Martin Chuzzlewit
own, I throw myself, in fact, not at his feet, but at the feet of
Mr Pecksniff? And when I am rejected and spurned away,’ said Martin,
turning crimson at the thought, ‘it is not by him; my own blood stirred
against me; but by Pecksniff--Pecksniff, Mark!’
‘Well, but we know beforehand,’ returned the politic Mr Tapley, ‘that
Pecksniff is a wagabond, a scoundrel, and a willain.’
‘A most pernicious villain!’ said Martin.
‘A most pernicious willain. We know that beforehand, sir; and,
consequently, it’s no shame to be defeated by Pecksniff. Blow
Pecksniff!’ cried Mr Tapley, in the fervour of his eloquence. ‘Who’s he!
It’s not in the natur of Pecksniff to shame US, unless he agreed with
us, or done us a service; and, in case he offered any audacity of that
description, we could express our sentiments in the English language,
I hope. Pecksniff!’ repeated Mr Tapley, with ineffable disdain. ‘What’s
Pecksniff, who’s Pecksniff, where’s Pecksniff, that he’s to be so much
considered? We’re not a-calculating for ourselves;’ he laid uncommon
emphasis on the last syllable of that word, and looked full in Martin’s
face; ‘we’re making a effort for a young lady likewise as has undergone
her share; and whatever little hope we have, this here Pecksniff is not
to stand in its way, I expect. I never heard of any act of Parliament,
as was made by Pecksniff. Pecksniff! Why, I wouldn’t see the man myself;
I wouldn’t hear him; I wouldn’t choose to know he was in company. I’d
scrape my shoes on the scraper of the door, and call that Pecksniff, if
you liked; but I wouldn’t condescend no further.’
The amazement of Mrs Lupin, and indeed of Mr Tapley himself for that
matter, at this impassioned flow of language, was immense. But Martin,
after looking thoughtfully at the fire for a short time, said:
‘You are right, Mark. Right or wrong, it shall be done. I’ll do it.’
‘One word more, sir,’ returned Mark. ‘Only think of him so far as not to
give him a handle against you. Don’t you do anything secret that he
can report before you get there. Don’t you even see Miss Mary in the
morning, but let this here dear friend of ours’--Mr Tapley bestowed a
smile upon the hostess--‘prepare her for what’s a-going to happen, and
carry any little message as may be agreeable. She knows how. Don’t you?’
Mrs Lupin laughed and tossed her head. ‘Then you go in, bold and free as
a gentleman should. “I haven’t done nothing under-handed,” says you. “I
haven’t been skulking about the premises, here I am, for-give me, I ask
your pardon, God Bless You!”’
Martin smiled, but felt that it was good advice notwithstanding, and
resolved to act upon it. When they had ascertained from Mrs Lupin that
Pecksniff had already returned from the great ceremonial at which they
had beheld him in his glory; and when they had fully arranged the order
of their proceedings; they went to bed, intent upon the morrow.
In pursuance of their project as agreed upon at this discussion, Mr
Tapley issued forth next morning, after breakfast, charged with a letter
from Martin to his grandfather, requesting leave to wait upon him for a
few minutes. And postponing as he went along the congratulations of his
numerous friends until a more convenient season, he soon arrived at Mr
Pecksniff’s house. At that gentleman’s door; with a face so immovable
that it would have been next to an impossibility for the most acute
physiognomist to determine what he was thinking about, or whether he was
thinking at all; he straightway knocked.
A person of Mr Tapley’s observation could not long remain insensible
to the fact that Mr Pecksniff was making the end of his nose very
blunt against the glass of the parlour window, in an angular attempt to
discover who had knocked at the door. Nor was Mr Tapley slow to baffle
this movement on the part of the enemy, by perching himself on the
top step, and presenting the crown of his hat in that direction. But
possibly Mr Pecksniff had already seen him, for Mark soon heard his
shoes creaking, as he advanced to open the door with his own hands.
Mr Pecksniff was as cheerful as ever, and sang a little song in the
passage.
‘How d’ye do, sir?’ said Mark.
‘Oh!’ cried Mr Pecksniff. ‘Tapley, I believe? The Prodigal returned! We
don’t want any beer, my friend.’
‘Thankee, sir,’ said Mark. ‘I couldn’t accommodate you if you did. A
letter, sir. Wait for an answer.’
‘For me?’ cried Mr Pecksniff. ‘And an answer, eh?’
‘Not for you, I think, sir,’ said Mark, pointing out the direction.
‘Chuzzlewit, I believe the name is, sir.’
‘Oh!’ returned Mr Pecksniff. ‘Thank you. Yes. Who’s it from, my good
young man?’
‘The gentleman it comes from wrote his name inside, sir,’ returned Mr
Tapley with extreme politeness. ‘I see him a-signing of it at the end,
while I was a-waitin’.’
‘And he said he wanted an answer, did he?’ asked Mr Pecksniff in his
most persuasive manner.
Mark replied in the affirmative.
‘He shall have an answer. Certainly,’ said Mr Pecksniff, tearing the
letter into small pieces, as mildly as if that were the most flattering
attention a correspondent could receive. ‘Have the goodness to give him
that, with my compliments, if you please. Good morning!’ Whereupon he
handed Mark the scraps; retired, and shut the door.
Mark thought it prudent to subdue his personal emotions, and return to
Martin at the Dragon. They were not unprepared for such a reception,
and suffered an hour or so to elapse before making another attempt.
When this interval had gone by, they returned to Mr Pecksniff’s house in
company. Martin knocked this time, while Mr Tapley prepared himself to
keep the door open with his foot and shoulder, when anybody came, and by
that means secure an enforced parley. But this precaution was needless,
for the servant-girl appeared almost immediately. Brushing quickly past
her as he had resolved in such a case to do, Martin (closely followed
by his faithful ally) opened the door of that parlour in which he knew
a visitor was most likely to be found; passed at once into the room; and
stood, without a word of notice or announcement, in the presence of his
grandfather.
Mr Pecksniff also was in the room; and Mary. In the swift instant of
their mutual recognition, Martin saw the old man droop his grey head,
and hide his face in his hands.
It smote him to the heart. In his most selfish and most careless day,
this lingering remnant of the old man’s ancient love, this buttress of a
ruined tower he had built up in the time gone by, with so much pride and
hope, would have caused a pang in Martin’s heart. But now, changed for
the better in his worst respect; looking through an altered medium on
his former friend, the guardian of his childhood, so broken and bowed
down; resentment, sullenness, self-confidence, and pride, were all swept
away, before the starting tears upon the withered cheeks. He could not
bear to see them. He could not bear to think they fell at sight of
him. He could not bear to view reflected in them, the reproachful and
irrevocable Past.
He hurriedly advanced to seize the old man’s hand in his, when Mr
Pecksniff interposed himself between them.
‘No, young man!’ said Mr Pecksniff, striking himself upon the breast,
and stretching out his other arm towards his guest as if it were a wing
to shelter him. ‘No, sir. None of that. Strike here, sir, here! Launch
your arrows at me, sir, if you’ll have the goodness; not at Him!’
‘Grandfather!’ cried Martin. ‘Hear me! I implore you, let me speak!’
‘Would you, sir? Would you?’ said Mr Pecksniff, dodging about, so as to
keep himself always between them. ‘Is it not enough, sir, that you come
into my house like a thief in the night, or I should rather say, for we
can never be too particular on the subject of Truth, like a thief in
the day-time; bringing your dissolute companions with you, to plant
themselves with their backs against the insides of parlour doors, and
prevent the entrance or issuing forth of any of my household’--Mark had
taken up this position, and held it quite unmoved--‘but would you also
strike at venerable Virtue? Would you? Know that it is not defenceless.
I will be its shield, young man. Assail me. Come on, sir. Fire away!’
‘Pecksniff,’ said the old man, in a feeble voice. ‘Calm yourself. Be
quiet.’
‘I can’t be calm,’ cried Mr Pecksniff, ‘and I won’t be quiet. My
benefactor and my friend! Shall even my house be no refuge for your
hoary pillow!’
‘Stand aside!’ said the old man, stretching out his hand; ‘and let me
see what it is I used to love so dearly.’
‘It is right that you should see it, my friend,’ said Mr Pecksniff. ‘It
is well that you should see it, my noble sir. It is desirable that you
should contemplate it in its true proportions. Behold it! There it is,
sir. There it is!’
Martin could hardly be a mortal man, and not express in his face
something of the anger and disdain with which Mr Pecksniff inspired him.
But beyond this he evinced no knowledge whatever of that gentleman’s
presence or existence. True, he had once, and that at first, glanced at
him involuntarily, and with supreme contempt; but for any other heed he
took of him, there might have been nothing in his place save empty air.
As Mr Pecksniff withdrew from between them, agreeably to the wish just
now expressed (which he did during the delivery of the observations
last recorded), old Martin, who had taken Mary Graham’s hand in his, and
whispered kindly to her, as telling her she had no cause to be alarmed,
gently pushed her from him, behind his chair; and looked steadily at his
grandson.
‘And that,’ he said, ‘is he. Ah! that is he! Say what you wish to say.
But come no nearer,’
‘His sense of justice is so fine,’ said Mr Pecksniff, ‘that he will
hear even him, although he knows beforehand that nothing can come of it.
Ingenuous mind!’ Mr Pecksniff did not address himself immediately to
any person in saying this, but assuming the position of the Chorus in a
Greek Tragedy, delivered his opinion as a commentary on the proceedings.
‘Grandfather!’ said Martin, with great earnestness. ‘From a painful
journey, from a hard life, from a sick-bed, from privation and distress,
from gloom and disappointment, from almost hopelessness and despair, I
have come back to you.’
‘Rovers of this sort,’ observed Mr Pecksniff, as Chorus, ‘very commonly
come back when they find they don’t meet with the success they expected
in their marauding ravages.’
‘But for this faithful man,’ said Martin, turning towards Mark, ‘whom
I first knew in this place, and who went away with me voluntarily, as
a servant, but has been, throughout, my zealous and devoted friend; but
for him, I must have died abroad. Far from home, far from any help or
consolation; far from the probability even of my wretched fate being
ever known to any one who cared to hear it--oh, that you would let me
say, of being known to you!’
The old man looked at Mr Pecksniff. Mr Pecksniff looked at him. ‘Did
you speak, my worthy sir?’ said Mr Pecksniff, with a smile. The old man
answered in the negative. ‘I know what you thought,’ said Mr Pecksniff,
with another smile. ‘Let him go on my friend. The development of
self-interest in the human mind is always a curious study. Let him go
on, sir.’
‘Go on!’ observed the old man; in a mechanical obedience, it appeared,
to Mr Pecksniff’s suggestion.
‘I have been so wretched and so poor,’ said Martin, ‘that I am indebted
to the charitable help of a stranger, in a land of strangers, for the
means of returning here. All this tells against me in your mind, I know.
I have given you cause to think I have been driven here wholly by want,
and have not been led on, in any degree, by affection or regret. When
I parted from you, Grandfather, I deserved that suspicion, but I do not
now. I do not now.’