Containing strange matter, on which many events in this history
may, for their good or evil influence, chiefly depend
BUT MR. PECKSNIFF CAME TO TOWN ON BUSINESS. Had he forgotten that? Was he
always taking his pleasure with Todgers's jovial brood, unmindful of the serious
demands, whatever they might be, upon his calm consideration? No.
Time and tide will wait for no man, saith the adage. But all men have to wait
for time and tide. That tide which, taken at the flood, would lead Seth
Pecksniff on to fortune, was marked down in the table, and about to flow. No
idle Pecksniff lingered far inland, unmindful of the changes of the stream; but
there, upon the water's edge, over his shoes already, stood the worthy creature,
prepared to wallow in the very mud, so that it slid towards the quarter of his
hope.
The trustfulness of his two fair daughters was beautiful indeed. They had
that firm reliance on their parent's nature, which taught them to feel certain
that in all he did he had his purpose straight and full before him. And that its
noble end and object was himself, which almost of necessity included them, they
knew. The devotion of these maids was perfect.
Their filial confidence was rendered the more touching, by their having no
knowledge of their parent's real designs, in the present instance. All that they
knew of his proceedings was, that every morning, after the early breakfast, he
repaired to the post office and inquired for letters. That task performed, his
business for the day was over; and he again relaxed, until the rising of another
sun proclaimed the advent of another post.
This went on for four or five days. At length, one morning, Mr. Pecksniff
returned with a breathless rapidity, strange to observe in him, at other times
so calm; and, seeking immediate speech with his daughters, shut himself up with
them in private conference for two whole hours. Of all that passed in this
period, only the following words of Mr. Pecksniff's utterance are known.
`How he has come to change so very much (if it should turn out as I expect,
that he has), we needn't stop to inquire. My dears, I have my thoughts upon the
subject, but I will not impart them. It is enough that we will not be proud,
resentful, or unforgiving. If he wants our friendship he shall have it. We know
our duty, I hope!'
That same day at noon, an old gentleman alighted from a hackneycoach at the
post office, and, giving his name, inquired for a letter addressed to himself,
and directed to be left till called for. It had been lying there some days. The
superscription was in Mr. Pecksniff's hand, and it was sealed with Mr.
Pecksniff's seal.
It was very short, containing indeed nothing more than an address `with Mr.
Pecksniff's respectful, and (not withstanding what has passed) sincerely
affectionate regards.' The old gentleman tore off the direction--scattering the
rest in fragments to the winds--and giving it to the coachman, bade him drive as
near that place as he could. In pursuance of these instructions he was driven to
the Monument; where he again alighted, and dismissed the vehicle, and walked
towards Todgers's.
Though the face, and form, and gait of this old man, and even his grip of the
stout stick on which he leaned, were all expressive of a resolution not easily
shaken, and a purpose (it matters little whether right or wrong, just now) such
as in other days might have survived the rack, and had its strongest life in
weakest death; still there were grains of hesitation in his mind, which made him
now avoid the house he sought, and loiter to and fro in a gleam of sunlight,
that brightened the little churchyard hard by. There may have been, in the
presence of those idle heaps of dust among the busiest stir of life, something
to increase his wavering; but there he walked, awakening the echoes as he paced
up and down, until the church clock, striking the quarters for the second time
since he had been there, roused him from his meditation. Shaking off his
incertitude as the air parted with the sound of the bells, he walked rapidly to
the house, and knocked at the door.
Mr. Pecksniff was seated in the landlady's little room, and his visitor found
him reading--by an accident: he apologised for it--an excellent theological
work. There were cake and wine upon a little table--by another accident, for
which he also apologised. Indeed he said, he had given his visitor up, and was
about to partake of that simple refreshment with his children, when he knocked
at the door.
`Your daughters are well?' said old Martin, laying down his hat and stick.
Mr. Pecksniff endeavoured to conceal his agitation as a father when he
answered, Yes, they were. They were good girls, he said, very good. He would not
venture to recommend Mr. Chuzzlewit to take the easy-chair, or to keep out of
the draught from the door. If he made any such suggestion, he would expose
himself, he feared, to most unjust suspicion. He would, therefore, content
himself with remarking that there was an easy-chair in the room, and that the
door was far from being air-tight. This latter imperfection, he might perhaps
venture to add, was not uncommonly to be met with in old houses.
The old man sat down in the easy-chair, and after a few moments' silence,
said:
`In the first place, let me thank you for coming to London so promptly, at my
almost unexplained request: I need scarcely add, at my cost.'
`At your cost, my good sir!' cried Mr. Pecksniff, in a tone of great
surprise.
`It is not,' said Martin, waving his hand impatiently, `my habit to put
my--well! my relatives--to any personal expense to gratify my caprices.'
`Caprices, my good sir!' cried Mr. Pecksniff
`That is scarcely the proper word either, in this instance,' said the old
man. `No. You are right.'
Mr. Pecksniff was inwardly very much relieved to hear it, though he didn't at
all know why.
`You are right,' repeated Martin. `It is not a caprice. It is built up on
reason, proof, and cool comparison. Caprices never are. Moreover, I am not a
capricious man. I never was.'
`Most assuredly not,' said Mr. Pecksniff.
`How do you know?' returned the other quickly. `You are to begin to know it
now. You are to test and prove it, in time to come. You and yours are to find
that I can be constant, and am not to be diverted from my end. Do you hear?'
`Perfectly,' said Mr. Pecksniff.
`I very much regret,' Martin resumed, looking steadily at him, and speaking
in a slow and measured tone: `I very much regret that you and I held such a
conversation together, as that which passed between us at our last meeting. I
very much regret that I laid open to you what were then my thoughts of you, so
freely as I did. The intentions that I bear towards you now are of another kind;
deserted by all in whom I have ever trusted; hoodwinked and beset by all who
should help and sustain me; I fly to you for refuge. I confide in you to be my
ally; to attach yourself to me by ties of Interest and Expectation;' he laid
great stress upon these words, though Mr. Pecksniff particularly begged him not
to mention it; `and to help me to visit the consequences of the very worst
species of meanness, dissimulation, and subtlety, on the right heads.'
`My noble sir!' cried Mr. Pecksniff, catching at his outstretched hand. `And
you regret the having harboured unjust thoughts of me! you with those grey
hairs!'
`Regrets,' said Martin, `are the natural property of grey hairs; and I enjoy,
in common with all other men, at least my share of such inheritance. And so
enough of that. I regret having been severed from you so long. If I had known
you sooner, and sooner used you as you well deserve, I might have been a happier
man.'
Mr. Pecksniff looked up to the ceiling, and clasped his hands in rapture.
`Your daughters,' said Martin, after a short silence. `I don't know them. Are
they like you?'
`In the nose of my eldest and the chin of my youngest, Mr. Chuzzlewit,'
returned the widower, `their sainted parent (not myself, their mother) lives
again.'
`I don't mean in person,' said the old man. `Morally, morally.'
`'Tis not for me to say,' retorted Mr. Pecksniff with a gentle smile. `I have
done my best, sir.'
`I could wish to see them,' said Martin; `are they near at hand?'
They were, very near; for they had in fact been listening at the door from
the beginning of this conversation until now, when they precipitately retired.
Having wiped the signs of weakness from his eyes, and so given them time to get
up-stairs, Mr. Pecksniff opened the door, and mildly cried in the passage,
`My own darlings, where are you?'
`Here, my dear pa!' replied the distant voice of Charity.
`Come down into the back parlour, if you please, my love,' said Mr.
Pecksniff, `and bring your sister with you.'
`Yes, my dear pa,' cried Merry; and down they came directly (being all
obedience), singing as they came.
Nothing could exceed the astonishment of the two Miss Pecksniffs when they
found a stranger with their dear papa. Nothing could surpass their mute
amazement when he said, `My children, Mr. Chuzzlewit!' But when he told them
that Mr. Chuzzlewit and he were friends, and that Mr. Chuzzlewit had said such
kind and tender words as pierced his very heart, the two Miss Pecksniffs cried
with one accord
`Thank Heaven for this!' and fell upon the old man's neck. And when they had
embraced him with such fervour of affection that no words can describe it, they
grouped themselves about his chair, and hung over him: as figuring to themselves
no earthly joy like that of ministering to his wants, and crowding into the
remainder of his life, the love they would have diffused over their whole
existence, from infancy, if he--dear obdurate!--had but consented to receive the
precious offering.
The old man looked attentively from one to the other, and then at Mr.
Pecksniff, several times.
`What,' he asked of Mr. Pecksniff, happening to catch his eye in its descent;
for until now it had been piously upraised, with something of that expression
which the poetry of ages has attributed to a domestic bird, when breathing its
last amid the ravages of an electric storm: `What are their names?'
Mr. Pecksniff told him, and added, rather hastily; his caluminators would
have said, with a view to any testamentary thoughts that might be flitting
through old Martin's mind; `Perhaps, my dears, you had better write them down.
Your humble autographs are of no value in themselves, but affection may prize
them.'
`Affection,' said the old man, `will expend itself on the living originals.
Do not trouble yourselves, my girls, I shall not so easily forget you, Charity
and Mercy, as to need such tokens of remembrance. Cousin!'
`Sir!' said Mr. Pecksniff, with alacrity.
`Do you never sit down?'
`Why, yes: occasionally, sir,' said Mr. Pecksniff, who had been standing all
this time.
`Will you do so now?'
`Can you ask me,' returned Mr. Pecksniff, slipping into a chair immediately,
`whether I will do anything that you desire?'
`You talk confidently,' said Martin, `and you mean well; but I fear you don't
know what an old man's humours are. You don't know what it is to be required to
court his likings and dislikings; to adapt yourself to his prejudices; to do his
bidding, be it what it may; to bear with his distrusts and jealousies; and
always still be zealous in his service. When I remember how numerous these
failings are in me, and judge of their occasional enormity by the injurious
thoughts I lately entertained of you, I hardly dare to claim you for my friend.'
`My worthy sir,' returned his relative, `how can you talk in such a painful
strain! What was more natural than that you should make one slight mistake, when
in all other respects you were so very correct, and have had such reason, such
very sad and undeniable reason, to judge of every one about you in the worst
light!'
`True,' replied the other. `You are very lenient with me.'
`We always said, my girls and I,' cried Mr. Pecksniff with increasing
obsequiousness, `that while we mourned the heaviness of our misfortune in being
confounded with the base and mercenary, still we could not wonder at it. My
dears, you remember?'
Oh vividly! A thousand times!
`We uttered no complaint,' said Mr. Pecksniff. `Occasionally we had the
presumption to console ourselves with the remark that Truth would in the end
prevail, and Virtue be triumphant; but not often. My loves, you recollect?'
Recollect! Could he doubt it! Dearest pa, what strange unnecessary questions!
`And when I saw you,' resumed Mr. Pecksniff, with still greater deference,
`in the little, unassuming village where we take the liberty of dwelling, I said
you were mistaken in me, my dear sir: that was all, I think?'
`No, not all,' said Martin, who had been sitting with his hand upon his brow
for some time past, and now looked up again: `you said much more, which, added
to other circumstances that have come to my knowledge, opened my eyes. You spoke
to me, disinterestedly, on behalf of--I needn't name him. You know whom I mean.'
Trouble was expressed in Mr. Pecksniff's visage, as he pressed his hot hands
together, and replied, with humility, `Quite disinterestedly, sir, I assure
you.'
`I know it,' said old Martin, in his quiet way. `I am sure of it. I said so.
It was disinterested too, in you, to draw that herd of harpies off from me, and
be their victim yourself; most other men would have suffered them to display
themselves in all their rapacity, and would have striven to rise, by contrast,
in my estimation. You felt for me, and drew them off, for which I owe you many
thanks. Although I left the place, I know what passed behind my back, you see!'
`You amaze me, sir!' cried Mr. Pecksniff; which was true enough.
`My knowledge of your proceedings,' said the old man, does not stop at this.
You have a new inmate in your house.'
`Yes, sir,' rejoined the architect, `I have.'
`He must quit it' said Martin.
`For--for yours?' asked Mr. Pecksniff, with a quavering mildness.
`For any shelter he can find,' the old man answered. `He has deceived you.'
`I hope not' said Mr. Pecksniff, eagerly. `I trust not. I have been extremely
well disposed towards that young man. I hope it cannot be shown that he has
forfeited all claim to my protection. Deceit, deceit, my dear Mr. Chuzzlewit,
would be final. I should hold myself bound, on proof of deceit, to renounce him
instantly.'
The old man glanced at both his fair supporters, but especially at Miss
Mercy, whom, indeed, he looked full in the face, with a greater demonstration of
interest than had yet appeared in his features. His gaze again encountered Mr.
Pecksniff, as he said, composedly:
`Of course you know that he has made his matrimonial choice?'
`Oh dear!' cried Mr. Pecksniff, rubbing his hair up very stiff upon his head,
and staring wildly at his daughters. `This is becoming tremendous!'
`You know the fact?' repeated Martin
`Surely not without his grandfather's consent and approbation my dear sir!'
cried Mr. Pecksniff. `Don't tell me that. For the honour of human nature, say
you're not about to tell me that!'
`I thought he had suppressed it,' said the old man.
The indignation felt by Mr. Pecksniff at this terrible disclosure, was only
to be equalled by the kindling anger of his daughters. What! Had they taken to
their hearth and home a secretly contracted serpent; a crocodile, who had made a
furtive offer of his hand; an imposition on society; a bankrupt bachelor with no
effects, trading with the spinster world on false pretences! And oh, to think
that he should have disobeyed and practised on that sweet, that venerable
gentleman, whose name he bore; that kind and tender guardian; his more than
father (to say nothing at all of mother), horrible, horrible! To turn him out
with ignominy would be treatment much too good. Was there nothing else that
could be done to him? Had he incurred no legal pains and penalties? Could it be
that the statutes of the land were so remiss as to have affixed no punishment to
such delinquency? Monster; how basely had they been deceived!
`I am glad to find you second me so warmly,' said the old man holding up his
hand to stay the torrent of their wrath. `I will not deny that it is a pleasure
to me to find you so full of zeal. We will consider that topic as disposed of.'
`No, my dear sir,' cried Mr. Pecksniff, `not as disposed of, until I have
purged my house of this pollution.'
`That will follow,' said the old man, `in its own time. I look upon that as
done.'
`You are very good, sir,' answered Mr. Pecksniff, shaking his hand. `You do
me honour. You may look upon it as done, I assure you.'
`There is another topic,' said Martin, `on which I hope you will assist me.
You remember Mary, cousin?'
`The young lady that I mentioned to you, my dears, as having interested me so
very much,' remarked Mr. Pecksniff. `Excuse my interrupting you, sir.'
`I told you her history;' said the old man.
`Which I also mentioned, you will recollect, my dears,' cried Mr Pecksniff.
`Silly girls, Mr. Chuzzlewit. Quite moved by it, they were!"
`Why, look now!' said Martin, evidently pleased: `I feared I should have had
to urge her case upon you, and ask you to regard her favourably for my sake. But
I find you have no jealousies! Well! You have no cause for any, to be sure. She
has nothing to gain from me, my dears, and she knows it.'
The two Miss Pecksniffs murmured their approval of this wise arrangement, and
their cordial sympathy with its interesting object.
`If I could have anticipated what has come to pass between us four,' said the
old man thoughfully: `but it is too late to think of that. You would receive her
courteously, young ladies, and be kind to her, if need were?'
Where was the orphan whom the two Miss Pecksniffs would not have cherished in
their sisterly bosom! But when that orphan was commended to their care by one on
whom the dammed-up love of years was gushing forth, what exhaustless stores of
pure affection yearned to expend themselves upon her!
An interval ensued, during which Mr. Chuzzlewit, in an absent frame of mind,
sat gazing at the ground, without uttering a word; and as it was plain that he
had no desire to be interrupted in his meditations, Mr. Pecksniff and his
daughters were profoundly silent also. During the whole of the foregoing
dialogue, he had borne his part with a cold, passionless promptitude, as though
he had learned and painfully rehearsed it all a hundred times. Even when his
expressions were warmest and his language most encouraging, he had retained the
same manner, without the least abatement. But now there was a keener brightness
in his eye, and more expression in his voice, as he said, awakening from his
thoughtful mood:
`You know what will be said of this? Have you reflected?'
`Said of what, my dear sir?' Mr. Pecksniff asked.
`Of this new understanding between us.'
Mr. Pecksniff looked benevolently sagacious, and at the same time far above
all earthly misconstruction, as he shook his head, and observed that a great
many things would be said of it, no doubt.
`A great many,' rejoined the old man. `Some will say that I dote in my old
age; that illness has shaken me; that I have lost all strength of mind, and have
grown childish. You can bear that?'
Mr. Pecksniff answered that it would be dreadfully hard to bear, but he
thought he could, if he made a great effort.
`Others will say--I speak of disappointed, angry people only--that you have
lied and fawned, and wormed yourself through dirty ways into my favour; by such
concessions and such crooked deeds, such meannesses and vile endurances, as
nothing could repay: no, not the legacy of half the world we live in. You can
bear that?'
Mr. Pecksniff made reply that this would be also very hard to bear, as
reflecting, in some degree, on the discernment of Mr. Chuzzlewit. Still he had a
modest confidence that he could sustain the calumny, with the help of a good
conscience, and that gentleman's friendship.
`With the great mass of slanderers,' said old Martin, leaning back in his
chair, `the tale, as I clearly foresee, will run thus: That to mark my contempt
for the rabble whom I despised, I chose from among them the very worst, and made
him do my will, and pampered and enriched him at the cost of all the rest. That,
after casting about for the means of a punishment which should rankle in the
bosoms of these kites the most, and strike into their gall, I devised this
scheme at a time when the last link in the chain of grateful love and duty, that
held me to my race, was roughly snapped asunder; roughly, for I loved him well;
roughly, for I had ever put my trust in his affection; roughly, for that he
broke it when I loved him most, God help me! and he without a pang could throw
me off, while I clung about his heart! Now,' said the old man, dismissing this
passionate outburst as suddenly as he had yielded to it, `is your mind made up
to bear this likewise? Lay your account with having it to bear, and put no trust
in being set right by me.'
`My dear Mr. Chuzzlewit,' cried Pecksniff in an ecstasy, `for such a man as
you have shown yourself to be this day; for a man so injured, yet so very
humane; for a man so--I am at a loss what precise term to use yet at the same
time so remarkably--I don't know how to express my meaning: for such a man as I
have described, I hope it is no presumption to say that I, and I am sure I may
add my children also (my dears, we perfectly agree in this, I think?), would
bear anything whatever!'
`Enough,' said Martin. `You can charge no consequences on me. When do you
retire home?'
`Whenever you please, my dear sir. To-night if you desire it.'
`I desire nothing,' returned the old man, `that is unreasonable. Such a
request would be. Will you be ready to return at the end of this week?'
The very time of all others that Mr. Pecksniff would have suggested if it had
been left to him to make his own choice. As to his daughters the words, `Let us
be at home on Saturday, dear pa,' were actually upon their lips.
`Your expenses, cousin,' said Martin, taking a folded slip of paper from his
pocket-book, `may possibly exceed that amount. If so, let me know the balance
that I owe you, when we next meet. It would be useless if I told you where I
live just now: indeed, I have no fixed abode. When I have, you shall know it.
You and your daughters may expect to see me before long: in the meantime I need
not tell you that we keep our own confidence. What you will do when you get home
is understood between us. Give me no account of it at any time; and never refer
to it in any way. I ask that as a favour. I am commonly a man of few words,
cousin; and all that need be said just now is said, I think.'
`One glass of wine, one morsel of this homely cake?' cried Mr. Pecksniff,
venturing to detain him. `My dears!'
The sisters flew to wait upon him.
`Poor girls!' said Mr. Pecksniff. `You will excuse their agitation, my dear
sir. They are made up of feeling. A bad commodity to go through the world with,
Mr. Chuzzlewit! My youngest daughter is almost as much of a woman as my eldest,
is she not, sir?'
`Which is the youngest?' asked the old man.
`Mercy, by five years,' said Mr. Pecksniff. `We sometimes venture to consider
her rather a fine figure, sir. Speaking as an artist, I may perhaps be permitted
to suggest that its outline is graceful and correct. I am naturally,' said Mr.
Pecksniff, drying his hands upon his handkerchief, and looking anxiously in his
cousin's face at almost every word, `proud, if I may use the expression, to have
a daughter who is constructed on the best models.'
`She seems to have a lively disposition,' observed Martin.
`Dear me!' said Mr. Pecksniff. `That is quite remarkable. You have defined
her character, my dear sir, as correctly as if you had known her from her birth.
She has a lively disposition. I assure you, my dear sir, that in our
unpretending home her gaiety is delightful.'
`No doubt,' returned the old man.
`Charity, upon the other hand,' said Mr. Pecksniff, `is remarkable for strong
sense, and for rather a deep tone of sentiment, if the partiality of a father
may be excused in saying so. A wonderful affection between them, my dear sir!
Allow me to drink your health. Bless you!'
`I little thought,' retorted Martin, `but a month ago, that I should be
breaking bread and pouring wine with you. I drink to you.'
Not at all abashed by the extraordinary abruptness with which these latter
words were spoken, Mr. Pecksniff thanked him devoutly.
`Now let me go,' said Martin, putting down the wine when he had merely
touched it with his lips. `My dears, good morning!'
But this distant form of farewell was by no means tender enough for the
yearnings of the young ladies, who again embraced him with all their
hearts--with all their arms at any rate--to which parting caresses their
new-found friend submitted with a better grace than might have been expected
from one who, not a moment before, had pledged their parent in such a very
uncomfortable manner. These endearments terminated, he took a hasty leave of Mr.
Pecksniff and withdrew, followed to the door by both father and daughters, who
stood there kissing their hands and beaming with affection until he disappeared:
though, by the way, he never once looked back, after he had crossed the
threshold.
When they returned into the house, and were again alone in Mrs. Todgers's
room, the two young ladies exhibited an unusual amount of gaiety; insomuch that
they clapped their hands, and laughed, and looked with roguish aspects and a
bantering air upon their dear papa. This conduct was so very unaccountable, that
Mr. Pecksniff (being singularly grave himself) could scarcely choose but ask
them what it meant; and took them to task, in his gentle manner, for yielding to
such light emotions.
`If it was possible to divine any cause for this merriment, even the most
remote,' he said, `I should not reprove you. But when you can have none
whatever--oh, really, really!'
This admonition had so little effect on Mercy, that she was obliged to hold
her handkerchief before her rosy lips, and to throw herself back in her chair,
with every demonstration of extreme amusement; which want of duty so offended
Mr. Pecksniff that he reproved her in set terms, and gave her his parental
advice to correct herself in solitude and contemplation. But at that juncture
they were disturbed by the sound of voices in dispute; and as it proceeded from
the next room, the subject matter of the altercation quickly reached their ears.
`I don't care that! Mrs. Todgers,' said the young gentleman who had been the
youngest gentleman in company on the day of the festival; `I don't care that,
ma'am,' said he, snapping his fingers, `for Jinkins. Don't suppose I do.'
`I am quite certain you don't, sir,' replied Mrs. Todgers. `You have too
independent a spirit, I know, to yield to anybody. And quite right. There is no
reason why you should give way to any gentleman. Everybody must be well aware of
that.'
`I should think no more of admitting daylight into the fellow,' said the
youngest gentleman, in a desperate voice, `than if he was a bulldog.'
Mrs. Todgers did not stop to inquire whether, as a matter of principle, there
was any particular reason for admitting daylight even into a bull-dog, otherwise
than by the natural channel of his eyes, but she seemed to wring her hands, and
she moaned.
`Let him be careful,' said the youngest gentleman. `I give him warning. No
man shall step between me and the current of my vengeance. I know a Cove--' he
used that familiar epithet in his agitation but corrected himself by adding, `a
gentleman of property, I mean--who practises with a pair of pistols (fellows
too,) of his own. If I am driven to borrow 'em, and to send at friend to Jinkins
a tragedy will get into the papers. That's all.'
Again Mrs. Todgers moaned.
`I have borne this long enough,' said the youngest gentleman but now my soul
rebels against it, and I won't stand it any longer. I left home originally,
because I had that within me which wouldn't be domineered over by a sister; and
do you think I'm going to be put down by him? No.'
`It is very wrong in Mr. Jinkins: I know it is perfectly inexcusable in Mr.
Jinkins, if he intends it,' observed Mrs. Todgers
`If he intends it!' cried the youngest gentleman. `Don't he interrupt and
contradict me on every occasion? Does he ever fail to interpose himself between
me and anything or anybody that he sees I have set my mind upon? Does he make a
point of always pretending to forget me, when he's pouring out the beer? Does he
make bragging remarks about his razors, and insulting allusions to people who
have no necessity to shave more than once a week? But let him look out! He'll
find himself shaved, pretty close, before long, and so I tell him.'
The young gentleman was mistaken in this closing sentence, inasmuch as he
never told it to Jinkins, but always to Mrs. Todgers
`However,' he said, `these are not proper subjects for ladies' ears. All I've
got to say to you, Mrs. Todgers, is, a week's notice from next Saturday. The
same house can't contain that miscreant and me any longer. If we get over the
intermediate time without bloodshed, you may think yourself pretty fortunate. I
don't myself expect we shall.'
`Dear, dear!' cried Mrs. Todgers, `what would I have given to have prevented
this? To lose you, sir, would be like losing the house's right-hand. So popular
as you are among the gentlemen; so generally looked up to; and so much liked! I
do hope you'll think better of it. On nobody else's account, on mine.'
`There's Jinkins,' said the youngest gentleman, moodily. `Your favourite.
He'll console you, and the gentlemen too, for the loss of twenty such as me. I'm
not understood in this house. I never have been.'
`Don't run away with that opinion, sir!' cried Mrs. Todgers, with a show of
honest indignation. `Don't make such a charge as that against the establishment,
I must beg of you. It is not so bad as that comes to, sir. Make any remark you
please against the gentlemen, or against me; but don't say you're not understood
in this house.'
`I'm not treated as if I was,' said the youngest gentleman.
`There you make a great mistake, sir,' returned Mrs. Todgers, in the same
strain. `As many of the gentlemen and I have often said, you are too sensitive.
That's where it is. You are of too susceptible a nature; it's in your spirit.'
The young gentleman coughed.
`And as,' said Mrs. Todgers, `as to Mr. Jinkins, I must beg of you, if we are
to part, to understand that I don't abet Mr. Jinkins by any means. Far from it.
I could wish that Mr. Jinkins would take a lower tone in this establishment, and
would not be the means of raising differences between me and gentlemen that I
can much less bear to part with than I could with Mr. Jinkins. Mr. Jinkins is
not such a boarder, sir,' added Mrs. Todgers, `that all considerations of
private feeling and respect give way before him. Quite the contrary, I assure
you.'
The young gentleman was so much mollified by these and similar speeches on
the part of Mrs. Todgers, that he and that lady gradually changed positions; so
that she became the injured party, and he was understood to be the injurer; but
in a complimentary, not in an offensive sense; his cruel conduct being
attributable to his exalted nature, and to that alone. So, in the end, the young
gentleman withdrew his notice, and assured Mrs. Todgers of his unalterable
regard: and having done so, went back to business.
`Goodness me, Miss Pecksniffs!' cried that lady, as she came into the back
room, and sat wearily down, with her basket on her knees, and her hands folded
upon it, `what a trial of temper it is to keep a house like this! You must have
heard most of what has just passed. Now did you ever hear the like?'
`Never!' said the two Miss Pecksniffs.
`Of all the ridiculous young fellows that ever I had to deal with,' resumed
Mrs. Todgers, `that is the most ridiculous and unreasonable. Mr Jinkins is hard
upon him sometimes, but not half as hard as he deserves. To mention such a
gentleman as Mr. Jinkins in the same breath with him. You know it's too much!
And yet he's as jealous of him, bless you, as if he was his equal.'
The young ladies were greatly entertained by Mrs. Todgers's account, no less
than with certain anecdotes illustrative of the youngest gentleman's character,
which she went on to tell them. But Mr. Pecksniff looked quite stern and angry:
and when she had concluded, said in a solemn voice:
`Pray, Mrs. Todgers, if I may inquire, what does that young gentleman
contribute towards the support of these premises?'
`Why, sir, for what he has, he pays about eighteen shillings a week!' said
Mrs. Todgers.
`Eighteen shillings a week!' repeated Mr. Pecksniff.
`Taking one week with another; as near that as possible,' said Mrs. Todgers.
Mr. Pecksniff rose from his chair, folded his arms, looked at her, and shook
his head.
`And do you mean to say, ma'am, is it possible, Mrs. Todgers, that for such a
miserable consideration as eighteen shillings a week, a female of your
understanding can so far demean herself as to wear a double face, even for an
instant?'
`I am forced to keep things on the square if I can, sir,' faltered Mrs.
Todgers. `I must preserve peace among them, and keep my connexion together, if
possible, Mr. Pecksniff. The profit is very small.'
`The profit!' cried that gentleman, laying great stress upon the word. `The
profit, Mrs. Todgers! You amaze me!'
He was so severe, that Mrs. Todgers shed tears.
`The profit!' repeated Mr. pecksniff. `The profit of dissimulation! To
worship the golden calf of Baal, for eighteen shillings a week!'
`Don't in your own goodness be too hard upon me, Mr. Pecksniff,' cried Mrs.
Todgers, taking out her handkerchief.
`Oh Calf, Calf!' cried Mr. Pecksniff mournfully. `Oh, Baal, Baal! oh my
friend, Mrs. Todgers! To barter away that precious jewel, self-esteem, and
cringe to any mortal creature--for eighteen shillings a week!'
He was so subdued and overcome by the reflection, that he immediately took
down his hat from its peg in the passage, and went out for a walk, to compose
his feelings. Anybody passing him in the street might have known him for a good
man at first sight; for his whole figure teemed with a consciousness of the
moral homily he had read to Mrs. Todgers.
Eighteen shillings a week! Just, most just, thy censure, upright Pecksniff!
Had it been for the sake of a ribbon, star, or garter; sleeves of lawn, a great
man's smile, a seat in parliament, a tap upon the shoulder from a courtly sword;
a place, a party, or a thriving lie, or eighteen thousand pounds, or even
eighteen hundred;--but to worship the golden calf for eighteen shillings a week!
Oh pitiful, pitiful!
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