At Bath, a resort very popular with people of fashion, the Pickwickians decided to spend the next two months, and started by coach at once, accompanied by Sam Weller. On the coach they fell in with a fierce-looking, abrupt gentleman named Dowler, with a bald, glossy forehead and large black whiskers, who introduced them to the society of Bath, particularly to Mr. Angelo Cyrus Bantam, master of ceremonies at the famous Assembly-Room, where the fashionable balls were held. Mr. Bantam carried a gold eye-glass, a gold snuff-box, gold rings on his finger, a gold watch in his waistcoat pocket, a gold chain and an ebony cane with a gold head. His linen was the whitest, his wig the blackest, and his teeth were so fine that it was hard to tell the real ones from the false ones.

Mr. Bantam made the Pickwickians welcome and in three days' time they were settled in a fine house, where Mr. and Mrs. Dowler also lodged. Mr. Pickwick passed his days in drinking the spring-water for which Bath was famous, and in walking; his evenings he spent at the Assembly balls, at the theater or in making entries in his journal.

One evening Mrs. Dowler was carried off to a party in her sedan-chair, leaving her husband to sit up for her. The Pickwickians had long since gone to bed, and Mr. Dowler fell fast asleep while he waited. It was a very windy night and the sedan-carriers, who brought the lady home, knocked in vain at the door. Mr. Dowler did not wake, though they knocked like an insane postman.

At length Winkle in his own room was roused by the racket. He donned slippers and dressing-gown, hurried down stairs half asleep and opened the door. At the glare of the torches he jumped to the conclusion that the house was on fire and rushed outside, when the door blew shut behind him.

Seeing a lady's face at the window of the sedan-chair, he turned and knocked at the door frantically, but with no response. He was undressed and the wind blew his dressing-gown in a most unpleasant manner. "There are people coming down the street now. There are ladies with 'em; cover me up with something! Stand before me!" roared Winkle, but the chairmen only laughed. The ladies were nearer and in desperation he bolted into the sedan-chair where Mrs. Dowler was.

Now Mr. Dowler, a moment before, had bounced off the bed, and now threw open the window just in time to see this. He thought his wife was running away with another man, and seizing a supper knife, the indignant husband tore into the street, shouting furiously.

Winkle, hearing his horrible threats, did not wait. He leaped out of the sedan-chair and took to his heels, hotly pursued by Dowler. He dodged his pursuer at length, rushed back, slammed the door in Dowler's face, gained his bedroom, barricaded his door with furniture and packed his belongings. At the first streak of dawn, he slipped out and took coach for Bristol.

Mr. Pickwick was greatly vexed over Winkle's unheroic flight. Sam Weller soon discovered where he had gone, and Mr. Pickwick sent him after the fugitive, bidding him find Winkle and either compel him to return or keep him in sight until Mr. Pickwick himself could follow.

Winkle, meanwhile, walking about the Bristol streets, chanced to stop at a doctor's office to make some inquiries, and in a young medical gentleman in green spectacles recognized, to his huge surprise, Bob Sawyer, the bosom friend of Ben Allen, both of whom he had met on Christmas Day at Dingley Dell. Bob, in delight, dragged Winkle into the back room where sat Ben Allen, amusing himself by boring holes in the chimney piece with a red-hot poker.

The precious couple had, in fact, set up shop together, and were using every trick they knew to make people think them great doctors with a tremendous practice. They insisted on Winkle's staying to supper, and it was lucky he did so, for he heard news of Arabella, the pretty girl who had worn the little boots with fur around the top at Dingley Dell, and with whom he had fallen in love. He learned that Arabella had scorned the sprightly Bob Sawyer, and that her brother, in anger, had taken her away from Mr. Wardle's and put her in the house of an old aunt – a dull, close place not far from Bristol. Before he bade them good night, Winkle had determined to find her.

He met with a shock, on returning to his inn, to come suddenly upon Dowler sitting in the coffee-room. Winkle drew back, very pale, and was greatly surprised to see the bloodthirsty Dowler do likewise as, growing even paler than Winkle, he began an apology for his action of the evening before. As a matter of fact, Dowler had run away from Bath, too, at dawn, in fear of Winkle, and thought now the latter had pursued him. Winkle, suspecting this, put on a look of great fierceness but accepted the apology, and the pair shook hands.

Winkle's plan for finding Arabella Allen met now with a set-back. Sam Weller arrived at midnight and insisted that Winkle be waked at once. Once in his room, Sam told him Mr. Pickwick's instructions and declared he would not leave his sight till Winkle came back with him to Bath. This was awkward, but luckily, Mr. Pickwick himself, to whom Sam wrote, arrived next day and released his follower.

Mr. Pickwick approved of Winkle's determination to find the pretty Arabella, and so the next morning Sam Weller was sent on a voyage of discovery among the servants of the town. For many hours Sam searched in vain without a clue.

In the afternoon he sat in a lane running between rows of gardens in one of the suburbs, when a gate opened and a maid-servant came out to shake some carpets. Sam gallantly rose to help her, when she uttered a half-suppressed scream. It was Mary, the good-looking housemaid whom Sam had kissed at the house of Nupkins, the mayor of Ipswich, on the day of the arrest of the Pickwickians and the exposure of Jingle. She had left her place there for this new situation.

When Sam had finished his gallant speeches and Mary her blushing, he told her of Winkle's search. What was his surprise when she told him that Arabella was living the very next door. She let Sam come into the garden, and presently when Arabella came out to walk, he scrambled on to the wall and pleaded Winkle's cause.

"Ve thought ve should ha' been obliged to straitveskit him last night," he declared. "He's been a-ravin' all day; and he says if he can't see you afore to-morrow night's over, he vishes he may be somethin'-unpleasanted if he don't drownd hisself."

Arabella, in great distress at this prospect, promised she would be in the garden next evening, and Sam returned with the news to Mr. Pickwick and Winkle.

The next evening all three set out for the spot. Mary let them into the garden and, while Winkle climbed the wall to throw himself at Arabella's feet, Mr. Pickwick kept guard at the gate with a dark lantern. So far he threw its beam that a scientific gentleman who lived a few houses away, seeing the light from his window, took it for some new and wonderful freak of electricity and came out to investigate.

Before he arrived, however, Winkle had scrambled back over the wall and Arabella had run into the house. Seeing the scientific gentleman's head poked out of a garden-gate as they passed, Sam gave it a gentle tap with his fist and then, hoisting Mr. Pickwick on his back, and followed by Winkle, he ran off at full speed, leaving the scientific gentleman to go back to his room and write a long article about the wonderful light and to tell how he had received a shock of electricity which left him stunned for a quarter of an hour afterward.

The Pickwickians' stay at Bath came to an end soon after this adventure, and their leader, with Sam Weller, returned to London.

VIII
MR. PICKWICK'S EXPERIENCES IN THE DEBTORS'
PRISON, WHERE HE FINDS AN OLD ENEMY
AND HEAPS COALS OF FIRE ON THE
HEAD OF MRS. BARDELL

Mr. Pickwick had not been long in London when his lawyer's warning proved too true. One morning a bailiff forced his way to his bedroom and, since he had not paid the damages to Mrs. Bardell, arrested him in bed, waited till he was dressed and carried him off to the debtors' prison.

The prison was called The Fleet. It was a gloomy building with a heavy gate, guarded by a turnkey, holding all classes, from laboring men to broken-down spendthrifts. Its filthy galleries, and low coffee-room reeked with tobacco smoke and its open court was noisy with the oaths of card-players. In some of the rooms lived men with their wives and whole families of children, and Mr. Pickwick found he would have to pay extra even to have a room to himself.

Caged with this coarse, vulgar crowd, Mr. Pickwick suffered greatly, but no idea of paying the unjust damages entered his mind. Instead, he busied himself with wandering about the prison and learning all he could of its customs and inmates. Those who, like himself, had money were well-treated. Those who had none lived in starvation and wretchedness. In one wall was a kind of iron cage, within which was posted a lean and hungry prisoner who rattled a money-box and called out: "Remember the poor debtors!" The money he collected from passers-by in the street was divided and bought food for the poorest.

As Mr. Pickwick entered the room given over to the latter class, he started. In one of its occupants, clad in tattered garments and yellow shirt, pinched with starvation and pale with illness, he saw Alfred Jingle; and near him, faithful still in rags and dirt, was Job Trotter.

Jingle was no longer jaunty and impudent. He had pawned all his belongings; had lived, in fact, for the last week on a silk umbrella with an ivory handle. His smile now was a mere twitch of the face as he said: "Nothing soon – starve – die – workhouse funeral – serve him right – all over – drop the curtain!" Unable, however, to keep up this make-believe recklessness, Jingle sat down at length and sobbed like a child.

Mr. Pickwick was greatly moved at the sight, and gave Job some money for his master as he turned away.

Sam Weller had come with Mr. Pickwick to the prison. The latter, however, told his servant he must now leave him, though his wages would go on as usual. Sam pretended to agree, but lost no time in going to his father with a plan by which he, too, should be sent to the Fleet Prison for debt, so as to be near his master. He borrowed some money from the old stage-driver, and then when he refused to pay it, his father had him arrested and sent to the prison as he wished. Old Tony Weller and all his friends went with him, and gave him three tremendous cheers at the door. When Mr. Pickwick saw Sam return and learned what he had done, he was much affected at the devotion of this faithful servant and felt himself more fond of him than ever.

It was a long time before Winkle, Tupman and Snodgrass learned of their leader's imprisonment and came to see him. Sam also had visitors in the person of his mother-in-law (who, of course, did not know he had brought about his own arrest) and the hypocritical, red-nosed preacher who came with her to lecture him on his evil ways.

Old Tony Weller came, too, with a plan that he had thought of for Mr. Pickwick's escape in a piano.

"It'll hold him easy," he whispered, "with his hat and shoes on, and breathe through the legs, vich is holler. Have a passage ready taken for 'Mericker. The 'Merikin gov'ment will never give him up when they finds as he's got money to spend, Sammy. Let him stop there till Mrs. Bardell's dead, then let him come back and write a book about the 'Merikins as'll pay all his expenses and more if he blows 'em up enough."

But Mr. Pickwick did not avail himself of this plan to escape to America. Day by day he wandered about the prison, learning its tales of misery and hopelessness, till his head and his heart ached and he could bear no more. For three months he remained there, shut up all day, stealing from his room only at night, and no entreaties would induce him to pay the money which was keeping him a prisoner.

Mrs. Bardell's lawyers meanwhile grew impatient. They had not been paid even the costs of the trial, and these Mrs. Bardell had agreed to pay if they won the suit. As Mr. Pickwick had not paid the damages, however, she had no money, and so the lawyers at last had her arrested, and she, too, was sent to the Fleet Prison. After a few hours there, Mrs. Bardell was willing to do anything to escape, and she agreed if Mr. Pickwick paid the costs, to release him from the damages.

Mr. Pickwick was still so indignant that he would possibly not have consented, but at this juncture Winkle entered, leading by the hand the beautiful girl who had been Arabella Allen, but whom he introduced now as Mrs. Winkle. He had run away with her from the old aunt's house, with the help of Mary, the pretty housemaid, and they had been married without the knowledge of Winkle's father. They had come to Mr. Pickwick to beg him to go and plead with old Mr. Winkle for forgiveness.

Arabella's tears and Winkle's plight proved too much for Mr. Pickwick's resolution. He paid Mrs. Bardell's costs and left Fleet Prison that very day, with Sam Weller, whose father, of course, immediately released him also.

IX
SNODGRASS GETS INTO DIFFICULTIES, BUT WINS
HIS LADY-LOVE. THE ADVENTURES OF THE
PICKWICKIANS COME TO AN END

Mr. Pickwick journeyed first to Bristol, to break the news of Arabella's marriage to her brother, Ben Allen. The latter was angry at first, but finally he and Bob Sawyer shook hands with the visitor and agreed to treasure no ill-feeling.

Both the young gentlemen insisted on going with Mr. Pickwick to the Winkle homestead – a circumstance which did not make that visit an easy one. Arabella's brother went fast asleep in the parlor while they waited, and when Bob Sawyer pinched him, as the old gentleman entered, he awoke with a shriek without the least idea where he was.

This was most embarrassing to Mr. Pickwick, but he said all he could for Winkle. The old gentleman, however, would send no message to his son, and Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller returned with disappointment.

In London Sam found a letter awaiting him from his father. His mother-in-law was dead and the public house and its earnings were now the old stage-driver's. Sam went to see old Tony and found him terrified. All the widows in town were setting their caps for him and he was afraid one of them would succeed in marrying him. He had determined to sell out the business, give the money to Mr. Pickwick to invest for him, and keep to stage-driving so as to be safe.

While Sam sat with his father talking matters over, the red-nosed preacher came sidling in to inquire whether Mrs. Weller's will had not left some money for him. He felt so much at home that he went to the cupboard and poured himself out a big tumbler of his favorite pineapple rum. This was more than old Tony Weller could stand. He fell upon the old hypocrite, kicked him through the door and ducked him in the horse trough.

Mr. Pickwick, meanwhile, had been arranging to buy the release of Jingle and Job Trotter, and to send them to the West Indies, where they might have a chance to make an honest living. While he was attending to this at his lawyer's, a prolonged knock came at the door. It was Joe, Mr. Wardle's fat boy, erect, but gone fast asleep between his knocks.

Mr. Wardle came up from his carriage, delighted to see his old friend, of whose imprisonment he had just heard. He told Mr. Pickwick that his daughter Emily had fallen in love with Snodgrass, and that, discovering it, he had brought her to London to ask the advice of Mr. Pickwick in the matter. While they talked he sent the fat boy back to the inn to tell Emily that Mr. Pickwick would dine there with them.

The fat boy went on this errand, and coming suddenly into the inn sitting-room, discovered Emily, with her waist encircled with Snodgrass's arm while Arabella and her pretty housemaid were obligingly looking out of the window. There was but one thing to do: they bribed the fat boy not to tell!

Snodgrass, unluckily, stayed too long. As he was leaving, he heard Mr. Wardle, with Mr. Pickwick and Winkle, coming up the stair. He was obliged to retreat, and took refuge in Mr. Wardle's bedroom, from which there was no escape, save through the dining-room.

The dinner hour was a painful one to Emily, for the fat boy's secret kept him awake, and he winked at her and at Arabella so often that Mr. Wardle noticed it. The latter sent him into the bedroom finally for his snuff-box and he came out very pale, Mr. Snodgrass having seized him there, and begged him to tell some one secretly to release him.

Accordingly the fat boy made desperate efforts to attract Mr. Pickwick's attention – first by making faces at him when he thought no one else was looking and finally by running a pin into his leg. But this did not have the desired results. Mr. Pickwick concluded he was crazy, and Mr. Wardle was about to have him taken down stairs, when into the confusion, with a very red face, walked Snodgrass, out of the bedroom. He explained his presence there, declared his love for Emily, was forgiven on the spot and joined the dinner.

The happiness of all was complete when old Mr. Winkle arrived (having made up his mind to see his son's wife and judge for himself) and found Arabella so sweet that he kissed her and forgave Winkle on the instant.

Thus the last adventure of the Pickwickians ended happily. Mr. Pickwick had seen, before this, that the marriage of his companions would change his own life. He withdrew his name from the Pickwick Club (which thereupon went to pieces), and purchased a house near London for the entertainment of his friends, and there a few days later Snodgrass and Emily were married in the presence of Mr. Wardle and all the Pickwickians.

After the wedding, Snodgrass bought a farm near Dingley Dell where, with Emily, he lived many years, and was always accounted a great poet on account of his pensive and absent-minded manner. Winkle, with Arabella, settled a half-mile from Mr. Pickwick. Tupman never again fell in love, though for years his romantic air made him the admiration of numerous single ladies of the neighborhood.

Ben Allen and Bob Sawyer went to India as surgeons where (after having had yellow fever fourteen times) they became teetotalers and thereafter did well. Mrs. Bardell continued to let lodgings to single gentlemen, but never had another breach of promise suit. Old Tony Weller finally gave up business and retired to live on the interest of the money Mr. Pickwick had invested for him, having, to the end of his life, a great dislike for widows. His son, Sam, remaining faithful to his master, Mr. Pickwick at length made Mary, the pretty maid, his housekeeper, on condition that she marry Sam, which she did at once.

Mr. Pickwick lived happily, occupied in writing his adventures and in acting as godfather to the children of Snodgrass and Winkle. He never regretted what he had done for Jingle and Job Trotter, who became in time worthy members of society. He was a favorite with all and the children loved him. Every year he went to Mr. Wardle's to a large merrymaking, attended by his faithful Sam Weller, between whom and his master there was a regard that nothing but death could end.

LITTLE DORRIT

Published 1855–1857

CHARACTERS

LITTLE DORRIT

I
HOW ARTHUR CAME HOME FROM CHINA

A long, long time ago there lived in London a young man named Clennam. He was an orphan, and was brought up by a stern uncle, who crushed and repressed his youth and finally forced him to marry a cold, unfeeling, stubborn woman whom he did not in the least love.

Some time before this marriage, the nephew had met a beautiful young woman, also an orphan, whom a rich man named Dorrit was educating to be a singer, since she had a remarkable voice. Clennam had fallen in love with her and had persuaded her to give him all her love in return. There had even been a kind of ceremony of marriage between them.

But they were both very poor and could not really marry for fear of the anger of Clennam's cruel uncle, who finally compelled his nephew to marry the other woman, whom he had picked out for him. And the singer, because she loved him and could not bear to see him made a beggar, gave him up. So Clennam married one woman while loving another, and this, as all wrong things must do, resulted in unhappiness for them both.

The singer had given him a little silk watch-paper worked in beads with the initials D. N. F. These letters stood for the words, "Do Not Forget."

The wife saw the paper with her husband's watch in his secret drawer and wondered what it meant. One day she found an old letter, that had passed between her husband and the singer, which explained the initials and betrayed the secret of their love.

She was hard and unforgiving. Though she had never loved Clennam herself, her anger was terrible. She went to the singer, and under threat of for ever disgracing her in the eyes of the world, she made her give up to her her baby boy, Arthur, to rear as her own. She promised, in return, that the little Arthur should be provided for and should never know the real history of his parentage. She also compelled her husband and the singer to take an oath that neither would ever see or communicate with the other again.

Mrs. Clennam, in taking this terrible revenge, cheated herself into believing that she was only the instrument of God, carrying out His will and punishment. But in reality she was satisfying the rage and hatred of her own heart. Year by year she nursed this rage in the gloomy house in which Clennam lived and where he carried on the London branch of his business.

It was an old brick house separated from the street by a rusty courtyard. It seemed to have once been about to slide down sidewise, but had been propped up as though it leaned on some half-dozen gigantic crutches. Inside it was dark and miserable, with sunken floors and blackened furniture. In a corner of the sitting-room was an ugly old clock that was wound once a week with an iron handle, and on the walls were pictures showing the "Plagues of Egypt." The only pleasure the grim woman enjoyed was reading aloud from those parts of the Old Testament which call for dreadful punishments to fall upon all the enemies of the righteous, and in these passages she gloried.

In this melancholy place the boy Arthur Clennam grew up in silence and in dread, wondering much why they lived so lonely and why his father and mother (for so he thought Mrs. Clennam to be) sat always so silent with faces turned from each other.

There were but two servants, an old woman named Affery, and Flintwinch, her husband, a short, bald man, who was both clerk and footman, and who carried his head awry and walked in a one-sided crab-like way, as though he were falling and needed propping up like the house. Flintwinch was cunning and without conscience. Very few secrets his mistress had which he did not know, and they often quarreled.

At length the uncle, who had compelled the unhappy marriage of Arthur's father, died. Feeling sorry at the last for the wretched singer, whose life had been ruined, he left her in his will a sum of money, and another sum to the youngest niece of the man who had befriended and educated her – Mr. Dorrit.

This money, however, Mrs. Clennam did not intend either the woman she hated or the niece of her patron should get. She hid the part of the will which referred to it, and made Flintwinch (who, beside her husband, was the only one who knew of it) promise not to tell. Arthur's father she compelled to sail to China, to take charge of the branch of his business in that country, and when Arthur was old enough, she sent him there also.

For twenty years, while Arthur stayed with his father on the other side of the world, Mrs. Clennam, cold and unforgiving as ever, lived on in the old, tumbling house, carrying on the London business with the aid of Flintwinch.

The poor, forsaken singer lost her mind and at last died. Mr. Dorrit, of course, knowing nothing about the hidden will, could not claim his share, and the guilty secret remained (except for Arthur's unhappy father) in possession of only Mrs. Clennam and the crafty Flintwinch.

So the years rolled by, and Mrs. Clennam's cold gray eyes grew colder, her gray hair grayer and her face more hard and stony. She went out less and less, and finally paralysis made her keep to her room and her chair.

The time came when Arthur's father lay dying with his son beside him. On his death-bed he did not forget the money which had never been restored. He had not strength to write, but with his dying hand he gave Arthur his watch, making him promise to take it back to England to the wife whose anger and hatred still lived. The watch still held the little paper with the bead initials that stood for "Do not forget," and he meant thus to remind her of the wrong which was still unrighted.

Many times thereafter, on his way back to London, Arthur thought of his father's strange manner and wondered if it could be that some wrong deed lay on his conscience. This idea clung to him, so that when he saw Mrs. Clennam again on his arrival, and spoke to her of his father's last hours, he asked her if she thought this might be so. But at this her anger rose; she upbraided him and declared if he ever referred again to the subject she would renounce him as her son and cast him off for ever.

It was her guilty conscience, of course, that caused this burst of rage. And yet, just because it was not for the money's sake that she had done that evil act, but because she so hated the woman to whom it should have been given, she tried to convince herself that she had acted rightly, as the instrument of God, to punish wickedness. She had told herself this falsehood over and over again so often that she had ended by quite believing it to be the truth.

Arthur said no more to her about the matter. He was a man now, and his father's death had made him master of a very considerable fortune. He decided that he would not carry on the business, but would make a new one for himself. This resolution angered Mrs. Clennam greatly, but she grimly determined to carry it on herself, and in Arthur's place took the wily Flintwinch as her partner and told Arthur coldly to go his own way.