The Old Curiosity Club discussion

Hello Curiosities,

I hope I am finding you safe and well. Chapter 26, titled "Shadows of the Past and Future". I didn't know the future could have shadows. The chapter starts with my two least favorite characters in the book which I would think make them Tristram's favorite characters in the book, Mr. Carker and his teeth, and Major Bagstock, or whatever he is calling himself at this minute, Joey B., Josh Bagstock, Joe, Joseph, Old J. I was sitting here wondering what people would think if all of a sudden I would start saying things like, "Well Kim better get making supper now, she wants to practice piano for awhile" or "Kim was awake early today because she has an unusually painful migraine, but she took some medicine that should help but it won't, she's not feeling down though, she's used to it". People would think I'd lost my mind. I'm also sitting here wondering (or she is) how and why Dombey puts up with it. The only thing I can think of is that Dombey will put up with anyone whose world revolves around the great Dombey and only him. As long as you bow down to his greatness he won't see anything wrong with you. I guess, I don't know, if you have any better ideas let me know. All I know is if I saw the guy coming, I'd be going the other way. Kim would too. I am losing my mind, maybe I've self-isolated too long.

But now Mr. Carker has arrived on the scene too. I'm not sure if he just showed up to see what Dombey was up to, or if Dombey asked him to come to him, I guess he has to check on the business sometime. When he arrives at the beginning of the chapter he is smiling showing all his shining teeth and when the chapter ends he is still showing all his smiling teeth, there is only one place where his smile may not be quite a smile, here it is:

‘They are all—that is to say, they are both—ladies,’ replied Mr Dombey.

‘Only two?’ smiled Carker.

‘They are only two. I have confined my visits to their residence, and have made no other acquaintance here.’

‘Sisters, perhaps?’ quoth Carker.

‘Mother and daughter,’ replied Mr Dombey.

As Mr Dombey dropped his eyes, and adjusted his neckcloth again, the smiling face of Mr Carker the Manager became in a moment, and without any stage of transition, transformed into a most intent and frowning face, scanning his closely, and with an ugly sneer. As Mr Dombey raised his eyes, it changed back, no less quickly, to its old expression, and showed him every gum of which it stood possessed.

Now this occurs right after the Major has finally left them, if I had just met the Major I may be sneering too when he finally leaves, but it is also when he finds that Dombey has been visiting some new "friends" he has met while there, lady friends even. So is the ugly sneer for the Major, for the ladies, for Dombey himself, or is it just his real look when no one is really looking at him. Does he find the Major or the ladies may be a threat to his power? Or is he tired of bowing down to Dombey day after day, year after year. Dombey expects this worship from his second in command, but does he expect it because he can't imagine anyone not worshiping Dombey and Son, or does he expect it because that is the way Carker has always been and Dombey has become used to it? Has Carker made Dombey even worse than he was before he knew him? I don't know.

Anyway, Carker tells Dombey that he has seen Florence, I don't know why though, I wouldn't think it would be something he would bring up, it certainly doesn't seem like the type of thing that would win him any points with Dombey. But we're told:

‘I took the liberty of waiting on her,’ said Carker, ‘to inquire if she could charge me with any little commission. I am not so fortunate as to be the bearer of any but her—but her dear love.’

Wolf’s face that it was then, with even the hot tongue revealing itself through the stretched mouth, as the eyes encountered Mr Dombey’s!

Now Walter Gay is mentioned and Dombey says that while he never was impressed with him, he wishes he hadn't sent him on that doomed ship. This has me wondering why it is that Dombey didn't like Walter. I can't remember what happened that caused this feeling of dislike, Walter worked for Dombey, but that doesn't seem to be a reason to not like the guy, he saved Florence when she was lost, that would be a reason to like him, he picked up that letter on the floor which seemed to make such a bad impression on Dombey, although I don't know why, Paul was fond of him, so what was the reason for Dombey's dislike of him? Carker doesn't like him, but even if he didn't have a reason, Carker doesn't like anyone. Carker doesn't even like Dombey deep down inside. I suppose he is rather fond of his teeth though.

But now the Major arrives on his visit to Mrs. Skewton and they go on plotting the uniting of Dombey and Edith. I would think Mrs. Skewton is anxious for the match so she can enjoy the wealth and position of the great Dombey, but what is in it for the Major? He is already as close to Dombey as a person can get, so what is he getting out of this? And how long has this plan been going on anyway? Is there any chance that the Major and Mrs. Skewton knew each other and arranged this even before Dombey took his trip there? Here are two more things that stood out to me, the first the conversation between Edith and her mother:

‘My dearest Edith,’ said Mrs Skewton, ‘where on earth have you been? I have wanted you, my love, most sadly.’

‘You said you were engaged, and I stayed away,’ she answered, without turning her head.

‘It was cruel to Old Joe, Ma’am,’ said the Major in his gallantry.

‘It was very cruel, I know,’ she said, still looking out—and said with such calm disdain, that the Major was discomfited, and could think of nothing in reply.

‘Major Bagstock, my darling Edith,’ drawled her mother, ‘who is generally the most useless and disagreeable creature in the world: as you know—’

‘It is surely not worthwhile, Mama,’ said Edith, looking round, ‘to observe these forms of speech. We are quite alone. We know each other.’

The quiet scorn that sat upon her handsome face—a scorn that evidently lighted on herself, no less than them—was so intense and deep, that her mother’s simper, for the instant, though of a hardy constitution, drooped before it.

‘My darling girl,’ she began again.

‘Not woman yet?’ said Edith, with a smile.

‘How very odd you are to-day, my dear! Pray let me say, my love, that Major Bagstock has brought the kindest of notes from Mr Dombey, proposing that we should breakfast with him to-morrow, and ride to Warwick and Kenilworth. Will you go, Edith?’

‘Will I go!’ she repeated, turning very red, and breathing quickly as she looked round at her mother.

‘I knew you would, my own, observed the latter carelessly. ‘It is, as you say, quite a form to ask. Here is Mr Dombey’s letter, Edith.’

‘Thank you. I have no desire to read it,’ was her answer.

‘Then perhaps I had better answer it myself,’ said Mrs Skewton, ‘though I had thought of asking you to be my secretary, darling.’ As Edith made no movement, and no answer, Mrs Skewton begged the Major to wheel her little table nearer, and to set open the desk it contained, and to take out pen and paper for her; all which congenial offices of gallantry the Major discharged, with much submission and devotion.

Poor Edith, she doesn't seem to be as much a part of the marry Dombey sceme as the Major and her mother are. The second
comes at the end of the chapter. The three men had just spent the evening together having a rather long supper and now the Major asks Carker if he can play any games:

When the Major was too hoarse with meat and drink, and the display of his social powers, to render himself intelligible any longer, they adjourned to coffee. After which, the Major inquired of Mr Carker the Manager, with little apparent hope of an answer in the affirmative, if he played picquet.

‘Yes, I play picquet a little,’ said Mr Carker.

‘Backgammon, perhaps?’ observed the Major, hesitating.

‘Yes, I play backgammon a ttle too,’ replied the man of teeth.

‘Carker plays at all games, I believe,’ said Mr Dombey, laying himself on a sofa like a man of wood, without a hinge or a joint in him; ‘and plays them well.’

In sooth, he played the two in question, to such perfection, that the Major was astonished, and asked him, at random, if he played chess.

‘Yes, I play chess a little,’ answered Carker. ‘I have sometimes played, and won a game—it’s a mere trick—without seeing the board.’

‘By Gad, Sir!’ said the Major, staring, ‘you are a contrast to Dombey, who plays nothing.’

‘Oh! He!’ returned the Manager. ‘He has never had occasion to acquire such little arts. To men like me, they are sometimes useful. As at present, Major Bagstock, when they enable me to take a hand with you.’

It might be only the false mouth, so smooth and wide; and yet there seemed to lurk beneath the humility and subserviency of this short speech, a something like a snarl; and, for a moment, one might have thought that the white teeth were prone to bite the hand they fawned upon. But the Major thought nothing about it; and Mr Dombey lay meditating with his eyes half shut, during the whole of the play, which lasted until bed-time.

I wonder who will win in the end.

Chapter 27 is titled "Deeper Shadows" and we are still spending our time with Dombey, Carker, the Major and whoever else may be nearby. Two of those nearby in the beginning of the chapter is Edith and a withered, ugly old woman. Carker is out for a walk the morning after the events in the last chapter when he comes upon them, Edith he doesn't yet know, he just sees an elegantly dressed and very handsome lady, whose dark proud eyes were fixed upon the ground. We're told there was some passion or struggle raging inside her, her hands were trembling, there were tears on her cheek, things like that. But almost immediately she throws all this aside and rises with a scornful air of weariness and lassitude. As Carker is watching this Edith is approached by this ugly old woman who is from a race of vagabonds who tramp about the country, begging, stealing, and whatever else they can do for money. She also had been watching Edith and now stops her and tells her she can tell her fortune for her for a piece of silver. Edith, however, wants nothing to do with her, tells her she can tell her own future and keeps going past. The ugly woman, seeing Edith won't give her anything to tell her fortune now threatens her by saying if she doesn't give her something she will call her fortune after her. At this point Carker steps in and stops the woman from following Edith. He does give her a shilling and as he turns and walks away she calls after him:

‘Good!’ said the old woman. ‘One child dead, and one child living: one wife dead, and one wife coming. Go and meet her!’

In spite of himself, the Manager looked round again, and stopped. The old woman, who had not removed her pipe, and was munching and mumbling while she smoked, as if in conversation with an invisible familiar, pointed with her finger in the direction he was going, and laughed.

‘What was that you said, Bedlamite?’ he demanded.

The woman mumbled, and chattered, and smoked, and still pointed before him; but remained silent Muttering a farewell that was not complimentary, Mr Carker pursued his way; but as he turned out of that place, and looked over his shoulder at the root of the old tree, he could yet see the finger pointing before him, and thought he heard the woman screaming, ‘Go and meet her!’

I had two thoughts in reading that. One was that she was really telling Dombey's fortune more than Edith's, or Dombey's past however you want to look at it. Or, Carker has a dead child and a living child, and a couple of wives we don't know about out there somewhere. But now it is time for breakfast, the first time Carker will be meeting the ladies, or that's what they think until Edith and Mrs. Skewton arrive and Edith realize's Carker is the man who stepped between her and the old woman earlier:

‘Carker—’ began Mr Dombey. But their recognition of each other was so manifest, that Mr Dombey stopped surprised.

‘I am obliged to the gentleman,’ said Edith, with a stately bend, ‘for sparing me some annoyance from an importunate beggar just now.’

‘I am obliged to my good fortune,’ said Mr Carker, bowing low, ‘for the opportunity of rendering so slight a service to one whose servant I am proud to be.’

As her eye rested on him for an instant, and then lighted on the ground, he saw in its bright and searching glance a suspicion that he had not come up at the moment of his interference, but had secretly observed her sooner. As he saw that, she saw in his eye that her distrust was not without foundation.

Before I leave the old woman to go do whatever it is the old woman was going to do, am I right in thinking she may be good old Mrs. Brown? That way she would know about Dombey's children and his first wife, but what is she doing there? And does Carker, now making it clear to Edith he knows her "secret" of how she feels about marrying Dombey, does that give him power over her? Or am I reading too much into that look between the two of them? And now they are about to go on to Warwick castle for their tour, and I almost feel sorry for Carker being stuck with Mrs. Skewton for much of this time. Then we have this:

‘Pictures at the Castle, quite divine!’ said Cleopatra. ‘I hope you dote upon pictures?’

‘I assure you, Mrs Skewton,’ said Mr Dombey, with solemn encouragement of his Manager, ‘that Carker has a very good taste for pictures; quite a natural power of appreciating them. He is a very creditable artist himself. He will be delighted, I am sure, with Mrs Granger’s taste and skill.’

‘Damme, Sir!’ cried Major Bagstock, ‘my opinion is, that you’re the admirable Carker, and can do anything.’

‘Oh!’ smiled Carker, with humility, ‘you are much too sanguine, Major Bagstock. I can do very little. But Mr Dombey is so generous in his estimation of any trivial accomplishment a man like myself may find it almost necessary to acquire, and to which, in his very different sphere, he is far superior, that—’ Mr Carker shrugged his shoulders, deprecating further praise, and said no more.

All this time, Edith never raised her eyes, unless to glance towards her mother when that lady’s fervent spirit shone forth in words. But as Carker ceased, she looked at Mr Dombey for a moment. For a moment only; but with a transient gleam of scornful wonder on her face, not lost on one observer, who was smiling round the board.

I'm beginning to think Dombey isn't the smartest person in the room. And now they go to the castle and Mrs. Skewton hangs on Carker most of the time while Dombey goes ahead of them with Edith looking at whatever you look at in castles. We're told that Mrs. Skewton continues to talk constantly, but neither one of them were really listening to what she was saying, they were both intent on watching the two people in front of them. Once they are all together again, there are things that Dombey should take as warnings, but since he won't we should:

Mr Carker now, having nothing to distract his attention, began to discourse upon the pictures and to select the best, and point them out to Mr Dombey: speaking with his usual familiar recognition of Mr Dombey’s greatness, and rendering homage by adjusting his eye-glass for him, or finding out the right place in his catalogue, or holding his stick, or the like. These services did not so much originate with Mr Carker, in truth, as with Mr Dombey himself, who was apt to assert his chieftainship by saying, with subdued authority, and in an easy way—for him—‘Here, Carker, have the goodness to assist me, will you?’ which the smiling gentleman always did with pleasure.

They made the tour of the pictures, the walls, crow’s nest, and so forth; and as they were still one little party, and the Major was rather in the shade: being sleepy during the process of digestion: Mr Carker became communicative and agreeable. At first, he addressed himself for the most part to Mrs Skewton; but as that sensitive lady was in such ecstasies with the works of art, after the first quarter of an hour, that she could do nothing but yawn (they were such perfect inspirations, she observed as a reason for that mark of rapture), he transferred his attentions to Mr Dombey. Mr Dombey said little beyond an occasional ‘Very true, Carker,’ or ‘Indeed, Carker,’ but he tacitly encouraged Carker to proceed, and inwardly approved of his behaviour very much: deeming it as well that somebody should talk, and thinking that his remarks, which were, as one might say, a branch of the parent establishment, might amuse Mrs Granger. Mr Carker, who possessed an excellent discretion, never took the liberty of addressing that lady, direct; but she seemed to listen, though she never looked at him; and once or twice, when he was emphatic in his peculiar humility, the twilight smile stole over her face, not as a light, but as a deep black shadow.

Another things that stood out to me, but only because I paint at times, when they are on their way back, they come to a place they decide would be a lovely place for Edith to sketch a picture for Mr. Dombey. She tells him to pick the place, he tells Carker to pick the place, and once someone picks the place, Edith opens her sketchbook without moving from the seat, begins her sketch. Her pencils need points, so Dombey gives them to Carker since as far as I can tell, when Carker is around Dombey can do nothing himself. But that's not what I'm getting to, as she sketches she has Carker watching her and handing her the pencils when she needs them, Dombey is looking on, and Cleopatra and the Major are also watching. There is no way I would be comfortable with that many people watching me paint, or draw, or do just about anything else I can think of. But Edith seemed to do fine, and her sketch pleased Dombey, who managed to keep it himself, and not hand it to Carker to keep for him. Returning to town, Edith plays the piano because Dombey first mentions the piano, then the harp, then singing, always whatever Dombey suggests, and I don't think it's out of love for him. We're told Dombey is evidently proud of his power and liked to show it. Poor Edith. Of course, she may be better off with Dombey than with her mother, although by marrying Dombey she will have not only him, but also her mother, since I don't know what else would happen to Cleopatra I'm assuming she comes along with the marriage, and she gets Carker too. Poor, poor Edith. And now they are all gone, and I thought the conversation between Edith and her mother afterward was heartbreaking. This is what her mother expects out of her, what a mother to have. Finally we get to see Mrs. Skewton taken apart, for we're told that Mrs Skewton’s maid had appeared to prepare her gradually for night. We're told this maid's touch was as the touch of Death for Cleopatra shrivelled by her hand, and an old, worn, yellow, nodding woman, with red eyes, alone remained in Cleopatra’s place in a greasy flannel gown. On to the next chapter.

And now we are at Chapter 28 titled "Alterations" and we return to Florence and she returns to her home. Home from her stay with Sir Barnet and Lady Skettles where she has been for many chapters now. But Florence and Susan don't talk about the trip home, they talk about Carker. Carker has been to visit Florence three times, and had assumed a confidence between them, trying to gain a restrained power and authority over her and it is causing her great uneasiness. She apparently is much smarter than her father. She feels like Carker is spinning a web around her, and though she doesn't know why she is worried about it. Even Susan knows more about the real Carker than Dombey seems to saying that Dombey does nothing without Mr. Carker, and leaves all to him, and acts according to him, and goes on to say that after Dombey, the Emperor of India is the child unborn to Mr. Carker. But now after touching goodbyes with those she has known at the villa, she is going home. But what a different home it is she returns to! For they arrive in the process of restorations going on:

There was a labyrinth of scaffolding raised all round the house, from the basement to the roof. Loads of bricks and stones, and heaps of mortar, and piles of wood, blocked up half the width and length of the broad street at the side. Ladders were raised against the walls; labourers were climbing up and down; men were at work upon the steps of the scaffolding; painters and decorators were busy inside; great rolls of ornamental paper were being delivered from a cart at the door; an upholsterer’s waggon also stopped the way; no furniture was to be seen through the gaping and broken windows in any of the rooms; nothing but workmen, and the implements of their several trades, swarming from the kitchens to the garrets. Inside and outside alike: bricklayers, painters, carpenters, masons: hammer, hod, brush, pickaxe, saw, and trowel: all at work together, in full chorus!

Going inside she finds her father is there, but he is not alone. With him are two ladies, the first lady is introduced as Mrs. Skewton, when her father introduces the second this happens:

‘Edith,’ said Mr Dombey, ‘this is my daughter Florence. Florence, this lady will soon be your Mama.’

Florence started, and looked up at the beautiful face in a conflict of emotions, among which the tears that name awakened, struggled for a moment with surprise, interest, admiration, and an indefinable sort of fear. Then she cried out, ‘Oh, Papa, may you be happy! may you be very, very happy all your life!’ and then fell weeping on the lady’s bosom.

There was a short silence. The beautiful lady, who at first had seemed to hesitate whether or no she should advance to Florence, held her to her breast, and pressed the hand with which she clasped her, close about her waist, as if to reassure her and comfort her. Not one word passed the lady’s lips. She bent her head down over Florence, and she kissed her on the cheek, but she said no word.

May I hope that this marriage may be a good thing after all? Both for Florence and for Edith? We shall see. I wonder why Dombey wants to marry Edith. Does he love her? Is he lonely? Is he hoping for another son? I don't know, but for the moment I'm glad she is there. And with that I'm off to look for the illustrations.

It looks like Florence and Edith both need love, and are willing to give it to each other, like only a stepdaughter and stepmom can do in their situation. For however awesome Nipper is, because she is a servant there probably always is some sort of boundary making sure Florence can never totally emotionally bond with her as she needs to. I hope too that it is a good thing, as long as Edith manages to teach Florence that she should not marry for the sake of what her elders say, like she did.

Is it me, or does it look like Carker is Edith's suitor in chapter 27, instead of Dombey?

Kim wrote: "Hello Curiosities,

I hope I am finding you safe and well. Chapter 26, titled "Shadows of the Past and Future". I didn't know the future could have shadows. The chapter starts with my two least fa..."

Ah, Carker and his games. How quickly we see Carker have an “ugly sneer” on his face when Dombey looks away. How quickly the sneer disappears when Dombey once again looks at Carker. Dickens portrays Carker’s face as looking like a wolf’s having a “hot tongue” and a “ stretched mouth.” Carker is a predator who is stalking both Dombey and his daughter. Carker has already dispatched Walter and metaphorically consumed his own brother John.

In this chapter Carker is not the only hunter. Mrs Skewton and Major Bagstock are hunting Dombey as well, and their bait is Edith. Bagstock goes so far as to ask Skewton “Shall we marry [Dombey] to Edith Granger Ma’am?” Later Bagstock says to Skewton “Dombey is a good catch.”

At the dinner Dombey shares with Carker and Bagstock, Dombey states that he “has no great appetite to-day.” Bagstock proposes a toast to Edith and he and Carker enjoy their drink. Dombey, for his part, does not seem either embarrassed or distressed with the object of their toast. After dinner Bagstock proposes they play at games and Dombey notes that Carker “plays at all games ... and plays them well.” In response to Dombey’s comment on games Carker responds that games “are sometimes useful. As at present, Major Bagstock, when they enable me to take a hand with you.” Dickens notes that after Carker’s comment “beneath the humility ...[there was] ... a something like a snarl; and for a moment, one might have thought that the white teeth were prone to bite the hand they fawned upon.” Both Bagstock and Dombey miss the subtext of Carker’s comments but Dickens ends the chapter by telling the reader that Carker fancied “a crowd of people slumbering on the ground at his feet ... looking, down, maliciously enough: but trod upon no upturned face - as yet.” “As yet.” What an unsettling way to end the chapter.

The hunt is well underway. It is not a game to either Bagstock or Mrs Skewton to get Dombey to wed Edith Granger. For Carker, the hunt is even more vicious. When does Dickens ever mention Carker without highlighting his teeth?

Yes, it is really difficult to find a reason why Dombey should dislike Walter so much. I have two theories, though: Number one, Walter has saved Florence and brought her back to the family. Mr. Dombey at the time was not half as worried about the absence of his daughter than he was indignant at hearing that his darling son has been taken into the family circle of the Toodles - people he had always wanted to keep away from his son, because he considered them coarse, vulgar and below his station in life. So, maybe, Dombey has come to associate Walter with his daughter, and it is not very recommendable to be associated with Florence mainly in Mr. Dombey's eyes. My second theory is that Dombey may have been somewhat jealous of Walter. When Paul lay dying, he expressly wished for Walter to come and see him, and the young man was one of the last people ever to have spoken to Paul, Paul even entreating his father to take special care of Walter. Well, in a way Dombey did take special care of him - but not in the way Paul might have wished. To a haughty man like Dombey, it must have been painful to see his son show so much attachment to one of his employees when he himself found it difficult to bond with Paul even during his last hours on earth. In other words, Dombey is simply jealous. He is also jealous of Florence for having formed such a genuine and heartfelt attachment to her brother, and for knowing that Paul loved Florence at least as dearly as he loved his own father.

Dombey is a man who cannot show his own feelings (those few he has), but who also takes it ill when people love each other and he has no part in it.

As to why the major helped Mrs. Skewton to secure Dombey for Edith, I think that this old selfish man, who is absolutely full of himself, did it because he enjoyed the power and the sway he evidently has over Dombey. The novel is a study of pride and arrogance, and the major is a caricatured version of Dombey in his way: Both men think of themselves very highly and enjoy their power over others.

Could it be that Dombey’s resentment of Walter could also be linked to the fact that Walter successfully petitioned for a loan from Dombey? While Dombey saw it as a “teaching moment” for his son on what money could accomplish, and how powerful money was, I wonder if he resented lowering himself in front of his son to help a friend of an employee. I imagine Mr Dombey’s ego and pride found its greatest expression in business decisions, not helping to bail out the lower classes.

Peter wrote: "Could it be that Dombey’s resentment of Walter could also be linked to the fact that Walter successfully petitioned for a loan from Dombey? While Dombey saw it as a “teaching moment” for his son on..."

I wonder what Dombey would have done at that age.

Oh, and the major also had an eye on miss Tox when she started to try to become Mrs. Dombey. I think part of marrying Dombey off to Edith might also be revenge. Showing, in his way, he holds power over who Dombey marries, and denying miss Tox the chance she thought she had for all these years, like she denied him that chance 5 years earlier.

Kim wrote: "Chapter 27 is titled "Deeper Shadows" and we are still spending our time with Dombey, Carker, the Major and whoever else may be nearby. Two of those nearby in the beginning of the chapter is Edith ..."

I too think the craggy old woman is Good Mrs Brown. With her withered face, pointing finger and cryptic predictions she is much like the witches in Shakespeare’s MacBeth. Since this chapter is titled “Deeper Shadows” I think we will be seeing much more of Good Mrs Brown. Let’s face it, with such predictions the reader wants to know what the predictions refer to and whether they will come true. Stay tuned, I believe, for more of Good Mrs Brown.

I too noticed how Carker did Dombey’s biddings when Edith wanted sharpened pencils and other trivial necessities. Again we see Dombey, Edith, and the others playing cards. The game has serious undertones. Edith was caught by Carker in an unguarded moment earlier in the day. The predictions of the witch-like old crag are heard and ignored. Carker assumes the role of Dombey as he tends to Edith's desires and needs as directed by Dombey. Carker seems to be the proxy suitor to Edith.

Edith says that Dombey “has bought me” yet is seems that Carker has done much of the courting. Again, the title of this chapter is “Deeper Shadows.” Who is casting the shadows over Dombey and Edith? Is it the fortune teller or someone closer to Dombey and Edith?

At the end of chapter 26 Carker is looking in a mirror that has a faint blur on the surface, so what he sees may be false according to Dickens. I wonder what he would see in the mirror clearly.

I wish we could have seen the proposal by Dombey to Edith. I wonder if he got down on one knee and had a ring ready.

Joe B. Is Sly, Sir, Devilish Sly

Chapter 26

Phiz

Text Illustrated:

The Major, like some other noble animals, exhibited himself to great advantage at feeding-time. On this occasion, he shone resplendent at one end of the table, supported by the milder lustre of Mr Dombey at the other; while Carker on one side lent his ray to either light, or suffered it to merge into both, as occasion arose.

During the first course or two, the Major was usually grave; for the Native, in obedience to general orders, secretly issued, collected every sauce and cruet round him, and gave him a great deal to do, in taking out the stoppers, and mixing up the contents in his plate. Besides which, the Native had private zests and flavours on a side-table, with which the Major daily scorched himself; to say nothing of strange machines out of which he spirited unknown liquids into the Major’s drink. But on this occasion, Major Bagstock, even amidst these many occupations, found time to be social; and his sociality consisted in excessive slyness for the behoof of Mr Carker, and the betrayal of Mr Dombey’s state of mind.

‘Dombey,’ said the Major, ‘you don’t eat; what’s the matter?’

‘Thank you,’ returned the gentleman, ‘I am doing very well; I have no great appetite today.’

‘Why, Dombey, what’s become of it?’ asked the Major. ‘Where’s it gone? You haven’t left it with our friends, I’ll swear, for I can answer for their having none to-day at luncheon. I can answer for one of ‘em, at least: I won’t say which.’

Then the Major winked at Carker, and became so frightfully sly, that his dark attendant was obliged to pat him on the back, without orders, or he would probably have disappeared under the table.

In a later stage of the dinner: that is to say, when the Native stood at the Major’s elbow ready to serve the first bottle of champagne: the Major became still slyer.

‘Fill this to the brim, you scoundrel,’ said the Major, holding up his glass. ‘Fill Mr Carker’s to the brim too. And Mr Dombey’s too. By Gad, gentlemen,’ said the Major, winking at his new friend, while Mr Dombey looked into his plate with a conscious air, ‘we’ll consecrate this glass of wine to a Divinity whom Joe is proud to know, and at a distance humbly and reverently to admire. Edith,’ said the Major, ‘is her name; angelic Edith!’

‘To angelic Edith!’ cried the smiling Carker.

‘Edith, by all means,’ said Mr Dombey.

The entrance of the waiters with new dishes caused the Major to be slyer yet, but in a more serious vein. ‘For though among ourselves, Joe Bagstock mingles jest and earnest on this subject, Sir,’ said the Major, laying his finger on his lips, and speaking half apart to Carker, ‘he holds that name too sacred to be made the property of these fellows, or of any fellows. Not a word, Sir, while they are here!’

Commentary:

The next two monthly numbers and their illustrations deal largely with the progress and fruition of Mr. Dombey's courtship, and Phiz achieves some of his most telling effects. In "Joe B is sly Sir; devilish sly" (ch, 26), Carker observes Dombey with the same concentration he has devoted to Florence, but here the one observed is unconscious of the observer. It is one among many plates in which looking-at and spying-upon are central motifs, usually with Dombey as the unconscious cynosure of many hostile eyes and thoughts. From his reading of the text or his understanding of the general account Dickens may have given him of the situation, Phiz has seen fit to include a painting on the wall of the "wooing" of Uncle Toby and the Widow Wadman in Tristram Shandy, almost certainly derived from C.R. Leslie's painting of this subject, now in the Victoria and Albert Museum — a similarity noted by T. W. Hill. The application is clear, and startling: the joke around which the courtship in Sterne's novel revolves is that the Widow wants to make sure Toby's war wound is not such as to incapacitate him sexually, but Toby is incapable of understanding her hints. Phiz perhaps does not mean to question Dombey's virility, but the notion of sexual incapacity becomes entirely apposite when one realizes that Dombey is not able to command Edith's submission, and that he is — in appearance at least — cuckolded by Carker.

Colorized




original sketch

"Thank you I have no desire to read it"

Chapter 26

Fred Barnard

Text Illustrated:

‘My dearest Edith,’ said Mrs Skewton, ‘where on earth have you been? I have wanted you, my love, most sadly.’

‘You said you were engaged, and I stayed away,’ she answered, without turning her head.

‘It was cruel to Old Joe, Ma’am,’ said the Major in his gallantry.

‘It was very cruel, I know,’ she said, still looking out—and said with such calm disdain, that the Major was discomfited, and could think of nothing in reply.

‘Major Bagstock, my darling Edith,’ drawled her mother, ‘who is generally the most useless and disagreeable creature in the world: as you know—’

‘It is surely not worthwhile, Mama,’ said Edith, looking round, ‘to observe these forms of speech. We are quite alone. We know each other.’

The quiet scorn that sat upon her handsome face—a scorn that evidently lighted on herself, no less than them—was so intense and deep, that her mother’s simper, for the instant, though of a hardy constitution, drooped before it.

‘My darling girl,’ she began again.

‘Not woman yet?’ said Edith, with a smile.

‘How very odd you are to-day, my dear! Pray let me say, my love, that Major Bagstock has brought the kindest of notes from Mr Dombey, proposing that we should breakfast with him to-morrow, and ride to Warwick and Kenilworth. Will you go, Edith?’

‘Will I go!’ she repeated, turning very red, and breathing quickly as she looked round at her mother.

‘I knew you would, my own, observed the latter carelessly. ‘It is, as you say, quite a form to ask. Here is Mr Dombey’s letter, Edith.’

‘Thank you. I have no desire to read it,’ was her answer.

‘Then perhaps I had better answer it myself,’ said Mrs Skewton, ‘though I had thought of asking you to be my secretary, darling.’ As Edith made no movement, and no answer, Mrs Skewton begged the Major to wheel her little table nearer, and to set open the desk it contained, and to take out pen and paper for her; all which congenial offices of gallantry the Major discharged, with much submission and devotion.

"Go and meet her!"

Chapter 27

Fred Barnard

Text Illustrated:

A withered and very ugly old woman, dressed not so much like a gipsy as like any of that medley race of vagabonds who tramp about the country, begging, and stealing, and tinkering, and weaving rushes, by turns, or all together, had been observing the lady, too; for, as she rose, this second figure strangely confronting the first, scrambled up from the ground—out of it, it almost appeared—and stood in the way.

‘Let me tell your fortune, my pretty lady,’ said the old woman, munching with her jaws, as if the Death’s Head beneath her yellow skin were impatient to get out.

‘I can tell it for myself,’ was the reply.

‘Ay, ay, pretty lady; but not right. You didn’t tell it right when you were sitting there. I see you! Give me a piece of silver, pretty lady, and I’ll tell your fortune true. There’s riches, pretty lady, in your face.’

‘I know,’ returned the lady, passing her with a dark smile, and a proud step. ‘I knew it before.

‘What! You won’t give me nothing?’ cried the old woman. ‘You won’t give me nothing to tell your fortune, pretty lady? How much will you give me to tell it, then? Give me something, or I’ll call it after you!’ croaked the old woman, passionately.

Mr Carker, whom the lady was about to pass close, slinking against his tree as she crossed to gain the path, advanced so as to meet her, and pulling off his hat as she went by, bade the old woman hold her peace. The lady acknowledged his interference with an inclination of the head, and went her way.

‘You give me something then, or I’ll call it after her!’ screamed the old woman, throwing up her arms, and pressing forward against his outstretched hand. ‘Or come,’ she added, dropping her voice suddenly, looking at him earnestly, and seeming in a moment to forget the object of her wrath, ‘give me something, or I’ll call it after you!’

‘After me, old lady!’ returned the Manager, putting his hand in his pocket.

‘Yes,’ said the woman, steadfast in her scrutiny, and holding out her shrivelled hand. ‘I know!’

‘What do you know?’ demanded Carker, throwing her a shilling. ‘Do you know who the handsome lady is?’

Munching like that sailor’s wife of yore, who had chestnuts in her lap, and scowling like the witch who asked for some in vain, the old woman picked the shilling up, and going backwards, like a crab, or like a heap of crabs: for her alternately expanding and contracting hands might have represented two of that species, and her creeping face, some half-a-dozen more: crouched on the veinous root of an old tree, pulled out a short black pipe from within the crown of her bonnet, lighted it with a match, and smoked in silence, looking fixedly at her questioner.

Mr Carker laughed, and turned upon his heel.

‘Good!’ said the old woman. ‘One child dead, and one child living: one wife dead, and one wife coming. Go and meet her!’

In spite of himself, the Manager looked round again, and stopped. The old woman, who had not removed her pipe, and was munching and mumbling while she smoked, as if in conversation with an invisible familiar, pointed with her finger in the direction he was going, and laughed.

‘What was that you said, Bedlamite?’ he demanded.

The woman mumbled, and chattered, and smoked, and still pointed before him; but remained silent Muttering a farewell that was not complimentary, Mr Carker pursued his way; but as he turned out of that place, and looked over his shoulder at the root of the old tree, he could yet see the finger pointing before him, and thought he heard the woman screaming, ‘Go and meet her!’

"A child!" said Edith, looking at her. "When was I a child!"

Chapter 27

Fred Barnard

Text Illustrated:

The very voice was changed, as it addressed Edith, when they were alone again.

‘Why don’t you tell me,’ it said sharply, ‘that he is coming here to-morrow by appointment?’

‘Because you know it,’ returned Edith, ‘Mother.’

The mocking emphasis she laid on that one word!

‘You know he has bought me,’ she resumed. ‘Or that he will, to-morrow. He has considered of his bargain; he has shown it to his friend; he is even rather proud of it; he thinks that it will suit him, and may be had sufficiently cheap; and he will buy to-morrow. God, that I have lived for this, and that I feel it!’

Compress into one handsome face the conscious self-abasement, and the burning indignation of a hundred women, strong in passion and in pride; and there it hid itself with two white shuddering arms.

‘What do you mean?’ returned the angry mother. ‘Haven’t you from a child—’

‘A child!’ said Edith, looking at her, ‘when was I a child? What childhood did you ever leave to me? I was a woman—artful, designing, mercenary, laying snares for men—before I knew myself, or you, or even understood the base and wretched aim of every new display I learnt You gave birth to a woman. Look upon her. She is in her pride tonight.’

And as she spoke, she struck her hand upon her beautiful bosom, as though she would have beaten down herself.

‘Look at me,’ she said, ‘who have never known what it is to have an honest heart, and love. Look at me, taught to scheme and plot when children play; and married in my youth—an old age of design—to one for whom I had no feeling but indifference. Look at me, whom he left a widow, dying before his inheritance descended to him—a judgment on you! well deserved!—and tell me what has been my life for ten years since.’

Mr. Dombey introduces his daughter Florence

Chapter 28

Phiz

Text Illustrated:

It was here that Susan Nipper, who had been in quest of Florence, found her, and said, would she go downstairs to her Papa, who wished to speak to her.

‘At home! and wishing to speak to me!’ cried Florence, trembling.

Susan, who was infinitely more distraught than Florence herself, repeated her errand; and Florence, pale and agitated, hurried down again, without a moment’s hesitation. She thought upon the way down, would she dare to kiss him? The longing of her heart resolved her, and she thought she would.

Her father might have heard that heart beat, when it came into his presence. One instant, and it would have beat against his breast.

But he was not alone. There were two ladies there; and Florence stopped. Striving so hard with her emotion, that if her brute friend Di had not burst in and overwhelmed her with his caresses as a welcome home—at which one of the ladies gave a little scream, and that diverted her attention from herself—she would have swooned upon the floor.

‘Florence,’ said her father, putting out his hand: so stiffly that it held her off: ‘how do you do?

Florence took the hand between her own, and putting it timidly to her lips, yielded to its withdrawal. It touched the door in shutting it, with quite as much endearment as it had touched her.

‘What dog is that?’ said Mr Dombey, displeased.

‘It is a dog, Papa—from Brighton.’

‘Well!’ said Mr Dombey; and a cloud passed over his face, for he understood her.

‘He is very good-tempered,’ said Florence, addressing herself with her natural grace and sweetness to the two lady strangers. ‘He is only glad to see me. Pray forgive him.’

She saw in the glance they interchanged, that the lady who had screamed, and who was seated, was old; and that the other lady, who stood near her Papa, was very beautiful, and of an elegant figure.

‘Mrs Skewton,’ said her father, turning to the first, and holding out his hand, ‘this is my daughter Florence.’

‘Charming, I am sure,’ observed the lady, putting up her glass. ‘So natural! My darling Florence, you must kiss me, if you please.’

Florence having done so, turned towards the other lady, by whom her father stood waiting.

‘Edith,’ said Mr Dombey, ‘this is my daughter Florence. Florence, this lady will soon be your Mama.’

Florence started, and looked up at the beautiful face in a conflict of emotions, among which the tears that name awakened, struggled for a moment with surprise, interest, admiration, and an indefinable sort of fear. Then she cried out, ‘Oh, Papa, may you be happy! may you be very, very happy all your life!’ and then fell weeping on the lady’s bosom.

There was a short silence. The beautiful lady, who at first had seemed to hesitate whether or no she should advance to Florence, held her to her breast, and pressed the hand with which she clasped her, close about her waist, as if to reassure her and comfort her. Not one word passed the lady’s lips. She bent her head down over Florence, and she kissed her on the cheek, but she said no word.

Commentary:


The companion plate, in which matters have progressed further, "Mr. Dombey introduces his daughter Florence" (ch. 28) is notable for the skill with which Phiz has delineated the characters without a touch of caricature except in the case of Mrs. Skewton, who is, after all, caricatured in the text. Browne directs no emblematic ammunition against her here, but in 1848, as one of a set of eight "extra" portrait illustrations to Dombey and Son — one group of eight etchings, and another of four engravings, were published separately after the novel's completion — he depicts her in much the same pose, but in more detail, as a pathetic grotesque with one scrawny, stockinged foot emerging from beneath her skirts, a bonnet with wilted flowers, and a thin hand toying with a heart locket. On the floor is a magazine open to "La Mode," and on the couch a book, The Loves of Angels, which has an ambiguous meaning to say the least — is Mrs. Skewton "angelic" in her sweetness or her deathliness? The vase of flowers under glass suggests the extreme care necessary to keep her looking more alive than dead, while the cupid decorating the mirror regards her archly, as though to say, "You'd better not look in here, my dear." (The motif of the looking glass ominously predicting a woman's death is sketched several times in Browne's 1853 notebook.) At the very top of the composition is a Watteau-like pastoral scene of men and women in seventeenth-century dress, and immediately over the old lady's head, a clock with Father Time in a most threatening pose looks down upon his nearly conquered victim.

I mention here an illustration executed after the novel was first published because it provides some additional evidence that Browne could take the trouble to interpret Dickens independently of the author's monthly instructions — and that he had the skill and understanding to do so. In the remainder of the Dombey plate in question, Browne includes two details which relate to characters other than Mrs. Skewton: the nearly covered portrait of Dombey's late wife continues the motif of eyes secretly observing Dombey, for she appears to peek out from behind the cloth. Further, Browne here makes the dog, Diogenes, explicitly hostile to Dombey, whereas in the text he is merely lively because he is happy to see Florence — a change which suggests the underlying alienation between Florence and her father.



Mrs. Skewton extra portrait

Phiz

Colorized



original sketch

Kim wrote: "


Joe B. Is Sly, Sir, Devilish Sly

Chapter 26

Phiz

Text Illustrated:

The Major, like some other noble animals, exhibited himself to great advantage at feeding-time. On this occasion, he shone ..."

Thanks Kim. As always the illustrations give us a further way to read the novel. I notice in this illustration that the flames of the four candles on the sideboard are distinctly pointing towards Dombey.

Could it be that Browne is making a humourous and pointed comment about what a windbag Bagstock is? Perhaps the candles could have a further meaning. Would it be a stretch to suggest that Browne is incorporating animism into the illustration? The candle flames represent the fingers of both Bagstock and Carker. Both men have designs on Dombey. Both want to effect their power over Dombey. Thus the candle flames represent the fingers of Bagstock and Carker that stretch and point in Dombey’s direction.

Could I stretch the emblematic detail even further and suggest that as the three men sit at the dinner table there is a faint suggestion that Bagstock and Carker both have designs to consume Dombey?

Kim wrote: "

"Go and meet her!"

Chapter 27

Fred Barnard

Text Illustrated:

A withered and very ugly old woman, dressed not so much like a gipsy as like any of that medley race of vagabonds who tramp about ..."

I really like this illustration by Barnard. Carker is so poised, so well dressed, so self-assured. With him is a crabbed old woman “munching like that sailor’s wife of yore” a reference from Shakespeare’s Macbeth. The scene depicted by Barnard is reminiscent of Macbeth as well. There are scudding clouds, leafless trees, broken trunks and barren land. Barnard has decided not to put Edith in the illustration.

“Go and meet her” cries the old lady. We know that the “her” must be Edith, but where will Carker meet her, and under what circumstances? Dickens and foreshadowing. Will the prediction come true? From the play Macbeth, at least, we know the witches predictions did come true.

Jantine wrote: "Oh, and the major also had an eye on miss Tox when she started to try to become Mrs. Dombey. I think part of marrying Dombey off to Edith might also be revenge. Showing, in his way, he holds power ..."

Which would be another example of a man manipulated by his own vanity.

Kim wrote: "Peter wrote: "Could it be that Dombey’s resentment of Walter could also be linked to the fact that Walter successfully petitioned for a loan from Dombey? While Dombey saw it as a “teaching moment” ..."

At Paul's age, Dombey would probably also have wallowed in the sense of power that goes with helping someone in need and having that person humiliate themselves before you first. It seems to run in the family, at least in its male members.

Peter wrote: "Kim wrote: "Chapter 27 is titled "Deeper Shadows" and we are still spending our time with Dombey, Carker, the Major and whoever else may be nearby. Two of those nearby in the beginning of the chapt..."

Peter, I am very sure that it must be Mrs. Brown because otherwise the old woman could not have known those details about Mr. Dombey's family life she is making allusions to. A touch of the supernatural, i.e. a true soothsayer, would be at odds with the pervading realism of the novel.

Kim wrote: "I wish we could have seen the proposal by Dombey to Edith. I wonder if he got down on one knee and had a ring ready."

He could never have got up again, being so stiff.

Indeed. It would have been very funny to see, since he's also so formal that he would want to do it 'right' ;-)

Before I forget, I'd like to say that this week's chapters once again show how interesting it is to keep the original instalments in mind while reading: We have three chapters that are basically dealing with Dombey's courtship of Edith, and we hardly get anything else.

There is an interesting parallel between all the characters involved in these chapters - apart from Edith, maybe. They are all manipulating somebody else and enjoy the power they exert. Dombey is probably the most harmless example, not harmless in the sense of failing to be revolting, but in the sense of not going a long way: He revels in his power over Edith, e.g. how he can make her play whatever instrument he likes, and he shows off the talents of his wife-to-be as if they were his own, whereas stictly speaking they are only his money's.

Then there are Mrs. Skewton and the major, who try to lure Mr. Dombey into wedlock - and the major's question "Shall we marry Dombey?" clearly shows his enjoyment of the power he seems to have. The old mother and the old major have different motives, but they are united in the enjoyment of their influence.

The master manipulator, however, is Mr. Carker, who - as Dombey says - can play all games admirably well and who has, at first sight of Edith, grasped the situation completely, and it's this secret knowledge that gives him a lot of power over Edith.

Even Mrs. Brown tries to manipulate a bit in order to make a few pence by soothsaying. These three chapters are rather Machiavellian!

Kim wrote: "I wish we could have seen the proposal by Dombey to Edith. I wonder if he got down on one knee and had a ring ready"


Kim, I would pay to read it if you wrote this proposal.

Jantine wrote: "Oh, and the major also had an eye on miss Tox when she started to try to become Mrs. Dombey. I think part of marrying Dombey off to Edith might also be revenge. Showing, in his way, he holds power ..."

That is probably true but also I would not be at all surprised if Mrs. Skewton has promised the Major a cut of her winnings. The auctioning of Edith seems that transactional.

It is interesting that Edith tries to stay true to herself, if you can call it that, by holding back. She'll give Dombey anything he wants, but she won't tell him what she wants. He doesn't get her or her hopes or her own personality. Very sad. I also hope she and Florence get on together. Maybe Edith can at least teach Florence a little disdain for her father. That would be nice.

So I have a new favorite character in the book, but I can't decide whether it's Edith, who manages to be both better and worse than she should be, or her mother. Cleopatra takes awful to such new lows that I am in awe of Dickens for making me believe it. She somehow combines complete foolishness (I think I was still laughing two pages later at her take on the Koran) with Gothic horror (the skeleton taking her apart for the night) and also what looks like some very intensive scheming capacity.

I feel bad for Edith that she can't at least get the advantage of leaving her mother behind when she marries Dombey. Can't the put her up at a summer cottage or something?

Is Edith going to love or hate Carker, the only man who really sees her?

Tristram wrote: "These three chapters are rather Machiavellian!"


They are! I am enjoying it.

I'm liking Susan more and more now. She seems about the most human character at the moment.
Regarding Good Mrs B - I don't know how she would know of Paul's death. Or the imminent marriage of Edith. And would she really have traveled all the way to Leamington with or without all those children.
But yes, I agree that I'm puzzled by the prospect of some sort of supernatural element in a book like this.
I'm disliking Carker and his teeth more and more. He has no redeeming features at all and unfortunately I feel that he has a few spanners to throw in a few works yet.

Julie wrote: "Is Edith going to love or hate Carker, the only man who really sees her?"

I'm hoping she will hate him. As you say, he is the only one, apart from her mother, who sees her for what she is (and I feel desperately sorry for her).

I don't think he would love her, although he might sympathise with her.

Edith reminds me a bit of Florence - craving the genuine love that always seems to be denied her. I hope she has a happy ending, and maybe she can melt Dombey's cold heart.

David and Julie

Yes. While the novel is titled Dombey and Son the women in the novel are in many ways equally, or more fascinating. Edith Granger is a terrific creation and has multi-dimensions. What drives her? What are the depths of her hate, self-loathing, and love? She is a mystery to me so far.

Susan Nipper and Good Mrs Brown are also wonderfully drawn characters. They present us with levels of loyalty and anger that give great breadth to the novel. I wonder if they will ever come into contact with each other.

David wrote: "Julie wrote: "Is Edith going to love or hate Carker, the only man who really sees her?"

I'm hoping she will hate him. As you say, he is the only one, apart from her mother, who sees her for what s..."

No one could love Carker for long, they'd be blinded by his teeth which would kill any loving feeling you may have had about the guy.

Kim wrote: "No one could love Carker for long, they'd be blinded by his teeth which would kill any loving feeling you may have had about the guy."

This is one of the things I love about Dickens - there are plenty of characters exactly like Carker that work in the City to this day. I can just see him in a shiny suit flashing his money, as well as his teeth, in a wine bar off Bishopsgate.

Julie wrote: "Maybe Edith can at least teach Florence a little disdain for her father. That would be nice.."

This would indeed be wonderful and also only fair, but I'm afraid that no one is able to wean Florence of her love for her father and to show him to her in his true colours, whose main ingredient would be a boring grey.

Julie wrote: "Is Edith going to love or hate Carker, the only man who really sees her?"

My guess is that she will hate him because she is aware that he can read in her like in a book, and since she is not at all proud of what she is made to do, this knowledge of his makes her feel ashamed of herself - and it might also result in Carker's getting some power over her.

Tristram, Julie asked me to write the proposal of Dombey to Edith, but since you are so much better at things like that, you know many more long, unnecessary words, would you write it and just sign my name to it?

I'm too bad at writing proposals, unless they are modest proposals :-)