Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens (suggested reading .TXT) 📕

guests in a bumper of old Madeira; and told them that he hoped they had enjoyed themselves, and what was more, that they would enjoy themselves for the rest of the evening; that he wished them well; and that he bade them welcome. His health being drunk with acclamations, he was not so baronial after all but that in trying to return thanks he broke down, in the manner of a mere serf with a heart in his breast, and wept before them all. After this great success, which he supposed to be a failure, he gave them “Mr. Chivery and his brother officers;” whom he had beforehand presented with ten pounds each, and who were all in attendance. Mr. Chivery spoke to the toast, saying, What you undertake to lock up, lock up; but remember that you are, in the words of the fettered African, a man and a brother ever. The list of toasts disposed of, Mr. Dorrit urbanely went through the motions of playing a game of skittles with the Collegian who was the next oldest inhabitant to himself; and left the tenantry to their diversions.

But all these occurrences preceded the final day. And now the day arrived when he and his family were to leave the prison 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. Dorrit himself, at this trying time, preserved a serious but graceful dignity. Much of his great attention was given to his brother, as to whose bearing on the great occasion he felt anxious.

“My dear Frederick,” said he, “if you will give me your arm we will pass among our friends together. I think it is right that we should go out arm in arm, my dear Frederick.”

“Hah!” said Frederick. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

“And if, my dear Frederick⁠—if you could, without putting any great constraint upon yourself, throw a little (pray excuse me, Frederick), a little polish into your usual demeanour⁠—”

“William, William,” said the other, shaking his head, “it’s for you to do all that. I don’t know how. All forgotten, forgotten!”

“But, my dear fellow,” returned William, “for that very reason, if for no other, you must positively try to rouse yourself. What you have forgotten you must now begin to recall, my dear Frederick. Your position⁠—”

“Eh?” said Frederick.

“Your position, my dear Frederick.”

“Mine?” He looked first at his own figure, and then at his brother’s, and then, drawing a long breath, cried, “Hah, to be sure! Yes, yes, yes.”

“Your position, my dear Frederick, is now a fine one. Your position, as my brother, is a very fine one. And I know that it belongs to your conscientious nature to try to become worthy of it, my dear Frederick, and to try to adorn it. To be no discredit to it, but to adorn it.”

“William,” said the other weakly, and with a sigh, “I will do anything you wish, my brother, provided it lies in my power. Pray be so kind as to recollect what a limited power mine is. What would you wish me to do 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. “It finds it no trouble, William, to do anything it can for you.”

William passed his hand across his eyes, and murmured with august satisfaction, “Blessings on your attachment, my poor dear fellow!” Then he said aloud, “Well, my dear Frederick, if you will only try, as we walk out, to show that you are alive to the occasion⁠—that you think about it⁠—”

“What would you advise me to think about it?” returned his submissive brother.

“Oh! my dear Frederick, how can I answer you? I can only say what, in leaving these good people, I think myself.”

“That’s it!” cried his brother. “That will help me.”

“I find that I think, my dear Frederick, and with mixed emotions in which a softened compassion predominates, What will they do without me!”

“True,” returned his brother. “Yes, yes, yes, yes. I’ll think that as we go, What will they do without my brother! Poor things! What will they do without him!”

Twelve o’clock having just struck, and the carriage being reported ready in the outer courtyard, the brothers proceeded downstairs arm-in-arm. Edward Dorrit, Esquire (once Tip), and his sister Fanny followed, also arm-in-arm; Mr. Plornish and Maggy, to whom had been entrusted the removal of such of the family effects as were considered worth removing, followed, bearing bundles and burdens to be packed in a cart.

In the yard, were the Collegians and turnkeys. In the yard, were Mr. Pancks and Mr. Rugg, come to see the last touch given to their work. In the yard, was Young John making a new epitaph for himself, on the occasion of his dying of a broken heart. In the yard, was the Patriarchal Casby, looking so tremendously benevolent that many enthusiastic Collegians grasped him fervently by the hand, and the wives and female relatives of many more Collegians kissed his hand, nothing doubting that he had done it all. In the yard, was the man with the shadowy grievance respecting the Fund which the Marshal embezzled, who had got up at five in the morning to complete the copying of a perfectly unintelligible history of that transaction, which he had committed to Mr. Dorrit’s care, as a document of the last importance, calculated to stun the Government and effect the Marshal’s downfall. In the yard, was the insolvent whose utmost energies were always set on getting into debt, who broke into prison with as much pains as other men have broken out of