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• Charles Dickens
• Dombey and son
• Preface to the first edition
• Preface to the second edition
• Chapter I. Dombey and Son
• CHAPTER II - In which measures are promptly taken in case of an unexpected confluence of circumstances that sometimes arise in the most prosperous families
• Chapter III - In which Mr. Dombey is shown as a man and a father at the head of his household department
• CHAPTER IV In which new faces appear for the first time on the stage where events are unfolding
• Chapter V
• Chapter VI. The second loss of the Field
• Chapter VII. A bird's eye view of Miss Tox's residence, as well as Miss Tox's cordial affections
• Chapter VIII. Further development, growth and character of the field
• Chapter IX In which the Wooden Midshipman gets into trouble
• Chapter X, Concerning the Consequences of Midshipman's Disasters
• Chapter XI. Paul's performance on the new stage
• Chapter XII. Field Education
• Chapter XIII. Information about the merchant fleet and business in the office
• Chapter XIV. Paul becomes more and more eccentric and goes home for the holidays.
• Chapter XV. The marvelous ingenuity of Captain Cuttle and the new preoccupations of Walter Gay
• Chapter XVI. What the waves were talking about all the time
• Chapter XVII. Captain Katl manages to arrange something for young people
• Chapter XVIII. Father and daughter
• Chapter XIX. Walter is leaving
• Chapter XX. Mr Dombey takes the trip
• Chapter XXI. New faces
• Chapter XXII. Something about the activities of Mr. Carker the manager
• Chapter XXIII. Florence is lonely and Midshipman is mysterious
• Chapter XXIV. Loving heart care
• Chapter XXV. Strange news about Uncle Sol
• Chapter XXVI. Shadows of the past and future
• Chapter XXVII. The shadows are deepening
• Chapter XXVIII. change
• Chapter XXIX. Mrs Chick's epiphany
• Chapter XXX. Before the wedding
• Chapter XXXI. Wedding
• Chapter XXXII. The wooden Midshipman is shattered
• Chapter XXXIII. contrasts
• Chapter XXXIV. Other mother and daughter
• Chapter XXXV. happy couple
• Chapter XXXVI. Housewarming
• Chapter XXXVII. A few caveats
• Chapter XXXVIII. Miss Tox renews an old acquaintance
• Chapter XXXIX. The Further Adventures of Captain Eduard Katl, Sailor
• Chapter XL. Family relationships
• Chapter XLI. New voices in the waves
• Chapter XLII - Concerning the Conversation of Confidence and the Accident
• Chapter XLIII. Vigil in the night
• Chapter XLIV. Parting
• Chapter XLV. Confidant
• Chapter XLVI. Identification and reflection
• Chapter XLVII. thunder struck
• Chapter XLVIII. Flight of Florence
• Chapter XLIX. Midshipman makes a discovery
• Chapter L. Mr. Toots' Lamentations
• Chapter L.I. Mr Dombey and high society
• Chapter II. Secret information
• Chapter LIII. New information
• Chapter LIV. Runaways
• Chapter LV. Rob the Grinder loses his job
• Chapter VI. Many are happy, but the Fighting Rooster is outraged
• Chapter LVII. Another wedding
• Chapter LVIII. Some time later
• Chapter LIX. Retribution
• Chapter LX. Mostly about weddings
• Chapter LXI. She succumbs
• Chapter LXII. Final

Charles Dickens

Dombey and son

Dombey and son

Dombey sat in a corner of a darkened room large armchair by the bed, and the Son lay warmly wrapped in a wicker cradle, carefully placed on a low couch in front of the fireplace and close to it, as if by its nature it was similar to a muffin and it was necessary to brown it well while it was just baked.

Dombey was about forty-eight years old. Son about forty-eight minutes. Dombey was bald, reddish, and although a handsome, well-built man, he had a look too severe and pompous to be endearing. The son was very bald and very red, and although he was (of course) a lovely baby, he seemed slightly wrinkled and spotted. Time and his sister Care left some marks on Dombey's brow, as on a tree that must be cut down in due time - pitiless are these twins, who walk among mortals in their forests, making notches in passing - while the face of the Son was cut down and across a thousand wrinkles, which the same treacherous Time will gladly erase and smooth with the blunt edge of its braid, preparing the surface for its deeper operations.

Dombey, rejoicing at the long-awaited event, tinkled a massive gold watch chain, visible from under his immaculate blue coat, on which buttons gleamed phosphorically in the dim rays falling from afar from the fireplace. The son clenched his fists, as if threatening life to the extent of his weak forces for the fact that she overtook him so unexpectedly.

“Mrs. Dombey,” said Mr. Dombey, “the firm will be again, not only in name, but in fact Dombey and Son. Dombey and Son!

These words had such a soothing effect that he added an endearing epithet to Mrs Dombey's name (though not without hesitation, for he was not accustomed to such a form of address), and said: "Mrs Dombey, my ... my dear."

A momentary flush of mild surprise filled the sick lady's face as she looked up at him.

“At baptism, of course, he will be given the name Paul, my… Mrs. Dombey.

She said weakly, "Of course," or rather she whispered the word, barely moving her lips, and closed her eyes again.

“The name of his father, Mrs. Dombey, and his grandfather!” I wish his grandfather lived to see this day!

And again he repeated "Dombey and Son" in exactly the same tone as before.

These three words contained the meaning of Mr. Dombey's whole life. The earth was made for Dombey and the Son to do business on it, and the sun and moon were made to shine their light on them... The rivers and seas were made for the navigation of their ships; the rainbow promised them good weather; the wind favored or opposed their enterprises; stars and planets moved in their orbits in order to preserve the indestructible system, in the center of which they were. The usual abbreviations took on a new meaning and applied only to them: A. D. by no means meant anno Domini, but symbolized anno Dombei and the Son.

He rose as his father had risen before him, by the law of life and death, from Son to Dombey, and for almost twenty years he was the sole representative of the firm. He was married ten of those twenty years—married, some said, to a lady who would not give him her heart, a lady whose happiness was a thing of the past, and who contented herself with making her broken spirit reconcile, reverently and submissively, with the real one. Such empty rumors could hardly reach Mr. Dombey, whom they closely concerned, and perhaps no one in the world would have treated them with more distrust than he had they reached him. Dombey and Son often dealt with the skin, but never with the heart. This fashionable product they provided to boys and girls, boarding schools and books. Mr. Dombey would have reasoned that a marriage union with him should, in the nature of things, be agreeable and honorable to any woman endowed with common sense; that the hope of giving birth to a new companion of such a firm cannot fail to arouse a sweet and exciting ambition in the breast of the least ambitious of the fairer sex; that Mrs. Dombey signed the marriage contract - an act almost inevitable in families of the noble and rich, not to mention the need to keep the name of the company - without closing her eyes to these advantages; that Mrs. Dombey learned daily by experience what position he occupied in society; that Mrs. Dombey always sat at the head of his table, and performed the duties of hostess in his house with great dignity and decorum; that Mrs. Dombey should be happy; which cannot be otherwise.

However, with one caveat. Yes. He was ready to accept her. With one and only; but it certainly contained much. They had been married for ten years, and until today, when Mr. Dombey sat in the big armchair by the bed, jingling his massive gold watch chain, they had no offspring ... worth talking about, no one worthy of mention. About six years ago, their daughter was born, and now the girl, imperceptibly crept into the bedroom, timidly huddled in the corner, from where she could see her mother's face. But what is a girl for Dombey and Son? In the capital, which was the name and honor of the company, this child was a counterfeit coin that cannot be invested in business - a boy good for nothing - and nothing more.

But at that moment Mr. Dombey's cup of joy was so full that he felt tempted to spare a drop or two of its contents even to sprinkle the dust on his little daughter's deserted path.

So he said:

“Perhaps, Florence, if you like, you can come and look at your good brother. Don't touch him.

The girl gazed at the blue coat and stiff white tie, which, together with a pair of creaking shoes and a very loud ticking clock, embodied her idea of ​​a father; but her eyes immediately turned back to her mother's face, and she did not move or answer.

In a moment the lady opened her eyes and saw the girl, and the girl rushed towards her and, rising on tiptoe to hide her face on her chest, clung to her mother with a kind of passionate despair, not at all characteristic of her age.

- Oh my god! said Mr Dombey irritably, rising. “Really, you are very imprudent and reckless. Perhaps you should ask Dr. Peps if he would be so kind as to come up here again. I will go. I need not ask you,” he added, lingering for a moment by the couch in front of the fireplace, “to show special concern for this young gentleman, Mrs. ...

Block, sir? prompted the nurse, a sugary, withered person with aristocratic manners, who did not dare to declare her name as an indisputable fact and only named it in the form of a humble guess.

“About this young gentleman, Mrs. Blockit.

- Yes, sure. I remember when Miss Florence was born...

“Yes, yes, yes,” said Mr. Dombey, leaning over the wicker cradle, and at the same time drawing his eyebrows slightly together. “As far as Miss Florence is concerned, that's all very well, but now it's different. This young gentleman has to fulfill his mission. Appointment, little boy! - After such an unexpected address to the baby, he raised his hand to his lips and kissed it; then, apparently fearing that this gesture might diminish his dignity, he retired in some confusion.

Dr. Parker Peps, one of the court physicians and a man of great fame for his help in the growth of aristocratic families, strode around the drawing room with his hands behind his back, to the inexpressible admiration of the family doctor, who for the past month and a half had been ranting among his patients, friends and acquaintances about the upcoming event, on the occasion of which he expected from hour to hour, day and night, that he would be called together with Dr. Parker Peps.

“Well, sir,” said Dr. Parker Peps, in a low, deep, resonant voice, muffled for the occasion, like a muffled doorknocker, “do you find that your visit has cheered up your dear wife?”

Mr. Dombey was completely bewildered by the question. He thought so little of the patient that he was unable to answer it. He said he would be pleased if Dr. Parker Peps agreed to go upstairs again.

- Wonderful. We must not hide from you, sir, said Dr. Parker Peps, that there is a certain decline in strength in Her Grace the Duchess ... I beg your pardon: I confuse names ... I meant to say - in your kind wife. There is a certain weakness and generally lack of cheerfulness, which we would like to ... not ...

“Observe,” the family doctor prompted, tilting his head again.

- That's it! Dr. Parker Peps said. - Which we would like not to observe. It turns out that the body of Lady Kenkeby ... sorry, I wanted to say - Mrs. Dombey, I mix up the names of the patients ...

“So many,” whispered the family doctor, “we really can’t expect ... otherwise it would be a miracle ... the practice of Dr. Parker Peps in the West End ...

“Thank you,” said the doctor, “exactly. It turns out, I say, that our patient's body has suffered a shock from which it can only recover with the help of intense and persistent ...

“And energetic,” the family doctor whispered.

“Exactly,” the doctor agreed, “and an energetic effort. Mr. Pilkins, present here, who, holding the position of medical consultant to this family - I do not doubt that there is no person more worthy to occupy this position ...

- ABOUT! whispered the family doctor. “Praise Sir Hubert Stanley!”

“Very kind of you,” said Dr. Parker Peps. — Mr. Pilkins, who, by virtue of his position, has an excellent knowledge of the patient's organism in its normal state (knowledge of great value to our conclusions under the circumstances), shares my opinion that in the present case nature must make an energetic effort, and that if our charming friend, the Countess Dombey - I'm sorry! “Mrs Dombey will not—”

“In good condition,” said the family doctor.

“To make a proper effort,” continued Dr. Parker Peps, “there may be a crisis, which we will both sincerely regret.

After that, they stood for several seconds with lowered eyes. Then, on a silent signal given by Dr. Parker Peps, they went upstairs, the family doctor opening the door for the famous specialist and following him with the most obsequious courtesy.

To say that Mr. Dombey was not, in his own way, saddened by this news would be to treat him unfairly. He was not one of those of whom one can rightly say that this man was ever frightened or shocked; but he certainly felt that if his wife fell ill and withered away, he would be very distressed and find among his silverware, furniture and other household things the absence of an object that was very worth having and the loss of which cannot but cause sincere regret. But that would, of course, be a cold, businesslike, gentlemanly, restrained regret.

His reflections on the subject were interrupted, first by the rustle of a dress on the stairs, and then by a lady who suddenly burst into the room, more old than young, but dressed like a young woman, especially judging by the tight corset, who, running up to him, that tension in her face and manner testified to restrained excitement, she threw her arms around his neck and said, panting:

“My dear Paul! He is the spitting image of Dombey!

- Oh well! answered her brother, for Mr. Dombey was her brother. - I find that he really has family traits. Don't worry Louise.

“That is very foolish of me,” said Louise, sitting up and taking out her handkerchief, “but he—he is such a real Dombey!” I have never seen such a resemblance in my life!

"But what about Fanny herself?" asked Mr. Dombey. What about Fanny?

“My dear Paul,” said Louise, “absolutely nothing. Trust me - absolutely nothing. There was, of course, fatigue, but nothing like what I experienced with George or with Frederick. An effort needs to be made. That's all. Ah, if dear Fanny were Dombey... But I suppose she will make the effort; I have no doubt she will do it. Knowing that this is required of her in fulfillment of her duty, she will, of course, do it. My dear Paul, I know that it is very weak and stupid of me to tremble and tremble from head to toe, but I feel so dizzy that I have to ask you for a glass of wine and a piece of that cake over there. I thought I was going to fall out of the window on the stairs when I went downstairs to visit dear Fanny and this wonderful little angel. - Last words were triggered by a sudden and vivid memory of an infant.

There was a soft knock on the door behind them.

“Mrs Chick,” a honeyed female voice said outside the door, “dear friend, how are you feeling now?”

“My dear Paul,” said Louise quietly, rising, “this is Miss Tox. Best creation! Without her, I would never have been able to get here! Miss Tox is my brother, Mr Dombey. Paul, my dear, is my best friend, Miss Tox.

The lady so eloquently represented was a lanky, thin, and utterly faded person; it seemed that at first it was not released what dealers in the manufacture call "resistant colors", and little by little it faded. If not for this, she could be called the brightest example of courtesy and courtesy. From a long habit of listening enthusiastically to everything that is said in her presence, and looking at those who spoke as if she mentally imprints their images in her soul, so as not to part with them for the rest of her life, her head completely bowed to her shoulder. Hands have acquired a convulsive habit of rising by themselves in unaccountable delight. The look was amazing too. Her voice was the sweetest, and on her nose, monstrously aquiline, there was a bump in the very center of the bridge of the nose, from where the nose rushed down, as if having made an indestructible decision never, under any circumstances, to bully.

Miss Tox's dress, quite elegant and decent, was, however, somewhat baggy and wretched. She used to adorn her hats and caps with strange stunted flowers. Unknown herbs sometimes appeared in her hair; and it was noted by the curious that all her collars, frills, kerchiefs, sleeves and other airy accessories of the toilet - in fact, all things that she wore and which had two ends, which should be connected - these two ends were never in good agreed and did not want to come together without a fight. In winter, she wore furs - capes, boas and muffs - on which her hair was uncontrollably bristling and was never smoothed. She had a fondness for little reticules with clasps that, when snapped shut, fired like little pistols; and, dressed in full dress, she put on around her neck a miserable medallion representing an old fish-eye, devoid of any expression. These and other similar features contributed to the spread of rumors that Miss Tox, as they say, is a lady of limited means, in which she dodges in every way. Perhaps her treading supported this view, and suggested that the splitting of her usual step into two or three was due to her habit of making the most of everything.

“I assure you,” said Miss Tox, with a marvelous curtsy, “that the honor of being presented to Mr. Dombey is an award which I have long sought, but in this moment did not expect at all. Dear Mrs Chick... dare I call you Louise?

Mrs. Chick took Miss Tox's hand, leaned her hand against her glass, swallowed back a tear, and said in a low voice:

- God bless you!

“My dear Louise,” said Miss Tox, “my dear friend, how do you feel now?

“Better,” said Mrs. Chick. - Have some wine. You've been almost as worried as I am, and you certainly need reinforcements.

Of course, Mr. Dombey fulfilled the duty of master of the house.

“Miss Tox, Paul,” continued Mrs. Chick, still holding her hand, “knowing how much I looked forward to this event, prepared for Fanny a little gift, which I promised to give her. Paul, it's only a dressing table pincushion, but I'm going to say, I must say, and I'll say that Miss Tox very nicely found a saying to fit the occasion. I find "Welcome Little Dombey" to be poetry itself!

Is this a greeting? her brother inquired.

- Oh yes, hello! Louise replied.

“But be fair to me, my dear Louise,” said Miss Tox, in a low and imploring voice, “remember that only ... I am somewhat at a loss to express my thought ... only uncertainty in the outcome prompted me to take such liberties. "Welcome, little Dombey" would be more in line with my feelings, which, of course, you do not doubt. But the obscurity that accompanies these celestial aliens will, I hope, serve as an excuse for what would otherwise seem intolerable familiarity.

Miss Tox then made a graceful bow, which was meant for Mr. Dombey, to which the gentleman condescendingly returned. The admiration for Dombey and the Son, even as expressed in the preceding conversation, was so pleasant to him that his sister, Mrs. Chick, although he was inclined to consider her especially weak and good-natured, could have a greater influence on him than anyone. whatever.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Chick with a gentle smile, “after that I forgive Fanny everything!”

It was a Christian statement, and Mrs. Chick felt that it relieved her soul. However, she did not have to forgive her daughter-in-law anything special, or, rather, absolutely nothing, except that she married her brother - this in itself was a kind of impudence - and then gave birth to a girl instead of a boy - an act that, as Mrs. Chick often said, did not quite meet her expectations and was by no means a worthy reward for all the attention and honor that was shown to this woman.

As Mr. Dombey was urgently summoned from the room, the two ladies were left alone. Miss Tox immediately showed a tendency to convulsive twitches.

“I knew you would admire my brother. I warned you in advance, my dear,” said Louise.

Miss Tox's hands and eyes expressed how delighted she was.

“And as for his condition, my dear!

– Ah! said Miss Tox with deep feeling.

- Colossal greasy!

“And his manners, my dear Louise!” Miss Tox said. - His posture! His nobility! In my life I have not seen a single portrait that even half reflected these qualities. Something, you know, so majestic, so adamant; such broad shoulders, such a straight camp! Duke of York of the commercial world, my dear, and nothing more,” said Miss Tox. - That's what I would call it!

“What is the matter with you, my dear Paul? his sister exclaimed when he returned. - How pale you are! Something happened?

“Unfortunately, Louise, they told me that Fanny…”

- ABOUT! My dear Paul,” interrupted his sister, getting up, “don’t believe them! If you rely in any measure on my experience, Paul, you can be sure that everything is all right, and nothing more than an effort on the part of Fanny is required. And to this effort,” she continued, anxiously taking off her hat and busily adjusting her bonnet and gloves, “she should be encouraged and even, if necessary, forced. Now, my dear Paul, let's go upstairs together.

Mr. Dombey, who, under the influence of his sister, for the reason already mentioned, really trusted her as an experienced and efficient matron, consented, and immediately followed her into the sick-room.

His wife was still lying on the bed, clutching her little daughter to her chest. The girl clung to her as passionately as before, and did not raise her head, did not tear her tender cheek from her mother's face, did not look at those around her, did not speak, did not move, did not cry.

“Worried without the girl,” the doctor whispered to Mr. Dombey. “We saw fit to let her in again.

It was so solemnly quiet by the bedside, and both doctors seemed to be looking at the motionless figure with such pity and such hopelessness that Mrs. Chick was momentarily distracted from her intentions. But immediately, summoning courage and what she called presence of mind to help, she sat down by the bed and said in a low, intelligible voice, as a person who tries to wake a sleeping person says:

- Fanny! Fanny!

No sound in reply, only the loud ticking of Mr. Dombey's clock and Dr. Parker Peps' clock, as if racing in dead silence.

“Fanny, my dear,” said Mrs. Chick, in a tone of feigned gaiety, “Mr. Dombey has come to visit you. Would you like to talk to him? Your boy is about to be put in your bed—your little one, Fanny, you hardly seem to have seen him; but this cannot be done until you are a little more cheerful. Don't you think it's time to cheer up a little? What?

She put her ear close to the bed and listened, at the same time sweeping her eyes around and raising her finger.

- What? she repeated. What did you say, Fanny? I didn't hear.

Not a word, not a sound in response. Mr. Dombey's clock and Dr. Parker Peps' clock seemed to speed up the pace.

“Really, Fanny, my dear,” said the sister-in-law, changing her position and, against her will, speaking less confidently and more seriously, “I will have to be angry with you if you do not cheer up. It is necessary that you make an effort - perhaps a very strenuous and painful effort, which you are not disposed to make, but you know, Fanny, everything in this world requires effort, and we must not give in when so much depends on us. Come on! Try! Really, I'll have to scold you if you don't!

In the silence that descended, the race became frantic and fierce. The clock seemed to fly into each other and put each other's legs.

- Fanny! Louise went on, looking around with increasing anxiety. - Just take a look at me. Only open your eyes to show that you hear and understand me; Fine? My God, what are we to do, gentlemen?

The two medics on either side of the bed exchanged glances, and the family doctor leaned over and whispered something in the girl's ear. Not understanding the meaning of his words, the little girl turned to him a deathly-pale face with deep dark eyes, but did not loosen her embrace.

Another whisper.

- Mother! – said the girl.

- Mother! - sobbing, the girl exclaimed. - Oh, mommy, mommy!

The doctor gently pushed the baby's loose curls away from the mother's face and lips. Alas, they lay motionless - the breath was too weak to move them.

So, holding tightly to this fragile reed that clung to her, the mother swam away into the dark and unknown ocean that washes the whole world.

in which timely measures are taken in the event of an unexpected confluence of circumstances that sometimes arise in the most prosperous families

“I shall never cease to rejoice in that,” said Mrs. Chick, “that she said when she least could have foreseen what happened—it really seemed to me that something dawned on me,” said then that I forgive everything to poor dear Fanny. Whatever happens, it will always be a consolation to me!

This impressive remark was made by Mrs. Chick in the drawing-room, where she had come downstairs (she was supervising the dressmakers who were busy sewing family mourning). She uttered it as a warning to Mr. Chick, a portly, bald-headed gentleman with a very broad face, who always kept his hands in his pockets, and had an inborn tendency to whistle and hum songs, a tendency which, conscious of the indecency of such sounds in the house of sorrow, he did not easily suppress in present time.

"Don't overwork yourself, Lou," said Mr. Chick, "or you'll have a seizure." La-la-la pum-pum-pim! Oh my God, I forgot! Today we are alive, tomorrow we will die!

Mrs. Chick contented herself with a reproachful look, and then went on with her speech.

“Yes,” she said, “I hope this amazing event will serve as a warning to all of us and teach us to be cheerful and make timely efforts when they are required of us. Morality can be extracted from everything, if we only knew how to use it. It will be our fault if we miss this opportunity even now.

Mr Chick broke the solemn silence that followed this remark, the highest degree into an inappropriate chant, “He was a shoemaker,” and, breaking it off with some embarrassment, said that it was undoubtedly our fault if we did not benefit from such sad events.

“I believe, Mr. Chick, that one can get more use out of them,” his wife objected after a short silence, “if you do not hum the “School Bagpipe” or the equally senseless and insensitive tune “Ram-pum-pam-la-la-lam (which Mr. Chick did indulge himself on the sly, and which Mrs. Chick reproduced with boundless contempt).

"It's just a habit, my dear," Mr. Chick apologized.

- Nonsense! Habit! the wife replied. - If you are a rational being, do not give such ridiculous explanations. Habit! If I had developed the habit (as you call it) of walking up and down the ceiling like flies, I think my ears would be buzzing.

It seemed very plausible that such a habit would attract general attention, and therefore Mr. Chick did not dare to challenge this assumption.

How is the baby, Lou? inquired Mr Chick, wishing to change the subject.

What baby are you talking about? Mrs Chick asked. “Really, no sane person can imagine what a morning I spent down there, in the dining room, with this mass of babies.

- Mass of babies? Mr. Chick repeated, looking around anxiously.

“Most would think,” continued Mrs. Chick, “that now that poor dear Fanny is no longer with us, it becomes necessary to find a nurse.

- ABOUT! A! said Mr Chick. - Tram-there ... - such is life, I wanted to say. I hope you find something to your liking, my dear.

“Of course I haven’t,” said Mrs. Chick, “and I don’t think I will, as far as I can foresee. In the meantime, the child, of course ...

"Go to hell," said Mr. Chick sagely. - Undoubtedly.

"Couldn't you use the kettle temporarily?"

If it was his intention to bring the conversation to a quick end, he could not have done so with great success. With a glance at him of silent resignation, Mrs. Chick stalked majestically to the window and peered through the blinds, attracted by the clatter of the wheels. Mr. Chick, convinced that at present fate was against him, said no more, and withdrew. But it was not always so with Mr. Chick. He often prevailed, and on such occasions dealt harshly with Louise. In general, in their marital skirmishes, they were a well-matched, perfectly balanced couple who did not give each other a descent. As a matter of fact, it would be very difficult to bet which of them would win the battle. Often, when Mr. Chick seemed to have already been beaten, he suddenly went on the offensive, launched the weapon of his opponent, rattled it under Mrs. Chick's ear, and won a complete victory. Since he himself was threatened with the same unexpected blows from Mrs. Chick, their light collisions took place with varying success, which acted very inspiring.

Miss Tox arrived on the wheels just mentioned and rushed into the room, barely catching her breath.

“My dear Louise,” said Miss Tox, “is the seat still open?”

“No, you are a good soul,” said Mrs. Chick.

“In that case, my dear Louise,” continued Miss Tox, “I believe and trust ... But wait a minute, my dear, I will introduce you to the interested party ...”

Running down as fast as she had run upstairs, Miss Tox disembarked the interested party from the hired carriage, and soon returned, leading it under escort.

It was only then discovered that she had used the word, not as a legal or business term meaning one individual, but as a noun collective or uniting many persons - for Miss Tox was escorting a plump and ruddy, blooming young woman with a face like an apple, holding in the arms of a baby; a younger woman, not as plump, but also with an apple-like face, leading two chubby children with apple-faced faces; another chubby boy, also with a face like an apple, who walked on his own; and finally a plump, apple-faced man who was carrying another plump, apple-faced boy, whom he lowered to the floor and ordered in a hoarse whisper to "grab Johnny's brother."

“My dear Louise,” said Miss Tox, “knowing your great concern, and wishing to save you, I went to Queen Charlotte’s Royal Asylum for Married Women, which you have forgotten, and asked if there was anyone who, according to them, think it might fit. No, they said, there are none. I assure you, my dear, when they gave me this answer, I was ready to fall into despair. But it so happened that one of the royal married women, hearing my question, reminded the warder of a certain person who had returned to her home, and who, in her opinion, would undoubtedly prove very suitable. As soon as I heard this and received confirmation from the warden - an excellent recommendation, an impeccable character - immediately, my dear, took the address and again on the road.

“How like you, dear, kind Tox!” Louise said.

“Not at all,” said Miss Tox. - Don't say that. On entering the house (impeccable cleanliness, my dear! you can dine right on the floor), I found the whole family at the table, and, feeling that no story would give you and Mr. Dombey such comfort as the sight of them all put together, I brought them here. This gentleman,” continued Miss Tox, pointing to a man with a face like an apple, “is a father. Would you like to step forward a little, sir?

The apple-faced man, embarrassedly obeying this demand, took a seat in the front row, chuckling and grinning.

"It's his wife, of course," said Miss Tox, pointing to the woman with the baby. How are you, Polly?

“Very well, thank you, madam,” said Polly.

Wishing to introduce her more ingeniously, Miss Tox asked this question as if she were addressing an old acquaintance whom she had not seen for two weeks.

“Very glad,” said Miss Tox. The other young woman is her unmarried sister, who lives with them and will look after her children. Her name is Jemima. How are you, Jemima?

“Very well, thank you, madam,” said Jemima.

"I'm extremely glad about that," said Miss Tox. – I hope it will continue to be so. Five children. The youngest is six weeks old. This nice boy with a blister on his nose is the eldest. I hope, - added Miss Tox, looking around at the family, - he has a blister not from birth, but jumped up by accident?

One could make out that a man with a face like an apple croaked:

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Miss Tox, “you say—”

“Iron,” he repeated.

- Oh yes! Miss Tox said. - Quite right. I forgot. The boy, in the absence of his mother, sniffed the hot iron. You are absolutely right. When we drove up to the house, you were going to kindly inform me that you were by profession ...

“Stoker,” the man said.

- Kozhedral? exclaimed Miss Tox in horror.

“Stoker,” the man repeated. - On the ferry.

- ABOUT! That's how! said Miss Tox, looking at him thoughtfully and as if still not quite understanding what it meant. - How do you like it, sir?

- What, madame? the man asked.

“Here it is,” said Miss Tox. - Your profession.

“Perhaps you like it, sir.” Sometimes the ashes clog up here,” he pointed to his chest, “and the voice becomes hoarse, just like now. But it is from ash, madam, and not from quarrelsomeness.

It seemed that Miss Tox learned so little from this answer that it was difficult to continue the conversation. But Mrs. Chick immediately came to her aid, proceeding to the most careful examination of Polly, the children, the marriage certificate, references, and so on. Polly emerged unscathed from this ordeal, whereupon Mrs. Chick went with a report to her brother, and, as a vivid illustration of the report and in confirmation of it, she took with her two of the rudest little Toodles - the name of the apple-faced family was Toodle.

Since the death of his wife, Mr. Dombey has not left his room, immersed in reflections on the youth, education and destiny of his infant son. Something oppressed his hard heart, something colder and heavier than his usual burden; but it was the consciousness of a loss suffered by the child rather than by himself, which aroused in him, along with sadness, almost annoyance. It was humiliating and hard to think that, because of the trifle of life and development, on which he had placed such hopes, from the very beginning there was a danger that Dombey and Son might be shaken by some nurse. And yet, in his pride and jealousy, he reflected with such bitterness on dependence - in the very first steps towards the fulfillment of a cherished desire - from a hired servant who would temporarily be for his child everything that his own wife would be through union with him, that with each new challenge of the candidate, he experienced a secret joy. But the moment came when he could no longer vacillate between these two feelings. Especially since there seemed to be no doubt about the suitability of Polly Toodle, which was reported by his sister, who did not stint on praise of Miss Tox's indefatigable friendship.

“The children look healthy,” said Mr. Dombey. “But to think that someday they would take it into their heads to claim some kind of kinship with Paul!” Take them away, Louise! Show me this woman and her husband.

Mrs. Chick carried away the delicate pair of Toodles, and soon returned with a coarser pair, which the brother wished to see.

“My dear,” said Mr. Dombey, turning his whole body in his chair, as if he had no limbs and joints, “I am informed that you are poor and want to earn money by becoming a nurse for little boy, to my son, who prematurely lost someone who can never be replaced. I have no objection to your contributing to the welfare of your family in this way. As far as I can tell, you seem like a decent person. But I must put two or three conditions on you before you take this place in my house. While you live here, I insist that you always be called ... well, let's say Richards ... a simple and decent name. Do you mind being called Richards? You can consult with your husband.

As her husband only chuckled and grinned and passed his right hand over his lips, slobbering his palm, Mrs. Toodle, nudging him once or twice with her elbow to no avail, sat down and replied that "perhaps if she must give up her name, it will not be forgotten in the appointment of her salary.

“Oh, of course,” said Mr. Dombey. – I wish that this was taken into account when paying. Then, Richards, if you will look after my orphaned child, I want you to remember this: you will be generously rewarded for the performance of certain duties, and I wish that during this time you see your family as little as possible. When the need for your services has passed, when you cease to provide them and will no longer receive a salary, all relations between us cease. Do you understand me?

Mrs. Toodle seemed to doubt it; as for Toodle himself, he obviously had no doubt that he did not understand anything.

“You have children yourself,” said Mr. Dombey. “It is not part of our contract that you should become attached to my child or that my child should become attached to you. I don't expect or demand anything of the sort. Just the opposite. When you leave here, you will terminate the relationship, which is just a contract of sale, of employment, and retire. The child will stop remembering you; and you be so kind - do not think about the child.

Mrs. Toodle, blushing a little more than before, said she hoped "she knew her place."

“I hope you do, Richards,” said Mr. Dombey. “I have no doubt that you know him very well. Indeed, it is so clear and obvious that it cannot be otherwise. Louise, my dear, arrange a salary with Richards, and let her get it when and how she pleases. Mister, what's your name, I want to tell you something.

Thus detained at the door just as he was about to follow his wife out of the room, Toodle returned and was left alone with Mr. Dombey. He was a strong, clumsy, round-shouldered, clumsy, shaggy man in a baggy suit, with thick hair and sideburns darker than they were by nature, perhaps due to smoke and coal dust, with calloused, knotted hands and a square forehead, rough, like oak bark. The exact opposite in every respect of Mr. Dombey, who was one of those clean-shaven, well-groomed, rich gentlemen who shine and crackle like new banknotes, and seem to be artificially perked up by the exciting action of a golden shower.

- You seem to have a son? asked Mr. Dombey.

- Four of them. Four and one girls. All are well.

“But you barely have enough money to support them?” said Mr Dombey.

“There is one more thing, sir, that is beyond my means.

- What exactly?

- Somehow, sir.

- Write?

Chalk, sir?

- Anything.

“Perhaps I could manage the chalk somehow, if I had to,” Toodle said after a moment.

“I suppose,” said Mr. Dombey, “that you are about thirty-two, thirty-three years old.”

“About that much, I suppose,” said Toodle, thinking again.

“Then why don’t you study?” asked Mr. Dombey.

- Yes, that's what I'm going to. One of my boys will teach me when he grows up and goes to school himself.

- So! said Mr. Dombey, looking at him attentively and not very favourably, while he stood surveying the room (mainly the ceiling) and still passing his hand over his lips. Did you hear what I just said to your wife?

“Polly heard,” said Toodle, waving his hat over his shoulder towards the door with an air of complete confidence in his better half. - Everything is fine.

“Since you seem to leave everything to her,” said Dombey, discouraged by his intention of presenting his point of view even more impressively to her husband as the strongest, “then, I think, it does not make sense to talk about anything with you.

“Nothing at all,” said Toodle. Polly heard. She doesn't yawn, sir.

“Then I won’t keep you any longer,” said a disappointed Mr. Dombey. Where did you work before and where do you work now?

“More and more underground, sir, until he got married. Then I got to the surface. I've been riding one of these railroads ever since they were built.

As the last straw might break the back of a laden camel, so this news of the mine crushed Mr. Dombey's waning spirit. He pointed to the door to the husband of his son's nurse; when he willingly retired, Mr. Dombey turned the key and paced the room, lonely and miserable. Despite all his starched, impenetrable grandeur and composure, he wiped away tears and often repeated with an emotion that he would never have agreed to show in public: “Poor boy!”

Perhaps it was characteristic of Mr. Dombey's pride that he felt sorry for himself through the child. Not “poor me!”, not a poor widower forced to trust the wife of an ignorant simpleton who worked all his life “more and more underground”, but on whose door Death never knocked and at whose table four sons sat daily, but “poor boy!"

These words were on his lips when it occurred to him - and this testifies to the strong attraction of his hopes, fears and all his thoughts to a single center - that a great temptation stands in the way of this woman. Her newborn is also a boy. Can't she replace the baby?

Although he soon dismissed this suggestion with relief as romantic and implausible—but still possible, which could not be denied—he involuntarily developed it, imagining in his mind what his position would be if, in his old age, he discovered such a deceit. Will a person, under such conditions, be able to take away from the impostor what has been created by many years of habit, confidence and trust, and give everything to someone else?

When the uncharacteristic excitement subsided, these fears gradually dissipated, although their shadow remained, and he decided to watch Richards carefully, hiding it from others. Being now in a calmer mood, he came to the conclusion that the social position of this woman is rather a favorable circumstance, for it in itself alienates her from the child and makes their separation easy and natural.

In the meantime an agreement was made and sealed between Mrs. Chick and Richards, with the help of Miss Tox, and Richards, who had been awarded with great ceremony, as if by some kind of order, the baby Dombey, handed over her own child with tears and kisses to Jemima. Then wine was served to raise the spirit of the family.

“Would you like a drink, sir?” suggested Miss Tox, when Toodle appeared.

“I thank you, madame,” said Toodle, “if you treat—”

“And you are happy to leave your fine wife in such a fine home, aren’t you, sir?” continued Miss Tox, nodding furtively and winking at him.

“No, madame,” said Toodle. “I drink for her to be at home again.”

At this, Polly began to cry even harder. Wherefore Mrs. Chick, who, as befits a matron, was worried lest excessive grief should harm little Dombey ("the milk might be lost," she whispered to Miss Tox), hurried to the rescue.

“Your little one, Richards, will be fine with your sister Jemima,” said Mrs. Chick, “and all you have to do is make an effort—in this world, you know, everything takes effort, Richards—to be perfectly happy. You've already been measured for your mourning dress, haven't you, Richards?

“Yes, madame,” sobbed Polly.

“And it will fit you perfectly, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Chick, “because this same young lady has made many dresses for me.” And from the best matter!

"Oh, you'll be such a smartass," said Miss Tox, "that your husband won't recognize you." Isn't it, sir?

“I would recognize her in anything, anywhere,” Toodle grumbled.

It was clear that Toodle was unbribable.

“As for the table, Richards,” continued Mrs. Chick, “the best will be at your service. Every day you will order your own lunch; and whatever you want, they will immediately prepare for you, as if you were some kind of lady.

- Yes of course! said Miss Tox very readily. “And unlimited porter, right, Louise?”

– Oh, definitely! replied Mrs Chick in the same tone. “It will only be necessary, my dear, to abstain slightly from vegetables.

“And perhaps pickles,” said Miss Tox.

“With these exceptions, my dear,” Louisa said, “she can be guided by her own tastes and not deny herself anything.

"And then, of course, you know," said Miss Tox, "how much she loves her own dear little one, and I'm sure, Louise, you don't blame her for loving him?"

- Oh no! exclaimed Mrs. Chick, full of magnanimity.

“However,” continued Miss Tox, “she must naturally be interested in her young pet and consider it an honor that before her eyes a little cherub, closely associated with high society, daily draws strength from a single source for all. Isn't that right, Louise?

– Quite right! Mrs Chick confirmed. “You see, my dear, she is already perfectly calm and contented and is about to say goodbye cheerfully and with a smile to her sister Jemima, her little ones and her good honest husband. Isn't it true, my dear?

- Oh yeah! exclaimed Miss Tox. – Of course!

In spite of this, poor Polly kissed them all with great sorrow, and at last fled to escape a more tender farewell to the children. But this cunning was not crowned with a well-deserved success, for one of the younger boys, guessing her intention, immediately began to climb - if I can use this word with a dubious etymology - after her on all fours on the stairs, and the eldest (known in the family under the nickname Byler) honor of the steam locomotive) beat off the devilish tap dance with his boots as a sign of his chagrin; all the other members of the family joined him.

The abundance of oranges and halfpenny showered on all the young Toodles, without exception, calmed the first fits of grief, and the family was hurriedly sent home in a hired carriage, which was delayed especially for this purpose. The children, guarded by Jemima, crowded around the window, dropping oranges and halfpenny all the way. Mr. Toodle himself preferred to ride on heels among the protruding nails, the mode of transportation most familiar to him.

in which Mr. Dombey is shown at the head of his household department as a man and a father

The funeral of the deceased lady was 'taken place', to the full satisfaction of the owner of the undertaker's office, and also of the whole of the surrounding population, who are usually disposed in such cases to nit-picking and apt to resent every slip and omission in the ceremony, whereupon Mr. Dombey's numerous household again took their proper places. in the home system. This little world, like a great one outside world, was distinguished by the ability to quickly forget his dead; and when the cook said, "The lady had a gentle disposition," and the housekeeper said, "That's our lot," and the butler said, "Who would have thought that?", and the maid said, "she can hardly believe it," and the footman said: "It's like a dream," - the event was finally covered with rust, and they began to think that their mourning had turned red from wear.

Richards, who was held upstairs in honorable captivity, the dawn of a new life seemed cold and gray. Mr. Dombey had a large house on the shady side of a dark but elegant high street between Portland Place and Bryanston Square. It was a corner house with spacious "courtyards" where the cellars opened, which glumly looked at the light with their barred windows and squinted contemptuously at the cross-eyed doors leading to the dustbins. It was a stately and gloomy house with a semicircular rear facade, with a suite of halls overlooking a gravel courtyard, where two stunted trees with blackened trunks clattered rather than rustled, so their leaves were smoked. In the summer, the sun came into this street only in the mornings, at about one o'clock for breakfast, appearing along with the water-carriers, the junk-men, the geranium-mongers, the umbrella-fixer, and the man who tinkled the bell of the Dutch clock as he walked. Soon it was hidden again, so as not to appear again that day, and the musicians and the wandering Punch, hiding after him, gave way to the most mournful hurdy-gurdy and white mice, or sometimes porcupine - to diversify the entertainment numbers; and at twilight the butlers, when their hosts dined away, appeared at the door of their houses, and the lamplighter failed every evening in trying to make the street look more cheerful with gas.

And the inside of this house was as gloomy as the outside. After the funeral, Mr. Dombey ordered that the furniture be covered with covers, perhaps to save it for his son, with whom all his plans were connected, and that no cleaning be done in the rooms, except for those he intended for himself on the lower floor. Then mysterious structures were formed from tables and chairs, arranged in the middle of the rooms and covered with huge shrouds. Bell handles, blinds and mirrors, hung with newspapers and magazines, daily and weekly, imposed fragmentary reports of deaths and terrible murders. Each candelabra, each chandelier, wrapped in linen, resembled a monstrous tear falling from an eye on the ceiling. Smells wafted from the fireplaces, like from a crypt or a damp cellar. The portrait of the deceased and buried lady, in a frame twisted with mourning, inspired fear. Every gust of wind, blowing around the corner of the neighboring stables, brought tufts of straw that had been spread out in front of the house during her illness, and the rotting remains of which were still preserved in the neighborhood; drawn by some unknown force to the threshold of the filthy rented house opposite, they called with grim eloquence to Mr. Dombey's windows.

The apartment Mr. Dombey kept for himself communicated with the hall and consisted of a drawing room, a library (which was, in fact, a toilet room, so that the smell of satin and vellum paper, morocco and yuft here competed with the smell of numerous pairs of shoes) and a greenhouse, or a small glass-enclosed boudoir, from which one could see the trees mentioned above and - sometimes - a crouching cat. These three rooms were located one after the other. In the mornings, when Mr. Dombey breakfasted in one of the first two rooms, and also in the evening, when he returned home for dinner, the bell rang for Richards, who would come into the glass-room and walk with her young pet there. Glancing from time to time at Mr. Dombey, who sat in the dark and looked at the baby through the dark heavy furniture - his father had lived in this house for many years and there was a lot of old-fashioned and gloomy furniture in the furniture - she began to think about Mr. Dombey and his solitude, as if he were a prisoner in solitary confinement, or a strange ghost who can neither be hailed nor understood.

For weeks now, little Paul Dombey's nurse had led such a life herself, and carried little Paul through it; and one day, when she came back upstairs from a melancholy walk in the gloomy rooms (she never left the house without Mrs. Chick, who came in the morning in fine weather, usually accompanied by Miss Fresh air her with the baby, or, in other words, solemnly lead them down the street, as if in a funeral procession) and sat in her room, - the door slowly and quietly opened, and a little dark-eyed girl looked into the room.

It must be Miss Florence coming home from her aunt, thought Richards, who had never seen the girl before.

“I hope you are well, miss?”

- This is my brother? the girl asked, pointing to the baby.

“Yes, my dear,” Richards replied. - Come, kiss him.

But the girl, instead of approaching her, looked seriously into her face and said:

- What did you do to my mom?

“God have mercy, little one!” Richards exclaimed. What a terrible question! What have I done? Nothing, miss.

What did they do to my mom? the girl asked.

“I have never seen such a sensitive child in my life!” said Richards, who naturally imagined in her place one of her children inquiring about her under the same circumstances. “Come closer, my dear miss. Don't be afraid of me.

“I’m not afraid of you,” the girl said, going up to her. “But I want to know what they did to my mother.

“My dear,” said Richards, “you are wearing this pretty black dress in memory of your mother.

“I remember my mother in every dress,” the girl objected with tears in her eyes.

“But people wear black to remember those who are no longer there.

– Where are they? the girl asked.

“Come and sit beside me,” Richards said, “and I'll tell you something.

Immediately guessing that the story must have something to do with her questions, little Florence put down the hat she was holding in her hands and sat down on the stool at the nurse's feet, looking into her face.

“There was once a lady in the world,” began Richards, “a very kind lady, and her little daughter loved her dearly.

“A very kind lady, and her little daughter loved her dearly,” repeated the girl.

“And so, when God willed it to happen, she fell ill and died.

The girl started.

- She died, and no one will see her again in this world, and they buried her in the ground where trees grow.

– In the cold ground? said the girl, shuddering again.

- No! To the warm earth,” said Polly, taking advantage of the opportunity, “where ugly little seeds turn into beautiful flowers, into grass and ears, and you know what else. Where good people turn into bright angels and fly away to heaven.

The girl, who had lowered her head, looked up again and sat gazing fixedly at Polly.

“So, listen,” continued Polly, seriously excited by this inquisitive look, her desire to console the child, her unexpected success and distrust of her own strength. “So, when this lady died, wherever they took her and wherever they put her, she went to God anyway, and this lady began to pray to him, yes, to pray,” repeated Polly, very moved, for she spoke from the bottom of her heart. , - that he would teach her little daughter to believe it with all her heart and know that she was happy there and love her as before, and hope, and think all her life about meeting her there someday and never again never part.

- That's my mom! exclaimed the little girl, jumping up and throwing her arms around Polly's neck.

“And the girl,” continued Polly, pressing her to her breast, “the little daughter believed with all her heart, and when she heard about it from an unknown nurse, who didn’t even know how to tell it well, but she herself was a poor mother, that’s all, daughter she was consoled… she didn’t feel so lonely anymore… she cried and sobbed on her chest… she took pity on the little one, who was lying on her lap and… well, that’s enough, that’s enough! said Polly, smoothing the girl's curls and shedding tears on them. - That's it, poor thing!

“That’s right, Miss Floy! Well, your daddy will be angry! came a sharp voice, belonging to a short, swarthy girl who seemed older than her fourteen years, with an upturned nose and black eyes like agate beads. “Why, you were strictly ordered not to come here and bother the nurse.

"She doesn't bother me," came Polly's surprised reply. - I like children very much.

“Ah, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Richards, but that, you see, means nothing,” objected the black-eyed girl, who was so sharp and caustic that it seemed she could bring a man to tears. “Perhaps I am very fond of edible snails, Mrs. Richards, but it does not follow from this that I should be served them with tea.

"Well, that's nothing," said Polly.

“Ah, thank you, Mrs. Richards!” exclaimed the sharp girl. “However, be so kind as to remember that Miss Floy is in my care, and Mr. Paul is in yours.

“Still, we don’t need to quarrel,” said Polly.

“Oh yes, Mrs. Richards,” said the bully. “There is no need at all, I don’t want this, there’s no reason for us to get into such a relationship, since with Miss Floy the place is permanent, and with Mr. Paul it’s temporary.

The bully made no pauses, blurting out everything she wanted to say in one sentence and, if possible, in one breath.

Did Miss Florence just come home? Polly asked.

“Yes, Mrs. Richards, just got back, and now, Miss Floy, you haven’t even been at home for a quarter of an hour, when you are already rubbing your wet face against the expensive mourning dress that Mrs. Richards wears for your mother!”

After such a reprimand, the young bully, whose real name was Susan Nieper, forcibly tore the girl away from her new friend - as if she had pulled out a tooth. But it seemed that she did it without any malicious intent, but rather from excessive official zeal.

“Now she is home again and will be happy,” said Polly, nodding her head, and a reassuring smile appeared on her good-natured face. “And how delighted she will be when she sees her dear papa in the evening!”

Oh, Mrs Richards! exclaimed Miss Nipper, immediately taking up her words. - Complete! He will see his dear dad, no matter how! I would like to see this!

"But won't she see him?" Polly asked.

“Oh no, Mrs. Richards, her papa is too busy with someone else, and as long as there was no one else, she was never a favorite; no one cares about girls in this house, Mrs. Richards, I can assure you!

Florence quickly looked from one nurse to another, as if she understood and felt what was being said.

- Here's to you! exclaimed Polly. “Has Mr. Dombey not seen her since—”

“Well, yes,” interrupted Susan Nipper. “I haven’t seen her since then, and I hardly looked at her for months before, and I’m unlikely to recognize her as my daughter if she meets me on the street tomorrow, and as for me, Mrs. Richards,” the bully added with a giggle, “ then I suspect that he does not know about my existence.

- Sweet little one! said Richards, meaning not Miss Nipper, but little Florence.

“Oh, yes, it's hell for a hundred miles around, I can assure you, Mrs. Richards, not to mention the people present, of course,” said Susan Nipper. “I wish you good morning, Mrs. Richards, well, Miss Floy, if you please, come with me and don’t balk like a naughty, capricious child who doesn’t know how to behave.

In spite of this exhortation, and in spite of Susan Nieper's prodding, which threatened to dislocate her right shoulder, little Florence broke free and tenderly kissed her new friend.

- Farewell! – said the girl. - God bless you. Soon I will come to you again, and you will come to me. Susan will let us. May I, Susan?

On the whole, the bully seemed to be a good-natured little person, although she belonged to that school of educators of young minds, which believes that children, like money, should be well shaken, rubbed and rubbed to give them shine. For, hearing this request, accompanied by pleading gestures and caresses, she folded her arms, shook her head, and the look of her wide-open black eyes became softer.

“It’s not good that you ask me this, Miss Floy, you know that I cannot refuse you, but Mrs. Richards and I will think about what can be done here if Mrs. Richards wishes ... I, you see, Mrs. Richards, can maybe I want to take a ride to China, but maybe I don't know how to get out of the London docks.

Richards agreed with this statement.

“There isn’t much fun in this house,” said Miss Nipper, “for a man to want more loneliness than you can’t bear. Your Toks and your Chicks can pull out two of my front teeth, Mrs. Richards, but that's no reason why I should offer them my whole jaw.

This statement was also accepted by Richards as beyond doubt.

“So be sure,” said Susan Nipper, “that I am ready to live in friendship, Mrs. Richards, as long as you stay with Mr. Paul, if you can think of something without openly breaking orders, but, Lord have mercy, Miss Floy, you still not undressed, you naughty girl, go!

With these words, Susan Nieper, resorting to violence, ran into her young pet and swept her out of the room.

The girl, yearning and abandoned, was so meek, so quiet and unrequited, there was so much tenderness in her that no one seemed to need, and so much painful sensitivity that no one seemed to notice and was not afraid to hurt, that Polly Her heart sank as she was left alone again. A simple conversation between her and an orphaned girl moved her maternal heart no less than the heart of a child; and just like a child, she felt that from that moment trust and intimacy arose between them.

Although Mr. Toodle relied on Polly for everything, she was hardly superior to him in the field of acquired knowledge. But she was a clear example of female nature, which, on the whole, can feel better, more honest, higher, nobler, faster and show greater constancy in tenderness and compassion, self-sacrifice and devotion than male nature. Although she had learned nothing, she might have given Mr. Dombey a grain of knowledge from the very beginning, which, in this case, would not have struck him like lightning afterwards.

But we sidetracked. For the moment, Polly's only thought was how to strengthen Miss Nipper's won favor and think of a way that little Florence could be with her without breaking taboos or becoming rebellious. That same evening, an opportunity presented itself.

As usual, she went downstairs at the bell, and walked for a long time with the child in her arms, when suddenly, to her great amazement and dismay, Mr. Dombey appeared and stopped in front of her.

Good evening, Richards.

Still the same stern, prim gentleman she had seen him that first day. A gentleman with such a stern look that she involuntarily looked down and curtsied.

“How is Mr. Paul, Richards?”

- Growing, sir, healthy.

“He looks healthy,” said Mr. Dombey, peering with the greatest attention at the tiny face, which she revealed, and yet pretending to be somewhat indifferent. - I hope you get everything you want?

“Yes, sir, thank you.

But she gave this answer with such embarrassment, that Mr. Dombey, who had already moved away from her, stopped, and turned again to her with an inquiring air.

“It seems to me, sir, to entertain and amuse a child, nothing could be better than to let other children play near him,” said Polly, plucking up her courage.

“When you entered here, Richards,” said Mr. Dombey, frowning, “I seem to have expressed a wish that you should see your family as little as possible. Please, continue your walk.

With these words, he withdrew into the inner chambers, and Polly guessed that he did not understand her intention at all, and that she fell into disgrace, not at all approaching the goal.

The next evening, going downstairs, she saw Mr. Dombey walking in the greenhouse. She stopped at the door, embarrassed by this unusual sight, not knowing whether to move on or retreat; he called her.

“If you really think that such company is good for a child,” he said abruptly, as if he had just heard the offer of a nurse, “then where is Miss Florence?”

“There is no one better to find than Miss Florence, sir,” said Polly eagerly, “but from the words of her little maid, I understood that they did not ...

Mr. Dombey rang the bell and paced up and down the room until the servant appeared.

“Order that Miss Florence be brought to Richards whenever she wishes, let her go for a walk, and so on. Arrange for the children to be allowed to be together whenever Richards wants.

The iron was hot, and Richards, boldly setting about forging it—it was a good deed, and she did not lose courage, though she instinctively feared Mr. Dombey—wished Miss Florence to come down here at once and make the acquaintance of her little brother.

She pretended to cradle the child when the servant went off to run his errand, but she fancied that Mr. Dombey turned pale, that his expression changed abruptly, that he turned quickly, as if he wanted to take back his words, her words, or both, and only shame held him back.

And she was right. The last time he saw his abandoned daughter in the arms of a dying mother, which was both a revelation and a reproach to him. Absorbed as he was by the Son in whom he placed such great hopes, he could not forget that final scene. He could not forget that he did not take any part in it, that in the transparent depths of tenderness and truth, these two creatures clasped each other in their arms, while he himself stood on the shore, looking down at them like a mere spectator - not an accomplice. , rejected.

Since he was unable to drive away these memories and not think about those vague images, full of meaning, which he could discern through the fog of his pride, his former indifference to little Florence was replaced by some strange awkwardness. He got the feeling that she was watching him and didn't trust him. As if she had a key to some secret hidden in his heart, the nature of which was hardly known to him. As if she was given to know about one rattling and untuned string in him, and from one of her breaths this string can sound.

His attitude towards the girl was negative from her very birth. He never felt disgust for her - it was not worth the trouble, and it was not characteristic of him. He didn't feel any real animosity towards her. But now she was embarrassing him. She disturbed his peace. He would have preferred to banish thoughts of her altogether if he had known how. Perhaps - who will unravel such secrets? He was afraid that he would hate her.

When little Florence entered timidly, Mr. Dombey stopped his pacing and looked at her. If he had looked at her with great interest, through the eyes of his father, he would have read in her watchful eyes the excitement and fears that confused her; a passionate desire to cling to him, hide your face on his chest and exclaim: “Oh, papa, try to love me! I don't have anyone else!"; fear of being pushed away; fear of being too impudent and offending him; an excruciating need for support and encouragement. And, finally, he would see how her childish heart, burdened with an unbearable burden, is looking for some kind of natural refuge both for her sorrow and for love.

But he saw none of this. All he saw was how she hesitated in the doorway and looked in his direction; and he saw nothing else.

“Come in,” he said, “come in.” What is this girl afraid of?

She came in and, looking uncertainly around, stopped at the very door, tightly squeezing her little hands.

“Come, Florence,” my father said coldly. - You know who I am?

- Yes, dad.

- Do you want to tell me something?

The tears that had formed in her eyes when she looked at him froze under his gaze. She lowered her eyes again and held out a trembling hand.

Mr. Dombey casually took her hand, and stood looking at her for a minute, as if he did not know, just as a child did not know what to say or do.

- Here you go! Be a good girl,” he said, stroking her head and stealing a look of embarrassment and incredulity at her. “Go to Richards!” Go!

His little daughter hesitated for a moment, as if she still wanted to snuggle up to him, or had a faint hope that he would take her in his arms and kiss her. She looked up at him again. He remembered the same look on her face when she looked back and looked at the doctor - that evening - and instinctively released her hand and turned away.

It was easy to see that Florence lost a lot in the presence of her father. Not only the girl's thoughts were connected, but also her natural grace and freedom of movement. Yet Polly, seeing this, did not lose heart, and, judging Mr. Dombey by herself, placed her hopes in the silent appeal, the mourning dress of poor little Florence. Really, it's cruel, thought Polly, if he loves only one orphaned child, when he has another before his eyes, and a girl, too.

Therefore, Polly tried to keep her a little longer before his eyes, and skillfully nursed little Paul, to show how he had become animated in her sister's company. When it was time to go upstairs, she sent Florence into the next room to wish her father Good night, but the girl was embarrassed and backed away, and when Polly began to insist, she covered her eyes with her hand, as if hiding from her own insignificance, and exclaimed:

- Oh no, no! He doesn't need me! He doesn't need me!

This little dispute attracted the attention of Mr. Dombey; Without rising from the table where he was drinking wine, Mr. Dombey inquired what was the matter.

"Miss Florence is afraid she'll be in the way, sir, if she comes in to say goodnight to you," said Richards.

- Nothing, nothing! said Mr. Dombey. Let her come and go as she pleases.

The girl cringed at this and left before her modest friend had a chance to look back.

However, Polly was very pleased with the success of her good plan and the dexterity with which she carried it out, about which she reported with all the details to the bully, as soon as she was again safely installed upstairs. Miss Nipper accepted this proof of her trust, and also the hope of their free association in the future, rather coldly and did not show any enthusiasm.

“I thought you'd be pleased,” said Polly.

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Richards, I am extremely pleased, thank you!” said Susan, who suddenly straightened up as if she had inserted an extra bone into her corset.

“You don’t see it,” said Polly.

- Oh, because I'm only permanent, not temporary, so there's nothing to wait for me to be seen! Susan Nipper said. “I see that the temporary have the upper hand here, but although there is a beautiful wall between this house and the next one, nevertheless, in spite of everything, I may still not want to find myself backed up to it, Mrs. Richards!”

in which new faces appear for the first time on the stage where events are unfolding

Though the office of Dombey and Son was within the liberties of the City of London and the ringing of the bells of St. Mary-le-Bow, when their booming voices were not yet drowned in the noise of the street, yet in some places in the neighborhood one could notice traces of a courageous and romantic life. Gog and Magog in all their splendor were within ten minutes' walk; Royal Exchange was nearby; The Bank of England, with its dungeons filled with gold and silver, "down there among the dead," was their majestic neighbor. Around the corner rose the house of the wealthy East India Company, suggestive of precious fabrics and stones, of tigers, elephants, wide canopied saddles, hookahs, umbrellas, palm trees, palanquins and magnificent swarthy princes sitting on a carpet, in shoes with strongly turned up up socks. Everywhere in the neighborhood one could see images of ships rushing in full sail to all parts of the world; warehouses ready to ship anyone, anywhere, fully equipped, in half an hour; and little wooden midshipmen in obsolete naval uniforms, who stood above the entrance to the shops of marine tools and always watched the hired carriages.

The sole owner and owner of one of these figurines - one that could be called familiarly the most wooden - one that towered above the sidewalk, putting forward its right foot with a courtesy truly unbearable, possessed buckles on shoes and a waistcoat with lapels, truly unacceptable for a human being. mind, and held to her right eye some outrageously disproportionate instrument, - the only master and owner of this Midshipman - and proud of him, - an elderly gentleman in a Welsh wig, paid rent, taxes and duties for more years than many oversized midshipmen counted in flesh and blood, and there was no lack of midshipmen who had reached a vigorous old age in the English fleet.

Notes

In the summer [of the Nativity] of the Lord (lat.).

In the summer [from Christmas] Dombey (lat.).

That is sincere praise. Hubert Stanley- a character in the comedy of Thomas Morton (1764-1838).

From distorted boiler- steam boiler.

"Courtyard" in the days of Dickens and earlier - a platform in front of the back door.

Two giant wooden figures in the main building of London City Hall.

Welsh Wig- wool cap

End of free trial.

The action takes place in mid-nineteenth V. On one of the ordinary London evenings in the life of Mr. Dombey, the greatest event occurs - his son is born. From now on, his company (one of the largest in the City!), in the management of which he sees the meaning of his life, will again be not only in name, but in fact, Dombey and Son. After all, Mr. Dombey had no offspring before that, except for the six-year-old daughter Florence. Mr Dombey is happy. He accepts congratulations from his sister, Mrs. Chick, and her friend, Miss Tox. But along with joy, grief also came to the house - Mrs. Dombey could not bear childbirth and died, hugging Florence. On the recommendation of Miss Tox, the nurse Paulie Toodle is taken into the house. She sincerely sympathizes with Florence, forgotten by her father, and in order to spend more time with the girl, makes friends with her governess Susan Nipper, and also convinces Mr. Dombey that it is useful for the baby to spend more time with his sister. Meanwhile, the old ship's toolmaker Solomon Giles and his friend Captain Cuttle are celebrating the start of work for Giles' nephew Walter Gay at Dombey and Son. They joke that someday he will marry the owner's daughter.

After the baptism of Dombey-son (he was given the name Paul), the father, in gratitude to Paulie Toodle, announces his decision to give her eldest son Rob an education. This news causes Pauline to feel homesick and, despite the prohibition of Mr. Dombey, Paulie and Susan, during another walk with the children, go to the slums where the Toodles live. On the way back, in the hustle and bustle of the street, Florence fell behind and got lost. The old woman, calling herself Mrs. Brown, lures her to her, takes her clothes and lets her go, somehow covering her with rags. Florence, looking for her way home, meets Walter Gay, who takes her to his uncle's house and informs Mr. Dombey that his daughter has been found. Florence has returned home, but Paulie Toodle is fired by Mr. Dombey for taking his son to the wrong place for him.

Paul grows frail and sickly. To improve his health, he, along with Florence (for he loves her and cannot live without her), is sent to the sea, to Brighton, to Mrs. Pipchin's children's boarding school. His father, as well as Mrs. Chick and Miss Tox, visit him once a week. These trips of Miss Tox are not ignored by Major Bagstock, who has certain views on her, and, noticing that Mr. Dombey has clearly outshone him, the major finds a way to make acquaintance with Mr. Dombey. They hit it off remarkably well and bonded quickly.

When Paul is six years old, he is placed in the school of Dr. Blimber there, in Brighton. Florence is left with Mrs. Pipchin so that her brother can see her on Sundays. Because Dr. Blimber has a habit of overburdening his students, Paul, despite Florence's help, becomes increasingly sickly and eccentric. He is friends with only one student, Toots, who is ten years older than him; as a result of intensive training with Dr. Blimber, Toots has become somewhat weak in mind.

A junior agent in the firm's Barbados sales agency dies, and Mr. Dombey sends Walter to the vacant position. This news coincides with another for Walter: he finally finds out why, while James Carker occupies a high official position, his older brother John, handsome to Walter, is forced to occupy the lowest - it turns out that in his youth John Carker robbed a firm and since then atones for his guilt.

Shortly before the holidays, Paul becomes so ill that he is released from work; he wanders around the house alone, dreaming that everyone would love him. At the end-of-half party, Paul is very weak but happy to see how well everyone treats him and Florence. He is taken home, where he withers day by day and dies, wrapping his arms around his sister.

Florence takes his death hard. The girl grieves alone - she has not a single close soul left, except for Susan and Toots, who sometimes visits her. She passionately wants to achieve the love of her father, who since the day of Paul's funeral has closed in on himself and does not communicate with anyone. One day, plucking up courage, she comes to him, but his face expresses only indifference.

Meanwhile, Walter leaves. Florence comes to say goodbye to him. Young people express their friendly feelings and agree to call each other brother and sister.

Captain Cuttle comes to James Carker to find out what the young man's prospects are. From the captain, Carker learns about the mutual inclination of Walter and Florence and is so interested that he places his spy (this is Rob Toodle who has gone astray) in the house of Mr. Giles.

Mr. Giles (as well as Captain Cuttle and Florence) is very worried that there is no news of Walter's ship. Finally, the toolmaker leaves in an unknown direction, leaving the keys to his shop to Captain Cuttle with the order to "keep the fire in the hearth for Walter."

To unwind, Mr. Dombey undertakes a trip to Demington in the company of Major Bagstock. The major meets his old acquaintance Mrs. Skewton and her daughter Edith Granger there, and introduces them to Mr. Dombey.

James Carker goes to Demington to see his patron. Mr. Dombey introduces Carker to new acquaintances. Soon Mr. Dombey proposes to Edith, and she indifferently accepts; this engagement strongly resembles a deal. However, the bride's indifference disappears when she meets Florence. A warm, trusting relationship is established between Florence and Edith.

When Mrs Chick informs Miss Tox of her brother's upcoming wedding, the latter faints. Guessing about her friend's unfulfilled matrimonial plans, Mrs. Chick indignantly breaks off relations with her. And since Major Bagstock had long since turned Mr. Dombey against Miss Tox, she is now forever excommunicated from Dombey's house.

So Edith Granger becomes Mrs. Dombey.

One day, after another visit from Toots, Susan asks him to go to the toolmaker's shop and ask Mr. Giles' opinion about the newspaper article that she hid from Florence all day. This article says that the ship on which Walter was sailing sank. In the shop, Toots finds only Captain Cuttle, who does not question the article and mourns Walter.

Mourns for Walter and John Carker. He is very poor, but his sister Heriet prefers to share the shame with him of living in the sumptuous home of James Carker. Once Kheriet helped a woman in rags walking past her house. This is Alice Marwood, a fallen woman who served time in hard labor, and James Carker is to blame for her fall. Upon learning that the woman who took pity on her is James's sister, she curses Heriet.

Mr and Mrs Dombey return home after honeymoon. Edith is cold and arrogant with everyone except Florence. Mr. Dombey notices this and is very displeased. Meanwhile, James Carker seeks meetings with Edith, threatening that he will tell Mr. Dombey about Florence's friendship with Walter and his uncle, and Mr. Dombey will further move away from his daughter. So he gains some power over her. Mr. Dombey tries to bend Edith to his will; she is ready to reconcile with him, but he, in his pride, does not consider it necessary to take even a step towards her. To further humiliate his wife, he refuses to deal with her except through an intermediary - Mr. Carker.

Helen's mother, Mrs. Skewton, became seriously ill, and she, accompanied by Edith and Florence, was sent to Brighton, where she soon died. Toots, who came to Brighton after Florence, plucked up courage, confesses his love to her, but Florence, alas, sees in him only a friend. Her second friend, Susan, unable to see his master's disdain for his daughter, tries to "open his eyes", and for this insolence, Mr. Dombey fires her.

The gap between Dombey and his wife grows (Carker takes advantage of this to increase his power over Edith). She proposes a divorce, Mr. Dombey does not agree, and then Edith runs away from her husband with Carker. Florence rushes to console her father, but Mr. Dombey, suspecting her of complicity with Edith, hits her daughter, and she runs away in tears from the house to the toolmaker's shop to captain Cuttle.

And soon Walter arrives there too! He did not drown, he was lucky to escape and return home. Young people become the bride and groom. Solomon Giles, who has wandered the world looking for his nephew, returns just in time to attend a modest wedding with Captain Cuttle, Susan and Toots, who is upset but comforted by the thought that Florence will be happy. After the wedding, Walter and Florence again go to sea. Meanwhile, Alice Marwood, wanting to take revenge on Carker, blackmails Rob Toodle out of his servant, where Carker and Mrs. Dombey will go, and then transfers this information to Mr. Dombey. Then her conscience torments her, she begs Heriet Karker to warn the criminal brother and save him. But it's too late. At that moment, when Edith leaves Carker, that only out of hatred for her husband she decided to run away with him, but she hates him even more, the voice of Mr. Dombey is heard outside the door. Edith leaves through back door, locking her behind him and leaving Carker to Mr. Dombey. Carker manages to escape. He wants to go as far as possible, but on the boardwalk of the remote village where he was hiding, he suddenly sees Mr. Dombey again, bounces off him and gets hit by a train.

Despite Heriet's concerns, Alice soon dies (before she dies, she confesses that she was cousin Edith Dombey). Herriet cares not only about her: after the death of James Carker, he and his brother got a large inheritance, and with the help of Mr. Morfin, who is in love with her, she arranges an annuity for Mr. Dombey - he is ruined due to the revealed abuses of James Carker.

Mr Dombey is crushed. Having lost his position in society and his beloved business at once, abandoned by everyone except the faithful Miss Tox and Paulie Toodle, he locks himself alone in an empty house - and only now remembers that all these years he had a daughter by his side who loved him and whom he rejected; and he repents bitterly. But just as he is about to commit suicide, Florence appears before him!

Mr. Dombey's old age is warmed by the love of his daughter and her family. Captain Cuttle, Miss Tox, and married Toots and Susan often appear in their friendly family circle. Cured of ambitious dreams, Mr. Dombey found happiness in giving his love to his grandchildren - Paul and little Florence.

The book, the full title of which is " Trading house"Dombey and Son". Wholesale, retail and export trade" was written in 1848. According to critics, this work is considered one of the most mature novels of the writer, despite the fact that his most mature works were written in more late period creativity. In general, both critics and readers accepted the novel favorably, finding it quite witty and at the same time denouncing many of the vices and injustices of contemporary English society for Dickens.

The action takes place in the capital of Great Britain in the middle of the 19th century. In the life of Mr. Dombey the most joyful and significant event took place: he had an heir. Mr. Dombey is the owner of a large firm, which should now be called Dombey and Son. The happy father already has a child, daughter Florence, but he needed a son to continue the family line and transfer the family business.

The happy event was overshadowed by the death of Mrs. Dombey, who died of postpartum complications. The widower takes into the house the wet nurse Paulie Toodle. The woman believes that the father is acting unfairly, paying attention to the newborn heir and forgetting about his daughter. The nurse persuades the owner to allow the girl to spend as much time as possible with her brother. As a sign of special favor, Dombey offers Paulie to take care of her son and educate him.

One day, the nurse, along with the governess Susie, Florence and Paul (as Mr. Dombey called his son) went to the city slums, where Paulie was from. The nurse was homesick and decided to visit her family. During the walk, Florence got lost. It was with great difficulty that she was found. Mr. Dombey is furious that the servants took his children to an inappropriate place and fires Paulie.

The heir grows sickly, which causes fear for his health. Florence and Paul are sent by the sea to Mrs. Pipchin's children's boarding school. A few years later, the sister is left in the boarding house, and the brother is sent to the school of Mr. Blimber. The boy cannot cope with the load at school and becomes even weaker and more sickly. Paul has practically no friends. He does not see his sister very often, which makes him very sad. After the end of half a year, Paul goes home, where he becomes even worse. In the end, the boy dies.

The Misadventures of Mr. Dombey
Mr Dombey found himself new wife. The woman's name is Edith. A trusting and warm relationship is established between the stepmother and stepdaughter. The new mistress behaves arrogantly with almost everyone in the house, which her husband does not like very much. Gradually, hostility arises between the spouses. Edith leaves home with another man. Florence tries to console her father. Mr. Dombey hit his daughter, suspecting her of complicity with her stepmother. The girl also leaves the house.

Walter returned despite the fact that everyone thought he was dead. Florence becomes his bride. Soon a modest wedding took place, which was attended by a few close relatives of the bride and groom. Mr Dombey is ruined. Sitting alone in an empty house, the former rich man remembers his daughter. All these years Florence was with him, looking for his love, and he turned out to be so ungrateful towards her. Mr Dombey is about to commit suicide. Shortly before he tried to commit suicide, Florence entered the room, which saved the unfortunate man. Mr. Dombey meets his old age next to his daughter, son-in-law and two grandchildren.

Character characteristics

A wealthy English entrepreneur lives by calculation. Business is one of the few pleasures in his life. The family business should not disappear after his death or go to someone else's family. That is why the rich man dreams of an heir, looking at his daughter through his fingers.

Money and position in society prevent Mr. Dombey from seeing people and soberly assessing reality. The birth of a son cost him the loss of his wife. However, this does not bother the millionaire. He got what he wanted. Little Paul does not show any hope, growing up too weak. It is unlikely that he can be trusted with the family business. But the father will not beg. He had waited too long for an heir to abandon his plans.

After the death of the boy, Mr. Dombey realizes that his project has collapsed overnight. He mourns not so much for his son, but for his unfulfilled hopes. The death of Paul did not help the millionaire understand that not everything in this world is subject to him. Only the loss of property and position in society make Mr. Dombey rethink his life. The rest of the time he will have to spend near his daughter, whom he never put in anything.

At the age of six, Florence lost her mother, leaving behind a child. The girl loves her little brother. There is never any rivalry between Mr. Dombey's children. The obvious preference that the father gives to his son does not cause jealousy in the heart of the girl.

Despite the fact that in the life of Florence there are still people who love and love her, she is very lonely and rarely feels truly happy. When Paul dies and Walter leaves, Florence becomes even more miserable. She wants to get her father's attention with all her might. But Mr. Dombey is too upset by the frustrated plans to pay attention to his daughter, who was indifferent to him before.

Florence is alien to the whims and selfishness inherent in the children of wealthy parents. She does not need expensive toys and beautiful clothes, she is not arrogant towards the servants. All Florence wants is a little love and attention, which she has been deprived of since childhood. A generous girl forgives her father when he lost everything he had and was left alone with his conscience. In a sense, Florence is even glad that she will no longer share her father with his business.

Analysis of the work

Dickens will repeatedly return to the theme of poverty and luxury in his works. The author is not indifferent to the fact that some live in comfort and prosperity, can afford to teach their children and give them all the best. Others are forced to leave their families to work for the comfort of others. This unjustified injustice seems to Dickens disgusting.

However, do not envy prosperity. The author invites the reader to look into a rich house. The life of a millionaire and his family looks prosperous only at first glance. Both the wife and children of the rich man most often do not have what it is impossible to buy for any money. The cold atmosphere of indifference and calculation makes the existence of the inhabitants of the "golden cage" unbearable and meaningless.

Charles Dickens' novel "Dombey and Son": a summary

5 (100%) 2 votes

Charles Dickens. Dombey and son

The action takes place in the middle of the 19th century. On one of the ordinary London evenings in the life of Mr. Dombey, the greatest event occurs - his son is born. From now on, his company (one of the largest in the City!), in the management of which he sees the meaning of his life, will again be not only in name, but in fact, Dombey and Son. After all, Mr. Dombey had no offspring before that, except for the six-year-old daughter Florence. Mr Dombey is happy. He accepts congratulations from his sister, Mrs. Chick, and her friend, Miss Tox. But along with joy, grief also came to the house - Mrs. Dombey could not bear childbirth and died, hugging Florence. On the recommendation of Miss Tox, the nurse Paulie Toodle is taken into the house. She sincerely sympathizes with Florence, forgotten by her father, and in order to spend more time with the girl, makes friends with her governess Susan Nipper, and also convinces Mr. Dombey that it is useful for the baby to spend more time with his sister. Meanwhile, the old ship's toolmaker Solomon Giles and his friend Captain Cuttle are celebrating the start of work for Giles' nephew Walter Gay at Dombey and Son. They joke that someday he will marry the owner's daughter.

After the baptism of Dombey-son (he was given the name Paul), the father, in gratitude to Paulie Toodle, announces his decision to give her eldest son Rob an education. This news causes Pauline to feel homesick and, despite the prohibition of Mr. Dombey, Paulie and Susan, during another walk with the children, go to the slums where the Toodles live. On the way back, in the hustle and bustle of the street, Florence fell behind and got lost. The old woman, calling herself Mrs. Brown, lures her to her, takes her clothes and lets her go, somehow covering her with rags. Florence, looking for her way home, meets Walter Gay, who takes her to his uncle's house and informs Mr. Dombey that his daughter has been found. Florence has returned home, but Paulie Toodle is fired by Mr. Dombey for taking his son to the wrong place for him.

Paul grows frail and sickly. To improve his health, together with Florence (for he loves her and cannot live without her), they are sent to the sea, to Brighton, to Mrs. Pipchin's children's boarding school. His father, as well as Mrs. Chick and Miss Tox, visit him once a week. These trips of Miss Tox are not left unnoticed by Major Bagstock, who has certain views of her, and, noticing that Mr. Dombey clearly outshone him, the Major finds a way to make Mr. Dombey acquaintance. They hit it off remarkably well and bonded quickly.

When Paul is six years old, he is placed in the school of Dr. Blimber there, in Brighton. Florence is left with Mrs. Pipchin so that her brother can see her on Sundays. Because Dr. Blimber has a habit of overburdening his students, Paul, despite Florence's help, becomes increasingly sickly and eccentric. He is friends with only one student, Toots, who is ten years older than him; as a result of intensive training with Dr. Blimber, Toute became somewhat weak in mind.

A junior agent in the firm's Barbados sales agency dies, and Mr. Dombey sends Walter to the vacant position. This news coincides with another for Walter: he finally finds out why, while James Carker occupies a high official position, his older brother John, handsome to Walter, is forced to occupy the lowest - it turns out that in his youth John Carker robbed a firm and since then atones for his guilt.

Shortly before the holidays, Paul becomes so ill that he is released from work; he wanders around the house alone, dreaming that everyone would love him. At the end-of-half party, Paul is very weak but happy to see how well everyone treats him and Florence. He is taken home, where he withers day by day and dies, wrapping his arms around his sister.

Florence takes his death hard. The girl grieves alone - she has not a single close soul left, except for Susan and Toots, who sometimes visits her. She passionately wants to achieve the love of her father, who since the day of Paul's funeral has closed in on himself and does not communicate with anyone. One day, plucking up courage, she comes to him, but his face expresses only indifference.

Meanwhile, Walter leaves. Florence comes to say goodbye to him. Young people express their friendly feelings and agree to call each other brother and sister.

Captain Cuttle comes to James Carker to find out what the young man's prospects are. From the captain, Carker learns about the mutual inclination of Walter and Florence and is so interested that he places his spy (this is Rob Toodle who has gone astray) in the house of Mr. Giles.

Mr. Giles (as well as Captain Cuttle and Florence) is very worried that there is no news of Walter's ship. Finally, the toolmaker leaves in an unknown direction, leaving the keys to his shop to Captain Cuttle with the order to "keep the fire in the hearth for Walter."

To unwind, Mr. Dombey undertakes a trip to Demington in the company of Major Bagstock. The major meets his old acquaintance Mrs. Skewton and her daughter Edith Granger there, and introduces them to Mr. Dombey.

James Carker goes to Demington to see his patron. Mr. Dombey introduces Carker to new acquaintances. Soon Mr. Dombey proposes to Edith, and she indifferently accepts; this engagement strongly resembles a deal. However, the bride's indifference disappears when she meets Florence. A warm, trusting relationship is established between Florence and Edith.

When Mrs Chick informs Miss Tox of her brother's upcoming wedding, the latter faints. Guessing about her friend's unfulfilled matrimonial plans, Mrs. Chick indignantly breaks off relations with her. And since Major Bagstock had long since turned Mr. Dombey against Miss Tox, she is now forever excommunicated from Dombey's house.

So Edith Granger becomes Mrs. Dombey.

One day, after another visit from Toots, Susan asks him to go to the toolmaker's shop and ask Mr. Giles' opinion about the newspaper article that she hid from Florence all day. This article says that the ship on which Walter was sailing sank. In the shop, Toots finds only Captain Cuttle, who does not question the article and mourns Walter.

Mourns for Walter and John Carker. He is very poor, but his sister Heriet prefers to share the shame with him of living in the sumptuous home of James Carker. Once Kheriet helped a woman in rags walking past her house. This is Alice Marwood, a fallen woman who served time in hard labor, and James Carker is to blame for her fall. Upon learning that the woman who took pity on her is James's sister, she curses Heriet.

Mr and Mrs Dombey return home from their honeymoon. Edith is cold and arrogant with everyone except Florence. Mr. Dombey notices this and is very displeased. Meanwhile, James Carker seeks meetings with Edith, threatening that he will tell Mr. Dombey about Florence's friendship with Walter and his uncle, and Mr. Dombey will further move away from his daughter. So he gains some power over her. Mr. Dombey tries to bend Edith to his will; she is ready to reconcile with him, but he, in his pride, does not consider it necessary to take even a step towards her. To further humiliate his wife, he refuses to deal with her except through an intermediary - Mr. Carker.

Helen's mother, Mrs. Skewton, became seriously ill, and she, accompanied by Edith and Florence, was sent to Brighton, where she soon died. Toute, who came to Brighton after Florence, having plucked up courage, confesses his love to her, but Florence, alas, sees in him only a friend. Her second friend, Susan, unable to see his master's disdain for his daughter, tries to "open his eyes", and for this insolence, Mr. Dombey fires her.

The gulf between Dombey and his wife grows (Carker takes advantage of this to increase his power over Edith). She proposes a divorce, Mr. Dombey does not agree, and then Edith runs away from her husband with Carker. Florence rushes to console her father, but Mr. Dombey, suspecting her of complicity with Edith, hits her daughter, and she runs away in tears from the house to the toolmaker's shop to captain Cuttle.

And soon Walter arrives there too! He did not drown, he was lucky to escape and return home. Young people become the bride and groom. Solomon Giles, who has wandered the world looking for his nephew, returns just in time to attend a modest wedding with Captain Cuttle, Susan and Toots, who is upset but comforted by the thought that Florence will be happy. After the wedding, Walter and Florence again go to sea. Meanwhile, Alice Marwood, wanting to take revenge on Carker, blackmails Rob Toodle out of his servant, where Carker and Mrs. Dombey will go, and then transfers this information to Mr. Dombey. Then her conscience torments her, she begs Heriet Karker to warn the criminal brother and save him. But it's too late. At that moment, when Edith leaves Carker, that only out of hatred for her husband she decided to run away with him, but she hates him even more, the voice of Mr. Dombey is heard outside the door. Edith leaves through the back door, locking it behind her and leaving Carker to Mr. Dombey. Carker manages to escape. He wants to go as far as possible, but on the boardwalk of the remote village where he was hiding, he suddenly sees Mr. Dombey again, bounces off him and gets hit by a train.

Despite Heriet's concerns, Alice soon dies (before she dies, she confesses that she was Edith Dombey's cousin). Herriet cares not only about her: after the death of James Carker, he and his brother got a large inheritance, and with the help of Mr. Morfin, who is in love with her, she arranges an annuity for Mr. Dombey - he is ruined due to the revealed abuses of James Carker.

Mr Dombey is crushed. Having lost his position in society and his beloved business at once, abandoned by everyone except the faithful Miss Tox and Paulie Toodle, he locks himself alone in an empty house - and only now remembers that all these years there was a daughter next to him who loved her and whom he rejected; and he repents bitterly. But just as he is about to commit suicide, Florence appears before him!

Mr. Dombey's old age is warmed by the love of his daughter and her family. Captain Cuttle, Miss Tox, and married Toots and Susan often appear in their friendly family circle. Cured of ambitious dreams, Mr. Dombey found happiness in giving his love to his grandchildren - Paul and little Florence.

Bibliography

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