Dombey and Son
‘I know it,’ said Solomon. ‘I am sure of it,’ and he applied himself to a second glass of the old Madeira, with increased relish. ‘As to the Sea,’ he pursued, ‘that’s well enough in fiction, Wally, but it won’t do in fact: it won’t do at all. It’s natural enough that you should think about it, associating it with all these familiar things; but it won’t do, it won’t do.’
Solomon Gills rubbed his hands with an air of stealthy enjoyment, as he talked of the sea, though; and looked on the seafaring objects about him with inexpressible complacency.
‘Think of this wine for instance,’ said old Sol, ‘which has been to the East Indies and back, I’m not able to say how often, and has been once round the world. Think of the pitch-dark nights, the roaring winds, and rolling seas:’
‘The thunder, lightning, rain, hail, storm of all kinds,’ said the boy.
‘To be sure,’ said Solomon, – ‘that this wine has passed through. Think what a straining and creaking of timbers and masts: what a whistling and howling of the gale through ropes and rigging:’
‘What a clambering aloft of men, vying with each other who shall lie out first upon the yards to furl the icy sails, while the ship rolls and pitches, like mad!’ cried his nephew.
‘Exactly so,’ said Solomon: ‘has gone on, over the old cask that held this wine. Why, when the Charming Sally went down in the – ’
‘In the Baltic Sea, in the dead of night; five-and-twenty minutes past twelve when the captain’s watch stopped in his pocket; he lying dead against the main-mast – on the fourteenth of February, seventeen forty-nine!’ cried Walter, with great animation.
‘Ay, to be sure!’ cried old Sol, ‘quite right! Then, there were five hundred casks of such wine aboard; and all hands (except the first mate, first lieutenant, two seamen, and a lady, in a leaky boat) going to work to stave the casks, got drunk and died drunk, singing “Rule Britannia”, when she settled and went down, and ending with one awful scream in chorus.’
‘But when the George the Second drove ashore, Uncle, on the coast of Cornwall, in a dismal gale, two hours before daybreak, on the fourth of March, ‘seventy-one, she had near two hundred horses aboard; and the horses breaking loose down below, early in the gale, and tearing to and fro, and trampling each other to death, made such noises, and set up such human cries, that the crew believing the ship to be full of devils, some of the best men, losing heart and head, went overboard in despair, and only two were left alive, at last, to tell the tale.’
‘And when,’ said old Sol, ‘when the Polyphemus – ’
‘Private West India Trader, burden three hundred and fifty tons, Captain, John Brown of Deptford. Owners, Wiggs and Co.,’ cried Walter.
‘The same,’ said Sol; ‘when she took fire, four days’ sail with a fair wind out of Jamaica Harbour, in the night – ’
‘There were two brothers on board,’ interposed his nephew, speaking very fast and loud, ‘and there not being room for both of them in the only boat that wasn’t swamped, neither of them would consent to go, until the elder took the younger by the waist, and flung him in. And then the younger, rising in the boat, cried out, “Dear Edward, think of your promised wife at home. I’m only a boy. No one waits at home for me. Leap down into my place!” and flung himself in the sea!’
The kindling eye and heightened colour of the boy, who had risen from his seat in the earnestness of what he said and felt, seemed to remind old Sol of something he had forgotten, or that his encircling mist had hitherto shut out. Instead of proceeding with any more anecdotes, as he had evidently intended but a moment before, he gave a short dry cough, and said, ‘Well! suppose we change the subject.’
The truth was, that the simple-minded Uncle in his secret attraction towards the marvellous and adventurous – of which he was, in some sort, a distant relation, by his trade – had greatly encouraged the same attraction in the nephew; and that everything that had ever been put before the boy to deter him from a life of adventure, had had the usual unaccountable effect of sharpening his taste for it. This is invariable. It would seem as if there never was a book written, or a story told, expressly with the object of keeping boys on shore, which did not lure and charm them to the ocean, as a matter of course.
But an addition to the little party now made its appearance, in the shape of a gentleman in a wide suit of blue, with a hook instead of a hand attached to his right wrist; very bushy black eyebrows; and a thick stick in his left hand, covered all over (like his nose) with knobs. He wore a loose black silk handkerchief round his neck, and such a very large coarse shirt collar, that it looked like a small sail. He was evidently the person for whom the spare wine-glass was intended, and evidently knew it; for having taken off his rough outer coat, and hung up, on a particular peg behind the door, such a hard glazed hat as a sympathetic person’s head might ache at the sight of, and which left a red rim round his own forehead as if he had been wearing a tight basin, he brought a chair to where the clean glass was, and sat himself down behind it. He was usually addressed as Captain, this visitor; and had been a pilot, or a skipper, or a privateersman, or all three perhaps; and was a very salt-looking man indeed.
His face, remarkable for a brown solidity, brightened as he shook hands with Uncle and nephew; but he seemed to be of a laconic disposition, and merely said:
‘How goes it?’
‘All well,’ said Mr Gills, pushing the bottle towards him.
He took it up, and having surveyed and smelt it, said with extraordinary expression:
‘The?’
‘The,’ returned the Instrument-maker.
Upon that he whistled as he filled his glass, and seemed to think they were making holiday indeed.
‘Wal’r!’ he said, arranging his hair (which was thin) with his hook, and then pointing it at the Instrument-maker, ‘Look at him! Love! Honour! And Obey! Overhaul your catechism till you find that passage, and when found turn the leaf down. Success, my boy!’
He was so perfectly satisfied both with his quotation and his reference to it, that he could not help repeating the words again in a low voice, and saying he had forgotten ‘em these forty year.
‘But I never wanted two or three words in my life that I didn’t know where to lay my hand upon ‘em, Gills,’ he observed. ‘It comes of not wasting language as some do.’
The reflection perhaps reminded him that he had better, like young Norval’s father, “increase his store.” At any rate he became silent, and remained so, until old Sol went out into the shop to light it up, when he turned to Walter, and said, without any introductory remark: —
‘I suppose he could make a clock if he tried?’
‘I shouldn’t wonder, Captain Cuttle,’ returned the boy.
‘And it would go!’ said Captain Cuttle, making a species of serpent in the air with his hook. ‘Lord, how that clock would go!’
For a moment or two he seemed quite lost in contemplating the pace of this ideal timepiece, and sat looking at the boy as if his face were the dial.
‘But he’s chock-full of science,’ he observed, waving his hook towards the stock-in-trade. ‘Look’ye here! Here’s a collection of ‘em. Earth, air, or water. It’s all one. Only say where you’ll have it. Up in a balloon? There you are. Down in a bell? There you are. D’ye want to put the North Star in a pair of scales and weigh it? He’ll do it for you.’
It may be gathered from these remarks that Captain Cuttle’s reverence for the stock of instruments was profound, and that his philosophy knew little or no distinction between trading in it and inventing it.
‘Ah!’ he said, with a sigh, ‘it’s a fine thing to understand ‘em. And yet it’s a fine thing not to understand ‘em. I hardly know which is best. It’s so comfortable to sit here and feel that you might be weighed, measured, magnified, electrified, polarized, played the very devil with: and never know how.’
Nothing short of the wonderful Madeira, combined with the occasion (which rendered it desirable to improve and expand Walter’s mind), could have ever loosened his tongue to the extent of giving utterance to this prodigious oration. He seemed quite amazed himself at the manner in which it opened up to view the sources of the taciturn delight he had had in eating Sunday dinners in that parlour for ten years. Becoming a sadder and a wiser man, he mused and held his peace.
‘Come!’ cried the subject of this admiration, returning. ‘Before you have your glass of grog, Ned, we must finish the bottle.’
‘Stand by!’ said Ned, filling his glass. ‘Give the boy some more.’
‘No more, thank’e, Uncle!’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Sol, ‘a little more. We’ll finish the bottle, to the House, Ned – Walter’s House. Why it may be his House one of these days, in part. Who knows? Sir Richard Whittington married his master’s daughter.’
‘“Turn again Whittington, Lord Mayor of London, and when you are old you will never depart from it,”’ interposed the Captain. ‘Wal’r! Overhaul the book, my lad.’
‘And although Mr Dombey hasn’t a daughter,’ Sol began.
‘Yes, yes, he has, Uncle,’ said the boy, reddening and laughing.
‘Has he?’ cried the old man. ‘Indeed I think he has too.’
‘Oh! I know he has,’ said the boy. ‘Some of ‘em were talking about it in the office today. And they do say, Uncle and Captain Cuttle,’ lowering his voice, ‘that he’s taken a dislike to her, and that she’s left, unnoticed, among the servants, and that his mind’s so set all the while upon having his son in the House, that although he’s only a baby now, he is going to have balances struck oftener than formerly, and the books kept closer than they used to be, and has even been seen (when he thought he wasn’t) walking in the Docks, looking at his ships and property and all that, as if he was exulting like, over what he and his son will possess together. That’s what they say. Of course, I don’t know.’
‘He knows all about her already, you see,’ said the instrument-maker.
‘Nonsense, Uncle,’ cried the boy, still reddening and laughing, boy-like. ‘How can I help hearing what they tell me?’
‘The son’s a little in our way at present, I’m afraid, Ned,’ said the old man, humouring the joke.
‘Very much,’ said the Captain.
‘Nevertheless, we’ll drink him,’ pursued Sol. ‘So, here’s to Dombey and Son.’
‘Oh, very well, Uncle,’ said the boy, merrily. ‘Since you have introduced the mention of her, and have connected me with her and have said that I know all about her, I shall make bold to amend the toast. So here’s to Dombey – and Son – and Daughter!’
CHAPTER 5. 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.
Whether Miss Tox conceived that having been selected by the Fates to welcome the little Dombey before he was born, in Kirby, Beard and Kirby’s Best Mixed Pins, it therefore naturally devolved upon her to greet him with all other forms of welcome in all other early stages of his existence – or whether her overflowing goodness induced her to volunteer into the domestic militia as a substitute in some sort for his deceased Mama – or whether she was conscious of any other motives – are questions which in this stage of the Firm’s history herself only could have solved. Nor have they much bearing on the fact (of which there is no doubt), that Miss Tox’s constancy and zeal were a heavy discouragement to Richards, who lost flesh hourly under her patronage, and was in some danger of being superintended to death.
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 faltered 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 someone 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 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 would 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 daresay.’
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. He had already laid his hand upon the bellrope to convey his usual summons to Richards, when his eye fell upon a writing-desk, belonging to his deceased wife, which had been taken, among other things, from a cabinet in her chamber. It was not the first time that his eye had lighted on it He carried the key in his pocket; and he brought it to his table and opened it now – having previously locked the room door – with a well-accustomed hand.
From beneath a leaf of torn and cancelled scraps of paper, he took one letter that remained entire. Involuntarily holding his breath as he opened this document, and ‘bating in the stealthy action something of his arrogant demeanour, he sat down, resting his head upon one hand, and read it through.
He read it slowly and attentively, and with a nice particularity to every syllable. Otherwise than as his great deliberation seemed unnatural, and perhaps the result of an effort equally great, he allowed no sign of emotion to escape him. When he had read it through, he folded and refolded it slowly several times, and tore it carefully into fragments. Checking his hand in the act of throwing these away, he put them in his pocket, as if unwilling to trust them even to the chances of being re-united and deciphered; and instead of ringing, as usual, for little Paul, he sat solitary, all the evening, in his cheerless room.
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 read 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 Chick, ‘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!’
‘In-deed!’ 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 dear 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 daresay 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 womanly 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!