Bleak House
is what I meant when I said in my note that I had a great favour and
a great assistance to beg of you. And if you thought you could grant
it, Esther, we should both be very grateful.”
“Let me see, Caddy,” said I, pretending to consider. “Really, I think
I could do a greater thing than that if the need were pressing. I am
at your service and the darling child’s, my dear, whenever you like.”
Caddy was quite transported by this reply of mine, being, I believe,
as susceptible to the least kindness or encouragement as any tender
heart that ever beat in this world; and after another turn or two
round the garden, during which she put on an entirely new pair of
gloves and made herself as resplendent as possible that she might do
no avoidable discredit to the Master of Deportment, we went to Newman
Street direct.
Prince was teaching, of course. We found him engaged with a not very
hopeful pupil—a stubborn little girl with a sulky forehead, a deep
voice, and an inanimate, dissatisfied mama—whose case was certainly
not rendered more hopeful by the confusion into which we threw her
preceptor. The lesson at last came to an end, after proceeding as
discordantly as possible; and when the little girl had changed her
shoes and had had her white muslin extinguished in shawls, she was
taken away. After a few words of preparation, we then went in search
of Mr. Turveydrop, whom we found, grouped with his hat and gloves, as
a model of deportment, on the sofa in his private apartment—the only
comfortable room in the house. He appeared to have dressed at his
leisure in the intervals of a light collation, and his dressing-case,
brushes, and so forth, all of quite an elegant kind, lay about.
“Father, Miss Summerson; Miss Jellyby.”
“Charmed! Enchanted!” said Mr. Turveydrop, rising with his
high-shouldered bow. “Permit me!” Handing chairs. “Be seated!”
Kissing the tips of his left fingers. “Overjoyed!” Shutting his eyes
and rolling. “My little retreat is made a paradise.” Recomposing
himself on the sofa like the second gentleman in Europe.
“Again you find us, Miss Summerson,” said he, “using our little arts
to polish, polish! Again the sex stimulates us and rewards us by the
condescension of its lovely presence. It is much in these times (and
we have made an awfully degenerating business of it since the days of
his Royal Highness the Prince Regent—my patron, if I may presume to
say so) to experience that deportment is not wholly trodden under
foot by mechanics. That it can yet bask in the smile of beauty, my
dear madam.”
I said nothing, which I thought a suitable reply; and he took a pinch
of snuff.
“My dear son,” said Mr. Turveydrop, “you have four schools this
afternoon. I would recommend a hasty sandwich.”
“Thank you, father,” returned Prince, “I will be sure to be punctual.
My dear father, may I beg you to prepare your mind for what I am
going to say?”
“Good heaven!” exclaimed the model, pale and aghast as Prince and
Caddy, hand in hand, bent down before him. “What is this? Is this
lunacy! Or what is this?”
“Father,” returned Prince with great submission, “I love this young
lady, and we are engaged.”
“Engaged!” cried Mr. Turveydrop, reclining on the sofa and shutting
out the sight with his hand. “An arrow launched at my brain by my own
child!”
“We have been engaged for some time, father,” faltered Prince, “and
Miss Summerson, hearing of it, advised that we should declare the
fact to you and was so very kind as to attend on the present
occasion. Miss Jellyby is a young lady who deeply respects you,
father.”
Mr. Turveydrop uttered a groan.
“No, pray don’t! Pray don’t, father,” urged his son. “Miss Jellyby is
a young lady who deeply respects you, and our first desire is to
consider your comfort.”
Mr. Turveydrop sobbed.
“No, pray don’t, father!” cried his son.
“Boy,” said Mr. Turveydrop, “it is well that your sainted mother is
spared this pang. Strike deep, and spare not. Strike home, sir,
strike home!”
“Pray don’t say so, father,” implored Prince, in tears. “It goes to
my heart. I do assure you, father, that our first wish and intention
is to consider your comfort. Caroline and I do not forget our
duty—what is my duty is Caroline’s, as we have often said
together—and with your approval and consent, father, we will devote
ourselves to making your life agreeable.”
“Strike home,” murmured Mr. Turveydrop. “Strike home!” But he seemed
to listen, I thought, too.
“My dear father,” returned Prince, “we well know what little comforts
you are accustomed to and have a right to, and it will always be our
study and our pride to provide those before anything. If you will
bless us with your approval and consent, father, we shall not think
of being married until it is quite agreeable to you; and when we ARE
married, we shall always make you—of course—our first
consideration. You must ever be the head and master here, father; and
we feel how truly unnatural it would be in us if we failed to know it
or if we failed to exert ourselves in every possible way to please
you.”
Mr. Turveydrop underwent a severe internal struggle and came upright
on the sofa again with his cheeks puffing over his stiff cravat, a
perfect model of parental deportment.
“My son!” said Mr. Turveydrop. “My children! I cannot resist your
prayer. Be happy!”
His benignity as he raised his future daughter-in-law and stretched
out his hand to his son (who kissed it with affectionate respect and
gratitude) was the most confusing sight I ever saw.
“My children,” said Mr. Turveydrop, paternally encircling Caddy with
his left arm as she sat beside him, and putting his right hand
gracefully on his hip. “My son and daughter, your happiness shall be
my care. I will watch over you. You shall always live with
me”—meaning, of course, I will always live with you—“this house is
henceforth as much yours as mine; consider it your home. May you long
live to share it with me!”
The power of his deportment was such that they really were as much
overcome with thankfulness as if, instead of quartering himself upon
them for the rest of his life, he were making some munificent
sacrifice in their favour.
“For myself, my children,” said Mr. Turveydrop, “I am falling into
the sear and yellow leaf, and it is impossible to say how long the
last feeble traces of gentlemanly deportment may linger in this
weaving and spinning age. But, so long, I will do my duty to society
and will show myself, as usual, about town. My wants are few and
simple. My little apartment here, my few essentials for the toilet,
my frugal morning meal, and my little dinner will suffice. I charge
your dutiful affection with the supply of these requirements, and I
charge myself with all the rest.”
They were overpowered afresh by his uncommon generosity.
“My son,” said Mr. Turveydrop, “for those little points in which you
are deficient—points of deportment, which are born with a man, which
may be improved by cultivation, but can never be originated—you may
still rely on me. I have been faithful to my post since the days of
his Royal Highness the Prince Regent, and I will not desert it now.
No, my son. If you have ever contemplated your father’s poor position
with a feeling of pride, you may rest assured that he will do nothing
to tarnish it. For yourself, Prince, whose character is different (we
cannot be all alike, nor is it advisable that we should), work, be
industrious, earn money, and extend the connexion as much as
possible.”
“That you may depend I will do, dear father, with all my heart,”
replied Prince.
“I have no doubt of it,” said Mr. Turveydrop. “Your qualities are not
shining, my dear child, but they are steady and useful. And to both
of you, my children, I would merely observe, in the spirit of a
sainted wooman on whose path I had the happiness of casting, I
believe, SOME ray of light, take care of the establishment, take care
of my simple wants, and bless you both!”
Old Mr. Turveydrop then became so very gallant, in honour of the
occasion, that I told Caddy we must really go to Thavies Inn at once
if we were to go at all that day. So we took our departure after a
very loving farewell between Caddy and her betrothed, and during our
walk she was so happy and so full of old Mr. Turveydrop’s praises
that I would not have said a word in his disparagement for any
consideration.
The house in Thavies Inn had bills in the windows announcing that it
was to let, and it looked dirtier and gloomier and ghastlier than
ever. The name of poor Mr. Jellyby had appeared in the list of
bankrupts but a day or two before, and he was shut up in the
dining-room with two gentlemen and a heap of blue bags,
account-books, and papers, making the most desperate endeavours to
understand his affairs. They appeared to me to be quite beyond his
comprehension, for when Caddy took me into the dining-room by mistake
and we came upon Mr. Jellyby in his spectacles, forlornly fenced into
a corner by the great dining-table and the two gentlemen, he seemed
to have given up the whole thing and to be speechless and insensible.
Going upstairs to Mrs. Jellyby’s room (the children were all
screaming in the kitchen, and there was no servant to be seen), we
found that lady in the midst of a voluminous correspondence, opening,
reading, and sorting letters, with a great accumulation of torn
covers on the floor. She was so preoccupied that at first she did not
know me, though she sat looking at me with that curious, bright-eyed,
far-off look of hers.
“Ah! Miss Summerson!” she said at last. “I was thinking of something
so different! I hope you are well. I am happy to see you. Mr.
Jarndyce and Miss Clare quite well?”
I hoped in return that Mr. Jellyby was quite well.
“Why, not quite, my dear,” said Mrs. Jellyby in the calmest manner.
“He has been unfortunate in his affairs and is a little out of
spirits. Happily for me, I am so much engaged that I have no time to
think about it. We have, at the present moment, one hundred and
seventy families, Miss Summerson, averaging five persons in each,
either gone or going to the left bank of the Niger.”
I thought of the one family so near us who were neither gone nor
going to the left bank of the Niger, and wondered how she could be so
placid.
“You have brought Caddy back, I see,” observed Mrs. Jellyby with a
glance at her daughter. “It has become quite a novelty to see her
here. She has almost deserted her old employment and in fact obliges
me to employ a boy.”
“I am sure, Ma—” began Caddy.
“Now you know, Caddy,” her mother mildly interposed, “that I DO
employ a boy, who is now at his dinner. What is the use of your
contradicting?”
“I was not going to contradict, Ma,” returned Caddy. “I was only
going to say that surely you wouldn’t have me be a mere drudge all my
life.”
“I believe, my dear,” said Mrs. Jellyby, still opening her letters,
casting her bright eyes smilingly over them, and sorting them as she
spoke, “that you have a business example before you in your mother.
Besides. A mere drudge? If you had any sympathy with the destinies of
the human race, it would raise you high above any such idea. But you
have none. I have often told you, Caddy, you have no such sympathy.”
“Not if it’s Africa, Ma, I have not.”
“Of course you have not. Now, if I were not happily so much engaged,
Miss Summerson,” said Mrs. Jellyby, sweetly casting her eyes for a
moment on me and considering where to put the particular letter she
had just opened, “this would distress and disappoint me. But I have
so much to think of, in connexion with Borrioboola-Gha and it is so
necessary I should concentrate myself that there is my remedy, you
see.”
As Caddy gave me a glance of entreaty, and as Mrs. Jellyby was