‘Don’t so much as look at me like that, or I won’t talk to you at all,’ vociferated Riderhood. ‘But, instead of talking, I’ll bring my hand down upon you with all its weight,’ heavily smiting the table with great force, ‘and smash you!’
It's interesting to me that Riderhood is to Headstone what Wegg is to Boffin, in the way of usage and blackmail. But while we're sympathetic toward Boffin, there's no pity to be had for Headstone. He deserves what he's getting.
There is a sharp misgiving in my conscience that if I were to live, I should disappoint your good opinion and my own—and that I ought to die, my dear!’
This seems like it could be foreshadowing on Dickens' part of Eugene's death, but since he has lived this long, I rather think that Eugene will go on living. I also wonder how his character could stand not to change after this ordeal and after marrying Lizzie. It seems like his character needs to be redeemed, to be become a better person. It makes sense that his near-death and his marriage could change him, but I guess we'll have to continue waiting to find out.
reckless conclusion it turned uppermost. And yet again, ‘Eugene, Eugene, Eugene, this is a bad business!’ And, ‘I wish I could stop the Lightwood peal, for it sounds like a knell.’
I've also seen "knell" called a "death knell." It's a bell that tolls to mark a death. Dickens is foreshadowing here that something ominous, possibly even a character's death, will come as a result of Eugene's interactions with/pursuit of Lizzie.
‘Now, sir! To begin at the beginning. What is your name?’ A question more decidedly rushing at the secret he was keeping from her, could not have astounded him. But he kept his countenance and his secret, and answered, ‘John Rokesmith, my dear.’ ‘Good boy! Who gave you that name?’ With a returning suspicion that something might have betrayed him to her, he answered, interrogatively, ‘My godfathers and my godmothers, dear love?’ ‘Pretty good!’ said Bella. ‘Not goodest good, because you hesitate about it. However, as you know your Catechism fairly, so far, I’ll let you off the rest. Now, I am going to examine you out of my own head. John dear, why did you go back, this evening, to the question you once asked me before—would I like to be rich?’ Again, his secret! He looked down at her as she looked up at him, with her hands folded on his knee, and it was as nearly told as ever secret was. Having no reply ready, he could do no better than embrace her.
I forgot that Bella doesn't know John's real identity yet. I wonder whether this will cause problems later on when she presumably does find out, or whether Bella will understand why he kept it from her.
for ever and a day?’
I took an Arthurian Literature course last spring, and I remember this expression came up frequently in our readings. The professor pointed it out as a common length of time in fairytales and that it had a magical connotation, if I'm remembering correctly. People used it as a length of time to bind others in for promises or servitude, etc. At first I thought it was interesting that Mr. Boffin would know this expression given that he isn't a literary man, but on second thought, fairytales are generally passed down orally, so it would make sense for Mr. Boffin to be familiar with them even if he isn't familiar with "literature."
But, the old abhorrence grew stronger on her as she grew weaker, and it found more sustaining food than she did in her wanderings. Now, she would light upon the shameful spectacle of some desolate creature—or some wretched ragged groups of either sex, or of both sexes, with children among them, huddled together like the smaller vermin for a little warmth—lingering and lingering on a doorstep, while the appointed evader of the public trust did his dirty office of trying to weary them out and so get rid of them. Now, she would light upon some poor decent person, like herself, going afoot on a pilgrimage of many weary miles to see some worn-out relative or friend who had been charitably clutched off to a great blank barren Union House, as far from old home as the County Jail (the remoteness of which is always its worst punishment for small rural offenders), and in its dietary, and in its lodging, and in its tending of the sick, a much more penal establishment. Sometimes she would hear a newspaper read out, and would learn how the Registrar General cast up the units that had within the last week died of want and of exposure to the weather: for which that Recording Angel seemed to have a regular fixed place in his sum, as if they were its halfpence. All such things she would hear discussed, as we, my lords and gentlemen and honourable boards, in our unapproachable magnificence never hear them, and from all such things she would fly with the wings of raging Despair. This is not to be received as a figure of speech. Old Betty Higden however tired, however footsore, would start up and be driven away by her awakened horror of falling into the hands of Charity. It is a remarkable Christian improvement, to have made a pursuing Fury of the Good Samaritan; but it was so in this case, and it is a type of many, many, many.
Dickens uses his writings to make social commentaries on the state of the poor in England during his time. This passage really jumps out at the reader as a social commentary, as he criticizes the government's method of "poor relief" by showing how fearful Betty is of receiving such relief. A little earlier in this chapter, Dickens writes of Betty: "Patiently to earn a spare, bare living, and quietly to die, untouched by workhouse hands - this was her highest sublunary hope." It seems that Betty does not want charity in any case, but especially repudiates that of the government as Dickens uses phrases like "raging despair" and "awakened horror." The line "It is a remarkable Christian improvement, to have made a pursuing Fury of the Good Samaritan..." is so full of irony that it makes me laugh, even while it shows the sad state of government relief/poor people's lives in this time.
‘I don’t mean that,’ said Mrs Boffin, with a worried look, ‘but I mean, don’t believe him to be anything but good and generous, Bella, because he is the best of men. No, I must say that much, Noddy. You are always the best of men.’ She made the declaration as if he were objecting to it: which assuredly he was not in any way.
This reminds me of Mrs. Micawber in Dickens' "David Copperfield." Mrs. Micawber (whose husband can't keep a job and is always very, very poor) constantly tells everyone that he's a good man and that she'll never leave him, when no one has the slightest idea of suggesting that she do so. It seems like Mrs. Boffin is doing a similar thing in reminding herself and others of her husband's goodness, despite what his outward actions have become. I think the connection between these two ladies here is that they're trying to remind themselves of the good they (at least once) saw in their husbands, and are almost trying to convince themselves that their husbands are still those same men and worth staying beside.
He will never forget that at Veneering’s he first saw Sophronia. Sophronia will never forget that at Veneering’s she first saw him. ‘They spoke of it soon after they were married, and agreed that they would never forget it. In fact, to Veneering they owe their union. They hope to show their sense of this some day (‘No, no, from Veneering)—oh yes, yes, and let him rely upon it, they will if they can! His marriage with Sophronia was not a marriage of interest on either side: she had her little fortune, he had his little fortune: they joined their little fortunes: it was a marriage of pure inclination and suitability.
This shows that the Lammles' plan of revenge is still in action. They did discuss all those things right after their wedding - that it was all owed to Veneering and how they'd get him back for it/wouldn't forget it because he fooled them/the marriage wasn't financially what they had thought it would be. I had almost forgotten about that part of the plot, so I'm glad Dickens hinted at it again here, and it foreshadows what's to come in the rest of the story.
‘It has not been a fortunate name for me,’ said Bella, colouring—‘or at least it was not, until it led to my being here—but that is not the point in my thoughts. As we had given the name to the poor child, and as the poor child took so lovingly to me, I think I should feel jealous of calling another child by it. I think I should feel as if the name had become endeared to me, and I had no right to use it so.’
I think Bella's character is slowly being redeemed, in my opinion. At the beginning of the book, she was cold and mean, in my opinion. I like to see her living with the Boffins and interacting with John Rokesmith. I think her character is slowly growing warmer and kinder. In this quote, she's thinking of other people and feeling kindly/lovingly towards them. It's quite a change from her attitude toward her mother or younger sister as we've seen.
‘Mr Wrayburn,’ proceeded the boy, ‘we not only know this that I have charged upon you, but we know more. It has not yet come to my sister’s knowledge that we have found it out, but we have. We had a plan, Mr Headstone and I, for my sister’s education, and for its being advised and overlooked by Mr Headstone, who is a much more competent authority, whatever you may pretend to think, as you smoke, than you could produce, if you tried. Then, what do we find? What do we find, Mr Lightwood? Why, we find that my sister is already being taught, without our knowing it. We find that while my sister gives an unwilling and cold ear to our schemes for her advantage—I, her brother, and Mr Headstone, the most competent authority, as his certificates would easily prove, that could be produced—she is wilfully and willingly profiting by other schemes. Ay, and taking pains, too, for I know what such pains are. And so does Mr Headstone! Well! Somebody pays for this, is a thought that naturally occurs to us; who pays? We apply ourselves to find out, Mr Lightwood, and we find that your friend, this Mr Eugene Wrayburn, here, pays. Then I ask him what right has he to do it, and what does he mean by it, and how comes he to be taking such a liberty without my consent, when I am raising myself in the scale of society by my own exertions and Mr Headstone’s aid, and have no right to have any darkness cast upon my prospects, or any imputation upon my respectability, through my sister?’
Charley's main grievance seems to be that his sister hasn't consulted him in this. As though he views himself as being very knowledgeable now that he's had schooling, and now he should be the one to be in charge of everything, or as though he sees himself as his sister's superior now. I can also see this as him being protective of his sister, since Wrayburn's intentions are unknown, but because Dickens characterizes this speech as "boyish" and "selfish," I'm more inclined to see Charley as proud than protective.
One copper-plate Mrs Veneering, two copper-plate Mr Veneerings, and a connubial copper-plate Mr and Mrs Veneering, requesting the honour of Mr and Mrs Boffin’s company at dinner with the utmost Analytical solemnities.
I was curious and googled the word "veneering," and it means to "cover (something) with a decorative layer of fine wood" or to "cover or disguise (someone or something's true nature) with an attractive appearance." This second definition perfectly describes the Veneerings in the book - newly rich people seeking to flaunt their wealth and wanting to fit into high society even though it wouldn't traditionally be seen as their social class since theirs is not an old and generationally wealthy family. I've read Dickens books before and I've seen him do this sort of thing in his other novels too - naming characters in such a way as to reveal their characters. It reminds me of allegories, where characters can be named "Happy" or "Beauty", etc. and that's literally what the character is.
‘Ah!’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Perhaps. Anyhow, he named to me that the house had a board up, “This Eminently Aristocratic Mansion to be let or sold.” Me and Mrs Boffin went to look at it, and finding it beyond a doubt Eminently Aristocratic (though a trifle high and dull, which after all may be part of the same thing) took it.
I think this shows that the Boffins really don't prefer the "eminently aristocratic" lifestyle they now have. They're choosing a fancy house because they feel like it better upholds their new social/financial standing, but not because it truly suit their taste or preference. They're not the same kind of people as the Veneerings or Lammles, for example, who seem intentionally deceitful and calculated as to how they present themselves. The Boffins seem to be good-hearted people who think they're doing their duty or upholding standards by these actions.
‘But it don’t answer,’ said the cheerful Mrs Boffin. ‘When we worked like the neighbours, we suited one another. Now we have left work off; we have left off suiting one another.’ ‘What, do you think of beginning work again?’ Mr Boffin hinted. ‘Out of the question! We have come into a great fortune, and we must do what’s right by our fortune; we must act up to it.’
I wonder whether the Boffins count as "new money" or "old money" in Victorian society? My guess is that they would fall into the "old money category" because they've inherited a fortune instead of making it by trade. However, they seem to be common, not elegant or genuinely fashionable, people, which makes me think that the "old money" society will not readily welcome them.
He had not only settled it with himself in course of time, that he was errand-goer by appointment to the house at the corner (though he received such commissions not half a dozen times in a year, and then only as some servant’s deputy), but also that he was one of the house’s retainers and owed vassalage to it and was bound to leal and loyal interest in it. For this reason, he always spoke of it as ‘Our House,’ and, though his knowledge of its affairs was mostly speculative and all wrong, claimed to be in its confidence. On similar grounds he never beheld an inmate at any one of its windows but he touched his hat. Yet, he knew so little about the inmates that he gave them names of his own invention: as ‘Miss Elizabeth’, ‘Master George’, ‘Aunt Jane’, ‘Uncle Parker ‘—having no authority whatever for any such designations, but particularly the last—to which, as a natural consequence, he stuck with great obstinacy. Over the house itself, he exercised the same imaginary power as over its inhabitants and their affairs. He had never been in it, the length of a piece of fat black water-pipe which trailed itself over the area-door into a damp stone passage, and had rather the air of a leech on the house that had ‘taken’ wonderfully; but this was no impediment to his arranging it according to a plan of his own. It was a great dingy house with a quantity of dim side window and blank back premises, and it cost his mind a world of trouble so to lay it out as to account for everything in its external appearance. But, this once done, was quite satisfactory, and he rested persuaded, that he knew his way about the house blindfold: from the barred garrets in the high roof, to the two iron extinguishers before the main door—which seemed to request all lively visitors to have the kindness to put themselves out, before entering.
It strikes me how much Silas Wegg seems to want to belong to this house. He seems to be alone and poor, but very loyal to his little corner and his shop. The text talks about him making up names for the family and even imagining the layout of the house. It's almost as though he prefers to invent people and to "live among" them in his mind than to simply live his own life.
Twemlow having profited by these studies, finds his brain wholesomely hardening as he approaches the conclusion that he really is Veneering’s oldest friend, when his brain softens again and all is lost,
Twemlow seems to be a kind character and maybe a little naive. Under the idea of being someone's friend, it seems like he could easily be taken advantage of.