Chapter: It is indispensable to present the accomplished lady who was of
sufficient importance in the suite of the Dorrit Family to have a line
to herself in the Travellers' Book.

Mrs General was the daughter of a clerical dignitary in a cathedral
town, where she had led the fashion until she was as near forty-five as
a single lady can be. A stiff commissariat officer of sixty, famous as a
martinet, had then become enamoured of the gravity with which she drove
the proprieties four-in-hand through the cathedral town society, and
had solicited to be taken beside her on the box of the cool coach of
ceremony to which that team was harnessed. His proposal of marriage
being accepted by the lady, the commissary took his seat behind
the proprieties with great decorum, and Mrs General drove until the
commissary died. In the course of their united journey, they ran over
several people who came in the way of the proprieties; but always in a
high style and with composure.

The commissary having been buried with all the decorations suitable to
the service (the whole team of proprieties were harnessed to his hearse,
        and they all had feathers and black velvet housings with his coat of
        arms in the corner), Mrs General began to inquire what quantity of dust
and ashes was deposited at the bankers'. It then transpired that the
commissary had so far stolen a march on Mrs General as to have bought
himself an annuity some years before his marriage, and to have reserved
that circumstance in mentioning, at the period of his proposal, that
his income was derived from the interest of his money. Mrs General
consequently found her means so much diminished, that, but for the
perfect regulation of her mind, she might have felt disposed to question
the accuracy of that portion of the late service which had declared that
the commissary could take nothing away with him.

In this state of affairs it occurred to Mrs General, that she might
'form the mind,' and eke the manners of some young lady of distinction.
Or, that she might harness the proprieties to the carriage of some rich
young heiress or widow, and become at once the driver and guard of such
vehicle through the social mazes. Mrs General's communication of this
idea to her clerical and commissariat connection was so warmly applauded
that, but for the lady's undoubted merit, it might have appeared as
though they wanted to get rid of her. Testimonials representing Mrs
General as a prodigy of piety, learning, virtue, and gentility, were
lavishly contributed from influential quarters; and one venerable
archdeacon even shed tears in recording his testimony to her perfections
(described to him by persons on whom he could rely), though he had never
had the honour and moral gratification of setting eyes on Mrs General in
all his life.

Thus delegated on her mission, as it were by Church and State, Mrs
General, who had always occupied high ground, felt in a condition to
keep it, and began by putting herself up at a very high figure. An
interval of some duration elapsed, in which there was no bid for Mrs
General. At length a county-widower, with a daughter of fourteen, opened
negotiations with the lady; and as it was a part either of the native
dignity or of the artificial policy of Mrs General (but certainly one
        or the other) to comport herself as if she were much more sought than
seeking, the widower pursued Mrs General until he prevailed upon her to
form his daughter's mind and manners.

The execution of this trust occupied Mrs General about seven years, in
the course of which time she made the tour of Europe, and saw most of
that extensive miscellany of objects which it is essential that all
persons of polite cultivation should see with other people's eyes,
        and never with their own. When her charge was at length formed, the
        marriage, not only of the young lady, but likewise of her father, the
        widower, was resolved on. The widower then finding Mrs General both
        inconvenient and expensive, became of a sudden almost as much affected
        by her merits as the archdeacon had been, and circulated such praises
        of her surpassing worth, in all quarters where he thought an opportunity
        might arise of transferring the blessing to somebody else, that Mrs
        General was a name more honourable than ever.

        The phoenix was to let, on this elevated perch, when Mr Dorrit, who
        had lately succeeded to his property, mentioned to his bankers that he
        wished to discover a lady, well-bred, accomplished, well connected, well
        accustomed to good society, who was qualified at once to complete the
        education of his daughters, and to be their matron or chaperon. Mr
        Dorrit's bankers, as bankers of the county-widower, instantly said, 'Mrs
        General.'

        Pursuing the light so fortunately hit upon, and finding the concurrent
        testimony of the whole of Mrs General's acquaintance to be of the
        pathetic nature already recorded, Mr Dorrit took the trouble of going
        down to the county of the county-widower to see Mrs General, in whom he
        found a lady of a quality superior to his highest expectations.

        'Might I be excused,' said Mr Dorrit, 'if I inquired--ha--what remune--'

        'Why, indeed,' returned Mrs General, stopping the word, 'it is a subject
        on which I prefer to avoid entering. I have never entered on it with my
        friends here; and I cannot overcome the delicacy, Mr Dorrit, with
        which I have always regarded it. I am not, as I hope you are aware, a
        governess--'

        'O dear no!' said Mr Dorrit. 'Pray, madam, do not imagine for a moment
        that I think so.' He really blushed to be suspected of it.

        Mrs General gravely inclined her head. 'I cannot, therefore, put a price
        upon services which it is a pleasure to me to render if I can render
        them spontaneously, but which I could not render in mere return for any
        consideration. Neither do I know how, or where, to find a case parallel
        to my own. It is peculiar.'

        No doubt. But how then (Mr Dorrit not unnaturally hinted) could the
        subject be approached?

        'I cannot object,' said Mrs General--'though even that is disagreeable
        to me--to Mr Dorrit's inquiring, in confidence of my friends here, what
        amount they have been accustomed, at quarterly intervals, to pay to my
        credit at my bankers'.'

        Mr Dorrit bowed his acknowledgements.

        'Permit me to add,' said Mrs General, 'that beyond this, I can never
        resume the topic. Also that I can accept no second or inferior position.
        If the honour were proposed to me of becoming known to Mr Dorrit's
        family--I think two daughters were mentioned?--'

        'Two daughters.'

        'I could only accept it on terms of perfect equality, as a companion,
        protector, Mentor, and friend.'

        Mr Dorrit, in spite of his sense of his importance, felt as if it would
        be quite a kindness in her to accept it on any conditions. He almost
        said as much.

        'I think,' repeated Mrs General, 'two daughters were mentioned?'

        'Two daughters,' said Mr Dorrit again.

        'It would therefore,' said Mrs General, 'be necessary to add a third
        more to the payment (whatever its amount may prove to be), which my
        friends here have been accustomed to make to my bankers'.'

        Mr Dorrit lost no time in referring the delicate question to the
        county-widower, and finding that he had been accustomed to pay three
        hundred pounds a-year to the credit of Mrs General, arrived, without any
        severe strain on his arithmetic, at the conclusion that he himself must
        pay four. Mrs General being an article of that lustrous surface which
        suggests that it is worth any money, he made a formal proposal to be
        allowed to have the honour and pleasure of regarding her as a member of
        his family. Mrs General conceded that high privilege, and here she was.

        In person, Mrs General, including her skirts which had much to do with
        it, was of a dignified and imposing appearance; ample, rustling, gravely
        voluminous; always upright behind the proprieties. She might have
        been taken--had been taken--to the top of the Alps and the bottom of
        Herculaneum, without disarranging a fold in her dress, or displacing
        a pin. If her countenance and hair had rather a floury appearance, as
        though from living in some transcendently genteel Mill, it was rather
        because she was a chalky creation altogether, than because she mended
        her complexion with violet powder, or had turned grey. If her eyes had
        no expression, it was probably because they had nothing to express. If
        she had few wrinkles, it was because her mind had never traced its name
        or any other inscription on her face. A cool, waxy, blown-out woman, who
        had never lighted well.

        Mrs General had no opinions. Her way of forming a mind was to prevent it
        from forming opinions. She had a little circular set of mental grooves
        or rails on which she started little trains of other people's opinions,
        which never overtook one another, and never got anywhere. Even her
        propriety could not dispute that there was impropriety in the world; but
        Mrs General's way of getting rid of it was to put it out of sight, and
        make believe that there was no such thing. This was another of her ways
        of forming a mind--to cram all articles of difficulty into cupboards,
        lock them up, and say they had no existence. It was the easiest way,
        and, beyond all comparison, the properest.

        Mrs General was not to be told of anything shocking. Accidents,
        miseries, and offences, were never to be mentioned before her. Passion
        was to go to sleep in the presence of Mrs General, and blood was to
        change to milk and water. The little that was left in the world,
        when all these deductions were made, it was Mrs General's province to
        varnish. In that formation process of hers, she dipped the smallest of
        brushes into the largest of pots, and varnished the surface of every
        object that came under consideration. The more cracked it was, the more
        Mrs General varnished it.

        There was varnish in Mrs General's voice, varnish in Mrs General's
        touch, an atmosphere of varnish round Mrs General's figure. Mrs
        General's dreams ought to have been varnished--if she had any--lying
        asleep in the arms of the good Saint Bernard, with the feathery snow
        falling on his house-top.

 Traveling with our friends is Mrs. General, who is basically a governess for the young Dorrit ladies but is way too self-important to allow herself to be called that. Who is Mrs. General? She's kind of an intensely severe, very proper lady. She used to be married to an army guy, who died and left her with way less money than she wanted. So she decided to become a kind of live-in parenting adviser. OK, who are we kidding - she decided to become a governess but doesn't want to be called one. Dorrit stumbled on her by asking his bankers for such a woman - to help his daughters make up for the education they never quite received, and to ready the Dorrit girls for a position in high society. When he came to meet her at her first job, he tried to ask how much she wanted to be paid. Mrs. General then made a huge, crazy deal about she's never talked about money and wasn't about to start now. But you know, if he did want to ask her employers, that's OK. Oh, and, he'd have to pay a third more than they did, since he had two girls. Um, OK, lady. Mrs. General's basic educational philosophy is a harsh satire on the kind of secondhand cliches that were used to teach "culture" at the time. She ignores and doesn't want to hear anything about anything negative, unpleasant, or real. She doesn't want to ever have her students generate their own opinions about anything. Mostly, she just wants them to be super-correct, stick-straight, and extremely proper. In other words, half-dead and half-comatose. What a delight.

