Martin Chuzzlewit

by Charles Dickens

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  IN WHICH MARTIN BIDS ADIEU TO THE LADY OF HIS LOVE; AND HONOURS ANOBSCURE INDIVIDUAL WHOSE FORTUNE HE INTENDS TO MAKE BY COMMENDING HER TOHIS PROTECTION

  The letter being duly signed, sealed, and delivered, was handed to MarkTapley, for immediate conveyance if possible. And he succeeded so wellin his embassy as to be enabled to return that same night, just as thehouse was closing, with the welcome intelligence that he had sent itupstairs to the young lady, enclosed in a small manuscript of hisown, purporting to contain his further petition to be engaged in MrChuzzlewit's service; and that she had herself come down and told him,in great haste and agitation, that she would meet the gentleman ateight o'clock to-morrow morning in St. James's Park. It was then agreedbetween the new master and the new man, that Mark should be in waitingnear the hotel in good time, to escort the young lady to the placeof appointment; and when they had parted for the night with thisunderstanding, Martin took up his pen again; and before he went to bedwrote another letter, whereof more will be seen presently.

  He was up before daybreak, and came upon the Park with the morning,which was clad in the least engaging of the three hundred and sixty-fivedresses in the wardrobe of the year. It was raw, damp, dark, and dismal;the clouds were as muddy as the ground; and the short perspectiveof every street and avenue was closed up by the mist as by a filthycurtain.

  'Fine weather indeed,' Martin bitterly soliloquised, 'to be wanderingup and down here in, like a thief! Fine weather indeed, for a meeting oflovers in the open air, and in a public walk! I need be departing, withall speed, for another country; for I have come to a pretty pass inthis!'

  He might perhaps have gone on to reflect that of all mornings in theyear, it was not the best calculated for a young lady's coming forthon such an errand, either. But he was stopped on the road to thisreflection, if his thoughts tended that way, by her appearance at ashort distance, on which he hurried forward to meet her. Her squire,Mr Tapley, at the same time fell discreetly back, and surveyed the fogabove him with an appearance of attentive interest.

  'My dear Martin,' said Mary.

  'My dear Mary,' said Martin; and lovers are such a singular kind ofpeople that this is all they did say just then, though Martin took herarm, and her hand too, and they paced up and down a short walk that wasleast exposed to observation, half-a-dozen times.

  'If you have changed at all, my love, since we parted,' said Martin atlength, as he looked upon her with a proud delight, 'it is only to bemore beautiful than ever!'

  Had she been of the common metal of love-worn young ladies, she wouldhave denied this in her most interesting manner; and would have told himthat she knew she had become a perfect fright; or that she had wastedaway with weeping and anxiety; or that she was dwindling gently into anearly grave; or that her mental sufferings were unspeakable; or would,either by tears or words, or a mixture of both, have furnished him withsome other information to that effect, and made him as miserable aspossible. But she had been reared up in a sterner school than the mindsof most young girls are formed in; she had had her nature strengthenedby the hands of hard endurance and necessity; had come out from heryoung trials constant, self-denying, earnest, and devoted; had acquiredin her maidenhood--whether happily in the end, for herself or him, isforeign to our present purpose to inquire--something of that noblerquality of gentle hearts which is developed often by the sorrows andstruggles of matronly years, but often by their lessons only. Unspoiled,unpampered in her joys or griefs; with frank and full, and deepaffection for the object of her early love; she saw in him one who forher sake was an outcast from his home and fortune, and she had nomore idea of bestowing that love upon him in other than cheerful andsustaining words, full of high hope and grateful trustfulness, than shehad of being unworthy of it, in her lightest thought or deed, for anybase temptation that the world could offer.

  'What change is there in YOU, Martin,' she replied; 'for that concernsme nearest? You look more anxious and more thoughtful than you used.'

  'Why, as to that, my love,' said Martin as he drew her waist within hisarm, first looking round to see that there were no observers near,and beholding Mr Tapley more intent than ever on the fog; 'it would bestrange if I did not; for my life--especially of late--has been a hardone.'

  'I know it must have been,' she answered. 'When have I forgotten tothink of it and you?'

  'Not often, I hope,' said Martin. 'Not often, I am sure. Not often, Ihave some right to expect, Mary; for I have undergone a great deal ofvexation and privation, and I naturally look for that return, you know.'

  'A very, very poor return,' she answered with a fainter smile. 'But youhave it, and will have it always. You have paid a dear price for a poorheart, Martin; but it is at least your own, and a true one.'

  'Of course I feel quite certain of that,' said Martin, 'or I shouldn'thave put myself in my present position. And don't say a poor heart,Mary, for I say a rich one. Now, I am about to break a design to you,dearest, which will startle you at first, but which is undertaken foryour sake. I am going,' he added slowly, looking far into the deepwonder of her bright dark eyes, 'abroad.'

  'Abroad, Martin!'

  'Only to America. See now. How you droop directly!'

  'If I do, or, I hope I may say, if I did,' she answered, raising herhead after a short silence, and looking once more into his face, 'it wasfor grief to think of what you are resolved to undergo for me. I wouldnot venture to dissuade you, Martin; but it is a long, long distance;there is a wide ocean to be crossed; illness and want are sad calamitiesin any place, but in a foreign country dreadful to endure. Have youthought of all this?'

  'Thought of it!' cried Martin, abating, in his fondness--and he WAS veryfond of her--hardly an iota of his usual impetuosity. 'What am I to do?It's very well to say, "Have I thought of it?" my love; but you shouldask me in the same breath, have I thought of starving at home; have Ithought of doing porter's work for a living; have I thought of holdinghorses in the streets to earn my roll of bread from day to day? Come,come,' he added, in a gentler tone, 'do not hang down your head, mydear, for I need the encouragement that your sweet face alone can giveme. Why, that's well! Now you are brave again.'

  'I am endeavouring to be,' she answered, smiling through her tears.

  'Endeavouring to be anything that's good, and being it, is, with you,all one. Don't I know that of old?' cried Martin, gayly. 'So! That'sfamous! Now I can tell you all my plans as cheerfully as if you were mylittle wife already, Mary.'

  She hung more closely on his arm, and looking upwards in his face, badehim speak on.

  'You see,' said Martin, playing with the little hand upon his wrist,'that my attempts to advance myself at home have been baffled andrendered abortive. I will not say by whom, Mary, for that would givepain to us both. But so it is. Have you heard him speak of late of anyrelative of mine or his, called Pecksniff? Only tell me what I ask you,no more.'

  'I have heard, to my surprise, that he is a better man than wassupposed.'

  'I thought so,' interrupted Martin.

  'And that it is likely we may come to know him, if not to visit andreside with him and--I think--his daughters. He HAS daughters, has he,love?'

  'A pair of them,' Martin answered. 'A precious pair! Gems of the firstwater!'

  'Ah! You are jesting!'

  'There is a sort of jesting which is very much in earnest, and includessome pretty serious disgust,' said Martin. 'I jest in reference to MrPecksniff (at whose house I have been living as his assistant, and atwhose hands I have received insult and injury), in that vein. Whateverbetides, or however closely you may be brought into communication withthis family, never forget that, Mary; and never for an instant,whatever appearances may seem to contradict me, lose sight of thisassurance--Pecksniff is a scoundrel.'

  'Indeed!'

  'In thought, and in deed, and in everything else. A scoundrel from thetopmost hair of his head, to the nethermost atom of his heel. Of hisdaughters I will only say that, to the best of
my knowledge and belief,they are dutiful young ladies, and take after their father closely. Thisis a digression from the main point, and yet it brings me to what I wasgoing to say.'

  He stopped to look into her eyes again, and seeing, in a hasty glanceover his shoulder, that there was no one near, and that Mark was stillintent upon the fog, not only looked at her lips, too, but kissed theminto the bargain.

  'Now I am going to America, with great prospects of doing well, and ofreturning home myself very soon; it may be to take you there for a fewyears, but, at all events, to claim you for my wife; which, after suchtrials, I should do with no fear of your still thinking it a duty tocleave to him who will not suffer me to live (for this is true), if hecan help it, in my own land. How long I may be absent is, of course,uncertain; but it shall not be very long. Trust me for that.'

  'In the meantime, dear Martin--'

  'That's the very thing I am coming to. In the meantime you shall hear,constantly, of all my goings-on. Thus.'

  He paused to take from his pocket the letter he had written overnight,and then resumed:

  'In this fellow's employment, and living in this fellow's house (byfellow, I mean Mr Pecksniff, of course), there is a certain person ofthe name of Pinch. Don't forget; a poor, strange, simple oddity, Mary;but thoroughly honest and sincere; full of zeal; and with a cordialregard for me. Which I mean to return one of these days, by setting himup in life in some way or other.'

  'Your old kind nature, Martin!'

  'Oh!' said Martin, 'that's not worth speaking of, my love. He's verygrateful and desirous to serve me; and I am more than repaid. Now onenight I told this Pinch my history, and all about myself and you; inwhich he was not a little interested, I can tell you, for he knows you!Aye, you may look surprised--and the longer the better for it becomesyou--but you have heard him play the organ in the church of that villagebefore now; and he has seen you listening to his music; and has caughthis inspiration from you, too!'

  'Was HE the organist?' cried Mary. 'I thank him from my heart!'

  'Yes, he was,' said Martin, 'and is, and gets nothing for it either.There never was such a simple fellow! Quite an infant! But a very goodsort of creature, I assure you.'

  'I am sure of that,' she said with great earnestness. 'He must be!'

  'Oh, yes, no doubt at all about it,' rejoined Martin, in his usualcareless way. 'He is. Well! It has occurred to me--but stay. If I readyou what I have written and intend sending to him by post to-nightit will explain itself. "My dear Tom Pinch." That's rather familiarperhaps,' said Martin, suddenly remembering that he was proud when theyhad last met, 'but I call him my dear Tom Pinch because he likes it, andit pleases him.'

  'Very right, and very kind,' said Mary.

  'Exactly so!' cried Martin. 'It's as well to be kind whenever one can;and, as I said before, he really is an excellent fellow. "My dear TomPinch--I address this under cover to Mrs Lupin, at the Blue Dragon,and have begged her in a short note to deliver it to you without sayinganything about it elsewhere; and to do the same with all future lettersshe may receive from me. My reason for so doing will be at once apparentto you"--I don't know that it will be, by the bye,' said Martin,breaking off, 'for he's slow of comprehension, poor fellow; but he'llfind it out in time. My reason simply is, that I don't want my lettersto be read by other people; and particularly by the scoundrel whom hethinks an angel.'

  'Mr Pecksniff again?' asked Mary.

  'The same,' said Martin '--will be at once apparent to you. I havecompleted my arrangements for going to America; and you will besurprised to hear that I am to be accompanied by Mark Tapley, upon whomI have stumbled strangely in London, and who insists on putting himselfunder my protection'--meaning, my love,' said Martin, breaking offagain, 'our friend in the rear, of course.'

  She was delighted to hear this, and bestowed a kind glance upon Mark,which he brought his eyes down from the fog to encounter and receivedwith immense satisfaction. She said in his hearing, too, that he was agood soul and a merry creature, and would be faithful, she was certain;commendations which Mr Tapley inwardly resolved to deserve, from suchlips, if he died for it.

  '"Now, my dear Pinch,"' resumed Martin, proceeding with his letter; '"Iam going to repose great trust in you, knowing that I may do so withperfect reliance on your honour and secrecy, and having nobody else justnow to trust in."'

  'I don't think I would say that, Martin.'

  'Wouldn't you? Well! I'll take that out. It's perfectly true, though.'

  'But it might seem ungracious, perhaps.'

  'Oh, I don't mind Pinch,' said Martin. 'There's no occasion to stand onany ceremony with HIM. However, I'll take it out, as you wish it, andmake the full stop at "secrecy." Very well! "I shall not only"--this isthe letter again, you know.'

  'I understand.'

  '"I shall not only enclose my letters to the young lady of whom I havetold you, to your charge, to be forwarded as she may request; but I mostearnestly commit her, the young lady herself, to your care and regard,in the event of your meeting in my absence. I have reason to thinkthat the probabilities of your encountering each other--perhaps veryfrequently--are now neither remote nor few; and although in our positionyou can do very little to lessen the uneasiness of hers, I trust to youimplicitly to do that much, and so deserve the confidence I have reposedin you." You see, my dear Mary,' said Martin, 'it will be a greatconsolation to you to have anybody, no matter how simple, with whom youcan speak about ME; and the very first time you talk to Pinch, you'llfeel at once that there is no more occasion for any embarrassment orhesitation in talking to him, than if he were an old woman.'

  'However that may be,' she returned, smiling, 'he is your friend, andthat is enough.'

  'Oh, yes, he's my friend,' said Martin, 'certainly. In fact, I have toldhim in so many words that we'll always take notice of him, and protecthim; and it's a good trait in his character that he's grateful--verygrateful indeed. You'll like him of all things, my love, I know. You'llobserve very much that's comical and old-fashioned about Pinch, but youneedn't mind laughing at him; for he'll not care about it. He'll ratherlike it indeed!'

  'I don't think I shall put that to the test, Martin.'

  'You won't if you can help it, of course,' he said, 'but I think you'llfind him a little too much for your gravity. However, that's neitherhere nor there, and it certainly is not the letter; which endsthus: "Knowing that I need not impress the nature and extent of thatconfidence upon you at any greater length, as it is already sufficientlyestablished in your mind, I will only say, in bidding you farewell andlooking forward to our next meeting, that I shall charge myself fromthis time, through all changes for the better, with your advancement andhappiness, as if they were my own. You may rely upon that. Andalways believe me, my dear Tom Pinch, faithfully your friend, MartinChuzzlewit. P.S.--I enclose the amount which you so kindly"--Oh,' saidMartin, checking himself, and folding up the letter, 'that's nothing!'

  At this crisis Mark Tapley interposed, with an apology for remarkingthat the clock at the Horse Guards was striking.

  'Which I shouldn't have said nothing about, sir,' added Mark, 'if theyoung lady hadn't begged me to be particular in mentioning it.'

  'I did,' said Mary. 'Thank you. You are quite right. In another minuteI shall be ready to return. We have time for a very few words more, dearMartin, and although I had much to say, it must remain unsaid until thehappy time of our next meeting. Heaven send it may come speedily andprosperously! But I have no fear of that.'

  'Fear!' cried Martin. 'Why, who has? What are a few months? What is awhole year? When I come gayly back, with a road through life hewn outbefore me, then indeed, looking back upon this parting, it may seema dismal one. But now! I swear I wouldn't have it happen under morefavourable auspices, if I could; for then I should be less inclined togo, and less impressed with the necessity.'

  'Yes, yes. I feel that too. When do you go?'

  'To-night. We leave for Liverpool to-night. A vessel sails from thatport, as I hear, in three
days. In a month, or less, we shall be there.Why, what's a month! How many months have flown by, since our lastparting!'

  'Long to look back upon,' said Mary, echoing his cheerful tone, 'butnothing in their course!'

  'Nothing at all!' cried Martin. 'I shall have change of scene and changeof place; change of people, change of manners, change of cares andhopes! Time will wear wings indeed! I can bear anything, so that I haveswift action, Mary.'

  Was he thinking solely of her care for him, when he took so little heedof her share in the separation; of her quiet monotonous endurance,and her slow anxiety from day to day? Was there nothing jarring anddiscordant even in his tone of courage, with this one note 'self' forever audible, however high the strain? Not in her ears. It had beenbetter otherwise, perhaps, but so it was. She heard the same bold spiritwhich had flung away as dross all gain and profit for her sake, makinglight of peril and privation that she might be calm and happy; and sheheard no more. That heart where self has found no place and raised nothrone, is slow to recognize its ugly presence when it looks upon it.As one possessed of an evil spirit was held in old time to be aloneconscious of the lurking demon in the breasts of other men, so kindredvices know each other in their hiding-places every day, when Virtue isincredulous and blind.

  'The quarter's gone!' cried Mr Tapley, in a voice of admonition.

  'I shall be ready to return immediately,' she said. 'One thing, dearMartin, I am bound to tell you. You entreated me a few minutes sinceonly to answer what you asked me in reference to one theme, but youshould and must know (otherwise I could not be at ease) that sincethat separation of which I was the unhappy occasion, he has never onceuttered your name; has never coupled it, or any faint allusion to it,with passion or reproach; and has never abated in his kindness to me.'

  'I thank him for that last act,' said Martin, 'and for nothing else.Though on consideration I may thank him for his other forbearance also,inasmuch as I neither expect nor desire that he will mention my nameagain. He may once, perhaps--to couple it with reproach--in his will.Let him, if he please! By the time it reaches me, he will be in hisgrave; a satire on his own anger, God help him!'

  'Martin! If you would but sometimes, in some quiet hour; beside thewinter fire; in the summer air; when you hear gentle music, or think ofDeath, or Home, or Childhood; if you would at such a season resolve tothink, but once a month, or even once a year, of him, or any one whoever wronged you, you would forgive him in your heart, I know!'

  'If I believed that to be true, Mary,' he replied, 'I would resolve atno such time to bear him in my mind; wishing to spare myself the shameof such a weakness. I was not born to be the toy and puppet of any man,far less his; to whose pleasure and caprice, in return for any good hedid me, my whole youth was sacrificed. It became between us two a fairexchange--a barter--and no more; and there is no such balance againstme that I need throw in a mawkish forgiveness to poise the scale. He hasforbidden all mention of me to you, I know,' he added hastily. 'Come!Has he not?'

  'That was long ago,' she returned; 'immediately after your parting;before you had left the house. He has never done so since.'

  'He has never done so since because he has seen no occasion,' saidMartin; 'but that is of little consequence, one way or other. Let allallusion to him between you and me be interdicted from this time forth.And therefore, love'--he drew her quickly to him, for the time ofparting had now come--'in the first letter that you write to me throughthe Post Office, addressed to New York; and in all the others that yousend through Pinch; remember he has no existence, but has become to usas one who is dead. Now, God bless you! This is a strange place for sucha meeting and such a parting; but our next meeting shall be in a better,and our next and last parting in a worse.'

  'One other question, Martin, I must ask. Have you provided money forthis journey?'

  'Have I?' cried Martin; it might have been in his pride; it might havebeen in his desire to set her mind at ease: 'Have I provided money? Why,there's a question for an emigrant's wife! How could I move on land orsea without it, love?'

  'I mean, enough.'

  'Enough! More than enough. Twenty times more than enough. A pocket-full.Mark and I, for all essential ends, are quite as rich as if we had thepurse of Fortunatus in our baggage.'

  'The half-hour's a-going!' cried Mr Tapley.

  'Good-bye a hundred times!' cried Mary, in a trembling voice.

  But how cold the comfort in Good-bye! Mark Tapley knew it perfectly.Perhaps he knew it from his reading, perhaps from his experience,perhaps from intuition. It is impossible to say; but however he knewit, his knowledge instinctively suggested to him the wisest course ofproceeding that any man could have adopted under the circumstances. Hewas taken with a violent fit of sneezing, and was obliged to turn hishead another way. In doing which, he, in a manner fenced and screenedthe lovers into a corner by themselves.

  There was a short pause, but Mark had an undefined sensation that it wasa satisfactory one in its way. Then Mary, with her veil lowered, passedhim with a quick step, and beckoned him to follow. She stopped once morebefore they lost that corner; looked back; and waved her hand to Martin.He made a start towards them at the moment as if he had some otherfarewell words to say; but she only hurried off the faster, and MrTapley followed as in duty bound.

  When he rejoined Martin again in his own chamber, he found thatgentleman seated moodily before the dusty grate, with his two feet onthe fender, his two elbows on his knees, and his chin supported, in anot very ornamental manner, on the palms of his hands.

  'Well, Mark!'

  'Well, sir,' said Mark, taking a long breath, 'I see the young lady safehome, and I feel pretty comfortable after it. She sent a lot of kindwords, sir, and this,' handing him a ring, 'for a parting keepsake.'

  'Diamonds!' said Martin, kissing it--let us do him justice, it was forher sake; not for theirs--and putting it on his little finger. 'Splendiddiamonds! My grandfather is a singular character, Mark. He must havegiven her this now.'

  Mark Tapley knew as well that she had bought it, to the end that thatunconscious speaker might carry some article of sterling value with himin his necessity; as he knew that it was day, and not night. Though hehad no more acquaintance of his own knowledge with the history of theglittering trinket on Martin's outspread finger, than Martin himselfhad, he was as certain that in its purchase she had expended her wholestock of hoarded money, as if he had seen it paid down coin by coin. Herlover's strange obtuseness in relation to this little incident, promptlysuggested to Mark's mind its real cause and root; and from that momenthe had a clear and perfect insight into the one absorbing principle ofMartin's character.

  'She is worthy of the sacrifices I have made,' said Martin, folding hisarms, and looking at the ashes in the stove, as if in resumption of someformer thoughts. 'Well worthy of them. No riches'--here he stroked hischin and mused--'could have compensated for the loss of such a nature.Not to mention that in gaining her affection I have followed the bentof my own wishes, and baulked the selfish schemes of others who hadno right to form them. She is quite worthy--more than worthy--of thesacrifices I have made. Yes, she is. No doubt of it.'

  These ruminations might or might not have reached Mark Tapley; forthough they were by no means addressed to him, yet they were softlyuttered. In any case, he stood there, watching Martin with anindescribable and most involved expression on his visage, until thatyoung man roused himself and looked towards him; when he turned away,as being suddenly intent upon certain preparations for the journey,and, without giving vent to any articulate sound, smiled with surpassingghastliness, and seemed by a twist of his features and a motion of hislips, to release himself of this word:

  'Jolly!'