Vanity Fair (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  And Rebecca, as we have said, wisely determined not to give way to unavailing sentimentality on her husband‘s departure. She waved him an adieu from the window, and stood there for a moment looking out after he was gone. The cathedral towers and the full gables of the quaint old houses were just beginning to blush in the sunrise. There had been no rest for her that night. She was still in her pretty ball-dress, her fair hair hanging somewhat out of curl on her neck, and the circles round her eyes dark with watching. ‘What a fright I seem,‘ she said, examining herself in the glass, ‘and how pale this pink makes one look!‘ So she divested herself of this pink raiment; in doing which a note fell out from her corsage, which she picked up with a smile, and locked into her dressing-box. And then she put her bouquet of the ball into a glass of water, and went to bed, and slept very comfortably.

  The town was quite quiet when she woke up at ten o‘clock, and partook of coffee, very requisite and comfortable after the exhaustion and grief of the morning‘s occurrences.

  This meal over, she resumed honest Rawdon‘s calculations of the night previous, and surveyed her position. Should the worst befall, all things considered, she was pretty well-to-do. There were her own trinkets and trousseau, in addition to those which her husband had left behind. Rawdon‘s generosity, when they were first married, has already been described and lauded. Besides these, and the little mare, the general, her slave and worshipper, had made her many very handsome presents, in the shape of cashmere shawls bought at the auction of a bankrupt French general‘s lady, and numerous tributes from the jewellers‘ shops, all of which betokened her admirer‘s taste and wealth. As for ‘tickers‘, as poor Rawdon called watches, her apartments were alive with their clicking. For, happening to mention one night that hers, which Rawdon had given to her, was of English workmanship, and went ill, on the very next morning there came to her a little bijou marked Leroy, with a chain and cover charmingly set with turquoises, and another signed Breguet,ij which was covered with pearls, and yet scarcely bigger than a half-crown. General Tufto had bought one, and Captain Osborne had gallantly presented the other. Mrs. Osborne had no watch, though, to do George justice, she might have had one for the asking, and the Honourable Mrs. Tufto in England had an old instrument of her mother‘s that might have served for the plate warming-pan which Rawdon talked about. If Messrs. Howell and James were to publish a list of the purchasers of all the trinkets which they sell, how surprised would some families be: and if all these ornaments went to gentlemen‘s lawful wives and daughters, what a profusion of jewellery there would be exhibited in the genteelest homes of Vanity Fair!

  Every calculation made of these valuables Mrs. Rebecca found, not without a pungent feeling of triumph and self-satisfaction, that should circumstances occur, she might reckon on six or seven hundred pounds at the very least, to begin the world with; and she passed the morning disposing, ordering, looking out, and locking up her properties in the most agreeable manner. Among the notes in Rawdon‘s pocket-book, was a draft for twenty pounds on Osborne‘s banker. This made her think about Mrs. Osborne. ‘I will go and get the draft cashed,‘ she said, ‘and pay a visit afterwards to poor little Emmy.‘ If this is a novel without a hero, at least let us lay claim to a heroine. No man in the British army which has marched away, not the great duke himself, could be more cool or collected in the presence of doubts and difficulties, than the indomitable little aide de camp‘s wife.

  And there was another of our acquaintances who was also to be left behind, a non-combatant, and whose emotions and behaviour we have therefore a right to know. This was our friend the ex-collector of Boggley Wollah, whose rest was broken, like other people‘s, by the sounding of the bugles in the early morning. Being a great sleeper, and fond of his bed, it is possible he would have snoozed on until his usual hour of rising in the forenoon, in spite of all the drums, bugles, and bagpipes in the British army, but for an interruption, which did not come from George Osborne, who shared Jos‘s quarters with him, and was as usual occupied too much with his own affairs, or with grief at parting with his wife, to think of taking leave of his slumbering brother-in-law—it was not George, we say, who interposed between Jos Sedley and sleep, but Captain Dobbin, who came and roused him up, insisting on shaking hands with him before his departure.

  ‘Very kind of you,‘ said Jos, yawning, and wishing the captain at the deuce.

  ‘I—I didn‘t like to go off without saying good-bye, you know,‘ Dobbin said, in a very incoherent manner; ‘because you know some of us mayn‘t come back again, and I like to see you all well, and—and that sort of thing, you know.‘

  ‘What do you mean?‘ Jos asked, rubbing his eyes. The captain did not in the least hear him or look at the stout gentleman in the nightcap, about whom he professed to have such a tender interest. The hypocrite was looking and listening with all his might in the direction of George‘s apartments, striding about the room, upsetting the chairs, beating the tattoo, biting his nails, and showing other signs of great inward emotion.

  Jos had always had rather a mean opinion of the captain, and now began to think his courage was somewhat equivocal. ‘What is it I can do for you, Dobbin?‘ he said, in a sarcastic tone.

  ‘I tell you what you can do,‘ the captain replied, coming up to the bed; ‘we march in a quarter of an hour, Sedley, and neither George nor I may ever come back. Mind you, you are not to stir from this town until you ascertain how things go. You are to stay here and watch over your sister, and comfort her, and see that no harm comes to her. If anything happens to George, remember she has no one but you in the world to look to. If it goes wrong with the army, you‘ll see her safe back to England; and you will promise me on your word that you will never desert her. I know you won‘t: as far as money goes, you were always free enough with that. Do you want any? I mean, have you enough gold to take you back to England in case of a misfortune?‘

  ‘Sir,‘ said Jos majestically, ‘when I want money, I know where to ask for it. And as for my sister, you needn‘t tell me how I ought to behave to her.‘

  ‘You speak like a man of spirit, Jos,‘ the other answered good-naturedly, ‘and I am glad that George can leave her in such good hands. So I may give him your word of honour, may I, that in case of extremity you will stand by her?‘

  ‘Of course, of course,‘ answered Mr. Jos, whose generosity in money matters Dobbin estimated quite correctly.

  ‘And you‘ll see her safe out of Brussels in the event of a defeat?‘

  ‘A defeat! D—it, sir, it‘s impossible. Don‘t try and frighten me,‘ the hero cried from his bed; and Dobbin‘s mind was thus perfectly set at ease now that Jos had spoken out so resolutely respecting his conduct to his sister. ‘At least,‘ thought the captain, ‘there will be a retreat secured for her in case the worst should ensue.‘

  If Captain Dobbin expected to get any personal comfort and satisfaction from having one more view of Amelia before the regiment marched away, his selfishness was punished just as such odious egotism deserved to be. The door of Jos‘s bedroom opened into the sitting-room which was common to the family party, and opposite this door was that of Amelia‘s chamber. The bugles had wakened everybody: there was no use in concealment now. George‘s servant was packing in this room: Osborne coming in and out of the contiguous bedroom, flinging to the man such articles as he thought fit to carry on the campaign. And presently Dobbin had the opportunity which his heart coveted, and he got sight of Amelia‘s face once more. But what a face it was! So white, so wild and despair-stricken, that the remembrance of it haunted him afterwards like a crime, and the sight smote him with inexpressible pangs of longing and pity.

  She was wrapped in a white morning dress, her hair falling on her shoulders, and her large eyes fixed and without light. By way of helping on the preparations for the departure, and showing that she too could be useful at a moment so critical, this poor soul had taken up a sash of George‘s from the drawers whereon it lay, and followed him to and fro with the sash in
her hand, looking on mutely as his packing proceeded. She came out and stood, leaning at the wall, holding this sash against her bosom, from which the heavy net of crimson dropped like a large stain of blood. Our gentle-hearted captain felt a guilty shock as he looked at her. ‘Good God,‘ thought he, ‘and is it grief like this I dared to pry into?‘ And there was no help: no means to soothe and comfort this helpless, speechless misery. He stood for a moment and looked at her, powerless and torn with pity, as a parent regards an infant in pain.

  At last, George took Emmy‘s hand, and led her back into the bedroom, from whence he came out alone. The parting had taken place in that moment, and he was gone.

  ‘Thank Heaven that is over,‘ George thought, bounding down the stair, his sword under his arm, and as he ran swiftly to the alarm-ground, where the regiment was mustered, and whither trooped men and officers hurrying from their billets, his pulse was throbbing and his cheeks flushed: the great game of war was going to be played, and he one of the players. What a fierce excitement of doubt, hope, and pleasure! What tremendous hazards of loss or gain! What were all the games of chance he had ever played compared to this one? Into all contests requiring athletic skill and courage, the young man, from his boyhood upwards, had flung himself with all his might. The champion of his school and his regiment, the bravos of his companions had followed him everywhere; from the boys‘ cricket-match to the garrison-races, he had won a hundred of triumphs; and wherever he went, women and men had admired and envied him. What qualities are there for which a man gets so speedy a return of applause, as those of bodily superiority, activity, and valour? Time out of mind strength and courage have been the theme of bards and romances; and from the story of Troy down to to-day, poetry has always chosen a soldier for a hero. I wonder is it because men are cowards in heart that they admire bravery so much, and place military valour so far beyond every other quality for reward and worship?

  So, at the sound of that stirring call to battle, George jumped away from the gentle arms in which he had been dallying; not without a feeling of shame (although his wife‘s hold on him had been but feeble), that he should have been detained there so long. The same feeling of eagerness and excitement was amongst all those friends of his of whom we have had occasional glimpses, from the stout senior major, who led the regiment into action, to little Stubble, the ensign, who was to bear its colours on that day.

  The sun was just rising as the march began—it was a gallant sight—the band led the column, playing the regimental march—then came the major in command, riding upon Pyramus, his stout charger—then marched the grenadiers, their captain at their head; in the centre were the colours, borne by the senior and junior ensigns—then George came marching at the head of his company. He looked up, and smiled at Amelia, and passed on; and even the sound of the music died away.

  CHAPTER XXXI

  In Which Jos Sedley Takes Care of His Sister

  Thus all the superior officers being summoned on duty elsewhere, Jos Sedley was left in command of the little colony at Brussels, with Amelia invalided, Isidor, his Belgian servant, and the bonne,ik who was maid-of-all-work for the establishment, as a garrison under him. Though he was disturbed in spirit, and his rest destroyed by Dobbin‘s interruption and the occurrences of the morning, Jos nevertheless remained for many hours in bed, wakeful and rolling about there until his usual hour of rising had arrived. The sun was high in the heavens, and our gallant friends of the—th miles on their march, before the civilian appeared in his flowered dressing-gown at breakfast.

  About George‘s absence, his brother-in-law was very easy in mind. Perhaps Jos was rather pleased in his heart that Osborne was gone, for during George‘s presence, the other had played but a very secondary part in the household, and Osborne did not scruple to show his contempt for the stout civilian. But Emmy had always been good and attentive to him. It was she who ministered to his comforts, who superintended the dishes that he liked, who walked or rode with him (as she had many, too many, opportunities of doing, for where was George?) and who interposed her sweet face between his anger and her husband‘s scorn. Many timid remonstrances had she uttered to George in behalf of her brother, but the latter in his trenchant way cut these entreaties short. ‘I‘m an honest man,‘ he said, ‘and if I have a feeling I show it, as an honest man will. How the deuce, my dear, would you have me behave respectfully to such a fool as your brother?‘ So Jos was pleased with George‘s absence. His plain hat and gloves on a sideboard, and the idea that the owner was away, caused Jos I don‘t know what secret thrill of pleasure. ‘He won‘t be troubling me this morning,‘ Jos thought, ‘with his dandified airs and his impudence.‘

  ‘Put the captain‘s hat into the ante-room,‘ he said to Isidor, the servant.

  ‘Perhaps he won‘t want it again,‘ replied the lackey, looking knowingly at his master. He hated George too, whose insolence towards him was quite of the English sort.

  ‘And ask if madam is coming to breakfast,‘ Mr. Sedley said with great majesty, ashamed to enter with a servant upon the subject of his dislike for George. The truth is, he had abused his brother to the valet a score of times before.

  Alas! madam could not come to breakfast, and cut the tartinesil that Mr. Jos liked. Madam was a great deal too ill, and had been in a frightful state ever since her husband‘s departure, so her bonne said. Jos showed his sympathy, by pouring her out a large cup of tea. It was his way of exhibiting kindness: and he improved on this; he not only sent her breakfast, but he bethought him what delicacies she would most like for dinner.

  Isidor, the valet, had looked on very sulkily, while Osborne‘s servant was disposing of his master‘s baggage previous to the captain‘s departure: for in the first place he hated Mr. Osborne, whose conduct to him, and to all inferiors, was generally overbearing (nor does the continental domestic like to be treated with insolence as our own better-tempered servants do): and secondly, he was angry that so many valuables should be removed from under his hands, to fall into other people‘s possession when the English discomfiture should arrive. Of this defeat he and a vast number of other persons in Brussels and Belgium did not make the slightest doubt. The almost universal belief was, that the emperor would divide the Prussian and English armies, annihilate one after the other, and march into Brussels before three days were over: when all the movables of his present masters, who would be killed, or fugitives, or prisoners, would lawfully become the property of Monsieur Isidor.

  As he helped Jos through his toilsome and complicated daily toilette, this faithful servant would calculate what he should do with the very articles with which he was decorating his master‘s person. He would make a present of the silver essence-bottles and toilette knicknacks to a young lady of whom he was fond; and keep the English cutlery and the large ruby pin for himself. It would look very smart upon one of the fine frilled shirts, which, with the gold-laced cap and the frogged frock coat, that might easily be cut down to suit his shape, and the captain‘s gold-headed cane, and the great double ring with the rubies, which he would have made into a pair of beautiful ear-rings, he calculated would make a perfect Adonis of himself, and render Mademoiselle Reine an easy prey. ‘How those sleeve-buttons will suit me,‘ thought he, as he fixed a pair on the fat pudgy wrists of Mr. Sedley. ‘I long for sleeve-buttons; and the captain‘s boots with brass spurs, in the next room, corbleu,im what an effect they will make in the Allée Verte!‘ So while Monsieur Isidor with bodily fingers was holding on to his master‘s nose, and shaving the lower part of Jos‘s face, his imagination was rambling along the Green Avenue, dressed out in a frogged coat and lace, and in company with Mademoiselle Reine; he was loitering in spirit on the banks, and examining the barges sailing slowly under the cool shadows of the trees by the canal, or refreshing himself with a mug of Faroin at the bench of a beer-house on the road to Laeken.

  But Mr. Joseph Sedley, luckily for his own peace, no more knew what was passing in his domestic‘s mind than the respected reader and I suspect
what John or Mary, whose wages we pay, think of ourselves. What our servants think of us!—Did we know what our intimates and dear relations thought of us, we should live in a world that we should be glad to quit, and in a frame of mind and a constant terror, that would be perfectly unbearable. So Jos‘s man was marking his victim down, as you see one of Mr. Paynter‘s assistants in Leadenhall Street ornament an unconscious turtle with a placard on which is written, ‘Soup to-morrow.‘

  Amelia‘s attendant was much less selfishly disposed. Few dependants could come near that kind and gentle creature without paying their usual tribute of loyalty and affection to her sweet and affectionate nature. And it is a fact that Pauline, the cook, consoled her mistress more than anybody whom she saw on this wretched morning; for when she found how Amelia remained for hours, silent, motionless, and haggard, by the windows in which she had placed herself to watch the last bayonets of the column as it marched away, the honest girl took the lady‘s hand, and said, ‘Tenez, madame, est-ce qu‘il n‘est pas aussi à l‘armée, mon homme à moi?io with which she burst into tears, and Amelia falling into her arms, did likewise, and so each pitied and soothed the other.

  Several times during the forenoon Mr. Jos‘s Isidor went from his lodgings into the town, and to the gates of the hotels and lodging-houses round about the Pare, where the English were congregated, and there mingling with other valets, couriers, and lackeys, gathered such news as was abroad, and brought back bulletins for his master‘s information. Almost all these gentlemen were in heart partisans of the emperor, and had their opinions about the speedy end of the campaign. The emperor‘s proclamation from Avesnes had been distributed everywhere plentifully in Brussels. ‘Soldiers!‘ it said, ‘this is the anniversary of Marengo and Friedland, by which the destinies of Europe were twice decided. Then, as after Austerlitz, as after Wagram, we were too generous. We believed in the oaths and promises of princes whom we suffered to remain upon their thrones. Let us march once more to meet them. We and they, are we not still the same men? Soldiers! these same Prussians who are so arrogant to-day, were three to one against you at Jena, and six to one at Montmirail. Those among you who were prisoners in England can tell their comrades what frightful torments they suffered on board the English hulks. Madmen! a moment of prosperity has blinded them, and if they enter into France it will be to find a grave there!‘ But the partisans of the French prophesied a more speedy extermination of the Emperor‘s enemies than this; and it was agreed on all hands that Prussians and British would never return except as prisoners in the rear of the conquering army.