Master Humphrey's Clock

by Charles Dickens

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  PAGEMASTER HUMPHREY’S CHAMBER _George Cattermole_ 215FRIENDLY RECOGNITIONS _Phiz_ 217GOG AND MAGOG ,, 228A GALLANT CAVALIER _George Cattermole_ 232DEATH OF MASTER GRAHAM ,, 237A CHARMING FELLOW _Phiz_ 240THE TWO FRIENDS ,, 246HUNTED DOWN _George Cattermole_ 254MR. PICKWICK INTRODUCES HIMSELF TO _Phiz_ 259MASTER HUMPHREYWILL MARKS READING THE NEWS _George Cattermole_ 266CONCERNING WITCHESWILL MARKS TAKES UP HIS POSITION _Phiz_ 270FOR THE NIGHTWILL MARKS ARRIVES AT THE CHURCH _George Cattermole_ 277TONY WELLER AND HIS GRANDSON _Phiz_ 282PROCEEDINGS OF THE CLUB „ 288THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF ,, 292WILLIAM BLINDERA RIVAL CLUB ,, 297A CHIP OF THE OLD BLOCK ,, 302MASTER HUMPHREY’S VISIONARY ,, 311FRIENDSTHE DESERTED CHAMBER _George Cattermole_ 318

  I

  MASTER HUMPHREY, FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN THE CHIMNEY CORNER

  [Picture: Master Humphrey’s Chamber]

  THE reader must not expect to know where I live. At present, it is true,my abode may be a question of little or no import to anybody; but if Ishould carry my readers with me, as I hope to do, and there should springup between them and me feelings of homely affection and regard attachingsomething of interest to matters ever so slightly connected with myfortunes or my speculations, even my place of residence might one dayhave a kind of charm for them. Bearing this possible contingency inmind, I wish them to understand, in the outset, that they must neverexpect to know it.

  I am not a churlish old man. Friendless I can never be, for all mankindare my kindred, and I am on ill terms with no one member of my greatfamily. But for many years I have led a lonely, solitary life;—whatwound I sought to heal, what sorrow to forget, originally, matters notnow; it is sufficient that retirement has become a habit with me, andthat I am unwilling to break the spell which for so long a time has shedits quiet influence upon my home and heart.

  I live in a venerable suburb of London, in an old house which in bygonedays was a famous resort for merry roysterers and peerless ladies, longsince departed. It is a silent, shady place, with a paved courtyard sofull of echoes, that sometimes I am tempted to believe that faintresponses to the noises of old times linger there yet, and that theseghosts of sound haunt my footsteps as I pace it up and down. I am themore confirmed in this belief, because, of late years, the echoes thatattend my walks have been less loud and marked than they were wont to be;and it is pleasanter to imagine in them the rustling of silk brocade, andthe light step of some lovely girl, than to recognise in their alterednote the failing tread of an old man.

  Those who like to read of brilliant rooms and gorgeous furniture wouldderive but little pleasure from a minute description of my simpledwelling. It is dear to me for the same reason that they would hold itin slight regard. Its worm-eaten doors, and low ceilings crossed byclumsy beams; its walls of wainscot, dark stairs, and gaping closets; itssmall chambers, communicating with each other by winding passages ornarrow steps; its many nooks, scarce larger than its corner-cupboards;its very dust and dulness, are all dear to me. The moth and spider aremy constant tenants; for in my house the one basks in his long sleep, andthe other plies his busy loom secure and undisturbed. I have a pleasurein thinking on a summer’s day how many butterflies have sprung for thefirst time into light and sunshine from some dark corner of these oldwalls.

  When I first came to live here, which was many years ago, the neighbourswere curious to know who I was, and whence I came, and why I lived somuch alone. As time went on, and they still remained unsatisfied onthese points, I became the centre of a popular ferment, extending forhalf a mile round, and in one direction for a full mile. Various rumourswere circulated to my prejudice. I was a spy, an infidel, a conjurer, akidnapper of children, a refugee, a priest, a monster. Mothers caught uptheir infants and ran into their houses as I passed; men eyed mespitefully, and muttered threats and curses. I was the object ofsuspicion and distrust—ay, of downright hatred too.

  But when in course of time they found I did no harm, but, on thecontrary, inclined towards them despite their unjust usage, they began torelent. I found my footsteps no longer dogged, as they had often beenbefore, and observed that the women and children no longer retreated, butwould stand and gaze at me as I passed their doors. I took this for agood omen, and waited patiently for better times. By degrees I began tomake friends among these humble folks; and though they were yet shy ofspeaking, would give them ‘good day,’ and so pass on. In a little time,those whom I had thus accosted would make a point of coming to theirdoors and windows at the usual hour, and nod or courtesy to me; children,too, came timidly within my reach, and ran away quite scared when Ipatted their heads and bade them be good at school. These little peoplesoon grew more familiar. From exchanging mere words of course with myolder neighbours, I gradually became their friend and adviser, thedepositary of their cares and sorrows, and sometimes, it may be, thereliever, in my small way, of their distresses. And now I never walkabroad but pleasant recognitions and smiling faces wait on MasterHumphrey.

  [Picture: Friendly recognitions]

  It was a whim of mine, perhaps as a whet to the curiosity of myneighbours, and a kind of retaliation upon them for their suspicions—itwas, I say, a whim of mine, when I first took up my abode in this place,to acknowledge no other name than Humphrey. With my detractors, I wasUgly Humphrey. When I began to convert them into friends, I was Mr.Humphrey and Old Mr. Humphrey. At length I settled down into plainMaster Humphrey, which was understood to be the title most pleasant to myear; and so completely a matter of course has it become, that sometimeswhen I am taking my morning walk in my little courtyard, I overhear mybarber—who has a profound respect for me, and would not, I am sure,abridge my honours for the world—holding forth on the other side of thewall, touching the state of ‘Master Humphrey’s’ health, and communicatingto some friend the substance of the conversation that he and MasterHumphrey have had together in the course of the shaving which he has justconcluded.

  That I may not make acquaintance with my readers under false pretences,or give them cause to complain hereafter that I have withheld any matterwhich it was essential for them to have learnt at first, I wish them toknow—and I smile sorrowfully to think that the time has been when theconfession would have given me pain—that I am a misshapen, deformed oldman.

  I have never been made a misanthrope by this cause. I have never beenstung by any insult, nor wounded by any jest upon my crooked figure. Asa child I was melancholy and timid, but that was because the gentleconsideration paid to my misfortune sunk deep into my spirit and made mesad, even in those early days. I was but a very young creature when mypoor mother died, and yet I remember that often when I hung around herneck, and oftener still when I played about the room before her, shewould catch me to her bosom, and bursting into tears, would soothe mewith every term of fondness and affection. God knows I was a happy childat those times,—happy to nestle in her breast,—happy to weep when shedid,—happy in not knowing why.

  These occasions are so strongly impressed upon my memory, that they seemto have occupied whole years. I had numbered very, very few when theyceased for ever, but before then their meaning had been revealed to me.

  I do not know whether all children are imbued with a quick perception ofchildish grace and beauty, and a strong love for it, but I was. I had nothought that I remember, either that I possessed it myself or that Ilacked it, but I admired it with an intensity that I cannot describe. Alittle knot
of playmates—they must have been beautiful, for I see themnow—were clustered one day round my mother’s knee in eager admiration ofsome picture representing a group of infant angels, which she held in herhand. Whose the picture was, whether it was familiar to me or otherwise,or how all the children came to be there, I forget; I have some dimthought it was my birthday, but the beginning of my recollection is thatwe were all together in a garden, and it was summer weather,—I am sure ofthat, for one of the little girls had roses in her sash. There were manylovely angels in this picture, and I remember the fancy coming upon me topoint out which of them represented each child there, and that when I hadgone through my companions, I stopped and hesitated, wondering which wasmost like me. I remember the children looking at each other, and myturning red and hot, and their crowding round to kiss me, saying thatthey loved me all the same; and then, and when the old sorrow came intomy dear mother’s mild and tender look, the truth broke upon me for thefirst time, and I knew, while watching my awkward and ungainly sports,how keenly she had felt for her poor crippled boy.

  I used frequently to dream of it afterwards, and now my heart aches forthat child as if I had never been he, when I think how often he awokefrom some fairy change to his own old form, and sobbed himself to sleepagain.

  Well, well,—all these sorrows are past. My glancing at them may not bewithout its use, for it may help in some measure to explain why I haveall my life been attached to the inanimate objects that people mychamber, and how I have come to look upon them rather in the light of oldand constant friends, than as mere chairs and tables which a little moneycould replace at will.

  Chief and first among all these is my Clock,—my old, cheerful,companionable Clock. How can I ever convey to others an idea of thecomfort and consolation that this old Clock has been for years to me!

  It is associated with my earliest recollections. It stood upon thestaircase at home (I call it home still mechanically), nigh sixty yearsago. I like it for that; but it is not on that account, nor because itis a quaint old thing in a huge oaken case curiously and richly carved,that I prize it as I do. I incline to it as if it were alive, and couldunderstand and give me back the love I bear it.

  And what other thing that has not life could cheer me as it does? whatother thing that has not life (I will not say how few things that have)could have proved the same patient, true, untiring friend? How oftenhave I sat in the long winter evenings feeling such society in itscricket-voice, that raising my eyes from my book and looking gratefullytowards it, the face reddened by the glow of the shining fire has seemedto relax from its staid expression and to regard me kindly! how often inthe summer twilight, when my thoughts have wandered back to a melancholypast, have its regular whisperings recalled them to the calm and peacefulpresent! how often in the dead tranquillity of night has its bell brokenthe oppressive silence, and seemed to give me assurance that the oldclock was still a faithful watcher at my chamber-door! My easy-chair, mydesk, my ancient furniture, my very books, I can scarcely bring myself tolove even these last like my old clock.

  It stands in a snug corner, midway between the fireside and a low archeddoor leading to my bedroom. Its fame is diffused so extensivelythroughout the neighbourhood, that I have often the satisfaction ofhearing the publican, or the baker, and sometimes even the parish-clerk,petitioning my housekeeper (of whom I shall have much to say by-and-by)to inform him the exact time by Master Humphrey’s clock. My barber, towhom I have referred, would sooner believe it than the sun. Nor arethese its only distinctions. It has acquired, I am happy to say,another, inseparably connecting it not only with my enjoyments andreflections, but with those of other men; as I shall now relate.

  I lived alone here for a long time without any friend or acquaintance.In the course of my wanderings by night and day, at all hours andseasons, in city streets and quiet country parts, I came to be familiarwith certain faces, and to take it to heart as quite a heavydisappointment if they failed to present themselves each at itsaccustomed spot. But these were the only friends I knew, and beyond themI had none.

  It happened, however, when I had gone on thus for a long time, that Iformed an acquaintance with a deaf gentleman, which ripened into intimacyand close companionship. To this hour, I am ignorant of his name. It ishis humour to conceal it, or he has a reason and purpose for so doing.In either case, I feel that he has a right to require a return of thetrust he has reposed; and as he has never sought to discover my secret, Ihave never sought to penetrate his. There may have been something inthis tacit confidence in each other flattering and pleasant to us both,and it may have imparted in the beginning an additional zest, perhaps, toour friendship. Be this as it may, we have grown to be like brothers,and still I only know him as the deaf gentleman.

  I have said that retirement has become a habit with me. When I add, thatthe deaf gentleman and I have two friends, I communicate nothing which isinconsistent with that declaration. I spend many hours of every day insolitude and study, have no friends or change of friends but these, onlysee them at stated periods, and am supposed to be of a retired spirit bythe very nature and object of our association.

  We are men of secluded habits, with something of a cloud upon our earlyfortunes, whose enthusiasm, nevertheless, has not cooled with age, whosespirit of romance is not yet quenched, who are content to ramble throughthe world in a pleasant dream, rather than ever waken again to its harshrealities. We are alchemists who would extract the essence of perpetualyouth from dust and ashes, tempt coy Truth in many light and airy formsfrom the bottom of her well, and discover one crumb of comfort or onegrain of good in the commonest and least-regarded matter that passesthrough our crucible. Spirits of past times, creatures of imagination,and people of to-day are alike the objects of our seeking, and, unlikethe objects of search with most philosophers, we can insure their comingat our command.

  The deaf gentleman and I first began to beguile our days with thesefancies, and our nights in communicating them to each other. We are nowfour. But in my room there are six old chairs, and we have decided thatthe two empty seats shall always be placed at our table when we meet, toremind us that we may yet increase our company by that number, if weshould find two men to our mind. When one among us dies, his chair willalways be set in its usual place, but never occupied again; and I havecaused my will to be so drawn out, that when we are all dead the houseshall be shut up, and the vacant chairs still left in their accustomedplaces. It is pleasant to think that even then our shades may, perhaps,assemble together as of yore we did, and join in ghostly converse.

  One night in every week, as the clock strikes ten, we meet. At thesecond stroke of two, I am alone.

  And now shall I tell how that my old servant, besides giving us note oftime, and ticking cheerful encouragement of our proceedings, lends itsname to our society, which for its punctuality and my love is christened‘Master Humphrey’s Clock’? Now shall I tell how that in the bottom ofthe old dark closet, where the steady pendulum throbs and beats withhealthy action, though the pulse of him who made it stood still long ago,and never moved again, there are piles of dusty papers constantly placedthere by our hands, that we may link our enjoyments with my old friend,and draw means to beguile time from the heart of time itself? Shall I,or can I, tell with what a secret pride I open this repository when wemeet at night, and still find new store of pleasure in my dear old Clock?

  Friend and companion of my solitude! mine is not a selfish love; I wouldnot keep your merits to myself, but disperse something of pleasantassociation with your image through the whole wide world; I would havemen couple with your name cheerful and healthy thoughts; I would havethem believe that you keep true and honest time; and how it would gladdenme to know that they recognised some hearty English work in MasterHumphrey’s clock!