Mr. Pickwick, considering the critical nature of his case, was certainly unfortunate in his solicitor, as well as in the Counsel selected by his solicitors. The other side were particularly favoured in this matter. They had a pushful bustling “wide-awake” firm of solicitors, who let not a point escape. Sergeant Buzfuz was exactly the sort of advocate for the case—masterful, unscrupulous, eloquent, and with a singularly ingenious faculty for putting everything on his client’s side in the best light, and his adversary’s in the worst. He could “tear a witness to pieces,” and turn him inside out. His junior, Skimpin, was glib, ready-armed at all points, and singularly adroit in “making a hare” of any witnesswho fell into his hands,testeWinkle. He had all the professional devices for dealing with a witness’s answers, and twisting them to his purpose, at his fingers’ ends. He was the Wontner or Ballantyne of his day. Mr. Pickwick’s “bar” was quite outmatched. They were rather a feeble lot, too respectable altogether, and really not familiar with this line of business. Even the judge was against them from the very start, so Mr. Pickwick had very poor chances indeed. All this was due to that old-fashioned and rather incapable “Family Solicitor” Perker.
Serjeant Buzfuz, K.C.
Serjeant Buzfuz is known the world all over, at least wherever English is known. I myself was once startled in a fashionable West End church to hear a preacher, when emphasizing the value and necessity of Prayer, and the certainty with which it is responded to, use this illustration: “As Serjeant Buzfuz said to Sam Weller, ‘There is little to do and plenty to get.’” Needless to say, an amused smile, if not a titter, passed round the congregation. But it is the Barrister who most appreciates the learned Serjeant. For the topics he argued and his fashion of arguing them, bating a not excessive exaggeration, comes home to them all. Nay, they must have a secret admiration, and fondly think how excellently well such and such topics are put, and how they must have told with a jury.
Buzfuz, it is now well known, was drawn from a leading serjeant of his day, Serjeant Bompas, K.C. Not so long since I was sitting by Bompas’s son, the present Judge Bompas, at dinner, and a most agreeable causeur he was. Not only did Boz sketch the style and fashion of the serjeant, but it is clear that Phiz drew the figure and features.
“I am the youngest son of Serjeant Bompas,” Judge Bompas writes to me, “and have never heard it doubted that the name Buzfuz was taken from my father whowas at that time considered a most successful advocate. I think he may have been chosen for the successful advocate because he was so successful: but I have never been able to ascertain that there was any other special resemblance. I do not remember my father myself: he died when I was eight years old. But I am told I am like him in face. He was tall (five feet ten inches) and a large man, very popular, and very excitable in his cases, so that I am told that Counsel against him used to urge him, out of friendship, not to get so agitated. A connection of mine who knew him well, went over to hear Charles Dickens read the Trial Scene, to see if he at all imitated him in voice or manner, but told me that he did not do so at all. I think, therefore, that having chosen his name, as a writer might now that of Sir Charles Russell, he then drew a general type of barrister, as he thought it might be satirised. My father, like myself, was on the Western Circuit and leader of it at the time of his death.”
“I had a curious episode happen to me once. A client wrote to apply to the court to excuse a juror on the ground that he was a chemist and had no assistant who understood the drugs. It was not till I made the application and the Court began to laugh that I remembered the Pickwick Trial. I believe the application was quite bonâ fide, and not at all an imitation of it.” An interesting communication from one who might be styled “Buzfuz’s son;” and, as Judge Bompas alludes to his own likeness to his sire, I may add that the likeness to the portrait in the court scene, is very striking indeed. There is the same fullness of face, the large features. Buzfuz was certainly a counsel of power and ability, and I think lawyers will admit he managed Mrs. Bardell’s case with much adroitness. His speech, besides being a sort of satirical abstract of the unamiable thundering boisterousness addressed to juriesin such cases, is one of much ability. He makes the most of every topic that he thought likely to “tell” on a city jury. We laugh heartily at his would-be solemn and pathetic passages, but these are little exaggerated. Buzfuz’s statement is meant to show how counsel, quite legitimately, can bring quite innocent acts to the support of their case by marshalling them in suspicious order, and suggesting that they had a connection with the charge made. Many a client thus becomes as bewildered as Mr. Pickwick was, on seeing his own harmless proceedings assuming quite a guilty complexion.
Serjeant Buzfuz-Bompas died at the age of fifty-three, at his house in Park Road, Regents Park, on February 29th, 1844. He was then, comparatively, a young man, and must have had ability to have attained his position so early. He was called to the Bar in 1815, and began as Serjeant in 1827, in Trinity Term, only a year or so before the famous case was tried.
So dramatic is the whole “Trial” in its action and characters, that it is almost fit for the stage as it stands. There have been a great number of versions, one by the author’s son, Charles “the Younger,” one by Mr. Hollingshead, and so on. It is a favorite piece for charitable benefits, and a number of well-known performers often volunteer to figure as “Gentlemen of the Jury.” Buzfuz has been often played by Mr. Toole, but his too farcical methods scarcely enhanced the part. The easiness of comedy is essential. That sound player Mr. James Fernander is the best Buzfuz that I have seen.
There is a French translation ofPickwick, in which the general spirit of the “Trial” is happily conveyed. Thus Mr. Phunky’s name is given as “M. Finge,” which the little judge mistakes for “M. Singe.” Buzfuz’s speech too is excellent, especially his denouncing the Defendant’s coming with his chops “et son ignoble bassinoire” i.e., warming pan.
Buzfuz’s great speech is one of the happiest parodies in the language. Never was the forensic jargon and treatment so humorously set forth—and this because of the perfectsincerityand earnestness with which it was done. There is none of the far-fetched, impossible exaggeration—the form of burlesque which Theodore Hook or Albert Smith might have attempted. It is, in fact, a real speech, which might have been delivered to a dull-headed audience without much impairing credibility. Apart from this it is a most effective harangue and most plausible statement of the Plaintiff’s case.
A little professional touch, which is highly significant as part of the pantomine, and which Boz made very effective at the reading, was the Serjeant’s dramatic preparation for his speech. “Having whispered to Dodson and conferred briefly with Fogg,he pulled his gown over his shoulders,settled his wig, and addressed the Jury.” Who has not seen this bit of business?
Again, Juries may have noted that the Junior as he rises to speak, mumbles something that is quite inaudible, and which nobody attends to. This is known as “opening the pleadings.”
The ushers again called silence, and Mr. Skimpin proceeded to ‘open the case;’ and the case appeared to have very little inside it when he had opened it, for he kept such particulars as he knew, completely to himself, and sat down, after a lapse of three minutes, leaving the jury in precisely the same advanced stage of wisdom as they were in before.Serjeant Buzfuz then rose with all the majesty and dignity which the grave nature of the proceedings demanded, and having whispered to Dodson, and conferred briefly with Fogg, pulled his gown over his shoulders, settled his wig, and addressed the jury.
The ushers again called silence, and Mr. Skimpin proceeded to ‘open the case;’ and the case appeared to have very little inside it when he had opened it, for he kept such particulars as he knew, completely to himself, and sat down, after a lapse of three minutes, leaving the jury in precisely the same advanced stage of wisdom as they were in before.
Serjeant Buzfuz then rose with all the majesty and dignity which the grave nature of the proceedings demanded, and having whispered to Dodson, and conferred briefly with Fogg, pulled his gown over his shoulders, settled his wig, and addressed the jury.
A most delightful legal platitude, as one might call it, is to be found in the opening of the learned Sergeant’s speech. It is a familiar, transparent thing, often used to impose on the Jury. As Boz says of another topic, “Counsel often begins in this way because it makes the jury think what sharp fellows they must be.” “You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen,” continued the Serjeant, well knowing that from the learned friend alluded to they had heard just nothing at all, “you have heard from my learned friend, that this is an action for Breach of Promise of Marriage, in which the damages are laid at £1,500. But you havenot heard from my learned friend,inasmuch as it did not lie within my learned friend’s province to tell you, what are the facts and circumstances of the case.” This rich bit of circumlocution is simple nonsense, in rotund phrase, and meant to suggest the imposing majesty of legal process. The Jury knew perfectly beforehand what they were going to try: but were to be impressed by the magnifying agency of legal processes, and would be awe stricken accordingly. The passage, “inasmuch as it did not lie within my learned friend’s province to tell you,” is a delightful bit of cant. In short, the Jury was thus admitted to the secret legal arena, and into community with the learned friends themselves, and were persuaded that they were very sharp fellows indeed. What pleasant satire is here, on the mellifluous “openings” of Counsel, the putting a romantic gloss on the most prosaic incidents.
A sucking Barrister might well study this speech of Buzfuz as a guide to the conducting of a case, and aboveall of rather a “shaky” one. Not less excellent is his smooth and plausible account of Mrs. Bardell’s setting up in lodging letting. He really makes it “interesting.” One thinks of some fluttering, helpless young widow, setting out in the battle of life.
He describes the poor innocent lady putting a bill in her window, “and let me entreat the attention of the Jury to the wording of this document—‘Apartments furnished for a single gentleman!’ Mrs. Bardell’s opinions of the opposite sex, gentlemen, were derived from a long contemplation of the inestimable qualities of her lost husband. She had no fear—she had no distrust—she had no suspicion—all was confidence and reliance. ‘Mr. Bardell,’ said the widow: ‘Mr. Bardell was a man of honour—Mr. Bardell was a man of his word—Mr. Bardell was no deceiver—Mr. Bardell was once a single gentleman himself; to single gentlemen I look for protection, for assistance, for comfort, and for consolation—in single gentlemen I shall perpetually see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was, when he first won my young and untried affections; to a single gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let.’ Actuated by this beautiful and touching impulse (among the best impulses of our imperfect nature, gentlemen), the lonely and desolate widow dried her tears, furnished her first floor, caught her innocent boy to her maternal bosom, and put the bill up in her parlour window. Did it remain there long? No. The serpent was on the watch, the train was laid, the mine was preparing, the sapper and miner was at work. Before the bill had been in the parlour window three days—three days, gentlemen—a being, erect upon two legs, and bearing all the outward semblance of a man, and not of a monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell’s house. He enquired within.”
Those who attended the Reading will recall the admirablebriskness, and more admirable spirit with which Boz delivered the passage “by the evidence of the unimpeachable female whom I shall place in that”—here he brought down his palm with a mighty slap on the desk, and added, after a moment’s pause, “Boxbefore you.” It was thatprecedingof the stroke that told. So real was it, one fancied oneself listening to some obstreperous counsel. In all true acting—notably on the French boards—the gesture should a little precede the utterance. So the serjeant knew something of art.
When Mr. Pickwick gave an indignant start on hearing himself described as a heartless villain how cleverly does the capable Buzfuz turn the incident to profit.
Mr. Pickwick as a Monster
‘I say systematic villany, gentlemen,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, looking through Mr. Pickwick, and talkingathim; ‘and when I say systematic villiany, let me tell the defendant, Pickwick, if he be in court, as I am informedhe is, that it would have been more decent in him, more becoming, in better judgment and in better taste, if he had stopped away. Let me tell him, gentlemen, that any gestures of dissent or disapprobation in which he may indulge in this court will not go down with you; that you will know how to value, and to appreciate them; and let me tell him further, as my lord will tell you, gentlemen, that a counsel, in the discharge of his duty to his client, is neither to be intimidated nor bullied, nor put down; and that any attempt to do either the one or the other, or the first or the last, will recoil on the head of the attempter, be he plaintiff or be he defendant, be his name Pickwick, or Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson.’This little divergence from the subject in hand, had of course the intended effect of turning all eyes to Mr. Pickwick.
‘I say systematic villany, gentlemen,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, looking through Mr. Pickwick, and talkingathim; ‘and when I say systematic villiany, let me tell the defendant, Pickwick, if he be in court, as I am informedhe is, that it would have been more decent in him, more becoming, in better judgment and in better taste, if he had stopped away. Let me tell him, gentlemen, that any gestures of dissent or disapprobation in which he may indulge in this court will not go down with you; that you will know how to value, and to appreciate them; and let me tell him further, as my lord will tell you, gentlemen, that a counsel, in the discharge of his duty to his client, is neither to be intimidated nor bullied, nor put down; and that any attempt to do either the one or the other, or the first or the last, will recoil on the head of the attempter, be he plaintiff or be he defendant, be his name Pickwick, or Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson.’
This little divergence from the subject in hand, had of course the intended effect of turning all eyes to Mr. Pickwick.
We relish, too, another “common form.” When the Serjeant found that his jest as to “greasing the wheels of Mr. Pickwick’s slow-coach” had somewhat missed fire—a thing that often unaccountably happens, in the case of the “twelve intelligent men,” the Serjeant knew how to adroitly recover himself.
He paused in this place to see whether the jury smiled at his joke; but as nobody took it but the greengrocer, whose sensitiveness on the subject was very probably occasioned by his having subjected a chaise-cart to the process in question on that identical morning, the learned Serjeant considered it advisable to undergo a slight relapse into the dismals before he concluded.‘But enough of this, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, ‘it is difficult to smile with an aching heart; it is ill jesting when our deepest sympathies are awakened. My client’s hopes and prospects are ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say that her occupation is goneindeed. The bill is down—but there is no tenant. Eligible single gentlemen pass and repass—but there is no invitation for them to enquire within or without. All is gloom and silence in the house; even the voice of the child is hushed; his infant sports are disregarded when his mother weeps; his “alley tors” and his “commoneys” are alike neglected; he forgets the long familiar cry of “knuckle down,” and at tip-cheese, or odd and even, his hand is out. But Pickwick, gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell Street—Pickwick, who has choked up the well, and thrown ashes on the sward—Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless tomato sauce and warming-pans—Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has made. Damages, gentlemen—heavy damages is the only punishment with which you can visit him.’
He paused in this place to see whether the jury smiled at his joke; but as nobody took it but the greengrocer, whose sensitiveness on the subject was very probably occasioned by his having subjected a chaise-cart to the process in question on that identical morning, the learned Serjeant considered it advisable to undergo a slight relapse into the dismals before he concluded.
‘But enough of this, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, ‘it is difficult to smile with an aching heart; it is ill jesting when our deepest sympathies are awakened. My client’s hopes and prospects are ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say that her occupation is goneindeed. The bill is down—but there is no tenant. Eligible single gentlemen pass and repass—but there is no invitation for them to enquire within or without. All is gloom and silence in the house; even the voice of the child is hushed; his infant sports are disregarded when his mother weeps; his “alley tors” and his “commoneys” are alike neglected; he forgets the long familiar cry of “knuckle down,” and at tip-cheese, or odd and even, his hand is out. But Pickwick, gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell Street—Pickwick, who has choked up the well, and thrown ashes on the sward—Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless tomato sauce and warming-pans—Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has made. Damages, gentlemen—heavy damages is the only punishment with which you can visit him.’
“I shall prove to you, gentlemen, thatabout a year ago Pickwick suddenly began to absent himself from home, during long intervals, (‘on Pickwick Tours,’)as if with the intention of breaking off from my client: but I shall show you also that his resolutions were not at that time sufficiently strong, or that his better feelings conquered,if better feelings he has: or that the charms and accomplishments of my client prevailed against his unmanly intentions.” We may note the reserve which suggested a struggle going on in Mr. Pickwick. And how persuasive is Buzfuz’sexegesis! Then, on the letters:
“These letters bespeak the character of the man. They are not open, fervid, eloquent epistles breathing nothing but the language of affectionate attachment. They arecovert,sly, under-hand communications, but, fortunately, far more conclusive than if couched in the most glowing language.Letters that must be viewed with a cautious and supicious eye:letters that were evidently intended at the time,by Pickwick,to mislead and delude any third parties into whose hands they might fall.” The gravity and persuasiveness of all this is reallyimpayable. “Let me read the first: ‘Garraway’s, twelve o’clock. Dear Mrs. B., Chops and tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick.’ Gentlemen, what does this mean? Chops and tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick. Chops! Gracious Heavens!—and tomato sauce! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding femaleto be trifledaway by such artifices as these?The next has no datewhatever which is in itself suspicious: ‘Dear Mrs. B., I shall not be at home until to-morrow. Slow coach.’ And then follows the very remarkable expression, ‘Don’t trouble yourself about the warming pan.’”
There is a little bit of serious history connected with these letters which I was the first I think to discover. They were intended to satirise the trivial scraps brought forward in Mrs. Norton’s matrimonial case—Nortonv.Lord Melbourne. My late friend, “Charles Dickens the younger,” as he used to call himself, in his notes onPickwick, puts aside this theory altogether as a mere unfounded fancy; but it will be seen there cannot be a doubt in the matter. Sir W. Follett laid just as much stress on these scraps as Serjeant Buzfuz did on his: he even used the phrase, “it seems there may be latent love like latent heat, in these productions.” We have also, “Yours Melbourne,” like “Yours Pickwick,” the latter signing as though he were a Peer. “There is another of these notes,” went on Sir William, “How are you?” “Again there is no beginning you see.” “The next has no date, which is in itself suspicious,” Buzfuz would have added. Another ran—“I will call about half past four, Yours.” “Theseare the only notes that have been found,” added the counsel, with due gravity, “they seem to import much more than mere words convey.” After this can there be a doubt?
This case was tried in June, 1836, and, it must be borne in mind, caused a prodigious sensation all over the Kingdom. The Pickwick part, containing the description, appeared about December, six months afterwards. Only old people may recall Nortonv.Melbourne, the fair Caroline’s wrongs have long been forgotten; but it is curious that the memory of it should have been kept alive in some sort by this farcical parody. Equally curious is it that the public should always have insisted that she was the heroine of yet another story, GeorgeMeredith’sDiana, though the author has disclaimed it over and over again.
The Serjeant’s dealing with the warming pan topic is a truly admirable satiric touch, and not one bit far-fetched or exaggerated. Any one familiar with suspicious actions has again and again heard comments as plausible and as forced. “Don’t trouble yourself about the warming pan! The warming pan! Why, gentlemen, whodoestrouble himself about a warming pen?” A deliciousnon sequitur, sheer nonsense, and yet with an air of conviction that is irresistable. “When was the peace of mind of man or woman broken or disturbed by a warming pan which is in itself a harmless, a usefuland I will add,gentlemen, a comforting article of domestic furniture?” He then goes on ingeniously to suggest that it may be “a cover for hidden fire, a mere substitute for some endearing word or promise,agreeably to a preconcerted systemof correspondence, artfully contrived by Pickwickwith a viewto his contemplated desertion and which I am not in a position to explain?” Admirable indeed! One could imagine a city jury in their wisdom thinking that there must besomethingin this warming pan!
Not less amusing and plausible is his dealing with the famous topic of the “chops and tomato sauce,” not “tomata” as Boz has it. I suppose there is no popular allusion better understood than this. The very man in the street knows all about it and what it means. Absurd as it may seem, it is hardly an exaggeration. Counsel every day give weight to points just as trivial and expound them elaborately to the jury. The Serjeant’s burst of horror is admirable, “Gentlemen,what does this mean? ‘Chops and tomata sauce! Yours Pickwick!’ Chops! Gracious Heavens! What does this mean? Is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding female to be trifled awayby such shallow artifices as these?’”
I recall that admirable judge and pleasant man, the late Lord FitzGerald, who was fond of talking of this trial, saying to me that Buzfuz lost a good point here, as he might have dwelt on the mystic meaning of tomato which is the “love apple,” that here was the “secret correspondence,” the real “cover for hidden fire.”
He concluded by demanding exemplary damages as “the recompense you can award my client. And for these damages she now appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right feeling, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathising, a contemplative jury of her civilized countrymen!”
It was really of a very flimsy kind but “bolstered-up” and carried through by the bluster of the serjeant and the smartness of his junior. It rested first on a dialogue between Mr. Pickwick and his landlady which was overheard, in fact by several persons; second, on a striking situation witnessed by his three friends who entered unexpectedly and surprised him with Mrs. Bardell in his arms; third, on some documentary evidence, and lastly, on a damaging incident disclosed by Winkle.
The first witness “put in the box,” was Mrs. Martha Cluppins—an intimate friend of the plaintiffs.
We know that she was sister to Mrs. Raddle, who lived far away in Southwark, and was the landlady of Mr. Sawyer. She might have been cross-examined with effect as to her story that she had been “out buying kidney pertaties,” etc. Why buy these articles in Goswell Street and come all the way from Southwark? What was she doing there at all? This question could have been answered only in one way—which was that the genial author fancied at the moment she was living near Mrs. Bardell.
Besides this, there was another point which Snubbin, in cross-examination, ought to have driven home. Mrs. Cluppins was of an inferior type, of the common washerwoman or “charing” sort; her language was of Mrs. Gamp’s kind; “which her name was” so and so. Yet, this creature, in another room, or on the stairs, the door being “on the jar,” can repeat with her limitedappreciation, those dubious and imperfect utterances of Mr. Pickwick! How could she remember all? Or could she understand them? Impossible! She, however, may have caught up something.
Winkle, too, said he heard something as he came up the stairs—“Compose yourself my dear creature, for consider if any one were to come,” etc. But what could be the value of evidence heard in this way? Would a jury believe it? “Not only,” as Sam said, “is ‘wision limited,’” but hearing also.
In short, the delicate subtleties of the conversation between Mr. Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell would be wholly lost in her hands. Persons of her class know nothing of suggestion or double meanings or reserved intention, everything for them must be in black and white. How unlikely, therefore, that through the panels of a door or through the half opened door, (“she said on the jar,”) could she catch the phrases and their meanings, and, above all, retain them in her memory? No doubt, as the counsel put it bluntly, she listened, and with all her ears.
However this may be, here is what Mrs. Cluppins deposed to:
‘Mrs. Cluppins,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, ‘pray compose yoursel, ma’am;’ and, of course, directly Mrs. Cluppins was desired to compose herself she sobbed with increased violence, and gave divers alarming manifestations of an approaching fainting fit, or, as she afterwards said, of her feelings being too many for her.‘Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins?’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, after a few unimportant questions—‘do you recollect being in Mrs. Bardell’s back one pair of stairs, on one particular morning in July last, when she was dusting Mr. Pickwick’s apartment?’‘Yes, my Lord and jury, I do,’ replied Mrs. Cluppins.‘Mr. Pickwick’s sitting-room was the first floor front, I believe?’‘Yes it were, sir,’ replied Mrs. Cluppins.‘What were you doing in the back room, ma’am?’ inquired the little judge.‘My Lord and jury,’ said Mrs. Cluppins, with interesting agitation, ‘I will not deceive you.’‘You had better not, ma’am,’ said the little judge.‘I was there,’ resumed Mrs. Cluppins, ‘unbeknown to Mrs. Bardell; I had been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buy three pounds of red kidney pertaties, which was three pound, tuppense ha’penny, when I see Mrs. Bardell’s street door on the jar.’‘On the what?’ exclaimed the little judge.‘Partly open, my Lord,’ said Serjeant Snubbin.‘Shesaidon the jar,’ said the little judge with a cunning look.‘It’s all the same, my lord,’ said Serjeant Snubbin. The little judge looked doubtful, and said he’d make a note of it. Mrs. Cluppins then resumed—‘I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good mornin’, and went in a permiscuous manner up-stairs, and into the back room. Gentlemen, there was the sound of voices in the front room, and—’‘And you listened, I believe, Mrs. Cluppins,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz.‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir,’ replied Mrs. Cluppins, in a majestic manner, ‘I would scorn the haction. The voices was very loud, sir, and forced themselves upon my ear.’‘Well, Mrs. Cluppins, you were not listening, but you heard the voices. Was one of those voices Mr. Pickwick’s?’‘Yes, it were, sir.’And Mrs. Cluppins, after distinctly stating that Mr. Pickwick addressed himself to Mrs. Bardell, repeated by slow degrees, and by dint of many questions the conversation with which our readers are already acquainted.
‘Mrs. Cluppins,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, ‘pray compose yoursel, ma’am;’ and, of course, directly Mrs. Cluppins was desired to compose herself she sobbed with increased violence, and gave divers alarming manifestations of an approaching fainting fit, or, as she afterwards said, of her feelings being too many for her.
‘Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins?’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, after a few unimportant questions—‘do you recollect being in Mrs. Bardell’s back one pair of stairs, on one particular morning in July last, when she was dusting Mr. Pickwick’s apartment?’
‘Yes, my Lord and jury, I do,’ replied Mrs. Cluppins.
‘Mr. Pickwick’s sitting-room was the first floor front, I believe?’
‘Yes it were, sir,’ replied Mrs. Cluppins.
‘What were you doing in the back room, ma’am?’ inquired the little judge.
‘My Lord and jury,’ said Mrs. Cluppins, with interesting agitation, ‘I will not deceive you.’
‘You had better not, ma’am,’ said the little judge.
‘I was there,’ resumed Mrs. Cluppins, ‘unbeknown to Mrs. Bardell; I had been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buy three pounds of red kidney pertaties, which was three pound, tuppense ha’penny, when I see Mrs. Bardell’s street door on the jar.’
‘On the what?’ exclaimed the little judge.
‘Partly open, my Lord,’ said Serjeant Snubbin.
‘Shesaidon the jar,’ said the little judge with a cunning look.
‘It’s all the same, my lord,’ said Serjeant Snubbin. The little judge looked doubtful, and said he’d make a note of it. Mrs. Cluppins then resumed—
‘I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good mornin’, and went in a permiscuous manner up-stairs, and into the back room. Gentlemen, there was the sound of voices in the front room, and—’
‘And you listened, I believe, Mrs. Cluppins,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz.
‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir,’ replied Mrs. Cluppins, in a majestic manner, ‘I would scorn the haction. The voices was very loud, sir, and forced themselves upon my ear.’
‘Well, Mrs. Cluppins, you were not listening, but you heard the voices. Was one of those voices Mr. Pickwick’s?’
‘Yes, it were, sir.’
And Mrs. Cluppins, after distinctly stating that Mr. Pickwick addressed himself to Mrs. Bardell, repeated by slow degrees, and by dint of many questions the conversation with which our readers are already acquainted.
Now we have to turn back to one of the earlier passages in the story for the conversation between the pair, “with which the reader is already acquainted.” Thus we shall know what Mrs. Cluppin’s might have heard.
Mr. Pickwick paced the room to and fro with hurried steps, popped his head out of the window at intervals of about three minutes each, constantly referred to his watch, and exhibited many other manifestations of impatience, very unusual with him. It was evident that something of great importance was in contemplation, but what that something was not even Mrs. Bardell herself had been enabled to discover.‘Mrs. Bardell,’ said Mr. Pickwick at last, as that amiable female approached the termination of a prolonged dusting of the apartment.‘Sir,’ said Mrs. Bardell.‘Your little boy is a very long time gone.’‘Why, it’s a good long way to the Borough, sir,’ remonstrated Mrs. Bardell.‘Ah,’ said Pickwick, ‘very true; so it is.’Mr. Pickwick relapsed into silence, and Mrs. Bardell resumed her dusting.‘Mrs. Bardell,’ said Mr. Pickwick, at the expiration of a few minutes.‘Sir,’ said Mrs. Bardell again.‘Do you think it’s a much greater expense to keep two people, than to keep one?’‘La, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mrs. Bardell, colouring up to the very border of her cap, as she fancied she observed a species of matrimonial twinkle in the eyes of her lodger, ‘La, Mr. Pickwick, what a question!’‘Well, butdoyou?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.‘That depends—’ said Mrs. Bardell, approaching the duster very near to Mr. Pickwick’s elbow, which was planted on the table; ‘that depends a good deal uponthe person, you know, Mr. Pickwick; and whether it’s a saving and careful person, sir.’‘That’s very true,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘but the person I have in my eye (here he looked very hard at Mrs. Bardell) I think possesses these qualities; and has, moreover, a considerable knowledge of the world, and a great deal of sharpness, Mrs. Bardell; which may be of material use to me.’‘La, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mrs. Bardell; the crimson rising to her cap-border again.‘I do,’ said Mr. Pickwick, growing energetic, as was his wont in speaking of a subject which interested him, ‘I do, indeed; and to tell you the truth, Mrs. Bardell, I have made up my mind.’‘Dear me, sir,’ exclaimed Mrs. Bardell.‘You’ll think it very strange, now,’ said the amiable Mr. Pickwick, with a good humoured glance at his companion, ‘that I never consulted you about this matter, and never even mentioned it, till I sent your little boy out this morning, eh?’Mrs. Bardell could only reply by a look. She had long worshipped Mr. Pickwick at a distance, but here she was, all at once, raised to a pinnacle to which her wildest and most extravagant hopes and never dared to aspire. Mr. Pickwick was going to propose—a deliberate plan, too—sent her little boy to the Borough, to get him out of the way—how thoughtful—how considerate!’‘Well,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘what do you think?’‘Oh, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mrs. Bardell, trembling with agitation, ‘you’re very kind, sir.’‘It’ll save you a good deal of trouble, won’t it?’ said Mr. Pickwick.‘Oh, I never thought anything of the trouble, sir,’ replied Mrs. Bardell; ‘and, of course, I should take more trouble to please you then, than ever; but it is sokind of you, Mr. Pickwick, to have so much consideration for my loneliness.’‘Ah, to be sure,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘I never thought of that. When I am in town, you’ll always have somebody to sit with you. To be sure, so you will.’‘I’m sure I ought to be a very happy woman,’ said Mrs. Bardell.‘And your little boy—’ said Mr. Pickwick.‘Bless his heart,’ interposed Mrs. Bardell, with a maternal sob.‘He, too, will have a companion,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick, ‘a lively one, who’ll teach him, I’ll be bound, more tricks in a week than he would ever learn in a year.’ And Mr. Pickwick smiled placidly.‘Oh, you dear—’ said Mrs. Bardell.Mr. Pickwick started.‘Oh, you kind, good, playful dear,’ said Mrs. Bardell; and without more ado, she rose from her chair, and flung her arms round Mr. Pickwick’s neck, with a cataract of tears, and a chorus of sobs.‘Bless my soul,’ cried the astonished Mr. Pickwick;—‘Mrs. Bardell, my good woman—dear me, what a situation—pray—consider, Mrs. Bardell, if anybody should come.’‘O, let them come,’ exclaimed Mrs. Bardell, frantically.‘I’ll never leave you, dear, kind, good soul.’ And with these words Mrs. Bardell clung the tighter.
Mr. Pickwick paced the room to and fro with hurried steps, popped his head out of the window at intervals of about three minutes each, constantly referred to his watch, and exhibited many other manifestations of impatience, very unusual with him. It was evident that something of great importance was in contemplation, but what that something was not even Mrs. Bardell herself had been enabled to discover.
‘Mrs. Bardell,’ said Mr. Pickwick at last, as that amiable female approached the termination of a prolonged dusting of the apartment.
‘Sir,’ said Mrs. Bardell.
‘Your little boy is a very long time gone.’
‘Why, it’s a good long way to the Borough, sir,’ remonstrated Mrs. Bardell.
‘Ah,’ said Pickwick, ‘very true; so it is.’
Mr. Pickwick relapsed into silence, and Mrs. Bardell resumed her dusting.
‘Mrs. Bardell,’ said Mr. Pickwick, at the expiration of a few minutes.
‘Sir,’ said Mrs. Bardell again.
‘Do you think it’s a much greater expense to keep two people, than to keep one?’
‘La, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mrs. Bardell, colouring up to the very border of her cap, as she fancied she observed a species of matrimonial twinkle in the eyes of her lodger, ‘La, Mr. Pickwick, what a question!’
‘Well, butdoyou?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘That depends—’ said Mrs. Bardell, approaching the duster very near to Mr. Pickwick’s elbow, which was planted on the table; ‘that depends a good deal uponthe person, you know, Mr. Pickwick; and whether it’s a saving and careful person, sir.’
‘That’s very true,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘but the person I have in my eye (here he looked very hard at Mrs. Bardell) I think possesses these qualities; and has, moreover, a considerable knowledge of the world, and a great deal of sharpness, Mrs. Bardell; which may be of material use to me.’
‘La, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mrs. Bardell; the crimson rising to her cap-border again.
‘I do,’ said Mr. Pickwick, growing energetic, as was his wont in speaking of a subject which interested him, ‘I do, indeed; and to tell you the truth, Mrs. Bardell, I have made up my mind.’
‘Dear me, sir,’ exclaimed Mrs. Bardell.
‘You’ll think it very strange, now,’ said the amiable Mr. Pickwick, with a good humoured glance at his companion, ‘that I never consulted you about this matter, and never even mentioned it, till I sent your little boy out this morning, eh?’
Mrs. Bardell could only reply by a look. She had long worshipped Mr. Pickwick at a distance, but here she was, all at once, raised to a pinnacle to which her wildest and most extravagant hopes and never dared to aspire. Mr. Pickwick was going to propose—a deliberate plan, too—sent her little boy to the Borough, to get him out of the way—how thoughtful—how considerate!’
‘Well,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘what do you think?’
‘Oh, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mrs. Bardell, trembling with agitation, ‘you’re very kind, sir.’
‘It’ll save you a good deal of trouble, won’t it?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Oh, I never thought anything of the trouble, sir,’ replied Mrs. Bardell; ‘and, of course, I should take more trouble to please you then, than ever; but it is sokind of you, Mr. Pickwick, to have so much consideration for my loneliness.’
‘Ah, to be sure,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘I never thought of that. When I am in town, you’ll always have somebody to sit with you. To be sure, so you will.’
‘I’m sure I ought to be a very happy woman,’ said Mrs. Bardell.
‘And your little boy—’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Bless his heart,’ interposed Mrs. Bardell, with a maternal sob.
‘He, too, will have a companion,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick, ‘a lively one, who’ll teach him, I’ll be bound, more tricks in a week than he would ever learn in a year.’ And Mr. Pickwick smiled placidly.
‘Oh, you dear—’ said Mrs. Bardell.
Mr. Pickwick started.
‘Oh, you kind, good, playful dear,’ said Mrs. Bardell; and without more ado, she rose from her chair, and flung her arms round Mr. Pickwick’s neck, with a cataract of tears, and a chorus of sobs.
‘Bless my soul,’ cried the astonished Mr. Pickwick;—‘Mrs. Bardell, my good woman—dear me, what a situation—pray—consider, Mrs. Bardell, if anybody should come.’
‘O, let them come,’ exclaimed Mrs. Bardell, frantically.
‘I’ll never leave you, dear, kind, good soul.’ And with these words Mrs. Bardell clung the tighter.
Every utterance of the little Judge is in character, from his first directions “go on.” His suspicious question, “what were you doing in the back room, ma’am?”—and on Serjeant Buzfuz’s sudden pause for breath, when “thesilenceawoke Mr. Justice Stareleigh, who immediately wrote down something, with a pen without any ink in it, and looked unusually profound, to impress his jury with the belief that he always thought mostdeeply with his eyes shut.” Also when at the “on the jar” incident—he “looked doubtful, but said he’d make a note of it.” So when Sam made one of his free and easy speeches, the Judge looked sternly at Sam for fully two minutes, but Sam’s features were so perfectly calm that he said nothing. When Sam, too, made his wittyreposteto Buzfuz as to his “wision being limited,” we are told that there was a great laugh—that even “the little Judge smiled:” a good touch, for he enjoyed, like other judges, seeing his learned brother get a fall—’tis human nature.
It must be said the impression of a listener, who had heard all this could have been anything but favourable to Mr. Pickwick. No doubt there was his paternally benevolent character to correct it: but even this might go against him as it would suggest a sort of hypocrisy. Even the firmest friends, in their surprise, do not pause to debate or reason; they are astonished and wonder exceedingly.
Skimpin may have been intended for Wilkin, a later Serjeant and well-known in the ’fifties, and whose style and manner is reproduced. We could not ask a better junior in a “touch and go” case. He was as ready to take advantage of any opening as was the late Lord Bowen, when he was junior in the Tichborne case.
Mr. Skimpin
On entering the Box, Mr. Winkle “bowed to the Judge,” with considerable deference, a politeness quite thrown away. “Don’t look at me sir,” said the Judge sharply, “look at the Jury.” This was ungracious, but judges generally don’t relish any advances from witnesses or others.
When poor Winkle was accused by the Judge of giving his name as Daniel, he was told that “he had better be careful:” on which the ready Skimpin: “Now, Mr. Winkle attend to me if you please: and let merecommend you, for your own sake, to bear in mind his lordship’s injunction to be careful.” Thus by the agency of Judge and counsel witness was discredited at starting and of course flurried.
‘I believe you are a particular friend of Pickwick, the defendant, are you not?
‘I believe you are a particular friend of Pickwick, the defendant, are you not?
Winkle, eager to retrieve himself by being “careful” began—
‘I have known Mr. Pickwick now as well as I recollect at this moment, nearly—’‘Pray, Mr. Winkle, don’t evade the question. Are you, or are you not a particular friend of the defendant?’‘I was just about to say that—’‘Will you, or will you not answer my question, sir?’‘If you don’t you’ll be committed, sir,’ interposed the little Judge.‘Come, sir,’ said Mr. Skimpin, ‘yes or no,if you please.’‘Yes, I am,’ replied Mr. Winkle.‘Yes,you are.And why couldn’t you say that at once,sir?’
‘I have known Mr. Pickwick now as well as I recollect at this moment, nearly—’
‘Pray, Mr. Winkle, don’t evade the question. Are you, or are you not a particular friend of the defendant?’
‘I was just about to say that—’
‘Will you, or will you not answer my question, sir?’
‘If you don’t you’ll be committed, sir,’ interposed the little Judge.
‘Come, sir,’ said Mr. Skimpin, ‘yes or no,if you please.’
‘Yes, I am,’ replied Mr. Winkle.
‘Yes,you are.And why couldn’t you say that at once,sir?’
I think there is no more happy touch of legal satire in the books than that about “What the soldier said.” It is perfect, so complete, that it is always understood by unprofessional readers. The lawyer feels at once that it is as true as it is happy.
‘Little to do and plenty to get,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz to Sam.‘O, quite enough to get, sir, as the soldier said ven they ordered him three hundred and fifty lashes.’‘You must not tell us what the soldier or any other man said,sir;it’s not evidence,’ interposed the Judge.
‘Little to do and plenty to get,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz to Sam.
‘O, quite enough to get, sir, as the soldier said ven they ordered him three hundred and fifty lashes.’
‘You must not tell us what the soldier or any other man said,sir;it’s not evidence,’ interposed the Judge.
Who will forget the roar that always greeted this sally when Boz read it, or the low and slow solemnity which he imparted to the Judge’s dictum. As an illustration it is simply admirable.
Boz himself would have been pleased to find himself quoted in two impressive legal tomes of some 1800 pages. The great and laborious John Pitt Taylor could not have been wholly a legal dry-as-dust: for the man who could have gravely entered Bardellv.Pickwick in his notes and have quoted a passage must have had a share of humour.
Most people know that it is a strict principle that “hearsay evidence” of an utterance will not be accepted in lieu of that of the person to whom the remark was made. Neither can we think it out of probability that such an objection may have been made by some over punctilious judge wishing to restrain Sam’s exuberance. A Scotch judge once quoted in court a passage fromThe Antiquaryin which he said the true view of an intricate point was given; but then Scott was a lawyer.
It is requisite, says Mr. John Pitt Taylor (p. 500) speaking of “hearsay evidence” that whatever facts a witness speaks, he should be confined to those lying within his own knowledge. For every witness should give his testimony on oath, and should be subject to cross examination. But testimony from the relation of third persons cannot be subject to these tests. This rule of exclusion has been recognised as a fundamental principle of the law of evidence ever since the time of Charles II. To this he adds a note, with all due gravity: “The rule excluding heresay evidence, or rather the mode in which that rule is frequently misunderstood in Courts of Justice, is amusingly caricatured by Mr. Dickensin his reportof the case of Bardellv.Pickwick, p. 367.”
Bardellv.Pickwick! He thus puts it with the many thousand or tens of thousand cases quoted, and he has even found a place for it in his index of places. He then goes on to quote the passage, just as he would quote from Barnwall and Adolphus.
How sagacious—full of legal point—is Boz’s comment on Winkle’s incoherent evidence. Phunky asked him whether he had any reason to suppose that Pickwick was about to be married. “‘Oh no; certainly not,’ replied Mr. Winkle with so much eagerness, that Mr. Phunky ought to have got him out of the box with all possible dispatch. Lawyers hold out that there are two kinds of particularly bad witnesses: a reluctant witness, and a too willing witness;” and most true it is. Both commit themselves in each case, but in different ways. The matter of the former, and the manner of the latter do the mischief. The ideal witness affects indifference, and is as impartial as the record of a phonograph. It is wonderful where Boz learned all this. No doubt from his friend Talfourd, K.C., who carefully revised “The Trial.”
Skimpin’s interpretation of Mr. Pickwick’s consolatory phrase, which he evidently devised on the spur of the moment, shows him to be a very ready, smart fellow.
‘Now, Mr. Winkle, I have only one more question to ask you, and I beg you to bear in mind his Lordship’s caution. Will you undertake to swear that Pickwick, the Defendant, did not say on the occasion in question—“My dear Mrs. Bardell, you’re a good creature; compose yourself to this situation, for to this situation you must come,” or words to that effect?’‘I—I didn’t understand him so, certainly,’ said Mr. Winkle, astounded at this ingenious dove-tailing of the few words he had heard. ‘I was on the staircase, and couldn’t hear distinctly; the impression on my mind is—’‘The gentlemen of the jury want none of the impressions on your mind, Mr. Winkle, which I fear would be of little service to honest, straightforward men,’ interposed Mr. Skimpin. ‘You were on the staircase, and didn’t distinctly hear; but you will swear that Pickwickdid not make useof the expressions I have quoted? Do I understand that?’‘No, I will not,’ replied Mr. Winkle; and down sat Mr. Skimpin, with a triumphant countenance.
‘Now, Mr. Winkle, I have only one more question to ask you, and I beg you to bear in mind his Lordship’s caution. Will you undertake to swear that Pickwick, the Defendant, did not say on the occasion in question—“My dear Mrs. Bardell, you’re a good creature; compose yourself to this situation, for to this situation you must come,” or words to that effect?’
‘I—I didn’t understand him so, certainly,’ said Mr. Winkle, astounded at this ingenious dove-tailing of the few words he had heard. ‘I was on the staircase, and couldn’t hear distinctly; the impression on my mind is—’
‘The gentlemen of the jury want none of the impressions on your mind, Mr. Winkle, which I fear would be of little service to honest, straightforward men,’ interposed Mr. Skimpin. ‘You were on the staircase, and didn’t distinctly hear; but you will swear that Pickwickdid not make useof the expressions I have quoted? Do I understand that?’
‘No, I will not,’ replied Mr. Winkle; and down sat Mr. Skimpin, with a triumphant countenance.
This “Will you swear he didnot,” etc., is a device familiar to cross examiners, and is used when the witness cannot be got to accept the words or admit that they were used. It of course means little or nothing: but its effect on the jury is that they come to fancy that the wordsmayhave been used, and that the witness is not very clear as to his recollection.
How well described, too, and satirised, is yet another “common form” of the cross examiner, to wit the “How often, Sir?” question. Winkle, when asked as to his knowledge of Mrs. Bardell, replied that “he did not know her, but that he had seen her.” (I recall making this very answer to Boz when we were both driving through Sackville Street, Dublin. He had asked “Did I know so-and-so?” when I promptly replied, “I don’t know him, but I have seen him.” This rather arrided him, as Elia would say.)
Skimpin went on:
‘Oh, you don’t know her, but you have seen her.’‘Now have the goodness to tell the gentlemen of the jury what you mean bythat, Mr. Winkle.’‘I mean that I am not intimate with her, but that I have seen her when I went to call on Mr. Pickwick, in Goswell Street.’‘How often have you seen her, Sir?’‘How often?’‘Yes,Mr. Winkle,how often? I’ll repeat the question for you a dozen times, if you require it, Sir.’ And the learned gentlemen, with a firm and steady frown, placed his hands on his hips, and smiled suspiciously to the jury.On this question there arose the edifying brow-beating,customary on such points. First of all, Mr. Winkle saidit was quite impossible for him to say how many times he had seen Mrs. Bardell. Then he was asked if he had seen her twenty times, to which he replied, ‘Certainly,—more than that.’ And then he was asked whether he hadn’t seen her a hundred times—whether he couldn’t swear that he had seen her more than fifty times—whether he didn’t know that he had seen her at least seventy-five times, and so forth; the satisfactory conclusion which was arrived at, at last, being—that he had better take care of himself, and mind what he was about. The witness having been, by these means, reduced to the requisite ebb of nervous perplexity, the examination was concluded.
‘Oh, you don’t know her, but you have seen her.’
‘Now have the goodness to tell the gentlemen of the jury what you mean bythat, Mr. Winkle.’
‘I mean that I am not intimate with her, but that I have seen her when I went to call on Mr. Pickwick, in Goswell Street.’
‘How often have you seen her, Sir?’
‘How often?’
‘Yes,Mr. Winkle,how often? I’ll repeat the question for you a dozen times, if you require it, Sir.’ And the learned gentlemen, with a firm and steady frown, placed his hands on his hips, and smiled suspiciously to the jury.
On this question there arose the edifying brow-beating,customary on such points. First of all, Mr. Winkle saidit was quite impossible for him to say how many times he had seen Mrs. Bardell. Then he was asked if he had seen her twenty times, to which he replied, ‘Certainly,—more than that.’ And then he was asked whether he hadn’t seen her a hundred times—whether he couldn’t swear that he had seen her more than fifty times—whether he didn’t know that he had seen her at least seventy-five times, and so forth; the satisfactory conclusion which was arrived at, at last, being—that he had better take care of himself, and mind what he was about. The witness having been, by these means, reduced to the requisite ebb of nervous perplexity, the examination was concluded.
How excellent is this. Who has not heard the process repeated over and over again from the young fledgeling Counsel to the old “hardbitten” and experienced K.C.?
A young legal tyro might find profit as well as entertainment in carefully studying others of Mr. Skimpin’s adroit methods in cross examination. They are in a manner typical of those in favour with the more experienced members of the profession, allowing, of course, for a little humorous exaggeration. He will note also that Boz shows clearly how effective was the result of the processes. Here are a few useful recipes.
How to make a witness appear as though he wished to withhold the truth.How to highly discredit a witness by an opening question.How to insinuate inaccuracy.How to suggest that the witness is evading.How to deal with a statement of a particular number of instances.How to take advantage of a witness’ glances.How to suggest another imputed meaning to a witness’ statement and confuse him into accepting it.
Another happy and familiar form is Skimpin’s interrogation of Winkle as to his “friends”—
‘Are they here?’‘Yes they are,’ said Mr. Winkle,looking very earnestly towards the spot where his friends were stationed.
‘Are they here?’
‘Yes they are,’ said Mr. Winkle,looking very earnestly towards the spot where his friends were stationed.
As every one attending courts knows, this is an almost intuitive movement in a witness; he thinks it corroborates him somehow.
But how good Skimpin and how ready—
“‘Pray attend to me, Mr. Winkle, andnever mind your friends,’ with another expressive look at the jury; ‘they must tell their stories without any previous consultation with you, if none has yet taken place,’ another expressive look. ‘Now Sir, tell what you saw,’ etc. ‘Come,out with it,sir,we musthave it sooner or later.’” The assumption here that the witness would keep back what he knew is adroit and very convincing.
But now we come to a very critical passage in Mr. Pickwick’s case: one that really destroyed any chance that he had. It really settled the matter with the jury; and the worst was, the point was brought out through the inefficiency of his own counsel.
But let us hear the episode, and see how the foolish Phunky muddled it.
Mr. Phunky rose for the purpose of getting something important out of Mr. Winkle in cross-examination. Whether he did get anything important out of him, will immediately appear.
Mr. Phunky rose for the purpose of getting something important out of Mr. Winkle in cross-examination. Whether he did get anything important out of him, will immediately appear.
Mr. Phunky
‘I believe, Mr. Winkle,’ said Mr. Phunky, ‘that Mr. Pickwick is not a young man?’‘Oh no,’ replied Mr. Winkle, ‘old enough to be my father.’‘You have told my learned friend that you have known Mr. Pickwick a long time. Had you ever any reason to suppose or believe that he was about to be married?’‘Oh no; certainly not;’ replied Mr. Winkle with so much eagerness, that Mr. Phunky ought to have got him out of the box with all possible dispatch. Lawyers hold out that there are two kinds of particularly bad witnesses, a reluctant witness, and a too willing witness; it was Mr. Winkle’s fate to figure in both characters.‘I will even go further than this, Mr. Winkle,’ continued Mr. Phunky, in a most smooth and complacent manner. ‘Did you ever see any thing in Mr. Pickwick’s manner and conduct towards the opposite sex to induce you to believe that he ever contemplated matrimony of late years, in any case?’‘Oh no; certainly not,’ replied Mr. Winkle.‘Has his behaviour, when females have been in the case, always been that of a man, who having attained a pretty advanced period of life, content with his own occupations and amusements, treats them only as a father might his daughters?’‘Not the least doubt of it,’ replied Mr. Winkle, in the fulness of his heart. ‘That is—yes—oh yes—certainly.’‘You have never known anything in his behaviour towards Mrs. Bardell, or any other female, in the least degree suspicious?’ said Mr. Phunky, preparing to sit down, for Serjeant Snubbin was winking at him.‘N—n—no,’ replied Mr. Winkle, ‘except on one trifling occasion, which, I have no doubt, might be easily explained.’Now, if the unfortunate Mr. Phunky had sat down when Serjeant Snubbin winked at him, or if Serjeant Buzfuz had stopped this irregular cross-examination at the outset (which he knew better than to do, for observing Mr. Winkle’s anxiety, and well knowing it would in all probability, lead to something serviceable to him), this unfortunate admission would not have been elicited. The moment the words fell from Mr. Winkle’s lips, Mr.Phunky sat down, and Serjeant Snubbin rather hastily told him he might leave the box, which Mr. Winkle prepared to do with great readiness, when Serjeant Buzfuz stopped him.‘Stay, Mr. Winkle—stay,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, ‘will your lordship have the goodness to ask him, what this one instance of suspicious behaviour towards females on the part of this gentlemen, who is old enough to be his father, was?’‘You hear what the learned counsel says, Sir,’ observed the Judge, turning to the miserable and agonized Mr. Winkle. ‘Describe the occasion to which you refer.’‘My lord,’ said Mr. Winkle, trembling with anxiety, ‘I—I’d rather not.’
‘I believe, Mr. Winkle,’ said Mr. Phunky, ‘that Mr. Pickwick is not a young man?’
‘Oh no,’ replied Mr. Winkle, ‘old enough to be my father.’
‘You have told my learned friend that you have known Mr. Pickwick a long time. Had you ever any reason to suppose or believe that he was about to be married?’
‘Oh no; certainly not;’ replied Mr. Winkle with so much eagerness, that Mr. Phunky ought to have got him out of the box with all possible dispatch. Lawyers hold out that there are two kinds of particularly bad witnesses, a reluctant witness, and a too willing witness; it was Mr. Winkle’s fate to figure in both characters.
‘I will even go further than this, Mr. Winkle,’ continued Mr. Phunky, in a most smooth and complacent manner. ‘Did you ever see any thing in Mr. Pickwick’s manner and conduct towards the opposite sex to induce you to believe that he ever contemplated matrimony of late years, in any case?’
‘Oh no; certainly not,’ replied Mr. Winkle.
‘Has his behaviour, when females have been in the case, always been that of a man, who having attained a pretty advanced period of life, content with his own occupations and amusements, treats them only as a father might his daughters?’
‘Not the least doubt of it,’ replied Mr. Winkle, in the fulness of his heart. ‘That is—yes—oh yes—certainly.’
‘You have never known anything in his behaviour towards Mrs. Bardell, or any other female, in the least degree suspicious?’ said Mr. Phunky, preparing to sit down, for Serjeant Snubbin was winking at him.
‘N—n—no,’ replied Mr. Winkle, ‘except on one trifling occasion, which, I have no doubt, might be easily explained.’
Now, if the unfortunate Mr. Phunky had sat down when Serjeant Snubbin winked at him, or if Serjeant Buzfuz had stopped this irregular cross-examination at the outset (which he knew better than to do, for observing Mr. Winkle’s anxiety, and well knowing it would in all probability, lead to something serviceable to him), this unfortunate admission would not have been elicited. The moment the words fell from Mr. Winkle’s lips, Mr.Phunky sat down, and Serjeant Snubbin rather hastily told him he might leave the box, which Mr. Winkle prepared to do with great readiness, when Serjeant Buzfuz stopped him.
‘Stay, Mr. Winkle—stay,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, ‘will your lordship have the goodness to ask him, what this one instance of suspicious behaviour towards females on the part of this gentlemen, who is old enough to be his father, was?’
‘You hear what the learned counsel says, Sir,’ observed the Judge, turning to the miserable and agonized Mr. Winkle. ‘Describe the occasion to which you refer.’
‘My lord,’ said Mr. Winkle, trembling with anxiety, ‘I—I’d rather not.’
And Winkle had to relate the whole Ipswich adventure of the doublebedded room and the spinster lady.
It is surprising that Dodson and Fogg did not ferret out all about Mr. Pickwick’s adventure at the Great White Horse. Peter Magnus lived in town and must have heard of the coming case; these thingsdosomehow leak out, and he would have gladly volunteered the story, were it only to spite the man. But further, Dodson and Fogg must have made all sorts of enquiries into Mr. Pickwick’s doings. Mrs. Bardell herself might have heard something. The story was certainly in the Ipswich papers, for there was the riot in the street, the appearance before the mayor, the exposure of “Captain FitzMarshall”—a notable business altogether. What a revelation in open court! Conceive Miss Witherfield called to depose to Mr. Pickwick’s midnight invasion. Mr. Pickwick himself might have been called and put on the rack, this incident not concerning his breach of promise. And supposing that the ubiquitous Jingle had heard of this business and had gone to the solicitor’s office to volunteer evidence, and most useful evidence it would have been—to wit that Mr. Pickwickhad been caught in the garden of a young ladies’ school and had alarmed the house by his attempts to gain admission in the small hours! Jingle of course, could not be permitted to testify to this, but he could put the firm on the track. Mr. Pickwick’s reputation could hardly have survived these two revelations, and sweeping damages to the full amount would have been the certain result.
This extraordinary adventure of Mr. Pickwick’s at the Great White Horse Inn, Ipswich, verifies Dodson’s casual remark to him, that “he was either a very designing or a most unfortunate man,” circumstances being so strong against him. As the story was brought out, in open court, owing to the joint indiscretion of Phunky and Winkle, it will be best, in justice to Mr. Pickwick, to give practically his account of the affair.
‘Nobody sleeps in the other bed, of course,’ said Mr. Pickwick.‘Oh no, sir.’‘Very good. Tell my servant to bring me up some hot water at half-past eight in the morning, and that I shall not want him any more to-night.’‘Yes, sir.’And bidding Mr. Pickwick good-night, the chambermaid retired, and left him alone.Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, and fell into a train of rambling meditations. First he thought of his friends, and wondered when they would join him;then his mind reverted to Mrs. Martha Bardell; and from that lady it wandered, by a natural process, to the dingy counting-house of Dodson and Fogg. From Dodson and Fogg’s it flew off at tangent, to the very centre of the history of the queer client; and then it came back to the Great White Horse at Ipswich, with sufficient clearness to convince Mr. Pickwick that he was falling asleep: so he aroused himself, and began to undress, when herecollected he had left his watch on the table down stairs. So as it was pretty late now, and he was unwilling to ring his bell at that hour of the night, he slipped on his coat, of which he had just divested himself, and taking the japanned candlestick in his hand, walked quietly down stairs.The more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the more stairs there seemed to be to descend, and again and again, when Mr. Pickwick got into some narrow passage, and began to congratulate himself on having gained the ground-floor, did another flight of stairs appear before his astonished eyes. At last he reached a stone hall, which he remembered to have seen when he entered the house. Passage after passage did he explore; room after room did he peep into; at length, just as he was on the point of giving up the search in despair, he opened the door of the identical room in which he had spent the evening, and beheld his missing property on the table.Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded to retrace his steps to his bed-chamber. If his progress downwards had been attended with difficulties and uncertainty, his journey back, was infinitely more perplexing. Rows of doors, garnished with boots of every shape, make, and size, branched off in every possible direction. A dozen times did he softly turn the handle of some bedroom door, which resembled his own, when a gruff cry from within of “Who the devil’s that?” or “What do want here?” caused him to steal away on tiptoe, with a perfectly marvellous celerity. He was reduced to the verge of despair, when an open door attracted his attention. He peeped in—right at last. There were the two beds, whose situation he perfectly remembered, and the fire still burning. His candle, not a long one when he first received it, had flickered away in the drafts of air through which he had passed, and sunk into the socket, just as he had closed the door afterhim. ‘No matter,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I can undress myself just as well by the light of the fire.’The bedsteads stood, one each side of the door; and on the inner side of each, was a little path, terminating in a rush-bottomed chair, just wide enough to admit of a person’s getting into, or out of bed, on that side if he or she thought proper. Having carefully drawn the curtains of his bed on the outside, Mr. Pickwick sat down on the rush-bottomed chair, and leisurely divested himself of his shoes and gaiters. He then took off and folded up, his coat, waistcoat, and neck-cloth, and slowly drawing on his tasseled night-cap, secured it firmly on his head, by tying beneath his chin, the strings which he always had attached to that article of dress. It was at this moment that the absurdity of his recent bewilderment struck upon his mind; and throwing himself back in the rush-bottomed chair, Mr. Pickwick laughed to himself so heartily, that it would have been quite delightful to any man of well-constituted mind to have watched the smiles which expanded his amiable features, as they shone forth, from beneath the night-cap.‘It is the best idea,’ said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling till he almost cracked the night-cap strings—‘It is the best idea, my losing myself in this place, and wandering about those staircases, that I ever heard of. Droll, droll, very droll.’ Here Mr. Pickwick smiled again, a broader smile than before, and was about to continue the process of undressing, in the best possible humour, when he was suddenly stopped by a most unexpected interruption; to wit, the entrance into the room of some person with a candle, who, after locking the door, advanced to the dressing table, and set down the light upon it.The smile that played upon Mr. Pickwick’s features, was instantaneously lost in a look of the most unbounded and wonder-stricken surprise. The person, whoever itwas, had come so suddenly and with so little noise, that Mr. Pickwick had had no time to call out, or oppose their entrance. Who could it be? A robber? Some evil-minded person who had seen him come upstairs with a handsome watch in his hand, perhaps. What was he to do!The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse of his mysterious visitor with the least danger of being seen himself, was by creeping on to the bed, and peeping out from between the curtains on the opposite side. Keeping the curtains carefully closed with his hand, so that nothing more of him could be seen than his face and nightcap, and putting on his spectacles, he mustered up courage, and looked out.Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing before the dressing glass, was a middle-aged lady in yellow curl-papers, busily engaged in brushing what ladies call their “back hair.” However the unconscious middle-aged lady came into that room, it was quite clear that she contemplated remaining there for the night; for she had brought a rushlight and shade with her, which with praiseworthy precaution against fire, she had stationed in a basin on the floor, where it was glimmering away, like a gigantic lighthouse, in a particularly small piece of water.‘Bless my soul,’ thought Mr. Pickwick, ‘what a dreadful thing!’‘Hem!’ said the lady; and in went Mr. Pickwick’s head with automaton-like rapidity.‘I never met with anything so awful as this,’—thought poor Mr. Pickwick, the cold perspiration starting in drops upon his nightcap. ‘Never. This is fearful.’It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what was going forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick’s head again. The prospect was worse thanbefore. The middle-aged lady had finished arranging her hair; had carefully enveloped it, in a muslin nightcap with a small plaited border, and was gazing pensively on the fire.‘This matter is growing alarming’—reasoned Mr. Pickwick with himself. ‘I can’t allow things to go on in this way. By the self-possession of that lady, it’s clear to me that I must have come into the wrong room.If I call out, she’ll alarm the house, but if I remain here, the consequences will be still more frightful.’The Double Bedded Room, Great White Horse, IpswichMr. Pickwick, it is quite unnecessary to say, was one of the most modest and delicate-minded of mortals. The very idea of exhibiting his nightcap to a lady, overpowered him, but he had tied those confounded strings in a knot, and do what he would, he couldn’t get it off. The disclosure must be made. There was only one other way of doing it. He shrunk behind the curtains, and called out very loudly—‘Ha—hum.’That the lady started at this unexpected sound was evident, by her falling up against the rushlight shade; that she persuaded herself it must have been the effect of imagination was equally clear, for when Mr. Pickwick, under the impression that she had fainted away, stone-dead from fright, ventured to peep out again, she was gazing pensively on the fire as before.‘Most extraordinary female this,’ thought Mr. Pickwick, popping in again. ‘Ha—hum.’These last sounds, so like those in which, as legends inform us, the ferocious giant Blunderbore was in the habit of expressing his opinion that it was time to lay the cloth, were too distinctly audible, to be again mistaken for the workings of fancy.‘Gracious Heaven!’ said the middle-aged lady, ‘what’s that!’‘It’s—it’s—only a gentleman, Ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick from behind the curtains.‘A gentleman!’ said the lady with a terrific scream.‘It’s all over,’ thought Mr. Pickwick.‘A strange man,’ shrieked the lady. Another instant and the house would be alarmed. Her garments rustled as she rushed towards the door.‘Ma’am,’—said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head, in the extremity of desperation, ‘Ma’am.’Now although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any definite object in putting out his head, it was instantaneously productive of a good effect. The lady, as we have alreaded stated, was near the door. She must pass it, to reach the staircase, and she would most undoubtedly have done so by this time, had not the sudden apparition of Mr. Pickwick’s nightcap driven her back, into the remotest corner of the apartment, where she stood, staring wildly at Mr. Pickwick, while Mr. Pickwick, in his turn, stared wildly at her.‘Wretch,’—said the lady, covering her eyes with her hands, ‘what do you want here.’‘Nothing, Ma’am—nothing whatever, Ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, earnestly.‘Nothing!’ said the lady, looking up.‘Nothing, Ma’am, upon my honour,’ said Mr. Pickwick, nodding his head so energetically, that the tassel of his nightcap danced again. ‘I am almost ready to sink, Ma’am, beneath the confusion of addressing a lady in my nightcap (here the lady hastily snatched off her’s), but I can’t get it off, Ma’am (here Mr. Pickwick gave it a tremendous tug in proof of the statment). It is evident to me, Ma’am, now, that I have mistaken this bedroom for my own. I had not been here five minutes, Ma’am, when you suddenly entered it.’‘If this improbable story be really true, Sir,’—said the lady, sobbing violently, ‘you will leave it instantly.’‘I will, Ma’am, with the greatest pleasure,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.‘Instantly, Sir,’ said the lady.‘Certainly, Ma’am,’ interposed Mr. Pickwick very quickly. ‘Certainly, Ma’am. I—I—am very sorry, Ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, making his appearance at the bottom of the bed, ‘to have been the innocent occasion of this alarm and emotion; deeply sorry Ma’am.’The lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality of Mr. Pickwick’s character was beautifully displayed at this moment, under the most trying circumstances. Although he had hastily put on his hat over his night cap, after the manner of the old patrol; although he carried his shoes and gaiters in his hand, and his coat and waistcoat over his arm, nothing could subdue his native politeness.‘I am exceedingly sorry, Ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, bowing very low.‘If you are, Sir, you will at once leave the room,’ said the lady.‘Immediately, Ma’am; this instant, Ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, opening the door, and dropping both his shoes with a loud crash in so doing.‘I trust Ma’am,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering up his shoes, and turning round to bow again, ‘I trust, Ma’am, that my unblemished character, and the devoted respect I entertain for your sex, will plead as some slight excuse for this’—But before Mr. Pickwick could conclude the sentence, the lady had thrust him into the passage, and locked and bolted the door behind him.Whatever grounds of self-congratulation Mr. Pickwick might have, for having escaped so quietly from his late awkward situation, his present position was by no means enviable. He was alone, in an open passage, in a strange house, in the middle of the night, half dressed; it was not to be supposed that he could find his way in perfect darkness to a room which he had been wholly unable to discover with a light, and if he made the slightest noise in his fruitless attempts to do so, he stood every chance of being shot at, and perhaps killed, by some wakeful traveller. He had no resource but to remain where he was, until daylight appeared. So after groping his way a few paces down the passage, and to his infinite alarm, stumbling over several pairs of bootsin so doing, Mr. Pickwick crouched into a little recess in the wall, to wait for morning, as philosophically as he might.He was not destined, however, to undergo this additional trial of patience: for he had not been long ensconced in his present concealment when, to his unspeakable horror, a man, bearing a light, appeared at the end of the passage. His horror was suddenly converted into joy, however, when he recognized the form of his faithful attendant. It was indeed Mr. Samuel Weller, who after sitting up thus late, in conversation with the Boots, who was sitting up for the mail, was now about to retire to rest.
‘Nobody sleeps in the other bed, of course,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Oh no, sir.’
‘Very good. Tell my servant to bring me up some hot water at half-past eight in the morning, and that I shall not want him any more to-night.’
‘Yes, sir.’
And bidding Mr. Pickwick good-night, the chambermaid retired, and left him alone.
Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, and fell into a train of rambling meditations. First he thought of his friends, and wondered when they would join him;then his mind reverted to Mrs. Martha Bardell; and from that lady it wandered, by a natural process, to the dingy counting-house of Dodson and Fogg. From Dodson and Fogg’s it flew off at tangent, to the very centre of the history of the queer client; and then it came back to the Great White Horse at Ipswich, with sufficient clearness to convince Mr. Pickwick that he was falling asleep: so he aroused himself, and began to undress, when herecollected he had left his watch on the table down stairs. So as it was pretty late now, and he was unwilling to ring his bell at that hour of the night, he slipped on his coat, of which he had just divested himself, and taking the japanned candlestick in his hand, walked quietly down stairs.
The more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the more stairs there seemed to be to descend, and again and again, when Mr. Pickwick got into some narrow passage, and began to congratulate himself on having gained the ground-floor, did another flight of stairs appear before his astonished eyes. At last he reached a stone hall, which he remembered to have seen when he entered the house. Passage after passage did he explore; room after room did he peep into; at length, just as he was on the point of giving up the search in despair, he opened the door of the identical room in which he had spent the evening, and beheld his missing property on the table.
Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded to retrace his steps to his bed-chamber. If his progress downwards had been attended with difficulties and uncertainty, his journey back, was infinitely more perplexing. Rows of doors, garnished with boots of every shape, make, and size, branched off in every possible direction. A dozen times did he softly turn the handle of some bedroom door, which resembled his own, when a gruff cry from within of “Who the devil’s that?” or “What do want here?” caused him to steal away on tiptoe, with a perfectly marvellous celerity. He was reduced to the verge of despair, when an open door attracted his attention. He peeped in—right at last. There were the two beds, whose situation he perfectly remembered, and the fire still burning. His candle, not a long one when he first received it, had flickered away in the drafts of air through which he had passed, and sunk into the socket, just as he had closed the door afterhim. ‘No matter,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I can undress myself just as well by the light of the fire.’
The bedsteads stood, one each side of the door; and on the inner side of each, was a little path, terminating in a rush-bottomed chair, just wide enough to admit of a person’s getting into, or out of bed, on that side if he or she thought proper. Having carefully drawn the curtains of his bed on the outside, Mr. Pickwick sat down on the rush-bottomed chair, and leisurely divested himself of his shoes and gaiters. He then took off and folded up, his coat, waistcoat, and neck-cloth, and slowly drawing on his tasseled night-cap, secured it firmly on his head, by tying beneath his chin, the strings which he always had attached to that article of dress. It was at this moment that the absurdity of his recent bewilderment struck upon his mind; and throwing himself back in the rush-bottomed chair, Mr. Pickwick laughed to himself so heartily, that it would have been quite delightful to any man of well-constituted mind to have watched the smiles which expanded his amiable features, as they shone forth, from beneath the night-cap.
‘It is the best idea,’ said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling till he almost cracked the night-cap strings—‘It is the best idea, my losing myself in this place, and wandering about those staircases, that I ever heard of. Droll, droll, very droll.’ Here Mr. Pickwick smiled again, a broader smile than before, and was about to continue the process of undressing, in the best possible humour, when he was suddenly stopped by a most unexpected interruption; to wit, the entrance into the room of some person with a candle, who, after locking the door, advanced to the dressing table, and set down the light upon it.
The smile that played upon Mr. Pickwick’s features, was instantaneously lost in a look of the most unbounded and wonder-stricken surprise. The person, whoever itwas, had come so suddenly and with so little noise, that Mr. Pickwick had had no time to call out, or oppose their entrance. Who could it be? A robber? Some evil-minded person who had seen him come upstairs with a handsome watch in his hand, perhaps. What was he to do!
The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse of his mysterious visitor with the least danger of being seen himself, was by creeping on to the bed, and peeping out from between the curtains on the opposite side. Keeping the curtains carefully closed with his hand, so that nothing more of him could be seen than his face and nightcap, and putting on his spectacles, he mustered up courage, and looked out.
Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing before the dressing glass, was a middle-aged lady in yellow curl-papers, busily engaged in brushing what ladies call their “back hair.” However the unconscious middle-aged lady came into that room, it was quite clear that she contemplated remaining there for the night; for she had brought a rushlight and shade with her, which with praiseworthy precaution against fire, she had stationed in a basin on the floor, where it was glimmering away, like a gigantic lighthouse, in a particularly small piece of water.
‘Bless my soul,’ thought Mr. Pickwick, ‘what a dreadful thing!’
‘Hem!’ said the lady; and in went Mr. Pickwick’s head with automaton-like rapidity.
‘I never met with anything so awful as this,’—thought poor Mr. Pickwick, the cold perspiration starting in drops upon his nightcap. ‘Never. This is fearful.’
It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what was going forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick’s head again. The prospect was worse thanbefore. The middle-aged lady had finished arranging her hair; had carefully enveloped it, in a muslin nightcap with a small plaited border, and was gazing pensively on the fire.
‘This matter is growing alarming’—reasoned Mr. Pickwick with himself. ‘I can’t allow things to go on in this way. By the self-possession of that lady, it’s clear to me that I must have come into the wrong room.If I call out, she’ll alarm the house, but if I remain here, the consequences will be still more frightful.’
The Double Bedded Room, Great White Horse, Ipswich
Mr. Pickwick, it is quite unnecessary to say, was one of the most modest and delicate-minded of mortals. The very idea of exhibiting his nightcap to a lady, overpowered him, but he had tied those confounded strings in a knot, and do what he would, he couldn’t get it off. The disclosure must be made. There was only one other way of doing it. He shrunk behind the curtains, and called out very loudly—
‘Ha—hum.’
That the lady started at this unexpected sound was evident, by her falling up against the rushlight shade; that she persuaded herself it must have been the effect of imagination was equally clear, for when Mr. Pickwick, under the impression that she had fainted away, stone-dead from fright, ventured to peep out again, she was gazing pensively on the fire as before.
‘Most extraordinary female this,’ thought Mr. Pickwick, popping in again. ‘Ha—hum.’
These last sounds, so like those in which, as legends inform us, the ferocious giant Blunderbore was in the habit of expressing his opinion that it was time to lay the cloth, were too distinctly audible, to be again mistaken for the workings of fancy.
‘Gracious Heaven!’ said the middle-aged lady, ‘what’s that!’
‘It’s—it’s—only a gentleman, Ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick from behind the curtains.
‘A gentleman!’ said the lady with a terrific scream.
‘It’s all over,’ thought Mr. Pickwick.
‘A strange man,’ shrieked the lady. Another instant and the house would be alarmed. Her garments rustled as she rushed towards the door.
‘Ma’am,’—said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head, in the extremity of desperation, ‘Ma’am.’
Now although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any definite object in putting out his head, it was instantaneously productive of a good effect. The lady, as we have alreaded stated, was near the door. She must pass it, to reach the staircase, and she would most undoubtedly have done so by this time, had not the sudden apparition of Mr. Pickwick’s nightcap driven her back, into the remotest corner of the apartment, where she stood, staring wildly at Mr. Pickwick, while Mr. Pickwick, in his turn, stared wildly at her.
‘Wretch,’—said the lady, covering her eyes with her hands, ‘what do you want here.’
‘Nothing, Ma’am—nothing whatever, Ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, earnestly.
‘Nothing!’ said the lady, looking up.
‘Nothing, Ma’am, upon my honour,’ said Mr. Pickwick, nodding his head so energetically, that the tassel of his nightcap danced again. ‘I am almost ready to sink, Ma’am, beneath the confusion of addressing a lady in my nightcap (here the lady hastily snatched off her’s), but I can’t get it off, Ma’am (here Mr. Pickwick gave it a tremendous tug in proof of the statment). It is evident to me, Ma’am, now, that I have mistaken this bedroom for my own. I had not been here five minutes, Ma’am, when you suddenly entered it.’
‘If this improbable story be really true, Sir,’—said the lady, sobbing violently, ‘you will leave it instantly.’
‘I will, Ma’am, with the greatest pleasure,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
‘Instantly, Sir,’ said the lady.
‘Certainly, Ma’am,’ interposed Mr. Pickwick very quickly. ‘Certainly, Ma’am. I—I—am very sorry, Ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, making his appearance at the bottom of the bed, ‘to have been the innocent occasion of this alarm and emotion; deeply sorry Ma’am.’
The lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality of Mr. Pickwick’s character was beautifully displayed at this moment, under the most trying circumstances. Although he had hastily put on his hat over his night cap, after the manner of the old patrol; although he carried his shoes and gaiters in his hand, and his coat and waistcoat over his arm, nothing could subdue his native politeness.
‘I am exceedingly sorry, Ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, bowing very low.
‘If you are, Sir, you will at once leave the room,’ said the lady.
‘Immediately, Ma’am; this instant, Ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, opening the door, and dropping both his shoes with a loud crash in so doing.
‘I trust Ma’am,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering up his shoes, and turning round to bow again, ‘I trust, Ma’am, that my unblemished character, and the devoted respect I entertain for your sex, will plead as some slight excuse for this’—But before Mr. Pickwick could conclude the sentence, the lady had thrust him into the passage, and locked and bolted the door behind him.
Whatever grounds of self-congratulation Mr. Pickwick might have, for having escaped so quietly from his late awkward situation, his present position was by no means enviable. He was alone, in an open passage, in a strange house, in the middle of the night, half dressed; it was not to be supposed that he could find his way in perfect darkness to a room which he had been wholly unable to discover with a light, and if he made the slightest noise in his fruitless attempts to do so, he stood every chance of being shot at, and perhaps killed, by some wakeful traveller. He had no resource but to remain where he was, until daylight appeared. So after groping his way a few paces down the passage, and to his infinite alarm, stumbling over several pairs of bootsin so doing, Mr. Pickwick crouched into a little recess in the wall, to wait for morning, as philosophically as he might.
He was not destined, however, to undergo this additional trial of patience: for he had not been long ensconced in his present concealment when, to his unspeakable horror, a man, bearing a light, appeared at the end of the passage. His horror was suddenly converted into joy, however, when he recognized the form of his faithful attendant. It was indeed Mr. Samuel Weller, who after sitting up thus late, in conversation with the Boots, who was sitting up for the mail, was now about to retire to rest.
Imagine this story told by Miss Witherfield in open court, with all its details, the lady’s narrative being coloured by the recollection that she had lost a suitable husband owing to her adventure. Mr. Peter Magnus would have deposed to Mr. Pickwick’s extraordinary interest in the matter of the proposal, and have added his suspicions on recalling Mr. Pickwick’s ambiguous declaration that he had come down to expose a certain person—even one of his own sympathetic friends, who had witnessed the scene with Mrs. Bardell, and recalled the Boarding House incident, might murmur, “How odd that he is ever thus in pursuit of the fair under suspicious circumstances?couldit be that after all?—What if he had some previous knowledge of the lady, and secretly admired her, and stung to fury at the notion of Mr. Peter Magnus marrying, had taken this strange mode of declaring his passion?” Even the sagacious Sam, devoted as he was to his master, was taken aback on meeting him in his midnight wanderings.
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly appearing before him, ‘Where’s my bedroom?’Mr. Weller stared at his master with the most emphatic surprise; and it was not until the question hadbeen repeated three several times, that he turned round, and led the way to the long-sought apartment.‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as he got into bed, ‘I have made one of the most extraordinary mistakes to-night, that ever were heard of.’‘Werry likely, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, drily.‘But of this I am determined, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that if I were to stop in this house for six months, I would never trust myself about it alone, again.’‘That’s the wery prudentest resolution as you could come to, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘You rayther want somebody to look arter you, Sir, ven your judgment goes out a wisitin’.’‘What do you mean by that, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwick. He raised himself in bed, and extended his hand, as if he were about to say something more; but suddenly checking himself, turned round, and bade his valet ‘Good night.’‘Good night, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. He paused when he got outside the door—shook his head—walked on—stopped—snuffed the candle—shook his head again—and finally proceeded slowly to his chamber, apparently buried in the profoundest meditation.
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly appearing before him, ‘Where’s my bedroom?’
Mr. Weller stared at his master with the most emphatic surprise; and it was not until the question hadbeen repeated three several times, that he turned round, and led the way to the long-sought apartment.
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as he got into bed, ‘I have made one of the most extraordinary mistakes to-night, that ever were heard of.’
‘Werry likely, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, drily.
‘But of this I am determined, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that if I were to stop in this house for six months, I would never trust myself about it alone, again.’
‘That’s the wery prudentest resolution as you could come to, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘You rayther want somebody to look arter you, Sir, ven your judgment goes out a wisitin’.’
‘What do you mean by that, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwick. He raised himself in bed, and extended his hand, as if he were about to say something more; but suddenly checking himself, turned round, and bade his valet ‘Good night.’
‘Good night, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. He paused when he got outside the door—shook his head—walked on—stopped—snuffed the candle—shook his head again—and finally proceeded slowly to his chamber, apparently buried in the profoundest meditation.
It will be seen that Sam went near to being disrespectful in his sceptical view of his master’s story.
When Mrs. Sanders was examined, “the Court” put a few questions to her, as to the customs of love-making among persons of her position. She had “received love letters, like other ladies. In the course of their correspondence Mr. Sanders had often called her a ‘duck’ but never ‘chops’ or ‘tomato sauce.’ He was particularly fond of ducks. Perhaps if he had been as fond of chops and tomato sauce, he might have called her that, as a term of affection.”
Mrs. Sanders was clearly one of the same class as Mrs. Cluppins, and chiefly deposed to the general impressionin the neighbourhood that Mr. Pickwick had “offered” for Mrs. Bardell. Tupman, Snodgrass and Sam were also examined. Being friends of the defendant, they were from the outset assumed to be “hostile” and treated accordingly. It may be doubted, however, whether it is permissible to treat “your own witnesses” in this rough fashion, until at least they have shown some overt signs of their hostility, either by reserve, or an obvious determination to let as little as possible be extracted from them. In such case, it is usual to apply to the court for its sanction to deal with them by the severity of cross examination.
When Sam entered the witness box, the Serjeant addressed him: “I believe you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, the Defendant in this case.Speak up,if you please,Mr. Weller.” Sam had not had time to say anything, so the admonition might seem superfluous. But this is a well-known device. Sam had been “briefed” to the Serjeant as a rather dangerous witness—somewhat too wide awake. It was necessary therefore to be short and summary with him. He thus conveyed to the jury that this Sam was one whom he could address in this curt way, and who by his low, uncertain accents might try to hide the truth. Sam, however, disconcerted the plan by his prompt, ready answer, “Imeanto speak up, sir.” Sam, as we know, clearly brought out the Dodson and Fogg’s damaging assurance to Mrs. Bardell, that no costs should be charged to her personally.
When the Plaintiff’s case was closed, things did not look particularly bright for Mr. Pickwick. It had been shown on the evidence of his own friends that he had been surprised with his landlady in his arms; (2) That he had been corresponding with her on most familiar terms—at least Serjeant Buzfuz had made it appear so; (3) Language thatalmostamounted to a proposal hadbeen overheard; (4) And finally, it had been revealed that the Defendant had been “caught” in a lady’s bedroom, at an Inn, at midnight! To answer which a “strong” case was absolutely essential. This, we grieve to say, was not forthcoming.