Charles Dickens - Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit

“Kindly said, and heartily!” said Martin. “Is it not, Mark?”

“She can't say anything as does not possess them qualities,” returned Mr Tapley; “which as much belongs to the Dragon as its licence. And now that we have got quite cool and fresh, to the subject again, sir; what will you do? If you're not proud, and can make up your mind to go through with what you spoke of, coming along, that's the course for you to take. If you started wrong with your grandfather (which, you'll excuse my taking the liberty of saying, appears to have been the case), up with you, sir, and tell him so, and make an appeal to his affections. Don't stand out. He's a great deal older than you, and if he was hasty, you was hasty too. Give way, sir, give way.”

The eloquence of Mr Tapley was not without its effect on Martin but he still hesitated, and expressed his reason thus:

“That's all very true, and perfectly correct, Mark; and if it were a mere question of humbling myself before HIM, I would not consider it twice. But don't you see, that being wholly under this hypocrite's government, and having (if what we hear be true) no mind or will of his own, I throw myself, in fact, not at his feet, but at the feet of Mr Pecksniff? And when I am rejected and spurned away,” said Martin, turning crimson at the thought, “it is not by him; my own blood stirred against me; but by Pecksniff—Pecksniff, Mark!”

“Well, but we know beforehand,” returned the politic Mr Tapley, “that Pecksniff is a wagabond, a scoundrel, and a willain.”

“A most pernicious villain!” said Martin.

“A most pernicious willain. We know that beforehand, sir; and, consequently, it's no shame to be defeated by Pecksniff. Blow Pecksniff!” cried Mr Tapley, in the fervour of his eloquence. “Who's he! It's not in the natur of Pecksniff to shame US, unless he agreed with us, or done us a service; and, in case he offered any audacity of that description, we could express our sentiments in the English language, I hope. Pecksniff!” repeated Mr Tapley, with ineffable disdain. “What's Pecksniff, who's Pecksniff, where's Pecksniff, that he's to be so much considered? We're not acalculating for ourselves;” he laid uncommon emphasis on the last syllable of that word, and looked full in Martin's face; “we're making a effort for a young lady likewise as has undergone her share; and whatever little hope we have, this here Pecksniff is not to stand in its way, I expect. I never heard of any act of Parliament, as was made by Pecksniff. Pecksniff! Why, I wouldn't see the man myself; I wouldn't hear him; I wouldn't choose to know he was in company. I'd scrape my shoes on the scraper of the door, and call that Pecksniff, if you liked; but I wouldn't condescend no further.”

The amazement of Mrs Lupin, and indeed of Mr Tapley himself for that matter, at this impassioned flow of language, was immense. But Martin, after looking thoughtfully at the fire for a short time, said:

“You are right, Mark. Right or wrong, it shall be done. I'll do it.”

“One word more, sir,” returned Mark. “Only think of him so far as not to give him a handle against you. Don't you do anything secret that he can report before you get there. Don't you even see Miss Mary in the morning, but let this here dear friend of ours'—Mr Tapley bestowed a smile upon the hostess—'prepare her for what's agoing to happen, and carry any little message as may be agreeable. She knows how. Don't you?” Mrs Lupin laughed and tossed her head. “Then you go in, bold and free as a gentleman should. “I haven't done nothing under-handed,” says you. “I haven't been skulking about the premises, here I am, for-give me, I ask your pardon, God Bless You!”

Martin smiled, but felt that it was good advice notwithstanding, and resolved to act upon it. When they had ascertained from Mrs Lupin that Pecksniff had already returned from the great ceremonial at which they had beheld him in his glory; and when they had fully arranged the order of their proceedings; they went to bed, intent upon the morrow.

In pursuance of their project as agreed upon at this discussion, Mr Tapley issued forth next morning, after breakfast, charged with a letter from Martin to his grandfather, requesting leave to wait upon him for a few minutes. And postponing as he went along the congratulations of his numerous friends until a more convenient season, he soon arrived at Mr Pecksniff's house. At that gentleman's door; with a face so immovable that it would have been next to an impossibility for the most acute physiognomist to determine what he was thinking about, or whether he was thinking at all; he straightway knocked.

A person of Mr Tapley's observation could not long remain insensible to the fact that Mr Pecksniff was making the end of his nose very blunt against the glass of the parlour window, in an angular attempt to discover who had knocked at the door. Nor was Mr Tapley slow to baffle this movement on the part of the enemy, by perching himself on the top step, and presenting the crown of his hat in that direction. But possibly Mr Pecksniff had already seen him, for Mark soon heard his shoes creaking, as he advanced to open the door with his own hands.

Mr Pecksniff was as cheerful as ever, and sang a little song in the passage.

“How d'ye do, sir?” said Mark.

“Oh!” cried Mr Pecksniff. “Tapley, I believe? The Prodigal returned! We don't want any beer, my friend.”

“Thankee, sir,” said Mark. “I couldn't accommodate you if you did. A letter, sir. Wait for an answer.”

“For me?” cried Mr Pecksniff. “And an answer, eh?”

“Not for you, I think, sir,” said Mark, pointing out the direction. “Chuzzlewit, I believe the name is, sir.”

“Oh!” returned Mr Pecksniff. “Thank you. Yes. Who's it from, my good young man?”

“The gentleman it comes from wrote his name inside, sir,” returned Mr Tapley with extreme politeness. “I see him a-signing of it at the end, while I was a-waitin”.”

“And he said he wanted an answer, did he?” asked Mr Pecksniff in his most persuasive manner.

Mark replied in the affirmative.

“He shall have an answer. Certainly,” said Mr Pecksniff, tearing the letter into small pieces, as mildly as if that were the most flattering attention a correspondent could receive. “Have the goodness to give him that, with my compliments, if you please. Good morning!” Whereupon he handed Mark the scraps; retired, and shut the door.

Mark thought it prudent to subdue his personal emotions, and return to Martin at the Dragon. They were not unprepared for such a reception, and suffered an hour or so to elapse before making another attempt. When this interval had gone by, they returned to Mr Pecksniff's house in company. Martin knocked this time, while Mr Tapley prepared himself to keep the door open with his foot and shoulder, when anybody came, and by that means secure an enforced parley. But this precaution was needless, for the servant-girl appeared almost immediately. Brushing quickly past her as he had resolved in such a case to do, Martin (closely followed by his faithful ally) opened the door of that parlour in which he knew a visitor was most likely to be found; passed at once into the room; and stood, without a word of notice or announcement, in the presence of his grandfather.

Mr Pecksniff also was in the room; and Mary. In the swift instant of their mutual recognition, Martin saw the old man droop his grey head, and hide his face in his hands.

It smote him to the heart. In his most selfish and most careless day, this lingering remnant of the old man's ancient love, this buttress of a ruined tower he had built up in the time gone by, with so much pride and hope, would have caused a pang in Martin's heart. But now, changed for the better in his worst respect; looking through an altered medium on his former friend, the guardian of his childhood, so broken and bowed down; resentment, sullenness, self-confidence, and pride, were all swept away, before the starting tears upon the withered cheeks. He could not bear to see them. He could not bear to think they fell at sight of him. He could not bear to view reflected in them, the reproachful and irrevocable Past.