The Egotistical Couple Page #2

"The Egotistical Couple" is a satirical novella by Charles Dickens that explores the lives of a self-absorbed couple whose self-importance and obsession with status lead to humorous yet poignant situations. Through sharp wit and vivid characterizations, Dickens critiques the follies of vanity and the societal norms of his time. The narrative delves into themes of pride, materialism, and the absurdity of human relationships, all while showcasing Dickens's characteristic blend of humor and social commentary.

• Short story

								

there were at least three or four particular friends up-stairs, all upon
the point of death, implores you to be very silent, for Mr. Sliverstone
is composing, and she need not say how very important it is that he
should not be disturbed.  Unwilling to interrupt anything so serious, you
hasten to withdraw, with many apologies; but this Mrs. Sliverstone will
by no means allow, observing, that she knows you would like to see him,
as it is very natural you should, and that she is determined to make a
trial for you, as you are a great favourite.  So you are led
up-stairs—still on tip-toe—to the door of a little back room, in which,
as the lady informs you in a whisper, Mr. Sliverstone always writes.  No
answer being returned to a couple of soft taps, the lady opens the door,
and there, sure enough, is Mr. Sliverstone, with dishevelled hair,
powdering away with pen, ink, and paper, at a rate which, if he has any
power of sustaining it, would settle the longest sermon in no time.  At
first he is too much absorbed to be roused by this intrusion; but
presently looking up, says faintly, ‘Ah!’ and pointing to his desk with a
weary and languid smile, extends his hand, and hopes you’ll forgive him.
Then Mrs. Sliverstone sits down beside him, and taking his hand in hers,
tells you how that Mr. Sliverstone has been shut up there ever since nine
o’clock in the morning, (it is by this time twelve at noon,) and how she
knows it cannot be good for his health, and is very uneasy about it.
Unto this Mr. Sliverstone replies firmly, that ‘It must be done;’ which
agonizes Mrs. Sliverstone still more, and she goes on to tell you that
such were Mr. Sliverstone’s labours last week—what with the buryings,
marryings, churchings, christenings, and all together,—that when he was
going up the pulpit stairs on Sunday evening, he was obliged to hold on
by the rails, or he would certainly have fallen over into his own pew.
Mr. Sliverstone, who has been listening and smiling meekly, says, ‘Not
quite so bad as that, not quite so bad!’ he admits though, on
cross-examination, that he was very near falling upon the verger who
was following him up to bolt the door; but adds, that it was his duty as
a Christian to fall upon him, if need were, and that he, Mr. Sliverstone,
and (possibly the verger too) ought to glory in it.

This sentiment communicates new impulse to Mrs. Sliverstone, who launches
into new praises of Mr. Sliverstone’s worth and excellence, to which he
listens in the same meek silence, save when he puts in a word of
self-denial relative to some question of fact, as—‘Not seventy-two
christenings that week, my dear.  Only seventy-one, only seventy-one.’
At length his lady has quite concluded, and then he says, Why should he
repine, why should he give way, why should he suffer his heart to sink
within him?  Is it he alone who toils and suffers?  What has she gone
through, he should like to know?  What does she go through every day for
him and for society?

With such an exordium Mr. Sliverstone launches out into glowing praises
of the conduct of Mrs. Sliverstone in the production of eight young
children, and the subsequent rearing and fostering of the same; and thus
the husband magnifies the wife, and the wife the husband.

This would be well enough if Mr. and Mrs. Sliverstone kept it to
themselves, or even to themselves and a friend or two; but they do not.
The more hearers they have, the more egotistical the couple become, and
the more anxious they are to make believers in their merits.  Perhaps
this is the worst kind of egotism.  It has not even the poor excuse of
being spontaneous, but is the result of a deliberate system and malice
aforethought.  Mere empty-headed conceit excites our pity, but
ostentatious hypocrisy awakens our disgust.
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