Vanity Fair - Page 426/573

His lordship's vizier and chief confidential servant (with a seat in

parliament and at the dinner table), Mr. Wenham, was much more prudent

in his behaviour and opinions than Mr. Wagg. However much he might be

disposed to hate all parvenus (Mr. Wenham himself was a staunch old

True Blue Tory, and his father a small coal-merchant in the north of

England), this aide-de-camp of the Marquis never showed any sort of

hostility to the new favourite, but pursued her with stealthy

kindnesses and a sly and deferential politeness which somehow made

Becky more uneasy than other people's overt hostilities.

How the Crawleys got the money which was spent upon the entertainments

with which they treated the polite world was a mystery which gave rise

to some conversation at the time, and probably added zest to these

little festivities. Some persons averred that Sir Pitt Crawley gave

his brother a handsome allowance; if he did, Becky's power over the

Baronet must have been extraordinary indeed, and his character greatly

changed in his advanced age. Other parties hinted that it was Becky's

habit to levy contributions on all her husband's friends: going to this

one in tears with an account that there was an execution in the house;

falling on her knees to that one and declaring that the whole family

must go to gaol or commit suicide unless such and such a bill could be

paid. Lord Southdown, it was said, had been induced to give many

hundreds through these pathetic representations. Young Feltham, of the

--th Dragoons (and son of the firm of Tiler and Feltham, hatters and

army accoutrement makers), and whom the Crawleys introduced into

fashionable life, was also cited as one of Becky's victims in the

pecuniary way. People declared that she got money from various simply

disposed persons, under pretence of getting them confidential

appointments under Government. Who knows what stories were or were not

told of our dear and innocent friend? Certain it is that if she had had

all the money which she was said to have begged or borrowed or stolen,

she might have capitalized and been honest for life, whereas,--but this

is advancing matters.

The truth is, that by economy and good management--by a sparing use of

ready money and by paying scarcely anybody--people can manage, for a

time at least, to make a great show with very little means: and it is

our belief that Becky's much-talked-of parties, which were not, after

all was said, very numerous, cost this lady very little more than the

wax candles which lighted the walls. Stillbrook and Queen's Crawley

supplied her with game and fruit in abundance. Lord Steyne's cellars

were at her disposal, and that excellent nobleman's famous cooks

presided over her little kitchen, or sent by my lord's order the rarest

delicacies from their own. I protest it is quite shameful in the world

to abuse a simple creature, as people of her time abuse Becky, and I

warn the public against believing one-tenth of the stories against her.

If every person is to be banished from society who runs into debt and

cannot pay--if we are to be peering into everybody's private life,

speculating upon their income, and cutting them if we don't approve of

their expenditure--why, what a howling wilderness and intolerable

dwelling Vanity Fair would be! Every man's hand would be against his

neighbour in this case, my dear sir, and the benefits of civilization

would be done away with. We should be quarrelling, abusing, avoiding

one another. Our houses would become caverns, and we should go in rags

because we cared for nobody. Rents would go down. Parties wouldn't be

given any more. All the tradesmen of the town would be bankrupt. Wine,

wax-lights, comestibles, rouge, crinoline-petticoats, diamonds, wigs,

Louis-Quatorze gimcracks, and old china, park hacks, and splendid

high-stepping carriage horses--all the delights of life, I say,--would

go to the deuce, if people did but act upon their silly principles and

avoid those whom they dislike and abuse. Whereas, by a little charity

and mutual forbearance, things are made to go on pleasantly enough: we

may abuse a man as much as we like, and call him the greatest rascal

unhanged--but do we wish to hang him therefore? No. We shake hands when

we meet. If his cook is good we forgive him and go and dine with him,

and we expect he will do the same by us. Thus trade

flourishes--civilization advances; peace is kept; new dresses are

wanted for new assemblies every week; and the last year's vintage of

Lafitte will remunerate the honest proprietor who reared it.