The Diary of a Nobody

  We arrived at theatre, where, curiously enough, all our ’bus-load except an old woman with a basket seemed to be going in. I walked ahead and presented the tickets. The man looked at them, and called out: ‘Mr Willowly! do you know anything about these?’ holding up my tickets. The gentleman called to came up and examined my tickets and said: ‘Who gave you these?’ I said, rather indignantly: ‘Mr Merton, of course.’ He said: ‘Merton? Who’s he?’ I answered, rather sharply: ‘You ought to know, his name’s good at any theatre in London.’ He replied: ‘Oh! is it? Well, it ain’t no good here. These tickets, which are not dated, were issued under Mr Swinstead’s management, which has since changed hands.’ While I was having some very unpleasant words with the man, James, who had gone upstairs with the ladies, called out: ‘Come on!’ I went up after them, and a very civil attendant said: ‘This way, please, box H.’ I said to James: ‘Why, how on earth did you manage it?’ and to my horror he replied: ‘Why, paid for it of course.’

  This was humiliating enough, and I could scarcely follow the play, but I was doomed to still further humiliation. I was leaning out of the box, when my tie – a little black bow which fastened on to the stud by means of a new patent – fell into the pit below. A clumsy man, not noticing it, had his foot on it for ever so long before he discovered it. He then picked it up and eventually flung it under the next seat in disgust. What with the box incident and the tie, I felt quite miserable. Mr James, of Sutton, was very good. He said: ‘Don’t worry – no one will notice it with your beard. That is the only advantage of growing one that I can see.’ There was no occasion for that remark, for Carrie is very proud of my beard.

  To hide the absence of the tie I had to keep my chin down the rest of the evening, which caused a pain at the back of my neck.

  APRIL 24. Could scarcely sleep a wink through thinking of having brought up Mr and Mrs James from the country to go to the theatre last night, and his having paid for a private box because our order was not honoured; and such a poor play too. I wrote a very satirical letter to Merton, the wine merchant, who gave us the pass, and said: ‘Considering we had to pay for our seats, we did our best to appreciate the performance.’ I thought this line rather cutting, and I asked Carrie how many p’s there were in appreciate, and she said ‘One.’ After I sent off the letter I looked at the dictionary and found there were two. Awfully vexed at this.

  Decided not to worry myself any more about the James’s; for, as Carrie wisely said, ‘We’ll make it all right with them by asking them up from Sutton one evening next week to play at Bézique.’

  APRIL 25. In consequenc of Brickwell telling me his wife was working wonders with the new Pinkford’s enamel paint, I determined to try it. I bought two tins of red on my way home. I hastened through tea, went into the garden and painted some flower-pots. I called out Carrie, who said: ‘You’ve always got some new-fangled craze’; but she was obliged to admit that the flower-pots looked remarkably well. Went upstairs into the servant’s bedroom and painted her washstand, towel-horse, and chest of drawers. To my mind it was an extraordinary improvement, but as an example of the ignorance of the lower classes in the matter of taste, our servant, Sarah, on seeing them, evinced no sign of pleasure, but merely said ‘she thought they looked very well as they was before’.

  APRIL 26. Got some more red enamel paint (red, to my mind, being the best colour), and painted the coal-scuttle, and the backs of our Shakespeare, the binding of which had almost worn out.

  APRIL 27. Painted the bath red, and was delighted with the result. Sorry to say Carrie was not, in fact we had a few words about it. She said I ought to have consulted her, and she had never heard of such a thing as a bath being painted red. I replied: ‘It’s merely a matter of taste.’

  Fortunately, further argument on the subject was stopped by a voice saying, ‘May I come in?’ It was only Cummings, who said, ‘Your maid opened the door, and asked me to excuse her showing me in, as she was wringing out some socks.’ I was delighted to see him, and suggested we should have a game of whist with a dummy, and by way of merriment said: ‘You can be the dummy.’ Cummings (I thought rather ill-naturedly) replied: ‘Funny as usual.’ He said he couldn’t stop, he only called to leave me the Bicycle News,2 as he had done with it.

  Another ring at the bell; it was Gowing, who said he ‘must apologize for coming so often, and that one of these days we must come round to him’. I said: ‘A very extraordinary thing has struck me.’ ‘Something funny, as usual,’ said Cummings. ‘Yes,’ I replied; ‘I think even you will say so this time. It’s concerning you both; for doesn’t it seem odd that Gowing’s always coming and Cummings always going?’ Carrie, who had evidently quite forgotten about the bath, went into fits of laughter, and as for myself, I fairly doubled up in my chair, till it cracked beneath me. I think this was one of the best jokes I have ever made.

  Then imagine my astonishment on perceiving both Cummings

  and Gowing perfectly silent, and without a smile on their faces. After rather an unpleasant pause, Cummings, who had opened a cigar-case, closed it up again and said: ‘Yes – I think, after that, I shall be going, and I am sorry I fail to see the fun of your jokes.’ Gowing said he

  I painted the washstand in the servant’s bedroom

  didn’t mind a joke when it wasn’t rude, but a pun on a name, to his thinking, was certainly a little wanting in good taste. Cummings followed it up by saying, if it had been said by anyone else but myself, he shouldn’t have entered the house again. This rather unpleasantly terminated what might have been a cheerful evening. However, it

  was as well they went, for the charwoman had finished up the remains of the cold pork.

  APRIL 28. At the office, the new and very young clerk Pitt, who was very impudent to me a week or so ago, was late again. I told him it would be my duty to inform Mr Perkupp, the principal. To my surprise, Pitt apologized most humbly and in a most gentlemanly fashion. I was unfeignedly pleased to notice this improvement in his manner towards me, and told him I would look over his unpunctuality. Passing down the room an hour later, I received a hard smack in the face from a rolled-up ball of hard foolscap. I turned round sharply, but all the clerks were apparently riveted to their work. I am not a rich man, but I would give half-a-sovereign to know whether that was thrown by accident or design. Went home early and bought some more enamel paint – black this time – and spent the evening touching up the fender, picture-frames, and an old pair of boots, making them look as good as new. Also painted Gowing’s walkingstick, which he left behind, and made it look like ebony.

  APRIL 29, SUNDAY. Woke up with a fearful headache and strong symptoms of a cold. Carrie, with a perversity which is just like her, said it was ‘painter’s colic’, and was the result of my having spent the last few days with my nose over a paint-pot. I told her firmly that I knew a great deal better what was the matter with me than she did. I had got a chill, and decided to have a bath as hot as I could bear it. Bath ready – could scarcely bear it so hot. I persevered, and got in; very hot, but very acceptable. I lay still for some time. On moving my hand above the surface of the water, I experienced the greatest fright I ever received in the whole course of my life; for imagine my horror on discovering my hand, as I thought, full of blood. My first thought was that I had ruptured an artery, and was bleeding to death, and should be discovered, later on, looking like a second Marat, as I remember seeing him in Madame Tussaud’s. My second thought was to ring the bell, but remembered there was no bell to ring. My third was, that there was nothing but the enamel paint, which had dissolved with boiling water. I stepped out of the bath, perfectly red all over, resembling the Red Indians I have seen depicted at an East-End theatre. I determined not say a word to Carrie, but to tell Farmerson to come on Monday and paint the bath white.

  I looked like Marat in the bath, in Madame Tussaud’s

  The Ball at the Mansion House.

  Chapter IV

  APRIL 30. Perfectly astounded at receiving an invitat
ion for Carrie and myself from the Lord and Lady Mayoress to the Mansion House,1 to ‘meet the Representatives of Trades and Commerce’. My heart beat like that of a schoolboy. Carrie and I read the invitation over two or three times. I could scarcely eat my breakfast. I said – and I felt it from the bottom of my heart – ‘Carrie darling, I was a proud man when I led you down the aisle of the church on our wedding day; that pride will be equalled, if not surpassed, when I lead my dear, pretty wife up to the Lord and Lady Mayoress at the Mansion House.’ I saw the tears in Carrie’s eyes, and she said: ‘Charlie dear, it is I who have to be proud of you. And I am very, very proud of you. You have called me pretty; and as long as I am pretty in your eyes, I am happy. You, dear old Charlie, are not handsome, but you are good, which is far more noble.’ I gave her a kiss, and she said: ‘I wonder if there will be any dancing? I have not danced with you for years.’

  I cannot tell what induced me to do it, but I seized her round the waist, and we were silly enough to be executing a wild kind of polka when Sarah entered, grinning, and said: ‘There is a man, mum, at the door who wants to know if you want any good coals.’ Most annoyed at this. Spent the evening in answering, and tearing up again, the reply to the Mansion House, having left word with Sarah if Gowing or Cummings called we were not at home. Must consult Mr Perkupp how to answer the Lord Mayor’s invitation.

  MAY 1. Carrie said: ‘I should like to send mother the invitation to look at.’ I consented, as soon as I had answered it. I told Mr Perkupp, at the office, with a feeling of pride, that we had received an invitation

  I seized her round the waist, and we were silly enough to be executing a wild kind of polka when Sarah entered

  to the Mansion House; and he said, to my astonishment, that he himself gave in my name to the Lord Mayor’s secretary. I felt this rather discounted the value of the invitation, but I thanked him; and in reply to me, he described how I was to answer it. I felt the reply was too simple; but of course Mr Perkupp knows best.

  MAY 2. Send my dress-coat and trousers to the little tailor’s round the corner, to have the creases taken out. Told Gowing not to call next Monday, as we were going to the Mansion House. Send similar note to Cummings.

  MAY 3. Carrie went to Mrs James, at Sutton, to consult about her dress for next Monday. While speaking incidentally to Spotch, one of our head clerks, about the Mansion House, he said: ‘Oh, I’m asked, but don’t think I shall go.’ When a vulgar man like Spotch is asked I feel my invitation is considerably discounted. In the evening, while I was out, the little tailor brought round my coat and trousers, and because Sarah had not a shilling to pay for the pressing, he took them away again.

  MAY 4. Carrie’s mother returned the Lord Mayor’s invitation, which was sent to her to look at, with apologies for having upset a glass of port over it. I was too angry to say anything.

  MAY 5. Bought a pair of lavender kid-gloves for next Monday, and two white ties, in case one got spoiled in the tying.

  MAY 6. SUNDAY. A very dull sermon, during which, I regret to say, I twice thought of the Mansion House reception tomorrow.

  MAY 7. A big red-letter day; viz., the Lord Mayor’s reception. The whole house upset. I had to get dressed at half-past six, as Carrie wanted the room to herself. Mrs James had come up from Sutton to help Carrie; so I could not help thinking it unreasonable that she should require the entire attention of Sarah, the servant, as well. Sarah kept running out of the house to fetch ‘something for missis,’ and several times I had, in my full evening-dress, to answer the back-door.

  The last time it was the greengrocer’s boy, who, not seeing it was me, for Sarah had not lighted the gas, pushed into my hands two cabbages and half-a-dozen coal-blocks. I indignantly threw them on the ground, and felt so annoyed that I so far forgot myself as to box the boy’s ears. He went away crying, and said he should summons me, a thing I would not have happen for the world. In the dark, I stepped on a piece of the cabbage, which brought me down on the flags all of a heap. For a moment I was stunned, but when I recovered I crawled upstairs into the drawing-room and on looking into the chimney-glass discovered that my chin was bleeding, my shirt smeared with the coal-blocks, and my left trouser torn at the knee.

  However, Mrs James brought me down another shirt, which I changed in the drawing-room. I put a piece of court-plaster on my chin, and Sarah very neatly sewed up the tear at the knee. At nine o’clock Carrie swept into the room, looking like a queen. Never have I seen her look so lovely, or so distinguished. She was wearing a satin dress of sky-blue – my favourite colour – and a piece of lace, which Mrs James lent her, round the shoulders, to give a finish. I thought perhaps the dress was a little too long behind, and decidedly too short in front, but Mrs James said it was à la mode. Mrs James was most kind, and lent Carrie a fan of ivory with red feathers, the value of which, she said, was priceless, as the feathers belonged to the Kachu eagle – a bird now extinct. I preferred the little white fan which Carrie bought for three-and-six at Shoolbred’s, but both ladies sat on me at once.

  We arrived at the Mansion House too early, which was rather fortunate, for I had an opportunity of speaking to his lordship, who graciously condescended to talk with me some minutes; but I must say I was disappointed to find he did not even know Mr Perkupp, the principal.

  I felt as if we had been invited to the Mansion House by one who did not know the Lord Mayor himself. Crowds arrived, and I shall never forget the grand sight. My humble pen can never describe it. I was a little annoyed with Carrie, who kept saying: ‘Isn’t it a pity we don’t know anybody?’

  Once she quite lost her head. I saw someone who looked like Franching, from Peckham, and was moving towards him when she seized me by the coat-tails, and said quite loudly: ‘Don’t leave me,’ which caused an elderly gentleman, in a court-suit, and a chain round him, and two ladies, to burst out laughing. There was an immense crowd in the supper-room, and, my stars! it was a splendid supper – any amount of champagne.

  The greengrocer’s boy… who pushed into my hands two cabbages and half-a-dozen coal-blocks

  Carrie made a most hearty supper, for which I was pleased; for I sometimes think she is not strong. There was scarcely a dish she did not taste. I was so thirsty, I could not eat much. Receiving a sharp slap on the shoulder, I turned, and, to my amazement, saw Farmerson, our ironmonger. He said, in the most familiar way: ‘This is better than Brickfield Terrace, eh?’ I simply looked at him, and said coolly: ‘I never expected to see you here.’ He said, with a loud coarse laugh: ‘I like that – if you, why not me?’ I replied: ‘Certainly.’ I wish I could have thought of something better to say. He said: ‘Can I get your good lady anything?’ Carrie said: ‘No, I thank you,’ for which I was pleased. I said, by way of reproof to him: ‘You never sent today to paint the bath, as I requested.’ Farmerson said: ‘Pardon me, Mr Pooter, no shop when we’re in company, please.’

  Before I could think of a reply, one of the sheriffs, in full Court costume, slapped Farmerson on the back and hailed him as an old friend, and asked him to dine with him at his lodge. I was astonished. For full five minutes they stood roaring with laughter, and stood digging each other in the ribs. They kept telling each other they didn’t look a day older. They began embracing each other and drinking champagne.

  To think that a man who mends our scraper should know any member of our aristocracy! I was just moving with Carrie, when Farmerson seized me rather roughly by the collar, and addressing the sheriff, said: ‘Let me introduce my neighbour, Pooter.’ He did not even say ‘Mister’. The sheriff handed me a glass of champagne. I felt, after all, it was a great honour to drink a glass of wine with him, and I told him so. We stood chatting for some time, and at last I said: ‘You must excuse me now if I join Mrs Pooter.’ When I approached her, she said: ‘Don’t let me take you away from your friends. I am quite happy standing here alone in a crowd, knowing nobody!’

  As it takes two to make a quarrel, and as it was neither the time nor the place for it,
I gave my arm to Carrie, and said: ‘I hope my darling little wife will dance with me, if only for the sake of saying we had danced at the Mansion House as guests of the Lord Mayor.’ Finding the dancing after supper was less formal, and knowing how much Carrie used to admire my dancing in the days gone by I put my arm round her waist and we commenced a waltz.

  A most unfortunate accident occurred. I had got on a new pair of boots. Foolishly, I had omitted to take Carrie’s advice; namely, to scratch the soles of them with the points of the scissors or to put a little wet on them. I had scarcely started when, like lightning, my left foot slipped away and I came down, the side of my head striking the floor with such violence that for a second or two I did not know what had happened. I need hardly say that Carrie fell with me with equal violence, breaking the comb in her hair and grazing her elbow.

  There was a roar of laughter, which was immediately checked when people found that we had really hurt ourselves. A gentleman assisted Carrie to a seat, and I expressed myself pretty strongly on the danger of having a plain polished floor with no carpet or drugget to prevent people slipping. The gentleman, who said his name was Darwitts, insisted on escorting Carrie to have a glass of wine, an invitation which I was pleased to allow Carrie to accept.

  I followed, and met Farmerson, who immediately said, in his loud voice: ‘Oh, are you the one who went down?’

  I answered with an indignant look.

  With execrable taste, he said: ‘Look here, old man, we are too old for this game. We must leave these capers to the youngsters. Come and have another glass, that is more in our line.’

  Although I felt I was buying his silence by accepting, we followed the others into the supper-room.