Eighth Reader Part 3

Madam your most obliged humble servant,

BARBARA PINKERTON.

P.S.--Miss Sharp accompanies Miss Sedley. It is particularly requested that Miss Sharp's stay in Russell Square may not exceed ten days. The family of distinction with whom she is engaged as governess desire to avail themselves of her services as soon as possible.

This letter completed, Miss Pinkerton proceeded to write her own name and Miss Sedley's in the flyleaf of a Johnson's Dictionary, the interesting work which she invariably presented to her scholars on their departure from the Mall. On the cover was inserted a copy of "Lines addressed to a Young Lady on quitting Miss Pinkerton's School, at the Mall; by the late revered Dr. Samuel Johnson." In fact, the Lexicographer's name was always on the lips of this majestic woman, and a visit he had paid to her was the cause of her reputation and her fortune.

Being commanded by her elder sister to get "The Dixonary" from the cupboard, Miss Jemima had extracted two copies of the book from the receptacle in question. When Miss Pinkerton had finished the inscription in the first, Jemima, with rather a dubious and timid air, handed her the second.

"For whom is this, Miss Jemima?" said Miss Pinkerton with awful coldness.

"For Becky Sharp," answered Jemima, trembling very much, and blus.h.i.+ng over her withered face and neck, as she turned her back on her sister.

"For Becky Sharp. She's going, too."

"MISS JEMIMA!" exclaimed Miss Pinkerton, in the largest capitals. "Are you in your senses? Replace the Dixonary in the closet, and never venture to take such a liberty in future."

With an unusual display of courage, Miss Jemima mildly protested: "Well, sister, it's only two and nine-pence, and poor Becky will be miserable if she doesn't get one."

"Send Miss Sedley instantly to me," was Miss Pinkerton's only answer.

And, venturing not to say another word, poor Jemima trotted off, exceedingly flurried and nervous, while the two pupils, Miss Sedley and Miss Sharp, were making final preparations for their departure for Miss Sedley's home.

III

Well, then. The flowers, and the presents, and the trunks, and the bonnet boxes of Miss Sedley having been arranged by Mr. Sambo in the carriage, together with a very small and weather-beaten old cowskin trunk with Miss Sharp's card neatly nailed upon it, which was delivered by Sambo with a grin, and packed by the coachman with a corresponding sneer, the hour for parting came; and the grief of that moment was considerably lessened by the admirable discourse which Miss Pinkerton addressed to her pupil.

Not that the parting speech caused Amelia to philosophize, or that it armed her in any way with a calmness, the result of argument; but it was intolerably dull, and having the fear of her schoolmistress greatly before her eyes, Miss Sedley did not venture, in her presence, to give way to any ablutions of private grief. A seed cake and a bottle of wine were produced in the drawing room, as on the solemn occasions of the visits of parents; and these refreshments being partaken of, Miss Sedley was at liberty to depart.

"You'll go in and say good-by to Miss Pinkerton, Becky!" said Miss Jemima to that young lady, of whom n.o.body took any notice, and who was coming downstairs with her own bandbox.

"I suppose I must," said Miss Sharp calmly, and much to the wonder of Miss Jemima; and the latter having knocked at the door, and receiving permission to come in, Miss Sharp advanced in a very unconcerned manner, and said in French, and with a perfect accent, "_Mademoiselle, je viens vous faire mes adieux_."[4]

Miss Pinkerton did not understand French, as we know; she only directed those who did. Biting her lips and throwing up her venerable and Roman-nosed head, she said, "Miss Sharp, I wish you a good morning."

As she spoke, she waved one hand, both by way of adieu and to give Miss Sharp an opportunity of shaking one of the fingers of the hand, which was left out for that purpose. Miss Sharp only folded her own hands with a very frigid smile and bow, and quite declined to accept the proffered honor; on which Miss Pinkerton tossed up her turban more indignantly than ever. In fact, it was a little battle between the young lady and the old one, and the latter was worsted.

"Come away, Becky," said Miss Jemima, pulling the young woman away in great alarm; and the drawing room door closed upon her forever.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Parting.]

Then came the struggle and parting below. Words refuse to tell it. All the servants were there in the hall--all the dear friends--all the young ladies--even the dancing master, who had just arrived; and there was such a scuffling and hugging, and kissing, and crying, with the hysterical _yoops_ of Miss Schwartz, the parlor boarder, as no pen can depict, and as the tender heart would feign pa.s.s over.

The embracing was finished; they parted--that is, Miss Sedley parted from her friends. Miss Sharp had demurely entered the carriage some minutes before. n.o.body cried for leaving _her_.

Sambo of the bandy legs slammed the carriage door on his young weeping mistress. He sprang up behind the carriage.

"Stop!" cried Miss Jemima, rus.h.i.+ng to the gate with a parcel.

"It's some sandwiches, my dear," she called to Amelia. "You may be hungry, you know; and, Becky--Becky Sharp--here's a book for you, that my sister--that is, I--Johnson's Dixonary, you know. You mustn't leave us without that. Good-by! Drive on, coachman!--G.o.d bless you! Good-by."

Then the kind creature retreated into the garden, overcome with emotion.

But lo! and just as the coach drove off, Miss Sharp suddenly put her pale face out of the window, and flung the book back into the garden--flung it far and fast--watching it fall at the feet of astonished Miss Jemima; then sank back in the carriage, exclaiming, "So much for the 'Dixonary'; and thank G.o.d I'm out of Chiswick!"

The shock of such an act almost caused Jemima to faint with terror.

"Well, I never--" she began. "What an audacious--" she gasped. Emotion prevented her from completing either sentence.

The carriage rolled away; the great gates were closed; the bell rang for the dancing lesson. The world is before the two young ladies; and so, farewell to Chiswick Mall!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 3: From "Vanity Fair," by William Makepeace Thackeray.]

[Footnote 4: "Madam, I have come to tell you good-by."]

EXPRESSION: By many able critics, Thackeray is regarded as a greater novelist than either d.i.c.kens or George Eliot. Compare this extract from one of his best works with the two selections which precede it. Which of the three stories is the most interesting to you? Which sounds the best when read aloud? Which is the most humorous? Which is the most pathetic?

Reread the three selections very carefully. Now tell what you observe about the style of each. In what respects is the style of the third story different from that of either of the others? Reread Miss Pinkerton's letter. What peculiarities do you observe in it?

Select and reread the most humorous pa.s.sage in this last story.

TWO GEMS FROM BROWNING

I. INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP

In the small kingdom of Bavaria, on the south bank of the Danube River, there is a famous old city called Ratisbon. It is not a very large city, but its history can be traced far back to the time when the Romans had a military camp there which they used as an outpost against the German barbarians. At one time it ranked among the most flouris.h.i.+ng towns of Germany.

It is now of little commercial importance--a quaint and quiet old place, with a fine cathedral and many notable buildings which testify to its former greatness.

During the earlier years of the nineteenth century, Napoleon Bonaparte, emperor of the French, was engaged in bitter warfare with Austria and indeed with nearly the whole of Europe. In April, 1809, the Austrian army, under Grand Duke Charles, was intrenched in Ratisbon and the neighboring towns. There it was attacked by the French army commanded by Napoleon himself and led by the brave Marshal Lannes, Duke of Montebello.

The battle raged, first on this side of the city, then on that, and for several days no one could tell which of the combatants would be victorious. At length Napoleon decided to end the matter by storming the city and, if possible, driving the archduke from his stronghold. He, therefore, sent Marshal Lannes forward to direct the battle, while he watched the conflict and gave commands from a distance. For a long time the issue seemed doubtful, and not even Napoleon could guess what the result would be. Late in the day, however, French valor prevailed, the Austrians were routed, and Marshal Lannes forced his way into the city.

It was at this time that the incident described so touchingly in the following poem by Robert Browning is supposed to have taken place. We do not know, nor does any one know, whether the story has any foundation in fact. It ill.u.s.trates, however, the spirit of bravery and self-sacrifice that prevailed among the soldiers of Napoleon; and such an incident might, indeed, have happened not only at Ratisbon, but at almost any place where the emperor's presence urged his troops to victory. For, such was Napoleon's magic influence and such was the love which he inspired among all his followers, that thousands of young men were ready cheerfully to give their lives for the promotion of his selfish ambition.

The poem, which is now regarded as one of the cla.s.sics of our language, was first published in 1843, in a small volume ent.i.tled "Dramatic Lyrics." The same volume contained the well-known rime of "The Pied Piper of Hamelin." Robert Browning was at that time a young man of thirty, and most of the poems which afterwards made him famous were still unwritten.

BROWNING'S POEM

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: A mile or so away, On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming day: With neck outthrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms locked behind, As if to balance the p.r.o.ne brow Oppressive with its mind.

Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans That soar, to earth may fall, Let once my army leader Lannes Waver at yonder wall,"-- Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flew A rider, bound on bound Full galloping; nor bridle drew Until he reached the mound.

Then off there flung in smiling joy, And held himself erect By just his horse's mane, a boy: You hardly could suspect-- (So tight he kept his lips compressed, Scarce any blood came through) You looked twice ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two.