 Chapter 36 Book the First of Little Dorit Read for LibriVox.org by Ellis Christoph Little Dorit by Charles Dickens Book the First, Chapter 36 The Marshall Sea becomes an orphan And now the day arrived when Mr. Dorit and his family were to leave the prison forever And the stones of its much trodden pavement were to know them no more The interval had been short, but he had greatly complained of its length And had been imperious with Mr. Ragh touching the delay He had been high with Mr. Ragh and had threatened to employ someone else He had requested Mr. Ragh not to presume upon the place in which he found him But to do his duty, sir, and to do it with promptitude He had told Mr. Ragh that he knew what lawyers and agents were And that he would not submit to imposition On that gentleman's humbly representing that he exerted himself to the utmost Miss Fanny was very short with him, desiring to know what less he could do When he had been told a dozen times that money was no object And expressing her suspicion that he forgot whom he talked to Towards the Marshall, who was a Marshall of many years standing And with whom he had never had any previous difference Mr. Dorit comported himself with severity That officer, on personally tendering his congratulations Offered the free use of two rooms in his house for Mr. Dorit's occupation until his departure Mr. Dorit thanked him at the moment and replied that he would think of it But the Marshall was no 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 Marshall'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. Dorit caused him to be measured for new raiment by the Hosears, Tailors, Atters 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 turnout which was usually to be observed for two or three hours at a time Gracing the Borough High Street outside the Marshall Sea courtyard 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 Marshall's daughters By the display of inaccessible bonnets A great deal of business was transacted in this short period Among other items, Monsieur's pedal and pool solicitors of Monument Yard Were instructed by their client Edward Dorit Esquire To address a letter to Mr. Arthur Clenham in closing the sum of 24 pounds, nine shillings and eightpence Being the amount of principal and interest computed at the rate of 5% per annum In which their client believed himself to be indebted to Mr. Clenham In making this communication and remittance, Monsieur's pedal and pool were further instructed by their client To remind Mr. Clenham 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 preferred 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 Marshall C By Mr. Dorit Solong, 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 a pointer 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 alone With a great deal of good counsel to the effect that he, the expiring father of the Marshall C, 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 there brilliant reverse There might have been much more envy in polite places It seemed 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 and addressed 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 insofar 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 vians 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 bad them welcome His health being drunk with acclamations It was not so baronial after all But that in trying to return thanks he broke down In the manner of a mere surf 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. Chivory and his brother officers Whom he had beforehand presented with ten pounds each And who were all in attendance Mr. Chivory 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. Dorita Bainley 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 forever 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. Dorit 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 Ah, said Frederick Yes, yes, yes, yes And if, my dear Frederick If you could, without putting any great constraint upon yourself Throw a little prey, excuse me Frederick A little polish into your usual demeanor William, William Said the other shaking his head It's for you to do all that We 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, drawing a long breath, cried Ah, 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 today, 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 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 courtyard The brothers proceeded downstairs Arm in arm Edward Dorit Esquire once tip And his sister Fanny followed Also arm in arm Mr. Plournish and Maggie To whom had been interested 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. Panks 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 Was the patriarchal Caspy Looking so tremendously benevolent That many enthusiastic collegians Grasp 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. Doritz' 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 sniveling, striving tradesman Half debt 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 tomorrow and always putting it off There were the people who had come in yesterday And who were much more jealous and resentful Of this freak of fortune than the seasoned birds There were some who, in pure meanness of spirit Cringed and bowed before the enriched Collegian and his family There were others who did so really Because their eyes, accustomed to the gloom Of their imprisonment and poverty Could not support the light of such Bright sunshine There were many whose shillings had gone Into his pocket to buy him meat and drink But none, who are now obtrusively Hail fellow well-met, with him On the strength of that assistance It was rather to be remarked of the caged birds That they were a little shy of the bird About to be so grandly free And that they had a tendency to withdraw Themselves towards the bars And seem a little fluttered as he passed Through these spectators, the little procession Headed by the two brothers Moved slowly to the gate Mr. Dorrid, yielding to the vast speculation How the poor creatures were to get on without him Was great and sad, but not absorbed He patted children on the head Like Sir Roger de Cavalli, going to church He spoke to people in the background By their Christian names He condescended to all present And seemed for their consolation To walk encircled by the legend In golden characters Become forted, my people, bear it At last three honest cheers Announced that he had passed the gate And that the Marshall Sea was an orphan Before they had ceased to ring In the echoes of the prison walls The family had got into their carriage And the attendant had the steps in his hand Then, and not before Good gracious! cried Miss Fanny all at once Where's Amy? Her father had thought she was with her sister Her sister had thought she was somewhere or other They had all trusted to finding her As they had always done Quietly in the right place at the right moment This going away was perhaps the very first action Of their joint lives that they had got through without her A minute might have been consumed In the ascertaining of these points When Miss Fanny, who, from her seat in the carriage Commanded the long narrow passage leading to the lodge Blushed indignantly Now I do say, Pa, cried she That this is disgraceful What is disgraceful, Fanny? I do say, she repeated This is perfectly infamous Really almost enough, even at such a time as this To make one wish one was dead Here is that child Amy In her ugly old shabby dress Which she was so obstinate about, Pa Which I over and over again beckoned Prayed her to change And which she over and over again objected to And promised to change today Saying she wished to air it as long as ever She remained in there with you Which was absolutely romantic nonsense Of the lowest kind Here is that child Amy disgracing us To the last moment and at the last moment By being carried out in that dress after all And by that Mr. Glenham too The offence was proved As she delivered the indictment Glenham appeared at the carriage door Bearing the little insensible figure in his arms She has been forgotten He said in a tone of pity not free from reproach I ran up to her room Which Mr. Chivory showed me And found the door open And the chick had fainted on the floor, dear child She appeared to have gone to change her dress And to have sung down overpowered It may have been the cheering Or it may have happened sooner Take care of this poor cold hand, Miss Dorit Don't let it fall Thank you, sir Returned Miss Dorit bursting into tears I believe I know what to do if you will give me leave Dear Amy, open your eyes That's a love Oh Amy, Amy I really am so vexed and ashamed To rouse yourself, darling Oh, why are they not driving on? Pray Pa, do drive on The attendant, getting between clenum and the carriage door With a sharp, by your leave, sir Bundled up the steps and they drove away End of chapter the thirty-sixth End of book the first This recording is in the public domain Chapter the first, book the second of Little Dorit Read for LibriVox.org by Ellis Christoff Little Dorit by Charles Dickens Book the second Riches Chapter the first Fellow travellers In the autumn of the year, darkness and night Were creeping up to the highest ridges of the Alps It was vintage time in the valleys of the Swiss side Of the pass of the Great St. Bernard And along the banks of the Lake of Geneva The air there was charged with the scent of gathered grapes Baskets, troughs and tubs of grapes Grilled in the dim village doorways Stopped the steep and narrow village streets And had been carrying all day along the roads and lanes Grapes, split and crushed underfoot, lay about everywhere The child, carried in a sling by the laden peasant woman Toiling home, was quieted with picked up grapes The idiot, sanning his big goiter and the leaves Of the wooden chalet by the way to the waterfall Sat munching grapes The breath of the cows and goats Of leaves and stalks of grapes The company in every little cabaret Were eating, drinking, talking grapes A pity that no ripe touch of this generous abundance Could be given to the thin, hard, stony wine Which, after all, was made from the grapes The air had been warm and transparent With a whole of the bright day Shining metal spires and church roofs Distant and rarely seen Had sparkled in the view And the snowy mountain tops had been so clear That unaccustomed eyes, cancelling the intervening country And sliding their rugged heights for something fabulous Would have measured them as within a few hours easy reach Mountain peaks of great celebrity in the valleys When snow trace of their existence was visible Sometimes for months together Had been since morning plain and near in the blue sky And now, when it was dark below Though they seemed solemnly to recede Like specters who were going to vanish As the red dye of the sunset faded out of them And left them coldly white They were yet distinctly defined in their loneliness Above the mists and shadows Seen from these solitudes And from the paths of the great St. Bernard Which was one of them The ascending night came up the mountain Like a rising water When it at last rose to the walls Of the convent of the great St. Bernard It was as if that weather-beaten structure Were another arc and floated on the shadowy waves Darkness, outstripping some visitors on mules Had risen thus to the rough convent walls When those travellers were yet climbing the mountain As the heat of the glowing day When they had stopped to drink at the streams Of melted ice and snow Was changed to the surging cold Of the frosty rarified night air at a great height For the fresh beauty of the lower journey Had yielded to the barrenness and desolation A craggy track, up which the mules in single files Scrambled and turned from block to block As though they were ascending the broken staircase Of a gigantic ruin, was their way now No trees were to be seen Nor any vegetable growth Saved poor brown scrubby moss Freezing in the chinks of rock Blackened skeleton arms of wood By the wayside pointed upward to the convent As if the ghosts of former travellers Overwhelmed by the snow Haunted the scene of their distress Icicle-hung caves and cellars Built for refugees from sudden storms Were like so many whispers Of the perils of the place Never-resting wreaths and mazes Of mist-wandered about Hunted by a moaning wind And snow, the besetting danger Of the mountain against which All its defences were taken Drifted sharply down The file of mules jaded by their day's work Turned and wound slowly up the deeper scent The foremost led by a guide on food In his broad brimmed hat and round jacket Carrying a mountain stuff or two upon his shoulder With whom another guide conversed There was no speaking among the string of riders The sharp cold, the fatigue of the journey And a new sensation of a catching in the breath Partly as if they had just emerged From very clear, crisp water And partly, as if they had been sobbing Kept them silent At length, a light on the summit of the rocky staircase Gleamed through the snow and mist The guides called to the mules The mules pricked up their drooping heads The traveller's tongues were loosened And in a sudden burst of slipping, climbing, jingling Clinking and talking, they arrived at the convent door Other mules had arrived not long before Some with peasant riders and some with goods And had trodden the snow about the door Into a pool of mud, riding saddles and bridles Back saddles and strings of bells Mules and men, lanterns, torches Sacks, provender, barrels, cheeses Kegs of honey and butter Straw bundles and packages of many shapes Were crowded confusedly together In this thought quagmire and about the steps Up here in the clouds Everything was seen through cloud And seemed dissolving into cloud The breath of the men was cloud The breath of the mules was cloud The lights were encircled by cloud Speakers' clothes at hand were not seen for cloud Though their voices and all other sounds Were surprisingly clear Of the cloudy line of mules hastily tied To rings in the wall, one would bite another Or kick another, and then the whole mist Would be disturbed, with men diving into it And cries of men and beasts coming out of it And no bystander discerning what was wrong In the midst of this, the great stable Of the convent occupying the basement story And entered by the basement door Outside which all the disorder was Bored forth its contribution of cloud As if the whole rugged edifice Were filled with nothing else And would collapse as soon as it had emptied itself Leaving the snow to fall upon the bare mountain summit While all this noise and hurry Were rife among the living travellers There, too silently assembled in a grated house Half a dozen paces removed With the same cloud enfolding them And the same snowflakes drifting in upon them Were the dead travellers found upon the mountain The mother, storm-related many winters ago Still standing in the corner with her baby at her breast The man who had frozen with his arm Raised to his mouth in fear or hunger Still pressing it with his dry lips After years and years An awful company mysteriously come together A wild destiny for that mother to have foreseen Surrounded by so many and such companions Upon whom I never looked and never shall look I and my child will dwell together in separable On the great St. Bernard Outlasting generations who will come to see us And will never know our name Or one word of our story but the end The living travellers thought little or nothing Of the dead just then They thought much more of a lighting at the convent door And warming themselves at the convent fire Disengaged from the turmoil Which was already calming down as the crowd of mules Began to be bestowed in the stable They hurried shivering up the steps And into the building There was a smell within coming up from the floor Of tethered beasts Like the smell of a menagerie of wild animals There were strong arched galleries within Huge stone piers, great staircases And thick walls pierced with small sunken windows Votifications against the mountain storms As if they had been human enemies There were gloomy vaulted sleeping rooms within Intensely cold but clean and hospitably prepared for guests Finally there was a parlor for guests To sit in and sup in Where a table was already laid And where a blazing fire shone red and high In this room, after having had their quarters For the night allotted to them by the two young fathers The travellers presently drew around the hearth They were in three parties, of whom the first As the most numerous and important was the slowest And had been overtaken by one of the others on the way up It consisted of an elderly lady, two grey-haired gentlemen Two young ladies and their brother These were attended, not to mention four guides By a courier, two footmen and two waiting maids Which strong body of inconvenience was accommodated elsewhere under the same roof The party that had overtaken them and followed in their train Consisted of only three members One lady and two gentlemen The third party, which had ascended from the valley on the Italian side of the pass And had arrived first, were four in number A plethoric, hungry and silent German tutor in spectacles On a tour with three young men, his pupils All plethoric, hungry and silent and all in spectacles These three groups sat round the fire Eyeing each other dryly and waiting for supper Only one among them, one of the gentlemen belonging to the party of three Made advances towards conversation Throwing out his lines for the chief of the important tribe While addressing himself to his own companions, he remarked In a tone of voice which included all the company they chose to be included That it had been a long day and that he felt for the ladies That he feared one of the young ladies was not a strong or a custom traveller And had been over fatigued two or three hours ago That he had observed from his station in the rear That she sat her mule as if she were exhausted That he had twice or thrice afterwards Done himself the honour of inquiring of one of the guides When he fell behind how the lady did That he had been enchanted to learn that she had recovered her spirits And that it had been but a passing discomfort That he trusted by this time he had secured the eyes of the chief And addressed him He might be permitted to express his hope that she was now none the worse And that she would not regret having made the journey My daughter I am obliged to you sir Returned the chief is quite restored and has been greatly interested New to mountains perhaps said the insinuating traveller New to mountains said the chief But you are familiar with them sir The insinuating traveller assumed I am tolerably familiar Not of late years, not of late years Replied the chief with a flourish of his hand The insinuating traveller acknowledged the flourish with an inclination of his head Passed from the chief to the second young lady Who had not yet been referred to otherwise than as one of the ladies In whose behalf he felt so sensitive and interest He hoped she was not incommodated by the fatigues of the day Incommodate certainly returned the young lady But not tired The insinuating traveller complimented her on the justice of the distinction It was what he had meant to say Every lady must doubtless be incommodated by having to do with that Proverbially unaccommodating animal, the mule We have had of course Said the young lady who was rather reserved and haughty To leave the carriages and fulcrum at marty knee And the impossibility of bringing anything that one wants To this inaccessible place And the necessity of leaving every comfort behind Is not convenient A savage place indeed Said the insinuating traveller The elderly lady who was a model of accurate dressing And whose manner was perfect Considered as a piece of machinery Here interposed a remark in a low soft voice But like other inconvenient places She observed, it must be seen As a place much spoken of It is necessary to see it Oh, I have not the least objection to seeing it I assure you, Mrs. General Returned the other carelessly You, madam, said the insinuating traveller Have visited this spot before? Yes, returned Mrs. General I have been here before Let me commend you, my dear To the former young lady To shade your face from the hot wood After exposure to the mountain air and snow You too, my dear To the other and younger lady who immediately did so While the former merely said Thank you, Mrs. General, I am perfectly comfortable And prefer remaining as I am The brother Who had left his chair to open a piano That stood in the room And who had whistled into it and shut it up again No more came strolling back to the fire With his glass in his eye He was dressed in the very fullest And completeest travel in trim The world seemed hardly large enough To yield him an amount of travel Proportionate to his equipment These fellows are in immense time with supper He drawled I wonder what they'll give us Has anybody any idea? Not roast, man, I believe Replied the voice of the second gentleman Of the party of three But what do you mean? He inquired That as you are not to be served for the general supper Perhaps you will do us the favour Of not cooking yourself for the general fire Return the other The young gentleman who was standing In an easy attitude on the hearth Cocking his glass at the company With his back to the blaze And his coat tucked under his arms Something as if you were of the poultry species And were trust for roasting Lost countenance at this reply Not to demand further explanation When it was discovered Through all eyes turning on the speaker That the lady with him Who was young and beautiful Had not heard what had passed through Having fainted with her head upon his shoulder I think Said the gentleman in a subdued tone I had best carry her straight To her room Will you call to someone to bring a light? Addressing his companion And to show the way To a rambling place I don't know That I could find it Pray let me call my maid Cried the taller of the young ladies Pray let me put this water to her lips Said the shorter who had not spoken yet Each doing what she suggested There was no want of assistance Indeed When the two maids came in Escorted by the courier Lest anyone should strike them dumb By addressing a foreign language to them on the road There was a prospect of too much assistance Seeing this And saying as much in a few words To the slider and younger of the two ladies The gentleman put his wife's arm over his shoulder Lifted her up and carried her away His friend Being left alone with the other visitors Walked slowly up and down the room Without coming to the fire again Pulling his black moustache In a contemplative manner As if he felt himself committed to the late retort While the subject of it Was breathing injury in a corner The chief loftily addressed this gentleman Your friend, sir Said he Is a little impatient And in his impatience Is not perhaps fully sensible of what he owes to To But we will waive that We will waive that Your friend is a little impatient, sir It may be so, sir Returned the other But having had the honour of making that gentleman's acquaintance At the whole time At Geneva Where we and much good company met some time ago And having had the honour of exchanging company And conversation with that gentleman On several subsequent excursions I can hear nothing No, not even from one of your appearance In station, sir Detrimental to that gentleman You are in no danger, sir Of hearing any such thing from me In remarking that your friend Has shown impatience I say no such thing I make that remark Because it is not to be doubted that my son Being by birth and by By education A gentleman Would have readily adapted himself To any obligingly expressed wish On the subject of the fire Being equally accessible to the whole Of the present circle Which in principle I For all are Equal on these occasions I consider a right Good was the reply And there it ends I am your son's obedient servant I beg your son to receive The assurance of my profound consideration And now, sir I may admit, freely admit That my friend is sometimes Of a sarcastic temper The lady is your friend's wife, sir The lady is my friend's wife, sir She is very handsome Sir, she is peerless They are still in the first year Of their marriage They are still partly on a marriage And partly on an artistic tour Your friend is an artist, sir? The gentleman replied By kissing the fingers of his right hand And wafting the kiss The length of his arm towards heaven As who should say I devote him to the celestial powers As an immortal artist But he is a man of family, he added His connections are of the best He is more than an artist He is highly connected He may in effect have repudiated His connections proudly Impatiently, sarcastically I made the concession of both words But he has them Sparks that have been struck out During our intercourse have shown me this Well, I hope Said the lofty gentleman With the air of finally disposing Of the subject That the ladies in disposition May be only temporary Sir, I hope so Mere fatigue, I dare say Not altogether mere fatigue, sir For her mule stumbled today And she fell from the saddle She fell lightly and was up again Without assistance And rode from us laughing But she complained towards evening Of a slight bruise in the side She spoke of it more than once As we followed your party up the mountain The head of the large retinue Who was gracious but not familiar Appeared by this time to think that he had Condescended more than enough He said no more and there was Silence for some quarter of an hour Until supper appeared With the supper came one of the young fathers There seemed to be no old fathers To take the head of the table It was like the supper of an ordinary Swiss hotel and good red wine Grown by the convent in more Genial air was not wanting The artist traveler calmly came And took his place at table When the rest sat down With no apparent sense upon him Of his late skirmish with the completely Dressed traveler Pray, being quiet of the host Over his soup, has your convent Many of its famous dogs now? Monsieur, it has three I saw three in the gallery below Doubtless the three in question The host, a slender bright-eyed Dark young man of polite manners Whose garment was a black gown With strips of white crust Over its black braces And who no more resemble The conventional breed of St. Bernard monks Than he resemble the conventional breed Of St. Bernard dogs replied Doubtless those were the three in question And I think Said the artist traveler I have seen one of them before It was possible It was a dog sufficiently well known Monsieur might have easily seen him In the valley or somewhere on the lake When he, the dog Had gone down with one of the order To solicit aid for the convent Which is done in its regular season Of the year I think Monsieur was right And never without a dog The dog is very important Again, Monsieur was right The dog was very important People were justly interested in the dog As one of the dogs celebrated everywhere Mamsel would observe Mamsel was a little slow to observe it As though she were not yet Well accustomed to the French tongue Mrs. General however Observed it for her Ask him if he has saved many lives Said in his native English The young man who had been put out of countenance The host needed no translation of the question He promptly replied in French No, not this one Why not? The same gentleman asked Pardon, return the host Composedly Give him the opportunity He will do it without doubt For example, I am well convinced Smiling sedately As he cut up the dish of veal to be handed round On the young man who had been Put out of countenance That if you, Monsieur, would give him the opportunity He would hasten with great ardour To fulfill his duty The artist traveller laughed The insinuating traveller Who evinced a provident anxiety To get his full share of the supper Wiping some drops of wine And his moustache with a piece of bread Join the conversation It is becoming late in the year, my father Said he For tourist travellers, is it not? Yes, it is late Yet two or three weeks at most And we shall be left to the winter snows And then Said the insinuating traveller For the scratching dogs and the buried children According to the pictures Pardon Said the host, not quite understanding the illusion How, then The scratching dogs and the buried children According to the pictures The artist traveller struck in again Before an answer could be given Don't you know? He coldly inquired across the table of his companion That none but smugglers Come this way in the winter Or can have any possible business this way Holy blue No, never heard of it So it is, I believe And as they know the signs of the weather Probably well, they don't give much Employment to the dogs Who have consequently died out rather Though this house of entertainment Is conveniently situated for themselves Their young families, I am told They usually live at home But it's a grand idea Cried the artist traveller Unexpectedly rising into a tone of enthusiasm It's a sublime idea It's the finest idea in the world And brings tears into a man's eyes By Jupiter He then went on eating his veal With great composure There was enough of mocking inconsistency At the bottom of this speech To make it rather discordant Though the manner was refined And the person well favoured And though the depreciatory part of it Was so skillfully thrown off As to be very difficult for one Not perfectly acquainted with the English language To understand, or even understanding To take offense at So simple and dispassionate was its tone After finishing his veal in the midst Of silence, the speaker again Addressed his friend Look, said he in his former tone At this gentleman our host Not yet in the prime of life Who, in so graceful a way And with such courtly urbanity And modesty presides over us Manners fit for a crown Dying with the Lord Mayor of London If you can get an invitation And observe the contrast This dear fellow With the finest gut face I ever saw A face in perfect drawing Leaves some laborious life And comes up here I don't know How many feet above the level of the sea For no other purpose on earth Except enjoying himself, I hope In a capital refectory Than to keep an hotel for idle Poor devils like you and me And leave the bill to our consciences Why, isn't it a beautiful sacrifice? What do we want more to touch us? Because rescued people Of interesting appearance are not For eight or nine months out of every twelve Holding on here around the necks Of the most sagacious of dogs carrying wooden bottles Shall we disparage the place? No, bless the place. It's a great place, a glorious place. The chest of the grey-haired gentleman Who was the chief of the important party Had swelled as if with a protest Against his being numbered among poor devils. No sooner had the artist traveler seized speaking Than he himself spoke with great dignity As having it incumbent on him To take the lead in most places And having deserted that duty for a little while. He vaguely communicated his opinion to their host That his life must be a very dreary life Here in the winter. The host allowed to monsieur that It was a little monotonous. The air was difficult to breathe For a length of time consecutively. The cold was very severe. One needed youth and strength to bear it. However, having them And the blessing of heaven Yes, that was very good. But the confinement Said the grey-haired gentleman. There were many days, even in bat-weather, When it was possible to walk about outside. It was the custom to beat a little track And take exercise there. But the space Urged the grey-haired gentleman. So small. So, very limited. Monsieur would recall to himself That there were the refugees to visit And that tracks had to be made to them also. Monsieur still urged on the other hand That the space was so hum So very contracted. More than that, it was always the same. Always the same. With a deprecating smile The host gently raised and gently lowered his shoulders. That was true, he remarked. But permit him to say that almost all objects Had their various points of view. Monsieur and he did not see this poor life of his From the same point of view. Monsieur was not used to confinement. I... Yes, very true. Said the grey-haired gentleman. He seemed to receive quite a shock From the force of the argument. Monsieur, as an English traveller, Surrounded by all means of travelling pleasantly Doubtless possessing fortune, Carriages and servants. Perfectly. Perfectly. Without doubt. Said the gentleman. Monsieur could not easily place himself In the position of a person who had not The power to choose. I will go here tomorrow or the next day. I will pass these barriers. I will enlarge those bounds. Monsieur could not realise perhaps How the mind accommodated itself in such things To the force of necessity. It is true, said Monsieur. We will not pursue the subject. You are quite accurate. I have no doubt. We will say no more. The supper having come to a close He drew his chair away as he spoke And moved back to his former place by the fire. As it was very cold at the greater part of the table The other guests also resumed their Former seats by the fire Designing to toast themselves well Before going to bed. The host, when they arose from the table Bout to all present Wished them good night and withdrew. But first the insinuating traveller Had asked him if they could have Some wine made hot And Asci had answered yes And had presently afterwards sent it in That traveller seated in the centre of the group And in the full heat of the fire Was soon engaged in serving it out to the rest At this time The younger of the two young ladies Who had been silently attentive in her dark corner The firelight was the chief light in the somber room The lamp being smoky and dull To what had been said of the absent lady Glided out. She was at a loss which way to turn When she could softly close the door But after a little hesitation Among the sounding passages and the many ways Came to a room in a corner of the main gallery Where the servants were at their supper From these she obtained a lamp And a direction to the lady's room It was up the great staircase on the story above Here and there the bare white walls Were broken by an iron grate And she thought as she went along That the place was something like a prison The arched door of the lady's room Or cell was not quite shut After knocking at it two or three times Without receiving an answer She pushed it gently open and looked in The lady lay with closed eyes On the outside of the bed Protected from the cold by the blankets And wrappers with which she had been covered When she revived from her fainting fit A dull light placed in the deep recess of the window Made little impression on the arched room The visitor timidly stepped to the bed And said in a soft whisper Are you better? The lady had fallen into a slumber And the whisper was too low to awake her Her visitor standing quite still Looked at her attentively She is very pretty She said to herself I never saw so beautiful a face Oh how unlike me It was a curious thing to say But it had some hidden meaning But it filled her eyes with tears I know I must be right I know he spoke of her that evening I could very easily be wrong on any other subject But not on this Not on this With a quiet and tender hand She put aside a strained fold of the sleeper's hair And then touched the hand That lay outside the covering I like to look at her She breathed to herself I like to see what has affected him so much She had not withdrawn her hand When the sleeper opened her eyes and started Pray don't be alarmed I am only one of the travelers from downstairs I came to ask if you were better And if I could do anything for you I think you have already been so kind as to send your servants to my assistance No, not I That was my sister Are you better? Much better It is only a slight bruise And has been well looked to And is almost easy now It made me giddy and faint in a moment It had hurt me before But at last it overpowered me all at once May I stay with you until someone comes? Would you like it? I should like it But it is lonely here But I am afraid you will feel the cold too much I don't mind cold It is delicate if I look so She quickly moved one of the two rough chairs to the bedside And sat down The other quickly moved a part of some travelling wrapper from herself And drew it over her So that her arm, in keeping it about her Rested on her shoulder You have so much the air of a kind nurse Said the lady smiling on her That you seem as if you had come to me from home I am very glad of it I was dreaming of home when I woke just now Of my old home I mean Before I was married And before you were so far away from it I have been much farther away from it than this But then I took the best part of it with me And missed nothing I felt solitary as I dropped asleep here And missing it a little, wandered back to it There was a sorrowfully affectionate And regretful sound in her voice Which made her visitor refrain from looking at her for the moment It is a curious chance which at last brings us together Under this covering in which you have wrapped me Said the visitor after a pause For do you know, I think I have been looking for you some time Looking for me? I believe I have a little note here Which I was to give to you whenever I found you This is it Unless I greatly mistake It is addressed to you The lady took it and said yes And read it Her visitor watched her as she did so It was very short She flushed a little as she put her lips to her visitor's cheek And pressed her hand But the dear young friend to whom he presents me May be a comfort to me at some time He says She is truly a comfort to me the first time I see her Perhaps you don't Said the visitor hesitating Perhaps you don't know my story Perhaps he never told you my story No Oh no, why should he? I have scarcely the right to tell it myself at present Because I have been and treated not to do so There is not much in it But it might account to you for my asking you not to say anything about the letter here You saw my family with me perhaps Some of them, I only say this to you Are a little proud A little prejudiced You shall take it back again Said the other And then my husband is sure not to see it You might see it and speak of it otherwise by some accident Will you put it in your bosom again to be certain? She did so with great care Her small, slight hand was still upon the letter When they heard someone in the gallery outside I promised Said the visitor rising That I would write to him after seeing you I could hardly fail to see you sooner or later And tell him if you were well and happy I had better say you were well and happy Yes, yes, yes Say I was very well and very happy And that I thanked him affectionately and would never forget him I shall see you in the morning After that we are sure to meet again before very long Good night Good night Thank you Thank you Good night, my dear Both of them were hurried and flattered as they exchanged this parting And as the visitor came out of the door She had expected to meet the lady's husband approaching it But the person in the gallery was not he It was the traveller who had wiped the wine drops from his moustache with a piece of bread When he heard the step behind him He turned round For he was walking away in the dark His politeness which was extreme would not allow of the young lady's lighting herself downstairs Or going down alone He took her lamp, held it so as to throw the best light on the stone steps And followed her all the way to the supper room She went down, not easily hiding how much she was inclined to shrink and tremble For the appearance of this traveller was particularly disagreeable to her She had sat in her quiet corner before supper imagining What he would have been in the scenes and places with her experience Until he inspired her with an aversion that made him little less than terrific He followed her down with his smiling politeness Followed her in and resumed his seat in the best place in the hearth There with the wood fire which was beginning to burn low Rising and falling upon him in the dark room He sat with his legs thrust out to warm Drinking the hot wine down to the leaves With a monstrous shadow imitating him on the wall and ceiling The tired company had broken up And all the rest were gone to bed except the young lady's father Who dozed in his chair by the fire The traveller had been at the pains of going a long way upstairs to his sleeping room To fetch his pocket flask of brandy He told them so as he poured its contents into what was left of the wine And drank with a new relish May I ask, sir, if you're on your way to Italy? The grey-haired gentleman had roused himself and was preparing to withdraw He answered in the affirmative I also said the traveller I shall hope to have the honour of offering my compliments in fairer scenes But under softer circumstances than on this dismal mountain The gentleman bowed distantly enough and said he was obliged to him We poor gentlemen, sir Said the traveller pulling his moustache dry with his hand For he had dipped it in the wine and brandy We poor gentlemen do not travel like princes But the courtesies and graces of life are precious to us To your health, sir Thank you To the health of your distinguished family Of the fair ladies, your daughters Sir, I thank you again I wish you good night My dear, are our people in attendance? They are close by, father Permit me Said the traveller rising and holding the door open As the gentleman crossed the room towards it With his arm drawn through his daughters Good repose To the pleasure of seeing you once more To tomorrow As he kissed his hand with his best manner and his daintiest smile The young lady drew a little nearer to her father And passed him with a dread of touching him Hmm Said the insinuating traveller Whose manner shrunk and whose voice dropped when he was left alone If they all go to bed, why I must go There in a devil of a hurry One would think the night would be long enough In this freezing silence and solitude If one went to bed two hours hence Throwing back his head and emptying his glass He cast his eyes upon the traveller's book Which lay on the piano open with pens and ink beside it As if the night's names had been registered when he was absent Taking it in his hand He read these entries William Dorit, Esquire Frederick Dorit, Esquire Edward Dorit, Esquire Miss Dorit, Miss Amy Dorit Mrs. General and Sweet From France to Italy Mr. and Mrs. Henry Gowan From France to Italy To which he added, in a small complicated hand Ending with his long lean flourish Not unlike a lasso thrown at all the rest of the names Blandois, Paris From France to Italy And then, with his nose coming down over his moustache And his moustache going up and under his nose Repaired to his allotted cell End of chapter the first Book the second This recording is in the public domain Chapter the second Book the second of Little Dorit Read for LibriVox.org by Alice Christoff Little Dorit by Charles Dickens Book the second Chapter the second Mrs. General It is indispensable to present the accomplished lady Who was of sufficient importance in the suite Of the Dorit family To have a line to herself in the traveller's book Mrs. General was the daughter of a clerical dignitary In a cathedral town Where she had led the fashion until she was As near 45 as a single lady can be A stiff commissariat officer of 60 Famous as a Martinet Had then become enamoured of the gravity With which she drove the proprieties For in hand through the cathedral town society And had solicited to be taken beside her On the box of the cool coach of ceremony To which that team was harnessed His proposal of marriage being accepted by the lady The commissary took his seat behind the proprieties With great decorum and Mrs. General Drove until the commissary died In the course of their united journey They ran over several people who came In the way of the proprieties But always in a high style and with composure The commissary having been buried With all the decorations suitable to the service The whole team of proprieties Were harnessed to his house And they all had feathers and black velvet housings With his coat of arms in the corner Mrs. General began to inquire What quantity of dust and ashes Was deposited at the bankers It then transpired that the commissary Had so far stolen a march On Mrs. General as to have bought himself Unannuity some years before his marriage And to have reserved that circumstance In mentioning, at the period of his proposal That his income was derived from The interest of his money Mrs. General consequently found Her means so much diminished That, but for the perfect regulation Of her mind, she might have felt disposed To question the accuracy of that portion Of the late service, which had declared That the commissary could take nothing away with him In this state of affairs, it occurred to Mrs. General That she might form the mind And eke the manners of some young lady of distinction Or that she might harness the proprieties To the carriage of some rich young heiress Or widow, and become at once The driver and guard of such vehicle Through the social mazes Mrs. General's communication of this idea To her clerical and commissariat connection Were so warmly applauded That, but for the ladies undoubted married It might have appeared as though They wanted to get rid of her. Testimonials representing Mrs. General As a prodigy of piety, learning, virtue, and gentility Were lavishly contributed from influential quarters And one venerable archdeacon Even shed tears in recording his testimony To her perfections, described to him By persons on whom he could rely Though he had never had the honour And moral gratification of setting eyes On Mrs. General in all his life That's delegated on her mission As it were by church and state Mrs. General, who had always occupied high ground Felt in a condition to keep it And began by putting herself up at a very high figure An interval of some duration elapsed In which there was no bid for Mrs. General At length, a county widower with a daughter of fourteen Opened negotiations with the lady And as it was a part either of the native dignity Or of the artificial policy of Mrs. General But certainly one or the other To comport herself as if she were Much more sought than seeking The widower pursued Mrs. General Until he prevailed upon her To form his daughter's mind and manners The execution of this trust Occupied Mrs. General about seven years In the course of which time She made the tour of Europe And saw most of that extensive miscellany of objects Which it is essential that all persons Of polite cultivation should see With other people's eyes And never with their own When her charge was at length formed The marriage not only of the young lady But likewise of her father The widower was resolved on The widower then finding Mrs. General Very inconvenient and expensive Became of a sudden almost As much affected by her merits As the Archdeacon had been And circulated such praises Of her surpassing worth in all quarters Where he thought an opportunity might arise Of transferring the blessing to somebody else That Mrs. General was a name More honourable than ever The Phoenix was to let On this elevated perch When Mr. Dorit who had lately succeeded His property mentioned to his bankers That he wished to discover a lady Well-bred, accomplished, well-connected Well accustomed to good society Who was qualified at once to complete The education of his daughters And to be their matron or chaperone Mr. Dorit's bankers as bankers Of the county widower Instantly said Mrs. General Pursuing the light so fortunately hit upon And finding the concurrent testimony Of the whole of Mrs. General's acquaintance To be of the pathetic nature Already recorded Mr. Dorit took the trouble of going down To the county of the county widower To see Mrs. General In whom he found a lady of a quality superior To his highest expectations Might I be excused? Said Mr. Dorit If I inquired What remune Why indeed? Returned Mrs. General Stopping the word It is a subject on which I prefer To avoid entering I have never entered on it with my friends here And I cannot overcome the delicacy Mr. Dorit With which I have always regarded it I am not as I hope you are aware Of governess Oh dear no Said Mr. Dorit Pray madam, do not imagine for a moment That I think so He really blushed to be suspected of it Mrs. General gravely inclined her head I cannot therefore Put a price upon services Which it is a pleasure to me to render If I can render them spontaneously But which I could not render In mere return for any consideration Neither do I know how Or where to find a case parallel To my own It is peculiar No doubt But how then Mr. Dorit not unnaturally hinted Could the subject be approached? I cannot object Said Mrs. General Though even that is disagreeable to me To Mr. Dorit's inquiring In confidence of my friends here What amount they have been accustomed At quarterly intervals To pay to my credit at my bankers Mr. Dorit bowed His acknowledgements Permit me to add Said Mrs. General That beyond this I can never resume the topic Also that I can accept no second Or inferior position If the honor were proposed to me Of becoming known to Mr. Dorit's family I think two daughters were mentioned Two daughters I could only accept it On terms of perfect equality As a companion Protector Mentor and friend Mr. Dorit in spite of his sense Of his importance Would be quite a kindness in her To accept it on any conditions He almost said as much I think Repeted Mrs. General Two daughters were mentioned Two daughters Said Mr. Dorit again It would therefore Be necessary to add a third more To the payment Whatever its amount may prove to be Which my friends here have been accustomed To make to my bankers Mr. Dorit lost no time In referring the delicate question To the county widower And finding that he had been accustomed To pay three hundred pounds a year To the credit of Mrs. General Arrived without any Severe strain on his arithmetic At the conclusion that he himself Must pay for Mrs. General being an article Of that lustrous surface Which suggests that it is worth any money He made a formal proposal To have the honour and pleasure Of regarding her as a member of his family Mrs. General conceded That high privilege And here she was In person Mrs. General Including her skirts which had much To do with it was of a dignified And imposing appearance Ample, rustling Gravely voluminous Always upright behind the proprieties She might have been taken Had been taken to the top Of the alps And the bottom of her culinium Without a disarranging a fold in her dress Or displacing a pin If her countenance and hair Had rather a flowery appearance As though from living in some transcendently Gentile mill It was rather because she was a chalky Creation altogether Than because she mended her complexion With violet powder Or had turned grey If her eyes had no expression There was nothing to express If she had fewer wrinkles It was because her mind had never traced Its name or any other inscription On her face A cool, waxy, blown out woman Who had never lighted well Mrs. General had no opinions Her way of forming a mind Was to prevent it from forming Opinions She had a little circular set Of mental grooves or rails On which she started little trains Of her own opinions Which never overtook one another And never got anywhere Even her propriety could not dispute That there was impropriety in the world But Mrs. General's way Of getting rid of it Was to put it out of sight And make believe That there was no such thing This was another of her ways Of forming a mind To cram all articles of difficulty Into cupboards, lock them up By the way, they had no existence It was the easiest way And, beyond all comparison The properest Mrs. General was not to be told Of anything shocking Accidents, miseries And offenses were never to be Mentioned before her Passion was to go to sleep In the presence of Mrs. General And blood was to change to milk And water In fact in the world When all these deductions were made It was Mrs. General's province To varnish In that formation process of hers She dipped the smallest of brushes Into the largest of pots And varnished the surface Of every object that came under consideration The more cracked it was The more Mrs. General varnished it There was varnish In Mrs. General's voice Varnish in Mrs. General's touch An atmosphere of varnish Round Mrs. General's figure Mrs. General's dreams Ought to have been varnished If she had any Lying asleep in the arms of the Good Saint Bernard With the feathery snow Falling on his house top End of chapter the second Book the second This recording is in the public domain Chapter the third End of Little Dorit Read for LibriVox.org By Ellis Christoff Little Dorit by Charles Dickens Book the second Chapter the third On the road The bright morning sun dazzled the eyes The snow had ceased The mists had vanished The mountain air was so clear and light That the new sensation Of breathing it was like the having entered On a new existence To help the delusion The solid ground itself seemed gone And the mountain A shining waste of immense white heaps And masses to be a region Of cloud floating between the blue sky Above and the earth far below Some dark specks in the snow Like knots upon a little thread Beginning at the convent door And winding away down the descent In broken lengths Which were not yet pieced together Showed where the brethren Were at work in several places clearing the track Already the snow Had began to be foot-thought again About the door Mules were busily brought out Tied to the rings in the wall and laden Strings of bells were buckled on Burdens were adjusted The voices of drivers and riders Sounded musically Some of the earliest could even already Resumed their journey And both on the level summit By the dark water near the convent And on the downward way of yesterday's ascend Little moving figures of men and mules Reduced to miniatures by the immensity around Went with a clear tinkling of bells And a pleasant harmony of tongues In the supper room of last night A new fire piled upon the feathery ashes of the old one Shown upon a homely breakfast of loaves, butter and milk It also shone on the courier of the Dorit family Making tea for his party from a supply He had brought up with him Together with several other small stores Which were chiefly laid in for the use Of the strong body of inconvenience Mr. Gawen and Blandoir of Paris Had already breakfasted And were walking up and down by the lake Smoking their cigars Gawenet muttered tip Otherwise Edward Dorit, Esquire Turning over the leaves of the book When the courier had left them to breakfast Then Gawen is the name of the puppy That's all I have got to say If it was worth my while I'd pull his nose But it isn't worth my while, fortunately for him How risk his wife, Amy? I suppose you know, you generally know things of that sort She is better, Edward, but they're not going to-day Oh, they're not going to-day Fortunately for that fellow, too Said tip Or he and I might have come into collision It is thought better here that she should lie quiet today And not be fatigued and shaken by the ride down until tomorrow With all my heart But you talk as if you had been nursing her You haven't been relapsing into Mrs. General is not here Into old habits, have you, Amy? He asked her the question with a slight glance Of observation at Miss Fanny And at his father, too I have only been in to ask her If I could do anything for her tip Said little Dorit You needn't call me tip, Amy Child Return that young gentleman with a frown Because that's an old habit And one you may as well lay aside I didn't mean to say so, Edward, dear I forgot It was so natural once that it seemed at the moment the right word Oh, yes Miss Fanny struck in Natural and right word and once and all the rest of it Nonsense, you little thing I know perfectly well why you have been taking An interest in this Mrs. Cowan You can't blind me I will not try to, Fanny Don't be angry Oh, angry Return that young lady with a flounce I have no patience Which indeed was the truth Pray, Fanny Said Mr. Dorit, raising his eyebrows What do you mean? Explain yourself Oh, never mind, Pa Replied Miss Fanny It's no great matter Amy will understand me She knew, or knew of This Mrs. Cowan before yesterday And she may as well admit that she did My child Said Mr. Dorit turning to his younger daughter Has your sister any authority for this curious statement? However meek we are Miss Fanny struck in before she could answer We don't go creeping into people's rooms On the tops of cold mountains And sitting perishing in the frost with people Who know something about them beforehand It's not very hard to divine Whose friend Mrs. Cowan is Whose friend? In quite her father Pa, I am sorry to say Returned Miss Fanny who had by this time Succeeded in goading herself into a state Of much ill-usage and grievance Which she was often at great pains to do But I believe her to be a friend Of that very objectionable and unpleasant person Who, with a total absence of all delicacy Which our experience might have led us to expect from him Insulted us and outraged our feelings In so public and willful a manner On an occasion to which it is understood among us That we will not more pointedly allude Amy, my child Said Mr. Dorit tempering a bland severity With a dignified affection Is this the case? Little Dorit mildly answered Yes, it was Yes, it is! Cried Miss Fanny Of course, I said so And now Pa, I do declare once for all This young lady was in the habit of declaring The same thing once for all every day of her life And even several times in a day That this is shameful I do declare once for all that it ought To be put a stop to It is not enough that we have gone through What is only known to ourselves But we are to have it thrown into our faces Perseveringly and systematically By the very person who should spare our feelings most Are we to be exposed to this unnatural conduct Every moment of our lives? Are we never to be permitted to forget? I say again, it is absolutely infamous Well, Amy Observed her brother shaking his head You know, I stand by you whenever I can And on most occasions But I must say that upon my soul I do consider it rather an accountable mode Of showing your sisterly affection That you should back up a man who treated me In the most un-gentlemanly way In which one man can treat another And who, he added convincingly Must be a low-minded thief, you know Or he never could have conducted himself As he did And see, said Miss Fanny See what is involved in this Can we ever hope to be respected By our servants? Never! There are our two women And Pa's valley And a footman And all sorts of dependence And yet in the midst of these We are to have one of ourselves rushing about With tumblers of cold water like a menial Why, a policeman, said Miss Fanny If a beggar had a fit in the street Could but go plunging about with tumblers As this very Amy did in this very room Before our very eyes last night I don't so much mind that once in a way Remarked Mr. Edward But your clenum, as he thinks proper To call himself is another thing He is part of the same thing Returned Miss Fanny And of a peace with all the rest He obtruded himself upon us In the first instance We never wanted him I always showed him for one that I could have dispensed With his company with the greatest pleasure He then commits that gross outrage Upon our feelings Which he never could or would have committed But for the delight he took in exposing us And then we are to be demeaned For the service of his friends Why, I don't wonder at this Mr. Gawen's contact towards you What else was to be expected When he was enjoying our past misfortunes Gloting over them at the moment Father, Edward, no indeed Bleed it little Dorit Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Gawen had ever heard our name They were, and they are Quite ignorant of our history So much the worse Retorted Fanny Determined Not to admit anything in extenuation For then you have no excuse If they had known about us You might have felt yourself called upon To conciliate them That would have been a weak and ridiculous mistake But I can respect a mistake Whereas I can't respect a willful And deliberate abasing of those Who should be nearest and dearest to us No, I can't respect that I can do nothing but denounce that I never offend you willfully Fanny Say little Dorit Though you are so hard with me Then you should be more careful, Amy Return her sister If you do such things by accident You should be more careful If I happened to have been born in a peculiar place And under peculiar circumstances That blunted my knowledge of propriety I fancy I should think myself Bound to consider at every step Am I going ignorantly To compromise any near and dear relations That is what I fancy I should do If it was my case Mr. Dorit now interposed At once to stop these painful subjects By his authority And to point their moral by his wisdom My dear Said he to his younger daughter I beg you to say no more Your sister Fanny expresses herself Strongly But not without considerable reason You have now a great position To support That great position is Not occupied by yourself alone But by me And by us Us Now it is incumbent upon all people In an exalted position But it is particularly so on this family For reasons which I Will not dwell upon To make themselves respected To be vigilant in making themselves Respected Dependence to respect us Must be kept at a distance And kept down Down Therefore you are not exposing yourself To the remarks of our attendants By appearing to have at any time dispensed With their services And performed them for yourself Is highly important Why, who can doubt it Cried Miss Fanny It's the essence of everything Fanny returned her father Grand eloquently Give me leave, my dear Give me leave, my dear We then come to Mr. Clenham I am free to say that I do not Amishare your sister's sentiments That is to say altogether Altogether in reference to Mr. Clenham I am content to regard that individual In the light of Generally A well-behaved person A well-behaved person Nor will I inquire Whether Mr. Clenham did at any time Obtrude himself on My society He knew my society to be Sort, and his play Might be that he regarded me In the light of a public character But there were circumstances Attending my slight Knowledge of Mr. Clenham It was very slight, which Here Mr. Dorit became Extremely grave and impressive Would render it highly Indelicate in Mr. Clenham To seek to renew communication with me Or with any member Of my family under existing Circumstances If Mr. Clenham has sufficient Delicacy to perceive the impropriety Of any such attempt I am bound as a responsible gentleman To defer to that Delicacy on his part If, on the other hand, Mr. Clenham has not that delicacy I cannot for a moment Hold any correspondence With so course a mind In either case It would appear that Mr. Clenham Is put altogether out of the question And that we have nothing to do With him or here with us Hump, Mrs. General The entrance of the lady whom He announced to take her place At the breakfast table Terminated the discussion Shortly afterwards The courier announced that the valet And the footman and the two maids And the fourteen mules Were in readiness So the breakfast party went out To the convent door to join the cavalcade Mr. Gawans stood aloof With his cigar and pencil But Mr. Blandois was on the spot To pay his respects to the ladies When he gallantly Pulled off his slouched hat To little Dorit She thought he had even a more sinister look Standing sword and cloaked In the snow Of the firelight overnight But as both her father And her sister received his homage With some favor She refrained from expressing any distrust of him Lest it should prove to be a new Blemish derived from her prison birth Nevertheless As they wound down the rugged way While the convent was yet in sight She more than once looked round And described Mr. Blandois Backed by the convent smoke Which rose straight and high from the chimneys Of the film, always standing On the jutting point looking down after them Long after he was a mere black stick In the snow She felt as though she could yet see That smile of his, that high nose And those eyes that were too near it And even after that When the convent was gone And some light morning clouds Veiled the past below it The ghastly skeleton arms By the wayside seemed to be all pointing Up at him Tretcherous than snow perhaps Colder at heart and harder to melt Blandois of Paris by degrees Passed out of her mind As they came down into the softer regions Again the sun was warm Again the streams descending from glaciers And snowy covens were refreshing To drink at Again they came among the pine trees The rocky rivulets, the verdant hides And dales, the wooden chalets And rough zigzag fences Of Swiss country Sometimes the way so widened That she and her father could ride a breast And then to look at him Handsomely clothed in his fur And broad cloths, rich, free, numerously served And attended, his eyes Roving far away among the glories Of the landscape, no miserable Screen before them to darken His sight and cast its shadow On him was enough Her uncle was so far rescued From that shadow of old That he wore the clothes they gave him And performed some ablutions As a sacrifice to the family credit And went where he was taken With a certain patient animal enjoyment Which seemed to express That the air and change did him good In all other respects save one He shone with no light But such as was reflected from his brother His brother's greatness, wealth, Freedom and grace Pleased him without any reference To himself Silent and retiring He had no use for speech When he could hear his brother speak No desire to be waited on So that the servants devoted themselves To his brother The only noticeable change He originated in himself Was an alteration of his manner To his younger niece Every day it refined more And more into a marked respect Very rarely shown by age to youth And still more rarely susceptible One would have said Of the fitness with which he invested it On those occasions When Miss Fanny did declare once for all He would take the next opportunity Of bearing his grey head Before his younger niece And of helping her to alight Or handing her to the carriage Or showing her any other attention With the profoundest deference Yet it never appeared misplaced Or forced Being always heartily simple Spontaneous and genuine Neither would he ever consent Even at his brother's request To be helped to any place before her Or to take precedence of her in anything So jealous was he Of her being respected That on this very journey down From the great Saint Bernard He took sudden and violent umbrage At the footmen's being remiss To hold her stirrup, though standing near And dismounted, and unspeakably Astonished the whole retinue By charging him on a hard-headed mule Riding him into a corner And threatening to trample him to death They were a goodly company And the innkeepers all but worshiped them Wherever they went Their importance preceded them In the person of the courier Riding before To see that the rooms of state were ready He was the herald Of the family procession The great travelling carriage came next Containing inside Mr. Dorit Miss Dorit Miss Amy Dorit And Mrs. General Outside some of the retainers And in fine weather Edward Dorit Esquire For whom the box was reserved Then came the chariot containing Frederick Dorit Esquire And an empty place occupied by Edward Dorit Esquire in wet weather Then came the full gong Of the rest of the retainers The heavy baggage and as much as it could carry Of the mud and dust which the other vehicles Left behind These equipages adorned the yard Of the hotel at Martigny On the return of the family from their mountain excursion Other vehicles were there Much company being on the road From the patched Italian Vettura Like the body ever swing From an English fair put upon a wooden tray On wheels and having another wooden tray Without wheels put atop of it To the trim English carriage But there was another adornment Of the hotel which Mr. Dorit Had not bargained for Two strange travellers embellished one Of his rooms The innkeeper had in hand in the yard Swore to the courier that he was Blighted, that he was desolated That he was profoundly afflicted That he was the most miserable And unfortunate of beasts That he had the head of a wooden pig He ought never to have made The concession he said But the very gentile lady had so Passionately prayed him for the accommodation Of that room to dine in Only for a little half hour That he had been vanquished The little half hour was expired The lady and gentleman were taking Their little dessert and half cup of coffee The note was paid The horses were ordered They would depart immediately But owing to an unhappy destiny And the curse of heaven Had yet gone Nothing could exceed Mr. Dorit's indignation As he turned at the foot of the staircase On hearing these apologies He felt that the family dignity Was struck at by an assassin's hand He had a sense of his dignity Which was of the most exquisite nature He could detect a design upon it When nobody else had any perception Of the fact His life was made an agony By the number of fine scalpels That he felt to be incessantly Engaged in dissecting his dignity Is it possible, sir? Said Mr. Dorit, reddening excessively That you have had the audacity To place one of my rooms At the disposition of any other person Thousands of pardons It was the host's profound misfortune To have been overcome by that too Gentile lady He besought Monsignor not to Enrage himself He threw himself on Monsignor For clemency If Monsignor could have The distinguished goodness To occupy the other salon Especially reserved for him For but five minutes All would go well No, sir, said Mr. Dorit I will not occupy any salon I will leave your house Without eating or drinking Or setting foot in it How do you dare to act like this? Who am I that you Separate me from other gentlemen? Alas, the host called All the universe to witness That Monsignor was the most amiable Of the whole body of nobility The most important, the most Estimable, the most honoured If he separated Monsignor From others, it was only because He was more distinguished, more cherished More generous, more renowned Don't tell me so, sir Returned Mr. Dorit In a mighty heat You have affronted me With great insults upon me How dare you explain yourself? Oh, just heaven, then How could the host explain himself When he had nothing more to explain? When he had only to apologise And confide himself To the so well-known magnanimity Of Monsignor? I tell you, sir, said Mr. Dorit Panting with anger That you separate me From other gentlemen That you make distinctions between The other gentlemen of fortune and station I demand of you, why? I wish to know on What authority? On whose authority? Reply, sir, explain, and so why? Permit the landlord Hamlet to submit to Monsignor, then That Monsignor, ordinarily so gracious Enraged himself Without cause There was no why Monsignor would represent to Monsignor That he deceived himself in suspecting That there was any why, but The why his devoted servant Had already had the honour to present to him The very gentle lady Silence! cried Mr. Dorit Hold your tongue I will hear no more of the very Gentle lady I will hear no more of you Look at this family, my family A family more gentle than Any lady. You have treated This family with disrespect You have been insolent to this family I'll ruin you Send for the horses Pack the carriages I will not set foot in this man's house again No one had interfered In the dispute which was beyond The French colloquial powers of Edward Dorit, Esquire, and scarcely Within the province of the ladies Miss Fanny, however, now Supported her father with great bitterness Declaring in her native tongue That it was quite clear there was Something special in this man's impertinence And that she considered it important That he should be by some means Forced to give up his authority For making distinctions between That family and other wealthy families What the reasons of his presumption Could be? She was at a loss to imagine But reasons he must have And they ought to be torn from him All the guides, Mew drivers, and idlers In the yard had made themselves Parties to the angry conference And were much impressed by the couriers Now bestowing himself to get the carriages Out. With the aid of some Dozen people to each wheel This was done at a great cost of noise And then the loading was Proceeded with, pending the arrival Of the horses from the post house But the very gentile ladies English chariot being already Horsed and at the indoor The landlord had slipped upstairs To represent his hard case This was notified to the yard By his now coming down the staircase In attendance on the gentleman and the lady And by his pointing out The offended majesty of Mr. Dorit To them with a significant motion Of his hand Beg your pardon, said the gentleman Detaching himself from the lady And coming forward. I am a man of few words And a bad hand at an explanation But lady here is extremely anxious That there should be no row Lady, a mother of mine in point of fact Wishes me to say that she hopes No row. Mr. Dorit, still panting under his injury Saluted the gentleman And saluted the lady In a distant, final and invincible manner No, but really here Old fellow, you! This was the gentleman's way of appealing To Edward Dorit, Esquire on whom he pounced As a great and providential relief Let you and I try to make this all right Lady so very much wishes no row Edward Dorit, Esquire Led a little apart by the button Assumed a diplomatic expression Of countenance in replying Why, you must confess That when you bespeak a lot of rooms beforehand And they belong to you It's not pleasant to find other people in them No, said the other I know it isn't I admit it Still, let you and I try to make it all right And avoid row. The fault is not these chaps at all Being a remarkably fine woman With no bigger nonsense about her Well educated too She was too many for this chap Regularly pocketed him If that's the case Edward Dorit, Esquire began Assure you, upon my soul, tis the case Consequently Said the other gentleman Retiring on his main position Why, row! Edmund, said the lady from the doorway I hope you have explained To the satisfaction of this gentleman And his family that the civil landlord Is not to blame Assure you, ma'am, returned Edmund Perfectly paralyzing myself With trying it on He then looked steadfastly at Edward Dorit Esquire for some seconds And suddenly added In a burst of confidence Old feller, is it all right? I don't know after all Said the lady gracefully advancing A step or two towards Mr. Dorit But that I had better Say myself at once That I assured this good man I took all the consequences on myself Of occupying one of a stranger's suite Of rooms during his absence For just as much or as little time As I could dine in I had no idea the rightful owner Would come back so soon Nor had I any idea that he had come back Or I should have hastened to make restoration Of my ill-gotten chamber And to have offered my explanation And apology, I trust in saying this For a moment the lady With a glass at her eye Stood transfixed And speechless before the two Miss Dorit At the same moment Miss Fanny, in the foreground Of a grand pictorial composition Formed by the family The family equipages And the family servants Held her sister tight under one arm To detain her on the spot And with the other arm fanned herself To stare and negligently surveyed The lady from head to foot The lady, recovering herself quickly For it was Mrs. Murdell And she was not easily dashed Went on to add That she trusted in saying this She apologized for her boldness And restored this well-behaved landlord To the favour that was so very valuable To him. Mr. Dorit, on the altar Of whose dignity all this was in Sense, made a gracious reply And said that his people should Counter-mand his horses And he would overlook What he had at first supposed to be On the front, but now regarded as An honour. Upon this the bosom bent to him And its owner, with a wonderful Command of Feature, addressed A winning smile over due to the two Sisters, as young ladies of Fortune in whose favour she was Much prepossessed, and whom she Had never had the gratification of seeing Before. Not so, however, Mr. Sparkler, This gentleman, becoming transfixed At the same moment as his lady mother Could not by any means unfix himself Again, but stood Stiffly staring at the whole Composition with Miss Fanny in the foreground On his mother saying, Edmund, we are quite ready! Will you give me your arm? He seemed, by the motion Of his lips, to reply with some remark Comprehending the form of words In which his shining talents found The most frequent utterance, But he relaxed no muscle. So fixed was his figure That it would have been matter of some Difficulty to bend him sufficiently To get him in the carriage door, If he had not received the timely Assistance of a maternal pull from within. He was no sooner within Than the pad of the little window In the back of the chariot disappeared And his eye usurped its place. There it remained as long As so small an object was discernible And probably much longer Staring, as though Something inexpressibly surprising Should happen to a codfish, Like an ill-executed eye in a large Locket. This encounter was so highly agreeable To Miss Fanny, and gave her So much to think of with triumph Afterwards, that it softened Her asperities exceedingly. When the procession Was again in motion next day, She occupied her place in it with a new Getty, and showed such A flow of spirits indeed That Mrs. General looked rather surprised. Little Dorit was glad To be found no fault with And to see that Fanny was pleased. But her part in the procession Was amusing part and a quiet one. Sitting opposite her father In the travelling carriage And recalling the old Marshall sea room Her present existence was a dream. All that she saw Was new and wonderful But it was not real. It seemed to her as if those visions Of mountains and picturesque countries Might melt away at any moment, And the carriage, turning Some abrupt corner, bring up With a jolt at the old Marshall sea gate. To have no work to do was strange, But not half so strange As having glided into a corner, Where she had no one to think for, Nothing to plan and contrive, No cares of others To load herself with. Strange as that was, It was far stranger yet to find A space between herself and her father Where others occupied themselves In taking care of him And where she was never expected to be. At first this was so much more Unlike her old experience Than even the mountains themselves That she had been unable To resign herself to it And had tried to retain her old Place about him. But he had spoken to her alone And had said that people are People in an exalted position, My dear, must scrupulously Exact respect from their dependents. And that for her, his daughter, Miss Amy Dorit, Of the sole remaining branch Of the Dorits of Dorsetshire, To be known to occupy herself In fulfilling the functions Of a valley Would be incompatible with that respect. Therefore, my dear, He laid his parental injunctions upon her To remember that she was a lady Who had now to conduct herself With a proper pride And to preserve the rank of a lady. And consequently, He requested her to abstain from doing What would occasion her unpleasant And derogatory remarks. She had obeyed without a murmur. Thus it had been brought about That she now sat in her corner Of the luxurious carriage With her little patient hands Folded before her, quite displaced Even from the last point Of the old standing ground In life, on which her feet had lingered. It was from this position That all she saw appeared unreal, The more surprising the seams, The more they resembled The unreality of her own inner life As she went through its vacant Places all day long. The gorgeous of Samplong, Its enormous depths and thundering waterfalls, The wonderful road, the points of danger Where a loose wheel or a faltering horse Would have been destruction, The descent into Italy, The opening of that beautiful land As the rugged mountain chasm widened, And let them out from a gloomy And dark imprisonment. All a dream. Only the old, mean Marshall Sea A reality. Nay, even the old, mean Marshall Sea Was shaken to its foundations When she pictured it without her father. She could scarcely believe That the prisoners were still Lingering in the close yard. That the mean rooms were still Everyone tenanted, And that the turnkey still stood In the lodge letting people in and out All just as she well knew it to be. With the remembrance Of her father's old life in prison Hanging about her like the burden Of a sorrowful tune, And wake from a dream of her birthplace Into a whole day's dream. The painted room in which she awoke Often a humble-state chamber In a dilapidated palace Would begin it. With its wild red autumnal Vine leaves overhanging the glass Its orange trees on the Cracket-wide terrace outside the window A group of monks and peasants In the little street below Misery and magnificence Wrestling with each other upon every road Of ground in the prospect No matter how widely diversified And misery throwing magnificence With the strength of fate. To this would succeed A labyrinth of bare passages And pillard galleries With the family procession already Preparing in the quadrangle below Through the carriages and luggage Being brought together by the servants For the day's journey. Then breakfast in another painted chamber Dam-stained Of desolate proportions. And then the departure, Which to her timidity and sense Of not being grand enough For her place in the ceremonies Was always an uneasy thing. For then the courier, Who himself would have been A foreign gentleman of high mark In the Marshall Sea, Would present himself to report That all was ready. And then her father's valley Would pompously induct him Who was await on little Dorit's mind Absolutely made her cry at first. She knew so little what to do with her. Would be in attendance. And then her brother's man Would complete his master's equipment. And then her father would give his arm To Mrs. General. And her uncle would give his to her. And, escorted by the landlord And in servants, They would swoop downstairs. There, a crowd would be collected To see them enter their carriages Which, amidst much bowing And begging and prancing And lashing and clattering They would do. And so they would be driven madly Through narrow and savoury streets And jerked out at the town gate. Among the days Unrealities would be roads Where the bright red vines Were looped and garlanded Together on trees for many miles. Woods of olives, White villages and towns On hillsides, Lovely without, But frightful in their dirt And poverty within. Crosses, by the way, Deep blue lakes with fairy islands And clustering boats With awnings of bright colours And sails of beautiful forms. Vast piles of building Mouldering to dust, Hanging gardens where the weeds Had grown so strong That their stems, like wedges Rent the wall. Stone terraced lanes With the lizards running into And out of every chink. Beggars of all sorts everywhere. Pitiful, picturesque, Hungry, merry. Children beggars and aged beggars. Often at posting houses And other holding places These miserable creatures would appear To her the only realities of the day. And many a time When the money she had brought To give them was all given away She would sit with her folded hands Thoughtfully looking after Some diminutive girl leading her grey father As if the side reminded her Of something in the days that were gone. Again, There would be places where They stayed the week together in splendid rooms At banquets every day Road out among heaps of wonders Walked through miles of palaces And rested in dark corners Of great churches Where there were winking lamps Of gold and silver among pillars And arches, kneeling figures Dot it about at confessionals And on the pavements Where there was the mist And scent of incense Where there were pictures, Fantastic images, gaudy orders, Great heights and distances All softly lighted Through stained glass And the massive curtains That hung in the doorways. From these cities they would go on again By the roads of vines and olives Through squalid villages Where there was not a hovel Without a gap in its filthy walls Not a window with a whole inch Of glass or paper Where there seemed to be nothing To support life, nothing to eat, Nothing to make, Nothing to grow, Nothing to hope, Nothing to do, but die. Again they would come To whole towns of palaces Whose proper inmates were all banished And which were all changed into barracks, Troops of idle soldiers Leaning out of the state windows Where their accoutrements hung Drying on the marble architecture And showing to the mind Like hosts of rats who are happily Eating away the props of the edifices That supported them, and must soon With them be smashed on the heads Of the other swarms of soldiers And the swarms of priests And the swarms of spies Who were all the ill-looking Population left to be ruined In the streets below. Through such scenes The family procession moved on to Venice And here it dispersed for a time As they were to live in Venice Some few months in a palace Itself six times as big as the whole Marshall Sea on the Grand Canal In this crowning and reality Where all the streets were paved With water and where the death-like Stillness of the days and nights Was broken by no sound But the softened ringing of church bells The rippling of the current And the cry of the gondoliers Turning the corners of the flowing streets Little Dorit Quite lost by her task being done Sat down to muse The family began a gay life Went here and there And turned night into day But she was timid of joining In their ghetties She asked leave to be left alone Sometimes she would Step into one of the gondoliers That were always kept in waiting Moored to painted posts at the door When she could escape from the attendance Of that oppressive maid Who was her mistress And a very hard one And would be taken all over the strange city Social people in other gondoliers Began to ask each other Who the little solitary girl was Whom they passed They would vote with folded hands Looking so pensively and wonderingly About her Never thinking that it would be worth Anybody's while to notice her or her doings Little Dorit In her quiet, scared, lost manner Went about the city nonetheless But her favourite station Was the balcony of her own room Overhanging the canal With other balconies below And none above It was of massive stone dark And by ages Built in a wild fancy Which came from the east to that collection Of wild fancies And little Dorit was little indeed Leaning on the broad cushioned ledge And looking over As she liked no place of an evening half so well She soon began to be watched for And many eyes in passing gondolas Were raised And many people said There was the little figure Of the English girl who was always alone Such people were not realities To the little figure of the English girl Such people were all unknown to her She would watch the sunset In its long, low lines Of purple and red And its burning flash High up into the sky So glowing on the buildings And so lightening their structure That it made them look as if Their strong walls were transparent And they shone from within She would watch those glories expire And then After looking at the black gondolas Underneath Taking guests to music and dancing Would raise her eyes to the shining stars Was there no party of her own In other times On which the stars had shone To think of that old gate now She would think of that old gate And of herself sitting at it In the dead of the night Pillowing Maggie's head And of other places And of other scenes Associated with those different times And then she would lean upon her balcony And look over at the water As though they all lay underneath it When she got to that She would musingly watch its running As if In the general vision it might run dry And show her the prison again And herself And the old room The old inmates And the old visitors All lasting realities That had never changed End of chapter the third Book the second of Little Dorrid This recording is in the public domain