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Mr. MICAWBER'S GAUNTLET
Until the day arrived on which I was to entertain my newly-found
old friends, I lived principally on Dora and coffee. In my love-lorn
condition, my appetite languished; and I was glad of it, for I felt
as though it would have been an act of perfidy towards Dora to have
a natural relish for my dinner. The quantity of walking exercise
I took, was not in this respect attended with its usual consequence,
as the disappointment counteracted the fresh air. I have my doubts,
too, founded on the acute experience acquired at this period of
my life, whether a sound enjoyment of animal food can develop itself
freely in any human subject who is always in torment from tight
boots. I think the extremities require to be at peace before the
stomach will conduct itself with vigour.
On the occasion of this domestic little party, I did not repeat
my former extensive preparations. I merely provided a pair of soles,
a small leg of mutton, and a pigeon-pie. Mrs. Crupp broke out into
rebellion on my first bashful hint in reference to the cooking of
the fish and joint, and said, with a dignified sense of injury,
'No! No, sir! You will not ask me sich a thing, for you are better
acquainted with me than to suppose me capable of doing what I cannot
do with ampial satisfaction to my own feelings!' But, in the end,
a compromise was effected; and Mrs. Crupp consented to achieve this
feat, on condition that I dined from home for a fortnight afterwards.
And here I may remark, that what I underwent from Mrs. Crupp,
in consequence of the tyranny she established over me, was dreadful.
I never was so much afraid of anyone. We made a compromise of everything.
If I hesitated, she was taken with that wonderful disorder which
was always lying in ambush in her system, ready, at the shortest
notice, to prey upon her vitals. If I rang the bell impatiently,
after half-a-dozen unavailing modest pulls, and she appeared at
last - which was not by any means to be relied upon - she would
appear with a reproachful aspect, sink breathless on a chair near
the door, lay her hand upon her nankeen bosom, and become so ill,
that I was glad, at any sacrifice of brandy or anything else, to
get rid of her. If I objected to having my bed made at five o'clock
in the afternoon - which I do still think an uncomfortable arrangement
- one motion of her hand towards the same nankeen region of wounded
sensibility was enough to make me falter an apology. In short, I
would have done anything in an honourable way rather than give Mrs.
Crupp offence; and she was the terror of my life.
I bought a second-hand dumb-waiter for this dinner-party, in
preference to re-engaging the handy young man; against whom I had
conceived a prejudice, in consequence of meeting him in the Strand,
one Sunday morning, in a waistcoat remarkably like one of mine,
which had been missing since the former occasion. The 'young gal'
was re-engaged; but on the stipulation that she should only bring
in the dishes, and then withdraw to the landing-place, beyond the
outer door; where a habit of sniffing she had contracted would be
lost upon the guests, and where her retiring on the plates would
be a physical impossibility.
Having laid in the materials for a bowl of punch, to be compounded
by Mr. Micawber; having provided a bottle of lavender-water, two
wax-candles, a paper of mixed pins, and a pincushion, to assist
Mrs. Micawber in her toilette at my dressing-table; having also
caused the fire in my bedroom to be lighted for Mrs. Micawber's
convenience; and having laid the cloth with my own hands, I awaited
the result with composure.
At the appointed time, my three visitors arrived together. Mr.
Micawber with more shirt-collar than usual, and a new ribbon to
his eye-glass; Mrs. Micawber with her cap in a whitey-brown paper
parcel; Traddles carrying the parcel, and supporting Mrs. Micawber
on his arm. They were all delighted with my residence. When I conducted
Mrs. Micawber to my dressing-table, and she saw the scale on which
it was prepared for her, she was in such raptures, that she called
Mr. Micawber to come in and look.
'My dear Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, 'this is luxurious.
This is a way of life which reminds me of the period when I was
myself in a state of celibacy, and Mrs. Micawber had not yet been
solicited to plight her faith at the Hymeneal altar.'
'He means, solicited by him, Mr. Copperfield,' said Mrs. Micawber,
archly. 'He cannot answer for others.'
'My dear,' returned Mr. Micawber with sudden seriousness, 'I
have no desire to answer for others. I am too well aware that when,
in the inscrutable decrees of Fate, you were reserved for me, it
is possible you may have been reserved for one, destined, after
a protracted struggle, at length to fall a victim to pecuniary involvements
of a complicated nature. I understand your allusion, my love. I
regret it, but I can bear it.'
'Micawber!' exclaimed Mrs. Micawber, in tears. 'Have I deserved
this! I, who never have deserted you; who never WILL desert you,
Micawber!' 'My love,' said Mr. Micawber, much affected, 'you will
forgive, and our old and tried friend Copperfield will, I am sure,
forgive, the momentary laceration of a wounded spirit, made sensitive
by a recent collision with the Minion of Power - in other words,
with a ribald Turncock attached to the water-works - and will pity,
not condemn, its excesses.'
Mr. Micawber then embraced Mrs. Micawber, and pressed my hand;
leaving me to infer from this broken allusion that his domestic
supply of water had been cut off that afternoon, in consequence
of default in the payment of the company's rates.
To divert his thoughts from this melancholy subject, I informed
Mr. Micawber that I relied upon him for a bowl of punch, and led
him to the lemons. His recent despondency, not to say despair, was
gone in a moment. I never saw a man so thoroughly enjoy himself
amid the fragrance of lemon-peel and sugar, the odour of burning
rum, and the steam of boiling water, as Mr. Micawber did that afternoon.
It was wonderful to see his face shining at us out of a thin cloud
of these delicate fumes, as he stirred, and mixed, and tasted, and
looked as if he were making, instead of punch, a fortune for his
family down to the latest posterity. As to Mrs. Micawber, I don't
know whether it was the effect of the cap, or the lavender-water,
or the pins, or the fire, or the wax-candles, but she came out of
my room, comparatively speaking, lovely. And the lark was never
gayer than that excellent woman.
I suppose - I never ventured to inquire, but I suppose - that
Mrs. Crupp, after frying the soles, was taken ill. Because we broke
down at that point. The leg of mutton came up very red within, and
very pale without: besides having a foreign substance of a gritty
nature sprinkled over it, as if if had had a fall into the ashes
of that remarkable kitchen fireplace. But we were not in condition
to judge of this fact from the appearance of the gravy, forasmuch
as the 'young gal' had dropped it all upon the stairs - where it
remained, by the by, in a long train, until it was worn out. The
pigeon-pie was not bad, but it was a delusive pie: the crust being
like a disappointing head, phrenologically speaking: full of lumps
and bumps, with nothing particular underneath. In short, the banquet
was such a failure that I should have been quite unhappy - about
the failure, I mean, for I was always unhappy about Dora - if I
had not been relieved by the great good humour of my company, and
by a bright suggestion from Mr. Micawber.
'My dear friend Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, 'accidents will
occur in the best-regulated families; and in families not regulated
by that pervading influence which sanctifies while it enhances the
- a - I would say, in short, by the influence of Woman, in the lofty
character of Wife, they may be expected with confidence, and must
be borne with philosophy. If you will allow me to take the liberty
of remarking that there are few comestibles better, in their way,
than a Devil, and that I believe, with a little division of labour,
we could accomplish a good one if the young person in attendance
could produce a gridiron, I would put it to you, that this little
misfortune may be easily repaired.'
There was a gridiron in the pantry, on which my morning rasher
of bacon was cooked. We had it in, in a twinkling, and immediately
applied ourselves to carrying Mr. Micawber's idea into effect. The
division of labour to which he had referred was this: - Traddles
cut the mutton into slices; Mr. Micawber (who could do anything
of this sort to perfection) covered them with pepper, mustard, salt,
and cayenne; I put them on the gridiron, turned them with a fork,
and took them off, under Mr. Micawber's direction; and Mrs. Micawber
heated, and continually stirred, some mushroom ketchup in a little
saucepan. When we had slices enough done to begin upon, we fell-to,
with our sleeves still tucked up at the wrist, more slices sputtering
and blazing on the fire, and our attention divided between the mutton
on our plates, and the mutton then preparing.
What with the novelty of this cookery, the excellence of it,
the bustle of it, the frequent starting up to look after it, the
frequent sitting down to dispose of it as the crisp slices came
off the gridiron hot and hot, the being so busy, so flushed with
the fire, so amused, and in the midst of such a tempting noise and
savour, we reduced the leg of mutton to the bone. My own appetite
came back miraculously. I am ashamed to record it, but I really
believe I forgot Dora for a little while. I am satisfied that Mr.
and Mrs. Micawber could not have enjoyed the feast more, if they
had sold a bed to provide it. Traddles laughed as heartily, almost
the whole time, as he ate and worked. Indeed we all did, all at
once; and I dare say there was never a greater success.
We were at the height of our enjoyment, and were all busily engaged,
in our several departments, endeavouring to bring the last batch
of slices to a state of perfection that should crown the feast,
when I was aware of a strange presence in the room, and my eyes
encountered those of the staid Littimer, standing hat in hand before
me.
'What's the matter?' I involuntarily asked.
'I beg your pardon, sir, I was directed to come in. Is my master
not here, sir?'
'No.'
'Have you not seen him, sir?'
'No; don't you come from him?'
'Not immediately so, sir.'
'Did he tell you you would find him here?'
'Not exactly so, sir. But I should think he might be here tomorrow,
as he has not been here today.' 'Is he coming up from Oxford?'
'I beg, sir,' he returned respectfully, 'that you will be seated,
and allow me to do this.' With which he took the fork from my unresisting
hand, and bent over the gridiron, as if his whole attention were
concentrated on it.
We should not have been much discomposed, I dare say, by the
appearance of Steerforth himself, but we became in a moment the
meekest of the meek before his respectable serving-man. Mr. Micawber,
humming a tune, to show that he was quite at ease, subsided into
his chair, with the handle of a hastily concealed fork sticking
out of the bosom of his coat, as if he had stabbed himself. Mrs.
Micawber put on her brown gloves, and assumed a genteel languor.
Traddles ran his greasy hands through his hair, and stood it bolt
upright, and stared in confusion on the table-cloth. As for me,
I was a mere infant at the head of my own table; and hardly ventured
to glance at the respectable phenomenon, who had come from Heaven
knows where, to put my establishment to rights. Meanwhile he took
the mutton off the gridiron, and gravely handed it round. We all
took some, but our appreciation of it was gone, and we merely made
a show of eating it. As we severally pushed away our plates, he
noiselessly removed them, and set on the cheese. He took that off,
too, when it was done with; cleared the table; piled everything
on the dumb-waiter; gave us our wine-glasses; and, of his own accord,
wheeled the dumb-waiter into the pantry. All this was done in a
perfect manner, and he never raised his eyes from what he was about.
Yet his very elbows, when he had his back towards me, seemed to
teem with the expression of his fixed opinion that I was extremely
young.
'Can I do anything more, sir?'
I thanked him and said, No; but would he take no dinner himself?
'None, I am obliged to you, sir.'
'Is Mr. Steerforth coming from Oxford?'
'I beg your pardon, sir?'
'Is Mr. Steerforth coming from Oxford?'
'I should imagine that he might be here tomorrow, sir. I rather
thought he might have been here today, sir. The mistake is mine,
no doubt, sir.'
'If you should see him first -' said I.
'If you'll excuse me, sir, I don't think I shall see him first.'
'In case you do,' said I, 'pray say that I am sorry he was not
here today, as an old schoolfellow of his was here.'
'Indeed, sir!' and he divided a bow between me and Traddles,
with a glance at the latter.
He was moving softly to the door, when, in a forlorn hope of
saying something naturally - which I never could, to this man -
I said:
'Oh! Littimer!'
'Sir!'
'Did you remain long at Yarmouth, that time?'
'Not particularly so, sir.'
'You saw the boat completed?'
'Yes, sir. I remained behind on purpose to see the boat completed.'
'I know!' He raised his eyes to mine respectfully.
'Mr. Steerforth has not seen it yet, I suppose?'
'I really can't say, sir. I think - but I really can't say, sir.
I wish you good night, sir.'
He comprehended everybody present, in the respectful bow with
which he followed these words, and disappeared. My visitors seemed
to breathe more freely when he was gone; but my own relief was very
great, for besides the constraint, arising from that extraordinary
sense of being at a disadvantage which I always had in this man's
presence, my conscience had embarrassed me with whispers that I
had mistrusted his master, and I could not repress a vague uneasy
dread that he might find it out. How was it, having so little in
reality to conceal, that I always DID feel as if this man were finding
me out?
Mr. Micawber roused me from this reflection, which was blended
with a certain remorseful apprehension of seeing Steerforth himself,
by bestowing many encomiums on the absent Littimer as a most respectable
fellow, and a thoroughly admirable servant. Mr. Micawber, I may
remark, had taken his full share of the general bow, and had received
it with infinite condescension.
'But punch, my dear Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, tasting
it, 'like time and tide, waits for no man. Ah! it is at the present
moment in high flavour. My love, will you give me your opinion?'
Mrs. Micawber pronounced it excellent.
'Then I will drink,' said Mr. Micawber, 'if my friend Copperfield
will permit me to take that social liberty, to the days when my
friend Copperfield and myself were younger, and fought our way in
the world side by side. I may say, of myself and Copperfield, in
words we have sung together before now, that
We twa hae run about the braes And pu'd the gowans' fine
- in a figurative point of view - on several occasions. I am
not exactly aware,' said Mr. Micawber, with the old roll in his
voice, and the old indescribable air of saying something genteel,
'what gowans may be, but I have no doubt that Copperfield and myself
would frequently have taken a pull at them, if it had been feasible.'
Mr. Micawber, at the then present moment, took a pull at his
punch. So we all did: Traddles evidently lost in wondering at what
distant time Mr. Micawber and I could have been comrades in the
battle of the world.
'Ahem!' said Mr. Micawber, clearing his throat, and warming with
the punch and with the fire. 'My dear, another glass?'
Mrs. Micawber said it must be very little; but we couldn't allow
that, so it was a glassful.
'As we are quite confidential here, Mr. Copperfield,' said Mrs.
Micawber, sipping her punch, 'Mr. Traddles being a part of our domesticity,
I should much like to have your opinion on Mr. Micawber's prospects.
For corn,' said Mrs. Micawber argumentatively, 'as I have repeatedly
said to Mr. Micawber, may be gentlemanly, but it is not remunerative.
Commission to the extent of two and ninepence in a fortnight cannot,
however limited our ideas, be considered remunerative.'
We were all agreed upon that.
'Then,' said Mrs. Micawber, who prided herself on taking a clear
view of things, and keeping Mr. Micawber straight by her woman's
wisdom, when he might otherwise go a little crooked, 'then I ask
myself this question. If corn is not to be relied upon, what is?
Are coals to be relied upon? Not at all. We have turned our attention
to that experiment, on the suggestion of my family, and we find
it fallacious.'
Mr. Micawber, leaning back in his chair with his hands in his
pockets, eyed us aside, and nodded his head, as much as to say that
the case was very clearly put.
'The articles of corn and coals,' said Mrs. Micawber, still more
argumentatively, 'being equally out of the question, Mr. Copperfield,
I naturally look round the world, and say, "What is there in
which a person of Mr. Micawber's talent is likely to succeed?"
And I exclude the doing anything on commission, because commission
is not a certainty. What is best suited to a person of Mr. Micawber's
peculiar temperament is, I am convinced, a certainty.'
Traddles and I both expressed, by a feeling murmur, that this
great discovery was no doubt true of Mr. Micawber, and that it did
him much credit.
'I will not conceal from you, my dear Mr. Copperfield,' said
Mrs. Micawber, 'that I have long felt the Brewing business to be
particularly adapted to Mr. Micawber. Look at Barclay and Perkins!
Look at Truman, Hanbury, and Buxton! It is on that extensive footing
that Mr. Micawber, I know from my own knowledge of him, is calculated
to shine; and the profits, I am told, are e-NOR-MOUS! But if Mr.
Micawber cannot get into those firms - which decline to answer his
letters, when he offers his services even in an inferior capacity
- what is the use of dwelling upon that idea? None. I may have a
conviction that Mr. Micawber's manners -'
'Hem! Really, my dear,' interposed Mr. Micawber.
'My love, be silent,' said Mrs. Micawber, laying her brown glove
on his hand. 'I may have a conviction, Mr. Copperfield, that Mr.
Micawber's manners peculiarly qualify him for the Banking business.
I may argue within myself, that if I had a deposit at a banking-house,
the manners of Mr. Micawber, as representing that banking-house,
would inspire confidence, and must extend the connexion. But if
the various banking-houses refuse to avail themselves of Mr. Micawber's
abilities, or receive the offer of them with contumely, what is
the use of dwelling upon THAT idea? None. As to originating a banking-business,
I may know that there are members of my family who, if they chose
to place their money in Mr. Micawber's hands, might found an establishment
of that description. But if they do NOT choose to place their money
in Mr. Micawber's hands - which they don't - what is the use of
that? Again I contend that we are no farther advanced than we were
before.'
I shook my head, and said, 'Not a bit.' Traddles also shook his
head, and said, 'Not a bit.'
'What do I deduce from this?' Mrs. Micawber went on to say, still
with the same air of putting a case lucidly. 'What is the conclusion,
my dear Mr. Copperfield, to which I am irresistibly brought? Am
I wrong in saying, it is clear that we must live?'
I answered 'Not at all!' and Traddles answered 'Not at all!'
and I found myself afterwards sagely adding, alone, that a person
must either live or die.
'Just so,' returned Mrs. Micawber, 'It is precisely that. And
the fact is, my dear Mr. Copperfield, that we can not live without
something widely different from existing circumstances shortly turning
up. Now I am convinced, myself, and this I have pointed out to Mr.
Micawber several times of late, that things cannot be expected to
turn up of themselves. We must, in a measure, assist to turn them
up. I may be wrong, but I have formed that opinion.'
Both Traddles and I applauded it highly.
'Very well,' said Mrs. Micawber. 'Then what do I recommend? Here
is Mr. Micawber with a variety of qualifications - with great talent
-'
'Really, my love,' said Mr. Micawber.
'Pray, my dear, allow me to conclude. Here is Mr. Micawber, with
a variety of qualifications, with great talent - I should say, with
genius, but that may be the partiality of a wife -'
Traddles and I both murmured 'No.'
'And here is Mr. Micawber without any suitable position or employment.
Where does that responsibility rest? Clearly on society. Then I
would make a fact so disgraceful known, and boldly challenge society
to set it right. It appears to me, my dear Mr. Copperfield,' said
Mrs. Micawber, forcibly, 'that what Mr. Micawber has to do, is to
throw down the gauntlet to society, and say, in effect, "Show
me who will take that up. Let the party immediately step forward."'
I ventured to ask Mrs. Micawber how this was to be done.
'By advertising,' said Mrs. Micawber - 'in all the papers. It
appears to me, that what Mr. Micawber has to do, in justice to himself,
in justice to his family, and I will even go so far as to say in
justice to society, by which he has been hitherto overlooked, is
to advertise in all the papers; to describe himself plainly as so-and-so,
with such and such qualifications and to put it thus: "Now
employ me, on remunerative terms, and address, post-paid, to W.
M., Post Office, Camden Town."'
'This idea of Mrs. Micawber's, my dear Copperfield,' said Mr.
Micawber, making his shirt-collar meet in front of his chin, and
glancing at me sideways, 'is, in fact, the Leap to which I alluded,
when I last had the pleasure of seeing you.'
'Advertising is rather expensive,' I remarked, dubiously.
'Exactly so!' said Mrs. Micawber, preserving the same logical
air. 'Quite true, my dear Mr. Copperfield! I have made the identical
observation to Mr. Micawber. It is for that reason especially, that
I think Mr. Micawber ought (as I have already said, in justice to
himself, in justice to his family, and in justice to society) to
raise a certain sum of money - on a bill.'
Mr. Micawber, leaning back in his chair, trifled with his eye-glass
and cast his eyes up at the ceiling; but I thought him observant
of Traddles, too, who was looking at the fire.
'If no member of my family,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'is possessed
of sufficient natural feeling to negotiate that bill - I believe
there is a better business-term to express what I mean -'
Mr. Micawber, with his eyes still cast up at the ceiling, suggested
'Discount.'
'To discount that bill,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'then my opinion
is, that Mr. Micawber should go into the City, should take that
bill into the Money Market, and should dispose of it for what he
can get. If the individuals in the Money Market oblige Mr. Micawber
to sustain a great sacrifice, that is between themselves and their
consciences. I view it, steadily, as an investment. I recommend
Mr. Micawber, my dear Mr. Copperfield, to do the same; to regard
it as an investment which is sure of return, and to make up his
mind to any sacrifice.'
I felt, but I am sure I don't know why, that this was self-denying
and devoted in Mrs. Micawber, and I uttered a murmur to that effect.
Traddles, who took his tone from me, did likewise, still looking
at the fire.
'I will not,' said Mrs. Micawber, finishing her punch, and gathering
her scarf about her shoulders, preparatory to her withdrawal to
my bedroom: 'I will not protract these remarks on the subject of
Mr. Micawber's pecuniary affairs. At your fireside, my dear Mr.
Copperfield, and in the presence of Mr. Traddles, who, though not
so old a friend, is quite one of ourselves, I could not refrain
from making you acquainted with the course I advise Mr. Micawber
to take. I feel that the time is arrived when Mr. Micawber should
exert himself and - I will add - assert himself, and it appears
to me that these are the means. I am aware that I am merely a female,
and that a masculine judgement is usually considered more competent
to the discussion of such questions; still I must not forget that,
when I lived at home with my papa and mama, my papa was in the habit
of saying, "Emma's form is fragile, but her grasp of a subject
is inferior to none." That my papa was too partial, I well
know; but that he was an observer of character in some degree, my
duty and my reason equally forbid me to doubt.'
With these words, and resisting our entreaties that she would
grace the remaining circulation of the punch with her presence,
Mrs. Micawber retired to my bedroom. And really I felt that she
was a noble woman - the sort of woman who might have been a Roman
matron, and done all manner of heroic things, in times of public
trouble.
In the fervour of this impression, I congratulated Mr. Micawber
on the treasure he possessed. So did Traddles. Mr. Micawber extended
his hand to each of us in succession, and then covered his face
with his pocket-handkerchief, which I think had more snuff upon
it than he was aware of. He then returned to the punch, in the highest
state of exhilaration.
He was full of eloquence. He gave us to understand that in our
children we lived again, and that, under the pressure of pecuniary
difficulties, any accession to their number was doubly welcome.
He said that Mrs. Micawber had latterly had her doubts on this point,
but that he had dispelled them, and reassured her. As to her family,
they were totally unworthy of her, and their sentiments were utterly
indifferent to him, and they might - I quote his own expression
- go to the Devil.
Mr. Micawber then delivered a warm eulogy on Traddles. He said
Traddles's was a character, to the steady virtues of which he (Mr.
Micawber) could lay no claim, but which, he thanked Heaven, he could
admire. He feelingly alluded to the young lady, unknown, whom Traddles
had honoured with his affection, and who had reciprocated that affection
by honouring and blessing Traddles with her affection. Mr. Micawber
pledged her. So did I. Traddles thanked us both, by saying, with
a simplicity and honesty I had sense enough to be quite charmed
with, 'I am very much obliged to you indeed. And I do assure you,
she's the dearest girl! -'
Mr. Micawber took an early opportunity, after that, of hinting,
with the utmost delicacy and ceremony, at the state of MY affections.
Nothing but the serious assurance of his friend Copperfield to the
contrary, he observed, could deprive him of the impression that
his friend Copperfield loved and was beloved. After feeling very
hot and uncomfortable for some time, and after a good deal of blushing,
stammering, and denying, I said, having my glass in my hand, 'Well!
I would give them D.!' which so excited and gratified Mr. Micawber,
that he ran with a glass of punch into my bedroom, in order that
Mrs. Micawber might drink D., who drank it with enthusiasm, crying
from within, in a shrill voice, 'Hear, hear! My dear Mr. Copperfield,
I am delighted. Hear!' and tapping at the wall, by way of applause.
Our conversation, afterwards, took a more worldly turn; Mr. Micawber
telling us that he found Camden Town inconvenient, and that the
first thing he contemplated doing, when the advertisement should
have been the cause of something satisfactory turning up, was to
move. He mentioned a terrace at the western end of Oxford Street,
fronting Hyde Park, on which he had always had his eye, but which
he did not expect to attain immediately, as it would require a large
establishment. There would probably be an interval, he explained,
in which he should content himself with the upper part of a house,
over some respectable place of business - say in Piccadilly, - which
would be a cheerful situation for Mrs. Micawber; and where, by throwing
out a bow-window, or carrying up the roof another story, or making
some little alteration of that sort, they might live, comfortably
and reputably, for a few years. Whatever was reserved for him, he
expressly said, or wherever his abode might be, we might rely on
this - there would always be a room for Traddles, and a knife and
fork for me. We acknowledged his kindness; and he begged us to forgive
his having launched into these practical and business-like details,
and to excuse it as natural in one who was making entirely new arrangements
in life.
Mrs. Micawber, tapping at the wall again to know if tea were
ready, broke up this particular phase of our friendly conversation.
She made tea for us in a most agreeable manner; and, whenever I
went near her, in handing about the tea-cups and bread-and-butter,
asked me, in a whisper, whether D. was fair, or dark, or whether
she was short, or tall: or something of that kind; which I think
I liked. After tea, we discussed a variety of topics before the
fire; and Mrs. Micawber was good enough to sing us (in a small,
thin, flat voice, which I remembered to have considered, when I
first knew her, the very table-beer of acoustics) the favourite
ballads of 'The Dashing White Sergeant', and 'Little Tafflin'. For
both of these songs Mrs. Micawber had been famous when she lived
at home with her papa and mama. Mr. Micawber told us, that when
he heard her sing the first one, on the first occasion of his seeing
her beneath the parental roof, she had attracted his attention in
an extraordinary degree; but that when it came to Little Tafflin,
he had resolved to win that woman or perish in the attempt.
It was between ten and eleven o'clock when Mrs. Micawber rose
to replace her cap in the whitey-brown paper parcel, and to put
on her bonnet. Mr. Micawber took the opportunity of Traddles putting
on his great-coat, to slip a letter into my hand, with a whispered
request that I would read it at my leisure. I also took the opportunity
of my holding a candle over the banisters to light them down, when
Mr. Micawber was going first, leading Mrs. Micawber, and Traddles
was following with the cap, to detain Traddles for a moment on the
top of the stairs.
'Traddles,' said I, 'Mr. Micawber don't mean any harm, poor fellow:
but, if I were you, I wouldn't lend him anything.'
'My dear Copperfield,' returned Traddles, smiling, 'I haven't
got anything to lend.'
'You have got a name, you know,' said I.
'Oh! You call THAT something to lend?' returned Traddles, with
a thoughtful look.
'Certainly.'
'Oh!' said Traddles. 'Yes, to be sure! I am very much obliged
to you, Copperfield; but - I am afraid I have lent him that already.'
'For the bill that is to be a certain investment?' I inquired.
'No,' said Traddles. 'Not for that one. This is the first I have
heard of that one. I have been thinking that he will most likely
propose that one, on the way home. Mine's another.'
'I hope there will be nothing wrong about it,' said I. 'I hope
not,' said Traddles. 'I should think not, though, because he told
me, only the other day, that it was provided for. That was Mr. Micawber's
expression, "Provided for."'
Mr. Micawber looking up at this juncture to where we were standing,
I had only time to repeat my caution. Traddles thanked me, and descended.
But I was much afraid, when I observed the good-natured manner in
which he went down with the cap in his hand, and gave Mrs. Micawber
his arm, that he would be carried into the Money Market neck and
heels.
I returned to my fireside, and was musing, half gravely and half
laughing, on the character of Mr. Micawber and the old relations
between us, when I heard a quick step ascending the stairs. At first,
I thought it was Traddles coming back for something Mrs. Micawber
had left behind; but as the step approached, I knew it, and felt
my heart beat high, and the blood rush to my face, for it was Steerforth's.
I was never unmindful of Agnes, and she never left that sanctuary
in my thoughts - if I may call it so - where I had placed her from
the first. But when he entered, and stood before me with his hand
out, the darkness that had fallen on him changed to light, and I
felt confounded and ashamed of having doubted one I loved so heartily.
I loved her none the less; I thought of her as the same benignant,
gentle angel in my life; I reproached myself, not her, with having
done him an injury; and I would have made him any atonement if I
had known what to make, and how to make it.
'Why, Daisy, old boy, dumb-foundered!' laughed Steerforth, shaking
my hand heartily, and throwing it gaily away. 'Have I detected you
in another feast, you Sybarite! These Doctors' Commons fellows are
the gayest men in town, I believe, and beat us sober Oxford people
all to nothing!' His bright glance went merrily round the room,
as he took the seat on the sofa opposite to me, which Mrs. Micawber
had recently vacated, and stirred the fire into a blaze.
'I was so surprised at first,' said I, giving him welcome with
all the cordiality I felt, 'that I had hardly breath to greet you
with, Steerforth.'
'Well, the sight of me is good for sore eyes, as the Scotch say,'
replied Steerforth, 'and so is the sight of you, Daisy, in full
bloom. How are you, my Bacchanal?'
'I am very well,' said I; 'and not at all Bacchanalian tonight,
though I confess to another party of three.'
'All of whom I met in the street, talking loud in your praise,'
returned Steerforth. 'Who's our friend in the tights?'
I gave him the best idea I could, in a few words, of Mr. Micawber.
He laughed heartily at my feeble portrait of that gentleman, and
said he was a man to know, and he must know him. 'But who do you
suppose our other friend is?' said I, in my turn.
'Heaven knows,' said Steerforth. 'Not a bore, I hope? I thought
he looked a little like one.'
'Traddles!' I replied, triumphantly.
'Who's he?' asked Steerforth, in his careless way.
'Don't you remember Traddles? Traddles in our room at Salem House?'
'Oh! That fellow!' said Steerforth, beating a lump of coal on
the top of the fire, with the poker. 'Is he as soft as ever? And
where the deuce did you pick him up?'
I extolled Traddles in reply, as highly as I could; for I felt
that Steerforth rather slighted him. Steerforth, dismissing the
subject with a light nod, and a smile, and the remark that he would
be glad to see the old fellow too, for he had always been an odd
fish, inquired if I could give him anything to eat? During most
of this short dialogue, when he had not been speaking in a wild
vivacious manner, he had sat idly beating on the lump of coal with
the poker. I observed that he did the same thing while I was getting
out the remains of the pigeon-pie, and so forth.
'Why, Daisy, here's a supper for a king!' he exclaimed, starting
out of his silence with a burst, and taking his seat at the table.
'I shall do it justice, for I have come from Yarmouth.'
'I thought you came from Oxford?' I returned.
'Not I,' said Steerforth. 'I have been seafaring - better employed.'
'Littimer was here today, to inquire for you,' I remarked, 'and
I understood him that you were at Oxford; though, now I think of
it, he certainly did not say so.'
'Littimer is a greater fool than I thought him, to have been
inquiring for me at all,' said Steerforth, jovially pouring out
a glass of wine, and drinking to me. 'As to understanding him, you
are a cleverer fellow than most of us, Daisy, if you can do that.'
'That's true, indeed,' said I, moving my chair to the table.
'So you have been at Yarmouth, Steerforth!' interested to know all
about it. 'Have you been there long?'
'No,' he returned. 'An escapade of a week or so.'
'And how are they all? Of course, little Emily is not married
yet?'
'Not yet. Going to be, I believe - in so many weeks, or months,
or something or other. I have not seen much of 'em. By the by';
he laid down his knife and fork, which he had been using with great
diligence, and began feeling in his pockets; 'I have a letter for
you.'
'From whom?'
'Why, from your old nurse,' he returned, taking some papers out
of his breast pocket. "'J. Steerforth, Esquire, debtor, to
The Willing Mind"; that's not it. Patience, and we'll find
it presently. Old what's-his-name's in a bad way, and it's about
that, I believe.'
'Barkis, do you mean?'
'Yes!' still feeling in his pockets, and looking over their contents:
'it's all over with poor Barkis, I am afraid. I saw a little apothecary
there - surgeon, or whatever he is - who brought your worship into
the world. He was mighty learned about the case, to me; but the
upshot of his opinion was, that the carrier was making his last
journey rather fast. - Put your hand into the breast pocket of my
great-coat on the chair yonder, and I think you'll find the letter.
Is it there?'
'Here it is!' said I.
'That's right!'
It was from Peggotty; something less legible than usual, and
brief. It informed me of her husband's hopeless state, and hinted
at his being 'a little nearer' than heretofore, and consequently
more difficult to manage for his own comfort. It said nothing of
her weariness and watching, and praised him highly. It was written
with a plain, unaffected, homely piety that I knew to be genuine,
and ended with 'my duty to my ever darling' - meaning myself.
While I deciphered it, Steerforth continued to eat and drink.
'It's a bad job,' he said, when I had done; 'but the sun sets
every day, and people die every minute, and we mustn't be scared
by the common lot. If we failed to hold our own, because that equal
foot at all men's doors was heard knocking somewhere, every object
in this world would slip from us. No! Ride on! Rough-shod if need
be, smooth-shod if that will do, but ride on! Ride on over all obstacles,
and win the race!'
'And win what race?' said I.
'The race that one has started in,' said he. 'Ride on!'
I noticed, I remember, as he paused, looking at me with his handsome
head a little thrown back, and his glass raised in his hand, that,
though the freshness of the sea-wind was on his face, and it was
ruddy, there were traces in it, made since I last saw it, as if
he had applied himself to some habitual strain of the fervent energy
which, when roused, was so passionately roused within him. I had
it in my thoughts to remonstrate with him upon his desperate way
of pursuing any fancy that he took - such as this buffeting of rough
seas, and braving of hard weather, for example - when my mind glanced
off to the immediate subject of our conversation again, and pursued
that instead.
'I tell you what, Steerforth,' said I, 'if your high spirits
will listen to me -'
'They are potent spirits, and will do whatever you like,' he
answered, moving from the table to the fireside again.
'Then I tell you what, Steerforth. I think I will go down and
see my old nurse. It is not that I can do her any good, or render
her any real service; but she is so attached to me that my visit
will have as much effect on her, as if I could do both. She will
take it so kindly that it will be a comfort and support to her.
It is no great effort to make, I am sure, for such a friend as she
has been to me. Wouldn't you go a day's journey, if you were in
my place?'
His face was thoughtful, and he sat considering a little before
he answered, in a low voice, 'Well! Go. You can do no harm.'
'You have just come back,' said I, 'and it would be in vain to
ask you to go with me?'
'Quite,' he returned. 'I am for Highgate tonight. I have not
seen my mother this long time, and it lies upon my conscience, for
it's something to be loved as she loves her prodigal son. - Bah!
Nonsense! - You mean to go tomorrow, I suppose?' he said, holding
me out at arm's length, with a hand on each of my shoulders.
'Yes, I think so.'
'Well, then, don't go till next day. I wanted you to come and
stay a few days with us. Here I am, on purpose to bid you, and you
fly off to Yarmouth!'
'You are a nice fellow to talk of flying off, Steerforth, who
are always running wild on some unknown expedition or other!'
He looked at me for a moment without speaking, and then rejoined,
still holding me as before, and giving me a shake:
'Come! Say the next day, and pass as much of tomorrow as you
can with us! Who knows when we may meet again, else? Come! Say the
next day! I want you to stand between Rosa Dartle and me, and keep
us asunder.'
'Would you love each other too much, without me?'
'Yes; or hate,' laughed Steerforth; 'no matter which. Come! Say
the next day!'
I said the next day; and he put on his great-coat and lighted
his cigar, and set off to walk home. Finding him in this intention,
I put on my own great-coat (but did not light my own cigar, having
had enough of that for one while) and walked with him as far as
the open road: a dull road, then, at night. He was in great spirits
all the way; and when we parted, and I looked after him going so
gallantly and airily homeward, I thought of his saying, 'Ride on
over all obstacles, and win the race!' and wished, for the first
time, that he had some worthy race to run.
I was undressing in my own room, when Mr. Micawber's letter tumbled
on the floor. Thus reminded of it, I broke the seal and read as
follows. It was dated an hour and a half before dinner. I am not
sure whether I have mentioned that, when Mr. Micawber was at any
particularly desperate crisis, he used a sort of legal phraseology,
which he seemed to think equivalent to winding up his affairs.
'SIR - for I dare not say my dear Copperfield,
'It is expedient that I should inform you that the undersigned
is Crushed. Some flickering efforts to spare you the premature knowledge
of his calamitous position, you may observe in him this day; but
hope has sunk beneath the horizon, and the undersigned is Crushed.
'The present communication is penned within the personal range
(I cannot call it the society) of an individual, in a state closely
bordering on intoxication, employed by a broker. That individual
is in legal possession of the premises, under a distress for rent.
His inventory includes, not only the chattels and effects of every
description belonging to the undersigned, as yearly tenant of this
habitation, but also those appertaining to Mr. Thomas Traddles,
lodger, a member of the Honourable Society of the Inner Temple.
'If any drop of gloom were wanting in the overflowing cup, which
is now "commended" (in the language of an immortal Writer)
to the lips of the undersigned, it would be found in the fact, that
a friendly acceptance granted to the undersigned, by the before-mentioned
Mr. Thomas Traddles, for the sum Of 23l 4s 9 1/2d is over due, and
is NOT provided for. Also, in the fact that the living responsibilities
clinging to the undersigned will, in the course of nature, be increased
by the sum of one more helpless victim; whose miserable appearance
may be looked for - in round numbers - at the expiration of a period
not exceeding six lunar months from the present date.
'After premising thus much, it would be a work of supererogation
to add, that dust and ashes are for ever scattered
'On 'The 'Head 'Of 'WILKINS MICAWBER.'
Poor Traddles! I knew enough of Mr. Micawber by this time, to
foresee that he might be expected to recover the blow; but my night's
rest was sorely distressed by thoughts of Traddles, and of the curate's
daughter, who was one of ten, down in Devonshire, and who was such
a dear girl, and who would wait for Traddles (ominous praise!) until
she was sixty, or any age that could be mentioned.
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