Martin Chuzzlewit
‘Yes, sir. It’s a pretty name, sir?’
‘A very good name,’ said Martin.
‘It seems a’most a pity to change such a name into Tapley. Don’t it,
sir?’ said Mark.
‘That depends upon the lady. What is HER opinion?’
‘Why, sir,’ said Mr Tapley, retiring, with a bow, towards the buxom
hostess, ‘her opinion is as the name ain’t a change for the better, but
the indiwidual may be, and, therefore, if nobody ain’t acquainted
with no jest cause or impediment, et cetrer, the Blue Dragon will be
con-werted into the Jolly Tapley. A sign of my own inwention, sir. Wery
new, conwivial, and expressive!’
The whole of these proceedings were so agreeable to Mr Pecksniff that
he stood with his eyes fixed upon the floor and his hands clasping one
another alternately, as if a host of penal sentences were being passed
upon him. Not only did his figure appear to have shrunk, but his
discomfiture seemed to have extended itself even to his dress. His
clothes seemed to have grown shabbier, his linen to have turned yellow,
his hair to have become lank and frowsy; his very boots looked villanous
and dim, as if their gloss had departed with his own.
Feeling, rather than seeing, that the old man now pointed to the door,
he raised his eyes, picked up his hat, and thus addressed him:
‘Mr Chuzzlewit, sir! you have partaken of my hospitality.’
‘And paid for it,’ he observed.
‘Thank you. That savours,’ said Mr Pecksniff, taking out his
pocket-handkerchief, ‘of your old familiar frankness. You have paid for
it. I was about to make the remark. You have deceived me, sir. Thank you
again. I am glad of it. To see you in the possession of your health and
faculties on any terms, is, in itself, a sufficient recompense. To have
been deceived implies a trusting nature. Mine is a trusting nature. I
am thankful for it. I would rather have a trusting nature, do you know,
sir, than a doubting one!’
Here Mr Pecksniff, with a sad smile, bowed, and wiped his eyes.
‘There is hardly any person present, Mr Chuzzlewit,’ said Pecksniff,
‘by whom I have not been deceived. I have forgiven those persons on the
spot. That was my duty; and, of course, I have done it. Whether it was
worthy of you to partake of my hospitality, and to act the part you
did act in my house, that, sir, is a question which I leave to your own
conscience. And your conscience does not acquit you. No, sir, no!’
Pronouncing these last words in a loud and solemn voice, Mr Pecksniff
was not so absolutely lost in his own fervour as to be unmindful of the
expediency of getting a little nearer to the door.
‘I have been struck this day,’ said Mr Pecksniff, ‘with a walking
stick (which I have every reason to believe has knobs upon it), on that
delicate and exquisite portion of the human anatomy--the brain. Several
blows have been inflicted, sir, without a walking-stick, upon that
tenderer portion of my frame--my heart. You have mentioned, sir,
my being bankrupt in my purse. Yes, sir, I am. By an unfortunate
speculation, combined with treachery, I find myself reduced to poverty;
at a time, sir, when the child of my bosom is widowed, and affliction
and disgrace are in my family.’
Here Mr Pecksniff wiped his eyes again, and gave himself two or three
little knocks upon the breast, as if he were answering two or three
other little knocks from within, given by the tinkling hammer of his
conscience, to express ‘Cheer up, my boy!’
‘I know the human mind, although I trust it. That is my weakness. Do I
not know, sir’--here he became exceedingly plaintive and was observed to
glance towards Tom Pinch--‘that my misfortunes bring this treatment on
me? Do I not know, sir, that but for them I never should have heard what
I have heard to-day? Do I not know that in the silence and the solitude
of night, a little voice will whisper in your ear, Mr Chuzzlewit, “This
was not well. This was not well, sir!” Think of this, sir (if you will
have the goodness), remote from the impulses of passion, and apart from
the specialities, if I may use that strong remark, of prejudice. And if
you ever contemplate the silent tomb, sir, which you will excuse me for
entertaining some doubt of your doing, after the conduct into which you
have allowed yourself to be betrayed this day; if you ever contemplate
the silent tomb sir, think of me. If you find yourself approaching to
the silent tomb, sir, think of me. If you should wish to have anything
inscribed upon your silent tomb, sir, let it be, that I--ah, my
remorseful sir! that I--the humble individual who has now the honour of
reproaching you, forgave you. That I forgave you when my injuries were
fresh, and when my bosom was newly wrung. It may be bitterness to you to
hear it now, sir, but you will live to seek a consolation in it. May you
find a consolation in it when you want it, sir! Good morning!’
With this sublime address, Mr Pecksniff departed. But the effect of
his departure was much impaired by his being immediately afterwards run
against, and nearly knocked down, by a monstrously excited little man in
velveteen shorts and a very tall hat; who came bursting up the stairs,
and straight into the chambers of Mr Chuzzlewit, as if he were deranged.
‘Is there anybody here that knows him?’ cried the little man. ‘Is there
anybody here that knows him? Oh, my stars, is there anybody here that
knows him?’
They looked at each other for an explanation; but nobody knew anything
more than that here was an excited little man with a very tall hat on,
running in and out of the room as hard as he could go; making his single
pair of bright blue stockings appear at least a dozen; and constantly
repeating in a shrill voice, ‘IS there anybody here that knows him?’
‘If your brains is not turned topjy turjey, Mr Sweedlepipes!’ exclaimed
another voice, ‘hold that there nige of yourn, I beg you, sir.’
At the same time Mrs Gamp was seen in the doorway; out of breath from
coming up so many stairs, and panting fearfully; but dropping curtseys
to the last.
‘Excuge the weakness of the man,’ said Mrs Gamp, eyeing Mr Sweedlepipe
with great indignation; ‘and well I might expect it, as I should have
know’d, and wishin’ he was drownded in the Thames afore I had brought
him here, which not a blessed hour ago he nearly shaved the noge off
from the father of as lovely a family as ever, Mr Chuzzlewit, was born
three sets of twins, and would have done it, only he see it a-goin’ in
the glass, and dodged the rager. And never, Mr Sweedlepipes, I do assure
you, sir, did I so well know what a misfortun it was to be acquainted
with you, as now I do, which so I say, sir, and I don’t deceive you!’
‘I ask your pardon, ladies and gentlemen all,’ cried the little barber,
taking off his hat, ‘and yours too, Mrs Gamp. But--but,’ he added this
half laughing and half crying, ‘IS there anybody here that knows him?’
As the barber said these words, a something in top-boots, with its head
bandaged up, staggered into the room, and began going round and round
and round, apparently under the impression that it was walking straight
forward.
‘Look at him!’ cried the excited little barber. ‘Here he is! That’ll
soon wear off, and then he’ll be all right again. He’s no more dead than
I am. He’s all alive and hearty. Aint you, Bailey?’
‘R--r--reether so, Poll!’ replied that gentleman.
‘Look here!’ cried the little barber, laughing and crying in the same
breath. ‘When I steady him he comes all right. There! He’s all right
now. Nothing’s the matter with him now, except that he’s a little shook
and rather giddy; is there, Bailey?’
‘R--r--reether shook, Poll--reether so!’ said Mr Bailey. ‘What, my
lovely Sairey! There you air!’
‘What a boy he is!’ cried the tender-hearted Poll, actually sobbing
over him. ‘I never see sech a boy! It’s all his fun. He’s full of it.
He shall go into the business along with me. I am determined he shall.
We’ll make it Sweedlepipe and Bailey. He shall have the sporting branch
(what a one he’ll be for the matches!) and me the shavin’. I’ll make
over the birds to him as soon as ever he’s well enough. He shall have
the little bullfinch in the shop, and all. He’s sech a boy! I ask your
pardon, ladies and gentlemen, but I thought there might be some one here
that know’d him!’
Mrs Gamp had observed, not without jealousy and scorn, that a favourable
impression appeared to exist in behalf of Mr Sweedlepipe and his
young friend; and that she had fallen rather into the background in
consequence. She now struggled to the front, therefore, and stated her
business.
‘Which, Mr Chuzzlewit,’ she said, ‘is well beknown to Mrs Harris as has
one sweet infant (though she DO not wish it known) in her own family by
the mother’s side, kep in spirits in a bottle; and that sweet babe she
see at Greenwich Fair, a-travelling in company with a pink-eyed lady,
Prooshan dwarf, and livin’ skelinton, which judge her feelings when the
barrel organ played, and she was showed her own dear sister’s child, the
same not bein’ expected from the outside picter, where it was painted
quite contrairy in a livin’ state, a many sizes larger, and performing
beautiful upon the Arp, which never did that dear child know or do;
since breathe it never did, to speak on in this wale! And Mrs Harris, Mr
Chuzzlewit, has knowed me many year, and can give you information that
the lady which is widdered can’t do better and may do worse, than let me
wait upon her, which I hope to do. Permittin’ the sweet faces as I see
afore me.’
‘Oh!’ said Mr Chuzzlewit. ‘Is that your business? Was this good person
paid for the trouble we gave her?’
‘I paid her, sir,’ returned Mark Tapley; ‘liberal.’
‘The young man’s words is true,’ said Mrs Gamp, ‘and thank you kindly.’
‘Then here we will close our acquaintance, Mrs Gamp,’ retorted Mr
Chuzzlewit. ‘And Mr Sweedlepipe--is that your name?’
‘That is my name, sir,’ replied Poll, accepting with a profusion of
gratitude, some chinking pieces which the old man slipped into his hand.
‘Mr Sweedlepipe, take as much care of your lady-lodger as you can, and
give her a word or two of good advice now and then. Such,’ said old
Martin, looking gravely at the astonished Mrs Gamp, ‘as hinting at the
expediency of a little less liquor, and a little more humanity, and
a little less regard for herself, and a little more regard for her
patients, and perhaps a trifle of additional honesty. Or when Mrs Gamp
gets into trouble, Mr Sweedlepipe, it had better not be at a time when I
am near enough to the Old Bailey to volunteer myself as a witness to her
character. Endeavour to impress that upon her at your leisure, if you
please.’
Mrs Gamp clasped her hands, turned up her eyes until they were quite
invisible, threw back her bonnet for the admission of fresh air to her
heated brow; and in the act of saying faintly--‘Less liquor!--Sairey
Gamp--Bottle on the chimney-piece, and let me put my lips to it, when I
am so dispoged!’--fell into one of the walking swoons; in which pitiable
state she was conducted forth by Mr Sweedlepipe, who, between his two
patients, the swooning Mrs Gamp and the revolving Bailey, had enough to
do, poor fellow.
The old man looked about him, with a smile, until his eyes rested on Tom
Pinch’s sister; when he smiled the more.
‘We will all dine here together,’ he said; ‘and as you and Mary have
enough to talk of, Martin, you shall keep house for us until the
afternoon, with Mr and Mrs Tapley. I must see your lodgings in the
meanwhile, Tom.’
Tom was quite delighted. So was Ruth. She would go with them.
‘Thank you, my love,’ said Mr Chuzzlewit. ‘But I am afraid I must take
Tom a little out of the way, on business. Suppose you go on first, my
dear?’
Pretty little Ruth was equally delighted to do that.