Vanity Fair | Page 6

Miss
Pinkerton was capital fun, wasn't it? She doesn't know a word of
French, and was too proud to confess it. I believe it was that which
made her part with me; and so thank Heaven for French. Vive la France!
Vive l'Empereur! Vive Bonaparte!"
"O Rebecca, Rebecca, for shame!" cried Miss Sedley; for this was the
greatest blasphemy Rebecca had as yet uttered; and in those days, in
England, to say, "Long live Bonaparte!" was as much as to say, "Long
live Lucifer!" "How can you--how dare you have such wicked,
revengeful thoughts?"
"Revenge may be wicked, but it's natural," answered Miss Rebecca.
"I'm no angel." And, to say the truth, she certainly was not.
For it may be remarked in the course of this little conversation (which
took place as the coach rolled along lazily by the river side) that though
Miss Rebecca Sharp has twice had occasion to thank Heaven, it has
been, in the first place, for ridding her of some person whom she hated,
and secondly, for enabling her to bring her enemies to some sort of
perplexity or confusion; neither of which are very amiable motives for
religious gratitude, or such as would be put forward by persons of a
kind and placable disposition. Miss Rebecca was not, then, in the least
kind or placable. All the world used her ill, said this young
misanthropist, and we may be pretty certain that persons whom all the
world treats ill, deserve entirely the treatment they get. The world is a
looking-glass, and gives back to every man the reflection of his own
face. Frown at it, and it will in turn look sourly upon you; laugh at it
and with it, and it is a jolly kind companion; and so let all young
persons take their choice. This is certain, that if the world neglected
Miss Sharp, she never was known to have done a good action in behalf
of anybody; nor can it be expected that twenty-four young ladies
should all be as amiable as the heroine of this work, Miss Sedley
(whom we have selected for the very reason that she was the
best-natured of all, otherwise what on earth was to have prevented us
from putting up Miss Swartz, or Miss Crump, or Miss Hopkins, as
heroine in her place!) it could not be expected that every one should be

of the humble and gentle temper of Miss Amelia Sedley; should take
every opportunity to vanquish Rebecca's hard-heartedness and
ill-humour; and, by a thousand kind words and offices, overcome, for
once at least, her hostility to her kind.
Miss Sharp's father was an artist, and in that quality had given lessons
of drawing at Miss Pinkerton's school. He was a clever man; a pleasant
companion; a careless student; with a great propensity for running into
debt, and a partiality for the tavern. When he was drunk, he used to beat
his wife and daughter; and the next morning, with a headache, he
would rail at the world for its neglect of his genius, and abuse, with a
good deal of cleverness, and sometimes with perfect reason, the fools,
his brother painters. As it was with the utmost difficulty that he could
keep himself, and as he owed money for a mile round Soho, where he
lived, he thought to better his circumstances by marrying a young
woman of the French nation, who was by profession an opera-girl. The
humble calling of her female parent Miss Sharp never alluded to, but
used to state subsequently that the Entrechats were a noble family of
Gascony, and took great pride in her descent from them. And curious it
is that as she advanced in life this young lady's ancestors increased in
rank and splendour.
Rebecca's mother had had some education somewhere, and her
daughter spoke French with purity and a Parisian accent. It was in those
days rather a rare accomplishment, and led to her engagement with the
orthodox Miss Pinkerton. For her mother being dead, her father,
finding himself not likely to recover, after his third attack of delirium
tremens, wrote a manly and pathetic letter to Miss Pinkerton,
recommending the orphan child to her protection, and so descended to
the grave, after two bailiffs had quarrelled over his corpse. Rebecca
was seventeen when she came to Chiswick, and was bound over as an
articled pupil; her duties being to talk French, as we have seen; and her
privileges to live cost free, and, with a few guineas a year, to gather
scraps of knowledge from the professors who attended the school.
She was small and slight in person; pale, sandy-haired, and with eyes
habitually cast down: when they looked up they were very large, odd,

and attractive; so attractive that the Reverend Mr. Crisp, fresh