Chapter XXII: A Marriage and Part of a Honeymoon -

by William Makepeace Thackeray

　　Enemies the most obstinate and courageous can't holdout against starvation; so the elder Osborne felt himselfpretty easy about his adversary in the encounter we havejust described; and as soon as George's supplies fellshort, confidently expected his unconditional submission.It was unlucky, to be sure, that the lad should have secureda stock of provisions on the very day when the firstencounter took place; but this relief was only temporary,old Osborne thought, and would but delay George'ssurrender. No communication passed between father andson for some days. The former was sulky at this silence,but not disquieted; for, as he said, he knew where hecould put the screw upon George, and only waited theresult of that operation. He told the sisters the upshot ofthe dispute between them, but ordered them to take nonotice of the matter, and welcome George on his returnas if nothing had happened. His cover was laid as usualevery day, and perhaps the old gentleman rather anxiouslyexpected him; but he never came. Some one inquiredat the Slaughters' regarding him, where it was saidthat he and his friend Captain Dobbin had left town.

　　One gusty, raw day at the end of April--the rain whippingthe pavement of that ancient street where the oldSlaughters' Coffee-house was once situated--George Osbornecame into the coffee-room, looking very haggardand pale; although dressed rather smartly in a blue coatand brass buttons, and a neat buff waistcoat of the fashionof those days. Here was his friend Captain Dobbin,in blue and brass too, having abandoned the militaryfrock and French-grey trousers, which were the usualcoverings of his lanky person.

　　Dobbin had been in the coffee-room for an hour ormore. He had tried all the papers, but could not readthem. He had looked at the clock many scores of times;and at the street, where the rain was pattering down,and the people as they clinked by in pattens, left longreflections on the shining stone: he tattooed at the table:he bit his nails most completely, and nearly to the quick(he was accustomed to ornament his great big hands inthis way): he balanced the tea-spoon dexterously on themilk jug: upset it, &c., &c.; and in fact showed thosesigns of disquietude, and practised those desperateattempts at amusement, which men are accustomed toemploy when very anxious, and expectant, and perturbedin mind.

　　Some of his comrades, gentlemen who used the room,joked him about the splendour of his costume and hisagitation of manner. One asked him if he was going to bemarried? Dobbin laughed, and said he would send hisacquaintance (Major Wagstaff of the Engineers) a piece ofcake when that event took place. At length Captain Osbornemade his appearance, very smartly dressed, butvery pale and agitated as we have said. He wiped hispale face with a large yellow bandanna pocket-handkerchiefthat was prodigiously scented. He shook hands withDobbin, looked at the clock, and told John, the waiter,to bring him some curacao. Of this cordial he swallowedoff a couple of glasses with nervous eagerness.His friend asked with some interest about his health.

　　"Couldn't get a wink of sleep till daylight, Dob," saidhe. "Infernal headache and fever. Got up at nine, andwent down to the Hummums for a bath. I say, Dob, I feeljust as I did on the morning I went out with Rocket atQuebec."

　　"So do I," William responded. "I was a deuced dealmore nervous than you were that morning. You made afamous breakfast, I remember. Eat something now."

　　"You're a good old fellow, Will. I'll drink your health,old boy, and farewell to--"

　　"No, no; two glasses are enough," Dobbin interruptedhim. "Here, take away the liqueurs, John. Have somecayenne-pepper with your fowl. Make haste though, for itis time we were there."

　　It was about half an hour from twelve when thisbrief meeting and colloquy took place between the twocaptains. A coach, into which Captain Osborne's servantput his master's desk and dressing-case, had been inwaiting for some time; and into this the two gentlemenhurried under an umbrella, and the valet mounted on thebox, cursing the rain and the dampness of the coachmanwho was steaming beside him. "We shall find a bettertrap than this at the church-door," says he; "that's acomfort." And the carriage drove on, taking the roaddown Piccadilly, where Apsley House and St. George'sHospital wore red jackets still; where there were oil-lamps; where Achilles was not yet born; nor the Pimlicoarch raised; nor the hideous equestrian monster whichpervades it and the neighbourhood; and so they drovedown by Brompton to a certain chapel near the FulhamRoad there.

　　A chariot was in waiting with four horses; likewise acoach of the kind called glass coaches. Only a very fewidlers were collected on account of the dismal rain.

　　"Hang it!" said George, "I said only a pair."

　　"My master would have four," said Mr. Joseph Sedley'sservant, who was in waiting; and he and Mr. Osborne'sman agreed as they followed George and William intothe church, that it was a "reg'lar shabby turnhout; and with scarce so much as a breakfast or awedding faviour."

　　"Here you are," said our old friend, Jos Sedley, comingforward. "You're five minutes late, George, my boy.What a day, eh? Demmy, it's like the commencement ofthe rainy season in Bengal. But you'll find my carriageis watertight. Come along, my mother and Emmy are in thevestry."

　　Jos Sedley was splendid. He was fatter than ever. Hisshirt collars were higher; his face was redder; his shirt-frill flaunted gorgeously out of his variegated waistcoat.Varnished boots were not invented as yet; but the Hessianson his beautiful legs shone so, that they must have beenthe identical pair in which the gentleman in the old pictureused to shave himself; and on his light green coatthere bloomed a fine wedding favour, like a great whitespreading magnolia.

　　In a word, George had thrown the great cast. He wasgoing to be married. Hence his pallor and nervousness--his sleepless night and agitation in the morning. I haveheard people who have gone through the same thingown to the same emotion. After three or four ceremonies,you get accustomed to it, no doubt; but the firstdip, everybody allows, is awful.

　　The bride was dressed in a brown silk pelisse (asCaptain Dobbin has since informed me), and wore a strawbonnet with a pink ribbon; over the bonnet she had aveil of white Chantilly lace, a gift from Mr. Joseph Sedley,her brother. Captain Dobbin himself had asked leaveto present her with a gold chain and watch, which shesported on this occasion; and her mother gave her herdiamond brooch--almost the only trinket which was leftto the old lady. As the service went on, Mrs. Sedley satand whimpered a great deal in a pew, consoled by theIrish maid-servant and Mrs. Clapp from the lodgings.Old Sedley would not be present. Jos acted for his father,giving away the bride, whilst Captain Dobbin stepped upas groomsman to his friend George.

　　There was nobody in the church besides the officiatingpersons and the small marriage party and their attendants.The two valets sat aloof superciliously. The raincame rattling down on the windows. In the intervals ofthe service you heard it, and the sobbing of old Mrs.Sedley in the pew. The parson's tones echoed sadlythrough the empty walls. Osborne's "I will" was soundedin very deep bass. Emmy's response came fluttering upto her lips from her heart, but was scarcely heard byanybody except Captain Dobbin.

　　When the service was completed, Jos Sedley cameforward and kissed his sister, the bride, for the first timefor many months--George's look of gloom had gone, andhe seemed quite proud and radiant. "It's your turn,William," says he, putting his hand fondly upon Dobbin'sshoulder; and Dobbin went up and touched Amelia onthe cheek.

　　Then they went into the vestry and signed the register."God bless you, Old Dobbin," George said, grasping himby the hand, with something very like moisture glisteningin his eyes. William replied only by nodding his head.His heart was too full to say much.

　　"Write directly, and come down as soon as you can,you know," Osborne said. After Mrs. Sedley had taken anhysterical adieu of her daughter, the pair went off to thecarriage. "Get out of the way, you little devils," Georgecried to a small crowd of damp urchins, that were hangingabout the chapel-door. The rain drove into the brideand bridegroom's faces as they passed to the chariot.The postilions' favours draggled on their dripping jackets.The few children made a dismal cheer, as the carriage,splashing mud, drove away.

　　William Dobbin stood in the church-porch, looking at it,a queer figure. The small crew of spectators jeered him.He was not thinking about them or their laughter.

　　"Come home and have some tiffin, Dobbin," a voicecried behind him; as a pudgy hand was laid on his shoulder,and the honest fellow's reverie was interrupted. Butthe Captain had no heart to go a-feasting with Jos Sedley.He put the weeping old lady and her attendants into thecarriage along with Jos, and left them without any fartherwords passing. This carriage, too, drove away, and theurchins gave another sarcastical cheer.

　　"Here, you little beggars," Dobbin said, giving somesixpences amongst them, and then went off by himselfthrough the rain. It was all over. They were married, andhappy, he prayed God. Never since he was a boy had hefelt so miserable and so lonely. He longed with a heart-sick yearning for the first few days to be over, that hemight see her again.

　　Some ten days after the above ceremony, three youngmen of our acquaintance were enjoying that beautifulprospect of bow windows on the one side and blue seaon the other, which Brighton affords to the traveller.Sometimes it is towards the ocean--smiling with countlessdimples, speckled with white sails, with a hundredbathing-machines kissing the skirt of his blue garment--that the Londoner looks enraptured: sometimes, on thecontrary, a lover of human nature rather than of prospectsof any kind, it is towards the bow windows thathe turns, and that swarm of human life which theyexhibit. From one issue the notes of a piano, which a younglady in ringlets practises six hours daily, to the delightof the fellow-lodgers: at another, lovely Polly, the nurse-maid, may be seen dandling Master Omnium in her arms:whilst Jacob, his papa, is beheld eating prawns, anddevouring the Times for breakfast, at the window below.Yonder are the Misses Leery, who are looking out for theyoung officers of the Heavies, who are pretty sure to bepacing the cliff; or again it is a City man, with a nauticalturn, and a telescope, the size of a six-pounder, who hashis instrument pointed seawards, so as to command everypleasure-boat, herring-boat, or bathing-machine thatcomes to, or quits, the shore, &c., &c. But have we anyleisure for a description of Brighton?--for Brighton, aclean Naples with genteel lazzaroni--for Brighton, thatalways looks brisk, gay, and gaudy, like a harlequin'sjacket--for Brighton, which used to be seven hoursdistant from London at the time of our story; which is nowonly a hundred minutes off; and which may approachwho knows how much nearer, unless Joinville comes anduntimely bombards it?

　　"What a monstrous fine girl that is in the lodgingsover the milliner's," one of these three promenadersremarked to the other; "Gad, Crawley, did you see what awink she gave me as I passed?"

　　"Don't break her heart, Jos, you rascal," said another."Don't trifle with her affections, you Don Juan!"

　　"Get away," said Jos Sedley, quite pleased, and leering upat the maid-servant in question with a most killingogle. Jos was even more splendid at Brighton than he hadbeen at his sister's marriage. He had brilliant under-waistcoats,any one of which would have set up a moderate buck.He sported a military frock-coat, ornamented withfrogs, knobs, black buttons, and meandering embroidery.He had affected a military appearance and habits of late;and he walked with his two friends, who were of thatprofession, clinking his boot-spurs, swaggering prodigiously,and shooting death-glances at all the servant girlswho were worthy to be slain.

　　"What shall we do, boys, till the ladies return?" thebuck asked. The ladies were out to Rottingdean in hiscarriage on a drive.

　　"Let's have a game at billiards," one of his friendssaid--the tall one, with lacquered mustachios.

　　"No, dammy; no, Captain," Jos replied, ratheralarmed. "No billiards to-day, Crawley, my boy;yesterday was enough."

　　"You play very well," said Crawley, laughing. "Don'the, Osborne? How well he made that-five stroke, eh?"

　　"Famous," Osborne said. "Jos is a devil of a fellowat billiards, and at everything else, too. I wish there wereany tiger-hunting about here! we might go and kill a fewbefore dinner. (There goes a fine girl! what an ankle, eh,Jos?) Tell us that story about the tiger-hunt, and theway you did for him in the jungle--it's a wonderful storythat, Crawley." Here George Osborne gave a yawn. "It'srather slow work," said he, "down here; what shall wedo?"

　　"Shall we go and look at some horses that Snaffler'sjust brought from Lewes fair?" Crawley said.

　　"Suppose we go and have some jellies at Dutton's,"and the rogue Jos, willing to kill two birds with onestone. "Devilish fine gal at Dutton's."

　　"Suppose we go and see the Lightning come in, it'sjust about time?" George said. This advice prevailingover the stables and the jelly, they turned towards thecoach-office to witness the Lightning's arrival.

　　As they passed, they met the carriage--Jos Sedley'sopen carriage, with its magnificent armorial bearings--that splendid conveyance in which he used to drive, aboutat Cheltonham, majestic and solitary, with his armsfolded, and his hat cocked; or, more happy, with ladiesby his side.

　　Two were in the carriage now: one a little person, withlight hair, and dressed in the height of the fashion; theother in a brown silk pelisse, and a straw bonnet withpink ribbons, with a rosy, round, happy face, that didyou good to behold. She checked the carriage as itneared the three gentlemen, after which exercise ofauthority she looked rather nervous, and then began toblush most absurdly. "We have had a delightful drive,George," she said, "and--and we're so glad to come back;and, Joseph, don't let him be late."

　　"Don't be leading our husbands into mischief, Mr.Sedley, you wicked, wicked man you," Rebecca said,shaking at Jos a pretty little finger covered with theneatest French kid glove. "No billiards, no smoking, nonaughtiness!"

　　"My dear Mrs. Crawley--Ah now! upon my honour!"was all Jos could ejaculate by way of reply; but he managedto fall into a tolerable attitude, with his head lyingon his shoulder, grinning upwards at his victim, with onehand at his back, which he supported on his cane, andthe other hand (the one with the diamond ring) fumblingin his shirt-frill and among his under-waistcoats. As thecarriage drove off he kissed the diamond hand to the fairladies within. He wished all Cheltenham, all Chowringhee,all Calcutta, could see him in that position, waving hishand to such a beauty, and in company with such afamous buck as Rawdon Crawley of the Guards.

　　Our young bride and bridegroom had chosen Brightonas the place where they would pass the first few days aftertheir marriage; and having engaged apartments at theShip Inn, enjoyed themselves there in great comfort andquietude, until Jos presently joined them. Nor was hethe only companion they found there. As they werecoming into the hotel from a sea-side walk one afternoon,on whom should they light but Rebecca and herhusband. The recognition was immediate. Rebecca flewinto the arms of her dearest friend. Crawley and Osborneshook hands together cordially enough: and Becky, inthe course of a very few hours, found means to make thelatter forget that little unpleasant passage of words whichhad happened between them. "Do you remember the lasttime we met at Miss Crawley's, when I was so rude toyou, dear Captain Osborne? I thought you seemed carelessabout dear Amelia. It was that made me angry: andso pert: and so unkind: and so ungrateful. Do forgiveme!" Rebecca said, and she held out her hand with sofrank and winning a grace, that Osborne could not buttake it. By humbly and frankly acknowledging yourself tobe in the wrong, there is no knowing, my son, what goodyou may do. I knew once a gentleman and very worthypractitioner in Vanity Fair, who used to do little wrongsto his neighbours on purpose, and in order to apologisefor them in an open and manly way afterwards--andwhat ensued? My friend Crocky Doyle was liked everywhere,and deemed to be rather impetuous--but the honestestfellow. Becky's humility passed for sincerity withGeorge Osborne.

　　These two young couples had plenty of tales to relateto each other. The marriages of either were discussed;and their prospects in life canvassed with the greatestfrankness and interest on both sides. George's marriagewas to be made known to his father by his friendCaptain Dobbin; and young Osborne trembled rather for theresult of that communication. Miss Crawley, on whomall Rawdon's hopes depended, still held out. Unable tomake an entry into her house in Park Lane, heraffectionate nephew and niece had followed her toBrighton, where they had emissaries continually plantedat her door.

　　"I wish you could see some of Rawdon's friends whoare always about our door," Rebecca said, laughing. "Didyou ever see a dun, my dear; or a bailiff and his man?Two of the abominable wretches watched all last weekat the greengrocer's opposite, and we could not get awayuntil Sunday. If Aunty does not relent, what shall wedo?"

　　Rawdon, with roars of laughter, related a dozen amusinganecdotes of his duns, and Rebecca's adroit treatmentof them. He vowed with a great oath that there wasno woman in Europe who could talk a creditor over asshe could. Almost immediately after their marriage, herpractice had begun, and her husband found the immensevalue of such a wife. They had credit in plenty, but theyhad bills also in abundance, and laboured under a scarcityof ready money. Did these debt-difficulties affect Rawdon'sgood spirits? No. Everybody in Vanity Fair musthave remarked how well those live who are comfortablyand thoroughly in debt: how they deny themselves nothing;how jolly and easy they are in their minds. Rawdonand his wife had the very best apartments at the inn atBrighton; the landlord, as he brought in the first dish,bowed before them as to his greatest customers: andRawdon abused the dinners and wine with an audacitywhich no grandee in the land could surpass. Long custom,a manly appearance, faultless boots and clothes,and a happy fierceness of manner, will often help a manas much as a great balance at the banker's.

　　The two wedding parties met constantly in each other'sapartments. After two or three nights the gentlemen of anevening had a little piquet, as their wives sate and chattedapart. This pastime, and the arrival of Jos Sedley, whomade his appearance in his grand open carriage, and whoplayed a few games at billiards with Captain Crawley,replenished Rawdon's purse somewhat, and gave him thebenefit of that ready money for which the greatest spiritsare sometimes at a stand-still.

　　So the three gentlemen walked down to see the Lightningcoach come in. Punctual to the minute, the coachcrowded inside and out, the guard blowing his accustomedtune on the horn--the Lightning came tearingdown the street, and pulled up at the coach-office.

　　"Hullo! there's old Dobbin," George cried, quite delightedto see his old friend perched on the roof; andwhose promised visit to Brighton had been delayed untilnow. "How are you, old fellow? Glad you're come down.Emmy'll be delighted to see you," Osborne said, shakinghis comrade warmly by the hand as soon as his descentfrom the vehicle was effected--and then he added, in alower and agitated voice, "What's the news? Have youbeen in Russell Square? What does the governor say?Tell me everything."

　　Dobbin looked very pale and grave. "I've seen yourfather," said he. "How's Amelia--Mrs. George? I'll tellyou all the news presently: but I've brought the greatnews of all: and that is--"

　　"Out with it, old fellow," George said.

　　"We're ordered to Belgium. All the army goes--guardsand all. Heavytop's got the gout, and is mad at not beingable to move. O'Dowd goes in command, and we embarkfrom Chatham next week." This news of war couldnot but come with a shock upon our lovers, and causedall these gentlemen to look very serious.