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Vanity Fair

W >> William Makepeace Thackeray >> Vanity Fair




He took Rebecca to task once or twice about the propriety of playing
at backgammon with Sir Pitt, saying that it was a godless amusement,
and that she would be much better engaged in reading "Thrump's
Legacy," or "The Blind Washerwoman of Moorfields," or any work of a
more serious nature; but Miss Sharp said her dear mother used often
to play the same game with the old Count de Trictrac and the
venerable Abbe du Cornet, and so found an excuse for this and other
worldly amusements.

But it was not only by playing at backgammon with the Baronet, that
the little governess rendered herself agreeable to her employer.
She found many different ways of being useful to him. She read
over, with indefatigable patience, all those law papers, with which,
before she came to Queen's Crawley, he had promised to entertain
her. She volunteered to copy many of his letters, and adroitly
altered the spelling of them so as to suit the usages of the present
day. She became interested in everything appertaining to the
estate, to the farm, the park, the garden, and the stables; and so
delightful a companion was she, that the Baronet would seldom take
his after-breakfast walk without her (and the children of course),
when she would give her advice as to the trees which were to be
lopped in the shrubberies, the garden-beds to be dug, the crops
which were to be cut, the horses which were to go to cart or plough.
Before she had been a year at Queen's Crawley she had quite won the
Baronet's confidence; and the conversation at the dinner-table,
which before used to be held between him and Mr. Horrocks the
butler, was now almost exclusively between Sir Pitt and Miss Sharp.
She was almost mistress of the house when Mr. Crawley was absent,
but conducted herself in her new and exalted situation with such
circumspection and modesty as not to offend the authorities of the
kitchen and stable, among whom her behaviour was always exceedingly
modest and affable. She was quite a different person from the
haughty, shy, dissatisfied little girl whom we have known
previously, and this change of temper proved great prudence, a
sincere desire of amendment, or at any rate great moral courage on
her part. Whether it was the heart which dictated this new system
of complaisance and humility adopted by our Rebecca, is to be proved
by her after-history. A system of hypocrisy, which lasts through
whole years, is one seldom satisfactorily practised by a person of
one-and-twenty; however, our readers will recollect, that, though
young in years, our heroine was old in life and experience, and we
have written to no purpose if they have not discovered that she was
a very clever woman.

The elder and younger son of the house of Crawley were, like the
gentleman and lady in the weather-box, never at home together--they
hated each other cordially: indeed, Rawdon Crawley, the dragoon, had
a great contempt for the establishment altogether, and seldom came
thither except when his aunt paid her annual visit.

The great good quality of this old lady has been mentioned. She
possessed seventy thousand pounds, and had almost adopted Rawdon.
She disliked her elder nephew exceedingly, and despised him as a
milksop. In return he did not hesitate to state that her soul was
irretrievably lost, and was of opinion that his brother's chance in
the next world was not a whit better. "She is a godless woman of
the world," would Mr. Crawley say; "she lives with atheists and
Frenchmen. My mind shudders when I think of her awful, awful
situation, and that, near as she is to the grave, she should be so
given up to vanity, licentiousness, profaneness, and folly." In
fact, the old lady declined altogether to hear his hour's lecture of
an evening; and when she came to Queen's Crawley alone, he was
obliged to pretermit his usual devotional exercises.

"Shut up your sarmons, Pitt, when Miss Crawley comes down," said his
father; "she has written to say that she won't stand the
preachifying."

"O, sir! consider the servants."

"The servants be hanged," said Sir Pitt; and his son thought even
worse would happen were they deprived of the benefit of his
instruction.

"Why, hang it, Pitt!" said the father to his remonstrance. "You
wouldn't be such a flat as to let three thousand a year go out of
the family?"

"What is money compared to our souls, sir?" continued Mr. Crawley.

"You mean that the old lady won't leave the money to you?"--and who
knows but it was Mr. Crawley's meaning?

Old Miss Crawley was certainly one of the reprobate. She had a snug
little house in Park Lane, and, as she ate and drank a great deal
too much during the season in London, she went to Harrowgate or
Cheltenham for the summer. She was the most hospitable and jovial
of old vestals, and had been a beauty in her day, she said. (All old
women were beauties once, we very well know.) She was a bel esprit,
and a dreadful Radical for those days. She had been in France
(where St. Just, they say, inspired her with an unfortunate
passion), and loved, ever after, French novels, French cookery, and
French wines. She read Voltaire, and had Rousseau by heart; talked
very lightly about divorce, and most energetically of the rights of
women. She had pictures of Mr. Fox in every room in the house: when
that statesman was in opposition, I am not sure that she had not
flung a main with him; and when he came into office, she took great
credit for bringing over to him Sir Pitt and his colleague for
Queen's Crawley, although Sir Pitt would have come over himself,
without any trouble on the honest lady's part. It is needless to
say that Sir Pitt was brought to change his views after the death of
the great Whig statesman.

This worthy old lady took a fancy to Rawdon Crawley when a boy, sent
him to Cambridge (in opposition to his brother at Oxford), and, when
the young man was requested by the authorities of the first-named
University to quit after a residence of two years, she bought him
his commission in the Life Guards Green.

A perfect and celebrated "blood," or dandy about town, was this
young officer. Boxing, rat-hunting, the fives court, and four-in-
hand driving were then the fashion of our British aristocracy; and
he was an adept in all these noble sciences. And though he belonged
to the household troops, who, as it was their duty to rally round
the Prince Regent, had not shown their valour in foreign service
yet, Rawdon Crawley had already (apropos of play, of which he was
immoderately fond) fought three bloody duels, in which he gave ample
proofs of his contempt for death.

"And for what follows after death," would Mr. Crawley observe,
throwing his gooseberry-coloured eyes up to the ceiling. He was
always thinking of his brother's soul, or of the souls of those who
differed with him in opinion: it is a sort of comfort which many of
the serious give themselves.

Silly, romantic Miss Crawley, far from being horrified at the
courage of her favourite, always used to pay his debts after his
duels; and would not listen to a word that was whispered against his
morality. "He will sow his wild oats," she would say, "and is worth
far more than that puling hypocrite of a brother of his."



CHAPTER XI

Arcadian Simplicity


Besides these honest folks at the Hall (whose simplicity and sweet
rural purity surely show the advantage of a country life over a town
one), we must introduce the reader to their relatives and neighbours
at the Rectory, Bute Crawley and his wife.

The Reverend Bute Crawley was a tall, stately, jolly, shovel-hatted
man, far more popular in his county than the Baronet his brother.
At college he pulled stroke-oar in the Christchurch boat, and had
thrashed all the best bruisers of the "town." He carried his taste
for boxing and athletic exercises into private life; there was not a
fight within twenty miles at which he was not present, nor a race,
nor a coursing match, nor a regatta, nor a ball, nor an election,
nor a visitation dinner, nor indeed a good dinner in the whole
county, but he found means to attend it. You might see his bay mare
and gig-lamps a score of miles away from his Rectory House, whenever
there was any dinner-party at Fuddleston, or at Roxby, or at Wapshot
Hall, or at the great lords of the county, with all of whom he was
intimate. He had a fine voice; sang "A southerly wind and a cloudy
sky"; and gave the "whoop" in chorus with general applause. He rode
to hounds in a pepper-and-salt frock, and was one of the best
fishermen in the county.

Mrs. Crawley, the rector's wife, was a smart little body, who wrote
this worthy divine's sermons. Being of a domestic turn, and keeping
the house a great deal with her daughters, she ruled absolutely
within the Rectory, wisely giving her husband full liberty without.
He was welcome to come and go, and dine abroad as many days as his
fancy dictated, for Mrs. Crawley was a saving woman and knew the
price of port wine. Ever since Mrs. Bute carried off the young
Rector of Queen's Crawley (she was of a good family, daughter of the
late Lieut.-Colonel Hector McTavish, and she and her mother played
for Bute and won him at Harrowgate), she had been a prudent and
thrifty wife to him. In spite of her care, however, he was always
in debt. It took him at least ten years to pay off his college
bills contracted during his father's lifetime. In the year 179-,
when he was just clear of these incumbrances, he gave the odds of
100 to 1 (in twenties) against Kangaroo, who won the Derby. The
Rector was obliged to take up the money at a ruinous interest, and
had been struggling ever since. His sister helped him with a
hundred now and then, but of course his great hope was in her death--
when "hang it" (as he would say), "Matilda must leave me half her
money."

So that the Baronet and his brother had every reason which two
brothers possibly can have for being by the ears. Sir Pitt had had
the better of Bute in innumerable family transactions. Young Pitt
not only did not hunt, but set up a meeting house under his uncle's
very nose. Rawdon, it was known, was to come in for the bulk of Miss
Crawley's property. These money transactions--these speculations in
life and death--these silent battles for reversionary spoil--make
brothers very loving towards each other in Vanity Fair. I, for my
part, have known a five-pound note to interpose and knock up a half
century's attachment between two brethren; and can't but admire, as
I think what a fine and durable thing Love is among worldly people.

It cannot be supposed that the arrival of such a personage as
Rebecca at Queen's Crawley, and her gradual establishment in the
good graces of all people there, could be unremarked by Mrs. Bute
Crawley. Mrs. Bute, who knew how many days the sirloin of beef
lasted at the Hall; how much linen was got ready at the great wash;
how many peaches were on the south wall; how many doses her ladyship
took when she was ill--for such points are matters of intense
interest to certain persons in the country--Mrs. Bute, I say, could
not pass over the Hall governess without making every inquiry
respecting her history and character. There was always the best
understanding between the servants at the Rectory and the Hall.
There was always a good glass of ale in the kitchen of the former
place for the Hall people, whose ordinary drink was very small--and,
indeed, the Rector's lady knew exactly how much malt went to every
barrel of Hall beer--ties of relationship existed between the Hall
and Rectory domestics, as between their masters; and through these
channels each family was perfectly well acquainted with the doings
of the other. That, by the way, may be set down as a general
remark. When you and your brother are friends, his doings are
indifferent to you. When you have quarrelled, all his outgoings and
incomings you know, as if you were his spy.

Very soon then after her arrival, Rebecca began to take a regular
place in Mrs. Crawley's bulletin from the Hall. It was to this
effect: "The black porker's killed--weighed x stone--salted the
sides--pig's pudding and leg of pork for dinner. Mr. Cramp from
Mudbury, over with Sir Pitt about putting John Blackmore in gaol--
Mr. Pitt at meeting (with all the names of the people who attended)
--my lady as usual--the young ladies with the governess."

Then the report would come--the new governess be a rare manager--Sir
Pitt be very sweet on her--Mr. Crawley too--He be reading tracts to
her--"What an abandoned wretch!" said little, eager, active, black-
faced Mrs. Bute Crawley.

Finally, the reports were that the governess had "come round"
everybody, wrote Sir Pitt's letters, did his business, managed his
accounts--had the upper hand of the whole house, my lady, Mr.
Crawley, the girls and all--at which Mrs. Crawley declared she was
an artful hussy, and had some dreadful designs in view. Thus the
doings at the Hall were the great food for conversation at the
Rectory, and Mrs. Bute's bright eyes spied out everything that took
place in the enemy's camp--everything and a great deal besides.


Mrs. Bute Crawley to Miss Pinkerton, The Mall, Chiswick.

Rectory, Queen's Crawley, December--.

My Dear Madam,--Although it is so many years since I profited by
your delightful and invaluable instructions, yet I have ever
retained the FONDEST and most reverential regard for Miss Pinkerton,
and DEAR Chiswick. I hope your health is GOOD. The world and the
cause of education cannot afford to lose Miss Pinkerton for MANY
MANY YEARS. When my friend, Lady Fuddleston, mentioned that her
dear girls required an instructress (I am too poor to engage a
governess for mine, but was I not educated at Chiswick?)--"Who," I
exclaimed, "can we consult but the excellent, the incomparable Miss
Pinkerton?" In a word, have you, dear madam, any ladies on your
list, whose services might be made available to my kind friend and
neighbour? I assure you she will take no governess BUT OF YOUR
CHOOSING.

My dear husband is pleased to say that he likes EVERYTHING WHICH
COMES FROM MISS PINKERTON'S SCHOOL. How I wish I could present him
and my beloved girls to the friend of my youth, and the ADMIRED of
the great lexicographer of our country! If you ever travel into
Hampshire, Mr. Crawley begs me to say, he hopes you will adorn our
RURAL RECTORY with your presence. 'Tis the humble but happy home of

Your affectionate Martha Crawley

P.S. Mr. Crawley's brother, the baronet, with whom we are not,
alas! upon those terms of UNITY in which it BECOMES BRETHREN TO
DWELL, has a governess for his little girls, who, I am told, had the
good fortune to be educated at Chiswick. I hear various reports of
her; and as I have the tenderest interest in my dearest little
nieces, whom I wish, in spite of family differences, to see among my
own children--and as I long to be attentive to ANY PUPIL OF YOURS--
do, my dear Miss Pinkerton, tell me the history of this young lady,
whom, for YOUR SAKE, I am most anxious to befriend.--M. C.


Miss Pinkerton to Mrs. Bute Crawley.

Johnson House, Chiswick, Dec. 18--.

Dear Madam,--I have the honour to acknowledge your polite
communication, to which I promptly reply. 'Tis most gratifying to
one in my most arduous position to find that my maternal cares have
elicited a responsive affection; and to recognize in the amiable
Mrs. Bute Crawley my excellent pupil of former years, the sprightly
and accomplished Miss Martha MacTavish. I am happy to have under my
charge now the daughters of many of those who were your
contemporaries at my establishment--what pleasure it would give me
if your own beloved young ladies had need of my instructive
superintendence!

Presenting my respectful compliments to Lady Fuddleston, I have the
honour (epistolarily) to introduce to her ladyship my two friends,
Miss Tuffin and Miss Hawky.

Either of these young ladies is PERFECTLY QUALIFIED to instruct in
Greek, Latin, and the rudiments of Hebrew; in mathematics and
history; in Spanish, French, Italian, and geography; in music, vocal
and instrumental; in dancing, without the aid of a master; and in
the elements of natural sciences. In the use of the globes both are
proficients. In addition to these Miss Tuffin, who is daughter of
the late Reverend Thomas Tuffin (Fellow of Corpus College,
Cambridge), can instruct in the Syriac language, and the elements of
Constitutional law. But as she is only eighteen years of age, and of
exceedingly pleasing personal appearance, perhaps this young lady
may be objectionable in Sir Huddleston Fuddleston's family.

Miss Letitia Hawky, on the other hand, is not personally well-
favoured. She is-twenty-nine; her face is much pitted with the
small-pox. She has a halt in her gait, red hair, and a trifling
obliquity of vision. Both ladies are endowed with EVERY MORAL AND
RELIGIOUS VIRTUE. Their terms, of course, are such as their
accomplishments merit. With my most grateful respects to the
Reverend Bute Crawley, I have the honour to be,

Dear Madam,

Your most faithful and obedient servant, Barbara Pinkerton.

P.S. The Miss Sharp, whom you mention as governess to Sir Pitt
Crawley, Bart., M.P., was a pupil of mine, and I have nothing to say
in her disfavour. Though her appearance is disagreeable, we cannot
control the operations of nature: and though her parents were
disreputable (her father being a painter, several times bankrupt,
and her mother, as I have since learned, with horror, a dancer at
the Opera); yet her talents are considerable, and I cannot regret
that I received her OUT OF CHARITY. My dread is, lest the
principles of the mother--who was represented to me as a French
Countess, forced to emigrate in the late revolutionary horrors; but
who, as I have since found, was a person of the very lowest order
and morals--should at any time prove to be HEREDITARY in the unhappy
young woman whom I took as AN OUTCAST. But her principles have
hitherto been correct (I believe), and I am sure nothing will occur
to injure them in the elegant and refined circle of the eminent Sir
Pitt Crawley.

Miss Rebecca Sharp to Miss Amelia Sedley.

I have not written to my beloved Amelia for these many weeks past,
for what news was there to tell of the sayings and doings at Humdrum
Hall, as I have christened it; and what do you care whether the
turnip crop is good or bad; whether the fat pig weighed thirteen
stone or fourteen; and whether the beasts thrive well upon
mangelwurzel? Every day since I last wrote has been like its
neighbour. Before breakfast, a walk with Sir Pitt and his spud;
after breakfast studies (such as they are) in the schoolroom; after
schoolroom, reading and writing about lawyers, leases, coal-mines,
canals, with Sir Pitt (whose secretary I am become); after dinner,
Mr. Crawley's discourses on the baronet's backgammon; during both of
which amusements my lady looks on with equal placidity. She has
become rather more interesting by being ailing of late, which has
brought a new visitor to the Hall, in the person of a young doctor.
Well, my dear, young women need never despair. The young doctor
gave a certain friend of yours to understand that, if she chose to
be Mrs. Glauber, she was welcome to ornament the surgery! I told his
impudence that the gilt pestle and mortar was quite ornament enough;
as if I was born, indeed, to be a country surgeon's wife! Mr.
Glauber went home seriously indisposed at his rebuff, took a cooling
draught, and is now quite cured. Sir Pitt applauded my resolution
highly; he would be sorry to lose his little secretary, I think; and
I believe the old wretch likes me as much as it is in his nature to
like any one. Marry, indeed! and with a country apothecary, after--
No, no, one cannot so soon forget old associations, about which I
will talk no more. Let us return to Humdrum Hall.

For some time past it is Humdrum Hall no longer. My dear, Miss
Crawley has arrived with her fat horses, fat servants, fat spaniel--
the great rich Miss Crawley, with seventy thousand pounds in the
five per cents., whom, or I had better say WHICH, her two brothers
adore. She looks very apoplectic, the dear soul; no wonder her
brothers are anxious about her. You should see them struggling to
settle her cushions, or to hand her coffee! "When I come into the
country," she says (for she has a great deal of humour), "I leave my
toady, Miss Briggs, at home. My brothers are my toadies here, my
dear, and a pretty pair they are!"

When she comes into the country our hall is thrown open, and for a
month, at least, you would fancy old Sir Walpole was come to life
again. We have dinner-parties, and drive out in the coach-and-four
the footmen put on their newest canary-coloured liveries; we drink
claret and champagne as if we were accustomed to it every day. We
have wax candles in the schoolroom, and fires to warm ourselves
with. Lady Crawley is made to put on the brightest pea-green in her
wardrobe, and my pupils leave off their thick shoes and tight old
tartan pelisses, and wear silk stockings and muslin frocks, as
fashionable baronets' daughters should. Rose came in yesterday in a
sad plight--the Wiltshire sow (an enormous pet of hers) ran her
down, and destroyed a most lovely flowered lilac silk dress by
dancing over it--had this happened a week ago, Sir Pitt would have
sworn frightfully, have boxed the poor wretch's ears, and put her
upon bread and water for a month. All he said was, "I'll serve you
out, Miss, when your aunt's gone," and laughed off the accident as
quite trivial. Let us hope his wrath will have passed away before
Miss Crawley's departure. I hope so, for Miss Rose's sake, I am
sure. What a charming reconciler and peacemaker money is!

Another admirable effect of Miss Crawley and her seventy thousand
pounds is to be seen in the conduct of the two brothers Crawley. I
mean the baronet and the rector, not OUR brothers--but the former,
who hate each other all the year round, become quite loving at
Christmas. I wrote to you last year how the abominable horse-racing
rector was in the habit of preaching clumsy sermons at us at church,
and how Sir Pitt snored in answer. When Miss Crawley arrives there
is no such thing as quarrelling heard of--the Hall visits the
Rectory, and vice versa--the parson and the Baronet talk about the
pigs and the poachers, and the county business, in the most affable
manner, and without quarrelling in their cups, I believe--indeed
Miss Crawley won't hear of their quarrelling, and vows that she will
leave her money to the Shropshire Crawleys if they offend her. If
they were clever people, those Shropshire Crawleys, they might have
it all, I think; but the Shropshire Crawley is a clergyman like his
Hampshire cousin, and mortally offended Miss Crawley (who had fled
thither in a fit of rage against her impracticable brethren) by some
strait-laced notions of morality. He would have prayers in the
house, I believe.

Our sermon books are shut up when Miss Crawley arrives, and Mr.
Pitt, whom she abominates, finds it convenient to go to town. On
the other hand, the young dandy--"blood," I believe, is the term--
Captain Crawley makes his appearance, and I suppose you will like to
know what sort of a person he is.

Well, he is a very large young dandy. He is six feet high, and
speaks with a great voice; and swears a great deal; and orders about
the servants, who all adore him nevertheless; for he is very
generous of his money, and the domestics will do anything for him.
Last week the keepers almost killed a bailiff and his man who came
down from London to arrest the Captain, and who were found lurking
about the Park wall--they beat them, ducked them, and were going to
shoot them for poachers, but the baronet interfered.

The Captain has a hearty contempt for his father, I can see, and
calls him an old PUT, an old SNOB, an old CHAW-BACON, and numberless
other pretty names. He has a DREADFUL REPUTATION among the ladies.
He brings his hunters home with him, lives with the Squires of the
county, asks whom he pleases to dinner, and Sir Pitt dares not say
no, for fear of offending Miss Crawley, and missing his legacy when
she dies of her apoplexy. Shall I tell you a compliment the Captain
paid me? I must, it is so pretty. One evening we actually had a
dance; there was Sir Huddleston Fuddleston and his family, Sir Giles
Wapshot and his young ladies, and I don't know how many more. Well,
I heard him say--"By Jove, she's a neat little filly!" meaning your
humble servant; and he did me the honour to dance two country-dances
with me. He gets on pretty gaily with the young Squires, with whom
he drinks, bets, rides, and talks about hunting and shooting; but he
says the country girls are BORES; indeed, I don't think he is far
wrong. You should see the contempt with which they look down on poor
me! When they dance I sit and play the piano very demurely; but the
other night, coming in rather flushed from the dining-room, and
seeing me employed in this way, he swore out loud that I was the
best dancer in the room, and took a great oath that he would have
the fiddlers from Mudbury.

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