This brings Mr Feeder, B.A., to the confession that he has his eye upon Cornelia Blimber. He informs Mr Toots that he don't object to spectacles, and that if the Doctor were to do the handsome thing and give up the business, why, there they are - provided for. He says it's his opinion that when a man has made a handsome sum by his business, he is bound to give it up; and that Cornelia would be an assistance in it which any man might be proud of. Mr Toots replies by launching wildly out into Miss Dombey's praises, and by insinuations that sometimes he thinks he should like to blow his brains out. Mr Feeder strongly urges that it would be a rash attempt, and shows him, as a reconcilement to existence, Cornelia's portrait, spectacles and all.
Thus these quiet spirits pass the evening; and when it has yielded place to night, Mr Toots walks home with Mr Feeder, and parts with him at Doctor Blimber's door. But Mr Feeder only goes up the steps, and when Mr Toots is gone, comes down again, to stroll upon the beach alone, and think about his prospects. Mr Feeder plainly hears the waves informing him, as he loiters along, that Doctor Blimber will give up the business; and he feels a soft romantic pleasure in looking at the outside of the house, and thinking that the Doctor will first paint it, and put it into thorough repair.
Mr Toots is likewise roaming up and down, outside the casket that contains his jewel; and in a deplorable condition of mind, and not unsuspected by the police, gazes at a window where he sees a light, and which he has no doubt is Florence's. But it is not, for that is Mrs Skewton's room; and while Florence, sleeping in another chamber, dreams lovingly, in the midst of the old scenes, and their old associations live again, the figure which in grim reality is substituted for the patient boy's on the same theatre, once more to connect it - but how differently! - with decay and death, is stretched there, wakeful and complaining. Ugly and haggard it lies upon its bed of unrest; and by it, in the terror of her unimpassioned loveliness - for it has terror in the sufferer's failing eyes - sits Edith. What do the waves say, in the stillness of the night, to them?
'Edith, what is that stone arm raised to strike me? Don't you see it?'
There is nothing, mother, but your fancy.'
'But my fancy! Everything is my fancy. Look! Is it possible that you don't see it?'
'Indeed, mother, there is nothing. Should I sit unmoved, if there were any such thing there?'
'Unmoved?' looking wildly at her - 'it's gone now - and why are you so unmoved? That is not my fancy, Edith. It turns me cold to see you sitting at my side.'
'I am sorry, mother.'
'Sorry! You seem always sorry. But it is not for me!'
With that, she cries; and tossing her restless head from side to side upon her pillow, runs on about neglect, and the mother she has been, and the mother the good old creature was, whom they met, and the cold return the daughters of such mothers make. In the midst of her incoherence, she stops, looks at her daughter, cries out that her wits are going, and hides her face upon the bed.
Edith, in compassion, bends over her and speaks to her. The sick old woman clutches her round the neck, and says, with a look of horror,
'Edith! we are going home soon; going back. You mean that I shall go home again?'
'Yes, mother, yes.'
'And what he said - what's-his-name, I never could remember names - Major - that dreadful word, when we came away - it's not true? Edith!' with a shriek and a stare, 'it's not that that is the matter with me.'
Night after night, the lights burn in the window, and the figure lies upon the bed, and Edith sits beside it, and the restless waves are calling to them both the whole night long. Night after night, the waves are hoarse with repetition of their mystery; the dust lies piled upon the shore; the sea-birds soar and hover; the winds and clouds are on their trackless flight; the white arms beckon, in the moonlight, to the invisible country far away.
And still the sick old woman looks into the corner, where the stone arm - part of a figure of some tomb, she says - is raised to strike her. At last it falls; and then a dumb old woman lies upon the the bed, and she is crooked and shrunk up, and half of her is dead.
Such is the figure, painted and patched for the sun to mock, that is drawn slowly through the crowd from day to day; looking, as it goes, for the good old creature who was such a mother, and making mouths as it peers among the crowd in vain. Such is the figure that is often wheeled down to the margin of the sea, and stationed there; but on which no wind can blow freshness, and for which the murmur of the ocean has no soothing word. She lies and listens to it by the hour; but its speech is dark and gloomy to her, and a dread is on her face, and when her eyes wander over the expanse, they see but a broad stretch of desolation between earth and heaven.
Florence she seldom sees, and when she does, is angry with and mows at. Edith is beside her always, and keeps Florence away; and Florence, in her bed at night, trembles at the thought of death in such a shape, and often wakes and listens, thinking it has come. No one attends on her but Edith. It is better that few eyes should see her; and her daughter watches alone by the bedside.
A shadow even on that shadowed face, a sharpening even of the sharpened features, and a thickening of the veil before the eyes into a pall that shuts out the dim world, is come. Her wandering hands upon the coverlet join feebly palm to palm, and move towards her daughter; and a voice not like hers, not like any voice that speaks our mortal language - says, 'For I nursed you!'
Edith, without a tear, kneels down to bring her voice closer to the sinking head, and answers:
'Mother, can you hear me?'
Staring wide, she tries to nod in answer.
'Can you recollect the night before I married?'
The head is motionless, but it expresses somehow that she does.
'I told you then that I forgave your part in it, and prayed God to forgive my own. I told you that time past was at an end between us. I say so now, again. Kiss me, mother.'
Edith touches the white lips, and for a moment all is still. A moment afterwards, her mother, with her girlish laugh, and the skeleton of the Cleopatra manner, rises in her bed.
Draw the rose-coloured curtains. There is something else upon its flight besides the wind and clouds. Draw the rose-coloured curtains close!
Intelligence of the event is sent to Mr Dombey in town, who waits upon Cousin Feenix (not yet able to make up his mind for Baden-Baden), who has just received it too. A good-natured creature like Cousin Feenix is the very man for a marriage or a funeral, and his position in the family renders it right that he should be consulted.
'Dombey,' said Cousin Feenix, 'upon my soul, I am very much shocked to see you on such a melancholy occasion. My poor aunt! She was a devilish lively woman.'
Mr Dombey replies, 'Very much so.'
'And made up,' says Cousin Feenix, 'really young, you know, considering. I am sure, on the day of your marriage, I thought she was good for another twenty years. In point of fact, I said so to a man at Brooks's - little Billy Joper - you know him, no doubt - man with a glass in his eye?'
Mr Dombey bows a negative. 'In reference to the obsequies,' he hints, 'whether there is any suggestion - '
'Well, upon my life,' says Cousin Feenix, stroking his chin, which he has just enough of hand below his wristbands to do; 'I really don't know. There's a Mausoleum down at my place, in the park, but I'm afraid it's in bad repair, and, in point of fact, in a devil of a state. But for being a little out at elbows, I should have had it put to rights; but I believe the people come and make pic-nic parties there inside the iron railings.'
Mr Dombey is clear that this won't do.
'There's an uncommon good church in the village,' says Cousin Feenix, thoughtfully; 'pure specimen of the Anglo-Norman style, and admirably well sketched too by Lady Jane Finchbury - woman with tight stays - but they've spoilt it with whitewash, I understand, and it's a long journey.
'Perhaps Brighton itself,' Mr Dombey suggests.
'Upon my honour, Dombey, I don't think we could do better,' says Cousin Feenix. 'It's on the spot, you see, and a very cheerful place.'
'And when,' hints Mr Dombey, 'would it be convenient?'
'I shall make a point,' says Cousin Feenix, 'of pledging myself for any day you think best. I shall have great pleasure (melancholy pleasure, of course) in following my poor aunt to the confines of the - in point of fact, to the grave,' says Cousin Feenix, failing in the other turn of speech.
'Would Monday do for leaving town?' says Mr Dombey.
'Monday would suit me to perfection,' replies Cousin Feenix. Therefore Mr Dombey arranges to take Cousin Feenix down on that day, and presently takes his leave, attended to the stairs by Cousin Feenix, who says, at parting, 'I'm really excessively sorry, Dombey, that you should have so much trouble about it;' to which Mr Dombey answers, 'Not at all.'
At the appointed time, Cousin Feenix and Mr Dombey meet, and go down to Brighton, and representing, in their two selves, all the other mourners for the deceased lady's loss, attend her remains to their place of rest. Cousin Feenix, sitting in the mourning-coach, recognises innumerable acquaintances on the road, but takes no other notice of them, in decorum, than checking them off aloud, as they go by, for Mr Dombey's information, as 'Tom Johnson. Man with cork leg, from White's. What, are you here, Tommy? Foley on a blood mare. The Smalder girls' - and so forth. At the ceremony Cousin Feenix is depressed, observing, that these are the occasions to make a man think, in point of fact, that he is getting shaky; and his eyes are really moistened, when it is over. But he soon recovers; and so do the rest of Mrs Skewton's relatives and friends, of whom the Major continually tells the club that she never did wrap up enough; while the young lady with the back, who has so much trouble with her eyelids, says, with a little scream, that she must have been enormously old, and that she died of all kinds of horrors, and you mustn't mention it.
So Edith's mother lies unmentioned of her dear friends, who are deaf to the waves that are hoarse with repetition of their mystery, and blind to the dust that is piled upon the shore, and to the white arms that are beckoning, in the moonlight, to the invisible country far away. But all goes on, as it was wont, upon the margin of the unknown sea; and Edith standing there alone, and listening to its waves, has dank weed cast up at her feet, to strew her path in life withal.
一切都像往常一样进行着。海浪嘶哑地重复着它那神秘的语言；沙子堆积在岸上；海鸟上上下下地飞翔；风和云沿着它们不留踪迹的线路行进；白色的胳膊在月光下向远方看不见的国家打着招呼①。
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①请参见第十二章中保罗与图茨的谈话。保罗说，他看见月光下小船的船帆像银色的胳膊，似乎招呼他到它那里去。
弗洛伦斯怀着亲切的、令人伤感的喜悦，又来到了这块她过去曾经那么悲哀地、又那么幸福地走过的老地方，并在这安静的地方想念着他；他和她曾经好多次、好多次在这里一起交谈，海浪则在他的卧床旁涌上来。现在，当她沉思地坐在这里的时候，她在大海的低沉的哗哗声中又听到了他的小故事正在被重新叙述着，他的每一句话正在被重复地讲着；她觉得，从那时以来，在那座孤独的房屋和后来变成富丽堂皇的公馆中，她所有的生活、希望和悲哀，都反映在这首奇妙的歌曲中。
性格温和的图茨先生在稍远一些的地方漫步走着，同时愁闷地向他所热爱的人儿望着；他跟随弗洛伦斯来到这里，但却由于慎重的考虑，不能在这样的时候去打扰她。他听到海浪升高、降落，永恒地唱着赞颂弗洛伦斯的小曲，但在它们有时暂停的时候，他也听到它们唱着小保罗的安魂曲。是的，可怜的图茨先生，他也模糊地听明白海浪正在叙述那段他认为他比较聪明、头脑不糊涂的时光；当他担心他现在已变得迟钝、愚笨，除了供人取笑外，毫无其他用处的时候，他眼中涌出了泪水；海浪安慰地提醒他：由于那位全国家禽中英勇善斗的首领不在这里，而正在与拉基•博伊进行伟大的竞赛而从事训练（由图茨负担费用），因此图茨先生现在已摆脱了对斗鸡所负的责任；这一点使图茨先生感到高兴，可是涌出的泪水却使他的高兴减弱了。
然而当海浪向他低声诉说着充满柔情的思想的时候，图茨先生又把勇气鼓起来了；他慢慢地、慢慢地向弗洛伦斯身边走过去，在途中犹豫不决地停下很多次。当他走到她的身旁时，图茨先生结结巴巴，脸孔涨得通红，假装出惊异的样子，说，他这一辈子从来没有像现在这样感到惊奇过；其实，从伦敦开始，他就每一英寸都在紧紧跟随着她乘坐的马车；甚至车轮扬起的灰尘使他喘不过气来，他还感到十分高兴。
“您把戴奥吉尼斯也带来了，董贝小姐！”图茨先生说道；当那小手愉快地、坦诚地向他伸过来、接触到他时，他感到全身一阵阵震颤。
毫无疑问，戴奥吉尼斯是在这里；毫无疑问，图茨先生有理由注意到他，因为他向着图茨先生的腿直冲过来，像蒙塔吉斯的狗①一样，在向他奋不顾身地扑过去的时候，在地上翻滚着，但是他被他的女主人制止了。
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①蒙塔吉斯的狗（averydogofMontargis）：根据法国传说，十四世纪时，一位名叫奥伯里•德•蒙塔吉斯的骑士和他的狗在森林中漫游时，被理查德•德•马克打死。除了这条狗外，其他任何人也没有见到过这位凶手。从那时起，这条狗一见到这个凶手，就愤怒地吠叫；由于顽强追逐的结果，罪犯终于被破获。根据国王的命令，狗与马克进行决斗，结果凶手死去。
“伏下，戴，伏下！难道你忘记了，最初是谁使我们成为朋友的，戴？真丢脸！”
啊，戴真幸福啊，他可以把他的腮帮子亲热地贴着她的手，然后跑开，又跑回来，然后围绕着她跑，一边吠叫着，并向任何路过的人冲过去，显示他的忠诚。图茨先生也真想能头向前地向任何路过的人冲过去。一位军人走过去了，图茨先生真想拼命地向他追扑过去。
“戴奥吉尼斯现在呼吸到他家乡的空气了，是不是，董贝小姐？”图茨先生说道。
弗洛伦斯微笑着，表示同意。
“董贝小姐，”图茨先生说道，“请原谅，如果您愿意散步到布林伯学校去的话，那么我——我现在到那里去。”
弗洛伦斯没有说话，挽着图茨先生的手，两人一起上了路，戴奥吉尼斯在前面跑着。图茨先生两只腿颤抖着；虽然他穿得漂漂亮亮的，可是他仍觉得服装不合适，并在伯吉斯公司精心缝制的产品中看到了皱痕；他很后悔不曾穿上他那双最亮的靴子。
布林伯博士的房屋外面仍像过去一样保持着学校的、研究学问的气派，上面还是那个窗子：她过去经常向那里寻找那张苍白的脸孔，那张苍白的脸孔看到她的时候就在那里露出喜色；当她走过的时候，那只消瘦的小手就在那里向他挥送着飞吻。门还是由那位弱视的年轻人开的；他看到图茨先生的时候，咧着嘴傻乎乎地笑着，这是他智力低下的表现。他们被领到博士的书房中；盲诗人荷马和米涅瓦像过去一样，在前厅大钟沉着冷静的滴嗒声中，在那里接见了他们；地球仪仍竖立在先前的位置上，仿佛整个世界也是静止的；世界上没有任何东西遵从普遍规律的作用而消亡；本来按照这一规律，当地球转动的时候，一切东西都是要化为尘土的。
布林伯博士跨着有学问的两腿，在书房里；布林伯夫人戴着天蓝色的帽子，也在这里；还有科妮莉亚也在这里，她梳着沙色的短小的卷发，戴着明亮的眼镜，仍像主管墓地的教堂司事一样，在语言的坟墓中工作着。那张他曾经让这个学校的“新孩子”可怜而陌生地坐着的桌子也仍旧摆在这里；那些原先的孩子们，遵循与过去同样的方针，在与过去同样的房间里，过着与过去同样的生活，他们轻微的正从远处传进书房里来。
“图茨，”布林伯博士说，“我很高兴看到您，图茨。”
图茨先生吃吃地笑了一下，作为回答。
“而且有这样好的伴侣，图茨：”布林伯博士说道。
图茨先生脸孔涨得通红，解释说，他是在无意间遇见了董贝小姐；董贝小姐像他本人一样，也想来看看老地方，所以他们就一起来了。
“当然，您一定会高兴在我们这些年轻的朋友中间走走的，董贝小姐，”布林伯博士说道，“他们都是您过去的同学，图茨。亲爱的，”布林伯博士转向科妮莉亚说道，“我想，从图茨先生离开我们以后，在我们这个小小的门廊里，我们没有再招收新的学生了吧？”
“只招收了比瑟斯通一个人。”科妮莉亚回答道。
“对了，一点不错，”博士说道，“对图茨先生来说，比瑟斯通是个新人。”
对弗洛伦斯来说，比瑟斯通几乎也是个新人，因为比瑟斯通不再是皮普钦太太寄宿学校里的比瑟斯通少爷了；他现在在教室里炫示着他的硬领和领饰，还戴了一块手表。但是比瑟斯通是在某个不吉祥的孟加拉星辰照耀下出生的，全身沾满了墨迹；他的词典由于经常翻查，浮肿得不想合上，而且困倦地打着呵欠，仿佛确实容忍不了这样经常的烦扰了。它的主人比瑟斯通在布林伯博士的高压下也同样打着呵欠；不过在比瑟斯通的呵欠中有着怨恨和怒气；人们听他说过，他希望能在印度把“老布林伯”逮住；老布林伯将很快就会发现自己被比瑟斯通的几个小工拖到这个国家的边远地区，交给谋杀教团①的团员们；他可以这样告诉他。
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①谋杀教团：印度旧时，因崇拜破坏女神，以杀人抢劫为业的宗教组织。
布里格斯依旧在知识磨坊中推着磨；托泽也是这样；约翰逊也是这样；所有其他的人也都是这样；年纪大一些的学生们所从事的，主要是通过勤奋的努力，把他们在年纪较小的时候所学到的一切东西给忘记掉。所有的人都跟过去一样彬彬有礼，脸色跟过去一样苍白；在他们中间，文学士菲德先生，手瘦得皮包骨头，头上密生着硬发，依旧像过去一样用功，这时候他刚刚正在教赫罗多德①的著作，由他这个人为手摇风琴演奏的其他曲谱放在他后面的一个搁架上。
解放了的图茨前来访问，这件事甚至在那些态度沉着的年轻先生们中间也引起了巨大的哄动。他们敬仰地看着他，就像他是渡过卢比孔河，发誓永不回来的一位英雄一样②。大家在背地里嘁嘁喳喳地议论着他的服装剪裁的式样和珠宝饰物的时新款式；可是爱发脾气的比瑟斯通（他不是图茨先生时期的人）却在较小的孩子面前装出看不起图茨先生的样子，说，他见识得更多，他真愿意在孟加拉见到图茨先生；他母亲在孟加拉有一块纯绿宝石，是属于他的，那是从印度王侯宝座脚底中取出来的；哎呀，那才了不起呢！看到了弗洛伦斯，这些年轻人在感情上也引起了极大的波动，每一位年轻的先生都立刻爱上了她，又是只有上面提到的爱发脾气的比瑟斯通一人例外；他出于反抗心，拒绝这样做。大家对图茨先生产生了恶意的妒嫉。布里格斯认为，图茨先生毕竟年纪还不算很老；可是这个贬损性的暗讽立即被图茨先生挡架住，使它不起作用；他大声对文学士菲德先生说，“您好，菲德！”，并邀请他今天在贝德福德旅馆去跟他一起吃晚饭；由于他成功地采取了这巧妙的一招，如果他愿意的话，那么他很可以自称为久经世事磨练的老手，没有人会提出异议的。
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①赫罗多德（Herodutus）（公元前484？——425年）：公元前五世纪希腊历史学家，有历史之父之称。
②卢比孔（Rubicon）河，是意大利中部的一条河流。古罗马将军凯撒（JuliusCae－sar，公元前100——40年）如要渡过此河，必和掌握罗马政府大权的庞培（PompeytheGreat，公元前106—48年，罗马将军）一战，因此渡过卢比孔河是指采取断然手段，下了重大决心的行动。凯撒就是在说着“骰子已经掷下了”之后，前去渡过这条河的。
好多的握手，好多的鞠躬，每位年轻的先生都极想消除弗洛伦斯小姐对图茨先生的宠爱；接着，图茨先生对他旧日的课桌吃吃地笑了一声，作为问候；然后弗洛伦斯与他，并和布林伯夫人与科妮莉亚一起离开了；当布林伯博士最后走出来，并把门关上的时候，他们听到他说道，“各位先生，现在我们将重新开始我们的学习。”因为博士听到大海所说的，或者他这一辈子听到它所说的，就是这一句话，没有别的话了。
