CHAPTER XVIII
_Briefly illustrative of Two Points;--First, the Power of Hysterics, and, secondly, the Force of Circumstances_
For two days after the breakfast at Mrs. Hunter's the Pickwickiansremained at Eatanswill, anxiously awaiting the arrival of someintelligence from their revered leader. Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrasswere once again left to their own means of amusement; for Mr. Winkle,in compliance with a most pressing invitation, continued to resideat Mr. Pott's house, and to devote his time to the companionship ofhis amiable lady. Nor was the occasional society of Mr. Pott himselfwanting to complete their felicity. Deeply immersed in the intensityof his speculations for the public weal and the destruction of the_Independent_, it was not the habit of that great man to descend fromhis mental pinnacle to the humble level of ordinary minds. On thisoccasion, however, and as if expressly in compliment to any followerof Mr. Pickwick's, he unbent, relaxed, stepped down from his pedestal,and walked upon the ground; benignly adapting his remarks to thecomprehension of the herd, and seeming in outward form, if not inspirit, to be one of them.
Such having been the demeanour of this celebrated public charactertowards Mr. Winkle, it will be readily imagined that considerablesurprise was depicted on the countenance of the latter gentleman, when,as he was sitting alone in the breakfast-room, the door was hastilythrown open, and as hastily closed, on the entrance of Mr. Pott, who,stalking majestically towards him, and thrusting aside his profferedhand, ground his teeth, as if to put a sharper edge on what he wasabout to utter, and exclaimed, in a saw-like voice,--
"Serpent!"
"Sir!" exclaimed Mr. Winkle, starting from his chair.
"Serpent, sir!" repeated Mr. Pott, raising his voice, and then suddenlydepressing it; "I said, Serpent, sir--make the most of it."
When you have parted with a man, at two o'clock in the morning, onterms of the utmost good-fellowship, and he meets you again, athalf-past nine, and greets you as a serpent, it is not unreasonable toconclude that something of an unpleasant nature has occurred meanwhile.So Mr. Winkle thought. He returned Mr. Pott's gaze of stone, and incompliance with that gentleman's request, proceeded to make the mosthe could of the "serpent." The most, however, was nothing at all; so,after a profound silence of some minutes' duration, he said--
"Serpent, sir! Serpent, Mr. Pott! What can you mean, sir?--this ispleasantry."
"Pleasantry, sir!" exclaimed Pott, with a motion of the hand,indicative of a strong desire to hurl the Britannia metal teapot at thehead of his visitor. "Pleasantry, sir!--but no, I will be calm, I willbe calm, sir;" in proof of his calmness, Mr. Pott flung himself into achair, and foamed at the mouth.
"My dear sir," interposed Mr. Winkle.
"_Dear_ sir!" replied Pott. "How dare you address me as dear sir, sir?How dare you look me in the face and do it, sir?"
"Well, sir, if you come to that," responded Mr. Winkle, "how dare youlook _me_ in the face, and call me a serpent, sir?"
"Because you are one," replied Mr. Pott.
"Prove it, sir," said Mr. Winkle, warmly. "Prove it."
A malignant scowl passed over the profound face of the editor, as hedrew from his pocket the _Independent_ of that morning; and laying hisfinger on a particular paragraph, threw the journal across the table toMr. Winkle.
That gentleman took it up, and read as follows:--
"Our obscure and filthy contemporary, in some disgusting observationson the recent election for this borough, has presumed to violate thehallowed sanctity of private life, and to refer, in a manner not tobe misunderstood, to the personal affairs of our late candidate--ay,and notwithstanding his base defeat, we will add, our future member,Mr. Fizkin. What does our dastardly contemporary mean? What would theruffian say, if we, setting at naught, like him, the decencies ofsocial intercourse, were to raise the curtain which happily conceals+HIS+ private life from general ridicule, not to say from generalexecration? What, if we were even to point out, and comment on,facts and circumstances, which are publicly notorious, and beheld byevery one but our mole-eyed contemporary--what if we were to printthe following effusion, which we received while we were writing thecommencement of this article, from a talented fellow-townsman andcorrespondent!
'LINES TO A BRASS POT
'Oh Pott! if you'd known How false she'd have grown When you heard the marriage bells tinkle; You'd have done then, I vow, What you cannot help now, And handed her over to W*****'"
"What," said Mr. Pott, solemnly; "what rhymes to 'tinkle,' villain?"
"What rhymes to 'tinkle'?" said Mrs. Pott, whose entrance at the momentforestalled the reply. "What rhymes to 'tinkle'? Why 'Winkle,' I shouldconceive:" saying this, Mrs. Pott smiled sweetly on the disturbedPickwickian, and extended her hand towards him. The agitated young manwould have accepted it, in his confusion, had not Pott indignantlyinterposed.
"Back, ma'am--back!" said the editor. "Take his hand before my veryface!"
"Mr. P.!" said his astonished lady.
"Wretched woman, look here," exclaimed the husband. "Look here,ma'am--'Lines to a Brass Pot.' 'Brass pot;'--that's me, ma'am. 'False_she_'d have grown;'--that's you, ma'am--you." With this ebullition ofrage, which was not unaccompanied with something like a tremble, at theexpression of his wife's face, Mr. Pott dashed the current number ofthe _Eatanswill Independent_ at her feet.
"Upon my word, sir!" said the astonished Mrs. Pott, stooping to pick upthe paper. "Upon my word, sir!"
Mr. Pott winced beneath the contemptuous gaze of his wife. He had madea desperate struggle to screw up his courage, but it was fast comingunscrewed again.
There appears nothing very tremendous in this little sentence, "Upon myword, sir!" when it comes to be read; but the tone of voice in which itwas delivered, and the look that accompanied it, both seeming to bearreference to some revenge to be thereafter visited upon the head ofPott, produced their full effect upon him. The most unskilful observercould have detected in his troubled countenance, a readiness to resignhis Wellington boots to any efficient substitute who would haveconsented to stand in them at that moment.
Mrs. Pott read the paragraph, uttered a loud shriek, and threw herselfat full length on the hearth-rug, screaming, and tapping it with theheels of her shoes, in a manner which could leave no doubt of thepropriety of her feelings on the occasion.
"My dear," said the petrified Pott,--"I didn't say I believed it;--I--"but the unfortunate man's voice was drowned in the screaming of hispartner.
"Mrs. Pott, let me entreat you, my dear ma'am, to compose yourself,"said Mr. Winkle; but the shrieks and tappings were louder and morefrequent than ever.
"My dear," said Mr. Pott, "I'm very sorry. If you won't consideryour own health, consider me, my dear. We shall have a crowd roundthe house." But the more strenuously Mr. Pott entreated, the morevehemently the screams poured forth.
Very fortunately, however, attached to Mrs. Pott's person was abody-guard of one, a young lady whose ostensible employment was topreside over her toilet, but who rendered herself useful in a varietyof ways, and in none more so than in the particular departmentof constantly aiding and abetting her mistress in every wish andinclination opposed to the desires of the unhappy Pott. The screamsreached this young lady's ears in due course, and brought her into theroom with a speed which threatened to derange, materially, the veryexquisite arrangement of her cap and ringlets.
"Oh, my dear, dear mistress!" exclaimed the body-guard, kneelingfrantically by the side of the prostrate Mrs. Pott. "Oh, my dearmistress, what is the matter?"
"Your master--your brutal master," murmured the patient.
Pott was evidently giving way.
"It's a shame," said the body-guard, reproachfully. "I know he'll bethe death of you, ma'am. Poor dear thing!"
He gave way more. The opposite party followed up the attack.
"Oh, don't leave me--don't leave me, Goodwin," murmured Mrs. Pott,clutching at the wrist of the said Goodwin with an hysteric jerk."You're the only pers
on that's kind to me, Goodwin."
At this affecting appeal, Goodwin got up a little domestic tragedy ofher own, and shed tears copiously.
"Never, ma'am--never," said Goodwin. "Oh, sir, you should becareful--you should indeed; you don't know what harm you may do missis;you'll be sorry for it one day, I know--I've always said so."
The unlucky Pott looked timidly on, but said nothing.
"Goodwin," said Mrs. Pott, in a soft voice.
"Ma'am," said Goodwin.
"If you only knew how I have loved that man----"
"Don't distress yourself by recollecting it, ma'am," said thebody-guard.
Pott looked very frightened. It was time to finish him.
"And now," sobbed Mrs. Pott, "now, after all, to be treated inthis way; to be reproached and insulted in the presence of a thirdparty, and that party almost a stranger. But I will not submit toit! Goodwin," continued Mrs. Pott, raising herself in the arms ofher attendant, "my brother, the Lieutenant, shall interfere. I'll beseparated, Goodwin!"
"It would certainly serve him right, ma'am," said Goodwin.
Whatever thoughts the threat of a separation might have awakened inMr. Pott's mind, he forebore to give utterance to them, and contentedhimself by saying, with great humility:
"My dear, will you hear me?"
A fresh train of sobs was the only reply, as Mrs. Pott grew morehysterical, requested to be informed why she was ever born, andrequired sundry other pieces of information of a similar description.
"My dear," remonstrated Mr. Pott, "do not give way to these sensitivefeelings. I never believed that the paragraph had any foundation, mydear--impossible. I was only angry, my dear--I may say outrageous--withthe _Independent_ people for daring to insert it; that's all:" Mr. Pottcast an imploring look at the innocent cause of the mischief, as if toentreat him to say nothing about the serpent.
"And what steps, sir, do you mean to take to obtain redress?" inquiredMr. Winkle, gaining courage as he saw Pott losing it.
"Oh, Goodwin," observed Mrs. Pott, "does he mean to horsewhip theeditor of the _Independent_--does he, Goodwin?"
"Hush, hush, ma'am; pray keep yourself quiet," replied the body-guard."I dare say he will, if you wish it, ma'am."
"Certainly," said Pott, as his wife evinced decided symptoms of goingoff again. "Of course I shall."
"When, Goodwin--when?" said Mrs. Pott, still undecided about the goingoff.
"Immediately, of course," said Mr. Pott; "before the day is out."
"Oh, Goodwin," resumed Mrs. Pott; "it's the only way of meeting theslander, and setting me right with the world."
"Certainly, ma'am," replied Goodwin. "No man as is a man, ma'am, couldrefuse to do it."
So, as the hysterics were still hovering about, Mr. Pott said once morethat he would do it; but Mrs. Pott was so overcome at the bare idea ofhaving ever been suspected, that she was half a dozen times on the veryverge of a relapse, and most unquestionably would have gone off, had itnot been for the indefatigable efforts of the assiduous Goodwin, andrepeated entreaties for pardon from the conquered Pott; and finally,when that unhappy individual had been frightened and snubbed down tohis proper level, Mrs. Pott recovered, and they went to breakfast.
"You will not allow this base newspaper slander to shorten your stayhere, Mr. Winkle?" said Mrs. Pott, smiling through the traces of hertears.
"I hope not," said Mr. Pott, actuated, as he spoke, by a wish thathis visitor would choke himself with the morsel of dry toast whichhe was raising to his lips at the moment: and so terminate his stayeffectually. "I hope not."
"You are very good," said Mr. Winkle; "but a letter has been receivedfrom Mr. Pickwick--so I learn by a note from Mr. Tupman, which wasbrought up to my bed-room door, this morning--in which he requests usto join him at Bury to-day; and we are to leave by the coach at noon."
"But you will come back?" said Mrs. Pott.
"Oh, certainly," replied Mr. Winkle.
"You are quite sure?" said Mrs. Pott, stealing a tender look at hervisitor.
"Quite," responded Mr. Winkle.
The breakfast passed off in silence, for each member of the party wasbrooding over his, or her, own personal grievances. Mrs. Pott wasregretting the loss of a beau; Mr. Pott his rash pledge to horsewhipthe _Independent_; Mr. Winkle his having innocently placed himself inso awkward a situation. Noon approached, and after many adieux andpromises to return, he tore himself away.
"If he ever comes back, I'll poison him," thought Mr. Pott, as heturned into the little back office where he prepared his thunderbolts.
"If ever I do come back, and mix myself up with these people again,"thought Mr. Winkle, as he wended his way to the Peacock, "I shalldeserve to be horsewhipped myself--that's all."
His friends were ready, the coach was nearly so, and in half an hourthey were proceeding on their journey, along the road over which Mr.Pickwick and Sam had so recently travelled, and of which, as we havealready said something, we do not feel called upon to extract Mr.Snodgrass's poetical and beautiful description.
Mr. Weller was standing at the door of the Angel, ready to receivethem, and by that gentleman they were ushered to the apartment ofMr. Pickwick, where, to the no small surprise of Mr. Winkle and Mr.Snodgrass, and the no small embarrassment of Mr. Tupman, they found oldWardle and Trundle.
"How are you?" said the old man, grasping Mr. Tupman's hand. "Don'thang back, or look sentimental about it; it can't be helped, oldfellow. For her sake, I wish you'd had her; for your own, I'm veryglad you have not. A young fellow like you will do better one of thesedays--eh?" With this consolation, Wardle slapped Mr. Tupman on theback, and laughed heartily.
"Well, and how are you, my fine fellows?" said the old gentleman,shaking hands with Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass at the same time. "Ihave just been telling Pickwick that we must have you all down atChristmas. We're going to have a wedding--a real wedding this time."
"A wedding!" exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass, turning very pale.
"Yes, a wedding. But don't be frightened," said the good-humoured oldman; "it's only Trundle there, and Bella."
"Oh, is that all!" said Mr. Snodgrass, relieved from a painful doubtwhich had fallen heavily on his breast. "Give you joy, sir. How is Joe?"
"Very well," replied the old gentleman. "Sleepy as ever."
"And your mother, and the clergyman, and all of 'em?"
"Quite well."
"Where," said Mr. Tupman, with an effort--"where is--_she_, sir?" andhe turned away his head, and covered his eyes with his hand.
"_She!_" said the old gentleman, with a knowing shake of the head. "Doyou mean my single relative--eh?"
Mr. Tupman, by a nod, intimated that his question applied to thedisappointed Rachael.
"Oh, she's gone away," said the old gentleman. "She's living at arelation's, far enough off. She couldn't bear to see the girls, so Ilet her go. But come! Here's the dinner. You must be hungry after yourride. _I_ am, without any ride at all; so let us fall to."
Ample justice was done to the meal; and when they were seated roundthe table, after it had been disposed of, Mr. Pickwick, to the intensehorror and indignation of his followers, related the adventure he hadundergone, and the success which had attended the base artifices of thediabolical Jingle.
"And the attack of rheumatism which I caught in that garden," said Mr.Pickwick in conclusion, "renders me lame at this moment."
"I, too, have had something of an adventure," said Mr. Winkle, with asmile; and at the request of Mr. Pickwick he detailed the maliciouslibel of the _Eatanswill Independent_, and the consequent excitement oftheir friend, the editor.
Mr. Pickwick's brow darkened during the recital. His friends observedit, and, when Mr. Winkle had concluded, maintained a profound silence.Mr. Pickwick struck the table emphatically with his clenched fist, andspoke as follows:
"Is it not a wonderful circumstance," said Mr. Pickwick, "that weseem destined to enter no man's house without involving him in somedegree of trouble? Does, it not, I as
k, bespeak the indiscretion, or,worse than that, the blackness of heart--that I should say so!--of myfollowers, that, beneath whatever roof they locate, they disturb thepeace of mind and happiness of some confiding female? Is it not, Isay----"
Mr. Pickwick would in all probability have gone on for some time, hadnot the entrance of Sam, with a letter, caused him to break off in hiseloquent discourse. He passed the handkerchief across his forehead,took off his spectacles, wiped them, and put them on again; and hisvoice had recovered its wonted softness of tone when he said:
"What have you there, Sam?"
"Called at the Post-office just now, and found this here letter, ashas laid there for two days," replied Mr. Weller. "It's sealed with avafer, and directed in round hand."
"I don't know this hand," said Mr. Pickwick, opening the letter. "Mercyon us! what's this? It must be a jest; it--it--can't be true."
"What's the matter?" was the general inquiry.
"Nobody dead, is there?" said Wardle, alarmed at the horror in Mr.Pickwick's countenance.
Mr. Pickwick made no reply, but, pushing the letter across the table,and desiring Mr. Tupman to read it aloud, fell back in his chair with alook of vacant astonishment quite alarming to behold.
Mr. Tupman, with a trembling voice, read the letter, of which thefollowing is a copy:--
_Freeman's Court, Cornhill, August 28th, 1830._
_Bardell against Pickwick._
_Sir_,
_Having been instructed by Mrs. Martha Bardell to commence an action against you for a breach of promise of marriage, for which the plaintiff lays her damages at fifteen hundred pounds, we beg to inform you that a writ has been issued against you in this suit in the Court of Common Pleas; and request to know, by return of post, the name of your attorney in London, who will accept service thereof._
_We are, Sir, Your obedient servants, Dodson and Fogg._
_Mr. Samuel Pickwick._
There was something so impressive in the mute astonishment with whicheach man regarded his neighbour, and every man regarded Mr. Pickwick,that all seemed afraid to speak. The silence was at length broken byMr. Tupman.
"Dodson and Fogg," he repeated, mechanically.
"Bardell and Pickwick," said Mr. Snodgrass, musing.
"Peace of mind and happiness of confiding females," murmured Mr.Winkle, with an air of abstraction.
"It's a conspiracy," said Mr. Pickwick, at length recovering the powerof speech; "a base conspiracy between these two grasping attorneys,Dodson and Fogg. Mrs. Bardell would never do it;--she hasn't the heartto do it;--she hasn't the case to do it. Ridiculous--ridiculous."
"Of her heart," said Wardle, with a smile, "you should certainly be thebest judge. I don't wish to discourage you, but I should certainly saythat, of her case, Dodson and Fogg are far better judges than any of uscan be."
"It's a vile attempt to extort money," said Mr. Pickwick.
"I hope it is," said Wardle, with a short, dry cough.
"Who ever heard me address her in any way but that in which a lodgerwould address his landlady?" continued Mr. Pickwick, with greatvehemence. "Who ever saw me with her? Not even my friends here----"
"Except on one occasion," said Mr. Tupman.
Mr. Pickwick changed colour.
"Ah," said Mr. Wardle. "Well, that's important. There was nothingsuspicious then, I suppose?"
Mr. Tupman glanced timidly at his leader. "Why," said he, "there wasnothing suspicious; but--I don't know how it happened, mind--shecertainly was reclining in his arms."
"Gracious powers!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, as the recollection of thescene in question struck forcibly upon him; "what a dreadful instanceof the force of circumstances! So she was--so she was."
"And our friend was soothing her anguish," said Mr. Winkle, rathermaliciously.
"So I was," said Mr. Pickwick. "I won't deny it. So I was."
"Hallo!" said Wardle; "for a case in which there's nothing suspicious,this looks rather queer--eh, Pickwick? Ah, sly dog--sly dog!" and helaughed till the glasses on the sideboard rang again.
"What a dreadful conjunction of appearances!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick,resting his chin upon his hands. "Winkle--Tupman--I beg your pardonfor the observations I made just now. We are all the victims ofcircumstances, and I the greatest." With this apology Mr. Pickwickburied his head in his hands, and ruminated; while Wardle measured outa regular circle of nods and winks, addressed to the other members ofthe company.
"I'll have it explained, though," said Mr. Pickwick, raising his headand hammering the table. "I'll see this Dodson and Fogg! I'll go toLondon to-morrow."
"Not to-morrow," said Wardle; "you're too lame."
"Well, then, next day."
"Next day is the first of September, and you're pledged to ride outwith us, as far as Sir Geoffrey Manning's grounds, at all events, andto meet us at lunch, if you don't take the field."
"Well, then, the day after," said Mr. Pickwick; "Thursday--Sam!"
"Sir?" replied Mr. Weller.
"Take two places outside to London, on Thursday morning, for yourselfand me."
"Wery well, sir."
Mr. Weller left the room, and departed slowly on his errand, with hishands in his pocket, and his eyes fixed on the ground.
"Rum feller, the hemperor," said Mr. Weller, as he walked slowly upthe street. "Think o' his making up to that 'ere Mrs. Bardell--vith alittle boy, too! Always the vay with these here old 'uns hows'ever,as is such steady goers to look at. I didn't think he'd ha' done it,though--I didn't think he'd ha' done it!" Moralising in this strain,Mr. Samuel Weller bent his steps towards the booking-office.
The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, v. 1 (of 2) Page 20
