ATHENE HOUSE, 24 April, 1827.
While Georgie's days were so full of new interests, Amelia's life was
anything but one of pleasure, for it was passed almost entirely in the
sickroom of her mother, with only the gleams of joy when little George
visited her, or with an occasional walk to Russell Square. Then came the
day when the invalid was buried in the churchyard at Brompton and
Amelia's little boy sat by her side at the service in pompous new sables
and quite angry that he could not go to a play upon which he had set his
heart, while his mother's thoughts went back to just such another rainy,
dark day, when she had married George Osborne in that very church.
After the funeral the widow went back to the bereaved old father, who
was stunned and broken by the loss of his wife, his honour, his
fortune, in fact, everything he loved best. There was only Amelia now
to stand by the tottering, heart-broken old man. This she did, to the
best of her ability, all unconscious that on life's ocean a bark was
sailing headed towards her with those aboard who were to bring change
and comfort to her life.
One day when the young gentlemen of Mr. Veal's select school were
assembled in the study, a smart carriage drove up to the door and two
gentlemen stepped out. Everybody was interested, from Mr. Veal himself,
who hoped he saw the fathers of some future pupils arriving, down to
Master George, glad of any pretext of laying his book down.
The boy who always opened the door came into the study, and said: "Two
gentlemen want to see Master Osborne." The Professor had had a trifling
dispute in the morning with that young gentleman, owing to a difference
about the introduction of crackers in school-time; but his face resumed
its habitual expression of bland courtesy, as he said, "Master Osborne, I
give you full permission to go and see your carriage friends,--to whom I
beg you to convey the respectful compliments of myself and Mrs. Veal."
George went into the reception room, and saw two strangers, whom he
looked at with his head up, in his usual haughty manner. One was fat,
with moustaches, and the other was lean and long in a blue frock coat,
with a brown face, and a grizzled head.
"My God, how like he is!" said the long gentleman, with a start. "Can you
guess who we are, George?"
The boy's face flushed up, and his eyes brightened. "I don't know the
other," he said, "but I should think you must be Major Dobbin."
Indeed, it _was_ Major Dobbin, who had come home on urgent private
affairs, and who on board the Ramchunder, East Indiaman, had fallen in
with no other than the Widow Osborne's stout brother, Joseph, who had
passed the last ten years in Bengal. A voyage to Europe was pronounced
necessary for him, and having served his full time in India, and having
laid by a considerable sum of money, he was free to come home and stay
with a good pension, or to return and resume that rank in the service to
which he was entitled.
Many and many a night as the ship was cutting through the roaring dark
sea, the moon and stars shining overhead, and the bell singing out the
watch, Mr. Sedley and the Major would sit on the quarter deck of the
vessel, talking about home as they smoked. In these conversations, with
wonderful perseverance, Major Dobbin would always manage to bring the
talk round to the subject of Amelia. Jos was a little testy about his
father's misfortunes and application to him for money, but was soothed
down by the Major, who pointed out the elder's ill fortunes in old age.
He pointed out how advantageous it would be for Jos Sedley to have a
house of his own in London, and how his sister Amelia would be the very
person to preside over it; how elegant, how gentle she was, and of what
refined good manners. He then hinted how becoming it would be for Jos to
send Georgy to a good school and make a man of him. In a word, this
artful Major made Jos promise to take charge of Amelia and her
unprotected child before that pompous civilian made the discovery that he
was binding himself.
Then came the arrival of the Ramchunder, the going ashore, and the
entrance of the two men into the little home where Amelia was keeping her
faithful watch over her feeble father. The excitement and surprise were a
great shock to the old man, while to Amelia they were the greatest
happiness that could have come to her. Of course the first thing she did
was to show Georgie's miniature, and to tell of his great
accomplishments, and then she secured the promise that the Major and her
brother would visit the Reverend Mr. Veal's school at the earliest
possible moment. This promise we have seen redeemed. Major Dobbin and
Joseph Sedley, having become acquainted with the details of Amelia's
lonely life, and of Georgie's happy one, lost no time in altering such
circumstances as were within their power to change. Jos Sedley,
notwithstanding his pompous selfishness and egoism, had a very tender
heart, and shortly after his first appearance at Brompton, old Sedley and
his daughter were carried away from the humble cottage in which they had
passed the last ten years of their life to the handsome new home which
Jos Sedley had provided for himself and them.
Good fortune now began to smile upon Amelia. Jos's friends were all from
three presidencies, and his new house was in the centre of the
comfortable Anglo-Indian district. Owing to Jos Sedley's position numbers
of people came to see Mrs. Osborne who before had never noticed her. Lady
Dobbin and her daughters were delighted at her change of fortune, and
called upon her. Miss Osborne, herself, came in her grand chariot; Jos
was reported to be immensely rich. Old Osborne had no objection that
George should inherit his uncle's property as well as his own. "We will
make a man of the fellow," he said; "and I will see him in parliament
before I die. You may go and see his mother, Miss Osborne, though _I'll_
never set eyes on her"; and Miss Osborne came. George was allowed to dine
once or twice a week with his mother, and bullied the servants and his
relations there, just as he did in Russell Square.
He was always respectful to Major Dobbin, however, and more modest in
his demeanour when that gentleman was present. He was a clever lad, and
afraid of the Major. George could not help admiring his friend's
simplicity, his good-humour, his various learning quietly imparted, his
general love of truth and justice. He had met no such man as yet in the
course of his experience, and he had an instinctive liking for a
gentleman. He hung fondly by his god-father's side; and it was his
delight to walk in the Parks and hear Dobbin talk. William told George
about his father, about India and Waterloo, about everything but
himself. When George was more than usually pert and conceited, the Major
joked at him, which Mrs. Osborne thought very cruel. One day taking him
to the play, and the boy declining to go into the pit because it was
vulgar, the Major took him to the boxes, left him there, and went down
himself to the pit. He had not been seated there very long before he
felt an arm thrust under his, and a dandy little hand in a kid-glove
squeezing his arm. George had seen the absurdity of his ways, and come
down from the upper region. A tender laugh of benevolence lighted up old
Dobbin's face and eyes as he looked at the repentant little prodigal. He
loved the boy very deeply.
If there was a sincere liking between George and the Major, it must be
confessed that between the boy and his Uncle Joseph no great love
existed. George had got a way of blowing out his cheeks, and putting his
hands in his waistcoat pockets, and saying, "God bless my soul, you don't
say so," so exactly after the fashion of old Jos, that it was impossible
to refrain from laughter. The servants would explode at dinner if the
lad, asking for something which wasn't at table, put on that countenance
and used that favourite phrase. Even Dobbin would shoot out a sudden peal
at the boy's mimicry. If George did not mimic his uncle to his face, it
was only by Dobbin's rebukes and Amelia's terrified entreaties that the
little scapegrace was induced to desist. And Joseph, having a dim
consciousness that the lad thought him an ass, and was inclined to turn
him into ridicule, used to be of course doubly pompous and dignified in
the presence of Master George. When it was announced that the young
gentleman was expected to dine with his mother, Mr. Jos commonly found
that he had an engagement at the Club, and perhaps nobody was much
grieved at his absence.
Before long Amelia had a visiting-book, and was driving about regularly
in a carriage, from which a buttony boy sprang from the box with Amelia's
and Jos's visiting cards. At stated hours Emmy and the carriage went to
the Club, and took Jos for an airing; or, putting old Sedley into the
vehicle, she drove the old man round the Regent's Park. We are not long
in growing used to changes in life. Her lady's-maid and the chariot, her
visiting book, and the buttony page became soon as familiar to Amelia as
the humble routine of Brompton. She accommodated herself to one as to the
other, and entertained Jos's friends with the same unselfish charm with
which she cared for and amused old John Sedley.
Then came the day when that poor old man closed his eyes on the familiar
scenes of earth, and Major Dobbin, Jos, and George followed his
remains-to the grave in a black cloth coach. "You see," said old Osborne
to George, when the burial was over, "what comes of merit and industry
and good speculation, and that. Look at me and my bank account. Look at
your poor Grandfather Sedley, and his failure. And yet he was a better
man than I was, this day twenty years--a better man, I should say, by ten
thousand pounds." And this worldly wisdom little George received in
profound silence, taking it for what it was worth.
About this time old Osborne conceived much admiration for Major Dobbin,
which he had acquired from the world's opinion of that gentleman. Also
Major Dobbin's name appeared in the lists of one or two great parties of
the nobility, which circumstance had a prodigious effect upon the old
aristocrat of Russell Square. Also the Major's position as guardian to
George, whose possession had been ceded to his grandfather, rendered some
meetings between the two gentleman inevitable, and it was in one of these
that old Osborne, from a chance hint supplied by the blushing Major,
discovered that a part of the fund upon which the poor widow and her
child had subsisted during their time of want, had been supplied out of
William Dobbin's own pocket. This information gave old Osborne pain, but
increased his admiration for the Major, who had been such a loyal friend
to his son's wife. From that time it was evident that old Osborne's
opinion was softening, and soon Jos and the Major were asked to dinner at
Russell Square,--to a dinner the most splendid that perhaps ever Mr.
Osborne gave; every inch of the family plate was exhibited and the best
company was asked. More than once old Osborne asked Major Dobbin about
Mrs. George Osborne,--a theme on which the Major could be very eloquent.
"You don't know what she endured, sir," said honest Dobbin; "and I hope
and trust you will be reconciled to her. If she took your son away from
you, she gave hers to you; and however much you loved your George, depend
on it, she loved hers ten times more."
"You are a good fellow, sir!" was all Mr. Osborne said. But it was
evident in later events that the conversation had had its effect upon the
old man. He sent for his lawyers, and made some changes in his will,
which was well, for one day shortly after that act he died suddenly.
When his will was read it was found that half the property was left to
George. Also an annuity of five hundred pounds was left to his mother,
"the widow of my beloved son, George Osborne," who was to resume the
guardianship of the boy.
Major William Dobbin was appointed executor, "and as out of his kindness
and bounty he maintained my grandson and my son's widow with his own
private funds when they were otherwise without means of support" (the
testator went on to say), "I hereby thank him heartily, and beseech him
to accept such a sum as may be sufficient to purchase his commission as a
Lieutenant Colonel, or to be disposed of in any way he may think fit."
When Amelia heard that her father-in-law was reconciled to her, her heart
melted, and she was grateful for the fortune left to her. But when she
heard how George was restored to her, and that it had been William's
bounty that supported her in poverty, that it was William who had
reconciled old Osborne to her, then her gratitude and joy knew no bounds.
When the nature of Mr. Osborne's will became known to the world, once
more Mrs. George Osborne rose in the estimation of the people forming her
circle of acquaintance; even Jos himself paid her and her rich little
boy, his nephew, the greatest respect, and began to show her much more
attention than formerly.
As George's guardian, Amelia begged Miss Osborne to live in the Russell
Square house, but Miss Osborne did not choose to do so. And Amelia also
declined to occupy the gloomy old mansion. But one day, clad in deep
sables, she went with George to visit the deserted house which she had
not entered since she was a girl. They went into the great blank rooms,
the walls of which bore the marks where pictures and mirrors had hung.
Then they went up the great stone staircase into the upper rooms, into
that where grandpapa died, as Georgie said in a whisper, and then higher
still into George's own room. The boy was still clinging by her side, but
she thought of another besides him. She knew that it had been his
father's room before it was his.
"Look here, mother," said George, standing by the window, "here's
G.O. scratched on the glass with a diamond; I never saw it before. I
never did it."
"It was your father's room long before you were born, George," she said,
and she blushed as she kissed the boy.
She was very silent as they drove back to Richmond, where they had
taken a temporary house, but after that time practical matters occupied
her mind. There were many directions to be given and much business to
transact, and Amelia immediately found herself in the whirl of quite a
new life, and experienced the extreme joy of having George continually
with her, as he was at that time removed from Mr. Veal's on an
unlimited holiday.
George's aunt, Mrs. Bullock, who had before her marriage been Miss
Osborne, thought it wise now to become reconciled with Amelia and her
boy. Consequently one day her chariot drove up to Amelia's house, and
the Bullock family made an irruption into the garden, where Amelia
was reading.
Jos was in an arbour, placidly dipping strawberries into wine, and the
Major was giving a back to George, who chose to jump over him. He went
over his head, and bounded into the little group of Bullocks, with
immense black bows on their hats, and huge black sashes, accompanying
their mourning mamma.
"He is just the age for Rosa," the fond parent thought, and glanced
towards that dear child, a little miss of seven years. "Rosa, go and kiss
your dear cousin," added Mrs. Bullock. "Don't you know me, George? I am
your aunt."
"I know you well enough," George said; "but I don't like kissing,
please," and he retreated from the obedient caresses of his cousin.
"Take me to your dear mamma, you droll child," Mrs. Bullock said; and
those ladies met, after an absence of more than fifteen years. During
Emmy's poverty Mrs. Bullock had never thought about coming to see her;
but now that she was decently prosperous in the world, her sister-in-law
came to her as a matter of course.
So did many others. In fact, before the period of grief for Mr. Osborne's
death had subsided, Emmy, had she wished, could have become a leader in
fashionable society. But that was not her desire: worn out with the long
period of poverty, care, and separation from George, her one wish was a
change of scene and thought.
Because of this wish, some time later, on a fine morning, when the
Batavier steamboat was about to leave its dock, we see among the
carriages being taken on, a very neat, handsome travelling carriage, from
which a courier, Kirsch by name, got out and informed inquirers that the
carriage belonged to an enormously rich Nabob from Calcutta and Jamaica,
with whom he was engaged to travel. At this moment a young gentleman who
had been warned off the bridge between the paddle-boxes, and who had
dropped thence onto the roof of Lord Methusala's carriage, from which he
made his way over other carriages until he had clambered onto his own,
descended thence and through the window into the body of the carriage to
the applause of the couriers looking on.
"_Nous allons avoir une belle traversée_, Monsieur George," said Kirsch
with a grin, as he lifted his gold laced cap.
"Bother your French!" said the young gentleman.
"Where's the biscuits, ay?" Whereupon Kirsch answered him in such
English as he could command and produced the desired repast.
The imperious young gentleman who gobbled the biscuits (and indeed it was
time to refresh himself, for he had breakfasted at Richmond full three
hours before) was our young friend George Osborne. Uncle Jos and his
mamma were on the quarter-deck with Major Dobbin, and the four were about
to make a summer tour. Amelia wore a straw bonnet with black ribbons, and
otherwise dressed in mourning, but the little bustle and holiday of the
journey pleased and excited her, and from that day throughout the entire
journey she continued to be very happy and pleased. Wherever they stopped
Dobbin used to carry about for her her stool and sketch book, and admired
her drawings as they never had been admired before. She sat upon steamer
decks and drew crags and castles, or she mounted upon donkeys and
descended to ancient robber towers, attended by her two escorts, Georgie
and Dobbin. Dobbin was interpreter for the party, having a good military
knowledge of the German language, and he and the delighted George, who
was having a wonderful trip, fought over again the campaigns of the Rhine
and the Palatinate. In the course of a few weeks of constant conversation
with Herr Kirsch on the box of the carriage, George made great advance in
the knowledge of High Dutch, and could talk to hotel waiters and
postilions in a way that charmed his mother and amused his guardian.
At the little ducal town of Pumpernickel our party settled down for a
protracted stay. There each one of them found something especially
pleasing or interesting them, and there it was that they encountered an
acquaintance of other days,--no other than Mrs. Rawdon Crawley; and
because of Becky's experiences since she had quitted her husband, her
child, and the little house in Curzon Street, London, of which he knew
the details, Major Dobbin was anything but pleased at the meeting.
But Becky told Amelia a pathetic little tale of misery, neglect, and
estrangement from those she loved, and tenderhearted Amelia, who quivered
with indignation at the recital, at once invited Becky to join their
party. To this Major Dobbin made positive objections, but Amelia remained
firm in her resolve to shelter the friend of her school-days, the mother
who had been cruelly taken away from her boy by a misjudging
sister-in-law. This decision brought about a crisis in Amelia's affairs:
Major Dobbin, who had been so devotedly attached to Amelia for years,
also remained firm, and insisted not only that Amelia have no more to do
with Mrs. Crawley, but that if she did, he would leave the party. Amelia
was firm and loyal, and honest Dobbin made preparations for his
departure.
When the coach that was to carry old Dob away drew up before the door,
Georgie gave an exclamation of surprise.
"Hello!" said he, "there's Dob's trap! There's Francis coming out with
the portmanteau, and the postilion. Look at his boots and yellow
jacket--why--they are putting the horses to Dob's carriage. Is he going
anywhere?"
"Yes," said Amelia, "he is going on a journey."
"Going on a journey! And when is he coming back?"
"He is--not coming back," answered Amelia.
"Not coming back!" cried out Georgie, jumping up.
"Stay here," roared out Jos.
"Stay, Georgie," said his mother, with a very sad face.
The boy stopped, kicked about the room, jumped up and down from the
window seat, and finally, when the Major's luggage had been carried out,
gave way to his feelings again. "By Jove, I _will_ go!" screamed out
George, and rushed downstairs and flung across the street in a minute.
The yellow postilion was cracking his whip gently. William had got into
the carriage, George bounded in after him, and flung his arms around the
Major's neck, asking him multiplied questions. William kissed Georgie,
spoke gently and sadly to him, and the boy got out, doubling his fists
into his eyes. The yellow postilion cracked his whip again, up sprang
Francis to the box, and away Dobbin was carried, never looking up as he
passed under Amelia's window; and Georgie, left alone in the street,
burst out crying in the face of all the crowd and continued his
lamentations far into the night, when Amelia's maid, who heard him
howling, brought him some preserved apricots to console him.
Thus honest Dobbin passed out of the life of Amelia and her boy, but
not forever. Gentle Amelia was soon disillusioned in regard to the old
schoolmate whom she had taken under her care, and found that in all the
world there was no one who meant so much to her as faithful Dobbin. One
morning she wrote and despatched a note, the inscription of which no
one saw; but on account of which she looked very much flushed and
agitated when Georgie met her coming from the Post; and she kissed him
and hung over him a great deal that night. Two mornings later George,
walking on the dyke with his mother, saw by the aid of his telescope an
English steamer near the pier. George took the glass again and watched
the vessel.
"How she does pitch! There goes a wave slap over her bows. There's a man
lying down, and a--chap--in a--cloak with a--Hurrah! It's _Dob_, by
jingo!" He clapped to the telescope and flung his arms round his mother,
then ran swiftly off; and Amelia was left to make her peace alone with
the faithful Major, who had returned at her request.
Some days later Becky Sharp felt it wise to leave for Bruges, and in the
little church at Ostend there was a wedding, at which the only witnesses
were Georgie and his Uncle Jos. Amelia Osborne had decided to accept the
Major's protection for life, to the never-ending satisfaction of George,
to whom the Major had always been comrade and father.
Immediately after his marriage Colonel Dobbin quitted the service and
rented a pretty little country place in Hampshire, not far from Queen's
Crawley, where Sir Pitt and his family constantly resided now, and where
Rawdon Crawley was regarded as their son.
Lady Jane and Mrs. Dobbin became great friends, and there was a perpetual
crossing of pony chaises between the two places. Lady Jane was godmother
to Mrs. Dobbin's little girl, who bore her name, and the two lads, George
Osborne and Rawdon Crawley, who had met so many years before as children
when little Rawdon invited George to take a ride on his pony, and whose
lives had been filled with such different experiences since that time,
now became close friends. They were both entered at the same college at
Cambridge, hunted and shot together in the vacations, confided in each
other; and when we last see them, fast becoming young men, they are deep
in a quarrel about Lady Jane's daughter, with whom they were both, of
course, in love.
No further proof of approaching age is needed than a quarrel over a young
lady, and the lads, George and Rawdon, now give place forever to men.
Though the circumstances of their lives had been unlike, though George
had had all the love that a devoted mother could give, and all the
luxury which money could supply: and Rawdon had been without a mother's
devotion; without the surroundings which had made George's life
luxurious,--on the threshold of manhood we find them on an equal footing,
entering life's arena, strong of limb, glad of heart, eager for what
manhood was to bring them.