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A VISITOR
What I have purposed to record is nearly finished; but there
is yet an incident conspicuous in my memory, on which it often rests
with delight, and without which one thread in the web I have spun
would have a ravelled end.
I had advanced in fame and fortune, my domestic joy was perfect,
I had been married ten happy years. Agnes and I were sitting by
the fire, in our house in London, one night in spring, and three
of our children were playing in the room, when I was told that a
stranger wished to see me.
He had been asked if he came on business, and had answered No;
he had come for the pleasure of seeing me, and had come a long way.
He was an old man, my servant said, and looked like a farmer.
As this sounded mysterious to the children, and moreover was
like the beginning of a favourite story Agnes used to tell them,
introductory to the arrival of a wicked old Fairy in a cloak who
hated everybody, it produced some commotion. One of our boys laid
his head in his mother's lap to be out of harm's way, and little
Agnes (our eldest child) left her doll in a chair to represent her,
and thrust out her little heap of golden curls from between the
window-curtains, to see what happened next.
'Let him come in here!' said I.
There soon appeared, pausing in the dark doorway as he entered,
a hale, grey-haired old man. Little Agnes, attracted by his looks,
had run to bring him in, and I had not yet clearly seen his face,
when my wife, starting up, cried out to me, in a pleased and agitated
voice, that it was Mr. Peggotty!
It WAS Mr. Peggotty. An old man now, but in a ruddy, hearty,
strong old age. When our first emotion was over, and he sat before
the fire with the children on his knees, and the blaze shining on
his face, he looked, to me, as vigorous and robust, withal as handsome,
an old man, as ever I had seen.
'Mas'r Davy,' said he. And the old name in the old tone fell
so naturally on my ear! 'Mas'r Davy, 'tis a joyful hour as I see
you, once more, 'long with your own trew wife!'
'A joyful hour indeed, old friend!' cried I.
'And these heer pretty ones,' said Mr. Peggotty. 'To look at
these heer flowers! Why, Mas'r Davy, you was but the heighth of
the littlest of these, when I first see you! When Em'ly warn't no
bigger, and our poor lad were BUT a lad!'
'Time has changed me more than it has changed you since then,'
said I. 'But let these dear rogues go to bed; and as no house in
England but this must hold you, tell me where to send for your luggage
(is the old black bag among it, that went so far, I wonder!), and
then, over a glass of Yarmouth grog, we will have the tidings of
ten years!'
'Are you alone?' asked Agnes.
'Yes, ma'am,' he said, kissing her hand, 'quite alone.'
We sat him between us, not knowing how to give him welcome enough;
and as I began to listen to his old familiar voice, I could have
fancied he was still pursuing his long journey in search of his
darling niece.
'It's a mort of water,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'fur to come across,
and on'y stay a matter of fower weeks. But water ('specially when
'tis salt) comes nat'ral to me; and friends is dear, and I am heer.
- Which is verse,' said Mr. Peggotty, surprised to find it out,
'though I hadn't such intentions.'
'Are you going back those many thousand miles, so soon?' asked
Agnes.
'Yes, ma'am,' he returned. 'I giv the promise to Em'ly, afore
I come away. You see, I doen't grow younger as the years comes round,
and if I hadn't sailed as 'twas, most like I shouldn't never have
done 't. And it's allus been on my mind, as I must come and see
Mas'r Davy and your own sweet blooming self, in your wedded happiness,
afore I got to be too old.'
He looked at us, as if he could never feast his eyes on us sufficiently.
Agnes laughingly put back some scattered locks of his grey hair,
that he might see us better.
'And now tell us,' said I, 'everything relating to your fortunes.'
'Our fortuns, Mas'r Davy,' he rejoined, 'is soon told. We haven't
fared nohows, but fared to thrive. We've allus thrived. We've worked
as we ought to 't, and maybe we lived a leetle hard at first or
so, but we have allus thrived. What with sheep-farming, and what
with stock-farming, and what with one thing and what with t'other,
we are as well to do, as well could be. Theer's been kiender a blessing
fell upon us,' said Mr. Peggotty, reverentially inclining his head,
'and we've done nowt but prosper. That is, in the long run. If not
yesterday, why then today. If not today, why then tomorrow.'
'And Emily?' said Agnes and I, both together.
'Em'ly,' said he, 'arter you left her, ma'am - and I never heerd
her saying of her prayers at night, t'other side the canvas screen,
when we was settled in the Bush, but what I heerd your name - and
arter she and me lost sight of Mas'r Davy, that theer shining sundown
- was that low, at first, that, if she had know'd then what Mas'r
Davy kep from us so kind and thowtful, 'tis my opinion she'd have
drooped away. But theer was some poor folks aboard as had illness
among 'em, and she took care of them; and theer was the children
in our company, and she took care of them; and so she got to be
busy, and to be doing good, and that helped her.'
'When did she first hear of it?' I asked.
'I kep it from her arter I heerd on 't,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'going
on nigh a year. We was living then in a solitary place, but among
the beautifullest trees, and with the roses a-covering our Beein
to the roof. Theer come along one day, when I was out a-working
on the land, a traveller from our own Norfolk or Suffolk in England
(I doen't rightly mind which), and of course we took him in, and
giv him to eat and drink, and made him welcome. We all do that,
all the colony over. He'd got an old newspaper with him, and some
other account in print of the storm. That's how she know'd it. When
I came home at night, I found she know'd it.'
He dropped his voice as he said these words, and the gravity
I so well remembered overspread his face.
'Did it change her much?' we asked.
'Aye, for a good long time,' he said, shaking his head; 'if not
to this present hour. But I think the solitoode done her good. And
she had a deal to mind in the way of poultry and the like, and minded
of it, and come through. I wonder,' he said thoughtfully, 'if you
could see my Em'ly now, Mas'r Davy, whether you'd know her!'
'Is she so altered?' I inquired.
'I doen't know. I see her ev'ry day, and doen't know; But, odd-times,
I have thowt so. A slight figure,' said Mr. Peggotty, looking at
the fire, 'kiender worn; soft, sorrowful, blue eyes; a delicate
face; a pritty head, leaning a little down; a quiet voice and way
- timid a'most. That's Em'ly!'
We silently observed him as he sat, still looking at the fire.
'Some thinks,' he said, 'as her affection was ill-bestowed; some,
as her marriage was broken off by death. No one knows how 'tis.
She might have married well, a mort of times, "but, uncle,"
she says to me, "that's gone for ever." Cheerful along
with me; retired when others is by; fond of going any distance fur
to teach a child, or fur to tend a sick person, or fur to do some
kindness tow'rds a young girl's wedding (and she's done a many,
but has never seen one); fondly loving of her uncle; patient; liked
by young and old; sowt out by all that has any trouble. That's Em'ly!'
He drew his hand across his face, and with a half-suppressed
sigh looked up from the fire.
'Is Martha with you yet?' I asked.
'Martha,' he replied, 'got married, Mas'r Davy, in the second
year. A young man, a farm-labourer, as come by us on his way to
market with his mas'r's drays - a journey of over five hundred mile,
theer and back - made offers fur to take her fur his wife (wives
is very scarce theer), and then to set up fur their two selves in
the Bush. She spoke to me fur to tell him her trew story. I did.
They was married, and they live fower hundred mile away from any
voices but their own and the singing birds.'
'Mrs. Gummidge?' I suggested.
It was a pleasant key to touch, for Mr. Peggotty suddenly burst
into a roar of laughter, and rubbed his hands up and down his legs,
as he had been accustomed to do when he enjoyed himself in the long-shipwrecked
boat.
'Would you believe it!' he said. 'Why, someun even made offer
fur to marry her! If a ship's cook that was turning settler, Mas'r
Davy, didn't make offers fur to marry Missis Gummidge, I'm Gormed
- and I can't say no fairer than that!'
I never saw Agnes laugh so. This sudden ecstasy on the part of
Mr. Peggotty was so delightful to her, that she could not leave
off laughing; and the more she laughed the more she made me laugh,
and the greater Mr. Peggotty's ecstasy became, and the more he rubbed
his legs.
'And what did Mrs. Gummidge say?' I asked, when I was grave enough.
'If you'll believe me,' returned Mr. Peggotty, 'Missis Gummidge,
'stead of saying "thank you, I'm much obleeged to you, I ain't
a-going fur to change my condition at my time of life," up'd
with a bucket as was standing by, and laid it over that theer ship's
cook's head 'till he sung out fur help, and I went in and reskied
of him.'
Mr. Peggotty burst into a great roar of laughter, and Agnes and
I both kept him company.
'But I must say this, for the good creetur,' he resumed, wiping
his face, when we were quite exhausted; 'she has been all she said
she'd be to us, and more. She's the willingest, the trewest, the
honestest-helping woman, Mas'r Davy, as ever draw'd the breath of
life. I have never know'd her to be lone and lorn, for a single
minute, not even when the colony was all afore us, and we was new
to it. And thinking of the old 'un is a thing she never done, I
do assure you, since she left England!'
'Now, last, not least, Mr. Micawber,' said I. 'He has paid off
every obligation he incurred here - even to Traddles's bill, you
remember my dear Agnes - and therefore we may take it for granted
that he is doing well. But what is the latest news of him?'
Mr. Peggotty, with a smile, put his hand in his breast-pocket,
and produced a flat-folded, paper parcel, from which he took out,
with much care, a little odd-looking newspaper.
'You are to understan', Mas'r Davy,' said he, 'as we have left
the Bush now, being so well to do; and have gone right away round
to Port Middlebay Harbour, wheer theer's what we call a town.'
'Mr. Micawber was in the Bush near you?' said I.
'Bless you, yes,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'and turned to with a will.
I never wish to meet a better gen'l'man for turning to with a will.
I've seen that theer bald head of his a perspiring in the sun, Mas'r
Davy, till I a'most thowt it would have melted away. And now he's
a Magistrate.'
'A Magistrate, eh?' said I.
Mr. Peggotty pointed to a certain paragraph in the newspaper,
where I read aloud as follows, from the Port Middlebay Times:
'The public dinner to our distinguished fellow-colonist and
townsman, WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, Port Middlebay District Magistrate,
came off yesterday in the large room of the Hotel, which was crowded
to suffocation. It is estimated that not fewer than forty-seven
persons must have been accommodated with dinner at one time, exclusive
of the company in the passage and on the stairs. The beauty, fashion,
and exclusiveness of Port Middlebay, flocked to do honour to one
so deservedly esteemed, so highly talented, and so widely popular.
Doctor Mell (of Colonial Salem-House Grammar School, Port Middlebay)
presided, and on his right sat the distinguished guest. After the
removal of the cloth, and the singing of Non Nobis (beautifully
executed, and in which we were at no loss to distinguish the bell-like
notes of that gifted amateur, WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, JUNIOR),
the usual loyal and patriotic toasts were severally given and rapturously
received. Doctor Mell, in a speech replete with feeling, then proposed
"Our distinguished Guest, the ornament of our town. May he
never leave us but to better himself, and may his success among
us be such as to render his bettering himself impossible!"
The cheering with which the toast was received defies description.
Again and again it rose and fell, like the waves of ocean. At length
all was hushed, and WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, presented himself
to return thanks. Far be it from us, in the present comparatively
imperfect state of the resources of our establishment, to endeavour
to follow our distinguished townsman through the smoothly-flowing
periods of his polished and highly-ornate address! Suffice it to
observe, that it was a masterpiece of eloquence; and that those
passages in which he more particularly traced his own successful
career to its source, and warned the younger portion of his auditory
from the shoals of ever incurring pecuniary liabilities which they
were unable to liquidate, brought a tear into the manliest eye present.
The remaining toasts were DOCTOR MELL; Mrs. MICAWBER (who gracefully
bowed her acknowledgements from the side-door, where a galaxy of
beauty was elevated on chairs, at once to witness and adorn the
gratifying scene), Mrs. RIDGER BEGS (late Miss Micawber); Mrs. MELL;
WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, JUNIOR (who convulsed the assembly by
humorously remarking that he found himself unable to return thanks
in a speech, but would do so, with their permission, in a song);
Mrs. MICAWBER'S FAMILY (well known, it is needless to remark, in
the mother-country), &c. &c. &c. At the conclusion of
the proceedings the tables were cleared as if by art-magic for dancing.
Among the votaries of TERPSICHORE, who disported themselves until
Sol gave warning for departure, Wilkins Micawber, Esquire, Junior,
and the lovely and accomplished Miss Helena, fourth daughter of
Doctor Mell, were particularly remarkable.'
I was looking back to the name of Doctor Mell, pleased to have
discovered, in these happier circumstances, Mr. Mell, formerly poor
pinched usher to my Middlesex magistrate, when Mr. Peggotty pointing
to another part of the paper, my eyes rested on my own name, and
I read thus:
' TO DAVID COPPERFIELD, ESQUIRE,
'THE EMINENT AUTHOR. 'My Dear Sir,
'Years have elapsed, since I had an opportunity of ocularly perusing
the lineaments, now familiar to the imaginations of a considerable
portion of the civilized world.
'But, my dear Sir, though estranged (by the force of circumstances
over which I have had no control) from the personal society of the
friend and companion of my youth, I have not been unmindful of his
soaring flight. Nor have I been debarred,
Though seas between us braid ha' roared,
(BURNS) from participating in the intellectual feasts he has
spread before us.
'I cannot, therefore, allow of the departure from this place
of an individual whom we mutually respect and esteem, without, my
dear Sir, taking this public opportunity of thanking you, on my
own behalf, and, I may undertake to add, on that of the whole of
the Inhabitants of Port Middlebay, for the gratification of which
you are the ministering agent.
'Go on, my dear Sir! You are not unknown here, you are not unappreciated.
Though "remote", we are neither "unfriended",
"melancholy", nor (I may add) "slow". Go on,
my dear Sir, in your Eagle course! The inhabitants of Port Middlebay
may at least aspire to watch it, with delight, with entertainment,
with instruction!
'Among the eyes elevated towards you from this portion of the
globe, will ever be found, while it has light and life,
'The 'Eye 'Appertaining to
'WILKINS MICAWBER, 'Magistrate.'
I found, on glancing at the remaining contents of the newspaper,
that Mr. Micawber was a diligent and esteemed correspondent of that
journal. There was another letter from him in the same paper, touching
a bridge; there was an advertisement of a collection of similar
letters by him, to be shortly republished, in a neat volume, 'with
considerable additions'; and, unless I am very much mistaken, the
Leading Article was his also.
We talked much of Mr. Micawber, on many other evenings while
Mr. Peggotty remained with us. He lived with us during the whole
term of his stay, - which, I think, was something less than a month,
- and his sister and my aunt came to London to see him. Agnes and
I parted from him aboard-ship, when he sailed; and we shall never
part from him more, on earth.
But before he left, he went with me to Yarmouth, to see a little
tablet I had put up in the churchyard to the memory of Ham. While
I was copying the plain inscription for him at his request, I saw
him stoop, and gather a tuft of grass from the grave and a little
earth.
'For Em'ly,' he said, as he put it in his breast. 'I promised,
Mas'r Davy.'
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