Bleak House by Charles Dickens (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📖

>word or a kind look for any one. He had been so different, Fitz

Jarndyce. He was drawn to a debtors’ prison. There he died. Then

our brother was drawn—swiftly—to drunkenness. And rags. And

death. Then my sister was drawn. Hush! Never ask to what! Then

I was ill and in misery, and heard, as I had often heard before,

that this was all the work of Chancery. When I got better, I went

to look at the monster. And then I found out how it was, and I was

drawn to stay there.”

 

Having got over her own short narrative, in the delivery of which

she had spoken in a low, strained voice, as if the shock were fresh

upon her, she gradually resumed her usual air of amiable

importance.

 

“You don’t quite credit me, my dear! Well, well! You will, some

day. I am a little rambling. But I have noticed. I have seen

many new faces come, unsuspicious, within the influence of the mace

and seal in these many years. As my father’s came there. As my

brother’s. As my sister’s. As my own. I hear Conversation Kenge

and the rest of them say to the new faces, ‘Here’s little Miss

Flite. Oh, you are new here; and you must come and be presented to

little Miss Flite!’ Ve-ry good. Proud I am sure to have the

honour! And we all laugh. But, Fitz Jarndyce, I know what will

happen. I know, far better than they do, when the attraction has

begun. I know the signs, my dear. I saw them begin in Gridley.

And I saw them end. Fitz Jarndyce, my love,” speaking low again,

“I saw them beginning in our friend the ward in Jarndyce. Let some

one hold him back. Or he’ll be drawn to ruin.”

 

She looked at me in silence for some moments, with her face

gradually softening into a smile. Seeming to fear that she had

been too gloomy, and seeming also to lose the connexion in her

mind, she said politely as she sipped her glass of wine, “Yes, my

dear, as I was saying, I expect a judgment shortly. Then I shall

release my birds, you know, and confer estates.”

 

I was much impressed by her allusion to Richard and by the sad

meaning, so sadly illustrated in her poor pinched form, that made

its way through all her incoherence. But happily for her, she was

quite complacent again now and beamed with nods and smiles.

 

“But, my dear,” she said, gaily, reaching another hand to put it

upon mine. “You have not congratulated me on my physician.

Positively not once, yet!”

 

I was obliged to confess that I did not quite know what she meant.

 

“My physician, Mr. Woodcourt, my dear, who was so exceedingly

attentive to me. Though his services were rendered quite

gratuitously. Until the Day of Judgment. I mean THE judgment that

will dissolve the spell upon me of the mace and seal.”

 

“Mr. Woodcourt is so far away, now,” said I, “that I thought the

time for such congratulation was past, Miss Flite.”

 

“But, my child,” she returned, “is it possible that you don’t know

what has happened?”

 

“No,” said I.

 

“Not what everybody has been talking of, my beloved Fitz Jarndyce!”

 

“No,” said I. “You forget how long I have been here.”

 

“True! My dear, for the moment—true. I blame myself. But my

memory has been drawn out of me, with everything else, by what I

mentioned. Ve-ry strong influence, is it not? Well, my dear,

there has been a terrible shipwreck over in those East Indian

seas.”

 

“Mr. Woodcourt shipwrecked!”

 

“Don’t be agitated, my dear. He is safe. An awful scene. Death

in all shapes. Hundreds of dead and dying. Fire, storm, and

darkness. Numbers of the drowning thrown upon a rock. There, and

through it all, my dear physician was a hero. Calm and brave

through everything. Saved many lives, never complained in hunger

and thirst, wrapped naked people in his spare clothes, took the

lead, showed them what to do, governed them, tended the sick,

buried the dead, and brought the poor survivors safely off at last!

My dear, the poor emaciated creatures all but worshipped him. They

fell down at his feet when they got to the land and blessed him.

The whole country rings with it. Stay! Where’s my bag of

documents? I have got it there, and you shall read it, you shall

read it!”

 

And I DID read all the noble history, though very slowly and

imperfectly then, for my eyes were so dimmed that I could not see

the words, and I cried so much that I was many times obliged to lay

down the long account she had cut out of the newspaper. I felt so

triumphant ever to have known the man who had done such generous

and gallant deeds, I felt such glowing exultation in his renown, I

so admired and loved what he had done, that I envied the storm-worn

people who had fallen at his feet and blessed him as their

preserver. I could myself have kneeled down then, so far away, and

blessed him in my rapture that he should be so truly good and

brave. I felt that no one—mother, sister, wife—could honour him

more than I. I did, indeed!

 

My poor little visitor made me a present of the account, and when

as the evening began to close in she rose to take her leave, lest

she should miss the coach by which she was to return, she was still

full of the shipwreck, which I had not yet sufficiently composed

myself to understand in all its details.

 

“My dear,” said she as she carefully folded up her scarf and

gloves, “my brave physician ought to have a title bestowed upon

him. And no doubt he will. You are of that opinion?”

 

That he well deserved one, yes. That he would ever have one, no.

 

“Why not, Fitz Jarndyce?” she asked rather sharply.

 

I said it was not the custom in England to confer titles on men

distinguished by peaceful services, however good and great, unless

occasionally when they consisted of the accumulation of some very

large amount of money.

 

“Why, good gracious,” said Miss Flite, “how can you say that?

Surely you know, my dear, that all the greatest ornaments of

England in knowledge, imagination, active humanity, and improvement

of every sort are added to its nobility! Look round you, my dear,

and consider. YOU must be rambling a little now, I think, if you

don’t know that this is the great reason why titles will always

last in the land!”

 

I am afraid she believed what she said, for there were moments when

she was very mad indeed.

 

And now I must part with the little secret I have thus far tried to

keep. I had thought, sometimes, that Mr. Woodcourt loved me and

that if he had been richer he would perhaps have told me that he

loved me before he went away. I had thought, sometimes, that if he

had done so, I should have been glad of it. But how much better it

was now that this had never happened! What should I have suffered

if I had had to write to him and tell him that the poor face he had

known as mine was quite gone from me and that I freely released him

from his bondage to one whom he had never seen!

 

Oh, it was so much better as it was! With a great pang mercifully

spared me, I could take back to my heart my childish prayer to be

all he had so brightly shown himself; and there was nothing to be

undone: no chain for me to break or for him to drag; and I could

go, please God, my lowly way along the path of duty, and he could

go his nobler way upon its broader road; and though we were apart

upon the journey, I might aspire to meet him, unselfishly,

innocently, better far than he had thought me when I found some

favour in his eyes, at the journey’s end.