Charles Dickens
Our Mutual Friend
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Table of contents
BOOK THE FIRST — THE CUP AND THE LIP
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
BOOK THE SECOND — BIRDS OF A FEATHER
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
BOOK THE THIRD — A LONG LANE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
BOOK THE FOURTH — A TURNING
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
POSTSCRIPT
BOOK THE FIRST — THE CUP AND THE LIP
Chapter 1
ON
THE LOOK OUTIn
these times of ours, though concerning the exact year there is no
need to be precise, a boat of dirty and disreputable appearance, with
two figures in it, floated on the Thames, between Southwark bridge
which is of iron, and London Bridge which is of stone, as an autumn
evening was closing in.The
figures in this boat were those of a strong man with ragged grizzled
hair and a sun-browned face, and a dark girl of nineteen or twenty,
sufficiently like him to be recognizable as his daughter. The girl
rowed, pulling a pair of sculls very easily; the man, with the
rudder-lines slack in his hands, and his hands loose in his
waistband, kept an eager look out. He had no net, hook, or line, and
he could not be a fisherman; his boat had no cushion for a sitter, no
paint, no inscription, no appliance beyond a rusty boathook and a
coil of rope, and he could not be a waterman; his boat was too crazy
and too small to take in cargo for delivery, and he could not be a
lighterman or river-carrier; there was no clue to what he looked for,
but he looked for something, with a most intent and searching gaze.
The tide, which had turned an hour before, was running down, and his
eyes watched every little race and eddy in its broad sweep, as the
boat made slight head-way against it, or drove stern foremost before
it, according as he directed his daughter by a movement of his head.
She watched his face as earnestly as he watched the river. But, in
the intensity of her look there was a touch of dread or horror.Allied
to the bottom of the river rather than the surface, by reason of the
slime and ooze with which it was covered, and its sodden state, this
boat and the two figures in it obviously were doing something that
they often did, and were seeking what they often sought. Half savage
as the man showed, with no covering on his matted head, with his
brown arms bare to between the elbow and the shoulder, with the loose
knot of a looser kerchief lying low on his bare breast in a
wilderness of beard and whisker, with such dress as he wore seeming
to be made out of the mud that begrimed his boat, still there was a
business-like usage in his steady gaze. So with every lithe action of
the girl, with every turn of her wrist, perhaps most of all with her
look of dread or horror; they were things of usage.'Keep
her out, Lizzie. Tide runs strong here. Keep her well afore the sweep
of it.'Trusting
to the girl's skill and making no use of the rudder, he eyed the
coming tide with an absorbed attention. So the girl eyed him. But, it
happened now, that a slant of light from the setting sun glanced into
the bottom of the boat, and, touching a rotten stain there which bore
some resemblance to the outline of a muffled human form, coloured it
as though with diluted blood. This caught the girl's eye, and she
shivered.'What
ails you?' said the man, immediately aware of it, though so intent on
the advancing waters; 'I see nothing afloat.'The
red light was gone, the shudder was gone, and his gaze, which had
come back to the boat for a moment, travelled away again. Wheresoever
the strong tide met with an impediment, his gaze paused for an
instant. At every mooring-chain and rope, at every stationery boat or
barge that split the current into a broad-arrowhead, at the offsets
from the piers of Southwark Bridge, at the paddles of the river
steamboats as they beat the filthy water, at the floating logs of
timber lashed together lying off certain wharves, his shining eyes
darted a hungry look. After a darkening hour or so, suddenly the
rudder-lines tightened in his hold, and he steered hard towards the
Surrey shore.Always
watching his face, the girl instantly answered to the action in her
sculling; presently the boat swung round, quivered as from a sudden
jerk, and the upper half of the man was stretched out over the stern.The
girl pulled the hood of a cloak she wore, over her head and over her
face, and, looking backward so that the front folds of this hood were
turned down the river, kept the boat in that direction going before
the tide. Until now, the boat had barely held her own, and had
hovered about one spot; but now, the banks changed swiftly, and the
deepening shadows and the kindling lights of London Bridge were
passed, and the tiers of shipping lay on either hand.It
was not until now that the upper half of the man came back into the
boat. His arms were wet and dirty, and he washed them over the side.
In his right hand he held something, and he washed that in the river
too. It was money. He chinked it once, and he blew upon it once, and
he spat upon it once,—'for luck,' he hoarsely said—before he put
it in his pocket.'Lizzie!'The
girl turned her face towards him with a start, and rowed in silence.
Her face was very pale. He was a hook-nosed man, and with that and
his bright eyes and his ruffled head, bore a certain likeness to a
roused bird of prey.'Take
that thing off your face.'She
put it back.'Here!
and give me hold of the sculls. I'll take the rest of the spell.''No,
no, father! No! I can't indeed. Father!—I cannot sit so near it!'He
was moving towards her to change places, but her terrified
expostulation stopped him and he resumed his seat.'What
hurt can it do you?''None,
none. But I cannot bear it.''It's
my belief you hate the sight of the very river.''I—I
do not like it, father.''As
if it wasn't your living! As if it wasn't meat and drink to you!'At
these latter words the girl shivered again, and for a moment paused
in her rowing, seeming to turn deadly faint. It escaped his
attention, for he was glancing over the stern at something the boat
had in tow.'How
can you be so thankless to your best friend, Lizzie? The very fire
that warmed you when you were a babby, was picked out of the river
alongside the coal barges. The very basket that you slept in, the
tide washed ashore. The very rockers that I put it upon to make a
cradle of it, I cut out of a piece of wood that drifted from some
ship or another.'Lizzie
took her right hand from the scull it held, and touched her lips with
it, and for a moment held it out lovingly towards him: then, without
speaking, she resumed her rowing, as another boat of similar
appearance, though in rather better trim, came out from a dark place
and dropped softly alongside.'In
luck again, Gaffer?' said a man with a squinting leer, who sculled
her and who was alone, 'I know'd you was in luck again, by your wake
as you come down.''Ah!'
replied the other, drily. 'So you're out, are you?''Yes,
pardner.'There
was now a tender yellow moonlight on the river, and the new comer,
keeping half his boat's length astern of the other boat looked hard
at its track.'I
says to myself,' he went on, 'directly you hove in view, yonder's
Gaffer, and in luck again, by George if he ain't! Scull it is,
pardner—don't fret yourself—I didn't touch him.' This was in
answer to a quick impatient movement on the part of Gaffer: the
speaker at the same time unshipping his scull on that side, and
laying his hand on the gunwale of Gaffer's boat and holding to it.'He's
had touches enough not to want no more, as well as I make him out,
Gaffer! Been a knocking about with a pretty many tides, ain't he
pardner? Such is my out-of-luck ways, you see! He must have passed me
when he went up last time, for I was on the lookout below bridge
here. I a'most think you're like the wulturs, pardner, and scent 'em
out.'He
spoke in a dropped voice, and with more than one glance at Lizzie who
had pulled on her hood again. Both men then looked with a weird
unholy interest in the wake of Gaffer's boat.'Easy
does it, betwixt us. Shall I take him aboard, pardner?''No,'
said the other. In so surly a tone that the man, after a blank stare,
acknowledged it with the retort:'—Arn't
been eating nothing as has disagreed with you, have you, pardner?''Why,
yes, I have,' said Gaffer. 'I have been swallowing too much of that
word, Pardner. I am no pardner of yours.''Since
when was you no pardner of mine, Gaffer Hexam Esquire?''Since
you was accused of robbing a man. Accused of robbing a live man!'
said Gaffer, with great indignation.'And
what if I had been accused of robbing a dead man, Gaffer?''You
couldn't do it.''Couldn't
you, Gaffer?''No.
Has a dead man any use for money? Is it possible for a dead man to
have money? What world does a dead man belong to? 'Tother world. What
world does money belong to? This world. How can money be a corpse's?
Can a corpse own it, want it, spend it, claim it, miss it? Don't try
to go confounding the rights and wrongs of things in that way. But
it's worthy of the sneaking spirit that robs a live man.''I'll
tell you what it is—.''No
you won't. I'll tell you what it is. You got off with a short time of
it for putting your hand in the pocket of a sailor, a live sailor.
Make the most of it and think yourself lucky, but don't think after
that to come over me
with your pardners. We have worked together in time past, but we work
together no more in time present nor yet future. Let go. Cast off!''Gaffer!
If you think to get rid of me this way—.''If
I don't get rid of you this way, I'll try another, and chop you over
the fingers with the stretcher, or take a pick at your head with the
boat-hook. Cast off! Pull you, Lizzie. Pull home, since you won't let
your father pull.'Lizzie
shot ahead, and the other boat fell astern. Lizzie's father,
composing himself into the easy attitude of one who had asserted the
high moralities and taken an unassailable position, slowly lighted a
pipe, and smoked, and took a survey of what he had in tow. What he
had in tow, lunged itself at him sometimes in an awful manner when
the boat was checked, and sometimes seemed to try to wrench itself
away, though for the most part it followed submissively. A neophyte
might have fancied that the ripples passing over it were dreadfully
like faint changes of expression on a sightless face; but Gaffer was
no neophyte and had no fancies.
Chapter 2
THE
MAN FROM SOMEWHEREMr
and Mrs Veneering were bran-new people in a bran-new house in a
bran-new quarter of London. Everything about the Veneerings was spick
and span new. All their furniture was new, all their friends were
new, all their servants were new, their plate was new, their carriage
was new, their harness was new, their horses were new, their pictures
were new, they themselves were new, they were as newly married as was
lawfully compatible with their having a bran-new baby, and if they
had set up a great-grandfather, he would have come home in matting
from the Pantechnicon, without a scratch upon him, French polished to
the crown of his head.For,
in the Veneering establishment, from the hall-chairs with the new
coat of arms, to the grand pianoforte with the new action, and
upstairs again to the new fire-escape, all things were in a state of
high varnish and polish. And what was observable in the furniture,
was observable in the Veneerings—the surface smelt a little too
much of the workshop and was a trifle sticky.There
was an innocent piece of dinner-furniture that went upon easy castors
and was kept over a livery stable-yard in Duke Street, Saint James's,
when not in use, to whom the Veneerings were a source of blind
confusion. The name of this article was Twemlow. Being first cousin
to Lord Snigsworth, he was in frequent requisition, and at many
houses might be said to represent the dining-table in its normal
state. Mr and Mrs Veneering, for example, arranging a dinner,
habitually started with Twemlow, and then put leaves in him, or added
guests to him. Sometimes, the table consisted of Twemlow and half a
dozen leaves; sometimes, of Twemlow and a dozen leaves; sometimes,
Twemlow was pulled out to his utmost extent of twenty leaves. Mr and
Mrs Veneering on occasions of ceremony faced each other in the centre
of the board, and thus the parallel still held; for, it always
happened that the more Twemlow was pulled out, the further he found
himself from the center, and nearer to the sideboard at one end of
the room, or the window-curtains at the other.But,
it was not this which steeped the feeble soul of Twemlow in
confusion. This he was used to, and could take soundings of. The
abyss to which he could find no bottom, and from which started forth
the engrossing and ever-swelling difficulty of his life, was the
insoluble question whether he was Veneering's oldest friend, or
newest friend. To the excogitation of this problem, the harmless
gentleman had devoted many anxious hours, both in his lodgings over
the livery stable-yard, and in the cold gloom, favourable to
meditation, of Saint James's Square. Thus. Twemlow had first known
Veneering at his club, where Veneering then knew nobody but the man
who made them known to one another, who seemed to be the most
intimate friend he had in the world, and whom he had known two
days—the bond of union between their souls, the nefarious conduct
of the committee respecting the cookery of a fillet of veal, having
been accidentally cemented at that date. Immediately upon this,
Twemlow received an invitation to dine with Veneering, and dined: the
man being of the party. Immediately upon that, Twemlow received an
invitation to dine with the man, and dined: Veneering being of the
party. At the man's were a Member, an Engineer, a Payer-off of the
National Debt, a Poem on Shakespeare, a Grievance, and a Public
Office, who all seem to be utter strangers to Veneering. And yet
immediately after that, Twemlow received an invitation to dine at
Veneerings, expressly to meet the Member, the Engineer, the Payer-off
of the National Debt, the Poem on Shakespeare, the Grievance, and the
Public Office, and, dining, discovered that all of them were the most
intimate friends Veneering had in the world, and that the wives of
all of them (who were all there) were the objects of Mrs Veneering's
most devoted affection and tender confidence.Thus
it had come about, that Mr Twemlow had said to himself in his
lodgings, with his hand to his forehead: 'I must not think of this.
This is enough to soften any man's brain,'—and yet was always
thinking of it, and could never form a conclusion.This
evening the Veneerings give a banquet. Eleven leaves in the Twemlow;
fourteen in company all told. Four pigeon-breasted retainers in plain
clothes stand in line in the hall. A fifth retainer, proceeding up
the staircase with a mournful air—as who should say, 'Here is
another wretched creature come to dinner; such is life!'—announces,
'Mis-ter Twemlow!'Mrs
Veneering welcomes her sweet Mr Twemlow. Mr Veneering welcomes his
dear Twemlow. Mrs Veneering does not expect that Mr Twemlow can in
nature care much for such insipid things as babies, but so old a
friend must please to look at baby. 'Ah! You will know the friend of
your family better, Tootleums,' says Mr Veneering, nodding
emotionally at that new article, 'when you begin to take notice.' He
then begs to make his dear Twemlow known to his two friends, Mr Boots
and Mr Brewer—and clearly has no distinct idea which is which.But
now a fearful circumstance occurs.'Mis-ter
and Mis-sus Podsnap!''My
dear,' says Mr Veneering to Mrs Veneering, with an air of much
friendly interest, while the door stands open, 'the Podsnaps.'A
too, too smiling large man, with a fatal freshness on him, appearing
with his wife, instantly deserts his wife and darts at Twemlow with:'How
do you do? So glad to know you. Charming house you have here. I hope
we are not late. So glad of the opportunity, I am sure!'When
the first shock fell upon him, Twemlow twice skipped back in his neat
little shoes and his neat little silk stockings of a bygone fashion,
as if impelled to leap over a sofa behind him; but the large man
closed with him and proved too strong.'Let
me,' says the large man, trying to attract the attention of his wife
in the distance, 'have the pleasure of presenting Mrs Podsnap to her
host. She will be,' in his fatal freshness he seems to find perpetual
verdure and eternal youth in the phrase, 'she will be so glad of the
opportunity, I am sure!'In
the meantime, Mrs Podsnap, unable to originate a mistake on her own
account, because Mrs Veneering is the only other lady there, does her
best in the way of handsomely supporting her husband's, by looking
towards Mr Twemlow with a plaintive countenance and remarking to Mrs
Veneering in a feeling manner, firstly, that she fears he has been
rather bilious of late, and, secondly, that the baby is already very
like him.It
is questionable whether any man quite relishes being mistaken for any
other man; but, Mr Veneering having this very evening set up the
shirt-front of the young Antinous in new worked cambric just come
home, is not at all complimented by being supposed to be Twemlow, who
is dry and weazen and some thirty years older. Mrs Veneering equally
resents the imputation of being the wife of Twemlow. As to Twemlow,
he is so sensible of being a much better bred man than Veneering,
that he considers the large man an offensive ass.In
this complicated dilemma, Mr Veneering approaches the large man with
extended hand and, smilingly assures that incorrigible personage that
he is delighted to see him: who in his fatal freshness instantly
replies:'Thank
you. I am ashamed to say that I cannot at this moment recall where we
met, but I am so glad of this opportunity, I am sure!'Then
pouncing upon Twemlow, who holds back with all his feeble might, he
is haling him off to present him, as Veneering, to Mrs Podsnap, when
the arrival of more guests unravels the mistake. Whereupon, having
re-shaken hands with Veneering as Veneering, he re-shakes hands with
Twemlow as Twemlow, and winds it all up to his own perfect
satisfaction by saying to the last-named, 'Ridiculous opportunity—but
so glad of it, I am sure!'Now,
Twemlow having undergone this terrific experience, having likewise
noted the fusion of Boots in Brewer and Brewer in Boots, and having
further observed that of the remaining seven guests four discrete
characters enter with wandering eyes and wholly declined to commit
themselves as to which is Veneering, until Veneering has them in his
grasp;—Twemlow having profited by these studies, finds his brain
wholesomely hardening as he approaches the conclusion that he really
is Veneering's oldest friend, when his brain softens again and all is
lost, through his eyes encountering Veneering and the large man
linked together as twin brothers in the back drawing-room near the
conservatory door, and through his ears informing him in the tones of
Mrs Veneering that the same large man is to be baby's godfather.'Dinner
is on the table!'Thus
the melancholy retainer, as who should say, 'Come down and be
poisoned, ye unhappy children of men!'Twemlow,
having no lady assigned him, goes down in the rear, with his hand to
his forehead. Boots and Brewer, thinking him indisposed, whisper,
'Man faint. Had no lunch.' But he is only stunned by the
unvanquishable difficulty of his existence.Revived
by soup, Twemlow discourses mildly of the Court Circular with Boots
and Brewer. Is appealed to, at the fish stage of the banquet, by
Veneering, on the disputed question whether his cousin Lord
Snigsworth is in or out of town? Gives it that his cousin is out of
town. 'At Snigsworthy Park?' Veneering inquires. 'At Snigsworthy,'
Twemlow rejoins. Boots and Brewer regard this as a man to be
cultivated; and Veneering is clear that he is a remunerative article.
Meantime the retainer goes round, like a gloomy Analytical Chemist:
always seeming to say, after 'Chablis, sir?'—'You wouldn't if you
knew what it's made of.'The
great looking-glass above the sideboard, reflects the table and the
company. Reflects the new Veneering crest, in gold and eke in silver,
frosted and also thawed, a camel of all work. The Heralds' College
found out a Crusading ancestor for Veneering who bore a camel on his
shield (or might have done it if he had thought of it), and a caravan
of camels take charge of the fruits and flowers and candles, and
kneel down be loaded with the salt. Reflects Veneering; forty,
wavy-haired, dark, tending to corpulence, sly, mysterious, filmy—a
kind of sufficiently well-looking veiled-prophet, not prophesying.
Reflects Mrs Veneering; fair, aquiline-nosed and fingered, not so
much light hair as she might have, gorgeous in raiment and jewels,
enthusiastic, propitiatory, conscious that a corner of her husband's
veil is over herself. Reflects Podsnap; prosperously feeding, two
little light-coloured wiry wings, one on either side of his else bald
head, looking as like his hairbrushes as his hair, dissolving view of
red beads on his forehead, large allowance of crumpled shirt-collar
up behind. Reflects Mrs Podsnap; fine woman for Professor Owen,
quantity of bone, neck and nostrils like a rocking-horse, hard
features, majestic head-dress in which Podsnap has hung golden
offerings. Reflects Twemlow; grey, dry, polite, susceptible to east
wind, First-Gentleman-in-Europe collar and cravat, cheeks drawn in as
if he had made a great effort to retire into himself some years ago,
and had got so far and had never got any farther. Reflects mature
young lady; raven locks, and complexion that lights up well when well
powdered—as it is—carrying on considerably in the captivation of
mature young gentleman; with too much nose in his face, too much
ginger in his whiskers, too much torso in his waistcoat, too much
sparkle in his studs, his eyes, his buttons, his talk, and his teeth.
Reflects charming old Lady Tippins on Veneering's right; with an
immense obtuse drab oblong face, like a face in a tablespoon, and a
dyed Long Walk up the top of her head, as a convenient public
approach to the bunch of false hair behind, pleased to patronize Mrs
Veneering opposite, who is pleased to be patronized. Reflects a
certain 'Mortimer', another of Veneering's oldest friends; who never
was in the house before, and appears not to want to come again, who
sits disconsolate on Mrs Veneering's left, and who was inveigled by
Lady Tippins (a friend of his boyhood) to come to these people's and
talk, and who won't talk. Reflects Eugene, friend of Mortimer; buried
alive in the back of his chair, behind a shoulder—with a
powder-epaulette on it—of the mature young lady, and gloomily
resorting to the champagne chalice whenever proffered by the
Analytical Chemist. Lastly, the looking-glass reflects Boots and
Brewer, and two other stuffed Buffers interposed between the rest of
the company and possible accidents.The
Veneering dinners are excellent dinners—or new people wouldn't
come—and all goes well. Notably, Lady Tippins has made a series of
experiments on her digestive functions, so extremely complicated and
daring, that if they could be published with their results it might
benefit the human race. Having taken in provisions from all parts of
the world, this hardy old cruiser has last touched at the North Pole,
when, as the ice-plates are being removed, the following words fall
from her:'I
assure you, my dear Veneering—'(Poor
Twemlow's hand approaches his forehead, for it would seem now, that
Lady Tippins is going to be the oldest friend.)'I
assure you, my dear Veneering, that it is the oddest affair! Like the
advertising people, I don't ask you to trust me, without offering a
respectable reference. Mortimer there, is my reference, and knows all
about it.'Mortimer
raises his drooping eyelids, and slightly opens his mouth. But a
faint smile, expressive of 'What's the use!' passes over his face,
and he drops his eyelids and shuts his mouth.'Now,
Mortimer,' says Lady Tippins, rapping the sticks of her closed green
fan upon the knuckles of her left hand—which is particularly rich
in knuckles, 'I insist upon your telling all that is to be told about
the man from Jamaica.''Give
you my honour I never heard of any man from Jamaica, except the man
who was a brother,' replies Mortimer.'Tobago,
then.''Nor
yet from Tobago.''Except,'
Eugene strikes in: so unexpectedly that the mature young lady, who
has forgotten all about him, with a start takes the epaulette out of
his way: 'except our friend who long lived on rice-pudding and
isinglass, till at length to his something or other, his physician
said something else, and a leg of mutton somehow ended in daygo.'A
reviving impression goes round the table that Eugene is coming out.
An unfulfilled impression, for he goes in again.'Now,
my dear Mrs Veneering,' quoth Lady Tippins, I appeal to you whether
this is not the basest conduct ever known in this world? I carry my
lovers about, two or three at a time, on condition that they are very
obedient and devoted; and here is my oldest lover-in-chief, the head
of all my slaves, throwing off his allegiance before company! And
here is another of my lovers, a rough Cymon at present certainly, but
of whom I had most hopeful expectations as to his turning out well in
course of time, pretending that he can't remember his nursery rhymes!
On purpose to annoy me, for he knows how I doat upon them!'A
grisly little fiction concerning her lovers is Lady Tippins's point.
She is always attended by a lover or two, and she keeps a little list
of her lovers, and she is always booking a new lover, or striking out
an old lover, or putting a lover in her black list, or promoting a
lover to her blue list, or adding up her lovers, or otherwise posting
her book. Mrs Veneering is charmed by the humour, and so is
Veneering. Perhaps it is enhanced by a certain yellow play in Lady
Tippins's throat, like the legs of scratching poultry.'I
banish the false wretch from this moment, and I strike him out of my
Cupidon (my name for my Ledger, my dear,) this very night. But I am
resolved to have the account of the man from Somewhere, and I beg you
to elicit it for me, my love,' to Mrs Veneering, 'as I have lost my
own influence. Oh, you perjured man!' This to Mortimer, with a rattle
of her fan.'We
are all very much interested in the man from Somewhere,' Veneering
observes.Then
the four Buffers, taking heart of grace all four at once, say:'Deeply
interested!''Quite
excited!''Dramatic!''Man
from Nowhere, perhaps!'And
then Mrs Veneering—for the Lady Tippins's winning wiles are
contagious—folds her hands in the manner of a supplicating child,
turns to her left neighbour, and says, 'Tease! Pay! Man from
Tumwhere!' At which the four Buffers, again mysteriously moved all
four at once, explain, 'You can't resist!''Upon
my life,' says Mortimer languidly, 'I find it immensely embarrassing
to have the eyes of Europe upon me to this extent, and my only
consolation is that you will all of you execrate Lady Tippins in your
secret hearts when you find, as you inevitably will, the man from
Somewhere a bore. Sorry to destroy romance by fixing him with a local
habitation, but he comes from the place, the name of which escapes
me, but will suggest itself to everybody else here, where they make
the wine.'Eugene
suggests 'Day and Martin's.''No,
not that place,' returns the unmoved Mortimer, 'that's where they
make the Port. My man comes from the country where they make the Cape
Wine. But look here, old fellow; its not at all statistical and it's
rather odd.'It
is always noticeable at the table of the Veneerings, that no man
troubles himself much about the Veneerings themselves, and that any
one who has anything to tell, generally tells it to anybody else in
preference.'The
man,' Mortimer goes on, addressing Eugene, 'whose name is Harmon, was
only son of a tremendous old rascal who made his money by Dust.''Red
velveteens and a bell?' the gloomy Eugene inquires.'And
a ladder and basket if you like. By which means, or by others, he
grew rich as a Dust Contractor, and lived in a hollow in a hilly
country entirely composed of Dust. On his own small estate the
growling old vagabond threw up his own mountain range, like an old
volcano, and its geological formation was Dust. Coal-dust,
vegetable-dust, bone-dust, crockery dust, rough dust and sifted
dust,—all manner of Dust.'A
passing remembrance of Mrs Veneering, here induces Mortimer to
address his next half-dozen words to her; after which he wanders away
again, tries Twemlow and finds he doesn't answer, ultimately takes up
with the Buffers who receive him enthusiastically.'The
moral being—I believe that's the right expression—of this
exemplary person, derived its highest gratification from
anathematizing his nearest relations and turning them out of doors.
Having begun (as was natural) by rendering these attentions to the
wife of his bosom, he next found himself at leisure to bestow a
similar recognition on the claims of his daughter. He chose a husband
for her, entirely to his own satisfaction and not in the least to
hers, and proceeded to settle upon her, as her marriage portion, I
don't know how much Dust, but something immense. At this stage of the
affair the poor girl respectfully intimated that she was secretly
engaged to that popular character whom the novelists and versifiers
call Another, and that such a marriage would make Dust of her heart
and Dust of her life—in short, would set her up, on a very
extensive scale, in her father's business. Immediately, the venerable
parent—on a cold winter's night, it is said—anathematized and
turned her out.'Here,
the Analytical Chemist (who has evidently formed a very low opinion
of Mortimer's story) concedes a little claret to the Buffers; who,
again mysteriously moved all four at once, screw it slowly into
themselves with a peculiar twist of enjoyment, as they cry in chorus,
'Pray go on.''The
pecuniary resources of Another were, as they usually are, of a very
limited nature. I believe I am not using too strong an expression
when I say that Another was hard up. However, he married the young
lady, and they lived in a humble dwelling, probably possessing a
porch ornamented with honeysuckle and woodbine twining, until she
died. I must refer you to the Registrar of the District in which the
humble dwelling was situated, for the certified cause of death; but
early sorrow and anxiety may have had to do with it, though they may
not appear in the ruled pages and printed forms. Indisputably this
was the case with Another, for he was so cut up by the loss of his
young wife that if he outlived her a year it was as much as he did.'There
is that in the indolent Mortimer, which seems to hint that if good
society might on any account allow itself to be impressible, he, one
of good society, might have the weakness to be impressed by what he
here relates. It is hidden with great pains, but it is in him. The
gloomy Eugene too, is not without some kindred touch; for, when that
appalling Lady Tippins declares that if Another had survived, he
should have gone down at the head of her list of lovers—and also
when the mature young lady shrugs her epaulettes, and laughs at some
private and confidential comment from the mature young gentleman—his
gloom deepens to that degree that he trifles quite ferociously with
his dessert-knife.Mortimer
proceeds.'We
must now return, as novelists say, and as we all wish they wouldn't,
to the man from Somewhere. Being a boy of fourteen, cheaply educated
at Brussels when his sister's expulsion befell, it was some little
time before he heard of it—probably from herself, for the mother
was dead; but that I don't know. Instantly, he absconded, and came
over here. He must have been a boy of spirit and resource, to get
here on a stopped allowance of five sous a week; but he did it
somehow, and he burst in on his father, and pleaded his sister's
cause. Venerable parent promptly resorts to anathematization, and
turns him out. Shocked and terrified boy takes flight, seeks his
fortune, gets aboard ship, ultimately turns up on dry land among the
Cape wine: small proprietor, farmer, grower—whatever you like to
call it.'At
this juncture, shuffling is heard in the hall, and tapping is heard
at the dining-room door. Analytical Chemist goes to the door, confers
angrily with unseen tapper, appears to become mollified by descrying
reason in the tapping, and goes out.'So
he was discovered, only the other day, after having been expatriated
about fourteen years.'A
Buffer, suddenly astounding the other three, by detaching himself,
and asserting individuality, inquires: 'How discovered, and why?''Ah!
To be sure. Thank you for reminding me. Venerable parent dies.'Same
Buffer, emboldened by success, says: 'When?''The
other day. Ten or twelve months ago.'Same
Buffer inquires with smartness, 'What of?' But herein perishes a
melancholy example; being regarded by the three other Buffers with a
stony stare, and attracting no further attention from any mortal.'Venerable
parent,' Mortimer repeats with a passing remembrance that there is a
Veneering at table, and for the first time addressing him—'dies.'The
gratified Veneering repeats, gravely, 'dies'; and folds his arms, and
composes his brow to hear it out in a judicial manner, when he finds
himself again deserted in the bleak world.'His
will is found,' said Mortimer, catching Mrs Podsnap's rocking-horse's
eye. 'It is dated very soon after the son's flight. It leaves the
lowest of the range of dust-mountains, with some sort of a
dwelling-house at its foot, to an old servant who is sole executor,
and all the rest of the property—which is very considerable—to
the son. He directs himself to be buried with certain eccentric
ceremonies and precautions against his coming to life, with which I
need not bore you, and that's all—except—' and this ends the
story.The
Analytical Chemist returning, everybody looks at him. Not because
anybody wants to see him, but because of that subtle influence in
nature which impels humanity to embrace the slightest opportunity of
looking at anything, rather than the person who addresses it.'—Except
that the son's inheriting is made conditional on his marrying a girl,
who at the date of the will, was a child of four or five years old,
and who is now a marriageable young woman. Advertisement and inquiry
discovered the son in the man from Somewhere, and at the present
moment, he is on his way home from there—no doubt, in a state of
great astonishment—to succeed to a very large fortune, and to take
a wife.'Mrs
Podsnap inquires whether the young person is a young person of
personal charms? Mortimer is unable to report.Mr
Podsnap inquires what would become of the very large fortune, in the
event of the marriage condition not being fulfilled? Mortimer
replies, that by special testamentary clause it would then go to the
old servant above mentioned, passing over and excluding the son;
also, that if the son had not been living, the same old servant would
have been sole residuary legatee.Mrs
Veneering has just succeeded in waking Lady Tippins from a snore, by
dexterously shunting a train of plates and dishes at her knuckles
across the table; when everybody but Mortimer himself becomes aware
that the Analytical Chemist is, in a ghostly manner, offering him a
folded paper. Curiosity detains Mrs Veneering a few moments.Mortimer,
in spite of all the arts of the chemist, placidly refreshes himself
with a glass of Madeira, and remains unconscious of the Document
which engrosses the general attention, until Lady Tippins (who has a
habit of waking totally insensible), having remembered where she is,
and recovered a perception of surrounding objects, says: 'Falser man
than Don Juan; why don't you take the note from the commendatore?'
Upon which, the chemist advances it under the nose of Mortimer, who
looks round at him, and says:'What's
this?'Analytical
Chemist bends and whispers.'Who?'
Says Mortimer.Analytical
Chemist again bends and whispers.Mortimer
stares at him, and unfolds the paper. Reads it, reads it twice, turns
it over to look at the blank outside, reads it a third time.'This
arrives in an extraordinarily opportune manner,' says Mortimer then,
looking with an altered face round the table: 'this is the conclusion
of the story of the identical man.''Already
married?' one guesses.'Declines
to marry?' another guesses.'Codicil
among the dust?' another guesses.'Why,
no,' says Mortimer; 'remarkable thing, you are all wrong. The story
is completer and rather more exciting than I supposed. Man's
drowned!'
Chapter 3
ANOTHER
MANAs
the disappearing skirts of the ladies ascended the Veneering
staircase, Mortimer, following them forth from the dining-room,
turned into a library of bran-new books, in bran-new bindings
liberally gilded, and requested to see the messenger who had brought
the paper. He was a boy of about fifteen. Mortimer looked at the boy,
and the boy looked at the bran-new pilgrims on the wall, going to
Canterbury in more gold frame than procession, and more carving than
country.'Whose
writing is this?''Mine,
sir.''Who
told you to write it?''My
father, Jesse Hexam.''Is
it he who found the body?''Yes,
sir.''What
is your father?'The
boy hesitated, looked reproachfully at the pilgrims as if they had
involved him in a little difficulty, then said, folding a plait in
the right leg of his trousers, 'He gets his living along-shore.''Is
it far?''Is
which far?' asked the boy, upon his guard, and again upon the road to
Canterbury.'To
your father's?''It's
a goodish stretch, sir. I come up in a cab, and the cab's waiting to
be paid. We could go back in it before you paid it, if you liked. I
went first to your office, according to the direction of the papers
found in the pockets, and there I see nobody but a chap of about my
age who sent me on here.'There
was a curious mixture in the boy, of uncompleted savagery, and
uncompleted civilization. His voice was hoarse and coarse, and his
face was coarse, and his stunted figure was coarse; but he was
cleaner than other boys of his type; and his writing, though large
and round, was good; and he glanced at the backs of the books, with
an awakened curiosity that went below the binding. No one who can
read, ever looks at a book, even unopened on a shelf, like one who
cannot.'Were
any means taken, do you know, boy, to ascertain if it was possible to
restore life?' Mortimer inquired, as he sought for his hat.'You
wouldn't ask, sir, if you knew his state. Pharaoh's multitude that
were drowned in the Red Sea, ain't more beyond restoring to life. If
Lazarus was only half as far gone, that was the greatest of all the
miracles.''Halloa!'
cried Mortimer, turning round with his hat upon his head, 'you seem
to be at home in the Red Sea, my young friend?''Read
of it with teacher at the school,' said the boy.'And
Lazarus?''Yes,
and him too. But don't you tell my father! We should have no peace in
our place, if that got touched upon. It's my sister's contriving.''You
seem to have a good sister.''She
ain't half bad,' said the boy; 'but if she knows her letters it's the
most she does—and them I learned her.'The
gloomy Eugene, with his hands in his pockets, had strolled in and
assisted at the latter part of the dialogue; when the boy spoke these
words slightingly of his sister, he took him roughly enough by the
chin, and turned up his face to look at it.'Well,
I'm sure, sir!' said the boy, resisting; 'I hope you'll know me
again.'Eugene
vouchsafed no answer; but made the proposal to Mortimer, 'I'll go
with you, if you like?' So, they all three went away together in the
vehicle that had brought the boy; the two friends (once boys together
at a public school) inside, smoking cigars; the messenger on the box
beside the driver.
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!