Little Dorrit
sooner gone than he sat down and wrote him a cutting note, in which
he remarked that he had never on any former occasion had the honour of
receiving his congratulations (which was true, though indeed there had
not been anything particular to congratulate him upon), and that he
begged, on behalf of himself and family, to repudiate the Marshal’s
offer, with all those thanks which its disinterested character and its
perfect independence of all worldly considerations demanded.
Although his brother showed so dim a glimmering of interest in their
altered fortunes that it was very doubtful whether he understood them,
Mr Dorrit caused him to be measured for new raiment by the hosiers,
tailors, hatters, and bootmakers whom he called in for himself; and
ordered that his old clothes should be taken from him and burned. Miss
Fanny and Mr Tip required no direction in making an appearance of great
fashion and elegance; and the three passed this interval together at the
best hotel in the neighbourhood--though truly, as Miss Fanny said, the
best was very indifferent. In connection with that establishment, Mr
Tip hired a cabriolet, horse, and groom, a very neat turn out, which
was usually to be observed for two or three hours at a time gracing the
Borough High Street, outside the Marshalsea court-yard. A modest
little hired chariot and pair was also frequently to be seen there;
in alighting from and entering which vehicle, Miss Fanny fluttered the
Marshal’s daughters by the display of inaccessible bonnets.
A great deal of business was transacted in this short period. Among
other items, Messrs Peddle and Pool, solicitors, of Monument Yard, were
instructed by their client Edward Dorrit, Esquire, to address a letter
to Mr Arthur Clennam, enclosing the sum of twenty-four pounds nine
shillings and eightpence, being the amount of principal and interest
computed at the rate of five per cent. per annum, in which their
client believed himself to be indebted to Mr Clennam. In making this
communication and remittance, Messrs Peddle and Pool were further
instructed by their client to remind Mr Clennam that the favour of the
advance now repaid (including gate-fees) had not been asked of him, and
to inform him that it would not have been accepted if it had been openly
proffered in his name. With which they requested a stamped receipt, and
remained his obedient servants. A great deal of business had likewise to
be done, within the so-soon-to-be-orphaned Marshalsea, by Mr Dorrit
so long its Father, chiefly arising out of applications made to him
by Collegians for small sums of money. To these he responded with the
greatest liberality, and with no lack of formality; always first writing
to appoint a time at which the applicant might wait upon him in his
room, and then receiving him in the midst of a vast accumulation of
documents, and accompanying his donation (for he said in every such
case, ‘it is a donation, not a loan’) with a great deal of good counsel:
to the effect that he, the expiring Father of the Marshalsea, hoped to
be long remembered, as an example that a man might preserve his own and
the general respect even there.
The Collegians were not envious. Besides that they had a personal and
traditional regard for a Collegian of so many years’ standing, the event
was creditable to the College, and made it famous in the newspapers.
Perhaps more of them thought, too, than were quite aware of it, that the
thing might in the lottery of chances have happened to themselves, or
that something of the sort might yet happen to themselves some day or
other. They took it very well. A few were low at the thought of being
left behind, and being left poor; but even these did not grudge the
family their brilliant reverse. There might have been much more envy in
politer places. It seems probable that mediocrity of fortune would have
been disposed to be less magnanimous than the Collegians, who lived from
hand to mouth--from the pawnbroker’s hand to the day’s dinner.
They got up an address to him, which they presented in a neat frame and
glass (though it was not afterwards displayed in the family mansion or
preserved among the family papers); and to which he returned a gracious
answer. In that document he assured them, in a Royal manner, that he
received the profession of their attachment with a full conviction
of its sincerity; and again generally exhorted them to follow his
example--which, at least in so far as coming into a great property was
concerned, there is no doubt they would have gladly imitated. He took
the same occasion of inviting them to a comprehensive entertainment, to
be given to the whole College in the yard, and at which he signified
he would have the honour of taking a parting glass to the health and
happiness of all those whom he was about to leave behind.
He did not in person dine at this public repast (it took place at two in
the afternoon, and his dinners now came in from the hotel at six), but
his son was so good as to take the head of the principal table, and to
be very free and engaging. He himself went about among the company, and
took notice of individuals, and saw that the viands were of the quality
he had ordered, and that all were served. On the whole, he was like a
baron of the olden time in a rare good humour. At the conclusion of the
repast, he pledged his guests in a bumper of old Madeira; and told them
that he hoped they had enjoyed themselves, and what was more, that they
would enjoy themselves for the rest of the evening; that he wished them
well; and that he bade them welcome. His health being drunk with
acclamations, he was not so baronial after all but that in trying to
return thanks he broke down, in the manner of a mere serf with a heart
in his breast, and wept before them all. After this great success, which
he supposed to be a failure, he gave them ‘Mr Chivery and his brother
officers;’ whom he had beforehand presented with ten pounds each, and
who were all in attendance. Mr Chivery spoke to the toast, saying, What
you undertake to lock up, lock up; but remember that you are, in the
words of the fettered African, a man and a brother ever. The list of
toasts disposed of, Mr Dorrit urbanely went through the motions of
playing a game of skittles with the Collegian who was the next oldest
inhabitant to himself; and left the tenantry to their diversions.
But all these occurrences preceded the final day. And now the day
arrived when he and his family were to leave the prison for ever, and
when the stones of its much-trodden pavement were to know them no more.
Noon was the hour appointed for the departure. As it approached, there
was not a Collegian within doors, nor a turnkey absent. The latter class
of gentlemen appeared in their Sunday clothes, and the greater part of
the Collegians were brightened up as much as circumstances allowed. Two
or three flags were even displayed, and the children put on odds and
ends of ribbon. Mr Dorrit himself, at this trying time, preserved a
serious but graceful dignity. Much of his great attention was given to
his brother, as to whose bearing on the great occasion he felt anxious.
‘My dear Frederick,’ said he, ‘if you will give me your arm we will pass
among our friends together. I think it is right that we should go out
arm in arm, my dear Frederick.’
‘Hah!’ said Frederick. ‘Yes, yes, yes, yes.’
‘And if, my dear Frederick--if you could, without putting any great
constraint upon yourself, throw a little (pray excuse me, Frederick), a
little polish into your usual demeanour--’
‘William, William,’ said the other, shaking his head, ‘it’s for you to
do all that. I don’t know how. All forgotten, forgotten!’
‘But, my dear fellow,’ returned William, ‘for that very reason, if
for no other, you must positively try to rouse yourself. What you
have forgotten you must now begin to recall, my dear Frederick. Your
position--’
‘Eh?’ said Frederick.
‘Your position, my dear Frederick.’
‘Mine?’ He looked first at his own figure, and then at his brother’s,
and then, drawing a long breath, cried, ‘Hah, to be sure! Yes, yes,
yes.’
‘Your position, my dear Frederick, is now a fine one. Your position, as
my brother, is a very fine one. And I know that it belongs to your
conscientious nature to try to become worthy of it, my dear Frederick,
and to try to adorn it. To be no discredit to it, but to adorn it.’
‘William,’ said the other weakly, and with a sigh, ‘I will do anything
you wish, my brother, provided it lies in my power. Pray be so kind as
to recollect what a limited power mine is. What would you wish me to do
to-day, brother? Say what it is, only say what it is.’
‘My dearest Frederick, nothing. It is not worth troubling so good a
heart as yours with.’
‘Pray trouble it,’ returned the other. ‘It finds it no trouble, William,
to do anything it can for you.’
William passed his hand across his eyes, and murmured with august
satisfaction, ‘Blessings on your attachment, my poor dear fellow!’ Then
he said aloud, ‘Well, my dear Frederick, if you will only try, as we
walk out, to show that you are alive to the occasion--that you think
about it--’
‘What would you advise me to think about it?’ returned his submissive
brother.
‘Oh! my dear Frederick, how can I answer you? I can only say what, in
leaving these good people, I think myself.’
‘That’s it!’ cried his brother. ‘That will help me.’
‘I find that I think, my dear Frederick, and with mixed emotions in
which a softened compassion predominates, What will they do without me!’
‘True,’ returned his brother. ‘Yes, yes, yes, yes. I’ll think that as we
go, What will they do without my brother! Poor things! What will they do
without him!’
Twelve o’clock having just struck, and the carriage being reported ready
in the outer court-yard, the brothers proceeded down-stairs arm-in-arm.
Edward Dorrit, Esquire (once Tip), and his sister Fanny followed,
also arm-in-arm; Mr Plornish and Maggy, to whom had been entrusted the
removal of such of the family effects as were considered worth removing,
followed, bearing bundles and burdens to be packed in a cart.
In the yard, were the Collegians and turnkeys. In the yard, were Mr
Pancks and Mr Rugg, come to see the last touch given to their work.
In the yard, was Young John making a new epitaph for himself, on
the occasion of his dying of a broken heart. In the yard, was the
Patriarchal Casby, looking so tremendously benevolent that many
enthusiastic Collegians grasped him fervently by the hand, and the wives
and female relatives of many more Collegians kissed his hand, nothing
doubting that he had done it all. In the yard, was the man with the
shadowy grievance respecting the Fund which the Marshal embezzled, who
had got up at five in the morning to complete the copying of a perfectly
unintelligible history of that transaction, which he had committed to Mr
Dorrit’s care, as a document of the last importance, calculated to stun
the Government and effect the Marshal’s downfall. In the yard, was the
insolvent whose utmost energies were always set on getting into debt,
who broke into prison with as much pains as other men have broken out
of it, and who was always being cleared and complimented; while the
insolvent at his elbow--a mere little, snivelling, striving tradesman,
half dead of anxious efforts to keep out of debt--found it a hard
matter, indeed, to get a Commissioner to release him with much reproof
and reproach. In the yard, was the man of many children and many
burdens, whose failure astonished everybody; in the yard, was the man of
no children and large resources, whose failure astonished nobody. There,
were the people who were always going out to-morrow, and always putting
it off; there, were the people who had come in yesterday, and who