It was characteristic of Martin, that all this while he had either forgotten Mark Tapley as completely as if there had been no such person in existence, or, if for a moment the figure of that gentleman rose before his mental vision, had dismissed it as something by no means of a pressing nature, which might be attended to by-and-bye, and could wait his perfect leisure. But, being now in the streets again, it occurred to him as just coming within the bare limits of possibility that Mr Tapley might, in course of time, grow tired of waiting on the threshold of the Rowdy Journal Office, so he intimated to his new friend, that if they could conveniently walk in that direction, he would be glad to get this piece of business off his mind.
‘And speaking of business,’ said Martin, ‘may I ask, in order that I may not be behind-hand with questions either, whether your occupation holds you to this city, or like myself, you are a visitor here?’
‘A visitor,’ replied his friend. ‘I was “raised” in the State of Massachusetts, and reside there still. My home is in a quiet country town. I am not often in these busy places; and my inclination1 to visit them does not increase with our better acquaintance, I assure you.’
‘You have been abroad?’ asked Martin.
‘Oh yes.’
‘And, like most people who travel, have become more than ever attached to your home and native country,’ said Martin, eyeing him curiously2.
‘To my home—yes,’ rejoined his friend. ‘To my native country as my home—yes, also.’
‘You imply some reservation,’ said Martin.
‘Well,’ returned his new friend, ‘if you ask me whether I came back here with a greater relish3 for my country’s faults; with a greater fondness for those who claim (at the rate of so many dollars a day) to be her friends; with a cooler indifference4 to the growth of principles among us in respect of public matters and of private dealings between man and man, the advocacy of which, beyond the foul5 atmosphere of a criminal trial, would disgrace your own old Bailey lawyers; why, then I answer plainly, No.’
‘Oh!’ said Martin; in so exactly the same key as his friend’s No, that it sounded like an echo.
‘If you ask me,’ his companion pursued, ‘whether I came back here better satisfied with a state of things which broadly divides society into two classes—whereof one, the great mass, asserts a spurious independence, most miserably6 dependent for its mean existence on the disregard of humanizing conventionalities of manner and social custom, so that the coarser a man is, the more distinctly it shall appeal to his taste; while the other, disgusted with the low standard thus set up and made adaptable7 to everything, takes refuge among the graces and refinements8 it can bring to bear on private life, and leaves the public weal to such fortune as may betide it in the press and uproar11 of a general scramble—then again I answer, No.’
And again Martin said ‘Oh!’ in the same odd way as before, being anxious and disconcerted; not so much, to say the truth, on public grounds, as with reference to the fading prospects12 of domestic architecture.
‘In a word,’ resumed the other, ‘I do not find and cannot believe and therefore will not allow, that we are a model of wisdom, and an example to the world, and the perfection of human reason, and a great deal more to the same purpose, which you may hear any hour in the day; simply because we began our political life with two inestimable advantages.’
‘What were they?’ asked Martin.
‘One, that our history commenced at so late a period as to escape the ages of bloodshed and cruelty through which other nations have passed; and so had all the light of their probation13, and none of its darkness. The other, that we have a vast territory, and not—as yet—too many people on it. These facts considered, we have done little enough, I think.’
‘Education?’ suggested Martin, faintly.
‘Pretty well on that head,’ said the other, shrugging his shoulders, ‘still no mighty14 matter to boast of; for old countries, and despotic countries too, have done as much, if not more, and made less noise about it. We shine out brightly in comparison with England, certainly; but hers is a very extreme case. You complimented me on my frankness, you know,’ he added, laughing.
‘Oh! I am not at all astonished at your speaking thus openly when my country is in question,’ returned Martin. ‘It is your plain-speaking in reference to your own that surprises me.’
‘You will not find it a scarce quality here, I assure you, saving among the Colonel Divers15, and Jefferson Bricks, and Major Pawkinses; though the best of us are something like the man in Goldsmith’s comedy, who wouldn’t suffer anybody but himself to abuse his master. Come!’ he added. ‘Let us talk of something else. You have come here on some design of improving your fortune, I dare say; and I should grieve to put you out of heart. I am some years older than you, besides; and may, on a few trivial points, advise you, perhaps.’
There was not the least curiosity or impertinence in the manner of this offer, which was open-hearted, unaffected, and good-natured. As it was next to impossible that he should not have his confidence awakened16 by a deportment so prepossessing and kind, Martin plainly stated what had brought him into those parts, and even made the very difficult avowal17 that he was poor. He did not say how poor, it must be admitted, rather throwing off the declaration with an air which might have implied that he had money enough for six months, instead of as many weeks; but poor he said he was, and grateful he said he would be, for any counsel that his friend would give him.
It would not have been very difficult for any one to see; but it was particularly easy for Martin, whose perceptions were sharpened by his circumstances, to discern; that the stranger’s face grew infinitely18 longer as the domestic-architecture project was developed. Nor, although he made a great effort to be as encouraging as possible, could he prevent his head from shaking once involuntarily, as if it said in the vulgar tongue, upon its own account, ‘No go!’ But he spoke19 in a cheerful tone, and said, that although there was no such opening as Martin wished, in that city, he would make it matter of immediate20 consideration and inquiry21 where one was most likely to exist; and then he made Martin acquainted with his name, which was Bevan; and with his profession, which was physic, though he seldom or never practiced; and with other circumstances connected with himself and family, which fully22 occupied the time, until they reached the Rowdy Journal Office.
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Mr Tapley appeared to be taking his ease on the landing of the first floor; for sounds as of some gentleman established in that region whistling ‘Rule Britannia’ with all his might and main, greeted their ears before they reached the house. On ascending23 to the spot from whence this music proceeded, they found him recumbent in the midst of a fortification of luggage, apparently24 performing his national anthem25 for the gratification of a grey-haired black man, who sat on one of the outworks (a portmanteau), staring intently at Mark, while Mark, with his head reclining on his hand, returned the compliment in a thoughtful manner, and whistled all the time. He seemed to have recently dined, for his knife, a casebottle, and certain broken meats in a handkerchief, lay near at hand. He had employed a portion of his leisure in the decoration of the Rowdy Journal door, whereon his own initials now appeared in letters nearly half a foot long, together with the day of the month in smaller type; the whole surrounded by an ornamental27 border, and looking very fresh and bold.
‘I was a’most afraid you was lost, sir!’ cried Mark, rising, and stopping the tune10 at that point where Britons generally are supposed to declare (when it is whistled) that they never, never, never—
‘Nothing gone wrong, I hope, sir?’
‘No, Mark. Where’s your friend?’
‘The mad woman, sir?’ said Mr Tapley. ‘Oh! she’s all right, sir.’
‘Did she find her husband?’
‘The man’s not dead, I hope?’
‘Not altogether dead, sir,’ returned Mark; ‘but he’s had more fevers and agues than is quite reconcilable with being alive. When she didn’t see him a-waiting for her, I thought she’d have died herself, I did!’
‘Was he not here, then?’
‘He wasn’t here. There was a feeble old shadow come a-creeping down at last, as much like his substance when she know’d him, as your shadow when it’s drawn29 out to its very finest and longest by the sun, is like you. But it was his remains, there’s no doubt about that. She took on with joy, poor thing, as much as if it had been all of him!’
‘Had he bought land?’ asked Mr Bevan.
‘Ah! He’d bought land,’ said Mark, shaking his head, ‘and paid for it too. Every sort of nateral advantage was connected with it, the agents said; and there certainly was one, quite unlimited30. No end to the water!’
‘Certainly not, sir. There it was, any way; always turned on, and no water-rate. Independent of three or four slimy old rivers close by, it varied32 on the farm from four to six foot deep in the dry season. He couldn’t say how deep it was in the rainy time, for he never had anything long enough to sound it with.’
‘Is this true?’ asked Martin of his companion.
‘Extremely probable,’ he answered. ‘Some Mississippi or Missouri lot, I dare say.’
‘However,’ pursued Mark, ‘he came from I-don’t-know-where-and-all, down to New York here, to meet his wife and children; and they started off again in a steamboat this blessed afternoon, as happy to be along with each other as if they were going to Heaven. I should think they was, pretty straight, if I may judge from the poor man’s looks.’
‘And may I ask,’ said Martin, glancing, but not with any displeasure, from Mark to the negro, ‘who this gentleman is? Another friend of yours?’
‘Why sir,’ returned Mark, taking him aside, and speaking confidentially33 in his ear, ‘he’s a man of colour, sir!’
‘Do you take me for a blind man,’ asked Martin, somewhat impatiently, ‘that you think it necessary to tell me that, when his face is the blackest that ever was seen?’
‘No, no; when I say a man of colour,’ returned Mark, ‘I mean that he’s been one of them as there’s picters of in the shops. A man and a brother, you know, sir,’ said Mr Tapley, favouring his master with a significant indication of the figure so often represented in tracts34 and cheap prints.
‘A slave!’ cried Martin, in a whisper.
‘Ah!’ said Mark in the same tone. ‘Nothing else. A slave. Why, when that there man was young—don’t look at him while I’m a-telling it—he was shot in the leg; gashed35 in the arm; scored in his live limbs, like crimped fish; beaten out of shape; had his neck galled36 with an iron collar, and wore iron rings upon his wrists and ankles. The marks are on him to this day. When I was having my dinner just now, he stripped off his coat, and took away my appetite.’
‘Is this true?’ asked Martin of his friend, who stood beside them.
‘I have no reason to doubt it,’ he answered, shaking his head ‘It very often is.’
‘Bless you,’ said Mark, ‘I know it is, from hearing his whole story. That master died; so did his second master from having his head cut open with a hatchet37 by another slave, who, when he’d done it, went and drowned himself; then he got a better one; in years and years he saved up a little money, and bought his freedom, which he got pretty cheap at last, on account of his strength being nearly gone, and he being ill. Then he come here. And now he’s a-saving up to treat himself, afore he dies, to one small purchase—it’s nothing to speak of. Only his own daughter; that’s all!’ cried Mr Tapley, becoming excited. ‘Liberty for ever! Hurrah38! Hail, Columbia!’
‘Hush!’ cried Martin, clapping his hand upon his mouth; ‘and don’t be an idiot. What is he doing here?’
‘Waiting to take our luggage off upon a truck,’ said Mark. ‘He’d have come for it by-and-bye, but I engaged him for a very reasonable charge (out of my own pocket) to sit along with me and make me jolly; and I am jolly; and if I was rich enough to contract with him to wait upon me once a day, to be looked at, I’d never be anything else.’
The fact may cause a solemn impeachment39 of Mark’s veracity40, but it must be admitted nevertheless, that there was that in his face and manner at the moment, which militated strongly against this emphatic41 declaration of his state of mind.
‘Lord love you, sir,’ he added, ‘they’re so fond of Liberty in this part of the globe, that they buy her and sell her and carry her to market with ‘em. They’ve such a passion for Liberty, that they can’t help taking liberties with her. That’s what it’s owing to.’
‘Very well,’ said Martin, wishing to change the theme. ‘Having come to that conclusion, Mark, perhaps you’ll attend to me. The place to which the luggage is to go is printed on this card. Mrs Pawkins’s Boarding House.’
‘Mrs Pawkins’s boarding-house,’ repeated Mark. ‘Now, Cicero.’
‘Is that his name?’ asked Martin
‘That’s his name, sir,’ rejoined Mark. And the negro grinning assent42 from under a leathern portmanteau, than which his own face was many shades deeper, hobbled downstairs with his portion of their worldly goods; Mark Tapley having already gone before with his share.
Martin and his friend followed them to the door below, and were about to pursue their walk, when the latter stopped, and asked, with some hesitation43, whether that young man was to be trusted?
‘Mark! oh certainly! with anything.’
‘You don’t understand me—I think he had better go with us. He is an honest fellow, and speaks his mind so very plainly.’
‘Why, the fact is,’ said Martin, smiling, ‘that being unaccustomed to a free republic, he is used to do so.’
‘I think he had better go with us,’ returned the other. ‘He may get into some trouble otherwise. This is not a slave State; but I am ashamed to say that a spirit of Tolerance44 is not so common anywhere in these latitudes45 as the form. We are not remarkable46 for behaving very temperately47 to each other when we differ; but to strangers! no, I really think he had better go with us.’
Martin called to him immediately to be of their party; so Cicero and the truck went one way, and they three went another.
They walked about the city for two or three hours; seeing it from the best points of view, and pausing in the principal streets, and before such public buildings as Mr Bevan pointed48 out. Night then coming on apace, Martin proposed that they should adjourn49 to Mrs Pawkins’s establishment for coffee; but in this he was overruled by his new acquaintance, who seemed to have set his heart on carrying him, though it were only for an hour, to the house of a friend of his who lived hard by. Feeling (however disinclined he was, being weary) that it would be in bad taste, and not very gracious, to object that he was unintroduced, when this open-hearted gentleman was so ready to be his sponsor, Martin—for once in his life, at all events—sacrificed his own will and pleasure to the wishes of another, and consented with a fair grace. So travelling had done him that much good, already.
Mr Bevan knocked at the door of a very neat house of moderate size, from the parlour windows of which, lights were shining brightly into the now dark street. It was quickly opened by a man with such a thoroughly50 Irish face, that it seemed as if he ought, as a matter of right and principle, to be in rags, and could have no sort of business to be looking cheerfully at anybody out of a whole suit of clothes.
Commending Mark to the care of this phenomenon—for such he may be said to have been in Martin’s eyes—Mr Bevan led the way into the room which had shed its cheerfulness upon the street, to whose occupants he introduced Mr Chuzzlewit as a gentleman from England, whose acquaintance he had recently had the pleasure to make. They gave him welcome in all courtesy and politeness; and in less than five minutes’ time he found himself sitting very much at his ease by the fireside, and becoming vastly well acquainted with the whole family.
There were two young ladies—one eighteen; the other twenty—both very slender, but very pretty; their mother, who looked, as Martin thought much older and more faded than she ought to have looked; and their grandmother, a little sharp-eyed, quick old woman, who seemed to have got past that stage, and to have come all right again. Besides these, there were the young ladies’ father, and the young ladies’ brother; the first engaged in mercantile affairs; the second, a student at college; both, in a certain cordiality of manner, like his own friend, and not unlike him in face. Which was no great wonder, for it soon appeared that he was their near relation. Martin could not help tracing the family pedigree from the two young ladies, because they were foremost in his thoughts; not only from being, as aforesaid, very pretty, but by reason of their wearing miraculously51 small shoes, and the thinnest possible silk stockings; the which their rocking-chairs developed to a distracting extent.
There is no doubt that it was a monstrous52 comfortable circumstance to be sitting in a snug53, well-furnished room, warmed by a cheerful fire, and full of various pleasant decorations, including four small shoes, and the like amount of silk stockings, and—yes, why not?—the feet and legs therein enshrined. And there is no doubt that Martin was monstrous well-disposed to regard his position in that light, after his recent experience of the Screw, and of Mrs Pawkins’s boarding-house. The consequence was that he made himself very agreeable indeed; and by the time the tea and coffee arrived (with sweet preserves, and cunning tea-cakes in its train), was in a highly genial54 state, and much esteemed55 by the whole family.
Another delightful56 circumstance turned up before the first cup of tea was drunk. The whole family had been in England. There was a pleasant thing! But Martin was not quite so glad of this, when he found that they knew all the great dukes, lords, viscounts, marquesses, duchesses, knights57, and baronets, quite affectionately, and were beyond everything interested in the least particular concerning them. However, when they asked, after the wearer of this or that coronet, and said, ‘Was he quite well?’ Martin answered, ‘Yes, oh yes. Never better;’ and when they said, ‘his lordship’s mother, the duchess, was she much changed?’ Martin said, ‘Oh dear no, they would know her anywhere, if they saw her to-morrow;’ and so got on pretty well. In like manner when the young ladies questioned him touching58 the Gold Fish in that Grecian fountain in such and such a nobleman’s conservatory59, and whether there were as many as there used to be, he gravely reported, after mature consideration, that there must be at least twice as many; and as to the exotics, ‘Oh! well! it was of no use talking about them; they must be seen to be believed;’ which improved state of circumstances reminded the family of the splendour of that brilliant festival (comprehending the whole British Peerage and Court Calendar) to which they were specially60 invited, and which indeed had been partly given in their honour; and recollections of what Mr Norris the father had said to the marquess, and of what Mrs Norris the mother had said to the marchioness, and of what the marquess and marchioness had both said, when they said that upon their words and honours they wished Mr Norris the father and Mrs Norris the mother, and the Misses Norris the daughters, and Mr Norris Junior, the son, would only take up their permanent residence in England, and give them the pleasure of their everlasting62 friendship, occupied a very considerable time.
Martin thought it rather stange, and in some sort inconsistent, that during the whole of these narrations63, and in the very meridian64 of their enjoyment65 thereof, both Mr Norris the father, and Mr Norris Junior, the son (who corresponded, every post, with four members of the English Peerage), enlarged upon the inestimable advantage of having no such arbitrary distinctions in that enlightened land, where there were no noblemen but nature’s noblemen, and where all society was based on one broad level of brotherly love and natural equality. Indeed, Mr Norris the father gradually expanding into an oration26 on this swelling66 theme, was becoming tedious, when Mr Bevan diverted his thoughts by happening to make some causal inquiry relative to the occupier of the next house; in reply to which, this same Mr Norris the father observed, that ‘that person entertained religious opinions of which he couldn’t approve; and therefore he hadn’t the honour of knowing the gentleman.’ Mrs Norris the mother added another reason of her own, the same in effect, but varying in words; to wit, that she believed the people were well enough in their way, but they were not genteel.
Another little trait came out, which impressed itself on Martin forcibly. Mr Bevan told them about Mark and the negro, and then it appeared that all the Norrises were abolitionists. It was a great relief to hear this, and Martin was so much encouraged on finding himself in such company, that he expressed his sympathy with the oppressed and wretched blacks. Now, one of the young ladies—the prettiest and most delicate—was mightily67 amused at the earnestness with which he spoke; and on his craving68 leave to ask her why, was quite unable for a time to speak for laughing. As soon however as she could, she told him that the negroes were such a funny people, so excessively ludicrous in their manners and appearance, that it was wholly impossible for those who knew them well, to associate any serious ideas with such a very absurd part of the creation. Mr Norris the father, and Mrs Norris the mother, and Miss Norris the sister, and Mr Norris Junior the brother, and even Mrs Norris Senior the grandmother, were all of this opinion, and laid it down as an absolute matter of fact—as if there were nothing in suffering and slavery, grim enough to cast a solemn air on any human animal; though it were as ridiculous, physically69, as the most grotesque70 of apes, or morally, as the mildest Nimrod among tuft-hunting republicans!
‘In short,’ said Mr Norris the father, settling the question comfortably, ‘there is a natural antipathy71 between the races.’
‘Extending,’ said Martin’s friend, in a low voice, ‘to the cruellest of tortures, and the bargain and sale of unborn generations.’
Mr Norris the son said nothing, but he made a wry72 face, and dusted his fingers as Hamlet might after getting rid of Yorick’s skull73; just as though he had that moment touched a negro, and some of the black had come off upon his hands.
In order that their talk might fall again into its former pleasant channel, Martin dropped the subject, with a shrewd suspicion that it would be a dangerous theme to revive under the best of circumstances; and again addressed himself to the young ladies, who were very gorgeously attired74 in very beautiful colours, and had every article of dress on the same extensive scale as the little shoes and the thin silk stockings. This suggested to him that they were great proficients75 in the French fashions, which soon turned out to be the case, for though their information appeared to be none of the newest, it was very extensive; and the eldest76 sister in particular, who was distinguished77 by a talent for metaphysics, the laws of hydraulic78 pressure, and the rights of human kind, had a novel way of combining these acquirements and bringing them to bear on any subject from Millinery to the Millennium79, both inclusive, which was at once improving and remarkable; so much so, in short, that it was usually observed to reduce foreigners to a state of temporary insanity80 in five minutes.
Martin felt his reason going; and as a means of saving himself, besought81 the other sister (seeing a piano in the room) to sing. With this request she willingly complied; and a bravura82 concert, solely83 sustained by the Misses Noriss, presently began. They sang in all languages—except their own. German, French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese84, Swiss; but nothing native; nothing so low as native. For, in this respect, languages are like many other travellers—ordinary and commonplace enough at home, but ‘specially genteel abroad.
There is little doubt that in course of time the Misses Norris would have come to Hebrew, if they had not been interrupted by an announcement from the Irishman, who, flinging open the door, cried in a loud voice—
‘Jiniral Fladdock!’
‘My!’ cried the sisters, desisting suddenly. ‘The general come back!’
As they made the exclamation85, the general, attired in full uniform for a ball, came darting86 in with such precipitancy that, hitching87 his boot in the carpet, and getting his sword between his legs, he came down headlong, and presented a curious little bald place on the crown of his head to the eyes of the astonished company. Nor was this the worst of it; for being rather corpulent and very tight, the general being down, could not get up again, but lay there writhing88 and doing such things with his boots, as there is no other instance of in military history.
Of course there was an immediate rush to his assistance; and the general was promptly89 raised. But his uniform was so fearfully and wonderfully made, that he came up stiff and without a bend in him like a dead Clown, and had no command whatever of himself until he was put quite flat upon the soles of his feet, when he became animated90 as by a miracle, and moving edgewise that he might go in a narrower compass and be in less danger of fraying91 the gold lace on his epaulettes by brushing them against anything, advanced with a smiling visage to salute92 the lady of the house.
To be sure, it would have been impossible for the family to testify purer delight and joy than at this unlooked-for appearance of General Fladdock! The general was as warmly received as if New York had been in a state of siege and no other general was to be got for love or money. He shook hands with the Norrises three times all round, and then reviewed them from a little distance as a brave commander might, with his ample cloak drawn forward over the right shoulder and thrown back upon the left side to reveal his manly93 breast.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Norris the father. ‘Here we are, general.’
Then all the Norrises pressed round the general, inquiring how and where he had been since the date of his letter, and how he had enjoyed himself in foreign parts, and particularly and above all, to what extent he had become acquainted with the great dukes, lords, viscounts, marquesses, duchesses, knights, and baronets, in whom the people of those benighted95 countries had delight.
‘Well, then, don’t ask me,’ said the general, holding up his hand. ‘I was among ‘em all the time, and have got public journals in my trunk with my name printed’—he lowered his voice and was very impressive here—‘among the fashionable news. But, oh, the conventionalities of that a-mazing Europe!’
‘Ah!’ cried Mr Norris the father, giving his head a melancholy96 shake, and looking towards Martin as though he would say, ‘I can’t deny it, sir. I would if I could.’
‘The limited diffusion97 of a moral sense in that country!’ exclaimed the general. ‘The absence of a moral dignity in man!’
‘Ah!’ sighed all the Norrises, quite overwhelmed with despondency.
‘I couldn’t have realised it,’ pursued the general, ‘without being located on the spot. Norris, your imagination is the imagination of a strong man, but you couldn’t have realised it, without being located on the spot!’
‘Never,’ said Mr Norris.
‘The ex-clusiveness, the pride, the form, the ceremony,’ exclaimed the general, emphasizing the article more vigorously at every repetition. ‘The artificial barriers set up between man and man; the division of the human race into court cards and plain cards, of every denomination—into clubs, diamonds, spades—anything but heart!’
‘Ah!’ cried the whole family. ‘Too true, general!’
‘But stay!’ cried Mr Norris the father, taking him by the arm. ‘Surely you crossed in the Screw, general?’
‘Well! so I did,’ was the reply.
‘Possible!’ cried the young ladies. ‘Only think!’
The general seemed at a loss to understand why his having come home in the Screw should occasion such a sensation, nor did he seem at all clearer on the subject when Mr Norris, introducing him to Martin, said:
‘A fellow-passenger of yours, I think?’
‘Of mine?’ exclaimed the general; ‘No!’
He had never seen Martin, but Martin had seen him, and recognized him, now that they stood face to face, as the gentleman who had stuck his hands in his pockets towards the end of the voyage, and walked the deck with his nostrils98 dilated99.
Everybody looked at Martin. There was no help for it. The truth must out.
‘I came over in the same ship as the general,’ said Martin, ‘but not in the same cabin. It being necessary for me to observe strict economy, I took my passage in the steerage.’
If the general had been carried up bodily to a loaded cannon100, and required to let it off that moment, he could not have been in a state of greater consternation101 than when he heard these words. He, Fladdock—Fladdock in full militia102 uniform, Fladdock the General, Fladdock, the caressed103 of foreign noblemen—expected to know a fellow who had come over in the steerage of line-of-packet ship, at the cost of four pound ten! And meeting that fellow in the very sanctuary104 of New York fashion, and nestling in the bosom105 of the New York aristocracy! He almost laid his hand upon his sword.
A death-like stillness fell upon the Norisses. If this story should get wind, their country relation had, by his imprudence, for ever disgraced them. They were the bright particular stars of an exalted106 New York sphere. There were other fashionable spheres above them, and other fashionable spheres below, and none of the stars in any one of these spheres had anything to say to the stars in any other of these spheres. But, through all the spheres it would go forth107 that the Norrises, deceived by gentlemanly manners and appearances, had, falling from their high estate, ‘received’ a dollarless and unknown man. O guardian108 eagle of the pure Republic, had they lived for this!
‘You will allow me,’ said Martin, after a terrible silence, ‘to take my leave. I feel that I am the cause of at least as much embarrassment109 here, as I have brought upon myself. But I am bound, before I go, to exonerate110 this gentleman, who, in introducing me to such society, was quite ignorant of my unworthiness, I assure you.’
With that he made his bow to the Norrises, and walked out like a man of snow; very cool externally, but pretty hot within.
‘Come, come,’ said Mr Norris the father, looking with a pale face on the assembled circle as Martin closed the door, ‘the young man has this night beheld111 a refinement9 of social manner, and an easy magnificence of social decoration, to which he is a stranger in his own country. Let us hope it may awake a moral sense within him.’
If that peculiarly transatlantic article, a moral sense—for, if native statesmen, orators112, and pamphleteers, are to be believed, America quite monopolises the commodity—if that peculiarly transatlantic article be supposed to include a benevolent113 love of all mankind, certainly Martin’s would have borne, just then, a deal of waking. As he strode along the street, with Mark at his heels, his immoral114 sense was in active operation; prompting him to the utterance115 of some rather sanguinary remarks, which it was well for his own credit that nobody overheard. He had so far cooled down, however, that he had begun to laugh at the recollection of these incidents, when he heard another step behind him, and turning round encountered his friend Bevan, quite out of breath.
He drew his arm through Martin’s, and entreating116 him to walk slowly, was silent for some minutes. At length he said:
‘I hope you exonerate me in another sense?’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Martin.
‘I hope you acquit117 me of intending or foreseeing the termination of our visit. But I scarcely need ask you that.’
‘Scarcely indeed,’ said Martin. ‘I am the more beholden to you for your kindness, when I find what kind of stuff the good citizens here are made of.’
‘I reckon,’ his friend returned, ‘that they are made of pretty much the same stuff as other folks, if they would but own it, and not set up on false pretences118.’
‘In good faith, that’s true,’ said Martin.
‘I dare say,’ resumed his friend, ‘you might have such a scene as that in an English comedy, and not detect any gross improbability or anomaly in the matter of it?’
‘Yes, indeed!’
‘Doubtless it is more ridiculous here than anywhere else,’ said his companion; ‘but our professions are to blame for that. So far as I myself am concerned, I may add that I was perfectly119 aware from the first that you came over in the steerage, for I had seen the list of passengers, and knew it did not comprise your name.’
‘I feel more obliged to you than before,’ said Martin.
‘Norris is a very good fellow in his way,’ observed Mr Bevan.
‘Is he?’ said Martin drily.
‘Oh yes! there are a hundred good points about him. If you or anybody else addressed him as another order of being, and sued to him In Forma Pauperis, he would be all kindness and consideration.’
‘I needn’t have travelled three thousand miles from home to find such a character as that,’ said Martin. Neither he nor his friend said anything more on the way back; each appearing to find sufficient occupation in his own thoughts.
The tea, or the supper, or whatever else they called the evening meal, was over when they reached the Major’s; but the cloth, ornamented120 with a few additional smears121 and stains, was still upon the table. At one end of the board Mrs Jefferson Brick and two other ladies were drinking tea; out of the ordinary course, evidently, for they were bonneted122 and shawled, and seemed to have just come home. By the light of three flaring124 candles of different lengths, in as many candlesticks of different patterns, the room showed to almost as little advantage as in broad day.
These ladies were all three talking together in a very loud tone when Martin and his friend entered; but seeing those gentlemen, they stopped directly, and became excessively genteel, not to say frosty. As they went on to exchange some few remarks in whispers, the very water in the teapot might have fallen twenty degrees in temperature beneath their chilling coldness.
‘Have you been to meeting, Mrs Brick?’ asked Martin’s friend, with something of a roguish twinkle in his eye.
‘To lecture, sir.’
‘I beg your pardon. I forgot. You don’t go to meeting, I think?’
Here the lady on the right of Mrs Brick gave a pious125 cough as much as to say ‘I do!’—as, indeed, she did nearly every night in the week.
The lady raised her eyes in a pious manner, and answered ‘Yes.’ She had been much comforted by some good, strong, peppery doctrine127, which satisfactorily disposed of all her friends and acquaintances, and quite settled their business. Her bonnet123, too, had far outshone every bonnet in the congregation; so she was tranquil128 on all accounts.
‘What course of lectures are you attending now, ma’am?’ said Martin’s friend, turning again to Mrs Brick.
‘The Philosophy of the Soul, on Wednesdays.’
‘On Mondays?’
‘The Philosophy of Crime.’
‘On Fridays?’
‘The Philosophy of Vegetables.’
‘You have forgotten Thursdays; the Philosophy of Government, my dear,’ observed the third lady.
‘No,’ said Mrs Brick. ‘That’s Tuesdays.’
‘So it is!’ cried the lady. ‘The Philosophy of Matter on Thursdays, of course.’
‘You see, Mr Chuzzlewit, our ladies are fully employed,’ said Bevan.
‘Indeed you have reason to say so,’ answered Martin. ‘Between these very grave pursuits abroad, and family duties at home, their time must be pretty well engrossed129.’
Martin stopped here, for he saw that the ladies regarded him with no very great favour, though what he had done to deserve the disdainful expression which appeared in their faces he was at a loss to divine. But on their going upstairs to their bedrooms—which they very soon did—Mr Bevan informed him that domestic drudgery130 was far beneath the exalted range of these Philosophers, and that the chances were a hundred to one that not one of the three could perform the easiest woman’s work for herself, or make the simplest article of dress for any of her children.
‘Though whether they might not be better employed with such blunt instruments as knitting-needles than with these edge-tools,’ he said, ‘is another question; but I can answer for one thing—they don’t often cut themselves. Devotions and lectures are our balls and concerts. They go to these places of resort, as an escape from monotony; look at each other’s clothes; and come home again.’
‘When you say “home,” do you mean a house like this?’
‘Very often. But I see you are tired to death, and will wish you good night. We will discuss your projects in the morning. You cannot but feel already that it is useless staying here, with any hope of advancing them. You will have to go further.’
‘Well, I hope not. But sufficient for the day, you know—good night’
They shook hands heartily132 and separated. As soon as Martin was left alone, the excitement of novelty and change which had sustained him through all the fatigues133 of the day, departed; and he felt so thoroughly dejected and worn out, that he even lacked the energy to crawl upstairs to bed.
In twelve or fifteen hours, how great a change had fallen on his hopes and sanguine134 plans! New and strange as he was to the ground on which he stood, and to the air he breathed, he could not—recalling all that he had crowded into that one day—but entertain a strong misgiving135 that his enterprise was doomed136. Rash and ill-considered as it had often looked on shipboard, but had never seemed on shore, it wore a dismal137 aspect, now, that frightened him. Whatever thoughts he called up to his aid, they came upon him in depressing and discouraging shapes, and gave him no relief. Even the diamonds on his finger sparkled with the brightness of tears, and had no ray of hope in all their brilliant lustre138.
He continued to sit in gloomy rumination139 by the stove, unmindful of the boarders who dropped in one by one from their stores and counting-houses, or the neighbouring bar-rooms, and, after taking long pulls from a great white waterjug upon the sideboard, and lingering with a kind of hideous141 fascination142 near the brass143 spittoons, lounged heavily to bed; until at length Mark Tapley came and shook him by the arm, supposing him asleep.
‘Mark!’ he cried, starting.
‘All right, sir,’ said that cheerful follower144, snuffing with his fingers the candle he bore. ‘It ain’t a very large bed, your’n, sir; and a man as wasn’t thirsty might drink, afore breakfast, all the water you’ve got to wash in, and afterwards eat the towel. But you’ll sleep without rocking to-night, sir.’
‘I feel as if the house were on the sea’ said Martin, staggering when he rose; ‘and am utterly145 wretched.’
‘I’m as jolly as a sandboy, myself, sir,’ said Mark. ‘But, Lord, I have reason to be! I ought to have been born here; that’s my opinion. Take care how you go’—for they were now ascending the stairs. ‘You recollect61 the gentleman aboard the Screw as had the very small trunk, sir?’
‘The valise? Yes.’
‘Well, sir, there’s been a delivery of clean clothes from the wash to-night, and they’re put outside the bedroom doors here. If you take notice as we go up, what a very few shirts there are, and what a many fronts, you’ll penetrate146 the mystery of his packing.’
But Martin was too weary and despondent147 to take heed148 of anything, so had no interest in this discovery. Mr Tapley, nothing dashed by his indifference, conducted him to the top of the house, and into the bed-chamber prepared for his reception; which was a very little narrow room, with half a window in it; a bedstead like a chest without a lid; two chairs; a piece of carpet, such as shoes are commonly tried upon at a ready-made establishment in England; a little looking-glass nailed against the wall; and a washing-table, with a jug140 and ewer149, that might have been mistaken for a milk-pot and slop-basin.
‘I suppose they polish themselves with a dry cloth in this country,’ said Mark. ‘They’ve certainly got a touch of the ‘phoby, sir.’
‘I wish you would pull off my boots for me,’ said Martin, dropping into one of the chairs ‘I am quite knocked up—dead beat, Mark.’
‘You won’t say that to-morrow morning, sir,’ returned Mr Tapley; ‘nor even to-night, sir, when you’ve made a trial of this.’ With which he produced a very large tumbler, piled up to the brim with little blocks of clear transparent150 ice, through which one or two thin slices of lemon, and a golden liquid of delicious appearance, appealed from the still depths below, to the loving eye of the spectator.
‘What do you call this?’ said Martin.
But Mr Tapley made no answer; merely plunging151 a reed into the mixture—which caused a pleasant commotion152 among the pieces of ice—and signifying by an expressive153 gesture that it was to be pumped up through that agency by the enraptured154 drinker.
Martin took the glass with an astonished look; applied155 his lips to the reed; and cast up his eyes once in ecstasy156. He paused no more until the goblet157 was drained to the last drop.
‘There, sir!’ said Mark, taking it from him with a triumphant158 face; ‘if ever you should happen to be dead beat again, when I ain’t in the way, all you’ve got to do is to ask the nearest man to go and fetch a cobbler.’
‘To go and fetch a cobbler?’ repeated Martin.
‘This wonderful invention, sir,’ said Mark, tenderly patting the empty glass, ‘is called a cobbler. Sherry cobbler when you name it long; cobbler, when you name it short. Now you’re equal to having your boots took off, and are, in every particular worth mentioning, another man.’
Having delivered himself of this solemn preface, he brought the bootjack.
‘Mind! I am not going to relapse, Mark,’ said Martin; ‘but, good Heaven, if we should be left in some wild part of this country without goods or money!’
‘Well, sir!’ replied the imperturbable159 Tapley; ‘from what we’ve seen already, I don’t know whether, under those circumstances, we shouldn’t do better in the wild parts than in the tame ones.’
‘Oh, Tom Pinch, Tom Pinch!’ said Martin, in a thoughtful tone; ‘what would I give to be again beside you, and able to hear your voice, though it were even in the old bedroom at Pecksniff’s!’
‘Oh, Dragon, Dragon!’ echoed Mark, cheerfully, ‘if there warn’t any water between you and me, and nothing faint-hearted-like in going back, I don’t know that I mightn’t say the same. But here am I, Dragon, in New York, America; and there are you in Wiltshire, Europe; and there’s a fortune to make, Dragon, and a beautiful young lady to make it for; and whenever you go to see the Monument, Dragon, you mustn’t give in on the doorsteps, or you’ll never get up to the top!’
‘Wisely said, Mark,’ cried Martin. ‘We must look forward.’
‘In all the story-books as ever I read, sir, the people as looked backward was turned into stones,’ replied Mark; ‘and my opinion always was, that they brought it on themselves, and it served ‘em right. I wish you good night, sir, and pleasant dreams!’
‘They must be of home, then,’ said Martin, as he lay down in bed.
‘So I say, too,’ whispered Mark Tapley, when he was out of hearing and in his own room; ‘for if there don’t come a time afore we’re well out of this, when there’ll be a little more credit in keeping up one’s jollity, I’m a United Statesman!’
Leaving them to blend and mingle160 in their sleep the shadows of objects afar off, as they take fantastic shapes upon the wall in the dim light of thought without control, be it the part of this slight chronicle—a dream within a dream—as rapidly to change the scene, and cross the ocean to the English shore.
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1
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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adaptable
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| adj.能适应的，适应性强的，可改编的 | |
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refinements
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| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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probation
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| n.缓刑(期)，(以观后效的)察看；试用(期) | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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20
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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anthem
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| n.圣歌，赞美诗，颂歌 | |
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oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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peevishly
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| adv．暴躁地 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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35
gashed
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| v.划伤，割破( gash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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galled
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| v.使…擦痛( gall的过去式和过去分词 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
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hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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impeachment
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| n.弹劾；控告；怀疑 | |
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40
veracity
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| n.诚实 | |
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41
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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42
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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43
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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44
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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45
latitudes
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| 纬度 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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temperately
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| adv.节制地，适度地 | |
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48
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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49
adjourn
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| v.（使）休会，（使）休庭 | |
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50
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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51
miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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52
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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53
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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54
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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55
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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57
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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58
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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59
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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60
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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61
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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62
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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63
narrations
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| 叙述事情的经过，故事( narration的名词复数 ) | |
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meridian
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| adj.子午线的；全盛期的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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70
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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71
antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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72
wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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73
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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74
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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proficients
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| 精通的，熟练的( proficient的名词复数 ) | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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77
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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hydraulic
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| adj.水力的；水压的，液压的；水力学的 | |
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79
millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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80
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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81
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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82
bravura
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| n.华美的乐曲；勇敢大胆的表现；adj.壮勇华丽的 | |
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83
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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84
Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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85
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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86
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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87
hitching
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| 搭乘； （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的现在分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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88
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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89
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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90
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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91
fraying
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| v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的现在分词 ) | |
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92
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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93
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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94
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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95
benighted
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| adj.蒙昧的 | |
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96
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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97
diffusion
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| n.流布；普及；散漫 | |
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98
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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99
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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101
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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102
militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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103
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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105
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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106
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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107
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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108
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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109
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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110
exonerate
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| v.免除责任，确定无罪 | |
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111
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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112
orators
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| n.演说者，演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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113
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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114
immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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115
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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116
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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117
acquit
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| vt.宣判无罪；(oneself)使(自己)表现出 | |
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118
pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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119
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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120
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
smears
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| 污迹( smear的名词复数 )； 污斑； （显微镜的）涂片； 诽谤 | |
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122
bonneted
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| 发动机前置的 | |
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123
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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124
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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125
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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126
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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127
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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128
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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129
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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130
drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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131
adage
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| n.格言，古训 | |
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132
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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133
fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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134
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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135
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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136
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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137
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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138
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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139
rumination
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| n.反刍，沉思 | |
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140
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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141
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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142
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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143
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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144
follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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145
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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146
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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147
despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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148
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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149
ewer
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| n.大口水罐 | |
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150
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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151
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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152
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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153
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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154
enraptured
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| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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156
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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157
goblet
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| n.高脚酒杯 | |
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158
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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159
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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160
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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