Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens (suggested reading .TXT) ๐
Description
Little Dorrit, like many of Charles Dickensโ novels, was originally published in serial form over a period of about 18 months, before appearing in book form in 1857.
The novel focuses on the experiences of its protagonist Arthur Clenham, who has spent some twenty years in China helping his father run the family business there. After his father dies, Arthur returns home to London. His mother gives him little in the way of welcome. She is a cold, bitter woman who has brought Arthur up under a strict religious regime concentrating on the punitive aspects of the Old Testament. Despite this upbringing, or perhaps in reaction to it, Arthur is a kind, considerate man. He is intrigued by a slight young woman he encounters working as a part-time seamstress for his mother, whom his mother calls simply โLittle Dorrit.โ Arthur senses some mystery about her motherโs employment of Little Dorrit, and proceeds to investigate.
There are several subplots and a whole host of characters. Compared to some of Dickensโ work, Little Dorrit features a good deal of intrigue and tension. There are also some strong strands of humor, in the form of the fictional โCircumlocution Office,โ whose sole remit is โHow Not To Do It,โ and which stands in the way of any improvement of British life. Also very amusing are the rambling speeches of Flora, a woman with whom Arthur was enamored before he left for China, but whose shallowness he now perceives only too well.
Little Dorrit has been adapted for the screen many times, and by the BBC in 2010 in a limited television series which featured Claire Foy as Little Dorrit, Matthew Macfayden as Arthur Clenham, and Andy Serkis as the villain Rigaud.
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- Author: Charles Dickens
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On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees.
Changeless and barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the soothing songs she sings to man. At no Motherโs knee but hers had he ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery acorns. But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life.
When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that the light was strong upon them.
Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side.
โThis will soon be over now, dear Mr. Clennam. Not only are Mr. Doyceโs letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr. Rugg says his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it will soon be over now.โ
โDear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!โ
โYou praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and toโ โand to see,โ said Little Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, โhow deeply you mean it, that I cannot say Donโt.โ
He lifted her hand to his lips.
โYou have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little Dorrit?โ
โYes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.โ
โVery often?โ
โRather often,โ said Little Dorrit, timidly.
โEvery day?โ
โI think,โ said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, โthat I have been here at least twice every day.โ
He might have released the little light hand after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of his, and it lay softly on his breast.
โDear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again, and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten what we said together, when you came back?โ
โO no, I have not forgotten it. But something has beenโ โYou feel quite strong today, donโt you?โ
โQuite strong.โ
The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face.
โDo you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have got?โ
โI shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good for Little Dorrit.โ
โI have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?โ
โNever!โ
โYou are quite sure you will not take half of it?โ
โNever, dear Little Dorrit!โ
As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud.
โYou will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husbandโs income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.โ
Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. โI had hoped it might not be so bad,โ he said: โbut I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing the connection between her husband and the defaulter.โ
โYes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!โ
โHad he property in the same hands?โ
โYes! And itโs all gone.โ โHow much do you think my own great fortune is?โ
As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him, she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had rested.
โI have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same hands, and it
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