Paul's Progress and Christening
LITTLE Paul, suffering no contamination, from the blood of the Toodles, grew
stouter and stronger every day. Every day, too, he was more and more ardently
cherished by Miss Tox, whose devotion was so far appreciated by Mr. Dombey that
he began to regard her as a woman of great natural good sense, whose feelings
did her credit and deserved encouragement. He was so lavish of this
condescension, that he not only bowed to her, in a particular manner, on several
occasions, but even entrusted such stately recognitions of her to his sister as
`pray tell your friend, Louisa, that she is very good,' or `mention to Miss Tox,
Louisa, that I am obliged to her;' specialities which made a deep impression on
the lady thus distinguished.
Miss Tox was often in the habit of assuring Mrs. Chick, that `nothing could
exceed her interest in all connected with the development of that sweet child;'
and an observer of Miss Tox's proceedings might have inferred so much without
declaratory confirmation. She would preside over the innocent repasts of the
young heir, with ineffable satisfaction, almost with an air of joint
proprietorship with Richards in the entertainment. At the little ceremonies of
the bath and toilette, she assisted with enthusiasm. The administration of
infantine doses of physic awakened all the active sympathy of her character; and
being on one occasion secreted in a cupboard (whither she had fled in modesty),
when Mr. Dombey was introduced into the nursery by his sister, to behold his
son, in the course of preparation for bed, taking a short walk uphill over
Richards's gown, in a short and airy linen jacket, Miss Tox was so transported
beyond the ignorant present as to be unable to refrain from crying out, `Is he
not beautiful Mr. Dombey!Is he not a Cupid, Sir!' and then almost sinking behind
the closet door with confusion and blushes.
`Louisa,' said Mr. Dombey, one day, to his sister, `I really think I must
present your friend with some little token, on the occasion of Paul's
christening. She has exerted herself so warmly in the child's behalf from the
first, and seems to understand her position so thoroughly (a very rare merit in
this world, I am sorry to say), that it would really be agreeable to me to
notice her.'
Let it be no detraction from the merits of Miss Tox, to hint that in Mr.
Dombey's eyes, as in some others that occasionally see the light, they only
achieved that mighty piece of knowledge, the understanding of their own
position, who showed a fitting reverence for his. It was not so much their merit
that they knew themselves, as that they knew him, and bowed low before him.
`My dear Paul,' returned his sister, `you do Miss Tox but justice, as a man
of your penetration was sure, I knew, to do. I believe if there are three words
in the English language for which she has a respect amounting almost to
veneration, those words are, Dombey and Son.'
`Well,' said Mr. Dombey, `I believe it. It does Miss Tox credit.'
`And as to anything in the shape of a token, my dear Paul,' pursued his
sister, `all I can say is that anything you give Miss Tox will be hoarded and
prized, I am sure, like a relic. But there is a way, my dear Paul, of showing
your sense of Miss Tox's friendliness in a still more flattering and acceptable
manner, if you should be so inclined.'
`How is that?' asked Mr. Dombey.
`Godfathers, of course,' continued Mrs. Chick, `are important in point of
connexion and influence.'
`I don't know why they should be, to my son,' said Mr. Dombey, coldly.
`Very true, my dear Paul,' retorted Mrs. Chick, with an extraordinary show of
animation, to cover the suddenness of her conversion; `and spoken like yourself.
I might have expected nothing else from you. I might have known that such would
have been your opinion. Perhaps;' here Mrs. Chick flattered again, as not quite
comfortably feeling her way; `perhaps that is a reason why you might have the
less objection to allowing Miss Tox to be godmother to the dear thing, if it
were only as deputy and proxy for some one else. That it would be received as a
great honour and distinction, Paul, I need not say.'
`Louisa,' said Mr. Dombey, after a short pause, `it is not to be supposed--'
`Certainly not,' cried Mrs. Chick, hastening to anticipate a refusal, `I
never thought it was.'
Mr. Dombey looked at her impatiently.
`Don't flurry me, my dear Paul,' said his sister; `for that destroys me. I am
far from strong. I have not been quite myself, since poor dear Fanny departed.'
Mr. Dombey glanced at the pocket-handkerchief which his sister applied to her
eyes, and resumed:
`It is not to be supposed, I say--'
`And I say,' murmured Mrs. Chick, `that I never thought it was.'
`Good Heaven, Louisa!' said Mr. Dombey.
`No, my dear Paul,' she remonstrated with tearful dignity, `I must really be
allowed to speak. I am not so clever, or so reasoning, or so eloquent, or so
anything, as you are. I know that very well. So much the worse for me. But if
they were the last words. I had to utter--and last words should be very solemn
to you and me, Paul, after poor dear Fanny--I should still say I never thought
it was. And what is more,' added Mrs. Chick with increased dignity, as if she
had withheld her crushing argument until now, `I never did think it was.'
Mr. Dombey walked to the window and back again.
`It is not to be supposed, Louisa,' he said (Mrs. Chick had nailed her
colours to the mast, and repeated `I know it isn't,' but he took no notice of
it), `but that there are many persons who, supposing that I recognised any claim
at all in such a case, have a claim upon me superior to Miss Tox's. But I do
not. I recognise no such thing. Paul and myself will be able, when the time
comes, to hold our own--the house, in other words, will be able to hold its own,
and maintain its own, and hand down its own of itself, and without any such
common-place aids. The kind of foreign help which people usually seek for their
children, I can afford to despise; being above it, I hope. So that Paul's
infancy and childhood pass away well, and I see him becoming qualified without
waste of time for the career on which he is destined to enter, I am satisfied.
He will make what powerful friends he pleases in after-life, when he is actively
maintaining--and extending, if that is possible--the dignity and credit of the
Firm. Until then, I am enough for him, perhaps, and all in all. I have no wish
that people should step in between us. I would much rather show my sense of the
obliging conduct of a deserving person like your friend. Therefore let it be so;
and your husband and myself will do well enough for the other sponsors, I dare
say.'
In the course of these remarks, delivered with great majesty and grandeur,
Mr. Dombey had truly revealed the secret feelings of his breast. An
indescribable distrust of anybody stepping in between himself and his son; a
haughty dread of having any rival or partner in the boy's respect and deference;
a sharp misgiving, recently acquired, that he was not infallible in his power of
bending and binding human wills; as sharp a jealousy of any second check or
cross; these were, at that time, the master keys of his soul. In all his life,
he had never made a friend. His cold and distant nature had neither sought one
nor found one. And now when that nature concentrated its whole force so strongly
on a partial scheme of parental interest and ambition, it seemed as if its icy
current, instead of being released by this influence, and running clear and
free, had thawed for but an instant to admit its burden, and then frozen with it
into one unyielding block.
Elevated thus to the godmothership of little Paul, in virtue of her
insignificance, Miss Tox was from that hour chosen and appointed to office; and
Mr. Dombey further signified his pleasure that the ceremony, already long
delayed, should take place without further postponement. His sister, who had
been far from anticipating so signal a success, withdrew as soon as she could,
to communicate it to her best of friends; and Mr. Dombey was left alone in his
library.
There was anything but solitude in the nursery; for there, Mrs. Chick and
Miss Tox were enjoying a social evening, so much to the disgust of Miss Susan
Nipper, that that young lady embraced every opportunity of making wry faces
behind the door. Her feelings were so much excited on the occasion, that she
found it indispensable to afford them this relief, even without having the
comfort of any audience or sympathy whatever. As the knight-errants of old
relieved their minds by carving their mistress's names in deserts, and
wildernesses, and other savage places where there was no probability of there
ever being anybody to red them, so did Miss Susan Nipper curl her snub nose into
drawers and wardrobes, put away winks of disparagement in cupboards, shed
derisive squints into stone pitchers, and contradict and call names out in the
passage.
The two interlopers, however, blissfully unconscious of the young lady's
sentiments, saw little Paul safe through all the stages of undressing, airy
exercise, supper and bed; and then sat down to tea before the fire. The two
children now lay, through the good offices of Polly, in one room; and it was not
until the ladies were established at their tea-table that happening to look
towards the little beds, they thought of Florence.
`How sound she sleeps!' said Miss Tox.
`Why, you know, my dear, she takes a great deal of exercise in the course of
the day,' returned Mrs. Chicks, `playing about little Paul so much.'
`She is a curious child,' said Miss Tox.
`My dear,' retorted Mrs. Chick, in a low voice: `Her mama, all over!'
`Indeed!' said Miss Tox. `Ah dear me!'
A tone of most extraordinary compassion Miss Tox said it in, though she had
no distinct idea why, except that it was expected of her.
`Florence will never, never, never, be a Dombey,' said Mrs. Chick, `not if
she lives to be a thousand years old.'
Miss Tox elevated her eyebrows, and was again full of commiseration.
`I quite fret and worry myself about her,' said Mrs. Chick, with a sigh of
modest merit. `I really don't see what is to become of her when she grows older,
or what position she is to take. She don't gain on her papa in the least. How
can one expect she should, when she is so very unlike a Dombey?'
Miss Tox looked as if she saw no way out of such a cogent argument as that,
at all.
`And the child, you see,' said Mrs. Chick, in deep confidence, `has poor
Fanny's nature. She'll never make an effort in after-life I'll venture to say.
Never! she'll never wind and twine herself about her papa's heart like--'
`Like the ivy?' suggested Miss Tox.
`Like the ivy,' Mrs. Chick assented. `Never! she'll never glide and nestle
into the bosom of her papa's affections like--the--'
`Startled fawn?' suggested Miss Tox.
`Like the startled fawn,' said Mrs. Chick. `Never! Poor Fanny! Yet, how I
loved her!'
`You must not distress yourself, my dear,' said Miss Tox, in a soothing
voice. `Now really! You have too much feeling.'
`We have all our faults,' said Mrs. Chick, weeping and shaking her head. `I
dare say we have. I never was blind to hers. I never said I was. Far from it.
Yet how I loved her!'
What a satisfaction it was to Mrs. Chick--a common-place piece of folly
enough, compared with whom her sister-in-law had been a very angel of whomanly
intelligence and gentleness--to patronise and be tender to the memory of that
lady: in exact pursuance of her conduct to her in her lifetime: and to
thoroughly believe herself, and take herself in and make herself uncommonly
comfortable on the strength of her toleration!What a mighty pleasant virtue
toleration should be when we are right, to be so very pleasant when we are
wrong, and quite unable to demonstrate how we come to be invested with the
privilege of exercising it!
Mrs. Chick was yet drying her eyes and shaking her head, when Richards made
bold to caution her that Miss Florence was awake and sitting in her bed. She had
risen, as the nurse said, and the lashes of her eyes were wet with tears. But no
one saw them glistening save Polly. No one else leant over her, and whispered
soothing words to her, or was near enough to hear the flutter of her beating
heart.
`Oh! dear nurse!' said the child, looking earnestly up in her face, `let me
lie by my brother!'
`Why, my pet?' said Richards.
`Oh! I think he loves me,' cried the child wildly. `Let me lie by him. Pray
do!'
Mrs. Chick interposed with some motherly words about going to sleep like a
dear, but Florence repeated her supplication, with a frightened look, and in a
voice broken by sobs and tears.
`I'll not wake him,' she said, covering her face and hanging down her head.
`I'll only touch him with my hand, and go to sleep. Oh, pray, pray, let me lie
by my brother to-night, for I believe he's fond of me!'
Richards took her without a word, and carrying her to the little bed in which
the infant was sleeping, laid her down by his side. She crept as near him as she
could without disturbing his rest; and stretching out one arm so that it timidly
embraced his neck, and hiding her face on the other, over which her damp and
scattered hair fell loose, lay motionless.
`Poor little thing,' said Miss Tox; `she has been dreaming, I dare say.'
This trivial incident had so interrupted the current of conversation, that it
was difficult of resumption; and Mrs. Chick moreover had been so affected by the
contemplation of her own tolerant nature, that she was not in spirits. The two
friends accordingly soon made an end of their tea, and a servant was despatched
to fetch a hackney cabriolet for Miss Tox. Miss Tox had great experience in
hackney cabs, and her starting in one was generally work of time, as she was
systematic in the preparatory arrangements.
`Have the goodness, if you please, Towlinson,' said Miss Tox, `first of all,
to carry out a pen and ink and take his number legibly.'
`Yes, Miss,' said Towlinson.
`Then, if you please, Towlinson,' said Miss Tox, `have the goodness to turn
the cushion. Which,' said Miss Tox apart to Mrs. Chick, `is generally damp, my
dear.'
`Yes, Miss,' said Towlinson.
`I'll trouble you also, if you please,' said Miss Tox, `with this card and
this shilling. He's to drive to the card, and is to understand that he will not
on any account have more than the shilling.'
`No, Miss,'said Towlinson.
`And--I'm sorry to give you so much trouble, Towlinson,'--said Miss Tox,
looking at him pensively.
`Not at all, Miss,' said Towlinson.
`Mention to the man, then, if you please, Towlinson,' said Miss Tox, `That
the lady's uncle is a magistrate, and that if he gives her any of his
impertinence he will be punished terribly. You can pretend to say that, if you
please, Towlinson, in a friendly way, and because you know it was done to
another man, who died.'
`Certainly, Miss,' said Towlinson.
`And now good night to my sweet, sweet, sweet, godson,' said Miss Tox, with a
soft shower of kisses at each repetition of the adjective; `and Louisa, my dear
friend, promise me to take a little something warm before you go to bed, and not
to distress yourself!'
It was with extreme difficulty that Nipper, the black-eyed, who looked on
steadfastly, contained herself at this crisis, and, until the subsequent
departure of Mrs. Chick. But the nursery being at length free of visitors, she
made herself some recompense for her late restraint.
`You might keep me in a strait - waistcoat for six weeks,' said Nipper, `and
when I got it off I'd only be more aggravated, who ever heard the like of them
two Griffins, Mrs. Richards?'
`And then to talk of having been dreaming, poor dear!' said Polly.
`Oh you beauties!' cried Susan Nipper, affecting to salute the door by which
the ladies had departed. `Never be a Dombey won't she? It's to be hoped she
won't, we don't want any more such, one's enough.'
`Don't wake the children, Susan dear,' Susan dear,' said Polly.
`I'm very much beholden to you, Mrs. Richards,' said Susan, who was not by
any means discriminating in her wrath, `and really feel it as a honour to
receive your commands, being a black slave and a mulotter. Mrs. Richards, if
there's any other orders, you can give me, pray mention 'em.'
`Nonsense; orders,' said Polly.
`Oh! bless your heart, Mrs. Richards,' cried Susan, `temporaries always
orders permanencies here, didn't you know that, why wherever was you born, Mrs.
Richards? But wherever you was born, Mrs. Richards,' pursue Spitfire, shaking
her head resolutely, `and whenever, and however (which is best known to
yourself), you may bear in mind, please, that it's one thing to give orders, and
quite another thing to take 'em. A person may tell a person to dive off a bridge
head foremost into five-and-forty feet of water, Mrs. Richards, but a person may
be very far from diving.'
`There now,' said Polly, `you're angry because you're a good little thing,
and fond of Miss Florence; and yet you turn round on me, because there's nobody
else.'
`It's very easy for some to keep their tempers, and be soft-spoken, Mrs.
Richards,' returned Susan, slightly mollified, ` When their child's made as much
of as a prince, and is petted and patted till it wishes its friends further, but
when a sweet young pretty innocent, that never ought to have a cross word spoken
to or of it, is run down, the case is very different indeed. My goodness
gracious me, Miss Floy, you naughty, sinful child if you don't shut your eyes
this minute, I'll call in them hobgoblins that lives in the cock-loft to come
and eat you up alive!'
Here Miss Nipper made a horrible lowing, supposed to issue from a
conscientious goblin of the bull species, impatient to discharge the severe duty
of his position. Having further composed her young charge by covering her head
with the bed-clothes, and making three or four angry dabs at the pillow, she
folded her arms, and screwed up her mouth, and sat looking at the fire for the
rest of the evening.
Though little Paul was said, in nursery phrase, `to take a deal of notice for
his age,' he took as little notice of all this as of the preparations for his
christening on the next day but one; which nevertheless went on about him, as to
his personal apparel, and that of his sister and the two nurses, with great
activity. Neither did he, on the arrival of the appointed morning, show any
sense of its importance; being, on the contrary, unusually inclined to sleep,
and unusually inclined to take it ill in his attendants that they dressed him to
go out.
It happened to be an iron-grey autumnal day, with a shrewd east wind
blowing--a day in keeping with the proceedings. Mr. Dombey represented in
himself the wind, the shade, and the autumn of the christening. He stood in his
library to receive the company, as hard land cold as the weather; and when he
looked out through the glass room, at came fluttering down, as if he blighted
them.
Ugh! They were black, cold rooms; and seemed to be in mourning, like the
inmates of the house. The books precisely matched as to size, and drawn up in
line, like soldiers, looked in their cold, hard, slippery uniforms, as if they
had but one idea among them, and that was a freezer. The bookcase, glazed and
locked, repudiated all familiarities. Mr. Pitt, in bronze on the top with no
trace of his celestial origin about him, guarded the unattainable treasure like
an enchanted Moor. A dusty urn at each high corner, dug up from an ancient tomb,
preached desolation and decay, as from two pulpits; and the chimmey-glass,
reflecting Mr. Dombey and his portrait at one blow, seemed fraught with
melancholy meditations.
The stiff and stark fire-irons appeared to claim a nearer relationship than
anything else there to Mr. Dombey, with his buttoned coat, his white cravat, is
heavy gold watch-chain, and his creaking boots. But this was before the arrival
of Mr. and Mrs. Chick, his lawful relatives, who soon presented themselves.
`My dear Paul,' Mrs. Chick murmured, as she embraced him, `the beginning, I
hope, of many joyful days!'
`Thank you, Louisa,' said Mr. Dombey, grimly. `How do you do, Mr. John?'
`How do you do, Sir?' said Chick.
He gave Mr. Dombey his hand, as if he feared it might electrify him. Mr.
Dombey took it as if it were a fish, or seaweed, or some such clammy substance,
and immediately returned it to him with exalted politeness.
`Perhaps, Louisa,' said Mr. Dombey, slightly turning his head in his cravat,
as if it were a socket, `you would have preferred a fire?'
`Oh, my dear Paul, no,' said Mrs. chick, who had much ado to keep her teeth
from chattering; `not for me.'
`Mr. John,' said Mr. Dombey, `you are not sensible of any chill?'
Mr. John, who had already got both his hands in his pockets over the wrists,
and was on the very threshold of that same canine chorus which had given Mrs.
Chick so much offence on a former occasion, protested that he was perfectly
comfortable.
He added in a low voice, `With my tiddle tol toor rul'--when he was
providentially stopped by Towlinson, who announced:
`Miss Tox!'
And enter that fair enslaver, with a blue nose and indescribably frosty face,
referable to her being very thinly clad in a maze of fluttering odds and ends,
to do honour to the ceremony.
`How do you do, Miss Tox?' said Mr. Dombey.
Miss Tox, in the midst of her spreading gauzes, went down altogether like an
opera-glass shutting-up; she curtseyed so low, in acknowledgment of Mr. Dombey's
advancing a step or two to meet her.
`I can never forget this occasion, Sir,' said Miss Tox, softly. `'Tis
impossible. My dear Louisa, I can hardly believe the evidence of my senses.'
If Miss Tox could believe the evidence of one of her senses, it was a very
cold day. That was quite clear. She took an early opportunity of promoting the
circulation in the tip of her nose by secretly chafing it with her
pocket-handkerchief, lest, by its very low temperature, it should disagreeably
astonish the baby when she came to kiss it.
The baby soon appeared, carried in great glory by Richards; while Florence,
in custody of that active young constable, Susan Nipper, brought up the rear.
Though the whole nursery party were dressed by this time in lighter mourning
than at first, there was enough in the appearance of the bereaved children to
make the day no brighter. The baby too--it might have been Miss Tox's
nose--began to cry. Thereby, as it happened, preventing Mr. chick from the
awkward fulfilment of a very honest purpose he had; which was, to make much of
Florence. For this gentleman, insensible to the superior claims of a perfect
Dombey (perhaps on account of having the honour to be united to a Dombey
himself, and being familiar with excellence), really liked her, and showed that
he liked her, and was about to show it in his own way now, when Paul cried, and
his helpmate stopped him short.
`Now Florence, child!' said her aunt, briskly, `what are you doing, love?
Show yourself to him. Engage his attention, my dear!'
The atmosphere became or might have become colder and colder, when Mr. Dombey
stood frigidly watching his little daughter, who, clapping her hands, and
standing on tip-toe before the throne of his son and heir, lured him to bend
down from his high estate, and look at her. Some honest act of Richards's may
have aided the effect, but he did look down, and held his peace. As his sister
hid behind her nurse, he followed her with his eyes; and when she peeped out
with a merry cry to him, he sprang up and crowed lustily--laughing outright when
she ran in upon him; and seeming to fondle her curls with his tiny hands, while
she smothered him with kisses.
Was Mr. Dombey pleased to see this? He testified no pleasure by the
relaxation of a nerve; but outward tokens of any king of feeling were unusual
with him. If any sunbeam stole into the room to light the children at their
play, it never reached his face. He looked on so fixedly and coldly, that the
warm light vanished even from the laughing eyes of little Florence, when, at
last, they happened to meet his.
It was a dull, grey, autumn day indeed, and in a minute's pause and silence
that took place, the leaves fell sorrowfully.
`Mr. John,' said Mr. Dombey, referring to his watch, and assuming his hat and
gloves. `Take my sister, if you please: my arm to-day is Miss Tox's. You had
better go first with Master Paul, Richards. Be very careful.'
In Mr. Dombey's carriage, Dombey and Son, Miss Tox, Mrs. Chick, Richards, and
Florence. In a little carriage following it, Susan Nipper and the owner Mr.
Chick. Susan looking out of window, without intermission, as a relief from the
embarrassment of confronting the large face of that he gentleman, and thinking
whenever anything rattled that he was putting up in paper an appropriate
pecuniary compliment for herself.
Once upon the road to church, Mr. Dombey clapped his hands for the amusement
of his son. At which instance of parental enthusiasm Miss Tox was enchanted. But
exclusive of this incident, the chief difference between the christening party
and a party in a mourning coach, consisted in the colours of the carriage and
horses.
Arrived at the church steps, they were received by a portentous beadle. Mr.
Dombey dismounting first to help the ladies out, and standing near him at the
church door, looked like another beadle. A beadle less gorgeous but more
dreadful; the beadle of private life; the beadle of our business and our bosoms.
Miss Tox's hand trembled as she slipped it through Mr. Dombey's arm, and felt
herself escorted up the steps, preceded by a cocked hat and a Babylonian collar.
It seemed for a moment like that other solemn institution, `Wilt thou have this
man, Lucretia?' `Yes, I will.'
`Please to bring the child in quick out of the air there,' whispered the
beadle, holding open the inner door of the church.
Little Paul might have asked with Hamlet `into my grave?' so chill and earthy
was the place. The tall shrouded pulpit and reading desk; the dreary perspective
of empty pews stretching away under the galleries, and empty benches mounting to
the roof and lost in the shadow of the great grim organ; the dusty matting and
cold stone slabs; the grisly free seats in the aisles; and the damp corner by
the bell-rope, where the black trestles used for funerals were stowed away,
along with some shovels and baskets, and a coil or two of deadly-looking rope;
the strange, unusual, uncomfortable smell, and the cadaverous light; were all in
unison. It was a cold and dismal scene.
`There's a wedding just on, Sir,' said the beadle, `but it'll be over
directly, if you'll walk into the westry here.'
Before he turned again to lead the way, he gave Mr. Dombey a bow and a half
smile of recognition, importing that he (the beadle) remembered to have had the
pleasure of attending on him when he buried his wife, and hoped he had enjoyed
himself since.
The very wedding looking dismal as they passed in front of the altar. The
bride was too old and the bridegroom too young, and a superannuated beau with
one eye and an eye-glass stuck in its blank companion, was giving away the lady,
while the friends were shivering. In the vestry the fire was smoking; and an
over-aged and over-worked and under-paid attorney's clerk, `making a search,'
was running his forefinger down the parchment pages of an immense register (one
of a long series of similar volumes) gorged with burials. Over the fireplace was
a ground-plan of the vaults underneath the church; and Mr. Chick, skimming the
literary portion of it aloud, by way of enlivening the company, read the
reference to Mrs. Dombey's tomb in full, before he could stop himself.
After another cold interval, a wheezy little pew-opener afflicted with an
asthma, appropriate to the churchyard, if not to the church, summoned them to
the font. Here they waited some little time while the marriage party enrolled
themselves; and meanwhile the wheezy little pew-opener--partly in consequence of
her infirmity, and partly that the marriage party might not forget her--went
about the building coughing like a grampus.
Presently the clerk (the only cheerful-looking object there, and was an
undertaker) came up with a jug of warm water, and said something, as he poured
it into the font, about taking the chill off; which millions of gallons boiling
hot could not have done for the occasion. Then the clergyman, an amiable and
mild-looking young curate, but obviously afraid of the baby, appeared like the
principal character in a ghost-story, `a tall figure all in white;' at sight of
whom Paul rent the air with his cries, and never left again till he was taken
out black in the face.
Even when that event had happened, to the great relief of everybody, he was
heard under the portico, during the rest of the ceremony, now fainter, now
louder, now hushed, now bursting forth again with an irrepressible sense of his
wrongs. This so distracted the attention of the two ladies, that Mrs. Chick was
constantly deploying into the centre aisle, to send out messages by the
pew-opener, while Miss Tox kept her Prayer-book open at the Gunpowder Plot, and
occasionally read responses from that service.
During the whole of these proceedings, Mr. Dombey remained as impassive and
gentlemanly as ever, and perhaps assisted in making it so cold, that the young
curate smoked at the mouth as he read. The only time that he unbent his visage
in the least, was when the clergyman, in delivering (very unaffectedly and
simply) the closing exhortation, relative to the future examination of the child
by the sponsors, happened to rest his eye on Mr. Chick; and then Mr. Dombey
might have been seen to express by a majestic look, that he would like to catch
him at it.
It might have been well for Mr. Dombey, if he had thought of his own dignity
a little less; and had thought of the great origin and purpose of the ceremony
in which he took so formal and so stiff a part, a little more. His arrogance
contrasted strangely with its history.
When it was all over, he again gave his arm to Miss Tox, and conducted her to
the vestry, where he informed the clergyman how much pleasure it would have
given him to have solicited the honour of his company at dinner, but for the
unfortunate state of his household affairs. The register signed, and the fees
paid, and the pew-opener (whose cough was very bad again) remembered, and the
beadle gratified, and the sexton (who was accidentally on the door-steps,
looking with great interest at the weather) not forgotten, they got into the
carriage again, and drove home in the same bleak fellowship.
There they found Mr. Pitt turning up his nose at a cold collation, set forth
in a cold pomp of glass and silver, and looking more like a dead dinner lying in
state than a social refreshment. On their arrival Miss Tox produced a mug for
her godson, and Mr. Chick a knife and fork and spoon in a case. Mr. Dombey also
produced a bracelet for Miss Tox; and, on the receipt of this token, Miss Tox
was tenderly affected.
`Mr. John,' said Mr. Dombey, `will you take the bottom of the table, if you
please? What have you got there, Mr. John?'
`I have got a cold fillet of veal here, Sir,' replied Mr. Chick, rubbing his
numbed hands hard together. `What have you got there, Sir?'
`This,' returned Mr. Dombey, `is some cold preparation of calf's head, I
think. I see cold fowls--ham--patties--salad--lobster. Miss Tox will do me the
honour of taking some wine? Champagne to Miss Tox.'
There was a toothache in everything. The wine was so bitter cold that it
forced a little scream from Miss Tox, which she had great difficulty in turning
into a `Hem!' The veal had come from such an airy pantry, that the first taste
of it had struck a sensation as of cold lead to Mr. Chick's extremities. Mr.
Dombey alone remained unmoved. He might have been hung up for sale at a Russian
fair as a specimen of a frozen gentleman.
The prevailing influence was too much even for his sister. She made no effort
at flattery or small talk, and directed all her efforts to looking as warm as
she could.
`Well, Sir,' said Mr. Chick, making a desperate plunge, after a long silence,
and filling a glass of sherry; `I shall drink this, if you'll allow me, Sir, to
little Paul.'
`Bless him!' murmured Miss Tox, taking a sip of wine.
`Dear little Dombey!' murmured Mrs. Chick.
`Mr. John,' said Mr. Dombey, with severe gravity, `my son would feel and
express himself obliged to you, I have no doubt, if he could appreciate the
favour you have done him. He will prove, in time to come, I trust, equal to any
responsibility that the obliging disposition of his relations and friends, in
private, or the onerous nature of our position, in public, may impose upon him.'
The tone in which this was said admitting of nothing more, Mr. Chick relapsed
into low spirits and silence. Not so Miss Tox, who, having listened to Mr.
Dombey with even a more emphatic attention than usual, and with a more
expressive tendency of her head to one side, now leant across the table, and
said to Mrs. Chick softly:
`Louisa!'
`My dear,' said Mrs. Chick.
`Onerous nature of our position in public may--I have forgotten the exact
term.'
`Expose him to,' said Mrs. Chick.
`Pardon me, my dear,' returned Miss Tox, `I think not. It was more rounded
and flowing. Obliging disposition of relations and friends in private, or
onerous nature of position in public--may--impose upon him!'
`Impose upon him, to be sure,' said Mrs. Chick.
Miss tox struck her delicate hands together lightly, in triumph; and added,
casting up her eyes, `eloquence indeed!'
Mr. Dombey, in the meanwhile, had issued orders for the attendance of
Richards, who now entered curtseying, but without the baby; Paul being asleep
after the fatigues of the morning. Mr. Dombey, having delivered a glass of wine
to this vassal, addressed her in the following words: Miss Tox previously
settling her head on one side, and making other little arrangements for
engraving them on her heart.
`During the six months or so, Richards, which have seen you an inmate of this
house, you have done your duty. Desiring to connect some little service to you
with this occasion, I considered how I could best effect that object, and I also
advised with my sister, Mrs.--'
`Chick,' interposed the gentleman of that name.
`Oh, hush if you please!' said Miss Tox.
`I was about to say to you, Richards,' resumed Mr. Dombey, with an appalling
glance at Mr. John, `that I was further assisted in my decision, by the
recollection of a conversation I held with your husband in this room, on the
occasion of your being hired, when he disclosed to me the melancholy fact that
your family, himself at the head, were sunk and steeped in ignorance.'
Richards quailed under the magnificence of the reproof.
`I am far from being friendly,' pursued Mr. Dombey, `to what is called by
persons of levelling sentiments, general education. But it is necessary that the
inferior classes should continue to be taught to know their position, and to
conduct themselves properly. So far I approve of schools. Having the power of
nominating a child on the foundation of an ancient establishment, called (from a
worshipful company) the Charitable Grinders; where not only is a wholesome
education bestowed upon the scholars, but where a dress and badge is likewise
provided for them; I have (first communicating, through Mrs. chick, with your
family) nominated your eldest son to an existing vacancy; and he has this day, I
am informed, assumed the habit. The number of her son, I believe,' said Mr.
Dombey, turning to his sister and speaking of the child as if he were a
hackney-coach, `is one hundred and forty-seven. Louisa, you can tell her.'
`One hundred and forty-seven,' said Mrs. Chick. `The dress, Richards, is a
nice, warm, blue baize tailed coat and cap, turned up with orange-coloured
binding; red worsted stockings; and very strong leather small-clothes. One might
wear the articles one's-self,' said Mrs. Chick, with enthusiasm, `and be
grateful.'
`There, Richards!' said Miss Tox. `Now, indeed, you may be proud. The
Charitable Grinders!'
`I am sure I am very much obliged, Sir,' returned Richards faintly, `and take
it very kind that you should remember my little ones.' At the same time a vision
of Biler as a charitable Grinder, with his very small legs encased in the
serviceable clothing described by Mrs. Chick, swam before Richards's eyes, and
made them water.
`I am very glad to see you have so much feeling, Richards,' said Miss Tox.
`It makes one almost hope, it really does,' said Mrs. Chick, who prided
herself on taking trustful views of human nature, `that there may yet be some
faint spark of gratitude and right feeling in the world.'
Richards deferred to these compliments by curtseying and murmuring her
thanks; but finding it quite impossible to recover her spirits from the disorder
into which they had been thrown by the image of her son in his precocious nether
garments, she gradually approached the door and was heartily relieved to escape
by it.
Such temporary indications of a partial thaw that had appeared with her,
vanished with her; and the frost set in again, as cold and hard as ever. Mr.
Chick was twice heard to hum a tune at the bottom of the table, but on both
occasions it was a fragment of the Dead March in Saul. The party seemed to get
colder and colder, and to be gradually resolving itself into a congealed and
solid state, like the collation round which it was assembled. At length Mrs.
Chick looked at Miss Tox, and Miss Tox returned the look, and they both rose and
said it was really time to go. Mr. Dombey receiving this announcement with
perfect equanimity, they took leave of that gentleman, and presently departed
under the protection of Mr. Chick; who, when they had turned their backs upon
the house and left its master in his usual solitary state, put his hands in his
pockets, threw himself back in the carriage, and whistled `With a hey ho chevy!'
all through; conveying into his face as he did so, an expression of such gloomy
and terrible defiance, that Mrs. Chick dared not protest, or in any way molest
him.
Richards, though she had little Paul on her lap, could not forget her own
first-born. She felt it was ungrateful; but the influence of the day fell even
on the Charitable Grinders, and she could hardly help regarding his pewter
badge, number one hundred and forty-seven, as, somehow, a part of its formality
and sternness. She spoke, too, in the nursery, of his `blessed legs,' and was
again troubled by his spectre in uniform.
`I don't know what I wouldn't give,' said Polly, `to see the poor little dear
before he gets used to 'em.'
`Why, then, I tell you what, Mrs. Richards,' retorted Nipper, who had been
admitted to her confidence, `see him and make your mind easy.'
`Mr. Dombey wouldn't like it,' said Polly.
`Oh, wouldn't he, Mrs. Richards!' retorted Nipper, `he'd like it very much, I
think, when he was asked.'
`You wouldn't ask him, I suppose, at all?' said Polly.
`No, Mrs. Richards, quite contrairy,'returned Susan, `and them tow inspectors
Tox and Chick, not intending to be on duty to-morrow, as I heard 'em say, me and
Miss Floy will go along with you to-morrow morning, and welcome, Mrs. Richards,
if you like, for we may as well walk there, as up and down a street, and better
too.'
Polly rejected the idea pretty stoutly at first; but by little and little she
began to entertain it, as she entertained more and more distinctly the forbidden
pictures of her children, and her own home. At length, arguing that there could
be no great harm in calling for a moment at the door, she yielded to the Nipper
proposition.
The matter being settled thus, little Paul began to cry most piteously, as if
he had a foreboding that no good would come of it.
`What's the matter with the child?' asked Susan.
`He's cold, I think,' said Polly, walking with him to and fro, and hushing
him.
It was a bleak autumnal afternoon indeed; and as she walked, and hushed, and,
glancing through the dreary windown, pressed the little fellow closer to her
breast, the withered leaves came showering down.
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