Little Dombey

"Little Dombey" is a novel by Charles Dickens, originally published in 1846-1848. The story revolves around Paul Dombey, the son of the proud and ambitious businessman Mr. Dombey, who expects his son to inherit his business and carry on the family legacy. The novel explores themes of family dynamics, the impact of societal expectations, and the innocence of childhood, as young Paul navigates a world dominated by his father's aspirations and the emotional neglect that ensues. As the narrative unfolds, it delves into the relationships within the Dombey family and the contrasting lives of those around them, highlighting the struggles of love, loss, and the quest for belonging.

• Children

								
Little Dombey was the son of a rich city merchant, a cold, stern, and
pompous man, whose life and interests were entirely absorbed in his
business. He was so desirous of having a son to associate with himself
in the business, and make the house once more Dombey & Son in fact, as
it was in name, that the little boy who was at last born to him was
eagerly welcomed.

There was a pretty little girl six years old, but her father had taken
little notice of her. Of what use was a girl to Dombey & Son? She could
not go into the business.

Little Dombey's mother died when he was born, but the event did not
greatly disturb Mr. Dombey; and since his son lived, what did it matter
to him that his little daughter Florence was breaking her heart in
loneliness for the mother who had loved and cherished her!

During the first few months of his life, little Dombey grew and
flourished; and as soon as he was old enough to take notice, there was
no one he loved so well as his sister Florence.

In due time the baby was taken to church, and baptized by the name of
Paul (his father's name). A grand and stately christening it was,
followed by a grand and stately feast; and little Paul was declared by
his godmother to be "an angel, and the perfect picture of his own papa."

But from that time Paul seemed to waste and pine; his healthy and
thriving babyhood had received a check, and as for illnesses, "There
never was a blessed dear so put upon," his nurse said.

By the time he was five years old, though he had the prettiest, sweetest
little face in the world, there was always a patient, wistful look upon
it, and he was thin and tiny and delicate. He soon got tired, and had
such old-fashioned ways of speaking and doing things, that his nurse
often shook her head sadly over him.

When he sat in his little arm-chair with his father, after dinner, they
were a strange pair,--so like, and so unlike each other.

"What is money, papa?" asked Paul on one of these occasions, crossing
his tiny arms as well as he could--just as his father's were crossed.

"Why, gold, silver and copper; you know what it is well enough, Paul,"
answered his father.

"Oh yes; I mean, what can money do?"

"Anything, everything--almost," replied Mr. Dombey, taking one of his
son's wee hands.

Paul drew his hand gently away. "It didn't save me my mamma, and it
can't make me strong and big," said he.

"Why, you are strong and big, as big as such little people usually
are," returned Mr. Dombey.

"No," replied Paul, sighing; "when Florence was as little as me, she was
strong and tall, and did not get tired of playing as I do. I am so tired
sometimes, papa."

Mr. Dombey's anxiety was aroused, and the doctor was sent for to examine
Paul.

"The child is hardly so stout as we could wish," said the doctor; "his
mind is too big for his body, he thinks too much--let him try sea
air--sea air does wonders for children."

So it was arranged that Florence, Paul, and nurse should go to Brighton,
and stay in the house of a lady named Mrs. Pipchin, who kept a very
select boarding-house for children.

There is no doubt that, apart from his importance to the house of Dombey
& Son, little Paul had crept into his father's heart, cold though it
still was towards his daughter, colder than ever now, for there was in
it a sort of unacknowledged jealousy of the warm love lavished on her by
Paul, which he himself was unable to win.

Mrs. Pipchin was a marvellously ugly old lady, with a hook nose and
stern cold eyes.

"Well, Master Paul, how do you think you will like me?" said Mrs.
Pipchin, seeing the child intently regarding her.

"I don't think I shall like you at all," replied Paul, shaking his head.
"I want to go away. I do not like your house."

Paul did not like Mrs. Pipchin, but he would sit in his arm-chair and
look at her. Her ugliness seemed to fascinate him.

As the weeks went by little Paul grew more healthy-looking, but he did
not seem any stronger, and could not run about out of doors. A little
carriage was therefore got for him, in which he could be wheeled down to
the beach, where he would pass the greater part of the day. He took a
great fancy to a queer crab-faced old man, smelling of sea-weed, who
wheeled his carriage, and held long conversations with him; but Florence
was the only child companion whom he ever cared to have with him, though
he liked to watch other children playing in the distance.

"I love you, Floy," he said one day to her.

Florence laid her head against his pillow, and whispered how much
stronger he was growing.

"Oh, yes, I know, I am a great deal better," said Paul, "a very great
deal better. Listen, Floy; what is it the sea keeps saying?"

"Nothing, dear, it is only the rolling of the waves you hear."

"Yes, but they are always saying something, and always the same thing.
What place is over there, Floy?"

She told him there was another country opposite, but Paul said he did
not mean that, he meant somewhere much farther away, oh, much farther
away--and often he would break off in the midst of their talk to listen
to the sea and gaze out towards that country "farther away."

After having lived at Brighton for a year, Paul was certainly much
stronger, though still thin and delicate. And on one of his weekly
visits, Mr. Dombey explained to Mrs. Pipchin, with pompous
condescension, that Paul's weak health having kept him back in his
studies, he had made arrangements to place him at the educational
establishment of Dr. Blimber, which was close by. Florence was, for the
present, to remain under Mrs. Pipchin's care, and see her brother every
week.

Dr. Blimber's school was a great hot-house for the forcing of boy's
brains; and Dr. Blimber promised speedily to make a man of Paul.

"Shall you like to be made a man of, my son?" asked Mr. Dombey.

"I'd rather be a child and stay with Floy," answered Paul.

Miss Blimber, the doctor's daughter, a learned lady in spectacles, was
his special tutor, and from morning till night his poor little brains
were forced and crammed till his head was heavy and always had a dull
ache in it, and his small legs grew weak again--every day he looked a
little thinner and a little paler, and became more old-fashioned than
ever in his looks and ways--"old-fashioned" was a distinguishing title
which clung to him. He was gentle and polite to every one--always
looking out for small kindnesses which he might do to any inmate of the
house. "The oddest and most old-fashioned child in the world," Dr.
Blimber would say to his daughter; "but bring him on, Cornelia--bring
him on."

And Cornelia did bring him on; and Florence, seeing how pale and weary
the little fellow looked when he came to her on Saturdays, and how he
could not rest from anxiety about his lessons, would lighten his labors
a little, and ease his mind by helping him to prepare his week's work.
But one day, when his lessons were over, little Paul laid his weary and

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