Chapter XLVI: Struggles and Trials

by William Makepeace Thackeray

　　Our friends at Brompton were meanwhile passing theirChristmas after their fashion and in a manner by nomeans too cheerful.

　　Out of the hundred pounds a year, which was aboutthe amount of her income, the Widow Osborne had beenin the habit of giving up nearly three-fourths to herfather and mother, for the expenses of herself and herlittle boy. WithClapp, with the best of characters and handwritings,had been able very soon after his master's disaster to findother employment for himself. "Such a little fish as mecan swim in any bucket," he used to remark, and amember of the house from which old Sedley had seceded wasvery glad to make use of Mr. Clapp's services and toreward them with a comfortable salary. In fine, all Sedley'swealthy friends had dropped off one by one, and thispoor ex-dependent still remained faithfully attached tohim.

　　Out of the small residue of her income which Ameliakept back for herself, the widow had need of all thethrift and care possible in order to enable her to keepher darling boy dressed in such a manner as becameGeorge Osborne's son, and to defray the expenses of thelittle school to which, after much misgiving andreluctance and many secret pangs and fears on her ownpart, she had been induced to send the lad. She had sat upof nights conning lessons and spelling over crabbedgrammars and geography books in order to teach them toGeorgy. She had worked even at the Latin accidence,fondly hoping that she might be capable of instructinghim in that language. To part with him all day, to sendhim out to the mercy of a schoolmaster's cane and hisschoolfellows' roughness, was almost like weaning himover again to that weak mother, so tremulous and full ofsensibility. He, for his part, rushed off to the school withthe utmost happiness. He was longing for the change.That childish gladness wounded his mother, who washerself so grieved to part with him. She would rather havehad him more sorry, she thought, and then was deeplyrepentant within herself for daring to be so selfish as towish her own son to be unhappy.

　　Georgy made great progress in the school, which waskept by a friend of his mother's constant admirer, theRev. Mr. Binny. He brought home numberless prizes andtestimonials of ability. He told his mother countless storiesevery night about his school-companions: and what afine fellow Lyons was, and what a sneak Sniffin was, andhow Steel's father actually supplied the meat for theestablishment, whereas Golding's mother came in acarriage to fetch him every Saturday, and how Neat hadstraps to his trowsers--might he have straps?--and howBull Major was so strong (though only in Eutropius) thatit was believed he could lick the Usher, Mr. Ward,himself. So Amelia learned to know every one of the boysin that school as well as Georgy himself, and of nightsshe used to help him in his exercises and puzzle her littlehead over his lessons as eagerly as if she was herselfgoing in the morning into the presence of the master.Once, after a certain combat with Master Smith, Georgecame home to his mother with a black eye, and braggedprodigiously to his parent and his delighted oldgrandfather about his valour in the fight, in which, if thetruth was known he did not behave with particular heroism,and in which he decidedly had the worst. But Ameliahas never forgiven that Smith to this day, though he isnow a peaceful apothecary near Leicester Square.

　　In these quiet labours and harmless cares the gentlewidow's life was passing away, a silver hair or two markingthe progress of time on her head and a line deepeningever so little on her fair forehead. She used to smile atthese marks of time. "What matters it," she asked, "Foran old woman like me?" All she hoped for was to live tosee her son great, famous, and glorious, as he deservedto be. She kept his copy-books, his drawings, andcompositions, and showed them about in her little circle asif they were miracles of genius. She confided some ofthese specimens to Miss Dobbin, to show them to MissOsborne, George's aunt, to show them to Mr. Osbornehimself--to make that old man repent of his cruelty andill feeling towards him who was gone. All her husband'sfaults and foibles she had buried in the grave with him:she only remembered the lover, who had married her atall sacrifices, the noble husband, so brave and beautiful,in whose arms she had hung on the morning when he hadgone away to fight, and die gloriously for his king. Fromheaven the hero must be smiling down upon that paragonof a boy whom he had left to comfort and console her.We have seen how one of George's grandfathers (Mr.Osborne), in his easy chair in Russell Square, daily grewmore violent and moody, and how his daughter, with herfine carriage, and her fine horses, and her name on halfthe public charity-lists of the town, was a lonely, miserable, persecuted old maid. She thought again and againof the beautiful little boy, her brother's son, whom shehad seen. She longed to be allowed to drive in the finecarriage to the house in which he lived, and she usedto look out day after day as she took her solitary drivein the park, in hopes that she might see him. Her sister,the banker's lady, occasionally condescended to pay herold home and companion a visit in Russell Square. Shebrought a couple of sickly children attended by a primnurse, and in a faint genteel giggling tone cackled to hersister about her fine acquaintance, and how her littleFrederick was the image of Lord Claud Lollypop andher sweet Maria had been noticed by the Baroness as theywere driving in their donkey-chaise at Roehampton. Sheurged her to make her papa do something for the darlings.Frederick she had determined should go into the Guards;and if they made an elder son of him (and Mr. Bullockwas positively ruining and pinching himself to death tobuy land), how was the darling girl to be provided for?"I expect you, dear," Mrs. Bullock would say, "for ofcourse my share of our Papa's property must go to thehead of the house, you know. Dear Rhoda McMull willdisengage the whole of the Castletoddy property as soonas poor dear Lord Castletoddy dies, who is quiteepileptic; and little Macduff McMull will be ViscountCastletoddy. Both the Mr. Bludyers of Mincing Lane havesettled their fortunes on Fanny Bludyer's little boy. Mydarling Frederick must positively be an eldest son; and--and do ask Papa to bring us back his account inLombard Street, will you, dear? It doesn't look well, his goingto Stumpy and Rowdy's." After which kind of speeches,in which fashion and the main chance were blendedtogether, and after a kiss, which was like the contact of anoyster--Mrs. Frederick Bullock would gather herstarched nurslings and simper back into her carriage.

　　Every visit which this leader of ton paid to her familywas more unlucky for her. Her father paid more moneyinto Stumpy and Rowdy's. Her patronage became moreand more insufferable. The poor widow in the littlecottage at Brompton, guarding her treasure there, littleknew how eagerly some people coveted it.

　　On that night when Jane Osborne had told her fatherthat she had seen his grandson, the old man had madeher no reply, but he had shown no anger--and had badeher good-night on going himself to his room in rather akindly voice. And he must have meditated on what shesaid and have made some inquiries of the Dobbin familyregarding her visit, for a fortnight after it took place, heasked her where was her little French watch and chainshe used to wear?

　　"I bought it with my money, sir," she said in a greatfright.

　　"Go and order another like it, or a better if you canget it," said the old gentleman and lapsed again intosilence.

　　Of late the Misses Dobbin more than once repeatedtheir entreaties to Amelia, to allow George to visit them.His aunt had shown her inclination; perhaps hisgrandfather himself, they hinted, might be disposed to bereconciled to him. Surely, Amelia could not refuse suchadvantageous chances for the boy. Nor could she, butshe acceded to their overtures with a very heavy andsuspicious heart, was always uneasy during the child'sabsence from her, and welcomed him back as if he wasrescued out of some danger. He brought back money andtoys, at which the widow looked with alarm and jealousy;she asked him always if he had seen any gentleman--"Only old Sir William, who drove him about in the four-wheeled chaise, and Mr. Dobbin, who arrived on thebeautiful bay horse in the afternoon--in the green coatand pink neck-cloth, with the gold-headed whip, whopromised to show him the Tower of London and takehim out with the Surrey hounds." At last, he said, "Therewas an old gentleman, with thick eyebrows, and a broadhat, and large chain and seals." He came one day as thecoachman was lunging Georgy round the lawn on thegray pony. "He looked at me very much. He shook verymuch. I said 'My name is Norval' after dinner. My auntbegan to cry. She is always crying." Such was George'sreport on that night.

　　Then Amelia knew that the boy had seen hisgrandfather; and looked out feverishly for a proposalwhich she was sure would follow, and which came, in fact,in a few days afterwards. Mr. Osborne formally offered totake the boy and make him heir to the fortune which hehad intended that his father should inherit. He wouldmake Mrs. George Osborne an allowance, such as toassure her a decent competency. If Mrs. George Osborneproposed to marry again, as Mr. O. heard was herintention, he would not withdraw that allowance. But itmust be understood that the child would live entirely withhis grandfather in Russell Square, or at whatever otherplace Mr. O. should select, and that he would beoccasionally permitted to see Mrs. George Osborne at herown residence. This message was brought or read to herin a letter one day, when her mother was from homeand her father absent as usual in the City.

　　She was never seen angry but twice or thrice in herlife, and it was in one of these moods that Mr. Osborne'sattorney had the fortune to behold her. She rose uptrembling and flushing very much as soon as, afterreading the letter, Mr. Poe handed it to her, and she tore thepaper into a hundred fragments, which she trod on. "Imarry again! I take money to part from my child! Whodares insult me by proposing such a thing? Tell Mr.Osborne it is a cowardly letter, sir--a cowardly letter--I will not answer it. I wish you good morning, sir--andshe bowed me out of the room like a tragedy Queen,"said the lawyer who told the story.

　　Her parents never remarked her agitation on that day,and she never told them of the interview. They had theirown affairs to interest them, affairs which deeplyinterested this innocent and unconscious lady. The oldgentleman, her father, was always dabbling in speculation.We have seen how the wine company and the coalcompany had failed him. But, prowling about the Cityalways eagerly and restlessly still, he lighted upon someother scheme, of which he thought so well that heembarked in it in spite of the remonstrances of Mr. Clapp,to whom indeed he never dared to tell how far he hadengaged himself in it. And as it was always Mr. Sedley'smaxim not to talk about money matters before women,they had no inkling of the misfortunes that were in storefor them until the unhappy old gentleman was forced tomake gradual confessions.

　　The bills of the little household, which had been settledweekly, first fell into arrear. The remittances had notarrived from India, Mr. Sedley told his wife with a disturbedface. As she had paid her bills very regularly hitherto,one or two of the tradesmen to whom the poor lady wasobliged to go round asking for time were very angry ata delay to which they were perfectly used from moreirregular customers. Emmy's contribution, paid overcheerfully without any questions, kept the little companyin half-rations however. And the first six months passedaway pretty easily, old Sedley still keeping up with thenotion that his shares must rise and that all would bewell.

　　No sixty pounds, however, came to help the householdat the end of the half year, and it fell deeper and deeperinto trouble--Mrs. Sedley, who was growing infirm andwas much shaken, remained silent or wept a great dealwith Mrs. Clapp in the kitchen. The butcher wasparticularly surly, the grocer insolent: once or twice littleGeorgy had grumbled about the dinners, and Amelia, whostill would have been satisfied with a slice of bread forher own dinner, could not but perceive that her son wasneglected and purchased little things out of her privatepurse to keep the boy in health.

　　At last they told her, or told her such a garbled storyas people in difficulties tell. One day, her own moneyhaving been received, and Amelia about to pay it over,she, who had kept an account of the moneys expendedby her, proposed to keep a certain portion back out ofher dividend, having contracted engagements for a newsuit for Georgy.

　　Then it came out that Jos's remittances were not paid,that the house was in difficulties, which Amelia ought tohave seen before, her mother said, but she cared fornothing or nobody except Georgy. At this she passed allher money across the table, without a word, to hermother, and returned to her room to cry her eyes out.She had a great access of sensibility too that day, whenobliged to go and countermand the clothes, the darlingclothes on which she had set her heart for ChristmasDay, and the cut and fashion of which she had arrangedin many conversations with a small milliner, her friend.

　　Hardest of all, she had to break the matter to Georgy,who made a loud outcry. Everybody had new clothes atChristmas. The others would laugh at him. He wouldhave new clothes. She had promised them to him. Thepoor widow had only kisses to give him. She darned theold suit in tears. She cast about among her little ornamentsto see if she could sell anything to procure the desirednovelties. There was her India shawl that Dobbin hadsent her. She remembered in former days going with hermother to a fine India shop on Ludgate Hill, where theladies had all sorts of dealings and bargains in thesearticles. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes shone withpleasure as she thought of this resource, and she kissedaway George to school in the morning, smiling brightlyafter him. The boy felt that there was good news in herlook.

　　Packing up her shawl in a handkerchief (another ofthe gifts of the good Major), she hid them under hercloak and walked flushed and eager all the way toLudgate Hill, tripping along by the park wall and runningover the crossings, so that many a man turned as shehurried by him and looked after her rosy pretty face. Shecalculated how she should spend the proceeds of hershawl--how, besides the clothes, she would buy the booksthat he longed for, and pay his half-year's schooling; andhow she would buy a cloak for her father instead ofthat old great-coat which he wore. She was not mistakenas to the value of the Major's gift. It was a very fine andbeautiful web, and the merchant made a very goodbargain when he gave her twenty guineas for her shawl.

　　She ran on amazed and flurried with her riches toDarton's shop, in St. Paul's Churchyard, and therepurchased the Parents' Assistant and the Sandford andMerton Georgy longed for, and got into the coach therewith her parcel, and went home exulting. And she pleasedherself by writing in the fly-leaf in her neatest littlehand, "George Osborne, A Christmas gift from hisaffectionate-mother." The books are extant to this day,with the fair delicate superscription.

　　She was going from her own room with the books inher hand to place them on George's table, where hemight find them on his return from school, when inthe passage, she and her mother met. The gilt bindingsof the seven handsome little volumes caught the old lady'seye.

　　"What are those?" she said.

　　"Some books for Georgy," Amelia replied--I--Ipromised them to him at Christmas."

　　"Books!" cried the elder lady indignantly, "Books,when the whole house wants bread! Books, when to keepyou and your son in luxury, and your dear father out ofgaol, I've sold every trinket I had, the India shawl frommy back even down to the very spoons, that our tradesmenmightn't insult us, and that Mr. Clapp, which indeedhe is justly entitled, being not a hard landlord, and acivil man, and a father, might have his rent. Oh, Amelia!you break my heart with your books and that boy ofyours, whom you are ruining, though part with him youwill not. Oh, Amelia, may God send you a more dutifulchild than I have had! There's Jos, deserts his father inhis old age; and there's George, who might be providedfor, and who might be rich, going to school like a lord,with a gold watch and chain round his neck--while mydear, dear old man is without a sh--shilling." Hystericsobs and cries ended Mrs. Sedley's speech--it echoedthrough every room in the small house, whereof the otherfemale inmates heard every word of the colloquy.

　　"Oh, Mother, Mother!" cried poor Amelia in reply."You told me nothing--I--I promised him the books.I--I only sold my shawl this morning. Take the money--take everything"--and with quivering hands she tookout her silver, and her sovereigns--her precious goldensovereigns, which she thrust into the hands of hermother, whence they overflowed and tumbled, rollingdown the stairs.

　　And then she went into her room, and sank down indespair and utter misery. She saw it all now. Herselfishness was sacrificing the boy. But for her he might havewealth, station, education, and his father's place, whichthe elder George had forfeited for her sake. She had butto speak the words, and her father was restored tocompetency and the boy raised to fortune. Oh, what aconviction it was to that tender and stricken heart!