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Charles Dickens
Chapter 19
Charles Dickens
 
 
1       I am doubtful whether I was at heart glad or sorry, when my
2  school-days drew to an end, and the time came for my leaving Doctor
3  Strong's. I had been very happy there, I had a great attachment
4  for the Doctor, and I was eminent and distinguished in that little
5  world. For these reasons I was sorry to go; but for other reasons,
6  unsubstantial enough, I was glad. Misty ideas of being a young man
7  at my own disposal, of the importance attaching to a young man at
8  his own disposal, of the wonderful things to be seen and done by
9  that magnificent animal, and the wonderful effects he could not
10  fail to make upon society, lured me away. So powerful were these
11  visionary considerations in my boyish mind, that I seem, according
12  to my present way of thinking, to have left school without natural
13  regret. The separation has not made the impression on me, that
14  other separations have. I try in vain to recall how I felt about
15  it, and what its circumstances were; but it is not momentous in my
16  recollection. I suppose the opening prospect confused me. I know
17  that my juvenile experiences went for little or nothing then; and
18  that life was more like a great fairy story, which I was just about
19  to begin to read, than anything else.

20       MY aunt and I had held many grave deliberations on the calling to
21  which I should be devoted. For a year or more I had endeavoured to
22  find a satisfactory answer to her often-repeated question, 'What I
23  would like to be?' But I had no particular liking, that I could
24  discover, for anything. If I could have been inspired with a
25  knowledge of the science of navigation, taken the command of a
26  fast-sailing expedition, and gone round the world on a triumphant
27  voyage of discovery, I think I might have considered myself
28  completely suited. But, in the absence of any such miraculous
29  provision, my desire was to apply myself to some pursuit that would
30  not lie too heavily upon her purse; and to do my duty in it,
31  whatever it might be.

32       Mr. Dick had regularly assisted at our councils, with a meditative
33  and sage demeanour. He never made a suggestion but once; and on
34  that occasion (I don't know what put it in his head), he suddenly
35  proposed that I should be 'a Brazier'. My aunt received this
36  proposal so very ungraciously, that he never ventured on a second;
37  but ever afterwards confined himself to looking watchfully at her
38  for her suggestions, and rattling his money.

39       'Trot, I tell you what, my dear,' said my aunt, one morning in the
40  Christmas season when I left school: 'as this knotty point is still
41  unsettled, and as we must not make a mistake in our decision if we
42  can help it, I think we had better take a little breathing-time.
43  In the meanwhile, you must try to look at it from a new point of
44  view, and not as a schoolboy.'

45       'I will, aunt.'

46       'It has occurred to me,' pursued my aunt, 'that a little change,
47  and a glimpse of life out of doors, may be useful in helping you to
48  know your own mind, and form a cooler judgement. Suppose you were
49  to go down into the old part of the country again, for instance,
50  and see that - that out-of-the-way woman with the savagest of
51  names,' said my aunt, rubbing her nose, for she could never
52  thoroughly forgive Peggotty for being so called.

53       'Of all things in the world, aunt, I should like it best!'

54       'Well,' said my aunt, 'that's lucky, for I should like it too. But
55  it's natural and rational that you should like it. And I am very
56  well persuaded that whatever you do, Trot, will always be natural
57  and rational.'

58       'I hope so, aunt.'

59       'Your sister, Betsey Trotwood,' said my aunt, 'would have been as
60  natural and rational a girl as ever breathed. You'll be worthy of
61  her, won't you?'

62       'I hope I shall be worthy of YOU, aunt. That will be enough for
63  me.'

64       'It's a mercy that poor dear baby of a mother of yours didn't
65  live,' said my aunt, looking at me approvingly, 'or she'd have been
66  so vain of her boy by this time, that her soft little head would
67  have been completely turned, if there was anything of it left to
68  turn.' (My aunt always excused any weakness of her own in my
69  behalf, by transferring it in this way to my poor mother.) 'Bless
70  me, Trotwood, how you do remind me of her!'

71       'Pleasantly, I hope, aunt?' said I.

72       'He's as like her, Dick,' said my aunt, emphatically, 'he's as like
73  her, as she was that afternoon before she began to fret - bless my
74  heart, he's as like her, as he can look at me out of his two eyes!'

75       'Is he indeed?' said Mr. Dick.

76       'And he's like David, too,' said my aunt, decisively.

77       'He is very like David!' said Mr. Dick.

78       'But what I want you to be, Trot,' resumed my aunt, '- I don't mean
79  physically, but morally; you are very well physically - is, a firm
80  fellow. A fine firm fellow, with a will of your own. With
81  resolution,' said my aunt, shaking her cap at me, and clenching her
82  hand. 'With determination. With character, Trot - with strength
83  of character that is not to be influenced, except on good reason,
84  by anybody, or by anything. That's what I want you to be. That's
85  what your father and mother might both have been, Heaven knows, and
86  been the better for it.'

87       I intimated that I hoped I should be what she described.

88       'That you may begin, in a small way, to have a reliance upon
89  yourself, and to act for yourself,' said my aunt, 'I shall send you
90  upon your trip, alone. I did think, once, of Mr. Dick's going with
91  you; but, on second thoughts, I shall keep him to take care of me.'

92       Mr. Dick, for a moment, looked a little disappointed; until the
93  honour and dignity of having to take care of the most wonderful
94  woman in the world, restored the sunshine to his face.

95       'Besides,' said my aunt, 'there's the Memorial -'

96       'Oh, certainly,' said Mr. Dick, in a hurry, 'I intend, Trotwood, to
97  get that done immediately - it really must be done immediately!
98  And then it will go in, you know - and then -' said Mr. Dick, after
99  checking himself, and pausing a long time, 'there'll be a pretty
100  kettle of fish!'

101       In pursuance of my aunt's kind scheme, I was shortly afterwards
102  fitted out with a handsome purse of money, and a portmanteau, and
103  tenderly dismissed upon my expedition. At parting, my aunt gave me
104  some good advice, and a good many kisses; and said that as her
105  object was that I should look about me, and should think a little,
106  she would recommend me to stay a few days in London, if I liked it,
107  either on my way down into Suffolk, or in coming back. In a word,
108  I was at liberty to do what I would, for three weeks or a month;
109  and no other conditions were imposed upon my freedom than the
110  before-mentioned thinking and looking about me, and a pledge to
111  write three times a week and faithfully report myself.

112       I went to Canterbury first, that I might take leave of Agnes and
113  Mr. Wickfield (my old room in whose house I had not yet
114  relinquished), and also of the good Doctor. Agnes was very glad to
115  see me, and told me that the house had not been like itself since
116  I had left it.

117       'I am sure I am not like myself when I am away,' said I. 'I seem
118  to want my right hand, when I miss you. Though that's not saying
119  much; for there's no head in my right hand, and no heart. Everyone
120  who knows you, consults with you, and is guided by you, Agnes.'

121       'Everyone who knows me, spoils me, I believe,' she answered,
122  smiling.

123       'No. it's because you are like no one else. You are so good, and
124  so sweet-tempered. You have such a gentle nature, and you are
125  always right.'

126       'You talk,' said Agnes, breaking into a pleasant laugh, as she sat
127  at work, 'as if I were the late Miss Larkins.'

128       'Come! It's not fair to abuse my confidence,' I answered,
129  reddening at the recollection of my blue enslaver. 'But I shall
130  confide in you, just the same, Agnes. I can never grow out of
131  that. Whenever I fall into trouble, or fall in love, I shall
132  always tell you, if you'll let me - even when I come to fall in
133  love in earnest.'

134       'Why, you have always been in earnest!' said Agnes, laughing again.

135       'Oh! that was as a child, or a schoolboy,' said I, laughing in my
136  turn, not without being a little shame-faced. 'Times are altering
137  now, and I suppose I shall be in a terrible state of earnestness
138  one day or other. My wonder is, that you are not in earnest
139  yourself, by this time, Agnes.'

140       Agnes laughed again, and shook her head.

141       'Oh, I know you are not!' said I, 'because if you had been you
142  would have told me. Or at least' - for I saw a faint blush in her
143  face, 'you would have let me find it out for myself. But there is
144  no one that I know of, who deserves to love you, Agnes. Someone of
145  a nobler character, and more worthy altogether than anyone I have
146  ever seen here, must rise up, before I give my consent. In the
147  time to come, I shall have a wary eye on all admirers; and shall
148  exact a great deal from the successful one, I assure you.'

149       We had gone on, so far, in a mixture of confidential jest and
150  earnest, that had long grown naturally out of our familiar
151  relations, begun as mere children. But Agnes, now suddenly lifting
152  up her eyes to mine, and speaking in a different manner, said:

153       'Trotwood, there is something that I want to ask you, and that I
154  may not have another opportunity of asking for a long time, perhaps
155  - something I would ask, I think, of no one else. Have you
156  observed any gradual alteration in Papa?'

157       I had observed it, and had often wondered whether she had too. I
158  must have shown as much, now, in my face; for her eyes were in a
159  moment cast down, and I saw tears in them.

160       'Tell me what it is,' she said, in a low voice.

161       'I think - shall I be quite plain, Agnes, liking him so much?'

162       'Yes,' she said.

163       'I think he does himself no good by the habit that has increased
164  upon him since I first came here. He is often very nervous - or I
165  fancy so.'

166       'It is not fancy,' said Agnes, shaking her head.

167       'His hand trembles, his speech is not plain, and his eyes look
168  wild. I have remarked that at those times, and when he is least
169  like himself, he is most certain to be wanted on some business.'

170       'By Uriah,' said Agnes.

171       'Yes; and the sense of being unfit for it, or of not having
172  understood it, or of having shown his condition in spite of
173  himself, seems to make him so uneasy, that next day he is worse,
174  and next day worse, and so he becomes jaded and haggard. Do not be
175  alarmed by what I say, Agnes, but in this state I saw him, only the
176  other evening, lay down his head upon his desk, and shed tears like
177  a child.'

178       Her hand passed softly before my lips while I was yet speaking, and
179  in a moment she had met her father at the door of the room, and was
180  hanging on his shoulder. The expression of her face, as they both
181  looked towards me, I felt to be very touching. There was such deep
182  fondness for him, and gratitude to him for all his love and care,
183  in her beautiful look; and there was such a fervent appeal to me to
184  deal tenderly by him, even in my inmost thoughts, and to let no
185  harsh construction find any place against him; she was, at once, so
186  proud of him and devoted to him, yet so compassionate and sorry,
187  and so reliant upon me to be so, too; that nothing she could have
188  said would have expressed more to me, or moved me more.

189       We were to drink tea at the Doctor's. We went there at the usual
190  hour; and round the study fireside found the Doctor, and his young
191  wife, and her mother. The Doctor, who made as much of my going
192  away as if I were going to China, received me as an honoured guest;
193  and called for a log of wood to be thrown on the fire, that he
194  might see the face of his old pupil reddening in the blaze.

195       'I shall not see many more new faces in Trotwood's stead,
196  Wickfield,' said the Doctor, warming his hands; 'I am getting lazy,
197  and want ease. I shall relinquish all my young people in another
198  six months, and lead a quieter life.'

199       'You have said so, any time these ten years, Doctor,' Mr. Wickfield
200  answered.

201       'But now I mean to do it,' returned the Doctor. 'My first master
202  will succeed me - I am in earnest at last - so you'll soon have to
203  arrange our contracts, and to bind us firmly to them, like a couple
204  of knaves.'

205       'And to take care,' said Mr. Wickfield, 'that you're not imposed
206  on, eh? As you certainly would be, in any contract you should make
207  for yourself. Well! I am ready. There are worse tasks than that,
208  in my calling.'

209       'I shall have nothing to think of then,' said the Doctor, with a
210  smile, 'but my Dictionary; and this other contract-bargain -
211  Annie.'

212       As Mr. Wickfield glanced towards her, sitting at the tea table by
213  Agnes, she seemed to me to avoid his look with such unwonted
214  hesitation and timidity, that his attention became fixed upon her,
215  as if something were suggested to his thoughts.

216       'There is a post come in from India, I observe,' he said, after a
217  short silence.

218       'By the by! and letters from Mr. Jack Maldon!' said the Doctor.

219       'Indeed!'
220  'Poor dear Jack!' said Mrs. Markleham, shaking her head. 'That
221  trying climate! - like living, they tell me, on a sand-heap,
222  underneath a burning-glass! He looked strong, but he wasn't. My
223  dear Doctor, it was his spirit, not his constitution, that he
224  ventured on so boldly. Annie, my dear, I am sure you must
225  perfectly recollect that your cousin never was strong - not what
226  can be called ROBUST, you know,' said Mrs. Markleham, with
227  emphasis, and looking round upon us generally, '- from the time
228  when my daughter and himself were children together, and walking
229  about, arm-in-arm, the livelong day.'

230       Annie, thus addressed, made no reply.

231       'Do I gather from what you say, ma'am, that Mr. Maldon is ill?'
232  asked Mr. Wickfield.

233       'Ill!' replied the Old Soldier. 'My dear sir, he's all sorts of
234  things.'

235       'Except well?' said Mr. Wickfield.

236       'Except well, indeed!' said the Old Soldier. 'He has had dreadful
237  strokes of the sun, no doubt, and jungle fevers and agues, and
238  every kind of thing you can mention. As to his liver,' said the
239  Old Soldier resignedly, 'that, of course, he gave up altogether,
240  when he first went out!'

241       'Does he say all this?' asked Mr. Wickfield.

242       'Say? My dear sir,' returned Mrs. Markleham, shaking her head and
243  her fan, 'you little know my poor Jack Maldon when you ask that
244  question. Say? Not he. You might drag him at the heels of four
245  wild horses first.'

246       'Mama!' said Mrs. Strong.

247       'Annie, my dear,' returned her mother, 'once for all, I must really
248  beg that you will not interfere with me, unless it is to confirm
249  what I say. You know as well as I do that your cousin Maldon would
250  be dragged at the heels of any number of wild horses - why should
251  I confine myself to four! I WON'T confine myself to four - eight,
252  sixteen, two-and-thirty, rather than say anything calculated to
253  overturn the Doctor's plans.'

254       'Wickfield's plans,' said the Doctor, stroking his face, and
255  looking penitently at his adviser. 'That is to say, our joint
256  plans for him. I said myself, abroad or at home.'

257       'And I said' added Mr. Wickfield gravely, 'abroad. I was the means
258  of sending him abroad. It's my responsibility.'

259       'Oh! Responsibility!' said the Old Soldier. 'Everything was done
260  for the best, my dear Mr. Wickfield; everything was done for the
261  kindest and best, we know. But if the dear fellow can't live
262  there, he can't live there. And if he can't live there, he'll die
263  there, sooner than he'll overturn the Doctor's plans. I know him,'
264  said the Old Soldier, fanning herself, in a sort of calm prophetic
265  agony, 'and I know he'll die there, sooner than he'll overturn the
266  Doctor's plans.'

267       'Well, well, ma'am,' said the Doctor cheerfully, 'I am not bigoted
268  to my plans, and I can overturn them myself. I can substitute some
269  other plans. If Mr. Jack Maldon comes home on account of ill
270  health, he must not be allowed to go back, and we must endeavour to
271  make some more suitable and fortunate provision for him in this
272  country.'

273       Mrs. Markleham was so overcome by this generous speech - which, I
274  need not say, she had not at all expected or led up to - that she
275  could only tell the Doctor it was like himself, and go several
276  times through that operation of kissing the sticks of her fan, and
277  then tapping his hand with it. After which she gently chid her
278  daughter Annie, for not being more demonstrative when such
279  kindnesses were showered, for her sake, on her old playfellow; and
280  entertained us with some particulars concerning other deserving
281  members of her family, whom it was desirable to set on their
282  deserving legs.

283       All this time, her daughter Annie never once spoke, or lifted up
284  her eyes. All this time, Mr. Wickfield had his glance upon her as
285  she sat by his own daughter's side. It appeared to me that he
286  never thought of being observed by anyone; but was so intent upon
287  her, and upon his own thoughts in connexion with her, as to be
288  quite absorbed. He now asked what Mr. Jack Maldon had actually
289  written in reference to himself, and to whom he had written?

290       'Why, here,' said Mrs. Markleham, taking a letter from the
291  chimney-piece above the Doctor's head, 'the dear fellow says to the
292  Doctor himself - where is it? Oh! - "I am sorry to inform you that
293  my health is suffering severely, and that I fear I may be reduced
294  to the necessity of returning home for a time, as the only hope of
295  restoration." That's pretty plain, poor fellow! His only hope of
296  restoration! But Annie's letter is plainer still. Annie, show me
297  that letter again.'

298       'Not now, mama,' she pleaded in a low tone.

299       'My dear, you absolutely are, on some subjects, one of the most
300  ridiculous persons in the world,' returned her mother, 'and perhaps
301  the most unnatural to the claims of your own family. We never
302  should have heard of the letter at all, I believe, unless I had
303  asked for it myself. Do you call that confidence, my love, towards
304  Doctor Strong? I am surprised. You ought to know better.'

305       The letter was reluctantly produced; and as I handed it to the old
306  lady, I saw how the unwilling hand from which I took it, trembled.

307       'Now let us see,' said Mrs. Markleham, putting her glass to her
308  eye, 'where the passage is. "The remembrance of old times, my
309  dearest Annie" - and so forth - it's not there. "The amiable old
310  Proctor" - who's he? Dear me, Annie, how illegibly your cousin
311  Maldon writes, and how stupid I am! "Doctor," of course. Ah!
312  amiable indeed!' Here she left off, to kiss her fan again, and
313  shake it at the Doctor, who was looking at us in a state of placid
314  satisfaction. 'Now I have found it. "You may not be surprised to
315  hear, Annie," - no, to be sure, knowing that he never was really
316  strong; what did I say just now? - "that I have undergone so much
317  in this distant place, as to have decided to leave it at all
318  hazards; on sick leave, if I can; on total resignation, if that is
319  not to be obtained. What I have endured, and do endure here, is
320  insupportable." And but for the promptitude of that best of
321  creatures,' said Mrs. Markleham, telegraphing the Doctor as before,
322  and refolding the letter, 'it would be insupportable to me to think
323  of.'

324       Mr. Wickfield said not one word, though the old lady looked to him
325  as if for his commentary on this intelligence; but sat severely
326  silent, with his eyes fixed on the ground. Long after the subject
327  was dismissed, and other topics occupied us, he remained so; seldom
328  raising his eyes, unless to rest them for a moment, with a
329  thoughtful frown, upon the Doctor, or his wife, or both.

330       The Doctor was very fond of music. Agnes sang with great sweetness
331  and expression, and so did Mrs. Strong. They sang together, and
332  played duets together, and we had quite a little concert. But I
333  remarked two things: first, that though Annie soon recovered her
334  composure, and was quite herself, there was a blank between her and
335  Mr. Wickfield which separated them wholly from each other;
336  secondly, that Mr. Wickfield seemed to dislike the intimacy between
337  her and Agnes, and to watch it with uneasiness. And now, I must
338  confess, the recollection of what I had seen on that night when Mr.
339  Maldon went away, first began to return upon me with a meaning it
340  had never had, and to trouble me. The innocent beauty of her face
341  was not as innocent to me as it had been; I mistrusted the natural
342  grace and charm of her manner; and when I looked at Agnes by her
343  side, and thought how good and true Agnes was, suspicions arose
344  within me that it was an ill-assorted friendship.

345       She was so happy in it herself, however, and the other was so happy
346  too, that they made the evening fly away as if it were but an hour.
347  It closed in an incident which I well remember. They were taking
348  leave of each other, and Agnes was going to embrace her and kiss
349  her, when Mr. Wickfield stepped between them, as if by accident,
350  and drew Agnes quickly away. Then I saw, as though all the
351  intervening time had been cancelled, and I were still standing in
352  the doorway on the night of the departure, the expression of that
353  night in the face of Mrs. Strong, as it confronted his.

354       I cannot say what an impression this made upon me, or how
355  impossible I found it, when I thought of her afterwards, to
356  separate her from this look, and remember her face in its innocent
357  loveliness again. It haunted me when I got home. I seemed to have
358  left the Doctor's roof with a dark cloud lowering on it. The
359  reverence that I had for his grey head, was mingled with
360  commiseration for his faith in those who were treacherous to him,
361  and with resentment against those who injured him. The impending
362  shadow of a great affliction, and a great disgrace that had no
363  distinct form in it yet, fell like a stain upon the quiet place
364  where I had worked and played as a boy, and did it a cruel wrong.
365  I had no pleasure in thinking, any more, of the grave old
366  broad-leaved aloe-trees, which remained shut up in themselves a
367  hundred years together, and of the trim smooth grass-plot, and the
368  stone urns, and the Doctor's walk, and the congenial sound of the
369  Cathedral bell hovering above them all. It was as if the tranquil
370  sanctuary of my boyhood had been sacked before my face, and its
371  peace and honour given to the winds.

372       But morning brought with it my parting from the old house, which
373  Agnes had filled with her influence; and that occupied my mind
374  sufficiently. I should be there again soon, no doubt; I might
375  sleep again - perhaps often - in my old room; but the days of my
376  inhabiting there were gone, and the old time was past. I was
377  heavier at heart when I packed up such of my books and clothes as
378  still remained there to be sent to Dover, than I cared to show to
379  Uriah Heep; who was so officious to help me, that I uncharitably
380  thought him mighty glad that I was going.

381       I got away from Agnes and her father, somehow, with an indifferent
382  show of being very manly, and took my seat upon the box of the
383  London coach. I was so softened and forgiving, going through the
384  town, that I had half a mind to nod to my old enemy the butcher,
385  and throw him five shillings to drink. But he looked such a very
386  obdurate butcher as he stood scraping the great block in the shop,
387  and moreover, his appearance was so little improved by the loss of
388  a front tooth which I had knocked out, that I thought it best to
389  make no advances.

390       The main object on my mind, I remember, when we got fairly on the
391  road, was to appear as old as possible to the coachman, and to
392  speak extremely gruff. The latter point I achieved at great
393  personal inconvenience; but I stuck to it, because I felt it was a
394  grown-up sort of thing.

395       'You are going through, sir?' said the coachman.

396       'Yes, William,' I said, condescendingly (I knew him); 'I am going
397  to London. I shall go down into Suffolk afterwards.'

398       'Shooting, sir?' said the coachman.

399       He knew as well as I did that it was just as likely, at that time
400  of year, I was going down there whaling; but I felt complimented,
401  too.

402       'I don't know,' I said, pretending to be undecided, 'whether I
403  shall take a shot or not.'
404  'Birds is got wery shy, I'm told,' said William.

405       'So I understand,' said I.

406       'Is Suffolk your county, sir?' asked William.

407       'Yes,' I said, with some importance. 'Suffolk's my county.'

408       'I'm told the dumplings is uncommon fine down there,' said William.

409       I was not aware of it myself, but I felt it necessary to uphold the
410  institutions of my county, and to evince a familiarity with them;
411  so I shook my head, as much as to say, 'I believe you!'

412       'And the Punches,' said William. 'There's cattle! A Suffolk
413  Punch, when he's a good un, is worth his weight in gold. Did you
414  ever breed any Suffolk Punches yourself, sir?'

415       'N-no,' I said, 'not exactly.'

416       'Here's a gen'lm'n behind me, I'll pound it,' said William, 'as has
417  bred 'em by wholesale.'

418       The gentleman spoken of was a gentleman with a very unpromising
419  squint, and a prominent chin, who had a tall white hat on with a
420  narrow flat brim, and whose close-fitting drab trousers seemed to
421  button all the way up outside his legs from his boots to his hips.
422  His chin was cocked over the coachman's shoulder, so near to me,
423  that his breath quite tickled the back of my head; and as I looked
424  at him, he leered at the leaders with the eye with which he didn't
425  squint, in a very knowing manner.

426       'Ain't you?' asked William.

427       'Ain't I what?' said the gentleman behind.

428       'Bred them Suffolk Punches by wholesale?'

429       'I should think so,' said the gentleman. 'There ain't no sort of
430  orse that I ain't bred, and no sort of dorg. Orses and dorgs is
431  some men's fancy. They're wittles and drink to me - lodging, wife,
432  and children - reading, writing, and Arithmetic - snuff, tobacker,
433  and sleep.'

434       'That ain't a sort of man to see sitting behind a coach-box, is it
435  though?' said William in my ear, as he handled the reins.

436       I construed this remark into an indication of a wish that he should
437  have my place, so I blushingly offered to resign it.

438       'Well, if you don't mind, sir,' said William, 'I think it would be
439  more correct.'

440       I have always considered this as the first fall I had in life.
441  When I booked my place at the coach office I had had 'Box Seat'
442  written against the entry, and had given the book-keeper
443  half-a-crown. I was got up in a special great-coat and shawl,
444  expressly to do honour to that distinguished eminence; had
445  glorified myself upon it a good deal; and had felt that I was a
446  credit to the coach. And here, in the very first stage, I was
447  supplanted by a shabby man with a squint, who had no other merit
448  than smelling like a livery-stables, and being able to walk across
449  me, more like a fly than a human being, while the horses were at a
450  canter!

451       A distrust of myself, which has often beset me in life on small
452  occasions, when it would have been better away, was assuredly not
453  stopped in its growth by this little incident outside the
454  Canterbury coach. It was in vain to take refuge in gruffness of
455  speech. I spoke from the pit of my stomach for the rest of the
456  journey, but I felt completely extinguished, and dreadfully young.

457       It was curious and interesting, nevertheless, to be sitting up
458  there behind four horses: well educated, well dressed, and with
459  plenty of money in my pocket; and to look out for the places where
460  I had slept on my weary journey. I had abundant occupation for my
461  thoughts, in every conspicuous landmark on the road. When I looked
462  down at the trampers whom we passed, and saw that well-remembered
463  style of face turned up, I felt as if the tinker's blackened hand
464  were in the bosom of my shirt again. When we clattered through the
465  narrow street of Chatham, and I caught a glimpse, in passing, of
466  the lane where the old monster lived who had bought my jacket, I
467  stretched my neck eagerly to look for the place where I had sat, in
468  the sun and in the shade, waiting for my money. When we came, at
469  last, within a stage of London, and passed the veritable Salem
470  House where Mr. Creakle had laid about him with a heavy hand, I
471  would have given all I had, for lawful permission to get down and
472  thrash him, and let all the boys out like so many caged sparrows.

473       We went to the Golden Cross at Charing Cross, then a mouldy sort of
474  establishment in a close neighbourhood. A waiter showed me into
475  the coffee-room; and a chambermaid introduced me to my small
476  bedchamber, which smelt like a hackney-coach, and was shut up like
477  a family vault. I was still painfully conscious of my youth, for
478  nobody stood in any awe of me at all: the chambermaid being utterly
479  indifferent to my opinions on any subject, and the waiter being
480  familiar with me, and offering advice to my inexperience.

481       'Well now,' said the waiter, in a tone of confidence, 'what would
482  you like for dinner? Young gentlemen likes poultry in general:
483  have a fowl!'

484       I told him, as majestically as I could, that I wasn't in the humour
485  for a fowl.

486       'Ain't you?' said the waiter. 'Young gentlemen is generally tired
487  of beef and mutton: have a weal cutlet!'

488       I assented to this proposal, in default of being able to suggest
489  anything else.

490       'Do you care for taters?' said the waiter, with an insinuating
491  smile, and his head on one side. 'Young gentlemen generally has
492  been overdosed with taters.'

493       I commanded him, in my deepest voice, to order a veal cutlet and
494  potatoes, and all things fitting; and to inquire at the bar if
495  there were any letters for Trotwood Copperfield, Esquire - which I
496  knew there were not, and couldn't be, but thought it manly to
497  appear to expect.

498       He soon came back to say that there were none (at which I was much
499  surprised) and began to lay the cloth for my dinner in a box by the
500  fire. While he was so engaged, he asked me what I would take with
501  it; and on my replying 'Half a pint of sherry,'thought it a
502  favourable opportunity, I am afraid, to extract that measure of
503  wine from the stale leavings at the bottoms of several small
504  decanters. I am of this opinion, because, while I was reading the
505  newspaper, I observed him behind a low wooden partition, which was
506  his private apartment, very busy pouring out of a number of those
507  vessels into one, like a chemist and druggist making up a
508  prescription. When the wine came, too, I thought it flat; and it
509  certainly had more English crumbs in it, than were to be expected
510  in a foreign wine in anything like a pure state, but I was bashful
511  enough to drink it, and say nothing.

512       Being then in a pleasant frame of mind (from which I infer that
513  poisoning is not always disagreeable in some stages of the
514  process), I resolved to go to the play. It was Covent Garden
515  Theatre that I chose; and there, from the back of a centre box, I
516  saw Julius Caesar and the new Pantomime. To have all those noble
517  Romans alive before me, and walking in and out for my
518  entertainment, instead of being the stern taskmasters they had been
519  at school, was a most novel and delightful effect. But the mingled
520  reality and mystery of the whole show, the influence upon me of the
521  poetry, the lights, the music, the company, the smooth stupendous
522  changes of glittering and brilliant scenery, were so dazzling, and
523  opened up such illimitable regions of delight, that when I came out
524  into the rainy street, at twelve o'clock at night, I felt as if I
525  had come from the clouds, where I had been leading a romantic life
526  for ages, to a bawling, splashing, link-lighted,
527  umbrella-struggling, hackney-coach-jostling, patten-clinking,
528  muddy, miserable world.

529       I had emerged by another door, and stood in the street for a little
530  while, as if I really were a stranger upon earth: but the
531  unceremonious pushing and hustling that I received, soon recalled
532  me to myself, and put me in the road back to the hotel; whither I
533  went, revolving the glorious vision all the way; and where, after
534  some porter and oysters, I sat revolving it still, at past one
535  o'clock, with my eyes on the coffee-room fire.

536       I was so filled with the play, and with the past - for it was, in
537  a manner, like a shining transparency, through which I saw my
538  earlier life moving along - that I don't know when the figure of a
539  handsome well-formed young man dressed with a tasteful easy
540  negligence which I have reason to remember very well, became a real
541  presence to me. But I recollect being conscious of his company
542  without having noticed his coming in - and my still sitting,
543  musing, over the coffee-room fire.

544       At last I rose to go to bed, much to the relief of the sleepy
545  waiter, who had got the fidgets in his legs, and was twisting them,
546  and hitting them, and putting them through all kinds of contortions
547  in his small pantry. In going towards the door, I passed the
548  person who had come in, and saw him plainly. I turned directly,
549  came back, and looked again. He did not know me, but I knew him in
550  a moment.

551       At another time I might have wanted the confidence or the decision
552  to speak to him, and might have put it off until next day, and
553  might have lost him. But, in the then condition of my mind, where
554  the play was still running high, his former protection of me
555  appeared so deserving of my gratitude, and my old love for him
556  overflowed my breast so freshly and spontaneously, that I went up
557  to him at once, with a fast-beating heart, and said:

558       'Steerforth! won't you speak to me?'

559       He looked at me - just as he used to look, sometimes -but I saw no
560  recognition in his face.

561       'You don't remember me, I am afraid,' said I.

562       'My God!' he suddenly exclaimed. 'It's little Copperfield!'

563       I grasped him by both hands, and could not let them go. But for
564  very shame, and the fear that it might displease him, I could have
565  held him round the neck and cried.

566       'I never, never, never was so glad! My dear Steerforth, I am so
567  overjoyed to see you!'

568       'And I am rejoiced to see you, too!' he said, shaking my hands
569  heartily. 'Why, Copperfield, old boy, don't be overpowered!' And
570  yet he was glad, too, I thought, to see how the delight I had in
571  meeting him affected me.

572       I brushed away the tears that my utmost resolution had not been
573  able to keep back, and I made a clumsy laugh of it, and we sat down
574  together, side by side.

575       'Why, how do you come to be here?' said Steerforth, clapping me on
576  the shoulder.

577       'I came here by the Canterbury coach, today. I have been adopted
578  by an aunt down in that part of the country, and have just finished
579  my education there. How do YOU come to be here, Steerforth?'

580       'Well, I am what they call an Oxford man,' he returned; 'that is to
581  say, I get bored to death down there, periodically - and I am on my
582  way now to my mother's. You're a devilish amiable-looking fellow,
583  Copperfield. just what you used to be, now I look at you! Not
584  altered in the least!'

585       'I knew you immediately,' I said; 'but you are more easily
586  remembered.'

587       He laughed as he ran his hand through the clustering curls of his
588  hair, and said gaily:

589       'Yes, I am on an expedition of duty. My mother lives a little way
590  out of town; and the roads being in a beastly condition, and our
591  house tedious enough, I remained here tonight instead of going on.
592  I have not been in town half-a-dozen hours, and those I have been
593  dozing and grumbling away at the play.'

594       'I have been at the play, too,' said I. 'At Covent Garden. What
595  a delightful and magnificent entertainment, Steerforth!'

596       Steerforth laughed heartily.

597       'My dear young Davy,' he said, clapping me on the shoulder again,
598  'you are a very Daisy. The daisy of the field, at sunrise, is not
599  fresher than you are. I have been at Covent Garden, too, and there
600  never was a more miserable business. Holloa, you sir!'

601       This was addressed to the waiter, who had been very attentive to
602  our recognition, at a distance, and now came forward deferentially.

603       'Where have you put my friend, Mr. Copperfield?' said Steerforth.

604       'Beg your pardon, sir?'

605       'Where does he sleep? What's his number? You know what I mean,'
606  said Steerforth.

607       'Well, sir,' said the waiter, with an apologetic air. 'Mr.
608  Copperfield is at present in forty-four, sir.'

609       'And what the devil do you mean,' retorted Steerforth, 'by putting
610  Mr. Copperfield into a little loft over a stable?'

611       'Why, you see we wasn't aware, sir,' returned the waiter, still
612  apologetically, 'as Mr. Copperfield was anyways particular. We can
613  give Mr. Copperfield seventy-two, sir, if it would be preferred.
614  Next you, sir.'

615       'Of course it would be preferred,' said Steerforth. 'And do it at
616  once.'
617  The waiter immediately withdrew to make the exchange. Steerforth,
618  very much amused at my having been put into forty-four, laughed
619  again, and clapped me on the shoulder again, and invited me to
620  breakfast with him next morning at ten o'clock - an invitation I
621  was only too proud and happy to accept. It being now pretty late,
622  we took our candles and went upstairs, where we parted with
623  friendly heartiness at his door, and where I found my new room a
624  great improvement on my old one, it not being at all musty, and
625  having an immense four-post bedstead in it, which was quite a
626  little landed estate. Here, among pillows enough for six, I soon
627  fell asleep in a blissful condition, and dreamed of ancient Rome,
628  Steerforth, and friendship, until the early morning coaches,
629  rumbling out of the archway underneath, made me dream of thunder
630  and the gods.

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