My dear Edwin!
My dear Jack! So glad to see you!
Get off your greatcoat, bright boy, and sit down here in your own corner. Your feet are not wet? Pull your boots off. Do pull your boots off.
My dear Jack, I am as dry as a bone. Dont moddley-coddley, theres a good fellow. I like anything better than being moddley-coddleyed.
With the check upon him of being unsympathetically restrained in a genial outburst of enthusiasm, Mr. Jasper stands still, and looks on intently at the young fellow, divesting himself of his outward coat, hat, gloves, and so forth. Once for all, a look of intentness and intensity a look of hungry, exacting, watchful, and yet devoted affection is always, now and ever afterwards, on the Jasper face whenever the Jasper face is addressed in this direction. And whenever it is so addressed, it is never, on this occasion or on any other, dividedly addressed; it is always concentrated.
Now I am right, and now Ill take my corner, Jack. Any dinner, Jack?
Mr. Jasper opens a door at the upper end of the room, and discloses a small inner room pleasantly lighted and prepared, wherein a comely dame is in the act of setting dishes on table.
What a jolly old Jack it is! cries the young fellow, with a clap of his hands. Look here, Jack; tell me; whose birthday is it?
Not yours, I know, Mr. Jasper answers, pausing to consider.
Not mine, you know? No; not mine, I know! Pussys!
Fixed as the look the young fellow meets, is, there is yet in it some strange power of suddenly including the sketch over the chimneypiece.
Pussys, Jack! We must drink Many happy returns to her. Come, uncle; take your dutiful and sharp-set nephew in to dinner.
As the boy (for he is little more) lays a hand on Jaspers shoulder, Jasper cordially and gaily lays a hand on his shoulder, and so Marseillaise-wise they go in to dinner.
And, Lord! heres Mrs. Tope! cries the boy. Lovelier than ever!
Never you mind me, Master Edwin, retorts the Vergers wife; I can take care of myself.
You cant. Youre much too handsome. Give me a kiss because its Pussys birthday.
Id Pussy you, young man, if I was Pussy, as you call her, Mrs. Tope blushingly retorts, after being saluted. Your uncles too much wrapt up in you, thats where it is. He makes so much of you, that its my opinion you think youve only to call your Pussys by the dozen, to make em come.
You forget, Mrs. Tope, Mr. Jasper interposes, taking his place at the table with a genial smile, and so do you, Ned, that Uncle and Nephew are words prohibited here by common consent and express agreement. For what we are going to receive His holy name be praised!
Done like the Dean! Witness, Edwin Drood! Please to carve, Jack, for I cant.
This sally ushers in the dinner. Little to the present purpose, or to any purpose, is said, while it is in course of being disposed of. At length the cloth is drawn, and a dish of walnuts and a decanter of rich-coloured sherry are placed upon the table.
I say! Tell me, Jack, the young fellow then flows on: do you really and truly feel as if the mention of our relationship divided us at all? I dont.
Uncles as a rule, Ned, are so much older than their nephews, is the reply, that I have that feeling instinctively.
As a rule! Ah, may-be! But what is a difference in age of half-a-dozen years or so? And some uncles, in large families, are even younger than their nephews. By George, I wish it was the case with us!
Why?
Because if it was, Id take the lead with you, Jack, and be as wise as Begone, dull Care! that turned a young man gray, and Begone, dull Care! that turned an old man to clay. Halloa, Jack! Dont drink.
Why not?
Asks why not, on Pussys birthday, and no Happy returns proposed! Pussy, Jack, and many of em! Happy returns, I mean.
Laying an affectionate and laughing touch on the boys extended hand, as if it were at once his giddy head and his light heart, Mr. Jasper drinks the toast in silence.
Hip, hip, hip, and nine times nine, and one to finish with, and all that, understood. Hooray, hooray, hooray! And now, Jack, lets have a little talk about Pussy. Two pairs of nut-crackers? Pass me one, and take the other. Crack. Hows Pussy getting on Jack?
With her music? Fairly.
What a dreadfully conscientious fellow you are, Jack! But I know, Lord bless you! Inattentive, isnt she?
She can learn anything, if she will.
If she will! Egad, thats it. But if she wont?
Crack! on Mr. Jaspers part.
Hows she looking, Jack?
Mr. Jaspers concentrated face again includes the portrait as he returns: Very like your sketch indeed.
I am a little proud of it, says the young fellow, glancing up at the sketch with complacency, and then shutting one eye, and taking a corrected prospect of it over a level bridge of nut-crackers in the air: Not badly hit off from memory. But I ought to have caught that expression pretty well, for I have seen it often enough.
Crack! on Edwin Droods part.
Crack! on Mr. Jaspers part.
In point of fact, the former resumes, after some silent dipping among his fragments of walnut with an air of pique, I see it whenever I go to see Pussy. If I dont find it on her face, I leave it there. You know I do, Miss Scornful Pert. Booh! With a twirl of the nut-crackers at the portrait.
Crack! crack! crack. Slowly, on Mr. Jaspers part.
Crack. Sharply on the part of Edwin Drood.
Silence on both sides.
Have you lost your tongue, Jack?
Have you found yours, Ned?
No, but really; isnt it, you know, after all
Mr. Jasper lifts his dark eyebrows inquiringly.
Isnt it unsatisfactory to be cut off from choice in such a matter? There, Jack! I tell you! If I could choose, I would choose Pussy from all the pretty girls in the world.
But you have not got to choose.
Thats what I complain of. My dead and gone father and Pussys dead and gone father must needs marry us together by anticipation. Why the Devil, I was going to say, if it had been respectful to their memory couldnt they leave us alone?
Tut, tut, dear boy, Mr. Jasper remonstrates, in a tone of gentle deprecation.
Tut, tut? Yes, Jack, its all very well for you. You can take it easily. Your life is not laid down to scale, and lined and dotted out for you, like a surveyors plan. You have no uncomfortable suspicion that you are forced upon anybody, nor has anybody an uncomfortable suspicion that she is forced upon you, or that you are forced upon her. You can choose for yourself. Life, for you, is a plum with the natural bloom on; it hasnt been over-carefully wiped off for you
Dont stop, dear fellow. Go on.
Can I anyhow have hurt your feelings, Jack?
How can you have hurt my feelings?
Good Heaven, Jack, you look frightfully ill! Theres a strange film come over your eyes.
Mr. Jasper, with a forced smile, stretches out his right hand, as if at once to disarm apprehension and gain time to get better. After a while he says faintly:
I have been taking opium for a pain an agony that sometimes overcomes me. The effects of the medicine steal over me like a blight or a cloud, and pass. You see them in the act of passing; they will be gone directly. Look away from me. They will go all the sooner.
I have been taking opium for a pain an agony that sometimes overcomes me. The effects of the medicine steal over me like a blight or a cloud, and pass. You see them in the act of passing; they will be gone directly. Look away from me. They will go all the sooner.
With a scared face the younger man complies by casting his eyes downward at the ashes on the hearth. Not relaxing his own gaze on the fire, but rather strengthening it with a fierce, firm grip upon his elbow-chair, the elder sits for a few moments rigid, and then, with thick drops standing on his forehead, and a sharp catch of his breath, becomes as he was before. On his so subsiding in his chair, his nephew gently and assiduously tends him while he quite recovers. When Jasper is restored, he lays a tender hand upon his nephews shoulder, and, in a tone of voice less troubled than the purport of his words indeed with something of raillery or banter in it thus addresses him:
There is said to be a hidden skeleton in every house; but you thought there was none in mine, dear Ned.
Upon my life, Jack, I did think so. However, when I come to consider that even in Pussys house if she had one and in mine if I had one
You were going to say (but that I interrupted you in spite of myself) what a quiet life mine is. No whirl and uproar around me, no distracting commerce or calculation, no risk, no change of place, myself devoted to the art I pursue, my business my pleasure.
I really was going to say something of the kind, Jack; but you see, you, speaking of yourself, almost necessarily leave out much that I should have put in. For instance: I should have put in the foreground your being so much respected as Lay Precentor, or Lay Clerk, or whatever you call it, of this Cathedral; your enjoying the reputation of having done such wonders with the choir; your choosing your society, and holding such an independent position in this queer old place; your gift of teaching (why, even Pussy, who dont like being taught, says there never was such a Master as you are!), and your connexion.
Yes; I saw what you were tending to. I hate it.
Hate it, Jack? (Much bewildered.)
I hate it. The cramped monotony of my existence grinds me away by the grain. How does our service sound to you?
Beautiful! Quite celestial!
It often sounds to me quite devilish. I am so weary of it. The echoes of my own voice among the arches seem to mock me with my daily drudging round. No wretched monk who droned his life away in that gloomy place, before me, can have been more tired of it than I am. He could take for relief (and did take) to carving demons out of the stalls and seats and desks. What shall I do? Must I take to carving them out of my heart?
I thought you had so exactly found your niche in life, Jack, Edwin Drood returns, astonished, bending forward in his chair to lay a sympathetic hand on Jaspers knee, and looking at him with an anxious face.
I know you thought so. They all think so.
Well, I suppose they do, says Edwin, meditating aloud. Pussy thinks so.
When did she tell you that?
The last time I was here. You remember when. Three months ago.
How did she phrase it?
O, she only said that she had become your pupil, and that you were made for your vocation.
The younger man glances at the portrait. The elder sees it in him.
Anyhow, my dear Ned, Jasper resumes, as he shakes his head with a grave cheerfulness, I must subdue myself to my vocation: which is much the same thing outwardly. Its too late to find another now. This is a confidence between us.
It shall be sacredly preserved, Jack.
I have reposed it in you, because
I feel it, I assure you. Because we are fast friends, and because you love and trust me, as I love and trust you. Both hands, Jack.
As each stands looking into the others eyes, and as the uncle holds the nephews hands, the uncle thus proceeds:
You know now, dont you, that even a poor monotonous chorister and grinder of music in his niche may be troubled with some stray sort of ambition, aspiration, restlessness, dissatisfaction, what shall we call it?
Yes, dear Jack.
And you will remember?
My dear Jack, I only ask you, am I likely to forget what you have said with so much feeling?
Take it as a warning, then.
In the act of having his hands released, and of moving a step back, Edwin pauses for an instant to consider the application of these last words. The instant over, he says, sensibly touched:
I am afraid I am but a shallow, surface kind of fellow, Jack, and that my headpiece is none of the best. But I neednt say I am young; and perhaps I shall not grow worse as I grow older. At all events, I hope I have something impressible within me, which feels deeply feels the disinterestedness of your painfully laying your inner self bare, as a warning to me.
Mr. Jaspers steadiness of face and figure becomes so marvellous that his breathing seems to have stopped.
I couldnt fail to notice, Jack, that it cost you a great effort, and that you were very much moved, and very unlike your usual self. Of course I knew that you were extremely fond of me, but I really was not prepared for your, as I may say, sacrificing yourself to me in that way.
Mr. Jasper, becoming a breathing man again without the smallest stage of transition between the two extreme states, lifts his shoulders, laughs, and waves his right arm.
No; dont put the sentiment away, Jack; please dont; for I am very much in earnest. I have no doubt that that unhealthy state of mind which you have so powerfully described is attended with some real suffering, and is hard to bear. But let me reassure you, Jack, as to the chances of its overcoming me. I dont think I am in the way of it. In some few months less than another year, you know, I shall carry Pussy off from school as Mrs. Edwin Drood. I shall then go engineering into the East, and Pussy with me. And although we have our little tiffs now, arising out of a certain unavoidable flatness that attends our love-making, owing to its end being all settled beforehand, still I have no doubt of our getting on capitally then, when its done and cant be helped. In short, Jack, to go back to the old song I was freely quoting at dinner (and who knows old songs better than you?), my wife shall dance, and I will sing, so merrily pass the day. Of Pussys being beautiful there cannot be a doubt; and when you are good besides, Little Miss Impudence, once more apostrophising the portrait, Ill burn your comic likeness, and paint your music-master another.
Mr. Jasper, with his hand to his chin, and with an expression of musing benevolence on his face, has attentively watched every animated look and gesture attending the delivery of these words. He remains in that attitude after they, are spoken, as if in a kind of fascination attendant on his strong interest in the youthful spirit that he loves so well. Then he says with a quiet smile:
You wont be warned, then?
No, Jack.
You cant be warned, then?
No, Jack, not by you. Besides that I dont really consider myself in danger, I dont like your putting yourself in that position.
Shall we go and walk in the churchyard?
By all means. You wont mind my slipping out of it for half a moment to the Nuns House, and leaving a parcel there? Only gloves for Pussy; as many pairs of gloves as she is years old to-day. Rather poetical, Jack?
Mr. Jasper, still in the same attitude, murmurs: Nothing half so sweet in life, Ned!