I AM INVOLVED IN MYSTERY.
I received one morning by the post, the following letter, dated
Canterbury, and addressed to me at Doctors' Commons; which I read with
some surprise:
"MY DEAR SIR,
"Circumstances beyond my individual control have, for a
considerable lapse of time, effected a severance of that intimacy
which, in the limited opportunities conceded to me in the midst
of my professional duties, of contemplating the scenes and events
of the past, tinged by the prismatic hues of memory, has ever
afforded me, as it ever must continue to afford, gratifying
emotions of no common description. This fact, my dear sir,
combined with the distinguished elevation to which your talents
have raised you, deters me from presuming to aspire to the
liberty of addressing the companion of my youth, by the familiar
appellation of Copperfield! It is sufficient to know that the name
to which I do myself the honor to refer, will ever be treasured
among the muniments of our house (I allude to the archives
connected with our former lodgers, preserved by Mrs. Micawber),
with sentiments of personal esteem amounting to affection.
"It is not for one, situated, through his original errors and a
fortuitous combination of unpropitious events, as is the foundered
Bark (if he may be allowed to assume so maritime a denomination),
who now takes up the pen to address you--it is not, I repeat, for
one so circumstanced, to adopt the language of compliment, or of
congratulation. That, he leaves to abler and to purer hands.
"If your more important avocations should admit of your ever
tracing these imperfect characters thus far--which may be, or may
not be, as circumstances arise--you will naturally inquire by what
object am I influenced, then, in inditing the present missive?
Allow me to say that I fully defer to the reasonable character of
that inquiry, and proceed to develope it; premising that it is
_not_ an object of a pecuniary nature.
"Without more directly referring to any latent ability that
may possibly exist on my part, of wielding the thunderbolt, or
directing the devouring and avenging flame in any quarter, I may
be permitted to observe, in passing, that my brightest visions
are for ever dispelled--that my peace is shattered and my power
of enjoyment destroyed--that my heart is no longer in the right
place--and that I no more walk erect before my fellow man. The
canker is in the flower. The cup is bitter to the brim. The worm
is at his work, and will soon dispose of his victim. The sooner
the better. But I will not digress.
"Placed in a mental position of peculiar painfulness, beyond
the assuaging reach even of Mrs. Micawber's influence, though
exercised in the tripartite character of woman, wife, and mother,
it is my intention to fly from myself for a short period, and
devote a respite of eight-and-forty hours to revisiting some
metropolitan scenes of past enjoyment. Among other havens of
domestic tranquillity and peace of mind, my feet will naturally
tend towards the King's Bench Prison. In stating that I shall
be (D. V.) on the outside of the south wall of that place of
incarceration on civil process, the day after to-morrow, at
seven in the evening, precisely, my object in this epistolary
communication is accomplished.
"I do not feel warranted in soliciting my former friend Mr.
Copperfield, or my former friend Mr. Thomas Traddles of the Inner
Temple, if that gentleman is still existent and forthcoming, to
condescend to meet me, and renew (so far as may be) our past
relations of the olden time. I confine myself to throwing out the
observation, that, at the hour and place I have indicated, may be
found such ruined vestiges as yet
"Remain,
"Of
"A
"Fallen Tower,
"WILKINS MICAWBER.
"P.S. It may be advisable to superadd to the above, the statement
that Mrs. Micawber is _not_ in confidential possession of my
intentions."
I read the letter over, several times. Making due allowance for Mr.
Micawber's lofty style of composition, and for the extraordinary relish
with which he sat down and wrote long letters on all possible and
impossible occasions, I still believed that something important lay
hidden at the bottom of this roundabout communication. I put it down, to
think about it; and took it up again, to read it once more; and was
still pursuing it, when Traddles found me in the height of my
perplexity.
"My dear fellow," said I, "I never was better pleased to see you. You
come to give me the benefit of your sober judgment at a most opportune
time. I have received a very singular letter, Traddles, from Mr.
Micawber."
"No?" cried Traddles. "You don't say so? And I have received one from
Mrs. Micawber!"
With that, Traddles, who was flushed with walking, and whose hair,
under the combined effects of exercise and excitement, stood on end as
if he saw a cheerful ghost, produced his letter and made an exchange
with me. I watched him into the heart of Mr. Micawber's letter, and
returned the elevation of eyebrows with which he said "'Wielding the
thunderbolt, or directing the devouring and avenging flame!' Bless
me, Copperfield!"--and then entered on the perusal of Mrs. Micawber's
epistle.
It ran thus:
"My best regards to Mr. Thomas Traddles, and if he should still
remember one who formerly had the happiness of being well
acquainted with him, may I beg a few moments of his leisure time?
I assure Mr. T. T. that I would not intrude upon his kindness,
were I in any other position than on the confines of distraction.
"Though harrowing to myself to mention, the alienation of Mr.
Micawber (formerly so domesticated) from his wife and family, is
the cause of my addressing my unhappy appeal to Mr. Traddles,
and soliciting his best indulgence. Mr. T. can form no adequate
idea of the change in Mr. Micawber's conduct, of his wildness, of
his violence. It has gradually augmented, until it assumes the
appearance of aberration of intellect. Scarcely a day passes, I
assure Mr. Traddles, on which some paroxysm does not take place.
Mr. T. will not require me to depict my feelings, when I inform
him that I have become accustomed to hear Mr. Micawber assert
that he has sold himself to the D. Mystery and secresy have long
been his principal characteristic, have long replaced unlimited
confidence. The slightest provocation, even being asked if there
is anything he would prefer for dinner, causes him to express a
wish for a separation. Last night, on being childishly solicited
for twopence, to buy 'lemon-stunners'--a local sweetmeat--he
presented an oyster-knife at the twins!
"I entreat Mr. Traddles to bear with me in entering into these
details. Without them, Mr. T. would indeed find it difficult to
form the faintest conception of my heart-rending situation.
"May I now venture to confide to Mr. T. the purport of my
letter? Will he now allow me to throw myself on his friendly
consideration? Oh yes, for I know his heart!
"The quick eye of affection is not easily blinded, when of the
female sex. Mr. Micawber is going to London. Though he studiously
concealed his hand, this morning before breakfast, in writing the
direction-card which he attached to the little brown valise of
happier days, the eagle-glance of matrimonial anxiety detected
d,o,n, distinctly traced. The West-End destination of the coach,
is the Golden Cross. Dare I fervently implore Mr. T. to see my
misguided husband, and to reason with him? Dare I ask Mr. T. to
endeavour to step in between Mr. Micawber and his agonised family?
Oh no, for that would be too much!
"If Mr. Copperfield should yet remember one unknown to fame,
will Mr. T. take charge of my unalterable regards and similar
entreaties? In any case, he will have the benevolence _to consider
this communication strictly private, and on no account whatever
to be alluded to, however distantly, in the presence of Mr.
Micawber_. If Mr. T. should ever reply to it (which I cannot but
feel to be _most_ improbable), a letter addressed to M. E., Post
Office, Canterbury, will be fraught with less painful consequences
than any addressed immediately to one, who subscribes herself, in
extreme distress,
"Mr. Thomas Traddles's respectful friend and suppliant,
"EMMA MICAWBER."
"What do you think of that letter?" said Traddles, casting his eyes upon
me, when I had read it twice.
"What do you think of the other?" said I. For he was still reading it
with knitted brows.
"I think that the two together, Copperfield," replied Traddles,
"mean more than Mr. and Mrs. Micawber usually mean in their
correspondence--but I don't know what. They are both written in good
faith, I have no doubt, and without any collusion. Poor thing!" he was
now alluding to Mrs. Micawber's letter, and we were standing side by
side comparing the two; "it will be a charity to write to her, at all
events, and tell her that we will not fail to see Mr. Micawber."
I acceded to this, the more readily, because I now reproached myself
with having treated her former letter rather lightly. It had set me
thinking a good deal at the time, as I have mentioned in its place; but
my absorption in my own affairs, my experience of the family, and my
hearing nothing more, had gradually ended in my dismissing the subject.
I had often thought of the Micawbers, but chiefly to wonder what
"pecuniary liabilities" they were establishing in Canterbury, and to
recall how shy Mr. Micawber was of me when he became clerk to Uriah
Heep.
However, I now wrote a comforting letter to Mrs. Micawber, in our joint
names, and we both signed it. As we walked into town to post it,
Traddles and I held a long conference, and launched into a number of
speculations, which I need not repeat. We took my aunt into our counsels
in the afternoon; but our only decided conclusion was, that we would be
very punctual in keeping Mr. Micawber's appointment.
Although we appeared at the stipulated place a quarter of an hour before
the time, we found Mr. Micawber already there. He was standing with his
arms folded, over against the wall, looking at the spikes on the top,
with a sentimental expression, as if they were the interlacing boughs of
trees that had shaded him in his youth.
When we accosted him, his manner was something more confused, and
something less genteel, than of yore. He had relinquished his legal suit
of black for the purposes of this excursion, and wore the old surtout
and tights, but not quite with the old air. He gradually picked up more
and more of it as we conversed with him; but, his very eye-glass seemed
to hang less easily, and his shirt collar, though still of the old
formidable dimensions, rather drooped.
"Gentlemen!" said Mr. Micawber, after the first salutations, "you are
friends in need, and friends indeed. Allow me to offer my inquiries with
reference to the physical welfare of Mrs. Copperfield _in esse_, and
Mrs. Traddles _in posse_,--presuming, that is to say, that my friend Mr.
Traddles is not yet united to the object of his affections, for weal and
for woe."
We acknowledged his politeness, and made suitable replies. He then
directed our attention to the wall, and was beginning "I assure you,
gentlemen," when I ventured to object to that ceremonious form of
address, and to beg that he would speak to us in the old way.
"My dear Copperfield," he returned, pressing my hand, "your cordiality
overpowers me. This reception of a shattered fragment of the Temple once
called Man--if I may be permitted so to express myself--bespeaks a heart
that is an honor to our common nature. I was about to observe that I
again behold the serene spot where some of the happiest hours of my
existence fleeted by."
"Made so, I am sure, by Mrs. Micawber," said I. "I hope she is well?"
"Thank you," returned Mr. Micawber, whose face clouded at this
reference, "she is but so-so. And this," said Mr. Micawber, nodding his
head sorrowfully, "is the Bench! Where, for the first time in many
revolving years, the overwhelming pressure of pecuniary liabilities was
not proclaimed, from day to day, by importunate voices declining to
vacate the passage; where there was no knocker on the door for any
creditor to appeal to; where personal service of process was not
required, and detainers were merely lodged at the gate! Gentlemen," said
Mr. Micawber, "when the shadow of that iron-work on the summit of the
brick structure has been reflected on the gravel of the Parade, I have
seen my children thread the mazes of the intricate pattern, avoiding the
dark marks. I have been familiar with every stone in the place. If I
betray weakness, you will know how to excuse me."
"We have all got on in life since then, Mr. Micawber," said I.
"Mr. Copperfield," returned Mr. Micawber, bitterly, "when I was an
inmate of that retreat I could look my fellow-man in the face, and punch
his head if he offended me. My fellow-man and myself are no longer on
those glorious terms!"
Turning from the building in a downcast manner, Mr. Micawber accepted my
proffered arm on one side, and the proffered arm of Traddles on the
other, and walked away between us.
"There are some landmarks," observed Mr. Micawber, looking fondly back
over his shoulder, "on the road to the tomb, which, but for the impiety
of the aspiration, a man would wish never to have passed. Such is the
Bench in my chequered career."
"Oh, you are in low spirits, Mr. Micawber," said Traddles.
"I am, sir," interposed Mr. Micawber.
"I hope," said Traddles, "it is not because you have conceived a dislike
to the law--for I am a lawyer myself, you know."
Mr. Micawber answered not a word.
"How is our friend Heep, Mr. Micawber?" said I, after a silence.
"My dear Copperfield," returned Mr. Micawber, bursting into a state of
much excitement, and turning pale, "if you ask after my employer as
_your_ friend, I am sorry for it; if you ask after him as _my_ friend, I
sardonically smile at it. In whatever capacity you ask after my
employer, I beg, without offence to you, to limit my reply to this--that
whatever his state of health may be, his appearance is foxy: not to say
diabolical. You will allow me, as a private individual, to decline
pursuing a subject which has lashed me to the utmost verge of
desperation in my professional capacity."
I expressed my regret for having innocently touched upon a theme that
roused him so much. "May I ask," said I, "without any hazard of
repeating the mistake, how my old friends Mr. and Miss Wickfield are?"
"Miss Wickfield," said Mr. Micawber, now turning red, "is, as she always
is, a pattern, and a bright example. My dear Copperfield, she is the
only starry spot in a miserable existence. My respect for that young
lady, my admiration of her character, my devotion to her for her love
and truth, and goodness!--Take me," said Mr. Micawber, "down a turning,
for, upon my soul, in my present state of mind I am not equal to this!"
We wheeled him off into a narrow street, where he took out his
pocket-handkerchief, and stood with his back to a wall. If I looked as
gravely at him as Traddles did, he must have found our company by no
means inspiriting.
"It is my fate," said Mr. Micawber, unfeignedly sobbing, but doing even
that, with a shadow of the old expression of doing something genteel;
"it is my fate, gentlemen, that the finer feelings of our nature have
become reproaches to me. My homage to Miss Wickfield, is a flight of
arrows in my bosom. You had better leave me, if you please, to walk the
earth as a vagabond. The worm will settle _my_ business in double-quick
time."
Without attending to this invocation, we stood by, until he put up his
pocket-handkerchief, pulled up his shirt-collar, and, to delude any
person in the neighbourhood who might have been observing him, hummed a
tune with his hat very much on one side. I then mentioned--not knowing
what might be lost, if we lost sight of him yet--that it would give me
great pleasure to introduce him to my aunt, if he would ride out to
Highgate, where a bed was at his service.
"You shall make us a glass of your own punch, Mr. Micawber," said I,
"and forget whatever you have on your mind, in pleasanter
reminiscences."
"Or, if confiding anything to friends will be more likely to relieve
you, you shall impart it to us, Mr. Micawber," said Traddles, prudently.
"Gentlemen," returned Mr. Micawber, "do with me as you will! I am a
straw upon the surface of the deep, and am tossed in all directions by
the elephants--I beg your pardon; I should have said the elements."
We walked on, arm-in-arm, again; found the coach in the act of starting;
and arrived at Highgate without encountering any difficulties by the
way. I was very uneasy and very uncertain in my mind what to say or do
for the best--so was Traddles, evidently. Mr. Micawber was for the most
part plunged into deep gloom. He occasionally made an attempt to smarten
himself, and hum the fag-end of a tune; but his relapses into profound
melancholy were only made the more impressive by the mockery of a hat
exceedingly on one side, and a shirt-collar pulled up to his eyes.
We went to my aunt's house rather than to mine, because of Dora's not
being well. My aunt presented herself on being sent for, and welcomed
Mr. Micawber with gracious cordiality. Mr. Micawber kissed her hand,
retired to the window, and pulling out his pocket-handkerchief, had a
mental wrestle with himself.
Mr. Dick was at home. He was by nature so exceedingly compassionate of
anyone who seemed to be ill at ease, and was so quick to find any such
person out, that he shook hands with Mr. Micawber, at least half-a-dozen
times in five minutes. To Mr. Micawber, in his trouble, this warmth, on
the part of a stranger, was so extremely touching, that he could only
say, on the occasion of each successive shake, "My dear sir, you
overpower me!" Which gratified Mr. Dick so much, that he went at it
again with greater vigor than before.
"The friendliness of this gentleman," said Mr. Micawber to my aunt, "if
you will allow me, ma'am, to cull a figure of speech from the vocabulary
of our coarser national sports--floors me. To a man who is struggling
with a complicated burden of perplexity and disquiet, such a reception
is trying, I assure you."
"My friend Mr. Dick," replied my aunt, proudly, "is not a common man."
"That I am convinced of," said Mr. Micawber. "My dear sir!" for Mr. Dick
was shaking hands with him again; "I am deeply sensible of your
cordiality!"
"How do you find yourself?" said Mr. Dick, with an anxious look.
"Indifferent, my dear sir," returned Mr. Micawber, sighing.
"You must keep up your spirits," said Mr. Dick, "and make yourself as
comfortable as possible."
Mr. Micawber was quite overcome by these friendly words, and by finding
Mr. Dick's hand again within his own. "It has been my lot," he observed,
"to meet, in the diversified panorama of human existence, with an
occasional oasis, but never with one so green, so gushing, as the
present!"
At another time I should have been amused by this; but I felt that we
were all constrained and uneasy, and I watched Mr. Micawber so
anxiously, in his vacillations between an evident disposition to reveal
something, and a counter-disposition to reveal nothing, that I was in a
perfect fever. Traddles, sitting on the edge of his chair, with his eyes
wide open, and his hair more emphatically erect than ever, stared by
turns at the ground and at Mr. Micawber, without so much as attempting
to put in a word. My aunt, though I saw that her shrewdest observation
was concentrated on her new guest, had more useful possession of her
wits than either of us; for she held him in conversation, and made it
necessary for him to talk, whether he liked it or not.
"You are a very old friend of my nephew's, Mr. Micawber," said my aunt.
"I wish I had had the pleasure of seeing you before."
"Madam," returned Mr. Micawber, "I wish I had had the honor of knowing
you at an earlier period. I was not always the wreck you at present
behold."
"I hope Mrs. Micawber and your family are well, sir," said my aunt.
Mr. Micawber inclined his head. "They are as well, ma'am," he
desperately observed after a pause, "as Aliens and Outcasts can ever
hope to be."
"Lord bless you, sir!" exclaimed my aunt, in her abrupt way. "What are
you talking about?"
"The subsistence of my family, ma'am," returned Mr. Micawber, "trembles
in the balance. My employer----"
Here Mr. Micawber provokingly left off; and began to peel the lemons
that had been under my directions set before him, together with all the
other appliances he used in making punch.
"Your employer, you know," said Mr. Dick, jogging his arm as a gentle
reminder.
"My good sir," returned Mr. Micawber, "you recall me. I am obliged to
you." They shook hands again. "My employer, ma'am--Mr. Heep--once did me
the favor to observe to me, that if I were not in the receipt of the
stipendiary emoluments appertaining to my engagement with him, I should
probably be a mountebank about the country swallowing a sword-blade, and
eating the devouring element. For anything that I can perceive to the
contrary, it is still probable that my children may be reduced to seek a
livelihood by personal contortion, while Mrs. Micawber abets their
unnatural feats, by playing the barrel-organ."
Mr. Micawber, with a random but expressive flourish of his knife,
signified that these performances might be expected to take place after
he was no more; then resumed his peeling with a desperate air.
My aunt leaned her elbow on the little round table that she usually kept
beside her, and eyed him attentively. Notwithstanding the aversion with
which I regarded the idea of entrapping him into any disclosure he was
not prepared to make voluntarily, I should have taken him up at this
point, but for the strange proceedings in which I saw him engaged;
whereof his putting the lemon-peel into the kettle, the sugar into the
snuffer-tray, the spirit into the empty jug, and confidently attempting
to pour boiling water out of a candlestick, were among the most
remarkable. I saw that a crisis was at hand, and it came. He clattered
all his means and implements together, rose from his chair, pulled out
his pocket-handkerchief, and burst into tears.
"My dear Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, behind his handkerchief,
"this is an occupation, of all others, requiring an untroubled mind,
and self-respect. I cannot perform it. It is out of the question."
"Mr. Micawber," said I, "what is the matter? Pray speak out. You are
among friends."
"Among friends, sir!" repeated Mr. Micawber; and all he had reserved
came breaking out of him. "Good heavens, it is principally because I
_am_ among friends that my state of mind is what it is. What is the
matter, gentlemen? What is _not_ the matter? Villany is the matter;
baseness is the matter; deception, fraud, conspiracy, are the matter;
and the name of the whole atrocious mass is--HEEP!"
My aunt clapped her hands, and we all started up as if we were
possessed.
"The struggle is over!" said Mr. Micawber, violently gesticulating with
his pocket-handkerchief, and fairly striking out from time to time with
both arms, as if he were swimming under superhuman difficulties. "I will
lead this life no longer. I am a wretched being, cut off from everything
that makes life tolerable. I have been under a Taboo in that infernal
scoundrel's service. Give me back my wife, give me back my family,
substitute Micawber for the petty wretch who walks about in the boots at
present on my feet, and call upon me to swallow a sword to-morrow, and
I'll do it. With an appetite!"
I never saw a man so hot in my life. I tried to calm him, that we might
come to something rational; but he got hotter and hotter, and wouldn't
hear a word.
"I'll put my hand in no man's hand," said Mr. Micawber,
gasping, puffing, and sobbing, to that degree that he was
like a man fighting with cold water, "until I have--blown
to fragments--the--a--detestable--serpent--HEEP! I'll partake
of no one's hospitality, until I have--a--moved Mount
Vesuvius--to eruption--on--a--the abandoned rascal--HEEP!
Refreshment--a--underneath this roof--particularly
punch--would--a--choak me--unless--I had--previously--choaked
the eyes--out of the head--a--of--interminable cheat, and
liar--HEEP! I--a--I'll know nobody--and--a--say nothing--and--a--live
nowhere--until I have crushed--to--a--undiscoverable
atoms--the--transcendent and immortal hypocrite and perjurer--HEEP!"
I really had some fear of Mr. Micawber's dying on the spot. The manner
in which he struggled through these inarticulate sentences, and,
whenever he found himself getting near the name of Heep, fought his way
on to it, dashed at it in a fainting state, and brought it out with a
vehemence little less than marvellous, was frightful; but now, when he
sank into a chair, steaming, and looked at us, with every possible color
in his face that had no business there, and an endless procession of
lumps following one another in hot haste up his throat, whence they
seemed to shoot into his forehead, he had the appearance of being in the
last extremity. I would have gone to his assistance, but he waved me
off, and wouldn't hear a word.
"No, Copperfield!--No communication--a--until--Miss
Wickfield--a--redress from wrongs inflicted by consummate
scoundrel--HEEP!" (I am quite convinced he could not have uttered
three words, but for the amazing energy with which this word
inspired him when he felt it coming.) "Inviolable secret--a--from
the whole world--a--no exceptions--this day week--a--at breakfast
time--a--everybody present--including aunt--a--and extremely friendly
gentleman--to be at the hotel at Canterbury--a--where--Mrs. Micawber
and myself--Auld Lang Syne in chorus--and--a--will expose intolerable
ruffian--HEEP! No more to say--a--or listen to persuasion--go
immediately--not capable--a--bear society--upon the track of devoted
and doomed traitor--HEEP!"
With this last repetition of the magic word that had kept him going at
all, and in which he surpassed all his previous efforts, Mr. Micawber
rushed out of the house; leaving us in a state of excitement, hope, and
wonder, that reduced us to a condition little better than his own. But
even then his passion for writing letters was too strong to be resisted;
for while we were yet in the height of our excitement, hope, and wonder,
the following pastoral note was brought to me from a neighbouring
tavern, at which he had called to write it:--
"Most secret and confidential.
"MY DEAR SIR,
"I beg to be allowed to convey, through you, my apologies to
your excellent aunt for my late excitement. An explosion of a
smouldering volcano long suppressed, was the result of an internal
contest more easily conceived than described.
"I trust I rendered tolerably intelligible my appointment for the
morning of this day week, at the house of public entertainment
at Canterbury, where Mrs. Micawber and myself had once the honor
of uniting our voices to yours, in the well-known strain of the
Immortal exciseman nurtured beyond the Tweed.
"The duty done, and act of reparation performed, which can alone
enable me to contemplate my fellow mortal, I shall be known no
more. I shall simply require to be deposited in that place of
universal resort, where
"'Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep,'
"--With the plain Inscription,
"WILKINS MICAWBER."