Town and Todger's
SURELY THERE NEVER WAS, in any other borough, city, or hamlet in the world,
such a singular sort of a place as Todgers's. And surely London, to judge from
that part of it which hemmed Todgers's round and hustled it, and crushed it, and
stuck its brick-and-mortar elbows into it, and kept the air from it, and stood
perpetually between it and the light, was worthy of Todgers's, and qualified to
be on terms of close relationship and alliance with hundreds and thousands of
the odd family to which Todgers's belonged.
You couldn't walk about Todgers's neighbourhood, as you could in any other
neighbourhood. You groped your way for an hour through lanes and bye-ways, and
court-yards, and passages; and you never once emerged upon anything that might
be reasonably called a street. A kind of resigned distraction came over the
stranger as he trod those devious mazes, and, giving himself up for lost, went
in and out and round about and quietly turned back again when he came to a dead
wall or was stopped by an iron railing, and felt that the means of escape might
possibly present themselves in their own good time, but that to anticipate them
was hopeless. Instances were known of people who, being asked to dine at
Todgers's, had travelled round and round for a weary time, with its very
chimney-pots in view; and finding it, at last, impossible of attainment, had
gone home again with a gentle melancholy on their spirits, tranquil and
uncomplaining. Nobody had ever found Todgers's on a verbal direction, though
given within a few minutes' walk of it. Cautious emigrants from Scotland or the
North of England had been known to reach it safely, by impressing a charity-boy,
town-bred, and bringing him along with them; or by clinging tenaciously to the
postman; but these were rare exceptions, and only went to prove the rule that
Todgers's was in a labyrinth, whereof the mystery was known but to a chosen few.
Several fruit-brokers had their marts near Todgers's; and one of the first
impressions wrought upon the stranger's senses was of oranges -- of damaged
oranges, with blue and green bruises on them, festering in boxes, or mouldering
away in cellars. All day long, a stream of porters from the wharves beside the
river, each bearing on his back a bursting chest of oranges, poured slowly
through the narrow passages; while underneath the archway by the public-house,
the knots of those who rested and regaled within, were piled from morning until
night. Strange solitary pumps were found near Todgers's hiding themselves for
the most part in blind alleys, and keeping company with fire-ladders. There were
churches also by dozens, with many a ghostly little churchyard, all overgrown
with such straggling vegetation as springs up spontaneously from damp, and
graves, and rubbish. In some of these dingy resting-places which bore much the
same analogy to green churchyards, as the pots of earth for mignonette and
wall-flower in the windows overlooking them did to rustic gardens, there were
trees; tall trees; still putting forth their leaves in each succeeding year,
with such a languishing remembrance of their kind (so one might fancy, looking
on their sickly boughs) as birds in cages have of theirs. Here, paralysed old
watchmen guarded the bodies of the dead at night, year after year, until at last
they joined that solemn brotherhood; and, saving that they slept below the
ground a sounder sleep than even they had ever known above it, and were shut up
in another kind of box, their condition can hardly be said to have undergone any
material change when they in turn were watched themselves.
Among the narrow thoroughfares at hand, there lingered, here and there, an
ancient doorway of carved oak, from which, of old, the sounds of revelry and
feasting often came; but now these mansions, only used for storehouses, were
dark and dull, and, being filled with wool, and cotton, and the like -- such
heavy merchandise as stifles sound and stops the throat of echo -- had an air of
palpable deadness about them which, added to their silence and desertion, made
them very grim. In like manner, there were gloomy courtyards in these parts,
into which few but belated wayfarers ever strayed, and where vast bags and packs
of goods, upward or downward bound, were for ever dangling between heaven and
earth from lofty cranes There were more trucks near Todgers's than you would
suppose whole city could ever need; not active trucks, but a vagabond race, for
ever lounging in the narrow lanes before their masters' doors and stopping up
the pass; so that when a stray hackney-coach or lumbering waggon came that way,
they were the cause of such an uproar as enlivened the whole neighbourhood, and
made the bells in the next churchtower vibrate again. In the throats and maws of
dark no-thoroughfares near Todgers's, individual wine-merchants and wholesale
dealers in grocery-ware had perfect little towns of their own; and, deep among
the foundations of these buildings, the ground was undermined and burrowed out
into stables, where cart-horses, troubled by rats, might be heard on a quiet
Sunday rattling their halters, as disturbed spirits in tales of haunted houses
are said to clank their chains.
To tell of half the queer old taverns that had a drowsy and secret existence
near Todgers's, would fill a goodly book; while a second volume no less
capacious might be devoted to an account of the quaint old guests who frequented
their dimly lighted parlours. These were, in general, ancient inhabitants of
that region: born, and bred there from boyhood. who had long since become wheezy
and asthmatical, and short of breath, except in the article of story-telling: in
which respect they were still marvellously long-winded. These gentry were much
opposed to steam and all new-fangled ways, and held ballooning to be sinful, and
deplored the degeneracy of the times; which that particular member of each
little club who kept the keys of the nearest church professionally, always
attributed to the prevalence of dissent and irreligion though the major part of
the company inclined to the belief that virtue went out with hair-powder, and
that Old England's greatness had decayed amain with barbers.
As to Todgers's itself -- speaking of it only as a house in that
neighbourhood, and making no reference to its merits as a commercial boarding
establishment -- it was worthy to stand where it did. There was one
staircase-window in it: at the side of the house, on the ground floor: which
tradition said had not been opened for a hundred years at least, and which,
abutting on an always dirty lane, was so begrimed and coated with a century's
mud, that no one pane of glass could possibly fall out, though all were cracked
and broken twenty times. But the grand mystery of Todgers's was the cellarage,
approachable only by a little back door and a rusty grating: which cellarage
within the memory of man had had no connexion with the house, but had always
been the freehold property of somebody else, and was reported to be full of
wealth: though in what shape -- whether in silver, brass or gold, or butts of
wine, or casks of gun-powder -- was matter of profound uncertainty and supreme
indifference to Todgers's and all its inmates.
The top of the house was worthy of notice. There was a sort of terrace on the
roof, with posts and fragments of rotten lines, once intended to dry clothes
upon; and there were two or three teachests out there, full of earth, with
forgotten plants in them, like old walking-sticks. Whoever climbed to this
observatory, was stunned at first from having knocked his head against the
little door in coming out; and after that, was for the moment choked from having
looked perforce, straight down the kitchen chimney; but these two stages over
there were things to gaze at from the top of Todgers's, well worth your seeing
too. For first and foremost, if the day were bright, you observed upon the
house-tops, stretching far away, a long dark path: the shadow of the Monument:
and turning round, the tall original was close beside you, with every hair erect
upon his golden head, as if the doings of the city frightened him. Then there
were steeples, towers, belfries, shining vanes, and masts of ships: a very
forest. Gables, housetops, garret-windows, wilderness upon wilderness. Smoke and
noise enough for all the world at once.
After the first glance, there were slight features in the midst of this crowd
of objects, which sprung out from the mass without any reason, as it were, and
took hold of the attention whether the spectator would or no. Thus, the
revolving chimney-pots on one great stack of buildings seemed to be turning
gravely to each other every now and then, and whispering the result of their
separate observation of what was going on below. Others, of a crook-backed
shape, appeared to be maliciously holding themselves askew, that they might shut
the prospect out and baffle Todgers's. The man who was mending a pen at an upper
window over the way, became of paramount importance in the scene, and made a
blank in it, ridiculously disproportionate in its extent, when he retired. The
gambols of a piece of cloth upon the dyer's pole had far more interest for the
moment than all the changing motion of the crowd. Yet even while the looker-on
felt angry with himself for this, and wondered how it was, the tumult swelled
into a roar; the hosts of objects seemed to thicken and expand a hundredfold,
and after gazing round him, quite scared, he turned into Todgers's again, much
more rapidly than he came out; and ten to one he told M. Todgers afterwards that
if he hadn't done so, he would certainly have come into the street by the
shortest cut; that is to say, head-foremost.
So said the two Miss Pecksniffs, when they retired with Mrs. Todgers from
this place of espial, leaving the youthful porter to close the door and follow
them down-stairs: who being of a playful temperament, and contemplating with a
delight peculiar to his sex and time of life, any chance of dashing himself into
small fragments, lingered behind to walk upon the parapet.
It being the second day of their stay in London, the Miss Pecksniffs and Mrs.
Todgers were by this time highly confidential, insomuch that the last-named lady
had already communicated the particulars of three early disappointments of a
tender nature; and had furthermore possessed her young friends with a general
summary of the life, conduct, and character of Mr. Todgers. Who, it seemed, had
cut his matrimonial career rather short, by unlawfully running away from his
happiness, and establishing himself in foreign countries as a bachelor.
`Your pa was once a little particular in his attentions, my dears' said Mrs.
Todgers: `but to be your ma was too much happiness denied me. You'd hardly know
who this was done for, perhaps?'
She called their attention to an oval miniature, like a little blister, which
was tacked up over the kettle-holder, and in which there was a dreamy shadowing
forth of her own visage.
`It's a speaking likeness!' cried the two Miss Pecksniffs.
`It was considered so once,' said Mrs. Todgers, warming herself in a
gentlemanly manner at the fire: `but I hardly thought you would have known it,
my loves.'
They would have known it anywhere. If they could have met with it in the
street, or seen it in a shop window, they would have cried: `Good gracious! Mrs.
Todgers!'
`Presiding over an establishment like this, makes sad havoc with the
features, my dear Miss Pecksniffs,' said Mrs. Todgers. `The gravy alone, is
enough to add twenty years to one's age, I do assure you.'
`Lor!' cried the two Miss Pecksniffs.
`The anxiety of that one item, my dears,' said Mrs. Todgers, `keeps the mind
continually upon the stretch. There is no such passion in human nature, as the
passion for gravy among commercial gentlemen. It's nothing to say a joint won't
yield -- a whole animal wouldn't yield -- the amount of gravy they expect each
day at dinner. And what I have undergone in consequence,' cried Mrs. Todgers,
raising her eyes and shaking her head, `no one would believe!'
`Just like Mr. Pinch, Merry!' said Charity. `We have always noticed it in
him, you remember?'
`Yes, my dear,' giggled Merry, `but we have never given it him you know.'
`You, my dears, having to deal with your pa's pupils who can't help
themselves, are able to take your own way,' said Mrs. Todgers `but in a
commercial establishment, where any gentleman may say any Saturday evening,
"Mrs. Todgers, this day week we part, in consequence of the cheese," it is not
so easy to preserve a pleasant understanding. Your pa was kind enough,' added
the good lady, `to invite me to take a ride with you to-day; and I think he
mentioned that you were going to call upon Miss Pinch. Any relation to the
gentleman you were speaking of just now, Miss Pecksniff?'
`For goodness sake, Mrs. Todgers,' interposed the lively Merry, `don't call
him a gentleman. My dear Cherry, Pinch a gentleman! The idea!'
`What a wicked girl you are!' cried Mrs. Todgers, embracing her with great
affection. `You are quite a quiz, I do declare! My dear Miss Pecksniff, what a
happiness your sister's spirits must be to your pa and self!'
`He's the most hideous, goggle-eyed creature, Mrs. Todgers, in existence,'
resumed Merry: `quite an ogre. The ugliest, awkwardest frightfullest being, you
can imagine. This is his sister, so I leave you to suppose what she is. I shall
be obliged to laugh outright, I know I shall!' cried the charming girl, `I never
shall be able to keep my countenance. The notion of a Miss Pinch presuming to
exist at all is sufficient to kill one, but to see her -- oh my stars!'
Mrs. Todgers laughed immensely at the dear love's humour, and declared she
was quite afraid of her, that she was. She was so very severe.
`Who is severe?' cried a voice at the door. `There is no such thing as
severity in our family, I hope!' And then Mr. Pecksniff peeped smilingly into
the room, and said, `May I come in, Mrs. Todgers?'
Mrs. Todgers almost screamed, for the little door of communication between
that room and the inner one being wide open, there was a full disclosure of the
sofa bedstead in all its monstrous impropriety. But she had the presence of mind
to close this portal in the twinkling of an eye; and having done so, said,
though not without confusion, `Oh yes, Mr. Pecksniff, you can come in, if you
please.'
`How are we to-day,' said Mr. Pecksniff, jocosely. `and what are our plans?
Are we ready to go and see Tom Pinch's sister? Ha, ha, ha! Poor Thomas Pinch!'
`Are we ready,' returned Mrs. Todgers, nodding her head with mysterious
intelligence, `to send a favourable reply to Mr. Jinkins's round-robin? That's
the first question, Mr. Pecksniff.'
`Why Mr. Jinkins's robin, my dear madam?' asked Mr Pecksniff, putting one arm
round Mercy, and the other round Mrs. Todgers: whom he seemed, in the
abstraction of the moment, to mistake for Charity. `Why Mr. Jinkins's?'
`Because he began to get it up, and indeed always takes the lead in the
house,' said Mrs. Todgers, playfully. `That's why, sir.'
`Jinkins is a man of superior talents,' observed Mr. Pecksniff. `I have
conceived a great regard for Jinkins. I take Jinkins's desire to pay polite
attention to my daughters, as an additional proof of the friendly feeling of
Jinkins, Mrs. Todgers.'
`Well now,' returned that lady, `having said so much, you must say the rest,
Mr. Pecksniff: so tell the dear young ladies all about it.'
With these words, she gently eluded Mr. Pecksniff's grasp, and took Miss
Charity into her own embrace; though whether she was impelled to this proceeding
solely by the irrepressible affection she had conceived for that young lady, or
whether it had any reference to a lowering, not to say distinctly spiteful
expression which had been visible in her face for some moments, has never been
exactly ascertained. Be this as it may, Mr. Pecksniff went on to inform his
daughters of the purport and history of the round-robin aforesaid, which was in
brief, that the commercial gentlemen who helped to make up the sum and substance
of that noun of multitude or signifying many, called Todgers's, desired the
honour of their presence at the general table, so long as they remained in the
house, and besought that they would grace the board at dinner-time next day, the
same being Sunday. He further said, that Mrs. Todgers being a consenting party
to this invitation, he was willing, for his part, to accept it; and so left them
that he might write his gracious answer, the while they armed themselves with
their best bonnets for the utter defeat and overthrow of Miss Pinch.
Tom Pinch's sister was governess in a family, a lofty family; perhaps the
wealthiest brass and copper founders' family known to mankind. They lived at
Camberwell; in a house so big and fierce, that its mere outside, like the
outside of a giant's castle, struck terror into vulgar minds and made bold
persons quail. There was a great front gate; with a great bell, whose handle was
in itself a note of admiration; and a great lodge; which being close to the
house, rather spoilt the look-out certainly but made the look-in tremendous. At
this entry, a great porter kept constant watch and ward; and when he gave the
visitor high leave to pass, he rang a second great bell, responsive to whose
note a great footman appeared in due time at the great halldoor, with such great
tags upon his liveried shoulder that he was perpetually entangling and hooking
himself among the chairs and tables, and led a life of torment which could
scarcely have been surpassed, if he had been a blue-bottle in a world of
cobwebs.
To this mansion Mr. Pecksniff, accompanied by his daughters and Mrs. Todgers,
drove gallantly in a one-horse fly. The foregoing ceremonies having been all
performed, they were ushered into the house; and so, by degrees, they got at
last into a small room with books in it, where Mr. Pinch's sister was at that
moment instructing her eldest pupil: to wit, a premature little woman of
thirteen years old, who had already arrived at such a pitch of whalebone and
education that she had nothing girlish about her: which was a source of great
rejoicing to all her relations and friends.
`Visitors for Miss Pinch!' said the footman. He must have been an ingenious
young man, for he said it very cleverly; with a nice discrimination between the
cold respect with which he would have announced visitors to the family, and the
warm personal interest with which he would have announced visitors to the cook.
`Visitors for Miss Pinch!'
Miss Pinch rose hastily; with such tokens of agitation as plainly declared
that her list of callers was not numerous. At the same time, the little pupil
became alarmingly upright, and prepared herself to take mental notes of all that
might be said and done. For the lady of the establishment was curious in the
natural history and habits of the animal called Governess, and encouraged her
daughters to report thereon whenever occasion served; which was, in reference to
all parties concerned, very laudable, improving, and pleasant.
It is a melancholy fact; but it must be related, that Mr. Pinch's sister was
not at all ugly. On the contrary, she had a good face; a very mild and
prepossessing face; and a pretty little figure -- slight and short, but
remarkable for its neatness. There was something of her brother, much of him
indeed, in a certain gentleness of manner, and in her look of timid
trustfulness; but she was so far from being a fright, or a dowdy, or a horror,
or anything else, predicted by the two Miss Pecksniffs, that those young ladies
naturally regarded her with great indignation, feeling that this was by no means
what they had come to see.
Miss Mercy, as having the larger share of gaiety, bore up the best against
this disappointment, and carried it off, in outward show at least, with a
titter; but her sister, not caring to hide her disdain, expressed it pretty
openly in her looks. As to Mrs. Todgers, she leaned on Mr. Pecksniff's arm and
preserved a kind of genteel grimness, suitable to any state of mind, and
involving any shade of opinion.
`Don't be alarmed, Miss Pinch,' said Mr. Pecksniff, taking her hand
condescendingly in one of his, and patting it with the other. `I have called to
see you, in pursuance of a promise given to your brother, Thomas Pinch. My name
-- compose yourself, Miss Pinch -- is Pecksniff.'
The good man emphasised these words as though he would have said, `You see in
me, young person, the benefactor of your race; the patron of your house; the
preserver of your brother, who is fed with manna daily from my table; and in
right of whom there is a considerable balance in my favour at present standing
in the books beyond the sky. But I have no pride, for I can afford to do without
it!'
The poor girl felt it all as if it had been Gospel Truth. Her brother writing
in the fulness of his simple heart, had often told her so, and how much more! As
Mr. Pecksniff ceased to speak, she hung her head, and dropped a tear upon his
hand.
`Oh very well, Miss Pinch!' thought the sharp pupil, `crying before
strangers, as if you didn't like the situation!'
`Thomas is well,' said Mr. Pecksniff; `and sends his love and this letter. I
cannot say, poor fellow, that he will ever be distinguished in our profession;
but he has the will to do well, which is the next thing to having the power;
and, therefore, we must bear with him. Eh?'
`I know he has the will, sir,' said Tom Pinch's sister, `and I know how
kindly and considerately you cherish it, for which neither he nor I can ever be
grateful enough, as we very often say in writing to each other. The young ladies
too,' she added, glancing gratefully at his two daughters, `I know how much we
owe to them.'
`My dears,' said Mr. Pecksniff, turning to them with a smile;
`Thomas's sister is saying something you will be glad to hear, I think.'
`We can't take any merit to ourselves, papa!' cried Cherry, as they both
apprised Tom Pinch's sister, with a curtsey, that they would feel obliged if she
would keep her distance. `Mr. Pinch's being so well provided for is owing to you
alone, and we can only say how glad we are to hear that he is as grateful as he
ought to be.'
`Oh very well, Miss Pinch!' thought the pupil again. `Got a grateful brother,
living on other people's kindness!'
`It was very kind of you,' said Tom Pinch's sister, with Tom's own simplicity
and Tom's own smile, `to come here; very kind indeed: though how great a
kindness you have done me in gratifying my wish to see you, and to thank you
with my own lips, you, who make so light of benefits conferred, can scarcely
think.'
`Very grateful; very pleasant; very proper,' murmured Mr. Pecksniff.
`It makes me happy too,' said Ruth Pinch, who now that her first surprise was
over, had a chatty, cheerful way with her, and a single-hearted desire to look
upon the best side of everything, which was the very moral and image of Tom;
`very happy to think that you will be able to tell him how more than comfortably
I am situated here, and how unnecessary it is that he should ever waste a regret
on my being cast upon my own resources. Dear me! So long as I heard that he was
happy, and he heard that I was,' said Tom's sister, `we could both bear, without
one impatient or complaining thought, a great deal more than ever we have had to
endure, I am very certain.' And if ever the plain truth were spoken on this
occasionally false earth, Tom's sister spoke it when she said that.
`Ah!' cried Mr. Pecksniff whose eyes had in the meantime wandered to the
pupil; `certainly. And how do you do, my very interesting child?'
`Quite well, I thank you, sir,' replied that frosty innocent.
`A sweet face this, my dears,' said Mr. Pecksniff, turning to his daughters.
`A charming manner!'
Both young ladies had been in ecstasies with the scion of a wealthy house
(through whom the nearest road and shortest cut to her parents might be supposed
to lie) from the first. Mrs. Todgers vowed that anything one quarter so angelic
she had never seen. `She wanted but a pair of wings, a dear,' said that good
woman, `to be a young syrup:' meaning, possibly, young sylph, or seraph.
`If you will give that to your distinguished parents, my amiable little
friend,' said Mr. Pecksniff, producing one of his professional cards, `and will
say that I and my daughters --'
`And Mrs. Todgers, pa,' said Merry.
`And Mrs. Todgers, of London,' added Mr. Pecksniff; `that I, and my
daughters, and Mrs. Todgers, of London, did not intrude upon them, as our object
simply was to take some notice of Miss Pinch, whose brother is a young man in my
employment; but that I could not leave this very chaste mansion, without adding
my humble tribute, as an Architect, to the correctness and elegance of the
owner's taste, and to his just appreciation of that beautiful art to the
cultivation of which I have devoted a life, and to the promotion of whose glory
and advancement I have sacrified a -- a fortune -- I shall be very much obliged
to you.'
`Missis's compliments to Miss Pinch,' said the footman, suddenly appearing,
and speaking in exactly the same key as before, `and begs to know wot my young
lady is a-learning of just now.'
`Oh!' said Mr. Pecksniff, `Here is the young man. He will take the card. With
my compliments, if you please, young man. My dears, we are interrupting the
studies. Let us go.'
Some confusion was occasioned for an instant by Mrs. Todgers's unstrapping
her little flat hand-basket, and hurriedly entrusting the `young man' with one
of her own cards, which, in addition to certain detailed information relative to
the terms of the commercial establishment, bore a foot-note to the effect that
M. T. took that opportunity of thanking those gentlemen who had honoured her
with their favours, and begged they would have the goodness, if satisfied with
the table, to recommend her to their friends. But Mr. Pecksniff, with admirable
presence of mind, recovered this document, and buttoned it up in his own pocket.
Then he said to Miss Pinch: with more condescension and kindness than ever,
for it was desirable the footman should expressly understand that they were not
friends of hers, but patrons:
`Good morning. Good-bye. God bless you! You may depend upon my continued
protection of your brother Thomas. Keep your mind quite at ease, Miss Pinch!'
`Thank you,' said Tom's sister heartily: `a thousand times.'
`Not at all,' he retorted, patting her gently on the head. `Don't mention it.
You will make me angry if you do. My sweet child,' to the pupil, `farewell! That
fairy creature,' said Mr. Pecksniff, looking in his pensive mood hard at the
footman, as if he meant him, `has shed a vision on my path, refulgent in its
nature, and not easily to be obliterated. My dears, are you ready?'
They were not quite ready yet, for they were still caressing the pupil. But
they tore themselves away at length; and sweeping past Miss Pinch with each a
haughty inclination of the head and a curtsey strangled in its birth, flounced
into the passage.
The young man had rather a long job in showing them out; for Mr. Pecksniff's
delight in the tastefulness of the house was such that he could not help often
stopping (particularly when they were near the parlour door) and giving it
expression, in a loud voice and very learned terms. Indeed, he delivered,
between the study and the hall, a familiar exposition of the whole science of
architecture as applied to dwelling-houses, and was yet in the freshness of his
eloquence when they reached the garden.
`If you look,' said Mr. Pecksniff, backing from the steps, with his head on
one side and his eyes half-shut that he might the better take in the proportions
of the exterior: `If you look, my dears, at the cornice which supports the roof,
and observe the airiness of its construction, especially where it sweeps the
southern angle of the building, you will feel with me -- How do you do, sir? I
hope you're well?'
Interrupting himself with these words, he very politely bowed to a
middle-aged gentleman at an upper window, to whom he spoke: not because the
gentleman could hear him (for he certainly could not), but as an appropriate
accompaniment to his salutation.
`I have no doubt, my dears,' said Mr. Pecksniff, feigning to point out other
beauties with his hand, `that this is the proprietor. I should be glad to know
him. It might lead to something. Is he looking this way, Charity?'
`He is opening the window pa!'
`Ha, ha!' cried Mr. Pecksniff softly. `All right! He has found I'm
professional. He heard me inside just now, I have no doubt. Don't look! With
regard to the fluted pillars in the portico, my dears --'
`Hallo!' cried the gentleman.
`Sir, your servant!' said Mr. Pecksniff, taking off his hat. `I am proud to
make your acquaintance.'
`Come off the grass, will you!' roared the gentleman.
`I beg your pardon, sir,' said Mr. Pecksniff, doubtful of his having heard
aright. `Did you --?'
`Come off the grass!' repeated the gentleman, warmly.
`We are unwilling to intrude, sir,' Mr. Pecksniff smilingly began.
`But you are intruding,' returned the other, `unwarrantably intruding.
Trespassing. You see a gravel walk, don't you? W'hat do you think it's meant
for? Open the gate there! Show that party out!'
With that he clapped down the window again, and disappeared.
Mr. Pecksniff put on his hat, and walked with great deliberation and in
profound silence to the fly, gazing at the clouds as he went, with great
interest. After helping his daughters and Mrs. Todgers into that conveyance, he
stood looking at it for some moments, as if he were not quite certain whether it
was a carriage or a temple; but having settled this point in his mind, he got
into his place, spread his hands out on his knees, and smiled upon the three
beholders.
But his daughters, less tranquil-minded, burst into a torrent of indignation.
This came, they said, of cherishing such creatures as the Pinches. This came of
lowering themselves to their level. This came of putting themselves in the
humiliating position of seeming to know such bold, audacious, cunning, dreadful
girls as that. They had expected this. They had predicted it to Mrs. Todgers, as
she (Todgers) could depone, that very morning. To this, they added, that the
owner of the house, supposing them to be Miss Pinch's friends, had acted, in
their opinion, quite correctly, and had done no more than, under such
circumstances, might reasonably have been expected. To that they added (with a
trifling inconsistency), that he was a brute and a bear; and then they merged
into a flood of tears, which swept away all wandering epithets before it.
Perhaps Miss Pinch was scarcely so much to blame in the matter as the Seraph,
who, immediately on the withdrawal of the visitors, had hastened to report them
at head-quarters, with a full account of their having presumptuously charged her
with the delivery of a message afterwards consigned to the footman; which
outrage, taken in conjunction with Mr. Pecksniff's unobtrusive remarks on the
establishment, might possibly have had some share in their dismissal. Poor Miss
Pinch, however, had to bear the brunt of it with both parties: being so severely
taken to task by the Seraph's mother for having such vulgar acquaintances, that
she was fain to retire to her own room in tears, which her natural cheerfulness
and submission, and the delight of having seen Mr. Pecksniff, and having
received a letter from her brother, were at first insufficient to repress.
As to Mr. Pecksniff, he told them in the fly, that a good action was its own
reward; and rather gave them to understand, that if he could have been kicked in
such a cause, he would have liked it all the better. But this was no comfort to
the young ladies, who scolded violently the whole way back, and even exhibited,
more than once, a keen desire to attack the devoted Mrs. Todgers: on whose
personal appearance, but particularly on whose offending card and hand-basket,
they were secretly inclined to lay the blame of half their failure.
Todgers's was in a great bustle that evening, partly owing to some additional
domestic preparations for the morrow, and partly to the excitement always
inseparable in that house from Saturday night, when every gentleman's linen
arrived at a different hour in its own little bundle, with his private account
pinned on the outside. There was always a great clinking of pattens down-stairs,
too, until midnight or so, on Saturdays; together with a frequent gleaming of
mysterious lights in the area; much working at the pump; and a constant jangling
of the iron handle of the pail. Shrill altercations from time to time arose
between Mrs. Todgers and unknown females in remote back kitchens; and sounds
were occasionally heard, indicative of small articles of ironmongery and
hardware being thrown at the boy. It was the custom of that youth on Saturdays,
to roll up his shirt sleeves to his shoulders, and pervade all parts of the
house in an apron of coarse green baize; moreover, he was more strongly tempted
on Saturdays than on other days (it being a busy time), to make excursive bolts
into the neighbouring alleys when he answered the door, and there to play at
leap-frog and other sports with vagrant lads, until pursued and brought back by
the hair of his head or the lobe of his ear; thus he was quite a conspicuous
feature among the peculiar incidents of the last day in the week at Todgers's.
He was especially so on this particular Saturday evening, and honoured the
Miss Pecksniffs with a deal of notice: seldom passing the door of Mrs. Todgers's
private room, where they sat alone before the fire, working by the light of a
solitary candle, without putting in his head and greeting them with some such
compliments as, `There you are agin!' `An't it nice?' and similar humorous
attentions.
`I say,' he whispered, stopping in one of his journeys to and fro, `young
ladies, there's soup to-morrow. She's a-making it now. An't she a-putting in the
water? oh! not at all neither!'
In the course of answering another knock, he thrust in his head again.
`I say! There's fowls to-morrow. Not skinny ones. Oh no!'
Presently he called through the key-hole:
`There's a fish to-morrow. Just come. Don't eat none of him!' And, with this
special warning, vanished again.
By-and-bye, he returned to lay the cloth for supper: it having been arranged
between Mrs. Todgers and the young ladies, that they should partake of an
exclusive veal-cutlet together in the privacy of that apartment. He entertained
them on this occasion by thrusting the lighted candle into his mouth, and
exhibiting his face in a state of transparency; after the performance of which
feat, he went on with his professional duties; brightening every knife as he
laid it on the table, by breathing on the blade and afterwards polishing the
same on the apron already mentioned. When he had completed his preparations, he
grinned at the sisters, and expressed his belief that the approaching collation
would be of `rather a spicy sort.'
`Will it be long, before it's ready, Bailey?' asked Mercy.
`No,' said Bailey, `it is cooked. When I come up, she was dodging among the
tender pieces with a fork, and eating of 'em.'
But he had scarcely achieved the utterance of these words, when he received a
manual compliment on the head, which sent him staggering against the wall; and
Mrs. Todgers, dish in hand, stood indignantly before him.
`Oh you little villain!' said that lady. `Oh you had, false boy!'
`No worse than yerself,' retorted Bailey, guarding his head, on a principle
invented by Mr. Thomas Cribb. `Ah! Come now! Do that again, will yer?'
`He's the most dreadful child,' said Mrs. Todgers, setting down the dish, `I
ever had to deal with. The gentlemen spoil him to that extent, and teach him
such things, that I'm afraid nothing but hanging will ever do him any good.'
`Won't it!' cried Bailey. `Oh! Yes! Wot do you go a-lowerin the table-beer
for then, and destroying my constitooshun?'
`Go down-stairs, you vicious boy,' said Mrs. Todgers, holding the door open.
`Do you hear me? Go along!'
After two or three dexterous feints, he went, and was seen no more that
night, save once, when he brought up some tumblers and hot water, and much
disturbed the two Miss, Pecksniffs by squinting hideously behind the back of the
unconscious Mrs. Todgers. Having done this justice to his wounded feelings, he
retired underground: where, in company with a swarm of black beetles and a
kitchen candle, he employed his faculties in cleaning boots and brushing clothes
until the night was far advanced.
Benjamin was supposed to be the real name of this young retainer but he was
known by a great variety of names. Benjamin, for instance, had been converted
into Uncle Ben, and that again had been corrupted into Uncle; which, by an easy
transition, had again passed into Barnwell, in memory of the celebrated relative
in that degree who was shot by his nephew George, while meditating in his garden
at Camberwell. The gentlemen at Todgers's had a merry habit, too, of bestowing
upon him, for the time being, the name of any notorious malefactor or minister;
and sometimes when current events were flat they even sought the pages of
history for these distinctions; as Mr. Pitt, Young Brownrigg, and the like. At
the period of which we write, he was generally known among the gentlemen as
Bailey junior; a name bestowed upon him in contradistinction, perhaps, to Old
Bailey; and possibly as involving the recollection of an unfortunate lady of the
same name, who perished by her own hand early in life, and has been immortalised
in a ballad.
The usual Sunday dinner-hour at Todgers's was two o'clock; a suitable time,
it was considered for all parties; convenient to Mrs. Todgers, on account of the
bakers; and convenient to the gentlemen with reference to their afternoon
engagements. But on the Sunday which was to introduce the two Miss Pecksniffs to
a full knowledge of Todgers's and its society, the dinner was postponed until
five, in order that everything might be as genteel as the occasion demanded.
When the hour drew nigh, Bailey junior, testifying great excitement, appeared
in a complete suit of cast-off clothes several sizes too large for him, and in
particular, mounted a clean shirt of such extraordinary magnitude, that one of
the gentlemen (remarkable for his ready wit) called him `collars' on the spot.
At about a quarter before five, a deputation, consisting of Mr. Jinkins, and
another gentleman, whose name was Gander, knocked at the door of Mrs. Todgers's
room, and, being formally introduced to the two Miss Pecksniffs by their parent
who was in waiting, besought the honour of conducting them up-stairs.
The drawing-room at Todgers's was out of the common style; so much so indeed,
that you would hardly have taken it to be a drawingroom, unless you were told so
by somebody who was in the secret. It was floor-clothed all over; and the
ceiling, including a great beam in the middle, was papered. Besides the three
little windows, with seats in them, commanding the opposite archway, there was
another window looking point blank, without any compromise at all about it into
Jinkins's bedroom; and high up, all along one side of the wall was a strip of
panes of glass, two-deep, giving light to the staircase. There were the oddest
closets possible, with little casements in them like eight-day clocks, lurking
in the wainscot and taking the shape of the stairs: and the very door itself
(which was painted black) had two great glass eyes in its forehead, with an
inquisitive green pupil in the middle of each.
Hear the gentlemen were all assembled. There was a general cry of `Hear,
hear!' and `Bravo Jink!' when Mr. Jinkins appeared with Charity on his arm:
which became quite rapturous as Mr. Gander followed, escorting Mercy, and Mr.
Pecksniff brought up the rear with Mrs. Todgers.
Then the presentations took place. They included a gentleman of a sporting
turn, who propounded questions on jockey subjects to the editors of Sunday
papers, which were regarded by his friends as rather stiff things to answer; and
they included a gentleman of a theatrical turn, who had once entertained serious
thoughts of `coming out,' but had been kept in by the wickedness of human
nature; and they included a gentleman of a debating turn, who was strong at
speech-making; and a gentleman of a literary turn, who wrote squibs upon the
rest, and knew the weak side of everybody's character but his own. There was a
gentleman of a vocal turn, and a gentleman of a smoking turn, and a gentleman of
a convivial turn; some of the gentlemen had a turn for whist, and a large
proportion of the gentlemen had a strong turn for billiards and betting. They
had all, it may be presumed, a turn for business; being all commercially
employed in one way or other; and had, every one in his own way, a decided turn
for pleasure to boot. Mr. Jinkins was of a fashionable turn; being a regular
frequenter of the Parks on Sundays, and knowing a great many carriages by sight.
He spoke mysteriously, too, of splendid women, and was suspected of having once
committed himself with a Countess. Mr. Gander was of a witty turn being indeed
the gentleman who had originated the sally about `collars;' which sparkling
pleasantry was now retailed from mouth to mouth, under the title of Gander's
Last, and was received in all parts of the room with great applause. Mr. Jinkins
it may be added, was much the oldest of the party; being a fish-salesman's
book-keeper, aged forty. He was the oldest boarder also; and in right of his
double seniority, took the lead in the house, as Mrs. Todgers had already said.
There was considerable delay in the production of dinner, and poor Mrs.
Todgers, being reproached in confidence by Jinkins, slipped in and out, at least
twenty times to see about it; always coming back as though she had no such thing
upon her mind, and hadn't been out at all. But there was no hitch in the
conversation nevertheless; for one gentleman, who travelled in the perfumery
line, exhibited an interesting nick-nack, in the way of a remarkable cake of
shaving soap which he had lately met with in Germany; and the gentleman of a
literary turn repeated (by desire) some sarcastic stanzas he had recently
produced on the freezing of the tank at the back of the house. These amusements,
with the miscellaneous conversation arising out of them, passed the time
splendidly, until dinner was announced by Bailey junior in these terms:
`The wittles is up!'
On which notice they immediately descended to the banquet-hall; some of the
more facetious spirits in the rear taking down gentlemen as if they were ladies,
in imitation of the fortunate possessors of the two Miss Pecksniffs.
Mr. Pecksniff said grace: a short and pious grace, involving a blessing on
the appetites of those present, and committing all persons who had nothing to
eat, to the care of Providence; whose business (so said the grace, in effect) it
clearly was, to look after them. This done, they fell to with less ceremony than
appetite; the table groaning beneath the weight, not only of the delicacies
whereof the Miss Pecksniffs had been previously forewarned, but of boiled beef,
roast veal, bacon, pies and abundance of such heavy vegetables as are favourably
known to housekeepers for their satisfying qualities. Besides which, there were
bottles of stout, bottles of wine, bottles of ale, and divers other strong
drinks, native and foreign.
All this was highly agreeable to the two Miss Pecksniffs, who were in immense
request; sitting one on either hand of Mr. Jinkins at the bottom of the table;
and who were called upon to take wine with some new admirer every minute. They
had hardly ever felt so pleasant, and so full of conversation, in their lives;
Mercy, in particular, was uncommonly brilliant, and said so many good things in
the way of lively repartee that she was looked upon as a prodigy. `In short,' as
that young lady observed, `they felt now, indeed, that they were in London, and
for the first time too.'
Their young friend Bailey sympathised in these feelings to the fullest
extent, and, abating nothing of his patronage, gave them every encouragement in
his power: favouring them, when the general attention was diverted from his
proceedings, with many nods and winks and other tokens of recognition, and
occasionally touching his nose with a corkscrew, as if to express the
Bacchanalian character of the meeting. In truth, perhaps even the spirits of the
two Miss Pecksniffs, and the hungry watchfulness of Mrs. Todgers, were less
worthy of note than the proceedings of this remarkable boy, whom nothing
disconcerted or put out of his way. If any piece of crockery, a dish or
otherwise, chanced to slip through his hands (which happened once or twice), he
let it go with perfect good breeding, and never added to the painful emotions of
the company by exhibiting the least regret. Nor did he, by hurrying to and fro,
disturb the repose of the assembly, as many well-trained servants do; on the
contrary, feeling the hopelessness of waiting upon so large a party, he left the
gentlemen to help themselves to what they wanted, and seldom stirred from behind
Mr. Jinkins's chair: where, with his hands in his pockets, and his legs planted
pretty wide apart, he led the laughter, and enjoyed the conversation.
The dessert was splendid. No waiting either. The pudding-plates had been
washed in a little tub outside the door while cheese was on, and though they
were moist and warm with friction, still there they were again, up to the mark,
and true to time. Quarts of almonds; dozens of oranges; pounds of raisins;
stacks of biffins; soup-plates full of nuts. Oh, Todgers's could do it when it
chose! Mind that.
Then more wine came on: red wines and white wines; and a large china bowl of
punch, brewed by the gentleman of a convivial turn, who adjured the Miss
Pecksniffs not to be despondent on account of its dimensions, as there were
materials in the house for the decoction of half a dozen more of the same size.
Good gracious, how they laughed! How they coughed when they sipped it, because
it was so strong; and how they laughed again when somebody vowed that but for
its colour it might have been mistaken, in regard of its innocuous qualities,
for new milk! What a shout of `No!' burst from the gentlemen when they
pathetically implored Mr. Jinkins to suffer them to qualify it with hot water;
and how blushingly, by little and little, did each of them drink her whole
glassful, down to its very dregs!
Now comes the trying time. The sun, as Mr. Jinkins says (gentlemanly
creature, Jinkins -- never at a loss!), is about to leave the firmament. `Miss
Pecksniff!' says Mrs. Todgers, softly, `will you--?' `Oh dear, no more, Mrs.
Todgers.' Mrs. Todgers rises; the two Miss Pecksniffs rise; all rise. Miss Mercy
Pecksniff looks downward for her scarf. Where is it? Dear me, where can it be?
Sweet girl, she has it on; not on her fair neck, but loose upon her flowing
figure. A dozen hands assist her. She is all confusion. The youngest gentleman
in company thirsts to murder Jinkins. She skips and joins her sister at the
door. Her sister has her arm about the waist of Mrs. Todgers. She winds her arm
around her sister. Diana, what a picture! The last things visible are a shape
and a skip. `Gentlemen, let us drink the ladies!'
The enthusiasm is tremendous. The gentleman of a debating turn rises in the
midst, and suddenly lets loose a tide of eloquence which bears down everything
before it. He is reminded of a toast: a toast to which they will respond. There
is an individual present; he has him in his eye; to whom they owe a debt of
gratitude. He repeats it, a debt of gratitude. Their rugged natures have been
softened and ameliorated that day, by the society of lovely woman. There is a
gentleman in company whom two accomplished and delightful females regard with
veneration, as the fountain of their existence. Yes, when yet the two Miss
Pecksniffs lisped in language scarce intelligible, they called that individual
`Father!' There is great applause. He gives them `Mr. Pecksniff, and God bless
him!' They all shake hands with Mr. Pecksniff, as they drink the toast. The
youngest gentleman in company does so with a thrill; for he feels that a
mysterious influence pervades the man who claims that being in the pink scarf
for his daughter.
What saith Mr. Pecksniff in reply? Or rather let the question be, What leaves
he unsaid? Nothing. More punch is called for, and produced, and drunk.
Enthusiasm mounts still higher. Every man comes out freely in his own character.
The gentleman of a theatrical turn recites. The vocal gentleman regales them
with a song. Gander leaves the Gander of all former feasts whole leagues behind.
He rises to propose a toast. It is, The Father of Todgers's. It is their common
friend Jink. It is old Jink, if he may call him by that familiar and endearing
appellation. The youngest gentleman in company utters a frantic negative. He
won't have it, he can't bear it, it mustn't be. But his depth of feeling is
misunderstood. He is supposed to be a little elevated; and nobody heeds him.
Mr. Jinkins thanks them from his heart. It is, by many degrees, the proudest
day in his humble career. When he looks around him on the present occasion, he
feels that he wants words in which to express his gratitude. One thing he will
say. He hopes it has been shown that Todgers's can be true to itself; and that,
an opportunity arising, it can come out quite as strong as its neighbours --
perhaps stronger. He reminds them, amidst thunders of encouragement, that they
have heard of a somewhat similar establishment in Cannon Street; and that they
have heard it praised. He wishes to draw no invidious comparisons; he would be
the last man to do it; but when that Cannon Street establishment shall be able
to produce such a combination of wit and beauty as has graced that board that
day, and shall be able to serve up (all things considered) such a dinner as that
of which they have just partaken, he will be happy to talk to it. Until then,
gentlemen, he will stick to Todgers's.
More punch, more enthusiasm, more speeches. Everybody's health is drunk,
saving the youngest gentleman's in company. He sits apart, with his elbow on the
back of a vacant chair, and glares disdainfully at Jinkins. Gander, in a
convulsing speech, gives them the health of Bailey junior; hiccups are heard;
and a glass is broken. Mr. Jinkins feels that it is time to join the ladies. He
proposes, as a final sentiment, Mrs. Todgers. She is worthy to be remembered
separately. Hear, hear. So she is: no doubt of it. They all find fault with her
at other times; but every man feels now, that he could die in her defence.
They go up-stairs, where they are not expected so soon; for Mrs.Todgers is
asleep, Miss Charity is adjusting her hair, and Mercy, who has made a sofa of
one of the window-seats is in a gracefully recumbent attitude. She is rising
hastily, when Mr Jinkins implores her, for all their sakes, not to stir; she
looks too graceful and too lovely, he remarks, to be disturbed. She laughs, and
yields, and fans herself, and drops her fan, and there is a rush to pick it up.
Being now installed, by one consent, as the beauty of the party, she is cruel
and capricious, and sends gentlemen on messages to other gentlemen, and forgets
all about them before they can return with the answer, and invents a thousand
tortures, rending their hearts to pieces. Bailey brings up the tea and coffee.
There is a small cluster of admirers round Charity; but they are only those who
cannot get near her sister. The youngest gentleman in company is pale, but
collected, and still sits apart; for his spirit loves to hold communion with
itself, and his soul recoils from noisy revellers. She has a consciousness of
his presence and adoration. He sees it flashing sometimes in the corner of her
eye. Have a care, Jinkins, ere you provoke a desperate man to frenzy!
Mr. Pecksniff had followed his younger friends up-stairs, and taken a chair
at the side of Mrs. Todgers. He had also spilt a cup of coffee over his legs
without appearing to be aware of the circumstance; nor did he seem to know that
there was muffin on his knee.
`And how have they used you down-stairs, sir?' asked the hostess. `Their
conduct has been such, my dear madam,' said Mr. Pecksniff, `as I can never think
of without emotion, or remember without a tear. Oh, Mrs. Todgers!'
`My goodness!' exclaimed that lady. `How low you are in your spirits, sir!'
`I am a man, my dear madam,' said Mr. Pecksniff, shedding tears and speaking
with an imperfect articulation, `but I am also a father. I am also a widower. My
feelings, Mrs. Todgers, will not consent to be entirely smothered, like the
young children in the Tower. They are grown up, and the more I press the bolster
on them, the more they look round the corner of it.'
He suddenly became conscious of the bit of muffin, and stared at it intently:
shaking his head the while, in a forlorn and imbecile manner, as if he regarded
it as his evil genius, and mildly reproached it.
`She was beautiful, Mrs. Todgers,' he said, turning his glazed eye again upon
her, without the least preliminary notice. `She had a small property.'
`So I have heard,' cried Mrs. Todgers with great sympathy.
`Those are her daughters,' said Mr. Pecksniff, pointing out the young ladies,
with increased emotion.
Mrs. Todgers had no doubt about it.
`Mercy and Charity,' said Mr. Pecksniff, `Charity and Mercy. Not unholy
names, I hope?'
`Mr. Pecksniff!' cried Mrs. Todgers. `What a ghastly smile! Are you ill,
sir?'
He pressed his hand upon her arm, and answered in a solemn manner, and a
faint voice, `Chronic.'
`Cholic?' cried the frightened Mrs. Todgers.
`Chron-ic,' he repeated with some difficulty. `Chron-ic. A chronic disorder.
I have been its victim from childhood. It is carrying me to my grave.'
`Heaven forbid!' cried Mrs. Todgers.
`Yes, it is,' said Mr. Pecksniff, reckless with despair. `I am rather glad of
it, upon the whole. You are like her, Mrs. Todgers.'
`Don't squeeze me so tight, pray, Mr. Pecksniff. If any of the gentlemen
should notice us.'
`For her sake,' said Mr. Pecksniff. `Permit me. In honour of her memory. For
the sake of a voice from the tomb. You are very like her Mrs. Todgers! What a
world this is!'
`Ah! Indeed you may say that!' cried Mrs. Todgers.
`I'm afraid it is a vain and thoughtless world,' said Mr. Pecksniff,
overflowing with despondency. `These young people about us. Oh! what sense have
they of their responsibilities? None. Give me your, other hand, Mrs. Todgers.'
The lady hesitated, and said `she didn't like.'
`Has a voice from the grave no influence?' said Mr. Pecksniff, with, dismal
tenderness. `This is irreligious! My dear creature.'
`Hush!' urged Mrs. Todgers. `Really you mustn't.'
`It's not me,' said Mr. Pecksniff. `Don't suppose it's me: it's the voice;
it's her voice.'
Mrs. Pecksniff deceased, must have had an unusually thick and husky voice for
a lady, and rather a stuttering voice, and to say the truth somewhat of a
drunken voice, if it had ever borne much resemblance to that in which Mr.
Pecksniff spoke just then. But perhaps this was delusion on his part.
`It has been a day of enjoyment, Mrs. Todgers, but still it has been a day of
torture. It has reminded me of my loneliness. What am I in the world?'
`An excellent gentleman, Mr. Pecksniff,' said Mrs. Todgers.
`There is consolation in that too,' cried Mr. Pecksniff. `Am I?'
`There is no better man living,' said Mrs. Todgers, `I am sure.'
Mr. Pecksniff smiled through his tears, and slightly shook his head. `You are
very good,' he said, `thank you. It is a great happiness to me, Mrs. Todgers, to
make young people happy. The happiness of my pupils is my chief object. I dote
upon 'em. They dote upon me too. Sometimes.'
`Always,' said Mrs. Todgers.
`When they say they haven't improved, ma'am,' whispered Mr. Pecksniff,
looking at her with profound mystery, and motioning to her to advance her ear a
little closer to his mouth. `When they say they haven't improved, ma'am, and the
premium was too high, they lie! I shouldn't wish it to be mentioned; you will
understand me; but I say to you as to an old friend, they lie.'
`Base wretches they must be!' said Mrs. Todgers.
`Madam,' said Mr. Pecksniff, `you are right. I respect you for that
observation. A word in your ear. To Parents and Guardians. This is in
confidence, Mrs. Todgers?'
`The strictest, of course!' cried that lady.
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