‘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 honour 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 importune 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 detainees 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.’