Martin Chuzzlewit
‘The wonderfulest ewent, sir!’ returned Mark, pumping at his voice in
a most laborious manner, and hardly able to articulate with all his
efforts. ‘A coincidence as never was equalled! I’m blessed if here ain’t
two old neighbours of ourn, sir!’
‘What neighbours?’ cried old Martin, looking out of window. ‘Where?’
‘I was a-walkin’ up and down not five yards from this spot,’ said Mr
Tapley, breathless, ‘and they come upon me like their own ghosts, as I
thought they was! It’s the wonderfulest ewent that ever happened. Bring
a feather, somebody, and knock me down with it!’
‘What do you mean!’ exclaimed old Martin, quite as much excited by
the spectacle of Mark’s excitement as that strange person was himself.
‘Neighbours, where?’
‘Here, sir!’ replied Mr Tapley. ‘Here in the city of London! Here upon
these very stones! Here they are, sir! Don’t I know ‘em? Lord love their
welcome faces, don’t I know ‘em!’
With which ejaculations Mr Tapley not only pointed to a decent-looking
man and woman standing by, but commenced embracing them alternately,
over and over again, in Monument Yard.
‘Neighbours, WHERE? old Martin shouted; almost maddened by his
ineffectual efforts to get out at the coach-door.
‘Neighbours in America! Neighbours in Eden!’ cried Mark. ‘Neighbours in
the swamp, neighbours in the bush, neighbours in the fever. Didn’t she
nurse us! Didn’t he help us! Shouldn’t we both have died without ‘em!
Haven’t they come a-strugglin’ back, without a single child for their
consolation! And talk to me of neighbours!’
Away he went again, in a perfectly wild state, hugging them, and
skipping round them, and cutting in between them, as if he were
performing some frantic and outlandish dance.
Mr Chuzzlewit no sooner gathered who these people were, than he burst
open the coach-door somehow or other, and came tumbling out among them;
and as if the lunacy of Mr Tapley were contagious, he immediately began
to shake hands too, and exhibit every demonstration of the liveliest
joy.
‘Get up, behind!’ he said. ‘Get up in the rumble. Come along with me! Go
you on the box, Mark. Home! Home!’
‘Home!’ cried Mr Tapley, seizing the old man’s hand in a burst of
enthusiasm. ‘Exactly my opinion, sir. Home for ever! Excuse the liberty,
sir, I can’t help it. Success to the Jolly Tapley! There’s nothin’ in
the house they shan’t have for the askin’ for, except a bill. Home to be
sure! Hurrah!’
Home they rolled accordingly, when he had got the old man in again, as
fast as they could go; Mark abating nothing of his fervour by the way,
by allowing it to vent itself as unrestrainedly as if he had been on
Salisbury Plain.
And now the wedding party began to assemble at Todgers’s. Mr Jinkins,
the only boarder invited, was on the ground first. He wore a white
favour in his button-hole, and a bran new extra super double-milled blue
saxony dress coat (that was its description in the bill), with a variety
of tortuous embellishments about the pockets, invented by the artist
to do honour to the day. The miserable Augustus no longer felt strongly
even on the subject of Jinkins. He hadn’t strength of mind enough to do
it. ‘Let him come!’ he had said, in answer to Miss Pecksniff, when she
urged the point. ‘Let him come! He has ever been my rock ahead through
life. ‘Tis meet he should be there. Ha, ha! Oh, yes! let Jinkins come!’
Jinkins had come with all the pleasure in life, and there he was. For
some few minutes he had no companion but the breakfast, which was set
forth in the drawing-room, with unusual taste and ceremony. But Mrs
Todgers soon joined him; and the bachelor cousin, the hairy young
gentleman, and Mr and Mrs Spottletoe, arrived in quick succession.
Mr Spottletoe honoured Jinkins with an encouraging bow. ‘Glad to know
you, sir,’ he said. ‘Give you joy!’ Under the impression that Jinkins
was the happy man.
Mr Jinkins explained. He was merely doing the honours for his friend
Moddle, who had ceased to reside in the house, and had not yet arrived.
‘Not arrived, sir!’ exclaimed Spottletoe, in a great heat.
‘Not yet,’ said Mr Jinkins.
‘Upon my soul!’ cried Spottletoe. ‘He begins well! Upon my life and
honour this young man begins well! But I should very much like to know
how it is that every one who comes into contact with this family is
guilty of some gross insult to it. Death! Not arrived yet. Not here to
receive us!’
The nephew with the outline of a countenance, suggested that perhaps he
had ordered a new pair of boots, and they hadn’t come home.
‘Don’t talk to me of Boots, sir!’ retorted Spottletoe, with immense
indignation. ‘He is bound to come here in his slippers then; he is bound
to come here barefoot. Don’t offer such a wretched and evasive plea to
me on behalf of your friend, as Boots, sir.’
‘He is not MY friend,’ said the nephew. ‘I never saw him.’
‘Very well, sir,’ returned the fiery Spottletoe. ‘Then don’t talk to
me!’
The door was thrown open at this juncture, and Miss Pecksniff entered,
tottering, and supported by her three bridesmaids. The strong-minded
woman brought up the rear; having waited outside until now, for the
purpose of spoiling the effect.
‘How do you do, ma’am!’ said Spottletoe to the strong-minded woman in a
tone of defiance. ‘I believe you see Mrs Spottletoe, ma’am?’
The strong-minded woman with an air of great interest in Mrs
Spottletoe’s health, regretted that she was not more easily seen. Nature
erring, in that lady’s case, upon the slim side.
‘Mrs Spottletoe is at least more easily seen than the bridegroom,
ma’am,’ returned that lady’s husband. ‘That is, unless he has confined
his attentions to any particular part or branch of this family, which
would be quite in keeping with its usual proceedings.’
‘If you allude to me, sir--’ the strong-minded woman began.
‘Pray,’ interposed Miss Pecksniff, ‘do not allow Augustus, at this awful
moment of his life and mine, to be the means of disturbing that harmony
which it is ever Augustus’s and my wish to maintain. Augustus has not
been introduced to any of my relations now present. He preferred not.’
‘Why, then, I venture to assert,’ cried Mr Spottletoe, ‘that the man who
aspires to join this family, and “prefers not” to be introduced to its
members, is an impertinent Puppy. That is my opinion of HIM!’
The strong-minded woman remarked with great suavity, that she was afraid
he must be. Her three daughters observed aloud that it was ‘Shameful!’
‘You do not know Augustus,’ said Miss Pecksniff, tearfully, ‘indeed you
do not know him. Augustus is all mildness and humility. Wait till you
see Augustus, and I am sure he will conciliate your affections.’
‘The question arises,’ said Spottletoe, folding his arms: ‘How long we
are to wait. I am not accustomed to wait; that’s the fact. And I want to
know how long we are expected to wait.’
‘Mrs Todgers!’ said Charity, ‘Mr Jinkins! I am afraid there must be some
mistake. I think Augustus must have gone straight to the Altar!’
As such a thing was possible, and the church was close at hand, Mr
Jinkins ran off to see, accompanied by Mr George Chuzzlewit the bachelor
cousin, who preferred anything to the aggravation of sitting near the
breakfast, without being able to eat it. But they came back with no
other tidings than a familiar message from the clerk, importing that if
they wanted to be married that morning they had better look sharp, as
the curate wasn’t going to wait there all day.
The bride was now alarmed; seriously alarmed. Good Heavens, what could
have happened! Augustus! Dear Augustus!
Mr Jinkins volunteered to take a cab, and seek him at the
newly-furnished house. The strong-minded woman administered comfort to
Miss Pecksniff. ‘It was a specimen of what she had to expect. It would
do her good. It would dispel the romance of the affair.’ The red-nosed
daughters also administered the kindest comfort. ‘Perhaps he’d come,’
they said. The sketchy nephew hinted that he might have fallen off a
bridge. The wrath of Mr Spottletoe resisted all the entreaties of his
wife. Everybody spoke at once, and Miss Pecksniff, with clasped hands,
sought consolation everywhere and found it nowhere, when Jinkins, having
met the postman at the door, came back with a letter, which he put into
her hand.
Miss Pecksniff opened it, uttered a piercing shriek, threw it down upon
the ground, and fainted away.
They picked it up; and crowding round, and looking over one another’s
shoulders, read, in the words and dashes following, this communication:
‘OFF GRAVESEND.
‘CLIPPER SCHOONER, CUPID
‘Wednesday night
‘EVER INJURED MISS PECKSNIFF--Ere this reaches you, the undersigned
will be--if not a corpse--on the way to Van Dieman’s Land. Send not in
pursuit. I never will be taken alive!
‘The burden--300 tons per register--forgive, if in my distraction,
I allude to the ship--on my mind--has been truly dreadful.
Frequently--when you have sought to soothe my brow with kisses--has
self-destruction flashed across me. Frequently--incredible as it may
seem--have I abandoned the idea.
‘I love another. She is Another’s. Everything appears to be somebody
else’s. Nothing in the world is mine--not even my Situation--which I
have forfeited--by my rash conduct--in running away.
‘If you ever loved me, hear my last appeal! The last appeal of a
miserable and blighted exile. Forward the inclosed--it is the key of my
desk--to the office--by hand. Please address to Bobbs and Cholberry--I
mean to Chobbs and Bolberry--but my mind is totally unhinged. I left a
penknife--with a buckhorn handle--in your work-box. It will repay the
messenger. May it make him happier than ever it did me!
‘Oh, Miss Pecksniff, why didn’t you leave me alone! Was it not cruel,
CRUEL! Oh, my goodness, have you not been a witness of my feelings--have
you not seen them flowing from my eyes--did you not, yourself, reproach
me with weeping more than usual on that dreadful night when last we
met--in that house--where I once was peaceful--though blighted--in the
society of Mrs Todgers!
‘But it was written--in the Talmud--that you should involve yourself in
the inscrutable and gloomy Fate which it is my mission to accomplish,
and which wreathes itself--e’en now--about in temples. I will not
reproach, for I have wronged you. May the Furniture make some amends!
‘Farewell! Be the proud bride of a ducal coronet, and forget me!
Long may it be before you know the anguish with which I now subscribe
myself--amid the tempestuous howlings of the--sailors,
‘Unalterably,
‘Never yours,
‘AUGUSTUS.’
They thought as little of Miss Pecksniff, while they greedily perused
this letter, as if she were the very last person on earth whom it
concerned. But Miss Pecksniff really had fainted away. The bitterness of
her mortification; the bitterness of having summoned witnesses, and
such witnesses, to behold it; the bitterness of knowing that the
strong-minded women and the red-nosed daughters towered triumphant in
this hour of their anticipated overthrow; was too much to be borne. Miss
Pecksniff had fainted away in earnest.
What sounds are these that fall so grandly on the ear! What darkening
room is this!
And that mild figure seated at an organ, who is he! Ah Tom, dear Tom,
old friend!
Thy head is prematurely grey, though Time has passed thee and our old
association, Tom. But, in those sounds with which it is thy wont to bear
the twilight company, the music of thy heart speaks out--the story of
thy life relates itself.
Thy life is tranquil, calm, and happy, Tom. In the soft strain which
ever and again comes stealing back upon the ear, the memory of thine
old love may find a voice perhaps; but it is a pleasant, softened,
whispering memory, like that in which we sometimes hold the dead, and