Martin Chuzzlewit

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  AN UNEXPECTED MEETING, AND A PROMISING PROSPECT

  The laws of sympathy between beards and birds, and the secret sourceof that attraction which frequently impels a shaver of the one to bea dealer in the other, are questions for the subtle reasoning ofscientific bodies; not the less so, because their investigation wouldseem calculated to lead to no particular result. It is enough to knowthat the artist who had the honour of entertaining Mrs Gamp ashis first-floor lodger, united the two pursuits of barbering andbird-fancying; and that it was not an original idea of his, but one inwhich he had, dispersed about the by-streets and suburbs of the town, ahost of rivals.

  The name of the householder was Paul Sweedlepipe. But he was commonlycalled Poll Sweedlepipe; and was not uncommonly believed to have been sochristened, among his friends and neighbours.

  With the exception of the staircase, and his lodger's private apartment,Poll Sweedlepipe's house was one great bird's nest. Gamecocks resided inthe kitchen; pheasants wasted the brightness of their golden plumage onthe garret; bantams roosted in the cellar; owls had possession of thebedroom; and specimens of all the smaller fry of birds chirrupped andtwittered in the shop. The staircase was sacred to rabbits. There inhutches of all shapes and kinds, made from old packing-cases, boxes,drawers, and tea-chests, they increased in a prodigious degree, andcontributed their share towards that complicated whiff which, quiteimpartially, and without distinction of persons, saluted every nose thatwas put into Sweedlepipe's easy shaving-shop.

  Many noses found their way there, for all that, especially on Sundaymorning, before church-time. Even archbishops shave, or must be shaved,on a Sunday, and beards WILL grow after twelve o'clock on Saturdaynight, though it be upon the chins of base mechanics; who, not beingable to engage their valets by the quarter, hire them by the job, andpay them--oh, the wickedness of copper coin!--in dirty pence. PollSweedlepipe, the sinner, shaved all comers at a penny each, and cut thehair of any customer for twopence; and being a lone unmarried man, andhaving some connection in the bird line, Poll got on tolerably well.

  He was a little elderly man, with a clammy cold right hand, from whicheven rabbits and birds could not remove the smell of shaving-soap. Pollhad something of the bird in his nature; not of the hawk or eagle, butof the sparrow, that builds in chimney-stacks and inclines to humancompany. He was not quarrelsome, though, like the sparrow; but peaceful,like the dove. In his walk he strutted; and, in this respect, he borea faint resemblance to the pigeon, as well as in a certain prosiness ofspeech, which might, in its monotony, be likened to the cooing of thatbird. He was very inquisitive; and when he stood at his shop-door in theevening-tide, watching the neighbours, with his head on one side, andhis eye cocked knowingly, there was a dash of the raven in him. Yetthere was no more wickedness in Poll than in a robin. Happily, too, whenany of his ornithological properties were on the verge of going toofar, they were quenched, dissolved, melted down, and neutralised inthe barber; just as his bald head--otherwise, as the head of a shavedmagpie--lost itself in a wig of curly black ringlets, parted on oneside, and cut away almost to the crown, to indicate immense capacity ofintellect.

  Poll had a very small, shrill treble voice, which might have ledthe wags of Kingsgate Street to insist the more upon his femininedesignation. He had a tender heart, too; for, when he had a goodcommission to provide three or four score sparrows for a shooting-match,he would observe, in a compassionate tone, how singular it was thatsparrows should have been made expressly for such purposes. Thequestion, whether men were made to shoot them, never entered into Poll'sphilosophy.

  Poll wore, in his sporting character, a velveteen coat, a great deal ofblue stocking, ankle boots, a neckerchief of some bright colour, anda very tall hat. Pursuing his more quiet occupation of barber, hegenerally subsided into an apron not over-clean, a flannel jacket, andcorduroy knee-shorts. It was in this latter costume, but with his aprongirded round his waist, as a token of his having shut up shop forthe night, that he closed the door one evening, some weeks after theoccurrences detailed in the last chapter, and stood upon the steps inKingsgate Street, listening until the little cracked bell withinshould leave off ringing. For until it did--this was Mr Sweedlepipe'sreflection--the place never seemed quiet enough to be left to itself.

  'It's the greediest little bell to ring,' said Poll, 'that ever was. Butit's quiet at last.'

  He rolled his apron up a little tighter as he said these words, andhastened down the street. Just as he was turning into Holborn, he ranagainst a young gentleman in a livery. This youth was bold, thoughsmall, and with several lively expressions of displeasure, turned uponhim instantly.

  'Now, STOO-PID!' cried the young gentleman. 'Can't you look where you'rea-going to--eh? Can't you mind where you're a-coming to--eh? What do youthink your eyes was made for--eh? Ah! Yes. Oh! Now then!'

  The young gentleman pronounced the two last words in a very loud toneand with frightful emphasis, as though they contained within themselvesthe essence of the direst aggravation. But he had scarcely done so, whenhis anger yielded to surprise, and he cried, in a milder tone:

  'What! Polly!'

  'Why, it an't you, sure!' cried Poll. 'It can't be you!'

  'No. It an't me,' returned the youth. 'It's my son, my oldest one. He'sa credit to his father, an't he, Polly?' With this delicate littlepiece of banter, he halted on the pavement, and went round and roundin circles, for the better exhibition of his figure; rather to theinconvenience of the passengers generally, who were not in an equalstate of spirits with himself.

  'I wouldn't have believed it,' said Poll. 'What! You've left your oldplace, then? Have you?'

  'Have I!' returned his young friend, who had by this time stuck hishands into the pockets of his white cord breeches, and was swaggeringalong at the barber's side. 'D'ye know a pair of top-boots when you see'em, Polly?--look here!'

  'Beau-ti-ful' cried Mr Sweedlepipe.

  'D'ye know a slap-up sort of button, when you see it?' said the youth.'Don't look at mine, if you ain't a judge, because these lions' headswas made for men of taste; not snobs.'

  'Beau-ti-ful!' cried the barber again. 'A grass-green frock-coat, too,bound with gold; and a cockade in your hat!'

  'I should hope so,' replied the youth. 'Blow the cockade, though; for,except that it don't turn round, it's like the wentilator that used tobe in the kitchen winder at Todgers's. You ain't seen the old lady'sname in the Gazette, have you?'

  'No,' returned the barber. 'Is she a bankrupt?'

  'If she ain't, she will be,' retorted Bailey. 'That bis'ness never canbe carried on without ME. Well! How are you?'

  'Oh! I'm pretty well,' said Poll. 'Are you living at this end of thetown, or were you coming to see me? Was that the bis'ness that broughtyou to Holborn?'

  'I haven't got no bis'ness in Holborn,' returned Bailey, with somedispleasure. 'All my bis'ness lays at the West End. I've got the rightsort of governor now. You can't see his face for his whiskers, and can'tsee his whiskers for the dye upon 'em. That's a gentleman ain't it? Youwouldn't like a ride in a cab, would you? Why, it wouldn't be safe tooffer it. You'd faint away, only to see me a-comin' at a mild trot roundthe corner.'

  To convey a slight idea of the effect of this approach, Mr Baileycounterfeited in his own person the action of a high-trotting horse andthrew up his head so high, in backing against a pump, that he shook hishat off.

  'Why, he's own uncle to Capricorn,' said Bailey, 'and brother toCauliflower. He's been through the winders of two chaney shops sincewe've had him, and was sold for killin' his missis. That's a horse, Ihope?'

  'Ah! you'll never want to buy any more red polls, now,' observed Poll,looking on his young friend with an air of melancholy. 'You'll neverwant to buy any more red polls now, to hang up over the sink, will you?'

  'I should think not,' replied Bailey. 'Reether so. I wouldn't havenothin' to say to any bird below a Peacock; and HE'd be wulgar. Well,how are you?'

  'Oh! I'm pretty well,' said
Poll. He answered the question again becauseMr Bailey asked it again; Mr Bailey asked it again, because--accompaniedwith a straddling action of the white cords, a bend of the knees, and astriking forth of the top-boots--it was an easy horse-fleshy, turfy sortof thing to do.

  'Wot are you up to, old feller?' added Mr Bailey, with the same gracefulrakishness. He was quite the man-about-town of the conversation, whilethe easy-shaver was the child.

  'Why, I am going to fetch my lodger home,' said Paul.

  'A woman!' cried Mr Bailey, 'for a twenty-pun' note!'

  The little barber hastened to explain that she was neither a youngwoman, nor a handsome woman, but a nurse, who had been acting as a kindof house-keeper to a gentleman for some weeks past, and left her placethat night, in consequence of being superseded by another and a morelegitimate house-keeper--to wit, the gentleman's bride.

  'He's newly married, and he brings his young wife home to-night,' saidthe barber. 'So I'm going to fetch my lodger away--Mr Chuzzlewit's,close behind the Post Office--and carry her box for her.'

  'Jonas Chuzzlewit's?' said Bailey.

  'Ah!' returned Paul: 'that's the name sure enough. Do you know him?'

  'Oh, no!' cried Mr Bailey; 'not at all. And I don't know her! Notneither! Why, they first kept company through me, a'most.'

  'Ah?' said Paul.

  'Ah!' said Mr Bailey, with a wink; 'and she ain't bad looking mind you.But her sister was the best. SHE was the merry one. I often used to havea bit of fun with her, in the hold times!'

  Mr Bailey spoke as if he already had a leg and three-quarters inthe grave, and this had happened twenty or thirty years ago. PaulSweedlepipe, the meek, was so perfectly confounded by his precociousself-possession, and his patronizing manner, as well as by his boots,cockade, and livery, that a mist swam before his eyes, and he saw--notthe Bailey of acknowledged juvenility from Todgers's CommercialBoarding House, who had made his acquaintance within a twelvemonth,by purchasing, at sundry times, small birds at twopence each--but ahighly-condensed embodiment of all the sporting grooms in London; anabstract of all the stable-knowledge of the time; a something at ahigh-pressure that must have had existence many years, and was fraughtwith terrible experiences. And truly, though in the cloudy atmosphereof Todgers's, Mr Bailey's genius had ever shone out brightly in thisparticular respect, it now eclipsed both time and space, cheatedbeholders of their senses, and worked on their belief in defiance of allnatural laws. He walked along the tangible and real stones of HolbornHill, an undersized boy; and yet he winked the winks, and thought thethoughts, and did the deeds, and said the sayings of an ancient man.There was an old principle within him, and a young surface without. Hebecame an inexplicable creature; a breeched and booted Sphinx. There wasno course open to the barber, but to go distracted himself, or to takeBailey for granted; and he wisely chose the latter.

  Mr Bailey was good enough to continue to bear him company, and toentertain him, as they went, with easy conversation on various sportingtopics; especially on the comparative merits, as a general principle, ofhorses with white stockings, and horses without. In regard to the styleof tail to be preferred, Mr Bailey had opinions of his own, which heexplained, but begged they might by no means influence his friend's,as here he knew he had the misfortune to differ from some excellentauthorities. He treated Mr Sweedlepipe to a dram, compounded agreeablyto his own directions, which he informed him had been invented by amember of the Jockey Club; and, as they were by this time near thebarber's destination, he observed that, as he had an hour to spare, andknew the parties, he would, if quite agreeable, be introduced to MrsGamp.

  Paul knocked at Jonas Chuzzlewit's; and, on the door being opened bythat lady, made the two distinguished persons known to one another. Itwas a happy feature in Mrs Gamp's twofold profession, that it gave heran interest in everything that was young as well as in everything thatwas old. She received Mr Bailey with much kindness.

  'It's very good, I'm sure, of you to come,' she said to her landlord,'as well as bring so nice a friend. But I'm afraid that I must troubleyou so far as to step in, for the young couple has not yet madeappearance.'

  'They're late, ain't they?' inquired her landlord, when she hadconducted them downstairs into the kitchen.

  'Well, sir, considern' the Wings of Love, they are,' said Mrs Gamp.

  Mr Bailey inquired whether the Wings of Love had ever won a plate, orcould be backed to do anything remarkable; and being informed that itwas not a horse, but merely a poetical or figurative expression, evincedconsiderable disgust. Mrs Gamp was so very much astonished by hisaffable manners and great ease, that she was about to propound to herlandlord in a whisper the staggering inquiry, whether he was a man ora boy, when Mr Sweedlepipe, anticipating her design, made a timelydiversion.

  'He knows Mrs Chuzzlewit,' said Paul aloud.

  'There's nothin' he don't know; that's my opinion,' observed Mrs Gamp.'All the wickedness of the world is Print to him.'

  Mr Bailey received this as a compliment, and said, adjusting his cravat,'reether so.'

  'As you knows Mrs Chuzzlewit, you knows, p'raps, what her chris'en nameis?' Mrs Gamp observed.

  'Charity,' said Bailey.

  'That it ain't!' cried Mrs Gamp.

  'Cherry, then,' said Bailey. 'Cherry's short for it. It's all the same.'

  'It don't begin with a C at all,' retorted Mrs Gamp, shaking her head.'It begins with a M.'

  'Whew!' cried Mr Bailey, slapping a little cloud of pipe-clay out of hisleft leg, 'then he's been and married the merry one!'

  As these words were mysterious, Mrs Gamp called upon him to explain,which Mr Bailey proceeded to do; that lady listening greedily toeverything he said. He was yet in the fullness of his narrative when thesound of wheels, and a double knock at the street door, announced thearrival of the newly married couple. Begging him to reserve what more hehad to say for her hearing on the way home, Mrs Gamp took up the candle,and hurried away to receive and welcome the young mistress of the house.

  'Wishing you appiness and joy with all my art,' said Mrs Gamp, droppinga curtsey as they entered the hall; 'and you, too, sir. Your lady looksa little tired with the journey, Mr Chuzzlewit, a pretty dear!'

  'She has bothered enough about it,' grumbled Mr Jonas. 'Now, show alight, will you?'

  'This way, ma'am, if you please,' said Mrs Gamp, going upstairs beforethem. 'Things has been made as comfortable as they could be, but there'smany things you'll have to alter your own self when you gets timeto look about you! Ah! sweet thing! But you don't,' added Mrs Gamp,internally, 'you don't look much like a merry one, I must say!'

  It was true; she did not. The death that had gone before the bridalseemed to have left its shade upon the house. The air was heavy andoppressive; the rooms were dark; a deep gloom filled up every chink andcorner. Upon the hearthstone, like a creature of ill omen, sat the agedclerk, with his eyes fixed on some withered branches in the stove. Herose and looked at her.

  'So there you are, Mr Chuff,' said Jonas carelessly, as he dusted hisboots; 'still in the land of the living, eh?'

  'Still in the land of the living, sir,' retorted Mrs Gamp. 'And MrChuffey may thank you for it, as many and many a time I've told him.'

  Mr Jonas was not in the best of humours, for he merely said, as helooked round, 'We don't want you any more, you know, Mrs Gamp.'

  'I'm a-going immediate, sir,' returned the nurse; 'unless there'snothink I can do for you, ma'am. Ain't there,' said Mrs Gamp, witha look of great sweetness, and rummaging all the time in her pocket;'ain't there nothink I can do for you, my little bird?'

  'No,' said Merry, almost crying. 'You had better go away, please!'

  With a leer of mingled sweetness and slyness; with one eye on thefuture, one on the bride, and an arch expression in her face, partlyspiritual, partly spirituous, and wholly professional and peculiarto her art; Mrs Gamp rummaged in her pocket again, and took from it aprinted card, whereon was an inscription copied from her signboard.

  'Would you be so good,
my darling dovey of a dear young married lady,'Mrs Gamp observed, in a low voice, 'as put that somewheres where you cankeep it in your mind? I'm well beknown to many ladies, and it's my card.Gamp is my name, and Gamp my nater. Livin' quite handy, I will makeso bold as call in now and then, and make inquiry how your health andspirits is, my precious chick!'

  And with innumerable leers, winks, coughs, nods, smiles, and curtseys,all leading to the establishment of a mysterious and confidentialunderstanding between herself and the bride, Mrs Gamp, invoking ablessing upon the house, leered, winked, coughed, nodded, smiled, andcurtseyed herself out of the room.

  'But I will say, and I would if I was led a Martha to the Stakes forit,' Mrs Gamp remarked below stairs, in a whisper, 'that she don't lookmuch like a merry one at this present moment of time.'

  'Ah! wait till you hear her laugh!' said Bailey.

  'Hem!' cried Mrs Gamp, in a kind of groan. 'I will, child.'

  They said no more in the house, for Mrs Gamp put on her bonnet, MrSweedlepipe took up her box; and Mr Bailey accompanied them towardsKingsgate Street; recounting to Mrs Gamp as they went along, the originand progress of his acquaintance with Mrs Chuzzlewit and her sister. Itwas a pleasant instance of this youth's precocity, that he fancied MrsGamp had conceived a tenderness for him, and was much tickled by hermisplaced attachment.

  As the door closed heavily behind them, Mrs Jonas sat down in a chair,and felt a strange chill creep upon her, whilst she looked about theroom. It was pretty much as she had known it, but appeared more dreary.She had thought to see it brightened to receive her.

  'It ain't good enough for you, I suppose?' said Jonas, watching herlooks.

  'Why, it IS dull,' said Merry, trying to be more herself.

  'It'll be duller before you're done with it,' retorted Jonas, 'if yougive me any of your airs. You're a nice article, to turn sulky on firstcoming home! Ecod, you used to have life enough, when you could plagueme with it. The gal's downstairs. Ring the bell for supper, while I takemy boots off!'

  She roused herself from looking after him as he left the room, to dowhat he had desired; when the old man Chuffey laid his hand softly onher arm.

  'You are not married?' he said eagerly. 'Not married?'

  'Yes. A month ago. Good Heaven, what is the matter?'

  He answered nothing was the matter; and turned from her. But in her fearand wonder, turning also, she saw him raise his trembling hands abovehis head, and heard him say:

  'Oh! woe, woe, woe, upon this wicked house!'

  It was her welcome--HOME.