Chapter 11

"Where they laid him as wos wery good to me; wery good to me indeed he wos! It's time for me to go down to that there berrying-ground and ask to be put along with him. I wants to go there and be berried. He used fur to say to me, 'I am as poor as you to-day, Jo,' he says. I wants to tell him that I am as poor as him now, and have come there to be laid along with him."

"By-and-by, Jo, by-and-by."

"Ah! P'raps they wouldn't do it if I wos to go myself. But will you promise to have me took there, sir, and laid along with him?"

"I will, indeed!"

"Thank 'ee, sir. Thank 'ee, sir. They'll have to get the key of the gate afore they can take me in, for it's always locked. And there 's a step there as I used fur to clean with my broom. It's turned very dark, sir. Is there any light a-coming?"

"It is coming fast, Jo, my poor fellow."

"I hear you, sir, in the dark, but I'm a-gropin'--a-gropin'--let me catch hold of your hand!"

"Jo, can you say what I say?"

"I'll say anythink as you say, sir, fur I knows it's good."

"OUR FATHER,"

"Our Father--yes, that's wery good, sir."

"WHICH ART IN HEAVEN,"

"Art in Heaven--is the light a-coming, sir?"

"It is close at hand--HALLOWED BE THY NAME."

"Hallowed be--thy----"

The light is come upon the dark benighted way. The bewildering path is cleared of shadows at last. Jo has moved on to a home prepared by Eternal Love for such as he.

PAUL DOMBEY

As Mrs. Dombey died when little Paul was born, upon Mr. Dombey--the pompous head of the great firm Dombey and Son--fell the entire responsibility of bringing up his two children, Florence, then eight years of age, and the tiny boy, Paul. Of Florence he took little notice; girls never seemed to him to be of any special use in the world, but Paul was the light of his eyes, his pride and joy, and in the delicate child with his refined features and dreamy eyes, Mr. Dombey saw the future representative of the firm, and his heir as well; and he could not do enough for the boy who was to perpetuate the name of Dombey after him. It seemed to Mr. Dombey that any one so fortunate as to be born his son could not but thrive in return for so great a favour. So it was a blow to him that Paul did not grow into a burly, hearty fellow. All their vigilance and care could not make him a sturdy boy.

He was a pretty little fellow, though there was something wan and wistful in his small face. His temper gave abundant promise of being imperious in after life; and he had as hopeful an apprehension of his own importance, and the rightful subservience of all other things and persons to it as heart could wish. He was childish and sportive enough at times, and not of a sullen disposition; but he had a strange, old-fashioned, thoughtful way, at other times of sitting brooding in his miniature arm-chair. At no time did he fall into it so surely as when after dinner he sat with his father by the fire. They were the strangest pair at such a time that ever fire-light shone upon. Dombey so erect and solemn, gazing at the blaze; Paul with an old, old face peering into the red perspective with the fixed and rapt attention of a sage, the two so much alike and yet so monstrously contrasted. On one of these occasions, when they had both been perfectly quiet for a long time, little Paul broke the silence thus:

"Papa, what's money?"

The abrupt question took Mr. Dombey by surprise.

"What is money, Paul?" he answered, "Money?"

"Yes," said the child, laying his hands upon the elbows of his little chair, and turning his face up towards Mr. Dombey. "What is money?"

Mr. Dombey was in a difficulty. He would have liked to give him some explanation, involving the terms, currency, bullion, rates of exchange, etc., but he feared he might not be understood, so he answered:

"Gold and silver and copper. Guineas, shillings, halfpence. You know what they are?"

"Oh yes, I know what they are," said Paul. "I don't mean that, papa. I mean what is money after all?"

"What is money after all!"--said Mr. Dombey, backing his chair a little, that he might the better gaze at the presumptuous atom who propounded such an inquiry.

"I mean, papa, what can it do?" returned Paul.

Mr. Dombey patted him on the head. "You'll know better by-and-by, my man," he said. "Money, Paul, can do anything."

"Anything, papa?"

"Yes, anything--almost," said Mr. Dombey.

"Why didn't money save me my mama?" returned the child. "It isn't cruel, is it?"

"Cruel?" said Mr. Dombey. "No. A good thing can't be cruel."

"If it's a good thing and can do anything," said the little fellow, thoughtfully, as he looked back at the fire, "I wonder why it didn't save me my mama."

He didn't ask the question of his father this time. Perhaps he had seen, with a child's quickness, that it had already made his father uncomfortable. But he repeated the thought aloud, as if it was quite an old one to him, and had troubled him very much.

"It can't make me strong and quite well, either, papa; can it?" asked Paul, after a short silence; rubbing his tiny hands.

"You are as strong and well as such little people usually are? Eh?" said Mr. Dombey.

"Florence is older than I am, but I'm not as strong and well as Florence, I know," returned the child; "I am so tired sometimes," said little Paul, "and my bones ache so that I don't know what to do."

The unusual tone of that conversation so alarmed Mr. Dombey that the very next day he began to inquire into the real state of Paul's health; and as the doctor suggested that sea-air might be of benefit to the child, to Brighton he was promptly sent, to remain until he should seem benefited. He refused to go without Florence to whom he clung with a passion of devotion which made Mr. Dombey both irritated and jealous to see, wishing himself to absorb the boy's entire affection.

So to Brighton Paul and Florence went, in charge of Paul's nurse, Wickam. They found board in the house of an old lady, Mrs. Pipchin by name, whose temper was not of the best and whose methods of managing children were rather peculiar.

At this exemplary old lady, Paul would sit staring in his little armchair for any length of time. He never seemed to know what weariness was when he was looking fixedly at Mrs. Pipchin. He was not fond of her, he was not afraid of her, but she seemed to have a grotesque attraction for him.

Once she asked him, when they were alone, what he was thinking about.

"You," said Paul, without the least reserve.

"And what are you thinking about me?" asked Mrs. Pipchin.

"I'm thinking how old you must be," said Paul.

"You mustn't say such things as that, young gentleman," returned the dame.

"Why not?" asked Paul.

"Because it's not polite," said Mrs. Pipchin, snappishly.

"Not polite?" said Paul.

"No."

"It's not polite," said Paul innocently, "to eat all the mutton-chops and toast, Wickam says."

"Wickam," retorted Mrs. Pipchin colouring, "is a wicked, impudent, bold-faced hussy."

"What's that?" inquired Paul.

"Never you mind, sir," retorted Mrs. Pipchin. "Remember the story of the little boy that was gored to death by a mad bull for asking questions."

"If the bull was mad," said Paul, "how did he know that the boy had asked questions? Nobody can go and whisper secrets to a mad bull. I don't believe that story."

"You don't believe it, sir?" repeated Mrs. Pipchin, amazed.

"No," said Paul.

"Not if it should happen to have been a tame bull, you little infidel?" said Mrs. Pipchin.

As Paul had not considered the subject in that light, he allowed himself to be put down for the present. But he sat turning it over in his mind with such an obvious intention of fixing Mrs. Pipchin presently, that even that hardy old lady deemed it prudent to retreat until he should have forgotten the subject.

From that time Mrs. Pipchin appeared to have something of the same odd kind of an attraction towards Paul as Paul had towards her. She would make him move his chair to her side of the fire, instead of sitting opposite, and there he would remain studying every line of Mrs. Pipchin's face, while the old black cat lay coiled up on the fender purring and winking at the fire, and Paul went on studying Mrs, Pipchin and the cat and the fire, night after night, as if they were a history of necromancy in three volumes.

At the end of a week, as Paul was no stronger, though he looked much healthier in the face, a little carriage was got for him, in which he could be wheeled down to the seaside. Consistent in his odd tastes, the child set aside a ruddy faced lad, who was proposed as the drawer of this carriage, and selected instead, his grandfather, Glubb by name, a weazen, old, crab-faced man, in a suit of battered oilskins, who smelt like a weedy sea-beach when the tide is out. With this notable attendant to pull him along and Florence always by his side, he went down to the margin of the ocean every day; and there he would sit or lie in his carriage for hours together, never so distressed as at the company of children.

He had even a dislike at such times to the company of nurse Wickham, and was well pleased when she strolled away. His favourite spot was quite a lonely one, far away from most loungers, and with Florence sitting by his side at work, or reading to him, and the wind blowing on his face, and the water coming up among the wheels of his bed, he wanted nothing more.

For a year the children stayed at Brighton, going home but twice during that time for a few days, but every Sunday Mr. Dombey spent with them at the Brighton Hotel.

During the year Paul had grown strong enough to give up his carriage, though he still looked thin and delicate, and still remained the same dreamy, quiet child that he had been when consigned to Mrs. Pipchin's care.

At length, on a Saturday afternoon, Mr. Dombey appeared with the news that he was thinking of removing Paul to the school of one Doctor Blimber, also at Brighton.

"I have had some communication with the doctor, Mrs. Pipchin," said Mr. Dombey, "and he does not think Paul at all too young for his purposes. My son is getting on, Mrs. Pipchin, really he is getting on."

"Six years old!" said Mr. Dombey, settling his neckcloth. "Dear me! six will be changed to sixteen before we have time to look about us; and there is no doubt, I fear, that in his studies he is behind many children of his age--or his youth," said Mr. Dombey--"his youth is a more appropriate expression.

"Now, Mrs. Pipchin, instead of being behind his peers, my son ought to be before them, far before them. There is an eminence ready for him to mount on. There is nothing of chance or doubt before my son. The education of such a young gentleman must not be delayed. It must not be left imperfect. It must be very steadily and seriously undertaken, Mrs. Pipchin."

"Well, sir," said Mrs. Pipchin, "I can say nothing to the contrary." And so to Doctor Blimber's Paul was sent.

The doctor's was a mighty fine house fronting the sea. Upon its doorstep one day Paul stood with a fluttering heart, and with his small right hand in his father's. His other hand was locked in that of Florence. The doctor was sitting in his portentous study, with a globe at each knee, books all round him, Homer over the door and Minerva on the mantel-shelf.

Paul being somewhat too small to be seen from where the doctor sat, over the books on his table, the doctor made several futile attempts to get a view of him round the legs; which Mr. Dombey perceiving, relieved the doctor from his embarrassment by taking Paul up in his arms, and sitting him on another little table in the middle of the room.

"Ha!" said the doctor, leaning back in his chair. "Now I see my little friend. How do you do, my little friend?"

"V-ery well, I thank you, sir," returned Paul.

"Ha!" said Doctor Blimber. "Shall we make a man of him?"

"Do you hear, Paul?" added Mr. Dombey, Paul being silent.

"I had rather be a child," replied Paul.

"Indeed!" said the doctor. "Why?"

The child made no audible answer, and Doctor Blimber continued, "You would wish my little friend to acquire----?"

"_Everything_, if you please, doctor," returned Mr. Dombey, firmly.

"Yes," said the doctor. "Yes, exactly. Ha! We shall impart a great variety of information to our little friend, and bring him quickly forward."

At this moment Mrs. Blimber entered, followed by her daughter, and they were duly presented to the Dombeys. There was no light nonsense about Miss Blimber. She kept her hair short and crisp and wore spectacles.

Mrs. Blimber, her mama, was not learned herself, but she pretended to be, and that did quite as well. She said at evening parties, that if she could have known Cicero, she thought she could have died content. It was the steady joy of her life to see the doctor's young gentlemen go out walking, in the largest possible shirt-collars and the stiffest possible cravats. It was so classical, she said.

After the introductions were accomplished, Mrs. Blimber took Mr. Dombey upstairs to inspect the dormitories. While they were gone Paul sat upon the table, holding Florence by the hand, and glancing timidly from the doctor round and round the room, while the doctor held a book from him at arm's length and read.

Presently Mr. Dombey and Mrs. Blimber returned.

"I hope, Mr. Dombey," said the doctor laying down his book, "that the arrangements meet with your approval?"

"They are excellent, sir," said Mr. Dombey, and added, "I think I have given all the trouble I need, and may now take my leave. Paul my child, good-bye."

"Good-bye, papa."

The limp and careless little hand, that Mr. Dombey took in his, was singularly out of keeping with the wistful little face. But he had no part in its sorrowful expression. It was not addressed to him. No, no! To Florence, all to Florence.

"I shall see you soon, Paul," said Mr. Dombey, bending over to kiss the child. "You are free on Saturdays and Sundays, you know."

"Yes, papa," returned Paul, looking at his sister. "On Saturdays and Sundays."

"And you'll try and learn a great deal here and be a clever man," said Mr. Dombey; "won't you?"

"I'll try," said the boy, wearily, and then after his father had patted him on the head, and pressed his small hand again, and after he had one last long hug from Florence, he was left with the globes, the books, blind Homer and Minerva, while Doctor Blimber saw Mr. Dombey to the door.

After the lapse of some minutes, Doctor Blimber came back, and the doctor lifting his new pupil off the table delivered him over to Miss Blimber's care. Miss Blimber received his young ward from the doctor's hands; and Paul, feeling that the spectacles were surveying him, cast down his eyes.

"How much of your Latin Grammar do you know, Dombey?" said Miss Blimber.

"None of it," answered Paul. Feeling that the answer was a shock to Miss Blimber's sensibility he added:

"I haven't been well. I have been a weak child. I couldn't learn a Latin Grammar when I was out every day with old Glubb. I wish you would tell old Glubb to come and see me, if you please."

"What a dreadful low name," said Mrs. Blimber. "Unclassical to a degree! Who is the monster, child?"

"What monster!" inquired Paul.

"Glubb," said Mrs. Blimber.

"He's no more a monster than you are," returned Paul.

"What!" cried the doctor, in a terrible voice. "Aye, aye, aye? Aha! What's that?"

Paul was dreadfully frightened, but still he made a stand for the absent Glubb, though he did it trembling.

"He's a very nice old man, ma'am," he said. "He used to draw my couch; he knows all about the deep sea and the fish that are in it, and though old Glubb don't know why the sea should make me think of my mama that's dead, or what it is that it is always saying,--always saying, he knows a great deal about it."

"Ha!" said the doctor, shaking his head: "this is bad, but study will do much. Take him round the house, Cornelia, and familiarise him with his new sphere. Go with that young lady, Dombey."

Dombey obeyed, giving his hand to Cornelia, who took him first to the school-room. Here were eight young gentlemen in various stages of mental prostration, all very hard at work and very grave indeed. Toots, the oldest boy in the school, to whom Paul had previously been introduced, had a desk to himself in one corner, and a magnificent man of immense age, he looked in Paul's eyes behind it.

The appearance of a new boy did not create the sensation that might have been expected. Mr. Feeder, B.A., gave him a bony hand and told him he was glad to see him, and then Paul, instructed by Miss Blimber shook hands with all the eight young gentlemen, at work against time. Then Cornelia led Paul upstairs to the top of the house: and there, in a front room looking over the wild sea, Cornelia showed him a nice little white bed with white hangings, close to the window, on which there was already written on a card in round text DOMBEY; while two other little bedsteads in the same room, were announced through the same means as belonging to BRIGGS and TOZER.

Then Miss Blimber said to Dombey that dinner would be ready in a quarter of an hour, and perhaps he had better go into the school-room among his "friends." So Dombey opened the school-room door a very little way and strayed in like a lost boy.

His "friends," were all dispersed about the room. All the boys (Toots excepted) were getting ready for dinner--some newly tying their neckcloths, and others washing their hands or brushing their hair in an adjoining room. Young Toots, who was ready beforehand, and had therefore leisure to bestow upon Dombey, said with heavy good-nature,----

"Sit down, Dombey."

"Thank you, sir," said Paul.

His endeavouring to hoist himself on to a very high window-seat, and his slipping down again, prepared Toots' mind for the reception of a discovery.

"You're a very small chap," said Mr. Toots.

"Yes, sir, I'm small," returned Paul. "Thank you, sir." For Toots had lifted him into the seat, and done it kindly too.

"Who's your tailor?" inquired Toots, after looking at him for some moments.

"It's a woman that has made my clothes as yet," said Paul "My sister's dressmaker."

"My tailor's Burgess and Co.," said Toots. "Fash'nable but very dear."

Paul had wit enough to shake his head, as if he would have said it was easy to see that.

"Your father's regularly rich, ain't he?" inquired Mr. Toots.

"Yes, sir," said Paul. "He's Dombey and Son."

"And which?" demanded Toots.

"And son, sir," replied Paul.

By this time the other pupils had gathered round, and after a few minutes of general conversation the gong sounded, which caused a general move towards the dining-room. Paul's chair at the table was next to Miss Blimber, but it being found, when he sat in it, that his eyebrows were not much above the level of the table-cloth, some books were brought, on which he was elevated, and on which he always sat from that time, carrying them in and out himself on after occasions, like a little elephant and castle.

Grace having been said by the doctor, dinner began. There was some nice soup, also roast meat, boiled meat, vegetables, pie, and cheese. Every young gentleman had a massive silver fork and a napkin, and all the arrangements were stately and handsome. There was a butler too, in a blue coat and brass buttons.

Nobody spoke unless spoken to, except Doctor Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, and Miss Blimber. Only once during dinner was there any conversation that included the young gentlemen. It happened when the doctor, having hemmed twice or thrice; said:----

"It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder, that the Romans----"

At this mention of this terrible people, their implacable enemies, every young gentleman fastened his gaze upon the doctor, with an assumption of the deepest interest. One of the number happened to be drinking, and when he caught the doctor's eye glaring at him through the side of his tumbler, he left off so hastily that he was convulsed for some moments, and in the sequel ruined Doctor Blimber's point, for at the critical part of the Roman tale, Johnson, unable to suppress it any longer, burst into such an overwhelming fit of coughing that, although both his immediate neighbours thumped him on the back, and Mr. Feeder himself held a glass of water to his lips, and the butler walked him up and down several times between his own chair and the sideboard, like a sentry, it was full five minutes before he was moderately composed, and then there was a profound silence.

"Gentlemen," said Doctor Blimber, "rise for Grace! Cornelia, lift Dombey down. Johnson will repeat to me to-morrow morning before breakfast, without book, and from the Greek Testament, the first chapter of Saint Paul to the Ephesians. We will resume our studies, Mr. Feeder, in half-an-hour."

The young gentlemen bowed and withdrew. Through the rest of the day's routine of work Paul sat in a corner wondering whether Florence was thinking of him and what they were about at Mrs. Pipchin's.

In the confidence of their own room that night Briggs said his head ached ready to split. Tozer didn't say much, but he sighed a good deal, and told Paul to look out for his turn would come to-morrow. And Tozer was right. The next morning Miss Blimber called Dombey to her and gave him a great pile of books.

"These are yours, Dombey," said Miss Blimber.

"All of 'em, ma'am?" said Paul.

"Yes," returned Miss Blimber; "and Mr. Feeder will look you out some more very soon if you are as studious as I expect you will be, Dombey."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Paul.

"Now, don't lose time, Dombey," continued Miss Blimber, "for you have none to spare, but take them downstairs and begin directly."

"Yes, ma'am," answered Paul.

There were so many of them that, although Paul put one hand under the bottom book and his other hand and his chin on the top book and hugged them all closely, the middle book slipped out before he reached the door, and then they all tumbled down on the floor. Miss Blimber said, "Oh, Dombey, Dombey, this is really very careless," and piled them up afresh for him; and this time by dint of balancing them with great nicety, Paul got out of the room and down a few stairs before two of them escaped again. But he held the rest so tight that he only left one more on the first floor and one in the passage; and when he had got the main body down into the school-room, he set off upstairs again to collect the stragglers. Having at last amassed the whole library and climbed into his place he fell to work, encouraged by a remark from Tozer to the effect that he was in for it now; which was the only interruption he received until breakfast time, for which meal he had no appetite, and when it was finished, he followed Miss Blimber upstairs.

"Now, Dombey, how have you got on with those books?" asked Miss Blimber.

They comprised a little English, and a deal of Latin, names of things, declensions of articles and nouns, exercises thereon, and preliminary rules; a trifle of orthography, a glance at ancient history, a wink or two at modern ditto, a few tables, two or three weights and measures, and a little general information. When poor Paul had spelt out number two, he found he had no idea of number one, fragments whereof obtruded themselves into number three, which slided into number four, which grafted itself on to number two. So that whether twenty Romuluses made a Remus, or hic, haec, hoc, was troy weight, or a verb always agreed with an ancient Briton, or three times four was Taurus, a bull, were open questions with him.

"Oh, Dombey, Dombey!" said Miss Blimber, "this is very shocking!"

"If you please," said Paul, "I think if I might sometimes talk a little with old Glubb, I should be able to do better."

"Nonsense, Dombey," said Miss Blimber, "I couldn't hear of it; and now take away the top book, if you please, Dombey, and return when you are master of the theme."