Martin Chuzzlewit
was promptly raised. But his uniform was so fearfully and wonderfully
made, that he came up stiff and without a bend in him like a dead Clown,
and had no command whatever of himself until he was put quite flat upon
the soles of his feet, when he became animated as by a miracle, and
moving edgewise that he might go in a narrower compass and be in less
danger of fraying the gold lace on his epaulettes by brushing them
against anything, advanced with a smiling visage to salute the lady of
the house.
To be sure, it would have been impossible for the family to testify
purer delight and joy than at this unlooked-for appearance of General
Fladdock! The general was as warmly received as if New York had been in
a state of siege and no other general was to be got for love or money.
He shook hands with the Norrises three times all round, and then
reviewed them from a little distance as a brave commander might, with
his ample cloak drawn forward over the right shoulder and thrown back
upon the left side to reveal his manly breast.
‘And do I then,’ cried the general, ‘once again behold the choicest
spirits of my country!’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Norris the father. ‘Here we are, general.’
Then all the Norrises pressed round the general, inquiring how and where
he had been since the date of his letter, and how he had enjoyed himself
in foreign parts, and particularly and above all, to what extent he had
become acquainted with the great dukes, lords, viscounts, marquesses,
duchesses, knights, and baronets, in whom the people of those benighted
countries had delight.
‘Well, then, don’t ask me,’ said the general, holding up his hand. ‘I
was among ‘em all the time, and have got public journals in my trunk
with my name printed’--he lowered his voice and was very impressive
here--‘among the fashionable news. But, oh, the conventionalities of
that a-mazing Europe!’
‘Ah!’ cried Mr Norris the father, giving his head a melancholy shake,
and looking towards Martin as though he would say, ‘I can’t deny it,
sir. I would if I could.’
‘The limited diffusion of a moral sense in that country!’ exclaimed the
general. ‘The absence of a moral dignity in man!’
‘Ah!’ sighed all the Norrises, quite overwhelmed with despondency.
‘I couldn’t have realised it,’ pursued the general, ‘without being
located on the spot. Norris, your imagination is the imagination of a
strong man, but YOU couldn’t have realised it, without being located on
the spot!’
‘Never,’ said Mr Norris.
‘The ex-clusiveness, the pride, the form, the ceremony,’ exclaimed the
general, emphasizing the article more vigorously at every repetition.
‘The artificial barriers set up between man and man; the division of the
human race into court cards and plain cards, of every denomination--into
clubs, diamonds, spades--anything but heart!’
‘Ah!’ cried the whole family. ‘Too true, general!’
‘But stay!’ cried Mr Norris the father, taking him by the arm. ‘Surely
you crossed in the Screw, general?’
‘Well! so I did,’ was the reply.
‘Possible!’ cried the young ladies. ‘Only think!’
The general seemed at a loss to understand why his having come home
in the Screw should occasion such a sensation, nor did he seem at all
clearer on the subject when Mr Norris, introducing him to Martin, said:
‘A fellow-passenger of yours, I think?’
‘Of mine?’ exclaimed the general; ‘No!’
He had never seen Martin, but Martin had seen him, and recognized him,
now that they stood face to face, as the gentleman who had stuck his
hands in his pockets towards the end of the voyage, and walked the deck
with his nostrils dilated.
Everybody looked at Martin. There was no help for it. The truth must
out.
‘I came over in the same ship as the general,’ said Martin, ‘but not in
the same cabin. It being necessary for me to observe strict economy, I
took my passage in the steerage.’
If the general had been carried up bodily to a loaded cannon, and
required to let it off that moment, he could not have been in a state
of greater consternation than when he heard these words. He,
Fladdock--Fladdock in full militia uniform, Fladdock the General,
Fladdock, the caressed of foreign noblemen--expected to know a fellow
who had come over in the steerage of line-of-packet ship, at the cost
of four pound ten! And meeting that fellow in the very sanctuary of New
York fashion, and nestling in the bosom of the New York aristocracy! He
almost laid his hand upon his sword.
A death-like stillness fell upon the Norisses. If this story should get
wind, their country relation had, by his imprudence, for ever disgraced
them. They were the bright particular stars of an exalted New York
sphere. There were other fashionable spheres above them, and other
fashionable spheres below, and none of the stars in any one of these
spheres had anything to say to the stars in any other of these spheres.
But, through all the spheres it would go forth that the Norrises,
deceived by gentlemanly manners and appearances, had, falling from their
high estate, ‘received’ a dollarless and unknown man. O guardian eagle
of the pure Republic, had they lived for this!
‘You will allow me,’ said Martin, after a terrible silence, ‘to take
my leave. I feel that I am the cause of at least as much embarrassment
here, as I have brought upon myself. But I am bound, before I go, to
exonerate this gentleman, who, in introducing me to such society, was
quite ignorant of my unworthiness, I assure you.’
With that he made his bow to the Norrises, and walked out like a man of
snow; very cool externally, but pretty hot within.
‘Come, come,’ said Mr Norris the father, looking with a pale face on
the assembled circle as Martin closed the door, ‘the young man has this
night beheld a refinement of social manner, and an easy magnificence of
social decoration, to which he is a stranger in his own country. Let us
hope it may awake a moral sense within him.’
If that peculiarly transatlantic article, a moral sense--for, if native
statesmen, orators, and pamphleteers, are to be believed, America quite
monopolises the commodity--if that peculiarly transatlantic article be
supposed to include a benevolent love of all mankind, certainly Martin’s
would have borne, just then, a deal of waking. As he strode along
the street, with Mark at his heels, his immoral sense was in active
operation; prompting him to the utterance of some rather sanguinary
remarks, which it was well for his own credit that nobody overheard.
He had so far cooled down, however, that he had begun to laugh at the
recollection of these incidents, when he heard another step behind him,
and turning round encountered his friend Bevan, quite out of breath.
He drew his arm through Martin’s, and entreating him to walk slowly, was
silent for some minutes. At length he said:
‘I hope you exonerate me in another sense?’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Martin.
‘I hope you acquit me of intending or foreseeing the termination of our
visit. But I scarcely need ask you that.’
‘Scarcely indeed,’ said Martin. ‘I am the more beholden to you for your
kindness, when I find what kind of stuff the good citizens here are made
of.’
‘I reckon,’ his friend returned, ‘that they are made of pretty much the
same stuff as other folks, if they would but own it, and not set up on
false pretences.’
‘In good faith, that’s true,’ said Martin.
‘I dare say,’ resumed his friend, ‘you might have such a scene as that
in an English comedy, and not detect any gross improbability or anomaly
in the matter of it?’
‘Yes, indeed!’
‘Doubtless it is more ridiculous here than anywhere else,’ said his
companion; ‘but our professions are to blame for that. So far as I
myself am concerned, I may add that I was perfectly aware from the
first that you came over in the steerage, for I had seen the list of
passengers, and knew it did not comprise your name.’
‘I feel more obliged to you than before,’ said Martin.
‘Norris is a very good fellow in his way,’ observed Mr Bevan.
‘Is he?’ said Martin drily.
‘Oh yes! there are a hundred good points about him. If you or anybody
else addressed him as another order of being, and sued to him IN FORMA
PAUPERIS, he would be all kindness and consideration.’
‘I needn’t have travelled three thousand miles from home to find such a
character as THAT,’ said Martin. Neither he nor his friend said anything
more on the way back; each appearing to find sufficient occupation in
his own thoughts.
The tea, or the supper, or whatever else they called the evening meal,
was over when they reached the Major’s; but the cloth, ornamented with
a few additional smears and stains, was still upon the table. At one end
of the board Mrs Jefferson Brick and two other ladies were drinking
tea; out of the ordinary course, evidently, for they were bonneted
and shawled, and seemed to have just come home. By the light of three
flaring candles of different lengths, in as many candlesticks of
different patterns, the room showed to almost as little advantage as in
broad day.
These ladies were all three talking together in a very loud tone when
Martin and his friend entered; but seeing those gentlemen, they stopped
directly, and became excessively genteel, not to say frosty. As they
went on to exchange some few remarks in whispers, the very water in the
teapot might have fallen twenty degrees in temperature beneath their
chilling coldness.
‘Have you been to meeting, Mrs Brick?’ asked Martin’s friend, with
something of a roguish twinkle in his eye.
‘To lecture, sir.’
‘I beg your pardon. I forgot. You don’t go to meeting, I think?’
Here the lady on the right of Mrs Brick gave a pious cough as much as to
say ‘I do!’--as, indeed, she did nearly every night in the week.
‘A good discourse, ma’am?’ asked Mr Bevan, addressing this lady.
The lady raised her eyes in a pious manner, and answered ‘Yes.’ She
had been much comforted by some good, strong, peppery doctrine, which
satisfactorily disposed of all her friends and acquaintances, and quite
settled their business. Her bonnet, too, had far outshone every bonnet
in the congregation; so she was tranquil on all accounts.
‘What course of lectures are you attending now, ma’am?’ said Martin’s
friend, turning again to Mrs Brick.
‘The Philosophy of the Soul, on Wednesdays.’
‘On Mondays?’
‘The Philosophy of Crime.’
‘On Fridays?’
‘The Philosophy of Vegetables.’
‘You have forgotten Thursdays; the Philosophy of Government, my dear,’
observed the third lady.
‘No,’ said Mrs Brick. ‘That’s Tuesdays.’
‘So it is!’ cried the lady. ‘The Philosophy of Matter on Thursdays, of
course.’
‘You see, Mr Chuzzlewit, our ladies are fully employed,’ said Bevan.
‘Indeed you have reason to say so,’ answered Martin. ‘Between these very
grave pursuits abroad, and family duties at home, their time must be
pretty well engrossed.’
Martin stopped here, for he saw that the ladies regarded him with no
very great favour, though what he had done to deserve the disdainful
expression which appeared in their faces he was at a loss to divine. But
on their going upstairs to their bedrooms--which they very soon did--Mr
Bevan informed him that domestic drudgery was far beneath the exalted
range of these Philosophers, and that the chances were a hundred to one
that not one of the three could perform the easiest woman’s work for
herself, or make the simplest article of dress for any of her children.
‘Though whether they might not be better employed with such blunt
instruments as knitting-needles than with these edge-tools,’ he said,
‘is another question; but I can answer for one thing--they don’t often
cut themselves. Devotions and lectures are our balls and concerts. They
go to these places of resort, as an escape from monotony; look at each