Bleak House
cold—that I read the words in the newspaper without knowing what
they meant and found myself reading the same words repeatedly. As it
was of no use going on in that way, I put the paper down, took a peep
at my bonnet in the glass to see if it was neat, and looked at the
room, which was not half lighted, and at the shabby, dusty tables,
and at the piles of writings, and at a bookcase full of the most
inexpressive-looking books that ever had anything to say for
themselves. Then I went on, thinking, thinking, thinking; and the
fire went on, burning, burning, burning; and the candles went on
flickering and guttering, and there were no snuffers—until the young
gentleman by and by brought a very dirty pair—for two hours.
At last Mr. Kenge came. HE was not altered, but he was surprised to
see how altered I was and appeared quite pleased. “As you are going
to be the companion of the young lady who is now in the Chancellor’s
private room, Miss Summerson,” he said, “we thought it well that you
should be in attendance also. You will not be discomposed by the Lord
Chancellor, I dare say?”
“No, sir,” I said, “I don’t think I shall,” really not seeing on
consideration why I should be.
So Mr. Kenge gave me his arm and we went round the corner, under a
colonnade, and in at a side door. And so we came, along a passage,
into a comfortable sort of room where a young lady and a young
gentleman were standing near a great, loud-roaring fire. A screen was
interposed between them and it, and they were leaning on the screen,
talking.
They both looked up when I came in, and I saw in the young lady, with
the fire shining upon her, such a beautiful girl! With such rich
golden hair, such soft blue eyes, and such a bright, innocent,
trusting face!
“Miss Ada,” said Mr. Kenge, “this is Miss Summerson.”
She came to meet me with a smile of welcome and her hand extended,
but seemed to change her mind in a moment and kissed me. In short,
she had such a natural, captivating, winning manner that in a few
minutes we were sitting in the window-seat, with the light of the
fire upon us, talking together as free and happy as could be.
What a load off my mind! It was so delightful to know that she could
confide in me and like me! It was so good of her, and so encouraging
to me!
The young gentleman was her distant cousin, she told me, and his name
Richard Carstone. He was a handsome youth with an ingenuous face and
a most engaging laugh; and after she had called him up to where we
sat, he stood by us, in the light of the fire, talking gaily, like a
light-hearted boy. He was very young, not more than nineteen then, if
quite so much, but nearly two years older than she was. They were
both orphans and (what was very unexpected and curious to me) had
never met before that day. Our all three coming together for the
first time in such an unusual place was a thing to talk about, and we
talked about it; and the fire, which had left off roaring, winked its
red eyes at us—as Richard said—like a drowsy old Chancery lion.
We conversed in a low tone because a full-dressed gentleman in a bag
wig frequently came in and out, and when he did so, we could hear a
drawling sound in the distance, which he said was one of the counsel
in our case addressing the Lord Chancellor. He told Mr. Kenge that
the Chancellor would be up in five minutes; and presently we heard a
bustle and a tread of feet, and Mr. Kenge said that the Court had
risen and his lordship was in the next room.
The gentleman in the bag wig opened the door almost directly and
requested Mr. Kenge to come in. Upon that, we all went into the next
room, Mr. Kenge first, with my darling—it is so natural to me now
that I can’t help writing it; and there, plainly dressed in black and
sitting in an arm-chair at a table near the fire, was his lordship,
whose robe, trimmed with beautiful gold lace, was thrown upon another
chair. He gave us a searching look as we entered, but his manner was
both courtly and kind.
The gentleman in the bag wig laid bundles of papers on his lordship’s
table, and his lordship silently selected one and turned over the
leaves.
“Miss Clare,” said the Lord Chancellor. “Miss Ada Clare?”
Mr. Kenge presented her, and his lordship begged her to sit down near
him. That he admired her and was interested by her even I could see
in a moment. It touched me that the home of such a beautiful young
creature should be represented by that dry, official place. The Lord
High Chancellor, at his best, appeared so poor a substitute for the
love and pride of parents.
“The Jarndyce in question,” said the Lord Chancellor, still turning
over leaves, “is Jarndyce of Bleak House.”
“Jarndyce of Bleak House, my lord,” said Mr. Kenge.
“A dreary name,” said the Lord Chancellor.
“But not a dreary place at present, my lord,” said Mr. Kenge.
“And Bleak House,” said his lordship, “is in—”
“Hertfordshire, my lord.”
“Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House is not married?” said his lordship.
“He is not, my lord,” said Mr. Kenge.
A pause.
“Young Mr. Richard Carstone is present?” said the Lord Chancellor,
glancing towards him.
Richard bowed and stepped forward.
“Hum!” said the Lord Chancellor, turning over more leaves.
“Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House, my lord,” Mr. Kenge observed in a low
voice, “if I may venture to remind your lordship, provides a suitable
companion for—”
“For Mr. Richard Carstone?” I thought (but I am not quite sure) I
heard his lordship say in an equally low voice and with a smile.
“For Miss Ada Clare. This is the young lady. Miss Summerson.”
His lordship gave me an indulgent look and acknowledged my curtsy
very graciously.
“Miss Summerson is not related to any party in the cause, I think?”
“No, my lord.”
Mr. Kenge leant over before it was quite said and whispered. His
lordship, with his eyes upon his papers, listened, nodded twice or
thrice, turned over more leaves, and did not look towards me again
until we were going away.
Mr. Kenge now retired, and Richard with him, to where I was, near the
door, leaving my pet (it is so natural to me that again I can’t help
it!) sitting near the Lord Chancellor, with whom his lordship spoke a
little part, asking her, as she told me afterwards, whether she had
well reflected on the proposed arrangement, and if she thought she
would be happy under the roof of Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House, and why
she thought so? Presently he rose courteously and released her, and
then he spoke for a minute or two with Richard Carstone, not seated,
but standing, and altogether with more ease and less ceremony, as if
he still knew, though he WAS Lord Chancellor, how to go straight to
the candour of a boy.
“Very well!” said his lordship aloud. “I shall make the order. Mr.
Jarndyce of Bleak House has chosen, so far as I may judge,” and this
was when he looked at me, “a very good companion for the young lady,
and the arrangement altogether seems the best of which the
circumstances admit.”
He dismissed us pleasantly, and we all went out, very much obliged to
him for being so affable and polite, by which he had certainly lost
no dignity but seemed to us to have gained some.
When we got under the colonnade, Mr. Kenge remembered that he must go
back for a moment to ask a question and left us in the fog, with the
Lord Chancellor’s carriage and servants waiting for him to come out.
“Well!” said Richard Carstone. “THAT’S over! And where do we go next,
Miss Summerson?”
“Don’t you know?” I said.
“Not in the least,” said he.
“And don’t YOU know, my love?” I asked Ada.
“No!” said she. “Don’t you?”
“Not at all!” said I.
We looked at one another, half laughing at our being like the
children in the wood, when a curious little old woman in a squeezed
bonnet and carrying a reticule came curtsying and smiling up to us
with an air of great ceremony.
“Oh!” said she. “The wards in Jarndyce! Ve-ry happy, I am sure, to
have the honour! It is a good omen for youth, and hope, and beauty
when they find themselves in this place, and don’t know what’s to
come of it.”
“Mad!” whispered Richard, not thinking she could hear him.
“Right! Mad, young gentleman,” she returned so quickly that he was
quite abashed. “I was a ward myself. I was not mad at that time,”
curtsying low and smiling between every little sentence. “I had youth
and hope. I believe, beauty. It matters very little now. Neither of
the three served or saved me. I have the honour to attend court
regularly. With my documents. I expect a judgment. Shortly. On the
Day of Judgment. I have discovered that the sixth seal mentioned in
the Revelations is the Great Seal. It has been open a long time! Pray
accept my blessing.”
As Ada was a little frightened, I said, to humour the poor old lady,
that we were much obliged to her.
“Ye-es!” she said mincingly. “I imagine so. And here is Conversation
Kenge. With HIS documents! How does your honourable worship do?”
“Quite well, quite well! Now don’t be troublesome, that’s a good
soul!” said Mr. Kenge, leading the way back.
“By no means,” said the poor old lady, keeping up with Ada and me.
“Anything but troublesome. I shall confer estates on both—which is
not being troublesome, I trust? I expect a judgment. Shortly. On the
Day of Judgment. This is a good omen for you. Accept my blessing!”
She stopped at the bottom of the steep, broad flight of stairs; but
we looked back as we went up, and she was still there, saying, still
with a curtsy and a smile between every little sentence, “Youth. And
hope. And beauty. And Chancery. And Conversation Kenge! Ha! Pray
accept my blessing!”
CHAPTER IV
Telescopic Philanthropy
We were to pass the night, Mr. Kenge told us when we arrived in his
room, at Mrs. Jellyby’s; and then he turned to me and said he took it
for granted I knew who Mrs. Jellyby was.
“I really don’t, sir,” I returned. “Perhaps Mr. Carstone—or Miss
Clare—”
But no, they knew nothing whatever about Mrs. Jellyby. “In-deed! Mrs.
Jellyby,” said Mr. Kenge, standing with his back to the fire and
casting his eyes over the dusty hearth-rug as if it were Mrs.
Jellyby’s biography, “is a lady of very remarkable strength of
character who devotes herself entirely to the public. She has devoted
herself to an extensive variety of public subjects at various times
and is at present (until something else attracts her) devoted to the
subject of Africa, with a view to the general cultivation of the
coffee berry—AND the natives—and the happy settlement, on the banks
of the African rivers, of our superabundant home population. Mr.
Jarndyce, who is desirous to aid any work that is considered likely
to be a good work and who is much sought after by philanthropists,
has, I believe, a very high opinion of Mrs. Jellyby.”
Mr. Kenge, adjusting his cravat, then looked at us.
“And Mr. Jellyby, sir?” suggested Richard.
“Ah! Mr. Jellyby,” said Mr. Kenge, “is—a—I don’t know that I can
describe him to you better than by saying that he is the husband of
Mrs. Jellyby.”
“A nonentity, sir?” said Richard with a droll look.
“I don’t say that,” returned Mr. Kenge gravely. “I can’t say that,
indeed, for I know nothing whatever OF Mr. Jellyby. I never, to my
knowledge, had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Jellyby. He may be a very
superior man, but he is, so to speak, merged—merged—in the more
shining qualities of his wife.” Mr. Kenge proceeded to tell us that
as the road to Bleak House would have been very long, dark, and
tedious on such an evening, and as we had been travelling already,
Mr. Jarndyce had himself proposed this arrangement. A carriage would
be at Mrs. Jellyby’s to convey us out of town early in the forenoon
of to-morrow.
He then rang a little bell, and the young gentleman came in.