Vanity Fair William Makepeace Thackeray (portable ebook reader .txt) đ
- Author: William Makepeace Thackeray
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At last the much-bragged-about boxes arrived from Leipzig; three of them not by any means large or splendid; nor did Becky appear to take out any sort of dresses or ornaments from the boxes when they did arrive. But out of one, which contained a mass of her papers (it was that very box which Rawdon Crawley had ransacked in his furious hunt for Beckyâs concealed money), she took a picture with great glee, which she pinned up in her room, and to which she introduced Jos. It was the portrait of a gentleman in pencil, his face having the advantage of being painted up in pink. He was riding on an elephant away from some coconut trees and a pagoda: it was an Eastern scene.
âGod bless my soul, it is my portrait,â Jos cried out. It was he indeed, blooming in youth and beauty, in a nankeen jacket of the cut of 1804. It was the old picture that used to hang up in Russell Square.
âI bought it,â said Becky in a voice trembling with emotion; âI went to see if I could be of any use to my kind friends. I have never parted with that pictureâ âI never will.â
âWonât you?â Jos cried with a look of unutterable rapture and satisfaction. âDid you really now value it for my sake?â
âYou know I did, well enough,â said Becky; âbut why speakâ âwhy thinkâ âwhy look back! It is too late now!â
That eveningâs conversation was delicious for Jos. Emmy only came in to go to bed very tired and unwell. Jos and his fair guest had a charming tĂȘte-Ă -tĂȘte, and his sister could hear, as she lay awake in her adjoining chamber, Rebecca singing over to Jos the old songs of 1815. He did not sleep, for a wonder, that night, any more than Amelia.
It was June, and, by consequence, high season in London; Jos, who read the incomparable Galignani (the exileâs best friend) through every day, used to favour the ladies with extracts from his paper during their breakfast. Every week in this paper there is a full account of military movements, in which Jos, as a man who had seen service, was especially interested. On one occasion he read outâ ââArrival of the âth regiment. Gravesend, June 20.â âThe Ramchunder, East Indiaman, came into the river this morning, having on board 14 officers, and 132 rank and file of this gallant corps. They have been absent from England fourteen years, having been embarked the year after Waterloo, in which glorious conflict they took an active part, and having subsequently distinguished themselves in the Burmese war. The veteran colonel, Sir Michael OâDowd, K.C.B., with his lady and sister, landed here yesterday, with Captains Posky, Stubble, Macraw, Malony; Lieutenants Smith, Jones, Thompson, F. Thomson; Ensigns Hicks and Grady; the band on the pier playing the national anthem, and the crowd loudly cheering the gallant veterans as they went into Wayteâs hotel, where a sumptuous banquet was provided for the defenders of Old England.
âDuring the repast, which we need not say was served up in Wayteâs best style, the cheering continued so enthusiastically that Lady OâDowd and the Colonel came forward to the balcony and drank the healths of their fellow-countrymen in a bumper of Wayteâs best claret.â
On a second occasion Jos read a brief announcementâ âMajor Dobbin had joined the âth regiment at Chatham; and subsequently he promulgated accounts of the presentations at the Drawing-room of Colonel Sir Michael OâDowd, K.C.B., Lady OâDowd (by Mrs. Malloy Malony of Ballymalony), and Miss Glorvina OâDowd (by Lady OâDowd). Almost directly after this, Dobbinâs name appeared among the Lieutenant-Colonels: for old Marshal Tiptoff had died during the passage of the âth from Madras, and the Sovereign was pleased to advance Colonel Sir Michael OâDowd to the rank of Major-General on his return to England, with an intimation that he should be Colonel of the distinguished regiment which he had so long commanded.
Amelia had been made aware of some of these movements. The correspondence between George and his guardian had not ceased by any means: William had even written once or twice to her since his departure, but in a manner so unconstrainedly cold that the poor woman felt now in her turn that she had lost her power over him and that, as he had said, he was free. He had left her, and she was wretched. The memory of his almost countless services, and lofty and affectionate regard, now presented itself to her and rebuked her day and night. She brooded over those recollections according to her wont, saw the purity and beauty of the affection with which she had trifled, and reproached herself for having flung away such a treasure.
It was gone indeed. William had spent it all out. He loved her no more, he thought, as he had loved her. He never could again. That sort of regard, which he had proffered to her for so many faithful years, canât be flung down and shattered and mended so as to show no scars. The little heedless tyrant had so destroyed it. No, William thought again and again, âIt was myself I deluded and persisted in cajoling; had she been worthy of the love I gave her, she would have returned it
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