III
MASTER HUMPHREY’S VISITOR
WHEN I am in a thoughtful mood, I often succeed in diverting the currentof some mournful reflections, by conjuring up a number of fancifulassociations with the objects that surround me, and dwelling upon thescenes and characters they suggest.
I have been led by this habit to assign to every room in my house andevery old staring portrait on its walls a separate interest of its own.Thus, I am persuaded that a stately dame, terrible to behold in her rigidmodesty, who hangs above the chimney-piece of my bedroom, is the formerlady of the mansion. In the courtyard below is a stone face ofsurpassing ugliness, which I have somehow—in a kind of jealousy, I amafraid—associated with her husband. Above my study is a little room withivy peeping through the lattice, from which I bring their daughter, alovely girl of eighteen or nineteen years of age, and dutiful in allrespects save one, that one being her devoted attachment to a younggentleman on the stairs, whose grandmother (degraded to a disused laundryin the garden) piques herself upon an old family quarrel, and is theimplacable enemy of their love. With such materials as these I work outmany a little drama, whose chief merit is, that I can bring it to a happyend at will. I have so many of them on hand, that if on my return homeone of these evenings I were to find some bluff old wight of twocenturies ago comfortably seated in my easy chair, and a lovelorn damselvainly appealing to his heart, and leaning her white arm upon my clockitself, I verily believe I should only express my surprise that they hadkept me waiting so long, and never honoured me with a call before.
I was in such a mood as this, sitting in my garden yesterday morningunder the shade of a favourite tree, revelling in all the bloom andbrightness about me, and feeling every sense of hope and enjoymentquickened by this most beautiful season of Spring, when my meditationswere interrupted by the unexpected appearance of my barber at the end ofthe walk, who I immediately saw was coming towards me with a hasty stepthat betokened something remarkable.
My barber is at all times a very brisk, bustling, active little man,—forhe is, as it were, chubby all over, without being stout or unwieldy,—butyesterday his alacrity was so very uncommon that it quite took me bysurprise. For could I fail to observe when he came up to me that hisgray eyes were twinkling in a most extraordinary manner, that his littlered nose was in an unusual glow, that every line in his round bright facewas twisted and curved into an expression of pleased surprise, and thathis whole countenance was radiant with glee? I was still more surprisedto see my housekeeper, who usually preserves a very staid air, and standssomewhat upon her dignity, peeping round the hedge at the bottom of thewalk, and exchanging nods and smiles with the barber, who twice or thricelooked over his shoulder for that purpose. I could conceive noannouncement to which these appearances could be the prelude, unless itwere that they had married each other that morning.
I was, consequently, a little disappointed when it only came out thatthere was a gentleman in the house who wished to speak with me.
‘And who is it?’ said I.
The barber, with his face screwed up still tighter than before, repliedthat the gentleman would not send his name, but wished to see me. Ipondered for a moment, wondering who this visitor might be, and Iremarked that he embraced the opportunity of exchanging another nod withthe housekeeper, who still lingered in the distance.
‘Well!’ said I, ‘bid the gentleman come here.’
This seemed to be the consummation of the barber’s hopes, for he turnedsharp round, and actually ran away.
Now, my sight is not very good at a distance, and therefore when thegentleman first appeared in the walk, I was not quite clear whether hewas a stranger to me or otherwise. He was an elderly gentleman, but cametripping along in the pleasantest manner conceivable, avoiding thegarden-roller and the borders of the beds with inimitable dexterity,picking his way among the flower-pots, and smiling with unspeakable goodhumour. Before he was half-way up the walk he began to salute me; then Ithought I knew him; but when he came towards me with his hat in his hand,the sun shining on his bald head, his bland face, his bright spectacles,his fawn-coloured tights, and his black gaiters,—then my heart warmedtowards him, and I felt quite certain that it was Mr. Pickwick.
‘My dear sir,’ said that gentleman as I rose to receive him, ‘pray beseated. Pray sit down. Now, do not stand on my account. I must insistupon it, really.’ With these words Mr. Pickwick gently pressed me downinto my seat, and taking my hand in his, shook it again and again with awarmth of manner perfectly irresistible. I endeavoured to express in mywelcome something of that heartiness and pleasure which the sight of himawakened, and made him sit down beside me. All this time he keptalternately releasing my hand and grasping it again, and surveying methrough his spectacles with such a beaming countenance as I never tillthen beheld.
[Picture: Mr. Pickwick introduces himself to Master Humphrey]
‘You knew me directly!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘What a pleasure it is tothink that you knew me directly!’
I remarked that I had read his adventures very often, and his featureswere quite familiar to me from the published portraits. As I thought ita good opportunity of adverting to the circumstance, I condoled with himupon the various libels on his character which had found their way intoprint. Mr. Pickwick shook his head, and for a moment looked veryindignant, but smiling again directly, added that no doubt I wasacquainted with Cervantes’s introduction to the second part of DonQuixote, and that it fully expressed his sentiments on the subject.
‘But now,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘don’t you wonder how I found you out?’
‘I shall never wonder, and, with your good leave, never know,’ said I,smiling in my turn. ‘It is enough for me that you give me thisgratification. I have not the least desire that you should tell me bywhat means I have obtained it.’
‘You are very kind,’ returned Mr. Pickwick, shaking me by the hand again;‘you are so exactly what I expected! But for what particular purpose doyou think I have sought you, my dear sir? Now what _do_ you think I havecome for?’
Mr. Pickwick put this question as though he were persuaded that it wasmorally impossible that I could by any means divine the deep purpose ofhis visit, and that it must be hidden from all human ken. Therefore,although I was rejoiced to think that I had anticipated his drift, Ifeigned to be quite ignorant of it, and after a brief consideration shookmy head despairingly.
‘What should you say,’ said Mr. Pickwick, laying the forefinger of hisleft hand upon my coat-sleeve, and looking at me with his head thrownback, and a little on one side,—‘what should you say if I confessed thatafter reading your account of yourself and your little society, I hadcome here, a humble candidate for one of those empty chairs?’
‘I should say,’ I returned, ‘that I know of only one circumstance whichcould still further endear that little society to me, and that would bethe associating with it my old friend,—for you must let me call youso,—my old friend, Mr. Pickwick.’
As I made him this answer every feature of Mr. Pickwick’s face fuseditself into one all-pervading expression of delight. After shaking meheartily by both hands at once, he patted me gently on the back, andthen—I well understood why—coloured up to the eyes, and hoped with greatearnestness of manner that he had not hurt me.
If he had, I would have been content that he should have repeated theoffence a hundred times rather than suppose so; but as he had not, I hadno difficulty in changing the subject by making an inquiry which had beenupon my lips twenty times already.
‘You have not told me,’ said I, ‘anything about Sam Weller.’
‘O! Sam,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, ‘is the same as ever. The same true,faithful fellow that he ever was. What should I tell you about Sam, mydear sir, except that he is more indispensable to my happiness andcomfort every day of my life?’
‘And Mr. Weller senior?’ said I.
‘Old Mr. Weller,’ returned Mr. Pickwick, ‘is in no respect more alteredthan Sam, u
nless it be that he is a little more opinionated than he wasformerly, and perhaps at times more talkative. He spends a good deal ofhis time now in our neighbourhood, and has so constituted himself a partof my bodyguard, that when I ask permission for Sam to have a seat inyour kitchen on clock nights (supposing your three friends think meworthy to fill one of the chairs), I am afraid I must often include Mr.Weller too.’
I very readily pledged myself to give both Sam and his father a freeadmission to my house at all hours and seasons, and this point settled,we fell into a lengthy conversation which was carried on with as littlereserve on both sides as if we had been intimate friends from our youth,and which conveyed to me the comfortable assurance that Mr. Pickwick’sbuoyancy of spirit, and indeed all his old cheerful characteristics, werewholly unimpaired. As he had spoken of the consent of my friends asbeing yet in abeyance, I repeatedly assured him that his proposal wascertain to receive their most joyful sanction, and several timesentreated that he would give me leave to introduce him to Jack Redburnand Mr. Miles (who were near at hand) without further ceremony.
To this proposal, however, Mr. Pickwick’s delicacy would by no meansallow him to accede, for he urged that his eligibility must be formallydiscussed, and that, until this had been done, he could not think ofobtruding himself further. The utmost I could obtain from him was apromise that he would attend upon our next night of meeting, that I mighthave the pleasure of presenting him immediately on his election.
Mr. Pickwick, having with many blushes placed in my hands a small roll ofpaper, which he termed his ‘qualification,’ put a great many questions tome touching my friends, and particularly Jack Redburn, whom he repeatedlytermed ‘a fine fellow,’ and in whose favour I could see he was stronglypredisposed. When I had satisfied him on these points, I took him upinto my room, that he might make acquaintance with the old chamber whichis our place of meeting.
‘And this,’ said Mr. Pickwick, stopping short, ‘is the clock! Dear me!And this is really the old clock!’
I thought he would never have come away from it. After advancing towardsit softly, and laying his hand upon it with as much respect and as manysmiling looks as if it were alive, he set himself to consider it in everypossible direction, now mounting on a chair to look at the top, now goingdown upon his knees to examine the bottom, now surveying the sides withhis spectacles almost touching the case, and now trying to peep betweenit and the wall to get a slight view of the back. Then he would retire apace or two and look up at the dial to see it go, and then draw nearagain and stand with his head on one side to hear it tick: never failingto glance towards me at intervals of a few seconds each, and nod his headwith such complacent gratification as I am quite unable to describe. Hisadmiration was not confined to the clock either, but extended itself toevery article in the room; and really, when he had gone through themevery one, and at last sat himself down in all the six chairs, one afteranother, to try how they felt, I never saw such a picture of good-humourand happiness as he presented, from the top of his shining head down tothe very last button of his gaiters.
I should have been well pleased, and should have had the utmost enjoymentof his company, if he had remained with me all day, but my favourite,striking the hour, reminded him that he must take his leave. I could notforbear telling him once more how glad he had made me, and we shook handsall the way down-stairs.
We had no sooner arrived in the Hall than my housekeeper, gliding out ofher little room (she had changed her gown and cap, I observed), greetedMr. Pickwick with her best smile and courtesy; and the barber, feigningto be accidentally passing on his way out, made him a vast number ofbows. When the housekeeper courtesied, Mr. Pickwick bowed with theutmost politeness, and when he bowed, the housekeeper courtesied again;between the housekeeper and the barber, I should say that Mr. Pickwickfaced about and bowed with undiminished affability fifty times at least.
I saw him to the door; an omnibus was at the moment passing the corner ofthe lane, which Mr. Pickwick hailed and ran after with extraordinarynimbleness. When he had got about half-way, he turned his head, andseeing that I was still looking after him and that I waved my hand,stopped, evidently irresolute whether to come back and shake hands again,or to go on. The man behind the omnibus shouted, and Mr. Pickwick ran alittle way towards him: then he looked round at me, and ran a little wayback again. Then there was another shout, and he turned round once moreand ran the other way. After several of these vibrations, the mansettled the question by taking Mr. Pickwick by the arm and putting himinto the carriage; but his last action was to let down the window andwave his hat to me as it drove off.
I lost no time in opening the parcel he had left with me. The followingwere its contents:—