Chapter XII: Quite a Sentimental Chapter

by William Makepeace Thackeray

　　We must now take leave of Arcadia, and those amiablepeople practising the rural virtues there, and travel backto London, to inquire what has become of Miss Amelia"We don't care a fig for her," writes some unknowncorrespondent with a pretty little handwriting and a pink sealto her note. "She is fade and insipid," and adds some morekind remarks in this strain, which I should never haverepeated at all, but that they are in truth prodigiouslycomplimentary to the young lady whom they concern.

　　Has the beloved reader, in his experience of society,never heard similar remarks by good-natured femalefriends; who always wonder what you can see in MissSmith that is so fascinating; or what could induce MajorJones to propose for that silly insignificant simpering MissThompson, who has nothing but her wax-doll face torecommend her? What is there in a pair of pink cheeksand blue eyes forsooth? these dear Moralists ask, and hintwisely that the gifts of genius, the accomplishments of themind, the mastery of Mangnall's Questions, and a ladylikeknowledge of botany and geology, the knack of makingpoetry, the power of rattling sonatas in the Herz-manner,and so forth, are far more valuable endowments for afemale, than those fugitive charms which a few years willinevitably tarnish. It is quite edifying to hear womenspeculate upon the worthlessness and the duration ofbeauty.

　　But though virtue is a much finer thing, and thosehapless creatures who suffer under the misfortune of goodlooks ought to be continually put in mind of the fatewhich awaits them; and though, very likely, the heroicfemale character which ladies admire is a more gloriousand beautiful object than the kind, fresh, smiling, artless,tender little domestic goddess, whom men are inclinedto worship--yet the latter and inferior sort of womenmust have this consolation--that the men do admire themafter all; and that, in spite of all our kind friends' warningsand protests, we go on in our desperate error andfolly, and shall to the end of the chapter. Indeed, for myown part, though I have been repeatedly told by personsfor whom I have the greatest respect, that Miss Brown isan insignificant chit, and Mrs. White has nothing but herpetit minois chiffonne, and Mrs. Black has not a word tosay for herself; yet I know that I have had the mostdelightful conversations with Mrs. Black (of course, mydear Madam, they are inviolable): I see all the men in acluster round Mrs. White's chair: all the young fellowsbattling to dance with Miss Brown; and so I am temptedto think that to be despised by her sex is a very greatcompliment to a woman.

　　The young ladies in Amelia's society did this for hervery satisfactorily. For instance, there was scarcely anypoint upon which the Misses Osborne, George's sisters,and the Mesdemoiselles Dobbin agreed so well as in theirestimate of her very trifling merits: and their wonder thattheir brothers could find any charms in her. "We are kindto 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 withsuch extreme kindness and condescension, and patronisedher so insufferably, that the poor little thing was in factperfectly dumb in their presence, and to all outwardappearance as stupid as they thought her. She made effortsto like them, as in duty bound, and as sisters of herfuture husband. She passed "long mornings" with them--the most dreary and serious of forenoons. She droveout solemnly in their great family coach with them, andMiss Wirt their governess, that raw-boned Vestal. Theytook her to the ancient concerts by way of a treat, andto the oratorio, and to St. Paul's to see the charitychildren, where in such terror was she of her friends, shealmost did not dare be affected by the hymn the childrensang. Their house was comfortable; their papa's tablerich and handsome; their society solemn and genteel;their self-respect prodigious; they had the best pew atthe 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 waswhen they were over!) Miss Osborne and Miss MariaOsborne, and Miss Wirt, the vestal governess, asked eachother with increased wonder, "What could George find inthat creature?"

　　How is this? some carping reader exclaims. How is itthat Amelia, who had such a number of friends atschool, and was so beloved there, comes out into theworld and is spurned by her discriminating sex? My dearsir, there were no men at Miss Pinkerton's establishmentexcept the old dancing-master; and you would not havehad the girls fall out about him? When George, theirhandsome brother, ran off directly after breakfast, anddined from home half-a-dozen times a week, no wonderthe neglected sisters felt a little vexation. When youngBullock (of the firm of Hulker, Bullock & Co., Bankers,Lombard Street), who had been making up to Miss Mariathe last two seasons, actually asked Amelia to dance thecotillon, could you expect that the former young ladyshould be pleased? And yet she said she was, like anartless forgiving creature. "I'm so delighted you like dearAmelia," she said quite eagerly to Mr. Bullock after thedance. "She's engaged to my brother George; there's notmuch in her, but she's the best-natured and mostunaffected young creature: at home we're all so fond of her."Dear girl! who can calculate the depth of affectionexpressed in that enthusiastic so?

　　Miss Wirt and these two affectionate young women soearnestly and frequently impressed upon GeorgeOsborne's mind the enormity of the sacrifice he was making,and his romantic generosity in throwing himself awayupon Amelia, that I'm not sure but that he really thoughthe was one of the most deserving characters in the Britisharmy, and gave himself up to be loved with a good dealof easy resignation.

　　Somehow, although he left home every morning, as wasstated, and dined abroad six days in the week, when hissisters believed the infatuated youth to be at Miss Sedley'sapron-strings: he was not always with Amelia, whilst theworld supposed him at her feet. Certain it is that on moreoccasions than one, when Captain Dobbin called to lookfor his friend, Miss Osborne (who was very attentive tothe Captain, and anxious to hear his military stories, andto know about the health of his dear Mamma), wouldlaughingly point to the opposite side of the square, andsay, "Oh, you must go to the Sedleys' to ask for George;we never see him from morning till night." At which kindof speech the Captain would laugh in rather an absurdconstrained manner, and turn off the conversation, likea consummate man of the world, to some topic of generalinterest, such as the Opera, the Prince's last ball atCarlton House, or the weather--that blessing to society.

　　"What an innocent it is, that pet of yours," Miss Mariawould then say to Miss Jane, upon the Captain'sdeparture. "Did you see how he blushed at the mention ofpoor George on duty?"

　　"It's a pity Frederick Bullock hadn't some of hismodesty, Maria," replies the elder sister, with a toss of hehead.

　　"Modesty! Awkwardness you mean, Jane. I don't wantFrederick to trample a hole in my muslin frock, asCaptain Dobbin did in yours at Mrs. Perkins'."

　　"In your frock, he, he! How could he? Wasn't hedancing with Amelia?"

　　The fact is, when Captain Dobbin blushed so, andlooked so awkward, he remembered a circumstance ofwhich he did not think it was necessary to inform theyoung ladies, viz., that he had been calling at Mr. Sedley'shouse already, on the pretence of seeing George, ofcourse, and George wasn'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 thatthe regiment was soon to be ordered abroad; and hadCaptain Dobbin seen Mr. Osborne that day?

　　The regiment was not ordered abroad as yet; andCaptain Dobbin had not seen George. "He was with hissister, most likely," the Captain said. "Should he go andfetch the truant?" So she gave him her hand kindly andgratefully: and he crossed the square; and she waitedand waited, but George never came.

　　Poor little tender heart! and so it goes on hoping andbeating, and longing and trusting. You see it is not muchof a life to describe. There is not much of what you callincident in it. Only one feeling all day--when will hecome? only one thought to sleep and wake upon. Ibelieve George was playing billiards with Captain Cannonin Swallow Street at the time when Amelia was askingCaptain Dobbin about him; for George was a jollysociable fellow, and excellent in all games of skill.

　　Once, after three days of absence, Miss Amelia put onher bonnet, and actually invaded the Osborne house."What! leave our brother to come to us?" said the youngladies. "Have you had a quarrel, Amelia? Do tell us!"No, indeed, there had been no quarrel. "Who couldquarrel with him?" says she, with her eyes filled with tears.She only came over to--to see her dear friends; they hadnot met for so long. And this day she was so perfectlystupid and awkward, that the Misses Osborne and theirgoverness, who stared after her as she went sadly away,wondered more than ever what George could see in poorlittle Amelia.

　　Of course they did. How was she to bare that timidlittle heart for the inspection of those young ladies withtheir bold black eyes? It was best that it should shrinkand hide itself. I know the Misses Osborne were excellentcritics of a Cashmere shawl, or a pink satin slip; andwhen Miss Turner had hers dyed purple, and made intoa spencer; and when Miss Pickford had her erminetippet twisted into a muff and trimmings, I warrant you thechanges did not escape the two intelligent young womenbefore mentioned. But there are things, look you, of afiner texture than fur or satin, and all Solomon's glories,and all the wardrobe of the Queen of Sheba--thingswhereof the beauty escapes the eyes of manyconnoisseurs. And there are sweet modest little souls onwhich you light, fragrant and blooming tenderly in quiet shadyplaces; and there are garden-ornaments, as big as brasswarming-pans, that are fit to stare the sun itself out ofcountenance. Miss Sedley was not of the sunflower sort;and I say it is out of the rules of all proportion to drawa violet of the size of a double dahlia.

　　No, indeed; the life of a good young girl who is in thepaternal nest as yet, can't have many of those thrillingincidents to which the heroine of romance commonly laysclaim. Snares or shot may take off the old birds foragingwithout--hawks may be abroad, from which they escapeor by whom they suffer; but the young ones in the nesthave a pretty comfortable unromantic sort of existencein the down and the straw, till it comes to their turn,too, to get on the wing. While Becky Sharp was on herown wing in the country, hopping on all sorts of twigs,and amid a multiplicity of traps, and pecking up her foodquite harmless and successful, Amelia lay snug in herhome of Russell Square; if she went into the world, itwas under the guidance of the elders; nor did it seemthat any evil could befall her or that opulent cheerycomfortable home in which she was affectionately sheltered.Mamma had her morning duties, and her daily drive,and the delightful round of visits and shopping whichforms the amusement, or the profession as you may callit, of the rich London lady. Papa conducted hismysterious operations in the City--a stirring place in thosedays, when war was raging all over Europe, and empireswere being staked; when the "Courier" newspaper hadtens of thousands of subscribers; when one day broughtyou a battle of Vittoria, another a burning of Moscow, ora newsman's horn blowing down Russell Square aboutdinner-time, announced such a fact as--"Battle ofLeipsic--six hundred thousand men engaged--totaldefeat of the French--two hundred thousand killed." OldSedley once or twice came home with a very grave face;and no wonder, when such news as this was agitating allthe 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 leastdisorganised. The retreat from Leipsic made nodifference in the number of meals Mr. Sambo took in theservants' hall; the allies poured into France, and thedinner-belI rang at five o'clock just as usual. I don't thinkpoor Amelia cared anything about Brienne and Montmirail,or was fairly interested in the war until the abdicationof the Emperor; when she clapped her hands and saidprayers--oh, how grateful! and flung herself into GeorgeOsborne's arms with all her soul, to the astonishment ofeverybody who witnessed that ebullition of sentiment.The fact is, peace was declared, Europe was going to beat rest; the Corsican was overthrown, and LieutenantOsborne's regiment would not be ordered on service. Thatwas the way in which Miss Amelia reasoned. The fate ofEurope was Lieutenant George Osborne to her. Hisdangers being over, she sang Te Deum. He was her Europe:her emperor: her allied monarchs and august princeregent. He was her sun and moon; and I believe shethought the grand illumination and ball at the MansionHouse, given to the sovereigns, were especially in honourof George Osborne.

　　We have talked of shift, self, and poverty, as thosedismal instructors under whom poor Miss Becky Sharpgot her education. Now, love was Miss Amelia Sedley'slast tutoress, and it was amazing what progress our younglady made under that popular teacher. In the course offifteen or eighteen months' daily and constant attention tothis eminent finishing governess, what a deal of secretsAmelia learned, which Miss Wirt and the black-eyedyoung ladies over the way, which old Miss Pinkerton ofChiswick herself, had no cognizance of! As, indeed, howshould any of those prim and reputable virgins? WithMisses P. and W. the tender passion is out of thequestion: I would not dare to breathe such an idea regardingthem. Miss Maria Osborne, it is true, was "attached" toMr. Frederick Augustus Bullock, of the firm of Hulker,Bullock & Bullock; but hers was a most respectableattachment, and she would have taken Bullock Senior justthe same, her mind being fixed--as that of a well-bredyoung woman should be--upon a house in Park Lane,a country house at Wimbledon, a handsome chariot, andtwo prodigious tall horses and footmen, and a fourth ofthe annual profits of the eminent firm of Hulker &Bullock, all of which advantages were represented in theperson of Frederick Augustus. Had orange blossoms beeninvented then (those touching emblems of female purityimported by us from France, where people's daughtersare universally sold in marriage), Miss Maria, I say,would have assumed the spotless wreath, and stepped intothe travelling carriage by the side of gouty, old, bald-headed, bottle-nosed Bullock Senior; and devoted herbeautiful existence to his happiness with perfect modesty--only the old gentleman was married already; so shebestowed her young affections on the junior partner.Sweet, blooming, orange flowers! The other day I sawMiss Trotter (that was), arrayed in them, trip into thetravelling carriage at St. George's, Hanover Square, andLord Methuselah hobbled in after. With what an engagingmodesty she pulled down the blinds of the chariot--thedear innocent! There were half the carriages of VanityFair at the wedding.

　　This was not the sort of love that finished Amelia'seducation; and in the course of a year turned a good younggirl into a good young woman--to be a good wifepresently, when the happy time should come. This youngperson (perhaps it was very imprudent in her parents toencourage her, and abet her in such idolatry and sillyromantic ideas) loved, with all her heart, the youngofficer in His Majesty's service with whom we have made abrief acquaintance. She thought about him the very firstmoment on waking; and his was the very last namementioned m her prayers. She never had seen a man sobeautiful or so clever: such a figure on horseback: sucha dancer: such a hero in general. Talk of the Prince'sbow! what was it to George's? She had seen Mr.Brummell, whom everybody praised so. Compare such a personas that to her George! Not amongst all the beaux at theOpera (and there were beaux in those days with actualopera hats) was there any one to equal him. He was onlygood enough to be a fairy prince; and oh, whatmagnanimity to stoop to such a humble Cinderella! MissPinkerton would have tried to check this blind devotionvery likely, had she been Amelia's confidante; but notwith much success, depend upon it. It is in the nature andinstinct of some women. Some are made to scheme, andsome to love; and I wish any respected bachelor thatreads this may take the sort that best likes him.

　　While under this overpowering impression, Miss Amelianeglected her twelve dear friends at Chiswick mostcruelly, as such selfish people commonly will do. She hadbut this subject, of course, to think about; and MissSaltire was too cold for a confidante, and she couldn'tbring her mind to tell Miss Swartz, the woolly-hairedyoung heiress from St. Kitt's. She had little Laura Martinhome for the holidays; and my belief is, she made aconfidante of her, and promised that Laura should comeand live with her when she was married, and gave Lauraa great deal of information regarding the passion oflove, which must have been singularly useful and novelto that little person. Alas, alas! I fear poor Emmy hadnot a well-regulated mind.

　　What were her parents doing, not to keep this littleheart from beating so fast? Old Sedley did not seem muchto notice matters. He was graver of late, and his Cityaffairs absorbed him. Mrs. Sedley was of so easy anduninquisitive a nature that she wasn't even jealous. Mr.Jos was away, being besieged by an Irish widow atCheltenham. Amelia had the house to herself--ah! toomuch 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 mustsee his friends and sisters, and mingle in society whenin town (he, such an ornament to every society!); andwhen he is with the regiment, he is too tired to write longletters. I know where she kept that packet she had--andcan steal in and out of her chamber like Iachimo--likeIachimo? No--that is a bad part. I will only actMoonshine, and peep harmless into the bed where faith andbeauty and innocence lie dreaming.

　　But if Osborne's were short and soldierlike letters, itmust be confessed, that were Miss Sedley's letters to Mr.Osborne to be published, we should have to extend thisnovel to such a multiplicity of volumes as not the mostsentimental reader could support; that she not only filledsheets of large paper, but crossed them with the mostastonishing perverseness; that she wrote whole pages outof poetry-books without the least pity; that sheunderlined words and passages with quite a frantic emphasis;and, in fine, gave the usual tokens of her condition. Shewasn't a heroine. Her letters were full of repetition. Shewrote rather doubtful grammar sometimes, and in herverses took all sorts of liberties with the metre. But oh,mesdames, if you are not allowed to touch the heartsometimes in spite of syntax, and are not to be loveduntil you all know the difference between trimeter andtetrameter, may all Poetry go to the deuce, and everyschoolmaster perish miserably!