This is the new governess, Mr. Crawley,' said Lady Craw-
ley, coming forward and taking my hand.
'Miss Sharp.'
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
101
“Oh !' said Mr. Crawley, and pushed his head once for-
ward and began again to read a great pamphlet with which
he was busy.
"I hope you will be kind to my girls,' said Lady Crawley,
with her pink eyes always full of tears.
"Law, Ma, of course she will,' said the eldest: and I saw
at a glance that I need not be afraid of that woman.
666
'My lady is served,' says the Butler in black, in an im-
mense white shirt-frill, that looked as if it had been one of
the Queen Elizabeth's ruffs depicted in the hall; and so, tak-
ing Mr. Crawley's arm, she led the way to the dinning-rooni,
whither I followed with my little pupils in each hand.
"Sir Pitt was already in the room with a silver jug. He had
just been to the cellar, and was in full dress too; that is, he had
taken his gaiters off, and showed his little dumpy legs in black
worsted stockings. The sideboard was covered with glistening
old plate― old cups, both gold and silver; old salvers and
cruet-stands, like Rundell and Bridge's shop. Everything
on the table was in silver too, and two footmen, with red
hair and canary-colored liveries, stood on either side of the
sideboard.
Mr. Crawley said a long grace, and Sir Pitt said amen, and
the great silver dish-covers were removed.
"What have we for dinner, Betsy?' said the Baronet.
"Mutton broth, I believe, Sir Pitt,' answered Lady Crawley.
“Mouton aux navets,' added the Butler, gravely (pronounce,
if you please, moutongonavvy); 'and the soup is potage de mouton
à l'Ecossaise. The side-dishes contain pommes de terre au natu-
rel, and choufleur à l' eau!'
<
"Mutton 's mutton,' said the Baronet, and a devilish good
thing. What ship was it, Horrocks, and when did you kill?'
"One of the black-faced Scotch, Sir Pitt: we killed on
Thursday.'
"Who took any?'
CC C
Steel, of Mudbury, took the saddle and two legs, Sir Pitt;
but he says the last was too young and confounded woolly,
Sir Pitt.'
Miss Blunt?' said
"Will you take some potage, Miss ah
Mr. Crawley.
102
VANITY FAIR.
(64
'Capital Scotch broth, my dear,' said Sir Pitt, 'though they
call it by a French name.'
"I believe it is the custom, sir, in decent society,' said Mr.
Crawley, haughtily, 'to call the dish as I have called it;' and
it was served to us on silver soup-plates by the footmen in the
canary coats, with the mouton aux navets. Then 'ale and water'
were brought, and served to us young ladies in wine-glasses.
I am not a judge of ale, but I can say with a clear conscience
I prefer water.
While we were enjoying our repast, Sir Pitt took occasion
to ask what had become of the shoulders of the mutton.
"I believe they were eaten in the servants' hall,' said my
lady, humbly.
466
เ
They was, my lady,' said Horrocks, and precious little
else we get there neither.'
"Sir Pitt burst into a horse-laugh, and continued his con-
versation with Mr. Horrocks. 'That there little black pig of
the Kent sow's breed must be uncommon fat now.'
"It's not quite busting, Sir Pitt,' said the Butler with the
gravest air, at which Sir Pitt, and with him the young ladies,
this time, began to laugh violently.
"Miss Crawley, Miss Rose Crawley,' said Mr. Crawley,
'your laughter strikes me as being exceedingly out of place.'
"Never mind, my lord,' said the Baronet,' we'll try the
porker on Saturday. Kill un on Saturday morning, John Hor-
rocks. Miss Sharp adores pork, don't you, Miss Sharp?'
"And I think this is all the conversation that I remember at
dinner. When the repast was concluded a jug of hot water was
placed before Sir Pitt, with a case-bottle containing, I believe,
rum. Mr. Horrocks served myself and my pupils with three
little glasses of wine, and a bumper was poured out for my lady.
When we retired, she took from her work-drawer an enormous
interminable piece of knitting; the young ladies began to play
at cribbage with a dirty pack of cards. We had but one candle
lighted, but it was in a magnificent old silver candlestick, and
after a very few questions from my lady, I had my choice of
amusement between a volume of sermons, and a pamphlet on
the corn-laws, which Mr. Crawley had been reading before
dinner.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
103
"So we sat for an hour until steps were heard.
"Put away the cards, girls,' cried my lady, in a great tremor ;
'put down Mr. Crawley's books, Miss Sharp:' and these or-
ders had been scarcely obeyed, when Mr. Crawley entered the
room.
"We will resume yesterday's discourse, young ladies,' said
he, and you shall each read a page by turns; so that Miss a
Miss Short may have an opportunity of hearing you;' and
the poor girls began to spell a long dismal sermon delivered at
Bethesda Chapel, Liverpool, on behalf of the mission for the
Chickasaw Indians. Was it not a charming evening?
"At ten the servants were told to call Sir Pitt and the house-
hold to prayers.
Sir Pitt came in first, very much flushed, and
rather unsteady in his gait; and after him the butler, the cana-
ries, Mr. Crawley's man, three other men, smelling very much
of the stable, and four women, one of whom, I remarked, was
very much over-dressed, and who flung me a look of great scorn
as she plumped down on her knees.
"After Mr. Crawley had done haranguing and expounding,
we received our candles, and then we went to bed; and then I
was disturbed in my writing, as I have described to my dearest,
sweetest Amelia.
66
CC
Good-night. A thousand, thousand, thousand kisses!
Saturday. This morning, at five, I heard the shrieking of
the little black pig. Rose and Violet introduced me to it yester-
day; and to the stables, and to the kennel, and to the gardener,
who was picking fruit to send to market, and from whom they
begged hard a bunch of hot-house grapes; but he said that Sir
Pitt had numbered every Man Jack' of them, and it would be
as much as his place was worth to give any away. The dar-
ling girls caught a colt in a paddock, and asked me if I would
ride, and began to ride themselves, when the groom, coming
with horrid oaths, drove them away.
W
"Lady Crawley is always knitting the worsted. Sir Pitt is
always tipsy, every night; and, I believe, sits with Horrocks,
the butler. Mr. Crawley always reads sermons in the evening,
and in the morning is locked up in his study, or else rides to
Mudbury, on county business, or to Squashmore, where he
preaches, on Wednesdays and Fridays, to the tenants there.
104
VANITY FAIR.
“A hundred thousand grateful loves to your dear papa and
mamma. Is your poor brother recovered of his rack punch?
Oh, dear! Oh, dear! How men should beware of wicked
punch!
"Even and ever thine own
"REBECCA."
Everything considered, I think it is quite as well
for our dear Amelia Sedley, in Russell Square, that
Miss Sharp and she are parted. Rebecca is a droll
funny creature, to be sure; and those descriptions
of the poor lady weeping for the loss of her beauty,
and the gentleman "with hay-colored whiskers and
straw-colored hair," are very smart, doubtless, and
show a great knowledge of the world. That she
might, when on her knees, have been thinking of
something better than Miss Horrock's ribbons, has
possibly struck both of us. But my kind reader will
please to remember that this history has "Vanity
Fair" for a title, and that Vanity Fair is a very
vain, wicked, foolish place, full of all sorts of hum-
bugs and falsenesses and pretensions. And while
the moralist, who is holding forth on the cover (an
accurate portrait of your humble servant), professes
to wear neither gown nor bands, but only the very
same long-eared livery in which his congregation is
arrayed: yet, look you, one is bound to speak the
truth as far as one knows it, whether one mounts a
cap and bells or a shovel-hat; and a deal of dis-
agreeable matter must come out in the course of
such an undertaking.
I have heard a brother of the story-telling trade,
at Naples, preaching to a pack of good-for-nothing
honest lazy fellows by the sea-shore, work himself
up into such a rage and passion with some of the
villains whose wicked deeds he was describing and
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
105
inventing, that the audience could not resist it; and
they and the poet together would burst out into a
roar of oaths and execrations against the fictitious
monster of the tale, so that the hat went round, and
the bajocchi tumbled into it, in the midst of a perfect
storm of sympathy.
At the little Paris theatres, on the other hand,
you will not only hear the people yelling out "Ah
gredin! Ah monstre!" and cursing the tyrant of the
play from the boxes; but the actors themselves posi-
tively refuse to play the wicked parts, such as those
of infâmes Anglais, brutal Cossacks, and what not,
and prefer to appear at a smaller salary, in their
real characters as loyal Frenchmen. I set the two
stories one against the other, so that you may see
that it is not from mere mercenary motives that the
present performer is desirous to show up and trounce.
his villains; but because he has a sincere hatred of
them, which he cannot keep down, and which must
find a vent in suitable abuse and bad language.
I warn my "kyind friends," then, that I am going
to tell a story of harrowing villany and complicated
-but, as I trust, intensely interesting - crime. My
rascals are no milk-and-water rascals, I promise you.
When we come to the proper places we won't spare
fine language-No, no! But when we are going
over the quiet country we must perforce be calm.
A tempest in a slop-basin is absurd. We will re-
serve that sort of thing for the mighty ocean and
the lonely midnight. The present Chapter is very
mild. Others But we will not anticipate those.
g
And, as we bring our characters forward, I will ask
leave, as a man and a brother, not only to introduce
them, but occasionally to step down from the platform,
and talk about them: if they are good and kindly, to
106
VANITY FAIR.
love them and shake them by the hand: if they are
silly, to laugh at them confidentially in the reader's
sleeve: if they are wicked and heartless, to abuse
them in the strongest terms which politeness admits
of.
Otherwise you might fancy it was I who was sneer-
ing at the practice of devotion, which Miss Sharp
finds so ridiculous; that it was I who laughed good-
humoredly at the reeling old Silenus of a baronet-
whereas the laughter comes from one who has no rev-
erence except for prosperity, and no eye for anything
beyond success. Such people there are living and
flourishing in the world — Faithless, Hopeless, Char-
ityless: let us have at them, dear friends, with might
and main. Some there are, and very successful too,
mere quacks and fools and it was to combat and
expose such as those, no doubt, that Laughter was
made.
CHAPTER IX.
FAMILY PORTRAITS.
SIR PITT CRAWLEY was a philosopher with a taste
for what is called low life. His first marriage with
the daughter of the noble Binkie had been made un-
der the auspices of his parents; and as he often told
Lady Crawley in her lifetime she was such a con-
founded quarrelsome high-bred jade that when she
died he was hanged if he would ever take another of
her sort; at her ladyship's demise he kept his promise,
and selected for a second wife Miss Rose Dawson,
daughter of Mr. John Thomas Dawson, ironmonger,
of Mudbury. What a happy woman was Rose to be
my Lady Crawley!
Let us set down the items of her happiness. In the
first place, she gave up Peter Butt, a young man who
kept company with her, and in consequence of his dis-
appointment in love, took to smuggling, poaching, and
a thousand other bad courses. Then she quarrelled,
as in duty bound, with all the friends and intimates of
her youth, who, of course, could not be received by my
lady at Queen's Crawley -nor did she find in her
new rank and abode any persons who were willing to
welcome her. Who ever did? Sir Huddleston Fud-
dleston had three daughters who all hoped to be Lady
Crawley. Sir Giles Wapshot's family were insulted
that one of the Wapshot girls had not the preference
in the marriage, and the remaining baronets of the
county were indignant at their comrade's misalliance.
108
VANITY FAIR.
Never mind the commoners, whom we will leave to
grumble anonymously.
Sir Pitt did not care, as he said, a brass farden for
any one of them. He had his pretty Rose, and what
more need a man require than to please himself? So
he used to get drunk every night: to beat his pretty
Rose sometimes: to leave her in Hampshire when he
went to London for the parliamentary session, without
a single friend in the wide world. Even Mrs. Bute
Crawley, the Rector's wife, refused to visit her, as
she said she would never give the pas to a tradesman's
daughter.
As the only endowments with which Nature had
gifted Lady Crawley were those of pink cheeks and a
white skin, and as she had no sort of character, nor
talents, nor opinions, nor occupations, nor amusements,
nor that vigor of soul and ferocity of temper which
often falls to the lot of entirely foolish women, her
hold upon Sir Pitt's affections was not very great.
Her roses faded out of her cheeks, and the pretty
freshness left her figure after the birth of a couple of
children, and she became a mere machine in her hus-
band's house, of no more use than the late Lady
Crawley's grand piano. Being a light-complexioned
woman, she wore light clothes, as most blondes will,
and appeared, in preference, in draggled sea-green, or
slatternly sky-blue. She worked that worsted day
and night, or other pieces like it. She had counter-
panes in the course of a few years to all the beds in
Crawley. She had a small flower-garden, for which
she had rather an affection; but beyond this no other
like or disliking. When her husband was rude to her
she was apathetic: whenever he struck her she cried.
She had not character enough to take to drinking, and
moaned about, slipshod and in curl-papers all day. O
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
109
Vanity Fair - Vanity Fair! This might have been, but
for you, a cheery lass: - Peter Butt and Rose a happy
man and wife, in a snug farm, with a hearty family;
and an honest portion of pleasures, cares, hopes, and
struggles: — but a title and a coach-and-four are toys
more precious than happiness in Vanity Fair: and if
Harry the Eighth or Bluebeard were alive now, and
wanted a tenth wife, do you suppose he could not get
the prettiest girl that shall be presented this season?
The languid dulness of their mamma did not, as it
may be supposed, awaken much affection in her little
daughters, but they were very happy in the servants'
hall and in the stables; and the Scotch gardener hav-
ing luckily a good wife and some good children, they
got a little wholesome society and instruction in his
lodge, which was the only education bestowed upon
them until Miss Sharp came.
Her engagement was owing to the remonstrances of
Mr. Pitt Crawley, the only friend or protector Lady
Crawley ever had, and the only person, besides her
children, for whom she entertained a little feeble at-
tachment. Mr. Pitt took after the noble Binkies,
from whom he was descended, and was a very polite
and proper gentleman. When he grew to man's estate,
and came back from Christchurch, he began to reform
the slackened discipline of the Hall, in spite of his fa-
ther, who stood in awe of him. He was a man of such
rigid refinement, that he would have starved rather
than have dined without a white neckcloth. Once,
when just from college, and when Horrocks the butler
brought him a letter without placing it previously on
a tray, he gave that domestic a look, and administered
to him a speech so cutting, that Horrocks ever after
trembled before him; the whole household bowed to
him; Lady Crawley's curl-papers came off earlier when
110
VANITY FAIR.
he was at home; Sir Pitt's muddy gaiters disappeared;
and if that incorrigible old man still adhered to other
old habits, he never fuddled himself with rum-and-
water in his son's presence, and only talked to his ser-
vants in a very reserved and polite manner; and those
persons remarked that Sir Pitt never swore at Lady
Crawley while his son was in the room.
It was he who taught the butler to say, "My lady
is served," and who insisted on handing her ladyship
in to dinner. He seldom spoke to her, but when he
did it was with the most powerful respect; and he
never let her quit the apartment without rising in the
most stately manner to open the door, and making an
elegant bow at her egress.
At Eton he was called Miss Crawley; and there, I
am sorry to say, his younger brother Rawdon used to
lick him violently. But though his parts were not
brilliant, he made up for his lack of talent by merito-
rious industry, and was never known, during eight
years at school, to be subject to that punishment which
it is generally thought none but a cherub can escape.
At college his career was of course highly creditable.
And here he prepared himself for public life, into
which he was to be introduced by the patronage of his
grandfather, Lord Binkie, by studying the ancient and
modern orators with great assiduity, and by speaking
unceasingly at the debating societies. But though he
had a fine flux of words, and delivered his little voice
with great pomposity and pleasure to himself, and
never advanced any sentiment or opinion which was
not perfectly trite and stale, and supported by a Latin
quotation; yet he failed somehow, in spite of a medi-
ocrity which ought to have insured any man a success.
He did not even get the prize poem, which all his
friends said he was sure of.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
111
After leaving college he became Private Secretary
to Lord Binkie, and was then appointed Attaché to
the Legation at Pumpernickel, which post he filled
with perfect honor, and brought home despatches,
consisting of Strasburg pie, to the Foreign Minister
of the day. After remaining ten years Attaché (sev-
eral years after the lamented Lord Binkie's demise),
and finding the advancement slow, he at length gave
up the diplomatic service in some disgust, and began
to turn country gentleman.
He wrote a pamphlet on Malt on returning to Eng-
land (for he was an ambitious man, and always liked
to be before the public), and took a strong part in
the Negro Emancipation question. Then he became.
a friend of Mr. Wilberforce's, whose politics he ad-
mired, and had that famous correspondence with the
Reverend Silas Hornblower, on the Ashantee Mission.
He was in London, if not for the Parliament session,
at least in May, for the religious meetings. In the
country he was a magistrate, and an active visitor and
speaker among those destitute of religious instruction.
He was said to be paying his addresses to Lady Jane
Sheepshanks, Lord Southdown's third daughter, and
whose sister, Lady Emily, wrote those sweet tracts,
"The Sailor's True Binnacle," and "The Applewoman
of Finchley Common."
Miss Sharp's accounts of his employment at Queen's
Crawley were not caricatures. He subjected the ser-
vants there to the devotional exercises before men-
tioned, in which (and so much the better) he brought
his father to join. He patronized an Independent
meeting-house in Crawley parish, much to the indig-
nation of his uncle the Rector, and to the consequent
delight of Sir Pitt, who was induced to go himself
once or twice, which occasioned some violent sermons
112
VANITY FAIR.
at Crawley parish church, directed point-blank at the
Baronet's old Gothic pew there. Honest Sir Pitt,
however, did not feel the force of these discourses, as
he always took his nap during sermon-time.
Mr. Crawley was very earnest, for the good of the
nation and of the Christian world, that the old gentle-
man should yield him up his place in Parliament;
but this the elder constantly refused to do. Both
were of course too prudent to give up the fifteen hun-
dred a year which was brought in by the second seat
(at this period filled by Mr. Quadroon, with carte-
blanche on the Slave question); indeed the family
estate was much embarrassed, and the income drawn
from the borough was of great use to the house of
Queen's Crawley.
It had never recovered the heavy fine imposed upon
Walpole Crawley, first baronet, for peculation in the
Tape and Sealing-Wax Office. Sir Walpole was a
jolly fellow, eager to seize and to spend money
("alieni appetens, sui profusus," as Mr. Crawley
would remark with a sigh), and in his day beloved by
all the county for the constant drunkenness and hos-
pitality which was maintained at Queen's Crawley.
The cellars were filled with burgundy then, the ken-
nels with hounds, and the stables with gallant hunters;
now, such horses as Queen's Crawley possessed went
to plough, or ran in the Trafalgar coach; and it was
with a team of these very horses, on an off-day, that
Miss Sharp was brought to the Hall; for boor as he
was, Sir Pitt was a stickler for his dignity while at
home, and seldom drove out but with four horses, and,
though he dined off boiled mutton, had always three
footmen to serve it.
If mere parsimony could have made a man rich, Sir
Pitt Crawley might have become very wealthy if
..
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
113
VOL. I. 8
he had been an attorney in a country town, with no
capital but his brains, it is very possible that he
would have turned them to good account, and might
have achieved for himself a very considerable influ-
ence and competency. But he was unluckily endowed
with a good name and a large though encumbered
estate, both of which went rather to injure than to
advance him. He had a taste for law, which cost him
many thousands yearly; and being a great deal too
clever to be robbed, as he said, by any single agent,
allowed his affairs to be mismanaged by a dozen,
whom he all equally mistrusted. He was such a
sharp landlord, that he could hardly find any but
bankrupt tenants; and such a close farmer, as to
grudge almost the seed to the ground, whereupon
revengeful Nature grudged him the crops which she
granted to more liberal husbandmen. He speculated
in every possible way; he worked mines; bought
canal-shares; horsed coaches; took government con-
tracts, and was the busiest man and magistrate of his
county. As he would not pay honest agents at his
granite quarry, he had the satisfaction of finding that
four overseers ran away, and took fortunes with them
to America. For want of proper precautions, his
coal-mines filled with water: the government flung
his contract of damaged beef upon his hands and for
his coach-horses, every mail proprietor in the kingdom
knew that he lost more horses than any man in the
country, from underfeeding and buying cheap. In
disposition he was sociable, and far from being proud;
nay, he rather preferred the society of a farmer or a
horse-dealer to that of a gentleman, like my lord, his
son he was fond of drink, of swearing, of joking
with the farmers' daughters: he was never known to
give away a shilling or to do a good action, but was
A
:
114
VANITY FAIR.
of a pleasant, sly, laughing mood, and would cut his
joke and drink his glass with a tenant and sell him
up the next day; or have his laugh with the poacher
he was transporting with equal good-humor. His
politeness for the fair sex has already been hinted at
by Miss Rebecca Sharp-in a word, the whole bar-
onetage, peerage, commonage of England, did not
contain a more cunning, mean, selfish, foolish, dis-
reputable old man. That blood-red hand of Sir Pitt
Crawley's would be in anybody's pocket except his
own; and it is with grief and pain, that, as admirers
of the British aristocracy, we find ourselves obliged
to admit the existence of so many ill qualities in a
person whose name is in Debrett.
One great cause why Mr. Crawley had such a hold
over the affections of his father, resulted from money
arrangements. The Baronet owed his son a sum of
money out of the jointure of his mother, which he
did not find it convenient to pay; indeed he had an
almost invincible repugnance to paying anybody, and
could only be brought by force to discharge his debts.
Miss Sharp calculated (for she became, as we shall
hear speedily, inducted into most of the secrets of the
family) that the mere payment of his creditors cost
the honorable Baronet several hundreds yearly; but
this was a delight he could not forego; he had a sav-
age pleasure in making the poor wretches wait, and
in shifting from court to court and from term to term
the period of satisfaction. What's the good of being
in Parliament, he said, if you must pay your debts?
Hence, indeed, his position as a senator was not a
little useful to him.
Vanity Fair Vanity Fair! Here was a man who
who had
could not spell, and did not care to read
the habits and the cunning of a boor: whose aim in
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
115
life was pettifogging: who never had a taste, or
emotion, or enjoyment, but what was sordid and foul;
and yet he had rank, and honors, and power, some-
how and was a dignitary of the land, and a pillar of
the state. He was high sheriff, and rode in a golden
coach. Great ministers and statesmen courted him;
and in Vanity Fair he had a higher place than the
most brilliant genius or spotless virtue.
Sir Pitt had an unmarried half-sister who inherited
her mother's large fortune, and though the Baronet
proposed to borrow this money of her on mortgage,
Miss Crawley declined the offer, and preferred the
security of the funds. She had signified, however,
her intention of leaving her inheritance between Sir
Pitt's second son and the family at the Rectory, and
had once or twice paid the debts of Rawdon Crawley
in his career at college and in the army. Miss Craw-
ley was, in consequence, an object of great respect
when she came to Queen's Crawley, for she had a
balance at her banker's which would have made her
beloved anywhere.
What a dignity it gives an old lady, that balance at
the banker's! How tenderly we look at her faults if
she is a relative (and may every reader have a score
of such), what a kind good-natured old creature we
find her! How the junior partner of Hobbs and Dobbs
leads her smiling to the carriage with the lozenge
upon it, and the fat wheezy coachman! How, when
she comes to pay us a visit, we generally find an
opportunity to let our friends know her station in the
world! We say (and with perfect truth) I wish I
had Miss MacWhirter's signature to a cheque for five
thousand pounds. She would n't miss it, says your
wife. She is my aunt, say you, in an easy careless
116
VANITY FAIR.
way, when your friend asks if Miss MacWhirter is
any relative. Your wife is perpetually sending her
little testimonies of affection, your little girls work
endless worsted baskets, cushions, and footstools for
her. What a good fire there is in her room when she
comes to pay you a visit, although your wife laces her
stays without one! The house during her stay as-
sumes a festive, neat, warm, jovial, snug appearance
not visible at other seasons. You yourself, dear sir,
forget to go to sleep after dinner, and find yourself.
all of a sudden (though you invariably lose) very fond
of a rubber. What good dinners you have game
every day, Malmsey-Madeira, and no end of fish from
London. Even the servants in the kitchen share in
the general prosperity; and, somehow, during the
stay of Miss MacWhirter's fat coachman, the beer is
grown much stronger, and the consumption of tea and
sugar in the nursery (where her maid takes her meals)
is not regarded in the least. Is it so, or is it not so?
I appeal to the middle classes. Ah, gracious powers!
I wish you would send me an old aunt a maiden
aunt — an aunt with a lozenge on her carriage, and a
front of light coffee-colored hair-how my children
should work workbags for her, and my Julia and I
would make her comfortable! Sweet-sweet vision!
Foolish foolish dream!
CHAPTER X.
MISS SHARP BEGINS TO MAKE FRIENDS.
AND now, being received as a member of the ami-
able family whose portraits we have sketched in the
foregoing pages, it became naturally Rebecca's duty
to make herself, as she said, agreeable to her bene-
factors, and to gain their confidence to the utmost of
her power. Who can but admire this quality of grati-
tude in an unprotected orphan; and, if there entered
some degree of selfishness into her calculations, who
can say but that her prudence was perfectly justifi-
able? "I am alone in the world," said the friendless
girl. "I have nothing to look for but what my own
labor can bring me; and while that little pink-faced
chit Amelia, with not half my sense, has ten thousand
pounds and an establishment secure, poor Rebecca
(and my figure is far better than hers) has only her-
self and her own wits to trust to. Well, let us see if
my wits cannot provide me with an honorable main-
tenance, and if some day or the other I cannot show
Miss Amelia my real superiority over her. Not that
I dislike poor Amelia: who can dislike such a harm-
less, good-natured creature?-only it will be a fine
day when I can take my place above her in the world,
as why, indeed, should I not?" Thus it was that our
little romantic friend formed visions of the future for
herself, nor must we be scandalized that, in all her
castles in the air, a husband was the principal inhabi-
tant. Of what else have young ladies to think, but
118
VANITY FAIR.
husbands? Of what else do their dear mammas
think? "I must be my own mamma," said Rebecca ;
not without a tingling consciousness of defeat, as she
thought over her little misadventure with Jos Sedley.
So she wisely determined to render her position
with the Queen's Crawley family comfortable and
secure, and to this end resolved to make friends of
every one around her who could at all interfere with
her comfort.
As my Lady Crawley was not one of these person-
ages, and a woman, moreover, so indolent and void of
character as not to be of the least consequence in her
own house, Rebecca soon found that it was not at all
necessary to cultivate her good-will- indeed, impos-
sible to gain it. She used to talk to her pupils about
their "poor mamma;" and, though she treated that
lady with every demonstration of cool respect, it was
to the rest of the family that she wisely directed the
chief part of her attentions.
With the young people, whose applause she thor-
oughly gained, her method was pretty simple. She
did not pester their young brains with too much learn-
ing, but, on the contrary, let them have their own way
in regard to educating themselves; for what instruc-
tion is more effectual than self-instruction? The
eldest was rather fond of books, and as there was in
the old library at Queen's Crawley a considerable pro-
vision of works of light literature of the last century,
both in the French and English languages (they had
been purchased by the Secretary of the Tape and Seal-
ing-Wax Office at the period of his disgrace), and as
nobody ever troubled the book-shelves but herself,
Rebecca was enabled agreeably, and, as it were, in
playing, to impart a great deal of instruction to Miss
Rose Crawley.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
119
She and Miss Rose thus read together many delight-
ful French and English works, among which may be
mentioned those of the learned Dr. Smollett, of the
ingenious Mr. Henry Fielding, of the graceful and
fantastic Monsieur Crébillon the younger, whom our
immortal poet Gray so much admired, and of the uni-
versal Monsieur de Voltaire. Once, when Mr. Crawley
asked what the young people were reading, the gov-
erness replied "Smollett." "Oh, Smollett," said Mr.
Crawley, quite satisfied. "His history is more dull,
but by no means so dangerous as that of Mr. Hume.
It is history you are reading?" "Yes," said Miss
Rose; without, however, adding that it was the his-
tory of Mr. Humphrey Clinker. On another occasion.
he was rather scandalized at finding his sister with a
book of French plays; but as the governess remarked
that it was for the purpose of acquiring the French
idiom in conversation, he was fain to be content. Mr.
Crawley, as a diplomatist, was exceedingly proud of
his own skill in speaking the French language (for he
was of the world still), and not a little pleased with
the compliments which the governess continually paid
him upon his proficiency.
Miss Violet's tastes were, on the contrary, more rude
and boisterous than those of her sister. She knew the
sequestered spots where the hens laid their eggs. She
could climb a tree to rob the nests of the feathered
songsters of their speckled spoils. And her pleasure
was to ride the young colts, and to scour the plains
like Camilla. She was the favorite of her father and
of the stable-men. She was the darling, and withal
the terror of the cook; for she discovered the haunts
of the jam-pots, and would attack them when they were
within her reach. She and her sister were engaged in
constant battles. Any of which peccadilloes, if Miss
120
VANITY FAIR.
Sharp discovered, she did not tell them to Lady Craw-
ley, who would have told them to the father, or worse,
to Mr. Crawley; but promised not to tell if Miss Violet
would be a good girl and love her governess.
With Mr. Crawley, Miss Sharp was respectful and
obedient. She used to consult him on passages of
French which she could not understand, though her
mother was a Frenchwoman, and which he would con-
strue to her satisfaction: and, besides giving her his
aid in profane literature, he was kind enough to select
for her books of a more serious tendency, and address
to her much of his conversation. She admired, beyond
measure, his speech at the Quashimaboo-Aid Society;
took an interest in his pamphlet on Malt: was often
affected, even to tears, by his discourses of an evening,
and would say - Oh, thank you, sir," with a sigh,
and a look up to heaven, that made him occasionally
condescend to shake hands with her. "Blood is
everything, after all," would that aristocratic reli-
gionist say. "How Miss Sharp is awakened by my
words, when not one of the people here is touched.
I am too fine for them too delicate. I must famil-
iarize my style — but she understands it. Her mother
was a Montmorency."
66
Indeed it was from this famous family, as it ap-
pears, that Miss Sharp, by the mother's side, was de-
scended. Of course she did not say that her mother
had been on the stage; it would have shocked Mr.
Crawley's religious scruples. How many noble émi-
grées had this horrid revolution plunged in poverty!
She had several stories about her ancestors ere she
had been many months in the house; some of which
Mr. Crawley happened to find in D'Hozier's dictionary,
which was in the library, and which strengthened his
belief in their truth, and in the high-breeding of Re-
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
121
becca. Are we to suppose from this curiosity and
prying into dictionaries, could our heroine suppose,
that Mr. Crawley was interested in her? no, only
in a friendly way. Have we not stated that he was
attached to Lady Jane Sheepshanks?
He took Rebecca to task once or twice about the
propriety of playing at backgammon with Sir Pitt,
saying that it was a godless amusement, and that she
would be much better engaged in reading "Thrump's
Legacy," or "The Blind Washerwoman of Moor-
fields," or any work of a more serious nature; but
Miss Sharp said her dear mother used often to play
the same game with the old Count de Trictrac and
the venerable Abbé du Cornet, and so found an ex-
cuse for this and other worldly amusements.
But it was not only by playing at backgammon
with the Baronet, that the little governess rendered
herself agreeable to her employer. She found many
different ways of being useful to him. She read
over, with indefatigable patience, all those law papers,
with which, before she came to Queen's Crawley,
he had promised to entertain her. She volunteered
to copy many of his letters, and adroitly altered the
spelling of them so as to suit the usages of the pres-
ent day. She became interested in everything apper-
taining to the estate, to the farm, the park, the
garden, and the stables; and so delightful a com-
panion was she, that the Baronet would seldom take
his after-breakfast walk without her (and the chil-
dren of course), when she would give her advice as
to the trees which were to be lopped in the shrub-
beries, the garden-beds to be dug, the crops which
were to be cut, the horses which were to go to cart or
plough. Before she had been a year at Queen's
Crawley she had quite won the Baronet's confidence;
122
VANITY FAIR.
1
f'ku
and the conversation at the dinner-table, which be-
fore used to be held between him and Mr. Horrocks
the butler, was now almost exclusively between Sir
Pitt and Miss Sharp. She was almost mistress of
the house when Mr. Crawley was absent, but con-
ducted herself in her new and exalted situation with
such circumspection and modesty as not to offend
the authorities of the kitchen and stable, among
whom her behavior was always exceedingly modest
and affable. She was quite a different person from
the haughty, shy, dissatisfied little girl whom we
have known previously, and this change of temper
proved great prudence, a sincere desire of amendment,
or at any rate great moral courage on her part.
Whether it was the heart which dictated this new
system of complaisance and humility adopted by our
Rebecca, is to be proved by her after-history. A
system of hypocrisy which lasts through whole years,
is one seldom satisfactorily practised by a person of
one-and-twenty; however, our readers will recollect,
that, though young in years, our heroine was old in
life and experience, and we have written to no pur-
pose if they have not discovered that she was a very
clever woman.
The elder and younger son of the house of Crawley
were, like the gentlemen and lady in the weather-
box, never at home together they hated each other
cordially; indeed, Rawdon Crawley, the dragoon,
had a great contempt for the establishment alto-
gether, and seldom came thither except when his
aunt paid her annual visit.
de
The great good quality of this old lady has been
mentioned. She possessed seventy thousand pounds,
and had almost adopted Rawdon. She disliked her
elder nephew exceedingly, and despised him as a
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
123
milksop. In return he did not hesitate to state that
her soul was irretrievably lost, and was of opinion
that his brother's chance in the next world was not
a whit better. "She is a godless woman of the
world," would Mr. Crawley say; "she lives with
atheists and Frenchmen. My mind shudders when I
think of her awful, awful situation, and that, near as
she is to the grave, she should be so given up to
vanity, licentiousness, profaneness, and folly." In
fact, the old lady declined altogether to hear his
hour's lecture of an evening; and when she came to
Queen's Crawley alone, he was obliged to pretermit
his usual devotional exercises.
"Shut up your sarmons, Pitt, when Miss Crawley
comes down," said his father; "she has written to
say that she won't stand the preachifying."
"Oh, sir! consider the servants."
"The servants be hanged," said Sir Pitt; and his
son thought even worse would happen were they
deprived of the benefit of his instruction.
"Why, hang it, Pitt!" said the father to his re-
monstrance. "You would n't be such a flat as to let
three thousand a year go out of the family?
"What is money compared to our souls, sir?"
continued Mr. Crawley.
"You mean that the old lady won't leave the
money to you?" and who knows but it was Mr.
Crawley's meaning?
Old Miss Crawley was certainly one of the repro-
bate. She had a snug little house in Park Lane,
and, as she ate and drank a great deal too much dur-
ing the season in London, she went to Harrowgate
or Cheltenham for the summer. She was the most
hospitable and jovial of old vestals, and had been a
beauty in her day, she said. (All old women were
124
VANITY FAIR.
beauties once, we very well know.) She was a bel
esprit, and a dreadful Radical for those days. She
had been in France (where St. Just, they say, in-
spired her with an unfortunate passion), and loved,
ever after, French novels, French cookery, and
French wines. She read Voltaire, and had Rousseau
by heart; talked very lightly about divorce, and
most energetically of the rights of women. She had
pictures of Mr. Fox in every room in the house;
when that statesman was in opposition, I am not sure
that she had not flung a main with him; and when
he came into office, she took great credit for bringing
over to him Sir Pitt and his colleague for Queen's
Crawley, although Sir Pitt would have come over
himself, without any trouble on the honest lady's
part. It is needless to say that Sir Pitt was brought
to change his views after the death of the great
Whig statesman.
This worthy old lady took a fancy to Rawdon
Crawley when a boy, sent him to Cambridge (in oppo-
sition to his brother at Oxford), and, when the young
man was requested by the authorities of the first-named
University to quit after a residence of two years, she
bought him his commission in the Life Guards Green.
A perfect and celebrated "blood," or dandy about
town, was this young officer. Boxing, rat-hunting, the
fives' court, and four-in-hand driving were then the
fashion of our British aristocracy; and he was an
adept in all these noble sciences. And though he be-
longed to the household troops, who, as it was their
duty to rally round the Prince Regent, had not shown
their valor in foreign service yet, Rawdon Crawley
had already (apropos of play, of which he was immod-
erately fond) fought three bloody duels, in which he
gave ample proofs of his contempt for death.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
125
"And for what follows after death," would Mr.
Crawley observe, throwing his gooseberry-colored eyes
up to the ceiling. He was always thinking of his broth
er's soul, or of the souls of those who differed with him
in opinion: it is a sort of comfort which many of the
serious give themselves.
Silly, romantic Miss Crawley, far from being horri-
fied at the courage of her favorite, always used to pay
his debts after his duels; and would not listen to a
word that was whispered against his morality.
"He
will sow his wild oats," she would say, "and is worth
far more than that puling hypocrite of a brother
of his."
CHAPTER XI.
ARCADIAN SIMPLICITY.
BESIDES these honest folks at the Hall (whose sim-
plicity and sweet rural purity surely show the advan-
tage of a country life over a town one), we must
introduce the reader to their relatives and neighbors
at the Rectory, Bute Crawley and his wife.
The Reverend Bute Crawley was a tall, stately, jolly,
shovel-hatted man, far more popular in his county than
the Baronet his brother. At college he pulled stroke-
oar in the Christchurch boat, and had thrashed all
the best bruisers of the "town." He carried his taste
for boxing and athletic exercises into private life;
there was not a fight within twenty miles at which he
was not present, nor a race, nor a coursing match, nor
a regatta, nor a ball, nor an election, nor a visitation
dinner, nor indeed a good dinner in the whole county,
but he found means to attend it. You might see his
bay-mare and gig-lamps a score of miles away from
his Rectory House, whenever there was any dinner-
party at Fuddleston, or at Roxby, or at Wapshot
Hall, or at the great lords of the county, with all of
whom he was intimate. He had a fine voice; sang
"A southerly wind and a cloudy sky;" and gave
the "whoop" in chorus with general applause. He
rode to hounds in a pepper-and-salt frock, and
was one of the best fishermen in the county.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
127
Mrs. Crawley, the Rector's wife, was a smart little
body, who wrote this worthy divine's sermons. Be-
ing of a domestic turn, and keeping the house a great
deal with her daughters, she ruled absolutely within
the Rectory, wisely giving her husband full liberty
without. He was welcome to come and go, and dine
abroad as many days as his fancy dictated, for Mrs.
Crawley was a saving woman and knew the price of
port wine. Ever since Mrs. Bute carried off the
young Rector of Queen's Crawley (she was of a good
family, daughter of the late Lieut.-Colonel Hector
MacTavish, and she and her mother played for Bute
and won him at Harrowgate), she had been a prudent
and thrifty wife to him. In spite of her care, how-
ever, he was always in debt. It took him at least ten
years to pay off his college bills contracted during his
father's lifetime. In the year 179, when he was
just clear of these encumbrances, he gave the odds of
100 to 1 (in twenties) against Kangaroo, who won the
Derby. The Rector was obliged to take up the money
at a ruinous interest, and had been struggling ever
since. His sister helped him with a hundred now and
then, but of course his great hope was in her death
when "hang it" (as he would say), "Matilda must
leave me half her money."
So that the Baronet and his brother had every rea-
son which two brothers possibly can have for being
by the ears. Sir Pitt had had the better of Bute in
innumerable family transactions. Young Pitt not
only did not hunt, but set up a meeting-house under
his uncle's very nose. Rawdon, it was known, was to
come in for the bulk of Miss Crawley's property.
These money transactions these speculations in life.
and death these silent battles for reversionary spoil
make brothers very loving towards each other in
128
VANITY FAIR.
Vanity Fair. I, for my part, have known a five-pound
note to interpose and knock up a half-century's attach-
ment between two brethren; and can't but admire, as I
think what a fine and durable thing Love is among
worldly people.
It cannot be supposed that the arrival of such a
personage as Rebecca at Queen's Crawley, and her
gradual establishment in the good graces of all people
there, could be unremarked by Mrs. Bute Crawley.
Mrs. Bute, who knew how many days the sirloin of
beef lasted at the Hall; how much linen was got
ready at the great wash; how many peaches were on
the south wall; how many doses her ladyship took
when she was ill for such points are matters of in-
tense interest to certain persons in the country
Mrs. Bute, I say, could not pass over the Hall gov-
erness without making every inquiry respecting her
history and character. There was always the best
understanding between the servants at the Rectory
and the Hall. There was always a good glass of ale
in the kitchen of the former place for the Hall people,
whose ordinary drink was very small- and, indeed,
the Rector's lady knew exactly how much malt went
to every barrel of Hall beer-ties of relationship
existed between the Hall and Rectory domestics, as
between their masters; and through these channels
each family was perfectly well acquainted with the
doings of the other. That, by the way, may be set
down as a general remark. When you and your
brother are friends, his doings are indifferent to you.
When you have quarrelled, all his outgoings and in-
comings you know, as if you were his spy.
Very soon then after her arrival, Rebecca began to
take a regular place in Mrs. Crawley's bulletin from
the Hall. It was to this effect: "The black pork-
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
129
er's killed weighed a stone salted the sides
pig's pudding and leg of pork for dinner. Mr. Cramp
from Mudbury, over with Sir Pitt about putting John
Blackmore in gaol- Mr. Pitt at meeting (with all
the names of the people who attended) — my lady as
usual the young ladies with the governess.”
the new governess
Then the report would come
be a rare manager Sir Pitt be very sweet on her
Mr. Crawley too - He be reading tracts to her
"What an abandoned wretch!" said little, eager,
active, black-faced Mrs. Bute Crawley.
Finally, the reports were that the governess had
"come round" everybody, wrote Sir Pitt's letters, did
his business, managed his accounts
had the upper
hand of the whole house, my lady, Mr. Crawley, the
girls, and all at which Mrs. Crawley declared she
was an artful hussy, and had some dreadful designs in
view. Thus the doings at the Hall were the great
food for conversation at the Rectory, and Mrs. Bute's
bright eyes spied out everything that took place in
the enemy's camp everything and a great deal
besides.
JA
"C
▬▬▬▬
M
Mrs. Bute Crawley to Miss Pinkerton, The Mall, Chiswick.
'RECTORY, QUEEN'S CRAWLEY, December,
"MY DEAR MADAM, Although it is so many years since
I profited by your delightful and invaluable instructions, yet I
have ever retained the fondest and most reverential regard for
Miss Pinkerton, and dear Chiswick. I hope your health is
good. The world and the cause of education cannot afford to
lose Miss Pinkerton for many many years. When my friend,
Lady Fuddleston, mentioned that her dear girls required an
instructress (I am too poor to engage a governess for mine, but
was I not educated at Chiswick ?) Who,' I exclaimed, 'can
we consult but the excellent, the incomparable Miss Pinker-
VOL. I. -9
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
―
130
VANITY FAIR.
ton?' In a word, have you, dear madam, any ladies on your
list, whose services might be made available to my kind friend
and neighbor? I assure you she will take no governess but of
your choosing.
CC
My dear husband is pleased to say that he likes everything
which comes from Miss Pinkerton's school. How I wish I could
present him and my beloved girls to the friend of my youth,
and the admired of the great lexicographer of our country! If
you ever travel into Hampshire, Mr. Crawley begs me to say,
he hopes you will adorn our rural rectory with your presence.
'Tis the humble but happy home of
"Your affectionate
MARTHA CRAWLEY.
"P. S. Mr. Crawley's brother, the Baronet, with whom we
are not, alas! upon those terms of unity in which it becomes
brethren to dwell, has a governess for his little girls, who, I am
told, had the good fortune to be educated at Chiswick. I hear
various reports of her; and as I have the tenderest interest in
my dearest little nieces, whom I wish, in spite of family differ-
ences, to see among my own children and as I long to be
attentive to any pupil of yours - do, my dear Miss Pinkerton,
tell me the history of this young lady, whom, for your sake, I
am most anxious to befriend. - M. C."
Miss Pinkerton to Mrs. Bute Crawley.
"JOHNSON HOUSE, CHISWICK, Dec. 18—.
"DEAR MADAM, - I have the honor to acknowledge your
polite communication, to which I promptly reply. 'Tis most
gratifying to one in my most arduous position to find that my
maternal cares have elicited a responsive affection; and to rec-
ognize in the amiable Mrs. Bute Crawley my excellent pupil of
former years, the sprightly and accomplished Miss Martha Mac-
Tavish. I am happy to have under my charge now the daugh-
ters of many of those who were your contemporaries at my es-
tablishment what pleasure it would give me if your own be-
loved young ladies had need of my instructive superintendence!
"Presenting my respectful compliments to Lady Fuddle-
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
131
ston, I have the honor (epistolarily) to introduce to her lady-
ship my two friends, Miss Tuffin and Miss Hawky.
"Either of these young ladies is perfectly qualified to instruct
in Greek, Latin, and the rudiments of Hebrew; in mathe-
matics and history; in Spanish, French, Italian, and geogra-
phy; in music, vocal and instrumental; in dancing, without
the aid of a master; and in the elements of natural sciences.
In the use of the globes both are proficients. In addition to
these, Miss Tuffin, who is daughter of the late Reverend
Thomas Tuffin (Fellow of Corpus College, Cambridge), can
instruct in the Syriac language, and the elements of Constitu-
tional law. But as she is only eighteen years of age, and of
exceedingly pleasing personal appearance, perhaps this young
lady may be objectionable in Sir Huddleston Fuddleston's
family.

"Miss Letitia Hawky, on the other hand, is not personally
well-favored. She is twenty-nine; her face is much pitted
with the small-pox. She has a halt in her gait, red hair, and
a trifling obliquity of vision. Both ladies are endowed with
every moral and religious virtue. Their terms, of course, are
such as their accomplishments merit. With my most grateful
respects to the Reverend Bute Crawley, I have the honor
to be
"Dear madam, your most faithful and obedient servant,
"BARBARA PINKERTON.
―――
"P. S. The Miss Sharp, whom you mention as governess
to Sir Pitt Crawley, Bart., M.P., was a pupil of mine, and I
have nothing to say in her disfavor. Though her appearance
is disagreeable, we cannot control the operations of nature :
and though her parents were disreputable (her father being a
painter, several times bankrupt; and her mother, as I have
since learned, with horror, a dancer at the Opera); yet her
talents are considerable, and I cannot regret that I received
her out of charity. My dread is, lest the principles of the
mother who was represented to me as a French Countess,
forced to emigrate in the late revolutionary horrors; but who,
as I have since found, was a person of the very lowest order and
morals should at any time prove to be hereditary in the un-
132
VANITY FAIR.
happy young woman whom I took as an outcast. But her
principles have hitherto been correct (I believe), and I am sure
nothing will occur to injure them in the elegant and refined
circle of the eminent Sir Pitt Crawley."
Miss Rebecca Sharp to Miss Amelia Sedley.
"I have not written to my beloved Amelia for these many
weeks past, for what news was there to tell of the sayings and
doings at Humdrum Hall, as I have christened it; and what
do you care whether the turnip crop is good or bad; whether
the fat pig weighed thirteen stone or fourteen; and whether
the beasts thrive well upon mangelwurzel? Every day since
I last wrote has been like its neighbor. Before breakfast, a
walk with Sir Pitt and his spud; after breakfast, studies (such
as they are) in the school-room; after school-room, reading
and writing about lawyers, leases, coal-mines, canals, with Sir
Pitt (whose secretary I am become); after dinner, Mr. Craw-
ley's discourses or the Baronet's backgammon; during both of
which amusements my lady looks on with equal placidity.
She has become rather more interesting by being ailing of late,
which has brought a new visitor to the Hall, in the person of
a young doctor. Well, my dear, young women need never
despair. The young doctor gave a certain friend of yours to
understand that, if she chose to be Mrs. Glauber, she was wel-
come to ornament the surgery! I told his impudence that the
gilt pestle and mortar was quite ornament enough; as if I was
born, indeed, to be a country surgeon's wife! Mr. Glauber
went home seriously indisposed at his rebuff, took a cooling
draught, and is now quite cured. Sir Pitt applauded my reso-
I
lution highly; he would be sorry to lose his little secretary,
think; and I believe the old wretch likes me as much as it is
in his nature to like any one. Marry, indeed! and with a
country apothecary after No, no, one cannot so soon for-
Let us
get old associations, about which I will talk no more.
return to Humdrum Hall.
"For some time past it is Humdrum Hall no longer. My
dear, Miss Crawley has arrived with her fat horses, fat servants,
fat spaniel - the great rich Miss Crawley, with seventy thou
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
133
sand pounds in the five per cents, whom, or I had better say
which, her two brothers adore. She looks very apoplectic,
the dear soul; no wonder her brothers are anxious about her.
You should see them struggling to settle her cushions, or to
hand her coffee! • When I come into the country,' she says
(for she has a great deal of humor), 'I leave my toady, Miss
Briggs at home. My brothers are my toadies here, my dear,
and a pretty pair they are!'
"When she comes into the country our Hall is thrown
open, and for a month, at least, you would fancy old Sir Wal-
pole was come to life again. We have dinner-parties, and
drive out in the coach-and-four- the footmen put on their
newest canary-colored liveries; we drink claret and cham-
pagne as if we were accustomed to it every day. We have
wax candles in the school-room, and fires to warm ourselves
with. Lady Crawley is made to put on the brightest pea-
green in her wardrobe, and my pupils leave off their thick
shoes and tight old tartan pelisses, and wear silk stockings and
muslin frocks, as fashionable baronets' daughters should. Rose
came in yesterday in a sad plight the Wiltshire sow (an
enormous pet of hers) ran her down, and destroyed a most
lovely flowered lilac silk dress by dancing over it. Had this
happened a week ago, Sir Pitt would have sworn frightfully,
have boxed the poor wretch's ears, and put her upon bread
and water for a month. All he said was, 'I'll serve you out,
Miss, when your aunt 's gone,' and laughed off the accident as
quite trivial. Let us hope his wrath will have passed away
before Miss Crawley's departure. I hope so, for Miss Rose's
sake, I am sure. What a charming reconciler and peace-
maker money is!
Another admirable effect of Miss Crawley and her seventy
thousand pounds is to be seen in the conduct of the two broth-
ers Crawley. I mean the Baronet and the Rector, not our
brothers but the former, who hate each other all the year
round, become quite loving at Christmas. I wrote to you last
year how the abominable horse-racing Rector was in the habit
of preaching clumsy sermons at us at church, and how Sir Pitt
snored in answer. When Miss Crawley arrives there is no
such thing as quarrelling heard of the Hall visits the Rec-
134
VANITY FAIR.
tory, and vice versâ the parson and the Baronet talk about
the pigs and the poachers, and the county business, in the
most affable manner, and without quarrelling in their cups, I
believe — indeed Miss Crawley won't hear of their quarrelling,
and vows that she will leave her money to the Shropshire
Crawleys if they offend her. If they were clever people, those
Shropshire Crawleys, they might have it all, I think; but the
Shropshire Crawley is a clergyman like his Hampshire cousin,
and mortally offended Miss Crawley (who had fled thither in
a fit of rage against her impracticable brethren) by some strait-
laced notions of morality. He would have prayers in the
house, I believe.
"Our sermon-books are shut up when Miss Crawley arrives,
and Mr. Pitt, whom she abominates, finds it convenient to go
to town. On the other hand, the young dandy —‘blood,' I
believe, is the term - Captain Crawley makes his appearance,
and I suppose you would like to know what sort of a person
he is.
CC
'Well, he is a very large young dandy. He is six feet high,
and speaks with a great voice; and swears a great deal; and
orders about the servants, who all adore him nevertheless; for
he is very generous of his money, and the domestics will do
anything for him. Last week the keepers almost killed a
bailiff and his man who came down from London to arrest
the Captain, and who were found lurking about the park wall
they beat them, ducked them, and were going to shoot
them for poachers, but the Baronet interfered.
"The Captain has a hearty contempt for his father, I can
see, and calls him an old put, an old snob, an old chaw-bacon,
and numberless other pretty names. He has a dreadful repu-
tation among the ladies. He brings his hunters home with
him, lives with the squires of the county, asks whom he
pleases to dinner, and Sir Pitt dares not say no, for fear of
offending Miss Crawley, and missing his legacy when she dies
of her apoplexy. Shall I tell you a compliment the Captain
paid me? I must, it is so pretty. One evening we actually
had a dance; there was Sir Huddleston Fuddleston and his
family, Sir Giles Wapshot and his young ladies, and I don't
know how many more. Well, I heard him say 'By Jove,

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Miss CRAWLEY'S AFFECTIONATE RELATIVES.
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A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
135
-
she's a neat little filly!' meaning your humble servant; and
he did me the honor to dance two country-dances with me.
He gets on pretty gayly with the young squires, with whom
he drinks, bets, rides, and talks about hunting and shoot-
ing; but he says the country girls are bores; indeed, I don't
think he is far wrong. You should see the contempt with
which they look down on poor me! When they dance I sit
and play the piano very demurely; but the other night, com-
ing in rather flushed from the dining-room, and seeing me
employed in this way, he swore out loud that I was the best
dancer in the room, and took a great oath that he would have
the fiddlers from Mudbury.
"I'll go and play a country-dance,' said Mrs. Bute Craw-
ley, very readily (she is a little, black-faced old woman in a
turban, rather crooked, and with very twinkling eyes); and
after the Captain and your poor little Rebecca had performed a
dance together, do you know she actually did me the honor to
compliment me upon my steps! Such a thing was never heard
of before; the proud Mrs. Bute Crawley, first cousin to the
Earl of Tiptoff, who won't condescend to visit Lady Crawley,
except when her sister is in the country. Poor Lady Crawley!
during most part of these gayeties, she is up stairs taking
pills.
"Mrs. Bute has all of a sudden taken a great fancy to me
My dear Miss Sharp,' she says, 'why not bring over your
girls to the Rectory? their cousins will be so happy to see
them.' I know what she means. Signor Clementi did not
teach us the piano for nothing; at which price Mrs. Bute
hopes to get a professor for her children. I can see through
her schemes, as though she told them to me; but I shall go,
as I am determined to make myself agreeable -- is it not a
poor governess's duty, who has not a friend or protector in the
world? The Rector's wife paid me a score of compliments
about the progress my pupils made, and thought, no doubt, to
touch my heart poor, simple, country soul! - as if I cared
a fig about my pupils!
“Your India muslin and your pink silk, dearest Amelia, are
said to become me very well. They are a good deal worn now ;
but, you know, we poor girls can't afford des fraiches toilettes.
136
VANITY FAIR.
Happy, happy you! who have but to drive to St. James's
Street, and a dear mother who will give you anything you ask.
Farewell, dearest girl,
"Your affectionate
"REBECCA.
"P. S. I wish you could have seen the faces of the Miss
Blackbrooks (Admiral Blackbrook's daughters, my dear), fine
young ladies, with dresses from London, when Captain Raw-
don selected poor me for a partner !"
When Mrs. Bute Crawley (whose artifices our
ingenious Rebecca had so soon discovered) had pro-
cured from Miss Sharp the promise of a visit, she
induced the all-powerful Miss Crawley to make the
necessary application to Sir Pitt; and the good-na-
tured old lady, who loved to be gay herself, and to see
every one gay and happy round about her, was quite
charmed, and ready to establish a reconciliation and
intimacy between her two brothers. It was therefore
agreed that the young people of both families should
visit each other frequently for the future, and the
friendship of course lasted as long as the jovial old
mediatrix was there to keep the peace.
(6
Why did you ask that scoundrel, Rawdon Craw-
ley, to dine?" said the Rector to his lady, as they
were walking home through the park. "I don't want
the fellow. He looks down upon us country people
as so many blackamoors. He's never content unless
he gets my yellow-sealed wine, which costs me ten
shillings a bottle, hang him! Besides, he's such an
infernal character - he's a gambler - he's a drunk-
ard he's a profligate in every way. He shot a man
in a duel—he's over head and ears in debt, and he's
robbed me and mine of the best part of Miss Crawley's
fortune. Waxy says she has him" here the Rector
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
137
shook his fist at the moon, with something very like
an oath, and added, in a melancholious tone
down in her will for fifty thousand; and there won't
be above thirty to divide."
"I think she's going," said the Rector's wife.
"She was very red in the face when we left dinner.
I was obliged to unlace her."
"She drank seven glasses of champagne," said the
reverend gentleman, in a low voice;
" and filthy
champagne it is, too, that my brother poisons us with
but you women never know what 's what.”
"We know nothing," said Mrs. Bute Crawley.
"She drank cherry-brandy after dinner," continued
his Reverence, "and took curaçoa with her coffee. I
would n't take a glass for a five-pound note: it kills
me with heartburn. She can't stand it, Mrs. Crawley
she must go flesh and blood won't bear it! and I
lay five to two, Matilda drops in a year.”
Sing
Indulging in these solemn speculations, and think-
ing about his debts, and his son Jim at college,
and Frank at Woolwich, and the four girls, who
were no beauties, poor things, and would not have
a penny but what they got from the aunt's expected
legacy, the Rector and his lady walked on for a
while.
"Pitt can't be such an infernal villain as to sell
the reversion of the living. And that Methodist
milksop of an eldest son looks to Parliament," con-
tinued Mr. Crawley, after a pause.
"Sir Pitt Crawley will do anything," said the
Rector's wife. "We must get Miss Crawley to make
him promise it to James."
"Pitt will promise anything," replied the brother.
"He promised he'd pay my college bills, when my
father died; he promised he'd build the new wing to
138
VANITY FAIR,
the Rectory; he promised he'd let me have Jibb's
field and the Six-acre Meadow- and much he exe-
cuted his promises! And it's to this man's son
this scoundrel, gambler, swindler, murderer of a
Rawdon Crawley, that Matilda leaves the bulk of her
money. I say it's unchristian. By Jove, it is. The
infamous dog has got every vice except hypocrisy,
and that belongs to his brother."
(C
Hush, my dearest love! we 're in Sir Pitt's
grounds," interposed his wife.
"I say he has got every vice, Mrs. Crawley. Don't,
Ma'am, bully me. Didn't he shoot Captain Marker?
Didn't he rob young Lord Dovedale at the Cocoa-
Tree? Didn't he cross the fight between Bill
Soames and the Cheshire Trump, by which I lost
forty pound? You know he did; and as for the
women, why, you heard that before me, in my own
magistrate's room
99
"For Heaven's sake, Mr. Crawley," said the lady,
spare me the details."
"And you asked this villain into your house!"
continued the exasperated Rector. "You, the mother
of a young family - the wife of a clergyman of the
Church of England. By Jove!"
"Bute Crawley, you are a fool," said the Rector's
wife, scornfully.
(6
Well, Ma'am, fool or not—and I don't say, Mar-
tha, I'm so clever as you are, I never did. But I
won't meet Rawdon Crawley, that's flat.
I'll go
over to Huddleston, that I will, and see his black
greyhound, Mrs. Crawley; and I'll run Lancelot
against him for fifty. By Jove, I will; or against
any dog in England. But I won't meet that beast
Rawdon Crawley."
"Mr. Crawley, you are intoxicated, as usual," re-
66
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
139
plied his wife. And the next morning, when the
Rector woke, and called for small beer, she put him
in mind of his promise to visit Sir Huddleston Fud-
dleston on Saturday, and as he knew he should have
a wet night, it was agreed that he might gallop back
again in time for church on Sunday morning. Thus
it will be seen that the parishioners of Crawley were
equally happy in their squire and in their rector.
Miss Crawley had not long been established at the
Hall before Rebecca's fascinations had won the heart
of that good-natured London rake, as they had of the
country innocents whom we have been describing.
Taking her accustomed drive, one day, she thought
fit to order that "that little governess" should accom-
pany her to Mudbury. Before they had returned
Rebecca had made a conquest of her; having made
her laugh four times, and amused her during the
whole of the little journey.
"Not let Miss Sharp dine at table!" said she to
Sir Pitt, who had arranged a dinner of ceremony, and
asked all the neighboring baronets. "My dear creat-
ure, do you suppose I can talk about the nursery
with Lady Fuddleston, or discuss justices' business
with that goose, old Sir Giles Wapshot? I insist
upon Miss Sharp appearing. Let Lady Crawley re-
main up stairs, if there is no room. But little Miss
Sharp! Why, she's the only person fit to talk to in
the county!"
Of course, after such a peremptory order as this,
Miss Sharp, the governess, received commands to
dine with the illustrious company below stairs. And
when Sir Huddleston had, with great pomp and
ceremony, handed Miss Crawley in to dinner, and was
preparing to take his place by her side, the old lady
140
VANITY FAIR.
cried out, in a shrill voice, "Becky Sharp! Miss
Sharp! Come you and sit by me and amuse me; and
let Sir Huddleston sit by Lady Wapshot."
When the parties were over, and the carriages had
rolled away, the insatiable Miss Crawley would say,
"Come to my dressing-room, Becky, and let us abuse.
the company," which, between them, this pair of
friends did perfectly. Old Sir Huddleston wheezed
a great deal at dinner; Sir Giles Wapshot had a par-
ticularly noisy manner of imbibing his soup, and her
ladyship a wink of the left eye; all of which Becky
caricatured to admiration; as well as the particulars.
of the night's conversation; the politics; the war;
the quarter-sessions; the famous run with the H. H.,
and those heavy and dreary themes, about which coun-
try gentlemen converse. As for the Misses Wapshots'
toilettes and Lady Fuddleston's famous yellow hat,
Miss Sharp tore them to tatters, to the infinite amuse-
ment of her audience.
"My dear, you are a perfect trouvaille," Miss Craw-
ley would say. "I wish you could come to me in
London, but I could n't make a butt of you as I do of
poor Briggs
no, no, you little sly creature; you are
Is n't she, Firkin ?
too clever
Mrs. Firkin (who was dressing the very small rem-
nant of hair which remained on Miss Crawley's pate)
flung up her head and said, "I think Miss is very
clever," with the most killing sarcastic air.
In fact,
Mrs. Firkin had that natural jealousy which is one of
the main principles of every honest woman.
After rebuffing Sir Huddleston Fuddleston, Miss
Crawley ordered that Rawdon Crawley should lead her
in to dinner every day, and that Becky should follow
with her cushion or else she would have Becky's arm
and Rawdon with the pillow. "We must sit together,"
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
141
she said. "We're the only three Christians in the
county, my love"-in which case, it must be con-
fessed, that religion was at a very low ebb in the
county of Hants.
Besides being such a fine religionist, Miss Crawley
was, as we have said, an Ultra-liberal in opinions, and
always took occasion to express these in the most
candid manner.
Ag
"What is birth, my dear?" she would say to Re-
becca - "Look at my brother Pitt; look at the Hud-
dlestons, who have been here since Henry II.; look at
poor Bute at the parsonage, is any one of them
equal to you in intelligence or breeding? Equal
to you
they are not even equal to poor dear Briggs,
my companion, or Bowls, my butler. You, my love,
are a little paragon-positively a little jewel - You
have more brains than half the shire — if merit had
its reward, you ought to be a Duchess
- no, there
ought to be no duchesses at all—but you ought to
have no superior, and I consider you, my love, as my
equal in every respect; and will you put some coals
on the fire, my dear; and will you pick this dress of
mine, and alter it, you who can do it so well?" So
this old philanthropist used to make her equal run of
her errands, execute her millinery, and read her to
sleep with French novels, every night.
At this time, as some old readers may recollect, the
genteel world had been thrown into a considerable
state of excitement, by two events, which, as the
papers say, might give employment to the gentlemen
of the long robe. Ensign Shafton had run away with
Lady Barbara Fitzurse, the Earl of Bruin's daughter
and heiress; and poor Vere Vane, a gentleman who,
up to forty, had maintained a most respectable char-
acter and reared a numerous family, suddenly and
142
VANITY FAIR.
outrageously left his home, for the sake of Mrs.
Rougemont, the actress, who was sixty-five years of
age.
"That was the most beautiful part of dear Lord
Nelson's character," Miss Crawley said. "He went
to the deuce for a woman. There must be good in a
man who will do that. I adore all imprudent matches.
What I like best, is for a nobleman to marry a mil-
ler's daughter, as Lord Flowerdale did — it makes all
the women so angry I wish some great man would
run away with you, my dear; I'm sure you 're pretty
enough."
66
Two post-boys! Oh, it would be delightful!"
Rebecca owned.
“And what I like next best, is, for a poor fellow to
run away with a rich girl. I have set my heart on
Rawdon running away with some one."
“A rich some one, or a poor some one?"
(6
Why, you goose! Rawdon has not a shilling but
what I give him. He is criblé de dettes he must
repair his fortunes, and succeed in the world."
"Is he very clever ?" Rebecca asked.
Clever, my love? not an idea in the world be-
yond his horses, and his regiment, and his hunting,
and his play; but he must succeed-he's so delight-
fully wicked. Don't you know he has hit a man, and
shot an injured father through the hat only? He's
adored in his regiment; and all the young men at
Wattier's and the Cocoa-Tree swear by him."
When Miss Rebecca Sharp wrote to her beloved
friend the account of the little ball at Queen's Craw-
ley, and the manner in which, for the first time, Cap-
tain Crawley had distinguished her, she did not,
strange to relate, give an altogether accurate account
of the transaction. The Captain had distinguished
M
—
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
143
P
her a great number of times before. The Captain
had met her in a half-score of walks. The Captain
had lighted upon her in a half-hundred of corridors.
and passages. The Captain had hung over her piano
twenty times of an evening (my lady was now up
stairs, being ill, and nobody heeded her) as Miss
Sharp sang. The Captain had written her notes (the
best that the great blundering dragoon could devise
and spell; but dulness gets on as well as any other
quality with women). But when he put the first of
the notes into the leaves of the song she was singing,
the little governess, rising and looking him steadily
in the face, took up the triangular missive daintily,
and waved it about as if it were a cocked hat, and
she, advancing to the enemy, popped the note into
the fire, and made him a very low curtsy, and went
back to her place, and began to sing away again more
merrily than ever.
"What's that?" said Miss Crawley, interrupted
in her after-dinner doze by the stoppage of the music.
"It's a false note," Miss Sharp said, with a
laugh; and Rawdon Crawley fumed with rage and
mortification.
Seeing the evident partiality of Miss Crawley for
the new governess, how good it was of Mrs. Bute
Crawley not to be jealous, and to welcome the young
lady to the Rectory, and not only her, but Rawdon
Crawley, her husband's rival in the old maid's five
per cents! They became very fond of each other's
society, Mrs. Crawley and her nephew. He gave up
hunting he declined entertainments at Fuddleston:
he would not dine with the mess of the depot at Mud-
bury his great pleasure was to stroll over to Crawley
parsonage whither Miss Crawley came too; and as
their mamma was ill, why not the children with Miss
:
144
VANITY FAIR.
Sharp? So the children (little dears!) came with
Miss Sharp; and of an evening some of the party
would walk back together. Not Miss Crawley-she
preferred her carriage — but the walk over the Rec-
tory fields, and in at the little park wicket, and
through the dark plantation, and up the checkered
avenue to Queen's Crawley, was charming in the
moonlight to two such lovers of the picturesque as
the Captain and Miss Rebecca.
(6
Oh, those stars, those stars!" Miss Rebecca would
say, turning her twinkling green eyes up towards
them. "I feel myself almost a spirit when I gaze
upon them."
"Oh ah Gad
yes, so do I exactly, Miss
Sharp," the other enthusiast replied. "You don't
mind my cigar, do you, Miss Sharp ?" Miss Sharp
loved the smell of a cigar out of doors beyond every-
thing in the world and she just tasted one too, in
the prettiest way possible, and gave a little puff, and
a little scream, and a little giggle, and restored the
delicacy to the Captain; who twirled his moustache,
and straightway puffed it into a blaze that glowed
quite red in the dark plantation, and swore
"Jove
aw Gad aw - it's the finest segaw I ever
smoked in the world aw," for his intellect and con-
versation were alike brilliant and becoming to a heavy
young dragoon.
Old Sir Pitt, who was taking his pipe and beer, and
talking to John Horrocks about a "ship " that was to
be killed, espied the pair so occupied from his study-
window, and with dreadful oaths swore that if it
was n't for Miss Crawley, he'd take Rawdon and bun-
dle un out of doors, like a rogue as he was.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
-
"He be a bad 'n, sure enough," Mr. Horrocks re-
marked; "and his man Flethers is wuss, and have
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
145
made such a row in the housekeeper's room about the
dinners and hale, as no lord would make - but I
think Miss Sharp's a match for 'n, Sir Pitt," he added,
after a pause.
And so, in truth, she was
for father and son too.
VOL. I. — 10
CHAPTER XII.
QUITE A SENTIMENTAL CHAPTER.
We must now take leave of Arcadia, and those
amiable people practising the rural virtues there, and
travel back to London, to inquire what has become of
Miss Amelia. "We don't care a fig for her," writes
some unknown correspondent with a pretty little
handwriting and a pink seal to her note. "She is
fade and insipid," and adds some more kind remarks
in this strain, which I should never have repeated at
all, but that they are in truth prodigiously compli-
mentary to the young lady whom they concern.
Has the beloved reader, in his experience of society,
never heard similar remarks by good-natured female
friends; who always wonder what you can see in
Miss Smith that is so fascinating; or what could in-
duce Major Jones to propose for that silly insignifi-
cant simpering Miss Thompson, who has nothing but
her wax-doll face to recommend her? What is there
in a pair of pink cheeks and blue eyes forsooth? these
dear Moralists ask, and hint wisely that the gifts of
genius, the accomplishments of the mind, the mastery
of Mangnall's Questions, and a ladylike knowledge of
botany and geology, the knack of making poetry, the
power of rattling sonatas in the Herz-manner, and so
forth, are far more valuable endowments for a female,
than those fugitive charms which a few years will in-
evitably tarnish. It is quite edifying to hear women
speculate upon the worthlessness and the duration of
beauty.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
147
But though virtue is a much finer thing, and those
hapless creatures who suffer under the misfortune of
good looks ought to be continually put in mind of the
fate which awaits them; and though, very likely, the
heroic female character which ladies admire is a more
glorious and beautiful object than the kind, fresh,
smiling, artless, tender little domestic goddess, whom
men are inclined to worship - yet the latter and in-
ferior sort of women must have this consolation
that the men do admire them after all; and that, in
spite of all our kind friends' warnings and protests,
we go on in our desperate error and folly, and shall to
the end of the chapter. Indeed, for my own part,
though I have been repeatedly told by persons for
whom I have the greatest respect, that Miss Brown is
an insignificant chit, and Mrs. White has nothing but
her petit minois chiffonné, and Mrs. Black has not a
word to say for herself; yet I know that I have had
the most delightful conversations with Mrs. Black (of
course, my dear Madam, they are inviolable): I see
all the men in a cluster round Mrs. White's chair: all
the young fellows battling to dance with Miss Brown;
and so I am tempted to think that to be despised by
her sex is a very great compliment to a woman.
The young ladies in Amelia's society did this for her
very satisfactorily. For instance, there was scarcely
any point upon which the Misses Osborne, George's
sisters, and the Mesdemoiselles Dobbin agreed so well
as in their estimate of her very trifling merits: and
their wonder that their brothers could find any charms
in her. “We are kind to her," the Misses Osborne
said, a pair of fine black-browed young ladies who had
had the best of governesses, masters, and milliners;
and they treated her with such extreme kindness and
condescension, and patronized her so insufferably, that
148
VANITY FAIR.
the poor little thing was in fact perfectly dumb in
their presence, and to all outward appearance as stupid
as they thought her. She made efforts to like them,
as in duty bound, and as sisters of her future husband.
She passed "long mornings" with them the most
dreary and serious of forenoons. She drove out sol-
emnly in their great family coach with them, and
Miss Wirt their governess, that raw-boned vestal.
They took her to the ancient concerts by way of a
treat, and to the oratorio, and to St. Paul's to see the
charity children, where in such terror was she of her
friends, she almost did not dare be affected by the
hymn the children sang. Their house was comfort-
able; their papa's table rich and handsome; their
society solemn and genteel; their self-respect pro-
digious; they had the best pew at the Foundling; all
their habits were pompous and orderly, and all their
amusements intolerably dull and decorous. After
every one of her visits (and oh, how glad she was
when they were over!) Miss Osborne and Miss Maria
Osborne, and Miss Wirt, the vestal governess, asked
each other with increased wonder, "What could George
find in that creature?"
How is this? some carping reader exclaims. How
is it that Amelia, who had such a number of friends
at school, and was so beloved there, comes out into the
world and is spurned by her discriminating sex? My
dear sir, there were no men at Miss Pinkerton's es-
tablishment except the old dancing-master; and you
would not have had the girls fall out about him?
When George, their handsome brother, ran off directly
after breakfast, and dined from home half a dozen
times a week, no wonder the neglected sisters felt a
little vexation. When young Bullock (of the firm of
Hulker, Bullock & Co., Bankers, Lombard Street), who
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
149
had been making up to Miss Maria the last two sea-
sons, actually asked Amelia to dance the cotillon,
could you expect that the former young lady should
be pleased? And yet she said she was, like an artless
forgiving creature. "I'm so delighted you like dear
Amelia," she said quite eagerly to Mr. Bullock after
the dance. "She's engaged to my brother George;
there's not much in her, but she's the best-natured and
most unaffected young creature: at home we're all so
fond of her." Dear girl! who can calculate the depth
of affection expressed in that enthusiastic so?
Miss Wirt and these two affectionate young women
so earnestly and frequently impressed upon George
Osborne's mind the enormity of the sacrifice he was
making, and his romantic generosity in throwing him.
self away upon Amelia, that I'm not sure but that he
really thought he was one of the most deserving char-
acters in the British army, and gave himself up to be
loved with a good deal of easy resignation.
Somehow, although he left home every morning, as
was stated, and dined abroad six days in the week,
when his sisters believed the infatuated youth to be at
Miss Sedley's apron-strings, he was not always with
Amelia, whilst the world supposed him at her feet.
Certain it is that on more occasions than one, when
Captain Dobbin called to look for his friend, Miss
Osborne (who was very attentive to the Captain, and
anxious to hear his military stories, and to know about
the health of his dear mamma) would laughingly point
to the opposite side of the square, and say, “Oh, you
must go to the Sedleys to ask for George; we never
see him from morning till night." At which kind of
speech the Captain would laugh in rather an absurd
constrained manner, and turn off the conversation, like
a consummate man of the world, to some topic of gen
150
VANITY FAIR.
eral interest, such as the Opera, the Prince's last ball
at Carlton House, or the weather that blessing to
society.
"What an innocent it is, that pet of yours," Miss
Maria would then say to Miss Jane, upon the Cap-
tain's departure. "Did you see how he blushed at
the mention of poor George on duty?"
"It's a pity Frederick Bullock had n't some of his
modesty, Maria," replies the elder sister, with a toss
of her head.
"Modesty!
I
Awkwardness you mean, Jane.
don't want Frederick to trample a hole in my muslin
frock, as Captain Dobbin did in yours at Mrs.
Perkins's."
"In your frock, he, he! How could he? Was n't
he dancing with Amelia?"
The fact is, when Captain Dobbin blushed so, and
looked so awkward, he remembered a circumstance of
which he did not think it was necessary to inform the
young ladies, viz., that he had been calling at Mr.
Sedley's house already, on the pretence of seeing
George, of course, and George was n't there, only poor
little Amelia, with rather a sad wistful face, seated
near the drawing-room window, who, after some very
trifling stupid talk, ventured to ask, was there any
truth in the report that the regiment was soon to be
ordered abroad; and had Captain Dobbin seen Mr.
Osborne that day?
The regiment was not ordered abroad as yet; and
Captain Dobbin had not seen George. "He was with
his sister, most likely," the Captain said. "Should he
go and fetch the truant?" So she gave him her hand
kindly and gratefully: and he crossed the square;
and she waited and waited, but George never came.
Poor little tender heart! and so it goes on hoping
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
151
and beating, and longing and trusting. You see it is
not much of a life to describe. There is not much of
what you call incident in it. Only one feeling all day
when will he come? only one thought to sleep and
wake upon. I believe George was playing billiards
with Captain Cannon in Swallow Street at the time
when Amelia was asking Captain Dobbin about him;
for George was a jolly sociable fellow, and excellent
in all games of skill.
Once, after three days of absence, Miss Amelia put
on her bonnet, and actually invaded the Osborne
house. "What! leave our brother to come to us?"
said the young ladies. "Have you had a quarrel,
Amelia? Do tell us!" No, indeed, there had been
no quarrel. "Who could quarrel with him?" says
she, with her eyes filled with tears. She only came
to see her dear friends; they had not met
for so long. And this day she was so perfectly stupid
and awkward, that the Misses Osborne and their gov-
erness, who stared after her as she went sadly away,
wondered more than ever what George could see in
poor little Amelia.
over to
Of course they did. How was she to bare that
timid little heart for the inspection of those young
ladies with their bold black eyes? It was best that
it should shrink and hide itself. I know the Miss
Osbornes were excellent critics of a cashmere shawl,
or a pink satin slip; and when Miss Turner had
hers dyed purple, and made into a spencer; and when
Miss Pickford had her ermine tippet twisted into
a muff and trimmings, I warrant you the changes did
not escape the two intelligent young women before
mentioned. But there are things, look you, of a finer
texture than fur or satin, and all Solomon's glories,
and all the wardrobe of the Queen of Sheba ; — things
152
VANITY FAIR.
whereof the beauty escapes the eyes of many connois-
seurs. And there are sweet modest little souls on
which you light, fragrant and blooming tenderiy in
quiet shady places; and there are garden-ornaments,
as big as brass warming-pans, that are fit to stare the
sun itself out of countenance. Miss Sedley was not
of the sunflower sort; and I say it is out of the rules
of all proportion to draw a violet of the size of a
double dahlia.
No, indeed; the life of a good young girl who is in
the paternal nest as yet, can't have many of those
thrilling incidents to which the heroine of romance
commonly lays claim. Snares or shot may take off
the old birds foraging without
hawks may be
abroad, from which they escape or by whom they
suffer; but the young ones in the nest have a pretty
comfortable unromantic sort of existence in the down
and the straw, till it comes to their turn, too, to get
on the wing. While Becky Sharp was on her own
wing in the country, hopping on all sorts of twigs, and
amid a multiplicity of traps, and pecking up her food
quite harmless and successful, Amelia lay snug in her
home of Russell Square; if she went into the world,
it was under the guidance of the elders; nor did it
seem that any evil could befall her or that opulent
cheery comfortable home in which she was affection-
ately sheltered. Mamma had her morning duties,
and her daily drive, and the delightful round of visits
and shopping which forms the amusement, or the pro-
fession as you may call it, of the rich London lady.
Papa conducted his mysterious operations in the City
a stirring place in those days, when war was raging
all over Europe, and empires were being staked;
when the "Courier" newspaper had tens of thousands
of subscribers; when one day brought you a battle of
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
153
Vittoria, another a burning of Moscow, or a news-
man's horn, blowing down Russell Square about
dinner-time, announced such a fact as "Battle of
Leipsic-six hundred thousand men engaged — total
defeat of the French-two hundred thousand killed."
Old Sedley once or twice came home with a very grave
face; and no wonder, when such news as this was agi-
tating all the hearts and all the Stocks of Europe.
Meanwhile matters went on in Russell Square,
Bloomsbury, just as if matters in Europe were not in
the least disorganized. The retreat from Leipsic made
no difference in the number of meals Mr. Sambo took
in the servants' hall; the allies poured into France,
and the dinner-bell rang at five o'clock just as usual.
I don't think poor Amelia cared anything about Bri-
enne and Montmirail, or was fairly interested in the
war until the abdication of the Emperor; when she
clapped her hands and said prayers, oh, how grate-
ful! and flung herself into George Osborne's arms
with all her soul, to the astonishment of everybody
who witnessed that ebullition of sentiment. The fact
is, peace was declared, Europe was going to be at rest;
the Corsican was overthrown, and Lieutenant Os-
borne's regiment would not be ordered on service.
That was the way in which Miss Amelia reasoned.
The fate of Europe was Lieutenant George Osborne
to her. His dangers being over, she sang Te Deum.
He was her Europe: her emperor: her allied monarchst
and august prince regent. He was her sun and moon;
and I believe she thought the grand illumination and
ball at the Mansion House, given to the sovereigns,
were especially in honor of George Osborne.
ww
We have talked of shift, self, and poverty, as those
dismal instructors under whom poor Miss Becky Sharp
154
VANITY FAIR.
got her education. Now, love was Miss Amelia Sed-
ley's last tutoress, and it was amazing what progress
our young lady made under that popular teacher. In
the course of fifteen or eighteen months' daily and
constant attention to this eminent finishing governess,
what a deal of secrets Amelia learned, which Miss
Wirt and the black-eyed young ladies over the way,
which old Miss Pinkerton of Chiswick herself, had no
cognizance of! As, indeed, how should any of those.
prim and reputable virgins? With Misses P. and W.
the tender passion is out of the question: I would not
dare to breathe such an idea regarding them. Miss
Maria Osborne, it is true, was "attached" to Mr. Fred-
erick Augustus Bullock, of the firm of Hulker, Bul-
lock & Bullock; but hers was a most respectable attach-
ment, and she would have taken Bullock Senior just.
the same, her mind being fixed, as that of a well-bred
young woman should be, upon a house in Park Lane, a
country house at Wimbledon, a handsome chariot, and
two prodigious tall horses and footmen, and a fourth
of the annual profits of the eminent firm of Hulker &
Bullock, all of which advantages were represented in
the person of Frederick Augustus. Had orange blos-
soms been invented then (those touching emblems of
female purity imported by us from France, where
people's daughters are universally sold in marriage),
Miss Maria, I say, would have assumed the spotless
wreath, and stepped into the travelling carriage by the
side of gouty, old, bald-headed, bottle-nosed Bullock
Senior; and devoted her beautiful existence to his hap-
piness with perfect modesty, — only the old gentleman
was married already; so she bestowed her young affec-
tions on the junior partner. Sweet, blooming, orange-
flowers! The other day I saw Miss Trotter that
was, arrayed in them, trip into the travelling carriage
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
155
at St. George's, Hanover Square, and Lord Methuselah
hobbled in after. With what an engaging modesty she
pulled down the blinds of the chariot — the dear inno-
cent! There were half the carriages of Vanity Fair
at the wedding.
ers.
This was not the sort of love that finished Amelia's
education; and in the course of a year turned a good
young girl into a good young woman - to be a good
wife presently, when the happy time should come.
This young person (perhaps it was very imprudent in
her parents to encourage her, and abet her in such
idolatry and silly romantic ideas) loved, with all her
heart, the young officer in His Majesty's service with
whom we have made a brief acquaintance. She
thought about him the very first moment on waking;
and his was the very last name mentioned in her pray-
She never had seen a man so beautiful or so
clever: such a figure on horseback: such a dancer:
such a hero in general. Talk of the Prince's bow!
what was it to George's? She had seen Mr. Brum-
mell, whom everybody praised so. Compare such a
person as that to her George! Not amongst all the
beaux of the Opera (and there were beaux in those days
with actual opera hats) was there any one to equal him.
He was only good enough to be a fairy prince; and
oh, what magnanimity to stoop to such a humble Cin-
derella! Miss Pinkerton would have tried to check
this blind devotion very likely, had she been Amelia's
confidante; but not with much success, depend upon
it. It is in the nature and instinct of some women.
Some are made to scheme, and some to love; and I
wish any respected bachelor that reads this may take
the sort that best likes him.
·
While under this overpowering impression, Miss
Amelia neglected her twelve dear friends at Chiswick
156
VANITY FAIR.
most cruelly, as such selfish people commonly will do.
She had but this subject, of course, to think about;
and Miss Saltire was too cold for a confidante, and
she couldn't bring her mind to tell Miss Swartz, the
woolly-haired young heiress from St. Kitt's. She had
little Laura Martin home for the holidays; and my
belief is, she made a confidante of her, and promised
that Laura should come and live with her when she
was married, and gave Laura a great deal of informa-
tion regarding the passion of love, which must have
been singularly useful and novel to that little person.
Alas, alas! I fear poor Emmy had not a well-regulated
mind.
What were her parents doing, not to keep this little
heart from beating so fast? Old Sedley did not seem
much to notice matters. He was graver of late, and
his City affairs absorbed him. Mrs. Sedley was of so
easy and uninquisitive a nature, that she was n't even
jealous. Mr. Jos was away, being besieged by an
Irish widow at Cheltenham. Amelia had the house
to herself — ah! too much to herself sometimes - not
that she ever doubted; for, to be sure, George must be
at the Horse Guards; and he can't always get leave
from Chatham; and he must see his friends and sis-
ters, and mingle in society when in town (he, such an
ornament to every society!); and when he is with the
regiment, he is too tired to write long letters. I know
where she kept that packet she had — and can steal in
and out of her chamber like Iachimo like Iachimo?
No that is a bad part. I will only act Moonshine,
and peep harmless into the bed where faith and beauty
and innocence lie dreaming.
But if Osborne's were short and soldierlike letters,
it must be confessed, that were Miss Sedley's letters
to Mr. Osborne to be published, we should have to ex-
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
157
tend this novel to such a multiplicity of volumes as
not the most sentimental reader could support; that
she not only filled sheets of large paper, but crossed
them with the most astonishing perverseness; that
she wrote whole pages out of poetry-books without the
least pity; that she underlined words and passages
with quite a frantic emphasis; and, in fine, gave the
usual tokens of her condition. She was n't a heroine.
Her letters were full of repetition. She wrote rather
doubtful grammar sometimes, and in her verses took
all sorts of liberties with the metre. But oh, mes-
dames, if you are not allowed to touch the heart some-
times in spite of syntax, and are not to be loved until
you all know the difference between trimeter and te-
trameter, may all Poetry go to the deuce, and every
schoolmaster perish miserably !
CHAPTER XIII.
SENTIMENTAL AND OTHERWISE.
I FEAR the gentleman to whom Miss Amelia's let-
ters were addressed was rather an obdurate critic.
Such a number of notes followed Lieutenant Osborne
about the country, that he became almost ashamed
of the jokes of his mess-room companions regarding
them, and ordered his servant never to deliver them,
except at his private apartment. He was seen light-
ing his cigar with one, to the horror of Captain Dob-
bin, who, it is my belief, would have given a bank-note
for the document.
For some time George strove to keep the liaison a
secret. There was a woman in the case, that he
admitted. "And not the first either," said Ensign.
Spooney to Ensign Stubble. "That Osborne's a
devil of a fellow. There was a judge's daughter at
Demerara went almost mad about him; then there
was that beautiful quadroon girl, Miss Pye, at St.
Vincent's, you know; and since he's been home, they
say he's a regular Don Giovanni, by Jove."
Stubble and Spooney thought that to be a "regular
Don Giovanni, by Jove," was one of the finest quali-
ties a man could possess; and Osborne's reputation
was prodigious amongst the young men of the regi
ment. He was famous in field-sports, famous at a
song, famous on parade; free with his money, which
was bountifully supplied by his father. His coats.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
159
were better made than any man's in the regiment,
and he had more of them. He was adored by the
men. He could drink more than any officer of the
whole mess, including old Heavytop, the colonel. He
could spar better than Knuckles, the private (who
would have been a corporal but for his drunkenness,
and who had been in the prize-ring); and was the best
batter and bowler, out and out, of the regimental club.
He rode his own horse, Greased Lightning, and won
the Garrison cup at Quebec races. There were other
people besides Amelia who worshipped him. Stubble
and Spooney thought him a sort of Apollo; Dobbin
took him to be an Admirable Crichton; and Mrs.
Major O'Dowd acknowledged he was an elegant young
fellow, and put her in mind of Fitzjurld Fogarty, Lord
Castlefogarty's second son.
Well, Stubble and Spooney and the rest indulged
in most romantic conjectures regarding this female
correspondent of Osborne's, — opining that it was a
Duchess in London, who was in love with him, or
that it was a General's daughter, who was engaged to
somebody else, and madly attached to him, or that
it was a Member of Parliament's lady, who proposed
four horses and an elopement, or that it was some
other victim of a passion delightfully exciting, roman-
tic, and disgraceful to all parties, on none of which
conjectures would Osborne throw the least light,
leaving his young admirers and friends to invent
and arrange their whole history.
And the real state of the case would never have
been known at all in the regiment but for Captain
Dobbin's indiscretion. The Captain was eating his
breakfast one day in the mess-room, while Cackle, the
assistant-surgeon, and the two above-named worthies
were speculating upon Osborne's intrigue - Stubble
www
160
VANITY FAIR.
holding out that the lady was a Duchess about Queen
Charlotte's court, and Cackle vowing she was an
opera-singer of the worst reputation. At this idea
Dobbin became so moved, that though his mouth was
full of eggs and bread-and-butter at the time, and
though he ought not to have spoken at all, yet he
couldn't help blurting out, "Cackle, you're a stupid
fool. You're always talking nonsense and scandal.
Osborne is not going to run off with a Duchess or
ruin a milliner. Miss Sedley is one of the most
charming young women that ever lived. He's been
engaged to her ever so long; and the man who calls
her names had better not do so in my hearing." With
which, turning exceedingly red, Dobbin ceased speak-
ing, and almost choked himself with a cup of tea.
The story was over the regiment in half an hour;
and that very evening Mrs. Major O'Dowd wrote off
to her sister Glorvina at O'Dowdstown not to hurry
from Dublin, young Osborne being prematurely
engaged already.
She complimented the Lieutenant in an appropriate
speech over a glass of whiskey-toddy that evening,
and he went home perfectly furious to quarrel with
Dobbin (who had declined Mrs. Major O'Dowd's
party, and sat in his own room playing the flute, and,
I believe, writing poetry in a very melancholy man-
ner) to quarrel with Dobbin for betraying hist
secret.
"Who the deuce asked you to talk about my af-
fairs?" Osborne shouted indignantly. "Why the
devil is all the regiment to know that I am going to
be married? Why is that tattling old harridan,
Peggy O'Dowd, to make free with my name at her
d-d supper-table, and advertise my engagement over
the three kingdoms? After all, what right have you
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
161
to say I am engaged, or to meddle in my business at
all, Dobbin?"
"It seems to me,” — Captain Dobbin began.
"Seems be hanged, Dobbin," his junior interrupted
him. "I am under obligations to you, I know it, a
d-d deal too well too; but I won't be always ser-
monized by you because you're five years my senior.
I'm hanged if I'll stand your airs of superiority and
infernal pity and patronage. Pity and patronage! I
should like to know in what I'm your inferior?"
"Are you engaged?" Captain Dobbin interposed.
"What the devil's that to you or any one here if I
am?"
"Are you ashamed of it?" Dobbin resumed.
"What right have you to ask me that question,
sir? I should like to know," George said.
"Good God, you don't mean to say you want to
break off?" asked Dobbin, starting up.
"In other words, you ask me if I'm a man of
honor," said Osborne, fiercely; "is that what you
mean? You've adopted such a tone regarding me
lately that I'm
if I'll bear it any more.”
"What have I done? I've told you you were
neglecting a sweet girl, George. I've told you that
when you go to town you ought to go to her, and not
to the gambling-houses about St. James's."
"You want your money back, I suppose," said
George, with a sneer.
"Of course I do I always did, did n't I?
Dobbin. "You speak like a generous fellow."
"" says
"No, hang it, William, I beg your pardon" here.
George interposed in a fit of remorse; "you have
been my friend in a hundred ways, Heaven knows.
You've got me out of a score of scrapes. When
Crawley of the Guards won that sum of money of me
VOL. I. 11
162
VANITY FAIR.
I should have been done but for you: I know I
should. But you should n't deal so hardly with me;
you should n't be always catechising me. I am very
fond of Amelia; I adore her, and that sort of thing.
Don't look angry. She's faultless; I know she is.
But you see there's no fun in winning a thing unless
you play for it. Hang it: the regiment's just back
from the West Indies, I must have a little fling, and
then when I'm married I'll reform; I will upon my
honor, now. And I say - Dob-don't be angry
with me, and I'll give you a hundred next month,
when I know my father will stand something hand-
some; and I'll ask Heavytop for leave, and I'll go to
town, and see Amelia to-morrow there now, will
that satisfy you?"
-
"It is impossible to be long angry with you,
George," said the good-natured Captain; "and as for
the money, old boy, you know if I wanted it you'd
share your last shilling with me."
"That I would, by Jove, Dobbin," George said,
with the greatest generosity, though by the way he
never had any money to spare.
"Only I wish you had sown those wild oats of
yours, George. If you could have seen poor little
Miss Emmy's face when she asked me about you the
other day, you would have pitched those billiard-balls
to the deuce. Go and comfort her, you rascal. Go
and write her a long letter. Do something to make
her happy; a very little will."
"I believe she's d-d fond of me," the Lieutenant
said, with a self-satisfied air; and went off to finish
the evening with some jolly fellows in the mess-room.
Amelia meanwhile, in Russell Square, was looking
at the moon, which was shining upon that peaceful
spot, as well as upon the square of the Chatham Bar-
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
163
racks, where Lieutenant Osborne was quartered, and
thinking to herself how her hero was employed. Per-
haps he is visiting the sentries, thought she; perhaps
he is bivouacking; perhaps he is attending the couch.
of a wounded comrade, or studying the art of war up
in his own desolate chamber. And her kind thoughts
sped away as if they were angels and had wings,
and flying down the river to Chatham and Rochester,
strove to peep into the barracks where George was.
All things considered, I think it was as well the
gates were shut, and the sentry allowed no one to
pass; so that the poor little white-robed angel could
not hear the songs those young fellows were roaring
over the whiskey punch.
•
The day after the little conversation at Chatham
Barracks, young Osborne, to show that he would be as
good as his word, prepared to go to town, thereby in-
curring Captain Dobbin's applause. "I should have
liked to make her a little present," Osborne said to
his friend in confidence, "only I am quite out of
cash until my father tips up." But Dobbin would not
allow this good-nature and generosity to be balked,
and so accommodated Mr. Osborne with a few pound
notes, which the latter took after a little faint scruple.
And I dare say he would have bought something
very handsome for Amelia; only, getting off the
coach in Fleet Street, he was attracted by a handsome
shirt-pin in a jeweller's window, which he could not
resist; and having paid for that, had very little money
to spare for indulging in any further exercise of kind-
ness. Never mind: you may be sure it was not his
presents Amelia wanted. When he came to Russell
Square, her face lighted up as if he had been sun-
shine. The little cares, fears, tears, timid misgivings,
sleepless fancies of I don't know how many days and
164
VANITY FAIR.
nights, were forgotten, under one moment's influence
of that familiar, irresistible smile. He beamed on her
from the drawing-room door-magnificent, with am-
brosial whiskers, like a god. Sambo, whose face as
he announced Captain Osbin (having conferred a bre-
vet rank on that young officer) blazed with a sympa-
thetic grin, saw the little girl start, and flush, and
jump up from her watching-place in the window; and
Sambo retreated: and as soon as the door was shut,
she went fluttering to Lieutenant George Osborne's
heart as if it was the only natural home for her to
nestle in. Oh, thou poor panting little soul! The
very finest tree in the whole forest, with the straight-
est stem, and the strongest arms, and the thickest foli-
age, wherein you choose to build and coo, may be
marked, for what you know, and may be down with
a crash erelong. What an old, old simile that is,
between man and timber!
In the mean while, George kissed her very kindly
on her forehead and glistening eyes, and was very
gracious and good; and she thought his diamond
shirt-pin (which she had not known him to wear
before) the prettiest ornament ever seen.
The observant reader, who has marked our young
Lieutenant's previous behavior, and has preserved our
report of the brief conversation which he has just had
with Captain Dobbin, has possibly come to certain
conclusions regarding the character of Mr. Osborne.
Some cynical Frenchman has said that there are two
parties to a love-transaction: the one who loves and
the other who condescends to be so treated. Perhaps
the love is occasionally on the man's side; perhaps
on the lady's. Perhaps some infatuated swain has ere
this mistaken insensibility for modesty, dulness for
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
165
maiden reserve, mere vacuity for sweet bashfulness,
and a goose, in a word, for a swan. Perhaps some
beloved female subscriber has arrayed an ass in the
splendor and glory of her imagination; admired his
dulness as manly simplicity; worshipped his selfish-
ness as manly superiority; treated his stupidity as
majestic gravity, and used him as the brilliant fairy
Titania did a certain weaver at Athens. I think I
have seen such comedies of errors going on in the
world. But this is certain, that Amelia believed her
lover to be one of the most gallant and brilliant men
in the empire: and it is possible Lieutenant Osborne
thought so too.
He was a little wild: how many young men are;
and don't girls like a rake better than a milksop?
He had n't sown his wild oats as yet, but he would
soon and quit the army now that peace was pro-
claimed; the Corsican monster locked up at Elba;
promotion by consequence over; and no chance left
for the display of his undoubted military talents and
valor: and his allowance, with Amelia's settlement,
would enable them to take a snug place in the coun-
try somewhere, in a good sporting neighborhood; and
he would hunt a little, and farm a little; and they
would be very happy. As for remaining in the army
as a married man, that was impossible. Fancy Mrs.
George Osborne in lodgings in a county town; or,
worse still, in the East or West Indies, with a society
of officers, and patronized by Mrs. Major O'Dowd!
Amelia died with laughing at Osborne's stories about
Mrs. Major O'Dowd. He loved her much too fondly
to subject her to that horrid woman and her vulgari-
ties, and the rough treatment of a soldier's wife. He
did n't care for himself—not he; but his dear little
girl should take the place in society to which, as his
166
VANITY FAIR.
wife, she was entitled; and to these proposals you
may be sure she acceded, as she would to any other
from the same author.
Holding this kind of conversation, and building
numberless castles in the air (which Amelia adorned
with all sorts of flower-gardens, rustic walks, country
churches, Sunday-schools, and the like; while George
had his mind's eye directed to the stables, the kennel,
and the cellar), this young pair passed away a couple
of hours very pleasantly; and as the Lieutenant had
only that single day in town, and a great deal of most
important business to transact, it was proposed that
Miss Emmy should dine with her future sisters-in-
law. This invitation was accepted joyfully. He
conducted her to his sisters; where he left her talk-
ing and prattling in a way that astonished those
ladies, who thought that George might make some-
thing of her; and he then went off to transact his
business.
In a word, he went out and ate ices at a pastry-
cook's shop in Charing Cross; tried a new coat in
Pall Mall; dropped in at the Old Slaughters', and
called for Captain Cannon; played eleven games at
billiards with the Captain, of which he won eight,
and returned to Russell Square half an hour late for
dinner, but in very good humor.
It was not so with old Mr. Osborne. When that
gentleman came from the City, and was welcomed in
the drawing-room by his daughters and the elegant
Miss Wirt, they saw at once by his face which was
puffy, solemn, and yellow at the best of times and
by the scowl and twitching of his black eyebrows,
that the heart within his large white waistcoat was
disturbed and uneasy. When Amelia stepped for-

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KAWATAN ANA
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MR. OSBORNE'S WELCOME TO AMELIA.
*
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
167
ward to salute him, which she always did with great
trembling and timidity, he gave a surly grunt of rec-
ognition, and dropped the little hand out of his great
hirsute paw without any attempt to hold it there.
He looked round gloomily at his eldest daughter;
who, comprehending the meaning of his look, which
asked unmistakably, "Why the devil is she here?”
said at once: —
66
George is in town, Papa; and has gone to the
Horse Guards, and will be back to dinner."
“Oh, he is, is he? I won't have the dinner kept
waiting for him, Jane;" with which this worthy man
lapsed into his particular chair, and then the utter
silence in his genteel, well-furnished drawing-room
was only interrupted by the alarmed ticking of the
great French clock.
When that chronometer, which was surmounted by
a cheerful brass group of the sacrifice of Iphigenia,
tolled five in a heavy cathedral tone, Mr. Osborne
pulled the bell at his right hand violently, and the
butler rushed up.
man.
"Dinner!" roared Mr. Osborne.
"Mr. George is n't come in, sir," interposed the
"Damn Mr. George, sir. Am I master of the
house? DINNER!" Mr. Osborne scowled. Amelia
trembled. A telegraphic communication of eyes
passed between the other three ladies. The obedient
bell in the lower regions began ringing the announce-
ment of the meal. The tolling over, the head of the
family thrust his hands into the great tail-pockets of
his great blue coat and brass buttons, and without
waiting for a further announcement, strode down
stairs alone, scowling over his shoulder at the four
females.
168
VANITY FAIR.
"What's the matter now, my dear?" asked one of
the other, as they rose and tripped gingerly behind the
sire.
"I suppose the funds are falling," whispered Miss
Wirt; and so, trembling and in silence, this hushed
female company followed their dark leader. They
took their places in silence. He growled out a bless-
ing, which sounded as gruffly as a curse. The great
silver dish-covers were removed. Amelia trembled
in her place, for she was next to the awful Osborne,
and alone on her side of the table the gap being
occasioned by the absence of George.
"Soup?" says Mr. Osborne, clutching the ladle, fix
ing his eyes on her, in a sepulchral tone; and having
helped her and the rest, did not speak for a while.
"Take Miss Sedley's plate away," at last he said.
"She can't eat the soup - no more can I. It's beastly.
Take away the soup, Hicks, and to-morrow turn the
cook out of the house, Jane."
Having concluded his observations upon the soup,
Mr. Osborne made a few curt remarks respecting the
fish, also of a savage and satirical tendency, and cursed
Billingsgate with an emphasis quite worthy of the
place. Then he lapsed into silence, and swallowed
sundry glasses of wine, looking more and more terri-
ble, till a brisk knock at the door told of George's
arrival, when everybody began to rally.
"He could not come before. General Daguilet had
kept him waiting at the Horse Guards. Never mind
soup or fish. Give him anything — he did n't care
what. Capital mutton-capital everything." His
good-humor contrasted with his father's severity;
and he rattled on unceasingly during dinner, to the
delight of all of one especially, who need not be
mentioned.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
169
As soon as the young ladies had discussed the
orange and the glass of wine which formed the ordi-
nary conclusion of the dismal banquets at Mr. Osborne's
house, the signal to make sail for the drawing-room
was given, and they all arose and departed. Amelia
hoped George would soon join them there. She began
playing some of his favorite waltzes (then newly im-
ported) at the great carved-legged, leather-cased grand
piano in the drawing-room overhead. This little arti-
fice did not bring him. He was deaf to the waltzes;
they grew fainter and fainter; the discomfited per-
former left the huge instrument presently; and though
her three friends performed some of the loudest and
most brilliant new pieces of their répertoire, she did
not hear a single note, but sat thinking, and boding
evil. Old Osborne's scowl, terrific always, had never
before looked so deadly to her. His eyes followed her
out of the room, as if she had been guilty of some-
thing. When they brought her coffee, she started as
though it were a cup of poison which Mr. Hicks, the
butler, wished to propose to her. What mystery was
there lurking? Oh, those women! They nurse and
cuddle their presentiments, and make darlings of their
ugliest thoughts, as they do of their deformed children.
The gloom on the paternal countenance had also
impressed George Osborne with anxiety. With such
eyebrows, and a look so decidedly bilious, how was he
to extract that money from the governor, of which
George was consumedly in want? He began praising
his father's wine. That was generally a successful
means of cajoling the old gentleman.
"We never got such madeira in the West Indies,
sir, as yours. Colonel Heavytop took off three bot-
tles of that you sent me down, under his belt the
other day."
170
VANITY FAIR.
"Did he?" said the old gentleman.
in eight shillings a bottle."
"Will you take six guineas a dozen for it, sir?"
said George, with a laugh. "There's one of the
greatest men in the kingdom wants some.”
"Wish he may
"Does he?" growled the senior.
get it."
It stands me
"When General Daguilet was at Chatham, sir,
Heavytop gave him a breakfast, and asked me for
some of the wine. The General liked it just as well
wanted a pipe for the Commander-in-Chief. He's
his Royal Highness's right-hand man."
"It is devilish fine wine," said the Eyebrows, and
they looked more good-humored; and George was go-
ing to take advantage of this complacency, and bring
the supply question on the mahogany, when the father,
relapsing into solemnity, though rather cordial in man-
ner, bade him ring the bell for claret. "And we 'll see
if that's as good as the madeira, George, to which his
Royal Highness is welcome, I'm sure. And as we
are drinking it, I'll talk to you about a matter of
importance."
Amelia heard the claret bell ringing as she sat
nervously up stairs. She thought, somehow, it was
a mysterious and presentimental bell. Of
the pre-
sentiments which some people are always having,
some surely must come right.
"What I want to know, George," the old gentleman
said, after slowly smacking his first bumper-"What
I want to know is, how you and — ah that little thing
up stairs, are carrying on?".
""
"I think, sir, it 's not hard to see," George said, with
a self-satisfied grin. Pretty clear, sir. — What cap-
ital wine!"
66
"What d' you mean, pretty clear, sir?"
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
171
I'm a
Why, hang it, sir, don't push me too hard.
modest man. I-ah -I don't set up to be a lady-
killer; but I do own that she's as devilish fond of me
as she can be. Anybody can see that with half an
eye."
66
S
"And you yourself?
"Why, sir, did n't you order me to marry her, and
ain't I a good boy? Have n't our papas settled it
ever so long?"
""
"A pretty boy, indeed. Have n't I heard of your
doings, sir, with Lord Tarquin, Captain Crawley of
the Guards, the Honorable Mr. Deuceace and that set.
Have a care, sir, have a care!"
The old gentleman pronounced these aristocratic
names with the greatest gusto. Whenever he met a
great man he grovelled before him, and my-lorded him
as only a free-born Briton can do. He came home
and looked out his history in the Peerage: he intro-
duced his name into his daily conversation; he bragged
about his Lordship to his daughters. He fell down
prostrate and basked in him as a Neapolitan beggar
does in the sun. George was alarmed when he heard
the names. He feared his father might have been in-
formed of certain transactions at play. But the old
moralist eased him by saying serenely:-
"Well, well, young men will be young men. And
the comfort to me is, George, that living in the best
society in England, as I hope you do; as I think you
do; as my means will allow you to do
""
"Thank you, sir," says George, making his point at
once. "One can't live with these great folks for noth-
ing; and my purse, sir, look at it;" and he held up a
little token which had been netted by Amelia, and con-
tained the very last of Dobbin's pound notes.
"You sha'n't want, sir. The British merchant's son
172
VANITY FAIR.
but you
sha'n't want, sir. My guineas are as good as theirs,
George, my boy; and I don't grudge 'em.
Call on
Mr. Chopper as you go through the City to-morrow;
he'll have something for you. I don't grudge money
when I know you're in good society, because I know
that good society can never go wrong. There's no
pride in me. I was a humbly born man
have had advantages. Make a good use of 'em. Mix
with the young nobility. There's many of 'em who
can't spend a dollar to your guinea, my boy.
And as
for the pink bonnets (here from under the heavy eye-
brows there came a knowing and not very pleasing
leer) - why boys will be boys. Only there's one thing
I order you to avoid, which, if you do not, I'll cut you
off with a shilling, by Jove; and that's gambling,
sir."
S
"Oh, of course, sir," said George.
"But to return to the other business about Amelia :
why should n't you marry higher than a stockbroker's
daughter, George — that's what I want to know ?”
"It's a family business, sir," says George, cracking
filberts. "You and Mr. Sedley made the match a hun-
dred years ago."
"I don't deny it; but people's positions alter, sir.
I don't deny that Sedley made my fortune, or rather
put me in the way of acquiring, by my own talents
and genius, that proud position, which, I may say, I
occupy in the tallow trade and the City of London.
I've shown my gratitude to Sedley; and he's tried it
of late, sir, as my cheque-book can show. George! I
tell you in confidence I don't like the looks of Mr. Sed-
ley's affairs. My chief clerk, Mr. Chopper, does not
like the looks of 'em, and he's an old file, and knows
'Change as well as any man in London. Hulker &
Bullock are looking shy at him. He's been dabbling

"
LIEUTENANT OSBORNE AND HIS ARDENT LOVE-LETTERS,
YU
C
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
173
on his own account I fear. They say the "Jeune Amé-
lie was his, which was taken by the Yankee privateer
"Molasses." And that's flat, - unless I see Amelia's
ten thousand down you don't marry her. I'll have no
lame duck's daughter in my family. Pass the wine, sir
or ring for coffee.”
With which Mr. Osborne spread out the evening
paper, and George knew from this signal that the col-
loquy was ended, and that his papa was about to take
a nap.
He hurried up stairs to Amelia in the highest spirits.
What was it that made him more attentive to her on
that night than he had been for a long time more
eager to amuse her, more tender, more brilliant in
talk? Was it that his generous heart warmed to her
at the prospect of misfortune; or that the idea of los-
ing the dear little prize made him value it more?
She lived upon the recollections of that happy even-
ing for many days afterwards, remembering his words;
his looks; the song he sang; his attitude, as he leaned
over her or looked at her from a distance. As it seemed
to her, no night ever passed so quickly at Mr. Osborne's
house before; and for once this young person was al-
most provoked to be angry by the premature arrival
of Mr. Sambo with her shawl.
George came and took a tender leave of her the
next morning; and then hurried off to the City,
where he visited Mr. Chopper, his father's head man,
and received from that gentleman a document which
he exchanged at Hulker & Bullock's for a whole
pocketful of money. As George entered the house,
old John Sedley was passing out of the banker's par-
lor, looking very dismal. But his godson was much.
too elated to mark the worthy stockbroker's depres-
sion, or the dreary eyes which the kind old gentleman
174
VANITY FAIR.
cast upon him. Young Bullock did not come grin-
ning out of the parlor with him as had been his wont
in former years.
And as the swinging doors of Hulker, Bullock, &
Co. closed upon Mr. Sedley, Mr. Quill, the cashier
(whose benevolent occupation it is to hand out crisp
bank-notes from a drawer and dispense sovereigns out
of a copper shovel) winked at Mr. Driver, the clerk
at the desk on his right. Mr. Driver winked again.
"No go," Mr. D. whispered.
"Not at no price," Mr. Q. said.
borne, sir, how will you take it?"
eagerly a quantity of notes into his
Dobbin fifty pounds that very evening at mess.
"Mr. George Os-
George crammed
pockets, and paid
That very evening Amelia wrote him the tenderest
of long letters. Her heart was overflowing with ten-
derness, but it still foreboded evil. What was the
cause of Mr. Osborne's dark looks? she asked. Had
any
difference arisen between him and her papa?
Her poor papa returned so melancholy from the City,
that all were alarmed about him at home — in fine,
there were four pages of loves and fears and hopes
and forebodings.
"Poor little Emmy dear little Emmy. How
fond she is of me," George said, as he perused the
missive "and Gad, what a headache that mixed
punch has given me!" Poor little Emmy, indeed.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
CHAPTER XIV.
MISS CRAWLEY AT HOME.
ABOUT this time there drove up to an exceedingly
snug and well-appointed house in Park Lane, a travel-
ling chariot with a lozenge on the panels, a discon-
tented female in a green veil and crimped curls on
the rumble, and a large and confidential man on the
box. It was the equipage of our friend Miss Craw-
ley, returning from Hants. The carriage windows.
were shut; the fat spaniel, whose head and tongue
ordinarily lolled out of one of them, reposed on the
lap of the discontented female. When the vehicle
stopped, a large round bundle of shawls was taken
out of the carriage by the aid of various domestics
and a young lady who accompanied the heap of
cloaks. That bundle contained Miss Crawley, who
was conveyed up stairs forthwith, and put into a bed
and chamber warmed properly as for the reception of
an invalid. Messengers went off for her physician
and medical man. They came, consulted, prescribed,
vanished. The young companion of Miss Crawley, at
the conclusion of their interview, came in to receive
their instructions, and administered those antiphlo-
gistic medicines which the eminent men ordered.
Captain Crawley of the Life Guards rode up from
Knightsbridge Barracks the next day; his black
charger pawed the straw before his invalid aunt's
door. He was most affectionate in his inquiries re-
garding that amiable relative. There seemed to be
176
VANITY FAIR.
much source of apprehension. He found Miss Craw-
ley's maid (the discontented female) unusually sulky
and despondent; he found Miss Briggs, her dame de
compagnie, in tears alone in the drawing-room. She
had hastened home, hearing of her beloved friend's
illness. She wished to fly to her couch, that couch
which she, Briggs, had so often smoothed in the hour
of sickness. She was denied admission to Miss Craw-
ley's apartment. A stranger was administering her
medicines a stranger from the country an odious
Miss . . . tears choked the utterance of the dame
de compagnie, and she buried her crushed affections.
and her poor old red nose in her pocket-handkerchief.
Rawdon Crawley sent up his name by the sulky
femme de chambre, and Miss Crawley's new compan-
ion, coming tripping down from the sick-room, put a
little hand into his as he stepped forward eagerly to
meet her, gave a glance of great scorn at the bewil-
dered Briggs, and beckoning the young guardsman
out of the back drawing-room, led him down stairs in-
to that now desolate dining-parlor, where so many a
good dinner had been celebrated.
Here these two talked for ten minutes, discussing,
no doubt, the symptoms of the old invalid above
stairs; at the end of which period the parlor-bell was
rung briskly, and answered on that instant by Mr.
Bowls, Miss Crawley's large confidential butler (who,
indeed, happened to be at the key-hole during the
most part of the interview); and the Captain coming
out, curling his mustachios, mounted the black char-
ger pawing among the straw, to the admiration of the
little blackguard boys collected in the street. He
looked in at the dining-room window, managing his
horse, which curveted and capered beautifully for
one instant the young person might be seen at the
P
-
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
177
window, when her figure vanished, and, doubtless, she
went up stairs again to resume the affecting duties of
benevolence.
Who could this young woman be, I wonder? That
evening a little dinner for two persons was laid in
the dining-room — when Mrs. Firkin, the lady's-maid,
pushed into her mistress's apartment, and bustled
about there during the vacancy occasioned by the de-
parture of the new nurse and the latter and Miss
Briggs sat down to the neat little meal.
Briggs was so much choked by emotion that she
could hardly take a morsel of meat. The young per-
son carved a fowl with the utmost delicacy, and asked
so distinctly for egg-sauce, that poor Briggs, before
whom that delicious condiment was placed, started,
made a great clattering with the ladle, and once more
fell back in the most gushing hysterical state.
"Had you not better give Miss Briggs a glass of
wine?" said the person to Mr. Bowls, the large confi-
dential man. He did so. Briggs seized it mechani-
cally, gasped it down convulsively, moaned a little,
and began to play with the chicken on her plate.
"I think we shall be able to help each other," said
the person with great suavity: "and shall have no
need of Mr. Bowls's kind services. Mr. Bowls, if
you please, we will ring when we want you." He
went down stairs, where, by the way, he vented the
most horrid curses upon the unoffending footman, his
subordinate.
"It is a pity you take on so, Miss Briggs," the
young lady said, with a cool, slightly sarcastic, air.
"My dearest friend is so ill, and wo-o—0——on't
see me," gurgled out Briggs in an agony of renewed
grief.
Console yourself,
"She's not very ill any more.
VOL. I. - 12
178
VANITY FAIR.
dear Miss Briggs. She has only overeaten herself —
that is all. She is greatly better. She will soon be
quite restored again. She is weak from being cupped
and from medical treatment, but she will rally imme-
diately. Pray console yourself, and take a little
more wine."
"But why, why won't she see me again? Miss
Briggs bleated out. "Oh, Matilda, Matilda, after
three-and-twenty years' tenderness! is this the return
to your poor, poor Arabella?”
"Don't cry too much, poor Arabella," the other
said (with ever so little of a grin); "she only won't
see you, because she says you don't nurse her as well
as I do. It's no pleasure to me to sit up all night. I
wish you might do it instead."
"Have I not tended that dear couch for years?"
Arabella said, "and now
"Now she prefers somebody else. Well, sick peo-
ple have these fancies and must be humored. When
she's well I shall go."
"Never, never," Arabella exclaimed, madly inhal-
ing her salts-bottle.
ور
"Never be well or never go, Miss Briggs?" the
other said, with the same provoking good-nature.
“Pooh — she will be well in a fortnight, when I shall
go back to my little pupils at Queen's Crawley, and to
their mother, who is a great deal more sick than our
friend. You need not be jealous about me, my dear
Miss Briggs. I am a poor little girl without any
friends, or any harm in me. I don't want to supplant
you in Miss Crawley's good graces. She will forget
me a week after I am gone: and her affection for you
has been the work of years. Give me a little wine if
you please, my dear Miss Briggs, and let us be friends.
I'm sure I want friends."
i
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
179
The placable and soft-hearted Briggs speechlessly
pushed out her hand at this appeal; but she felt the
desertion most keenly for all that, and bitterly, bit-
terly moaned the fickleness of her Matilda. At the
end of half an hour, the meal over, Miss Rebecca
Sharp (for such, astonishing to state, is the name of
her who has been described ingeniously as "the per-
son" hitherto), went up stairs again to her patient's
rooms, from which, with the most engaging polite-
ness, she eliminated poor Firkin. "Thank you, Mrs.
Firkin, that will quite do; how nicely you make it!
I will ring when anything is wanted." "Thank you;"
and Firkin came down stairs in a tempest of jealousy,
only the more dangerous because she was forced to
confine it in her own bosom.
Could it be the tempest which, as she passed the
landing of the first floor, blew open the drawing-room
door? No; it was stealthily opened by the hand of
Briggs. Briggs had been on the watch. Briggs too
well heard the creaking Firkin descend the stairs, and
the clink of the spoon and gruel-basin the neglected
female carried.
66
Well, Firkin?" says she, as the other entered the
apartment. "Well, Jane?"
"Wuss and wuss, Miss B.," Firkin said, wagging
her head.
"Is she not better then?"
"She never spoke but once, and I asked her if she
felt a little more easy, and she told me to hold my
stupid tongue. Oh, Miss B., I never thought to have
seen this day!" And the water-works again began to
play.
“What sort of a person is this Miss Sharp, Firkin?
I little thought, while enjoying my Christmas revels.
in the elegant home of my firm friends, the Reverend
180
VANITY FAIR.
Lionel Delamere and his amiable lady, to find a
stranger had taken my place in the affections of my
dearest, my still dearest Matilda!" Miss Briggs,
it will be seen by her language, was of a literary
and sentimental turn, and had once published a vol-
ume of poems
"Trills of the Nightingale" – by
subscription.
"Miss B., they are all infatyated about that young
woman," Firkin replied. "Sir Pitt would n't have
let her go, but he dared n't refuse Miss Crawley any-
thing. Mrs. Bute at the Rectory jist as bad never
happy out of her sight. The Capting quite wild.
about her. Mr. Crawley mortial jealous. Since Miss
C. was took ill, she won't have nobody near her but
Miss Sharp, I can't tell for where nor for why; and I
think somethink has bewidged everybody."
Rebecca passed that night in constant watching
upon Miss Crawley; the next night the old lady slept
so comfortably, that Rebecca had time for several
hours' comfortable repose herself on the sofa, at the
foot of her patroness's bed; very soon, Miss Crawley
was so well that she sat up and laughed heartily at a
perfect imitation of Miss Briggs and her grief, which
Rebecca described to her. Briggs's weeping snuffle,
and her manner of using the handkerchief, were so
completely rendered, that Miss Crawley became quite
cheerful, to the admiration of the doctors when they
visited her, who usually found this worthy woman of
the world, when the least sickness attacked her, under
the most abject depression and terror of death.
Captain Crawley came every day, and received bul-
letins from Miss Rebecca respecting his aunt's health.
This improved so rapidly, that poor Briggs was
allowed to see her patroness; and persons with tender
hearts may imagine the smothered emotions of that
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
181
sentimental female, and the affecting nature of the
interview.
Miss Crawley liked to have Briggs in a good deal
soon. Rebecca used to mimic her to her face with the
most admirable gravity, thereby rendering the imita-
tion doubly piquant to her worthy patroness.
The causes which had led to the deplorable ill-
ness of Miss Crawley, and her departure from her
brother's house in the country, were of such an unro-
mantic nature that they are hardly fit to be explained
in this genteel and sentimental novel. For how is it
possible to hint of a delicate female, living in good
society, that she ate and drank too much, and that a
hot supper of lobsters profusely enjoyed at the Rec-
tory was the reason of an indisposition which Miss
Crawley herself persisted was solely attributable to
the dampness of the weather? The attack was so
sharp that Matilda as his Reverence expressed it
-was very nearly "off the hooks;" all the family
were in a fever of expectation regarding the will, and
Rawdon Crawley was making sure of at least forty
thousand pounds before the commencement of the
London season. Mr. Crawley sent over a choice par-
cel of tracts, to prepare her for the change from
Vanity Fair and Park Lane for another world; but a
good doctor from Southampton being called in in time,
vanquished the lobster which was so nearly fatal to
her, and gave her sufficient strength to enable her to
return to London. The Baronet did not disguise his
exceeding mortification at the turn which affairs took.
While everybody was attending on Miss Crawley,
and messengers every hour from the Rectory were
carrying news of her health to the affectionate folks
there, there was a lady in another part of the house,
182
VANITY FAIR.
being exceedingly ill, of whom no one took any notice.
at all; and this was the lady of Crawley herself.
The good doctor shook his head after seeing her; to
which visit Sir Pitt consented, as it could be paid
without a fee; and she was left fading away in her
lonely chamber, with no more heed paid to her than
to a weed in the park.
The young ladies, too, lost much of the inestimable
benefit of their governess's instruction. So affec-
tionate a nurse was Miss Sharp, that Miss Crawley
would take her medicines from no other hand. Fir-
kin had been deposed long before her mistress's de-
parture from the country. That faithful attendant
found a gloomy consolation on returning to London,
in seeing Miss Briggs suffer the same pangs of jeal-
ousy and undergo the same faithless treatment to
which she herself had been subject.
Captain Rawdon got an extension of leave on his
aunt's illness, and remained dutifully at home. He
was always in her antechamber. (She lay sick in the
state bedroom, into which you entered by the little
blue saloon.) His father was always meeting him
there; or if he came down the corridor ever so quietly,
his father's door was sure to open, and the hyena face
of the old gentleman to glare out. What was it set
one to watch the other so? A generous rivalry, no
doubt, as to which should be most attentive to the
dear sufferer in the state bedroom. Rebecca used to
come out and comfort both of them; or one or the
other of them rather. Both of these worthy gentle-
men were most anxious to have news of the invalid
from her little confidential messenger.
At dinner to which meal she descended for half
an hour she kept the peace between them; after
which she disappeared for the night: when Rawdon
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
183
would ride over to the depot of the 150th at Mudbury,
leaving his papa to the society of Mr. Horrocks and
his rum-and-water. She passed as weary a fortnight
as ever mortal spent in Miss Crawley's sick-room; but
her little nerves seemed to be of iron, and she was
quite unshaken by the duty and the tedium of the
sick-chamber.
She never told until long afterwards how painful
that duty was; how peevish a patient was the jovial
old lady; how angry; how sleepless; in what horrors
of death; during what long nights she lay moaning,
and in almost delirious agonies respecting that future
world which she quite ignored when she was in good
health. Picture to yourself, O fair young reader, a
worldly, selfish, graceless, thankless, religionless old
woman, writhing in pain and fear, and without her
wig. Picture her to yourself, and ere you be old,
learn to love and pray!
Sharp watched this graceless bedside with indomi-
table patience. Nothing escaped her; and, like a
prudent steward, she found a use for everything.
She told many a good story about Miss Crawley's
illness in after days, — stories which made the lady
blush through her artificial carnations. During the
illness she was never out of temper; always alert;
she slept light, having a perfectly clear conscience;
and could take that refreshment at almost any minute's
warning. And so you saw very few traces of fatigue
in her appearance. Her face might be a trifle paler,
and the circles round her eyes a little blacker than
usual; but whenever she came out from the sick-room
she was always smiling, fresh, and neat, and looked
as trim in her little dressing-gown and cap, as in her
smartest evening suit.
The Captain thought so, and raved about her in
184
VANITY FAIR.
The barbed shaft of love had
Six weeks
Six weeks-appropinquity
uncouth convulsions.
penetrated his dull hide.
-opportunity had victimized him completely. He
made a confidante of his aunt at the Rectory, of all
persons in the world. She rallied him about it; she
had perceived his folly; she warned him; she finished
by owning that little Sharp was the most clever, droll,
odd, good-natured, simple, kindly creature in Eng-
land. Rawdon must not trifle with her affections,
though — dear Miss Crawley would never pardon him
for that; for she, too, was quite overcome by the little
governess, and loved Sharp like a daughter. Raw-
don must go away go back to his regiment and
naughty London, and not play with a poor artless
girl's feelings.
Many and many a time this good-natured lady,
compassionating the forlorn life-guardsman's condi-
tion, gave him an opportunity of seeing Miss Sharp
at the Rectory, and of walking home with her, as we
have seen. When men of a certain sort, ladies, are in
love, though they see the hook and the string, and the
whole apparatus with which they are to be taken,
they gorge the bait nevertheless they must come to
it they must swallow it and are presently struck
and landed gasping. Rawdon saw there was a mani-
fest intention on Mrs. Bute's part, to captivate him
with Rebecca. He was not very wise; but he was a
man about town, and had seen several seasons. A
light dawned upon his dusky soul, as he thought,
through a speech of Mrs. Bute's.
"Mark my words, Rawdon," she said. "You will
have Miss Sharp one day for your relation."
"What relation, my cousin, hey, Mrs. Bute ?
James sweet on her, hey?" inquired the waggish
officer.
J
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
185
"More than that," Mrs. Bute said, with a flash
from her black eyes.
"Not Pitt? He sha'n't have her. The sneak
a'n't worthy of her. He's booked to Lady Jane
Sheepshanks."
C
"You men perceive nothing. You silly, blind creat-
ure if anything happens to Lady Crawley, Miss
Sharp will be your mother-in-law; and that's what
will happen."
Rawdon Crawley, Esquire, gave vent to a pro-
digious whistle, in token of astonishment at this
announcement. He could n't deny it. His father's
evident liking for Miss Sharp had not escaped him.
He knew the old gentleman's character well; and a
more unscrupulous old - whyou- he did not con-
clude the sentence, but walked home, curling his
mustachios, and convinced he had found a clew to
Mrs. Bute's mystery.
"By Jove, it's too bad," thought Rawdon, "too bad,
by Jove! I do believe the woman wants the poor girl
to be ruined, in order that she should n't come into
the family as Lady Crawley."
When he saw Rebecca alone, he rallied her about
his father's attachment in his graceful way. She flung
up her head scornfully, looked him full in the face,
and said, -
(C
Well, suppose he is fond of me. I know he is, and
others too. You don't think I am afraid of him, Cap-
tain Crawley? You don't suppose I can't defend my
own honor," said the little woman, looking as stately
as a queen.
—
"Oh, ah, why give you fair warning-look out,
you know
that 's all," said the mustachio-twiddler.
"You hint at something not honorable, then?" said
she, flashing out.
186
VANITY FAIR.
"Oh Gad-really- Miss Rebecca," the heavy
dragoon interposed.
"Do you suppose I have no feeling of self-respect,
because I am poor and friendless, and because rich peo-
ple have none? Do you think, because I am a gov-
erness, I have not as much sense, and feeling, and good
breeding as you gentle-folks in Hampshire? I'm a
Montmorency. Do you suppose a Montmorency is not.
as good as a Crawley?"
When Miss Sharp was agitated, and alluded to her
maternal relatives, she spoke with ever so slight a
foreign accent, which gave a great charm to her clear
ringing voice. "No," she continued, kindling as she
spoke to the Captain; "I can endure poverty, but not
shame neglect, but not insult; and insult from
from you.
M
M
-
رو
Her feelings gave way, and she burst into tears.
"Hang it, Miss Sharp-Rebecca- by Jove-upon
my soul, I would n't for a thousand pounds. Stop,
Rebecca!"
She was gone.
She drove out with Miss Crawley
that day. It was before the latter's illness. At din-
ner she was unusually brilliant and lively; but she
would take no notice of the hints, or the nods, or the
clumsy expostulations of the humiliated, infatuated
guardsman. Skirmishes of this sort passed perpetu-
ally during the little campaign - tedious to relate, and
similar in result. The Crawley heavy cavalry was mad-
dened by defeat, and routed every day.
If the Baronet of Queen's Crawley had not had the
fear of losing his sister's legacy before his eyes, he
never would have permitted his dear girls to lose the
educational blessings which their invaluable governess
was conferring upon them. The old house at home
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
187
seemed a desert without her, so useful and pleasant
had Rebecca made herself there. Sir Pitt's letters
were not copied and corrected; his books not made
up; his household business and manifold schemes
neglected, now that his little secretary was away.
And it was easy to see how necessary such an amanu-
ensis was to him, by the tenor and spelling of the nu-
merous letters which he sent to her, entreating her and
commanding her to return. Almost every day brought
a frank from the Baronet, enclosing the most urgent
prayers to Becky for her return, or conveying pathetic
statements to Miss Crawley, regarding the neglected
state of his daughters' education; of which documents
Miss Crawley took very little heed.
Miss Briggs was not formally dismissed, but her
place as companion was a sinecure and a derision; and
her company was the fat spaniel in the drawing-room,
or occasionally the discontented Firkin in the house-
keeper's closet. Nor though the old lady would by
no means hear of Rebecca's departure, was the latter
regularly installed in office in Park Lane. Like many
wealthy people, it was Miss Crawley's habit to accept
as much service as she could get from her inferiors;
and good-naturedly to take leave of them when she no
longer found them useful. Gratitude among certain
rich folks is scarcely natural or to be thought of. They
take needy people's services as their due. Nor have
you, O poor parasite and humble hanger-on, much rea-
son to complain! Your friendship for Dives is about
as sincere as the return which it usually gets. It is
money you love, and not the man; and were Croesus
and his footman to change places you know, you poor
rogue, who would have the benefit of your allegiance.
And I am not sure, that, in spite of Rebecca's sim-
plicity and activity, and gentleness and untiring good-
188
VANITY FAIR.
humor, the shrewd old London lady, upon whom these
treasures of friendship were lavished, had not a lurk-
ing suspicion all the while of her affectionate nurse
and friend. It must have often crossed Miss Craw-
ley's mind that nobody does anything for nothing. If
she measured her own feeling towards the world, she
must have been pretty well able to gauge those of the
world towards herself; and perhaps she reflected, that
it is the ordinary lot of people to have no friends if
they themselves care for nobody.
Well, meanwhile Becky was the greatest comfort
and convenience to her, and she gave her a couple of
new gowns, and an old necklace and shawl, and showed
her friendship by abusing all her intimate acquain-
tances to her new confidante (than which there can't
be a more touching proof of regard), and meditated
to marry her per-
vaguely some great future benefit
haps to Clump, the apothecary, or to settle her in some
advantageous way of life; or, at any rate, to send her
back to Queen's Crawley when she had done with her,
and the full London season had begun.
A
When Miss Crawley was convalescent and de-
scended to the drawing-room, Becky sang to her, and
otherwise amused her; when she was well enough to
drive out, Becky accompanied her. And amongst
the drives which they took, whither, of all places in
the world, did Miss Crawley's admirable good-nature
and friendship actually induce her to penetrate, but
to Russell Square, Bloomsbury, and the house of
John Sedley, Esquire.
Ere that event, many notes had passed, as may be
imagined, between the two dear friends. During the
months of Rebecca's stay in Hampshire, the eternal
friendship had (must it be owned ?) suffered consider
able diminution, and grown so decrepit and feeble
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
189
with old age as to threaten demise altogether. The
fact is, both girls had their own real affairs to think
of: Rebecca her advance with her employers Ame-
lia her own absorbing topic. When the two girls met,
and flew into each other's arms with that impetuosity
which distinguishes the behavior of young ladies
towards each other, Rebecca performed her part of the
embrace with the most perfect briskness and energy.
Poor little Amelia blushed as she kissed her friend,
and thought she had been guilty of something very
like coldness towards her.
Their first interview was but a very short one.
Amelia was just ready to go out for a walk. Miss
Crawley was waiting in her carriage below, her peo-
ple wondering at the locality in which they found
themselves, and gazing upon honest Sambo, the black
footman of Bloomsbury, as one of the queer natives of
the place. But when Amelia came down with her
kind smiling looks (Rebecca must introduce her to
her friend, Miss Crawley was longing to see her, and
was too ill to leave her carriage) - when, I say, Amelia
came down, the Park Lane shoulder-knot aristocracy
wondered more and more that such a thing could come
out of Bloomsbury; and Miss Crawley was fairly
captivated by the sweet blushing face of the young
lady who came forward so timidly and so gracefully
to pay her respects to the protector of her friend.
"What a complexion, my dear! What a sweet
voice!" Miss Crawley said, as they drove away
westward after the little interview. "My dear Sharp,
your young friend is charming. Send for her to Park
Lane, do you hear?" Miss Crawley had a good taste.
She liked natural manners a little timidity only set
them off. She liked pretty faces near her; as she
liked pretty pictures and nice china. She talked of
190
VANITY FAIR.
Amelia with rapture half a dozen times that day.
She mentioned her to Rawdon Crawley, who came
dutifully to partake of his aunt's chicken.
Of course, on this Rebecca instantly stated, that
Amelia was engaged to be married to a Lieutenant
Osborne a very old flame.
-
"Is he a man in a line-regiment?" Captain Craw-
ley asked, remembering after an effort, as became a
guardsman, the number of the regiment, the —th.
Rebecca thought that was the regiment.
"The
Captain's name," she said, "was Captain Dobbin."
"A lanky gawky fellow," said Crawley, "tumbles
over everybody. I know him; and Osborne's a
goodish-looking fellow, with large black whiskers?"
Enormous," Miss Rebecca Sharp said, "and enor-
mously proud of them, I assure you."
Captain Rawdon Crawley burst into a horse-laugh
by way of reply; and being pressed by the ladies to
explain, did so when the explosion of hilarity was
over. "He fancies he can play at billiards," said he.
"I won two hundred of him at the Cocoa-Tree. He
play, the young flat! He'd have played for anything
that day, but his friend Captain Dobbin carried him
off, hang him!"
"Rawdon, Rawdon, don't be so wicked," Miss
Crawley remarked, highly pleased.
66
'Why, Ma'am, of all the young fellows I've seen
out of the line, I think this fellow's the greenest.
Tarquin and Deuceace get what money they like out
of him. He
He'd go to the deuce to be seen with a lord.
He pays their dinners at Greenwich, and they invite
the company.'
"?
66
99
"And very pretty company too, I dare say.'
Quite right, Miss Sharp. Right as usual, Miss
Sharp. Uncommon pretty company, haw, haw!"
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
191
and the Captain laughed more and more, thinking he
had made a good joke.
66
his aunt exclaimed.
immensely rich,
Rawdon, don't be naughty!
"Well, his father's a City man
they say. Hang those City fellows, they must bleed;
and I've not done with him yet, I can tell you.
Haw, haw!"
"Fie, Captain Crawley; I shall warn Amelia. A
gambling husband!”
"Horrid, ain't he, hey?" the Captain said with
great solemnity; and then added, a sudden thought
having struck him : "Gad, I say, Ma'am, we 'll have
him here."
“Is he a presentable sort of a person?" the aunt
inquired.
“Presentable? — oh, very well. You would n't see
any difference," Captain Crawley answered. "Do let's
have him, when you begin to see a few people; and
his whatd'yecall'em - his inamorato - eh, Miss Sharp;
that's what you call it comes. Gad, I'll write him
a note, and have him; and I'll try if he can play
piquet as well as billiards. Where does he live, Miss
Sharp ?"
Miss Sharp told Crawley the Lieutenant's town ad-
dress; and a few days after this conversation, Lieu-
tenant Osborne received a letter, in Captain Rawdon's
school-boy hand, and enclosing a note of invitation
from Miss Crawley.
Rebecca despatched also an invitation to her dar-
ling Amelia, who, you may be sure, was ready enough
to accept it when she heard that George was to be of
the party. It was arranged that Amelia was to spend
the morning with the ladies of Park Lane, where all
were very kind to her. Rebecca patronized her with
calm superiority: she was so much the cleverer of the
192
VANITY FAIR.
two, and her friend so gentle and unassuming, that
she always yielded when anybody chose to command,
and so took Rebecca's orders with perfect meekness.
and good-humor. Miss Crawley's graciousness was
also remarkable. She continued her raptures about
little Amelia, talked about her before her face as if
she were a doll, or a servant, or a picture, and ad-
mired her with the most benevolent wonder possible.
I admire that admiration which the genteel world
sometimes extends to the commonalty. There is no
more agreeable object in life than to see May Fair
folks condescending. Miss Crawley's prodigious be-
nevolence rather fatigued poor little Amelia, and I
am not sure that of the three ladies in Park Lane she
did not find honest Miss Briggs the most agreeable.
She sympathized with Briggs as with all neglected or
gentle people: she was n't what you call a woman of
spirit.
George came to dinner- a repast en garçon with
Captain Crawley.
The great family coach of the Osbornes transported
him to Park Lane from Russell Square; where the
young ladies, who were not themselves invited, and
professed the greatest indifference at that slight,
nevertheless looked at Sir Pitt Crawley's name in the
Baronetage; and learned everything which that work
had to teach about the Crawley family and their pedi-
gree, and the Binkies, their relatives, etc., etc. Raw-
don Crawley received George Osborne with great
frankness and graciousness: praised his play at bill-
iards asked him when he would have his revenge:
was interested about Osborne's regiment: and would
have proposed piquet to him that very evening, but
Miss Crawley absolutely forbade any gambling in her
house; so that the young Lieutenant's purse was not
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
193
lightened by his gallant patron, for that day at least.
However, they made an engagement for the next,
somewhere: to look at a horse that Crawley had to
sell, and to try him in the Park; and to dine together,
and to pass the evening with some jolly fellows.
"That is, if you're not on duty to that pretty Miss
Sedley," Crawley said, with a knowing wink.
"Mon-
strous nice girl, 'pon my honor, though, Osborne,” he
was good enough to add. "Lots of tin, I suppose,
eh?"
Osborne was n't on duty; he would join Crawley
with pleasure: and the latter, when they met the next
day, praised his new friend's horsemanship
as he
might with perfect honesty - and introduced him to
three or four young men of the first fashion, whose ac-
quaintance immensely elated the simple young officer.
"How's little Miss Sharp, by-the-bye?" Osborne
inquired of his friend over their wine, with a dan-
dified air. "Good-natured little girl that. Does she
suit you well at Queen's Crawley? Miss Sedley liked
her a good deal last year.”
Captain Crawley looked savagely at the Lieutenant
out of his little blue eyes, and watched him when he
went up to resume his acquaintance with the fair
governess. Her conduct must have relieved Crawley
if there was any jealousy in the bosom of that life-
guardsman.
When the young men went up stairs, and after
Osborne's introduction to Miss Crawley, he walked up
to Rebecca with a patronizing, easy swagger. He was
going to bend to her and protect her. He would
even shake hands with her, as a friend of Amelia's;
and saying, "Ah, Miss Sharp! how-dy-doo?" held
out his left hand towards her, expecting that she
would be quite confounded at the honor.
VOL. I. 13
-
194
VANITY FAIR.
Miss Sharp put out her right forefinger, and gave
him a little nod, so cool and killing, that Rawdon
Crawley, watching the operations from the other
room, could hardly restrain his laughter as he saw
the Lieutenant's entire discomfiture; the start he
gave, the pause, and the perfect clumsiness with
which he at length condescended to take the finger
which was offered for his embrace.
"She'd beat the devil, by Jove!" the Captain said,
in a rapture; and the Lieutenant, by way of begin-
ning the conversation, agreeably asked Rebecca how
she liked her new place.
"My place?" said Miss Sharp, coolly, "how kind
of you to remind me of it! It's a tolerably good
place the wages are pretty good-not so good as
Miss Wirt's, I believe, with your sisters in Russell
Square. How are those young ladies? - not that I
ought to ask."
.
66
Why not?" Mr. Osborne said, amazed.
"Why, they never condescended to speak to me, or
to ask me into their house, whilst I was staying with
Amelia; but we poor governesses, you know, are used
to slights of this sort.”
"My dear Miss Sharp!" Osborne ejaculated.
"At least in some families," Rebecca continued.
"You can't think what a difference there is though.
We are not so wealthy in Hampshire as you lucky
folks of the City. But then I am in a gentleman's
family good old English stock. I suppose you
know Sir Pitt's father refused a peerage. And you
see how I am treated. I am pretty comfortable. In-
deed, it is rather a good place. But how very good of
you to inquire!"
Osborne was quite savage. The little governess
patronized him and persiffled him until this young
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
195
British Lion felt quite uneasy; nor could he muster
sufficient presence of mind to find a pretext for back-
ing out of this most delectable conversation.
I thought you liked the City families pretty
well," he said, haughtily.
"Last year you mean, when I was fresh from that
horrid vulgar school? Of course I did. Does n't
every girl like to come home for the holidays? And
how was I to know any better? But oh, Mr. Os-
borne, what a difference eighteen months' experience
makes! eighteen months spent, pardon me for say-
ing so, with gentlemen. As for dear Amelia, she, I
grant you, is a pearl, and would be charming any-
where. There now, I see you are beginning to be in
a good humor; but oh, these queer odd City people!
And Mr. Jos how is that wonderful Mr. Joseph ? "
"It seems to me you did n't dislike that wonderful
Mr. Joseph last year," Osborne said kindly.
"How severe of you! Well, entre nous, I did n't
break my heart about him; yet if he had asked me to
do what you mean by your looks (and very expressive
and kind they are, too), I would n't have said no.”
Mr. Osborne gave a look as much as to say, "In-
deed, how very obliging!
""
What an honor to have had you for a brother-
in-law, you are thinking? To be sister-in-law to
George Osborne, Esquire, son of John Osborne, Es-
quire, son of · what was your grandpapa, Mr. Os-
borne ? Well, don't be angry. You can't help your
pedigree, and I quite agree with you that I would
have married Mr. Joe Sedley; for could a poor
penniless girl do better? Now you know the whole
secret. I'm frank and open; considering all things,
it was very kind of you to allude to the circumstance
very kind and polite. Amelia dear, Mr. Osborne
196
VANITY FAIR.
and I were talking about your poor brother Joseph.
How is he?"
Thus was George utterly routed. Not that Rebecca
was in the right; but she had managed most success-
fully to put him in the wrong. And he now shame-
fully fled, feeling, if he stayed another minute, that
he would have been made to look foolish in the pre-
sence of Amelia.
Though Rebecca had had the better of him, George
was above the meanness of tale-bearing or revenge
upon a lady, — only he could not help cleverly con-
fiding to Captain Crawley, next day, some notions of
his regarding Miss Rebecca -—that she was a sharp
one, a dangerous one, a desperate flirt, etc.; in all of
which opinions Crawley agreed laughingly, and with
every one of which Miss Rebecca was made ac-
quainted before twenty-four hours were over. They
added to her original regard for Mr. Osborne. Her
woman's instinct had told her, that it was George
who had interrupted the success of her first love-
passage, and she esteemed him accordingly.
"I only just warn you," he said to Rawdon Craw-
ley, with a knowing look - he had bought the horse,
and lost some score of guineas after dinner, "I just
warn you I know women, and counsel you to be on
the look-out.”
P
"Thank you, my boy," said Crawley, with a look
of peculiar gratitude. "You're wide awake, I see."
And George went off, thinking Crawley was quite
right.
He told Amelia of what he had done, and how he
had counselled Rawdon Crawley - a devilish good,
straightforward fellow- to be on his guard against
that little sly, scheming Rebecca.
"Against whom?" Amelia cried.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
197
"Your friend the governess. Don't look so
astonished."
"O George, what have you done?" Amelia said.
For her woman's eyes, which Love had made sharp-
sighted, had in one instant discovered a secret which
was invisible to Miss Crawley, to poor virgin Briggs,
and above all, to the stupid peepers of that young
whiskered prig, Lieutenant Osborne.
For as Rebecca was shawling her in an upper
apartment, where these two friends had an opportu-
nity for a little of that secret talking and conspiring
which forms the delight of female life, Amelia,
coming up to Rebecca, and taking her two little.
hands in hers, said, "Rebecca, I see it all."
Rebecca kissed her.
And regarding this delightful secret, not one syl-
lable more was said by either of the young women.
But it was destined to come out before long.
Some short period after the above events, and Miss
Rebecca Sharp still remaining at her patroness's
house in Park Lane, one more hatchment might have
been seen in Great Gaunt Street, figuring amongst the
many which usually ornament that dismal quarter.
It was over Sir Pitt Crawley's house; but it did not
indicate the worthy Baronet's demise. It was a femi-
nine hatchment, and indeed a few years back had
served as a funeral compliment to Sir Pitt's old
mother, the late dowager Lady Crawley. Its period
of service over, the hatchment had come down from
the front of the house, and lived in retirement some-
where in the back premises of Sir Pitt's mansion. It
reappeared now for poor Rose Dawson. Sir Pitt was
a widower again. The arms quartered on the shield
along with his own were not, to be sure, poor Rose's.
She had no arms. But the cherubs painted on the
198
VANITY FAIR.
scutcheon answered as well for her as for Sir Pitt's
mother, and Resurgam was written under the coat,
flanked by the Crawley Dove and Serpent. Arms
and Hatchments, Resurgam. Here is an opportunity
for moralizing!
Mr. Crawley had tended that otherwise friendless
bedside. She went out of the world strengthened by
such words and comfort as he could give her. For
many years his was the only kindness she ever knew;
the only friendship that solaced in any way that
feeble, lonely soul. Her heart was dead long before.
her body. She had sold it to become Sir Pitt Craw-
ley's wife. Mothers and daughters are making the
same bargain every day in Vanity Fair.
When the demise took place, her husband was in
London attending to some of his innumerable schemes,
and busy with his endless lawyers. He had found
time, nevertheless, to call often in Park Lane, and to
despatch many notes to Rebecca, entreating her, en-
joining her, commanding her to return to her young
pupils in the country, who were now utterly without
companionship during their mother's illness. But
Miss Crawley would not hear of her departure; for
though there was no lady of fashion in London who
would desert her friends more complacently as soon
as she was tired of their society, and though few
tired of them sooner, yet as long as her engoûment
lasted her attachment was prodigious, and she clung
still with the greatest energy to Rebecca.
The news of Lady Crawley's death provoked no
more grief or comment than might have been ex-
pected in Miss Crawley's family circle. "I suppose
I must put off my party for the 3d," Miss Crawley
said; and added, after a pause, "I hope my brother
will have the decency not to marry again."
"What
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
199
a confounded rage Pitt will be in if he does," Rawdon
remarked, with his usual regard for his elder brother.
Rebecca said nothing. She seemed by far the grav-
est and most impressed of the family. She left the
room before Rawdon went away that day; but they
met by chance below, as he was going away after
taking leave, and had a parley together.
On the morrow, as Rebecca was gazing from the
window, she startled Miss Crawley, who was placidly
occupied with a French novel, by crying out in an
alarmed tone, "Here 's Sir Pitt, Ma'am!" and the
Baronet's knock followed this announcement.
"My dear, I can't see him. I won't see him.
Tell Bowls not at home, or go down stairs and say
I'm too ill to receive any one. My nerves really
won't bear my brother at this moment," cried out
Miss Crawley, and resumed the novel.
"She's too ill to see you, sir," Rebecca said,
tripping down to Sir Pitt, who was preparing to
ascend.
"So much the better," Sir Pitt answered. "I
want to see you, Miss Becky. Come along a me into
the parlor," and they entered that apartment together.
"I wawnt you back at Queen's Crawley, Miss," the
Baronet said, fixing his eyes upon her, and taking off
his black gloves and his hat with its great crape hat-
band. His eyes had such a strange look, and fixed
upon her so steadfastly, that Rebecca Sharp began
almost to tremble.
"I hope to come soon," she said in a low voice, “as
soon as Miss Crawley is better and return to- to
the dear children."
"You've said so these three months, Becky," re-
plied Sir Pitt, "and still you go hanging on to my sis
ter, who'll fling you off like an old shoe, when she 's
200
VANITY FAIR.
wore you out. I tell you I want you. I'm going
back to the Vuneral. Will you come back? Yes or
no?"
66
'I dare n't- I don't think it would be right-
to be alone with you, sir," Becky said, seemingly
in great agitation.
"I say agin, I want you," Sir Pitt said, thumping
the table. "I can't git on without you. I didn't see
what it was till you went away. The house all goes
wrong. It's not the same place. All my accounts has
got muddled agin. You must come back. Do come
back. Dear Becky, do come."
M
M
"Come
as what, sir?" Rebecca gasped out.
"Come as Lady Crawley, if you like," the Baronet
said, grasping his crape hat. "There! will that zatusfy
you? Come back and be my wife. Your vit vor't.
Birth be hanged. You're as good a lady as ever I see.
You've got more brains in your little vinger than any
baronet's wife in the county. Will you come? Yes
or no?"
(6
(6
"Oh, Sir Pitt!" Rebecca said, very much moved.
Say yes, Becky," Sir Pitt continued. "I'm an old
man, but a good 'n. I'm good for twenty years. I'll
make you happy, zee if I don't. You shall do what
you like; spend what you like; and 'av it all your own
way. I'll make you a zettlement. I'll do everything
reglar. Look year!" and the old man fell down on
his knees and leered at her like a satyr.
Rebecca started back a picture of consternation.
In the course of this history we have never seen her
lose her presence of mind; but she did now, and wept
some of the most genuine tears that ever fell from her
eyes.
66
Oh, Sir Pitt!" she said. “Oh, sir —I— I'm
married already."
CHAPTER XV.
IN WHICH REBECCA'S HUSBAND APPEARS FOR A
SHORT TIME.
EVERY reader of a sentimental turn (and we desire
no other) must have been pleased with the tableau with
which the last act of our little drama concluded; for
what can be prettier than an image of Love on his
knees before Beauty?
But when Love heard that awful confession from
Beauty that she was married already, he bounced up
from his attitude of humility on the carpet, uttering
exclamations which caused poor little Beauty to be
more frightened than she was when she made her
avowal. "Married; you 're joking," the Baronet
cried, after the first explosion of rage and wonder.
"You're making vun of me, Becky. Who'd ever go
to marry you without a shilling to your vortune?"
"Married! married!" Rebecca said, in an agony of
tears her voice choking with emotion, her hand-
kerchief up to her ready eyes, fainting against the
mantel-piece a figure of woe fit to melt the most
obdurate heart. "O Sir Pitt, dear Sir Pitt, do not
think me ungrateful for all your goodness to me. It
is only your generosity that has extorted my secret."
"Generosity be hanged!" Sir Pitt roared out.
"Who is it tu, then, you're married? Where was
it?"
"Let me come back with you to the country, sir!
Let me watch over you as faithfully as ever! Don't,
don't separate me from dear Queen's Crawley!"
202
VANITY FAIR.
"The feller has left you, has he?" the Baronet
said, beginning, as he fancied, to comprehend. "Well,
Becky come back if you like. You can't eat your
cake and have it. Any ways I made you a vair offer.
Coom back as governess you shall have it all your
own way." She held out one hand. She cried fit to
break her heart; her ringlets fell over her face, and
over the marble mantel-piece where she laid it.
"So the rascal ran off, eh?" Sir Pitt said, with a
hideous attempt at consolation. "Never mind, Becky,
I'll take care of 'ee."
"O sir! it would be the pride of my life to go back
to Queen's Crawley, and take care of the children, and
of you as formerly, when you said you were pleased
with the services of your little Rebecca. When I
think of what you have just offered me, my heart
fills with gratitude - indeed it does. I can't be your
wife, sir; let me let me be your daughter!"
Saying which, Rebecca went down on her knees in
a most tragical way, and, taking Sir Pitt's horny
black hand between her own two (which were very
pretty and white, and as soft as satin), looked up in
his face with an expression of exquisite pathos and
confidence, when when the door opened, and Miss
Crawley sailed in.
Mrs. Firkin and Miss Briggs, who happened by
chance to be at the parlor-door soon after the Baronet
and Rebecca entered the apartment, had also seen
accidentally, through the key-hole, the old gentleman
prostrate before the governess, and had heard the
generous proposal which he made her. It was scarcely
out of his mouth, when Mrs. Firkin and Miss Briggs
had streamed up the stairs, had rushed into the draw-
ing-room where Miss Crawley was reading the French
novel, and had given that old lady the astounding in-
Ma
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
203
telligence that Sir Pitt was on his knees, proposing to
Miss Sharp. And if you calculate the time for the
above dialogue to take place the time for Briggs
and Firkin to fly to the drawing-room-the time for
Miss Crawley to be astonished, and to drop her volume
of "Pigault le Brun"— and the time for her to come
down stairs you will see how exactly accurate this
history is, and how Miss Crawley must have appeared
at the very instant when Rebecca had assumed the
attitude of humility.
"It is the lady on the ground, and not the gentle-
man," Miss Crawley said, with a look and voice of
great scorn. "They told me that you were on your
knees, Sir Pitt: do kneel once more, and let me see
this pretty couple!"
"I have thanked Sir Pitt Crawley, Ma'am," Rebecca
said, rising, “and have told him that— that I never
can become Lady Crawley."
"Refused him!" Miss Crawley said, more bewil-
dered than ever. Briggs and Firkin at the door opened
the eyes of astonishment and the lips of wonder.
refused," Rebecca continued, with a sad,
"Yes
tearful voice.
"And am I to credit my ears that you absolutely
proposed to her, Sir Pitt?" the old lady asked.
"Ees," said the Baronet, "I did."
“And she refused you as she says?"
"Ees," Sir Pitt said, his features on a broad grin.
"It does not seem to break your heart at any rate,"
Miss Crawley remarked.
"Nawt a bit," answered Sir Pitt, with a coolness
and good-humor which set Miss Crawley almost mad
with bewilderment. That an old gentlemen of station
should fall on his knees to a penniless governess, and
burst out laughing because she refused to marry him,
204
VANITY FAIR.
that a penniless governess should refuse a Baronet
with four thousand a year, these were mysteries
which Miss Crawley could never comprehend. It sur-
passed any complications of intrigue in her favorite
"Pigault le Brun."
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
66
"I'm glad you think it good sport, brother," she
continued, groping wildly through this amazement.
Vamous," said Sir Pitt. "Who'd ha' thought it!
what a sly little devil! what a little fox it waws!" he
muttered to himself, chuckling with pleasure.
"Who'd have thought what?" cries Miss Crawley,
stamping with her foot. "Pray, Miss Sharp, are you
waiting for the Prince Regent's divorce, that you don't
think our family good enough for you?"
"My attitude," Rebecca said, "when you came in,
Ma'am, did not look as if I despised such an honor as
this good this noble man has deigned to offer me.
Do you think I have no heart? Have you all loved
me, and been so kind to the poor orphan deserted
- girl, and am I to feel nothing? O my friends! O
my benefactors! may not my love, my life, my duty,
try to repay the confidence you have shown me? Do
you grudge me even gratitude, Miss Crawley? It is
too much my heart is too full;" and she sank down
in a chair so pathetically, the most of the audience
present were perfectly melted with her sadness.
Whether you marry me or not, you're a good little
girl, Becky, and I'm your vriend, mind," said Sir Pitt,
and putting on his crape-bound hat, he walked away-
greatly to Rebecca's relief; for it was evident that her
secret was unrevealed to Miss Crawley, and she had
the advantage of a brief reprieve.
Putting her handkerchief to her eyes, and nodding
away honest Briggs, who would have followed her up
stairs, she went up to her apartment; while Briggs
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
205
and Miss Crawley, in a high state of excitement, re-
mained to discuss the strange event, and Firkin, not
less moved, dived down into the kitchen regions, and
talked of it with all the male and female company
there. And so impressed was Mrs. Firkin with the
news, that she thought proper to write off by that very
night's post, "with her humble duty to Mrs. Bute
Crawley and the family at the Rectory, and Sir Pitt
has been and proposed for to marry Miss Sharp, wherein
she has refused him, to the wonder of all.”
The two ladies in the dining-room (where worthy
Miss Briggs was delighted to be admitted once more
to a confidential conversation with her patroness) won-
dered to their hearts' content at Sir Pitt's offer, and
Rebecca's refusal; Briggs very acutely suggesting that
there must have been some obstacle in the shape of
a previous attachment, otherwise no young woman in
her senses would ever have refused so advantageous a
proposal.
"You would have accepted it yourself, would n't
you, Briggs?" Miss Crawley said, kindly.
"Would it not be a privilege to be Miss Crawley's
sister?" Briggs replied, with meek evasion.
"Well, Becky would have made a good Lady Craw-
ley, after all," Miss Crawley remarked (who was molli-
fied by the girl's refusal, and very liberal and generous
now there was no call for her sacrifices). "She has
brains in plenty (much more wit in her little finger than
you have, my poor dear Briggs, in all your head). Her
manners are excellent, now I have formed her. She
is a Montmorency, Briggs, and blood is something,
though I despise it for my part; and she would have
held her own amongst those pompous stupid Hamp-
shire people much better than that unfortunate iron-
monger's daughter."
206
VANITY FAIR.
Briggs coincided as usual, and the "previous at-
tachment" was then discussed in conjectures. "You
poor friendless creatures are always having some
foolish tendre," Miss Crawley said. "You yourself,
you know, were in love with a writing-master (don't
cry, Briggs — you're always crying, and it won't
bring him to life again), and I suppose this unfortu-
nate Becky has been silly and sentimental too
apothecary, or house-steward, or painter, or young
curate, or something of that sort."
some
M
"Poor thing, poor thing!" says Briggs (who was
thinking of twenty-four years back, and that hectic
young writing-master whose lock of yellow hair, and
whose letters, beautiful in their illegibility, she cher-
ished in her old desk up stairs). "Poor thing, poor
thing! says Briggs. Once more she was a fresh-
cheeked lass of eighteen; she was at evening church,
and the hectic writing-master and she were quavering
out of the same psalm-book.
""
"After such conduct on Rebecca's part," Miss
Crawley said enthusiastically, "our family should do
something. Find out who is the objet, Briggs. I'll
set him up in a shop; or order my portrait of him,
you know; or speak to my cousin, the Bishop and
I'll doter Becky, and we'll have a wedding, Briggs,
and you shall make the breakfast, and be a brides-
maid."
Briggs declared that it would be delightful, and
vowed that her dear Miss Crawley was always kind
and generous, and went up to Rebecca's bedroom to
console her and prattle about the offer, and the re-
fusal, and the cause thereof; and to hint at the gen-
erous intentions of Miss Crawley, and to find out who
was the gentleman that had the mastery of Miss
Sharp's heart.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
207
Rebecca was very kind, very affectionate and af-
fected responded to Briggs's offer of tenderness
with grateful fervor - owned there was a secret
attachment a delicious mystery — what a pity Miss
Briggs had not remained half a minute longer at the
key-hole! Rebecca might, perhaps, have told more:
but five minutes after Miss Briggs's arrival in Re-
becca's apartment, Miss Crawley actually made her
appearance there an unheard-of honor; - her im-
patience had overcome her; she could not wait for
the tardy operations of her ambassadress: so she
came in person, and ordered Briggs out of the room.
And expressing her approval of Rebecca's conduct,
she asked particulars of the interview, and the pre-
vious transactions which had brought about the
astonishing offer of Sir Pitt.
Rebecca said she had long had some notion of the
partiality with which Sir Pitt honored her (for he
was in the habit of making his feelings known in a
very frank and unreserved manner), but, not to men-
tion private reasons with which she would not for the
present trouble Miss Crawley, Sir Pitt's age, station,
and habits were such as to render a marriage quite
impossible; and could a woman with any feeling of
self-respect and any decency listen to proposals at
such a moment, when the funeral of the lover's de-
ceased wife had not actually taken place?
Nonsense, my dear, you would never have refused
him had there not been some one else in the case,"
Miss Crawley said, coming to her point at once.
"Tell me the private reasons; what are the private
reasons? There is some one; who is it that has
touched your heart?"
Rebecca cast down her eyes, and owned there was.
"You have guessed right, dear lady," she said, with a
208
VANITY FAIR.
sweet simple faltering voice. "You wonder at one
so poor and friendless having an attachment, don't
you? I have never heard that poverty was any safe-
guard against it. I wish it were."
"My poor dear child," cried Miss Crawley, who
was always quite ready to be sentimental, is our
passion unrequited, then? Are we pining in secret?
Tell me all, and let me console you."
"I wish you could, dear Madam; " Rebecca said in
the same tearful tone. "Indeed, indeed, I need it."
And she laid her head upon Miss Crawley's shoulder
and wept there so naturally that the old lady, sur-
prised into sympathy, embraced her with an almost
maternal kindness, uttered many soothing protests of
regard and affection for her, vowed that she loved her
as a daughter, and would do everything in her power
to serve her. "And now who is it, my dear? Is it
that pretty Miss Sedley's brother? You said some-
thing about an affair with him. I'll ask him here,
my dear.
And you shall have him: indeed you
shall."
"Don't ask me now," Rebecca said. "You shall
know all soon. Indeed you shall. Dear kind Miss
Crawley Dear friend, may I say so?"
"That you may, my child," the old lady replied,
kissing her.
"I
"I can't tell you now," sobbed out Rebecca.
am very miserable. But oh! love me always— prom-
ise you will love me always." And in the midst of
mutual tears for the emotions of the younger
woman had awakened the sympathies of the elder
this promise was solemnly given by Miss Crawley,
who left her little protégée, blessing and admiring
her as a dear, artless, tender-hearted, affectionate,
incomprehensible creature.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
209
And now she was left alone to think over the sud-
den and wonderful events of the day, and of what
had been and what might have been. What think
you were the private feelings of Miss no (begging her
pardon), of Mrs. Rebecca? If, a few pages back, the
present writer claimed the privilege of peeping into
Miss Amelia Sedley's bedroom, and understanding
with the omniscience of the novelist all the gentle
pains and passions which were tossing upon that inno-
cent pillow, why should he not declare himself to be
Rebecca's confidant too, master of her secrets, and
seal-keeper of that young woman's conscience?
Well, then, in the first place, Rebecca gave way to
some very sincere and touching regrets that a piece of
marvellous good fortune should have been so near
her, and she actually obliged to decline it. In this
natural emotion every properly regulated mind will
certainly share. What good mother is there that
would not commiserate a penniless spinster, who
might have been my lady, and have shared four thou-
sand a year? What well-bred young person is there
in all Vanity Fair, who will not feel for a hard-work-
ing, ingenious, meritorious girl, who gets such an
honorable, advantageous, provoking offer, just at the
very moment when it is out of her power to accept
it? I am sure our friend Becky's disappointment
deserves and will command every sympathy.
I remember one night being in the Fair myself, at
an evening party. I observed old Miss Toady there
also present, single out for her special attentions and
flattery little Mrs. Briefless, the barrister's wife, who
is of a good family certainly, but, as we all know, is
as poor as poor can be.
What, I asked in my own mind, can cause this
obsequiousness on the part of Miss Toady; has
VOL. I. — 14
-
210
VANITY FAIR.
Briefless got a county court, or has his wife had a for-
tune left her? Miss Toady explained presently,
with that simplicity which distinguishes all her con-
duct. You know," she said, "Mrs. Briefless is
granddaughter of Sir John Redhand, who is so ill at
Cheltenham that he can't last six months. Mrs.
Briefless's papa succeeds; so you see she will be a
baronet's daughter." And Toady asked Briefless and
his wife to dinner the very next week.
If the mere chance of becoming a baronet's daugh-
ter can procure a lady such homage in the world,
surely, surely we may respect the agonies of a young
woman who has lost the opportunity of becoming a
baronet's wife. Who would have dreamed of Lady
Crawley dying so soon? She was one of those sickly
women that might have lasted these ten years - Re-
becca thought to herself, in all the woes of repen-
tance and I might have been my lady! I might
have led that old man whither I would. I might
have thanked Mrs. Bute for her patronage, and Mr.
Pitt for his insufferable condescension. I would have
had the town-house newly furnished and decorated.
I would have had the handsomest carriage in London,
and a box at the Opera; and I would have been pre-
sented next season. All this might have been; and
now - now all was doubt and mystery.
A
But Rebecca was a young lady of too much resolu-
tion and energy of character to permit herself much
useless and unseemly sorrow for the irrevocable
past; so, having devoted only the proper portion of
regret to it, she wisely turned her whole attention
towards the future, which was now vastly more im-
portant to her. And she surveyed her position, and
its hopes, doubts, and chances.
In the first place, she was married;
that was a
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
211
great fact. Sir Pitt knew it. She was not so much
surprised into the avowal, as induced to make it by
a sudden calculation. It must have come some day:
and why not now as at a later period? He who
would have married her himself must at least be si-
lent with regard to her marriage. How Miss Crawley
would bear the news was the great question. Mis-
givings Rebecca had; but she remembered all Miss
Crawley had said; the old lady's avowed contempt
for birth; her daring liberal opinions; her general
romantic propensities; her almost doting attachment
to her nephew, and her repeatedly-expressed fondness
for Rebecca herself. She is so fond of him, Rebecca
thought, that she will forgive him anything: she is
so used to me that I don't think she could be com-
fortable without me: when the éclaircissement comes
there will be a scene, and hysterics, and a great quar-
rel, and then a great reconciliation. At all events,
what use was there in delaying? the die was thrown,
and now or to-morrow the issue must be the same.
And so, resolved that Miss Crawley should have the
news, the young person debated in her mind as to the
best means of conveying it to her; and whether
she should face the storm that must come, or fly
and avoid it until its first fury was blown over. In
this state of meditation she wrote the following
letter:
"DEAREST FRIEND,- The great crisis which we have de-
bated about so often is come. Half of my secret is known, and
I have thought and thought, until I am quite sure that now is
the time to reveal the whole of the mystery. Sir Pitt came to
me this morning, and made what do you think?- -a declara-
tion in form. Think of that! Poor little me. I might have
been Lady Crawley. How pleased Mrs. Bute would have been;
and ma tante if I had taken precedence of her! I might have
212
VANITY FAIR.
been somebody's mamma, instead of — Oh, I tremble, I trem-
ble, when I think how soon we must tell all!
is
"Sir Pitt knows I am married, and not knowing to whom,
not very much displeased as yet. Ma tante is actually angry
that I should have refused him. But she is all kindness and
graciousness. She condescends to say I would have made him
a good wife; and vows that she will be a mother to your little
Rebecca. She will be shaken when she first hears the news.
But need we fear anything beyond a momentary anger? I
think not: I am sure not. She dotes upon you so (you naughty,
good-for-nothing man), that she would pardon you anything:
and, indeed, I believe, the next place in her heart is mine: and
that she would be miserable without me. Dearest! something
tells me we shall conquer. You shall leave that odious regi-
ment quit gaming, racing, and be a good boy; and we shall
all live in Park Lane, and ma tante shall leave us all her
money.
"I shall try and walk to-morrow at 3 in the usual place. If
Miss B. accompanies me, you must come to dinner, and bring
an answer, and put it in the third volume of Porteus's Ser-
But, at all events, come to your own
R.
mons.
"To Miss ELIZA STYLES,
"At Mr. BARNET'S, Saddler, Knightsbridge.'
"
And I trust there is no reader of this little story
who has not discernment enough to perceive that the
Miss Eliza Styles (an old schoolfellow, Rebecca said,
with whom she had resumed an active correspondence
of late, and who used to fetch these letters from the
saddler's) wore brass spurs, and large curling mus-
tachios, and was indeed no other than Captain Rawdon
Crawley.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE LETTER ON THE PINCUSHION.
How they were married is not of the slightest con-
sequence to anybody. What is to hinder a Captain
who is a major, and a young lady who is of age, from
purchasing a license, and uniting themselves at any
church in this town? Who needs to be told, that if a
woman has a will, she will assuredly find a way?
My belief is, that one day, when Miss Sharp had gone
to pass the forenoon with her dear friend Miss Amelia
Sedley in Russell Square, a lady very like her might
have been seen entering a church in the City, in com-
pany with a gentleman with dyed mustachios, who,
after a quarter of an hour's interval, escorted her back
to the hackney-coach in waiting, and that this was a
quiet bridal party.
And who on earth, after the daily experience we
have, can question the probability of a gentleman mar-
rying anybody? How many of the wise and learned
have married their cooks? Did not Lord Eldon him-
self, the most prudent of men, make a runaway match?
Were not Achilles and Ajax both in love with their
servant-maids? And are we to expect a heavy dra-
goon with strong desires and small brains, who had
never controlled a passion in his life, to become pru-
dent all of a sudden, and to refuse to pay any price for
an indulgence to which he had a mind? If people.
only made prudent marriages, what a stop to popula
tion there would be!
214
VANITY FAIR.
It seems to me, for my part, that Mr. Rawdon's mar-
riage was one of the honestest actions which we shall
have to record in any portion of that gentleman's
biography which has to do with the present history.
No one will say it is unmanly to be captivated by
a woman, or, being captivated, to marry her; and
the admiration, the delight, the passion, the wonder,
the unbounded confidence, and frantic adoration with
which, by degrees, this big warrior got to regard the
little Rebecca, were feelings which the ladies at least
will pronounce were not altogether discreditable to
him. When she sang, every note thrilled in his dull
soul, and tingled through his huge frame. When she
spoke, he brought all the force of his brains to listen
and wonder. If she was jocular, he used to revolve
her jokes in his mind, and explode over them half an
hour afterwards in the street, to the surprise of the
groom in the tilbury by his side, or the comrade riding
with him in Rotten Row. Her words were oracles to
him, her smallest actions marked by an infallible grace
and wisdom. "How she sings, how she paints,"
thought he.
"How she rode that kicking mare at
Queen's Crawley!" And he would say to her in con-
fidential moments, "By Jove, Beck, you're fit to be
Commander-in-Chief, or Archbishop of Canterbury, by
Jove." Is his case a rare one? and don't we see every
day in the world many an honest Hercules at the
apron-strings of Omphale, and great whiskered Sam-
sons prostrate in Delilah's lap?
-
When, then, Becky told him that the great crisis
was near, and the time for action had arrived, Raw-
don expressed himself as ready to act under her
orders, as he would be to charge with his troop at
the command of his colonel. There was no need for
him to put his letter into the third volume of Porteus.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
215
Rebecca easily found a means to get rid of Briggs,
her companion, and met her faithful friend in "the
usual place" on the next day. She had thought
over matters at night, and communicated to Rawdon
the result of her determinations. He agreed, of
course, to everything; was quite sure that it was
all right that what she proposed was best; that
Miss Crawley would infallibly relent, or "come
round," as he said, after a time. Had Rebecca's
resolutions been entirely different, he would have fol-
lowed them as implicitly. "You have head enough
for both of us, Beck,” said he. "You're sure to get
us out of the scrape. I never saw your equal, and
I've met with some clippers in my time too."
And with this simple confession of faith, the love-
stricken dragoon left her, to execute his part of the
project which she had formed for the pair.
It consisted simply in the hiring of quiet lodgings
at Brompton, or in the neighborhood of the barracks,
for Captain and Mrs. Crawley. For Rebecca had
determined, and very prudently, we think, to fly.
Rawdon was only too happy at her resolve; he had
been entreating her to take this measure any time
for weeks past. He pranced off to engage the lodg-
ings with all the impetuosity of love. He agreed
to pay two guineas a week so readily that the land-
lady regretted she had asked him so little. He
ordered in a piano, and half a nursery-house full of
flowers and a heap of good things. As for shawls,
kid gloves, silk stockings, gold French watches, brace-
lets and perfumery, he sent them in with the profu-
sion of blind love and unbounded credit. And having
relieved his mind by this outpouring of generosity, he
went and dined nervously at the club, waiting until
the great moment of his life should come.
:
216
VANITY FAIR.
The occurrences of the previous day; the admir-
able conduct of Rebecca in refusing an offer so ad-
vantageous to her, the secret unhappiness preying
upon her, the sweetness and silence with which
she bore her affliction, made Miss Crawley much
more tender than usual. An event of this nature,
a marriage, or a refusal, or a proposal, thrills through
a whole household of women, and sets all their hys-
terical sympathies at work. As an observer of
human nature, I regularly frequent St. George's,
Hanover Square, during the genteel marriage season;
and though I have never seen the bridegroom's male
friends give way to tears, or the beadles and officiat-
ing clergy any way affected, yet it is not at all un-
common to see women who are not in the least
concerned in the operations going on-old ladies
who are long past marrying, stout middle-aged fe-
males with plenty of sons and daughters, let alone
pretty young creatures in pink bonnets, who are on
their promotion, and may naturally take an interest
in the ceremony, I say it is quite common to see
the women present piping, sobbing, sniffling; hiding
their little faces in their little useless pocket-hand-
kerchiefs; and heaving, old and young, with emotion.
When my friend, the fashionable John Pimlico,
married the lovely Lady Belgravia Green Parker,
the excitement was so general, that even the little
snuffy old pew-opener who let me into the seat was
in tears. And wherefore? I inquired of my own
soul: she was not going to be married.
Miss Crawley and Briggs in a word, after the affair
of Sir Pitt, indulged in the utmost luxury of senti-
ment, and Rebecca became an object of the most
tender interest to them. In her absence Miss
Crawley solaced herself with the most sentimental
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
217
of the novels in her library. Little Sharp, with her
secret griefs, was the heroine of the day.
That night Rebecca sang more sweetly and talked
more pleasantly than she had ever been heard to do
in Park Lane. She twined herself round the heart
of Miss Crawley. She spoke lightly and laughingly
of Sir Pitt's proposal, ridiculed it as the foolish
fancy of an old man; and her eyes filled with tears,
and Briggs's heart with unutterable pangs of defeat,
as she said she desired no other lot than to remain
forever with her dear benefactress. "My dear little
creature,” the old lady said, "I don't intend to let
you stir for years, that you may depend upon it.
As for going back to that odious brother of mine
after what has passed, it is out of the question.
Here you stay with me and Briggs. Briggs wants
to go to see her relations very often. Briggs, you
may go when you like. But as for you, my dear,
you must stay and take care of the old woman."
If Rawdon Crawley had been then and there pres-
ent, instead of being at the club nervously drinking
claret, the pair might have gone down on their knees
before the old spinster, avowed all, and been forgiven
in a twinkling. But that good chance was denied
to the young couple, doubtless in order that this
story might be written, in which numbers of their
wonderful adventures are narrated, adventures
which could never have occurred to them if they
had been housed and sheltered under the comfortable
uninteresting forgiveness of Miss Crawley.
Under Mrs. Firkin's orders, in the Park Lane es-
tablishment, was a young woman from Hampshire,
whose business it was, among other duties, to knock
at Miss Sharp's door with that jug of hot water,
218
VANITY FAIR.
which Firkin would rather have perished than have
presented to the intruder. This girl, bred on the
family estate, had a brother in Captain Crawley's
troop, and if the truth were known, I dare say it
would come out that she was aware of certain arrange-
ments, which have a great deal to do with this history.
At any rate she purchased a yellow shawl, a pair of
green boots, and a light blue hat with a red feather,
with three guineas which Rebecca gave her, and as
little Sharp was by no means too liberal with her
money, no doubt it was for services rendered that
Betty Martin was so bribed.
On the second day after Sir Pitt Crawley's offer to
Miss Sharp, the sun rose as usual, and at the usual
hour Betty Martin, the up-stairs maid, knocked at the
door of the governess's bedchamber.
No answer was returned, and she knocked again.
Silence was still uninterrupted; and Betty, with the
hot water, opened the door and entered the chamber.
The little white dimity bed was as smooth and
trim as on the day previous, when Betty's own hands.
had helped to make it. Two little trunks were corded
in one end of the room; and on the table before the
window on the pincushion the great fat pin
cushion lined with pink inside, and twilled like a
lady's night-cap-lay a letter. It had been reposing
there probably all night.
Betty advanced towards it on tiptoe, as if she were
afraid to awake it looked at it, and round the room,
with an air of great wonder and satisfaction; took up
the letter, and grinned intensely as she turned it
round and over, and finally carried it into Miss
Briggs's room below.
How could Betty tell that the letter was for Miss
Briggs, I should like to know? All the schooling

THE NOTE ON THE PINCUSHION.
:
:
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
219
Betty had was at Mrs. Bute Crawley's Sunday-school,
and she could no more read writing than Hebrew.
"La, Miss Briggs," the girl exclaimed, "Oh, Miss,
something must have happened there's nobody in
Miss Sharp's room; the bed ain't been slep in, and
she 've run away, and left this letter for you, Miss."
66
"What!" cries Briggs, dropping her comb, the
thin wisp of faded hair falling over her shoulders;
an elopement! Miss Sharp a fugitive! What, what
is this?" and she eagerly broke the neat seal, and,
as they say, "devoured the contents" of the letter
addressed to her.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
"Dear Miss Briggs," the refugee wrote, "the kindest heart
in the world, as yours is, will pity and sympathize with me
and excuse me. With tears, and prayers, and blessings, I leave
the home where the poor orphan has ever met with kindness
and affection. Claims even superior to those of my benefac-
tress call me hence. I go to my duty to my husband. Yes,
I am married. My husband commands me to seek the humble
home which we call ours. Dearest Miss Briggs, break the news
as your delicate sympathy will know how to do it to my dear,
my beloved friend and benefactress. Tell her, ere I went, I
shed tears on her dear pillow -- that pillow that I have so often
soothed in sickness — that I long again to watch
Oh, with
How
How I tremble
what joy shall I return to dear Park Lane!
for the answer which is to seal my fate! When Sir Pitt deigned
to offer me his hand, an honor of which my beloved Miss Craw-
ley said I was deserving (my blessings go with her for judging
the poor orphan worthy to be her sister!) I told Sir Pitt that
I was already a wife. Even he forgave me.
But my courage
failed me, when I should have told him all that I could not
be his wife, for I was his daughter! I am wedded to the best
and most generous of men - Miss Crawley's Rawdon is my
Rawdon. At his command I open my lips, and follow him to
our humble home, as I would through the world. Oh, my ex-
cellent and kind friend, intercede with my Rawdon's beloved
aunt for him and the poor girl to whom all his noble race have
220
VANITY FAIR.
shown such unparalleled affection. Ask Miss Crawley to re-
ceive her children. I can say no more, but blessings, blessings
on all in the dear house I leave, prays
"Your affectionate and grateful
"REBECCA CRAWLEY.
"Midnight."
Just as Briggs had finished reading this affecting
and interesting document, which reinstated her in her
position as first confidante of Miss Crawley, Mrs. Fir-
kin entered the room. "Here's Mrs. Bute Crawley
just arrived by the mail from Hampshire, and wants
some tea, will you come down and make breakfast,
Miss?"
And to the surprise of Firkin, clasping her dressing-
gown around her, the wisp of hair floating dishevelled
behind her, the little curl-papers still sticking in
bunches round her forehead, Briggs sailed down to
Mrs. Bute with the letter in her hand containing the
wonderful news.
"Oh, Mrs. Firkin," gasped Betty, "sech a business.
Miss Sharp have a gone and run away with the Cap-
ting, and they're off to Gretny Green!" We would
devote a chapter to describe the emotions of Mrs. Fir-
kin, did not the passions of her mistresses occupy our
genteeler muse.
When Mrs. Bute Crawley, numbed with midnight
travelling, and warming herself at the newly crack-
ling parlor fire, heard from Miss Briggs the intelli-
gence of the clandestine marriage, she declared it was
quite providential that she should have arrived at such
a time to assist poor dear Miss Crawley in supporting
the shock. that Rebecca was an artful little hussy of
whom she had always had her suspicions; and that as
for Rawdon Crawley, she never could account for his
aunt's infatuation regarding him, and had long consid
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
221
ered him a profligate, lost, and abandoned being. And
this awful conduct, Mrs. Bute said, will have at least
this good effect, it will open poor dear Miss Crawley's
eyes to the real character of this wicked man. Then
Mrs. Bute had a comfortable hot toast and tea; and as
there was a vacant room in the house now, there was
no need for her to remain at the Gloster Coffee-house
where the Portsmouth mail had set her down, and
whence she ordered Mr. Bowls's aide-de-camp the foot-
man to bring away her trunks.
Miss Crawley, be it known, did not leave her room
until near noon taking chocolate in bed in the morn
ing, while Becky Sharp read the "Morning Post" to her,
or otherwise amusing herself or dawdling. The con-
spirators below agreed that they would spare the dear
lady's feelings until she appeared in her drawing-room:
meanwhile it was announced to her, that Mrs. Bute
Crawley had come up from Hampshire by the mail,
was staying at the Gloster, sent her love to Miss Craw-
ley, and asked for breakfast with Miss Briggs. The
arrival of Mrs. Bute, which would not have caused any
extreme delight at another period, was hailed with
pleasure now; Miss Crawley being pleased at the no-
tion of a gossip with her sister-in-law regarding the
late Lady Crawley, the funeral arrangements pending,
and Sir Pitt's abrupt proposals to Rebecca.
It was not until the old lady was fairly ensconced in
her usual arm-chair in the drawing-room, and the pre-
liminary embraces and inquiries had taken place be-
tween the ladies, that the conspirators thought it
advisable to submit her to the operation. Who has
not admired the artifices and delicate approaches with
which women "prepare" their friends for bad news?
Miss Crawley's two friends made such an apparatus of
mystery before they broke the intelligence to her, that
222
VANITY FAIR.
they worked her up to the necessary degree of doubt
and alarm.
"And she refused Sir Pitt, my dear, dear Miss
Crawley, prepare yourself for it," Mrs. Bute said,
"because because she could n't help herself."
"Of course there was a reason," Miss Crawley an-
swered. "She liked somebody else. I told Briggs so
yesterday."
66
"Likes somebody else!" Briggs gasped. "O my
dear friend, she is married already."
"Married already," Mrs. Bute chimed in; and both
sat with clasped hands looking from each other at their
victim.
"Send her to me, the instant she comes in. The
little sly wretch: how dared she not tell me?" cried
out Miss Crawley.
"She won't come in soon. Prepare yourself, dear
friend —she's gone out for a long time she's she's
gone altogether."
"Gracious goodness, and who's to make my choco-
late? Send for her and have her back; I desire that
she come back," the old lady said.
"She decamped last night, Ma'am," cried Mrs.
Bute.
"She left a letter for me," Briggs exclaimed. "She's
married to
66
ور
p
Gadg
Prepare her, for Heaven's sake. Don't torture her,
my dear Miss Briggs."
"She's married to whom?" cries the spinster in a
nervous fury.
“To — to a relation of
"She refused Sir Pitt," cried the victim. "Speak at
Don't drive me mad.”
once.
"O Ma'am
ried to Rawdon Crawley."
prepare her, Miss Briggs-she's mar-
رو
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
223
"Rawdon married — Rebecca
governess nobod
-Get out of my house, you fool, you idiot-you stupid
old Briggs how dare you? You're in the plot-
you made him marry, thinking that I'd leave my
money from him
you did, Martha," the poor old
lady screamed in hysteric sentences.
"I, Ma'am, ask a member of this family to marry a
drawing-master's daughter?
,,
"Her mother was a Montmorency," cried out the old
lady, pulling at the bell with all her might.
"Her mother was an opera-girl, and she has been on
the stage or worse herself," said Mrs. Bute.
Miss Crawley gave a final scream, and fell back in a
faint. They were forced to take her back to the room
which she had just quitted. One fit of hysterics suc-
ceeded another. The doctor was sent for the apothe-
cary arrived.
Mrs. Bute took up the post of nurse by
her bedside. “Her relations ought to be round about
her," that amiable woman said.
She had scarcely been carried up to her room, when
a new person arrived to whom it was also necessary
to break the news. This was Sir Pitt. "Where's
Becky?" he said, coming in. "Where's her traps?
She's coming with me to Queen's Crawley."
"Have you not heard the astonishing intelligence.
regarding her surreptitious union?" Briggs asked.
"What's that to me?" Sir Pitt asked. "I know
she's married.
married. That makes no odds. Tell her to
come down at once, and not keep me."
“Are you not aware, sir," Miss Briggs asked, "that
she has left our roof, to the dismay of Miss Crawley,
who is nearly killed by the intelligence of Captain
Rawdon's union with her?
""
When Sir Pitt Crawley heard that Rebecca was
married to his son, he broke out into a fury of lan-
224
VANITY FAIR.
guage, which it would do no good to repeat in this
place, as indeed it sent poor Briggs shuddering out
of the room; and with her we will shut the door
upon the figure of the frenzied old man, wild with
hatred and insane with baffled desire.
One day after he went to Queen's Crawley, he
burst like a madman into the room she had used
when there dashed open her boxes with his foot,
and flung about her papers, clothes, and other relics.
Miss Horrocks, the butler's daughter, took some of
them. The children dressed themselves and acted
plays in the others. It was but a few days after the
poor mother had gone to her lonely burying-place;
and was laid, unwept and disregarded, in a vault full
of strangers.
(6
Suppose the old lady does n't come to," Rawdon
said to his little wife, as they sat together in the
snug little Brompton lodgings. She had been trying
the new piano all the morning. The new gloves
fitted her to a nicety; the new shawls became her
wonderfully; the new rings glittered on her little
hands, and the new watch ticked at her waist; "sup-
pose she don't come round, eh, Becky?"
“I'll make your fortune," she said; and Delilah
patted Samson's cheek.
"You can do anything," he said, kissing the little
hand. "By Jove, you can; and we'll drive down to
the Star and Garter, and dine, by Jove."
CHAPTER XVII.
HOW CAPTAIN DOBBIN BOUGHT A PIANO.
If there is any exhibition in all Vanity Fair which
Satire and Sentiment can visit arm in arm together;
where you light on the strangest contrasts laughable
and tearful; where you may be gentle and pathetic,
or savage and cynical with perfect propriety: it is at
one of those public assemblies, a crowd of which are
advertised every day in the last page of the "Times"
newspaper, and over which the late Mr. George
Robins used to preside with so much dignity. There
are very few London people, as I fancy, who have not
attended at these meetings, and all with a taste for
moralizing must have thought, with a sensation and
interest not a little startling and queer, of the day
when their turn shall come too, and Mr. Hammer-
down will sell by the orders of Diogenes's assignees,
or will be instructed by the executors, to offer to pub-
lic competition, the library, furniture, plate, wardrobe,
and choice cellar of wines of Epicurus deceased.
Even with the most selfish disposition, the Vanity-
fairian, as he witnesses this sordid part of the ob-
sequies of a departed friend, can't but feel some
sympathies and regret. My Lord Dives's remains are
in the family vault: the statuaries are cutting an in-
scription veraciously commemorating his virtues, and
the sorrows of his heir, who is disposing of his goods.
What guest at Dives's table can pass the familiar
house without a sigh? - the familiar house of which
VOL. I. 15
226
VANITY FAIR.
the lights used to shine so cheerfully at seven o'clock,
of which the hall-doors opened so readily, of which
the obsequious servants, as you passed up the com-
fortable stair, sounded your name from landing to
landing, until it reached the apartment where jolly
old Dives welcomed his friends! What a number of
them he had; and what a noble way of entertaining
them. How witty people used to be here who were
morose when they got out of the door; and how
courteous and friendly men who slandered and hated
each other everywhere else! He was pompous, but
with such a cook what would one not swallow? he
was rather dull, perhaps, but would not such wine
make any conversation pleasant? We must get some
of his burgundy at any price, the mourners cry at his
club. "I got this box at old Dives's sale," Pincher
says, handing it round, "one of Louis XV.'s mis-
tresses pretty thing, is it not? sweet miniature,"
and they talk of the way in which young Dives is dis-
sipating his fortune.
How changed the house is, though! The front is
patched over with bills, setting forth the particulars
of the furniture in staring capitals. They have hung
a shred of carpet out of an up-stairs window a half-
dozen of porters are lounging on the dirty steps — the
hall swarms with dingy guests of oriental counte-
nance, who thrust printed cards into your hand, and
offer to bid. Old women and amateurs have invaded
the upper apartments, pinching the bed-curtains, pok-
ing into the feathers, shampooing the mattresses, and
clapping the wardrobe drawers to and fro. Enter-
prising young housekeepers are measuring the looking-
glasses and hangings to see if they will suit the new
ménage (Snob will brag for years that he has pur-
chased this or that at Dives's sale), and Mr. Hammer-

کرا
\\//\\\
LOT 20
PATI
AN ELEPHANT FOR SALE.
Moon
1
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
227
down is sitting on the great mahogany dining-table,
in the dining-room below, waving the ivory hammer,
and employing all the artifices of eloquence, enthusi-
asm, entreaty, reason, despair; shouting to his people;
satirizing Mr. Davids for his sluggishness; inspiriting
Mrs. Moss into action; imploring, commanding, bel-
lowing, until down comes the hammer like fate, and
we pass to the next lot. O Dives, who would ever
have thought, as we sat round the broad table spark-
ling with plate and spotless linen, to have seen such a
dish at the head of it as that roaring auctioneer?
It was rather late in the sale. The excellent draw-
ing-room furniture by the best makers; the rare and
famous wines selected, regardless of cost, and with
the well-known taste of the purchaser; the rich and
complete set of family plate had been sold on the
previous days. Certain of the best wines (which all
had a great character among amateurs in the neigh-
borhood) had been purchased for his master, who
knew them very well, by the butler of our friend
John Osborne, Esquire, of Russell Square. A small
portion of the most useful articles of the plate had
been bought by some young stockbrokers from the
City. And now the public being invited to the pur-
chase of minor objects, it happened that the orator on
the table was expatiating on the merits of a picture,
which he sought to recommend to his audience: it
was by no means so select or numerous a company as
had attended the previous days of the auction.
"No. 369," roared Mr. Hammerdown. "Portrait
of a gentleman on an elephant. Who'll bid for the
gentleman on the elephant? Lift up the picture,
Blowman, and let the company examine this lot." A
long, pale, military-looking gentleman, seated de-
murely at the mahogany table, could not help grin-
228
VANITY FAIR.
ning as this valuable lot was shown by Mr. Blowman.
"Turn the elephant to the Captain, Blowman. What
shall we say, sir, for the elephant?" but the Captain,
blushing in a very hurried and discomfited manner,
turned away his head.
"Shall we say twenty guineas for this work of art?
- fifteen, five, name your own price. The gentleman
without the elephant is worth five pound.”
""
"I wonder it ain't come down with him," said a
professional wag, "he 's anyhow a precious big one;
at which (for the elephant-rider was represented as of
a very stout figure) there was a general giggle in the
room.
"Don't be trying to deprecate the value of the lot,
Mr. Moss," Mr. Hammerdown said; "let the company
examine it as a work of art the attitude of the gal-
lant animal quite according to natur'; the gentleman
in a nankeen-jacket, his gun in his hand, is going to
the chase; in the distance a banyhann-tree and a
pagody, most likely resemblances of some interesting
spot in our famous Eastern possessions. How much
for this lot? Come, gentlemen, don't keep me here.
all day."
Some one bid five shillings, at which the mili-
tary gentleman looked towards the quarter from
which this splendid offer had come, and there saw
another officer with a young lady on his arm, who
both appeared to be highly amused with the scene,
and to whom, finally, this lot was knocked down for
half a guinea. He at the table looked more surprised
and discomposed than ever when he spied this pair,
and his head sank into his military collar, and he
turned his back upon them, so as to avoid them
altogether.
Of all the other articles which Mr. Hammerdown
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
229
had the honor to offer for public competition that day
it is not our purpose to make mention, save of one
only, a little square piano, which came down from the
upper regions of the house (the state grand piano
having been disposed of previously); this the young
lady tried with a rapid and skilful hand (making the
officer blush and start again), and for it, when its
turn came, her agent began to bid.
But there was an opposition here. The Hebrew
aide-de-camp in the service of the officer at the table
bid against the Hebrew gentleman employed by the
elephant purchasers, and a brisk battle ensued over
this little piano, the combatants being greatly encour-
aged by Mr. Hammerdown.
At last, when the competition had been prolonged
for some time, the elephant captain and lady desisted
from the race; and the hammer coming down, the
auctioneer said: "Mr. Lewis, twenty-five," and Mr.
Lewis's chief thus became the proprietor of the little
square piano. Having effected the purchase, he sat
up as if he was greatly relieved, and the unsuccessful
competitors catching a glimpse of him at this moment,
the lady said to her friend,
"Why, Rawdon, it's Captain Dobbin."
I suppose Becky was discontented with the new
piano her husband had hired for her, or perhaps the
proprietors of that instrument had fetched it away,
declining farther credit, or perhaps she had a particu-
lar attachment for the one which she had first tried
to purchase, recollecting it in old days, when she used
to play upon it, in the little sitting-room of our dear
Amelia Sedley.
The sale was at the old house in Russell Square,
where we passed some evenings together at the be
230
VANITY FAIR.
ginning of this story. Good old John Sedley was a
ruined man. His name had been proclaimed as a de-
faulter on the Stock Exchange, and his bankruptcy
and commercial extermination had followed. Mr.
Osborne's butler came to buy some of the famous port
wine to transfer to the cellars over the way. As for
one dozen well-manufactured silver spoons and forks
at per oz., and one dozen dessert ditto ditto, there
were three young stockbrokers (Messrs. Dale, Spig-
got, and Dale, of Threadneedle Street, indeed), who
having had dealings with the old man, and kindnesses.
from him in days when he was kind to everybody
with whom he dealt, sent this little spar out of the
wreck with their love to good Mrs. Sedley; and with
respect to the piano, as it had been Amelia's, and as
she might miss it and want one now, and as Captain
William Dobbin could no more play upon it than he
could dance on the tight-rope, it is probable that he
did not purchase the instrument for his own use.
In a word, it arrived that evening at a wonderful
small cottage in a street leading from the Fulham
Road one of those streets which have the finest ro-
mantic names (this was called St. Adelaide Villas,
Anna-Maria Road, West), where the houses look like
baby-houses; where the people, looking out of the
first-floor windows, must infallibly, as you think, sit
with their feet in the parlors; where the shrubs in
the little gardens in front, bloom with a perennial dis-
play of little children's pinafores, little red socks,
caps, etc. (polyandria polygynia); whence you hear
the sound of jingling spinets and women singing;
where little porter pots hang on the railings sunning
themselves; whither of evenings you see City clerks
padding wearily: here it was that Mr. Clapp, the clerk
of Mr. Sedley, had his domicile, and in this asylum
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
231
the good old gentleman hid his head with his wife
and daughter when the crash came.
Jos Sedley had acted as a man of his disposition
would, when the announcement of the family misfor-
tune reached him. He did not come to London, but
he wrote to his mother to draw upon his agents for
whatever money was wanted, so that his kind broken-
spirited old parents had no present poverty to fear.
This done, Jos went on at the boarding-house at Chel-
tenham pretty much as before. He drove his curricle;
he drank his claret; he played his rubber; he told his
Indian stories, and the Irish widow consoled and
flattered him as usual. His present of money, needful
as it was, made little impression on his parents; and
I have heard Amelia say, that the first day on which
she saw her father lift up his head after the failure,
was on the receipt of the packet of forks and spoons
with the young stockbrokers' love, over which he
burst out crying like a child, being greatly more af-
fected than even his wife, to whom the present was
addressed. Edward Dale, the junior of the house,
who purchased the spoons for the firm, was, in fact,
very sweet upon Amelia, and offered for her in spite
of all. He married Miss Louisa Cutts (daughter of
Higham and Cutts, the eminent corn-factors) with a
handsome fortune in 1820; and is now living in splen-
dor, and with a numerous family, at his elegant villa,
Muswell Hill. But we must not let the recollections
of this good fellow cause us to diverge from the prin-
cipal history.
I hope the reader has much too good an opinion of
Captain and Mrs. Crawley to suppose that they ever
would have dreamed of paying a visit to so remote a
district as Bloomsbury, if they thought the family
232
VANITY FAIR.
whom they proposed to honor with a visit were not
merely out of fashion, but out of money, and could be
serviceable to them in no possible manner.
Rebecca
was entirely surprised at the sight of the comfortable
old house where she had met with no small kindness,
ransacked by brokers and bargainers, and its quiet
family treasures given up to public desecration and
plunder. A month after her flight, she had bethought
her of Amelia, and Rawdon, with a horse-laugh had
expressed a perfect willingness to see young George
Osborne again. "He's a very agreeable acquain-
tance, Beck," the wag added. "I'd like to sell him
another horse, Beck. I'd like to play a few more
games at billiards with him. He'd be what I call
useful just now, Mrs. C. — ha, ha!" by which sort of
speech it is not to be supposed that Rawdon Crawley
had a deliberate desire to cheat Mr. Osborne at play,
but only wished to take that fair advantage of him
which almost every sporting gentleman in Vanity
Fair considers to be his due from his neighbor.
The old aunt was long in "coming-to." A month
had elapsed. Rawdon was denied the door by Mr.
Bowls; his servants could not get a lodgement in the
house at Park Lane; his letters were sent back un-
opened. Miss Crawley never stirred out·
she was
unwell and Mrs. Bute remained still and never left
her. Crawley and his wife both of them augered evil
from the continued presence of Mrs. Bute.
"Gad, I begin to perceive now why she was always
bringing us together at Queen's Crawley," Rawdon
said.
“What an artful little woman!" ejaculated Rebecca.
"Well, I don't regret it, if you don't," the Captain
cried, still in an amorous rapture with his wife, who
rewarded him with a kiss by way of reply, and was
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
233
indeed not a little gratified by the generous confidence
of her husband.
"If he had but a little more brains," she thought to
herself, "I might make something of him; " but she
never let him perceive the opinion she had of him;
listened with indefatigable complacency to his stories.
of the stable and the mess; laughed at all his jokes;
felt the greatest interest in Jack Spatterdash, whose
cab-horse had come down, and Bob Martingale, who had
been taken up in a gambling-house, and Tom Cinqbars,
who was going to ride the steeple-chase. When he
came home she was alert and happy: when he went
out she pressed him to go: when he stayed at home,
she played and sang for him, made him good drinks,
superintended his dinner, warmed his slippers, and
steeped his soul in comfort. The best of women (I
have heard my grandmother say) are hypocrites. We
don't know how much they hide from us: how watch-
ful they are when they seem most artless and confiden-
tial: how often those frank smiles which they wear so
easily, are traps to cajole or elude or disarm — I don't
mean in your mere coquettes, but your domestic mod-
els, and paragons of female virtue. Who has not seen
a woman hide the dulness of a stupid husband, or coax
the fury of a savage one? We accept this amiable
slavishness, and praise a woman for it: we call this
pretty treachery truth. A good housewife is of neces-
sity a humbug; and Cornelia's husband was hood-
winked, as Potiphar was only in a different way.
By these attentions, that veteran rake, Rawdon
Crawley, found himself converted into a very happy
and submissive married man. His former haunts
knew him not. They asked about him once or twice
at his clubs, but did not miss him much: in those
booths of Vanity Fair people seldom do miss each
234
VANITY FAIR.
other. His secluded wife ever smiling and cheerful,
his little comfortable lodgings, snug meals, and homely
evenings. had all the charms of novelty and secrecy.
The marriage was not yet declared to the world, or
published in the "Morning Post." All his creditors
would have come rushing on him in a body, had they
known that he was united to a woman without fortune.
"My relations won't cry fie upon me," Becky said,
with rather a bitter laugh; and she was quite con-
tented to wait until the old aunt should be reconciled,
before she claimed her place in society. So she lived
at Brompton, and meanwhile saw no one, or only those
few of her husband's male companions who were ad-
mitted into her little dining-room. These were all
charmed with her. The little dinners, the laughing
and chatting, the music afterwards, delighted all who
participated in these enjoyments. Major Martingale
never thought about asking to see the marriage license.
Captain Cinqbars was perfectly enchanted with her
skill in making punch. And young Lieutenant Spat-
terdash (who was fond of piquet and whom Crawley
would often invite) was evidently and quickly smitten
by Mrs. Crawley; but her own circumspection and
modesty never forsook her for a moment, and Craw-
ley's reputation as a fire-eating and jealous warrior,
was a further and complete defence to his little
wife.
There are gentlemen of very good blood and fashion
in this city, who never have entered a lady's drawing-
room; so that though Rawdon Crawley's marriage
might be talked about in his county, where, of course,
Mrs. Bute had spread the news, in London it was
doubted, or not heeded, or not talked about at all.
He lived comfortably on credit. He had a large cap-
ital of debts, which, laid out judiciously, will carry a
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
235
man along for many years, and on which certain men
about town contrive to live a hundred times better
than even men with ready money can do. Indeed
who is there that walks London streets, but can point
out a half-dozen of men riding by him splendidly,
while he is on foot, courted by fashion, bowed into
their carriages by tradesmen, denying themselves noth-
ing, and living on who knows what? We see Jack
Thriftless prancing in the Park, or darting in his
brougham down Pall Mall: we eat his dinners served
on his miraculous plate. "How did this begin," we
say, "or where will it end ?” "My dear fellow," I
heard Jack once say, "I owe money in every capital
in Europe." The end must come some day, but in the
mean time Jack thrives as much as ever; people are
glad enough to shake him by the hand, ignore the lit-
tle dark stories that are whispered every now and
then against him, and pronounce him a good-natured,
jovial, reckless fellow.
Truth obliges us to confess that Rebecca had
married a gentleman of this order Everything was
plentiful in his house but ready money, of which
their ménage pretty early felt the want; and reading
the "Gazette one day, and coming upon the an-
nouncement of "Lieutenant G. Osborne to be Captain
by purchase, vice Smith, who exchanges," Rawdon
uttered that sentiment regarding Amelia's lover,
which ended in the visit to Russell Square.
When Rawdon and his wife wished to communicate
with Captain Dobbin at the sale, and to know particu-
lars of the catastrophe which had befallen Rebecca's
old acquaintances, the Captain had vanished; and
such information as they got, was from a stray porter
or broker at the auction.
"Look at them with their hooked beaks," Becky
236
VANITY FAIR.
said, getting into the buggy, her picture under her
arm in great glee. "They're like vultures after a
battle."
"Don't know. Never was in action, my dear. Ask
Martingale; he was in Spain, aide-de-camp to General
Blazes."
"He was a very kind old man, Mr. Sedley," Rebecca
said; "I'm really sorry he 's gone wrong."
"Oh, stockbrokers bankrupts used to it, you
know," Rawdon replied, cutting a fly off the horse's
ear.
"I wish we could have afforded some of the plate,
Rawdon," the wife continued sentimentally. "Five-
and-twenty guineas was monstrously dear for that
little piano. We chose it at Broadwood's for Amelia,
when she came from school. It only cost five-and-
thirty then."
S
"Whatd'yecall'em - Osborne, will cry off now, I
suppose, since the family is smashed. How cut up
your pretty little friend will be; hey, Becky?”
"I dare say she'll recover it," Becky said, with a
and they drove on and talked about something
smile
else.
CHAPTER XVIII.
WHO PLAYED ON THE PIANO CAPTAIN DOBBIN
BOUGHT.
OUR surprised story now finds itself for a moment
among very famous events and personages, and hang-
ing on to the skirts of history. When the eagles of
Napoleon Bonaparte, the Corsican upstart, were fly-
ing from Provence, where they had perched after a
brief sojourn in Elba, and from steeple to steeple un-
til they reached the towers of Notre Dame, I wonder
whether the Imperial birds had any eye for a little
corner of the parish of Bloomsbury, London, which
you might have thought so quiet, that even the whirr-
ing and flapping of those mighty wings would pass
unobserved there?
"Napoleon has landed at Cannes." Such news
might create a panic at Vienna, and cause Russia
to drop his cards, and take Prussia into a corner,
and Talleyrand and Metternich to wag their heads
together, while Prince Hardenberg, and even the
present Marquis of Londonderry, were puzzled; but
how was this intelligence to affect a young lady in
Russell Square, before whose door the watchman sang
the hours when she was asleep: who, if she strolled
in the square, was guarded there by the railings and
the beadle: who, if she walked ever so short a dis-
tance to buy a ribbon in Southampton Row, was fol-
lowed by black Sambo with an enormous cane: who
was always cared for, dressed, put to bed, and watched
238
VANITY FAIR.
over by ever so many guardian angels, with and with
out wages? Bon Dieu, I say, is it not hard that the
fateful rush of the great Imperial struggle can't take
place without affecting a poor little harmless girl of
eighteen, who is occupied in billing and cooing, or
working muslin collars in Russell Square? You,
too, kindly, homely flower!-is the great roaring
war-tempest coming to sweep you down, here, al-
though cowering under the shelter of Holborn? Yes;
Napoleon is flinging his last stake, and poor little
Emmy Sedley's happiness forms, somehow, part
of it.
man.
In the first place, her father's fortune was swept
down with that fatal news. All his speculations
had of late gone wrong with the luckless old gentle-
Ventures had failed; merchants had broken;
funds had risen when he calculated they would fall.
What need to particularize? If success is rare and
slow, everybody knows how quick and easy ruin is.
Old Sedley had kept his own sad counsel. Everything
seemed to go on as usual in the quiet, opulent house;
the good-natured mistress pursuing, quite unsuspi-
ciously, her bustling idleness, and daily easy avoca-
tions; the daughter absorbed still in one selfish,
tender thought, and quite regardless of all the world
besides, when that final crash came, under which the
worthy family fell.
One night Mrs. Sedley was writing cards for a party;
the Osbornes had given one, and she must not be be-
hindhand; John Sedley, who had come home
very late
from the City, sat silent at the chimney-side, while his
wife was prattling to him; Emmy had gone up to her
room ailing and low-spirited. "She's not happy," the
mother went on. "George Osborne neglects her. I've
no patience with the airs of those people. The girls
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
239
have not been in the house these three weeks; and
George has been twice in town without coming. Edward
Dale saw him at the Opera. Edward would marry her
I'm sure and there's Captain Dobbin who, I think,
would - only I hate all army men. Such a dandy as
George has become. With his military airs, indeed!
We must show some folks that we 're as good as they.
Only give Edward Dale any encouragement, and you'll
see. We must have a party, Mr. S. Why don't you
speak, John? Shall I say Tuesday fortnight? Why
don't you answer? Good God, John, what has
happened?"
John Sedley sprang up out of his chair to meet his
wife, who ran to him. He seized her in his arms, and
said with a hasty voice, "We 're ruined, Mary. We've
got the world to begin over again, dear. It's best that
you should know all, and at once.” As he spoke, he
trembled in every limb, and almost fell. He thought
the news would have overpowered his wife-
his wife,
to whom he had never said a hard word. But it was he
that was the most moved, sudden as the shock was to
her. When he sank back into his seat, it was the wife
that took the office of consoler. She took his trem-
bling hand, and kissed it, and put it round her neck:
she called him her John- her dear John - her old man
her kind old man; she poured out a hundred words
of incoherent love and tenderness; her faithful voice
and simple caresses wrought this sad heart up to an
inexpressible delight and anguish, and cheered and
solaced his overburdened soul.
Only once in the course of the long night as they sat
together, and poor Sedley opened his pent-up soul, and
told the story of his losses and embarrassments the
treason of some of his oldest friends, the manly kind-
ness of some, from whom he never could have expected
240
VANITY FAIR.
it—in a general confession — only once did the faith-
ful wife give way to emotion.
"My God, my God, it will break Emmy's heart," she
said.
The father had forgotten the poor girl. She was
lying, awake and unhappy, overhead. In the midst of
friends, home, and kind parents, she was alone. To
how many people can any one tell all? Who will be
open where there is no sympathy, or has call to speak
to those who never can understand? Our gentle Ame-
lia was thus solitary. She had no confidante, so to
speak, ever since she had anything to confide. She
could not tell the old mother her doubts and cares;
the would-be sisters seemed every day more strange
to her. And she had misgivings and fears which she
dared not acknowledge to herself, though she was al-
ways secretly brooding over them.
Her heart tried to persist in asserting that George
Osborne was worthy and faithful to her, though she
knew otherwise. How many a thing had she said,
and got no echo from him. How many suspicions
of selfishness and indifference had she to encounter
and obstinately overcome. To whom could the poor
little martyr tell these daily struggles and tortures?
Her hero himself only half understood her. She
did not dare to own that the man she loved was
her inferior; or to feel that she had given her heart
away too soon. Given once, the pure bashful maiden
was too modest, too tender, too trustful, too weak, too
much woman to recall it. We are Turks with the affec-
tions of our women; and have made them subscribe to
our doctrine too. We let their bodies go abroad liber-
ally enough, with smiles and ringlets and pink bon-
nets to disguise them instead of veils and yakmaks.
But their souls must be seen by only one man, and they
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
241
obey not unwillingly, and consent to remain at home
as our slaves ministering to us and doing drudgery
for us.
So imprisoned and tortured was this gentle little.
heart, when in the month of March, Anno Domini 1815,
Napoleon landed at Cannes, and Louis XVIII. fled, and
all Europe was in alarm, and the funds fell, and old
John Sedley was ruined.
We are not going to follow the worthy old stock-
broker through those last pangs and agonies of ruin
through which he passed before his commercial demise
befell. They declared him at the Stock Exchange; he
was absent from his house of business; his bills were
protested; his act of bankruptcy formal. The house
and furniture of Russell Square were seized and sold
up, and he and his family were thrust away, as we have
seen, to hide their heads where they might.
John Sedley had not the heart to review the domes-
tic establishment who have appeared now and anon in
our pages, and of whom he was now forced by poverty
to take leave. The wages of those worthy people
were discharged with that punctuality which men fre-
quently show who only owe in great sums they
were sorry to leave good places but they did not
break their hearts at parting from their adored master
and mistress. Amelia's maid was profuse in condo-
lences, but went off quite resigned to better herself in
a genteeler quarter of the town. Black Sambo, with
the infatuation of his profession, determined on set-
ting up a public-house. Honest old Mrs. Blenkinsop
indeed, who had seen the birth of Jos and Amelia,
and the wooing of John Sedley and his wife, was for
staying by them without wages, having amassed a
considerable sum in their service and she accom-
VOL. I. - 16
:
M
242
VANITY FAIR.
panied the fallen people into their new and humble
place of refuge, where she tended them and grumbled
against them for a while.
Of all Sedley's opponents in his debates with his
creditors which now ensued, and harassed the feelings
of the humiliated old gentleman so severely, that in
six weeks he oldened more than he had done for fif-
teen years before the most determined and obsti-
nate seemed to be John Osborne, his old friend and
neighbor-John Osborne, whom he had set up in
life who was under a hundred obligations to him
- and whose son was to marry Sedley's daughter.
Any one of these circumstances would account for the
bitterness of Osborne's opposition.
When one man has been under very remarkable
obligations to another, with whom he subsequently
quarrels, a common sense of decency, as it were,
makes of the former a much severer enemy than a
mere stranger would be. To account for your own
hard-heartedness and ingratitude in such a case, you
are bound to prove the other party's crime. It is not
that you are selfish, brutal, and angry at the failure of
a speculation no, no it is that your partner has
led you into it by the basest treachery and with the
most sinister motives. From a mere sense of consis-
tency, a persecutor is bound to show that the fallen
man is a villain - otherwise he, the persecutor, is a
wretch himself.
M
And as a general rule, which may make all credi-
tors who are inclined to be severe pretty comfortable
in their minds, no men embarrassed are altogether
honest, very likely. They conceal something; they
exaggerate chances of good luck; hide away the real
state of affairs; say that things are flourishing when
they are hopeless; keep a smiling face (a dreary smile
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
243
it is) upon the verge of bankruptcy are ready to lay
hold of any pretext for delay or of any money, so as
to stave off the inevitable ruin a few days longer.
"Down with such dishonesty," says the creditor in
triumph, and reviles his sinking enemy.
"You fool,
why do you catch at a straw?" calm good sense says
to the man that is drowning. "You villain, why do
you shrink from plunging into the irretrievable Ga-
zette?" says prosperity to the poor devil battling in
that black gulf. Who has not remarked the readiness
with which the closest of friends and honestest of
men suspect and accuse each other of cheating when
they fall out on money matters? Everybody does
it. Everybody is right, I suppose, and the world
is a rogue.
·
Then Osborne had the intolerable sense of former
benefits to goad and irritate him: these are always a
cause of hostility aggravated. Finally, he had to
break off the match between Sedley's daughter and
his son; and as it had gone very far indeed, and as
the poor girl's happiness and perhaps character were
compromised, it was necessary to show the strongest
reasons for the rupture, and for John Osborne to
prove John Sedley to be a very bad character indeed.
At the meetings of creditors, then, he comported
himself with a savageness and scorn towards Sedley,
which almost succeeded in breaking the heart of that
ruined bankrupt man. On George's intercourse with
Amelia he put an instant veto menacing the youth
with maledictions if he broke his commands, and vili-
pending the poor innocent girl as the basest and most
artful of vixens. One of the great conditions of
anger and hatred is, that you must tell and believe
lies against the hated object, in order, as we said, to
be consistent.
244
VANITY FAIR.
When the great crash came the announcement of
ruin, and the departure from Russell Square, and the
declaration that all was over between her and George
- all over between her and love, her and happiness,
her and faith in the world a brutal letter from
John Osborne told her in a few curt lines that her
father's conduct had been of such a nature that all
engagements between the families were at an end
when the final award came, it did not shock her so
much as her parents, as her mother rather expected
(for John Sedley himself was entirely prostrate in
the ruins of his own affairs and shattered honor).
Amelia took the news very palely and calmly. It
was only the confirmation of the dark presages which
had long gone before. It was the mere reading of the
sentence of the crime she had long ago been guilty
-the crime of loving wrongly, too violently, against
reason. She told no more of her thoughts now than
she had before. She seemed scarcely more unhappy
now when convinced all hope was over, than before
when she felt but dared not confess that it was gone.
So she changed from the large house to the small one
without any mark or difference; remained in her lit-
tle room for the most part; pined silently; and died
away day by day. I do not mean to say that all fe-
males are so. My dear Miss Bullock, I do not think
your heart would break in this way. You are a strong-
minded young woman with proper principles. I do
not venture to say that mine would; it has suffered,
and, it must be confessed, survived. But there are
some souls thus gently constituted, thus frail, and
delicate, and tender.
A
Whenever old John Sedley thought of the affair
between George and Amelia, or alluded to it, it was
with bitterness almost as great as Mr. Osborne him-
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
245
self had shown. He cursed Osborne and his family
as heartless, wicked, and ungrateful. No power on
earth, he swore, would induce him to marry his
daughter to the son of such a villain, and he ordered
Emmy to banish George from her mind, and to return
all the presents and letters which she had ever had
from him.
She promised acquiescence, and tried to obey. She
put up the two or three trinkets: and, as for the let-
ters, she drew them out of the place where she
kept them; and read them over as if she did not
know them by heart already: but she could not part
with them. That effort was too much for her; she
placed them back in her bosom again— as you have seen
a woman nurse a child that is dead. Young Amelia
felt that she would die or lose her senses outright, if
torn away from this last consolation. How she used
to blush and lighten up when those letters came!
How she used to trip away with a beating heart, so
that she might read unseen. If they were cold, yet
how perversely this fond little soul interpreted them
into warmth. If they were short or selfish, what ex-
cuses she found for the writer!
It was over these few worthless papers that she
brooded and brooded. She lived in her past life
every letter seemed to recall some circumstance of it.
How well she remembered them all! His looks and
tones, his dress, what he said and how - these relics
and remembrances of dead affection were all that
were left her in the world. And the business of her
life, was to watch the corpse of Love.
To death she looked with inexpressible longing.
Then, she thought, I shall always be able to follow
him. I am not praising her conduct or setting her up
as a model for Miss Bullock to imitate. Miss B.
246
VANITY FAIR.
knows how to regulate her feelings better than this
poor little creature. Miss B. would never have com-
mitted herself as that imprudent Amelia had done;
pledged her love irretrievably; confessed her heart
away, and got back nothing-only a brittle promise
which was snapped and worthless in a moment. A
long engagement is a partnership which one party is
free to keep or to break, but which involves all the
capital of the other.
Be cautious then, young ladies; be wary how you
engage. Be shy of loving frankly; never tell all you
feel, or (a better way still) feel very little. See the
consequences of being prematurely honest and confid-
ing, and mistrust yourselves and everybody. Get
yourselves married as they do in France, where the
lawyers are the bridesmaids and confidantes. At any
rate, never have any feelings which may make you
uncomfortable, or make any promises which you can-
not at any required moment command and withdraw.
That is the way to get on, and be respected, and have
a virtuous character in Vanity Fair.
If Amelia could have heard the comments regard-
ing her which were made in the circle from which her
father's ruin had just driven her, she would have
seen what her own crimes were, and how entirely her
character was jeoparded. Such criminal imprudence.
Mrs. Smith never knew of; such horrid familiarities
Mrs. Brown had always condemned, and the end.
might be a warning to her daughters. "Captain Os-
borne, of course, could not marry a bankrupt's daugh-
ter," the Misses Dobbin said. "It was quite enough
to have been swindled by the father. As for that
little Amelia, her folly had really passed all - ”
"Haven't
"All what?" Captain Dobbin roared out.
they been engaged ever since they were children?
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
247
Was n't it as good as a marriage? Dare any soul on
earth breathe a word against the sweetest, the purest,
the tenderest, the most angelical of young women?"
"La, William, don't be so highty tighty with us.
We're not men. We can't fight you," Miss Jane
said. "We've said nothing against Miss Sedley: but
that her conduct throughout was most imprudent, not
to call it by any worse name; and that her parents
are people who certainly merit their misfortunes."
"Had n't you better, now that Miss Sedley is free,
propose for her yourself, William?" Miss Ann asked
sarcastically. "It would be a most eligible family
connection. He! he!
ور
"I marry her!" Dobbin said, blushing very much,
and talking quick. "If you are so ready, young
ladies, to chop and change, do you suppose that she
is? Laugh and sneer at that angel. She can't hear
it; and she's miserable and unfortunate, and de-
serves to be laughed at. Go on joking, Ann. You're
the wit of the family, and the others like to hear it."
"I must tell you again we 're not in a barrack,
William," Miss Ann remarked.
"In a barrack, by Jove - I wish anybody in a bar-
rack would say what you do," cried out this uproused
British lion. "I should like to hear a man breathe a
word against her, by Jupiter. But men don't talk in
this way, Ann: it's only women, who get together
and hiss, and shriek, and cackle. There, get away
don't begin to cry. I only said you were a couple of
geese," Will Dobbin said, perceiving Miss Ann's
pink eyes were beginning to moisten as usual. "Well,
you're not geese, you're swans anything you like,
only do, do leave Miss Sedley alone."
Anything like William's infatuation about that
silly little flirting, ogling thing was never known, the
Š
248
VANITY FAIR.
mamma and sisters agreed together in thinking; and
they trembled lest, her engagement being off with
Osborne, she should take up immediately her other
admirer and Captain. In which forebodings these
worthy young women no doubt judged according to
the best of their experience; or rather (for as yet
they had had no opportunities of marrying or of jilt-
ing) according to their own notions of right and
wrong.
"It is a mercy, Mamma, that the regiment is ordered
abroad," the girls said. "This danger, at any rate,
is spared our brother.”
Such, indeed, was the fact; and so it is that the
French Emperor comes in to perform a part in this
domestic comedy of Vanity Fair which we are now
playing, and which would never have been enacted
without the intervention of this august mute person-
age. It was he that ruined the Bourbons and Mr.
John Sedley. It was he whose arrival in his capital
called up all France in arms to defend him there;
and all Europe to oust him. While the French na-
tion and army were swearing fidelity round the eagles
in the Champ de Mars, four mighty European hosts
were getting in motion for the great chasse à l'aigle ;
and one of these was a British army, of which two
heroes of ours, Captain Dobbin and Captain Osborne,
formed a portion.
The news of Napoleon's escape and landing was
received by the gallant -th with a fiery delight and
enthusiasm, which everybody can understand who
knows that famous corps. From the colonel to the
smallest drummer in the regiment, all were filled with
hope and ambition and patriotic fury; and thanked
the French Emperor as for a personal kindness in
coming to disturb the peace of Europe. Now was the
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
249
time the th had so long panted for, to show their
comrades in arms that they could fight as well as the
Peninsular veterans, and that all the pluck and valor
of the ―th had not been killed by the West Indies
and the yellow fever. Stubble and Spooney looked
to get their companies without purchase. Before the
end of the campaign (which she resolved to share)
Mrs. Major O'Dowd hoped to write herself Mrs.
Colonel O'Dowd, C.B. Our two friends (Dobbin and
Osborne) were quite as much excited as the rest: and
each in his way Mr. Dobbin very quietly, Mr. Os-
borne very loudly and energetically — was bent upon
doing his duty, and gaining his share of honor and
distinction.
The agitation thrilling through the country and
army in consequence of this news was so great, that
private matters were little heeded: and hence prob-
ably George Osborne, just gazetted to his company,
busy with preparations for the march, which must.
come inevitably, and panting for further promotion,
was not so much affected by other incidents which
would have interested him at a more quiet period.
He was not, it must be confessed, very much cast
down by good old Mr. Sedley's catastrophe. He tried
his new uniform, which became him very handsomely,
on the day when the first meeting of the creditors of
the unfortunate gentleman took place. His father
told him of the wicked, rascally, shameful conduct of
the bankrupt, reminded him of what he had said
about Amelia, and that their connection was broken
off forever; and gave him that evening a good sum
of money to pay for the new clothes and epaulets in
which he looked so well. Money was always useful
to this free-handed young fellow, and he took it with
out many words. The bills were up in the Sedley
250
VANITY FAIR.
house, where he had passed so many, many happy
hours. He could see them as he walked from home
that night (to the Old Slaughters', where he put up
when in town) shining white in the moon. That
comfortable home was shut, then, upon Amelia and
her parents where had they taken refuge? The
thought of their ruin affected him not a little. He
was very melancholy that night in the coffee-room at
the Slaughters'; and drank a good deal, as his com-
rades remarked there.
Dobbin came in presently, cautioned him about the
drink, which he only took, he said, because he was
deuced low; but when his friend began to put to him
clumsy inquiries, and asked him for news in a signifi-
cant manner, Osborne declined entering into conversa-
tion with him; avowing, however, that he was devil-
ish disturbed and unhappy.
Three days afterwards, Dobbin found Osborne in his
room at the barracks: his head on the table, a num-
ber of papers about, the young Captain evidently in a
state of great despondency.
"She she's sent me
back some things I gave her -some damned trinkets.
Look here!" There was a little packet directed in the
well-known hand to Captain George Osborne, and some
things lying about a ring, a silver knife he had
bought, as a boy, for her at a fair; a gold chain, and
a locket with hair in it. "It's all over," said he, with
a groan of sickening remorse. "Look, Will, you may
read it if you like.”
There was a little letter of a few lines, to which he
pointed, which said:
"My Papa has ordered me to return to you these presents,
which you made in happier days to me; and I am to write to
you for the last time. I think, I know you feel as much as I
do the blow which has come upon us. It is I that absolve you
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
251
from an engagement which is impossible in our present misery.
I am sure you had no share in it, or in the cruel suspicions of
Mr. Osborne, which are the hardest of all our griefs to bear.
Farewell. Farewell. I pray God to strengthen me to bear
this and other calamities, and to bless you always. A.
66
I shall often play upon the piano
like you to send it."
your piano. It was
Dobbin was very soft-hearted. The sight of women
and children in pain always used to melt him. The
idea of Amelia broken-hearted and lonely, tore that
good-natured soul with anguish. And he broke out
into an emotion, which anybody who likes may con-
sider unmanly. He swore that Amelia was an angel,
to which Osborne said aye with all his heart. He, too,
had been reviewing the history of their lives, and
had seen her from her childhood to her present age, so
sweet, so innocent, so charmingly simple, and artlessly
fond and tender.
What a pang it was to lose all that: to have had it
and not prized it! A thousand homely scenes and rec-
ollections crowded on him—in which he always saw
her good and beautiful. And for himself, he blushed
with remorse and shame, as the remembrance of his
own selfishness and indifference contrasted with that
perfect purity. For a while, glory, war, everything
was forgotten, and the pair of friends talked about
her only.
"Where are they?"
talk, and a long pause,
shame at thinking that he
her. "Where are they?
note."
Osborne asked, after a long
and, in truth, with no little
had taken no steps to follow
There's no address to the
Dobbin knew. He had not merely sent the piano;
but had written a note to Mrs.
mission to come and see her,
Sedley, and asked per-
and he had seen her,
252
VANITY FAIR.
and Amelia too, yesterday, before he came down to
Chatham; and, what is more, he had brought that fare-
well letter and packet which had so moved them.
The good-natured fellow had found Mrs. Sedley only
too willing to receive him, and greatly agitated by the
arrival of the piano, which, as she conjectured, must
have come from George, and was a signal of amity on
his part. Captain Dobbin did not correct this error of
the worthy lady, but listened to all her story of com-
plaints and misfortunes with great sympathy-con-
doled with her losses and privations, and agreed in
reprehending the cruel conduct of Mr. Osborne towards
his first benefactor. When she had eased her over-
flowing bosom somewhat, and poured forth many of her
sorrows, he had the courage to ask actually to see Ame-
lia, who was above in her room as usual, and whom her
mother led trembling down stairs.
Her appearance was so ghastly, and her look of de-
spair so pathetic, that honest William Dobbin was
frightened as he beheld it; and read the most fatal
forebodings in that pale fixed face. After sitting in
his company a minute or two, she put the packet into
his hand, and said, "Take this to Captain Osborne, if
you please, and — and I hope he's quite well — and it
was very kind of you to come and see us and we like
our new house very much. And I-I think I'll go up
stairs, Mamma, for I'm not very strong." And with
this, and a curtsy and a smile, the poor child went her
way. The mother, as she led her up, cast back looks
of anguish towards Dobbin. The good fellow wanted
no such appeal. He loved her himself too fondly for
that. Inexpressible grief, and pity, and terror pur-
sued him, and he came away as if he was a criminal
after seeing her.
When Osborne heard that his friend had found her,
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
253
he made hot and anxious inquiries regarding the poor
child. How was she? How did she look? What
did she say? His comrade took his hand, and looked
him in the face.
"George, she's dying," William Dobbin said, and
could speak no more.
There was a buxom Irish servant-girl, who performed
all the duties of the little house where the Sedley family
had found refuge: and this girl had in vain, on many
previous days, striven to give Amelia aid or consola-
tion. Emmy was much too sad to answer, or even to
be aware of the attempts the other was making in her
favor.
Four hours after the talk between Dobbin and
Osborne, this servant-maid came into Amelia's room,
where she sat as usual, brooding silently over her
letters - her little treasures. The girl, smiling, and
looking arch and happy, made many trials to attract
poor Emmy's attention, who, however, took no heed
of her.
"Miss Emmy," said the girl.
"There's
"I'm coming," Emmy said, not looking round.
"There's a message," the maid went on.
something somebody sure, here's a
sure, here's a new letter
for you
don't be reading them old ones any more."
And she gave her a letter, which Emmy took, and
read.
M
"I must see you," the letter said. "Dearest
Emmy dearest love dearest wife, come to me."
George and her mother were outside, waiting until
she had read the letter.
CHAPTER XIX.
MISS CRAWLEY AT NURSE.
We have seen how Mrs. Firkin, the lady's-maid, as
soon as any event of importance to the Crawley family
came to her knowledge, felt bound to communicate it
to Mrs. Bute Crawley, at the Rectory; and have
before mentioned how particularly kind and attentive
that good-natured lady was to Miss Crawley's confi-
dential servant. She had been a gracious friend to
Miss Briggs, the companion, also; and had secured
the latter's good-will by a number of those attentions
and promises, which cost so little in the making, and
are yet so valuable and agreeable to the recipient.
Indeed every good economist and manager of a house-
hold must know how cheap and yet how amiable
these professions are, and what a flavor they give to
the most homely dish in life. Who was the blunder-
ing idiot who said that "fine words butter no par-
snips"? Half the parsnips of society are served and
rendered palatable with no other sauce. As the
immortal Alexis Soyer can make more delicious soup
for a halfpenny than an ignorant cook can concoct
with pounds of vegetables and meat, so a skilful
artist will make a few simple and pleasing phrases
go farther than ever so much substantial benefit-stock
in the hands of a mere bungler. Nay, we know that
substantial benefits often sicken some stomachs;
whereas, most will digest any amount of fine words,
and be always eager for more of the same food. Mrs.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
255
Bute had told Briggs and Firkin so often of the depth
of her affection for them; and what she would do, if
she had Miss Crawley's fortune, for friends so excei-
lent and attached, that the ladies in question had the
deepest regard for her; and felt as much gratitude
and confidence as if Mrs. Bute had loaded them with
the most expensive favors.
Rawdon Crawley, on the other hand, like a selfish
heavy dragoon as he was, never took the least trouble
to conciliate his aunt's aides-de-camp, showed his con-
tempt for the pair with entire frankness made
Firkin pull off his boots on one occasion
sent her
out in the rain on ignominious messages
and if he
gave her a guinea, flung it to her as if it were a box
on the ear. As his aunt, too, made a butt of Briggs,
the Captain followed the example, and levelled his
jokes at her-jokes about as delicate as a kick from
his charger. Whereas, Mrs. Bute consulted her in
matters of taste or difficulty, admired her poetry, and
by a thousand acts of kindness and politeness, showed
her appreciation of Briggs; and if she made Firkin a
twopenny-halfpenny present, accompanied it with so
many compliments, that the twopence-halfpenny was
transmuted into gold in the heart of the grateful
waiting-maid, who, besides was looking forwards.
quite contentedly to some prodigious benefit which
must happen to her on the day when Mrs. Bute came
into her fortune.

The different conduct of these two people is pointed
out respectfully to the attention of persons commenc
ing the world. Praise everybody, I say to such:
never be squeamish, but speak out your compliment
both point blank in a man's face, and behind his back,
when you know there is a reasonable chance of his
hearing it again. Never lose a chance of saying a
256
VANITY FAIR.
kind word. As Collingwood never saw a vacant place
in his estate but he took an acorn out of his pocket
and popped it in, so deal with your compliments.
through life. An acorn costs nothing; but it may
sprout into a prodigious bit of timber.
In a word, during Rawdon Crawley's prosperity, he
was only obeyed with sulky acquiescence; when his
disgrace came, there was nobody to help or pity him.
Whereas, when Mrs. Bute took the command at Miss
Crawley's house, the garrison there were charmed to
act under such a leader, expecting all sorts of promo-
tion from her promises, her generosity, and her kind
words.
That he would consider himself beaten, after one
defeat, and make no attempt to regain the position he
had lost, Mrs. Bute Crawley never allowed herself to
suppose. She knew Rebecca to be too clever and
spirited and desperate a woman to submit without a
struggle; and felt that she must prepare for that
combat, and be incessantly watchful against assault,
or mine, or surprise.
In the first place, though she held the town, was
she sure of the principal inhabitant? Would Miss
Crawley herself hold out; and had she not a secret
longing to welcome back the ousted adversary? The
old lady liked Rawdon, and Rebecca, who amused
her. Mrs. Bute could not disguise from herself the
fact that none of her party could so contribute to the
pleasures of the town-bred lady. "My girls' singing,
after that little odious governess's, I know is unbear-
able," the candid Rector's wife owned to herself.
"She always used to go to sleep when Martha and
Louisa played their duets. Jim's stiff college man-
ners and poor dear Bute's talk about his dogs and
horses always annoyed her. If I took her to the Rec-
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
257
tory, she would grow angry with us all, and fly, I
know she would; and might fall into that horrid
Rawdon's clutches again, and be the victim of that
little viper of a Sharp. Meanwhile, it is clear to me
that she is exceedingly unwell, and cannot move for
some weeks, at any rate: during which we must
think of some plan to protect her from the arts of
those unprincipled people."
In the very best of moments, if anybody told Miss
Crawley that she was, or looked ill, the trembling old
lady sent off for her doctor; and I dare say she was
very unwell after the sudden family event, which
might serve to shake stronger nerves than hers. At
least, Mrs. Bute thought it was her duty to inform
the physician, and the apothecary, and the dame de
compagnie, and the domestics, that Miss Crawley was
in a most critical state, and that they were to act ac-
cordingly. She had the street laid knee-deep with
straw; and the knocker put by with Mr. Bowls's
plate. She insisted that the doctor should call twice
a day; and deluged her patient with draughts every
two hours. When anybody entered the room, she
uttered a shshshsh so sibilant and ominous, that it
frightened the poor old lady in her bed, from which
she could not look without seeing Mrs. Bute's beady
eyes eagerly fixed on her, as the latter sat steadfast
in the arm-chair by the bedside. They seemed to
lighten in the dark (for she kept the curtains closed)
as she moved about the room on velvet paws like a
cat. There Miss Crawley lay for days—ever so many
days Mrs. Bute reading books of devotion to her:
for nights, long nights, during which she had to hear
the watchman sing, the night-light sputter; visited at
midnight, the last thing, by the stealthy apothecary;
and then left to look at Mrs. Bute's twinkling eyes,
VOL. I. - 17
258
VANITY FAIR.
or the flicks of yellow that the rushlight threw on the
dreary darkened ceiling. Hygeia herself would
have fallen sick under such a regimen; and how
much more this poor old nervous victim? It has
been said that when she was in health and good
spirits, this venerable inhabitant of Vanity Fair had
as free notions about religion and morals as Monsieur
de Voltaire himself could desire, but when illness
overtook her, it was aggravated by the most dread-
ful terrors of death, and an utter cowardice took
possession of the prostrate old sinner.
Sick-bed homilies and pious reflections are, to be
sure, out of place in mere story-books, and we are not
going (after the fashion of some novelists of the pres-
ent day) to cajole the public into a sermon, when it is
only a comedy that the reader pays his money to wit-
ness. But, without preaching, the truth may surely
be borne in mind, that the bustle, and triumph, and
laughter, and gayety which Vanity Fair exhibits in
public, do not always pursue the performer into pri-
vate life, and that the most dreary depression of spir-
its and dismal repentances sometimes overcome him.
Recollection of the best ordained banquets will
scarcely cheer sick epicures. Reminiscences of the
most becoming dresses and brilliant ball-triumphs
will go very little way to console faded beauties.
Perhaps statesmen, at a particular period of existence,
are not much gratified at thinking over the most tri-
umphant divisions; and the success or the pleasure.
of yesterday becomes of very small account when a
certain (albeit uncertain) morrow is in view, about
which all of us must some day or other be specula-
ting. O brother wearers of motley! Are there not
moments when one grows sick of grinning and tum-
bling, and the jingling of cap and bells? This, dear
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
259
friends and companions, is my amiable object to
walk with you through the Fair, to examine the
shops and the shows there; and that we should all
come home after the flare, and the noise, and the
gayety, and be perfectly miserable in private.
J
"If that poor man of mine had a head on his shoul-
ders," Mrs. Bute Crawley thought to herself, "how
useful he might be, under present circumstances,
to this unhappy old lady! He might make her re-
pent of her shocking free-thinking ways; he might
urge her to do her duty, and cast off that odious rep-
robate who has disgraced himself and his family;
and he might induce her to do justice to my dear
girls and the two boys, who require and deserve, I am
sure, every assistance which their relatives can give
them."
And, as the hatred of vice is always a progress
towards virtue, Mrs. Bute Crawley endeavored to in-
stil into her sister-in-law a proper abhorrence for all
Rawdon Crawley's manifold sins: of which his uncle's
wife brought forward such a catalogue as indeed would
have served to condemn a whole regiment of young
officers. If a man has committed wrong in life, I don't
know any moralist more anxious to point his errors.
out to the world than his own relations; so Mrs. Bute
showed a perfect family interest and knowledge of
Rawdon's history. She had all the particulars of that
ugly quarrel with Captain Marker, in which Rawdon,
wrong from the beginning, ended in shooting the Cap-
tain. She knew how the unhappy Lord Dovedale,
whose mamma had taken a house at Oxford, so that
he might be educated there, and who had never touched
a card in his life till he came to London, was perverted
by Rawdon at the Cocoa-Tree, made helplessly tipsy
260
VANITY FAIR.
by this abominable seducer and perverter of youth,
and fleeced of four thousand pounds. She described
with the most vivid minuteness the agonies of the
country families whom he had ruined -- the sons whom
he had plunged into dishonor and poverty- the daugh-
ters whom he had inveigled into perdition. She knew
the poor tradesmen who were bankrupt by his extrava-
gance the mean shifts and rogueries with which he
had ministered to it the astounding falsehoods by
which he had imposed upon the most generous of
aunts, and the ingratitude and ridicule by which he
had repaid her sacrifices. She imparted these stories
gradually to Miss Crawley; gave her the whole bene-
fit of them; felt it to be her bounden duty as a Chris-
tian woman and mother of a family to do so; had not
the smallest remorse or compunction for the victim
whom her tongue was immolating; nay, very likely
thought her act was quite meritorious, and plumed her-
self upon her resolute manner of performing it. Yes,
if a man's character is to be abused, say what you will,
there's nobody like a relation to do the business. And
one is bound to own, regarding this unfortunate wretch
of a Rawdon Crawley, that the mere truth was enough
to condemn him, and that all inventions of scandal
were quite superfluous pains on his friends' parts.
Rebecca, too, being now a relative, came in for the
fullest share of Mrs. Bute's kind inquiries. This in-
defatigable pursuer of truth (having given strict orders
that the door was to be denied to all emissaries or let-
ters from Rawdon) took Miss Crawley's carriage, and
drove to her old friend Miss Pinkerton, at Minerva
House, Chiswick Mall, to whom she announced the
dreadful intelligence of Captain Rawdon's seduction.
by Miss Sharp, and from whom she got sundry strange
particulars regarding the ex-governess's birth and early
MA
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
261
:
history. The friend of the Lexicographer had plenty
of information to give.
Miss Jemima was made to
fetch the drawing-master's receipts and letters. This
one was from a spunging-house: that entreated an ad-
vance: another was full of gratitude for Rebecca's
reception by the ladies of Chiswick and the last docu-
ment from the unlucky artist's pen was that in which,
from his dying bed, he recommended his orphan child
to Miss Pinkerton's protection. There were juvenile
letters and petitions from Rebecca, too, in the collec-
tion, imploring aid for her father, or declaring her own
gratitude. Perhaps in Vanity Fair there are no bet-
ter satires than letters. Take a bundle of your dear
friend's of ten years back your dear friend whom
you hate now. Look at a file of your sister's! how
you clung to each other till you quarrelled about
the twenty-pound legacy! Get down the round-hand
scrawls of your son who has half broken your heart
with selfish undutifulness since or a parcel of your
own, breathing endless ardor and love eternal, which
was sent back by your mistress when she married the
Nabob your mistress for whom you now care no
more than for Queen Elizabeth. Vows, love, prom-
ises, confidences, gratitude, how queerly they read after
a while! There ought to be a law in Vanity Fair or-
dering the destruction of every written document (ex-
cept receipted tradesmen's bills) after a certain brief
and proper interval. Those quacks and misanthropes
who advertise indelible Japan ink, should be made to
perish along with their wicked discoveries. The best
ink for Vanity Fair use would be one that faded utterly
in a couple of days, and left the paper clean and blank,
so that you might write on it to somebody else.
From Miss Pinkerton's the indefatigable Mrs. Bute
followed the track of Sharp and his daughter back to
262
VANITY FAIR.
the lodgings in Greek Street, which the defunct painter
had occupied; and where portraits of the landlady in
white satin, and of the husband in brass buttons, done
by Sharp in lieu of a quarter's rent, still decorated the
parlor walls. Mrs. Stokes was a communicative per-
son, and quickly told all she knew about Mr. Sharp;
how dissolute and poor he was; how good-natured and
amusing; how he was always hunted by bailiffs and
duns; how, to the landlady's horror, though she never
could abide the woman, he did not marry his wife till
a short time before her death; and what a queer little
wild vixen his daughter was; how she kept them all
laughing with her fun and mimicry; how she used to
fetch the gin from the public-house, and was known in
all the studios in the quarter — in brief, Mrs. Bute got
such a full account of her new niece's parentage, edu-
cation, and behavior as would scarcely have pleased
Rebecca, had the latter known that such inquiries were
being made concerning her.
Of all these industrious researches Miss Crawley
had the full benefit. Mrs. Rawdon Crawley was the
daughter of an opera-girl. She had danced herself.
She had been a model to the painters. She was
brought up as became her mother's daughter. She
drank gin with her father, etc., etc. It was a lost
woman who was married to a lost man; and the
moral to be inferred from Mrs. Bute's tale was, that
the knavery of the pair was irremediable, and that no
properly-conducted person should ever notice them
again.
These were the materials which prudent Mrs. Bute
gathered together in Park Lane, the provisions and
ammunition as it were with which she fortified the
house against the siege which she knew that Rawdon
and his wife would lay to Miss Crawley.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
263
But if a fault may be found with her arrangements,
it is this, that she was too eager: she managed rather
too well; undoubtedly she made Miss Crawley more
ill than was necessary; and though the old invalid
succumbed to her authority, it was so harassing and
severe, that the victim would be inclined to escape at
the very first chance which fell in her way. Manag-
ing women, the ornaments of their sex,
who order everything for everybody, and know so
much better than any person concerned what is good
for their neighbors, don't sometimes speculate upon
the possibility of a domestic revolt, or upon other ex-
treme consequences resulting from their overstrained
authority.
women
Thus, for instance, Mrs. Bute, with the best inten-
tions no doubt in the world, and wearing herself to
death as she did by foregoing sleep, dinner, fresh air,
for the sake of her invalid sister-in-law, carried her
conviction of the old lady's illness so far that she
almost managed her into her coffin. She pointed out
her sacrifices and their results one day to the con-
stant apothecary, Mr. Clump.
66
"I am sure, my dear Mr. Clump," she said, no
efforts of mine have been wanting to restore our dear
invalid, whom the ingratitude of her nephew has laid
on the bed of sickness. I never shrink from personal
discomfort: I never refuse to sacrifice myself.”
"Your devotion, it must be confessed, is admir-
able," Mr. Clump says, with a low bow; "but
""
"I have scarcely closed my eyes since my arrival:
I give up sleep, health, every comfort, to my sense of
duty. When my poor James was in the small-pox,
did I allow any hireling to nurse him? No."
You did what became an excellent mother, my
dear Madam the best of mothers; but - "
264
VANITY FAIR.
CA
"As the mother of a family and the wife of an
English clergyman, I humbly trust that my principles
are good," Mrs. Bute said, with a happy solemnity of
conviction; "and, as long as Nature supports me,
never, never, Mr. Clump, will I desert the post of
duty. Others may bring that gray head with sorrow
to the bed of sickness (here Mrs. Bute, waving her
hand, pointed to one of old Miss Crawley's coffee-
colored fronts, which was perched on a stand in the
dressing-room), but I will never quit it. Ah, Mr.
Clump! I fear, I know, that that couch needs spiritual
as well as medical consolation."
"What I was going to observe, my dear Madam,"
- here the resolute Clump once more interposed with
a bland air- "what I was going to observe when you
gave utterance to sentiments which do you so much
honor, was that I think you alarm yourself needlessly
about our kind friend, and sacrifice your own health
too prodigally in her favor."
"I would lay down my life for my duty, or for
any member of my husband's family," Mrs. Bute
interposed.
"Yes, Madam, if need were; but we don't want
Mrs. Bute Crawley to be a martyr," Clump said gal-
lantly. "Dr. Squills and myself have both considered
Miss Crawley's case with every anxiety and care, as
you may suppose. We see her low-spirited and ner-
vous; family events have agitated her."
"Her nephew will come to perdition," Mrs. Craw-
ley cried.
"Have agitated her; and you arrived like a guar-
dian angel, my dear Madam, a positive guardian an-
gel, I assure you, to soothe her under the pressure of
calamity. But Dr. Squills and I were thinking that
our amiable friend is not in such a state as renders
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
265
confinement to her bed necessary. She is depressed,
but this confinement perhaps adds to her depression.
She should have change, fresh air, gayety; the most
delightful remedies in the pharmacopoeia," Mr. Clump
said, grinning and showing his handsome teeth.
"Persuade her to rise, dear Madam; drag her from
her couch and her low spirits; insist upon her taking
little drives. They will restore the roses too to your
cheeks, if I may so speak to Mrs. Bute Crawley."
"The sight of her horrid nephew casually in the
Park, where I am told the wretch drives with the
brazen partner of his crimes," Mrs. Bute said (letting
the cat of selfishness out of the bag of secrecy),
"would cause her such a shock, that we should have
to bring her back to bed again. She must not go out,
Mr. Clump. She shall not go out as long as I remain
to watch over her. And as for my health, what mat-
ters it? I give it cheerfully, sir. I sacrifice it at
the altar of my duty."
"Upon my word, Madam," Mr. Clump now said
bluntly, "I won't answer for her life if she remains
locked up in that dark room. She is so nervous that
we may lose her any day; and if you wish Captain
Crawley to be her heir, I warn you frankly, Madam,
that you are doing your very best to serve him."
"Gracious mercy! is her life in danger?" Mrs.
Bute cried. 66
Why, why, Mr. Clump, did you not
inform me sooner?"
The night before, Mr. Clump and Dr. Squills had
had a consultation (over a bottle of wine at the house
of Sir Lapin Warren, whose lady was about to pre-
sent him with a thirteenth blessing), regarding Miss
Crawley and her case.
"What a little harpy that woman from Hampshire
is, Clump," Squills remarked, "that has seized upon
old Tilly Crawley. Devilish good madeira."
266
VANITY FAIR.
"What a fool Rawdon Crawley has been," Clump
replied, "to go and marry a governess! There was
something about the girl, too."
"Green eyes, fair skin, pretty figure, famous fron-
tal development," Squills remarked. "There is
something about her; and Crawley was a fool,
Squills."
—
"A d fool always was," the apothecary
replied.
"Of course the old girl will fling him over,” said
the physician, and after a pause added, "She'll cut
up well, I suppose."
"Cut up," says Clump with a grin; "I would n't
have her cut up for two hundred a year."
"That Hampshire woman will kill her in two
months, Clump, my boy, if she stops about her," Dr.
Squills said. "Old woman; full feeder; nervous
subject; palpitation of the heart; pressure on the
brain; apoplexy; off she goes. Get her up, Clump;
get her out; or I would n't give many weeks' pur-
chase for your two hundred a year." And it was act-
ing upon this hint that the worthy apothecary spoke
with so much candor to Mrs. Bute Crawley.
Having the old lady under her hand: in bed: with
nobody near, Mrs. Bute had made more than one as-
sault upon her, to induce her to alter her will. But
Miss Crawley's usual terrors regarding death in-
creased greatly when such dismal propositions were
made to her, and Mrs. Bute saw that she must get
her patient into cheerful spirits and health before she
could hope to attain the pious object which she had
in view. Whither to take her was the next puzzle.
The only place where she is not likely to meet those
odious Rawdons is at church, and that won't amuse
her, Mrs. Bute justly felt. "We must go and visit
our beautiful suburbs of London," she then thought.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
267
"I hear they are the most picturesque in the world;
and so she had a sudden interest for Hampstead, and
Hornsey, and found that Dulwich had great charms
for her, and getting her victim into her carriage,
drove her to those rustic spots, beguiling the little
journeys with conversations about Rawdon and his
wife, and telling every story to the old lady which
could add to her indignation against this pair of
reprobates.
Perhaps Mrs. Bute pulled the string unnecessarily
tight. For though she worked up Miss Crawley to a
proper dislike of her disobedient nephew, the invalid
had a great hatred and secret terror of her victim-
izer, and panted to escape from her. After a brief
space, she rebelled against Highgate and Hornsey ut-
terly. She would go into the Park. Mrs. Bute knew
they would meet the abominable Rawdon there, and
she was right. One day in the ring, Rawdon's stan-
hope came in sight; Rebecca was seated by him. In
the enemy's equipage Miss Crawley occupied her
usual place, with Mrs. Bute on her left, the poodle
and Miss Briggs on the back seat. It was a nervous
moment, and Rebecca's heart beat quick as she recog-
nized the carriage; and as the two vehicles crossed
each other in a line, she clasped her hands, and
looked towards the spinster with a face of agonized
attachment and devotion. Rawdon himself trembled,
and his face grew purple behind his dyed mustachios.
Only old Briggs was moved in the other carriage, and
cast her great eyes nervously towards her old friends.
Miss Crawley's bonnet was resolutely turned towards
the Serpentine. Mrs. Bute happened to be in ecsta-
sies with the poodle, and was calling him a little dar-
ling, and a sweet little zoggy, and a pretty pet. The
carriages moved on each in his line.
""
268
VANITY FAIR.
!
"Done, by Jove," Rawdon said to his wife.
"Try once more, Rawdon," Rebecca answered.
"Could not you lock your wheels into theirs,
dearest?"
Rawdon had not the heart for that manoeuvre.
When the carriages met again, he stood up in his
stanhope; he raised his hand ready to doff his hat;
he looked with all his eyes. But this time Miss
Crawley's face was not turned away; she and Mrs.
Bute looked him full in the face, and cut their nephew
pitilessly. He sank back in his seat with an oath,
and striking out of the ring, dashed away desperately
homewards.
It was a gallant and decided triumph for Mrs. Bute.
But she felt the danger of many such meetings, as
she saw the evident nervousness of Miss Crawley;
and she determined that it was most necessary for her
dear friend's health, that they should leave town for a
while, and recommended Brighton very strongly.
CHAPTER XX.
IN WHICH CAPTAIN DOBBIN ACTS AS THE
MESSENGER OF HYMEN.
WITHOUT knowing how, Captain William Dobbin
found himself the great promoter, arranger, and mana-
ger of the match between George Osborne and Ame-
lia. But for him it never would have taken place: he
could not but confess as much to himself, and smiled
rather bitterly as he thought that he of all men in
the world should be the person upon whom the care
of this marriage had fallen. But though indeed the
conducting of this negotiation was about as painful a
task as could be set to him, yet when he had a duty
to perform, Captain Dobbin was accustomed to go
through it without many words or much hesitation:
and, having made up his mind completely, that if
Miss Sedley was balked of her husband she would die
of the disappointment, he was determined to use all
his best endeavors to keep her alive.
I forbear to enter into minute particulars of the in-
terview between George and Amelia, when the former
was brought back to the feet (or should we venture to
say the arms?) of his young mistress by the inter-
vention of his friend honest William. A much harder
heart than George's would have melted at the sight of
that sweet face so sadly ravaged by grief and despair,
and at the simple tender accents in which she told
her little broken-hearted story: but as she did not
faint when her mother, trembling, brought Osborne
to her; and as she only gave relief to her overcharged
270
VANITY FAIR.
grief, by laying her head on her lover's shoulder and
there weeping for a while the most tender, copious,
and refreshing tears old Mrs. Sedley, too greatly
relieved, thought it was best to leave the young per-
sons to themselves; and so quitted Emmy crying
over George's hand, and kissing it humbly, as if he
were her supreme chief and master, and as if she were
quite a guilty and unworthy person needing every
favor and grace from him.
This prostration and sweet unrepining obedience
exquisitely touched and flattered George Osborne.
He saw a slave before him in that simple yielding
faithful creature, and his soul within him thrilled
secretly somehow at the knowledge of his power. He
would be generous-minded, Sultan as he was, and
raise up this kneeling Esther and make a queen of
her besides, her sadness and beauty touched him as
much as her submission, and so he cheered her, and
raised her up and forgave her, so to speak. All her
hopes and feelings, which were dying and withering,
this her sun having been removed from her, bloomed
again and at once, its light being restored. You
would scarcely have recognized the beaming little
face upon Amelia's pillow that night as the one that
was laid there the night before, so wan, so lifeless, so
careless of all round about. The honest Irish maid-
servant, delighted with the change, asked leave to
kiss the face that had grown all of a sudden so rosy.
Amelia put her arms round the girl's neck and kissed
her with all her heart, like a child. She was little
more. She had that night a sweet refreshing sleep,
like one and what a spring of inexpressible happi-
ness as she woke in the morning sunshine!
"He will be here again to-day," Amelia thought.
"He is the greatest and best of men." And the fact
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
271
is, that George thought he was one of the generousest
creatures alive and that he was making a tremen-
dous sacrifice in marrying this young creature.
While she and Osborne were having their delight-
ful tête-à-tête above stairs, old Mrs. Sedley and Cap-
tain Dobbin were conversing below upon the state of
the affairs, and the chances and future arrangements
of the young people. Mrs. Sedley having brought the
two lovers together and left them embracing each
other with all their might, like a true woman, was of
opinion that no power on earth would induce Mr.
Sedley to consent to the match between his daughter
and the son of a man who had so shamefully,
wickedly, and monstrously treated him. And she
told a long story about happier days and their earlier
splendors, when Osborne lived in a very humble way
in the New Road, and his wife was too glad to receive
some of Jos's little baby things, with which Mrs.
Sedley accommodated her at the birth of one of
Osborne's own children. The fiendish ingratitude of
that man, she was sure, had broken Mr. S.'s heart:
and as for a marriage, he would never, never, never,
never consent.
66
They must run away together, Ma'am," Dobbin
said, laughing, "and follow the example of Captain.
Rawdon Crawley, and Miss Emmy's friend the little
governess." Was it possible? Well she never! Mrs.
Sedley was all excitement about this news. She wished
that Blenkinsop were here to hear it; Blenkinsop al-
ways mistrusted that Miss Sharp.
What an escape
Jos had had! and she described the already well-known.
love-passages between Rebecca and the Collector of
Boggley Wollah.
It was not, however, Mr. Sedley's wrath which Dob-
bin feared, so much as that of the other parent con-
272
VANITY FAIR.
cerned, and he owned that he had a very considerable
doubt and anxiety respecting the behavior of the black-
browed old tyrant of a Russia merchant in Russell
Square. He has forbidden the match peremptorily,
Dobbin thought. He knew what a savage determined
man Osborne was, and how he stuck by his word.
"The only chance George has of reconcilement," ar-
gued his friend, "is by distinguishing himself in the
coming campaign. If he dies, they both go together.
If he fails in distinction - what then? He has some
money from his mother, I have heard-enough to pur-
chase his majority or he must sell out and go and
dig in Canada, or rough it in a cottage in the coun-
try." With such a partner Dobbin thought he would.
not mind Siberia — and, strange to say, this absurd and
utterly imprudent young fellow never for a moment
considered that the want of means to keep a nice car-
riage and horses, and of an income which should en-
able its possessors to entertain their friends genteelly,
ought to operate as bars to the union of George and
Miss Sedley.
It was these weighty considerations which made
him think too that the marriage should take place
as quickly as possible. Was he anxious himself, I
wonder, to have it over? as people, when death has
occurred, like to press forward the funeral, or when a
parting is resolved upon, hasten it. It is certain that
Mr. Dobbin, having taken the matter in hand, was most
extraordinarily eager in the conduct of it. He urged
on George the necessity of immediate action: he
showed the chances of reconciliation with his father,
which a favorable mention of his name in the "Ga-
zette" must bring about. If need were he would go
himself and brave both the fathers in the business.
At all events, he besought George to go through with
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
273
it before the orders came, which everybody expected,
for the departure of the regiment from England on
foreign service.
Bent upon these hymeneal projects, and with the
applause and consent of Mrs. Sedley, who did not
care to break the matter personally to her husband,
Mr. Dobbin went to seek John Sedley at his house of
call in the City, the Tapioca Coffee-house, where, since
his own offices were shut up, and fate had overtaken
him, the poor broken-down old gentleman used to be-
take himself daily, and write letters and receive them,
and tie them up into mysterious bundles, several of
which he carried in the flaps of his coat. I don't know
anything more dismal than that business and bustle
and mystery of a ruined man: those letters from the
wealthy which he shows you: those worn greasy docu-
ments promising support and offering condolence which
he places wistfully before you, and on which he builds
his hopes of restoration and future fortune. My be-
loved reader has no doubt in the course of his experi-
ence been waylaid by many such a luckless companion.
He takes you into the corner; he has his bundle of
papers out of his gaping coat-pocket; and the tape
off, and the string in his mouth, and the favorite let-
ters selected and laid before you; and who does not
know the sad eager half-crazy look which he fixes on
you with his hopeless eyes?
Changed into a man of this sort, Dobbin found the
once florid, jovial, and prosperous John Sedley. His
coat, that used to be so glossy and trim, was white at
the seams, and the buttons showed the copper. His
face had fallen in, and was unshorn; his frill and
neckcloth hung limp under his bagging waistcoat.
When he used to treat the boys in old days at a
coffee-house, he would shout and laugh louder than
VOL. I.-18
274
VANITY FAIR.
anybody there, and have all the waiters skipping
round him; it was quite painful to see how humble
and civil he was to John of the Tapioca, a blear-eyed
old attendant in dingy stockings and cracked pumps,
whose business it was to serve glasses of wafers, and
bumpers of ink in pewter, and slices of paper to the
frequenters of this dreary house of entertainment,
where nothing else seemed to be consumed. As for
William Dobbin, whom he had tipped repeatedly in
his youth, and who had been the old gentleman's butt
on a thousand occasions, old Sedley gave his hand to
him in a very hesitating humble manner now, and
called him "Sir." A feeling of shame and remorse
took possession of William Dobbin as the broken old
man so received and addressed him, as if he himself
had been somehow guilty of the misfortunes which
had brought Sedley so low.
I am very glad to see you, Captain Dobbin, sir,"
says he, after a skulking look or two at his visitor
(whose lanky figure and military appearance caused
some excitement likewise to twinkle in the blear
eyes of the waiter in the cracked dancing-pumps, and
awakened the old lady in black, who dozed among the
mouldy old coffee-cups in the bar). "How is the
worthy alderman, and my lady, your excellent mother,
sir?" He looked round at the waiter as he said, "My
lady," as much as to say, "Hark ye, John, I have
friends still, and persons of rank and reputation, too."
"Are you come to do anything in my way, sir? My
young friends Dale and Spiggot do all my busi-
ness for me now, until my new offices are ready;
for I'm only here temporarily, you know, Captain.
What can we do for you, sir? Will you like to take
anything?"
Dobbin, with a great deal of hesitation and stut
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
275
tering, protested that he was not in the least hungry
or thirsty; that he had no business to transact; that
he only came to ask if Mr. Sedley was well, and to
shake hands with an old friend; and, he added, with
a desperate perversion of truth, "My mother is very
well—that is, she's been very unwell, and is only
waiting for the first fine day to go out and call upon
Mrs. Sedley. How is Mrs. Sedley, sir? I hope she's
quite well." And here he paused, reflecting on his
own consummate hypocrisy; for the day was as fine,
and the sunshine as bright as it ever is in Coffin
Court, where the Tapioca Coffee-house is situated:
and Mr. Dobbin remembered that he had seen Mrs.
Sedley himself only an hour before, having driven
Osborne down to Fulham in his gig, and left him
there tête-à-tête with Miss Amelia.
My wife will be very happy to see her ladyship,"
Sedley replied, pulling out his papers.
"I've a very
kind letter here from your father, sir, and beg my
respectful compliments to him. Lady D. will find us
in rather a smaller house than we were accustomed to
receive our friends in; but it's snug, and the change
of air does good to my daughter, who was suffering in
town rather — you remember little Emmy, sir?
yes, suffering a good deal." The old gentleman's
eyes were wandering as he spoke, and he was think-
ing of something else, as he sat thrumming on hist
papers and fumbling at the worn red tape.
You're a military man," he went on; "I ask you,
Bill Dobbin, could any man ever have speculated upon
the return of that Corsican scoundrel from Elba ?
When the allied sovereigns were here last year, and
we gave 'em that dinner in the City, sir, and we saw
the Temple of Concord, and the fireworks, and the
Chinese bridge in St. James's Park, could any sensible
276
VANITY FAIR.
man suppose that peace was n't really concluded, after
we'd actually sung Te Deum for it, sir? I ask you,
William, could I suppose that the Emperor of Austria
was a damned traitor a traitor, and nothing more?
I don't mince words a double-faced infernal traitor
and schemer, who meant to have his son-in-law back
all along. And I say that the escape of Boney from
Elba was a damned imposition and plot, sir, in which
half the powers of Europe were concerned, to bring
the funds down, and to ruin this country. That's
why I'm here, William. That's why my name's in
the 'Gazette.' Why, sir? because I trusted the
Emperor of Russia and the Prince Regent. Look
here. Look at my papers.
Look what the funds
were on the 1st of March what the French fives
were when I bought for the account. And what
they're at now. There was collusion, sir, or that
villain never would have escaped. Where was the
English Commissioner who allowed him to get away?
He ought to be shot, sir-brought to a court-martial,
and shot, by Jove."
"We're going to hunt Boney out, sir," Dobbin
said, rather alarmed at the fury of the old man, the
veins of whose forehead began to swell, and who sat
drumming his papers with his clenched fist.
are going to hunt him out, sir-the Duke 's in Belgium
already, and we expect marching orders every day."
"We
Give him no quarter. Bring back the villain's
head, sir. Shoot the coward down, sir," Sedley
roared. "I'd enlist myself, by ; but I'm a
broken old man ruined by that damned scoundrel
and by a parcel of swindling thieves in this coun-
try whom I made, sir, and who are rolling in their
carriages now," he added, with a break in his voice.
Dobbin was not a little affected by the sight of this
des
P
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
277
once kind old friend, crazed almost with misfortune
and raving with senile anger. Pity the fallen gentle-
man: you to whom money and fair repute are the
chiefest good; and so, surely, are they in Vanity Fair.
"Yes," he continued, "there are some vipers that
you warm, and they sting you afterwards. There are
some beggars that you put on horseback, and they 're
the first to ride you down. You know whom I mean,
William Dobbin, my boy. I mean a purse-proud vil-
lain in Russell Square, whom I knew without a shil-
ling, and whom I pray and hope to see a beggar as he
was when I befriended him.”
"I have heard something of this, sir, from my
friend George," Dobbin said, anxious to come to his
point. "The quarrel between you and his father has
cut him up a great deal, sir. Indeed, I'm the bearer
of a message from him.”
"Oh, that's your errand, is it?" cried the old man,
jumping up. "What! perhaps he condoles with me,
does he? Very kind of him, the stiff-backed prig,
with his dandified airs and West-end swagger. He's
hankering about my house, is he still? If my son had
the courage of a man, he 'd shoot him. He's as big a
villain as his father. I won't have his name men-
tioned in my house. I curse the day that ever I let
him into it; and I'd rather see my daughter dead at
my feet than married to him.”
"His father's harshness is not George's fault, sir.
Your daughter's love for him is as much your doing
as his. Who are you, that you are to play with two
young people's affections and break their hearts at
your will?"
"Recollect it's not his father that breaks the match
off," old Sedley cried out. "It's I that forbid it.
That family and mine are separated forever. I'm
278
VANITY FAIR.
fallen low, but not so low as that: no, no.
you may tell the whole race
sisters, and all."
And so
son, and father, and
66
"It's my belief, sir, that you have not the power or
the right to separate those two," Dobbin answered in
a low voice; " and that if you don't give your daughter
your consent it will be her duty to marry without it.
There's no reason she should die or live miserably
because you are wrong-headed. To my thinking, she 's
just as much married as if the banns had been read in
all the churches in London. And what better answer
can there be to Osborne's charges against you, as
charges there are, than that his son claims to enter
your family and marry your daughter?"
A light of something like satisfaction seemed to break
over old Sedley as this point was put to him: but he
still persisted that with his consent the marriage
between Amelia and George should never take place.
"We must do it without," Dobbin said, smiling, and
told Mr. Sedley, as he had told Mrs. Sedley in the day,
before, the story of Rebecca's elopement with Captain
Crawley. It evidently amused the old gentleman.
"You're terrible fellows, you Captains," said he,
tying up his papers; and his face wore something
like a smile upon it, to the astonishment of the blear-
eyed waiter who now entered, and had never seen such
an expression upon Sedley's countenance since he had
used the dismal coffee-house.
The idea of hitting his enemy Osborne such a blow
soothed, perhaps, the old gentleman: and, their collo-
quy presently ending, he and Dobbin parted pretty
good friends.
"My sisters say she has diamonds as big as pigeons'
eggs," George said laughing.
"How they must set off
*.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
279
her complexion! A perfect illumination it must be
when her jewels are on her neck. Her jet-black hair
is as curly as Sambo's. I dare say she wore a nose-
ring when she went to court; and with a plume of
feathers in her top-knot she would look a perfect
Belle Sauvage."
George, in conversation with Amelia, was rallying
the appearance of a young lady of whom his father
and sisters had lately made the acquaintance, and who
was an object of vast respect to the Russell Square
family. She was reported to have I don't know how
many plantations in the West Indies; a deal of money
in the funds; and three stars to her name in the East
India stockholders' list. She had a mansion in Sur-
rey, and a house in Portland Place. The name of the
rich West India heiress had been mentioned with
applause in the "Morning Post." Mrs. Haggistoun,
Colonel Haggistoun's widow, her relative, "chaper-
oned" her, and kept her house. She was just from
school, where she had completed her education, and
George and his sisters had met her at an evening party
at old Hulker's house, Devonshire Place (Hulker, Bul-
lock, and Co. were long the correspondents of her
house in the West Indies), and the girls had made
the most cordial advances to her, which the heiress had
received with great good-humor. An orphan in her po-
sition- with her money so interesting! the Misses
Osborne said. They were full of their new friend
when they returned from the Hulker ball to Miss
Wirt, their companion; they had made arrangements
for continually meeting, and had the carriage and
drove to see her the very next day. Mrs. Haggistoun,
Colonel Haggistoun's widow, a relation of Lord Binkie,
and always talking of him, struck the dear unsophisti-
cated girls as rather haughty, and too much inclined.
280
VANITY FAIR.
to talk about her great relations: but Rhoda was
everything they could wish the frankest, kindest,
most agreeable creature wanting a little polish, but
so good-natured. The girls Christian-named each other
at once.
"You should have seen her dress for court, Emmy,"
Osborne cried, laughing. "She came to my sisters to
show it off, before she was presented in state by my
Lady Binkie, the Haggistoun's kinswoman. She's re-
lated to every one, that Haggistoun. Her diamonds
blazed out like Vauxhall on the night we were there.
(Do you remember Vauxhall, Emmy, and Jos singing
to his dearest diddle-diddle-darling?) Diamonds and
mahogany, my dear! think what an advantageous con-
trast and the white feathers in her hair - I mean in
her wool. She had ear-rings like chandeliers; you
might have lighted 'em up, by Jove and a yellow
satin train that streeled after her like the tail of a
comet."
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
"How old is she?" asked Emmy, to whom George
was rattling away regarding this dark paragon, on the
morning of their reunion rattling away as no other
man in the world surely could.
66
Why, the Black Princess, though she has only just
left school, must be two or three and twenty. And
you should see the hand she writes! Mrs. Colonel
Haggistoun usually writes her letters, but in a mo-
ment of confidence, she put pen to paper for my sis-
ters; she spelt satin satting, and St. James's, St.
Jams."
"Why, surely it must be Miss Swartz, the parlor-
boarder," Emmy said, remembering that good-natured
young mulatto girl, who had been so hysterically
affected when Amelia left Miss Pinkerton's academy.
"The very name," George said. "Her father was
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
281
S
a German Jew a slave-owner they say connected
with the Cannibal Islands in some way or other. He
died last year, and Miss Pinkerton has finished her
education. She can play two pieces on the piano;
she knows three songs; she can write when Mrs.
Haggistoun is by to spell for her; and Jane and
Maria already have got to love her as a sister.”
"I wish they would have loved me," said Emmy,
wistfully. They were always very cold to me."
C
"My dear child, they would have loved you if you
had had two hundred thousand pounds," George re-
plied. "That is the way in which they have been
brought up. Ours is a ready-money society. We
live among bankers and City big-wigs, and be hanged
to them, and every man, as he talks to you, is jingling
his guineas in his pocket. There is that jackass Fred
Bullock, is going to marry Maria — there's Goldmore,
the East India Director, there's Dipley, in the tallow
trade our trade," George said, with an uneasy laugh
and a blush. "Curse the whole pack of money-grub-
bing vulgarians! I fall asleep at their great heavy
dinners. I feel ashamed in my father's great stupid
parties. I've been accustomed to live with gentle-
men, and men of the world and fashion, Emmy, not
with a parcel of turtle-fed tradesmen. Dear little
woman, you are the only person of our set who ever
looked, or thought, or spoke like a lady: and you do
it because you 're an angel and can't help it. Don't
remonstrate. You are the only lady. Didn't Miss
Crawley remark it, who has lived in the best com-
pany in Europe? And as for Crawley, of the Life
Guards, hang it, he's a fine fellow and I like him
for marrying the girl he had chosen."
:
Amelia admired Mr. Crawley very much, too, for
this; and trusted Rebecca would be happy with him,
P
282
VANITY FAIR.
and hoped (with a laugh) Jos would be consoled.
And so the pair went on prattling, as in quite early
days. Amelia's confidence being perfectly restored.
to her, though she expressed a great deal of pretty
jealousy about Miss Swartz, and professed to be
dreadfully frightened-like a hypocrite as she was-
lest George should forget her for the heiress and her
money and her estates in St. Kitt's. But the fact
is, she was a great deal too happy to have fears or
doubts or misgivings of any sort: and having George
at her side again, was not afraid of any heiress or
beauty, or indeed of any sort of danger.
When Captain Dobbin came back in the afternoon
to these people which he did with a great deal of
sympathy for them—it did his heart good to see how
Amelia had grown young again - how she laughed,
and chirped, and sang familiar old songs at the piano,
which were only interrupted by the bell from without
proclaiming Mr. Sedley's return from the City, before
whom George received a signal to retreat.
Beyond the first smile of recognition,
and even
that was an hypocrisy, for she thought his arrival
rather provoking - Miss Sedley did not once notice
Dobbin during his visit. But he was content, so that
he saw her happy; and thankful to have been the
means of making her so.
p
CHAPTER XXI.
A QUARREL ABOUT AN HEIRESS.
LOVE may be felt for any young lady endowed with
such qualities as Miss Swartz possessed; and a great
dream of ambition entered into old Mr. Osborne's
soul, which she was to realize. He encouraged, with
the utmost enthusiasm and friendliness, his daugh-
ters' amiable attachment to the young heiress, and
protested that it gave him the sincerest pleasure as a
father to see the love of his girls so well disposed.
"You won't find," he would say to Miss Rhoda,
"that splendor and rank to which you are accustomed
at the West End, my dear Miss, at our humble man-
sion in Russell Square. My daughters are plain, dis-
interested girls, but their hearts are in the right
place, and they 've conceived an attachment for you
which does them honor-I say, which does them
honor. I'm a plain, simple, humble British mer
chant an honest one, as my respected friends
Hulker and Bullock will vouch, who were the corre-
spondents of your late lamented father. You'll find
us a united, simple, happy, and I think I may say re-
spected, family a plain table, a plain people, but a
warm welcome, my dear Miss Rhoda - Rhoda, let me
say, for my heart warms to you, it does really. I'm
a frank man, and I like you. A glass of champagne !
Hicks, champagne to Miss Swartz."
There is little doubt that old Osborne believed all
he said, and that the girls were quite earnest in their
M

284
VANITY FAIR.
protestations of affection for Miss Swartz. People in
Vanity Fair fasten on to rich folks quite naturally.
If the simplest people are disposed to look not a little
kindly on great Prosperity (for I defy any member of
the British public to say that the notion of Wealth
has not something awful and pleasing to him; and
you, if you are told that the man next you at dinner
has got half a million, not to look at him with a cer-
tain interest); -if the simple look benevolently on
money, how much more do your old worldlings regard
it! Their affections rush out to meet and welcome
money. Their kind sentiments awaken spontane-
ously towards the interesting possessors of it. I
know some respectable people who don't consider
themselves at liberty to indulge in friendship for any
individual who has not a certain competency, or place
in society. They give a loose to their feelings on
proper occasions. And the proof is, that the major
part of the Osborne family, who had not, in fifteen
years, been able to get up a hearty regard for Amelia
Sedley, became as fond of Miss Swartz in the course
of a single evening as the most romantic advocate of
friendship at first sight could desire.
What a match for George she'd be (the sisters and
Miss Wirt agreed), and how much better than that
insignificant little Amelia! Such a dashing young
fellow as he is, with his good looks, rank, and accom-
plishments, would be the very husband for her. Vi
sions of balls in Portland Place, presentations at
court, and introductions to half the peerage, filled
the minds of the young ladies; who talked of noth-
ing but George and his grand acquaintances to their
beloved new friend.
Old Osborne thought she would be a great match,
too, for his son. He should leave the army; he
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
285
should go into Parliament; he should cut a figure in
the fashion and in the state. His blood boiled with
honest British exultation, as he saw the name of Os-
borne ennobled in the person of his son, and thought
that he might be the progenitor of a glorious line of
baronets. He worked in the City and on 'Change,
until he knew everything relating to the fortune of
the heiress, how her money was placed, and where
her estates lay. Young Fred Bullock, one of his
chief informants, would have liked to make a bid for
her himself (it was so the young banker expressed
it), only he was booked to Maria Osborne. But not
being able to secure her as a wife, the disinterested
Fred quite approved of her as a sister-in-law. "Let
George cut in directly and win her," was his advice.
"Strike while the iron's hot, you know while she's
fresh to the town: in a few weeks some d fellow
from the West End will come in with a title and a
rotten rent-roll and cut all us City men out, as Lord
Fitzrufus did last year with Miss Grogram, who was
actually engaged to Podder, of Podder & Brown's.
The sooner it is done the better, Mr. Osborne; them's
my sentiments," the wag said; though, when Osborne
had left the bank parlor, Mr. Bullock remembered
Amelia, and what a pretty girl she was, and how at-
tached to George Osborne; and he gave up at least
ten seconds of his valuable time to regretting the
misfortune which had befallen that unlucky young
woman.
While thus George Osborne's good feelings, and
his good friend and genius, Dobbin, were carrying
back the truant to Amelia's feet, George's parent and
sisters were arranging this splendid match for him,
which they never dreamed he would resist.
When the elder Osborne gave what he called "a
286
VANITY FAIR.
hint," there was no possibility for the most obtuse to
mistake his meaning. He called kicking a footman
down stairs, a hint to the latter to leave his service.
With his usual frankness and delicacy he told Mrs.
Haggistoun that he would give her a cheque for five
thousand pounds on the day his son was married to
her ward; and called that proposal a hint, and con-
sidered it a very dexterous piece of diplomacy. He
gave George finally such another hint regarding the
heiress; and ordered him to marry her out of hand,
as he would have ordered his butler to draw a cork,
or his clerk to write a letter.
This imperative hint disturbed George a good deal.
He was in the very first enthusiasm and delight of
his second courtship of Amelia, which was inexpressi-
bly sweet to him. The contrast of her manners and
appearance with those of the heiress made the idea of
a union with the latter appear doubly ludicrous and
odious. Carriages and opera-boxes, thought he; fancy
being seen in them by the side of such a mahogany
charmer as that! Add to all, that the junior Osborne
was quite as obstinate as the Senior: when he wanted
a thing, quite as firm in his resolution to get it; and
quite as violent when angered, as his father in his
most stern moments.
On the first day when his father formally gave him
the hint that he was to place his affections at Miss
Swartz's feet, George temporized with the old gentle-
man. "You should have thought of the matter
sooner, sir," he said. "It can't be done now, when
we're expecting every day to go on foreign service.
Wait till my return, if I do return; " and then he
represented, that the time when the regiment was
daily expecting to quit England, was exceedingly ill-
chosen that the few days or weeks during which
:

PHOTO FRAMES
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Aimi
WERE THE ONE. LINE.
Fagn
A
MISS SWARTZ REHEARSING FOR THE DRAWING-ROOM.
BEG
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287
they were still to remain at home, must be devoted to
business and not to love-making: time enough for
that when he came home with his majority; "for, I
promise you,” said he, with a satisfied air, "that one
way or other you shall read the name of George.
Osborne in the Gazette.””
6
The father's reply to this was founded upon the in-
formation which he had got in the City: that the
West End chaps would infallibly catch hold of the
heiress if any delay took place: that if he did n't
marry Miss S., he might at least have an engagement
in writing, to come into effect when he returned to
England; and that a man who could get ten thousand
a year by staying at home, was a fool to risk his life
abroad.
"So that you would have me shown up as a coward,
sir, and our name dishonored for the sake of Miss
Swartz's money," George interposed.
This remark staggered the old gentleman; but as
he had to reply to it, and as his mind was neverthe-
less made up, he said, "You will dine here to-morrow,
sir, and every day Miss Swartz comes, you will be
here to pay your respects to her. If you want for
money, call upon Mr. Chopper." Thus a new obsta-
cle was in George's way, to interfere with his plans.
regarding Amelia; and about which he and Dobbin
had more than one confidential consultation. His
friend's opinion respecting the line of conduct which
he ought to pursue, we know already. And as for
Osborne, when he was once bent on a thing, a fresh
obstacle or two only rendered him the more resolute.
The dark object of the conspiracy into which the
chiefs of the Osborne family had entered, was quite
ignorant of all their plans regarding her (which,
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VANITY FAIR.
strange to say, her friend and chaperon did not di-
vulge), and, taking all the young ladies' flattery for
genuine sentiment, and being, as we have before had
occasion to show, of a very warm and impetuous
nature, responded to their affection with quite a tropi-
cal ardor. And if the truth may be told, I dare say
that she too had some selfish attraction in the Rus-
sell Square house; and in a word, thought George
Osborne a very nice young man. His whiskers had
made an impression upon her, on the very first night
she beheld them at the ball at Messrs. Hulkers; and,
as we know, she was not the first woman who had
been charmed by them. George had an air at once
swaggering and melancholy, languid and fierce. He
looked like a man who had passions, secrets, and pri-
vate harrowing griefs and adventures. His voice was
rich and deep. He would say it was a warm evening,
or ask his partner to take an ice, with a tone as sad
and confidential as if he were breaking her mother's
death to her, or preluding a declaration of love. He
trampled over all the young bucks of his father's cir-
cle, and was the hero among those third-rate men.
Some few sneered at him and hated him. Some, like
Dobbin, fanatically admired him. And his whiskers
had begun to do their work, and to curl themselves
round the affections of Miss Swartz.
Whenever there was a chance of meeting him in
Russell Square, that simple and good-natured young
woman was quite in a flurry to see her dear Misses
Osborne. She went to great expenses in new gowns,
and bracelets, and bonnets, and in prodigious feathers.
She adorned her person with her utmost skill to please
the Conqueror, and exhibited all her simple accom-
plishments to win his favor. The girls would ask
her, with the greatest gravity, for a little music, and
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
289
she would sing her three songs and play her two little
pieces as often as ever they asked, and with an always
increasing pleasure to herself. During these delecta-
ble entertainments, Miss Wirt and the chaperon sat
by, and conned over the peerage, and talked about the
nobility.
The day after George had his hint from his father,
and a short time before the hour of dinner, he was
lolling upon a sofa in the drawing-room in a very be-
coming and perfectly natural attitude of melancholy.
He had been, at his father's request, to Mr. Chopper
in the City (the old gentleman, though he gave great
sums to his son, would never specify any fixed allow-
ance for him, and rewarded him only as he was in the
humor). He had then been to pass three hours with
Amelia, his dear little Amelia, at Fulham; and he
came home to find his sisters spread in starched mus-
lin in the drawing-room, the dowagers cackling in the
background, and honest Swartz in her favorite amber-
colored satin, with turquoise bracelets, countless rings,
flowers, feathers, and all sorts of tags and gimcracks,
about as elegantly decorated as a she chimney-sweep
on May day.
The girls, after vain attempts to engage him in con-
versation, talked about fashions and the last drawing-
room until he was perfectly sick of their chatter.
He contrasted their behavior with little Emmy's
their shrill voices with her tender ringing tones;
their attitudes and their elbows and their starch, with
her humble soft movements and modest graces. Poor
Swartz was seated in a place where Emmy had been
accustomed to sit. Her bejewelled hands lay sprawl-
ing in her amber satin lap. Her tags and ear-rings
twinkled, and her big eyes rolled about.
She was
doing nothing with perfect contentment, and thinking
VOL. I. 19
290
VANITY FAIR.
herself charming. Anything so becoming as the satin
the sisters had never seen.
"Dammy," George said to a confidential friend,
"she looked like a china doll, which has nothing to
do all day but to grin and wag its head. By Jove,
Will, it was all I could do to prevent myself from
throwing the sofa-cushion at her." He restrained
that exhibition of sentiment, however.
The sisters began to play the "Battle of Prague."
"Stop that d thing," George howled out in a fury
from the sofa. "It makes me mad. You play us
something, Miss Swartz, do. Sing something, any-
thing but the 'Battle of Prague.'
299
Shall I sing 'Blue-Eyed Mary,' or the air from the
Cabinet?" Miss Swartz asked.
"That sweet thing from the Cabinet," the sisters
said.
"We've had that," replied the misanthrope on the
sofa.
"I can sing "Fluvy du Tajy,'" Swartz said, in a
meek voice, "if I had the words." It was the last
of the worthy young woman's collection.
66 we
6
"Oh, Fleuve du Tage," Miss Maria cried;
have the song," and went off to fetch the book in
which it was.
—
Now it happened that this song, then in the height
of the fashion, had been given to the young ladies by
a young friend of theirs, whose name was on the title,
and Miss Swartz, having concluded the ditty with
George's applause (for he remembered that it was a
favorite of Amelia's), was hoping for an encore per-
haps, and fiddling with the leaves of the music, when
her eye fell upon the title, and she saw "Amelia Sed-
ley" written in the corner.
"Lor!" cried Miss Swartz, spinning swiftly round
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
291
on the music-stool, “is it my Amelia? Amelia that
was at Miss P.'s at Hammersmith? I know it is.
It's her, and Tell me about her where is she?"
"Don't mention her," Miss Maria Osborne said
hastily. "Her family has disgraced itself. Her
father cheated Papa, and as for her, she is never to
be mentioned here." This was Miss Maria's return
for George's rudeness about the "Battle of Prague."
"Are you a friend of Amelia's?" George said,
bouncing up. "God bless you for it, Miss Swartz.
Don't believe what the girls say. She's not to blame
at any rate. She's the best
"You know you 're not to speak about her, George,"
cried Jane. Papa forbids it."
""
"Who's to prevent me? George cried out. "I
will speak of her. I say she's the best, the kindest,
the gentlest, the sweetest girl in England; and that,
bankrupt or no, my sisters are not fit to hold candles
to her. If you like her, go and see her, Miss Swartz;
she wants friends now; and I say, God bless everybody
who befriends her. Anybody who speaks kindly of
her is my friend; anybody who speaks against her is
my enemy. Thank you, Miss Swartz;" and he went
up and wrung her hand.
"George! George!" one of the sisters cried im-
ploringly.
"I say," George said fiercely, "I thank everybody
who loves Amelia Sed ""
He stopped. Old Osborne
was in the room with a face livid with rage, and eyes
like hot coals.
66
رو
My
Though George had stopped in his sentence, yet, his
blood being up, he was not to be cowed by all the gen-
erations of Osborne; rallying instantly, he replied to
the bullying look of his father, with another so indic-
ative of resolution and defiance, that the elder man
292
VANITY FAIR.
quailed in his turn, and looked away. He felt that
the tussle was coming. "Mrs. Haggistoun, let me
take you down to dinner," he said.
"Give your arm
to Miss Swartz, George," and they marched.
"Miss Swartz, I love Amelia, and we've been en-
gaged almost all our lives," Osborne said to his part-
ner; and during all the dinner, George rattled on with
a volubility which surprised himself, and made his
father doubly nervous for the fight which was to take
place as soon as the ladies were gone.
The difference between the pair was, that while the
father was violent and a bully, the son had thrice the
nerve and courage of the parent, and could not merely
make an attack, but resist it; and finding that the
moment was now come when the contest between him
and his father was to be decided, he took his dinner
with perfect coolness and appetite before the engage-
ment began. Old Osborne, on the contrary, was
nervous, and drank much. He floundered in his con-
versation with the ladies, his neighbors: George's
coolness only rendering him more angry. It made
him half mad to see the calm way in which George,
flapping his napkin, and with a swaggering bow,
opened the door for the ladies to leave the room; and
filling himself a glass of wine, smacked it, and looked
his father full in the face, as if to say, "Gentlemen of
the Guard, fire first." The old man also took a sup-
ply of ammunition, but his decanter clinked against.
the glass as he tried to fill it.
After giving a great heave, and with a purple chok-
ing face, he then began. "How dare you, sir, men-
tion that person's name before Miss Swartz to-day, in
my drawing-room? I ask you, sir, how dare you do
it?"
"Stop, sir," says George, "don't say dare, sir. Dare
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293
is n't a word to be used to a Captain in the British
Army."
"I shall say what I like to my son, sir. I can cut
him off with a shilling if I like. I can make him a
beggar if I like. I will say what I like," the elder said.
"I'm a gentleman though I am your son, sir,”
George answered haughtily. "Any communications
which you have to make to me, or any orders which
you may please to give, I beg may be couched in that
kind of language which I am accustomed to hear."
Whenever the lad assumed his haughty manner, it
always created either great awe or great irritation in
the parent. Old Osborne stood in secret terror of
his son as a better gentleman than himself; and per-
haps my readers may have remarked in their experi-
ence of this Vanity Fair of ours, that there is no
character which a low-minded man so much mistrusts,
as that of a gentleman.
"My father did n't give me the education you have
had, nor the advantages you have had, nor the money
you have had.
If I had kept the company some folks
have had through my means, perhaps my son would n't
have any reason to brag, sir, of his superiority and
West End airs (these words were uttered in the elder
Osborne's most sarcastic tones). But it was n't con-
sidered the part of a gentleman, in my time, for a man
to insult his father. If I'd done any such thing, mine
would have kicked me down stairs, sir."
"I never insulted you, sir. I said I begged you to
remember your son was a gentleman as well as yourself.
I know very well that you give me plenty of money,'
said George (fingering a bundle of notes which he
had got in the morning from Mr. Chopper). "You
tell me it often enough, sir. There's no fear of my
forgetting it."
رو
294
VANITY FAIR.
"I wish you'd remember other things as well, sir,”
the sire answered. "I wish you'd remember that in
this house so long as you choose to honor it with
your company, Captain - I'm the master, and that
that you
name, and that that
- that I say
"That what, sir?" George asked, with scarcely a
sneer, filling another glass of claret.
66
!" burst out his father with a screaming
oath, "that the name of those Sedleys never be men-
tioned here, sir not one of the whole damned lot of
'em, sir."
doda
""
"It was n't I, sir, that introduced Miss Sedley's
name. It was my sisters who spoke ill of her to Miss
Swartz; and by Jove I'll defend her wherever I go.
Nobody shall speak lightly of that name in my pres-
ence. Our family has done her quite enough injury
already, I think, and may leave off reviling her now
she's down. I'll shoot any man but you who says a
word against her."
"Go on, sir, go on," the old gentleman said, his eyes
starting out of his head.
"Go on about what, sir? about the way in which
we 've treated that angel of a girl? Who told me to
love her? It was your doing. I might have chosen
elsewhere, and looked higher, perhaps, than your so-
ciety but I obeyed you. And now that her heart 's
mine you give me orders to fling it away, and punish
her, kill her perhaps for the faults of other people.
It's a shame, by Heavens," said George, working him-
self up into passion and enthusiasm as he proceeded,
"to play at fast and loose with a young girl's affec-
tions - and with such an angel as that one so su-
perior to the people amongst whom she lived, that
she might have excited envy, only she was so good
and gentle, that it's a wonder anybody dared to hate
!
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295
her. If I desert her, sir, do you suppose she forgets
me?"
"I ain't going to have any of this dam sentimental
nonsense and humbug here, sir," the father cried out.
"There shall be no beggar-marriages in my family. If
you choose to fling away eight thousand a year, which
you may have for the asking, you may do it: but by
Jove you take your pack and walk out of this house,
sir. Will you do as I tell you, once for all, sir, or
will you not ? ”
66
Marry that mulatto woman?" George said, pull-
ing up his shirt-collars. “I don't like the color, sir.
Ask the black that sweeps opposite Fleet Market, sir.
I'm not going to marry a Hottentot Venus.”
Mr. Osborne pulled frantically at the cord by which
he was accustomed to summon the butler when he
wanted wine and almost black in the face, ordered
that functionary to call a coach for Captain Osborne.
"I've done it," said George, coming into the
Slaughters' an hour afterwards, looking very pale.
"What, my boy?" says Dobbin.
George told what had passed between his father
and himself.
"I'll marry her to-morrow," he said with an oath.
“I love her more every day, Dobbin.”
CHAPTER XXII.
A MARRIAGE AND PART OF A HONEYMOON.
ENEMIES the most obstinate and courageous can't
hold out against starvation; so the elder Osborne felt
himself pretty easy about his adversary in the en-
counter we have just described; and as soon as
George's supplies fell short, confidently expected his
unconditional submission. It was unlucky, to be
sure, that the lad should have secured a stock of pro-
visions on the very day when the first encounter took
place; but this relief was only temporary, old Os-
borne thought, and would but delay George's surren-
der. No communication passed between father and
son for some days. The former was sulky at this
silence, but not disquieted; for, as he said, he knew
where he could put the screw upon George, and only
waited the result of that operation. He told the
sisters the upshot of the dispute between them, but
ordered them to take no notice of the matter, and
welcome George on his return as if nothing had hap-
pened. His cover was laid as usual every day, and
perhaps the old gentleman rather anxiously expected
him; but he never came. Some one inquired at the
Slaughters' regarding him, where it was said that he
and his friend Captain Dobbin had left town.
One gusty, raw day at the end of April, the rain
whipping the pavement of that ancient street where
the old Slaughters' Coffee-house was once situated,
George Osborne came into the coffee-room, looking
very haggard and pale, although dressed rather
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
297
smartly in a blue coat and brass buttons, and a neat
buff waistcoat of the fashion of those days. Here
was his friend Captain Dobbin, in blue and brass too,
having abandoned the military frock and French-gray
trousers, which were the usual coverings of his lanky
person.
Dobbin had been in the coffee-room for an hour or
more. He had tried all the papers, but could not
read them. He had looked at the clock many scores
of times; and at the street, where the rain was pat-
tering down, and the people as they clinked by in
pattens, left long reflections on the shining stone: he
tattooed at the table: he bit his nails most com-
pletely, and nearly to the quick (he was accustomed
to ornament his great big hands in this way): he
balanced the teaspoon dexterously on the milk jug;
upset it, etc., etc.; and in fact showed those signs of
disquietude, and practised those desperate attempts.
at amusement, which men are accustomed to employ
when very anxious, and expectant, and perturbed in
mind.
Some of his comrades, gentlemen who used the
room, joked him about the splendor of his costume
and his agitation of manner. One asked him if he
was going to be married? Dobbin laughed, and said
he would send his acquaintance (Major Wagstaff of
the Engineers) a piece of cake when that event took
place. At length Captain Osborne made his appear-
ance, very smartly dressed, but very pale and agitated
as we have said. He wiped his pale face with a large
yellow bandanna pocket-handkerchief that was pro-
digiously scented. He shook hands with Dobbin,
looked at the clock, and told John, the waiter, to
bring him some curaçoa. Of this cordial he swal-
lowed off a couple of glasses with nervous eager-
298
VANITY FAIR.
ness. His friend asked with some interest about his
health.
"Couldn't get a wink of sleep till daylight, Dob,"
said he. Infernal headache and fever. Got up at
nine, and went down to the Hummums for a bath.
I say, Dob, I feel just as I did on the morning I
went out with Rocket at Quebec."
"So do I," William responded. "I was a deuced
deal more nervous than you were that morning.
You made a famous breakfast, I remember.
something now."
Eat
"You're a good old fellow, Will. I'll drink your
health, old boy, and farewell to -"
"No, no; two glasses are enough," Dobbin inter-
rupted him. "Here, take away the liqueurs, John.
Have some cayenne-pepper with your fowl. Make
haste though, for it is time we were there."
It was about half an hour from twelve when this
brief meeting and colloquy took place between the
two captains. A coach, into which Captain Osborne's
servant put his master's desk and dressing-case, had
been in waiting for some time; and into this the two
gentlemen hurried under an umbrella, and the valet
mounted on the box, cursing the rain and the
dampness of the coachman who was steaming beside
him. "We shall find a better trap than this at the
church-door," says he; "that's a comfort." And the
carriage drove on, taking the road down Piccadilly,
where Apsley House and St. George's Hospital wore
red jackets still; where there were oil-lamps; where
Achilles was not yet born; nor the Pimlico arch
raised; nor the hideous equestrian monster which
pervades it and the neighborhood; - and so they
drove down by Brompton to a certain chapel near
the Fulham Road there.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
299
A chariot was in waiting with four horses; like-
wise a coach of the kind called glass coaches. Only
a very few idlers were collected on account of the
dismal rain.
66
Hang it!" said George, "I said only a pair."
"My master would have four," said Mr. Joseph
Sedley's servant, who was in waiting; and he and
Mr. Osborne's man agreed as they followed George
and William into the church, that it was a “reg'lar
shabby turn hout; and with scarce so much as a
breakfast or a wedding favior."
"Here you are," said our old friend, Jos Sedley,
coming forward. "You're five minutes late, George,
my boy. What a day, eh? Demmy, it's like the
commencement of the rainy season in Bengal. But
you'll find my carriage is water-tight. Come along,
my mother and Emmy are in the vestry."
Jos Sedley was splendid. He was fatter than
ever. His shirt-collars were higher; his face was
redder; his shirt-frill flaunted gorgeously out of his
variegated waistcoat. Varnished boots were not
invented as yet; but the Hessians on his beautiful
legs shone so, that they must have been the identi-
cal pair in which the gentleman in the old picture
used to shave himself; and on his light green coat
there bloomed a fine wedding favor, like a great
white spreading magnolia.
In a word, George had thrown the great cast. He
was going to be married. Hence his pallor and ner-
vousness his sleepless night and agitation in the
morning. I have heard people who have gone
through the same thing own to the same emotion.
After three or four ceremonies, you get accustomed
to it, no doubt; but the first dip, everybody allows,
is awful.
300
VANITY FAIR.
The bride was dressed in a brown silk pelisse (as
Captain Dobbin has since informed me), and wore
a straw bonnet with a pink ribbon; over the bonnet
she had a veil of white Chantilly lace, a gift from
Mr. Joseph Sedley, her brother. Captain Dobbin
himself had asked leave to present her with a gold
chain and watch, which she sported on this occasion;
and her mother gave her her diamond brooch
almost the only trinket which was left to the old
lady. As the service went on, Mrs. Sedley sat and
whimpered a great deal in a pew, consoled by the
Irish maid-servant and Mrs. Clapp from the lodg-
ings. Old Sedley would not be present. Jos acted
for his father, giving away the bride, whilst Captain
Dobbin stepped up as groomsman to his friend
George.
There was nobody in the church besides the officiat-
ing persons and the small marriage party and their
attendants. The two valets sat aloof superciliously.
The rain came rattling down on the windows. In
the intervals of the service you heard it, and the
sobbing of old Mrs. Sedley in the pew.
The par-
son's tones echoed sadly through the empty walls.
Osborne's "I will" was sounded in very deep bass.
Emmy's response came fluttering up to her lips from
her heart, but was scarcely heard by anybody except
Captain Dobbin.
When the service was completed, Jos Sedley came
forward and kissed his sister, the bride, for the first
time for many months - George's look of gloom had
gone, and he seemed quite proud and radiant. "It's
your turn, William," says he, putting his hand fondly
upon Dobbin's shoulder; and Dobbin went up and
touched Amelia on the cheek.
Then they went into the vestry and signed the reg
+
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
301
ister.
"God bless you, old Dobbin," George said,
grasping him by the hand, with something very like
moisture glistening in his eyes. William replied only
by nodding his head. His heart was too full to say
much.
"Write directly, and come down as soon as you
can, you know," Osborne said. After Mrs. Sedley
had taken an hysterical adieu of her daughter, the
pair went off to the carriage. "Get out of the way,
you little devils," George cried to a small crowd of
damp urchins, that were hanging about the chapel-
door. The rain drove into the bride and bride-
groom's faces as they passed to the chariot. The
postilions' favors draggled on their dripping jackets.
The few children made a dismal cheer, as the car-
riage, splashing mud, drove away.
William Dobbin stood in the church-porch, looking
at it, a queer figure. The small crew of spectators
jeered him.
He was not thinking about them or
their laughter.
"Come home and have some tiffin, Dobbin," a voice
cried behind him; as a pudgy hand was laid on his
shoulder, and the honest fellow's revery was inter-
rupted. But the Captain had no heart to go a-feast-
ing with Jos Sedley. He put the weeping old lady
and her attendants into the carriage along with Jos,
and left them without any farther words passing.
This carriage, too, drove away, and the urchins gave
another sarcastical cheer.
"Here, you little beggars," Dobbin said, giving
some sixpences amongst them, and then went off by
himself through the rain. It was all over. They
were married, and happy, he prayed God. Never
since he was a boy had he felt so miserable and so
lonely. He longed with a heart-sick yearning for
302
VANITY FAIR.
the first few days to be over, that he might see her
again.
Some ten days after the above ceremony, three
young men of our acquaintance were enjoying that
beautiful prospect of bow windows on the one side
and blue sea on the other, which Brighton affords to
the traveller. Sometimes it is towards the ocean
smiling with countless dimples, speckled with white
sails, with a hundred bathing-machines kissing the
skirt of his blue garment—that the Londoner looks
enraptured: sometimes, on the contrary, a lover of
human pature rather than of prospects of any kind,
it is towards the bow windows that he turns, and
that swarm of human life which they exhibit. From
one issue the notes of a piano, which a young lady in
ringlets practises six hours daily, to the delight of the
fellow-lodgers at another, lovely Polly, the nurse-
maid, may be seen dandling Master Omnium in her
arms whilst Jacob, his papa, is beheld eating prawns,
and devouring the "Times" for breakfast, at the win-
dow below. Yonder are the Misses Leery, who are
looking out for the young officers of the heavies, who
are pretty sure to be pacing the cliff; or again it is a
City man, with a nautical turn, and a telescope, the
size of a six-pounder, who has his instrument pointed
seawards, so as to command every pleasure-boat, her
ring-boat, or bathing-machine that comes to, or quits,
the shore, etc., etc. But have we any leisure for a de-
scription of Brighton? for Brighton, a clean Naples
with genteel lazzaroni - for Brighton, that always
looks brisk, gay, and gaudy, like a harlequin's jacket
for Brighton, which used to be seven hours distant
from London at the time of our story; which is now
only a hundred minutes off; and which may approach
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
303
who knows how much nearer, unless Joinville comes
and untimely bombards it?
"What a monstrous fine girl that is in the lodgings
over the milliner's," one of these three promenaders
remarked to the other; "Gad, Crawley, did you see
what a wink she gave me as I passed?"
"Don't break her heart, Jos, you rascal," said an-
other. "Don't trifle with her affections, you Don
Juan!"
"Get away," said Jos Sedley, quite pleased, and
leering up at the maid-servant in question with a
most killing ogle. Jos was even more splendid at
Brighton than he had been at his sister's marriage.
He had brilliant under-waistcoats, any one of which
would have set up a moderate buck. He sported a
military frock-coat, ornamented with frogs, knobs,
black buttons, and meandering embroidery. He had
affected a military appearance and habits of late; and
he walked with his two friends, who were of that
profession, clinking his boot-spurs, swaggering pro-
digiously, and shooting death-glances at all the ser-
vant-girls who were worthy to be slain.
"What shall we do, boys, till the ladies return?
the buck asked. The ladies were out to Rottingdean
in his carriage on a drive.
""
"Let's have a game at billiards," one of his friends
said the tall one, with lacquered mustachios.
No, dammy; no, Captain," Jos replied, rather
alarmed. "No billiards to-day, Crawley, my boy;
yesterday was enough."
"You play very well," said Crawley, laughing.
"Don't he, Osborne ? How well he made that five
stroke, eh?"
"Famous," Osborne said. "Jos is a devil of a fel·
low at billiards, and at everything else, too. I wish
304
VANITY FAIR.
there were any tiger-hunting about here; we might
go and kill a few before dinner. (There goes a fine
girl! what an ankle, eh, Jos?) Tell us that story
about the tiger-hunt, and the way you did for him in
the jungle-it's a wonderful story that, Crawley."
Here George Osborne gave a yawn. "It's rather
slow work," said he, "down here; what shall we
do?"
"Shall we go and look at some horses that Snaffler's
just brought from Lewes fair?" Crawley said.
"Suppose we go and have some jellies at Dutton's,"
said the rogue Jos, willing to kill two birds with one
stone. "Devilish fine gal at Dutton's."
"Suppose we go and see the Lightning come in, it's
just about time?" George said. This advice prevail-
ing over the stables and the jelly, they turned towards
the coach-office to witness the Lightning's arrival.
As they passed, they met the carriage Jos Sed-
ley's open carriage, with its magnificent armorial bear-
ings that splendid conveyance in which he used to
drive about at Cheltenham, majestic and solitary, with
his arms folded, and his hat cocked; or, more happy,
with ladies by his side.
Two were in the carriage now: one a little person,
with light hair, and dressed in the height of the fash-
ion; the other in a brown silk pelisse, and a straw
bonnet with pink ribbons, with a rosy, round, happy
face, that did you good to behold. She checked the
carriage as it neared the three gentlemen, after which
exercise of authority she looked rather nervous, and
then began to blush most absurdly. "We have had a
delightful drive, George," she said, "and-and we 're
so glad to come back; and, Joseph, don't let him be
late."
"Don't be leading our husbands into mischief, Mr.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
305
Sedley, you wicked, wicked man you," Rebecca said,
shaking at Jos a pretty little finger covered with the
neatest French kid glove. "No billiards, no smoking,
no naughtiness!"
"My dear Mrs. Crawley — Ah now! upon my honor!"
was all Jos could ejaculate by way of reply; but he
managed to fall into a tolerable attitude, with his head
lying on his shoulder, grinning upwards at his victim,
with one hand at his back, which he supported on his
cane, and the other hand (the one with the diamond
ring) fumbling in his shirt-frill and among his under-
waistcoats. As the carriage drove off he kissed the
diamond hand to the fair ladies within. He wished
all Cheltenham, all Chowringhee, all Calcutta, could
see him in that position, waving his hand to such a
beauty, and in company with such a famous buck as
Rawdon Crawley of the Guards.
Our young bride and bridegroom had chosen Brighton
as the place where they would pass the first few days
after their marriage; and having engaged apartments
at the Ship Inn, enjoyed themselves there in great com-
fort and quietude, until Jos presently joined them.
Nor was he the only companion they found there. As
they were coming into the Hotel from a sea-side walk
one afternoon, on whom should they light but Re-
becca and her husband. The recognition was imme-
diate. Rebecca flew into the arms of her dearest
friend. Crawley and Osborne shook hands together
cordially enough: and Becky, in the course of a very
few hours, found means to make the latter forget that
little unpleasant passage of words which had hap-
pened between them "Do you remember the last time
we met at Miss Crawley's, when I was so rude to you,
dear Captain Osborne? I thought you seemed care-
less about dear Amelia. It was that made me angry:
VOL. I. 20
306
VANITY FAIR.
:
and so pert and so unkind and so ungrateful. Do
forgive me!" Rebecca said, and she held out her hand
with so frank and winning a grace, that Osborne could
not but take it. By humbly and frankly acknowledg
ing yourself to be in the wrong, there is no knowing,
my son, what good you may do. I knew once a gen-
tleman and very worthy practitioner in Vanity Fair,
who used to do little wrongs to his neighbors on pur-
pose, and in order to apologize for them in an open
and manly way afterwards and what ensued? My
friend Crocky Doyle was liked everywhere, and deemed
to be rather impetuous but the honestest fellow.
Becky's humility passed for sincerity with George
Osborne.
These two young couples had plenty of tales to re-
late to each other. The marriages of either were dis-
cussed; and their prospects in life canvassed with the
greatest frankness and interest on both sides. George's
marriage was to be made known to his father by his
friend Captain Dobbin; and young Osborne trembled
rather for the result of that communication. Miss
Crawley, on whom all Rawdon's hopes depended, still
held out. Unable to make an entry into her house in
Park Lane, her affectionate nephew and niece had fol-
lowed her to Brighton, where they had emissaries con-
tinually planted at her door.
"I wish you could see some of Rawdon's friends
who are always about our door," Rebecca said. laugh-
ing. "Did you ever see a dun, my dear; or a bailiff
and his man? Two of the abominable wretches watched
all last week at the green-grocer's opposite, and we could
not get away until Sunday. If Aunty does not relent,
what shall we do?
"9
Rawdon, with roars of laughter, related a dozen
amusing anecdotes of his duns, and Rebecca's adroit
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
307
treatment of them. He vowed with a great oath,
that there was no woman in Europe who could talk
a creditor over as she could. Almost immediately
after their marriage, her practice had begun, and her
husband found the immense value of such a wife.
They had credit in plenty, but they had bills also in
abundance, and labored under a scarcity of ready
money. Did these debt difficulties affect Rawdon's
good spirits? No. Everybody in Vanity Fair must
have remarked how well those live who are comfort-
ably and thoroughly in debt: how they deny them-
selves nothing; how jolly and easy they are in their
minds. Rawdon and his wife had the very best
apartments at the inn at Brighton; the landlord, as
he brought in the first dish, bowed before them as to
his greatest customers and Rawdon abused the din-
ners and wine with an audacity which no grandee in
the land could surpass. Long custom, a manly ap-
pearance, faultless boots and clothes, and a happy
fierceness of manner, will often help a man as much
as a great balance at the banker's.
:
The two wedding parties met constantly in each.
other's apartments. After two or three nights the
gentlemen of an evening had a little piquet, as their
wives sat and chatted apart. This pastime, and the
arrival of Jos Sedley, who made his appearance in
his grand open carriage, and who played a few games
at billiards with Captain Crawley, replenished Raw-
don's purse somewhat, and gave him the benefit of
that ready money for which the greatest spirits are
sometimes at a standstill.
So the three gentlemen walked down to see the
Lightning coach come in. Punctual to the minute,
the coach crowded inside and out, the guard blowing
his accustomed tune on the horn-the Lightning
308
VANITY FAIR.
came tearing down the street, and pulled up at the
coach-office.
"Hullo! there's old Dobbin," George cried, quite
delighted to see his old friend perched on the roof;
and whose promised visit to Brighton had been de-
layed until now. "How are you, old fellow? Glad
you're come down. Emmy 'll be delighted to see
you," Osborne said, shaking his comrade warmly by
the hand as soon as his descent from the vehicle was
effected, and then he added, in a lower and agi-
tated voice, "What's the news? Have you been in
Russell Square? What does the governor say? Tell
me everything."
Dobbin looked very pale and grave. "I've seen
your father," said he. "How's Amelia, Mrs.
George? I'll tell you all the news presently: but
I've brought the great news of all: and that is
"Out with it, old fellow," George said.
""
"We're ordered to Belgium. All the army goes,
Guards and all. Heavytop's got the gout, and is mad
at not being able to move. O'Dowd goes in com-
mand, and we embark from Chatham next week."
This news of war could not but come with a shock
upon our lovers, and caused all these gentlemen to
look very serious.
CHAPTER XXIII.
CAPTAIN DOBBIN PROCEEDS ON HIS CANVASS.
WHAT is the secret mesmerism which friendship
possesses, and under the operation of which a person
ordinarily sluggish, or cold, or timid, becomes wise,
active, and resolute, in another's behalf? As Alexis,
after a few passes from Dr. Elliotson, despises pain,
reads with the back of his head, sees miles off, looks
into next week, and performs other wonders, of
which, in his own private normal condition, he is
quite incapable; so you see, in the affairs of the
world and under the magnetism of friendship, the
modest man become bold, the shy confident, the lazy
active, or the impetuous prudent and peaceful. What
is it, on the other hand, that makes the lawyer es-
chew his own cause, and call in his learned brother
as an adviser? And what causes the doctor, when
ailing, to send for his rival, and not sit down and
examine his own tongue in the chimney glass, or
write his own prescription at his study-table? I
throw out these queries for intelligent readers to
answer, who know, at once, how credulous we are, and
how sceptical, how soft and how obstinate, how firm
for others and how diffident about ourselves: mean-
while, it is certain that our friend William Dobbin,
who was personally of so complying a disposition that
if his parents had pressed him much, it is probable he
would have stepped down into the kitchen and mar-
ried the cook, and who, to further his own interests,
310
VANITY FAIR.
would have found the most insuperable difficulty in
walking across the street, found himself as busy and
eager in the conduct of George Osborne's affairs, as
the most selfish tactician could be in the pursuit of
his own.
Whilst our friend George and his young wife were
enjoying the first blushing days of the honeymoon at
Brighton, honest William was left as George's pleni-
potentiary in London, to transact all the business part
of the marriage. His duty it was to call upon old
Sedley and his wife, and to keep the former in good
humor: to draw Jos and his brother-in-law nearer to-
gether, so that Jos's position and dignity, as Collector
of Boggley Wollah, might compensate for his father's
loss of station, and tend to reconcile old Osborne to
the alliance and finally, to communicate it to the
latter in such a way as should least irritate the old
gentleman.
:
Now, before he faced the head of the Osborne house
with the news which it was his duty to tell, Dobbin
bethought him that it would be politic to make friends
of the rest of the family, and, if possible, have the
ladies on his side. They can't be angry in their hearts,
thought he. No woman ever was really angry at a
romantic marriage. A little crying out, and they must
come round to their brother; when the three of us will
lay siege to old Mr. Osborne. So this Machiavelian
captain of infantry cast about him for some happy
means or stratagem by which he could gently and
gradually bring the Misses Osborne to a knowledge
of their brother's secret.
By a little inquiry regarding his mother's engage-
ments, he was pretty soon able to find out by whom
of her ladyship's friends parties were given at that
season; where he would be likely to meet Osborne's
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
311
sisters; and, though he had that abhorrence of routs.
and evening parties, which many sensible men, alas!
entertain, he soon found one where the Misses Osborne
were to be present. Making his appearance at the ball,
where he danced a couple of sets with both of them,
and was prodigiously polite, he actually had the cour-
age to ask Miss Osborne for a few minutes' conversa-
tion at an early hour the next day, when he had, he
said, to communicate to her news of the very greatest
interest.
What was it that made her start back, and gaze
upon him for a moment, and then on the ground at
her feet, and make as if she would faint on his arm,
had he not, by opportunely treading on her toes,
brought the young lady back to self-control? Why
was she so violently agitated at Dobbin's request?
This can never be known. But when he came the
next day, Maria was not in the drawing-room with
her sister, and Miss Wirt went off for the purpose
of fetching the latter, and the Captain and Miss
Osborne were left together. They were both so silent
that the tick-tock of the Sacrifice of Iphigenia clock
on the mantel-piece became quite rudely audible.
"What a nice party it was last night," Miss Os-
borne at length began, encouragingly; "and — and
how you're improved in your dancing, Captain Dob-
bin. Surely somebody has taught you," she added,
with amiable archness.
You should see me dance a reel with Mrs. Major
O'Dowd of ours; and a jig did you ever see a jig?
But I think anybody could dance with you, Miss
Osborne, who dance so well."
"Is the Major's lady young and beautiful, Captain ?"
the fair questioner continued. "Ah, what a terrible
thing it must be to be a soldier's wife! I wonder they
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VANITY FAIR.
have any spirits to dance, and in these dreadful times.
of war, too! O Captain Dobbin, I tremble sometimes
when I think of our dearest George, and the dangers.
of the poor soldier. Are there many married officers
of the th, Captain Dobbin ?"
CC
Upon my word, she's playing her hand rather too
openly," Miss Wirt thought; but this observation is
merely parenthetic, and was not heard through the
crevice of the door at which the governess uttered it.
"One of our young men is just married," Dobbin
said, now coming to the point. "It was a very old
attachment, and the young couple are as poor as
church mice."
"Oh, how delightful! Oh, how romantic!" Miss
Osborne cried, as the Captain said "old attachment"
and "poor." Her sympathy encouraged him.
"The finest young fellow in the regiment," he con-
tinued. "Not a braver or handsomer officer in the
army; and such a charming wife! How you would
like her! how you will like her when you know her,
Miss Osborne." The young lady thought the actual
moment had arrived, and that Dobbin's nervousness
which now came on and was visible in many twitch-
ings of his face, in his manner of beating the ground
with his great feet, in the rapid buttoning and unbut-
toning of his frock-coat, etc. - Miss Osborne, I say,
thought that when he had given himself a little air,
he would unbosom himself entirely, and prepared
eagerly to listen. And the clock, in the altar on
which Iphigenia was situated, beginning, after a
preparatory convulsion, to toll twelve, the mere toll-
ing seemed as if it would last until one so prolonged
was the knell to the anxious spinster.
“But it's not about marriage that I came to speak
- that is that marriage — that is
that is — no, I mean my
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
313
dear Miss Osborne, it's about our dear friend George,"
Dobbin said.
"About George?" she said in a tone so discomfited
that Maria and Miss Wirt laughed at the other side of
the door, and even that abandoned wretch of a Dob-
bin felt inclined to smile himself; for he was not
altogether unconscious of the state of affairs: George
having often bantered him gracefully and said, "Hang
it, Will, why don't you take old Jane? She'll have
you if you ask her. I'll bet you five to two she will."
"Yes, about George, then," he continued. "There
has been a difference between him and Mr. Osborne.
And I regard him so much for you know we have
been like brothers- that I hope and pray the quarrel
may be settled. We must go abroad, Miss Osborne.
We may be ordered off at a day's warning. Who
knows what may happen in the campaign? Don't be
agitated, dear Miss Osborne; and those two at least
should part friends."
" We
"There has been no quarrel, Captain Dobbin, except
a little usual scene with Papa," the lady said.
are expecting George back daily. What Papa wanted
was only for his good. He has but to come back, and
I'm sure all will be well; and dear Rhoda, who went
away from here in sad sad anger, I know will forgive
him. Woman forgives but too readily, Captain."
"Such an angel as you I am sure would," Mr. Dob-
bin said, with atrocious astuteness.
"And no man
can pardon himself for giving a woman pain. What
would you feel, if a man were faithless to you?'
"I should perish - I should throw myself out of
window—I should take poison—I should pine and
die. I know I should," Miss Osborne cried, who had
nevertheless gone through one or two affairs of the
heart without any idea of suicide
ور
314
VANITY FAIR.
"And there are others," Dobbin continued, "as true
and as kind-hearted as yourself. "I'm not speaking
about the West Indian heiress, Miss Osborne, but
about a poor girl whom George once loved, and who
was bred from her childhood to think of nobody but
him. I've seen her in her poverty uncomplaining,
broken-hearted, without a fault. It is of Miss Sedley
I speak. Dear Miss Osborne, can your generous heart
quarrel with your brother for being faithful to her?
Could his own conscience ever forgive him if he de-
serted her? Be her friend — she always loved you
and — and I am come here charged by George to tell
you that he holds his engagement to her as the most
sacred duty he has; and to entreat you, at least, to be
on his side."
When any strong emotion took possession of Mr.
Dobbin, and after the first word or two of hesitation,
he could speak with perfect fluency, and it was evident
that his eloquence on this occasion made some impres-
sion upon the lady whom he addressed.
"Well," said she, "this is most surprising — most
painful most extraordinary- what will Papa say?
that George should fling away such a superb estab-
lishment as was offered to him, but at any rate he
has found a very brave champion in you, Captain Dob-
bin. It is of no use, however," she continued, after a
pause; "I feel for poor Miss Sedley, most certainly
- most sincerely, you know. We never thought the
match a good one, though we were always very kind to
her here very. But Papa will never consent, I am
sure. And a well-brought-up young woman, you
know, with a well-regulated mind, must-George
must give her up, dear Captain Dobbin, indeed he
must."
66
Ought a man to give up the woman he loved, just
J
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
315
when misfortune befell her?" Dobbin said, holding out
his hand. "Dear Miss Osborne, is this the counsel I
hear from you? My dear young lady! you must be-
friend her. He can't give her up. He must not give
her up. Would a man, think you, give you up if you
were poor?"
This adroit question touched the heart of Miss Jane
Osborne not a little. "I don't know whether we poor
girls ought to believe what you men say, Captain," she
said. "There is that in woman's tenderness which in-
duces her to believe too easily. I'm afraid you are
cruel, cruel deceivers," and Dobbin certainly thought
he felt a pressure of the hand which Miss Osborne had
extended to him.
He dropped it in some alarm. "Deceivers!" said
he. "No, dear Miss Osborne, all men are not; your
brother is not; George has loved Amelia Sedley ever
since they were children; no wealth would make him
marry any but her. Ought he to forsake her? Would
you counsel him to do so?"
What could Miss Jane say to such a question, and
with her own peculiar views? She could not answer
it, so she parried it by saying, "Well, if you are not a
deceiver, at least you are very romantic;" and Captain
William let this observation pass without challenge.
At length when, by the help of farther polite.
speeches, he deemed that Miss Osborne was sufficiently
prepared to receive the whole news, he poured it into
her ear. "George could not give up Amelia - George
was married to her" and then he related the cir-
cumstances of the marriage as we know them already :
how the poor girl would have died had not her lover
kept his faith: how old Sedley had refused all consent
to the match, and a license had been got: and Jos
Sedley had come from Cheltenham to give away the
316
VANITY FAIR.
bride how they had gone to Brighton in Jos's chariot-
and-four to pass the honeymoon: and how George
counted on his dear kind sisters to befriend him with
their father, as women so true and tender as they
were assuredly would do. And so, asking permis-
sion (readily granted) to see her again, and rightly
conjecturing that the news he had brought would be
told in the next five minutes to the other ladies,
Captain Dobbin made his bow and took his leave.
He was scarcely out of the house when Miss Maria
and Miss Wirt rushed in to Miss Osborne, and the
whole wonderful secret was imparted to them by that
lady. To do them justice, neither of the sisters were
very much displeased. There is something about a
runaway match with which few ladies can be seriously
angry, and Amelia rather rose in their estimation,
from the spirit which she had displayed in consenting.
to the union. As they debated the story, and prattled
about it, and wondered what papa would do and say,
came a loud knock, as of an avenging thunder-clap,
at the door, which made these conspirators start. It
must be papa, they thought. But it was not he. It
was only Mr. Frederick Bullock, who had come from
the City according to appointment, to conduct the
ladies to a flower-show.
A
This gentleman, as may be imagined, was not kept
long in ignorance of the secret. But his face, when
he heard it, showed an amazement which was very
different to that look of sentimental wonder which the
countenances of the sisters wore. Mr. Bullock was a
man of the world, and a junior partner of a wealthy
firm. He knew what money was, and the value of it;
and a delightful throb of expectation lighted up his
little eyes, and caused him to smile on his Maria, ast
he thought that by this piece of folly of Mr. George's,
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
317
she might be worth thirty thousand pounds more than
he had ever hoped to get with her.
"Gad! Jane," said he, surveying even the elder sis-
ter with some interest, "Eels will be sorry he cried
off. You may be a fifty thousand pounder yet."
The sisters had never thought of the money ques-
tion up to that moment, but Fred Bullock bantered
them with graceful gayety about it during their fore-
noon's excursion; and they had risen not a little in
their own esteem by the time when, the morning
amusement over, they drove back to dinner. And do
not let my respected reader exclaim against this sel-
fishness as unnatural. It was but this present morn-
ing, as he rode on the omnibus from Richmond; while
it changed horses, this present chronicler, being on
the roof, marked three little children playing in a
puddle below, very dirty, and friendly, and happy.
To these three presently came another little one.
"Polly," says she, "your sister's got a penny." At
which the children got up from the puddle instantly,
and ran off to pay their court to Peggy. And as the
omnibus drove off I saw Peggy with the infantine
procession at her tail, marching with great dignity
towards the stall of a neighboring lollipop-woman.
CHAPTER XXIV.
IN WHICH MR. OSBORNE TAKES DOWN THE
FAMILY BIBLE.
So having prepared the sisters, Dobbin hastened
away to the City to perform the rest and more difficult
part of the task which he had undertaken. The idea
of facing old Osborne rendered him not a little ner-
vous, and more than once he thought of leaving the
young ladies to communicate the secret, which, as he
was aware, they could not long retain. But he had
promised to report to George upon the manner in
which the elder Osborne bore the intelligence; so
going into the City to the paternal counting-house in
Thames Street, he despatched thence a note to Mr.
Osborne begging for a half-hour's conversation rela-
tive to the affairs of his son George. Dobbin's mes-
senger returned from Mr. Osborne's house of business,
with the compliments of the latter, who would be
very happy to see the Captain immediately, and away
accordingly Dobbin went to confront him.
The Captain, with a half-guilty secret to confess,
and with the prospect of a painful and stormy inter-
view before him, entered Mr. Osborne's offices with a
most dismal countenance and abashed gait, and, pass-
ing through the outer room where Mr. Chopper pre-
sided, was greeted by that functionary from his desk
with a waggish air which farther discomfited him.
Mr. Chopper winked and nodded and pointed his pen
towards his patron's door, and said, “You'll find the
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
319
governor all right," with the most provoking good-
humor.
Osborne rose too, and shook him heartily by the
hand, and said, "How do, my dear boy?" with a
cordiality that made poor George's ambassador feel
doubly guilty. His hand lay as if dead in the old
gentleman's grasp. He felt that he, Dobbin, was
more or less the cause of all that had happened. It
was he had brought back George to Amelia: it was
he had applauded, encouraged, transacted almost the
marriage which he was come to reveal to George's
father: and the latter was receiving him with smiles
of welcome; patting him on the shoulder, and calling
him "Dobbin, my dear boy." The envoy had indeed
good reason to hang his head.
Osborne fully believed that Dobbin had come to
announce his son's surrender. Mr. Chopper and his
principal were talking over the matter between George
and his father, at the very moment when Dobbin's
messenger arrived. Both agreed that George was
sending in his submission. Both had been expecting
it for some days-and "Lord! Chopper, what a
marriage we'll have!" Mr. Osborne said to his clerk,
snapping his big fingers, and jingling all the guineas
and shillings in his great pockets as he eyed his
subordinate with a look of triumph.
With similar operations conducted in both pockets,
and a knowing jolly air, Osborne from his chair re-
garded Dobbin seated blank and silent opposite to
him. "What a bumpkin he is for a Captain in the
army," old Osborne thought. "I wonder George
has n't taught him better manners."
At last Dobbin summoned courage to begin. "Sir,"
said he, "I've brought you some very grave news.
I
have been at the Horse Guards this morning, and
320
VANITY FAIR.
there's no doubt that our regiment will be ordered
abroad, and on its way to Belgium before the week is
over. And you know, sir, that we sha'n't be home
again before a tussle which may be fatal to many
of us."
Osborne looked grave. "My s-
will do its duty, sir, I dare say," he said.
"The French are very strong, sir," Dobbin went
on. "The Russians and Austrians will be a long
time before they can bring their troops down. We
shall have the first of the fight, sir; and depend on
it Boney will take care that it shall be a hard one."
"What are you driving at, Dobbin?" his inter-
locutor said, uneasy and with a scowl. "I suppose no
Briton's afraid of any d— - Frenchman, hay?"
"I only mean, that before we go, and considering
the great and certain risk that hangs over every one
of us—if there are any differences between you and
George it would be as well, sir, that
that you
should shake hands: would n't it? Should anything
happen to him, I think you would never forgive your-
self if you had n't parted in charity."
As he said this, poor William Dobbin blushed crim-
son, and felt and owned that he himself was a traitor.
But for him, perhaps, this severance need never have
taken place. Why had not George's marriage been
delayed? What call was there to press it on so
eagerly? He felt that George would have parted
from Amelia at any rate without a mortal pang. Ame-
lia, too, might have recovered the shock of losing him.
It was his counsel had brought about this marriage, and
all that was to ensue from it. And why was it? Be-
cause he loved her so much that he could not bear to
see her unhappy: or because his own sufferings of
suspense were so unendurable that he was glad to
The regiment
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321
ALL T
crush them at once as we hasten a funeral after a
death, or, when a separation from those we love is
imminent, cannot rest until the parting be over.
"You are a good fellow, William," said Mr. Os-
borne in a softened voice; "and me and George
should n't part in anger, that is true. Look here.
I've done for him as much as any father ever did.
He's had three times as much money from me, as I
warrant your father ever gave you. But I don't brag
about that. How I've toiled for him, and worked
and employed my talents and energy, I won't say.
Ask Chopper. Ask himself. Ask the City of Lon-
don. Well, I propose to him such a marriage as any
nobleman in the land might be proud of the only
thing in life I ever asked him and he refuses me.
Am I wrong? Is the quarrel of my making? What
do I seek but his good, for which I've been toiling
like a convict ever since he was born? Nobody can
say there's anything selfish in me. Let him come
back. I say, here's my hand. I say, forget and for-
give. As for marrying now, it's out of the question.
Let him and Miss S. make it up, and make out the
marriage afterwards, when he comes back a Colonel;
for he shall be a Colonel, by G- he shall, if money
can do it. I'm glad you've brought him round. I
know it's you, Dobbin. You've took him out of
many a scrape before. Let him come. I sha'n't be
hard. Come along, and dine in Russell Square to-
day both of you. The old shop, the old hour. You'll
find a neck of venison, and no questions asked."
This praise and confidence smote Dobbin's heart
very keenly. Every moment the colloquy continued
in this tone, he felt more and more guilty. "Sir,"
said he, "I fear you deceive yourself. I am sure you
do. George is much too high-minded a man ever to
VOL. 1. - 21
M
G
322
VANITY FAIR.
marry for money. A threat on your part that you
would disinherit him in case of disobedience would
only be followed by resistance on his."
"Why, hang it, man, you don't call offering him
eight or ten thousand a year threatening him?"
Mr. Osborne said, with still provoking good-humor.
Gad, if Miss S. will have me, I'm her man. I ain't
particular about a shade or so of tawny." And the
old gentleman gave his knowing grin and coarse laugh.
669
"You forget, sir, previous engagements into which
Captain Osborne had entered," the ambassador said,
gravely.
"What engagements? What the devil do you mean?
You don't mean," Mr. Osborne continued, gathering
wrath and astonishment as the thought now first came
upon him; "you don't mean that he's such a d
fool as to be still hankering after that swindling old
bankrupt's daughter? You've not come here for to
make me suppose that he wants to marry her? Marry
her, that is a good one. My son and heir marry a
beggar's girl out of a gutter. D.
D—————— him, if he does,
let him buy a broom and sweep a crossing. She was
always dangling and ogling after him, I recollect now;
and I've no doubt she was put on by her old sharper
of a father."
"Mr. Sedley was your very good friend, sir," Dob-
bin interposed, almost pleased at finding himself
growing angry. "Time was you called him better
names than rogue and swindler. The match was of
your making. George had no right to play fast and
loose — "
"Fast
"Fast and loose!" howled out old Osborne.
and loose! Why, hang me, those are the very words
my gentleman used himself when he gave himself airs,
last Thursday was a fortnight, and talked about the
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
323
!
British army to his father who made him. What, it's
you who have been a setting of him up is it? and
my service to you, Captain. It's you who want to
introduce beggars into my family. Thank you for
nothing, Captain. Marry her indeed he, he! why
should he? I warrant you she'd go to him fast
enough without.”
-
"Sir," said Dobbin, starting up in undisguised anger;
no man shall abuse that lady in my hearing, and you
least of all.”
(6
"Oh, you're a going to call me out, are you? Stop,
let me ring the bell for pistols for two. Mr. George
sent you here to insult his father, did he?" Osborne
said, pulling at the bell-cord.
"Mr. Osborne," said Dobbin, with a faltering voice,
"it's you who are insulting the best creature in the
world. You had best spare her, sir, for she's your
son's wife."
And with this, feeling that he could say no more,
Dobbin went away, Osborne sinking back in his chair,
and looking wildly after him. A clerk came in, obe-
dient to the bell; and the Captain was scarcely out of
the court where Mr. Osborne's offices were, when Mr.
Chopper the chief clerk came rushing hatless after
him.
"For God's sake, what is it?" Mr. Chopper said,
catching the Captain by the skirt. "The governor's
in a fit. What has Mr. George been doing?"
"He married Miss Sedley five days ago," Dobbin
replied. "I was his groomsman, Mr. Chopper, and
you must stand his friend.”
The old clerk shook his head. "If that's your
news, Captain, it's bad. The governor will never
forgive him."
Dobbin begged Chopper to report progress to him
324
VANITY FAIR.
at the hotel where he was stopping, and walked off
moodily westwards, greatly perturbed as to the past
and the future.
When the Russell Square family came to dinner that
evening, they found the father of the house seated in
his usual place, but with that air of gloom on his face,
which, whenever it appeared there, kept the whole
circle silent. The ladies, and Mr. Bullock who dined
with them, felt that the news had been communicated
to Mr. Osborne. His dark looks affected Mr. Bullock
so far as to render him still and quiet: but he was un-
usually bland and attentive to Miss Maria, by whom he
sat, and to her sister presiding at the head of the table.
Miss Wirt, by consequence, was alone on her side
of the board, a gap being left between her and Miss
Jane Osborne. Now this was George's place when he
dined at home; and his cover, as we said, was laid for
him in expectation of that truant's return. Nothing
occurred during dinner-time except smiling Mr. Fred-
erick's flagging confidential whispers, and the clink-
ing of plate and china, to interrupt the silence of the
repast. The servants went about stealthily doing
their duty. Mutes at funerals could not look more
glum than the domestics of Mr. Osborne. The neck
of venison of which he had invited Dobbin to partake,
was carved by him in perfect silence; but his own
share went away almost untasted, though he drank
much, and the butler assiduously filled his glass.
At last, just at the end of the dinner, his eyes,
which had been staring at everybody in turn, fixed
themselves for a while upon the plate laid for
George. He pointed to it presently with his left
hand. His daughters looked at him and did not
comprehend, or choose to comprehend, the signal;
nor did the servants at first understand it.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
325
"Take that plate away," at last he said, getting
up with an oath — and with this pushing his chair
back, he walked into his own room.
Behind Mr. Osborne's dining-room was the usual
apartment which went in his house by the name of
the study; and was sacred to the master of the
house. Hither Mr. Osborne would retire of a
Sunday forenoon when not minded to go to church;
and here pass the morning in his crimson leather
chair, reading the paper. A couple of glazed book-
cases were here, containing standard works in stout
gilt bindings. The "Annual Register," the "Gentle-
man's Magazine," "Blair's Sermons," and "Hume
and Smollett." From year's end to year's end he
never took one of these volumes from the shelf;
but there was no member of the family that would
dare for his life to touch one of the books, except
upon those rare Sunday evenings when there was
no dinner-party, and when the great scarlet Bible
and Prayer-book were taken out from the corner
where they stood beside his copy of the Peerage,
and the servants being rung up to the dining-parlor,
Osborne read the evening service to his family in
a loud grating pompous voice. No member of the
household, child, or domestic, ever entered that room
without a certain terror. Here he checked the house-
keeper's accounts, and overhauled the butler's cellar-
book.
Hence he could command, across the clean
gravel court-yard, the back entrance of the stables
with which one of his bells communicated, and into
this yard the coachman issued from his premises
as into a dock, and Osborne swore at him from the
study window. Four times a year Miss Wirt entered
this apartment to get her salary; and his daughters
to receive their quarterly allowance. George as a boy
326
VANITY FAIR.
had been horse-whipped in this room many times;
his mother sitting sick on the stair listening to the
cuts of the whip. The boy was scarcely ever known
to cry under the punishment; the poor woman used to
fondle and kiss him secretly, and give him money to
soothe him when he came out.
There was a picture of the family over the mantel-
piece, removed thither from the front room after
Mrs. Osborne's death - George was on a pony, the
elder sister holding him up a bunch of flowers; the
younger led by her mother's hand; all with red
cheeks and large red mouths, simpering on each
other in the approved family-portrait manner. The
mother lay underground now, long since forgotten
- the sisters and brother had a hundred different
interests of their own, and familiar still, were utterly
estranged from each other. Some few score of years
afterwards, when all the parties represented are
grown old, what bitter satire there is in those flaunt-
ing childish family-portraits, with their farce of senti-
ment and smiling lies, and innocence so self-conscious
and self-satisfied. Osborne's own state portrait, with
that of his great silver inkstand and arm-chair, had
taken the place of honor in the dining-room, vacated.
by the family-piece.
To this study old Osborne retired then, greatly
to the relief of the small party whom he left. When
the servants had withdrawn, they began to talk
for a while volubly but very low; then they went
up stairs quietly, Mr. Bullock accompanying them
stealthily on his creaking shoes. He had no heart.
to sit alone drinking wine, and so close to the terrible
old gentleman in the study hard at hand.
An hour at least after dark, the butler, not having
received any summons, ventured to tap at his door
#
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
327
and take him in wax candles and tea. The master
of the house sat in his chair, pretending to read the
paper, and when the servant, placing the lights and
refreshment on the table by him, retired, Mr. Osborne
got up and locked the door after him. This time
there was no mistaking the matter; all the house-
hold knew that some great catastrophe was going to
happen which was likely direly to affect Master
George.
In the large shining mahogany escritoire Mr.
Osborne had a drawer especially devoted to his son's
affairs and papers. Here he kept all the documents
relating to him ever since he had been a boy: here
were his prize copy-books and drawing-books, all
bearing George's hand, and that of the master: here
were his first letters in large round hand sending
his love to papa and mamma, and conveying his
petitions for a cake. His dear godpapa Sedley was
more than once mentioned in them. Curses quivered
on old Osborne's livid lips, and horrid hatred and
disappointment writhed in his heart, as looking
through some of these papers he came on that name.
They were all marked and docketed, and tied with
red tape. It was "From Georgy, requesting 5s.,
April 23, 18-; answered, April 25," or "Georgy
about a pony, October 13," and so forth. In
another packet were "Dr. S.'s accounts "G.'s
tailor's bills and outfits, drafts on me by G. Osborne,
jun.," etc., his letters from the West Indies — his
agent's letters, and the newspapers containing his
commissions here was a whip he had when a boy,
and in a paper a locket containing his hair, which
his mother used to wear.
—
""
Turning one over after another, and musing over
these memorials, the unhappy man passed many
328
VANITY FAIR.
hours. His dearest vanities, ambitious hopes, had al
been here. What pride he had in his boy! He was
the handsomest child ever seen. Everybody said he
was like a nobleman's son. A royal princess had re-
marked him, and kissed him, and asked his name in
Kew Gardens. What City man could show such
another? Could a prince have been better cared for ?
Anything that money could buy had been his son's.
He used to go down on speech-days with four horses
and new liveries, and scatter new shillings among the
boys at the school where George was: when he went
with George to the depot of his regiment, before the
boy embarked for Canada, he gave the officers such a
dinner as the Duke of York might have sat down to.
Had he ever refused a bill when George drew one?
There they were paid without a word. Many a
general in the army could n't ride the horses he had!
He had the child before his eyes, on a hundred differ-
ent days when he remembered George after dinner,
when he used to come in as bold as a lord and drink
off his glass by his father's side, at the head of the
table on the pony at Brighton, when he cleared the
hedge and kept up with the huntsman on the day
when he was presented to the Prince Regent at the
levee, when all St. James's could n't produce a finer
young fellow.
And this, this was the end of all! —
to marry a bankrupt and fly in the face of duty and
fortune! What humiliation and fury: what pangs
of sickening rage, balked ambition and love; what
wounds of outraged vanity, tenderness even, had this
old worldling now to suffer under!
C
▬▬▬▬▬▬
S
A
Having examined these papers, and pondered over
this one and the other, in that bitterest of all helpless
woe, with which miserable men think of happy past
times George's father took the whole of the docu
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
329
ments out of the drawer in which he had kept them
so long, and locked them into a writing-box, which
he tied, and sealed with his seal. Then he opened
the book-case, and took down the great red Bible we
have spoken of a pompous book, seldom looked at,
and shining all over with gold. There was a frontis-
piece to the volume, representing Abraham sacrific-
ing Isaac. Here, according to custom, Osborne had re-
corded on the fly-leaf, and in his large clerk-like hand,
the dates of his marriage and his wife's death, and
the births and Christian names of his children. Jane
came first, then George Sedley Osborne, then Maria
Frances, and the days of the christening of each.
Taking a pen, he carefully obliterated George's name.
from the page; and when the leaf was quite dry, re-
stored the volume to the place from which he had
moved it. Then he took a document out of another
drawer, where his own private papers were kept; and
having read it, crumpled it up and lighted it at one of
the candles, and saw it burn entirely away in the grate.
It was his will; which being burned, he sat down and
wrote off a letter, and rang for his servant, whom he
charged to deliver it in the morning. It was morn-
ing already as he went up to bed, the whole house
was alight with the sunshine; and the birds were
singing among the fresh green leaves in Russell
Square.
Anxious to keep all Mr. Osborne's family and de-
pendants in good humor, and to make as many friends
as possible for George in his hour of adversity, Wil-
liam Dobbin, who knew the effect which good dinners
and good wines have upon the soul of man, wrote off
immediately on his return to his inn the most hos-
pitable of invitations to Thomas Chopper, Esquire,
begging that gentleman to dine with him at the
330
VANITY FAIR.
Slaughters' next day. The note reached Mr. Chopper
before he left the City, and the instant reply was,
that "Mr. Chopper presents his respectful compli-
ments, and will have the honor and pleasure of wait-
ing on Captain D." The invitation and the rough
draft of the answer were shown to Mrs. Chopper and
her daughters on his return to Somers' Town that
evening, and they talked about military gents and
West End men with great exultation as the family
sat and partook of tea. When the girls had gone to
rest, Mr. and Mrs. C. discoursed upon the strange
events which were occurring in the governor's family.
Never had the clerk seen his principal so moved.
When he went in to Mr. Osborne, after Captain Dob-
bin's departure, Mr. Chopper found his chief black in
the face, and all but in a fit: some dreadful quarrel,
he was certain, had occurred between Mr. O. and the
young Captain. Chopper had been instructed to
make out an account of all sums paid to Captain
Osborne within the last three years.
"And a pre-
cious lot of money he has had too," the chief clerk said,
and respected his old and young master the more, for
the liberal way in which the guineas had been flung
about. The dispute was something about Miss Sed-
ley. Mrs. Chopper vowed and declared she pitied
that poor young lady to lose such a handsome young
fellow as the Capting. As the daughter of an un-
lucky speculator, who had paid a very shabby divi-
dend, Mr. Chopper had no great regard for Miss
Sedley. He respected the house of Osborne before
all others in the City of London: and his hope and
wish was that Captain George should marry a noble-
man's daughter. The clerk slept a great deal sounder
than his principal that night; and, cuddling his chil-
dren after breakfast (of which he partook with a very
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
331
hearty appetite, though his modest cup of life was
only sweetened with brown sugar), he set off in his
best Sunday suit and frilled shirt for business, prom-
ising his admiring wife not to punish Captain D.'s
port too severely that evening.
Mr. Osborne's countenance, when he arrived in the
City at his usual time, struck those dependants who
were accustomed, for good reasons, to watch its ex-
pression, as peculiarly ghastly and worn. At twelve
o'clock Mr. Higgs (of the firm of Higgs and Blather-
wick, solicitors, Bedford Row) called by appointment,
and was ushered into the governor's private room,
and closeted there for more than an hour. At about
one Mr. Chopper received a note brought by Captain
Dobbin's man, and containing an enclosure for Mr.
Osborne, which the clerk went in and delivered. A
short time afterwards Mr. Chopper and Mr. Birch,
the next clerk, were summoned, and requested to wit-
ness a paper. "I've been making a new will,” Mr.
Osborne said, to which these gentlemen appended
their names accordingly. No conversation passed.
Mr. Higgs looked exceedingly grave as he came into.
the outer rooms, and very hard in Mr. Chopper's
face; but there were not any explanations.
It was
remarked that Mr. Osborne was particularly quiet
and gentle all day, to the surprise of those who had
augured ill from his darkling demeanor. He called
no man names that day, and was not heard to swear
once. He left business early; and before going
away, summoned his chief clerk once more, and hav-
ing given him general instructions, asked him, after
some seeming hesitation aud reluctance to speak,
if he knew whether Captain Dobbin was in town?
Chopper said he believed he was. Indeed both of
them knew the fact perfectly.
332
VANITY FAIR.
Osborne took a letter directed to that officer, and
giving it to the clerk, requested the latter to deliver
it into Dobbin's own hands immediately.
"And now, Chopper," says he, taking his hat, and
with a strange look, "my mind will be easy." Ex-
actly as the clock struck two (there was no doubt an
appointment between the pair), Mr. Frederick Bul-
lock called, and he and Mr. Osborne walked away
together.
The Colonel of the ―th regiment, in which Mes-
sieurs Dobbin and Osborne had companies, was an old
General who had made his first campaign under
Wolfe at Quebec, and was long since quite too old and
feeble for command; but he took some interest in the
regiment of which he was the nominal head, and
made certain of his young officers welcome at his
table, a kind of hospitality which I believe is not now
common amongst his brethren. Captain Dobbin was
an especial favorite of this old General. Dobbin was
versed in the literature of his profession, and could
talk about the great Frederick, and the Empress
Queen, and their wars, almost as well as the General
himself, who was indifferent to the triumphs of the
present day, and whose heart was with the tacticians
of fifty years back. This officer sent a summons to
Dobbin to come and breakfast with him, on the morn-
ing when Mr. Osborne altered his will and Mr. Chop-
per put on his best shirt-frill, and then informed his
young favorite, a couple of days in advance, of that
which they were all expecting-a marching order to
go to Belgium. The order for the regiment to hold
itself in readiness would leave the Horse Guards in a
day or two; and as transports were in plenty, they
would get their route before the week was over. Re-
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
333
cruits had come in during the stay of the regiment at
Chatham; and the old General hoped that the regi-
ment which had helped to beat Montcalm in Canada,
and to rout Mr. Washington on Long Island, would
prove itself worthy of its historical reputation on
the oft-trodden battle-grounds of the Low Countries.
"And so, my good friend, if you have any affaire là,"
said the old General, taking a pinch of snuff with his
trembling white old hand, and then pointing to the
spot of his robe de chambre under which his heart was
still feebly beating, "if you have any Phillis to con-
sole, or to bid farewell to papa and mamma, or any
will to make, I recommend you to set about your busi-
ness without delay." With which the General gave
his young friend a finger to shake, and a good-na-
tured nod of his powdered and pig-tailed head; and
the door being closed upon Dobbin, sat down to pen a
poulet (he was exceedingly vain of his French) to
Mademoiselle Aménaide of His Majesty's Theatre.
This news made Dobbin grave, and he thought of
our friends at Brighton, and then he was ashamed of
himself that Amelia was always the first thing in his
thoughts (always before anybody before father and
mother, sisters and duty-always at waking and
sleeping indeed, and all day long); and returning to
his hotel, he sent off a brief note to Mr. Osborne ac-
quainting him with the information which he had
received, and which might tend farther, he hoped, to
bring about a reconciliation with George.
S
This note, despatched by the same messenger who
had carried the invitation to Chopper on the previous
day, alarmed the worthy clerk not a little. It was
enclosed to him, and as he opened the letter he trem-
bled lest the dinner should be put off on which he
was calculating. His mind was inexpressibly relieved
334
VANITY FAIR.
when he found that the envelope was only a reminder
for himself. ("I shall expect you at half-past five,"
Captain Dobbin wrote.) He was very much interested
about his employer's family; but, que voulez-vous? a
grand dinner was of more concern to him than the
affairs of any other mortal.
Dobbin was quite justified in repeating the Gen-
eral's information to any officers in the regiment
whom he should see in the course of his peregrina-
tions; accordingly he imparted it to Ensign Stubble,
whom he met at the agent's, and who such was his
military ardor went off instantly to purchase a new
sword at the accoutrement-maker's. Here this young
fellow, who, though only seventeen years of age, and
about sixty-five inches high, with a constitution nat-
urally rickety, and much impaired by premature
brandy-and-water, had an undoubted courage and a
lion's heart, poised, tried, bent, and balanced a
weapon such as he thought would do execution
amongst Frenchmen. Shouting "Ha, ha!" and
stamping his little feet with tremendous energy, he
delivered the point twice or thrice at Captain Dob-
bin, who parried the thrust laughingly with his bam-
boo walking-stick.
Mr. Stubble, as may be supposed from his size and
slenderness, was of the Light Bobs. Ensign Spooney,
on the contrary, was a tall youth, and belonged to
(Captain Dobbin's) the Grenadier Company, and he
tried on a new bear-skin cap, under which he looked
savage beyond his years. Then these two lads went
off to the Slaughters', and having ordered a famous.
dinner, sat down and wrote off letters to the kind
anxious parents at home letters full of love and
heartiness, and pluck and bad spelling. Ah! there
were many anxious hearts beating through England
Madd
Appl

*****
-
++
==
TA
ENSIGN STUBBLE PRACTISING THE ART OF WAR.
-
...
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
335
at that time; and mothers' prayers and tears flowing
in many homesteads.
Seeing young Stubble engaged in composition at
one of the coffee-room tables at the Slaughters', and
the tears trickling down his nose on to the paper (for
the youngster was thinking of his mamma, and that
he might never see her again), Dobbin, who was going
to write off a letter to George Osborne, relented, and
locked up his desk. "Why should I?" said he. "Let
her have this night happy. I'll go and see my parents
early in the morning, and go down to Brighton myself
to-morrow."
So he went up and laid his big hand on young
Stubble's shoulder, and backed up that young cham-
pion, and told him if he would leave off brandy-and-
water he would be a good soldier, as he always was
a gentlemanly good-hearted fellow. Young Stubble's
eyes brightened up at this, for Dobbin was greatly
respected in the regiment, as the best officer and the
cleverest man in it.
"Thank you, Dobbin," he said, rubbing his eyes.
with his knuckles, "I was just - just telling her I
would. And, oh, sir, she 's so dam kind to me.” The
water-pumps were at work again, and I am not sure
that the soft-hearted Captain's eyes did not also
twinkle.
The two ensigns, the Captain, and Mr. Chopper,
dined together in the same box. Chopper brought
the letter from Mr. Osborne, in which the latter briefly
presented his compliments to Captain Dobbin, and
requested him to forward the enclosed to Captain
George Osborne. Chopper knew nothing further;
he described Mr. Osborne's appearance, it is true, and
his interview with his lawyer, wondered how the gov-
ernor had sworn at nobody, and especially as the
336
VANITY FAIR.
wine circled round abounded in speculations and
conjectures. But these grew more vague with every
glass, and at length became perfectly unintelligible.
At a late hour Captain Dobbin put his guest into a
hackney-coach, in a hiccupping state, and swearing
that he would be the kick the kick Captain's
friend for ever and ever.
-
When Captain Dobbin took leave of Miss Osborne
we have said that he asked leave to come and pay her
another visit, and the spinster expected him for some
hours the next day, when, perhaps, had he come, and
had he asked her that question which she was pre-
pared to answer, she would have declared herself as
her brother's friend, and a reconciliation might have
been effected between George and his angry father.
But though she waited at home the Captain never
came. He had his own affairs to pursue; his own
parents to visit and console; and at an early hour of
the day to take his place on the Lightning coach, and
go down to his friends at Brighton. In the course
of the day Miss Osborne heard her father give orders
that that meddling scoundrel, Captain Dobbin, should
never be admitted within his doors again, and any
hopes in which she may have indulged privately were
thus abruptly brought to an end. Mr. Frederick Bul-
lock came, and was particularly affectionate to Maria,
and attentive to the broken-spirited old gentleman.
For though he said his mind would be easy, the means
which he had taken to secure quiet did not seem to
have succeeded as yet, and the events of the past two
days had visibly shattered him.
CHAPTER XXV.
IN WHICH ALL THE PRINCIPAL PERSONAGES THINK
FIT TO LEAVE BRIGHTON.
CONDUCTED to the ladies, at the Ship Inn, Dobbin
assumed a jovial and rattling manner, which proved
that this young officer was becoming a more consum-
mate hypocrite every day of his life. He was trying
to hide his own private feelings, first upon seeing
Mrs. George Osborne in her new condition, and
secondly to mask the apprehensions he entertained
as to the effect which the dismal news brought down
by him would certainly have upon her.
"It is my opinion, George," he said, "that the
French Emperor will be upon us, horse and foot, be-
fore three weeks are over, and will give the Duke
such a dance as shall make the Peninsula appear
mere child's play. But you need not say that to
Mrs. Osborne, you know. There may n't be any
fighting on our side after all, and our business in
Belgium may turn out to be a mere military occupa-
tion. Many persons think so; and Brussels is full
of fine people and ladies of fashion." So it was
agreed to represent the duty of the British army in
Belgium in this harmless light to Amelia.
This plot being arranged, the hypocritical Dobbin
saluted Mrs. George Osborne quite gayly, tried to
pay her one or two compliments relative to her new
position as a bride (which compliments, it must be
VOL. I. - 22.
338
VANITY FAIR.
confessed, were exceedingly clumsy and hung fire
wofully), and then fell to talking about Brighton, and
the sea-air, and the gayeties of the place, and the
beauties of the road and the merits of the Light-
ning coach and horses, all in a manner quite
incomprehensible to Amelia, and very amusing to
Rebecca, who was watching the Captain, as indeed
she watched every one near whom she came.
Little Amelia, it must be owned, had rather a mean
opinion of her husband's friend, Captain Dobbin.
He lisped he was very plain and homely-looking:
and exceedingly awkward and ungainly. She liked
him for his attachment to her husband (to be sure
there was very little merit in that), and she thought
George was most generous and kind in extending
his friendship to his brother officer. George had
mimicked Dobbin's lisp and queer manners many
times to her, though to do him justice, he always
spoke most highly of his friend's good qualities.
In her little day of triumph, and not knowing him
intimately as yet, she made light of honest Wil-
liam, and he knew her opinions of him quite
well, and acquiesced in them very humbly. A time.
came when she knew him better, and changed her
notions regarding him; but that was distant as
yet.
As for Rebecca, Captain Dobbin had not been two
hours in the ladies' company before she understood
his secret perfectly. She did not like him, and feared
him privately; nor was he very much prepossessed
in her favor. He was so honest, that her arts and
cajoleries did not affect him, and he shrank from her
with instinctive repulsion. And, as she was by no
means so far superior to her sex as to be above jeal-
ousy, she disliked him the more for his adoration of
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
339
Amelia. Nevertheless, she was very respectful and
cordial in her manner towards him. A friend to the
Osbornes a friend to her dearest benefactors! She
vowed she should always love him sincerely: she
remembered him quite well on the Vauxhall night, as
she told Amelia archly, and she made a little fun of
him when the two ladies went to dress for dinner.
Rawdon Crawley paid scarcely any attention to Dob-
bin, looking upon him as a good-natured nincompoop
and underbred City man. Jos patronized him with
much dignity.
When George and Dobbin were alone in the latter's
room, to which George had followed him, Dobbin took
from his desk the letter which he had been charged
by Mr. Osborne to deliver to bis son. "It's not in
my father's handwriting," said George, looking rather
alarmed; nor was it: the letter was from Mr. Os-
borne's lawyer, and to the following effect:-
66
BEDFORD ROw, May 7, 1815.
SIR, I am commissioned by Mr. Osborne to inform you,
that he abides by the determination which he before expressed
to you, and that in consequence of the marriage which you
have been pleased to contract, he ceases to consider you hence-
forth as a member of his family. This determination is final
and irrevocable.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
"Although the moneys expended upon you in your minor-
ity, and the bills which you have drawn upon him so unspar
ingly of late years, far exceed in amount the sum to which
you are entitled in your own right (being the third part of
the fortune of your mother, the late Mrs. Osborne, and which:
reverted to you at her decease, and to Miss Jane Osborne and
Miss Maria Frances Osborne); yet I am instructed by Mr.
Osborne to say, that he waives all claim upon your estate,
and that the sum of £2,000, 4 per cent annuities, at the value
of the day (being your one-third share of the sum £6,000),
340
VANITY FAIR.
shall be paid over to yourself or your agents upon your receipt
for the same, by
"Your obedient Servt.,
"S. HIGGS.
"P. S. Mr. Osborne desires me to say, once for all, that he
declines to receive any messages, letters, or communications
from you on this or any other subject."
"A pretty way you have managed the affair," said
George, looking savagely at William Dobbin. "Look
there, Dobbin," and he flung over to the latter his
parent's letter. "A beggar, by Jove, and all in con-
sequence of my d-d sentimentality. Why could n't.
we have waited? A ball might have done for me in
the course of the war, and may still, and how will
Emmy be bettered by being left a beggar's widow?
It was all your doing. You were never easy until
you had got me married and ruined. What the deuce
am I to do with two thousand pounds? Such a sum
won't last two years. I've lost a hundred and forty
to Crawley at cards and billiards since I've been
down here. A pretty manager of a man's matters
you are, forsooth."
"There's no denying that the position is a hard
one," Dobbin replied, after reading over the letter
with a blank countenance; "and as you say, it is
partly of my making. There are some men that
would n't mind changing with you," he added, with
a bitter smile. "How many captains in the regiment.
have two thousand pounds to the fore, think you?
You must live on your pay till your father relents,
and if you die, you leave your wife a hundred a
year."
"Do you suppose a man of my habits can live on
his pay and a hundred a year?" George cried out in
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
341
66
great anger. "You must be a fool to talk so, Dobbin.
How the deuce am I to keep up my position in the
world upon such a pitiful pittance? I can't change
my habits. I must have my comforts. I was n't
brought up on porridge, like MacWhirter, or on po-
tatoes, like old O'Dowd. Do you expect my wife to
take in soldiers' washing, or ride after the regiment
in a baggage-wagon?”
66
Well, well," said Dobbin, still good-naturedly,
we'll get her a better conveyance. But try and
remember that you are only a dethroned prince now,
George, my boy; and be quiet whilst the tempest
lasts. It won't be for long. Let your name be
mentioned in the 'Gazette,' and I'll engage the old
father relents towards you.”
6
"Mentioned in the Gazette!"" George answered.
"And in what part of it? Among the killed and
wounded returns, and at the top of the list, very
likely."
"Psha! It will be time enough to cry out when
we are hurt," Dobbin said. "And if anything hap-
pens, you know, George, I have got a little, and I am
not a marrying man, and I shall not forget my godson
in my will," he added, with a smile. Whereupon the
dispute ended as many scores of such conversa-
tions between Osborne and his friend had concluded
previously — by the former declaring there was no
possibility of being angry with Dobbin long, and for-
giving him very generously after abusing him with-
out cause.
"I say, Becky," cried Rawdon Crawley out of his
dressing-room to his lady, who was attiring herself
for dinner in her own chamber.
"What?" said Becky's shrill voice. She was look
ing over her shoulder in the glass. She had put on
342
VANITY FAIR.
the neatest and freshest white frock imaginable, and
with bare shoulders and a little necklace, and a light
blue sash, she looked the image of youthful innocence
and girlish happiness.
"I say, what'll Mrs. O. do, when O. goes out with
the regiment?" Crawley said, coming into the room,
performing a duet on his head with two huge hair-
brushes, and looking out from under his hair with
admiration on his pretty little wife.
"I suppose she'll cry her eyes out," Becky an-
swered. "She has been whimpering half a dozen
times, at the very notion of it, already to me."
"You don't care, I suppose?" Rawdon said, half
angry at his wife's want of feeling.
"You wretch! don't you know that I intend to go
with you," Becky replied. "Besides, you're differ-
ent. You go as General Tufto's aide-de-camp.
We
don't belong to the line," Mrs. Crawley said, throw-
ing up her head with an air that so enchanted her
husband that he stooped down and kissed it.
"Rawdon dear-don't you think you'd better
get that
money from Cupid, before he goes?"
Becky continued, fixing on a killing bow. She called
George Osborne, Cupid. She had flattered him about
his good looks a score of times already. She watched
over him kindly at écarté of a night when he would
drop in to Rawdon's quarters for a half-hour before
bedtime.
She had often called him a horrid dissipated wretch,
and threatened to tell Emmy of his wicked ways and
naughty extravagant habits. She brought his cigar
and lighted it for him; she knew the effect of that
manœuvre, having practised it in former days upon
Rawdon Crawley. He thought her gay, brisk, arch,
distinguée, delightful. In their little drives and din-

A
BENCHSTELL
HAMPANTIESENT)
197
Weste
A FAMILY PARTY AT BRIGHTON.
HOLYA
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
343
ners, Becky, of course, quite outshone poor Emmy, who
remained very mute and timid while Mrs. Crawley and
her husband rattled away together, and Captain Craw-
ley (and Jos after he joined the young married people)
gobbled in silence.
-
Emmy's mind somehow misgave her about her friend.
Rebecca's wit, spirits, and accomplishments troubled
her with a rueful disquiet. They were only a week
married, and here was George already suffering ennui,
and eager for others' society! She trembled for the
future. How shall I be a companion for him, she
thought, - so clever and so brilliant, and I such a
humble foolish creature? How noble it was of him
to marry me to give up everything and stoop down
to me! I ought to have refused him, only I had not the
heart. I ought to have stopped at home and taken care
of poor papa. And her neglect of her parents (and in-
deed there was some foundation for this charge which
the poor child's uneasy conscience brought against her)
was now remembered for the first time, and caused her
to blush with humiliation. Oh! thought she, I have
been very wicked and selfish selfish in forgetting
them in their sorrows selfish in forcing George to
marry me. I know I'm not worthy of him- I know
he would have been happy without me and yet - I
tried, I tried to give him up.
It is hard when, before seven days of marriage
are over, such thoughts and confessions as these force
themselves on a little bride's mind. But so it was,
and the night before Dobbin came to join these young
people on a fine brilliant moonlight night of May
so warm and balmy that the windows were flung open
to the balcony, from which George and Mrs. Crawley
were gazing upon the calm ocean spread shining be-
fore them, while Rawdon and Jos were engaged at
344
VANITY FAIR.
backgammon within - Amelia couched in a great
chair quite neglected, and watching both these par-
ties, felt a despair and remorse such as were bitter
companions for that tender lonely soul. Scarce a week
was past, and it was come to this! The future, had
she regarded it, offered a dismal prospect; but Emmy
was too shy, so to speak, to look to that, and embark
alone on that wide sea, and unfit to navigate it with-
out a guide and protector. I know Miss Smith has a
mean opinion of her. But how many, my dear Madam,
are endowed with your prodigious strength of mind?
Gad, what a fine night, and how bright the moon
is!" George said, with a puff of his cigar, which went
soaring up skywards.
66
"How delicious they smell in the open air! I adore
them. Who'd think the moon was two hundred and
thirty-six thousand eight hundred and forty-seven miles.
off?" Becky added, gazing at that orb with a smile.
"Isn't it clever of me to remember that? Pooh! we
learned it all at Miss Pinkerton's! How calm the sea
is, and how clear everything. I declare I can almost
see the coast of France!" and her bright green eyes
streamed out, and shot into the night as if they could
see through it.
""
"Do you know what I intend to do one morning?
she said; "I find I can swim beautifully, and some
day, when my Aunt Crawley's companion — old Briggs,
you remember her
you know
that hook-nosed
woman, with the long wisps of hair when Briggs
goes out to bathe, I intend to dive under her awning,
and insist on a reconciliation in the water. Is n't that
a stratagem?”
-
George burst out laughing at the idea of this aquatic
meeting. "What's the row there, you two?" Raw-
don shouted out, rattling the box. Amelia was making
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
345
a fool of herself in an absurd hysterical manner, and
retired to her own room to whimper in private.
Our history is destined in this chapter to go back-
wards and forwards in a very irresolute manner seem-
ingly, and having conducted our story to to-morrow
presently, we shall immediately again have occasion
to step back to yesterday, so that the whole of the tale
may get a hearing. As you behold at Her Majesty's
drawing-room, the ambassadors' and high dignitaries'
carriages whisk off from a private door, while Captain
Jones's ladies are waiting for their fly: as you see in
the Secretary of the Treasury's antechamber, a half-
dozen of petitioners waiting patiently for their audi-
ence, and called out one by one, when suddenly an Irish
member or some eminent personage enters the apart-
ment, and instantly walks into Mr. Under-Secretary
over the heads of all the people present: so in the
conduct of a tale, the romancer is obliged to exercise
this most partial sort of justice. Although all the
little incidents must be heard, yet they must be put
off when the great events make their appearance; and
surely such a circumstance as that which brought Dob-
bin to Brighton, viz., the ordering out of the Guards.
and the line to Belgium, and the mustering of the allied
armies in that country under the command of his Grace
the Duke of Wellington-such a dignified circumstance
as that, I say, was entitled to the pas over all minor
occurrences whereof this history is composed mainly,
and hence a little trifling disarrangement and disorder
was excusable and becoming. We have only now ad-
vance in time so far beyond Chapter XXII. as to have
got our various characters up into their dressing-rooms
before the dinner, which took place as usual on the
day of Dobbin's arrival.
George was too humane or too much occupied with
346
VANITY FAIR.
the tie of his neckcloth to convey at once all the news
to Amelia which his comrade had brought with him
from London. He came into her room, however,
holding the attorney's letter in his hand, and with
so solemn and important an air that his wife, always
ingeniously on the watch for calamity, thought the
worst was about to befall, and running up to her hus-
band, besought her dearest George to tell her every-
thing he was ordered abroad; there would be a
battle next week—she knew there would.
Dearest George parried the question about foreign
service, and with a melancholy shake of the head said,
"No, Emmy; it is n't that: it's not myself I care
about it's you. I have had bad news from my
father. He refuses any communication with me; he
has flung us off; and leaves us to poverty. I can
rough it well enough; but you, my dear, how will
you bear it? read here." And he handed her over
the letter.
Amelia, with a look of tender alarm in her eyes,
listened to her noble hero as he uttered the above
generous sentiments, and sitting down on the bed,
read the letter which George gave her with such a
pompous martyr-like air. Her face cleared up as she
read the document, however. The idea of sharing
poverty and privation in company with the beloved
object is, as we have before said, far from being dis-
agreeable to a warm-hearted woman.
The notion was
actually pleasant to little Amelia. Then, as usual,
she was ashamed of herself for feeling happy at such
an indecorous moment, and checked her pleasure, say-
ing demurely, "O George, how your poor heart must
bleed at the idea of being separated from your papa."
"It does," said George, with an agonized countenance.
"But he can't be angry with you long," she contin-
VES
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
347
ued. "Nobody could, I'm sure.
you, my dearest, kindest husband.
forgive myself if he does not.”
He must forgive
Oh, I shall never
"What vexes me, my poor Emmy, is not my mis-
fortune, but yours," George said. "I don't care for
a little poverty; and I think, without vanity, I've
talents enough to make my own way."
"That you have," interposed his wife, who thought
that war should cease, and her husband should be
made a general instantly.
"Yes, I shall make my way as well as another,"
Osborne went on; "but you, my dear girl, how can I
bear your being deprived of the comforts and station
in society which my wife had a right to expect? My
dearest girl in barracks; the wife of a soldier in a
marching regiment; subject to all sorts of annoyance
and privation! It makes me miserable.”
Emmy, quite at ease, as this was her husband's only
cause of disquiet, took his hand, and with a radiant
face and smile began to warble that stanza from the
favorite song of "Wapping Old Stairs," in which the
heroine, after rebuking her Tom for inattention, prom-
ises "his trousers to mend, and his grog too to
make," if he will be constant and kind, and not for-
sake her. "Besides," she said, after a pause, during
which she looked as pretty and happy as any young
woman need, “is n't two thousand pounds an immense
deal of money, George?"
George laughed at her naïveté; and finally they went
down to dinner, Amelia clinging to George's arm, still
warbling the tune of "Wapping Old Stairs," and more
pleased and light of mind than she had been for some
days past.
Thus the repast, which at length came off, instead
of being dismal, was an exceedingly brisk and merry
348
VANITY FAIR.
one. The excitement of the campaign counteracted
in George's mind the depression occasioned by the
disinheriting letter. Dobbin still kept up his char-
acter of rattle. He amused the company with ac-
counts of the army in Belgium, where nothing but
fêtes and gayety and fashion were going on. Then,
having a particular end in view, this dexterous cap-
tain proceeded to describe Mrs. Major O'Dowd pack-
ing her own and her Major's wardrobe, and how his
best epaulets had been stowed into a tea-canister,
whilst her own famous yellow turban, with the bird
of paradise wrapped in brown paper, was locked up
in the Major's tin cocked-hat case, and wondered what
effect it would have at the French king's court at
Ghent, or the great military balls at Brussels.
"Ghent! Brussels!" cried out Amelia with a sud-
den shock and start. “Is the regiment ordered away,
George, is it ordered away?" A look of terror
came over the sweet smiling face, and she clung to
George as by an instinct.
Don't be afraid, dear," he said good-naturedly;
"it is but a twelve hours' passage. It won't hurt you.
You shall go, too, Emmy."
"I intend to go," said Becky. "I'm on the staff.
General Tufto is a great flirt of mine. Is n't he, Raw-
don ?"
Rawdon laughed out with his usual roar. William
Dobbin flushed up quite red. "She can't go," he said;
"think of the — of the danger," he was going to add;
but had not all his conversation during dinner-time
tended to prove there was none? He became very
confused and silent.
"I must and will go," Amelia cried, with the great-
est spirit; and George, applauding her resolution,
patted her under the chin, and asked all the persons
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
349
present if they ever saw such a termagant of a wife,
and agreed that the lady should bear him company.
"We'll have Mrs. O'Dowd to chaperon you,” he said.
What cared she so long as her husband was near her?
Thus somehow the bitterness of a parting was juggled
away. Though war and danger were in store, war
and danger might not befall for months to come.
There was a respite at any rate, which made the timid
little Amelia almost as happy as a full reprieve would
have done, and which even Dobbin owned in his heart
was very welcome. For, to be permitted to see her
was now the greatest privilege and hope of his life,
and he thought with himself secretly how he would
watch and protect her. I would n't have let her go if
I had been married to her, he thought. But George
was the master, and his friend did not think fit to
remonstrate.
Putting her arm round her friend's waist, Rebecca
at length carried Amelia off from the dinner-table
where so much business of importance had been dis-
cussed, and left the gentlemen in a highly exhilarated
state, drinking and talking very gayly.
In the course of the evening Rawdon got a little
family-note from his wife, which, although he crumpled
it up and burnt it instantly in the candle, we had the
good luck to read over Rebecca's shoulder. "Great
news," she wrote. "Mrs. Bute is gone. Get the
money from Cupid to-night, as he'll be off to-morrow
most likely. Mind this. R." So when the little
company was about adjourning to coffee in the
women's apartment, Rawdon touched Osborne on the
elbow, and said gracefully, "I say, Osborne, my boy,
if quite convenient, I'll trouble you for that 'ere small
trifle." It was not quite convenient, but nevertheless
George gave him a considerable present instalment in
Ma
350
VANITY FAIR.
bank-notes from his pocket-book, and a bill on his
agents at a week's date, for the remaining sum.
This matter arranged, George, and Jos, and Dobbin,
held a council of war over their cigars, and agreed
that a general move should be made for London in
Jos's open carriage the next day. Jos, I think, would
have preferred staying until Rawdon Crawley quitted
Brighton, but Dobbin and George overruled him, and
he agreed to carry the party to town, and ordered four
horses, as became his dignity. With these they set
off in state, after breakfast, the next day. Amelia
had risen very early in the morning, and packed her
little trunks with the greatest alacrity, while Osborne
lay in bed deploring that she had not a maid to help
her. She was only too glad, however, to perform this
office for herself. A dim, uneasy sentiment about
Rebecca filled her mind already; and although they
kissed each other most tenderly at parting, yet we
know what jealousy is; and Mrs. Amelia possessed
that among other virtues of her sex.
Besides these characters who are coming and going
away, we must remember that there were some other
old friends of ours at Brighton; Miss Crawley,
namely, and the suite in attendance upon her. Now,
although Rebecca and her husband were but at a few
stones' throw of the lodgings which the invalid Miss
Crawley occupied, the old lady's door remained as
pitilessly closed to them as it had been heretofore in
London. As long as she remained by the side of her
sister-in-law, Mrs. Bute Crawley took care that her
beloved Matilda should not be agitated by a meeting
with her nephew. When the spinster took her drive,
the faithful Mrs. Bute sat beside her in the carriage.
When Miss Crawley took the air in a chair, Mrs. Bute
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
351
marched on one side of the vehicle, whilst honest
Briggs occupied the other wing. And if they met
Rawdon and his wife by chance although the former
constantly and obsequiously took off his hat, the Miss-
Crawley party passed him by with such a frigid and
killing indifference, that Rawdon began to despair.
"We might as well be in London as here," Captain
Rawdon often said, with a downcast air.
"A comfortable inn in Brighton is better than a
spunging-house in Chancery Lane," his wife answered,
who was of a more cheerful temperament. "Think
of those two aides-de-camp of Mr. Moses, the sheriff's
officer, who watched our lodging for a week. Our
friends here are very stupid, but Mr. Jos and Captain
Cupid are better companions than Mr. Moses's men,
Rawdon, my love."
"I wonder the writs have n't followed me down
here," Rawdon continued, still desponding.
"When they do we'll find means to give them the
slip," said dauntless little Becky, and further pointed
out to her husband the great comfort and advantage
of meeting Jos and Osborne, whose acquaintance had
brought to Rawdon Crawley a most timely little sup-
ply of ready money.
"It will hardly be enough to pay the inn bill,"
grumbled the Guardsman.
"Why need we pay it?" said the lady, who had an
answer for everything.
Through Rawdon's valet, who still kept up a trifling
acquaintance with the male inhabitants of Miss Craw-
ley's servants' hall, and was instructed to treat the
coachman to drink whenever they met, old Miss
Crawley's movements were pretty well known by our
young couple; and Rebecca luckily bethought herself
of being unwell, and of calling in the same apothecary
352
VANITY FAIR.
who was in attendance upon the spinster, so that their
information was on the whole tolerably complete.
Nor was Miss Briggs, although forced to adopt a hostile
attitude, secretly inimical to Rawdon and his wife.
She was naturally of a kindly and forgiving disposi-
tion. Now that the cause of jealousy was removed,
her dislike for Rebecca disappeared also, and she re-
membered the latter's invariable good words and good-
humor. And, indeed, she and Mrs. Firkin, the lady's-
maid, and the whole of Miss Crawley's household,
groaned under the tyranny of the triumphant Mrs.
Bute.
As often will be the case, that good but imperious
woman pushed her advantages too far, and her suc-
cesses quite unmercifully. She had in the course of a
few weeks brought the invalid to such a state of help-
less docility, that the poor soul yielded herself entirely
to her sister's orders, and did not even dare to com-
plain of her slavery to Briggs or Firkin. Mrs. Bute
measured out the glasses of wine which Miss Crawley
was daily allowed to take, with irresistible accuracy,
greatly to the annoyance of Firkin and the butler, who
found themselves deprived of control over even the
sherry-bottle. She apportioned the sweet-breads, jel-
lies, chickens; their quantity and order. Night and
noon and morning she brought the abominable drinks
ordained by the doctor, and made her patient swallow
them with so affecting an obedience, that Firkin said
"my poor Missus du take her physic like a lamb.”
She prescribed the drive in the carriage or the ride in
the chair, and, in a word, ground down the old lady in
her convalescence in such a way as only belongs to
your proper-managing, motherly, moral woman.
ever the patient faintly resisted, and pleaded for a lit-
tle bit more dinner or a little drop less medicine, the
If
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
353
nurse threatened her with instantaneous death, when
Miss Crawley instantly gave in. "She's no spirit left
in her," Firkin remarked to Briggs; "she ain't ave
called me a fool these three weeks." Finally, Mrs.
Bute had made up her mind to dismiss the aforesaid
honest lady's-maid, Mr. Bowls, the large confidential
man, and Briggs herself, and to send for her daughters
from the Rectory, previous to removing the dear in-
valid bodily to Queen's Crawley, when an odious acci-
dent happened which called her away from duties so
pleasing. The Reverend Bute Crawley, her husband,
riding home one night, fell with his horse and broke
his collar-bone. Fever and inflammatory symptoms.
set in, and Mrs. Bute was forced to leave Sussex for
Hampshire. As soon as ever Bute was restored, she
promised to return to her dearest friend, and departed,
leaving the strongest injunctions with the household
regarding their behavior to their mistress; and as soon
as she got into the Southampton coach, there was such
a jubilee and sense of relief in all Miss Crawley's
house, as the company of persons assembled there
had not experienced for many a week before. That
very day Miss Crawley left off her afternoon dose of
medicine: that afternoon Bowls opened an indepen-
dent bottle of sherry for himself and Mrs. Firkin:
that night Miss Crawley and Miss Briggs indulged in
a game of piquet instead of one of Porteus's sermons.
It was as in the old nursery story, when the stick for-
got to beat the dog, and the whole course of events
underwent a peaceful and a happy revolution.
At a very early hour in the morning, twice or thrice
a week, Miss Briggs used to betake herself to a bath-
ing-machine, and disport in the water in a flannel gown.
and an oilskin cap. Rebecca, as we have seen, was
aware of this circumstance, and though she did not
VOL. I. 23
J
354
VANITY FAIR.
·
attempt to storm Briggs as she had threatened, and
actually dive into that lady's presence and surprise her
under the sacredness of the awning, Mrs. Rawdon de-
termined to attack Briggs as she came away from her
bath, refreshed and invigorated by her dip, and likely
to be in good-humor.
So getting up very early the next morning, Becky
brought the telescope in their sitting-room, which
faced the sea, to bear upon the bathing-machines on
the beach; saw Briggs arrive, enter her box, and put
out to sea; and was on the shore just as the nymph of
whom she came in quest stepped out of the little cara-
van on to the shingles. It was a pretty picture; the
beach; the bathing-women's faces; the long line of
rocks and buildings were blushing and bright in the
sunshine. Rebecca wore a kind, tender smile on her
face, and was holding out her pretty white hand as
Briggs emerged from the box. What could Briggs do
but accept the salutation?
"Miss Sh- Mrs. Crawley," she said.
Mrs. Crawley seized her hand, pressed it to her
heart, and with a sudden impulse, flinging her arms
round Briggs, kissed her affectionately. "Dear, dear
friend!" she said, with a touch of such natural
feeling, that Miss Briggs of course at once began to
melt, and even the bathing-woman was mollified.
Rebecca found no difficulty in engaging Briggs in a
long, intimate, and delightful conversation. Every-
thing that had passed since the morning of Becky's
sudden departure from Miss Crawley's house in Park
Lane up to the present day, and Mrs. Bute's happy
retreat, was discussed and described by Briggs. All
Miss Crawley's symptoms, and the particulars of her
illness and medical treatment, were narrated by the
which
confidante with that fulness and accuracy
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
355
women delight in. About their complaints and their
doctors do ladies ever tire of talking to each other?
Briggs did not on this occasion; nor did Rebecca
weary of listening. She was thankful, truly thank-
ful, that the dear kind Briggs, that the faithful,
the invaluable Firkin, had been permitted to remain
with their benefactress through her illness. Heaven
bless her! though she, Rebecca, had seemed to act
undutifully towards Miss Crawley; yet was not her
fault a natural and excusable one? Could she help
giving her hand to the man who had won her heart?
Briggs, the sentimental, could only turn up her eyes.
to heaven at this appeal, and heave a sympathetic
sigh, and think that she, too, had given away her
affections long years ago, and own that Rebecca was
no very great criminal.
"Can I ever forget her who so befriended the friend-
less orphan? No, though she has cast me off," the
latter said, "I shall never cease to love her, and I
would devote my life to her service. As my own
benefactress, as my beloved Rawdon's adored relative,
I love and admire Miss Crawley, dear Miss Briggs,
beyond any woman in the world, and next to her I
love all those who are faithful to her. I would never
have treated Miss Crawley's faithful friends as that
odious designing Mrs. Bute has done. Rawdon, who
was all heart," Rebecca continued, "although his out-
ward manners might seem rough and careless, had
said a hundred times, with tears in his eyes, that he
blessed Heaven for sending his dearest Aunty two
such admirable nurses as her attached Firkin and her
admirable Miss Briggs. Should the machinations of
the horrible Mrs. Bute end, as she too much feared
they would, in banishing everybody that Miss Craw-
ley loved from her side, and leaving that poor lady a
356
VANITY FAIR.
victim to those harpies at the Rectory, Rebecca be-
sought her (Miss Briggs) to remember that her own
home, humble as it was, was always open to receive
Briggs. "Dear friend," she exclaimed, in a transport
of enthusiasm, "some hearts can never forget benefits
all women are not Bute Crawleys! Though why
should I complain of her," Rebecca added; "though
I have been her tool and the victim to her arts, do I
not owe my dearest Rawdon to her?" And Rebecca
unfolded to Briggs all Mrs. Bute's conduct at Queen's
Crawley, which, though unintelligible to her then, was
clearly enough explained by the events now, now
that the attachment had sprung up which Mrs. Bute
had encouraged by a thousand artifices, now that
two innocent people had fallen into the snares which
she had laid for them, and loved and married and
been ruined through her schemes.
It was all very true. Briggs saw the stratagems as
clearly as possible. Mrs. Bute had made the match
between Rawdon and Rebecca. Yet, though the latter
was a perfectly innocent victim, Miss Briggs could
not disguise from her friend her fear that Miss Craw-
ley's affections were hopelessly estranged from Re-
becca, and that the old lady would never forgive her
nephew for making so imprudent a marriage.
On this point Rebecca had her own opinion, and
still kept up a good heart. If Miss Crawley did not
forgive them at present, she might at least relent on a
future day. Even now, there was only that puling,
sickly Pitt Crawley between Rawdon and a baronetcy;
and should anything happen to the former, all would
be well. At all events, to have Mrs. Bute's designs
exposed, and herself well abused, was a satisfaction,
and might be advantageous to Rawdon's interest;
and Rebecca, after an hour's chat with her recovered
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
357
friend, left her with the most tender demonstrations
of regard, and quite assured that the conversation
they had had together would be reported to Miss.
Crawley before many hours were over.
This interview ended, it became full time for Re-
becca to return to her inn, where all the party of the
previous day were assembled at a farewell breakfast.
Rebecca took such a tender leave of Amelia as became
two women who loved each other as sisters; and hav-
ing used her handkerchief plentifully, and hung on
her friend's neck as if they were parting forever, and
waved the handkerchief (which was quite dry, by the
way) out of window, as the carriage drove off, she
came back to the breakfast-table, and ate some prawns
with a good deal of appetite, considering her emotion;
and while she was munching these delicacies, ex-
plained to Rawdon what had occurred in her morning
walk between herself and Briggs. Her hopes were
very high: she made her husband share them. She
generally succeeded in making her husband share all
her opinions, whether melancholy or cheerful.
"You will now, if you please, my dear, sit down at
the writing-table, and pen me a pretty little letter to
Miss Crawley, in which you'll say that you are a good
boy, and that sort of thing." So Rawdon sat down,
and wrote off, "Brighton, Thursday," and "My dear
Aunt," with great rapidity: but there the gallant
officer's imagination failed him. He mumbled the
end of his pen, and looked up in his wife's face. She
could not help laughing at his rueful countenance, and
marching up and down the room with her hands be-
hind her, the little woman began to dictate a letter,
which he took down.
"Before quitting the country and commencing a
campaign, which very possibly may be fatal — "
358
VANITY FAIR.
"What?" said Rawdon, rather surprised, but took
the humor of the phrase, and presently wrote it down.
with a grin.
"Which very possibly may be fatal, I have come
hither
"Why not say 'come here,' Becky? come here' is
grammar," the dragoon interposed.
""
"I have come hither," Rebecca insisted, with a
stamp of her foot, "to say farewell to my dearest and
earliest friend. I beseech you before I go, not per-
haps to return, once more to let me press the hand
from which I have received nothing but kindnesses
all my life.”
"Kindnesses all my life," echoed Rawdon, scratch-
ing down the words, and quite amazed at his own
facility of composition.
"I ask nothing from you but that we should part
not in anger. I have the pride of my family on some
points, though not on all. I married a painter's daugh-
ter, and am not ashamed of the union."
"No, run me through the body if I am!" Rawdon
ejaculated.
"You old booby," Rebecca said, pinching his ear
and looking over to see that he made no mistakes in
spelling - "beseech' is not spelt with an a, and
'earliest is."
9
So he altered these words, bowing
to the superior knowledge of his little Missis.
"I thought that you were aware of the progress of
my attachment," Rebecca continued: "I knew that
Mrs. Bute Crawley confirmed and encouraged it. But
I make no reproaches. I married a poor woman, and
am content to abide by what I have done. Leave your
property, dear Aunt, as you will. I shall never com-
plain of the way in which you dispose of it. I would
have you believe that I love you for yourself, and not
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
359
for money's sake. I want to be reconciled to you ere
I leave England. Let me, let me see you before I go.
A few weeks or months hence it may be too late, and
I cannot bear the notion of quitting the country with-
out a kind word of farewell from you."
"She won't recognize my style in that," said Becky.
"I made the sentences short and brisk on purpose."
And this authentic missive was despatched under
cover to Miss Briggs.
Old Miss Crawley laughed when Briggs, with great
mystery, handed her over this candid and simple
statement. "We may read it now Mrs. Bute is
away," she said. "Read it to me, Briggs."
When Briggs had read the epistle out, her patroness.
laughed more. "Don't you see, you goose," she said
to Briggs, who professed to be much touched by the
honest affection which pervaded the composition,
"Don't you see that Rawdon never wrote a word of
it.
He never wrote to me without asking for money
in his life, and all his letters are full of bad spel-
ling, and dashes, and bad grammar. It is that lit-
tle serpent of a governess who rules him." They
are all alike, Miss Crawley thought in her heart.
They all want me dead, and are hankering for my
money.
"I don't mind seeing Rawdon," she added, after a
pause, and in a tone of perfect indifference.
"I had
just as soon shake hands with him as not. Provided
there is no scene, why should n't we meet? I don't
mind. But human patience has its limits; and mind,
my dear, I respectfully decline to receive Mrs. Raw-
don I can't support that quite " and Miss Briggs
was fain to be content with this half-message of con-
ciliation; and thought that the best method of bring-
ing the old lady and her nephew together, was to warn
―
360
VANITY FAIR.
Rawdon to be in waiting on the Cliff, when Miss
Crawley went out for her air in her chair.
There they met. I don't know whether Miss Craw-
ley had any private feeling of regard or emotion upon
seeing her old favorite; but she held out a couple of
fingers to him with as smiling and good-humored an
air, as if they had met only the day before. And as
for Rawdon, he turned as red as scarlet, and wrung
off Briggs's hand, so great was his rapture and his
confusion at the meeting. Perhaps it was interest
that moved him: or perhaps affection: perhaps he
was touched by the change which the illness of the
last weeks had wrought in his aunt.
"The old girl has always acted like a trump to me,"
he said to his wife, as he narrated the interview, "and
I felt, you know, rather queer, and that sort of thing.
I walked by the side of the whatdye'call'em, you
know, and to her own door, where Bowls came to
help her in.
And I wanted to go in very much,
only"
"You did n't go in, Rawdon !" screamed his wife.
"No, my dear; I'm hanged if I was n't afraid when
it came to the point."
"You fool! you ought to have gone in, and never
come out again," Rebecca said.
"Don't call me names," said the big Guardsman,
sulkily. "Perhaps I was a fool, Becky, but you
should n't say so; " and he gave his wife a look,
such as his countenance could wear when angered,
and such as was not pleasant to face.
"Well, dearest, to-morrow you must be on the look-
out, and go and see her, mind, whether she asks you
or no," Rebecca said, trying to soothe her angry yoke-
mate. On which he replied, that he would do exactly
as he liked, and would just thank her to keep a civil
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
361
tongue in her head and the wounded husband went
away, and passed the forenoon at the billiard-room,
sulky, silent, and suspicious.
But before the night was over he was compelled to
give in, and own, as usual, to his wife's superior
prudence and foresight, by the most melancholy con-
firmation of the presentiments which she had re-
garding the consequences of the mistake which he
had made. Miss Crawley must have had some emo-
tion upon seeing him and shaking hands with him
after so long a rupture. She mused upon the meet-
ing a considerable time. "Rawdon is getting very
fat and old, Briggs," she said to her companion.
"His nose has become red, and he is exceedingly
coarse in appearance. His marriage to that woman
has hopelessly vulgarized him. Mrs. Bute always
said they drank together; and I have no doubt they
do. Yes: he smelt of gin abominably. I remarked
it. Didn't you?
""
In vain Briggs interposed that Mrs. Bute spoke ill
of everybody: and, as far as a person in her humble
position could judge, was an
""
"An artful designing woman? Yes, so she is, and
she does speak ill of every one,
but I am certain
that woman has made Rawdon drink. All those low
people do "
"He was very much affected at seeing you, Ma'am,"
the companion said; “and I am sure, when you re-
member that he is going to the field of danger -
"
"How much money has he promised you, Briggs?
the old spinster cried out, working herself into a ner-
vous rage "there now, of course you begin to cry.
I hate scenes. Why am I always to be worried? Go
and cry up in your own room, and send Firkin to me,
""
362
VANITY FAIR.
no, stop, sit down and blow your nose, and leave
off crying, and write a letter to Captain Crawley."
Poor Briggs went and placed herself obediently at
the writing-book. Its leaves were blotted all over
with relics of the firm, strong, rapid handwriting of
the spinster's late amanuensis, Mrs. Bute Crawley.
6
"Begin My dear sir,' or 'Dear sir,' that will be
better, and say you are desired by Miss Crawley-
no, by Miss Crawley's medical man, by Mr. Creamer,
to state, that my health is such that all strong emo-
tions would be dangerous in my present delicate.
condition — and that I must decline any family dis-
cussions or interviews whatever. And thank him
for coming to Brighton, and so forth, and beg him.
not to stay any longer on my account. And, Miss
Briggs, you may add that I wish him a bon voyage,
and that if he will take the trouble to call upon my
lawyer in Gray's Inn Square, he will find there a
communication for him. Yes, that will do; and that
will make him leave Brighton." The benevolent Briggs
penned this sentence with the utmost satisfaction.
"To seize upon me the very day after Mrs. Bute
was gone," the old lady prattled on; "it was too in-
decent. Briggs, my dear, write to Mrs. Crawley, and
say she need n't come back. No-she need n't — and
she sha'n't—and I won't be a slave in my own house
and I won't be starved and choked with poison.
They all want to kill me all - all"— and with this
the lonely old woman burst into a scream of hysterical
tears.
The last scene of her dismal Vanity Fair comedy
was fast approaching; the tawdry lamps were going
out one by one; and the dark curtain was almost
ready to descend.
That final paragraph, which referred Rawdon to
1
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
363
Miss Crawley's solicitor in London, and which Briggs
had written so good-naturedly, consoled the dragoon
and his wife somewhat, after their first blank disap-
pointment, on reading the spinster's refusal of a rec-
onciliation. And it effected the purpose for which
the old lady had caused it to be written, by making
Rawdon very eager to get to London.
Out of Jos's losings and George Osborne's bank-
notes, he paid his bill at the inn, the landlord whereof
does not probably know to this day how doubtfully his
account once stood. For, as a general sends his bag-
gage to the rear before an action, Rebecca had wisely
packed up all their chief valuables and sent them off
under care of George's servant, who went in charge
of the trunks on the coach back to London. Raw-
don and his wife returned by the same conveyance
next day.
•
"I should have liked to see the old girl before we
went," Rawdon said. "She looks so cut up and al-
tered that I'm sure she can't last long. I wonder
what sort of a cheque I shall have at Waxy's. Two
hundred it can't be less than two hundred, hey,
Becky?"
In consequence of the repeated visits of the aides-
de-camp of the Sheriff of Middlesex, Rawdon and his
wife did not go back to their lodgings at Brompton,
but put up at an inn. Early the next morning, Rebecca
had an opportunity of seeing them as she skirted that
suburb on her road to old Mrs. Sedley's house at
Fulham, whither she went to look for her dear Ame-
lia and her Brighton friends. They were all off to
Chatham, thence to Harwich, to take shipping for
Belgium with the regiment-kind old Mrs. Sedley
very much depressed and tearful, solitary. Returning
from this visit, Rebecca found her husband, who had
364
VANITY FAIR.
been off to Gray's Inn, and learned his fate. He came
back furious.
"By Jove, Becky," says he, "she's only given me
twenty pound!"
Though it told against themselves, the joke was
too good, and Becky burst out laughing at Rawdon's
discomfiture.
:$
1
CHAPTER XXVI.
BETWEEN LONDON AND CHATHAM.
ON quitting Brighton, our friend George, as became
a person of rank and fashion travelling in a barouche
with four horses, drove in state to a fine hotel in
Cavendish Square, where a suite of splendid rooms,
and a table magnificently furnished with plate and
surrounded by a half-dozen of black and silent waiters,
was ready to receive the young gentleman and his bride.
George did the honors of the place with a princely air
to Jos and Dobbin; and Amelia, for the first time, and
with exceeding shyness and timidity, presided at what
George called her own table.
George pooh-poohed the wine and bullied the wait-
ers royally, and Jos gobbled the turtle with immense
satisfaction. Dobbin helped him to it; for the lady
of the house, before whom the tureen was placed, was
so ignorant of the contents, that she was going to
help Mr. Sedley without bestowing upon him either
callipash or callipee.
The splendor of the entertainment, and the apart-
ments in which it was given, alarmed Mr. Dobbin, who
remonstrated after dinner, when Jos was asleep in the
great chair. But in vain he cried out against the
enormity of turtle and champagne that was fit for an
archbishop. "I've always been accustomed to travel
like a gentleman," George said, "and, damme, my wife.
shall travel like a lady. As long as there's a shot in
the locker, she shall want for nothing," said the gener
366
VANITY FAIR.
ous fellow, quite pleased with himself for his magnifi-
cence of spirit. Nor did Dobbin try and convince
him that Amelia's happiness was not centred in turtle-
soup.
A while after dinner, Amelia timidly expressed a
wish to go and see her mamma, at Fulham: which
permission George granted her with some grumbling.
And she tripped away to her enormous bedroom, in
the centre of which stood the enormous funereal bed,
"that the Emperor Halixander's sister slept in when
the allied sufferings was here," and put on her little
bonnet and shawl with the utmost eagerness and
pleasure. George was still drinking claret when she
returned to the dining-room, and made no signs of
moving. "Ar'n't you coming with me, dearest?"
she asked him. No; the "dearest" had "business"
that night. His man should get her a coach and
go with her. And the coach being at the door of
the hotel, Amelia made George a little disappointed
curtsy after looking vainly into his face once or twice,
and went sadly down the great staircase, Captain
Dobbin after, who handed her into the vehicle, and
saw it drive away to its destination. The very valet
was ashamed of mentioning the address to the hack-
ney-coachman before the hotel-waiters, and promised
to instruct him when they got further on.
Dobbin walked home to his old quarters at the
Slaughters', thinking very likely that it would be
delightful to be in that hackney-coach along with Mrs.
Osborne. George was evidently of quite a different
taste; for when he had taken wine enough, he went
off to half-price at the play, to see Mr. Kean perform in
Shylock. Captain Osborne was a great lover of the
drama, and had himself performed high-comedy char-
acters with great distinction in several garrison theatri-
•
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
367
cai entertainments. Jos slept on until long after dark,
when he woke up with a start at the motions of his
servant, who was removing and emptying the decan-
ters on the table; and the hackney-coach stand was
again put into requisition for a carriage to convey this
stout hero to his lodgings and bed.
Mrs. Sedley, you may be sure, clasped her daughter
to her heart with all maternal eagerness and affection,
running out of the door as the carriage drew up before
the little garden-gate, to welcome the weeping, trem-
bling young bride. Old Mr. Clapp, who was in his
shirt-sleeves, trimming the garden-plot, shrank back,
alarmed. The Irish servant-lass rushed up from the
kitchen and smiled a "God bless you." Amelia could
hardly walk along the flags and up the steps into the
parlor.
How the floodgates were opened, and mother and
daughter wept, when they were together embracing
each other in this sanctuary, may readily be imagined
by every reader who possesses the least sentimental
turn. When don't ladies weep? At what occasion of
joy, sorrow, or other business of life? and, after such an
event as a marriage, mother and daughter were surely
at liberty to give way to a sensibility which is as ten-
der as it is refreshing. About a question of marriage
I have seen women who hate each other kiss and cry
together quite fondly. How much more do they feel
when they love! Good mothers are married over
again at their daughters' weddings; and as for subse-
quent events, who does not know how ultra-maternal
grandmothers are?— in fact a woman until she is a
grandmother, does not often really know what to be a
mother is. Let us respect Amelia and her mamma
whispering and whimpering and laughing and crying
368
VANITY FAIR.
in the parlor and the twilight. Old Mr. Sedley did.
He had not divined who was in the carriage when it
drove up. He had not flown out to meet his daughter,
though he kissed her very warmly when she entered
the room (where he was occupied, as usual, with his
papers and tapes and statements of accounts), and
after sitting with the mother and daughter for a short
time, he very wisely left the little apartment in their
possession.
George's valet was looking on in a very supercilious
manner at Mr. Clapp in his shirt-sleeves, watering hist
rose-bushes. He took off his hat, however, with much
condescension to Mr. Sedley, who asked news about
his son-in-law, and about Jos's carriage, and whether
his horses had been down to Brighton, and about that
infernal traitor Bonaparty, and the war; until the
Irish maid-servant came with a plate and a bottle of
wine, from which the old gentleman insisted upon
helping the valet. He gave him a half-guinea too,
which the servant pocketed with a mixture of wonder
and contempt. "To the health of your master and
mistress, Trotter," Mr. Sedley said, "and here's some-
thing to drink your health when you get home,
Trotter."
There were but nine days past since Amelia had left
that little cottage and home and yet how far off the
time seemed since she had bidden it farewell. What
a gulf lay between her and that past life. She could
look back to it from her present standing-place, and
contemplate, almost as another being, the young
unmarried girl absorbed in her love, having no eyes
but for one special object, receiving parental affection
if not ungratefully, at least indifferently, and as if it
were her due - her whole heart and thoughts bent
on the accomplishment of one desire. The review of
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
369
those days, so lately gone, yet so far away, touched
her with shame; and the aspect of the kind parents
filled her with tender remorse. Was the prize gained -
the heaven of life and the winner still doubtful and
unsatisfied? As his hero and heroine pass the matri-
monial barrier, the novelist generally drops the cur-
tain, as if the drama were over then the doubts and
struggles of life ended: as if, once landed in the mar-
riage country, all were green and pleasant there: and
wife and husband had nothing to do but to link each
other's arms together, and wander gently downwards
towards old age in happy and perfect fruition. But
our little Amelia was just on the bank of her new
country, and was already looking anxiously back
towards the sad, friendly figures waving farewell to
her across the stream, from the other distant shore.
In honor of the young bride's arrival, her mother
thought it necessary to prepare I don't know what
festive entertainment, and after the first ebullition
of talk, took leave of Mrs. George Osborne for a
while, and dived down to the lower regions of the
house to a sort of kitchen-parlor (occupied by Mr. and
Mrs. Clapp, and in the evening, when her dishes were
washed and her curl-papers removed, by Miss Flanni-
gan, the Irish servant), there to take measures for the
preparing of a magnificent ornamented tea.
All peo-
ple have their ways of expressing kindness, and it
seemed to Mrs. Sedley that a muffin and a quantity
of orange marmalade spread out in a little cut-glass
saucer would be peculiarly agreeable refreshments to
Amelia in her most interesting situation.
While these delicacies were being transacted below,
Amelia, leaving the drawing-room walked up stairs.
and found herself, she scarce knew how, in the little
room which she had occupied before her marriage,
VOL. I. - 24
—
370
VANITY FAIR.
and in that very chair in which she had passed so
many bitter hours. She sank back in its arms as if
it were an old friend; and fell to thinking over the
past week, and the life beyond it. Already to be
looking sadly and vaguely back: always to be pining
for something which, when obtained, brought doubt
and sadness rather than pleasure; here was the lot
of our poor little creature, and harmless lost wanderer
in the great struggling crowds of Vanity Fair.
Here she sat and recalled to herself fondly that
image of George to which she had knelt before mar-
riage. Did she own to herself how different the real
man was from that superb young hero whom she had
worshipped? It requires many, many years and a
man must be very bad indeed before a woman's
pride and vanity will let her own to such a con-
fession. Then Rebecca's twinkling green eyes and
baleful smile lighted upon her, and filled her with
dismay. And so she sat for a while indulging in
her usual mood of selfish brooding, in that very list-
less melancholy attitude in which the honest maid-
servant had found her, on the day when she brought
up the letter in which George renewed his offer of
marriage.
-
She looked at the little white bed, which had been
hers a few days before, and thought she would like
to sleep in it that night, and wake, as formerly, with
her mother smiling over her in the morning. Then
she thought with terror of the great funereal damask
pavilion in the vast and dingy state bedroom, which
was awaiting her at the grand hotel in Cavendish
Square. Dear little white bed! how many a long
night had she wept on its pillow! How she had
despaired and hoped to die there; and now were not
all her wishes accomplished, and the lover of whom
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
371
she had despaired her own forever? Kind mother!
how patiently and tenderly she had watched round
that bed! She went and knelt down by the bedside
and there this wounded and timorous, but gentle and
loving soul sought for consolation, where as yet, it
must be owned, our little girl had but seldom looked
for it. Love had been her faith hitherto; and the
sad, bleeding, disappointed heart began to feel the
want of another consoler.
Have we a right to repeat or to overhear her prayers ?
These, brother, are secrets, and out of the domain of
Vanity Fair, in which our story lies.
But this may be said, that when the tea was finally
announced, our young lady came down stairs a great
deal more cheerful; that she did not despond, or de-
plore her fate, or think about George's coldness, or
Rebecca's eyes, as she had been wont to do of late.
She went down stairs, and kissed her father and
mother, and talked to the old gentleman, and made
him more merry than he had been for many a day.
She sat down at the piano which Dobbin had bought
for her, and sang over all her father's favorite old
songs. She pronounced the tea to be excellent, and
praised the exquisite taste in which the marmalade
was arranged in the saucers. And in determining
to make everybody else happy, she found herself so;
and was sound asleep in the great funereal pavilion,
and only woke up with a smile when George arrived
from the theatre.
For the next day, George had more important
"business" to transact than that which took him to
see Mr. Kean in Shylock. Immediately on his ar
rival in London he had written off to his father's
solicitors, signifying his royal pleasure that an inter
view should take place between them on the morrow.
372
VANITY FAIR.
His hotel losses at billiards and cards to Captain
Crawley had almost drained the young man's purse,
which wanted replenishing before he set out on his
travels, and he had no resource but to infringe upon
the two thousand pounds which the attorneys were
commissioned to pay over to him. He had a perfect
belief in his own mind that his father would relent
before very long. How could any parent be obdurate
for a length of time against such a paragon as he
was?
If his mere past and personal merits did not
succeed in mollifying his father, George determined
that he would distinguish himself so prodigiously in
the ensuing campaign that the old gentleman must
give in to him. And if not? Bah! the world was be-
fore him. His luck might change at cards, and there
was a deal of spending in two thousand pounds.
So he sent off Amelia once more in a carriage to her
mamma, with strict orders and carte blanche to the
two ladies to purchase everything requisite for a lady of
Mrs. George Osborne's fashion, who was going on a for-
eign tour. They had but one day to complete the out-
fit, and it may be imagined that their business therefore
occupied them pretty fully. In a carriage once more,
bustling about from milliner to linendraper, escorted
back to the carriage by obsequious shopmen or polite
owners, Mrs. Sedley was herself again almost, and sin-
cerely happy for the first time since their misfortunes.
Nor was Mrs. Amelia at all above the pleasure of shop-
ping and bargaining, and seeing and buying pretty
things. (Would any man, the most philosophic, give
twopence for a woman who was ?) She gave herself
a little treat, obedient to her husband's orders, and
purchased a quantity of ladies' gear, showing a great
deal of taste and elegant discernment, as all the shop-
folks said.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
373
And about the war that was ensuing, Mrs. Osborne
was not much alarmed; Bonaparty was to be crushed
almost without a struggle. Margate packets were sail.
ing every day, filled with men of fashion and ladies of
note, on their way to Brussels and Ghent. People
were going not so much to a war as to a fashionable
tour. The newspapers laughed the wretched upstart
and swindler to scorn. Such a Corsican wretch as
that withstand the armies of Europe, and the genius
of the immortal Wellington! Amelia held him in utter
contempt; for it needs not to be said that this soft
and gentle creature took her opinions from those peo-
ple who surrounded her, such fidelity being much too
humble-minded to think for itself. Well, in a word,
she and her mother performed a great day's shopping,
and she acquitted herself with considerable liveliness
and credit on this her first appearance in the genteel
world of London.
George meanwhile, with his hat on one side, his
elbows squared, and his swaggering martial air, made
for Bedford Row, and stalked into the attorney's offices
as if he was lord of every pale-faced clerk who was
scribbling there. He ordered somebody to inform Mr.
Higgs that Captain Osborne was waiting, in a fierce
and patronizing way, as if the pékin of an attorney,
who had thrice his brains, fifty times his money, and a
thousand times his experience, was a wretched under-
ling who should instantly leave all his business in life.
to attend on the Captain's pleasure. He did not see
the sneer of contempt which passed all round the room,
from the first clerk to the articled gents, from the arti-
cled gents to the ragged writers and white-faced run-
ners, in clothes too tight for them, as he sat there
tapping his boot with his cane, and thinking what a
parcel of miserable poor devils these were. The mis
374
VANITY FAIR.
erable poor devils knew all about his affairs. They
talked about them over their pints of beer at their
public-house clubs to other clerks of a night. Ye Gods,
what do not attorneys and attorneys' clerks know in
London! Nothing is hidden from their inquisition,
and their familiars mutely rule our city.
Perhaps George expected, when he entered Mr.
Higgs's apartment, to find that gentleman commis-
sioned to give him some message of compromise or
conciliation from his father; perhaps his haughty and
cold demeanor was adopted as a sign of his spirit and
resolution: but if so, his fierceness was met by a chill-
ing coolness and indifference on the attorney's part,
that rendered swaggering absurd. He pretended to be
writing at a paper, when the Captain entered. "Pray,
sit down, sir," said he, "and I will attend to your lit-
tle affair in a moment. Mr. Poe, get the release papers,
if you please;" and then he fell to writing again.
Poe having produced those papers, his chief calcu-
lated the amount of two thousand pounds stock at the
rate of the day; and asked Captain Osborne whether
he would take the sum in a cheque upon the bankers,
or whether he should direct the latter to purchase
stock to that amount. "One of the late Mrs. Osborne's
trustees is out of town," he said indifferently, "but my
client wishes to meet your wishes, and have done with
the business as quick as possible.'
;
"Give me a cheque, sir," said the Captain very surlily.
"Damn the shillings and halfpence, sir," he added, as
the lawyer was making out the amount of the draft
and, flattering himself that by this stroke of magna-
nimity he had put the old quiz to the blush, he stalked
out of the office with the paper in his pocket.
"That chap will be in gaol in two years," Mr. Higgs
said to Mr. Poe.
""
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
375
رو
"Won't O. come round, sir, don't you think?'
"Won't the monument come round," Mr. Higgs
replied.
"He's going it pretty fast," said the clerk. "He's
only married a week, and I saw him and some other
military chaps handing Mrs. Highflyer to her carriage.
after the play." And then another case was called,
and Mr. George Osborne thenceforth dismissed from
these worthy gentlemen's memory.
The draft was upon our friends Hulker and Bullock
of Lombard Street, to whose house, still thinking he
was doing business, George bent his way, and from
whom he received his money. Frederick Bullock,
Esq., whose yellow face was over a ledger, at which
sat a demure clerk, happened to be in the banking-
room when George entered. His yellow face turned
to a more deadly color when he saw the Captain, and
he slunk back guiltily into the inmost parlor. George
was too busy gloating over the money (for he had
never had such a sum before), to mark the counte-
nance or flight of the cadaverous suitor of his sister.
Fred Bullock told old Osborne of his son's appear-
ance and conduct. "He came in as bold as brass,”
said Frederick. "He has drawn out every shilling.
How long will a few hundred pounds last such a chap
as that?" Osborne swore with a great oath that he
little cared when or how soon he spent it. Fred dined
every day in Russell Square now. But altogether,
George was highly pleased with his day's business.
All his own baggage and outfit was put into a state
of speedy preparation, and he paid Amelia's purchases
with cheques on his agents, and with the splendor
of a lord.
CHAPTER XXVII.
IN WHICH AMELIA JOINS HER REGIMENT.
WHEN Jos's fine carriage drove up to the inn door
at Chatham, the first face which Amelia recognized
was the friendly countenance of Captain Dobbin, who
had been pacing the street for an hour past in expec-
tation of his friends' arrival. The Captain, with
shells on his frock-coat, and a crimson sash and sabre,
presented a military appearance, which made Jos quite
proud to be able to claim such an acquaintance, and
the stout civilian hailed him with a cordiality very
different from the reception which Jos vouchsafed to
his friend in Brighton and Bond Street.
Along with the Captain was Ensign Stubble; who,
as the barouche neared the inn, burst out with an ex-
clamation of "By Jove! what a pretty girl;" highly
applauding Osborne's choice. Indeed, Amelia dressed
in her wedding-pelisse and pink ribbons, with a flush
in her face, occasioned by rapid travel through the
open air, looked so fresh and pretty, as fully to justify
the Ensign's compliment. Dobbin liked him for
making it. As he stepped forward to help the lady
out of the carriage, Stubble saw what a pretty little
hand she gave him, and what a sweet pretty little
foot came tripping down the step. He blushed pro-
fusely, and made the very best bow of which he was
capable; to which Amelia, seeing the number of the
th regiment embroidered on the Ensign's cap, re-
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
377
plied with a blushing smile, and a curtsy on her part;
which finished the young Ensign on the spot. Dobbin
took most kindly to Mr. Stubble from that day, and
encouraged him to talk about Amelia in their private.
walks, and at each other's quarters. It became the
fashion, indeed, among all the honest young fellows
of the th to adore and admire Mrs. Osborne. Her
simple artless behavior, and modest kindness of de-
meanor, won all their unsophisticated hearts; all
which simplicity and sweetness are quite impossible
to describe in print. But who has not beheld these
among women, and recognized the presence of all
sorts of qualities in them, even though they say
no more to you than that they are engaged to dance
the next quadrille, or that it is very hot weather?
George, always the champion of his regiment, rose
immensely in the opinion of the youth of the corps,
by his gallantry in marrying this portionless young
creature, and by his choice of such a pretty, kind
partner.
In the sitting-room which was awaiting the trav-
ellers, Amelia, to her surprise, found a letter addressed.
to Mrs. Captain Osborne. It was a triangular billet,
on pink paper, and sealed with a dove and an olive
branch, and a profusion of light-blue sealing-wax, and
it was written in a very large, though undecided female
hand.
"It's Peggy O'Dowd's fist," said George, laughing.
"I know it by the kisses on the seal." And in fact,
it was a note from Mrs. Major O'Dowd, requesting the
pleasure of Mrs. Osborne's company that very evening
to a small friendly party. "You must go," George
said. "You will make acquaintance with the regiment
there. O'Dowd goes in command of the regiment, and
Peggy goes in command of O'Dowd."
378
VANITY FAIR.
But they had not been for many minutes in the en-
joyment of Mrs. O'Dowd's letter, when the door was
flung open, and a stout jolly lady, in a riding-habit,
followed by a couple of officers of Ours, entered the
room.
"Sure, I couldn't stop till tay-time. Present me,
Garge, my dear fellow, to your lady. Madam, I'm
deloighted to see ye; and to present to you me hus-
band, Meejor O'Dowd;" and with this, the jolly lady
in the riding-habit grasped Amelia's hand very warmly,
and the latter knew at once that the lady was before
her whom her husband had so often laughed at.
You've often heard of me from that husband of
yours," said the lady, with great vivacity.
"You've often heard of her," echoed her husband,
the Major.
Amelia answered, smiling, "that she had."
"And small good he's told you of me," Mrs.
O'Dowd replied; adding that "George was a wicked
divvle."
"That I'll go bail for," said the Major, trying to
look knowing, at which George laughed; and Mrs.
O'Dowd, with a tap of her whip, told the Major to be
quiet; and then requested to be presented in form to
Mrs. Captain Osborne.
"This, my dear," said George with great gravity,
"is my very good, kind, and excellent friend, Auralia
Margaretta, otherwise called Peggy."
"Faith, you 're right," interposed the Major.
"Otherwise called Peggy, lady of Major Michael
O'Dowd, of our regiment, and daughter of Fitzjurld
Ber'sford de Burgo Malony of Glenmalony, County
Kildare."
"And Muryan Squeer, Doblin," said the lady with
calm superiority.
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
379
"And Muryan Square, sure enough," the Major
whispered.
""T was there ye coorted me, Meejor dear," the
lady said; and the Major assented to this as to
every other proposition which was made generally
in company.
Major O'Dowd, who had served his sovereign in
every quarter of the world, and had paid for every
step in his profession by some more than equivalent
act of daring and gallantry, was the most modest,
silent, sheep-faced and meek of little men, and as
obedient to his wife as if he had been her tay-boy.
At the mess-table he sat silently, and drank a great
deal. When full of liquor, he reeled silently home.
When he spoke, it was to agree with everybody on
every conceivable point; and he passed through life
in perfect ease and good-humor. The hottest suns of
India never heated his temper; and the Walcheren
ague never shook it. He walked up to a battery with
just as much indifference as to a dinner-table; had
dined on horse-flesh and turtle with equal relish and
appetite; and had an old mother, Mrs. O'Dowd of
O'Dowdstown indeed, whom he had never disobeyed
but when he ran away and enlisted, and when he
persisted in marrying that odious Peggy Malony.
Peggy was one of five sisters, and eleven children
of the noble house of Glenmalony; but her husband,
though her own cousin, was of the mother's side, and
so had not the inestimable advantage of being allied
to the Malonys, whom she believed to be the most
famous family in the world. Having tried nine
seasons at Dublin and two at Bath and Cheltenham,
and not finding a partner for life, Miss Malony or-
dered her cousin Mick to marry her when she was
about thirty-three years of age; and the honest fellow
380
VANITY FAIR.
obeying, carried her off to the West Indies, to preside
over the ladies of the th regiment, into which he
had just exchanged.
Before Mrs. O'Dowd was half an hour in Amelia's
(or indeed in anybody else's) company, this amiable
lady told all her birth and pedigree to her new friend.
"My dear," said she, good-naturedly, "it was my
intention that Garge should be a brother of my own,
and my sister Glorvina would have suited him en-
tirely. But as bygones are bygones, and he was
engaged to yourself, why, I'm determined to take
you as a sister instead, and to look upon you as such,
and to love you as one of the family. Faith you've
got such a nice good-natured face and way widg you,
that I'm sure we'll agree; and that you'll be an
addition to our family anyway."
"Deed and she will," said O'Dowd, with an ap
proving air, and Amelia felt herself not a little
amused and grateful to be thus suddenly introduced
to so large a party of relations.
"We're all good fellows here," the Major's lady
continued. "There's not a regiment in the service.
where you'll find a more united society nor a more
agreeable mess-room. There's no quarrelling, bicker-
ing, slandthering, nor small talk amongst us.
all love each other."
We
66
Especially Mrs. Magenis," said George, laughing.
"Mrs. Captain Magenis and me has made up,
though her treatment of me would bring me gray
hairs with sorrow to the grave."
"And you with such a beautiful front of black,
Peggy, my dear," the Major cried.
"Hould your tongue, Mick, you booby. Them
husbands are always in the way, Mrs. Osborne, my
dear; and as for my Mick, I often tell him he should
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
381
never open his mouth but to give the word of com-
mand, or to put meat and drink into it. I'll tell you
about the regiment, and warn you when we 're alone.
Introduce me to your brother now; sure he's a
mighty fine man, and reminds me of me cousin, Dan
Malony (Malony of Ballymalony, my dear, you know,
who mar'ied Ophalia Scully, of Oystherstown, own
cousin to Lord Poldoody). Mr. Sedley, sir, I'm de-
loighted to be made known to ye. I suppose you'll
dine at the mess to-day. (Mind that divvle of a
docther, Mick, and whatever ye du, keep yourself
sober for me party this evening.) "
"It's the 150th gives us a farewell dinner, my
love," interposed the Major, "but we'll easy get
a card for Mr. Sedley."
"Run Simple (Ensign Simple, of Ours, my dear
Amelia. I forgot to introjuice him to ye). Run
in a hurry, with Mrs. Major O'Dowd's compliments
to Colonel Tavish, and Captain Osborne has brought
his brothernlaw down, and will bring him to the
150th mess at five o'clock sharp-when you and I,
my dear, will take a snack here, if you like." Before
Mrs. O'Dowd's speech was concluded, the young
Ensign was trotting down stairs on his commission.
"Obedience is the soul of the army. We will go
to our duty while Mrs. O'Dowd will stay and
enlighten you, Emmy," Captain Osborne said; and
the two gentlemen, taking each a wing of the Major,
walked out with that officer, grinning at each other
over his head.
And, now having her new friend to herself, the
impetuous Mrs. O'Dowd proceeded to pour out such
a quantity of information as no poor little woman's
memory could ever tax itself to bear. She told
Amelia a thousand particulars relative to the very
382
VANITY FAIR.
numerous family of which the amazed young lady
found herself a member. "Mrs. Heavytop, the
Colonel's wife, died in Jamaica of the yellow faver
and a broken heart comboined, for the horrud old
Colonel, with a head as bald as a cannon-ball, was
making sheep's eyes at a half-caste girl there. Mrs.
Magenis, though without education, was a good
woman, but she had the divvle's tongue, and would
cheat her own mother at whist. Mrs. Captain Kirk
must turn up her lobster eyes forsooth at the idea
of an honest round game (wherein me fawther, as
pious a man as ever went to church, me uncle Dane
Malony, and our cousin the Bishop, took a hand at
loo, or whist, every night of their lives). Nayther
of 'em's goin' with the regiment this time," Mrs.
O'Dowd added. “Fanny Magenis stops with her
mother, who sells small coal and potatoes, most
likely, in Islington-town, hard by London, though
she's always bragging of her father's ships, and
pointing them out to us as they go up the river:
and Mrs. Kirk and her children will stop here in
Bethesda Place, to be nigh to her favorite preacher,
Dr. Ramshorn. Mrs. Bunny's in an interesting
situation faith, and she always is, then and has
given the Lieutenant seven already. And Ensign
Posky's wife, who joined two months before you,
my dear, has quarl'd with Tom Posky a score of
times, till you can hear 'm all over the bar'ck (they
say they're come to broken pleets, and Tom never
accounted for his black oi), and she 'll go back to her
mother, who keeps a ladies' siminary at Richmond,
- bad luck to her for running away from it!
Where did ye get your finishing, my dear? I had
moin, and no expince spared, at Madame Flanahan's,
at Ilyssus Grove, Booterstown, near Dublin, wid a
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
383
Marchioness to teach us the true Parisian pronun-
ciation, and a retired Meejor-General of the French
service to put us through the exercise."
Of this incongruous family our astonished Amelia
found herself all of a sudden a member: with Mrs.
O'Dowd as an elder sister. She was presented to
her other female relations at tea-time, on whom, as
she was quiet, good-natured, and not too handsome,
she made rather an agreeable impression until the
arrival of the gentlemen from the mess of the 150th,
who all admired her so, that her sisters began, of
course, to find fault with her.
"I hope Osborne has sown his wild oats," said
Mrs. Magenis to Mrs. Bunny. "If a reformed rake
makes a good husband, sure it's she will have the
fine chance with Garge," Mrs. O'Dowd remarked to
Posky, who had lost her position as bride in the
regiment, and was quite angry with the usurper.
And as for Mrs. Kirk that disciple of Dr. Ramshorn
put one or two leading professional questions to
Amelia, to see whether she was awakened, whether
she was a professing Christian and so forth, and
finding from the simplicity of Mrs. Osborne's replies
that she was yet in utter darkness, put into her
hands three little penny books with pictures, viz.,
the "
Howling Wilderness," the "Washerwoman of
Wandsworth Common," and the British Soldier's
best Bayonet," which, bent upon awakening her
before she slept, Mrs. Kirk begged Amelia to read
that night ere she went to bed.
But all the men, like good fellows as they were,
rallied round their comrade's pretty wife, and paid
her their court with soldierly gallantry. She had
a little triumph, which flushed her spirits and made
her eyes sparkle. George was proud of her popular
66
384
VANITY FAIR.
ity, and pleased with the manner (which was very
gay and graceful, though naïve and a little timid)
with which she received the gentlemen's attentions,
and answered their compliments. And he in his
uniform how much handsomer he was than any
man in the room! She felt that he was affectionately
watching her, and glowed with pleasure at his kind-
ness. "I will make all his friends welcome," she
resolved in her heart. "I will love all as I love
him. I will always try and be gay and good-humored
and make his home happy."
M
The regiment indeed adopted her with acclamation.
The Captains approved, the Lieutenants applauded,
the Ensigns admired. Old Cutler, the Doctor, made
one or two jokes, which being professional, need not
be repeated; and Cackle, the Assistant M.D. of Edin-
burgh, condescended to examine her upon leeterature,
and tried her with his three best French quotations.
Young Stubble went about from man to man whisper-
ing, "Jove, is n't she a pretty gal?" and never took
his eyes off her except when the negus came in.
As for Captain Dobbin, he never so much as spoke
to her during the whole evening. But he and Captain.
Porter of the 150th took home Jos to the hotel, who
was in a very maudlin state, and had told his tiger-
hunt story with great effect, both at the mess-table
and at the soirée, to Mrs. O'Dowd in her turban and
bird of paradise. Having put the Collector into the
hands of his servant, Dobbin loitered about, smoking
his cigar before the inn door. George had mean-
while very carefully shawled his wife, and brought
her away from Mrs. O'Dowd's after a general hand-
shaking from the young officers, who accompanied
her to the fly, and cheered that vehicle as it drove
off. So Amelia gave Dobbin her little hand as she
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
385
got out of the carriage, and rebuked him smilingly
for not having taken any notice of her all night.
The Captain continued that deleterious amusement
of smoking, long after the inn and the street were
gone to bed.
He watched the lights vanish from
George's sitting-room windows, and shine out in the
bedroom close at hand. It was almost morning when
he returned to his own quarters. He could hear the
cheering from the ships in the river, where the trans-
ports were already taking in their cargoes preparatory
to dropping down the Thames.
VOL. I. 25
M
CHAPTER XXVIII.
IN WHICH AMELIA INVADES THE LOW COUNTRIES.
THE regiment with its officers was to be trans-
ported in ships provided by His Majesty's govern-
ment for the occasion; and in two days after the
festive assembly at Mrs. O'Dowd's apartments, in the
midst of cheering from all the East India ships in
the river, and the military on shore, the band playing
"God save the King," the officers waving their hats,
and the crews hurrahing gallantly, the transports
went down the river and proceeded under convoy to
Ostend. Meanwhile the gallant Jos had agreed to
escort his sister and the Major's wife, the bulk of
whose goods and chattels, including the famous bird
of paradise and turban, were with the regimental bag-
gage; so that our two heroines drove pretty much
unencumbered to Ramsgate, where there were plenty
of packets plying, in one of which they had a speedy
passage to Ostend.
That period of Jos's life which now ensued was so
full of incident, that it served him for conversation
for many years after, and even the tiger-hunt story
was put aside for more stirring narratives which he
had to tell about the great campaign of Waterloo. As
soon as he had agreed to escort his sister abroad, it
was remarked that he ceased shaving his upper lip.
At Chatham he followed the parades and drills with
great assiduity. He listened with the utmost atten-
tion to the conversation of his brother officers (as he
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
387
called them in after days sometimes), and learned as
many military names as he could. In these studies
the excellent Mrs. O'Dowd was of great assistance to
him; and on the day finally when they embarked on
board the " Lovely Rose," which was to carry them to
their destination, he made his appearance in a braided
frock-coat and duck trousers, with a foraging cap
ornamented with a smart gold band. Having his
carriage with him, and informing everybody on board
confidentially that he was going to join the Duke of
Wellington's army, folks mistook him for a great
personage, a commissary-general, or a government-
courier at the very least.
He suffered hugely on the voyage, during which
the ladies were likewise prostrate; but Amelia was
brought to life again as the packet made Ostend, by
the sight of the transports conveying her regiment,
which entered the harbor almost at the same time with
the "Lovely Rose." Jos went in a collapsed state
to an inn, while Captain Dobbin escorted the ladies,
and then busied himself in freeing Jos's carriage and
luggage from the ship and the custom-house, for Mr.
Jos was at present without a servant, Osborne's man
and his own pampered menial having conspired to-
gether at Chatham, and refused point-blank to cross.
the water. This revolt, which came very suddenly,
and on the last day, so alarmed Mr. Sedley, junior,
that he was on the point of giving up the expedition,
but Captain Dobbin (who made himself immensely
officious in the business, Jos said) rated him and
laughed at him soundly: the mustachios were grown
in advance, and Jos finally was persuaded to embark.
In place of the well-bred and well-fed London domes-
tics, who could only speak English, Dobbin procured
for Jos's party a swarthy little Belgian servant who
388
VANITY FAIR.
could speak no language at all; but who, by his
bustling behavior, and by invariably addressing Mr.
Sedley as "My lord," speedily acquired that gentle-
man's favor. Times are altered at Ostend now
the Britons who go thither, very few look like lords,
or act like those members of our hereditary aristoc-
racy. They seem for the most part shabby in attire,
dingy of linen, lovers of billiards and brandy, and
cigars and greasy ordinaries.
of
But it may be said as a rule, that every English-
man in the Duke of Wellington's army paid his way.
The remembrance of such a fact surely becomes a na-
tion of shopkeepers. It was a blessing for a com-
merce-loving country to be overrun by such an army
of customers and to have such creditable warriors to
feed. And the country which they came to protect is
not military. For a long period of history they have
let other people fight there. When the present
writer went to survey with eagle glance the field of
Waterloo, we asked the conductor of the diligence, a
portly warlike-looking veteran, whether he had been
at the battle. "Pas si bête"—such an answer and
sentiment as no Frenchman would own to — was his
reply. But on the other hand, the postilion who
drove us was a Viscount, a son of some bankrupt Im-
perial General, who accepted a pennyworth of beer on
the road. The moral is surely a good one.
This flat, flourishing, easy country never could
have looked more rich and prosperous than in that
opening summer of 1815, when its green fields and
quiet cities were enlivened by multiplied red-coats:
when its wide chaussées swarmed with brilliant En-
glish equipages: when its great canal-boats, gliding
by rich pastures and pleasant quaint old villages, by
all
old châteaux lying amongst old trees, were
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
389
crowded with well-to-do English travellers: when the
soldier who drank at the village inn, not only drank,
but paid his score; and Donald, the Highlander,¹ bil-
leted in the Flemish farm-house, rocked the baby's
cradle, while Jean and Jeannette were out getting in
the hay. As our painters are bent on military sub-
jects just now, I throw out this as a good subject for
the pencil, to illustrate the principle of an honest En-
glish war.
All looked as brilliant and harmless as a
Hyde Park review. Meanwhile, Napoleon screened
behind his curtain of frontier fortresses, was prepar-
ing for the outbreak which was to drive all these or-
derly people into fury and blood; and lay so many of
them low.
Everybody had such a perfect feeling of confidence
in the leader (for the resolute faith which the Duke
of Wellington had inspired in the whole English
nation was as intense, as that more frantic enthusi-
asm with which at one time the French regarded Na-
poleon), the country seemed in so perfect a state of
orderly defence, and the help at hand in case of need
so near and overwhelming, that alarm was unknown,
and our travellers, among whom two were naturally
of a very timid sort, were, like all the other multi-
plied English tourists, entirely at ease. The famous
regiment, with so many of whose officers we have
made acquaintance, was drafted in canal-boats to
Bruges and Ghent, thence to march to Brussels. Jos
accompanied the ladies in the public boats; the which
all old travellers in Flanders must remember for the
luxury and accommodation they afforded. So pro-
digiously good was the eating and drinking on board
these sluggish but most comfortable vessels, that
1 This incident is mentioned in Mr. Gleig's "Story of the
Battle of Waterloo."
390
VANITY FAIR.
there are legends extant of an English traveller, who,
coming to Belgium for a week, and travelling in one
of these boats, was so delighted with the fare there
that he went backwards and forwards from Ghent to
Bruges perpetually until the railroads were invented,
when he drowned himself on the last trip of the pas-
sage-boat. Jos's death was not to be of this sort, but
his comfort was exceeding, and Mrs. O'Dowd insisted
that he only wanted her sister Glorvina to make his
happiness complete. He sat on the roof of the cabin.
all day drinking Flemish beer, shouting for Isidor,
his servant, and talking gallantly to the ladies.
66
His courage was prodigious. Boney attack us!”
he cried. 66
My dear creature, my poor Emmy, don't
be frightened. There's no danger. The allies will
be in Paris in two months, I tell you; when I'll take
you to dine in the Palais Royal, by Jove! There are
three hundred thousand Rooshians, I tell you, now
entering France by Mayence and the Rhine- three
hundred thousand under Wittgenstein and Barclay de
Tolly, my poor love. You don't know military af-
fairs, my dear. I do, and I tell you there's no
infantry in France can stand against Rooshian infan-
try, and no general of Boney's that 's fit to hold a can-
dle to Wittgenstein. Then there are the Austrians,
they are five hundred thousand if a man, and they are
within ten marches of the frontier by this time, under
Schwartzenberg and Prince Charles. Then there are
the Prooshians under the gallant Prince Marshal.
Show me a cavalry chief like him now that Murat is
gone. Hey, Mrs. O'Dowd? Do you think our little
girl here need be afraid? Is there any cause for
fear, Isidor? Hey, sir? Get some more beer."
Mrs. O'Dowd said that her "Glorvina was not afraid
of any man alive, let alone a Frenchman," and tossed
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
391
off a glass of beer with a wink which expressed her
liking for the beverage.
Having frequently been in presence of the enemy,
or, in other words, faced the ladies at Cheltenham and
Bath, our friend, the Collector, had lost a great deal of
his pristine timidity, and was now, especially when
fortified with liquor, as talkative as might be. He
was rather a favorite with the regiment, treating the
young officers with sumptuosity, and amusing them by
his military airs. And as there is one well-known regi-
ment of the army which travels with a goat heading
the column, whilst another is led by a deer, George
said with respect to his brother-in-law, that his regi-
ment marched with an elephant.
Since Amelia's introduction to the regiment, George
began to be rather ashamed of some of the company
to which he had been forced to present her; and de-
termined, as he told Dobbin (with what satisfaction to
the latter it need not be said), to exchange into some
better regiment soon, and to get his wife away from
those damned vulgar women. But this vulgarity of
being ashamed of one's society is much more common
among men than women (except very great ladies of
fashion, who, to be sure, indulge in it); and Mrs.
Amelia, a natural and unaffected person, had none of
that artificial shamefacedness which her husband mis-
took for delicacy on his own part. Thus Mrs. O'Dowd
had a cock's plume in her hat, and a very large “re-
payther" on her stomach, which she used to ring on
all occasions, narrating how it had been presented to
her by her fawther, as she stipt into the car'ge after
her mar'ge; and these ornaments, with other outward
peculiarities of the Major's wife, gave excruciating
agonies to Captain Osborne, when his wife and the
Major's came in contact; whereas Amelia was only
392
VANITY FAIR.
amused by the honest lady's eccentricities, and not in
the least ashamed of her company.
As they made that well-known journey, which almost
every Englishman of middle rank has travelled since,
there might have been more instructive, but few more
entertaining, companions than Mrs. Major O'Dowd.
"Talk about kenal-boats, my dear! Ye should see
the kenal-boats between Dublin and Ballinasloe. It's
there the rapid travelling is; and the beautiful cattle.
Sure me fawther got a goold medal (and his Excellency
himself eat a slice of it, and said never was finer mate
in his loif) for a four-year-old heifer, the like of which
ye never saw in this country any day." And Jos
owned with a sigh, "that for good streaky beef, really
mingled with fat and lean, there was no country like
England."
66
Except Ireland, where all your best mate comes
from," said the Major's lady; proceeding, as is not
unusual with patriots of her nation, to make compari-
sons greatly in favor of her own country. The idea of
comparing the market at Bruges with those of Dublin,
although she had suggested it herself, caused immense
scorn and derision on her part. "I'll thank ye tell
me what they mean by that old gazabo on the top of
the market-place," said she, in a burst of ridicule fit to
have brought the old tower down. The place was full
of English soldiery as they passed. English bugles
woke them in the morning; at nightfall they went to
bed to the note of the British fife and drum: all the
country and Europe was in arms, and the greatest
event of history pending: and honest Peggy O'Dowd,
whom it concerned as well as another, went on prat-
tling about Ballinafad, and the horses in the stables at
Glenmalony, and the clar't drunk there; and Jos
Sedley interposed about curry and rice at Dumdum;
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
393
and Amelia thought about her husband, and how best
she should show her love for him: as if these were the
great topics of the world.
Those who like to lay down the History-book, and
to speculate upon what might have happened in the
world, but for the fatal occurrence of what actually
did take place (a most puzzling, amusing, ingenious,
and profitable kind of meditation), have no doubt often
thought to themselves what a specially bad time Napo-
leon took to come back from Elba, and to let loose his
eagle from Gulf San Juan to Notre Dame. The histo-
rians on our side tell us that the armies of the allied
powers were all providentially on a war-footing, and
ready to bear down at a moment's notice upon the
Elban Emperor. The august jobbers assembled at
Vienna, and carving out the kingdoms of Europe ac-
cording to their wisdom, had such causes of quarrel
among themselves as might have set the armies which
had overcome Napoleon to fight against each other, but
for the return of the object of unanimous hatred and
fear. This monarch had an army in full force because
he had jobbed to himself Poland, and was determined
to keep it another had robbed half Saxony, and was
bent upon maintaining his acquisition: Italy was the
object of a third's solicitude. Each was protesting
against the rapacity of the other; and could the Cor-
sican but have waited in prison until all these parties
were by the ears, he might have returned and reigned
unmolested. But what would have become of our
story and all our friends, then? If all the drops in it
were dried up, what would become of the sea?
In the meanwhile the business of life and living,
and the pursuits of pleasure, especially, went on as if
no end were to be expected to them, and no enemy in
394
VANITY FAIR.
front. When our travellers arrived at Brussels, in
which their regiment was quartered, a great piece of
good fortune, as all said, they found themselves in one
of the gayest and most brilliant little capitals in
Europe, and where all the Vanity Fair booths were
laid out with the most tempting liveliness and splen-
dor. Gambling was here in profusion, and dancing in
plenty feasting was there to fill with delight that
great gourmand of a Jos: there was a theatre where a
miraculous Catalani was delighting all hearers: beau-
tiful rides, all enlivened with martial splendor; a rare
old city, with strange costumes and wonderful archi-
tecture, to delight the eyes of little Amelia, who had
never before seen a foreign country, and fill her with
charming surprises: so that now and for a few weeks'
space in a fine handsome lodging, whereof the expenses
were borne by Jos and Osborne, who was flush of
money and full of kind attentions to his wife-for
about a fortnight, I say, during which her honeymoon
ended, Mrs. Amelia was as pleased and happy as any
little bride out of England.
Every day during this happy time there was novelty
and amusement for all parties. There was a church
to see, or a picture-gallery there was a ride, or an
opera. The bands of the regiments were making
music at all hours. The greatest folks of England
walked in the Park-there was a perpetual military
festival. George, taking out his wife to a new jaunt
or junket every night, was quite pleased with himself
as usual, and swore he was becoming quite a domestic
character. And a jaunt or a junket with him!
it not enough to set this little heart beating with joy?
Her letters home to her mother were filled with delight
and gratitude at this season. Her husband bade her
buy laces, millinery, jewels, and gimcracks of all sorts.
Was
K
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
395
Oh, he was the kindest, best, and most generous of
men!
The sight of the very great company of lords and
ladies and fashionable persons who thronged the town,
and appeared in every public place, filled George's
truly British soul with intense delight. They flung
off that happy frigidity and insolence of demeanor
which occasionally characterizes the great at home,
and appearing in numberless public places, conde-
scended to mingle with the rest of the company whom
they met there. One night at a party given by the
General of the division to which George's regiment
belonged, he had the honor of dancing with Lady
Blanche Thistlewood, Lord Bareacres's daughter; he
bustled for ices and refreshments for the two noble
ladies; he pushed and squeezed for Lady Bareacres's
carriage; he bragged about the Countess when he got.
home, in a way which his own father could not have
surpassed. He called upon the ladies the next day;
he rode by their side in the Park; he asked their
party to a great dinner at a restaurateur's, and was
quite wild with exultation when they agreed to come.
Old Bareacres, who had not much pride and a large
appetite, would go for a dinner anywhere.
"I hope there will be no women besides our own
party," Lady Bareacres said, after reflecting upon the
invitation which had been made, and accepted with
too much precipitancy.
“Gracious Heaven, Mamma you don't suppose the
man would bring his wife!" shrieked Lady Blanche,
who had been languishing in George's arms in the
newly-imported waltz for hours the night before.
"The men are bearable, but their women
"Wife, just married, dev'lish pretty woman, I
hear," the old Earl said.
99
396
VANITY FAIR.
"Well, my dear Blanche," said the mother, "I sup-
pose as Papa wants to go, we must go; but we need n't
know them in England, you know." And so, deter-
mined to cut their new acquaintance in Bond Street,
these great folks went to eat his dinner at Brussels,
and condescending to make him pay for their pleasure,
showed their dignity by making his wife uncomfort-
able, and carefully excluding her from the conver-
sation. This is a species of dignity in which the
high-bred British female reigns supreme. To watch
the behavior of a fine lady to other and humbler
women, is a very good sport for a philosophical fre-
quenter of Vanity Fair.
This festival, on which honest George spent a great
deal of money, was the very dismallest of all the
entertainments which Amelia had in her honeymoon.
She wrote the most piteous accounts of the feast home
to her mamma: how the Countess of Bareacres would
not answer when spoken to; how Lady Blanche stared
at her with her eye-glass; and what a rage Captain
Dobbin was in at their behavior; and how my lord,
as they came away from the feast, asked to see the
bill, and pronounced it a d bad dinner, and d
dear. But though Amelia told all these stories, and
wrote home regarding her guests' rudeness, and
her own discomfiture, old Mrs. Sedley was mightily
pleased nevertheless, and talked about Emmy's
friend, the Countess of Bareacres, with such assidu-
ity that the news how his son was entertaining
Peers and Peeresses actually came to Osborne's ears
in the City.
Those who know the present Lieutenant-General
Sir George Tufto, K. C. B., and have seen him, as
they may on most days in the season, padded and in
stays, strutting down Pall Mall with a rickety swag-

HOMEM
2000
MRS. O'DOWD AT THE FLOWER MARKET.
------
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
397
ger on his high-heeled lacquered boots, leering under
the bonnets of passers-by, or riding a showy chestnut,
and ogling broughams in the Parks those who
know the present Sir George Tufto would hardly
recognize the daring Peninsular and Waterloo offi-
cer. He has thick curling brown hair and black
eyebrows now, and his whiskers are of the deepest
purple. He was light-haired and bald in 1815, and
stouter in the person and in the limbs, which espe-
cially have shrunk very much of late. When he was
about seventy years of age (he is now nearly eighty),
his hair, which was very scarce and quite white,
suddenly grew thick, and brown, and curly, and his
whiskers and eyebrows took their present color. Ill-
natured people say that his chest is all wool, and that
his hair, because it never grows, is a wig. Tom
Tufto, with whose father he quarrelled ever so many
years ago, declares that Mademoiselle de Jaisey, of
the French theatre, pulled his grandpapa's hair off in
the green-room; but Tom is notoriously spiteful and
jealous; and the General's wig has nothing to do
with our story.
One day, as some of our friends of the -th were
sauntering in the flower-market of Brussels, having
been to see the Hôtel de Ville, which Mrs. Major
O'Dowd declared was not near so large or handsome
as her fawther's mansion of Glenmalony, an officer of
rank, with an orderly behind him, rode up to the mar-
ket, and descending from his horse, came amongst the
flowers, and selected the very finest bouquet which
money could buy. The beautiful bundle being tied
up in a paper, the officer remounted, giving the nose-
gay into the charge of his military groom, who carried
it with a grin, following his chief, who rode away in
great state and self-satisfaction.
398
VANITY FAIR.
"You should see the flowers at Glenmalony," Mrs.
O'Dowd was remarking. "Me fawther has three
Scotch gar'ners with nine helpers. We have an acre
of hot-houses, and pines as common as pays in the
sayson. Our greeps weighs six pounds every bunch
of 'em, and upon me honor and conscience I think our
magnolias is as big as taykettles."
Dobbin, who never
never used to "draw out" Mrs.
O'Dowd as that wicked Osborne delighted in doing
(much to Amelia's terror, who implored him to spare
her), fell back in the crowd, crowing and sputtering
until he reached a safe distance, when he exploded
amongst the astonished market-people with shrieks of
yelling laughter.
"Hwhat's that gawky guggling about?" said Mrs.
O'Dowd. "Is it his nose bleedn? He always used
to say
't was his nose bleedn, till he must have
pomped all the blood out of 'um. An't the magnolias
at Glenmalony as big as taykettles, O'Dowd?”
"Deed then they are, and bigger, Peggy," the
Major said, when the conversation was interrupted
in the manner stated by the arrival of the officer who
purchased the bouquet.
• Devilish fine horse, who is it?” George asked.
"You should see me brother Molloy Malony's
horse, Molasses, that won the cop at the Curragh,"
the Major's wife was exclaiming, and was continuing
the family history, when her husband interrupted her
by saying-
cav-
It's General Tufto, who commands the
alry division; " adding quietly, "he and I were both
shot in the same leg at Talavera.”
"Where you got your step," said George with a
laugh. "General Tufto! Then, my dear, the
Crawleys are come."
!
399
A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.
The
Amelia's heart fell, - she knew not why.
sun did not seem to shine so bright. The tall old
roofs and gables looked less picturesque all of a
sudden, though it was a brilliant sunset, and one
of the brightest and most beautiful days at the end
of May.
END OF VOL. 1.
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