INVOLVING ANOTHER JOURNEY, AND ANANTIQUARIAN DISCOVERY; RECORDING1 Mr.PICKWICK’S DETERMINATION TO BEPRESENT AT AN ELECTION; ANDCONTAINING A MANUSCRIPT OF THE OLDCLERGYMAN’Snight of quiet and repose2 in the profound silence ofDingley Dell, and an hour’s breathing of its fresh andfragrant air on the ensuing morning, completelyrecovered Mr. Pickwick from the effects of his late fatigue3 of bodyand anxiety of mind. That illustrious man had been separatedfrom his friends and followers4 for two whole days; and it was witha degree of pleasure and delight, which no common imaginationcan adequately conceive, that he stepped forward to greet Mr.
Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass, as he encountered those gentlemen onhis return from his early walk. The pleasure was mutual5; for whocould ever gaze on Mr. Pickwick’s beaming face withoutexperiencing the sensation? But still a cloud seemed to hang overhis companions which that great man could not but be sensible of,and was wholly at a loss to account for. There was a mysterious airabout them both, as unusual as it was alarming.
‘And how,’ said Mr. Pickwick, when he had grasped hisfollowers by the hand, and exchanged warm salutations ofwelcome―‘how is Tupman?’
A Mr. Winkle, to whom the question was more peculiarlyaddressed, made no reply. He turned away his head, and appearedabsorbed in melancholy6 reflection.
‘Snodgrass,’ said Mr. Pickwick earnestly, ‘how is our friend―heis not ill?’
‘No,’ replied Mr. Snodgrass; and a tear trembled on hissentimental eyelid7, like a rain-drop on a window-frame-’no; he isnot ill.’
Mr. Pickwick stopped, and gazed on each of his friends in turn.
‘Winkle―Snodgrass,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘what does this mean?
Where is our friend? What has happened? Speak―I conjure8, Ientreat―nay, I command you, speak.’
There was a solemnity―a dignity―in Mr. Pickwick’s manner,not to be withstood.
‘He is gone,’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
‘Gone!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. ‘Gone!’
‘Gone,’ repeated Mr. Snodgrass.
‘Where!’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick.
‘We can only guess, from that communication,’ replied Mr.
Snodgrass, taking a letter from his pocket, and placing it in hisfriend’s hand. ‘Yesterday morning, when a letter was receivedfrom Mr. Wardle, stating that you would be home with his sister atnight, the melancholy which had hung over our friend during thewhole of the previous day, was observed to increase. He shortlyafterwards disappeared: he was missing during the whole day, andin the evening this letter was brought by the hostler from theCrown, at Muggleton. It had been left in his charge in themorning, with a strict injunction that it should not be delivereduntil night.’
Mr. Pickwick opened the epistle. It was in his friend’s hand-writing, and these were its contents:―‘My Dear Pickwick,You, my dear friend, are placed far beyond the reach of manymortal frailties9 and weaknesses which ordinary people cannotovercome. You do not know what it is, at one blow, to be desertedby a lovely and fascinating creature, and to fall a victim to theartifices of a villain11, who had the grin of cunning beneath the maskof friendship. I hope you never may.
‘Any letter addressed to me at the Leather Bottle, Cobham,Kent, will be forwarded―supposing I still exist. I hasten from thesight of that world, which has become odious12 to me. Should Ihasten from it altogether, pity―forgive me. Life, my dearPickwick, has become insupportable to me. The spirit which burnswithin us, is a porter’s knot, on which to rest the heavy load ofworldly cares and troubles; and when that spirit fails us, theburden is too heavy to be borne. We sink beneath it. You may tellRachael―Ah, that name!―‘TRACY TUPMAN.’
‘We must leave this place directly,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as herefolded the note. ‘It would not have been decent for us to remainhere, under any circumstances, after what has happened; and nowwe are bound to follow in search of our friend.’ And so saying, heled the way to the house.
His intention was rapidly communicated. The entreaties13 toremain were pressing, but Mr. Pickwick was inflexible14. Business,he said, required his immediate15 attendance.
The old clergyman was present.
‘You are not really going?’ said he, taking Mr. Pickwick aside.
Mr. Pickwick reiterated16 his former determination.
‘Then here,’ said the old gentleman, ‘is a little manuscript,which I had hoped to have the pleasure of reading to you myself. Ifound it on the death of a friend of mine―a medical man, engagedin our county lunatic asylum―among a variety of papers, which Ihad the option of destroying or preserving, as I thought proper. Ican hardly believe that the manuscript is genuine, though itcertainly is not in my friend’s hand. However, whether it be thegenuine production of a maniac17, or founded upon the ravings ofsome unhappy being (which I think more probable), read it, andjudge for yourself.’
Mr. Pickwick received the manuscript, and parted from thebenevolent old gentleman with many expressions of good-will andesteem.
It was a more difficult task to take leave of the inmates19 ofManor Farm, from whom they had received so much hospitalityand kindness. Mr. Pickwick kissed the young ladies―we weregoing to say, as if they were his own daughters, only, as he mightpossibly have infused a little more warmth into the salutation, thecomparison would not be quite appropriate―hugged the old ladywith filial cordiality; and patted the rosy20 cheeks of the femaleservants in a most patriarchal manner, as he slipped into thehands of each some more substantial expression of his approval.
The exchange of cordialities with their fine old host and Mr.
Trundle was even more hearty21 and prolonged; and it was not untilMr. Snodgrass had been several times called for, and at lastemerged from a dark passage followed soon after by Emily (whosebright eyes looked unusually dim), that the three friends wereenabled to tear themselves from their friendly entertainers. Manya backward look they gave at the farm, as they walked slowlyaway; and many a kiss did Mr. Snodgrass waft23 in the air, inacknowledgment of something very like a lady’s handkerchief,which was waved from one of the upper windows, until a turn ofthe lane hid the old house from their sight.
At Muggleton they procured24 a conveyance25 to Rochester. By thetime they reached the last-named place, the violence of their griefhad sufficiently26 abated27 to admit of their making a very excellentearly dinner; and having procured the necessary informationrelative to the road, the three friends set forward again in theafternoon to walk to Cobham. A delightful28 walk it was; for it was a pleasant afternoon in June,and their way lay through a deep and shady wood, cooled by thelight wind which gently rustled29 the thick foliage30, and enlivened bythe songs of the birds that perched upon the boughs31. The ivy32 andthe moss33 crept in thick clusters over the old trees, and the softgreen turf overspread the ground like a silken mat. They emergedupon an open park, with an ancient hall, displaying the quaint34 andpicturesque architecture of Elizabeth’s time. Long vistas35 of statelyoaks and elm trees appeared on every side; large herds36 of deerwere cropping the fresh grass; and occasionally a startled harescoured along the ground, with the speed of the shadows thrownby the light clouds which swept across a sunny landscape like apassing breath of summer.
‘If this,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking about him―‘if this were theplace to which all who are troubled with our friend’s complaintcame, I fancy their old attachment37 to this world would very soonreturn.’
‘I think so too,’ said Mr. Winkle.
‘And really,’ added Mr. Pickwick, after half an hour’s walkinghad brought them to the village, ‘really, for a misanthrope’schoice, this is one of the prettiest and most desirable places ofresidence I ever met with.’
In this opinion also, both Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrassexpressed their concurrence38; and having been directed to theLeather Bottle, a clean and commodious39 village ale-house, thethree travellers entered, and at once inquired for a gentleman ofthe name of Tupman.
‘Show the gentlemen into the parlour, Tom,’ said the landlady40.
A stout41 country lad opened a door at the end of the passage,and the three friends entered a long, low-roofed room, furnishedwith a large number of high-backed leather-cushioned chairs, offantastic shapes, and embellished42 with a great variety of oldportraits and roughly-coloured prints of some antiquity43. At theupper end of the room was a table, with a white cloth upon it, wellcovered with a roast fowl44, bacon, ale, and et ceteras; and at thetable sat Mr. Tupman, looking as unlike a man who had taken hisleave of the world, as possible.
On the entrance of his friends, that gentleman laid down hisknife and fork, and with a mournful air advanced to meet them.
‘I did not expect to see you here,’ he said, as he grasped Mr.
Pickwick’s hand. ‘It’s very kind.’
‘Ah!’ said Mr. Pickwick, sitting down, and wiping from hisforehead the perspiration45 which the walk had engendered46. ‘Finishyour dinner, and walk out with me. I wish to speak to you alone.’
Mr. Tupman did as he was desired; and Mr. Pickwick havingrefreshed himself with a copious47 draught48 of ale, waited his friend’sleisure. The dinner was quickly despatched, and they walked outtogether.
For half an hour, their forms might have been seen pacing thechurchyard to and fro, while Mr. Pickwick was engaged incombating his companion’s resolution. Any repetition of hisarguments would be useless; for what language could convey tothem that energy and force which their great originator’s mannercommunicated? Whether Mr. Tupman was already tired ofretirement, or whether he was wholly unable to resist the eloquentappeal which was made to him, matters not, he did not resist it atlast.
‘It mattered little to him,’ he said, ‘where he dragged out themiserable remainder of his days; and since his friend laid so muchstress upon his humble49 companionship, he was willing to share hisadventures.’
Mr. Pickwick smiled; they shook hands, and walked back torejoin their companions.
It was at this moment that Mr. Pickwick made that immortaldiscovery, which has been the pride and boast of his friends, andthe envy of every antiquarian in this or any other country. Theyhad passed the door of their inn, and walked a little way down thevillage, before they recollected51 the precise spot in which it stood.
As they turned back, Mr. Pickwick’s eye fell upon a small brokenstone, partially53 buried in the ground, in front of a cottage door. Hepaused.
‘This is very strange,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘What is strange?’ inquired Mr. Tupman, staring eagerly atevery object near him, but the right one. ‘God bless me, what’s thematter?’
This last was an ejaculation of irrepressible astonishment54,occasioned by seeing Mr. Pickwick, in his enthusiasm fordiscovery, fall on his knees before the little stone, and commencewiping the dust off it with his pocket-handkerchief.
‘There is an inscription55 here,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Is it possible?’ said Mr. Tupman.
‘I can discern,’ continued Mr. Pickwick, rubbing away with allhis might, and gazing intently through his spectacles―‘I candiscern a cross, and a 13, and then a T. This is important,’
continued Mr. Pickwick, starting up. ‘This is some very oldinscription, existing perhaps long before the ancient alms-housesin this place. It must not be lost.’
He tapped at the cottage door. A labouring man opened it.
‘Do you know how this stone came here, my friend?’ inquiredthe benevolent18 Mr. Pickwick.
‘No, I doan’t, sir,’ replied the man civilly. ‘It was here long aforeI was born, or any on us.’
Mr. Pickwick glanced triumphantly56 at his companion.
‘You―you―are not particularly attached to it, I dare say,’ saidMr. Pickwick, trembling with anxiety. ‘You wouldn’t mind sellingit, now?’
‘Ah! but who’d buy it?’ inquired the man, with an expression offace which he probably meant to be very cunning.
‘I’ll give you ten shillings for it, at once,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘ifyou would take it up for me.’
The astonishment of the village may be easily imagined, when(the little stone having been raised with one wrench57 of a spade)Mr. Pickwick, by dint58 of great personal exertion59, bore it with hisown hands to the inn, and after having carefully washed it,deposited it on the table.
The exultation60 and joy of the Pickwickians knew no bounds,when their patience and assiduity, their washing and scraping,were crowned with success. The stone was uneven61 and broken,and the letters were straggling and irregular, but the followingfragment of an inscription was clearly to be deciphered:―Mr. Pickwick’s eyes sparkled with delight, as he sat and gloatedover the treasure he had discovered. He had attained62 one of thegreatest objects of his ambition. In a county known to abound63 inthe remains64 of the early ages; in a village in which there stillexisted some memorials of the olden time, he―he, the chairman ofthe Pickwick Club―had discovered a strange and curiousinscription of unquestionable antiquity, which had wholly escapedthe observation of the many learned men who had preceded him.
He could hardly trust the evidence of his senses.
‘This―this,’ said he, ‘determines me. We return to town to-morrow.’
‘To-morrow!’ exclaimed his admiring followers.
‘To-morrow,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘This treasure must be at oncedeposited where it can be thoroughly65 investigated and properlyunderstood. I have another reason for this step. In a few days, anelection is to take place for the borough66 of Eatanswill, at which Mr.
Perker, a gentleman whom I lately met, is the agent of one of thecandidates. We will behold67, and minutely examine, a scene sointeresting to every Englishman.’
‘We will,’ was the animated68 cry of three voices.
Mr. Pickwick looked round him. The attachment and fervour ofhis followers lighted up a glow of enthusiasm within him. He wastheir leader, and he felt it.
‘Let us celebrate this happy meeting with a convivial69 glass,’ saidhe. This proposition, like the other, was received with unanimousapplause. Having himself deposited the important stone in a smalldeal box, purchased from the landlady for the purpose, he placedhimself in an arm-chair, at the head of the table; and the eveningwas devoted70 to festivity and conversation.
It was past eleven o’clock―a late hour for the little village ofCobham―when Mr. Pickwick retired71 to the bedroom which hadbeen prepared for his reception. He threw open the latticewindow, and setting his light upon the table, fell into a train ofmeditation on the hurried events of the two preceding days.
The hour and the place were both favourable72 to contemplation;Mr. Pickwick was roused by the church clock striking twelve. Thefirst stroke of the hour sounded solemnly in his ear, but when thebell ceased the stillness seemed insupportable―he almost felt as ifhe had lost a companion. He was nervous and excited; and hastilyundressing himself and placing his light in the chimney, got intobed.
Every one has experienced that disagreeable state of mind, inwhich a sensation of bodily weariness in vain contends against aninability to sleep. It was Mr. Pickwick’s condition at this moment:
he tossed first on one side and then on the other; andperseveringly closed his eyes as if to coax73 himself to slumber74. Itwas of no use. Whether it was the unwonted exertion he hadundergone, or the heat, or the brandy-and-water, or the strangebed―whatever it was, his thoughts kept reverting75 veryuncomfortably to the grim pictures downstairs, and the old storiesto which they had given rise in the course of the evening. Afterhalf an hour’s tumbling about, he came to the unsatisfactoryconclusion, that it was of no use trying to sleep; so he got up andpartially dressed himself. Anything, he thought, was better thanlying there fancying all kinds of horrors. He looked out of thewindow―it was very dark. He walked about the room―it was verylonely.
He had taken a few turns from the door to the window, andfrom the window to the door, when the clergyman’s manuscriptfor the first time entered his head. It was a good thought. if it failedto interest him, it might send him to sleep. He took it from his coatpocket, and drawing a small table towards his bedside, trimmedthe light, put on his spectacles, and composed himself to read. Itwas a strange handwriting, and the paper was much soiled andblotted. The title gave him a sudden start, too; and he could notavoid casting a wistful glance round the room. Reflecting on theabsurdity of giving way to such feelings, however, he trimmed thelight again, and read as follows:―‘Yes!―a madman’s! How that word would have struck to myheart, many years ago! How it would have roused the terror thatused to come upon me sometimes, sending the blood hissing76 andtingling through my veins77, till the cold dew of fear stood in largedrops upon my skin, and my knees knocked together with fright! Ilike it now though. It’s a fine name. Show me the monarch78 whoseangry frown was ever feared like the glare of a madman’s eye―whose cord and axe79 were ever half so sure as a madman’s gripe.
Ho! ho! It’s a grand thing to be mad! to be peeped at like a wildlion through the iron bars―to gnash one’s teeth and howl, throughthe long still night, to the merry ring of a heavy chain and to rolland twine80 among the straw, transported with such brave music.
Hurrah for the madhouse! Oh, it’s a rare place!
‘I remember days when I was afraid of being mad; when I usedto start from my sleep, and fall upon my knees, and pray to bespared from the curse of my race; when I rushed from the sight ofmerriment or happiness, to hide myself in some lonely place, andspend the weary hours in watching the progress of the fever thatwas to consume my brain. I knew that madness was mixed up withmy very blood, and the marrow81 of my bones! that one generationhad passed away without the pestilence82 appearing among them,and that I was the first in whom it would revive. I knew it must beso: that so it always had been, and so it ever would be: and when Icowered in some obscure corner of a crowded room, and saw menwhisper, and point, and turn their eyes towards me, I knew theywere telling each other of the doomed83 madman; and I slunk awayagain to mope in solitude84.
‘I did this for years; long, long years they were. The nights hereare long sometimes―very long; but they are nothing to therestless nights, and dreadful dreams I had at that time. It makesme cold to remember them. Large dusky forms with sly andjeering faces crouched85 in the corners of the room, and bent86 overmy bed at night, tempting87 me to madness. They told me in lowwhispers, that the floor of the old house in which my father died,was stained with his own blood, shed by his own hand in ragingmadness. I drove my fingers into my ears, but they screamed intomy head till the room rang with it, that in one generation beforehim the madness slumbered88, but that his grandfather had lived foryears with his hands fettered89 to the ground, to prevent his tearinghimself to pieces. I knew they told the truth―I knew it well. I hadfound it out years before, though they had tried to keep it from me.
Ha! ha! I was too cunning for them, madman as they thought me.
‘At last it came upon me, and I wondered how I could ever havefeared it. I could go into the world now, and laugh and shout withthe best among them. I knew I was mad, but they did not evensuspect it. How I used to hug myself with delight, when I thoughtof the fine trick I was playing them after their old pointing andleering, when I was not mad, but only dreading90 that I might oneday become so! And how I used to laugh for joy, when I was alone,and thought how well I kept my secret, and how quickly my kindfriends would have fallen from me, if they had known the truth. Icould have screamed with ecstasy91 when I dined alone with somefine roaring fellow, to think how pale he would have turned, andhow fast he would have run, if he had known that the dear friendwho sat close to him, sharpening a bright, glittering knife, was amadman with all the power, and half the will, to plunge92 it in hisheart. Oh, it was a merry life!
‘Riches became mine, wealth poured in upon me, and I riotedin pleasures enhanced a thousandfold to me by the consciousnessof my well-kept secret. I inherited an estate. The law―the eagle-eyed law itself―had been deceived, and had handed over disputedthousands to a madman’s hands. Where was the wit of the sharp-sighted men of sound mind? Where the dexterity93 of the lawyers,eager to discover a flaw? The madman’s cunning had overreachedthem all.
‘I had money. How I was courted! I spent it profusely94. How Iwas praised! How those three proud, overbearing brothershumbled themselves before me! The old, white-headed father,too―such deference―such respect―such devoted friendship―heworshipped me! The old man had a daughter, and the young mena sister; and all the five were poor. I was rich; and when I marriedthe girl, I saw a smile of triumph play upon the faces of her needyrelatives, as they thought of their well-planned scheme, and theirfine prize. It was for me to smile. To smile! To laugh outright95, andtear my hair, and roll upon the ground with shrieks96 of merriment.
They little thought they had married her to a madman.
‘Stay. If they had known it, would they have saved her? Asister’s happiness against her husband’s gold. The lightest featherI blow into the air, against the gay chain that ornaments98 my body!
‘In one thing I was deceived with all my cunning. If I had notbeen mad―for though we madmen are sharp-witted enough, weget bewildered sometimes―I should have known that the girlwould rather have been placed, stiff and cold in a dull leadencoffin, than borne an envied bride to my rich, glittering house. Ishould have known that her heart was with the dark-eyed boywhose name I once heard her breathe in her troubled sleep; andthat she had been sacrificed to me, to relieve the poverty of theold, white-headed man and the haughty99 brothers.
‘I don’t remember forms or faces now, but I know the girl wasbeautiful. I know she was; for in the bright moonlight nights, whenI start up from my sleep, and all is quiet about me, I see, standingstill and motionless in one corner of this cell, a slight and wastedfigure with long black hair, which, streaming down her back, stirswith no earthly wind, and eyes that fix their gaze on me, and neverwink or close. Hush100! the blood chills at my heart as I write itdown―that form is hers; the face is very pale, and the eyes areglassy bright; but I know them well. That figure never moves; itnever frowns and mouths as others do, that fill this placesometimes; but it is much more dreadful to me, even than thespirits that tempted101 me many years ago―it comes fresh from thegrave; and is so very death-like.
‘For nearly a year I saw that face grow paler; for nearly a year Isaw the tears steal down the mournful cheeks, and never knew thecause. I found it out at last though. They could not keep it from melong. She had never liked me; I had never thought she did: shedespised my wealth, and hated the splendour in which she lived;but I had not expected that. She loved another. This I had neverthought of. Strange feelings came over me, and thoughts, forcedupon me by some secret power, whirled round and round mybrain. I did not hate her, though I hated the boy she still wept for. Ipitied―yes, I pitied―the wretched life to which her cold andselfish relations had doomed her. I knew that she could not livelong; but the thought that before her death she might give birth tosome ill-fated being, destined102 to hand down madness to itsoffspring, determined103 me. I resolved to kill her.
‘For many weeks I thought of poison, and then of drowning,and then of fire. A fine sight, the grand house in flames, and themadman’s wife smouldering away to cinders104. Think of the jest of alarge reward, too, and of some sane105 man swinging in the wind fora deed he never did, and all through a madman’s cunning! Ithought often of this, but I gave it up at last. Oh! the pleasure ofstropping the razor day after day, feeling the sharp edge, andthinking of the gash106 one stroke of its thin, bright edge wouldmake!
‘At last the old spirits who had been with me so often beforewhispered in my ear that the time was come, and thrust the openrazor into my hand. I grasped it firmly, rose softly from the bed,and leaned over my sleeping wife. Her face was buried in herhands. I withdrew them softly, and they fell listlessly on herbosom. She had been weeping; for the traces of the tears were stillwet upon her cheek. Her face was calm and placid107; and even as Ilooked upon it, a tranquil108 smile lighted up her pale features. I laidmy hand softly on her shoulder. She started―it was only a passingdream. I leaned forward again. She screamed, and woke.
‘One motion of my hand, and she would never again haveuttered cry or sound. But I was startled, and drew back. Her eyeswere fixed109 on mine. I knew not how it was, but they cowed andfrightened me; and I quailed110 beneath them. She rose from the bed,still gazing fixedly111 and steadily112 on me. I trembled; the razor was inmy hand, but I could not move. She made towards the door. Asshe neared it, she turned, and withdrew her eyes from my face.
The spell was broken. I bounded forward, and clutched her by thearm. Uttering shriek97 upon shriek, she sank upon the ground.
‘Now I could have killed her without a struggle; but the housewas alarmed. I heard the tread of footsteps on the stairs. I replacedthe razor in its usual drawer, unfastened the door, and calledloudly for assistance.
‘They came, and raised her, and placed her on the bed. She laybereft of animation113 for hours; and when life, look, and speechreturned, her senses had deserted10 her, and she raved114 wildly andfuriously.
‘Doctors were called in―great men who rolled up to my door ineasy carriages, with fine horses and gaudy115 servants. They were ather bedside for weeks. They had a great meeting and consultedtogether in low and solemn voices in another room. One, thecleverest and most celebrated116 among them, took me aside, andbidding me prepare for the worst, told me―me, the madman!―that my wife was mad. He stood close beside me at an openwindow, his eyes looking in my face, and his hand laid upon myarm. With one effort, I could have hurled117 him into the streetbeneath. It would have been rare sport to have done it; but mysecret was at stake, and I let him go. A few days after, they told meI must place her under some restraint: I must provide a keeper forher. I! I went into the open fields where none could hear me, andlaughed till the air resounded118 with my shouts!
‘She died next day. The white-headed old man followed her tothe grave, and the proud brothers dropped a tear over theinsensible corpse119 of her whose sufferings they had regarded in herlifetime with muscles of iron. All this was food for my secret mirth,and I laughed behind the white handkerchief which I held up tomy face, as we rode home, till the tears Came into my eyes.
‘But though I had carried my object and killed her, I wasrestless and disturbed, and I felt that before long my secret mustbe known. I could not hide the wild mirth and joy which boiledwithin me, and made me when I was alone, at home, jump up andbeat my hands together, and dance round and round, and roaraloud. When I went out, and saw the busy crowds hurrying aboutthe streets; or to the theatre, and heard the sound of music, andbeheld the people dancing, I felt such glee, that I could haverushed among them, and torn them to pieces limb from limb, andhowled in transport. But I ground my teeth, and struck my feetupon the floor, and drove my sharp nails into my hands. I kept itdown; and no one knew I was a madman yet.
‘I remember―though it’s one of the last things I can remember:
for now I mix up realities with my dreams, and having so much todo, and being always hurried here, have no time to separate thetwo, from some strange confusion in which they get involved―Iremember how I let it out at last. Ha! ha! I think I see theirfrightened looks now, and feel the ease with which I flung themfrom me, and dashed my clenched120 fist into their white faces, andthen flew like the wind, and left them screaming and shouting farbehind. The strength of a giant comes upon me when I think of it.
There―see how this iron bar bends beneath my furious wrench. Icould snap it like a twig121, only there are long galleries here withmany doors―I don’t think I could find my way along them; andeven if I could, I know there are iron gates below which they keeplocked and barred. hey know what a clever madman I have been,and they are proud to have me here, to show.
‘Let me see: yes, I had been out. It was late at night when Ireached home, and found the proudest of the three proud brotherswaiting to see me―urgent business he said: I recollect52 it well. Ihated that man with all a madman’s hate. Many and many a timehad my fingers longed to tear him. They told me he was there. Iran swiftly upstairs. He had a word to say to me. I dismissed theservants. It was late, and we were alone together―for the firsttime.
‘I kept my eyes carefully from him at first, for I knew what helittle thought―and I gloried in the knowledge―that the light ofmadness gleamed from them like fire. We sat in silence for a fewminutes. He spoke122 at last. My recent dissipation, and strangeremarks, made so soon after his sister’s death, were an insult toher memory. Coupling together many circumstances which had atfirst escaped his observation, he thought I had not treated herwell. He wished to know whether he was right in inferring that Imeant to cast a reproach upon her memory, and a disrespect uponher family. It was due to the uniform he wore, to demand thisexplanation.
‘This man had a commission in the army―a commission,purchased with my money, and his sister’s misery123! This was theman who had been foremost in the plot to ensnare me, and graspmy wealth. This was the man who had been the main instrumentin forcing his sister to wed22 me; well knowing that her heart wasgiven to that puling boy. Due to his uniform! The livery of hisdegradation! I turned my eyes upon him―I could not help it―butI spoke not a word.
‘I saw the sudden change that came upon him beneath my gaze.
He was a bold man, but the colour faded from his face, and hedrew back his chair. I dragged mine nearer to him; and Ilaughed―I was very merry then―I saw him shudder124. I felt themadness rising within me. He was afraid of me.
‘“You were very fond of your sister when she was alive,” Isaid.―“Very.”
‘He looked uneasily round him, and I saw his hand grasp theback of his chair; but he said nothing.
‘“You villain,” said I, “I found you out: I discovered your hellishplots against me; I know her heart was fixed on some one elsebefore you compelled her to marry me. I know it―I know it.”
‘He jumped suddenly from his chair, brandished125 it aloft, andbid me stand back―for I took care to be getting closer to him allthe time I spoke.
‘I screamed rather than talked, for I felt tumultuous passionseddying through my veins, and the old spirits whispering andtaunting me to tear his heart out.
‘“Damn you,” said I, starting up, and rushing upon him; “Ikilled her. I am a madman. Down with you. Blood, blood! I willhave it!”
‘I turned aside with one blow the chair he hurled at me in histerror, and closed with him; and with a heavy crash we rolledupon the floor together.
‘It was a fine struggle that; for he was a tall, strong man,fighting for his life; and I, a powerful madman, thirsting to destroyhim. I knew no strength could equal mine, and I was right. Rightagain, though a madman! His struggles grew fainter. I knelt uponhis chest, and clasped his brawny126 throat firmly with both hands.
His face grew purple; his eyes were starting from his head, andwith protruded127 tongue, he seemed to mock me. I squeezed thetighter.
‘The door was suddenly burst open with a loud noise, and acrowd of people rushed forward, crying aloud to each other tosecure the madman.
‘My secret was out; and my only struggle now was for libertyand freedom. I gained my feet before a hand was on me, threwmyself among my assailants, and cleared my way with my strongarm, as if I bore a hatchet128 in my hand, and hewed129 them downbefore me. I gained the door, dropped over the banisters, and inan instant was in the street.
‘Straight and swift I ran, and no one dared to stop me. I heardthe noise of the feet behind, and redoubled my speed. It grewfainter and fainter in the distance, and at length died awayaltogether; but on I bounded, through marsh130 and rivulet131, overfence and wall, with a wild shout which was taken up by thestrange beings that flocked around me on every side, and swelledthe sound, till it pierced the air. I was borne upon the arms ofdemons who swept along upon the wind, and bore down bank andhedge before them, and spun132 me round and round with a rustleand a spe ed that made my head swim, until at last they threw mefrom them with a violent shock, and I fell heavily upon the earth.
When I woke I found myself here―here in this gray cell, where thesunlight seldom comes, and the moon steals in, in rays which onlyserve to show the dark shadows about me, and that silent figure inits old corner. When I lie awake, I can sometimes hear strangeshrieks and cries from distant parts of this large place. What theyare, I know not; but they neither come from that pale form, nordoes it regard them. For from the first shades of dusk till theearliest light of morning, it still stands motionless in the sameplace, listening to the music of my iron chain, and watching mygambols on my straw bed.’
At the end of the manuscript was written, in another hand, thisnote:―[The unhappy man whose ravings are recorded above, was amelancholy instance of the baneful133 results of energies misdirectedin early life, and excesses prolonged until their consequencescould never be repaired. The thoughtless riot, dissipation, anddebauchery of his younger days produced fever and delirium134. Thefirst effects of the latter was the strange delusion135, founded upon awell-known medical theory, strongly contended for by some, andas strongly contested by others, that an hereditary136 madnessexisted in his family. This produced a settled gloom, which in timedeveloped a morbid137 insanity138, and finally terminated in ravingmadness. There is every reason to believe that the events hedetailed, though distorted in the description by his diseasedimagination, really happened. It is only matter of wonder to thosewho were acquainted with the vices139 of his early career, that hispassions, when no longer controlled by reason, did not lead him tothe commission of still more frightful140 deeds.]
Mr. Pickwick’s candle was just expiring in the socket141, as heconcluded the perusal142 of the old clergyman’s manuscript; andwhen the light went suddenly out, without any previous flicker143 byway of warning, it communicated a very considerable start to hisexcited frame. Hastily throwing off such articles of clothing as hehad put on when he rose from his uneasy bed, and casting afearful glance around, he once more scrambled144 hastily betweenthe sheets, and soon fell fast asleep.
The sun was shining brilliantly into his chamber145, when heawoke, and the morning was far advanced. The gloom which hadoppressed him on the previous night had disappeared with thedark shadows which shrouded146 the landscape, and his thoughtsand feelings were as light and gay as the morning itself. After ahearty breakfast, the four gentlemen sallied forth147 to walk toGravesend, followed by a man bearing the stone in its deal box.
They reached the town about one o’clock (their luggage they haddirected to be forwarded to the city, from Rochester), and beingfortunate enough to secure places on the outside of a coach,arrived in London in sound health and spirits, on that sameafternoon.
The next three or four days were occupied with thepreparations which were necessary for their journey to theborough of Eatanswill. As any references to that most importantundertaking demands a separate chapter, we may devote the fewlines which remain at the close of this, to narrate148, with greatbrevity, the history of the antiquarian discovery.
It appears from the Transactions of the Club, then, that Mr.
Pickwick lectured upon the discovery at a General Club Meeting,convened on the night succeeding their return, and entered into avariety of ingenious and erudite speculations149 on the meaning ofthe inscription. It also appears that a skilful150 artist executed afaithful delineation151 of the curiosity, which was engraven on stone,and presented to the Royal Antiquarian Society, and other learnedbodies: that heart-burnings and jealousies152 without number werecreated by rival controversies153 which were penned upon thesubject; and that Mr. Pickwick himself wrote a pamphlet,containing ninety-six pages of very small print, and twenty-sevendifferent readings of the inscription: that three old gentlemen cutoff their eldest154 sons with a shilling a-piece for presuming to doubtthe antiquity of the fragment; and that one enthusiastic individualcut himself off prematurely155, in despair at being unable to fathomits meaning: that Mr. Pickwick was elected an honorary memberof seventeen native and foreign societies, for making thediscovery: that none of the seventeen could make anything of it;but that all the seventeen agreed it was very extraordinary.
Mr. Blotton, indeed―and the name will be doomed to theundying contempt of those who cultivate the mysterious and thesublime―Mr. Blotton, we say, with the doubt and cavillingpeculiar to vulgar minds, presumed to state a view of the case, asdegrading as ridiculous. Mr. Blotton, with a mean desire to tarnishthe lustre156 of the immortal50 name of Pickwick, actually undertook ajourney to Cobham in person, and on his return, sarcasticallyobserved in an oration157 at the club, that he had seen the man fromwhom the stone was purchased; that the man presumed the stoneto be ancient, but solemnly denied the antiquity of theinscription―inasmuch as he represented it to have been rudelycarved by himself in an idle mood, and to display letters intendedto bear neither more or less than the simple construction of―‘BILL STUMPS158, HIS MARK’; and that Mr. Stumps, being little inthe habit of original composition, and more accustomed to beguided by the sound of words than by the strict rules oforthography, had omitted the concluding ‘L’ of his Christianname.
The Pickwick Club (as might have been expected from soenlightened an institution) received this statement with thecontempt it deserved, expelled the presumptuous159 and ill-conditioned Blotton from the society, and voted Mr. Pickwick apair of gold spectacles, in token of their confidence andapprobation: in return for which, Mr. Pickwick caused a portrait ofhimself to be painted, and hung up in the club room.
Mr. Blotton was ejected but not conquered. He also wrote apamphlet, addressed to the seventeen learned societies, native andforeign, containing a repetition of the statement he had alreadymade, and rather more than half intimating his opinion that theseventeen learned societies were so many ‘humbugs.’ Hereupon,the virtuous160 indignation of the seventeen learned societies beingroused, several fresh pamphlets appeared; the foreign learnedsocieties corresponded with the native learned societies; the nativelearned societies translated the pamphlets of the foreign learnedsocieties into English; the foreign learned societies translated thepamphlets of the native learned societies into all sorts oflanguages; and thus commenced that celebrated scientificdiscussion so well known to all men, as the Pickwick controversy161.
But this base attempt to injure Mr. Pickwick recoiled162 upon thehead of its calumnious163 author. The seventeen learned societiesunanimously voted the presumptuous Blotton an ignorantmeddler, and forthwith set to work upon more treatises164 than ever.
And to this day the stone remains, an illegible165 monument of Mr.
Pickwick’s greatness, and a lasting166 trophy167 to the littleness of hisenemies.
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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frailties
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| n.脆弱( frailty的名词复数 )；虚弱；（性格或行为上的）弱点；缺点 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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waft
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| v.飘浮，飘荡；n.一股；一阵微风；飘荡 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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31
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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concurrence
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| n.同意；并发 | |
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commodious
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| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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embellished
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| v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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engendered
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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53
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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54
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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57
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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62
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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63
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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coax
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| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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reverting
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| 恢复( revert的现在分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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slumbered
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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fettered
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| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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92
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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profusely
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| ad.abundantly | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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98
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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99
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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100
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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101
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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102
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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103
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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104
cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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105
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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106
gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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107
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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108
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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109
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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110
quailed
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| 害怕，发抖，畏缩( quail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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112
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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113
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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114
raved
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| v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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115
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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116
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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117
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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118
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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119
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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120
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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122
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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123
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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124
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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125
brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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126
brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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127
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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129
hewed
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的过去式和过去分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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130
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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131
rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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132
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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133
baneful
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| adj.有害的 | |
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134
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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135
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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136
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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137
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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138
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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139
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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140
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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141
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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142
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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143
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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144
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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145
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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146
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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147
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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148
narrate
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| v.讲，叙述 | |
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149
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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150
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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151
delineation
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| n.记述；描写 | |
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152
jealousies
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| n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 )；妒羡 | |
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153
controversies
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| 争论 | |
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154
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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155
prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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156
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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157
oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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158
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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159
presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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160
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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161
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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162
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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163
calumnious
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| adj.毁谤的，中伤的 | |
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164
treatises
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| n.专题著作，专题论文，专著( treatise的名词复数 ) | |
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165
illegible
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| adj.难以辨认的，字迹模糊的 | |
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166
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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167
trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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