by
Charles Dickens

Mr. Pecksniff was in a hackney-cabriolet, for Jonas Ghuzzlewit had said, “Spare no expense.” It should never be charged upon his father’s son that he had grudged the money for his father’s funeral.

Mr. Pecksniff had been to the undertaker, and was now on his way to another officer in the train of mourning, — a female functionary, a nurse, and watcher, and performer of nameless offices about the persons of the dead, — whom the undertaker had recommended. Her name, as Mr. Pecksniff gathered from a scrap of writing in his hand, was Gamp; her residence, in Kingsgate Street, High Holborn. So Mr. Pecksniff, in a hackney-cab, was rattling over Holborn stones, in quest of Mrs. Gamp.

This lady lodged at a bird-fancier’s, next door but one to the celebrated mutton-pie shop, and directly opposite to the original cat’s-meat warehouse. It was a little house, and this was the more convenient; for Mrs. Gamp being, in her highest walk of art, a monthly nurse, and lodging in the first-floor front, was easily assailable at night by pebbles, walking-sticks, and fragments of tobacco-pipe, — all much more efficacious than the street-doorknocker; which was so ingeniously constructed as to wake the street with ease, without making the smallest impression on the premises to which it was addressed.

It chanced on this particular occasion that Mrs. Gamp had been up all the previous night. It chanced that Mrs. Gkunp had not been regularly engaged, but had been called in at a crisis, in consequence of her great repute, to assist another professional lady with her advice; and it thus happened that, all points of interest in the case being over, Mrs. Gamp had come home again to the bird-fancier’s and gone to bed. So, when Mr. Pecksniff drove up in the hackney-cab, Mrs. Gamp’s curtains were drawn close, and Mrs. Gamp was fast asleep behind them.

Mr. Pecksniff, in the innocence of his heart, applied himself to the knocker; but, at the first double-knock, every window in the street became alive with female heads; and before he could repeat it, whole troops of married ladies canie flocking round the steps, all crying out with one accord, and with uncommon interest, “Knock at the winder, sir, knock at the winder. Lord bless you, don’t lose no more time than you can help, — knock at the winder!”

Borrowing the driver’s whip for the purpose, Mr. Pecksniff soon made a commotion among the first-floor flower-pots, and roused Mrs. Gamp, whose voice — to the great satisfaction of the matrons — was heard to say, “I’m coming.”

“He’s as pale as a muffin,” said one lady, in allusion to Mr. Pecksniff.

“So he ought to be, if he’s the feelings of a man,” observed another.

A third lady said she wished he had chosen any other time for fetching Mrs. Gamp, but it always happened so with her.

It gave Mr. Pecksniff much uneasiness to infer, from these remarks, that he was supposed to have come to Mrs. Gamp upon an errand touching, not the close of life, but the other end. Mrs. Gtimp herself was under the same impression, for, throwing open the window, she cried behind the curtains, as she hastily dressed herself:

“Is it Mrs. Perkins?”

“No!” returned Mr. Pecksniff, “nothing of the sort.”

“What, Mr. Whilks! Don’t say it’s you, Mr. Whilks, and that poor creetur Mrs. Whilks witii not even a pincushion ready. Don’t say it’s you, Mr. Whilks!”

“It isn’t Mr. Whilks. I don’t know the man. Nothing of the kind. A gentleman is dead; and some person being wanted in the house, yon have been recommended by Mr. Mould the undertaker. You are also wanted to relieve Mrs. Prig, the day-nurse in attendance on the book-keeper of the deceased, — one Mr. Chuffey, — whose grief seems to have affected his mind.”

As she was by this time in a condition to appear, Mrs. Gamp, who had a face for all occasions, looked out of the window with her mourning countenance, and said she would be down directly. But the matrons took it very ill that Mr. Pecksniff’s mission was of so unimportant a kind; and the lady number three rated him in good round terms, signifying that she would be glad to know what he meant by terrifying delicate females “with his corpses,” and giving it as her opinion that he was ugly enough to know better.

The other ladies were not behindhand in expressing similar sentiments; and the children, of whom some scores had now collected, hooted Mr. Pecksniff. So, when Mrs. Gamp appeared, the unoffending gentleman was glad to hustle her with very little ceremony into the cabriolet, and drive off, overwhelmed with popular execration.

Mrs. Gamp had a large bundle with her, a pair of patterns, and a species of gig umbrella; the latter article in colour like a faded leaf, except where a circular patch of a lively blue had been let in at the top. She was much flurried by the haste she had made, and laboured under the most erroneous views of cabriolets, which she appeared to confound with mailcoaches or stage-waggons, insomuch that she was constantly endeavouring for the first half-mile to force her luggage through the little front window, and clamouring to the driver to “put it in the boot.” When she was disabused of this idea, her whole being resolved itself into an absorbing anxiety about her pattens, with which she played innumerable games at quoits on Mr. Pecksniff’s legs. It was not until they were close upon the house of mourning that she had enough composure to observe: —

“And so the gentleman’s dead, sir! Ah! The more’s the pity,” — she didn’t even know his name. “But it’s what we must ail come to. It’s as certain as being bom, except that we can’t make onr calculations as exact. Ah! Poor dear!”

She was a fat old woman, this Mrs. Gamp, with a husky voice and a moist eye. Having very little neck, it cost her some trouble to look over herself, if one may say so, at those to whom she talked. She wore a rusty black gown, rather the worse for snufif, and a shawl and bonnet to correspond. The face of Mrs. Gamp — the nose in particular — was somewhat red and swollen, and it was difficult to enjoy her society without becoming conscious of a smell of spirits.

“Ah!” repeated Mrs. Gamp, for that was always a safe sentiment in cases of mourning, — “ah, dear! When Gamp was summonsed to his long home, and I see him a lying m the hospital with a penny-piece on each eye, and his wooden leg under his left arm, I thought I should have fainted away. But I bore up.”

If certain whispers current in the Eingsgate Street circles had any truth in them, Mrs. Gamp had indeed borne up surprisingly, and had exerted such uncommon fortitude as to dispose of Mr. Gamp’s remains for the benefit of science.

“You have become indifferent since then, I suppose? Use is second nature, Mrs. Gamp.”

“You may well say second natur, sir. One’s first ways is to find sich things a trial to the feelings, and such is one’s lasting custom. If it wasn’t for the nerve a little sip of liquor gives me (which I was never able to do more than taste it), I never could go through with what I sometimes has to do. ‘Mrs. Harris,’ I says, at the wery last case as ever I acted in, which it was but a young person, — ‘Mrs. Harris,’ I says, ‘leave the bottle on the chimley-piece, and don’t ask me to take none, but let me put my lips to it when I am so dispoged, and then I will do what I am engaged to do, according to the best of my ability.’ ‘Mrs. Gamp,’ she says, in answer, ‘if ever there was a sober creetur to be got at eighteen-pence a day for working people, and three and six for gentlefolks, — night watching being a extra charge — you are that inwallable person.’ ‘Mrs. Harris,’ I says to her, ‘don’t name the charge, for if I could afford to lay all my f ellow-creeturs out for nothink, I would gladly do it, sich is the love I bears ’em.’”

At this point, she was fain to stop for breath. And advantage may be taken of the circumstance, to state that a fearful mystery surrounded this lady of the name of Harris, whom no one in the circle of Mrs. Gamp’s acquaintance had ever seen; neither did any human being know her place of residence. There were conflicting rumours on the subject; but the prevalent opinion was that she was a phantom of Mrs. Gamp’s brain, created for the purpose of holding complimentary dialogues with her on all manner of subjects.

“The bottle shall be duly placed on the chimney-piece, Mrs. Gamp, and you shall put your lips to it at your own convenience.”

“Thank you, sir. Which it is a thing as hardly ever occurs with me, unless when I am indispoged, and find my half a pint o’ porter settling heavy on the chest. Mrs. Harris often and often says to me, ‘Sairey Gamp,’ she says, ‘you raly do amaze me!’ ‘Mrs. Harris,’ I says to her, ‘why so? Give it a name, I beg!’ ‘Telling the truth then, ma’am,’ says Mrs. Harris, ‘and shaming him as shall be nameless betwixt you and me, never did I think, till I know’d you, as any woman could sick-nurse and monthly likeways, on the little that you takes to drink.’ ‘Mrs. Harris,’ I says to her, ‘none on us knows what we can do till we tries; and wunst I thought so, too. But now,’ I says, ‘my half a pint of porter fully satisfies; perwisin’, Mrs. Harris, that it is brought reg’lar, and draw’d mild.’”

The conclusion of this effecting narrative brought them to the house. In the passage they encountered Mr. Mould, the undertaker, a little elderly gentleman, bald, and in a suit of black; with a note-book in his hand, and a face in which a queer attempt at melancholy was at odds with a smirk of satisfaction.

“Well, Mrs. Gamp, and how are you, Mrs. Gamp?”

“Pretty well, I thank you, sir,”

“You’ll be very particular here, Mrs. Gamp. This is not a common case, Mrs. Gamp. Let everything be very nice and comfortable, Mrs. Gamp, if you please.”

“It shall be so, sir; you knows me of old, I hope, and so does Mrs. Mould, your ansome pardner, sir; and so does the two sweet young lidies, your darters; although the blessing of a daughter was deniged me, which, if we had had one. Gamp would certainly have drunk its little shoes right off its’ feet, as with our precious boy he did, and arterwards sent the child a errand, to sell his wooden leg for any liquor it would fetch as matches in the rough; which was truly done beyond his years, for ev’ry individgle penny that child lost at tossing for kidney-pies, and come home arterwards quite bold, to break the news, and offering to drown himself if sech would be a satisfaction to his parents. But wery different is them two sweet young ladies o’ yourn, Mister Mould, as I know’d afore a tooth in their pretty heads was cut, and have many a time seen — ah! the dear creeturs! — a playing at berryin’s down in the shop, and a foUerin’ the order-book to its long home in the iron safe. Young ladies with such faces as your darters thinks of something else besides berryin’s; don’t they, sir? Thinks o’ marryin’s; don’t they, sir?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, Mrs. Gamp. Very shrewd woman, Mr. Pecksniff sir. Woman whose intellect is immensely superior to her station in life; sort of woman one would really almost feel disposed to bury for nothing, and do it neatly, too, Mr. Pecksniff, sir. This is one of (he most impressive cases, sir, that I have seen in the whole course of my professional experience.”

“Indeed, Mr. Mould!”

“Such affectionate regret I never saw. There is no limitation; there is positively no limitation in point of expense! I have orders, sir, in short, to turn out something absolutely gorgeous.”

“My friend Mr. Jonas is an excellent man.”

“Well, I have seen a good deal of what is filial in my time, sir, and of what is unfilial, too 1 It is the lot of parties in my line, sir. We come into the knowledge of those secrets. But anything so filial as this — anything so honourable to human nature, so calculated to reconcile all of ns to the world we live in — never yet came under my observation. It only proves, sir, what was so forcibly observed by the lamented poet, — buried at Stratford, — that there is good in everything.”

“It is very pleasant to hear you say so, Mr. Mould.”

“You are very kind, sir. And what a man the late Mr. Ghuzzlewit was, sir! Ah! what a man he was. Mr. Pecksniff, sir, good morning!”

Mr. Pecksniff returned the compliment; and Mould was going away with a brisk smile, when he remembered the occasion. Quickly becoming depressed again, he sighed; looked into the crown of his hat, as if for comfort; put it on without finding any; and slowly departed.

Mrs. Gamp and Mr. Pecksniff then ascended the staircase; and Mrs. Gamp, having been shown to the chamber in which all that remained of old Anthony Ghuzzlewit lay covered up, with but one loving heart, and that the heart of his old book-keeper, to mourn it, left Mr. Pecksniff free to enter the dark- ened room below in search of Mr. Jonas.

He found that example to bereaved sons, and pattern in the eyes of all performers of funerals, so subdued, that he could scarely be heard to speak, and only seen to walk across the room.

“Pecksniff, you shall have the regulation of it all, mind! You shall be able to tell anybody who talks about it, that everything was correctly and freely done. There isn’t any one you’d like to ask to the funeral, is there?”

“No, Mr. Jonas, I think not.”

“Because if there is, you know, ask him. We don’t want to make a secret of it.”

“No; I am not the less obliged to you on that account, Mr. Jonas, for your liberal hospitality; but there really is no one.”

“Very well; then you, and I, and old Chuffey, and the doctor, will be just a coachful. We’ll have the doctor, Pecksniff, because he knows what was ihe matter with my father, and that it couldn’t be helped.”

They went up to the room where the old book-keeper was, attended by Mrs. Betsy Prig. And to them entered Mrs. Gamp soon afterwards, who sainted Mrs. Prig as one of the sisterhood, and “the best of creeturs.”

The old book-keeper sat beside the bed, with his hands folded before him, and his head bowed down; nntil Mrs. Gamp took him by the arm, when he meekly rose, saying: —

“My old master died at threescore and ten, — ought and carry seven. Some men are so strong that they live to fourscore — four times ought’s an ought, four times two’s an eight — eighty. Oh! why — why — why — didn’t he live to four times ought’s an ought, and four times two’s an eight — eighty? Why did he die before his poor old crazy servant! Take him from me, and what remains? I loved him. He was good to me. I took him down once, six boys, in the arithmetic class at school God forgive me! Had I the heart to take him down!”

“Well, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Gamp, “you’re a wearing old soul, and that’s the blessed truth. You ought to know that you was bom in a wale, and that you live in a wale, and that you must take the consequences of sich a sitivation. As a good friend of mine has frequent made remark to me, Mr. Jonage Chuzzlewit, which her name, sir, — I will not deceive you, — is Harris, — Mrs. Harris through the square and up the steps a turnin’ round by the tobacker shop, — and which she said it the last Monday evening as ever dawned upon this Pilgrim’s Progress of a mortal wale, ‘O Sairey, Sairey, little do we know wot lays afore us!’ ‘Mrs. Harris, ma’am,’ I says, ‘not much, it’s true, but more than you suppoge. Our calcilations, ma’am,’ I says, ‘respectin’ wot the number of a family will be, comes most times within one, and oftener than you would suppoge, exact.’ ‘Sairey,’ says Mrs. Harris, in a awful way, ‘tell me wot is my individgle number.’ ‘No, Mrs. Harris,’ I says to her, ‘ex-cuge me, if you please. My own family,’ I says, ‘has fallen out of three-pair backs, and has had damp doorsteps settled on their lungs, and one was torned up smilin’ in a bedstead unbeknown. Therefore, ma’am,’ I says, ‘seek not to protigipate, but take ’em as they come and as they go. Mine,’ I says to her, — ‘mine is all gone, my dear young chick. And as to husbands, there’s a wooden leg gone likewise home to its account, which, in its constancy of walking into public-’onses and never coming out again till fetched by force, was quite as weak as flesh, if not weaker.’”

Mrs. Gamp, left to the live part of her task by Mr. Pecksniff and Jonas, now formally relieved Mrs. Prig for the night. That interesting lady had a gruff voice and a beard, and straightway got her bonnet and shawl on.

“Anythink to tell afore you goes, Betsy, my dear?”

“The pickled salmon in this house is delicious. I can partickler recommend it. The drinks is all good. His physic and them things is on the draws and mankleshelf. He took his last slime draught at seven. The easy-chair ain’t soft enough. You’ll want his piller.”

Mrs. Gamp thanked Mrs. Prig for these friendly hints, and gave her good night. She then composed the patient for sleep, — on his rising in bed and rocking himself to and fro with a moan, — by screwing her hand into the nape of his neck, administering a dozen or two of hearty shakes, and saying, “Bother the old wictim, what a worriting wezagious creetur it is!”

She then entered on her official duties, in manner following: firstly, she put on a yellow-white nightcap of prodigious size, in shape resembling a cabbage, having previously divested herself of a row of bald old curls, which could scarcely be called false, they were so innocent of anything approaching to deception; secondly, and lastly, she summoned the housemaid, to whom she delivered this official charge, in tones expressive of faintness: —

“I think, young woman, as I could peck a little bit o’ pickled salmon, with a little sprig o’ fennel, and a sprinkling o’ white pepper. I takes new bread, my dear, with jest a little pat o’ fredge batter and a mossel o’ cheese. With respect to ale, if they draws the Brighton old tipper at any ’ouse nigh here, I takes that ale at night, my love; not as I cares for it myself, but on accounts of its being considered wakeful by the doctors; and whatever yon do, young woman, don’t bring me more than a shilling’s worth of gin-and-water, warm, when I rings the bell a second time; for that is always my allowange, and I never takes a drop beyond. In case there should be sich a thing as a cowcumber in the ’ouse, I’m rather partial to ’em, though I am but a poor woman. Rich folks may ride on camels, but it ain’t so easy for them to see out of a needle’s eye. That is my comfort, and I hopes I knows it.”