Mr Dorrit, on being informed by his elder daughter that she had accepted
matrimonial overtures from Mr Sparkler, to whom she had plighted her
troth, received the communication at once with great dignity and with a
large display of parental pride; his dignity dilating with the widened
prospect of advantageous ground from which to make acquaintances, and
his parental pride being developed by Miss Fanny's ready sympathy with
that great object of his existence.
He gave her to understand that her
noble ambition found harmonious echoes in his heart; and bestowed
his blessing on her, as a child brimful of duty and good principle,
self-devoted to the aggrandisement of the family name.
To Mr Sparkler, when Miss Fanny permitted him to appear, Mr Dorrit said,
he would not disguise that the alliance Mr Sparkler did him the honour
to propose was highly congenial to his feelings; both as being in unison
with the spontaneous affections of his daughter Fanny, and as opening
a family connection of a gratifying nature with Mr Merdle, the
master spirit of the age.
Mrs Merdle also, as a leading lady rich in
distinction, elegance, grace, and beauty, he mentioned in very laudatory
terms. He felt it his duty to remark (he was sure a gentleman of Mr
Sparkler's fine sense would interpret him with all delicacy), that he
could not consider this proposal definitely determined on, until he
should have had the privilege of holding some correspondence with Mr
Merdle; and of ascertaining it to be so far accordant with the views
of that eminent gentleman as that his (Mr Dorrit's) daughter would be
received on that footing which her station in life and her dowry and
expectations warranted him in requiring that she should maintain in
what he trusted he might be allowed, without the appearance of being
mercenary, to call the Eye of the Great World.
While saying this, which
his character as a gentleman of some little station, and his character
as a father, equally demanded of him, he would not be so diplomatic
as to conceal that the proposal remained in hopeful abeyance and
under conditional acceptance, and that he thanked Mr Sparkler for the
compliment rendered to himself and to his family. He concluded with
some further and more general observations on the--ha--character of an
independent gentleman, and the--hum--character of a possibly too
partial and admiring parent. To sum the whole up shortly, he received
Mr Sparkler's offer very much as he would have received three or four
half-crowns from him in the days that were gone.
Mr Sparkler, finding himself stunned by the words thus heaped upon his
inoffensive head, made a brief though pertinent rejoinder; the same
being neither more nor less than that he had long perceived Miss Fanny
to have no nonsense about her, and that he had no doubt of its being all
right with his Governor. At that point the object of his affections shut
him up like a box with a spring lid, and sent him away.
Proceeding shortly afterwards to pay his respects to the Bosom, Mr
Dorrit was received by it with great consideration. Mrs Merdle had heard
of this affair from Edmund. She had been surprised at first, because she
had not thought Edmund a marrying man. Society had not thought Edmund
a marrying man. Still, of course she had seen, as a woman (we women
did instinctively see these things, Mr Dorrit!), that Edmund had been
immensely captivated by Miss Dorrit, and she had openly said that Mr
Dorrit had much to answer for in bringing so charming a girl abroad to
turn the heads of his countrymen.
'Have I the honour to conclude, madam,' said Mr Dorrit, 'that the
direction which Mr Sparkler's affections have taken, is--ha-approved of
by you?'
'I assure you, Mr Dorrit,' returned the lady, 'that, personally, I am
charmed.'
That was very gratifying to Mr Dorrit.
'Personally,' repeated Mrs Merdle, 'charmed.'
This casual repetition of the word 'personally,' moved Mr Dorrit to
express his hope that Mr Merdle's approval, too, would not be wanting?
'I cannot,' said Mrs Merdle, 'take upon myself to answer positively for
Mr Merdle; gentlemen, especially gentlemen who are what Society calls
capitalists, having their own ideas of these matters. But I should
think--merely giving an opinion, Mr Dorrit--I should think Mr Merdle
would be upon the whole,' here she held a review of herself before
adding at her leisure, 'quite charmed.'
At the mention of gentlemen whom Society called capitalists, Mr Dorrit
had coughed, as if some internal demur were breaking out of him. Mrs
Merdle had observed it, and went on to take up the cue.
'Though, indeed, Mr Dorrit, it is scarcely necessary for me to make that
remark, except in the mere openness of saying what is uppermost to one
whom I so highly regard, and with whom I hope I may have the pleasure
of being brought into still more agreeable relations. For one cannot
but see the great probability of your considering such things from Mr
Merdle's own point of view, except indeed that circumstances have made
it Mr Merdle's accidental fortune, or misfortune, to be engaged in
business transactions, and that they, however vast, may a little cramp
his horizons. I am a very child as to having any notion of business,'
said Mrs Merdle; 'but I am afraid, Mr Dorrit, it may have that
tendency.'
This skilful see-saw of Mr Dorrit and Mrs Merdle, so that each of them
sent the other up, and each of them sent the other down, and neither
had the advantage, acted as a sedative on Mr Dorrit's cough. He remarked
with his utmost politeness, that he must beg to protest against its
being supposed, even by Mrs Merdle, the accomplished and graceful
(to which compliment she bent herself), that such enterprises as Mr
Merdle's, apart as they were from the puny undertakings of the rest of
men, had any lower tendency than to enlarge and expand the genius in
which they were conceived. 'You are generosity itself,' said Mrs Merdle
in return, smiling her best smile; 'let us hope so. But I confess I am
almost superstitious in my ideas about business.'
Mr Dorrit threw in another compliment here, to the effect that business,
like the time which was precious in it, was made for slaves; and that it
was not for Mrs Merdle, who ruled all hearts at her supreme pleasure,
to have anything to do with it. Mrs Merdle laughed, and conveyed to
Mr Dorrit an idea that the Bosom flushed--which was one of her best
effects.
'I say so much,' she then explained, 'merely because Mr Merdle has
always taken the greatest interest in Edmund, and has always expressed
the strongest desire to advance his prospects. Edmund's public position,
I think you know. His private position rests solely with Mr Merdle. In
my foolish incapacity for business, I assure you I know no more.'
Mr Dorrit again expressed, in his own way, the sentiment that business
was below the ken of enslavers and enchantresses. He then mentioned his
intention, as a gentleman and a parent, of writing to Mr Merdle. Mrs
Merdle concurred with all her heart--or with all her art, which was
exactly the same thing--and herself despatched a preparatory letter by
the next post to the eighth wonder of the world.
In his epistolary communication, as in his dialogues and discourses on
the great question to which it related, Mr Dorrit surrounded the
subject with flourishes, as writing-masters embellish copy-books and
ciphering-books: where the titles of the elementary rules of
arithmetic diverge into swans, eagles, griffins, and other calligraphic
recreations, and where the capital letters go out of their minds and
bodies into ecstasies of pen and ink. Nevertheless, he did render the
purport of his letter sufficiently clear, to enable Mr Merdle to make a
decent pretence of having learnt it from that source. Mr Merdle replied
to it accordingly. Mr Dorrit replied to Mr Merdle; Mr Merdle replied to
Mr Dorrit; and it was soon announced that the corresponding powers had
come to a satisfactory understanding.
Now, and not before, Miss Fanny burst upon the scene, completely arrayed
for her new part. Now and not before, she wholly absorbed Mr Sparkler in
her light, and shone for both, and twenty more. No longer feeling that
want of a defined place and character which had caused her so much
trouble, this fair ship began to steer steadily on a shaped course, and
to swim with a weight and balance that developed her sailing qualities.
'The preliminaries being so satisfactorily arranged, I think I will now,
my dear,' said Mr Dorrit, 'announce--ha--formally, to Mrs General--'
'Papa,' returned Fanny, taking him up short upon that name, 'I don't see
what Mrs General has got to do with it.'
'My dear,' said Mr Dorrit, 'it will be an act of courtesy to--hum--a
lady, well bred and refined--'
'Oh! I am sick of Mrs General's good breeding and refinement, papa,'
said Fanny. 'I am tired of Mrs General.'
'Tired,' repeated Mr Dorrit in reproachful astonishment, 'of--ha--Mrs
General.'
'Quite disgusted with her, papa,' said Fanny. 'I really don't see what
she has to do with my marriage. Let her keep to her own matrimonial
projects--if she has any.'
'Fanny,' returned Mr Dorrit, with a grave and weighty slowness upon him,
contrasting strongly with his daughter's levity: 'I beg the favour of
your explaining--ha--what it is you mean.' 'I mean, papa,' said Fanny,
'that if Mrs General should happen to have any matrimonial projects of
her own, I dare say they are quite enough to occupy her spare time. And
that if she has not, so much the better; but still I don't wish to have
the honour of making announcements to her.'
'Permit me to ask you, Fanny,' said Mr Dorrit, 'why not?'
'Because she can find my engagement out for herself, papa,' retorted
Fanny. 'She is watchful enough, I dare say. I think I have seen her
so. Let her find it out for herself. If she should not find it out for
herself, she will know it when I am married. And I hope you will not
consider me wanting in affection for you, papa, if I say it strikes me
that will be quite enough for Mrs General.'
'Fanny,' returned Mr Dorrit, 'I am amazed, I am displeased by
this--hum--this capricious and unintelligible display of animosity
towards--ha--Mrs General.'
'Do not, if you please, papa,' urged Fanny, 'call it animosity, because
I assure you I do not consider Mrs General worth my animosity.'
At this, Mr Dorrit rose from his chair with a fixed look of severe
reproof, and remained standing in his dignity before his daughter. His
daughter, turning the bracelet on her arm, and now looking at him, and
now looking from him, said, 'Very well, papa. I am truly sorry if you
don't like it; but I can't help it. I am not a child, and I am not Amy,
and I must speak.'
'Fanny,' gasped Mr Dorrit, after a majestic silence, 'if I request
you to remain here, while I formally announce to Mrs General, as
an exemplary lady, who is--hum--a trusted member of this family,
the--ha--the change that is contemplated among us; if I--ha--not only
request it, but--hum--insist upon it--'
'Oh, papa,' Fanny broke in with pointed significance, 'if you make so
much of it as that, I have in duty nothing to do but comply. I hope I
may have my thoughts upon the subject, however, for I really cannot help
it under the circumstances.'So, Fanny sat down with a meekness which,
in the junction of extremes, became defiance; and her father, either not
deigning to answer, or not knowing what to answer, summoned Mr Tinkler
into his presence.
'Mrs General.'
Mr Tinkler, unused to receive such short orders in connection with the
fair varnisher, paused. Mr Dorrit, seeing the whole Marshalsea and all
its testimonials in the pause, instantly flew at him with, 'How dare
you, sir? What do you mean?'
'I beg your pardon, sir,' pleaded Mr Tinkler, 'I was wishful to know--'
'You wished to know nothing, sir,' cried Mr Dorrit, highly flushed.
'Don't tell me you did. Ha. You didn't. You are guilty of mockery, sir.'
'I assure you, sir--' Mr Tinkler began.
'Don't assure me!' said Mr Dorrit. 'I will not be assured by a
domestic. You are guilty of mockery. You shall leave me--hum--the whole
establishment shall leave me. What are you waiting for?'
'Only for my orders, sir.'
'It's false,' said Mr Dorrit, 'you have your orders. Ha--hum. MY
compliments to Mrs General, and I beg the favour of her coming to me, if
quite convenient, for a few minutes. Those are your orders.'
In his execution of this mission, Mr Tinkler perhaps expressed that Mr
Dorrit was in a raging fume. However that was, Mrs General's skirts were
very speedily heard outside, coming along--one might almost have said
bouncing along--with unusual expedition. Albeit, they settled down at
the door and swept into the room with their customary coolness.
'Mrs General,' said Mr Dorrit, 'take a chair.'
Mrs General, with a graceful curve of acknowledgment, descended into the
chair which Mr Dorrit offered.
'Madam,' pursued that gentleman, 'as you have had the kindness to
undertake the--hum--formation of my daughters, and as I am persuaded
that nothing nearly affecting them can--ha--be indifferent to you--'
'Wholly impossible,' said Mrs General in the calmest of ways.
'--I therefore wish to announce to you, madam, that my daughter now
present--'
Mrs General made a slight inclination of her head to Fanny, who made
a very low inclination of her head to Mrs General, and came loftily
upright again.
'--That my daughter Fanny is--ha--contracted to be married to Mr
Sparkler, with whom you are acquainted. Hence, madam, you will be
relieved of half your difficult charge--ha--difficult charge.' Mr
Dorrit repeated it with his angry eye on Fanny. 'But not, I hope, to
the--hum--diminution of any other portion, direct or indirect, of the
footing you have at present the kindness to occupy in my family.'
'Mr Dorrit,' returned Mrs General, with her gloved hands resting on
one another in exemplary repose, 'is ever considerate, and ever but too
appreciative of my friendly services.'
(Miss Fanny coughed, as much as to say, 'You are right.')
'Miss Dorrit has no doubt exercised the soundest discretion of which
the circumstances admitted, and I trust will allow me to offer her my
sincere congratulations. When free from the trammels of passion,' Mrs
General closed her eyes at the word, as if she could not utter it, and
see anybody; 'when occurring with the approbation of near relatives;
and when cementing the proud structure of a family edifice; these are
usually auspicious events.
I trust Miss Dorrit will allow me to offer her my best congratulations.'
Here Mrs General stopped, and added internally, for the setting of her
face, 'Papa, potatoes, poultry, Prunes, and prism.'
'Mr Dorrit,' she superadded aloud, 'is ever most obliging; and for
the attention, and I will add distinction, of having this confidence
imparted to me by himself and Miss Dorrit at this early time, I beg to
offer the tribute of my thanks. My thanks, and my congratulations, are
equally the meed of Mr Dorrit and of Miss Dorrit.'
'To me,' observed Miss Fanny, 'they are excessively
gratifying--inexpressibly so. The relief of finding that you have no
objection to make, Mrs General, quite takes a load off my mind, I am
sure. I hardly know what I should have done,' said Fanny, 'if you had
interposed any objection, Mrs General.'
Mrs General changed her gloves, as to the right glove being uppermost
and the left undermost, with a Prunes and Prism smile.
'To preserve your approbation, Mrs General,' said Fanny, returning the
smile with one in which there was no trace of those ingredients, 'will
of course be the highest object of my married life; to lose it, would of
course be perfect wretchedness. I am sure your great kindness will
not object, and I hope papa will not object, to my correcting a
small mistake you have made, however. The best of us are so liable to
mistakes, that even you, Mrs General, have fallen into a little error.
The attention and distinction you have so impressively mentioned, Mrs
General, as attaching to this confidence, are, I have no doubt, of the
most complimentary and gratifying description; but they don't at all
proceed from me. The merit of having consulted you on the subject would
have been so great in me, that I feel I must not lay claim to it when it
really is not mine. It is wholly papa's. I am deeply obliged to you for
your encouragement and patronage, but it was papa who asked for it.
I have to thank you, Mrs General, for relieving my breast of a great
weight by so handsomely giving your consent to my engagement, but you
have really nothing to thank me for. I hope you will always approve of
my proceedings after I have left home and that my sister also may long
remain the favoured object of your condescension, Mrs General.'
With this address, which was delivered in her politest manner, Fanny
left the room with an elegant and cheerful air--to tear up-stairs with
a flushed face as soon as she was out of hearing, pounce in upon her
sister, call her a little Dormouse, shake her for the better opening of
her eyes, tell her what had passed below, and ask her what she thought
of Pa now?
Towards Mrs Merdle, the young lady comported herself with great
independence and self-possession; but not as yet with any more decided
opening of hostilities. Occasionally they had a slight skirmish, as when
Fanny considered herself patted on the back by that lady, or as when Mrs
Merdle looked particularly young and well; but Mrs Merdle always soon
terminated those passages of arms by sinking among her cushions with the
gracefullest indifference, and finding her attention otherwise engaged.
Society (for that mysterious creature sat upon the Seven Hills too)
found Miss Fanny vastly improved by her engagement. She was much more
accessible, much more free and engaging, much less exacting; insomuch
that she now entertained a host of followers and admirers, to the bitter
indignation of ladies with daughters to marry, who were to be regarded
as Having revolted from Society on the Miss Dorrit grievance, and
erected a rebellious standard. Enjoying the flutter she caused. Miss
Dorrit not only haughtily moved through it in her own proper person, but
haughtily, even Ostentatiously, led Mr Sparkler through it too: seeming
to say to them all, 'If I think proper to march among you in triumphal
procession attended by this weak captive in bonds, rather than a
stronger one, that is my business. Enough that I choose to do it!' Mr
Sparkler for his part, questioned nothing; but went wherever he was
taken, did whatever he was told, felt that for his bride-elect to be
distinguished was for him to be distinguished on the easiest terms, and
was truly grateful for being so openly acknowledged.
The winter passing on towards the spring while this condition of affairs
prevailed, it became necessary for Mr Sparkler to repair to England, and
take his appointed part in the expression and direction of its genius,
learning, commerce, spirit, and sense. The land of Shakespeare, Milton,
Bacon, Newton, Watt, the land of a host of past and present abstract
philosophers, natural philosophers, and subduers of Nature and Art in
their myriad forms, called to Mr Sparkler to come and take care of it,
lest it should perish. Mr Sparkler, unable to resist the agonised cry
from the depths of his country's soul, declared that he must go.
It followed that the question was rendered pressing when, where, and
how Mr Sparkler should be married to the foremost girl in all this world
with no nonsense about her. Its solution, after some little mystery and
secrecy, Miss Fanny herself announced to her sister.
'Now, my child,' said she, seeking her out one day, 'I am going to tell
you something. It is only this moment broached; and naturally I hurry to
you the moment it IS broached.'
'Your marriage, Fanny?'
'My precious child,' said Fanny, 'don't anticipate me. Let me impart my
confidence to you, you flurried little thing, in my own way. As to your
guess, if I answered it literally, I should answer no. For really it is
not my marriage that is in question, half as much as it is Edmund's.'
Little Dorrit looked, and perhaps not altogether without cause, somewhat
at a loss to understand this fine distinction.
'I am in no difficulty,' exclaimed Fanny, 'and in no hurry. I am not
wanted at any public office, or to give any vote anywhere else.
But Edmund is. And Edmund is deeply dejected at the idea of going away
by himself, and, indeed, I don't like that he should be trusted by
himself. For, if it's possible--and it generally is--to do a foolish
thing, he is sure to do it.'
As she concluded this impartial summary of the reliance that might be
safely placed upon her future husband, she took off, with an air of
business, the bonnet she wore, and dangled it by its strings upon the
ground.
'It is far more Edmund's question, therefore, than mine. However, we
need say no more about that. That is self-evident on the face of it.
Well, my dearest Amy! The point arising, is he to go by himself, or is
he not to go by himself, this other point arises, are we to be married
here and shortly, or are we to be married at home months hence?'
'I see I am going to lose you, Fanny.'
'What a little thing you are,' cried Fanny, half tolerant and half
impatient, 'for anticipating one! Pray, my darling, hear me out. That
woman,' she spoke of Mrs Merdle, of course, 'remains here until after
Easter; so, in the case of my being married here and going to London
with Edmund, I should have the start of her. That is something. Further,
Amy. That woman being out of the way, I don't know that I greatly object
to Mr Merdle's proposal to Pa that Edmund and I should take up our abode
in that house--you know--where you once went with a dancer, my dear,
until our own house can be chosen and fitted up. Further still, Amy.
Papa having always intended to go to town himself, in the spring,--you
see, if Edmund and I were married here, we might go off to Florence,
where papa might join us, and we might all three travel home together.
Mr Merdle has entreated Pa to stay with him in that same mansion I have
mentioned, and I suppose he will. But he is master of his own actions;
and upon that point (which is not at all material) I can't speak
positively.' The difference between papa's being master of his own
actions and Mr Sparkler's being nothing of the sort, was forcibly
expressed by Fanny in her manner of stating the case. Not that her
sister noticed it; for she was divided between regret at the coming
separation, and a lingering wish that she had been included in the plans
for visiting England.
'And these are the arrangements, Fanny dear?'
'Arrangements!' repeated Fanny. 'Now, really, child, you are a little
trying. You know I particularly guarded myself against laying my words
open to any such construction. What I said was, that certain questions
present themselves; and these are the questions.'
Little Dorrit's thoughtful eyes met hers, tenderly and quietly.
'Now, my own sweet girl,' said Fanny, weighing her bonnet by the strings
with considerable impatience, 'it's no use staring. A little owl could
stare. I look to you for advice, Amy. What do you advise me to do?'
'Do you think,' asked Little Dorrit, persuasively, after a short
hesitation, 'do you think, Fanny, that if you were to put it off for a
few months, it might be, considering all things, best?'
'No, little Tortoise,' retorted Fanny, with exceeding sharpness. 'I
don't think anything of the kind.'
Here, she threw her bonnet from her altogether, and flounced into a
chair. But, becoming affectionate almost immediately, she flounced out
of it again, and kneeled down on the floor to take her sister, chair and
all, in her arms.
'Don't suppose I am hasty or unkind, darling, because I really am not.
But you are such a little oddity! You make one bite your head off,
when one wants to be soothing beyond everything. Didn't I tell you, you
dearest baby, that Edmund can't be trusted by himself? And don't you
know that he can't?'
'Yes, yes, Fanny. You said so, I know.'
'And you know it, I know,' retorted Fanny. 'Well, my precious child! If
he is not to be trusted by himself, it follows, I suppose, that I should
go with him?'
'It--seems so, love,' said Little Dorrit.
'Therefore, having heard the arrangements that are feasible to carry
out that object, am I to understand, dearest Amy, that on the whole you
advise me to make them?'
'It--seems so, love,' said Little Dorrit again.
'Very well,' cried Fanny with an air of resignation, 'then I suppose it
must be done! I came to you, my sweet, the moment I saw the doubt, and
the necessity of deciding. I have now decided. So let it be.'
After yielding herself up, in this pattern manner, to sisterly advice
and the force of circumstances, Fanny became quite benignant: as one
who had laid her own inclinations at the feet of her dearest friend, and
felt a glow of conscience in having made the sacrifice. 'After all, my
Amy,' she said to her sister, 'you are the best of small creatures, and
full of good sense; and I don't know what I shall ever do without you!'
With which words she folded her in a closer embrace, and a really fond
one.
'Not that I contemplate doing without You, Amy, by any means, for I hope
we shall ever be next to inseparable. And now, my pet, I am going
to give you a word of advice. When you are left alone here with Mrs
General--'
'I am to be left alone here with Mrs General?' said Little Dorrit,
quietly.
'Why, of course, my precious, till papa comes back! Unless you call
Edward company, which he certainly is not, even when he is here, and
still more certainly is not when he is away at Naples or in Sicily. I
was going to say--but you are such a beloved little Marplot for putting
one out--when you are left alone here with Mrs General, Amy, don't you
let her slide into any sort of artful understanding with you that she is
looking after Pa, or that Pa is looking after her. She will if she can.
I know her sly manner of feeling her way with those gloves of hers. But
don't you comprehend her on any account. And if Pa should tell you when
he comes back, that he has it in contemplation to make Mrs General your
mama (which is not the less likely because I am going away), my advice
to you is, that you say at once, "Papa, I beg to object most strongly.
Fanny cautioned me about this, and she objected, and I object." I don't
mean to say that any objection from you, Amy, is likely to be of the
smallest effect, or that I think you likely to make it with any degree
of firmness. But there is a principle involved--a filial principle--and
I implore you not to submit to be mother-in-lawed by Mrs General,
without asserting it in making every one about you as uncomfortable as
possible. I don't expect you to stand by it--indeed, I know you won't,
Pa being concerned--but I wish to rouse you to a sense of duty. As to
any help from me, or as to any opposition that I can offer to such a
match, you shall not be left in the lurch, my love. Whatever weight
I may derive from my position as a married girl not wholly devoid of
attractions--used, as that position always shall be, to oppose that
woman--I will bring to bear, you May depend upon it, on the head and
false hair (for I am confident it's not all real, ugly as it is and
unlikely as it appears that any One in their Senses would go to the
expense of buying it) of Mrs General!' Little Dorrit received this
counsel without venturing to oppose it but without giving Fanny any
reason to believe that she intended to act upon it. Having now, as
it were, formally wound up her single life and arranged her worldly
affairs, Fanny proceeded with characteristic ardour to prepare for the
serious change in her condition.
The preparation consisted in the despatch of her maid to Paris under the
protection of the Courier, for the purchase of that outfit for a bride
on which it would be extremely low, in the present narrative, to bestow
an English name, but to which (on a vulgar principle it observes
of adhering to the language in which it professes to be written) it
declines to give a French one. The rich and beautiful wardrobe purchased
by these agents, in the course of a few weeks made its way through the
intervening country, bristling with custom-houses, garrisoned by an
immense army of shabby mendicants in uniform who incessantly repeated
the Beggar's Petition over it, as if every individual warrior among them
were the ancient Belisarius: and of whom there were so many Legions,
that unless the Courier had expended just one bushel and a half of
silver money relieving their distresses, they would have worn the
wardrobe out before it got to Rome, by turning it over and over. Through
all such dangers, however, it was triumphantly brought, inch by inch,
and arrived at its journey's end in fine condition.
There it was exhibited to select companies of female viewers, in whose
gentle bosoms it awakened implacable feelings. Concurrently, active
preparations were made for the day on which some of its treasures were
to be publicly displayed. Cards of breakfast-invitation were sent out
to half the English in the city of Romulus; the other half made
arrangements to be under arms, as criticising volunteers, at various
outer points of the solemnity. The most high and illustrious English
Signor Edgardo Dorrit, came post through the deep mud and ruts (from
forming a surface under the improving Neapolitan nobility), to grace
the occasion. The best hotel and all its culinary myrmidons, were set to
work to prepare the feast. The drafts of Mr Dorrit almost constituted a
run on the Torlonia Bank. The British Consul hadn't had such a marriage
in the whole of his Consularity.
The day came, and the She-Wolf in the Capitol might have snarled with
envy to see how the Island Savages contrived these things now-a-days.
The murderous-headed statues of the wicked Emperors of the Soldiery,
whom sculptors had not been able to flatter out of their villainous
hideousness, might have come off their pedestals to run away with the
Bride. The choked old fountain, where erst the gladiators washed, might
have leaped into life again to honour the ceremony. The Temple of
Vesta might have sprung up anew from its ruins, expressly to lend its
countenance to the occasion. Might have done; but did not. Like sentient
things--even like the lords and ladies of creation sometimes--might
have done much, but did nothing. The celebration went off with admirable
pomp; monks in black robes, white robes, and russet robes stopped to
look after the carriages; wandering peasants in fleeces of sheep, begged
and piped under the house-windows; the English volunteers defiled; the
day wore on to the hour of vespers; the festival wore away; the thousand
churches rang their bells without any reference to it; and St Peter
denied that he had anything to do with it.
But by that time the Bride was near the end of the first day's journey
towards Florence. It was the peculiarity of the nuptials that they
were all Bride. Nobody noticed the Bridegroom. Nobody noticed the first
Bridesmaid. Few could have seen Little Dorrit (who held that post) for
the glare, even supposing many to have sought her. So, the Bride had
mounted into her handsome chariot, incidentally accompanied by the
Bridegroom; and after rolling for a few minutes smoothly over a fair
pavement, had begun to jolt through a Slough of Despond, and through a
long, long avenue of wrack and ruin. Other nuptial carriages are said to
have gone the same road, before and since.
If Little Dorrit found herself left a little lonely and a little low
that night, nothing would have done so much against her feeling of
depression as the being able to sit at work by her father, as in the old
time, and help him to his supper and his rest. But that was not to be
thought of now, when they sat in the state-equipage with Mrs General on
the coach-box. And as to supper! If Mr Dorrit had wanted supper, there
was an Italian cook and there was a Swiss confectioner, who must
have put on caps as high as the Pope's Mitre, and have performed the
mysteries of Alchemists in a copper-saucepaned laboratory below, before
he could have got it.
He was sententious and didactic that night. If he had been simply
loving, he would have done Little Dorrit more good; but she accepted him
as he was--when had she not accepted him as he was!--and made the most
and best of him. Mrs General at length retired. Her retirement for the
night was always her frostiest ceremony, as if she felt it necessary
that the human imagination should be chilled into stone to prevent
its following her. When she had gone through her rigid preliminaries,
amounting to a sort of genteel platoon-exercise, she withdrew. Little
Dorrit then put her arm round her father's neck, to bid him good night.
'Amy, my dear,' said Mr Dorrit, taking her by the hand, 'this is the
close of a day, that has--ha--greatly impressed and gratified me.' 'A
little tired you, dear, too?'
'No,' said Mr Dorrit, 'no: I am not sensible of fatigue when it arises
from an occasion so--hum--replete with gratification of the purest
kind.'
Little Dorrit was glad to find him in such heart, and smiled from her
own heart.
'My dear,' he continued, 'this is an occasion--ha--teeming with a good
example. With a good example, my favourite and attached child--hum--to
you.'
Little Dorrit, fluttered by his words, did not know what to say, though
he stopped as if he expected her to say something.
'Amy,' he resumed; 'your dear sister, our Fanny, has contracted
ha hum--a marriage, eminently calculated to extend the basis of
our--ha--connection, and to--hum--consolidate our social relations. My
love, I trust that the time is not far distant when some--ha--eligible
partner may be found for you.'
'Oh no! Let me stay with you. I beg and pray that I may stay with you! I
want nothing but to stay and take care of you!' She said it like one in
sudden alarm.
'Nay, Amy, Amy,' said Mr Dorrit. 'This is weak and foolish, weak
and foolish. You have a--ha--responsibility imposed upon you by your
position. It is to develop that position, and be--hum--worthy of that
position. As to taking care of me; I can--ha--take care of myself.
Or,' he added after a moment, 'if I should need to be taken care of,
I--hum--can, with the--ha--blessing of Providence, be taken care of,
I--ha hum--I cannot, my dear child, think of engrossing, and--ha--as it
were, sacrificing you.'
O what a time of day at which to begin that profession of self-denial;
at which to make it, with an air of taking credit for it; at which to
believe it, if such a thing could be!
'Don't speak, Amy. I positively say I cannot do it. I--ha--must not do
it. My--hum--conscience would not allow it. I therefore, my love, take
the opportunity afforded by this gratifying and impressive occasion
of--ha--solemnly remarking, that it is now a cherished wish and purpose
of mine to see you--ha--eligibly (I repeat eligibly) married.'
'Oh no, dear! Pray!'
'Amy,' said Mr Dorrit, 'I am well persuaded that if the topic were
referred to any person of superior social knowledge, of superior
delicacy and sense--let us say, for instance, to--ha--Mrs General--that
there would not be two opinions as to the--hum--affectionate character
and propriety of my sentiments. But, as I know your loving and dutiful
nature from--hum--from experience, I am quite satisfied that it is
necessary to say no more. I have--hum--no husband to propose at
present, my dear: I have not even one in view. I merely wish that we
should--ha--understand each other. Hum. Good night, my dear and sole
remaining daughter. Good night.
God bless you!'
If the thought ever entered Little Dorrit's head that night, that he
could give her up lightly now in his prosperity, and when he had it in
his mind to replace her with a second wife, she drove it away. Faithful
to him still, as in the worst times through which she had borne him
single-handed, she drove the thought away; and entertained no harder
reflection, in her tearful unrest, than that he now saw everything
through their wealth, and through the care he always had upon him that
they should continue rich, and grow richer.
They sat in their equipage of state, with Mrs General on the box, for
three weeks longer, and then he started for Florence to join Fanny.
Little Dorrit would have been glad to bear him company so far, only for
the sake of her own love, and then to have turned back alone, thinking
of dear England. But, though the Courier had gone on with the Bride, the
Valet was next in the line; and the succession would not have come to
her, as long as any one could be got for money.
Mrs General took life easily--as easily, that is, as she could
take anything--when the Roman establishment remained in their sole
occupation; and Little Dorrit would often ride out in a hired carriage
that was left them, and alight alone and wander among the ruins of old
Rome. The ruins of the vast old Amphitheatre, of the old Temples, of the
old commemorative Arches, of the old trodden highways, of the old
tombs, besides being what they were, to her were ruins of the old
Marshalsea--ruins of her own old life--ruins of the faces and forms
that of old peopled it--ruins of its loves, hopes, cares, and joys. Two
ruined spheres of action and suffering were before the solitary girl
often sitting on some broken fragment; and in the lonely places, under
the blue sky, she saw them both together.
Up, then, would come Mrs General; taking all the colour out of
everything, as Nature and Art had taken it out of herself; writing
Prunes and Prism, in Mr Eustace's text, wherever she could lay a hand;
looking everywhere for Mr Eustace and company, and seeing nothing else;
scratching up the driest little bones of antiquity, and bolting them
whole without any human visitings--like a Ghoule in gloves.