Bleak House - Charles Dickens (read this if txt) 📗
- Author: Charles Dickens
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help it!) sitting near the Lord Chancellor, with whom his lordship
spoke a little part, asking her, as she told me afterwards, whether
she had well reflected on the proposed arrangement, and if she
thought she would be happy under the roof of Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak
House, and why she thought so? Presently he rose courteously and
released her, and then he spoke for a minute or two with Richard
Carstone, not seated, but standing, and altogether with more ease
and less ceremony, as if he still knew, though he WAS Lord
Chancellor, how to go straight to the candour of a boy.
“Very well!” said his lordship aloud. “I shall make the order.
Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House has chosen, so far as I may judge,” and
this was when he looked at me, “a very good companion for the young
lady, and the arrangement altogether seems the best of which the
circumstances admit.”
He dismissed us pleasantly, and we all went out, very much obliged
to him for being so affable and polite, by which he had certainly
lost no dignity but seemed to us to have gained some.
When we got under the colonnade, Mr. Kenge remembered that he must
go back for a moment to ask a question and left us in the fog, with
the Lord Chancellor’s carriage and servants waiting for him to come
out.
“Well!” said Richard Carstone. “THAT’S over! And where do we go
next, Miss Summerson?”
“Don’t you know?” I said.
“Not in the least,” said he.
“And don’t YOU know, my love?” I asked Ada.
“No!” said she. “Don’t you?”
“Not at all!” said I.
We looked at one another, half laughing at our being like the
children in the wood, when a curious little old woman in a squeezed
bonnet and carrying a reticule came curtsying and smiling up to us
with an air of great ceremony.
“Oh!” said she. “The wards in Jarndyce! Ve-ry happy, I am sure,
to have the honour! It is a good omen for youth, and hope, and
beauty when they find themselves in this place, and don’t know
what’s to come of it.”
“Mad!” whispered Richard, not thinking she could hear him.
“Right! Mad, young gentleman,” she returned so quickly that he was
quite abashed. “I was a ward myself. I was not mad at that time,”
curtsying low and smiling between every little sentence. “I had
youth and hope. I believe, beauty. It matters very little now.
Neither of the three served or saved me. I have the honour to
attend court regularly. With my documents. I expect a judgment.
Shortly. On the Day of Judgment. I have discovered that the sixth
seal mentioned in the Revelations is the Great Seal. It has been
open a long time! Pray accept my blessing.”
As Ada was a little frightened, I said, to humour the poor old
lady, that we were much obliged to her.
“Ye-es!” she said mincingly. “I imagine so. And here is
Conversation Kenge. With HIS documents! How does your honourable
worship do?”
“Quite well, quite well! Now don’t be troublesome, that’s a good
soul!” said Mr. Kenge, leading the way back.
“By no means,” said the poor old lady, keeping up with Ada and me.
“Anything but troublesome. I shall confer estates on both—which
is not being troublesome, I trust? I expect a judgment. Shortly.
On the Day of Judgment. This is a good omen for you. Accept my
blessing!”
She stopped at the bottom of the steep, broad flight of stairs; but
we looked back as we went up, and she was still there, saying,
still with a curtsy and a smile between every little sentence,
“Youth. And hope. And beauty. And Chancery. And Conversation
Kenge! Ha! Pray accept my blessing!”
Telescopic Philanthropy
We were to pass the night, Mr. Kenge told us when we arrived in his
room, at Mrs. Jellyby’s; and then he turned to me and said he took
it for granted I knew who Mrs. Jellyby was.
“I really don’t, sir,” I returned. “Perhaps Mr. Carstone—or Miss
Clare—”
But no, they knew nothing whatever about Mrs. Jellyby. “In-deed!
Mrs. Jellyby,” said Mr. Kenge, standing with his back to the fire
and casting his eyes over the dusty hearth-rug as if it were Mrs.
Jellyby’s biography, “is a lady of very remarkable strength of
character who devotes herself entirely to the public. She has
devoted herself to an extensive variety of public subjects at
various times and is at present (until something else attracts
her) devoted to the subject of Africa, with a view to the general
cultivation of the coffee berry—AND the natives—and the happy
settlement, on the banks of the African rivers, of our superabundant
home population. Mr. Jarndyce, who is desirous to aid any work
that is considered likely to be a good work and who is much sought
after by philanthropists, has, I believe, a very high opinion of
Mrs. Jellyby.”
Mr. Kenge, adjusting his cravat, then looked at us.
“And Mr. Jellyby, sir?” suggested Richard.
“Ah! Mr. Jellyby,” said Mr. Kenge, “is—a—I don’t know that I can
describe him to you better than by saying that he is the husband of
Mrs. Jellyby.”
“A nonentity, sir?” said Richard with a droll look.
“I don’t say that,” returned Mr. Kenge gravely. “I can’t say that,
indeed, for I know nothing whatever OF Mr. Jellyby. I never, to my
knowledge, had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Jellyby. He may be a
very superior man, but he is, so to speak, merged—merged—in the
more shining qualities of his wife.” Mr. Kenge proceeded to tell
us that as the road to Bleak House would have been very long, dark,
and tedious on such an evening, and as we had been travelling
already, Mr. Jarndyce had himself proposed this arrangement. A
carriage would be at Mrs. Jellyby’s to convey us out of town early
in the forenoon of to-morrow.
He then rang a little bell, and the young gentleman came in.
Addressing him by the name of Guppy, Mr. Kenge inquired whether
Miss Summerson’s boxes and the rest of the baggage had been “sent
round.” Mr. Guppy said yes, they had been sent round, and a coach
was waiting to take us round too as soon as we pleased.
“Then it only remains,” said Mr. Kenge, shaking hands with us, “for
me to express my lively satisfaction in (good day, Miss Clare!) the
arrangement this day concluded and my (GOOD-bye to you, Miss
Summerson!) lively hope that it will conduce to the happiness, the
(glad to have had the honour of making your acquaintance, Mr.
Carstone!) welfare, the advantage in all points of view, of all
concerned! Guppy, see the party safely there.”
“Where IS ‘there,’ Mr. Guppy?” said Richard as we went downstairs.
“No distance,” said Mr. Guppy; “round in Thavies Inn, you know.”
“I can’t say I know where it is, for I come from Winchester and am
strange in London.”
“Only round the corner,” said Mr. Guppy. “We just twist up
Chancery Lane, and cut along Holborn, and there we are in four
minutes’ time, as near as a toucher. This is about a London
particular NOW, ain’t it, miss?” He seemed quite delighted with it
on my account.
“The fog is very dense indeed!” said I.
“Not that it affects you, though, I’m sure,” said Mr. Guppy,
putting up the steps. “On the contrary, it seems to do you good,
miss, judging from your appearance.”
I knew he meant well in paying me this compliment, so I laughed at
myself for blushing at it when he had shut the door and got upon
the box; and we all three laughed and chatted about our
inexperience and the strangeness of London until we turned up under
an archway to our destination—a narrow street of high houses like
an oblong cistern to hold the fog. There was a confused little
crowd of people, principally children, gathered about the house at
which we stopped, which had a tarnished brass plate on the door
with the inscription JELLYBY.
“Don’t be frightened!” said Mr. Guppy, looking in at the coach-window. “One of the young Jellybys been and got his head through
the area railings!”
“Oh, poor child,” said I; “let me out, if you please!”
“Pray be careful of yourself, miss. The young Jellybys are always
up to something,” said Mr. Guppy.
I made my way to the poor child, who was one of the dirtiest little
unfortunates I ever saw, and found him very hot and frightened and
crying loudly, fixed by the neck between two iron railings, while a
milkman and a beadle, with the kindest intentions possible, were
endeavouring to drag him back by the legs, under a general
impression that his skull was compressible by those means. As I
found (after pacifying him) that he was a little boy with a
naturally large head, I thought that perhaps where his head could
go, his body could follow, and mentioned that the best mode of
extrication might be to push him forward. This was so favourably
received by the milkman and beadle that he would immediately have
been pushed into the area if I had not held his pinafore while
Richard and Mr. Guppy ran down through the kitchen to catch him
when he should be released. At last he was happily got down
without any accident, and then he began to beat Mr. Guppy with a
hoop-stick in quite a frantic manner.
Nobody had appeared belonging to the house except a person in
pattens, who had been poking at the child from below with a broom;
I don’t know with what object, and I don’t think she did. I
therefore supposed that Mrs. Jellyby was not at home, and was quite
surprised when the person appeared in the passage without the
pattens, and going up to the back room on the first floor before
Ada and me, announced us as, “Them two young ladies, Missis
Jellyby!” We passed several more children on the way up, whom it
was difficult to avoid treading on in the dark; and as we came into
Mrs. Jellyby’s presence, one of the poor little things fell
downstairs—down a whole flight (as it sounded to me), with a great
noise.
Mrs. Jellyby, whose face reflected none of the uneasiness which we
could not help showing in our own faces as the dear child’s head
recorded its passage with a bump on every stair—Richard afterwards
said he counted seven, besides one for the landing—received us
with perfect equanimity. She was a pretty, very diminutive, plump
woman of from forty to fifty, with handsome eyes, though they had a
curious habit of seeming to look a long way off. As if—I am
quoting Richard again—they could see nothing nearer than Africa!
“I am very glad indeed,” said Mrs. Jellyby in an agreeable voice,
“to have the pleasure of receiving you. I have a great respect for
Mr. Jarndyce, and no one in whom he is interested can be an object
of indifference to me.”
We expressed our acknowledgments and sat down behind the door,
where there was a lame invalid of a sofa. Mrs. Jellyby had very
good hair but was too much occupied with her African duties to
brush it. The shawl in which she had been loosely muffled dropped
onto her chair when she advanced to us; and as she turned to resume
her seat, we could not help noticing that her dress didn’t nearly
meet up the back and that the open space was railed across with a
lattice-work
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