|
DEPRESSION
As soon as I could recover my presence of mind, which quite
deserted me in the first overpowering shock of my aunt's intelligence,
I proposed to Mr. Dick to come round to the chandler's shop, and
take possession of the bed which Mr. Peggotty had lately vacated.
The chandler's shop being in Hungerford Market, and Hungerford Market
being a very different place in those days, there was a low wooden
colonnade before the door (not very unlike that before the house
where the little man and woman used to live, in the old weather-glass),
which pleased Mr. Dick mightily. The glory of lodging over this
structure would have compensated him, I dare say, for many inconveniences;
but, as there were really few to bear, beyond the compound of flavours
I have already mentioned, and perhaps the want of a little more
elbow-room, he was perfectly charmed with his accommodation. Mrs.
Crupp had indignantly assured him that there wasn't room to swing
a cat there; but, as Mr. Dick justly observed to me, sitting down
on the foot of the bed, nursing his leg, 'You know, Trotwood, I
don't want to swing a cat. I never do swing a cat. Therefore, what
does that signify to ME!'
I tried to ascertain whether Mr. Dick had any understanding of
the causes of this sudden and great change in my aunt's affairs.
As I might have expected, he had none at all. The only account he
could give of it was, that my aunt had said to him, the day before
yesterday, 'Now, Dick, are you really and truly the philosopher
I take you for?' That then he had said, Yes, he hoped so. That then
my aunt had said, 'Dick, I am ruined.' That then he had said, 'Oh,
indeed!' That then my aunt had praised him highly, which he was
glad of. And that then they had come to me, and had had bottled
porter and sandwiches on the road.
Mr. Dick was so very complacent, sitting on the foot of the bed,
nursing his leg, and telling me this, with his eyes wide open and
a surprised smile, that I am sorry to say I was provoked into explaining
to him that ruin meant distress, want, and starvation; but I was
soon bitterly reproved for this harshness, by seeing his face turn
pale, and tears course down his lengthened cheeks, while he fixed
upon me a look of such unutterable woe, that it might have softened
a far harder heart than mine. I took infinitely greater pains to
cheer him up again than I had taken to depress him; and I soon understood
(as I ought to have known at first) that he had been so confident,
merely because of his faith in the wisest and most wonderful of
women, and his unbounded reliance on my intellectual resources.
The latter, I believe, he considered a match for any kind of disaster
not absolutely mortal.
'What can we do, Trotwood?' said Mr. Dick. 'There's the Memorial
-'
'To be sure there is,' said I. 'But all we can do just now, Mr.
Dick, is to keep a cheerful countenance, and not let my aunt see
that we are thinking about it.'
He assented to this in the most earnest manner; and implored
me, if I should see him wandering an inch out of the right course,
to recall him by some of those superior methods which were always
at my command. But I regret to state that the fright I had given
him proved too much for his best attempts at concealment. All the
evening his eyes wandered to my aunt's face, with an expression
of the most dismal apprehension, as if he saw her growing thin on
the spot. He was conscious of this, and put a constraint upon his
head; but his keeping that immovable, and sitting rolling his eyes
like a piece of machinery, did not mend the matter at all. I saw
him look at the loaf at supper (which happened to be a small one),
as if nothing else stood between us and famine; and when my aunt
insisted on his making his customary repast, I detected him in the
act of pocketing fragments of his bread and cheese; I have no doubt
for the purpose of reviving us with those savings, when we should
have reached an advanced stage of attenuation.
My aunt, on the other hand, was in a composed frame of mind,
which was a lesson to all of us - to me, I am sure. She was extremely
gracious to Peggotty, except when I inadvertently called her by
that name; and, strange as I knew she felt in London, appeared quite
at home. She was to have my bed, and I was to lie in the sitting-room,
to keep guard over her. She made a great point of being so near
the river, in case of a conflagration; and I suppose really did
find some satisfaction in that circumstance.
'Trot, my dear,' said my aunt, when she saw me making preparations
for compounding her usual night-draught, 'No!'
'Nothing, aunt?'
'Not wine, my dear. Ale.'
'But there is wine here, aunt. And you always have it made of
wine.'
'Keep that, in case of sickness,' said my aunt. 'We mustn't use
it carelessly, Trot. Ale for me. Half a pint.'
I thought Mr. Dick would have fallen, insensible. My aunt being
resolute, I went out and got the ale myself. As it was growing late,
Peggotty and Mr. Dick took that opportunity of repairing to the
chandler's shop together. I parted from him, poor fellow, at the
corner of the street, with his great kite at his back, a very monument
of human misery.
My aunt was walking up and down the room when I returned, crimping
the borders of her nightcap with her fingers. I warmed the ale and
made the toast on the usual infallible principles. When it was ready
for her, she was ready for it, with her nightcap on, and the skirt
of her gown turned back on her knees.
'My dear,' said my aunt, after taking a spoonful of it; 'it's
a great deal better than wine. Not half so bilious.'
I suppose I looked doubtful, for she added:
'Tut, tut, child. If nothing worse than Ale happens to us, we
are well off.'
'I should think so myself, aunt, I am sure,' said I.
'Well, then, why DON'T you think so?' said my aunt.
'Because you and I are very different people,' I returned.
'Stuff and nonsense, Trot!' replied my aunt.
MY aunt went on with a quiet enjoyment, in which there was very
little affectation, if any; drinking the warm ale with a tea-spoon,
and soaking her strips of toast in it.
'Trot,' said she, 'I don't care for strange faces in general,
but I rather like that Barkis of yours, do you know!'
'It's better than a hundred pounds to hear you say so!' said
I.
'It's a most extraordinary world,' observed my aunt, rubbing
her nose; 'how that woman ever got into it with that name, is unaccountable
to me. It would be much more easy to be born a Jackson, or something
of that sort, one would think.'
'Perhaps she thinks so, too; it's not her fault,' said I.
'I suppose not,' returned my aunt, rather grudging the admission;
'but it's very aggravating. However, she's Barkis now. That's some
comfort. Barkis is uncommonly fond of you, Trot.'
'There is nothing she would leave undone to prove it,' said I.
'Nothing, I believe,' returned my aunt. 'Here, the poor fool
has been begging and praying about handing over some of her money
- because she has got too much of it. A simpleton!'
My aunt's tears of pleasure were positively trickling down into
the warm ale.
'She's the most ridiculous creature that ever was born,' said
my aunt. 'I knew, from the first moment when I saw her with that
poor dear blessed baby of a mother of yours, that she was the most
ridiculous of mortals. But there are good points in Barkis!'
Affecting to laugh, she got an opportunity of putting her hand
to her eyes. Having availed herself of it, she resumed her toast
and her discourse together.
'Ah! Mercy upon us!' sighed my aunt. 'I know all about it, Trot!
Barkis and myself had quite a gossip while you were out with Dick.
I know all about it. I don't know where these wretched girls expect
to go to, for my part. I wonder they don't knock out their brains
against - against mantelpieces,' said my aunt; an idea which was
probably suggested to her by her contemplation of mine.
'Poor Emily!' said I.
'Oh, don't talk to me about poor,' returned my aunt. 'She should
have thought of that, before she caused so much misery! Give me
a kiss, Trot. I am sorry for your early experience.'
As I bent forward, she put her tumbler on my knee to detain me,
and said:
'Oh, Trot, Trot! And so you fancy yourself in love! Do you?'
'Fancy, aunt!' I exclaimed, as red as I could be. 'I adore her
with my whole soul!'
'Dora, indeed!' returned my aunt. 'And you mean to say the little
thing is very fascinating, I suppose?'
'My dear aunt,' I replied, 'no one can form the least idea what
she is!'
'Ah! And not silly?' said my aunt.
'Silly, aunt!'
I seriously believe it had never once entered my head for a single
moment, to consider whether she was or not. I resented the idea,
of course; but I was in a manner struck by it, as a new one altogether.
'Not light-headed?' said my aunt.
'Light-headed, aunt!' I could only repeat this daring speculation
with the same kind of feeling with which I had repeated the preceding
question.
'Well, well!' said my aunt. 'I only ask. I don't depreciate her.
Poor little couple! And so you think you were formed for one another,
and are to go through a party-supper-table kind of life, like two
pretty pieces of confectionery, do you, Trot?'
She asked me this so kindly, and with such a gentle air, half
playful and half sorrowful, that I was quite touched.
'We are young and inexperienced, aunt, I know,' I replied; 'and
I dare say we say and think a good deal that is rather foolish.
But we love one another truly, I am sure. If I thought Dora could
ever love anybody else, or cease to love me; or that I could ever
love anybody else, or cease to love her; I don't know what I should
do - go out of my mind, I think!'
'Ah, Trot!' said my aunt, shaking her head, and smiling gravely;
'blind, blind, blind!'
'Someone that I know, Trot,' my aunt pursued, after a pause,
'though of a very pliant disposition, has an earnestness of affection
in him that reminds me of poor Baby. Earnestness is what that Somebody
must look for, to sustain him and improve him, Trot. Deep, downright,
faithful earnestness.'
'If you only knew the earnestness of Dora, aunt!' I cried.
'Oh, Trot!' she said again; 'blind, blind!' and without knowing
why, I felt a vague unhappy loss or want of something overshadow
me like a cloud.
'However,' said my aunt, 'I don't want to put two young creatures
out of conceit with themselves, or to make them unhappy; so, though
it is a girl and boy attachment, and girl and boy attachments very
often - mind! I don't say always! - come to nothing, still we'll
be serious about it, and hope for a prosperous issue one of these
days. There's time enough for it to come to anything!'
This was not upon the whole very comforting to a rapturous lover;
but I was glad to have my aunt in my confidence, and I was mindful
of her being fatigued. So I thanked her ardently for this mark of
her affection, and for all her other kindnesses towards me; and
after a tender good night, she took her nightcap into my bedroom.
How miserable I was, when I lay down! How I thought and thought
about my being poor, in Mr. Spenlow's eyes; about my not being what
I thought I was, when I proposed to Dora; about the chivalrous necessity
of telling Dora what my worldly condition was, and releasing her
from her engagement if she thought fit; about how I should contrive
to live, during the long term of my articles, when I was earning
nothing; about doing something to assist my aunt, and seeing no
way of doing anything; about coming down to have no money in my
pocket, and to wear a shabby coat, and to be able to carry Dora
no little presents, and to ride no gallant greys, and to show myself
in no agreeable light! Sordid and selfish as I knew it was, and
as I tortured myself by knowing that it was, to let my mind run
on my own distress so much, I was so devoted to Dora that I could
not help it. I knew that it was base in me not to think more of
my aunt, and less of myself; but, so far, selfishness was inseparable
from Dora, and I could not put Dora on one side for any mortal creature.
How exceedingly miserable I was, that night!
As to sleep, I had dreams of poverty in all sorts of shapes,
but I seemed to dream without the previous ceremony of going to
sleep. Now I was ragged, wanting to sell Dora matches, six bundles
for a halfpenny; now I was at the office in a nightgown and boots,
remonstrated with by Mr. Spenlow on appearing before the clients
in that airy attire; now I was hungrily picking up the crumbs that
fell from old Tiffey's daily biscuit, regularly eaten when St. Paul's
struck one; now I was hopelessly endeavouring to get a licence to
marry Dora, having nothing but one of Uriah Heep's gloves to offer
in exchange, which the whole Commons rejected; and still, more or
less conscious of my own room, I was always tossing about like a
distressed ship in a sea of bed-clothes.
My aunt was restless, too, for I frequently heard her walking
to and fro. Two or,three times in the course of the night, attired
in a long flannel wrapper in which she looked seven feet high, she
appeared, like a disturbed ghost, in my room, and came to the side
of the sofa on which I lay. On the first occasion I started up in
alarm, to learn that she inferred from a particular light in the
sky, that Westminster Abbey was on fire; and to be consulted in
reference to the probability of its igniting Buckingham Street,
in case the wind changed. Lying still, after that, I found that
she sat down near me, whispering to herself 'Poor boy!' And then
it made me twenty times more wretched, to know how unselfishly mindful
she was of me, and how selfishly mindful I was of myself.
It was difficult to believe that a night so long to me, could
be short to anybody else. This consideration set me thinking and
thinking of an imaginary party where people were dancing the hours
away, until that became a dream too, and I heard the music incessantly
playing one tune, and saw Dora incessantly dancing one dance, without
taking the least notice of me. The man who had been playing the
harp all night, was trying in vain to cover it with an ordinary-sized
nightcap, when I awoke; or I should rather say, when I left off
trying to go to sleep, and saw the sun shining in through the window
at last.
There was an old Roman bath in those days at the bottom of one
of the streets out of the Strand - it may be there still - in which
I have had many a cold plunge. Dressing myself as quietly as I could,
and leaving Peggotty to look after my aunt, I tumbled head foremost
into it, and then went for a walk to Hampstead. I had a hope that
this brisk treatment might freshen my wits a little; and I think
it did them good, for I soon came to the conclusion that the first
step I ought to take was, to try if my articles could be cancelled
and the premium recovered. I got some breakfast on the Heath, and
walked back to Doctors' Commons, along the watered roads
and through a pleasant smell of summer flowers, growing in gardens
and carried into town on hucksters' heads, intent on this first
effort to meet our altered circumstances.
I arrived at the office so soon, after all, that I had half an
hour's loitering about the Commons, before old Tiffey, who was always
first, appeared with his key. Then I sat down in my shady corner,
looking up at the sunlight on the opposite chimney-pots, and thinking
about Dora; until Mr. Spenlow came in, crisp and curly.
'How are you, Copperfield?' said he. 'Fine morning!'
'Beautiful morning, sir,' said I. 'Could I say a word to you
before you go into Court?'
'By all means,' said he. 'Come into my room.'
I followed him into his room, and he began putting on his gown,
and touching himself up before a little glass he had, hanging inside
a closet door.
'I am sorry to say,' said I, 'that I have some rather disheartening
intelligence from my aunt.'
'No!' said he. 'Dear me! Not paralysis, I hope?'
'It has no reference to her health, sir,' I replied. 'She has
met with some large losses. In fact, she has very little left, indeed.'
'You as-tound me, Copperfield!' cried Mr. Spenlow.
I shook my head. 'Indeed, sir,' said I, 'her affairs are so changed,
that I wished to ask you whether it would be possible - at a sacrifice
on our part of some portion of the premium, of course,' I put in
this, on the spur of the moment, warned by the blank expression
of his face - 'to cancel my articles?'
What it cost me to make this proposal, nobody knows. It was like
asking, as a favour, to be sentenced to transportation from Dora.
'To cancel your articles, Copperfield? Cancel?'
I explained with tolerable firmness, that I really did not know
where my means of subsistence were to come from, unless I could
earn them for myself. I had no fear for the future, I said - and
I laid great emphasis on that, as if to imply that I should still
be decidedly eligible for a son-in-law one of these days - but,
for the present, I was thrown upon my own resources. 'I am extremely
sorry to hear this, Copperfield,' said Mr. Spenlow. 'Extremely sorry.
It is not usual to cancel articles for any such reason. It is not
a professional course of proceeding. It is not a convenient precedent
at all. Far from it. At the same time -'
'You are very good, sir,' I murmured, anticipating a concession.
'Not at all. Don't mention it,' said Mr. Spenlow. 'At the same
time, I was going to say, if it had been my lot to have my hands
unfettered - if I had not a partner - Mr. Jorkins -'
My hopes were dashed in a moment, but I made another effort.
'Do you think, sir,' said I, 'if I were to mention it to Mr.
Jorkins -'
Mr. Spenlow shook his head discouragingly. 'Heaven forbid, Copperfield,'
he replied, 'that I should do any man an injustice: still less,
Mr. jorkins. But I know my partner, Copperfield. Mr. jorkins is
not a man to respond to a proposition of this peculiar nature. Mr.
jorkins is very difficult to move from the beaten track. You know
what he is!'
I am sure I knew nothing about him, except that he had originally
been alone in the business, and now lived by himself in a house
near Montagu Square, which was fearfully in want of painting; that
he came very late of a day, and went away very early; that he never
appeared to be consulted about anything; and that he had a dingy
little black-hole of his own upstairs, where no business was ever
done, and where there was a yellow old cartridge-paper pad upon
his desk, unsoiled by ink, and reported to be twenty years of age.
'Would you object to my mentioning it to him, sir?' I asked.
'By no means,' said Mr. Spenlow. 'But I have some experience
of Mr. jorkins, Copperfield. I wish it were otherwise, for I should
be happy to meet your views in any respect. I cannot have the objection
to your mentioning it to Mr. jorkins, Copperfield, if you think
it worth while.'
Availing myself of this permission, which was given with a warm
shake of the hand, I sat thinking about Dora, and looking at the
sunlight stealing from the chimney-pots down the wall of the opposite
house, until Mr. jorkins came. I then went up to Mr. jorkins's room,
and evidently astonished Mr. jorkins very much by making my appearance
there.
'Come in, Mr. Copperfield,' said Mr. jorkins. 'Come in!'
I went in, and sat down; and stated my case to Mr. jorkins pretty
much as I had stated it to Mr. Spenlow. Mr. Jorkins was not by any
means the awful creature one might have expected, but a large, mild,
smooth-faced man of sixty, who took so much snuff that there was
a tradition in the Commons that he lived principally on that stimulant,
having little room in his system for any other article of diet.
'You have mentioned this to Mr. Spenlow, I suppose?' said Mr.
jorkins; when he had heard me, very restlessly, to an end.
I answered Yes, and told him that Mr. Spenlow had introduced
his name.
'He said I should object?' asked Mr. jorkins.
I was obliged to admit that Mr. Spenlow had considered it probable.
'I am sorry to say, Mr. Copperfield, I can't advance your object,'
said Mr. jorkins, nervously. 'The fact is - but I have an appointment
at the Bank, if you'll have the goodness to excuse me.'
With that he rose in a great hurry, and was going out of the
room, when I made bold to say that I feared, then, there was no
way of arranging the matter?
'No!' said Mr. jorkins, stopping at the door to shake his head.
'Oh, no! I object, you know,' which he said very rapidly, and went
out. 'You must be aware, Mr. Copperfield,' he added, looking restlessly
in at the door again, 'if Mr. Spenlow objects -'
'Personally, he does not object, sir,' said I.
'Oh! Personally!' repeated Mr. Jorkins, in an impatient manner.
'I assure you there's an objection, Mr. Copperfield. Hopeless! What
you wish to be done, can't be done. I - I really have got an appointment
at the Bank.' With that he fairly ran away; and to the best of my
knowledge, it was three days before he showed himself in the Commons
again.
|
