Уильям Теккерей - Ярмарка тщеславия / Vanity Fair

The news from the attorney and upcoming Belgium astonished Amelia. She was determined to accompany her husband. So was Becky. Rawdon and she were only held in Brighton by the news of Old Miss Crawley’s poor condition. After numerous attempts to have a talk which could provide their future life Becky and Rawdon left Brighton just like their friends. Rawdon and his wife did not go back to their lodgings at Brompton, but put up at an inn. All of their dear friends were all off to take shipping for Belgium with the regiment – kind old Mrs. Sedley very much depressed and tearful, solitary. Returning from this visit, Rebecca found her husband, who had been off to Gray’s Inn, and learnt his fate. He came back furious.

“Becky,” says he, “she’s only given me twenty pound!”

Though it told against themselves, the joke was too good, and Becky burst out laughing at Rawdon’s discomfiture.

The officers left Brighton with their regiment. Amelia made a firm decision to accompany her husband and traveled eagerly. They came to Brussels and found it exquisite. It was almost like Old England. Soon enough after the arrival they were all to go to the Opera. The house was filled with familiar British faces. At the end of the act, George was out of the box in a moment, and he was even going to pay his respects to Rebecca in her loge. He met Crawley in the lobby, however, where they exchanged a few sentences upon the occurrences of the last fortnight.

George was only half pleased to be asked to dinner on that particular day when the General was not to dine.

“I will go in and pay my respects to your wife,” said he; at which Rawdon said, “Hm, as you please,” looking very glum, and at which the two young officers exchanged knowing glances. George parted from them and strutted down the lobby to the General’s box, the number of which he had carefully counted.

“My dear Captain George!” cried little Rebecca in an ecstasy. “How good of you to come. How is dearest Amelia? But I needn’t ask: how pretty she looks!”

Amelia’s gentle eyes had been fixed anxiously on the pair, but when Rebecca entered her box, she flew to her friend with affection. Rebecca bustled, she chattered, she turned and twisted.

And when the time for the ballet came she skipped back to her own box, leaning on Captain Dobbin’s arm this time. No, she would not have George’s: he must stay and talk to his dearest, best, little Amelia.

“What a humbug that woman is! [19] Что за обманщица эта женщина. ” honest old Dobbin mumbled to George, when he came back from Rebecca’s box, where he had conducted her in perfect silence. “She twists about like a snake.”

“Hang it, she’s the nicest little woman in England,” George replied, showing his white teeth.

Amelia’s manners were such when she and George visited Crawley and his wife at these quarters, that they had very nearly come to their first quarrel; that is, George scolded his wife violently for her evident unwillingness to go, and the high

and mighty manner in which she comported herself towards Mrs. Crawley, her old friend; and Amelia did not say one single word in reply; but with her husband’s eye upon her, and Rebecca scanning her as she felt, was, if possible, more awkward on the second visit which she paid to Mrs. Rawdon, than on her first call.

Rebecca was doubly affectionate, of course, and would not take notice, in the least, of her friend’s coolness. “I think Emmy has become prouder since her father’s name was in the – since Mr. Sedley’s MISFORTUNES,” Rebecca said, softening the phrase charitably for George’s ear.

Mr. Osborne, having a firm conviction in his own mind that he was a woman-killer and destined to conquer, did not run counter to his fate, but yielded himself up to it. And as Emmy did not say much, but merely became unhappy, he chose to fancy that she was not suspicious of what all his acquaintance were perfectly aware – namely, that he was carrying on a desperate flirtation with Mrs. Crawley. He rode with her whenever she was free. He pretended regimental business to Amelia and passed his evenings in the Crawleys’ company; losing money to the husband and flattering himself that the wife was dying of love for him.

George was so occupied with his new acquaintances that he and William Dobbin were by no means so much together as formerly. George avoided him in public and in the regiment. As Dobbin upon those days when he visited the Osborne house, seldom had the advantage of meeting his old friend, much painful and unavailing talk between them was spared. Our friend George was in the full career of the pleasures of Vanity Fair.

On the appointed night, George drove to the famous ball, where his wife did not know a single soul. After placing Amelia on a bench, he left her to her own thoughts there. Her thoughts were not of the pleasantest, and nobody except honest Dobbin came to disturb them. Whilst her appearance was an utter failure [20] В то время как ее появление было полным провалом (as her husband felt with a sort of rage), Mrs. Rawdon Crawley’s debut was, on the contrary, very brilliant. She arrived very late. Her face was radiant; her dress perfection.

George danced with Rebecca twice or thrice – how many times Amelia scarcely knew. At last George came for Rebecca’s shawl and flowers. She was going away. She did not even come back and say good-bye to Amelia. The poor girl let her husband come and go without saying a word, and her head fell on her breast.

“William,” she said, suddenly clinging to Dobbin, who was near her, “you’ve always been very kind to me – I’m – I’m not well. Take me home.” He went away with her quickly.

George led Becky to the coach and passed her a bouquet of flowers in which there lay a letter. In this letter Amelia’s faithful husband asked Becky to elope with him and search for a new life. Osborne, wild with elation, went off to a play-table, and began to bet frantically.

“Come out, George,” said Dobbin, still gravely; “don’t drink.”

“Drink! there’s nothing like it. Drink yourself, and light up your lantern jaws, old boy. Here’s to you.”

Dobbin went up and whispered something to him, at which George walked away speedily on his friend’s arm. “The enemy has passed the Sambre,” William said, “and our left is already engaged. Come away. We are to march in three hours.”

George thought over his brief married life. How wild and reckless he had been! How unworthy he was of her. He sat down to write a letter to his father. George came in and looked at her again, entering still more softly. By the pale night-lamp he could see her sweet, pale face. Good God! how pure she was; how gentle, how tender, and how friendless! and he, how selfish, brutal, and black with crime! God bless her! God bless her! He came to the bedside, and bent over the pillow noiselessly towards the gentle pale face.

Two fair arms closed tenderly round his neck as he stooped down. “I am awake, George,” the poor child said, with a sob fit to break the little heart that nestled so closely by his own. She was awake, poor soul, and to what? At that moment a bugle from the Place of Arms began sounding clearly, and was taken up through the town; and amidst the drums of the infantry, and the shrill pipes of the Scotch, the whole city awoke.

Thus all the superior officers being summoned on duty elsewhere, Jos Sedley was left in command of the little colony at Brussels.

The following days were the grave ones. Only Rebecca had the heart to proceed with her affairs of flirting with Jos and searching for new sources of income. Darkness came down on the field and city: and Amelia was praying for George, who was lying on his face, dead, with a bullet through his heart.