Sir Pitt Crawley was a philosopher with a taste for what is called low life. His first marriage with the daughter of the noble Binkie had been made under the auspices1 of his parents; and as he often told Lady Crawley in her lifetime she was such a confounded quarrelsome high-bred jade2 that when she died he was hanged if he would ever take another of her sort, at her ladyship’s demise3 he kept his promise, and selected for a second wife Miss Rose Dawson, daughter of Mr. John Thomas Dawson, ironmonger, of Mudbury. What a happy woman was Rose to be my Lady Crawley!
Let us set down the items of her happiness. In the first place, she gave up Peter Butt4, a young man who kept company with her, and in consequence of his disappointment in love, took to smuggling5, poaching, and a thousand other bad courses. Then she quarrelled, as in duty bound, with all the friends and intimates of her youth, who, of course, could not be received by my Lady at Queen’s Crawley—nor did she find in her new rank and abode6 any persons who were willing to welcome her. Who ever did? Sir Huddleston Fuddleston had three daughters who all hoped to be Lady Crawley. Sir Giles Wapshot’s family were insulted that one of the Wapshot girls had not the preference in the marriage, and the remaining baronets of the county were indignant at their comrade’s misalliance. Never mind the commoners, whom we will leave to grumble7 anonymously8.
Sir Pitt did not care, as he said, a brass9 farden for any one of them. He had his pretty Rose, and what more need a man require than to please himself? So he used to get drunk every night: to beat his pretty Rose sometimes: to leave her in Hampshire when he went to London for the parliamentary session, without a single friend in the wide world. Even Mrs. Bute Crawley, the Rector’s wife, refused to visit her, as she said she would never give the pas to a tradesman’s daughter.
As the only endowments with which Nature had gifted Lady Crawley were those of pink cheeks and a white skin, and as she had no sort of character, nor talents, nor opinions, nor occupations, nor amusements, nor that vigour10 of soul and ferocity of temper which often falls to the lot of entirely11 foolish women, her hold upon Sir Pitt’s affections was not very great. Her roses faded out of her cheeks, and the pretty freshness left her figure after the birth of a couple of children, and she became a mere12 machine in her husband’s house of no more use than the late Lady Crawley’s grand piano. Being a light- complexioned13 woman, she wore light clothes, as most blondes will, and appeared, in preference, in draggled sea- green, or slatternly sky-blue. She worked that worsted day and night, or other pieces like it. She had counterpanes in the course of a few years to all the beds in Crawley. She had a small flower-garden, for which she had rather an affection; but beyond this no other like or disliking. When her husband was rude to her she was apathetic14: whenever he struck her she cried. She had not character enough to take to drinking, and moaned about, slipshod and in curl-papers all day. 0 Vanity Fair— Vanity Fair! This might have been, but for you, a cheery lass—Peter Butt and Rose a happy man and wife, in a snug15 farm, with a hearty16 family; and an honest portion of pleasures, cares, hopes and struggles—but a title and a coach and four are toys more precious than happiness in Vanity Fair: and if Harry17 the Eighth or Bluebeard were alive now, and wanted a tenth wife, do you suppose he could not get the prettiest girl that shall be presented this season?
The languid dulness of their mamma did not, as it may be supposed, awaken18 much affection in her little daughters, but they were very happy in the servants’ hall and in the stables; and the Scotch19 gardener having luckily a good wife and some good children, they got a little wholesome20 society and instruction in his lodge21, which was the only education bestowed22 upon them until Miss Sharp came.
Her engagement was owing to the remonstrances23 of Mr. Pitt Crawley, the only friend or protector Lady Crawley ever had, and the only person, besides her children, for whom she entertained a little feeble attachment24. Mr. Pitt took after the noble Binkies, from whom he was descended25, and was a very polite and proper gentleman. When he grew to man’s estate, and came back from Christchurch, he began to reform the slackened discipline of the hall, in spite of his father, who stood in awe26 of him. He was a man of such rigid27 refinement28, that he would have starved rather than have dined without a white neckcloth. Once, when just from college, and when Horrocks the butler brought him a letter without placing it previously29 on a tray, he gave that domestic a look, and administered to him a speech so cutting, that Horrocks ever after trembled before him; the whole household bowed to him: Lady Crawley’s curl- papers came off earlier when he was at home: Sir Pitt’s muddy gaiters disappeared; and if that incorrigible30 old man still adhered to other old habits, he never fuddled himself with rum-and-water in his son’s presence, and only talked to his servants in a very reserved and polite manner; and those persons remarked that Sir Pitt never swore at Lady Crawley while his son was in the room.
It was he who taught the butler to say, “My lady is served,” and who insisted on handing her ladyship in to dinner. He seldom spoke31 to her, but when he did it was with the most powerful respect; and he never let her quit the apartment without rising in the most stately manner to open the door, and making an elegant bow at her egress32.
At Eton he was called Miss Crawley; and there, I am sorry to say, his younger brother Rawdon used to lick him violently. But though his parts were not brilliant, he made up for his lack of talent by meritorious33 industry, and was never known, during eight years at school, to be subject to that punishment which it is generally thought none but a cherub34 can escape.
At college his career was of course highly creditable. And here he prepared himself for public life, into which he was to be introduced by the patronage35 of his grandfather, Lord Binkie, by studying the ancient and modern orators36 with great assiduity, and by speaking unceasingly at the debating societies. But though he had a fine flux37 of words, and delivered his little voice with great pomposity38 and pleasure to himself, and never advanced any sentiment or opinion which was not perfectly39 trite40 and stale, and supported by a Latin quotation41; yet he failed somehow, in spite of a mediocrity which ought to have insured any man a success. He did not even get the prize poem, which all his friends said he was sure of.
After leaving college he became Private Secretary to Lord Binkie, and was then appointed Attache to the Legation at Pumpernickel, which post he filled with perfect honour, and brought home despatches, consisting of Strasburg pie, to the Foreign Minister of the day. After remaining ten years Attache (several years after the lamented42 Lord Binkie’s demise), and finding the advancement43 slow, he at length gave up the diplomatic service in some disgust, and began to turn country gentleman.
He wrote a pamphlet on Malt on returning to England (for he was an ambitious man, and always liked to be before the public), and took a strong part in the Negro Emancipation44 question. Then he became a friend of Mr. Wilberforce’s, whose politics he admired, and had that famous correspondence with the Reverend Silas Hornblower, on the Ashantee Mission. He was in London, if not for the Parliament session, at least in May, for the religious meetings. In the country he was a magistrate45, and an active visitor and speaker among those destitute46 of religious instruction. He was said to be paying his addresses to Lady Jane Sheepshanks, Lord Southdown’s third daughter, and whose sister, Lady Emily, wrote those sweet tracts47, “The Sailor’s True Binnacle,” and “The Applewoman of Finchley Common.”
Miss Sharp’s accounts of his employment at Queen’s Crawley were not caricatures. He subjected the servants there to the devotional exercises before mentioned, in which (and so much the better) he brought his father to join. He patronised an Independent meeting-house in Crawley parish, much to the indignation of his uncle the Rector, and to the consequent delight of Sir Pitt, who was induced to go himself once or twice, which occasioned some violent sermons at Crawley parish church, directed point-blank at the Baronet’s old Gothic pew there. Honest Sir Pitt, however, did not feel the force of these discourses48, as he always took his nap during sermon-time.
Mr. Crawley was very earnest, for the good of the nation and of the Christian49 world, that the old gentleman should yield him up his place in Parliament; but this the elder constantly refused to do. Both were of course too prudent50 to give up the fifteen hundred a year which was brought in by the second seat (at this period filled by Mr. Quadroon, with carte blanche on the Slave question); indeed the family estate was much embarrassed, and the income drawn51 from the borough52 was of great use to the house of Queen’s Crawley.
It had never recovered the heavy fine imposed upon Walpole Crawley, first baronet, for peculation53 in the Tape and Sealing Wax Office. Sir Walpole was a jolly fellow, eager to seize and to spend money (alieni appetens, sui profusus, as Mr. Crawley would remark with a sigh), and in his day beloved by all the county for the constant drunkenness and hospitality which was maintained at Queen’s Crawley. The cellars were filled with burgundy then, the kennels54 with hounds, and the stables with gallant55 hunters; now, such horses as Queen’s Crawley possessed56 went to plough, or ran in the Trafalgar Coach; and it was with a team of these very horses, on an off- day, that Miss Sharp was brought to the Hall; for boor57 as he was, Sir Pitt was a stickler58 for his dignity while at home, and seldom drove out but with four horses, and though he dined off boiled mutton, had always three footmen to serve it.
If mere parsimony59 could have made a man rich, Sir Pitt Crawley might have become very wealthy—if he had been an attorney in a country town, with no capital but his brains, it is very possible that he would have turned them to good account, and might have achieved for himself a very considerable influence and competency. But he was unluckily endowed with a good name and a large though encumbered60 estate, both of which went rather to injure than to advance him. He had a taste for law, which cost him many thousands yearly; and being a great deal too clever to be robbed, as he said, by any single agent, allowed his affairs to be mismanaged by a dozen, whom he all equally mistrusted. He was such a sharp landlord, that he could hardly find any but bankrupt tenants61; and such a close farmer, as to grudge63 almost the seed to the ground, whereupon revengeful Nature grudged64 him the crops which she granted to more liberal husbandmen. He speculated in every possible way; he worked mines; bought canal-shares; horsed coaches; took government contracts, and was the busiest man and magistrate of his county. As he would not pay honest agents at his granite65 quarry66, he had the satisfaction of finding that four overseers ran away, and took fortunes with them to America. For want of proper precautions, his coal-mines filled with water: the government flung his contract of damaged beef upon his hands: and for his coach-horses, every mail proprietor67 in the kingdom knew that he lost more horses than any man in the country, from underfeeding and buying cheap. In disposition68 he was sociable69, and far from being proud; nay70, he rather preferred the society of a farmer or a horse-dealer to that of a gentleman, like my lord, his son: he was fond of drink, of swearing, of joking with the farmers’ daughters: he was never known to give away a shilling or to do a good action, but was of a pleasant, sly, laughing mood, and would cut his joke and drink his glass with a tenant62 and sell him up the next day; or have his laugh with the poacher he was transporting with equal good humour. His politeness for the fair sex has already been hinted at by Miss Rebecca Sharp—in a word, the whole baronetage, peerage, commonage of England, did not contain a more cunning, mean, selfish, foolish, disreputable old man. That blood-red hand of Sir Pitt Crawley’s would be in anybody’s pocket except his own; and it is with grief and pain, that, as admirers of the British aristocracy, we find ourselves obliged to admit the existence of so many ill qualities in a person whose name is in Debrett.
One great cause why Mr. Crawley had such a hold over the affections of his father, resulted from money arrangements. The Baronet owed his son a sum of money out of the jointure of his mother, which he did not find it convenient to pay; indeed he had an almost invincible71 repugnance72 to paying anybody, and could only be brought by force to discharge his debts. Miss Sharp calculated (for she became, as we shall hear speedily, inducted into most of the secrets of the family) that the mere payment of his creditors73 cost the honourable74 Baronet several hundreds yearly; but this was a delight he could not forego; he had a savage75 pleasure in making the poor wretches76 wait, and in shifting from court to court and from term to term the period of satisfaction. What’s the good of being in Parliament, he said, if you must pay your debts? Hence, indeed, his position as a senator was not a little useful to him.
Vanity Fair—Vanity Fair! Here was a man, who could not spell, and did not care to read—who had the habits and the cunning of a boor: whose aim in life was pettifogging: who never had a taste, or emotion, or enjoyment77, but what was sordid78 and foul79; and yet he had rank, and honours, and power, somehow: and was a dignitary of the land, and a pillar of the state. He was high sheriff, and rode in a golden coach. Great ministers and statesmen courted him; and in Vanity Fair he had a higher place than the most brilliant genius or spotless virtue80.
Sir Pitt had an unmarried half-sister who inherited her mother’s large fortune, and though the Baronet proposed to borrow this money of her on mortgage, Miss Crawley declined the offer, and preferred the security of the funds. She had signified, however, her intention of leaving her inheritance between Sir Pitt’s second son and the family at the Rectory, and had once or twice paid the debts of Rawdon Crawley in his career at college and in the army. Miss Crawley was, in consequence, an object of great respect when she came to Queen’s Crawley, for she had a balance at her banker’s which would have made her beloved anywhere.
What a dignity it gives an old lady, that balance at the banker’s! How tenderly we look at her faults if she is a relative (and may every reader have a score of such), what a kind good-natured old creature we find her! How the junior partner of Hobbs and Dobbs leads her smiling to the carriage with the lozenge upon it, and the fat wheezy coachman! How, when she comes to pay us a visit, we generally find an opportunity to let our friends know her station in the world! We say (and with perfect truth) I wish I had Miss MacWhirter’s signature to a cheque for five thousand pounds. She wouldn’t miss it, says your wife. She is my aunt, say you, in an easy careless way, when your friend asks if Miss MacWhirter is any relative. Your wife is perpetually sending her little testimonies81 of affection, your little girls work endless worsted baskets, cushions, and footstools for her. What a good fire there is in her room when she comes to pay you a visit, although your wife laces her stays without one! The house during her stay assumes a festive82, neat, warm, jovial83, snug appearance not visible at other seasons. You yourself, dear sir, forget to go to sleep after dinner, and find yourself all of a sudden (though you invariably lose) very fond of a rubber. What good dinners you have—game every day, Malmsey-Madeira, and no end of fish from London. Even the servants in the kitchen share in the general prosperity; and, somehow, during the stay of Miss MacWhirter’s fat coachman, the beer is grown much stronger, and the consumption of tea and sugar in the nursery (where her maid takes her meals) is not regarded in the least. Is it so, or is it not so? I appeal to the middle classes. Ah, gracious powers! I wish you would send me an old aunt—a maiden84 aunt —an aunt with a lozenge on her carriage, and a front of light coffee-coloured hair—how my children should work workbags for her, and my Julia and I would make her comfortable! Sweet—sweet vision! Foolish—foolish dream!
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auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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anonymously
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| ad.用匿名的方式 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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complexioned
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| 脸色…的 | |
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apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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incorrigible
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| adj.难以纠正的，屡教不改的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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egress
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| n.出去；出口 | |
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meritorious
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| adj.值得赞赏的 | |
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cherub
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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orators
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| n.演说者，演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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flux
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| n.流动；不断的改变 | |
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pomposity
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| n.浮华；虚夸；炫耀；自负 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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trite
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| adj.陈腐的 | |
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quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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discourses
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| 论文( discourse的名词复数 )； 演说； 讲道； 话语 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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peculation
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| n.侵吞公款[公物] | |
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kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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boor
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| n.举止粗野的人；乡下佬 | |
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stickler
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| n.坚持细节之人 | |
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parsimony
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| n.过度节俭，吝啬 | |
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encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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grudged
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| 怀恨（grudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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67
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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68
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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70
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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71
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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72
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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73
creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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74
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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75
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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76
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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77
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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78
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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79
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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80
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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81
testimonies
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| （法庭上证人的）证词( testimony的名词复数 )； 证明，证据 | |
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82
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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83
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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84
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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