Chapter 17
A SOCIAL CHORUS
Amazement sits enthroned upon the countenances of Mr and Mrs AlfredLammle's circle of acquaintance, when the disposal of their first-classfurniture and effects (including a Billiard Table in capital letters),'by auction, under a bill of sale,' is publicly announced on a wavinghearthrug in Sackville Street. But, nobody is half so much amazed asHamilton Veneering, Esquire, M.P. for Pocket-Breaches, who instantlybegins to find out that the Lammles are the only people ever entered onhis soul's register, who are NOT the oldest and dearest friends he hasin the world. Mrs Veneering, W.M.P. for Pocket-Breaches, like a faithfulwife shares her husband's discovery and inexpressible astonishment.Perhaps the Veneerings twain may deem the last unutterable feelingparticularly due to their reputation, by reason that once upon a timesome of the longer heads in the City are whispered to have shakenthemselves, when Veneering's extensive dealings and great wealth werementioned. But, it is certain that neither Mr nor Mrs Veneering canfind words to wonder in, and it becomes necessary that they give to theoldest and dearest friends they have in the world, a wondering dinner.
For, it is by this time noticeable that, whatever befals, the Veneeringsmust give a dinner upon it. Lady Tippins lives in a chronic stateof invitation to dine with the Veneerings, and in a chronic state ofinflammation arising from the dinners. Boots and Brewer go about incabs, with no other intelligible business on earth than to beat uppeople to come and dine with the Veneerings. Veneering pervades thelegislative lobbies, intent upon entrapping his fellow-legislators todinner. Mrs Veneering dined with five-and-twenty bran-new faces overnight; calls upon them all to day; sends them every one a dinner-cardto-morrow, for the week after next; before that dinner is digested,calls upon their brothers and sisters, their sons and daughters, theirnephews and nieces, their aunts and uncles and cousins, and invitesthem all to dinner. And still, as at first, howsoever, the dining circlewidens, it is to be observed that all the diners are consistent inappearing to go to the Veneerings, not to dine with Mr and Mrs Veneering(which would seem to be the last thing in their minds), but to dine withone another.
Perhaps, after all,--who knows?--Veneering may find this dining, thoughexpensive, remunerative, in the sense that it makes champions.Mr Podsnap, as a representative man, is not alone in caring veryparticularly for his own dignity, if not for that of his acquaintances,and therefore in angrily supporting the acquaintances who have taken outhis Permit, lest, in their being lessened, he should be. The gold andsilver camels, and the ice-pails, and the rest of the Veneering tabledecorations, make a brilliant show, and when I, Podsnap, casually remarkelsewhere that I dined last Monday with a gorgeous caravan of camels,I find it personally offensive to have it hinted to me that they arebroken-kneed camels, or camels labouring under suspicion of any sort. 'Idon't display camels myself, I am above them: I am a more solid man; butthese camels have basked in the light of my countenance, and how dareyou, sir, insinuate to me that I have irradiated any but unimpeachablecamels?'
The camels are polishing up in the Analytical's pantry for the dinnerof wonderment on the occasion of the Lammles going to pieces, and MrTwemlow feels a little queer on the sofa at his lodgings over the stableyard in Duke Street, Saint James's, in consequence of having takentwo advertised pills at about mid-day, on the faith of the printedrepresentation accompanying the box (price one and a penny halfpenny,government stamp included), that the same 'will be found highly salutaryas a precautionary measure in connection with the pleasures of thetable.' To whom, while sickly with the fancy of an insoluble pillsticking in his gullet, and also with the sensation of a deposit of warmgum languidly wandering within him a little lower down, a servant enterswith the announcement that a lady wishes to speak with him.
'A lady!' says Twemlow, pluming his ruffled feathers. 'Ask the favour ofthe lady's name.'
The lady's name is Lammle. The lady will not detain Mr Twemlow longerthan a very few minutes. The lady is sure that Mr Twemlow will do herthe kindness to see her, on being told that she particularly desiresa short interview. The lady has no doubt whatever of Mr Twemlow'scompliance when he hears her name. Has begged the servant to beparticular not to mistake her name. Would have sent in a card, but hasnone.
'Show the lady in.' Lady shown in, comes in.
Mr Twemlow's little rooms are modestly furnished, in an old-fashionedmanner (rather like the housekeeper's room at Snigsworthy Park), andwould be bare of mere ornament, were it not for a full-length engravingof the sublime Snigsworth over the chimneypiece, snorting at aCorinthian column, with an enormous roll of paper at his feet, and aheavy curtain going to tumble down on his head; those accessories beingunderstood to represent the noble lord as somehow in the act of savinghis country.
'Pray take a seat, Mrs Lammle.' Mrs Lammle takes a seat and opens theconversation.
'I have no doubt, Mr Twemlow, that you have heard of a reverse offortune having befallen us. Of course you have heard of it, for no kindof news travels so fast--among one's friends especially.'
Mindful of the wondering dinner, Twemlow, with a little twinge, admitsthe imputation.
'Probably it will not,' says Mrs Lammle, with a certain hardened mannerupon her, that makes Twemlow shrink, 'have surprised you so much as someothers, after what passed between us at the house which is now turnedout at windows. I have taken the liberty of calling upon you, MrTwemlow, to add a sort of postscript to what I said that day.'
Mr Twemlow's dry and hollow cheeks become more dry and hollow at theprospect of some new complication.
'Really,' says the uneasy little gentleman, 'really, Mrs Lammle, Ishould take it as a favour if you could excuse me from any furtherconfidence. It has ever been one of the objects of my life--which,unfortunately, has not had many objects--to be inoffensive, and to keepout of cabals and interferences.'
Mrs Lammle, by far the more observant of the two, scarcely finds itnecessary to look at Twemlow while he speaks, so easily does she readhim.
'My postscript--to retain the term I have used'--says Mrs Lammle, fixingher eyes on his face, to enforce what she says herself--'coincidesexactly with what you say, Mr Twemlow. So far from troubling you withany new confidence, I merely wish to remind you what the old one was. Sofar from asking you for interference, I merely wish to claim your strictneutrality.'
Twemlow going on to reply, she rests her eyes again, knowing her ears tobe quite enough for the contents of so weak a vessel.
'I can, I suppose,' says Twemlow, nervously, 'offer no reasonableobjection to hearing anything that you do me the honour to wish to sayto me under those heads. But if I may, with all possible delicacy andpoliteness, entreat you not to range beyond them, I--I beg to do so.'
'Sir,' says Mrs Lammle, raising her eyes to his face again, and quitedaunting him with her hardened manner, 'I imparted to you a certainpiece of knowledge, to be imparted again, as you thought best, to acertain person.'
'Which I did,' says Twemlow.
'And for doing which, I thank you; though, indeed, I scarcely know whyI turned traitress to my husband in the matter, for the girl is a poorlittle fool. I was a poor little fool once myself; I can find no betterreason.' Seeing the effect she produces on him by her indifferent laughand cold look, she keeps her eyes upon him as she proceeds. 'Mr Twemlow,if you should chance to see my husband, or to see me, or to see both ofus, in the favour or confidence of any one else--whether of our commonacquaintance or not, is of no consequence--you have no right to useagainst us the knowledge I intrusted you with, for one special purposewhich has been accomplished. This is what I came to say. It is not astipulation; to a gentleman it is simply a reminder.'
Twemlow sits murmuring to himself with his hand to his forehead.
'It is so plain a case,' Mrs Lammle goes on, 'as between me (from thefirst relying on your honour) and you, that I will not waste anotherword upon it.' She looks steadily at Mr Twemlow, until, with a shrug,he makes her a little one-sided bow, as though saying 'Yes, I think youhave a right to rely upon me,' and then she moistens her lips, and showsa sense of relief.
'I trust I have kept the promise I made through your servant, that Iwould detain you a very few minutes. I need trouble you no longer, MrTwemlow.'
'Stay!' says Twemlow, rising as she rises. 'Pardon me a moment. I shouldnever have sought you out, madam, to say what I am going to say, butsince you have sought me out and are here, I will throw it off my mind.Was it quite consistent, in candour, with our taking that resolutionagainst Mr Fledgeby, that you should afterwards address Mr Fledgeby asyour dear and confidential friend, and entreat a favour of Mr Fledgeby?Always supposing that you did; I assert no knowledge of my own on thesubject; it has been represented to me that you did.'
'Then he told you?' retorts Mrs Lammle, who again has saved her eyeswhile listening, and uses them with strong effect while speaking.
'Yes.'
'It is strange that he should have told you the truth,' says MrsLammle, seriously pondering. 'Pray where did a circumstance so veryextraordinary happen?'
Twemlow hesitates. He is shorter than the lady as well as weaker, and,as she stands above him with her hardened manner and her well-used eyes,he finds himself at such a disadvantage that he would like to be of theopposite sex.
'May I ask where it happened, Mr Twemlow? In strict confidence?'
'I must confess,' says the mild little gentleman, coming to his answerby degrees, 'that I felt some compunctions when Mr Fledgeby mentionedit. I must admit that I could not regard myself in an agreeable light.More particularly, as Mr Fledgeby did, with great civility, which Icould not feel that I deserved from him, render me the same service thatyou had entreated him to render you.'
It is a part of the true nobility of the poor gentleman's soul to saythis last sentence. 'Otherwise,' he has reflected, 'I shall assume thesuperior position of having no difficulties of my own, while I know ofhers. Which would be mean, very mean.'
'Was Mr Fledgeby's advocacy as effectual in your case as in ours?' MrsLammle demands.
'As ineffectual.'
'Can you make up your mind to tell me where you saw Mr Fledgeby, MrTwemlow?'
'I beg your pardon. I fully intended to have done so. The reservationwas not intentional. I encountered Mr Fledgeby, quite by accident, onthe spot.--By the expression, on the spot, I mean at Mr Riah's in SaintMary Axe.'
'Have you the misfortune to be in Mr Riah's hands then?'
'Unfortunately, madam,' returns Twemlow, 'the one money obligation towhich I stand committed, the one debt of my life (but it is a just debt;pray observe that I don't dispute it), has fallen into Mr Riah's hands.'
'Mr Twemlow,' says Mrs Lammle, fixing his eyes with hers: which he wouldprevent her doing if he could, but he can't; 'it has fallen into MrFledgeby's hands. Mr Riah is his mask. It has fallen into Mr Fledgeby'shands. Let me tell you that, for your guidance. The information may beof use to you, if only to prevent your credulity, in judging anotherman's truthfulness by your own, from being imposed upon.'
'Impossible!' cries Twemlow, standing aghast. 'How do you know it?'
'I scarcely know how I know it. The whole train of circumstances seemedto take fire at once, and show it to me.'
'Oh! Then you have no proof.'
'It is very strange,' says Mrs Lammle, coldly and boldly, and with somedisdain, 'how like men are to one another in some things, though theircharacters are as different as can be! No two men can have less affinitybetween them, one would say, than Mr Twemlow and my husband. Yet myhusband replies to me ”You have no proof,” and Mr Twemlow replies to mewith the very same words!'
'But why, madam?' Twemlow ventures gently to argue. 'Consider whythe very same words? Because they state the fact. Because you HAVE noproof.'
'Men are very wise in their way,' quoth Mrs Lammle, glancing haughtilyat the Snigsworth portrait, and shaking out her dress before departing;'but they have wisdom to learn. My husband, who is not over-confiding,ingenuous, or inexperienced, sees this plain thing no more than MrTwemlow does--because there is no proof! Yet I believe five women out ofsix, in my place, would see it as clearly as I do. However, I will neverrest (if only in remembrance of Mr Fledgeby's having kissed my hand)until my husband does see it. And you will do well for yourself to seeit from this time forth, Mr Twemlow, though I CAN give you no proof.'
As she moves towards the door, Mr Twemlow, attending on her, expresseshis soothing hope that the condition of Mr Lammle's affairs is notirretrievable.
'I don't know,' Mrs Lammle answers, stopping, and sketching out thepattern of the paper on the wall with the point of her parasol; 'itdepends. There may be an opening for him dawning now, or there may benone. We shall soon find out. If none, we are bankrupt here, and must goabroad, I suppose.'
Mr Twemlow, in his good-natured desire to make the best of it, remarksthat there are pleasant lives abroad.
'Yes,' returns Mrs Lammle, still sketching on the wall; 'but I doubtwhether billiard-playing, card-playing, and so forth, for the means tolive under suspicion at a dirty table-d'hote, is one of them.'
It is much for Mr Lammle, Twemlow politely intimates (though greatlyshocked), to have one always beside him who is attached to him in allhis fortunes, and whose restraining influence will prevent him fromcourses that would be discreditable and ruinous. As he says it, MrsLammle leaves off sketching, and looks at him.
'Restraining influence, Mr Twemlow? We must eat and drink, and dress,and have a roof over our heads. Always beside him and attached in allhis fortunes? Not much to boast of in that; what can a woman at my agedo? My husband and I deceived one another when we married; we must bearthe consequences of the deception--that is to say, bear one another, andbear the burden of scheming together for to-day's dinner and to-morrow'sbreakfast--till death divorces us.'
With those words, she walks out into Duke Street, Saint James's. MrTwemlow returning to his sofa, lays down his aching head on its slipperylittle horsehair bolster, with a strong internal conviction that apainful interview is not the kind of thing to be taken after the dinnerpills which are so highly salutary in connexion with the pleasures ofthe table.
But, six o'clock in the evening finds the worthy little gentlemangetting better, and also getting himself into his obsolete little silkstockings and pumps, for the wondering dinner at the Veneerings. Andseven o'clock in the evening finds him trotting out into Duke Street, totrot to the corner and save a sixpence in coach-hire.
Tippins the divine has dined herself into such a condition by this time,that a morbid mind might desire her, for a blessed change, to supat last, and turn into bed. Such a mind has Mr Eugene Wrayburn, whomTwemlow finds contemplating Tippins with the moodiest of visages,while that playful creature rallies him on being so long overdue at thewoolsack. Skittish is Tippins with Mortimer Lightwood too, and has rapsto give him with her fan for having been best man at the nuptials ofthese deceiving what's-their-names who have gone to pieces. Though,indeed, the fan is generally lively, and taps away at the men inall directions, with something of a grisly sound suggestive of theclattering of Lady Tippins's bones.
A new race of intimate friends has sprung up at Veneering's since hewent into Parliament for the public good, to whom Mrs Veneering is veryattentive. These friends, like astronomical distances, are only to bespoken of in the very largest figures. Boots says that one of them is aContractor who (it has been calculated) gives employment, directly andindirectly, to five hundred thousand men. Brewer says that another ofthem is a Chairman, in such request at so many Boards, so far apart,that he never travels less by railway than three thousand miles a week.Buffer says that another of them hadn't a sixpence eighteen months ago,and, through the brilliancy of his genius in getting those shares issuedat eighty-five, and buying them all up with no money and selling themat par for cash, has now three hundred and seventy-five thousandpounds--Buffer particularly insisting on the odd seventy-five, anddeclining to take a farthing less. With Buffer, Boots, and Brewer, LadyTippins is eminently facetious on the subject of these Fathers of theScrip-Church: surveying them through her eyeglass, and inquiring whetherBoots and Brewer and Buffer think they will make her fortune if shemakes love to them? with other pleasantries of that nature. Veneering,in his different way, is much occupied with the Fathers too, piouslyretiring with them into the conservatory, from which retreat the word'Committee' is occasionally heard, and where the Fathers instructVeneering how he must leave the valley of the piano on his left,take the level of the mantelpiece, cross by an open cutting at thecandelabra, seize the carrying-traffic at the console, and cut up theopposition root and branch at the window curtains.
Mr and Mrs Podsnap are of the company, and the Fathers descry in MrsPodsnap a fine woman. She is consigned to a Father--Boots's Father,who employs five hundred thousand men--and is brought to anchor onVeneering's left; thus affording opportunity to the sportive Tippins onhis right (he, as usual, being mere vacant space), to entreat to be toldsomething about those loves of Navvies, and whether they really do liveon raw beefsteaks, and drink porter out of their barrows. But, in spiteof such little skirmishes it is felt that this was to be a wonderingdinner, and that the wondering must not be neglected. Accordingly,Brewer, as the man who has the greatest reputation to sustain, becomesthe interpreter of the general instinct.
'I took,' says Brewer in a favourable pause, 'a cab this morning, and Irattled off to that Sale.'
Boots (devoured by envy) says, 'So did I.'
Buffer says, 'So did I'; but can find nobody to care whether he did ornot.
'And what was it like?' inquires Veneering.
'I assure you,' replies Brewer, looking about for anybody else toaddress his answer to, and giving the preference to Lightwood; 'I assureyou, the things were going for a song. Handsome things enough, butfetching nothing.'
'So I heard this afternoon,' says Lightwood.
Brewer begs to know now, would it be fair to ask a professional manhow--on--earth--these--people--ever--did--come--TO--such--A--totalsmash? (Brewer's divisions being for emphasis.)
Lightwood replies that he was consulted certainly, but could give noopinion which would pay off the Bill of Sale, and therefore violates noconfidence in supposing that it came of their living beyond their means.
'But how,' says Veneering, 'CAN people do that!'
Hah! That is felt on all hands to be a shot in the bull's eye. How CANpeople do that! The Analytical Chemist going round with champagne, looksvery much as if HE could give them a pretty good idea how people didthat, if he had a mind.
'How,' says Mrs Veneering, laying down her fork to press her aquilinehands together at the tips of the fingers, and addressing the Father whotravels the three thousand miles per week: 'how a mother can look ather baby, and know that she lives beyond her husband's means, I cannotimagine.'
Eugene suggests that Mrs Lammle, not being a mother, had no baby to lookat.
'True,' says Mrs Veneering, 'but the principle is the same.'
Boots is clear that the principle is the same. So is Buffer. It is theunfortunate destiny of Buffer to damage a cause by espousing it. Therest of the company have meekly yielded to the proposition that theprinciple is the same, until Buffer says it is; when instantly a generalmurmur arises that the principle is not the same.
'But I don't understand,' says the Father of the three hundred andseventy-five thousand pounds, '--if these people spoken of, occupied theposition of being in society--they were in society?'
Veneering is bound to confess that they dined here, and were evenmarried from here.
'Then I don't understand,' pursues the Father, 'how even their livingbeyond their means could bring them to what has been termed a totalsmash. Because, there is always such a thing as an adjustment ofaffairs, in the case of people of any standing at all.'
Eugene (who would seem to be in a gloomy state of suggestiveness),suggests, 'Suppose you have no means and live beyond them?'
This is too insolvent a state of things for the Father to entertain. Itis too insolvent a state of things for any one with any self-respectto entertain, and is universally scouted. But, it is so amazing how anypeople can have come to a total smash, that everybody feels bound toaccount for it specially. One of the Fathers says, 'Gaming table.'Another of the Fathers says, 'Speculated without knowing thatspeculation is a science.' Boots says 'Horses.' Lady Tippins says to herfan, 'Two establishments.' Mr Podsnap, saying nothing, is referredto for his opinion; which he delivers as follows; much flushed andextremely angry:
'Don't ask me. I desire to take no part in the discussion of thesepeople's affairs. I abhor the subject. It is an odious subject, anoffensive subject, a subject that makes me sick, and I--' And with hisfavourite right-arm flourish which sweeps away everything and settles itfor ever, Mr Podsnap sweeps these inconveniently unexplainable wretcheswho have lived beyond their means and gone to total smash, off the faceof the universe.
Eugene, leaning back in his chair, is observing Mr Podsnap with anirreverent face, and may be about to offer a new suggestion, whenthe Analytical is beheld in collision with the Coachman; the Coachmanmanifesting a purpose of coming at the company with a silver salver,as though intent upon making a collection for his wife and family; theAnalytical cutting him off at the sideboard. The superior stateliness,if not the superior generalship, of the Analytical prevails over a manwho is as nothing off the box; and the Coachman, yielding up his salver,retires defeated.
Then, the Analytical, perusing a scrap of paper lying on the salver,with the air of a literary Censor, adjusts it, takes his time aboutgoing to the table with it, and presents it to Mr Eugene Wrayburn.Whereupon the pleasant Tippins says aloud, 'The Lord Chancellor hasresigned!'
With distracting coolness and slowness--for he knows the curiosity ofthe Charmer to be always devouring--Eugene makes a pretence of gettingout an eyeglass, polishing it, and reading the paper with difficulty,long after he has seen what is written on it. What is written on it inwet ink, is:
'Young Blight.'
'Waiting?' says Eugene over his shoulder, in confidence, with theAnalytical.
'Waiting,' returns the Analytical in responsive confidence.
Eugene looks 'Excuse me,' towards Mrs Veneering, goes out, and findsYoung Blight, Mortimer's clerk, at the hall-door.
'You told me to bring him, sir, to wherever you was, if he come whileyou was out and I was in,' says that discreet young gentleman, standingon tiptoe to whisper; 'and I've brought him.'
'Sharp boy. Where is he?' asks Eugene.
'He's in a cab, sir, at the door. I thought it best not to show him, yousee, if it could be helped; for he's a-shaking all over, like--Blight'ssimile is perhaps inspired by the surrounding dishes of sweets--'likeGlue Monge.'
'Sharp boy again,' returns Eugene. 'I'll go to him.'
Goes out straightway, and, leisurely leaning his arms on the open windowof a cab in waiting, looks in at Mr Dolls: who has brought his ownatmosphere with him, and would seem from its odour to have brought it,for convenience of carriage, in a rum-cask.
'Now Dolls, wake up!'
'Mist Wrayburn? Drection! Fifteen shillings!'
After carefully reading the dingy scrap of paper handed to him, and ascarefully tucking it into his waistcoat pocket, Eugene tells out themoney; beginning incautiously by telling the first shilling into MrDolls's hand, which instantly jerks it out of window; and ending bytelling the fifteen shillings on the seat.
'Give him a ride back to Charing Cross, sharp boy, and there get rid ofhim.'
Returning to the dining-room, and pausing for an instant behind thescreen at the door, Eugene overhears, above the hum and clatter, thefair Tippins saying: 'I am dying to ask him what he was called out for!'
'Are you?' mutters Eugene, 'then perhaps if you can't ask him, you'lldie. So I'll be a benefactor to society, and go. A stroll and a cigar,and I can think this over. Think this over.' Thus, with a thoughtfulface, he finds his hat and cloak, unseen of the Analytical, and goes hisway.