David Copperfield by Charles Dickens (good novels to read in english .TXT) 📕

that what he said had no effect on me or any of us, he sat on the edge of his table with his hands in his pockets, and one of his splay feet twisted round the other leg, waiting doggedly for what might follow.

Mr. Micawber, whose impetuosity I had restrained thus far with the greatest difficulty, and who had repeatedly interposed with the first syllable of scoun-drel! without getting to the second, now burst forward, drew the ruler from his breast (apparently as a defensive weapon), and produced from his pocket a foolscap document, folded in the form of a large letter. Opening this packet, with his old flourish, and glancing at the contents, as if he cherished an artistic admiration of their style of composition, he began to read as follows:

“ ‘Dear Miss Trotwood and gentlemen⁠—’ ”

“Bless and save the man!” exclaimed my aunt in a low voice. “He’d write letters by the ream, if it was a capital offence!”

Mr. Micawber, without hearing her, went on.

“ ‘In appearing before you to denounce probably the most consummate villain that has ever existed,’ ” Mr. Micawber, without looking off the letter, pointed the ruler, like a ghostly truncheon, at Uriah Heep, “ ‘I ask no consideration for myself. The victim, from my cradle, of pecuniary liabilities to which I have been unable to respond, I have ever been the sport and toy of debasing circumstances. Ignominy, Want, Despair, and Madness, have, collectively or separately, been the attendants of my career.’ ”

The relish with which Mr. Micawber described himself as a prey to these dismal calamities, was only to be equalled by the emphasis with which he read his letter; and the kind of homage he rendered to it with a roll of his head, when he thought he had hit a sentence very hard indeed.

“ ‘In an accumulation of Ignominy, Want, Despair, and Madness, I entered the office⁠—or, as our lively neighbour the Gaul would term it, the Bureau⁠—of the Firm, nominally conducted under the appellation of Wickfield and⁠—Heep, but in reality, wielded by⁠—Heep alone. Heep, and only Heep, is the mainspring of that machine. Heep, and only Heep, is the Forger and the Cheat.’ ”

Uriah, more blue than white at these words, made a dart at the letter, as if to tear it in pieces. Mr. Micawber, with a perfect miracle of dexterity or luck, caught his advancing knuckles with the ruler, and disabled his right hand. It dropped at the wrist, as if it were broken. The blow sounded as if it had fallen on wood.

“The Devil take you!” said Uriah, writhing in a new way with pain. “I’ll be even with you.”

“Approach me again, you⁠—you⁠—you Heep of infamy,” gasped Mr. Micawber, “and if your head is human, I’ll break it. Come on, come on!”

I think I never saw anything more ridiculous⁠—I was sensible of it, even at the time⁠—than Mr. Micawber making broadsword guards with the ruler, and crying, “Come on!” while Traddles and I pushed him back into a corner, from which, as often as we got him into it, he persisted in emerging again.

His enemy, muttering to himself, after wringing his wounded hand for sometime, slowly drew off his neck-kerchief and bound it up; then held it in his other hand, and sat upon his table with his sullen face looking down.

Mr. Micawber, when he was sufficiently cool, proceeded with his letter.

“ ‘The stipendiary emoluments in consideration of which I entered into the service of⁠—Heep,’ ” always pausing before that word and uttering it with astonishing vigour, “ ‘were not defined, beyond the pittance of twenty-two shillings and six per week. The rest was left contingent on the value of my professional exertions; in other and more expressive words, on the baseness of my nature, the cupidity of my motives, the poverty of my family, the general moral (or rather immoral) resemblance between myself and⁠—Heep. Need I say, that it soon became necessary for me to solicit from⁠—Heep⁠—pecuniary advances towards the support of Mrs. Micawber, and our blighted but rising family? Need I say that this necessity had been foreseen by⁠—Heep? That those advances were secured by I.O.U.s and other similar acknowledgements, known to the legal institutions of this country? And that I thus became immeshed in the web he had spun for my reception?’ ”

Mr. Micawber’s enjoyment of his epistolary powers, in describing this unfortunate state of things, really seemed to outweigh any pain or anxiety that the reality could have caused him. He read on:

“ ‘Then it was that⁠—Heep⁠—began to favour me with just so much of his confidence, as was necessary to the discharge of his infernal business. Then it was that I began, if I may so Shakespearianly express myself, to dwindle, peak, and pine. I found that my services were constantly called into requisition for the falsification of business, and the mystification of an individual whom I will designate as Mr. W. That Mr. W. was imposed upon, kept in ignorance, and deluded, in every possible way; yet, that all this while, the ruffian⁠—Heep⁠—was professing unbounded gratitude to, and unbounded friendship for, that much-abused gentleman. This was bad enough; but, as the philosophic Dane observes, with that universal applicability which distinguishes the illustrious ornament of the Elizabethan Era, worse remains behind!’ ”

Mr. Micawber was so very much struck by this happy rounding off with a quotation, that he indulged himself, and us, with a second reading of the sentence, under pretence of having lost his place.

“ ‘It is not my intention,’ ” he continued reading on, “ ‘to enter on a detailed list, within the compass of the present epistle (though it is ready elsewhere), of the various malpractices of a minor nature, affecting the individual whom I have denominated Mr. W., to which I have been a tacitly consenting party. My object, when the contest within myself between stipend and no stipend, baker and no baker, existence and nonexistence, ceased, was to take advantage of my opportunities to discover and expose the major malpractices committed, to that gentleman’s grievous wrong and injury, by⁠—Heep. Stimulated by the silent monitor within, and by a no less touching and appealing