`Thank you,' said Mr. Pecksniff; `I am aware of that. I am going. But before I go, I crave your leave to speak, and more than that, Mr. Chuzzlewit, I must and will--yes indeed, I repeat it, must and will--be heard. I am not surprised, sir, at anything you have told me tonight. It is natural, very natural, and the greater part of it was known to me before. I will not say,' continued Mr. Pecksniff, drawing out his pocket-handkerchief, and winking with both eyes at once, as it were, against his will, `I will not say that you are mistaken in me. While you are in your present mood I would not say so for the world. I almost wish, indeed, that I had a different nature, that I might repress even this slight confession of weakness: which I cannot disguise from you: which I feel is humiliating: but which you will have the goodness to excuse. We will say, if you please,' added Mr. Pecksniff, with great tenderness of manner, `that it arises from a cold in the head, or is attributable to snuff, or smelling-salts, or onions, or anything but the real cause.'
Here he paused for an instant, and concealed his face behind his pocket-handkerchief.
Then, smiling faintly, and holding the bed furniture with one hand, he resumed:
`But, Mr. Chuzzlewit, while I am forgetful of myself, I owe it to myself, and to my character--aye, sir, and I have a character which is very dear to me, and will be the best inheritance of my two daughters--to tell you, on behalf of another, that your conduct is wrong, unnatural, indefensible, monstrous. And I tell you, sir,' said Mr. Pecksniff, towering on tiptoe among the curtains, as if he were literally rising above all worldly considerations, and were fain to hold on tight, to keep himself from darting skyward like a rocket, `I tell you without fear or favour, that it will not do for you to be unmindful of your grandson, young Martin, who has the strongest natural claim upon you. It will not do, sir,' repeated Mr. Pecksniff, shaking his head. `You may think it will do, but it won't. You must provide for that young man; you shall provide for him; you will provide for him.
I believe,' said Mr. Pecksniff, glancing at the pen-and-ink, `that in secret you have already done so. Bless you for doing so. Bless you for doing right, sir. Bless you for hating me. And good night!'
So saying, Mr. Pecksniff waved his right hand with much solemnity, and once more inserting it in his waistcoat, departed. There was emotion in his manner, but his step was firm. Subject to human weaknesses, he was upheld by conscience.
Martin lay for some time, with an expression on his face of silent wonder, not unmixed with rage: at length he muttered in a whisper:
`What does this mean? Can the false-hearted boy have chosen such a tool as yonder fellow who has just gone out? Why not! He has conspired against me, like the rest, and they are but birds of one feather. A new plot; a new plot! oh self, self, self! At every turn nothing but self!'
He fell to trifling, as he ceased to speak, with the ashes of the burnt paper in the candlestick. He did so, at first, in pure abstraction, but they presently became the subject of his thoughts.
`Another will made and destroyed,' he said, `nothing determined on, nothing done, and I might have died to-night! I plainly see to what foul uses all this money will be put at last,' he cried, almost writhing in the bed: `after filling me with cares and miseries all my life, it will perpetuate discord and bad passions when I am dead. So it always is. What lawsuits grow out of the graves of rich men, every day: sowing perjury, hatred, and lies among near kindred, where there should be nothing but love! Heaven help us, we have much to answer for! oh self, self, self!
Every man for himself, and no creature for me!'
Universal self! Was there nothing of its shadow in these reflections, and in the history of Martin Chuzzlewit, on his own showing?