Vanity fair

Front matter

Class, J K ^^tS Book ^Ka

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F7

Contents

I. Chiswick Mall i

II. In whicli Miss Sharp and Miss Sedley prepare to open

the Campaign 9

Chapter I. Chiswick Mall

HILE 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 recognized 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 Jemima. " Sambo, the black servant, has just rung the bell ; and the coachman has a new red waistcoat."

''Have you completed all the necessary preparations in-

IPP cident to Miss Sedley's departure, Miss Jemima ?" asked Miss Pinkerton herself, that majestic lady ; the Semiramis of Hammersmith, the friend of Doctor Johnson, the correspondent of Mrs. Chapone herself.

" The girls were up at four this morning, packing her trunks, sister," replied Miss Jf,mima ; " we have mado her a bow-pot."

" Say a bouquet, sister Jemima, 'tis more genteel."

" Well, a booky as big almost as a hay-stack ; I have put up two bottles of thegillyflower-water for Mrs. Sedley, 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 — ninetythree 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 veneration as would

CH IS WICK MALL. 3

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 anything r^z//^ 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 :

" 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 Sedley 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 indzistry and obedience have endeared her to her instructors, and whose delightful sweetness of temper has charmed her aged and h^r youthful companions.

" In music, in dancing, in orthography, in every variety of embroidery and needle-work, she will be found to have realized 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 ihree years, is recommended as necessary to the acquirement of that dignified deportment and carriage so requisite for every young lady oi fashion.

" 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 companions, and the affectionate regards of her mistress, who has the honor to subscribe herself,

" Madam, " Your most obliged humble servant,

" Barbara Pinkerton.

" P. S.— Miss Sharp accompanies Miss Sedley. It is particularly 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 departure 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 lexicographer'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.

Being commanded by her elder sister to get " thie Dictionary^' from the cupboard, Miss Jemima had extracted two copies of the book from the receptacle in question. When • Miss Pinkerton had finished the inscription in the first, Jemima, with rather a dubious and timid air, handed her the second.

"For whom is this. Miss Jemima?" said Miss Pinkerton, with awfu] 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? Replace 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 Pinkerton. 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 p^pil, for whom Miss Pinkerton had done, as she thought, quite enough, without conferring upon her at parting the high honor of the jDixonary.

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 academies of the male and female sex it occurs every now and then that the pupil is fully worthy of the praises bestowed by the disinterested instructor. Now, Miss Amelia Sedley was a young lady of this singular species, and deserved not only all that Miss Pinkerton said in her praise, but had many charming qualities which that pompous old 31inerva 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 Miner-

. cms WICK MALL, 5

va 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 hadtwelve 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 tor Dr. Floss, and half tipsify her with sal volatile. Miss Pinkerton's attachment 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, w^ould have gore 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. But why ■speak about her ? Tt 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 acquaintance, 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 sombre 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 ; indeed I am afraid that her nose was rather short than otherwise, and her cheeks a great deal too round and red for, ^^ heroine ; but her face blushed with rosy health, and her ]ips with the freshest of smiles, and she had a pair of eyes wi^ich sparkled with the brightest 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 persons hardhearted 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

VANITY FAIR.

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 was greatly puzzled how to act. She was glad to go home, and yet most woefully sad at leaving school. For three days before, little Laura Martin, the orphan, followed her about, like a little dog. She had to make and receive at least fourteen presents — to make fourteen solemn promises of writing every week. *' Send my letters under cover to my grandpapa, 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 yoii mamma." jAll which details, I have no doubt, Jones, who reads this book at his club, wilP 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," etc., and adding to them his own remark of '* quite

"n

CHI S WICK MALL. 7

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 weatherbeaten 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 which Miss Pinkerton addressed to her pupil. Not that the parting speech caused Amelia to philosophize, or that it armed her in any way with a calmness, the result of argument ; but it was intolerably dull, pompous, and tedious ; and having the fear of her schoolmistress greatly before her eyes. Miss Sedley 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 received permission to come in. Miss Sharp advanced in a very unconcerned manner, and said in French, and with a perfect 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 turban), she said, " Miss Sharp, I wish you a good-morning." 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 fingers 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 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,

VANITY FAIR.

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 mustn'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 I 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.

This almost caused Jemima to faint with terror. " Well, I never, " said she. " What an audacious — " Emotion prevented her from completing either sentence. 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.

PREPARING TO OPEN THE CAMPAIGN,

Chapter II. In Which Miss Sharp And Miss Sedley Prepare To Open The Campaign

'HEN Miss Sharp had performed the heroical act mentioned in the last chapter, and had seen the Dixonary, 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 defiance as Miss Jemima had been ; for, consider, it was but one minute that she had left school, and the impressions of six years are not got over in that space of time. Nay, with some persons those awes and terrors of youth last for ever and ever. I know, for instance, 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 . . ." 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.

" Why, do you think Miss Pinkerton will come out and order me back to the blackhole ?" 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 lo VANITY FAIR.

in the bottom of the Thames, I do ; and if Miss Pinkerton were there, I wouldn't pick her out, that I wouldn't. Oh, how I should like to see her floating in the water, 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 proving it, too. For two years I have had only 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 school-room, 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, wasn't it ? She doesn'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 Fraiice ! Vive F E?npej'eur I Vive Bonaparte!''

" O Rebecca, Rebecca, for shame !" cried Miss Sedley ; for this was the greatest blasphemy Rebecca had 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," answered Miss Rebecca. " Fm 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 placable 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 deserve entirely the treatment they get. The world is a looking-glass, and gives back to ev^ery man the reflection of his own face. Frown at it, and it will in turn look sourly upon 3'ou ; laugh at it and with it, and it is a jolly, kind compan-

PREPARING TO OPEN THE CAMPAIGN. II

on ; and so let all young persons take their choice. This is ;ertain, that if the world neglected Miss Sharp, she never was mown to have done a good action in behalf of anybody ; nor :an it be expected that twenty-four young ladies should all be IS amiable as the heroine of this work, Miss Sedley — (whom we lave selected for the very reason that she was the best natured )f all, otherwise what on earth was to have prevented us from )utting up Miss Swartz, or Miss Crump, or Miss Hopkins, IS heroine in her place ?) — it could not be expected that :very one should be of the humble and gentle temper of Miss Vmelia Sedley ; should take every opportunity to vanquish ilebecca's hard-heartedness and ill-humor ; and, by a thousand :ind words and offices, overcome, for once at least, her hosility to her kind.

Miss Sharp's father was an artist, and, in that quality, lad given lessons of drawing at Miss Pinkerton's school. ie was a clever man ; a pleasant companion ; a careless student ; with a great propensity for running into debt, and a partiality for the tavern. When he was drunk, he used to )eat his wife and daughter ; and the next morning, with a leadache, he would rail at the world for its neglect of his genius, and abuse, with a good deal of cleverness, and sometimes with perfect reason, the fools, his brother painters. As t was with the utmost difficulty that he could keep himself, .nd as he owed money for a mile round Soho, where he lived, le thought to better his circumstances by marrying a young voman of the French nation, who was by profession an >pera-girl. The humble calling of her female parent Miss )harp never alluded to, but used to state subsequently that he Entrechats were a noble family of Gascony, and took :^reat pride in her descent from them. And curious it is, hat as she advanced in life this young lady's ancestors inreased in rank and splendor.

Rebecca's mother had had some education somewhere, nd her daughter spoke French with purity and a Parisian ccent. It was in those days rather a rare accomplishment, nd led to her engagement with the orthodox Miss Pinkeron. For her mother being dead, her father, finding him -elf not likely to recover, after his third attack of deliriuin t-emens, wrote a manly and pathetic letter to Miss Pinkerton, ecommending the orphan child to her protection, and so lescended to the grave, after two bailiffs had quarrelled over lis corpse. Rebecca was seventeen when she came to Chisv^ick, 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 knowledge 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 attractive : 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 marriage 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 dove-cot 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 exchanged 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 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 sat 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 ingenue ; 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-

PREPARING TO OPEN THE CAMPAIGN.

urs. How the father and daughter laughed as they i.radged home together after the evening party (it was on the /. casion of the speeches, when all the professors were invited), and how Miss Pinkerton would have raged had she seen ^^.e caricature of herself which the little mimic, Rebecca,

inaged to make out of her doll. Becky used to go through ...alogues with it ; it formed the delight of Newman Street, Gerard Street, and the artists' quarter ; and the young paint- ••T'5, when they came to take their gin-and-water with their lazy, dissolute, clever, jovial senior, used regularly to ask Re- ■ cca if Miss Pinkerton was at home ; she was as well known them, poor soul ! as Mr. Lawrence or President West.

ice Rebecca had the honor to pass a few days at Chiswick ;

ter which she brought back Jemima, and erected another dU as Miss Jemmy ; for though that honest creature had ade and given her jelly and cake enough for three children, ad a seven-shilling 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 conventional regularity, oppressed her almost beyond endurance ; and she lookea back to the freedom and the beggary of the old studio in Sohc 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 dissembler, 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 sof ■ maternal heart, this unlucky girl, otherwise the prattle an( talk of the younger children, with whose care she was chiefl} 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 Sedley was the only person to whom she could attach herself in the least ; and who could help attaching herself to Amelia ?