Martin Chuzzlewit
altered? Why was Miss Pecksniff so clamorous to have it understood that
she was neither blind nor foolish, and she wouldn’t bear it? It is not
possible that Mr Pecksniff had any thoughts of marrying again; or that
his daughter, with the sharp eye of a single woman, fathomed his design!
Let us inquire into this.
Mr Pecksniff, as a man without reproach, from whom the breath of slander
passed like common breath from any other polished surface, could afford
to do what common men could not. He knew the purity of his own motives;
and when he had a motive worked at it as only a very good man (or a very
bad one) can. Did he set before himself any strong and palpable motives
for taking a second wife? Yes; and not one or two of them, but a
combination of very many.
Old Martin Chuzzlewit had gradually undergone an important change. Even
upon the night when he made such an ill-timed arrival at Mr Pecksniff’s
house, he was comparatively subdued and easy to deal with. This Mr
Pecksniff attributed, at the time, to the effect his brother’s death had
had upon him. But from that hour his character seemed to have modified
by regular degrees, and to have softened down into a dull indifference
for almost every one but Mr Pecksniff. His looks were much the same as
ever, but his mind was singularly altered. It was not that this or that
passion stood out in brighter or in dimmer hues; but that the colour of
the whole man was faded. As one trait disappeared, no other trait sprung
up to take its place. His senses dwindled too. He was less keen of
sight; was deaf sometimes; took little notice of what passed before him;
and would be profoundly taciturn for days together. The process of this
alteration was so easy that almost as soon as it began to be observed
it was complete. But Mr Pecksniff saw it first, and having Anthony
Chuzzlewit fresh in his recollection, saw in his brother Martin the same
process of decay.
To a gentleman of Mr Pecksniff’s tenderness, this was a very mournful
sight. He could not but foresee the probability of his respected
relative being made the victim of designing persons, and of his riches
falling into worthless hands. It gave him so much pain that he resolved
to secure the property to himself; to keep bad testamentary suitors at a
distance; to wall up the old gentleman, as it were, for his own use. By
little and little, therefore, he began to try whether Mr Chuzzlewit gave
any promise of becoming an instrument in his hands, and finding that he
did, and indeed that he was very supple in his plastic fingers, he made
it the business of his life--kind soul!--to establish an ascendancy over
him; and every little test he durst apply meeting with a success beyond
his hopes, he began to think he heard old Martin’s cash already chinking
in his own unworldly pockets.
But when Mr Pecksniff pondered on this subject (as, in his zealous
way, he often did), and thought with an uplifted heart of the train of
circumstances which had delivered the old gentleman into his hands for
the confusion of evil-doers and the triumph of a righteous nature, he
always felt that Mary Graham was his stumbling-block. Let the old man
say what he would, Mr Pecksniff knew he had a strong affection for her.
He knew that he showed it in a thousand little ways; that he liked to
have her near him, and was never quite at ease when she was absent
long. That he had ever really sworn to leave her nothing in his will, Mr
Pecksniff greatly doubted. That even if he had, there were many ways by
which he could evade the oath and satisfy his conscience, Mr Pecksniff
knew. That her unprotected state was no light burden on the old man’s
mind, he also knew, for Mr Chuzzlewit had plainly told him so. ‘Then,’
said Mr Pecksniff ‘what if I married her! What,’ repeated Mr Pecksniff,
sticking up his hair and glancing at his bust by Spoker; ‘what
if, making sure of his approval first--he is nearly imbecile, poor
gentleman--I married her!’
Mr Pecksniff had a lively sense of the Beautiful; especially in women.
His manner towards the sex was remarkable for its insinuating character.
It is recorded of him in another part of these pages, that he embraced
Mrs Todgers on the smallest provocation; and it was a way he had; it was
a part of the gentle placidity of his disposition. Before any thought of
matrimony was in his mind, he had bestowed on Mary many little tokens of
his spiritual admiration. They had been indignantly received, but that
was nothing. True, as the idea expanded within him, these had become
too ardent to escape the piercing eye of Cherry, who read his scheme at
once; but he had always felt the power of Mary’s charms. So Interest and
Inclination made a pair, and drew the curricle of Mr Pecksniff’s plan.
As to any thought of revenging himself on young Martin for his insolent
expressions when they parted, and of shutting him out still more
effectually from any hope of reconciliation with his grandfather, Mr
Pecksniff was much too meek and forgiving to be suspected of harbouring
it. As to being refused by Mary, Mr Pecksniff was quite satisfied that
in her position she could never hold out if he and Mr Chuzzlewit were
both against her. As to consulting the wishes of her heart in such a
case, it formed no part of Mr Pecksniff’s moral code; for he knew what a
good man he was, and what a blessing he must be to anybody. His daughter
having broken the ice, and the murder being out between them, Mr
Pecksniff had now only to pursue his design as cleverly as he could, and
by the craftiest approaches.
‘Well, my good sir,’ said Mr Pecksniff, meeting old Martin in the
garden, for it was his habit to walk in and out by that way, as the
fancy took him; ‘and how is my dear friend this delicious morning?’
‘Do you mean me?’ asked the old man.
‘Ah!’ said Mr Pecksniff, ‘one of his deaf days, I see. Could I mean any
one else, my dear sir?’
‘You might have meant Mary,’ said the old man.
‘Indeed I might. Quite true. I might speak of her as a dear, dear
friend, I hope?’ observed Mr Pecksniff.
‘I hope so,’ returned old Martin. ‘I think she deserves it.’
‘Think!’ cried Pecksniff, ‘think, Mr Chuzzlewit!’
‘You are speaking, I know,’ returned Martin, ‘but I don’t catch what you
say. Speak up!’
‘He’s getting deafer than a flint,’ said Pecksniff. ‘I was saying, my
dear sir, that I am afraid I must make up my mind to part with Cherry.’
‘What has SHE been doing?’ asked the old man.
‘He puts the most ridiculous questions I ever heard!’ muttered Mr
Pecksniff. ‘He’s a child to-day.’ After which he added, in a mild roar:
‘She hasn’t been doing anything, my dear friend.’
‘What are you going to part with her for?’ demanded Martin.
‘She hasn’t her health by any means,’ said Mr Pecksniff. ‘She misses
her sister, my dear sir; they doted on each other from the cradle. And I
think of giving her a run in London for a change. A good long run, sir,
if I find she likes it.’
‘Quite right,’ cried Martin. ‘It’s judicious.’
‘I am glad to hear you say so. I hope you mean to bear me company in
this dull part, while she’s away?’ said Mr Pecksniff.
‘I have no intention of removing from it,’ was Martin’s answer.
‘Then why,’ said Mr Pecksniff, taking the old man’s arm in his, and
walking slowly on; ‘Why, my good sir, can’t you come and stay with me?
I am sure I could surround you with more comforts--lowly as is my
Cot--than you can obtain at a village house of entertainment. And pardon
me, Mr Chuzzlewit, pardon me if I say that such a place as the Dragon,
however well-conducted (and, as far as I know, Mrs Lupin is one of the
worthiest creatures in this county), is hardly a home for Miss Graham.’
Martin mused a moment; and then said, as he shook him by the hand:
‘No. You’re quite right; it is not.’
‘The very sight of skittles,’ Mr Pecksniff eloquently pursued, ‘is far
from being congenial to a delicate mind.’
‘It’s an amusement of the vulgar,’ said old Martin, ‘certainly.’
‘Of the very vulgar,’ Mr Pecksniff answered. ‘Then why not bring Miss
Graham here, sir? Here is the house. Here am I alone in it, for Thomas
Pinch I do not count as any one. Our lovely friend shall occupy my
daughter’s chamber; you shall choose your own; we shall not quarrel, I
hope!’
‘We are not likely to do that,’ said Martin.
Mr Pecksniff pressed his hand. ‘We understand each other, my dear sir,
I see!--I can wind him,’ he thought, with exultation, ‘round my little
finger.’
‘You leave the recompense to me?’ said the old man, after a minute’s
silence.
‘Oh! do not speak of recompense!’ cried Pecksniff.
‘I say,’ repeated Martin, with a glimmer of his old obstinacy, ‘you
leave the recompense to me. Do you?’
‘Since you desire it, my good sir.’
‘I always desire it,’ said the old man. ‘You know I always desire it. I
wish to pay as I go, even when I buy of you. Not that I do not leave a
balance to be settled one day, Pecksniff.’
The architect was too much overcome to speak. He tried to drop a tear
upon his patron’s hand, but couldn’t find one in his dry distillery.
‘May that day be very distant!’ was his pious exclamation. ‘Ah, sir! If
I could say how deep an interest I have in you and yours! I allude to
our beautiful young friend.’
‘True,’ he answered. ‘True. She need have some one interested in her.
I did her wrong to train her as I did. Orphan though she was, she would
have found some one to protect her whom she might have loved again. When
she was a child, I pleased myself with the thought that in gratifying my
whim of placing her between me and false-hearted knaves, I had done
her a kindness. Now she is a woman, I have no such comfort. She has no
protector but herself. I have put her at such odds with the world, that
any dog may bark or fawn upon her at his pleasure. Indeed she stands in
need of delicate consideration. Yes; indeed she does!’
‘If her position could be altered and defined, sir?’ Mr Pecksniff
hinted.
‘How can that be done? Should I make a seamstress of her, or a
governess?’
‘Heaven forbid!’ said Mr Pecksniff. ‘My dear sir, there are other ways.
There are indeed. But I am much excited and embarrassed at present, and
would rather not pursue the subject. I scarcely know what I mean. Permit
me to resume it at another time.’
‘You are not unwell?’ asked Martin anxiously.
‘No, no!’ cried Pecksniff. ‘No. Permit me to resume it at another time.
I’ll walk a little. Bless you!’
Old Martin blessed him in return, and squeezed his hand. As he turned
away, and slowly walked towards the house, Mr Pecksniff stood gazing
after him; being pretty well recovered from his late emotion, which, in
any other man, one might have thought had been assumed as a machinery
for feeling Martin’s pulse. The change in the old man found such a
slight expression in his figure, that Mr Pecksniff, looking after him,
could not help saying to himself:
‘And I can wind him round my little finger! Only think!’
Old Martin happening to turn his head, saluted him affectionately. Mr
Pecksniff returned the gesture.
‘Why, the time was,’ said Mr Pecksniff; ‘and not long ago, when he
wouldn’t look at me! How soothing is this change. Such is the delicate
texture of the human heart; so complicated is the process of its being
softened! Externally he looks the same, and I can wind him round my
little finger. Only think!’
In sober truth, there did appear to be nothing on which Mr Pecksniff
might not have ventured with Martin Chuzzlewit; for whatever Mr
Pecksniff said or did was right, and whatever he advised was done.
Martin had escaped so many snares from needy fortune-hunters, and had
withered in the shell of his suspicion and distrust for so many years,
but to become the good man’s tool and plaything. With the happiness of