The Pickwick Papers
him upstairs without another word.
‘This is the room, is it?’ said the gentleman. ‘You may go.’
The waiter complied, wondering much who the gentleman could be, and what
he wanted; the little old gentleman, waiting till he was out of sight,
tapped at the door.
‘Come in,’ said Arabella.
‘Um, a pretty voice, at any rate,’ murmured the little old gentleman;
‘but that’s nothing.’ As he said this, he opened the door and walked in.
Arabella, who was sitting at work, rose on beholding a stranger--a
little confused--but by no means ungracefully so.
‘Pray don’t rise, ma’am,’ said the unknown, walking in, and closing the
door after him. ‘Mrs. Winkle, I believe?’
Arabella inclined her head.
‘Mrs. Nathaniel Winkle, who married the son of the old man at
Birmingham?’ said the stranger, eyeing Arabella with visible curiosity.
Again Arabella inclined her head, and looked uneasily round, as if
uncertain whether to call for assistance.
‘I surprise you, I see, ma’am,’ said the old gentleman.
‘Rather, I confess,’ replied Arabella, wondering more and more.
‘I’ll take a chair, if you’ll allow me, ma’am,’ said the stranger.
He took one; and drawing a spectacle-case from his pocket, leisurely
pulled out a pair of spectacles, which he adjusted on his nose.
‘You don’t know me, ma’am?’ he said, looking so intently at Arabella
that she began to feel alarmed.
‘No, sir,’ she replied timidly.
‘No,’ said the gentleman, nursing his left leg; ‘I don’t know how you
should. You know my name, though, ma’am.’
‘Do I?’ said Arabella, trembling, though she scarcely knew why. ‘May I
ask what it is?’
‘Presently, ma’am, presently,’ said the stranger, not having yet removed
his eyes from her countenance. ‘You have been recently married, ma’am?’
‘I have,’ replied Arabella, in a scarcely audible tone, laying aside her
work, and becoming greatly agitated as a thought, that had occurred to
her before, struck more forcibly upon her mind.
‘Without having represented to your husband the propriety of first
consulting his father, on whom he is dependent, I think?’ said the
stranger.
Arabella applied her handkerchief to her eyes.
‘Without an endeavour, even, to ascertain, by some indirect appeal, what
were the old man’s sentiments on a point in which he would naturally
feel much interested?’ said the stranger.
‘I cannot deny it, Sir,’ said Arabella.
‘And without having sufficient property of your own to afford your
husband any permanent assistance in exchange for the worldly advantages
which you knew he would have gained if he had married agreeably to his
father’s wishes?’ said the old gentleman. ‘This is what boys and girls
call disinterested affection, till they have boys and girls of their
own, and then they see it in a rougher and very different light!’
Arabella’s tears flowed fast, as she pleaded in extenuation that she was
young and inexperienced; that her attachment had alone induced her to
take the step to which she had resorted; and that she had been deprived
of the counsel and guidance of her parents almost from infancy.
‘It was wrong,’ said the old gentleman in a milder tone, ‘very wrong. It
was romantic, unbusinesslike, foolish.’
‘It was my fault; all my fault, Sir,’ replied poor Arabella, weeping.
‘Nonsense,’ said the old gentleman; ‘it was not your fault that he fell
in love with you, I suppose? Yes it was, though,’ said the old
gentleman, looking rather slily at Arabella. ‘It was your fault. He
couldn’t help it.’
This little compliment, or the little gentleman’s odd way of paying it,
or his altered manner--so much kinder than it was, at first--or all
three together, forced a smile from Arabella in the midst of her tears.
‘Where’s your husband?’ inquired the old gentleman, abruptly; stopping a
smile which was just coming over his own face.
‘I expect him every instant, sir,’ said Arabella. ‘I persuaded him to
take a walk this morning. He is very low and wretched at not having
heard from his father.’
‘Low, is he?’ said the old gentlemen. ‘Serve him right!’
‘He feels it on my account, I am afraid,’ said Arabella; ‘and indeed,
Sir, I feel it deeply on his. I have been the sole means of bringing him
to his present condition.’
‘Don’t mind it on his account, my dear,’ said the old gentleman. ‘It
serves him right. I am glad of it--actually glad of it, as far as he is
concerned.’
The words were scarcely out of the old gentleman’s lips, when footsteps
were heard ascending the stairs, which he and Arabella seemed both to
recognise at the same moment. The little gentleman turned pale; and,
making a strong effort to appear composed, stood up, as Mr. Winkle
entered the room.
‘Father!’ cried Mr. Winkle, recoiling in amazement.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied the little old gentleman. ‘Well, Sir, what have you
got to say to me?’
Mr. Winkle remained silent.
‘You are ashamed of yourself, I hope, Sir?’ said the old gentleman.
Still Mr. Winkle said nothing.
‘Are you ashamed of yourself, Sir, or are you not?’ inquired the old
gentleman.
‘No, Sir,’ replied Mr. Winkle, drawing Arabella’s arm through his. ‘I am
not ashamed of myself, or of my wife either.’
‘Upon my word!’ cried the old gentleman ironically.
‘I am very sorry to have done anything which has lessened your affection
for me, Sir,’ said Mr. Winkle; ‘but I will say, at the same time, that I
have no reason to be ashamed of having this lady for my wife, nor you of
having her for a daughter.’
‘Give me your hand, Nat,’ said the old gentleman, in an altered voice.
‘Kiss me, my love. You are a very charming little daughter-in-law after
all!’
In a few minutes’ time Mr. Winkle went in search of Mr. Pickwick, and
returning with that gentleman, presented him to his father, whereupon
they shook hands for five minutes incessantly.
‘Mr. Pickwick, I thank you most heartily for all your kindness to my
son,’ said old Mr. Winkle, in a bluff, straightforward way. ‘I am a
hasty fellow, and when I saw you last, I was vexed and taken by
surprise. I have judged for myself now, and am more than satisfied.
Shall I make any more apologies, Mr. Pickwick?’
‘Not one,’ replied that gentleman. ‘You have done the only thing wanting
to complete my happiness.’
Hereupon there was another shaking of hands for five minutes longer,
accompanied by a great number of complimentary speeches, which, besides
being complimentary, had the additional and very novel recommendation of
being sincere.
Sam had dutifully seen his father to the Belle Sauvage, when, on
returning, he encountered the fat boy in the court, who had been charged
with the delivery of a note from Emily Wardle.
‘I say,’ said Joe, who was unusually loquacious, ‘what a pretty girl
Mary is, isn’t she? I am _so_ fond of her, I am!’
Mr. Weller made no verbal remark in reply; but eyeing the fat boy for a
moment, quite transfixed at his presumption, led him by the collar to
the corner, and dismissed him with a harmless but ceremonious kick.
After which, he walked home, whistling.
CHAPTER LVII. IN WHICH THE PICKWICK CLUB IS FINALLY DISSOLVED, AND
EVERYTHING CONCLUDED TO THE SATISFACTION OF EVERYBODY
For a whole week after the happy arrival of Mr. Winkle from Birmingham,
Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller were from home all day long, only returning
just in time for dinner, and then wearing an air of mystery and
importance quite foreign to their natures. It was evident that very
grave and eventful proceedings were on foot; but various surmises were
afloat, respecting their precise character. Some (among whom was Mr.
Tupman) were disposed to think that Mr. Pickwick contemplated a
matrimonial alliance; but this idea the ladies most strenuously
repudiated. Others rather inclined to the belief that he had projected
some distant tour, and was at present occupied in effecting the
preliminary arrangements; but this again was stoutly denied by Sam
himself, who had unequivocally stated, when cross-examined by Mary, that
no new journeys were to be undertaken. At length, when the brains of the
whole party had been racked for six long days, by unavailing
speculation, it was unanimously resolved that Mr. Pickwick should be
called upon to explain his conduct, and to state distinctly why he had
thus absented himself from the society of his admiring friends.
With this view, Mr. Wardle invited the full circle to dinner at the
Adelphi; and the decanters having been thrice sent round, opened the
business.
‘We are all anxious to know,’ said the old gentleman, ‘what we have done
to offend you, and to induce you to desert us and devote yourself to
these solitary walks.’
‘Are you?’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘It is singular enough that I had intended
to volunteer a full explanation this very day; so, if you will give me
another glass of wine, I will satisfy your curiosity.’
The decanters passed from hand to hand with unwonted briskness, and Mr.
Pickwick, looking round on the faces of his friends with a cheerful
smile, proceeded--
‘All the changes that have taken place among us,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I
mean the marriage that _has _taken place, and the marriage that WILL
take place, with the changes they involve, rendered it necessary for me
to think, soberly and at once, upon my future plans. I determined on
retiring to some quiet, pretty neighbourhood in the vicinity of London;
I saw a house which exactly suited my fancy; I have taken it and
furnished it. It is fully prepared for my reception, and I intend
entering upon it at once, trusting that I may yet live to spend many
quiet years in peaceful retirement, cheered through life by the society
of my friends, and followed in death by their affectionate remembrance.’
Here Mr. Pickwick paused, and a low murmur ran round the table.
‘The house I have taken,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘is at Dulwich. It has a
large garden, and is situated in one of the most pleasant spots near
London. It has been fitted up with every attention to substantial
comfort; perhaps to a little elegance besides; but of that you shall
judge for yourselves. Sam accompanies me there. I have engaged, on
Perker’s representation, a housekeeper--a very old one--and such other
servants as she thinks I shall require. I propose to consecrate this
little retreat, by having a ceremony in which I take a great interest,
performed there. I wish, if my friend Wardle entertains no objection,
that his daughter should be married from my new house, on the day I take
possession of it. The happiness of young people,’ said Mr. Pickwick, a
little moved, ‘has ever been the chief pleasure of my life. It will warm
my heart to witness the happiness of those friends who are dearest to
me, beneath my own roof.’
Mr. Pickwick paused again: Emily and Arabella sobbed audibly.
‘I have communicated, both personally and by letter, with the club,’
resumed Mr. Pickwick, ‘acquainting them with my intention. During our
long absence, it has suffered much from internal dissentions; and the
withdrawal of my name, coupled with this and other circumstances, has
occasioned its dissolution. The Pickwick Club exists no longer.
‘I shall never regret,’ said Mr. Pickwick in a low voice, ‘I shall never
regret having devoted the greater part of two years to mixing with
different varieties and shades of human character, frivolous as my
pursuit of novelty may have appeared to many. Nearly the whole of my
previous life having been devoted to business and the pursuit of wealth,
numerous scenes of which I had no previous conception have dawned upon
me--I hope to the enlargement of my mind, and the improvement of my
understanding. If I have done but little good, I trust I have done less
harm, and that none of my adventures will be other than a source of
amusing and pleasant recollection to me in the decline of life. God
bless you all!’