Little Dorrit, Charles Dickens [big ebook reader txt] 📗

gallant personage of the song.

“Who passes by this road so late?
Compagnon de la Majolaine!
Who passes by this road so late?
Always gay!

“Sing the Refrain, pig! You could sing it once, in another jail. Sing it! Or, by every Saint who was stoned to death, I’ll be affronted and compromising; and then some people who are not dead yet, had better have been stoned along with them!”

“Of all the king’s knights ’tis the flower,
Compagnon de la Majolaine!
Of all the king’s knights ’tis the flower,
Always gay!”

Partly in his old habit of submission, partly because his not doing it might injure his benefactor, and partly because he would as soon do it as anything else, Cavalletto took up the Refrain this time. Rigaud laughed, and fell to smoking with his eyes shut.

Possibly another quarter of an hour elapsed before Mr. Pancks’s step was heard upon the stairs, but the interval seemed to Clennam insupportably long. His step was attended by another step; and when Cavalletto opened the door, he admitted Mr. Pancks and Mr. Flintwinch. The latter was no sooner visible, than Rigaud rushed at him and embraced him boisterously.

“How do you find yourself, sir?” said Mr. Flintwinch, as soon as he could disengage himself, which he struggled to do with very little ceremony. “Thank you, no; I don’t want any more.” This was in reference to another menace of attention from his recovered friend. “Well, Arthur. You remember what I said to you about sleeping dogs and missing ones. It’s come true, you see.”

He was as imperturbable as ever, to all appearance, and nodded his head in a moralising way as he looked round the room.

“And this is the Marshalsea prison for debt!” said Mr. Flintwinch. “Hah! you have brought your pigs to a very indifferent market, Arthur.”

If Arthur had patience, Rigaud had not. He took his little Flintwinch, with fierce playfulness, by the two lapels of his coat, and cried:

“To the Devil with the Market, to the Devil with the Pigs, and to the Devil with the Pig-Driver! Now! Give me the answer to my letter.”

“If you can make it convenient to let go a moment, sir,” returned Mr. Flintwinch, “I’ll first hand Mr. Arthur a little note that I have for him.”

He did so. It was in his mother’s maimed writing, on a slip of paper, and contained only these words:

“I hope it is enough that you have ruined yourself. Rest contented without more ruin. Jeremiah Flintwinch is my messenger and representative. Your affectionate M. C.”

Clennam read this twice, in silence, and then tore it to pieces. Rigaud in the meanwhile stepped into a chair, and sat himself on the back with his feet upon the seat.

“Now, Beau Flintwinch,” he said, when he had closely watched the note to its destruction, “the answer to my letter?”

“Mrs. Clennam did not write, Mr. Blandois, her hands being cramped, and she thinking it as well to send it verbally by me.” Mr. Flintwinch screwed this out of himself, unwillingly and rustily. “She sends her compliments, and says she doesn’t on the whole wish to term you unreasonable, and that she agrees. But without prejudicing the appointment that stands for this day week.”

Monsieur Rigaud, after indulging in a fit of laughter, descended from his throne, saying, “Good! I go to seek an hotel!” But, there his eyes encountered Cavalletto, who was still at his post.

“Come, Pig,” he added, “I have had you for a follower against my will; now, I’ll have you against yours. I tell you, my little reptiles, I am born to be served. I demand the service of this contrabandist as my domestic until this day week.”

In answer to Cavalletto’s look of inquiry, Clennam made him a sign to go; but he added aloud, “unless you are afraid of him.” Cavalletto replied with a very emphatic finger-negative.“No, master, I am not afraid of him, when I no more keep it secrettementally that he was once my comrade.” Rigaud took no notice of either remark until he had lighted his last cigarette and was quite ready for walking.

“Afraid of him,” he said then, looking round upon them all. “Whoof! My children, my babies, my little dolls, you are all afraid of him. You give him his bottle of wine here; you give him meat, drink, and lodging there; you dare not touch him with a finger or an epithet. No. It is his character to triumph! Whoof!

“Of all the king’s knights he’s the flower,
And he’s always gay!”

With this adaptation of the refrain to himself, he stalked out of the room closely followed by Cavalletto, whom perhaps he had pressed into his service because he tolerably well knew it would not be easy to get rid of him. Mr. Flintwinch, after scraping his chin, and looking about with caustic disparagement of the Pig-Market, nodded to Arthur, and followed. Mr. Pancks, still penitent and depressed, followed too; after receiving with great attention a secret word or two of instructions from Arthur, and whispering back that he would see this affair out, and stand by it to the end. The prisoner, with the feeling that he was more despised, more scorned and repudiated, more helpless, altogether more miserable and fallen than before, was left alone again.

XXIX A Plea in the Marshalsea

Haggard anxiety and remorse are bad companions to be barred up with. Brooding all day, and resting very little indeed at night, will not arm a man against misery. Next morning, Clennam felt that his health was sinking, as his spirits had already sunk and that the weight under which he bent was bearing him down.

Night after night he had risen from his bed of wretchedness at twelve or one o’clock, and had sat at his window watching the sickly lamps in the yard, and looking upward for the first wan trace of day, hours before it was possible that the sky could show it to him. Now when the night came, he could not even persuade