/" y \, ^'■' y^-^x.^i^^ju\^cAJ/ . y/wm^^oy -fiA-'j€>i/AaJiA Pub]i;-,he(i by Harper &Brother3,Newyork. VANITY FAIR B movel wttbout a fbcvo WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY WITH ILL USTRA TIONS BY THE A UTHOR AND A PORTRAIT HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON 1902 THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION OF W. M. THACKERAY'S COMPLETE WORKS Edited by Mrs. Anne Thackeray Ritchie The volumes are issued as /ar as possible in order of original publication 1. VANITY FAIR 2. PENDENNIS 3. YELLOWPLUSH PAPERS, Etc. 4. BARRY LYNDON, Etc. 5. SKETCH BOOKS 6. CONTRIBUTIONS TO "PUNCH," Etc. 7. HENRY ESMOND, Etc. 8. THE NEWCOMES 9. CHRISTMAS BOOKS, Etc. 10. THE VIRGINIANS 11. PHILIP, Etc. 12. DENIS DUVAL, Etc, 13. MISCELLANIES Illustrated. Crown 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, ^i 7S per volume HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK AND LONDON V^Ne^"^ O A ^ 5^. o^ Copyright, 1898, by Hakpek & BrothSss AU rights rturvtd HA/ A] * * * MY Father never wished for any Biography of him- self to be written, and for this reason I have never attempted to vrrite one. It is only after a quarter of a centwry that I have determined to publish memories which chiefly concern his books. Certain selections from his letters are cUso included, which tell of the places where his work was done, and of the times when he wrote. So much has been forgotten, so much that is ephemeral has been recorded, that it is my desire to mark down some of the truer chords to which his life was habitually set. For this reason I have included one letter to my Mother aTnong the rest : it vdll show that he knew how to valus the priceless gifts of home and of happiness while they lasted, as well as to bear trouble and loneliness when they fell upon him. A. I. R. November 28, 1897. 91597? y CONTENTS INTRODUCTION .XT DEDICATION TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION . . . . xU BEFORE THE CURTAIN xM OHAP. I. CHISWICK MALL 1 II. IN WHICH MISS SHARP AND MISS SEDLET PRBPAKS TO OPEN THE CAMPAIGN .... 7 III. REBECCA IS IN PRESENCE OF THE ENEMY . . 16 IV. THE GREEN SILK PURSE 23 V. DOBBIN OF OURS . . . . . .35 VI. VAUXHALL 45 VII. CRAWLEY OF QUEEN's CRAWLEY . . . .57 VIII. PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL . . . .64 IX. FAMILY PORTRAITS 73 X. MISS SHARP BEGINS TO MAKE FRIENDS . , 80 XI. ARCADIAN SIMPLICITY 86 XII. QUITE A SENTIMENTAL CHAPTER . . .100 XIII. SENTIMENTAL AND OTHERWISE . . . .108 XIV. MISS CRAWLEY AT HOME 119 XV. IN WHICH Rebecca's husband appears for a SHORT time 136 XVI. the letter on the PINCUSHION . . .144 XVII. HOW CAPTAIN DOBBIN BOUGHT A PIANO . .152 XVIII. WHO PLAYED ON THE PIANO CAPTAIN DOBBIN BOUGHT 1 .... , . 160 to CONTENTS CHAP. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. XXX. XXXI. XXXII. XXXIII. XXXIV. XXXV. XXXVI. XXXVII. XXXVIII. XXXIX. XL. ILL XLII. XLIII. MISS CRAWLEY AT NURSE . . . .171 IN WHICH CAPTAIN DOBBIN ACTS AS THE MES- SENGER OF HYMEN 181 A QUARREL ABOUT AN HEIRESS . . .190 A MARRIAGE AND PART OF A HONEYMOON . 199 CAPTAIN DOBBIN PROCEEDS ON HIS CANVASS . 207 IN WHICH MR. OSBORNE TAKES DOWN THE FAMILY BIBLE 213 IN WHICH ALL THE PRINCIPAL PERSONAGES THINK FIT TO LEAVE BRIGHTON . . .225 BETWEEN LONDON AND CHATHAM . . . 243 IN WHICH AMELIA JOINS HER REGIMENT . . 250 IN WHICH AMELIA INVADES THE LOW COUNTRIES 256 BRUSSELS 265 "THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME " . . .277 IN WHICH JOS SEDLEY TAKES CARE OF HIS SISTER . . ... 286 IN WHICH JOS TAKES FLIGHT, AND THE WAR IS BROUGHT TO A CLOSE . . . .297 IN WHICH MISS Crawley's relations are VERY ANXIOUS ABOUT HER . . .312 JAMES Crawley's pipe is put out . . .322 WIDOW AND mother 337 HOW TO live well ON NOTHING A YEAR . 347 the SUBJECT CONTINUED 355 A FAMILY IN A VERY SMALL WAY . . .369 A CYNICAL CHAPTER 382 IN WHICH BECKY IS RECOGNISED BY THE FAMILY 391 IN WHICH BECKY REVISITS THE HALLS OF HER ANCESTORS 399 WHICH TREATS OF THE OSBORNE FAMILY . .410 IN WHICH THE READER HAS TO DOUBLE THE CAPE 417 CONTENTS OHAP. XLIV. XLV. XLVI. XLVII. XLVIII. XLIX. L. LI. LII. LIII. LIV. LV. LVI. LVII. LVIII. LIX. LX. LXI. LXII. LXIII. UCIV. LXV. LXVI. LXVII. XI PAQI A ROUNDABOUT CHAPTER BETWEEN LONDON AND HAMPSHIRE 426 BETWEEN HAMPSHIRE ^.ND LONDON . . 436 STRUGGLES AND TRIALS ..... 445 GAUNT HOUSE 453 IN WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO THE VERY BEST OF COMPANY . . . .461 IN WHICH WE ENJOY THREE COURSES AND A DESSERT 472 CONTAINS A VULGAR INCIDENT . . . .479 IN WHICH A CHARADE IS ACTED WHICH MAY OR MAY NOT PUZZLE THE READER . . .487 IN WHICH LORD STEYNE SHOWS HIMSELF IN A MOST AMIABLE LIGHT .... 504 A RESCUE AND A CATASTROPHE . . . .513 SUNDAY AFTER THE BATTLE .... 522 IN WHICH THE SAME SUBJECT IS PURSUED . 530 GEORGY IS MADE A GENTLEMAN . . . 544 EOTHEN 555 OUR FRIEND THE MAJOR 563 THE OLD PIANO . . . . . . 574 RETURNS TO THE GENTEEL WORLD . . . 584 IN WHICH TWO LIGHTS ARE PUT OUT . .590 AM RHEIN 603 IN WHICH WE MEET AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE . 613 A VAGABOND CHAPTER 624 FULL OF BUSINESS AND PLEASURE . . .639 AMANTIUM IR^ 647 WHICH CONTAINS BIRTHS, MARRIAGES, AND DEATHS 661 ^ LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR Frontispiect MAJOR AND MRS. HOBKIRK FOR THE CONTINENT students' duel at GODESBERG HUMMEL DEVRIENT A lady's glance at the author . Thackeray's home in young street, Kensington designs for the cover of "vanity fair" . amelia waiting in russell square studies for the miss osbornes the mesmerizer PAGE xix XX xxi xxii xxiii xxvi xxix xxxi xxxii xl REBECCA S FAREWELL . • • . MR. JOSEPH ENTANGLED . . REBECCA MAKES ACQUAINTANCE WITH A LIVE BARONET MISS CRAWLEy'b affectionate RELATIVES MR. OSBORNE's WELCOME TO AMELIA THE NOTE ON THE PINCUSHION MR. 8KDLEY AT THE COFFEE-HOUSE . A FAMILY PARTY AT BRIGHTON MRS. o'dOWD at THE FLOWER MARKET . xlii To face 'page 4 32 60 114 148 184 230 262 XIV LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS MR. JOS SHAVES OFF HIS MUSTACHI08 MRS. RAWDOn's departure FROM PARIS . GEORGY MAKES ACQUAINTANCE WITH A WATER LOO MAN SIR Pitt's last stage .... BECKY IN LOMBARD STREET . GEORGY GOES TO CHURCH GENTEELLY COLONEL CRAWLEY IS WANTED SIR Pitt's study-chair .... GEORGY A GENTLEMAN . A FINE SUMMER EVENING VIRTUE REWARDED, A BOOTH IN VANITY FAIR To face page 302 »> 352 • » 366 » 11 392 11 470 * 11 484 • 11 504 11 524 * 11 644 ' 11 606 11 674 FACSIMILE OP JOS SEDLEY S LETTER AS IT APPEARS IN THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT OF "vanity fair" 54 r INTRODUCTION TO VANITY FAIR 1817— 1845-8 I. I CANNOT help thinking that although " Vanity Fair " was written in ^45^nd the following years, it was really begun in 181 7, when tKemtle boy, so lately come from India, found him- self shut in behind those filigree iron gates at Chiswick, of which he writes when he describes Miss Pinkerton's establishment. Whether Miss Pinkerton was, or was not, own sister to the great Doctor at the head of the boarding-school for young gentlemen on Chiswick Mall, to which " Billy boy " (as the author of " Van- ity Fair " used to be called in those early days) was sent, remains to be proved. There is certainly a very strong likeness between those two majestic beings, the awe-inspiring Doctor and the great Miss Pinkerton, whose dignity and whose Johnsonian language marked an epoch in education. I myself remember, as a child, hearing it said in the family, that when Dr. used to read the Ten Commandments of a Sunday to his boys and the rest of the people assembled, his wife and several members of the congre- gation had been heard to declare, that to hear his resounding tones reminded them of Mount Sinai itself ! Perhaps the little Indian boy did not realise this resemblance, nor enjoy his privileges so much as he might have done. He was not at all happy, he has told us, in either of his early schools, although he was kindly treated at Chiswick by the Doctor and his wife, who were indeed some distant connections of my grand- > xvi VANITY FAIR mother's. In later days, driving to Richmond and elsewhere, my father has shown us the corner of the lane by the Hammersmith Road to which he ran away soon after he first came to Chiswick ; then being frightened, perhaps, by the great Hammersmith Road, and not knowing where to go, he ran back to school again, and no one was the wiser. He was still at Dr. 's when his mother and his stepfather came home. My grandmother in a letter to India has described the meeting, and how she went to fetch her boy from school. " He had a perfect recollection of me ; he could not speak, but kissed me, and looked at me again and again, and I could almost have said, ' Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace.' He is the living image of his father, and God in heaven send that he may resemble him in all but his too short life ! He is tall, stout, and sturdy. His eyes are become darker, but there is still the same dear expression. His drawing is wonderful." My father must have been a sensitive little boy of nine or ten years old in those days, quick to feel, not over strong, but well- grown, and ruddy in looks. He was always very short-sighted ; and he has told me that this in his school-days was a great trouble to him, for he could not join in the games with any comfort or pleasure, nor even see the balls which he was set to stop at cricket. Soon after his parents' return he quitted Miss Pinkerton's estab- lishment and went to Charterhouse, which hardly comes into " Vanity Fair." Swishtails was not Grey Friars, and I have al- ways wondered where the great fight between Cuff and Dobbin took place. Russell Square and Jos Sedley and Boggly wollah, all belong to very early impressions. My father's holidays must have often been spent in the streets round about Russell Square ; sev- eral members of his stepfather's family were then settled in that district. Dr. Carmichael-Smyth, the well-known physician, who was alive in those days, had a house in the neighbourhood. There is a lovely picture of his wife by Romney, gracious and beautiful in white and powder, a painting my father greatly admired. The lady was Miss Smyth of Athernay, and by her marriage with Dr. Carmichael she became Mrs. Carmichael-Smyth, and the mother of numerous daughters and handsome sons. She was no longer alive when my grandmother and her husband came home from India to the Paternal Roof. My step-grandfather was among the first of those many " brave young men, soldiers for the INTRODUCTION xvii most part," says the author of " Denis Duval " in one of the last chapters he ever wrote, " who told of Bhurtpore, of Bergen op Zoom, of Waterloo." One of the daughters was painted by Raeburn — a charming portrait, which hangs on our walls. It belonged to my step-grandfather, from whom it came to us. That eventful time was not history only to the people who were born, as my father was, in the first years of the century. It meant real life, near relations, hearts aching or throbbing with gratitude and exultant relief. To him it must have come in all the echoes of the voices with which he lived as a boy. He was eleven years old when he went to Charterhouse in 1822, only seven years after Waterloo was fought. In the August of that year, 1822, Major Carmichael-Smyth was appointed Governor to Addis- combe.* In one of his earliest letters to his mother from Charterhouse, the little boy asks to be told all about " Addiscombe and the gen- tleman cadets, and if papa has got a cock-hat that will fit him." From the age of eleven to thirteen he spent his holidays at the college. One cannot help also speculating whether the original King's Crawley may not have lain somewhere in that neighbour- hood. The Governor of Addiscombe did not remain there very long; after two years he resigned his post, and removed with his family to Pendennis-land. Meanwhile my father had been coming and going from Charter- house. At Charterhouse afterwards, as a big boy, he seems to have had far more agreeable impressions of Chiswick than during his earlier experiences. It is in February 1828 that he mentions going back there on half -holidays. " Very gracious they were : I played two games of chess with Mrs. , and two rubbers of whist with the young ladies." Elsewhere in this same home letter from Charterhouse he continues: " I have only read one novel since I came back, and I dare say I shall not read another. I have not yet drawn out a plan for my stories, but certain germs thereof arc budding in my mind, which I hope by assiduous application will flourish yet and bring forth fruit." . . . Then he apologises for * In Colonel Vibart's records of Addiscombe, he says it may be noted as a matter of interest that Thackeray was during his bojhood an inmate of the mansion there. xviii VANITY FAIR writing so much every day. " I always feel as if I were at home when I am writing," he says ; " and although it may give you very Httle amusement, it is certainly very amusing to me — that is to say, when once I begin." The author of "Vanity Fair" was born in 1811, and must therefore have been four years old at the time of the battle of Waterloo ; but Becky and Jos, and Amelia and Dobbin, were all grown up, and out in the world by then. In " Vanity Fair " it- self we are told how the author met them at Pumpernickel in later years, when he was a student, and when Dobbin and the Sedleys, all well advanced in life, were touring abroad for rest and relaxation. The little comfortable grand ducal town of Pum- pernickel, whither Jos and his party, and Major Dobbin, on his return from India, all travelled together, is familiar to all readers of " Vanity Fair " ; and so is the carriage, and the courier on the box, and the Erb Prinz Hotel, where the whole party dined at the table d'hdte. Major and Mrs. Hobkirk were perhaps present on this occasion. Their portraits are here given. One of the first of the letters from Germany, dated Coblentz, July 31, 1830, gives prevailing fashions of churches, and sketches of the Castled Crag of Drachenfels^ and of the people on board — one man would do for a buccaneer, says my father. The next letter contains a sketch of a students' duel at Godesberg. One letter from my father to his mother, dated September 29, 1830, might almost be a page out of " Vanity Fair " itself, so absolute- ly does it reproduce the atmosphere of Pumpernickel and the echoes of that time. " You see the direction to my letter — Weimar — which, with your good leave, will be my direction while I remain in Ger- many. On arriving here I found an old schoolfellow,* who is staying with a German family, and who said that the place was exactly suited for me." ** It seems that the old Grand Duke had a great love for Eng- * I believe that Mr. Lettsom (afterwards less comfortably established as a diplomat in South America) was the friend with whom ray father lived at this time. Dr. Norman Macleod was also in Weimar that winter, and they all three learnt German from Dr. Weissenborue. i»S0ll^ INTRODUCTION XIX lish manners and English men ; and though the present Duke is not quite so prepossessed in our favour, yet he is happy to see all the Englishmen who come here — and there are generally three or four residing at his Court. A have accordingly had a pair of MAJOR AND MRS. HOBKIRK FOR THE CONTINENT. trousers cut into breeches, and have had the honour of making my appearance in his august presence. There is a capital library, which is open to me ; an excellent theatre, which costs a shilling per night ; and a charming petite societe^ which costs nothing. " Goethe, the great lion of Weimar, I have not seen, but his XX VANITY FAIR INTRODUCTION xxi daughter-in-law has promised to introduce me. So much for Weimar, which I think you will agree with me is as good a place as I could possibly select for my stay in this country. . . . " I slept at Gotha and came o* here, and here, I trust, will end my travels ; for though the society is small (he continues), it is remarkably good ; and though the Court is absurdly ceremoni- ous, I think it will rub off a little of the rust which school and college have given me." " Now I am going to ask a very absurd favour ; I want a cor- netcy in Sir John Kennaway's yeomanry. The men here are all in some uniform, and if hereafter I go to other Courts in Ger- many, or in any other part of Europe, something of this sort is necessary as a Court dress. It is true that here I can do without it, but in case of my going elsewhere I must have some dress or other ; and a yeomanry dress is always a handsome and respect- able one. As it is, I have to air my legs in black breeches, and to sport a black coat, black waistcoat, and cocked hat ; looking something like a cross between a footman and a Methodist parson. . . . Last night we had at the theatre a translation of " Hernani," the trag- edy by Victor Hugo which made so much noise in Paris. I would recommend you to read it if possible. We have had three operas, " Medea," and the "Barber of Seville," and "II Flauto Magico." Hummel conducts the orchestra — here is a picture which is somewhat like him for Mary. The orchestra is excellent, but the singers are not first- rate." Another letter gives an interesting account of Devrient, with a sketch : — " I went to Erfurt the other day to see the " Robbers," a play which is a little too patriotic and free for our Court Theatre. An actor of this place accompanied me and took me behind the ■cenes, thereby revealing to me all the mysteries of a German theatre. He introduced me to Devrient, the Kean of Germany, who in several particulars resembles his illustrious brother of the buskin. " His great character is Franz Moor in the " Robbers," and I think I never saw anything so terrible. There is a prayer which XXll VANITY FAIR Franz makes while his castle is being attacked, which has the most awful effect which can well be fancied : * I am no common murderer, mein Herr Gott.' That picture is as like the man as may be, which is saying a great deal — but I have done nothing but practise drawing his face since I saw it. '' Jan. 2S, 1831." We know how much Sedley and his party enjoyed their visit to the theatre, and how greatly Amelia was admired when she appeared there, and we have also read how charming she looked at the Grand Duke's ball. My fa- ther made a sketch of himself on that occasion m the cele- brated knee-breeches and cocked hat, and sent it to Edward Fitz- gerald. " I have got a book into which I paste the play-bills," he con- tinues, writing to his mother. "I have fallen in love with the Princess of Weimar, who is un- luckily married to Prince Charles of Prussia. I must get over this unfortunate passion, which will otherwise bring me to an un- DivRiENT. timely end. There are several very charming young persons of the female sex here. Miss A — and ditto Miss B — are the evening belles. As I have delayed my letter a week, I must write again next week, and I will send you a couple of transla- tions from Korner, which will, I think, amuse you ; they ought to, were they anything like the original. . . . Write to me, * bei Madame Mellor^ at Weimar.' " I can remember my father pointing in after years to the win- dows of his old rooms, looking out into the Platz, upon which the afternoon sun was shining full. Here is one more extract from the correspondence of this time, together with the drawing which belongs to it : — INTRODUCTION XXlll " Blinded by the rays of her eyes, I am giving myself ecstat- ically up to — I can't finish the sentence. You must fancy another picture, in which the new-comer is standing between me and the sun, and giving me leisure to see and be wise. Man says that — — 's glancing eyes Wander too fond and free, But in gazing thus on all the world They have a look for me ; As if the something, something sun Was destined but to shine on one 1 A ladt's glancb at the author. Here, dearest mother, you have the beginning of a rapturous ode on the innumerable beauties and perfections of a certain Mademoiselle de ; but a gentleman arrived who had been in the Guards, is heir to ten thousand a year, has several waistcoats of the most magnificent pattern, and makes love speeches to ad- miration : he has therefore cut me out, as he will some day be cut out in his turn. Flirting is a word much in vogue, but I think jilting is the proper term in this my unfortunate (or fortunate, as you please) desertion." "The flame has gone out," he says xxiv VANITY FAIR farther on, " and now I scarcely know what has become of the cinders !" The well-known letter to Lewes, published in his "Life of Goethe," is so interesting that I cannot help quoting the passage about his introduction to Goethe. " In 1831, though he had retired from the world, Goethe would nevertheless very kindly receive strangers. His daughter-in-law*s tea-table was always spread for us. We passed hours after hours there, and night after night, with the pleasantest talk and music. We read over endless novels and poems in French, English, and German. My delight in those days was to make caricatures for children. I was touched to find that they were remembered, and some even kept until the present time ; and very proud to be told, as a lad, that the great Goethe had looked at some of them. " He remained in his private apartments, where only a very few privileged persons were admitted ; but he liked to know all that was happening, and interested himself about all strangers. When- ever a countenance struck his fancy, there was an artist settled in Weimar who made a portrait of it. Goethe had quite a gallery of heads, in black and white, taken by this painter.* His house was all over pictures, drawings, casts, statues, and medals. Of course I remember very well the perturbation of spirit with which, as a lad of nineteen, I received the long-expected intimation that the Herr Geheimrath would see me on such a morning. This audi- ence took place in a little antechamber of his private apartments, covered all round with antique casts and bas-reliefs. He was * Mendelssohn was in Weimar in the same year as my father. He too writes of Hummel and of Goethe in his letters home. " I wrote this before going to see Goethe early in the forenoon after a walk in the park, but I could not find a moment to finish my letter till now. I shall probably remain here for a couple of days, which is no sacrifice, for I never saw the old gentleman so cheerful and amiable as on this occasion, or so talkative and communicative. My special reason, however, for staying two days longer is a very agreeable one, and makes me almost vain, or I ought rather to say proud, and I do not intend to keep it secret from you. Goethe, you must know, sent me a letter yesterday addressed to an artist here, a painter, which I am to deliver myself, and Ottilie confided to me that it con- tains a commission to take my portrait, as Goethe wishes to place it in a collection of likenesses he has recently commenced of his friends. This cir- cumstance gratified me exceedingly." _^ 4B INTRODUCTION xxv habited in a long grey or drab redingot, with a white neckcloth, and a red ribbon in his buttonhole. He kept his hands behind his back, just as in Ranch's sta^ette. His complexion was very bright, clear, and rosy ; his eyes extraordinarily dark, piercing, and brilliant. I felt quite afraid before them, and recollect com- paring them to the eyes of the hero of a certain romance called ' Melnoth the Wanderer,' which used to alarm us boys thirty years ago ; eyes of an individual who had made a bargain with a Certain Person, and at an extreme old age retained these eyes in all their awful splendour. I fancied Goethe must have been still more handsome as an old man than even in the days of his youth. His voice was very rich and sweet. He asked me ques- tions about myself, which I answered as best I could. I recol- lect I was at first astonished, and then somewhat relieved, when I found he spoke French with not a good accent. . . . " Vidi tantum. — I saw him but three times — once walking in the garden of his house in the Frauenplan ; once going to step into his chariot on a sunshiny day, wearing a cap and a cloak with a red collar. He was caressing at the time a beautiful lit- tle golden-haired granddaughter, over whose sweet fair face the earth has long since closed too. . . . " With a five-and-twenty years' experience since those happy days of which I write, and an acquaintance with an immense variety of human kind, I think I have never seen a society more simple, charitable, courteous, gentleman - like, than that of the dear little Saxon city, where the good Schiller and the great Goethe lived and lie buried." 11. Once, writing to my grandmother, my father said, " It is the fashion to say that people are unfortunate who * have lost their money.' Dearest mother, we know better than that." For years and years he had to face the great question of daily bread : life was no playtime either to him or to many of his con- temporaries, who also worked for others as well as for themselves — Carlyle, Tennyson, Dickens, John Leech, a dozen honoured names come to one's mind. But their work to each one of them (as XXVI VANITY FAIR to all true workers) was a happiness, a progress, a fulfilment, rather than a task. They worked on for the work's sake as much as for what it brought to them, and understood what was best worth hav- ing ; learning the things that people often don't learn who have only bought their places in the world, or inherited them from others. I have written elsewhere of our early home in Young Street, and of our life there, and of the people who used to come to the old THACKBRAY's home at no. 13 YOUNG STREET, KENSINGTON, FROM 1846 TO 1853. house at the corner of Kensington Square, in which my father wrote " Vanity Fair," and " Pendennis," and " Esmond," and where he lived for seven years. They were fruitful years, bringing their sheaves and gathering in their full harvests. It was in Au- gust 1846 that my father, after some hesitation, settled down in Kensington. He writes to his mother, " I am beginning to count the days now till you come ; and I have got the rooms all ready in the rough, all but a couple of bedsteads and a few etceteras, which fall into their place in a day or two. ... As usual I am full of INTRODUCTION xxvii business and racket, working every day, and yet not advancing somehow; and poor too, although everybody gives me credit for making a fortune. I like Kensington Gardens very much indeed, walk in and out too sometimes, ^nd I have health, and much more work and leisure too. . . . Aunt Halliday has sent me a farewell letter and a store of mango pickles and chutney. All the Lon- don gaieties are over. I dined three days running at my own expense, and enjoyed that relaxation amazingly. Shan't you bring a servant with the children ?" It was not till late in the autumn that we came to live with my father at Kensington. We had been at Paris with our grand- parents, while he was at work in London. It was a dark wintry evening. The fires were lighted, the servants were engaged, Eliza — what family would be complete without its Eliza? — was in waiting to show us our rooms. He was away ; he had not expected us so early. We saw the drawing-room, the empty study ; there was the feeling of London — London smelt of tobacco, we thought; we stared out through the uncurtained windows at the dark gar- den behind ; and then climbing the stairs, we looked in at his bedroom door, and came to our own rooms above it. There were pictures ready hung on the walls of the schoolroom, and of the adjoining fire-lit nursery — the Thorwaldsen prints. Hunt's de- lightful sleepy boy yawning at us over the chimney-piece, all of which he had caused to be put up ; and the picture of himself as a child he had hung up with his own hands, Eliza told us. Once more, after his first happy married years, my father had a home and a family — if a house, two young children, three servants, and a little black cat can be called a family. My grandmother, who had brought us over to England, returned to her husband in Paris ; but her mother, an old lady wrapped in Indian shawls, presently came to live with us, and divided her time between Kensington and the Champs Elysees until 1 848, when she died at Paris. We did not see very much of our great-grandmoth- er ; she rarely spoke, and was almost always in her room ; but though my father was very busy, and often away from home, we seemed to live with him, and were indeed with him constantly — in the early mornings, and when he was drawing, and on Sundays especially, and on holidays when the work was finished. We often went for little expeditions together, which he liked. He was well xxviii VANITY FAIR and strong, and able both to work and to enjoy life to the full ; though even then he was not without anxiety for the future. Success was slow ; his great book hung fire. One has heard of the journeys which the manuscript made to various publishers* houses before it could find one ready to undertake the venture, and how long its appearance was delayed by various doubts and hesitations. The book was at last brought out in its yellow covers by Messrs. Bradbury & Evans on the 1st of January 1847. My great-grandmother did not speak much, as I have said, but I think she put on her spectacles and read "Vanity Fair" in the intervals of her books of devotion. I still remember going along Kensington Gardens with my sister and our nurse-maid carrying a parcel of yellow numbers, which she had given us to take to some friend who lived across the Park ; and as we walked along, somewhere near the gates of the gardens we met my father, who asked us what we were carrying. Then some- how he seemed vexed and troubled, told us not to go on, and to take the parcel home. Then he changed his mind, saying that if his grandmother wished it, the books had best be conveyed ; but we guessed, as children do, that something was seriously amiss. Something was seriously amiss. The sale of "Vanity Fair " was so small that it was a question at that time whether its publication should not be discontinued altogether. 1 have always been told that it was " Mrs. Perkins's Ball " which played the part of pilot or steam-tug to that great line-of-battle ship " Vanity Fair," and which brought it safely off the shoals. In later days I have heard my father speak of those times, and say that besides " Mrs. Per- kins's Ball," a review in the Edinburgh Review by Mr. A. Hay ward greatly helped the sale of " Vanity Fair." We have still one or two of the early designs for the " Vanity Fair " drawings — Jos holding Becky's skein ; old Sedley in his coffee-house, with his head in his hands, waiting for prosperity to come back to him ; and among the rest Becky at the Fancy Fair selling to Dobbin with two or three hats fitted on to his head and shoulders. There is also a little sepia suggestion for the picture of Becky's first introduction to a baronet, and a first rough suggestion for the cover, two little pencil warriors with a flying pennant, on which are inscribed the titles of the book. But the picture for the cover which was eventually determined upon was far INTRODUCTION VANITY m\ SroRT 1' 4/*'*'^ man ; a pleasant companion ; a careless student ; with a great a^J^^ propensity for running into debt, and a partiality for the tavern. When he was drank, he used to beat his wife and daughter ; and the next morning, with a headache, 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 it was with the utmost difficulty that he could keep himself, and as he owed money for a mile round Soho, where he lived, he thought to better his circumstances by marrying a young woman of the French nation, who was by profession an opera-girl. The humble calling of her female parent Miss Sharp never alluded to, but used to state subsequently that the Entrechats were a noble family of Gascony, and took great pride in her descent from them. And curious it is, that as she advanced in life this young lady's ancestors , increased in rank and splendour. Rebecca's mother had had some education somewhere, and her daughter spoke French with purity and a Parisian accent. It was in those days rather a rare accomplishment, and led to her engage- ment with the orthodox Miss Pinkerton. For her mother being dead, her father, finding himself not likely to recover, after his third attack of delirium tremens, wrote a manly and pathetic letter to Miss Pinkerton, recommending the orphan child to her protection, and so descended to the grave, after two bailiffs had quarrelled over his corpse. Rebecca was seventeen when she came to Chiswick, 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 hy a glance of her eyes which was fired all the way across Chiswick Church from the school-pew to the reading-desk. This in^^.^tuated young man used sometimes to take tea with Miss Pinker- lo VANITY FAIR ton, 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 dovecot 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 ;wo occasions when she had met him at tea. By the side of many tall and bouncing yoimg^ ladies in the estab- lishment, Rebecca Sharp looked like a child. ' But she had the 'dismal precocity of poverty. Many a dun had she talked to, and i turned away from her father's door; many a tradesman had she I coaxed and wheedled into good-humour, and into the granting of \ one meal more. She sate commonly with her father, who was very i 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 1 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 ing^niie ; 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 confis- cated property of Miss Swindle, discovered surreptitiously nursing it in school-hours. How the father and daughter laughed as they trudged home together after the evening party (it was on the occasion of the speeches, when all the professors were invited), and how Miss Pinkerton would have raged had she seen the caricature of herself which the little mimic, Rebecca, managed to make out of her doll. Becky used to go through dialogues with it ; it formed the delight of Newman Street, Gerrard Street, and the Artists' quarter : and the young painters, when they came to take their gin-and-water with their lazy, dissolute, clever, jovial senior, used regularly to ask Rebecca if Miss Pinkerton was at home : she was as well known to them, poor soul ! as Mr. Lawrence or President West. Once Rebecca had the honour to pass a few days at Chiswick ; after which she brought back Jemima, and erected another doll as Miss Jemmy : for though that honest creature had made and given her jelly and cake enough A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO ii for three children, and a seven-shilling piece at parting, the girl'^l sense of ridicule was far stronger than her gratitude, and she sacri-jj ficed 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 conventual regularity, oppressed her almost beyond endur-i ance ; and she looked back to the Ifreedom and the beggary of the old studio in Soho 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-humour of her \ sister, the silly chat and scandal of the elder girls, and the frigid j correctness of the governesses equally annoyed her ; and she had no soft maternal heart, this unlucky girl, otherwise the prattle and talk of the younger children, with whose care she was chiefly 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 ? The happiness — the superior advantages of the young women round about her, gave Rebecca inexpressible pangs of envy. " What airs that girl gives herself, because she is an Earl's granddaughter," she said of one. " How they cringe and bow to that Creole, because of her hundred thousand pounds ! I am a thousand times cleverer and more charming than that creature, for all her wealth. I am as well bred as the Earl's granddaughter, for all her fine pedigree ; and yet every one passes me by here. And yet, when I was at my father's, did not the men give up their gayest balls and parties in order to pass the evening with me 1 " She determined at any rate to get free from the prison in which she found herself, and now began to act for herself, and for the first time to make connected plans for the future. She took advantage, therefore, of the means of study the place offered her ; and as she was already a musician and a good linguist, she speedily went through the little coiu^e of study which was considered necessary for ladies in those days. Her music she pnu)- la VANITY FAIR tised incessantly, and one day, when the girls were out, and she had remained at home, she was overheard to play a piece so well, that Minerva thought wisely, she could spare herself the expense of a master for the juniors, and intimated to Miss Sharp that she was to instruct them in music for the future. The girl refused ; and for the first time, and to the astonishment of the majestic mistress of the school. " I am here to speak French with the children," Rebecca said abruptly, "not to teach them music, and save money for you. Give me money, and I will teach them." Minerva was obliged to yield, and, of course, disliked her from that day. "For five-and-thirty years," she said, and with great justice, "I never have seen the individual who has dared in my own house to question my authority. I have nourished a viper in my bosom." "A viper — a fiddlestick," said Miss Sharp to the old lady, almost fainting with astonishment. "You took me because I was useful. There is no question of gratitude between us. I hate this place, and want to leave it. I will do nothing here but what I am obliged to do." It was in vain that the old lady asked her if she was aware she was speaking to Miss Pinkerton 1 Rebecca laughed in her face, with a horrid sarcastic demoniacal laughter, that almost sent the school- mistress into fits. " Give me a sum of money," said the girl, " and get rid of me — or, if you like better, get me a good place as governess in a nobleman's family — you can do so if you please." And in their further disputes she always returned to this point, " Get me a situa- tion — we hate each other, and I am ready to go." Worthy Miss Pinkerton, although she had a Roman nose and a turban, and was as tall as a grenadier, and had been up to this time an irresistible princess, had no will or strength like that of her little apprentice, and in vain did battle against her, and tried to overawe her. Attempting once to scold her in public, Rebecca hit upon the before-mentioned plan of answering her in French, which quite 'Outed the old woman. In order to maintain authority in her school, it became necessary to remove this rebel, this monster, this serpent, this firebrand; and hearing about this time that Sir Pitt Crawley's family was in want of a governess, she actually recommended Miss Sharp for the situation, firebrand and serpent as she waa. '' I cannot, certainly," she said, " find fault with Miss Sharp's conduct, except to myself; and must allow that her talents and accomplishments are of a high order. As far as the head goes, at least, she does credit to the educational system pursued at my estabHshment." And so the schoolmistress reconciled the recommendation to her A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 13 conscience, and the indentures were cancelled, and the apprentice was free. The battle here described in a few lines, of coui'se, lasted for some months. And as Miss Sedley, being now in her seventeenth year, was about to leave school, and had a friendship for Miss Sharp (" 'tis the only point in Amelia's Ibehaviour," said Minerva, " which has not been satisfactory to her mistress "), Miss Sharp was invited by her friend to pass a week with her at home, before she entered upon her duties as governess in a private family. Thus the world began for these two young ladies. For Amelia it was quite a new, fresh, brilliant world, with all the bloom upon it. It was not quite a new one for Rebecca — (indeed, if the truth must be told with respect to the Crisp affair, the tart-woman hinted to somebody, who took an affidavit of the fact to somebody else, that there was a great deal more than was made public regarding Mr. Crisp and Miss Sharp, and that his letter was in answer to another letter). But who can tell you the real truth of the matter ? At all events, if Rebecca was not beginning the world, she was beginning it over again. By the time the young ladies reached Kensington turnpike, Amelia had not forgotten her companions, but had dried her tears, and had blushed very much and been delighted at a young officer ot the Life Guards, who spied her as he was riding by, and said, " A dem fine gal, egad ! " and before the carriage arrived in Russell Square^ a great deal of conversation had taken place about the Drawing-room, and whether or not young ladies wore powder as well as hoops when presented, and whether she was to have that honour : to the Lord Mayor's ball she knew she was to go. And when at length home was reached. Miss Amelia Sedley skipped out on Sambo's arm, as happy and as handsome a girl as any in the whole big city of London. Both he and coachman agreed on this point, and so did her father and mother, and so did every one of the servants in the house, as they stood bobbing, and curtseying, and smiling, in the hall to wel- come their young mistress. You may be sure that she showed Rebecca over every room of the house, and everything in every one of her drawers ; and her books, and her piano, and her dresses, and all her necklaces, brooches, laces, and gimcracks. She insisted upon Rebecca accepting the white cor- nelian and the turquoise rings, and a sweet sprigged muslin, which was too small for her now, though it would fit her friend to a nicety ; and she determined in her heart to ask her mother's permission to present her white Cashmere shawl to her friend. Could she not spare it? and had not her brother Joseph just brought her two from India? When Rebecca saw the two ma^ificent Cashmere shawls which 14 VANITY FAIR Joseph Sedley had brought home to his sister, she said, with perfect [ truth, "that it must be delightful to have a brother," and easily got I the pity of the tender-hearted Amelia, for being alone in the world, I an orphan without friends or kindred. " Not alone," said Amelia ; " you know, Rebecca, I shall always be your friend, and love you as a sister — indeed I will." " Ah, but to have parents, as you have — kind, rich, affectionate parents, who give you everything you ask for ; and their love, which is more precious than all ! My poor papa could give me nothing, and I had but two frocks in all the world ! And then, to have a brother, a dear brother ! Oh, how you must love him ! " Amelia laughed. " What ! don't you love him % you, who say you love everybody ? " " Yes, of course, I do — only " "Only what?" " Only Joseph doesn't seem to care much whether I love him or not. He gave me two fingers to shake when he arrived after ten years' absence ! He is very kind and good, but he scarcely ever speaks to me ; I think he loves his pipe a great deal better than his " 1 * * * but here Amelia checked herself, for why should she speak { ill of her brother % "He was very kind to me as a child," she added ; " I was but five years old when he went away." "Isn't he very. rich?" said Rebecca. "They say all Indian nabobs are enormously rich." " I believe he has a very large income." " And is your sister-in-law a nice pretty woman 1 " "La ! Joseph is not married," said AmeUa, laughing again. Perhaps she had mentioned the fact already to Rebecca, but that young lady did not appear to have remembered it ; indeed, vowed and protested that she expected to see a number of AmeHa's nephews and nieces. She was quite disappointed that Mr. Sedley was not married ; she was sure Ameha had said he was, and she doted so on little children. " I think you must have had enough of them at Chiswick," said Ameha, rather wondering at the sudden tenderness on her friend's part ; and indeed in later days Miss Sharp w^ould never have com- mitted herself so far as to advance opinions, the untruth of which would have been so easily detected. But we must remember that I she is but nineteen as yet, unused to the art of deceiving, poor I innocent creature ! and making her own experience in her own L person. The meaning of the above series of queries, as translated in the heart of this ingenious yoimg woman, was simply this : — " If Mr. Joseph Sedley is rich and unmarried, why should I not marry him ? I have only a fortnight, to be sure, but there is no harm in A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 15 trjdng." And she determined within herself to make this laudable attempt. She redoubled her caresses to Amelia; she kissed the white cornelian necklace as she put it on; and vowed she would never, never part with it. When the dinner-bell rang she went downstairs with her arm round her friend's waist, as is the habit of young ladies. She was so agitated at the drawing-room door, that she could hardly find courage to enter. "Feel my heart, how it beats, dear ! " said she to her friend. " No, it doesn't," said Amelia. " Come in, don't be frightened, Papa won't do you any harm." 9> '^