Dombey and Son
unknown before or since, and when whole provinces were ravaged to
supply the splendid means of one Imperial Banquet—”
Here the offender, who had been swelling and straining, and waiting in
vain for a full stop, broke out violently.
“Johnson,” said Mr Feeder, in a low reproachful voice, “take some
water.”
The Doctor, looking very stern, made a pause until the water was
brought, and then resumed:
“And when, Mr Feeder—”
But Mr Feeder, who saw that Johnson must break out again, and who knew
that the Doctor would never come to a period before the young gentlemen
until he had finished all he meant to say, couldn’t keep his eye off
Johnson; and thus was caught in the fact of not looking at the Doctor,
who consequently stopped.
“I beg your pardon, Sir,” said Mr Feeder, reddening. “I beg your
pardon, Doctor Blimber.”
“And when,” said the Doctor, raising his voice, “when, Sir, as we read,
and have no reason to doubt—incredible as it may appear to the
vulgar—of our time—the brother of Vitellius prepared for him a feast,
in which were served, of fish, two thousand dishes—”
“Take some water, Johnson—dishes, Sir,” said Mr Feeder.
“Of various sorts of fowl, five thousand dishes.”
“Or try a crust of bread,” said Mr Feeder.
“And one dish,” pursued Doctor Blimber, raising his voice still higher
as he looked all round the table, “called, from its enormous
dimensions, the Shield of Minerva, and made, among other costly
ingredients, of the brains of pheasants—”
“Ow, ow, ow!” (from Johnson.)
“Woodcocks—”
“Ow, ow, ow!”
“The sounds of the fish called scari—”
“You’ll burst some vessel in your head,” said Mr Feeder. “You had
better let it come.”
“And the spawn of the lamprey, brought from the Carpathian Sea,”
pursued the Doctor, in his severest voice; “when we read of costly
entertainments such as these, and still remember, that we have a
Titus—”
“What would be your mother’s feelings if you died of apoplexy!” said Mr
Feeder.
“A Domitian—”
“And you’re blue, you know,” said Mr Feeder.
“A Nero, a Tiberius, a Caligula, a Heliogabalus, and many more, pursued
the Doctor; “it is, Mr Feeder—if you are doing me the honour to
attend—remarkable; VERY remarkable, Sir—”
But Johnson, unable to suppress it any longer, burst at that moment
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 a full five minutes before he was moderately composed.
Then there was a profound silence.
“Gentlemen,” said Doctor Blimber, “rise for Grace! Cornelia, lift
Dombey down”—nothing of whom but his scalp was accordingly seen above
the tablecloth. “Johnson will repeat to me tomorrow morning before
breakfast, without book, and from the Greek Testament, the first
chapter of the Epistle of Saint Paul to the Ephesians. We will resume
our studies, Mr Feeder, in half-an-hour.”
The young gentlemen bowed and withdrew. Mr Feeder did likewise. During
the half-hour, the young gentlemen, broken into pairs, loitered
arm-in-arm up and down a small piece of ground behind the house, or
endeavoured to kindle a spark of animation in the breast of Briggs. But
nothing happened so vulgar as play. Punctually at the appointed time,
the gong was sounded, and the studies, under the joint auspices of
Doctor Blimber and Mr Feeder, were resumed.
As the Olympic game of lounging up and down had been cut shorter than
usual that day, on Johnson’s account, they all went out for a walk
before tea. Even Briggs (though he hadn’t begun yet) partook of this
dissipation; in the enjoyment of which he looked over the cliff two or
three times darkly. Doctor Blimber accompanied them; and Paul had the
honour of being taken in tow by the Doctor himself: a distinguished
state of things, in which he looked very little and feeble.
Tea was served in a style no less polite than the dinner; and after
tea, the young gentlemen rising and bowing as before, withdrew to fetch
up the unfinished tasks of that day, or to get up the already looming
tasks of to-morrow. In the meantime Mr Feeder withdrew to his own room;
and Paul sat in a corner wondering whether Florence was thinking of
him, and what they were all about at Mrs Pipchin’s.
Mr Toots, who had been detained by an important letter from the Duke of
Wellington, found Paul out after a time; and having looked at him for a
long while, as before, inquired if he was fond of waistcoats.
Paul said “Yes, Sir.”
“So am I,” said Toots.
No word more spoke Toots that night; but he stood looking at Paul as if
he liked him; and as there was company in that, and Paul was not
inclined to talk, it answered his purpose better than conversation.
At eight o’clock or so, the gong sounded again for prayers in the
dining-room, where the butler afterwards presided over a side-table, on
which bread and cheese and beer were spread for such young gentlemen as
desired to partake of those refreshments. The ceremonies concluded by
the Doctor’s saying, “Gentlemen, we will resume our studies at seven
to-morrow;” and then, for the first time, Paul saw Cornelia Blimber’s
eye, and saw that it was upon him. When the Doctor had said these
words, “Gentlemen, we will resume our studies at seven tomorrow,” the
pupils bowed again, and went to bed.
In the confidence of their own room upstairs, Briggs said his head
ached ready to split, and that he should wish himself dead if it wasn’t
for his mother, and a blackbird he had at home. Tozer didn’t say much,
but he sighed a good deal, and told Paul to look out, for his turn
would come to-morrow. After uttering those prophetic words, he
undressed himself moodily, and got into bed. Briggs was in his bed too,
and Paul in his bed too, before the weak-eyed young man appeared to
take away the candle, when he wished them good-night and pleasant
dreams. But his benevolent wishes were in vain, as far as Briggs and
Tozer were concerned; for Paul, who lay awake for a long while, and
often woke afterwards, found that Briggs was ridden by his lesson as a
nightmare: and that Tozer, whose mind was affected in his sleep by
similar causes, in a minor degree talked unknown tongues, or scraps of
Greek and Latin—it was all one to Paul—which, in the silence of night,
had an inexpressibly wicked and guilty effect.
Paul had sunk into a sweet sleep, and dreamed that he was walking hand
in hand with Florence through beautiful gardens, when they came to a
large sunflower which suddenly expanded itself into a gong, and began
to sound. Opening his eyes, he found that it was a dark, windy morning,
with a drizzling rain: and that the real gong was giving dreadful note
of preparation, down in the hall.
So he got up directly, and found Briggs with hardly any eyes, for
nightmare and grief had made his face puffy, putting his boots on:
while Tozer stood shivering and rubbing his shoulders in a very bad
humour. Poor Paul couldn’t dress himself easily, not being used to it,
and asked them if they would have the goodness to tie some strings for
him; but as Briggs merely said “Bother!” and Tozer, “Oh yes!” he went
down when he was otherwise ready, to the next storey, where he saw a
pretty young woman in leather gloves, cleaning a stove. The young woman
seemed surprised at his appearance, and asked him where his mother was.
When Paul told her she was dead, she took her gloves off, and did what
he wanted; and furthermore rubbed his hands to warm them; and gave him
a kiss; and told him whenever he wanted anything of that sort—meaning
in the dressing way—to ask for “Melia; which Paul, thanking her very
much, said he certainly would. He then proceeded softly on his journey
downstairs, towards the room in which the young gentlemen resumed their
studies, when, passing by a door that stood ajar, a voice from within
cried, “Is that Dombey?” On Paul replying, “Yes, Ma’am:” for he knew
the voice to be Miss Blimber’s: Miss Blimber said, “Come in, Dombey.”
And in he went.
Miss Blimber presented exactly the appearance she had presented
yesterday, except that she wore a shawl. Her little light curls were as
crisp as ever, and she had already her spectacles on, which made Paul
wonder whether she went to bed in them. She had a cool little
sitting-room of her own up there, with some books in it, and no fire
But Miss Blimber was never cold, and never sleepy.
Now, Dombey,” said Miss Blimber, “I am going out for a constitutional.”
Paul wondered what that was, and why she didn’t send the footman out to
get it in such unfavourable weather. But he made no observation on the
subject: his attention being devoted to a little pile of new books, on
which Miss Blimber appeared to have been recently engaged.
“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.
“I am going out for a constitutional,” resumed Miss Blimber; “and while
I am gone, that is to say in the interval between this and breakfast,
Dombey, I wish you to read over what I have marked in these books, and
to tell me if you quite understand what you have got to learn. Don’t
lose time, Dombey, 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 schoolroom, 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 till breakfast time. At that meal, for
which he had no appetite, everything was quite as solemn and genteel as
at the others; and when it was finished, he followed Miss Blimber
upstairs.
“Now, Dombey,” said Miss Blimber. “How have you got on with those
books?”
They comprised a little English, and a deal of Latin—names of things,
declensions of articles and substantives, 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 afterwards 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
to old Glubb, I should be able to do better.”
“Nonsense, Dombey,” said Miss Blimber. “I couldn’t hear of it. This is
not the place for Glubbs of any kind. You must take the books down, I