Vanity Fair
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 reverie
was interrupted. But the Captain had no heart to go a-feasting 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 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 nature 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 window 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,
herring-boat, or bathing-machine that comes to, or quits, the shore,
&c., &c. But have we any leisure for a description 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 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 another. "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 prodigiously, and shooting death-glances at all the servant
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 fellow at billiards, and
at everything else, too. I wish 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," and 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 prevailing 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 Sedley's open carriage, with
its magnificent armorial bearings--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 fashion; 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. 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 honour!" 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
comfort 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
Rebecca and her husband. The recognition was immediate. 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 happened 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 careless about dear Amelia. It
was that made me angry: 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 acknowledging yourself to be in the wrong, there is no knowing,
my son, what good you may do. I knew once a gentleman and very worthy
practitioner in Vanity Fair, who used to do little wrongs to his
neighbours on purpose, and in order to apologise 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 relate to each other.
The marriages of either were discussed; 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 followed her to Brighton, where
they had emissaries continually planted at her door.
"I wish you could see some of Rawdon's friends who are always about our
door," Rebecca said, laughing. "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 greengrocer's opposite, and we could not get away until
Sunday. If Aunty does not relent, what shall we do?"
Rawdon, with roars of laughter, related a dozen amusing anecdotes of
his duns, and Rebecca's adroit 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 laboured 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 comfortably
and thoroughly in debt: how they deny themselves 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 dinners and wine with an audacity which no grandee in the
land could surpass. Long custom, a manly appearance, 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 sate 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 Rawdon's purse somewhat, and gave him the benefit of that
ready money for which the greatest spirits are sometimes at a
stand-still.
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 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 delayed 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 agitated 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.