DAVID
COPPERFIELD
PART 49
CHAPTER 49. I AM INVOLVED IN MYSTERY
I
received one morning by the post, the following letter, dated Canterbury, and
addressed to me at Doctor's Commons; which I read with some surprise:
'MY DEAR
SIR,
'Circumstances
beyond my individual control have, for a considerable lapse of time, effected a
severance of that intimacy which, in the limited opportunities conceded to me
in the midst of my professional duties, of contemplating the scenes and events
of the past, tinged by the prismatic hues of memory, has ever afforded me, as
it ever must continue to afford, gratifying emotions of no common description.
This fact, my dear sir, combined with the distinguished elevation to which your
talents have raised you, deters me from presuming to aspire to the liberty of
addressing the companion of my youth, by the familiar appellation of
Copperfield! It is sufficient to know that the name to which I do myself the
honour to refer, will ever be treasured among the muniments of our house (I
allude to the archives connected with our former lodgers, preserved by Mrs.
Micawber), with sentiments of personal esteem amounting to affection.
'It is
not for one, situated, through his original errors and a fortuitous combination
of unpropitious events, as is the foundered Bark (if he may be allowed to
assume so maritime a denomination), who now takes up the pen to address you—it
is not, I repeat, for one so circumstanced, to adopt the language of
compliment, or of congratulation. That he leaves to abler and to purer hands.
'If your
more important avocations should admit of your ever tracing these imperfect
characters thus far—which may be, or may not be, as circumstances arise—you
will naturally inquire by what object am I influenced, then, in inditing the
present missive? Allow me to say that I fully defer to the reasonable character
of that inquiry, and proceed to develop it; premising that it is not an object
of a pecuniary nature.
'Without
more directly referring to any latent ability that may possibly exist on my
part, of wielding the thunderbolt, or directing the devouring and avenging
flame in any quarter, I may be permitted to observe, in passing, that my
brightest visions are for ever dispelled—that my peace is shattered and my
power of enjoyment destroyed—that my heart is no longer in the right place—and
that I no more walk erect before my fellow man. The canker is in the flower.
The cup is bitter to the brim. The worm is at his work, and will soon dispose
of his victim. The sooner the better. But I will not digress. 'Placed in a
mental position of peculiar painfulness, beyond the assuaging reach even of
Mrs. Micawber's influence, though exercised in the tripartite character of
woman, wife, and mother, it is my intention to fly from myself for a short
period, and devote a respite of eight-and-forty hours to revisiting some
metropolitan scenes of past enjoyment. Among other havens of domestic
tranquillity and peace of mind, my feet will naturally tend towards the King's
Bench Prison. In stating that I shall be (D. V.) on the outside of the south
wall of that place of incarceration on civil process, the day after tomorrow,
at seven in the evening, precisely, my object in this epistolary communication
is accomplished.
'I do not
feel warranted in soliciting my former friend Mr. Copperfield, or my former
friend Mr. Thomas Traddles of the Inner Temple, if that gentleman is still
existent and forthcoming, to condescend to meet me, and renew (so far as may
be) our past relations of the olden time. I confine myself to throwing out the
observation, that, at the hour and place I have indicated, may be found such
ruined vestiges as yet
'Remain,
'Of
'A
'Fallen Tower,
'WILKINS
MICAWBER.
'P.S. It
may be advisable to superadd to the above, the statement that Mrs. Micawber is
not in confidential possession of my intentions.'
I read
the letter over several times. Making due allowance for Mr. Micawber's lofty
style of composition, and for the extraordinary relish with which he sat down
and wrote long letters on all possible and impossible occasions, I still
believed that something important lay hidden at the bottom of this roundabout
communication. I put it down, to think about it; and took it up again, to read
it once more; and was still pursuing it, when Traddles found me in the height
of my perplexity.
'My dear
fellow,' said I, 'I never was better pleased to see you. You come to give me
the benefit of your sober judgement at a most opportune time. I have received a
very singular letter, Traddles, from Mr. Micawber.'
'No?'
cried Traddles. 'You don't say so? And I have received one from Mrs. Micawber!'
With
that, Traddles, who was flushed with walking, and whose hair, under the
combined effects of exercise and excitement, stood on end as if he saw a
cheerful ghost, produced his letter and made an exchange with me. I watched him
into the heart of Mr. Micawber's letter, and returned the elevation of eyebrows
with which he said "'Wielding the thunderbolt, or directing the devouring
and avenging flame!" Bless me, Copperfield!'—and then entered on the
perusal of Mrs. Micawber's epistle.
It ran
thus:
'My best
regards to Mr. Thomas Traddles, and if he should still remember one who
formerly had the happiness of being well acquainted with him, may I beg a few
moments of his leisure time? I assure Mr. T. T. that I would not intrude upon
his kindness, were I in any other position than on the confines of distraction.
'Though
harrowing to myself to mention, the alienation of Mr. Micawber (formerly so
domesticated) from his wife and family, is the cause of my addressing my
unhappy appeal to Mr. Traddles, and soliciting his best indulgence. Mr. T. can
form no adequate idea of the change in Mr. Micawber's conduct, of his wildness,
of his violence. It has gradually augmented, until it assumes the appearance of
aberration of intellect. Scarcely a day passes, I assure Mr. Traddles, on which
some paroxysm does not take place. Mr. T. will not require me to depict my
feelings, when I inform him that I have become accustomed to hear Mr. Micawber
assert that he has sold himself to the D. Mystery and secrecy have long been
his principal characteristic, have long replaced unlimited confidence. The
slightest provocation, even being asked if there is anything he would prefer
for dinner, causes him to express a wish for a separation. Last night, on being
childishly solicited for twopence, to buy 'lemon-stunners'—a local sweetmeat—he
presented an oyster-knife at the twins!
'I
entreat Mr. Traddles to bear with me in entering into these details. Without
them, Mr. T. would indeed find it difficult to form the faintest conception of
my heart-rending situation.
'May I
now venture to confide to Mr. T. the purport of my letter? Will he now allow me
to throw myself on his friendly consideration? Oh yes, for I know his heart!
'The
quick eye of affection is not easily blinded, when of the female sex. Mr.
Micawber is going to London. Though he studiously concealed his hand, this
morning before breakfast, in writing the direction-card which he attached to
the little brown valise of happier days, the eagle-glance of matrimonial
anxiety detected, d, o, n, distinctly traced. The West-End destination of the
coach, is the Golden Cross. Dare I fervently implore Mr. T. to see my misguided
husband, and to reason with him? Dare I ask Mr. T. to endeavour to step in
between Mr. Micawber and his agonized family? Oh no, for that would be too
much!
'If Mr.
Copperfield should yet remember one unknown to fame, will Mr. T. take charge of
my unalterable regards and similar entreaties? In any case, he will have the
benevolence to consider this communication strictly private, and on no account
whatever to be alluded to, however distantly, in the presence of Mr. Micawber.
If Mr. T. should ever reply to it (which I cannot but feel to be most
improbable), a letter addressed to M. E., Post Office, Canterbury, will be
fraught with less painful consequences than any addressed immediately to one,
who subscribes herself, in extreme distress,
'Mr.
Thomas Traddles's respectful friend and suppliant,
'EMMA
MICAWBER.'
'What do
you think of that letter?' said Traddles, casting his eyes upon me, when I had
read it twice.
'What do
you think of the other?' said I. For he was still reading it with knitted
brows.
'I think
that the two together, Copperfield,' replied Traddles, 'mean more than Mr. and
Mrs. Micawber usually mean in their correspondence—but I don't know what. They
are both written in good faith, I have no doubt, and without any collusion.
Poor thing!' he was now alluding to Mrs. Micawber's letter, and we were
standing side by side comparing the two; 'it will be a charity to write to her,
at all events, and tell her that we will not fail to see Mr. Micawber.'
I acceded
to this the more readily, because I now reproached myself with having treated
her former letter rather lightly. It had set me thinking a good deal at the
time, as I have mentioned in its place; but my absorption in my own affairs, my
experience of the family, and my hearing nothing more, had gradually ended in
my dismissing the subject. I had often thought of the Micawbers, but chiefly to
wonder what 'pecuniary liabilities' they were establishing in Canterbury, and
to recall how shy Mr. Micawber was of me when he became clerk to Uriah Heep.
However,
I now wrote a comforting letter to Mrs. Micawber, in our joint names, and we
both signed it. As we walked into town to post it, Traddles and I held a long
conference, and launched into a number of speculations, which I need not
repeat. We took my aunt into our counsels in the afternoon; but our only
decided conclusion was, that we would be very punctual in keeping Mr.
Micawber's appointment.
Although
we appeared at the stipulated place a quarter of an hour before the time, we
found Mr. Micawber already there. He was standing with his arms folded, over
against the wall, looking at the spikes on the top, with a sentimental
expression, as if they were the interlacing boughs of trees that had shaded him
in his youth.
When we
accosted him, his manner was something more confused, and something less
genteel, than of yore. He had relinquished his legal suit of black for the
purposes of this excursion, and wore the old surtout and tights, but not quite
with the old air. He gradually picked up more and more of it as we conversed
with him; but, his very eye-glass seemed to hang less easily, and his
shirt-collar, though still of the old formidable dimensions, rather drooped.
'Gentlemen!'
said Mr. Micawber, after the first salutations, 'you are friends in need, and
friends indeed. Allow me to offer my inquiries with reference to the physical
welfare of Mrs. Copperfield in esse, and Mrs. Traddles in posse,—presuming,
that is to say, that my friend Mr. Traddles is not yet united to the object of
his affections, for weal and for woe.'
We
acknowledged his politeness, and made suitable replies. He then directed our
attention to the wall, and was beginning, 'I assure you, gentlemen,' when I
ventured to object to that ceremonious form of address, and to beg that he
would speak to us in the old way.
'My dear
Copperfield,' he returned, pressing my hand, 'your cordiality overpowers me.
This reception of a shattered fragment of the Temple once called Man—if I may
be permitted so to express myself—bespeaks a heart that is an honour to our
common nature. I was about to observe that I again behold the serene spot where
some of the happiest hours of my existence fleeted by.'
'Made so,
I am sure, by Mrs. Micawber,' said I. 'I hope she is well?'
'Thank
you,' returned Mr. Micawber, whose face clouded at this reference, 'she is but
so-so. And this,' said Mr. Micawber, nodding his head sorrowfully, 'is the
Bench! Where, for the first time in many revolving years, the overwhelming
pressure of pecuniary liabilities was not proclaimed, from day to day, by
importune voices declining to vacate the passage; where there was no knocker on
the door for any creditor to appeal to; where personal service of process was
not required, and detainees were merely lodged at the gate! Gentlemen,' said
Mr. Micawber, 'when the shadow of that iron-work on the summit of the brick
structure has been reflected on the gravel of the Parade, I have seen my
children thread the mazes of the intricate pattern, avoiding the dark marks. I
have been familiar with every stone in the place. If I betray weakness, you
will know how to excuse me.'
'We have
all got on in life since then, Mr. Micawber,' said I.
'Mr.
Copperfield,' returned Mr. Micawber, bitterly, 'when I was an inmate of that
retreat I could look my fellow-man in the face, and punch his head if he
offended me. My fellow-man and myself are no longer on those glorious terms!'
Turning
from the building in a downcast manner, Mr. Micawber accepted my proffered arm
on one side, and the proffered arm of Traddles on the other, and walked away
between us.
'There
are some landmarks,' observed Mr. Micawber, looking fondly back over his
shoulder, 'on the road to the tomb, which, but for the impiety of the
aspiration, a man would wish never to have passed. Such is the Bench in my
chequered career.'
'Oh, you
are in low spirits, Mr. Micawber,' said Traddles.
'I am,
sir,' interposed Mr. Micawber.
'I hope,'
said Traddles, 'it is not because you have conceived a dislike to the law—for I
am a lawyer myself, you know.'
Mr.
Micawber answered not a word.
'How is
our friend Heep, Mr. Micawber?' said I, after a silence.
'My dear
Copperfield,' returned Mr. Micawber, bursting into a state of much excitement,
and turning pale, 'if you ask after my employer as YOUR friend, I am sorry for
it; if you ask after him as MY friend, I sardonically smile at it. In whatever
capacity you ask after my employer, I beg, without offence to you, to limit my
reply to this—that whatever his state of health may be, his appearance is foxy:
not to say diabolical. You will allow me, as a private individual, to decline
pursuing a subject which has lashed me to the utmost verge of desperation in my
professional capacity.'
I
expressed my regret for having innocently touched upon a theme that roused him
so much. 'May I ask,' said I, 'without any hazard of repeating the mistake, how
my old friends Mr. and Miss Wickfield are?'
'Miss
Wickfield,' said Mr. Micawber, now turning red, 'is, as she always is, a
pattern, and a bright example. My dear Copperfield, she is the only starry spot
in a miserable existence. My respect for that young lady, my admiration of her
character, my devotion to her for her love and truth, and goodness!—Take me,'
said Mr. Micawber, 'down a turning, for, upon my soul, in my present state of
mind I am not equal to this!'
We
wheeled him off into a narrow street, where he took out his
pocket-handkerchief, and stood with his back to a wall. If I looked as gravely
at him as Traddles did, he must have found our company by no means inspiriting.
'It is my
fate,' said Mr. Micawber, unfeignedly sobbing, but doing even that, with a
shadow of the old expression of doing something genteel; 'it is my fate,
gentlemen, that the finer feelings of our nature have become reproaches to me.
My homage to Miss Wickfield, is a flight of arrows in my bosom. You had better
leave me, if you please, to walk the earth as a vagabond. The worm will settle
my business in double-quick time.'
Without
attending to this invocation, we stood by, until he put up his
pocket-handkerchief, pulled up his shirt-collar, and, to delude any person in
the neighbourhood who might have been observing him, hummed a tune with his hat
very much on one side. I then mentioned—not knowing what might be lost if we
lost sight of him yet—that it would give me great pleasure to introduce him to
my aunt, if he would ride out to Highgate, where a bed was at his service.
'You
shall make us a glass of your own punch, Mr. Micawber,' said I, 'and forget
whatever you have on your mind, in pleasanter reminiscences.'
'Or, if
confiding anything to friends will be more likely to relieve you, you shall
impart it to us, Mr. Micawber,' said Traddles, prudently.
'Gentlemen,'
returned Mr. Micawber, 'do with me as you will! I am a straw upon the surface
of the deep, and am tossed in all directions by the elephants—I beg your
pardon; I should have said the elements.'
We walked
on, arm-in-arm, again; found the coach in the act of starting; and arrived at
Highgate without encountering any difficulties by the way. I was very uneasy
and very uncertain in my mind what to say or do for the best—so was Traddles,
evidently. Mr. Micawber was for the most part plunged into deep gloom. He
occasionally made an attempt to smarten himself, and hum the fag-end of a tune;
but his relapses into profound melancholy were only made the more impressive by
the mockery of a hat exceedingly on one side, and a shirt-collar pulled up to
his eyes.
We went
to my aunt's house rather than to mine, because of Dora's not being well. My
aunt presented herself on being sent for, and welcomed Mr. Micawber with
gracious cordiality. Mr. Micawber kissed her hand, retired to the window, and
pulling out his pocket-handkerchief, had a mental wrestle with himself.
Mr. Dick
was at home. He was by nature so exceedingly compassionate of anyone who seemed
to be ill at ease, and was so quick to find any such person out, that he shook
hands with Mr. Micawber, at least half-a-dozen times in five minutes. To Mr.
Micawber, in his trouble, this warmth, on the part of a stranger, was so
extremely touching, that he could only say, on the occasion of each successive
shake, 'My dear sir, you overpower me!' Which gratified Mr. Dick so much, that
he went at it again with greater vigour than before.
'The
friendliness of this gentleman,' said Mr. Micawber to my aunt, 'if you will
allow me, ma'am, to cull a figure of speech from the vocabulary of our coarser
national sports—floors me. To a man who is struggling with a complicated burden
of perplexity and disquiet, such a reception is trying, I assure you.'
'My
friend Mr. Dick,' replied my aunt proudly, 'is not a common man.'
'That I
am convinced of,' said Mr. Micawber. 'My dear sir!' for Mr. Dick was shaking
hands with him again; 'I am deeply sensible of your cordiality!'
'How do
you find yourself?' said Mr. Dick, with an anxious look.
'Indifferent,
my dear sir,' returned Mr. Micawber, sighing.
'You must
keep up your spirits,' said Mr. Dick, 'and make yourself as comfortable as
possible.'
Mr. Micawber
was quite overcome by these friendly words, and by finding Mr. Dick's hand
again within his own. 'It has been my lot,' he observed, 'to meet, in the
diversified panorama of human existence, with an occasional oasis, but never
with one so green, so gushing, as the present!'
At
another time I should have been amused by this; but I felt that we were all
constrained and uneasy, and I watched Mr. Micawber so anxiously, in his
vacillations between an evident disposition to reveal something, and a counter-disposition
to reveal nothing, that I was in a perfect fever. Traddles, sitting on the edge
of his chair, with his eyes wide open, and his hair more emphatically erect
than ever, stared by turns at the ground and at Mr. Micawber, without so much
as attempting to put in a word. My aunt, though I saw that her shrewdest
observation was concentrated on her new guest, had more useful possession of
her wits than either of us; for she held him in conversation, and made it
necessary for him to talk, whether he liked it or not.
'You are
a very old friend of my nephew's, Mr. Micawber,' said my aunt. 'I wish I had
had the pleasure of seeing you before.'
'Madam,'
returned Mr. Micawber, 'I wish I had had the honour of knowing you at an
earlier period. I was not always the wreck you at present behold.'
'I hope
Mrs. Micawber and your family are well, sir,' said my aunt.
Mr.
Micawber inclined his head. 'They are as well, ma'am,' he desperately observed
after a pause, 'as Aliens and Outcasts can ever hope to be.'
'Lord
bless you, sir!' exclaimed my aunt, in her abrupt way. 'What are you talking
about?'
'The
subsistence of my family, ma'am,' returned Mr. Micawber, 'trembles in the
balance. My employer—'
Here Mr.
Micawber provokingly left off; and began to peel the lemons that had been under
my directions set before him, together with all the other appliances he used in
making punch.
'Your
employer, you know,' said Mr. Dick, jogging his arm as a gentle reminder.
'My good
sir,' returned Mr. Micawber, 'you recall me, I am obliged to you.' They shook
hands again. 'My employer, ma'am—Mr. Heep—once did me the favour to observe to
me, that if I were not in the receipt of the stipendiary emoluments appertaining
to my engagement with him, I should probably be a mountebank about the country,
swallowing a sword-blade, and eating the devouring element. For anything that I
can perceive to the contrary, it is still probable that my children may be
reduced to seek a livelihood by personal contortion, while Mrs. Micawber abets
their unnatural feats by playing the barrel-organ.'
Mr.
Micawber, with a random but expressive flourish of his knife, signified that
these performances might be expected to take place after he was no more; then
resumed his peeling with a desperate air.
My aunt
leaned her elbow on the little round table that she usually kept beside her,
and eyed him attentively. Notwithstanding the aversion with which I regarded
the idea of entrapping him into any disclosure he was not prepared to make
voluntarily, I should have taken him up at this point, but for the strange
proceedings in which I saw him engaged; whereof his putting the lemon-peel into
the kettle, the sugar into the snuffer-tray, the spirit into the empty jug, and
confidently attempting to pour boiling water out of a candlestick, were among
the most remarkable. I saw that a crisis was at hand, and it came. He clattered
all his means and implements together, rose from his chair, pulled out his pocket-handkerchief,
and burst into tears.
'My dear
Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, behind his handkerchief, 'this is an
occupation, of all others, requiring an untroubled mind, and self-respect. I
cannot perform it. It is out of the question.'
'Mr. Micawber,'
said I, 'what is the matter? Pray speak out. You are among friends.'
'Among
friends, sir!' repeated Mr. Micawber; and all he had reserved came breaking out
of him. 'Good heavens, it is principally because I AM among friends that my
state of mind is what it is. What is the matter, gentlemen? What is NOT the
matter? Villainy is the matter; baseness is the matter; deception, fraud,
conspiracy, are the matter; and the name of the whole atrocious mass is—HEEP!'
My aunt
clapped her hands, and we all started up as if we were possessed.
'The
struggle is over!' said Mr. Micawber violently gesticulating with his
pocket-handkerchief, and fairly striking out from time to time with both arms,
as if he were swimming under superhuman difficulties. 'I will lead this life no
longer. I am a wretched being, cut off from everything that makes life
tolerable. I have been under a Taboo in that infernal scoundrel's service. Give
me back my wife, give me back my family, substitute Micawber for the petty
wretch who walks about in the boots at present on my feet, and call upon me to
swallow a sword tomorrow, and I'll do it. With an appetite!'
I never
saw a man so hot in my life. I tried to calm him, that we might come to
something rational; but he got hotter and hotter, and wouldn't hear a word.
'I'll put
my hand in no man's hand,' said Mr. Micawber, gasping, puffing, and sobbing, to
that degree that he was like a man fighting with cold water, 'until I
have—blown to fragments—the—a—detestable—serpent—HEEP! I'll partake of no one's
hospitality, until I have—a—moved Mount Vesuvius—to eruption—on—a—the abandoned
rascal—HEEP! Refreshment—a—underneath this roof—particularly
punch—would—a—choke me—unless—I had—previously—choked the eyes—out of the
head—a—of—interminable cheat, and liar—HEEP! I—a—I'll know nobody—and—a—say
nothing—and—a—live nowhere—until I have crushed—to—a—undiscoverable
atoms—the—transcendent and immortal hypocrite and perjurer—HEEP!'
I really
had some fear of Mr. Micawber's dying on the spot. The manner in which he
struggled through these inarticulate sentences, and, whenever he found himself
getting near the name of Heep, fought his way on to it, dashed at it in a
fainting state, and brought it out with a vehemence little less than
marvellous, was frightful; but now, when he sank into a chair, steaming, and
looked at us, with every possible colour in his face that had no business
there, and an endless procession of lumps following one another in hot haste up
his throat, whence they seemed to shoot into his forehead, he had the
appearance of being in the last extremity. I would have gone to his assistance,
but he waved me off, and wouldn't hear a word.
'No,
Copperfield!—No communication—a—until—Miss Wickfield—a—redress from wrongs
inflicted by consummate scoundrel—HEEP!' (I am quite convinced he could not
have uttered three words, but for the amazing energy with which this word
inspired him when he felt it coming.) 'Inviolable secret—a—from the whole
world—a—no exceptions—this day week—a—at breakfast-time—a—everybody
present—including aunt—a—and extremely friendly gentleman—to be at the hotel at
Canterbury—a—where—Mrs. Micawber and myself—Auld Lang Syne in chorus—and—a—will
expose intolerable ruffian—HEEP! No more to say—a—or listen to persuasion—go
immediately—not capable—a—bear society—upon the track of devoted and doomed
traitor—HEEP!'
With this
last repetition of the magic word that had kept him going at all, and in which
he surpassed all his previous efforts, Mr. Micawber rushed out of the house;
leaving us in a state of excitement, hope, and wonder, that reduced us to a
condition little better than his own. But even then his passion for writing
letters was too strong to be resisted; for while we were yet in the height of
our excitement, hope, and wonder, the following pastoral note was brought to me
from a neighbouring tavern, at which he had called to write it:—
'Most secret and confidential.
'MY DEAR SIR,
'I beg to
be allowed to convey, through you, my apologies to your excellent aunt for my
late excitement. An explosion of a smouldering volcano long suppressed, was the
result of an internal contest more easily conceived than described.
'I trust
I rendered tolerably intelligible my appointment for the morning of this day
week, at the house of public entertainment at Canterbury, where Mrs. Micawber
and myself had once the honour of uniting our voices to yours, in the
well-known strain of the Immortal exciseman nurtured beyond the Tweed.
'The duty
done, and act of reparation performed, which can alone enable me to contemplate
my fellow mortal, I shall be known no more. I shall simply require to be
deposited in that place of universal resort, where
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep,
'—With the plain
Inscription,
'WILKINS MICAWBER.'
To be continued
