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‘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 honour 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 favour 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? Villainy 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 tomorrow, 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--choke me--unless--I

had--previously--choked 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

colour 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 honour 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.’

CHAPTER 50. Mr. PEGGOTTY’S DREAM COMES TRUE

By this time, some months had passed since our interview on the bank

of the river with Martha. I had never seen her since, but she had

communicated with Mr. Peggotty on several occasions. Nothing had come of

her zealous intervention; nor could I infer, from what he told me, that

any clue had been obtained, for a moment, to Emily’s fate. I confess

that I began to despair of her recovery, and gradually to sink deeper

and deeper into the belief that she was dead.

His conviction remained unchanged. So far as I know--and I believe

his honest heart was transparent to me--he never wavered again, in his

solemn certainty of finding her. His patience never tired. And, although

I trembled for the agony it might one day be to him to have his strong

assurance shivered at a blow, there was something so religious in it, so

affectingly expressive of its anchor being in the purest depths of

his fine nature, that the respect and honour in which I held him were

exalted every day.

His was not a lazy trustfulness that hoped, and did no more. He had

been a man of sturdy action all his life, and he knew that in all things

wherein he wanted help he must do his own part faithfully, and help

himself. I have known him set out in the night, on a misgiving that the

light might not be, by some accident, in the window of the old boat,

and walk to Yarmouth. I have known him, on reading something in the

newspaper that might apply to her, take up his stick, and go forth on a

journey of three--or four-score miles. He made his way by sea to Naples,

and back, after hearing the narrative to which Miss Dartle had assisted

me. All his journeys were ruggedly performed; for he was always

steadfast in a purpose of saving money for Emily’s sake, when she should

be found. In all this long pursuit, I never heard him repine; I never

heard him say he was fatigued, or out of heart.

Dora had often seen him since our marriage, and was quite fond of him.

I fancy his figure before me now, standing near her sofa, with his rough

cap in his hand, and the blue eyes of my child-wife raised, with a timid

wonder, to his face. Sometimes of an evening, about twilight, when

he came to talk with me, I would induce him to smoke his pipe in the

garden, as we slowly paced to and fro together; and then, the picture

of his deserted home, and the comfortable air it used to have in my

childish eyes of an evening when the fire was burning, and the wind

moaning round it, came most vividly into my mind.

One evening, at this hour, he told me that he had found Martha waiting

near his lodging on the preceding night when he came out, and that she

had asked him not to leave London on any account, until he should have

seen her again.

‘Did she tell you why?’ I inquired.

‘I asked her, Mas’r Davy,’ he replied, ‘but it is but few words as she

ever says, and she on’y got my promise and so went away.’

‘Did she say when you might expect to see her again?’ I demanded.

‘No, Mas’r Davy,’ he returned, drawing his hand thoughtfully down his

face. ‘I asked that too; but it was more (she said) than she could

tell.’

As I had long forborne to encourage him with hopes that hung on threads,

I made no other comment on this information than that I supposed he

would see her soon. Such speculations as it engendered within me I kept

to myself, and those were faint enough.

I was walking alone in the garden, one evening, about a fortnight

afterwards. I remember that evening well. It was the second in Mr.

Micawber’s week of suspense. There had been rain all day, and there was

a damp feeling in the air. The leaves were thick upon the trees, and

heavy with wet; but the rain had ceased, though the sky was still dark;

and the hopeful birds were singing cheerfully. As I walked to and fro

in the garden, and the twilight began to close around me, their little

voices were hushed; and that peculiar silence which belongs to such an

evening in the country when the lightest trees are quite still, save for

the occasional droppings from their boughs, prevailed.

There was a little green perspective of trellis-work and ivy at the side

of our cottage, through which I could see, from the garden where I was

walking, into the road before the house. I happened to turn my eyes

towards this place, as I was thinking of many things; and I saw a figure

beyond, dressed in a plain cloak. It was bending eagerly towards me, and

beckoning.

‘Martha!’ said I, going to it.

‘Can you come with me?’ she inquired, in an agitated whisper. ‘I have

been to him, and he is not at home. I wrote down where he was to come,

and left it on his table with my own hand. They said he would not be out

long. I have tidings for him. Can you come directly?’

My answer was, to pass out at the gate immediately. She made a hasty

gesture with her hand, as if to entreat my patience and my silence,

and turned towards London, whence, as her dress betokened, she had come

expeditiously on foot.

I asked her if that were not our destination? On her motioning Yes,

with the same hasty gesture as before, I stopped an empty coach that was

coming by, and we got into it. When I asked her where the coachman was

to drive, she answered, ‘Anywhere near Golden Square! And quick!’--then

shrunk into a corner, with one trembling hand before her face, and the

other making the former gesture, as if she could not bear a voice.