Chapter XIII: Sentimental and Otherwise

by William Makepeace Thackeray

　　I fear the gentleman to whom Miss Amelia's letters wereaddressed was rather an obdurate critic. Such a numberof notes followed Lieutenant Osborne about the country,that he became almost ashamed of the jokes of hismess-room companions regarding them, and ordered hisservant never to deliver them except at his private apartment.He was seen lighting his cigar with one, to the horror ofCaptain Dobbin, who, it is my belief, would have givena bank-note for the document.

　　For some time George strove to keep the liaison asecret. There was a woman in the case, that he admitted."And not the first either," said Ensign Spooney to EnsignStubble. "That Osborne's a devil of a fellow. There was ajudge's daughter at Demerara went almost mad abouthim; then there was that beautiful quadroon girl, MissPye, at St. Vincent's, you know; and since he's beenhome, they say he's a regular Don Giovanni, by Jove."

　　Stubble and Spooney thought that to be a "regularDon Giovanni, by Jove" was one of the finest qualities aman could possess, and Osborne's reputation wasprodigious amongst the young men of the regiment. Hewas famous in field-sports, famous at a song, famous onparade; free with his money, which was bountifullysupplied by his father. His coats were better made thanany man's in the regiment, and he had more of them. Hewas adored by the men. He could drink more than anyofficer of the whole mess, including old Heavytop, thecolonel. 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 bestbatter and bowler, out and out, of the regimental club.He rode his own horse, Greased Lightning, and won theGarrison cup at Quebec races. There were other peoplebesides Amelia who worshipped him. Stubble andSpooney thought him a sort of Apollo; Dobbin took himto be an Admirable Crichton; and Mrs. Major O'Dowdacknowledged he was an elegant young fellow, and puther in mind of Fitzjurld Fogarty, Lord Castlefogarty'ssecond son.

　　Well, Stubble and Spooney and the rest indulged inmost romantic conjectures regarding this femalecorrespondent of Osborne's--opining that it was a Duchess inLondon who was in love with him--or that it was aGeneral's daughter, who was engaged to somebody else,and madly attached to him--or that it was a Member ofParliament's lady, who proposed four horses and anelopement--or that it was some other victim of a passiondelightfully exciting, romantic, and disgraceful to allparties, on none of which conjectures would Osborne throwthe least light, leaving his young admirers and friends toinvent and arrange their whole history.

　　And the real state of the case would never have beenknown at all in the regiment but for Captain Dobbin'sindiscretion. The Captain was eating his breakfast oneday in the mess-room, while Cackle, the assistant-surgeon,and the two above-named worthies were speculating uponOsborne's intrigue--Stubble holding out that the ladywas a Duchess about Queen Charlotte's court, and Cacklevowing she was an opera-singer of the worst reputation.At this idea Dobbin became so moved, that though hismouth was full of eggs and bread-and-butter at the time,and though he ought not to have spoken at all, yet hecouldn't help blurting out, "Cackle, you're a stupid fool.You're always talking nonsense and scandal. Osborne isnot going to run off with a Duchess or ruin a milliner.Miss Sedley is one of the most charming young womenthat ever lived. He's been engaged to her ever so long;and the man who calls her names had better not do soin my hearing." With which, turning exceedingly red,Dobbin ceased speaking, and almost choked himself witha cup of tea. The story was over the regiment in half-an-hour; and that very evening Mrs. Major O'Dowd wroteoff to her sister Glorvina at O'Dowdstown not to hurryfrom Dublin--young Osborne being prematurely engagedalready.

　　She complimented the Lieutenant in an appropriatespeech over a glass of whisky-toddy that evening, and hewent home perfectly furious to quarrel with Dobbin (whohad declined Mrs. Major O'Dowd's party, and sat in hisown room playing the flute, and, I believe, writing poetryin a very melancholy manner)--to quarrel with Dobbinfor betraying his secret.

　　"Who the deuce asked you to talk about my affairs?"Osborne shouted indignantly. "Why the devil is all theregiment to know that I am going to be married? Why isthat tattling old harridan, Peggy O'Dowd, to make freewith my name at her d--d supper-table, and advertisemy engagement over the three kingdoms? After all, whatright have you to say I am engaged, or to meddle in mybusiness at all, Dobbin?"

　　"It seems to me," Captain Dobbin began.

　　"Seems be hanged, Dobbin," his junior interruptedhim. "I am under obligations to you, I know it, a d--ddeal too well too; but I won't be always sermonised byyou because you're five years my senior. I'm hanged ifI'll stand your airs of superiority and infernal pity andpatronage. Pity and patronage! I should like to know inwhat 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? Ishould like to know," George said.

　　"Good God, you don't mean to say you want to breakoff?" asked Dobbin, starting up.

　　"In other words, you ask me if I'm a man of honour,"said Osborne, fiercely; "is that what you mean? You'veadopted 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 neglectinga sweet girl, George. I've told you that when you go totown 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, didn't I?" says Dobbin."You speak like a generous fellow."

　　"No, hang it, William, I beg your pardon"--hereGeorge interposed in a fit of remorse; "you have been myfriend in a hundred ways, Heaven knows. You've got meout of a score of scrapes. When Crawley of the Guardswon that sum of money of me I should have been donebut for you: I know I should. But you shouldn't deal sohardly with me; you shouldn't be always catechising me.I am very fond of Amelia; I adore her, and that sort ofthing. Don't look angry. She's faultless; I know she is.But you see there's no fun in winning a thing unless youplay for it. Hang it: the regiment's just back from theWest Indies, I must have a little fling, and then when I'mmarried I'll reform; I will upon my honour, now. And--Isay--Dob--don't be angry with me, and I'll give you ahundred next month, when I know my father will standsomething handsome; and I'll ask Heavytop for leave,and I'll go to town, and see Amelia to-morrow--therenow, 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 lastshilling with me."

　　"That I would, by Jove, Dobbin," George said, withthe greatest generosity, though by the way he never hadany money to spare.

　　"Only I wish you had sown those wild oats of yours,George. If you could have seen poor little Miss Emmy'sface when she asked me about you the other day, youwould have pitched those billiard-balls to the deuce. Goand comfort her, you rascal. Go and write her a longletter. 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 eveningwith some jolly fellows in the mess-room.

　　Amelia meanwhile, in Russell Square, was looking atthe moon, which was shining upon that peaceful spot, aswell as upon the square of the Chatham barracks, whereLieutenant Osborne was quartered, and thinking toherself how her hero was employed. Perhaps he is visitingthe sentries, thought she; perhaps he is bivouacking;perhaps he is attending the couch of a wounded comrade, orstudying the art of war up in his own desolate chamber.And her kind thoughts sped away as if they were angelsand had wings, and flying down the river to Chathamand Rochester, strove to peep into the barracks whereGeorge was. . . . All things considered, I think it wasas well the gates were shut, and the sentry allowed noone to pass; so that the poor little white-robed angelcould not hear the songs those young fellows wereroaring over the whisky-punch.

　　The day after the little conversation at Chathambarracks, young Osborne, to show that he would be as goodas his word, prepared to go to town, thereby incurringCaptain Dobbin's applause. "I should have liked to make hera little present," Osborne said to his friend in confidence,"only I am quite out of cash until my father tips up." ButDobbin would not allow this good nature and generosityto be balked, and so accommodated Mr. Osborne with afew pound notes, which the latter took after a little faintscruple.

　　And I dare say he would have bought something veryhandsome for Amelia; only, getting off the coach in FleetStreet, he was attracted by a handsome shirt-pin in ajeweller's window, which he could not resist; and havingpaid for that, had very little money to spare for indulgingin any further exercise of kindness. Never mind: you maybe sure it was not his presents Amelia wanted. When hecame to Russell Square, her face lighted up as if he hadbeen sunshine. The little cares, fears, tears, timidmisgivings, sleepless fancies of I don't know how many daysand nights, were forgotten, under one moment's influenceof that familiar, irresistible smile. He beamed on herfrom the drawing-room door--magnificent, withambrosial whiskers, like a god. Sambo, whose face as heannounced Captain Osbin (having conferred a brevet rankon that young officer) blazed with a sympathetic grin, sawthe little girl start, and flush, and jump up from herwatching-place in the window; and Sambo retreated: andas soon as the door was shut, she went fluttering toLieutenant George Osborne's heart as if it was the only naturalhome for her to nestle in. Oh, thou poor panting littlesoul! The very finest tree in the whole forest, with thestraightest stem, and the strongest arms, and thethickest foliage, wherein you choose to build and coo, maybe marked, for what you know, and may be down with acrash ere long. What an old, old simile that is, betweenman and timber!

　　In the meanwhile, George kissed her very kindly onher forehead and glistening eyes, and was very graciousand good; and she thought his diamond shirt-pin (whichshe had not known him to wear before) the prettiestornament ever seen.

　　The observant reader, who has marked our youngLieutenant's previous behaviour, and has preserved ourreport of the brief conversation which he has just hadwith Captain Dobbin, has possibly come to certainconclusions regarding the character of Mr. Osborne. Somecynical Frenchman has said that there are two parties toa love-transaction: the one who loves and the other whocondescends to be so treated. Perhaps the love isoccasionally on the man's side; perhaps on the lady's.Perhaps some infatuated swain has ere this mistakeninsensibility for modesty, dulness for maiden reserve, merevacuity for sweet bashfulness, and a goose, in a word,for a swan. Perhaps some beloved female subscriber hasarrayed an ass in the splendour and glory of herimagination; admired his dulness as manly simplicity;worshipped his selfishness as manly superiority; treated hisstupidity as majestic gravity, and used him as thebrilliant fairy Titania did a certain weaver at Athens. I thinkI have seen such comedies of errors going on in theworld. But this is certain, that Amelia believed her loverto be one of the most gallant and brilliant men in theempire: and it is possible Lieutenant Osborne thoughtso too.

　　He was a little wild: how many young men are; anddon't girls like a rake better than a milksop? He hadn'tsown his wild oats as yet, but he would soon: and quitthe army now that peace was proclaimed; the Corsicanmonster locked up at Elba; promotion by consequenceover; and no chance left for the display of his undoubtedmilitary talents and valour: and his allowance, withAmelia's settlement, would enable them to take a snugplace in the country somewhere, in a good sportingneighbourhood; and he would hunt a little, and farm alittle; and they would be very happy. As for remainingin the army as a married man, that was impossible.Fancy Mrs. George Osborne in lodgings in a countytown; or, worse still, in the East or West Indies, with asociety of officers, and patronized by Mrs. Major O'Dowd!Amelia died with laughing at Osborne's stories aboutMrs. Major O'Dowd. He loved her much too fondly tosubject her to that horrid woman and her vulgarities,and the rough treatment of a soldier's wife. He didn'tcare for himself--not he; but his dear little girl shouldtake the place in society to which, as his wife, she wasentitled: and to these proposals you may be sure sheacceded, as she would to any other from the same author.

　　Holding this kind of conversation, and buildingnumberless castles in the air (which Amelia adorned with allsorts of flower-gardens, rustic walks, country churches,Sunday schools, and the like; while George had hismind's eye directed to the stables, the kennel, and thecellar), this young pair passed away a couple of hoursvery pleasantly; and as the Lieutenant had only thatsingle day in town, and a great deal of most importantbusiness to transact, it was proposed that Miss Emmy shoulddine with her future sisters-in-law. This invitation wasaccepted joyfully. He conducted her to his sisters; wherehe left her talking and prattling in a way that astonishedthose ladies, who thought that George might makesomething of her; and he then went off to transacthis business.

　　In a word, he went out and ate ices at a pastry-cook'sshop in Charing Cross; tried a new coat in Pall Mall;dropped in at the Old Slaughters', and called for CaptainCannon; played eleven games at billiards with theCaptain, of which he won eight, and returned to RussellSquare half an hour late for dinner, but in very goodhumour.

　　It was not so with old Mr. Osborne. When thatgentleman came from the City, and was welcomed in thedrawing-room by his daughters and the elegant MissWirt, they saw at once by his face--which was puffy,solemn, and yellow at the best of times--and by thescowl and twitching of his black eyebrows, that the heartwithin his large white waistcoat was disturbed anduneasy. When Amelia stepped forward to salute him, whichshe always did with great trembling and timidity, he gavea surly grunt of recognition, and dropped the little handout of his great hirsute paw without any attempt to holdit there. He looked round gloomily at his eldest daughter; who, comprehending the meaning of his look, whichasked unmistakably, "Why the devil is she here?" saidat once:

　　"George is in town, Papa; and has gone to the HorseGuards, and will be back to dinner."

　　"O he is, is he? I won't have the dinner kept waitingfor him, Jane"; with which this worthy man lapsed intohis particular chair, and then the utter silence in hisgenteel, well-furnished drawing-room was onlyinterrupted by the alarmed ticking of the great French clock.

　　When that chronometer, which was surmounted by acheerful brass group of the sacrifice of Iphigenia, tolledfive in a heavy cathedral tone, Mr. Osborne pulled thebell at his right hand-violently, and the butler rushed up.

　　"Dinner!" roared Mr. Osborne.

　　"Mr. George isn't come in, sir," interposed the man.

　　"Damn Mr. George, sir. Am I master of the house?Dinner! Mr. Osborne scowled. Amelia trembled. Atelegraphic communication of eyes passed between the otherthree ladies. The obedient bell in the lower regions beganringing the announcement of the meal. The tolling over,the head of the family thrust his hands into the greattail-pockets of his great blue coat with brass buttons, andwithout waiting for a further announcement strodedownstairs alone, scowling over his shoulder at the fourfemales.

　　"What's the matter now, my dear?" asked one of theother, 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 femalecompany followed their dark leader. They took their placesin silence. He growled out a blessing, which sounded asgruffly as a curse. The great silver dish-covers wereremoved. Amelia trembled in her place, for she was nextto 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, fixinghis eyes on her, in a sepulchral tone; and having helpedher and the rest, did not speak for a while.

　　"Take Miss Sedley's plate away," at last he said. "Shecan't eat the soup--no more can I. It's beastly. Take awaythe soup, Hicks, and to-morrow turn the cook out ofthe 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 cursedBillingsgate with an emphasis quite worthy of the place.Then he lapsed into silence, and swallowed sundryglasses of wine, looking more and more terrible, till abrisk knock at the door told of George's arrival wheneverybody began to rally.

　　"He could not come before. General Daguilet had kepthim waiting at the Horse Guards. Never mind soup orfish. Give him anything--he didn't care what. Capitalmutton--capital everything." His good humour contrastedwith his father's severity; and he rattled on unceasinglyduring dinner, to the delight of all--of one especially,who need not be mentioned.

　　As soon as the young ladies had discussed the orangeand the glass of wine which formed the ordinaryconclusion 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 Georgewould soon join them there. She began playing some ofhis favourite waltzes (then newly imported) at the greatcarved-legged, leather-cased grand piano in the drawing-room overhead. This little artifice did not bring him. Hewas deaf to the waltzes; they grew fainter and fainter;the discomfited performer left the huge instrumentpresently; and though her three friends performed some ofthe loudest and most brilliant new pieces of theirrepertoire, she did not hear a single note, but sate thinking,and boding evil. Old Osborne's scowl, terrific always, hadnever before looked so deadly to her. His eyes followedher out of the room, as if she had been guilty of something.When they brought her coffee, she started asthough it were a cup of poison which Mr. Hicks, thebutler, wished to propose to her. What mystery wasthere lurking? Oh, those women! They nurse and cuddletheir presentiments, and make darlings of their ugliestthoughts, as they do of their deformed children.

　　The gloom on the paternal countenance had alsoimpressed George Osborne with anxiety. With sucheyebrows, and a look so decidedly bilious, how was he toextract that money from the governor, of which Georgewas consumedly in want? He began praising his father'swine. That was generally a successful means of cajolingthe old gentleman.

　　"We never got such Madeira in the West Indies, sir, asyours. Colonel Heavytop took off three bottles of that yousent me down, under his belt the other day."

　　"Did he?" said the old gentleman. "It stands me ineight shillings a bottle."

　　"Will you take six guineas a dozen for it, sir?" saidGeorge, with a laugh. "There's one of the greatest men inthe kingdom wants some."

　　"Does he?" growled the senior. "Wish he may get it."

　　"When General Daguilet was at Chatham, sir, Heavytopgave him a breakfast, and asked me for some of thewine. The General liked it just as well--wanted a pipefor the Commander-in-Chief. He's his Royal Highness'sright-hand man."

　　"It is devilish fine wine," said the Eyebrows, and theylooked more good-humoured; and George was going totake advantage of this complacency, and bring thesupply question on the mahogany, when the father, relapsinginto solemnity, though rather cordial in manner, badehim ring the bell for claret. "And we'll see if that's asgood as the Madeira, George, to which his RoyalHighness 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 satnervously upstairs. She thought, somehow, it was amysterious and presentimental bell. Of the presentimentswhich some people are always having, some surelymust come right.

　　"What I want to know, George," the old gentlemansaid, after slowly smacking his first bumper--"what Iwant to know is, how you and--ah--that little thingupstairs, are carrying on?"

　　"I think, sir, it is not hard to see," George said, with aself-satisfied grin. "Pretty clear, sir.--What capital wine!"

　　"What d'you mean, pretty clear, sir?"

　　"Why, hang it, sir, don't push me too hard. I'm amodest 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 shecan be. Anybody can see that with half an eye."

　　"And you yourself?"

　　"Why, sir, didn't you order me to marry her, and ain'tI a good boy? Haven't our Papas settled it ever so long?"

　　"A pretty boy, indeed. Haven't I heard of your doings,sir, with Lord Tarquin, Captain Crawley of the Guards,~the Honourable Mr. Deuceace and that set. Have a caresir, have a care."

　　The old gentleman pronounced these aristocraticnames with the greatest gusto. Whenever he met a greatman he grovelled before him, and my-lorded him as onlya free-born Briton can do. He came home and lookedout his history in the Peerage: he introduced his nameinto his daily conversation; he bragged about hisLordship to his daughters. He fell down prostrate and baskedin him as a Neapolitan beggar does in the sun. Georgewas alarmed when he heard the names. He feared hisfather might have been informed of certain transactionsat play. But the old moralist eased him by sayingserenely:

　　"Well, well, young men will be young men. And thecomfort to me is, George, that living in the best societyin England, as I hope you do; as I think you do; as mymeans will allow you to do--"

　　"Thank you, sir," says George, making his point atonce. "One can't live with these great folks for nothing;and my purse, sir, look at it"; and he held up a littletoken which had been netted by Amelia, and containedthe very last of Dobbin's pound notes.

　　"You shan't want, sir. The British merchant's sonshan'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'llhave something for you. I don't grudge money when Iknow you're in good society, because I know that goodsociety can never go wrong. There's no pride in me. Iwas a humbly born man--but you 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 yourguinea, my boy. And as for the pink bonnets (here fromunder the heavy eyebrows there came a knowing and notvery pleasing leer)--why boys will be boys. Only there'sone thing I order you to avoid, which, if you do not, I'llcut you off with a shilling, by Jove; and that's gambling,

　　"Oh, of course, sir," said George.

　　"But to return to the other business about Amelia:why shouldn't you marry higher than a stockbroker'sdaughter, George--that's what I want to know?"

　　"It's a family business, sir,".says George, crackingfilberts. "You and Mr. Sedley made the match a hundredyears ago."

　　"I don't deny it; but people's positions alter, sir. I don'tdeny that Sedley made my fortune, or rather put me inthe way of acquiring, by my own talents and genius, thatproud position, which, I may say, I occupy in the tallowtrade and the City of London. I've shown my gratitudeto Sedley; and he's tried it of late, sir, as my cheque-bookcan show. George! I tell you in confidence I don'tlike the looks of Mr. Sedley's affairs. My chief clerk,Mr. Chopper, does not like the looks of 'em, and he's anold file, and knows 'Change as well as any man inLondon. Hulker & Bullock are looking shy at him. He's beendabbling on his own account I fear. They say the JeuneAmelie was his, which was taken by the Yankeeprivateer Molasses. And that's flat--unless I see Amelia's tenthousand down you don't marry her. I'll have no lameduck's daughter in my family. Pass the wine, sir--orring for coffee."

　　With which Mr. Osborne spread out the eveningpaper, and George knew from this signal that thecolloquy was ended, and that his papa was about totake a nap.

　　He hurried upstairs to Amelia in the highest spirits.What was it that made him more attentive to her on thatnight than he had been for a long time--more eager toamuse her, more tender, more brilliant in talk? Was itthat his generous heart warmed to her at the prospect ofmisfortune; or that the idea of losing the dear little prizemade him value it more?

　　She lived upon the recollections of that happy eveningfor many days afterwards, remembering his words; hislooks; the song he sang; his attitude, as he leant over heror looked at her from a distance. As it seemed to her,no night ever passed so quickly at Mr. Osborne's housebefore; and for once this young person was almostprovoked to be angry by the premature arrival of Mr.Sambo with her shawl.

　　George came and took a tender leave of her the nextmorning; and then hurried off to the City, where hevisited Mr. Chopper, his father's head man, and receivedfrom that gentleman a document which he exchanged atHulker & Bullock's for a whole pocketful of money. AsGeorge entered the house, old John Sedley was passingout of the banker's parlour, looking very dismal. But hisgodson was much too elated to mark the worthystockbroker's depression, or the dreary eyes which the kindold gentleman cast upon him. Young Bullock did notcome grinning out of the parlour with him as had beenhis wont in former years.

　　And as the swinging doors of Hulker, Bullock & Co.closed upon Mr. Sedley, Mr. Quill, the cashier (whosebenevolent occupation it is to hand out crisp bank-notesfrom a drawer and dispense sovereigns out of a coppershovel), winked at Mr. Driver, the clerk at the desk onhis right. Mr. Driver winked again.

　　"No go," Mr. D. whispered.

　　"Not at no price," Mr. Q. said. "Mr. George Osborne,sir, how will you take it?" George crammed eagerly aquantity of notes into his pockets, and paid Dobbin fiftypounds that very evening at mess.

　　That very evening Amelia wrote him the tenderest oflong letters. Her heart was overflowing with tenderness,but it still foreboded evil. What was the cause of Mr.Osborne's dark looks? she asked. Had any differencearisen between him and her papa? Her poor papareturned so melancholy from the City, that all werealarmed about him at home--in fine, there were fourpages of loves and fears and hopes and forebodings.

　　"Poor little Emmy--dear little Emmy. How fond sheis of me," George said, as he perused the missive--"andGad, what a headache that mixed punch has given me!"Poor little Emmy, indeed.