Martin Chuzzlewit
Determining to regulate her conduct by this opinion, the young lady
received Mr Moddle, on the earliest subsequent occasion, with an air of
constraint; and gradually leading him to inquire, in a dejected manner,
why she was so changed, confessed to him that she felt it necessary for
their mutual peace and happiness to take a decided step. They had been
much together lately, she observed, much together, and had tasted the
sweets of a genuine reciprocity of sentiment. She never could forget
him, nor could she ever cease to think of him with feelings of the
liveliest friendship, but people had begun to talk, the thing had been
observed, and it was necessary that they should be nothing more to each
other, than any gentleman and lady in society usually are. She was glad
she had had the resolution to say thus much before her feelings had been
tried too far; they had been greatly tried, she would admit; but though
she was weak and silly, she would soon get the better of it, she hoped.
Moddle, who had by this time become in the last degree maudlin, and wept
abundantly, inferred from the foregoing avowal, that it was his mission
to communicate to others the blight which had fallen on himself; and
that, being a kind of unintentional Vampire, he had had Miss Pecksniff
assigned to him by the Fates, as Victim Number One. Miss Pecksniff
controverting this opinion as sinful, Moddle was goaded on to ask
whether she could be contented with a blighted heart; and it appearing
on further examination that she could be, plighted his dismal troth,
which was accepted and returned.
He bore his good fortune with the utmost moderation. Instead of being
triumphant, he shed more tears than he had ever been known to shed
before; and, sobbing, said:
‘Oh! what a day this has been! I can’t go back to the office this
afternoon. Oh, what a trying day this has been! Good Gracious!’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
FURTHER PROCEEDINGS IN EDEN, AND A PROCEEDING OUT OF IT. MARTIN MAKES A
DISCOVERY OF SOME IMPORTANCE
From Mr Moddle to Eden is an easy and natural transition. Mr Moddle,
living in the atmosphere of Miss Pecksniff’s love, dwelt (if he had but
known it) in a terrestrial Paradise. The thriving city of Eden was
also a terrestrial Paradise, upon the showing of its proprietors. The
beautiful Miss Pecksniff might have been poetically described as a
something too good for man in his fallen and degraded state. That
was exactly the character of the thriving city of Eden, as poetically
heightened by Zephaniah Scadder, General Choke, and other worthies; part
and parcel of the talons of that great American Eagle, which is always
airing itself sky-high in purest aether, and never, no never, never,
tumbles down with draggled wings into the mud.
When Mark Tapley, leaving Martin in the architectural and surveying
offices, had effectually strengthened and encouraged his own spirits
by the contemplation of their joint misfortunes, he proceeded, with
new cheerfulness, in search of help; congratulating himself, as he went
along, on the enviable position to which he had at last attained.
‘I used to think, sometimes,’ said Mr Tapley, ‘as a desolate island
would suit me, but I should only have had myself to provide for there,
and being naturally a easy man to manage, there wouldn’t have been much
credit in THAT. Now here I’ve got my partner to take care on, and he’s
something like the sort of man for the purpose. I want a man as is
always a-sliding off his legs when he ought to be on ‘em. I want a
man as is so low down in the school of life that he’s always a-making
figures of one in his copy-book, and can’t get no further. I want a man
as is his own great coat and cloak, and is always a-wrapping himself up
in himself. And I have got him too,’ said Mr Tapley, after a moment’s
silence. ‘What a happiness!’
He paused to look round, uncertain to which of the log-houses he should
repair.
‘I don’t know which to take,’ he observed; ‘that’s the truth. They’re
equally prepossessing outside, and equally commodious, no doubt, within;
being fitted up with every convenience that a Alligator, in a state of
natur’, could possibly require. Let me see! The citizen as turned out
last night, lives under water, in the right hand dog-kennel at the
corner. I don’t want to trouble him if I can help it, poor man, for
he is a melancholy object; a reg’lar Settler in every respect. There’s
house with a winder, but I am afraid of their being proud. I don’t know
whether a door ain’t too aristocratic; but here goes for the first one!’
He went up to the nearest cabin, and knocked with his hand. Being
desired to enter, he complied.
‘Neighbour,’ said Mark; ‘for I AM a neighbour, though you don’t know me;
I’ve come a-begging. Hallo! hal--lo! Am I a-bed, and dreaming!’
He made this exclamation on hearing his own name pronounced, and finding
himself clasped about the skirts by two little boys, whose faces he had
often washed, and whose suppers he had often cooked, on board of that
noble and fast-sailing line-of-packet ship, the Screw.
‘My eyes is wrong!’ said Mark. ‘I don’t believe ‘em. That ain’t my
fellow-passenger younder, a-nursing her little girl, who, I am sorry to
see, is so delicate; and that ain’t her husband as come to New York to
fetch her. Nor these,’ he added, looking down upon the boys, ‘ain’t them
two young shavers as was so familiar to me; though they are uncommon
like ‘em. That I must confess.’
The woman shed tears, in very joy to see him; the man shook both his
hands and would not let them go; the two boys hugged his legs; the sick
child in the mother’s arms stretched out her burning little fingers, and
muttered, in her hoarse, dry throat, his well-remembered name.
It was the same family, sure enough. Altered by the salubrious air of
Eden. But the same.
‘This is a new sort of a morning call,’ said Mark, drawing a long
breath. ‘It strikes one all of a heap. Wait a little bit! I’m a-coming
round fast. That’ll do! These gentlemen ain’t my friends. Are they on
the visiting list of the house?’
The inquiry referred to certain gaunt pigs, who had walked in after him,
and were much interested in the heels of the family. As they did not
belong to the mansion, they were expelled by the two little boys.
‘I ain’t superstitious about toads,’ said Mark, looking round the room,
‘but if you could prevail upon the two or three I see in company, to
step out at the same time, my young friends, I think they’d find the
open air refreshing. Not that I at all object to ‘em. A very handsome
animal is a toad,’ said Mr Tapley, sitting down upon a stool; ‘very
spotted; very like a partickler style of old gentleman about the throat;
very bright-eyed, very cool, and very slippy. But one sees ‘em to the
best advantage out of doors perhaps.’
While pretending, with such talk as this, to be perfectly at his ease,
and to be the most indifferent and careless of men, Mark Tapley had
an eye on all around him. The wan and meagre aspect of the family, the
changed looks of the poor mother, the fevered child she held in her lap,
the air of great despondency and little hope on everything, were plain
to him, and made a deep impression on his mind. He saw it all as
clearly and as quickly, as with his bodily eyes he saw the rough shelves
supported by pegs driven between the logs, of which the house was made;
the flour-cask in the corner, serving also for a table; the blankets,
spades, and other articles against the walls; the damp that blotched the
ground; or the crop of vegetable rottenness in every crevice of the hut.
‘How is it that you have come here?’ asked the man, when their first
expressions of surprise were over.
‘Why, we come by the steamer last night,’ replied Mark. ‘Our intention
is to make our fortuns with punctuality and dispatch; and to retire upon
our property as soon as ever it’s realised. But how are you all? You’re
looking noble!’
‘We are but sickly now,’ said the poor woman, bending over her child.
‘But we shall do better when we are seasoned to the place.’
‘There are some here,’ thought Mark ‘whose seasoning will last for
ever.’
But he said cheerfully, ‘Do better! To be sure you will. We shall all
do better. What we’ve got to do is, to keep up our spirits, and be
neighbourly. We shall come all right in the end, never fear. That
reminds me, by the bye, that my partner’s all wrong just at present;
and that I looked in to beg for him. I wish you’d come and give me your
opinion of him, master.’
That must have been a very unreasonable request on the part of Mark
Tapley, with which, in their gratitude for his kind offices on board the
ship, they would not have complied instantly. The man rose to accompany
him without a moment’s delay. Before they went, Mark took the sick child
in his arms, and tried to comfort the mother; but the hand of death was
on it then, he saw.
They found Martin in the house, lying wrapped up in his blanket on
the ground. He was, to all appearance, very ill indeed, and shook and
shivered horribly; not as people do from cold, but in a frightful
kind of spasm or convulsion, that racked his whole body. Mark’s friend
pronounced his disease an aggravated kind of fever, accompanied with
ague; which was very common in those parts, and which he predicted would
be worse to-morrow, and for many more to-morrows. He had had it himself
off and on, he said, for a couple of years or so; but he was thankful
that, while so many he had known had died about him, he had escaped with
life.
‘And with not too much of that,’ thought Mark, surveying his emaciated
form. ‘Eden for ever!’
They had some medicine in their chest; and this man of sad experience
showed Mark how and when to administer it, and how he could best
alleviate the sufferings of Martin. His attentions did not stop there;
for he was backwards and forwards constantly, and rendered Mark
good service in all his brisk attempts to make their situation more
endurable. Hope or comfort for the future he could not bestow. The
season was a sickly one; the settlement a grave. His child died that
night; and Mark, keeping the secret from Martin, helped to bury it,
beneath a tree, next day.
With all his various duties of attendance upon Martin (who became the
more exacting in his claims, the worse he grew), Mark worked out of
doors, early and late; and with the assistance of his friend and others,
laboured to do something with their land. Not that he had the least
strength of heart or hope, or steady purpose in so doing, beyond the
habitual cheerfulness of his disposition, and his amazing power of
self-sustainment; for within himself, he looked on their condition
as beyond all hope, and, in his own words, ‘came out strong’ in
consequence.
‘As to coming out as strong as I could wish, sir,’ he confided to Martin
in a leisure moment; that is to say, one evening, while he was washing
the linen of the establishment, after a hard day’s work, ‘that I give
up. It’s a piece of good fortune as never is to happen to me, I see!’
‘Would you wish for circumstances stronger than these?’ Martin retorted
with a groan, from underneath his blanket.
‘Why, only see how easy they might have been stronger, sir,’ said Mark,
‘if it wasn’t for the envy of that uncommon fortun of mine, which is
always after me, and tripping me up. The night we landed here, I thought
things did look pretty jolly. I won’t deny it. I thought they did look
pretty jolly.’
‘How do they look now?’ groaned Martin.
‘Ah!’ said Mark, ‘Ah, to be sure. That’s the question. How do they look
now? On the very first morning of my going out, what do I do? Stumble
on a family I know, who are constantly assisting of us in all sorts of
ways, from that time to this! That won’t do, you know; that ain’t what